#but i've been listening to the cover by idles

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer

Chapter 1

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: I can't believe I actually got around to writing this! *sobs*. I hope everyone does take the time to read it, and enjoys what I've created here. This will be a multi-chapter fic, quite different from the one-shots I've posted before. It was originally made with an OC, which can be read on my AO3 account, but all changes have been made to y/n here.

Thank you @actuallysaiyan for making the lovely title banner and for listening to me rant and giving me all the encouragement to finish this chapter. Everyone needs a cheerleader like you. 💜

“You’ve got it from here…Itadori kun.”

Those were the last words Nanami remembers saying before Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration fragmented his soul into smithereens. All he felt was pain, gut-wrenching pain as his soul collapsed and rearranged itself, piece after piece trying various combinations of alignment, trying to come back into some semblance of a whole, like chromosomes after being hit with a lethal dose of radiation.

His eyes squeeze shut, senses overloading as he prepares to meet whatever awaits him on the other side. Would it be a lovely afterlife like he’d hoped? Filled with long days on the beach, reading the backlog of books he’d been holding off on? Laying in the sun, no work, no obligations, just doing whatever he wanted to his heart’s content? He felt warmth against his chest, a bright light emanating from it, and for a split second, it felt like someone was calling out to him, a very familiar voice…

And all of a sudden it stops. With a thump, he crumples on something solid, his side colliding with the surface. Was this it? Was he in the afterlife? Nanami hesitantly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

At first, it appears like he’s landed on a sidewalk that wound deeply into a very gloomy and derelict-looking city. He could make out buildings, traffic lights, and little shops tucked away in between these larger structures, all of them looking abandoned or in various states of disuse. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. Was this actually the Great Beyond? 

Nanami pushes himself to his feet, relieved when he realizes he’s not in pain anymore. Had Mahito sent him to a separate contained domain? He squints, trying to find his bearings. There was no sunlight wherever he was, but the street lamps were lit along the length of the sidewalk, casting shadows along the way. He cautiously looks around. The place looks strangely familiar…

He grasps his weapon, the blade having still been in his hand when Mahito touched him, and advances down the road. As he walks, he realizes with a jolt that wherever he is appears to be a phantom of his neighborhood. He recognized this road now, as he had frequented it so often. Up ahead was the grocery store he would go to every Saturday. And right opposite it, a little cafe he would sometimes wander into for their lovely croissants and artisan coffee. The more he walked, the more he started piecing together a map of this area, astonished at what he was seeing. This certainly couldn’t be a domain expansion. There was far too much detail resembling the real world and, although the place gave a foreboding aura, seemed to be unoccupied except for himself. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, lowers his weapon, and tries to think. Logic was telling him Mahito had sent him somewhere, perhaps a sealed space, rather than kill him outright. But if that was the case, why was he healed? His entire left side which had been covered with fatal burns was gone, the skin healed over like new, his eye regenerated, hair grown back. His clothes and shoes had somehow been restored to their original condition, his glasses back to their position on his face. 

Things weren’t adding up. He continued to walk, then came upon a library he remembered passing by in the real world but had never really paid attention to before. Deciding this was as good a spot as any to glean information about his whereabouts, he enters, squinting through the darkness. Lines and lines of shelves stood neatly arranged in the building. Nanami walks between the rows, pausing in between sections for a brief moment before continuing his perusing. 

He rounds the corner, then quickly presses his back against a bookshelf as he senses an unusual energy signature fading away from him. So he wasn’t alone, and the thought wasn’t comforting. The energy didn’t match a human or a sorcerer, so he had to assume it was a special-grade curse. After his interactions with Jogo and Mahito, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of its abilities. He was tempted to escape but knew he had nowhere to go. If he was trapped in this domain what hope was there to escape this odd being he was sensing?

Raising the clothed blade with its polka dot pattern, he follows the energy steadily, not daring to breathe too loudly as he advances. It moves stealthily and silently, as though trying to elude him. This makes him immediately wary, sensing he could be getting lured into a trap. He follows at a distance, then stops as he comes to a reading section, the area cleared out and decorated with little chairs, poufs, and tables. Struggling to see in the dim light, he moves into the open, instincts screaming that he’s making a mistake. He pauses, trying to sense the energy again.

“It’s rude to chase one with a weapon you know.” A voice says from directly behind him. Nanami startles and spins around to face his pursuant, arms immediately coming before him to block an impending attack. Upon seeing the sight before him, his gaze fills with both fear and wonder, the being in front of him a vision of amazement. 

All he sees at first are a pair of piercing silver eyes that seem to probe the very depths of his soul. There’s a quiet insightfulness to them like he was looking into the eyes of an old friend, yet an unsettling intensity that made him feel apprehensive. The being appeared to lack a shape, but as Nanami took another step back, the light from the street lamps showed it to be made of wisps of black shadowy mist, neither fluid nor gas, swirling endlessly around it. 

Something within him tells him he shouldn’t fear this creature, yet all instincts were telling him to charge the attack before it got to him first. They stood, staring at each other through the dimness, before Nanami gathered his courage and asked, “What are you? A curse?”

The being huffs, as if it was an impertinent question. “What am I…Who am I…The question has been asked for centuries. Yet, even I do not have an appropriate answer…But I am most definitely not a curse.”

It glides silently over the floor, and Nanami instinctively raises his weapon. The being appears to look amused, based on the way those intense silver eyes glowed. “Put away your blade, Nanami Kento. The things I could have done to you once you entered my realm can’t be defended against by you, or even a special-grade sorcerer for that matter. I doubt even Ryomen Sukuna would stand a chance against me.” The smoky form billows, ebbing and flowing as it circles him. 

Not entirely reassured, Nanami puts his weapon back in the holder of his suspenders. There’s an odd feeling of reverence despite the eerie nature of the being. 

“I am what they call The Mediator, The One Before Death, or The Spectator.” It answers his question. 

“And where am I?” Nanami asks the shadow. 

“You are in between worlds, Nanami Kento.”

“In between worlds?” The blonde man repeated skeptically. Did such a thing exist? He had never given death much thought (beyond the dying part), and always assumed it was like being asleep one moment and waking up in paradise the next. To be in between worlds…had Mahito somehow just locked him away in another dimension that was a bleak version of his neighborhood? 

“So…am I…alive? But in another dimension?”

The Mediator looked at him thoughtfully, as though wondering how best to explain to him. “You are alive for now. But you definitely died, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here in my realm.”

“I died, and came back to life?” The sorcerer frowned at the obscureness with which this said. “That makes no sense. People don’t just arbitrarily resurrect from the dead. I was severely weakened. My soul was unprotected. Mahito’s attack should have killed me.”

“It did. However, something at that moment reversed the attack and restored the various fragments your soul had shattered into.”

Disbelievingly, Nanami started running his hands over his torso as though trying to find evidence that he had died. It was just…fantastical…impossible…He had survived Mahito’s attack? What divine intervention could have possibly saved him from something so deadly? As his fingers near his wrist, they brush over a small chain, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. He quickly undoes the button and looks incredulously at the small charm, an Aum symbol, dangling from the chain. 

“Y/n…” he murmurs her name softly. His apprentice. He now remembers her fastening one of these to not just him but to Ino and Itadori as well before they were deployed to Shibuya. 

“That’s probably what saved you,” the being said evidently, interrupting Nanami’s thoughts. “Whatever that is, it was imbued with a heavy concentration of neutralized curse energy. So when you died from the attack, that charm activated and repaired your soul.”

Nanami absently fingered the charm, trying to think. Y/n’s ability to neutralize cursed energy had improved immensely under his tutelage, he knew that, but he hadn’t imagined it to this extent. Her other ability included being able to manipulate any cursed energy she neutralized into forms of heat, summoning flames on her palms that towered at least  20 feet tall. How she had imbued the energy into the charm was anyone’s guess. 

“And I’m in between worlds.” He repeats again, trying to make sure he’s not misunderstanding the conversation.

“Indeed. Think of this as your own personal purgatory.” Those silver eyes bore into him like moons against a black sky, waiting to see his reaction.

Purgatory. Nanami pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom how insane this sounded. “I thought purgatory was for people who needed to be redeemed.”

“It is usually. But in your case, it looks like the veil partitioning the worlds got confused, seeing as how you left one dead, and then suddenly became alive in another. Death probably couldn’t figure out what to do with you so it sent you here instead.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

Despite the miraculousness of it all, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. He had been prepared for death for several years now. So much to the point that he had a will drafted, signed, and sealed, declaring all his possessions to be donated to charity since he had no other family or next of kin. A copy of the keys to his house had been entrusted to the lawyer who had helped draft the will. He had all his affairs set in order with the expectation that his death would be sudden and he was unwilling to burden anyone to deal with the repercussions. 

He had known he would die in the line of duty. He had accepted his fate the moment Mahito had laid a hand on him in the underground, welcoming death as a tranquil friend. His whole life had been struggle after struggle, a gamble, clawing his way to stay alive. All he could say was that he had been lucky so far. There had to be a moment when that luck ran out. He had been dreaming of knowing peace and death seemed to be the only option for that. 

“Does it bother you, that you are alive?” The purgatory being asks him curiously, noting his less-than-happy expression. “Most would rejoice at this second chance for life.”

The question hits Nanami with a gravity he hadn’t been expecting. “Most people haven’t lived my life. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. I’ve earned the right to a peaceful death.”

“And yet, it looks like someone desperately wanted you to live.” Those hypnotic eyes wander over to the charm dangling on his wrist. “Is that not reason enough? To not want to die?”

Disturbed by the notion, Nanami grips the charm. Y/n’s energy had kept him alive, unwittingly preventing him from moving on into the afterlife. Whether that had been her intent was debatable. Her desperately wanting him to live? It just didn’t seem likely to him. Sure, perhaps she didn’t want him to die in the way that people didn’t want others to die in general. But beyond that? He couldn’t fathom her being so consumed by the thought of his death that she would create a charm that essentially kept him alive after having his soul damaged to what should have been a point beyond repair. 

Y/n had a late start in her career as a sorceress, and certain concepts about it seemed to stymie her, more typically seen in a younger student than someone her age. He had repeatedly told her to not worry about him when he took her on missions, to value her life more than his. He drilled it into her head when he taught her self-defense, that if there was an opportunity to escape she should take it, the hand-to-hand combat sometimes leaving bruises on her skin because she’d been unwilling to take a shot at him. It always pained him when that happened, marking her, leaving those unsavory blemishes on her but how else was she going to learn that fairness wasn’t something that existed in Jujutsu? Her willingness to get a little scuffed up if it meant protecting him from a curse irked him. She was rather like a kitten unwilling to be shooed away from a reluctant petter. His lips curled wryly as he imagined her expression if she ever heard that comparison out loud. 

‘Don’t be so cruel Nanami san!’ She’d probably say, those large (color) eyes looking at him reproachfully. And for a moment, his mind’s eye couldn’t picture anything else except that; those large (color) eyes, and the shock in them when he told her that he didn’t think he’d live very long. She hadn’t said anything to convince him his mindset was wrong, but she did look like he had betrayed her by expressing his very honest and logical opinion. As though he had broken an oath to her by not saying he wanted to live long and prosper. 

Nanami gives himself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be thinking about Y/ni's opinion on his death. The bigger task at hand now was figuring out what to do about his imprisonment in purgatory. 

All the while, the shadow hadn’t wavered and had merely continued to look at him work through his inner monologue. Realizing that Nanami had reached a limit, it said, “No, you are not stuck here. At least, not for very long.”

The sorcerer’s head snaps up at those words, eyes narrowing behind the green glass of his frames. “What do you mean, not very long?”

“Well, the neutralized energy imbued into that charm? It’s not infinitely going to remain contained in that. The seal broke when it saved your life, and it’s essentially trickling out little particles of it. It will run out at some point, although it’s difficult to say when that is.”

“And when it does run out?”

“You’ll die.” The being says simply. “And move on into the next realm. That’s the way purgatory is supposed to work. Cleanse you to be fit to live in the realm of death.” 

“And it’s unknown when that will happen?”

The shadow appears to ponder his question before offering a hesitant guess. “A few days, maybe 4 or 5 at maximum, based on the energy intensity that it's currently emitting.”

“And what am I to do for 4 to 5 days here?” Nanami gestures around the gloomy library, obviously not impressed with this arrangement. These extra days before his impending death somehow made a vein pop in his forehead. It was like a pre-death before the actual one.

“Well, you must have noticed by now that this is the neighborhood you used to live in. You are free to wander around here and experience your old life one last time. You can visit your apartment, take the subway and wander around the Jujutsu High campus, or watch a movie in the theater.” The shadow suggested, sounding like a pleasant tour guide for the afterlife. “Think of it as a vacation before your death.”

It struck Nanami as a little absurd but he strokes his chin, considering. “And that’s my only option? To experience my old life before dying?”

“It’s not the only option. You could go back and live.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air at those words. Nanami’s eyes widen at the thought. He could go back to the land of the living? He hadn’t even considered that as an option. He only had death on his mind. Thoughts of living on a beach, days filled with no responsibility still flickered through his mind but at the same time…

“What is it about life that makes you so hesitant?” The purgatory being asks him inquisitively. 

Nanami opens his mouth but no words come out. Had he been thinking about how to escape his situation that all he had ever thought about was dying? It wasn’t unexpected of him. He had learned so long ago that life was mostly shit, with a few moments of relief folded in. At least it was for curse users. He remembers seeing all the people he knew die, how he had tried to escape from Jujutsu, only to be sucked back in because he knew he didn’t fit in anywhere else. When faced with the choice of remaining in a job of corporate greed, or one that endangered his life but was somewhat altruistic, the choice became apparent. He had returned to Jujutsu. Not entirely selflessly, but with the idea that it was the quicker way out of his misery. 

“Is there nothing you would like to return to?” The shadow presses. “Remember that you are a very rare case. Hardly anyone ends up in purgatory under your circumstances. I would hate to see a life go to waste because you don’t know what to do with it.”

A sudden memory comes into Nanami’s mind. A day of unexpected frivolity, when Y/n, Yuji, and Ino had convinced him to come along to an amusement park. It was an odd day but to his surprise, he hadn't hated it. Y/n had mostly stayed away from the roller-coasters, leaving it to Yuji and Ino, wandering with Nanami to the food stalls, closer in age to him than she was to the boys. It was a strange feeling of domesticity he had never experienced before, almost like they were a hodgepodge family of misfits. It was the closest thing he had experienced to a normal day in a long time. 

But days like that were rare. They were like sprinkles on top of ice cream. People could never have more sprinkles than ice cream. Life just didn't work that way. However, Nanami found himself contemplating his choices. Perhaps he had been so jaded that he thought life was wading through ice cream instead of appreciating the sprinkles? And here he was dreaming about sprinkles when he was stuck in purgatory. 

He sighs and shakes his head. “If I did go back, would it make a difference?” He asks doubtfully. 

The being’s eyes crinkle warmly, almost like it's smiling. “To one person, yes. And isn't that more than enough?”

The charm swings from his wrist like a pendulum. He considers the shadow’s words and feels his heart clench uncomfortably. The stakes almost felt too high, wagering his return to life on the chance that it would make a difference to Y/n. Well, maybe not just her. He frowns as he feels the energy in the trinket resonate for a brief moment when he thinks of her, as though it was trying to convince him to make the gamble. He had never quite paid attention to her energy signature before now, so concentrated within the tiny object; it felt like a warm cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning. He feels disconcerted that he could sense this now and it was making him want to change his mind about dying. He sighed deeply, feeling his resolve begin to solidify, even though it felt like he was making the wrong choice. 

“How do I get out of here?” 

The shadow has no features except its eyes, but if Nanami could assign it an expression, it would have to be triumph.  

“I’m so glad you asked.” It appraisingly looks at him, before continuing. “Perhaps you might want to let the lady know you’re alive.”

“Must I?” Nanami asks with a hint of exasperation. 

The shadow looks amused but continues in an even tone. “I’m afraid I must insist. It's better to give people a warning when you’re coming back from the dead. Prepares them for the prospect of seeing you again. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

“And how do I do that?” 

It merely continues to look at him with that amused expression and Nanami almost lets out a growl of frustration. “Listen. I died. Then I was told I wasn’t dead, but I’ll die soon. Then I changed my mind and decided I wanted to live. The least you can do is tell me how to get a message out of here.”

The purgatory being laughs; it’s an eerie noise, yet had all the comfort of a long-lost friend. “Very well 7:3 Sorcerer. It’s simple really. To send a message out of here, all you need to do is blend your cursed energy with the cursed energy of the person you’re thinking about going back to life for. Imbue this energy into a small object which will then find a way to its recipient.”

The elementary way this was said nearly cracks his temper. “Is that all?” He asks, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice. 

The shadow chuckles at this, adding to his ire. “It really is. Just try focusing on something other than your disappointment of not dying today.” 

Nanami takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose trying to keep his composure. “A small object…” His hand grips the handle of his blade and pulls it out, eyeing it carefully. The whole blade wouldn’t make it. He just automatically knew it. But he wanted to make sure Y/n would recognize the message was from him. He fidgets with the blade, thinking, and then by accident, the edge of it comes in contact with the Aum charm. 

The blend of energy that shoots through him was a shock; a mix of the warm coffee on Saturday mornings, coupled with the calculated preciseness of a seasoned Q-grader who assessed those coffee beans. The polka dots spattered all over the cloth wrapping the weapon glowed at the edges for a brief second before the blade lost contact with the charm. 

Nanami observed the whole process with fascination. Dormant instinct took over him, and he moved his hand so that the charm now swung over the blade. Focusing on that combined energy signature, he purposefully touches the charm to the blade. Y/n’s neutralized curse energy flows into the blade, and he feels his own beginning to fuse with it. He concentrates on his ratio technique, and with a flash, all the polka dots lift off the blade, glowing with a pale sea foam green aura. 

“Find her,” he whispers to the dots, and in a hazy glow, they vanish. 

Nanami watches, as though in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. He turns to look at the purgatory being.

“Message sent. Now, how do I get out of here?”

The shadow being had been looking at the spot where the polka dots had vanished. It swirls around and looks at him in the eyes. 

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

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[vsnyarbll]

A Targaryen prince is a heavy burden pt5

atpiahb masterlist, part1, part2, part3, part4, part5

main masterlist

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, Aegon II Targaryen x reader

words: 3.896

summary: right after part 4

warnings: 18+ (making out), angst, mentions of death, explicit language

a/n: English is not my native language. / Viserys wasn't sick. / Rhaenyra gave up her claim to the throne years ago. / And I felt the need to say: I love Alys Rivers. This is just fiction.

When they reached their room, they both breathed a sigh of relief. 

y/n wanted to sleep, but she also wanted to spend time with her son. He was asleep, but even watching him sleep was enough for her.  

She looked at Aemond as she rocked her son in her arms.

"Are you free today?" she knew he didn't like to be idle. If he had nothing to do with his mother or the small council, he either went to Vhagar or practiced sword.

"I suppose I am. I've been on the small council non-stop or out for duties for months. It wouldn't be so bad to have the day to myself." 

"Sure," she said shortly. 

She carefully laid Maelor in his crib and stood in the center of the room.

Aemond was always out during the day, so she didn't know what to do with him. 

Were they going to have a conversation? 

About what? ...Maelor? Their child was still very young. They had nothing to talk about him.

What about Aegon? What was he doing right now?

Aegon.

As the previous night began to replay in her mind, regret and a sense of not knowing what to do took over her body.

She looked at Aemond again to dispel her thoughts. 

He was already sitting at the table eating the cakes. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

y/n looked at him as if she didn't realize Aemond was talking to her. Then she nodded and sat down next to him. 

"The cake is pretty good. Would you like some?"

y/n's face showed surprise. "Sure, I could eat a slice." 

She watched the movement of Aemond's hand and the strength of his grip on the knife as he cut a slice of the cake. 

His long fingers and large hand made the knife look small, but y/n was sure it was big. 

The veins on his hand were becoming more prominent with every movement of his hand, and it was creating a delicious image. 

Aemond caught her hungry gaze as he put the cake on the plate and grinned. 

"You are very interested in the knife."

y/n gasped. "It's quite a nice knife."

Aemond didn't need to hide his grin. "Sure, it is." 

y/n took a forkful of the cake and let the icing mash on her palate. The icing was slightly sour, not to her liking, but as Aemond had said, it was a beautiful cake. 

Aemond Targaryen. He was right. As always. That bastard.

"I liked your dress."

y/n looked at it as if she had forgotten which dress it was. "Yes, it's a nice dress. The colors of your house." 

Aemond glanced down at her dress again.

"Nice collar."

y/n still couldn't understand why he was commenting on her dress and looked at it again. 

The neckline was lacy and left most of her breasts exposed. 

She understood the reason for Aemond's insinuations. 

y/n frowned slightly and looked at Aemond, who laughed at her reaction. Then he coughed to cover his laughter, but a small smile remained on his lips. 

He turned his head and looked at the cradle where his son lay.

"He's always looking for you. Even my mother couldn't calm him down today."

y/n started playing with the handle of her fork. "He is my son, after all." 

Aemond nodded briefly. "My mother wants him to have a religious education. She always wanted her children to have. Which, as you can imagine, Aegon failed to provide. Neither did Helaena. I concentrated on sword and history lessons after I claimed Vhagar. Daeron partly fulfilled her wish. He's in Oldtown, after all, but we don't know how he's doing. Sometimes I forget he exists, you know." 

y/n listened to her husband with her eyes wide open. 

It always amazed her how the man who was cold and introverted outside could be so talkative when alone in their room. 

His shoulders and posture, always tense when he was outside, relaxed in his chambers. 

Sometimes he would smile and laugh. 

But the one thing Aemond never did during their marriage was take off his eye patch.

y/n had never seen him without it, and she never asked him to take it off because she didn't think he would feel comfortable.

"If we agree and my father finds out Maelor has a religious education, he'll go mad, which I don't want him to get a religious education either."

"I thought you wouldn't want to. But I wanted to ask you anyway."

y/n couldn't help a small smile appearing on her lips. Aemond should have consulted her anyway, but she liked that he did.

They sat in silence. y/n played with the cake on her plate with her fork, and Aemond sat expressionless.

"I-" said Prince Aemond, but before he could continue, there was a quick knock on the door. 

y/n and Aemond stood up at the same time. 

There was a strange tension in the room. They looked at each other, not knowing what to do. 

y/n went to the door. But Aemond gestured for her to stop.

He quickly picked up his sword that he had left on the couch and went to the door. He was careful to hide his sword behind the door.     

Aemond paused when he saw his mother's maid at the door.

Talya's appearance in their room was already unusual, but her face, white with worry or fear, made him even more uneasy.

"What happened?"

"My prince," she said. And she pressed her hand to her mouth. She would have sobbed if she hadn't stopped herself.

"My prince. The queen sent me. She gave strict orders that no one was to leave their chambers."

A thousand thoughts raced through Aemond's mind. 

Was the castle occupied? Would the invaders kill everyone connected to the king? His wife, his son, and his siblings. Aegon.

As Talya looked at the prince with fearful eyes, Aemond's hand tightened around his sword.

"What's wrong?"

"My prince. The king-" she paused again, but Aemond already knew what had happened. He still waited for her words, just to be sure.

"The king was found dead in his chambers. Not even ten minutes ago. Your mother made sure nobody knew. It is not even certain if there will be a funeral."

y/n came up from behind and put her hand on Aemond's arm. She seemed to be trying to comfort him involuntarily. 

"But I don't understand. Shouldn't the whole kingdom be informed?" asked y/n. 

"The queen fears Prince Daemon may come for the throne, my lady." 

y/n's eyes darted between Aemond and Talya. "But Prince Daemon is not even fifth in line for the throne." 

Talya nodded. "So the queen worries that Prince Daemon could remove anyone between him and the throne." 

"You mean like... killing us?"

Talya nodded. 

Aemond swallowed. He couldn't believe his mother was letting her worries destroy her from the inside again. 

"I need to see her," he said, and Talya shook her head as he walked through the door. 

"The queen does not want anyone to leave their chambers. Please, my prince, for your lady wife. For your child." 

Aemond weighed everything in his mind. The safety of his wife and child was critical to him. He didn't care about the kingdom compared to them.

Finally, he nodded and closed the door in her face. 

He locked the door and walked into the room. He swung his sword across the armchair where he had picked it up. 

"Aemond, calm down." 

Aemond ran his hands through his hair. "They will make him king." 

y/n felt the blood drain from her veins at the mention of Aegon. 

"Wasn't that the plan all along?" 

Aemond went in front of her with a few steps. "He doesn't want to be king. He can't do it, anyway. How many times do you think he's been to the small council in his life? My mother and I have been taking care of everything since the king got bored and decided to shut himself in his chambers and stopped coming to the council less and less each day."

"But you knew he would be king one day. You knew this day would come." 

"Yes, but I hoped it would happen when we were in our fifties." 

y/n looked at him. "You want to be king?"

"Everyone in the realm wants to be king except those who are smart enough." 

"So you think Aegon is smart?"

"No, y/n." he laughed, thinking the truth was obvious. "Aegon does not refuse the throne because he is wise. He refuses because he likes to avoid his duties at all costs. He is the exception among the unwilling."

y/n looked at Maelor out of the corner of her eye. He was still asleep. 

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." 

y/n sighed and sat on one of the empty armchairs. Aemond immediately sat down next to her. 

"Do you think Daemon will come?"

"He's too loyal to Rhaenyra to take the iron throne. If he comes, he comes for her. But Rhaenyra gave up her right to the throne years ago."

"Then your mother-"

"My mother." he smiled bitterly. "She lets her worries get the better of her too easily. But to be fair, she is trying to keep her children safe." 

"But if they don't send a raven to the Dragon Stone, that's when they'll go crazy."

Aemond squeezed the arm of the chair. Aemond did not answer for a while. He knew Prince Daemon would be furious if they didn't report his brother's death directly to him.

"Aegon doesn't want the throne," he said again. 

"There have always been unworthy kings in history. There have been cruel kings. They all ruled the realm in one way or another."

"Yes. There have been unworthy and cruel kings in history. But they all wanted the throne. Maegor fought for the throne. There is a big difference between not deserving the throne and not wanting it," he said. He couldn't understand why y/n was still trying to defend his brother. 

How could she not see that it was her husband and not Aegon who should be the king?

Aemond laughed sarcastically. "The council is all cowards. They don't want him on the throne. But they refuse to tell him to his face." 

"I wish Princess Rhaenyra were the queen. Then there would be no problem."

"There would be a great war, y/n. My grandfather is a greedy man. He would do anything to have his blood on the throne. Daemon wouldn't let him. And the realm would not easily allow a woman to sit on the throne. The lords would see it as a threat to their own heritage. Dragons would fight against dragons. It would bring the Targaryen family to a great fall." 

"I hate the lords and the realm. What makes them say a woman can't rule?"

Aemond lowered his gaze to his lap. "Fools. The ruling has nothing to do with gender. I know you can rule. You would be a great ruler." 

y/n began to play with the lace on the cushion beside her. "I think I would." 

Aemond turned to her. 

y/n felt herself trembling at the similarity between the night before and this day. 

She would burn in seven hells for yesterday, but at least her husband would be with her, would burn with her.

"Looks like we're trapped here all day." 

Aemond smiled. He carefully watched her every move. He was aware that she was distracted. 

He would sacrifice himself on the spot to find out what was on her mind. If someone were bothering her, he would destroy them. 

He thought of his old days - as he had been doing for a few weeks. 

He remembered how it made his heart race when she told him about her day in that excited voice.

Every terrible scenario that could have happened to them that day disappeared from his mind because he knew y/n was with him. His son was with him. The greatest gift his wife, his beloved, had ever given him.

"y/n, I owe you a proper apology."

y/n turned to him. Her eyes widened in surprise. 

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," she said mockingly.

"I'll tell you everything." 

y/n nodded without saying anything. She was afraid that if she interrupted him, he would stop. 

"There's so much to tell... I don't know where to start." 

"We have plenty of time." 

Aemond sighed. It wasn't easy to explain. He knew he was wrong, even though he had his points.

"Alys Rivers." he paused. y/n's face instantly crumpled. 

"I liked her. At first, before I met you. When I was nineteen."

Aemond fiddled with his engagement ring. "She was a strong woman. The few times I went to Harrenhal for the name of the crown, she caught my attention directly. The lords in Harrenhal told me to stay away from her, but I didn't listen. I wanted to be the one running away from responsibility for once."

y/n listened to him intently, no matter how much it hurt. 

"The first time I went to Harrenhal, she saw me but didn't care. Then she probably found out I was a prince and came to talk to me the second time I went. I was attracted to her. I was only nineteen, and life was pretty dark except when I talked to her." 

y/n averted her eyes. Life was pretty dark except when I talked to her. That was it? Her husband was talking about another woman as a light that illuminated the darkness in his life, and he expected her to sit there quietly and listen to him. 

As she got up from the couch, Aemond grabbed her arm and pulled her down again. "Aemond, I don't want to listen to your bullshit. You're supposed to be apologizing. But you're only making things worse."

"I don't just want to apologize to you. I want to tell you everything that happened to me. But not to win your sympathy or to justify me. Whether you forgive me or not or how you treat me afterward is up to you." 

y/n tried to free her arm from Aemond's powerful grip but failed. She turned her head away instead. 

"Please listen to me."

y/n sighed. "I will listen to you. But only because I have nothing better to do, and we're stuck in this fucking room," she said harshly.

When she turned her head towards him, he looked at her desperately. 

"y/n, I swear to you, whatever feelings I had for her disappeared within two months. She was completely in love with power, and I realized she was only interested in me because I was a prince." 

"Why didn't you let her go then?"

"I don't know what you know about her, but she is a witch. I've seen for myself what she's capable of. She knew I loved you when I married you. She told me she would kill you if I didn't keep seeing her. She would. I know she would."

Aemond curled his right hand into a fist to suppress his anger at himself, perhaps at Alys.

And with an increasingly desperate look, he searched her face for the slightest trace of emotion - she was expressionless. 

"I couldn't let that happen, y/n. You have to understand." 

y/n raised her eyebrows, torn between disbelief and belief, her heart screaming to forgive him, to open her arms to him again. 

And her mind was telling her that this was not a sufficient explanation.

"So that's why you kept seeing her?"

"I swear I tried to rid of her. Then she found out you were pregnant and nearly lost her mind. She screamed at me for hours. When I told her we couldn't see each other anymore, she said she'd kill our child with you." 

"Then why did she get pregnant with a Dornish's child and run off with him?"

"He wasn't just any Dornish, y/n. She was pregnant with Prince Martell's child. She needed powerful threats to keep me but not to keep him. He was truly in love with her. She took the easy way out and ran away with him."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "y/n, that's why I've been so cold to you. I couldn't tell you anything. It was better that you didn't know. That's why I waited until now." 

y/n kept averting her eyes. Aemond tilted his head and tried to catch her gaze. "I stayed away from you because I wanted you to be able to hate me more easily if one day I had to leave you to protect you."

y/n swallowed. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"y/n, I swear to you-"

y/n shook her head. "You knew I was afraid of childbirth. You weren't with me when I was in labor..." she said. And her eyes filled up quickly. 

"I didn't know... y/n... I really didn't know. If I had known, I would have come to you immediately." 

"Don't lie to me, Aemond! Don't lie to my face. They sent you a raven the moment my labor began."

Her eyes began to fill more, and her vision began to blur. "I know they sent you a raven because I asked them to do. I wanted you with me." 

"That's the problem... I never got the letter. y/n... please, you have to believe everything I say today. I would never hurt you."

"But you did, Aemond... and then you didn't let me go. You didn't set me free."

"y/n, I realize I've hardly said this to you. I... I love you. I acted like a fool because I couldn't afford to lose you."

"If my life was in danger with you, Aemond, you could have just left me."

"My father-"

"King! Hah! You could have told everyone everything. You're a prince. They'd believe you." 

"It's not a question of whether they'd believe me, y/n! They couldn't have done anything. You don't understand. You don't see the magnitude of her power."

y/n could no longer hold back her tears. Aemond reached out and wiped her tears with his thumb. Then he stroked her cheek for a long time.

"I promise you everything will be all right," he said - his voice was a whisper.

"I want to believe you, Aemond, and you make me feel stupid for wanting to believe you." 

Aemond brought his face closer to hers - his forehead almost touching hers.

"Believe me, y/n. I will never let you down again. I have suffered for the past two years. If you want me to suffer more, I will. But I will never make you feel alone again."

y/n pulled her head away. "I'm sorry about your father."

She knew he wasn't sad about losing his father.

y/n just wanted to get away from the subject. She wanted to rethink everything he had said later when she was lucid and not at the point of losing her mind with sadness.

Aemond nodded briefly. 

He didn't know what the concept of a father meant to him. He'd never understood. He was just a name in his life. 

His father would never look out for him and never once patted him on the back and told him he was doing a good job.

There was no difference for him between not having his father in his life before and having lost him now.

"I will not be a father like him." 

y/n nodded. "I know." 

Then Aemond began to run his left hand through her hair. The first time he had seen her, he had seen her from behind, and the first thing he had noticed was her hair. 

He had always dreamed of running his fingers through it. 

Then he had seen how she stood up to the king. He had marveled at how loud her voice had been in a patriarchal order. 

He never thought he could marry for love. If his mother wanted him to marry someone, he would do it. Marriage was a duty - a duty to the realm. 

But he married the one he loved. 

And then he did a lot of stupid things during their marriage. Some he could help, and some he couldn't.

Looking back, he realized he could tell her why he had been so cold. He could. But then a pair of dark green eyes that came into his mind reminded him why he decided not to tell.

Alys Rivers was dangerous. 

Aemond came close to her face again. y/n looked at him with big eyes. 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. y/n said nothing. 

He kissed her forehead, the top of her nose, and the corner of her lips. 

Sometimes he wrapped his hands in her locks, sometimes in her arms.

Aemond pulled back and looked at her face - silently asking for permission. 

When y/n nodded calmly, he leaned in for a kiss. 

y/n didn't know how to feel. Had she forgiven him - absolutely not. What about Aegon? Should she tell Aemond about him? What would Aegon do now? 

She was so confused, but she surrendered to the kiss of the man in her arms.

y/n moved her hands to his back and stroked him gently. She felt the muscles in his back under her hands. 

Aemond leaned in even more. 

He took her legs between his. And he slid his kisses down to her chin but quickly returned them to her lips. 

Aemond whimpered as y/n lifted her hips and pressed herself against his hardness. 

y/n opened her eyes in surprise. Aemond was always silent. He had always tried to be quiet because he was insecure about it. 

But this time, Aemond didn't care that he made a sound and began to kiss her harder and press his hardness against her. 

Aemond let his hand slide down her body, caressing her legs and waist as far as her dress would allow.

Then there was a knock at the door. Aemond didn't stop - he just kept kissing her harder.

When the door knocked again, y/n pulled her head back.

"Aren't we going to answer the door?"

Aemond sighed. "They'll go away." 

y/n put her fingers on Aemond's lips when he leaned in again. "It might be important," she said.

Aemond got up from the couch with a sigh. They both smoothed their tangled hair and wrinkled clothes.  y/n sat and waited for Aemond.

He turned to look at her and opened the door. "What now, Talya?"

"The coronation is in an hour, my prince. Everything is ready in the Dragon Pit."

Aemond turned briefly to his wife in amazement. "If I had asked for dinner, you would not prepare this quickly, but you can prepare a ceremony in an hour that would take months?"

Talya looked at the prince, not knowing how to answer. "My prince-"

"Okay, Talya. We'll get ready in an hour. And we'll go to the dragon pit."

Talya nodded. "Shall I send lady y/n's maid?"

"Yes," Aemond said shortly. 

Talya bowed and left. 

"I didn't expect it to be so fast," he said as he closed the door.

y/n nodded, wondering how she could bear to see Aegon at his coronation. 

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#aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #aegon ii targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader x aegon targaryen

[shirefantasies]

Hi!! I just found your blog and I love the way you write your headcanons! I was wondering if there's anyway you could write how each of the company in the hobbit would cuddle? or how they'd show physical affection? If not, that's fine, just thought I'd ask! (sorry if this is a bit weirdly worded I don't actually request things often lol, I've just been in such a the hobbit mood and found your blog and loved it immediately.)

Thank you sweetie and I'm so glad you love my headcanons 🥰 but this imagine YUS YUS YUS!!! My Hobbit mood has been coming in big ol waves of late heck yeah 🫡

Thorin’s Company + Physical Affection

Balin

✧ If you fall and he catches you, you may notice the way his hands wind around your waist and keep you for just a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

✧ Always the one who does your fastens for you and helps you into your coat, lingering touches therein as well.

✧ Sometimes his hand will just creep over as he listens to you, taking yours and drawing encouraging circles upon the back of it.

✧ Pulls you closer into his chest in the cold, whispering that it's alright, don't be shy as you melt into him.

✧ Almost always at your side with a hand placed gently but firmly upon your shoulder, half guiding, half guarding.

Dwalin

✧ This guy...is not very physically affectionate. You're going to have to coax it out of him like a stray cat.

✧ He enjoys sparring with you if you're down and you may notice he prefers pinning you or wrestling you down to, say, literally any other member of the company, but that feels like something beyond affection...

✧ "Are you hurt? Let me see." For the strength of his hands, he cradles your head, your arm, whatever it may be, so gently and warmly.

✧ Acts exasperated when you show up at his side to cuddle, accepts only “because it’s so cold, I suppose it’d be right”, then wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest as tight as he can.

✧ Seated at a table, Dwalin will keep an arm draped over the back of your chair at all times.

Thorin

✧ His hands go to you first after any sort of danger, holding you back initially then laying a hand on your shoulder as he checks you over, ensuring no harm came to you.

✧ Asks for your hand, taking it in his when your travels get difficult so as to lead you along the safest path he can find.

✧ Wraps you up in his coat, his hands sliding down your arms after he drapes it upon you, staying like that for a moment with his chest to your back.

✧ Big spoon. That feeling of care, of presiding over your warmth and safety and everything Thorin can give absolutely translates to your sleep, your solace. It means the world to him if he can be your comfort.

✧ Even in idle times, Thorin tends to stand with a hand wrapped around your waist, not grasping you tightly or restricting you in any way, but simply enough to keep you near and make it clear that you are his.

Oin

✧ Offering massages is basically a love language for him. The others are always asking him and sometimes he gets annoyed or just does it grudgingly, but when it is you? He takes his time, uses your favorite oils, savors the connection between you two and your hums of pleasure.

✧ Oin loves asking you for help just as an excuse to have you near, your hands darting beneath his to grab supplies or holding down his work, his own coming to cover yours as often as he can spare them.

✧ In the moments you get to sit next to each other, his hand will gingerly rest over yours. If you tense up at all, you can feel his grip tighten just a little bit, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

✧ Likes loose cuddling, simply your arms draped over his side as you rest alongside each other. Also not-so-secretly enjoys being the little spoon- indulge him every now and again!

✧ Has been known to give your cheeks the occasional affectionate pinch or squeeze, just smiling and chuckling giddily to himself at the sight of you before he leans in for a kiss.

Gloin

✧ Always fussing over your hair, whether it's getting things out of it or even knowing its entire care routine and performing it for you if you let him, his hands dressing it practically reverently.

✧ Gets bored, forgets himself and plays with your hands. If you wear rings, he probably slides those around or spins them a bit. He enjoys intertwining your fingers again and again and keeping both of your hands in his as he peers at you.

✧ When simply standing around, he sometimes will stand behind you and drape his arms over your shoulders as if claiming you.

✧ Will practically wrestle you into position if you try to make him little spoon. You have to get him tired enough before he’ll accept not being the one to hold you.

✧ Grabs you up into the biggest, bone-crushing in the best of ways, bear hugs you've ever had the pleasure of being swept into.

Bifur

✧ Speech can be so difficult, the feeling of trying without success so frustrating that a meaningful touch is simpler and infinitely more calming. A favorite of his is a simple hand on the shoulder, a gesture of care.

✧ He also loves teasingly elbowing you to get your attention, whether it's to show you something or just to say hello!

✧ Tracing each and every line and curvature of your face is his guilty pleasure; it is as though he is at work silently memorizing your every feature.

✧ Looser with cuddling, the feeling sometimes suffocating, especially if he has a nightmare. Rather than cage you in or be caged in, Bifur prefers the simple feeling of your hand upon his chest or your head leaned against his while you sleep.

✧ Absolutely loves decorating you, feeling like an attendant to royalty as he slides rings onto your finger, bracelets and necklaces he made around your neck or wrist. Such moments are some of the most tender between you, the way he looks at you afterward and the way his hands caress you after each beauty is set to magnifying yours.

Bofur

✧ Has a little habit of just taking your hand and twirling you when you stand together, almost as if you're dancing in place.

✧ When you truly are dancing, you know Bofur will be dipping you down for a kiss nearly every time!

✧ Cuddling is all over the place. Snakes his arms around you and pulls you into his lap when he’s feeling particularly merry. Lays facing you before sleep, your legs tangled together in the most wonderful mess.

✧ Bofur has this little habit of falling onto you when you’re laughing together, playfully shoving you before his hands fall into your lap or grab your knee.

✧ Hugs from Bofur often turn into him picking you up and spinning you around!

Bombur

✧ As I've mentioned, he is the best with a partner who has anxiety, basically becoming a living weighted blanket atop you.

✧ Though shy and subtle he can be with his initial affections, Bombur is very cuddly. The greatest cuddler, in fact. Your shared bedroll is the coziest one of the whole lot.

✧ Has been known to, upon being in a bolder mood, turn his head when you lean to kiss his cheek, capturing your lips instead! Has the biggest smile upon success, so you can never be upset.

✧ Pulls you into a hug the moment you say or do something cute.

✧ Great acts of service fellow as he is, Bombur will often offer things like scratching your back or rubbing tension from your neck as a means of getting closer while still providing for you.

Dori

✧ Small, subtle touches, like letting his hands cover yours when you accept the steaming mug of tea he hands you.

✧ He also loves running a thumb over the back of your hand when you sit side by side, sharing that one point of connection between you two.

✧ Always does a cute little tap to your knee after he laces up your boots for you, a little wink topping the endearing gesture off.

✧ The type who loves to lay with your heads against each other, cheeks brushing, especially as you look at the stars, discussing everything beneath the sun and very well likely some things not beneath it at all.

✧ Shocks you when you sit at a table and you feel his hand on your knee, and again when it moves up and down, tracing a little pattern on your thigh.

Nori

✧ I still maintain that Nori would be the main perpetrator of the classic yawning or stretching as an excuse to put an arm around you. Once you're pulled in, though? Good luck getting back out! You are nothing if not secure in his grasp.

✧ Cheekily sliding his hand into your pocket, especially if you have a back pocket, is his favorite.

✧ If there is any possibility of him not being able to hear you, Nori will lean in as close as he can, possibly even drawing you forward with a hand beneath your chin, grinning if you get flustered.

✧ Ideal cuddling position, you ask? Why, with him on top of you, obviously! Enough said.

✧ When it isn’t in your pocket, he nearly always has a hand at the small of your back when you walk. He occasionally uses it to guide you, but mostly he likes to run it up and down your spine, occasionally running his nails down too, giving you a cheeky look when he does it.

Ori

✧ Oscillates between being too shy to show physical affection and a natural propensity to misunderstand personal space. For example, he'll probably not want to kiss you in front of his older brothers lest they tease him, but when he gets excited about his latest drawing he practically throws his arms entirely around you to show you his sketchpad.

✧ Shares his scarf with you, winding the two of you both into its long, thick warmth and flushing as you lean in closer and closer beneath it.

✧ The kisses you share in private are almost desperate, hands clinging to whatever fold of fabric they can reach to draw each other in.

✧ Enjoys pretty much any way you lie together, facing each other, back to back, you name it, Ori is eager for it!

✧ Rubs your hands between his own to keep you warm, straightens your clothes up for you, little tending touches that lead to kisses upon your hands or head.

Fili

✧ Gives amazing hugs, pulling you into his arms and soothingly, lovingly sliding a hand up and down your back.

✧ So sweet, he loves swinging your joined hands between you both if you are granted the opportunity for a leisurely stroll.

✧ Always wants to be the big spoon when you guys cuddle, that position feeling much more protective of you, secure as he can hold you.

✧ Sneaks up behind you to cover your eyes, asking ‘guess who’ and chuckling at the way you startle if he catches you by surprise.

✧ Offers you his arm when you walk together and smiling when you link yours with his and rest your hand upon his upper arm.

Kili

✧ In love with physical affection. Who cares who sees you? Not this dwarven prince, that is certain! Completely unafraid to pull you into his lap and hold you, pride crossing his face.

✧ Pulls your joined hands into his pockets as you walk side by side.

✧ When he teaches you how to shoot, he guides you smoothly by the hips, hands running down your sides and along the length of your arms until you reach the proper stance.

✧ His favorite way to cuddle is you lain upon his chest, your head against his heart and right there for him to place kisses atop.

✧ You two are a tangled mess at fireside, someone’s legs always thrown upon the other’s lap.

Bilbo

✧ Rather than show you over-the-top affection, Bilbo is the sort to just stay glued to your side, joining you at the hip for even the most mundane tasks even if it’s under the guise of “getting a break from all the dwarves”.

✧ Similarly, he’ll offer to hold your hands “because it’s quite crowded” or “just so you don’t fall, it’s a bit steep here and all”.

✧ When you sit together at the fireside, he may get flustered but he absolutely loves it when you lay your head upon his shoulder.

✧ He also favors being little spoon, not that he would necessarily tell you that out loud, but you can feel the way he relaxes, hums in contentment against you.

✧ Bilbo gets surprisingly protective, though, shifting you behind him or moving you aside by your waist when danger strikes.

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit headcanons #thorin’s company #thorin’s company x reader #balin #dwalin #thorin #oin #gloin #bifur #bofur #bombur #dori #nori #ori #fili #kili #bilbo #ask #kilibaggins #requested #moots 💕

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled. 

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows. 

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you. 

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds. 

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long. 

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin. 

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote. 

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone. 

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first. 

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under. 

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink. 

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you. 

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world. 

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go. 

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car. 

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.” 

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance. 

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper. 

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding. 

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting. 

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right. 

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk. 

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears. 

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails. 

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come. 

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair. 

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call. 

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while. 

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio. 

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with." 

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line. 

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression. 

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl. 

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here." 

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat. 

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk. 

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks. 

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore. 

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation. 

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours. 

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen. 

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that? 

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side. 

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin. 

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket. 

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms. 

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma. 

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. 

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article. 

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite. 

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh. 

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person. 

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply. 

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do. 

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table. 

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing."  His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response. 

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?” 

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?” 

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.  

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background. 

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen. 

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering  little comfort.  Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion. 

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed. 

Until you read it. 

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you. 

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck. 

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed.  But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t. 

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket. 

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers. 

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours. 

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground. 

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve. 

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs. 

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket. 

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing. 

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #Spotify

[emisprocrastinatingbywriting]

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter 4 Summary:

A few weeks have passed since the heated encounter with Joel and he has gone silent. Embarrassed, you have tried to apologize to him for days but he is constantly dodging you. Joel has found a never ending list of tasks, seemingly only able to stay in your presence momentarily before dashing off again. When an awkward dinner has him running into the woods, Joel stumbles across something he was not expecting to find.

Warnings: Angst/Comfort, Violence, SA attempts (Not by Joel, omg he would never), Hurt/Comfort, Sweet Ending, Mentions of a Panic Attack, Both you and Joel need a hug after this one :'(

A/N: Hello babes! Sorry for the wait, I spoke at my first academic conference this weekend so I've been having a week long panic attack hahaha. It went well though!We are back with Joel and you. Major warning for this chapter, with mentions of violence and an attempt of SA (not by our bb Joel, he would NEVER), but a resolution at the end so hold tight. If any of this bothers you, hold tight for the next chapter and we will drowning in the fluff. Take care of yourselves!

Chapter 4/20

Chapter 4: An Unexpected Arrival

The next three weeks with Joel passed by slowly. The man seemed to avoid you like the plague. By the time you woke up in the morning he was already out checking the traps, with only a wrapped plate of food with a note on the counter to serve as a clue that he had been there. He would come back in the early afternoon, increasingly red in the face as the temperature dropped, and give you a polite nod or a soft, “Howdy,” before going to work in the kitchen. Even when you tried to convince Joel to let you help him, he would just smile and brush you off. Despite your incessant offers, he shooed you out of the kitchen and into the living room while he worked on lunch. 

Idleness was not something you were used to and it began to gnaw at your sanity. You tried to find comfort in reading the books that lined the walls, but it was not enough. The world you were used to was chalk full of tasks, living with someone who did everything for you was as unsettling as it was comfortable. You micro cleaned as much as you could but Joel Miller was frustratingly tidy. 

Everyday,  Joel would eat lunch with you at the table. He would listen and politely respond to whatever you said to him, usually grunting out a short response or humming as he continued to chew, but the man that you had told your tale of teenage delinquency to was long gone. After hastily scarfing down his lunch, he would murmur something about going back to work and then practically sprint out the door. 

In the days after you threw yourself at him, Joel had embarked on a seemingly endless list of tasks. First, it was covering the windows with plexiglass to insulate the space. Next, it was clearing out the gutters that you noticed were mostly empty. After, it was splitting an unreasonable amount of wood. This particular task had you sat at the window to watch him work, Joel having gruffly sent you inside with a murmur of, “S’too cold darling, can’t have ya freezing on me.” 

Watching Joel had something stirring deep in your core, sweat beginning to bead at your forehead as your heart fluttered behind your ribs. Joel truly was a piece of art, with his toned arms and soft yet strong abdomen. As sweat began to run down Joel’s face, he shed his bulky coat and you had the pleasure of watching his muscles ripple underneath the white t-shirt that stretched over his biceps. The curls that you dreamed of running your hands through were messy and Joel had to stop every few minutes to push them back off of his forehead as he caught his breath. 

Exasperated with his locks, Joel paused momentarily and shoved them back once more before lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his brow, revealing his scarred belly. A bolt of longing burst from your core and made you clench your thighs together as you imagined running your fingers across the puckered skin. Joel’s eyes rose to meet yours and your breath halted in your chest. A moment passed, and then two, while Joel studied your form in the window seat. The throbbing at the apex of your thighs doubled as his eyes went black while raking over your figure. You shifted your hips slightly, trying to be subtle as you eased some of the growing pressure on the edge of the seat. Even with your bottom half hidden from him, Joel’s eyes caught the slight rocking. He ran his tongue over the plushness of his bottom lip, before he cursed and shook his head, returning to splitting the logs. 

In the days after your heated encounter you tried not to dissolve into a puddle of shame, kicking yourself every time you remembered how you had rubbed yourself against him. The moment you had stepped in the shower after leaving him aching on the bed, you were groaning into your hands. Remembering how Joel had practically begged you to get off of him, you had lost all of the lust instilled confidence that you had. You had tried to be coy and flirty like all of the omegas in the novellas that Jake had snuck to you once upon a time. It always worked in those books. The protagonist would push the buttons of their lover and they would be practically on their knees before them in an instant. It seemed to work on every alpha, but not Joel apparently. 

Of course Joel didn’t actually want you, he was an alpha that had been caught up in the crazed omega that had ground down on his knot like a bitch in heat. He couldn’t help the physical response that you elicited from him, and now you had made him feel awkward in his own home. You felt awful. You wanted to apologize to him, to beg him to forget it so that the next few months weren’t completely unbearable, but Joel was making it impossible to do so with his continuous absence. 

Frustrated, and bored of doing nothing but reading, you were becoming more and more irritable. If Joel had picked up on this, he did not say. He continued on his endless task list, stopping only to sleep, bathe, or coddle you with ridiculously large portions of food. Not that you were complaining about the food or the coddling, your figure had started to fill out again, your eyes had become less sunken in your face, and you had finally managed to tear through the last of the clumps that had bound your hair in a permanent rat’s nest. You liked being cared for, it was new and warm, but the solitude and inactivity was going to drive you up a wall. 

The restraint you had after you had found the pictures was fraying at the ends. The door at the end of the hall mocked you with every passing moment. You were so curious that you almost asked him about it nearly every time he sat down to eat, but you bit your tongue remembering the outcome of the last time you had gone snooping. Still, with every passing moment your restraint wore down as the thought of him flying off the handle began to appeal to your companionless state. At least if Joel was yelling at you, he would finally pay attention to you. Maybe then you could finally apologize. 

 Instead, you spent your days reading, napping, pacing, trying to find anything to clean in a practically sterile cabin, and trying not to scream when you thought of the feeling of Joel’s warm body against your own. Each night you would toss and turn for hours, trying not to leave the bedroom and seek him out on the couch. Managing to restrain yourself, you would eventually fall asleep cocooned in his musk. You wondered constantly how Joel’s scent in the room was as strong as the day you arrived, considering he only entered it briefly before sleeping to collect his clothes for the next day. 

One night, this led to you watching him eat with clenched fists as you ground your back molars against each other. Sweat dampened your back as your eyes roamed over the man across from you. Joel’s throat constricted with a swallow, making you practically keen at the thought of nipping at the thin skin below his jaw. His scent, once comforting, was now making you feel slightly feverish. You didn’t even hear him when he called you the first time. 

“Hmmmm… what? What did you say Joel?,” you asked dreamily while watching his coffee colored eyes examine you. 

“Are you feeling alright? You look a little… flustered darling,” Joel said, a slight tremor in his usually smooth voice. 

Were you alright? Were you fucking alright? Was he serious? After three weeks of barely acknowledging you, he now sat there and asked you how you were?! Rage bubbled up to the surface and you tried to quell the storm brewing in your gut as you glared at him. 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you gave a fuck,” you snapped, immediately regretting the childish words as Joel’s eyes widened. 

Panicking, you mumbled an apology, something about being too tired as you tried to keep yourself together. The smell of sandalwood and bergamot was ripping tingles from your core and you became increasingly aware of the dampness of your panties, praying silently to yourself that there wouldn’t be a wet spot on the cushion when you stood. Joel didn’t say anything to you and sat there silently as you floundered, although you noticed his knuckles turn white as he clenched the utensils in his grasp. Finally finished with your nonsensical apology and incoherent excuse, you leaped out of the chair and sprinted down the hallway. 

Pressing your back against the hard wood of the bedroom door, you slid down onto the floor and knocked your head back against it. You didn’t understand what was happening to you, being around Joel was unlocking a part of you that you didn’t even know existed. You wanted to tear the clothes off of his broad body, you wanted to hug him, you wanted to feel him inside of you, you wanted to know his favorite color, you wanted him to pull your hair as he slammed into you, you wanted to hear him play his guitar. It was like your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted Joel to tear you apart, or if it wanted you to build him up. Perhaps it wanted both. Either way, the constant battle between the two was maddening. 

As you sat there, trying to regulate your breathing and shifting your hips aimlessly as you thought about Joel’s downturned lips, you heard the scuff of the kitchen chair followed by a shuffling of coats. The frame of the house shook as the front door slammed closed. Groaning, you banged your head softly against the wood again as you tried to erase the fantasies that were plaguing your desperate thoughts. 

After a few moments of Joel being gone the tingles had dulled and you dizzily made your way over to the sink to splash some cold water on your face. As you looked up to see your wet face, you wondered how the handsome southerner would look with drops of water running down his body. You imagined beads of water dripping from his curls onto his strapping shoulders, rolling down the expanse of his tan midsection before reaching the patch of hair below his navel…

You groaned louder, abandoning the sink for the icy embrace of a cold shower. 

 - Joel - 

The past three weeks with you had been hell. Joel had tried everything he could think of to stay away, even lying about cleaning the gutters just to get away from watching the softness of your thighs jiggle as you walked around in your sleep shorts. He ended up just standing on the ladder like a fucking idiot for an hour as he pretended to shuffle around the empty eavestrough. He didn’t know what to do, it was clear that he needed to stay away, as only a few moments with you had him ravenous. Joel was a gentleman, being raised in the south he had been taught how to be respectful towards omegas. However, your constant chattering over meals was threatening to break him. 

Joel listened to your every word, soaking in every bit of information that you gave him as he tried to piece together moments from your past. He even had favorite characters at this point, Jake and Miriam stories being his favorite while stories about Josiah or your mother had him chewing on the inside of his cheek. Joel tried to piece together your life in his head but so far the events were too scattered and confusing to make any sense of what had happened. As you talked, he noticed that you spoke with your hands and placed your index finger on the tip of your nose when you were trying to remember something. Cute, he had thought to himself the first time he had noticed it before he snapped his gaze back to his plate. This didn’t stop the same thought from running through his mind every time he caught you doing it. 

Joel tried to maintain a certain level of distance between the two of you, but he couldn’t stop himself from caring for you. He allowed himself the indulgence of providing for you, his heart swelling in chest as he watched you become healthier. You had been starved when you had arrived, but watching you fill out had him both happy and horribly frustrated. Nourishing you made him preen, but as your curves returned it was getting harder to keep himself from slinging you over his shoulder like a caveman and carrying you off to bed. 

He had remained the picture of chivalry for weeks. Nonetheless, even a gentleman has his limits, and his came at dinner one night. Joel had noticed you being off for the last few days, snapping at him when he gave you a big spoon instead of a small one, scenting everywhere around the house, watching him chop wood like he was a piece of meat, and Joel had a sneaking suspicion that you were responsible for his missing clothes. He should have known, should have remembered with his many years of experience, but he didn’t. 

You had been staring at him, looking at him with such intensity that he wondered if you were mad at him. Joel racked his brain for any slight he might’ve committed as he took in your features. The apples of your cheeks were red, a light sheen of sweat illuminated your face and neck, and your lips were raw from biting. Forgetting himself, Joel had called out to you and asked if you were okay. With no response, a twinge of anxiety pinched his heart. Oh fuck, were you sick? 

“Are you feeling alright? You look a little… flustered darling,” Joel said, a slight tremor in his voice as every possible catastrophe ran through his mind. 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you gave a fuck,” you snapped, the bitterness to your usually sweet tone slapping him in the face. 

Surprised, Joel’s eyes widened for a moment before he studied you, watching as you stumbled through an apology. If Joel didn’t know any better, he would have asked you if you were on drugs, but he knew that he had left his stash in Boston. There weren’t any drugs in the cabin either, he had torn through it a couple times in his low moments to check. He watched as your words slurred together as you spoke, sweat covering every inch of you, but it wasn’t until Joel noticed the slight shift to your hips under the table that it dawned on him. You were going into heat.  

Fuck. He hadn’t even thought about that. How could he not fucking think about that? The last omega he had been with was Sarah’s mom. Tess was a beta so heats were not really an issue with her. He hadn’t had a rut since Boston, he didn’t even think he could get hard until a few weeks ago when you stumbled into his life. Joel had chalked it up to age, he was 56 after all. Men went limp way earlier than that all the time. Unfortunately for him, the bastard was apparently just on vacation because now his cock twitched to life every time you so much as looked his way. Now, with the smell of the sweetness leaking out of you, Joel had to bear down on every muscle in his body to ensure that he didn’t vault over the table and clamp his teeth down on your neck. 

Your apology was long, or at least he thought so as he bent the silverware in his hands. He watched as your frantic hands tried to keep up with your garbled speech. Each movement from you sent a ripple of air to his nostrils, and everytime he inhaled he could feel something dark and primal stirring below his belt. Finally, you had excused yourself and scampered off to the bedroom, leaving nothing behind but a wet seat. Joel stared at the spot, having to vehemently berate himself in order to stop the urge to walk over and bury his face in it. Shit, he needed some air. 

Pushing his seat back from the table, Joel moved as quickly as he could. He shoved his arms through the first jacket he could find, even though he felt like he was burning up, before he ripped the door open and ran down the steps of the cabin.  The cool air leached into Joel’s sweaty body as he stumbled through into the brush, fighting against his instincts as they screamed at him to turn around. He was frustrated, his cock half hard and pushing into his zipper as he moved clumsily into the night. 

It wasn’t until he had been walking for about five minutes that Joel realized that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. His body was so overheated, he had barely felt the frozen earth against his socked feet. Joel swore, scrubbing his face with his hands before turning back towards the cabin. He didn’t want to go back, what he wanted to do was walk straight past the trees in front of him and into the rushing waters. He wanted to sink into the icy river and let it take him away, to be released from the constant torment that you were unknowingly inflicting upon him. But he couldn’t do that, you needed him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Joel groaned, begining his trek back home. 

Only making it a couple of steps, Joel stumbled over something before catching himself on the gnarled tree stump to his left. He regained his balance before peering down at the ground in search of a culprit. Expecting to see a log or twisted tree root, Joel’s blood goes cold. What he was not expecting to find was an emptied soup can in his path. Joel gulped as he reached out his now shaking hands to examine it. It was fresh, with a few scoops of red broth coating the bottom and suddenly Joel’s chest was tight. His ears pricked up as he whipped his head around, trying to discern which route the intruder had taken. 

In all his years stranded in the forest, he had never had anyone get within five miles of his cabin, and now in the span of less than a month he had two people come across him? Fuck, he needed to get back. Backtracking towards the cabin, Joel tried to compose himself as he began to jog. He needed to remain calm, he didn’t want to scare you. 

Just as Joel picked up the pace, a shriek pierced through the still air and made him freeze before he found himself crashing through the trees. 

 - You -

The cold water pelted down on your figure as you shook violently. You couldn’t think of Joel if you were focusing on trying to breathe, right? After a few minutes of tormenting yourself under the frosty spray, you finally stepped from the shower, feeling only slightly less flustered. Just then, you heard the front door click and two heavy boots make their way across the threshold. You sighed, Joel was back, which meant you would have to face him after embarrassing yourself again. Fuck. 

“Better to get it over with,” you whispered to yourself, toweling off before slipping into some loose shorts and one of Joel’s shirts that you had added to your growing collection. 

Bracing yourself, you stepped into the hallway and padded softly into the hall. Joel didn’t answer as you called him and you cringed. Was he THAT pissed at your stupid little outburst? You sighed, steeling yourself and moving into the living room, only to be met with an acrid smell that stung your throat. Eyes watering, you moved into the room and tried to pinpoint the smell before a set of hands grabbed your hips from behind. 

You shrieked. 

 - Joel - 

Joel felt like the sky was falling as he ran through the thicket. He tried to focus as his legs moved as quickly as they could, but memories flashed through his mind anyways. Sarah. Tess. Ellie. Now you? No, he couldn’t think of that right now. He needed to get to you. 

Finally reaching his home, Joel bound up the stairs that he had built, taking them two at a time, and tore into the living room. His eyes darted across the room, taking in the broken vase before landing on the clump of hair that had clearly been ripped out of someone’s scalp. Joel refocused as he heard you cry out, feet crunching under the broken glass as he barreled into the bedroom. 

The scene before Joel made his blood boil. A greasy looking alpha was trying to claw the shorts off of your legs. A bloody patch gleamed at him from a filthy scalp, blood beading from where you had torn out a clump of straggly hair. You were beating at his chest, crying and objecting as you tried to buck him off of you. Your legs kept kicking at him as he tried to undress you, which clearly angered the man. The alpha raised his hand to slap you into submission. 

Joel snapped. 

He ripped the man off of you and slammed him to the floor, looming over him momentarily as the blood rushed in his ears. The man tried to lunge at him, growling and spitting, but Joel caught him by the neck and slammed him back onto the hardwood. The filthy man wheezed and scraped at the vice around his neck as Joel choked him, his eyes bulging from the lack of oxygen. 

“Go into the other room,” Joel said. 

When you made no move, he turned his head slightly and looked into your teary eyes. 

“Go. Now.” 

This wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command, and you obeyed before your mind could get in the way. Joel turned back to the man as you scurried out of the room, the door swaying shut behind you. He eased his grip and watched as the now purple faced man sucked air into his foul smelling mouth. He wanted to punch the yellow teeth out his reddened gums, to make him choke on them, but he needed answers first. 

“You’re gonna tell me where you came from, how many people you’re with, and what the fuck you’re doing here,” Joel said. 

“Fuck y- AGH!,” the man groaned as Joel slammed his fist into his nose.

Blood trickled down the man’s sallow face, staining the planks of wood below his head. Joel tsked as the man’s eyelids fluttered, slapping his jaw to keep the bastard focused. 

“I’m gonna ask you again, real nice. Choose your next words carefully, or things are about to get a lot worse for ya.” 

Panting and eyes watering as blood ran into his mouth, the man focused on Joel before he spat out, “Just because her daddy is gone, doesn’t mean she gets off free. We’ve been after her for the past year, nearly gave up too, but I caught her trail. Reckon Paul or Cooper will too soon enough, and she’ll be back where she belongs. She might’ve made it out of the pit, but that don’t mean the debt is paid. Might take a few months like it did me, but they’ll find her.” 

Grabbing his face, Joel peered into the man’s eyes, searching for any hint of deceit before he slammed his skull into the boards again. The man groaned and cussed, the back of his head now dented and bleeding. 

“Who the fuck are Paul and Cooper? What debt?,” Joel seethed. 

The man choked on his own blood as he cackled, coughing and sputtering below Joel. 

“You have no idea the shit you have just stepped in man. She doesn’t belong to you, Josiah had already chosen for her. Her little vacation to the pit was a punishment, not a get out jail free card. Paul will still be after what’s his.”

Suddenly exasperated, Joel wrapped his hands around his neck. The man’s eyes widened once more, the light slowly receding from them after Joel felt the snap of his neck beneath his fingers. He stood over the corpse, feeling nothing but rage. Blood pounding in his ears, he wanted to tear into someone, wanted to burn whoever thought to harm you into the ground, he wanted to rip their throat out with his own teeth, he wanted - 

Hearing a sniffle from behind him, Joel spun on his heels and found a shaking figure. 

“Babygirl,” Joel sighed, his legs carrying him to you in an instant. 

Despite his attempts for the past few weeks to distance himself from you, Joel didn’t even think twice before he picked you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist and practically strangling him, you clung to him like a koala bear as the two of you left the corpse behind. Tears soaked his collar and he tried not to gag at the acrid smell of another alpha covering you. Your nose was pressed into his neck, huffing at his skin as he moved into the living room. 

“S’okay darling, I’m here. It’s over, I gotcha. He ain’t gonna do nothing to ya, nobody is. I swear,” Joel whispered in your ear, his words easing the tremors that racked your frame. 

A sob tore out of your chest and it made Joel wish he had the power of resurrection, just so he could kill that man all over again. He refocused, knowing that he couldn’t let himself get angry with you in this state. Continuing to whisper sweet words into your ear, Joel grasped the back on your neck, pulling you back slightly as you blubbered from the loss. He hushed you, weighing his options for a moment before shoving his own face into your neck. Working gently, Joel rubbed his face into your neck and covered the sour stench with his own as he kissed and nipped at the delicate skin. You cried out, and he almost stopped before the tension slowly left your shoulders. 

The real cries came, and your fingers locked into his hair and pushed Joel’s face into your neck harder as he scented you. He hummed as you sobbed nonsensical things, continuing to rub your back and hold the back of your neck. 

“I-I-I didn’t, he was gonna, and I didn’t want t-t-o,” you wailed and his heart practically shattered. 

Joel whined at the admission and he pulled back once more, taking the hand off of your neck and using it to wipe the tears and snot from your face. 

“I know sweetheart, I know. But he didn’t, okay? He didn’t, and he’s never gonna. I gotchu, okay? You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured quietly, almost like he was promising himself. 

“D-did you k-kill him?,” you stammered. 

An uneasiness settled over him as he replied, “Well now, I don’t want you to be thinking ‘bout all that. I did what I had t-”

“I’m not mad Joel, I’m grateful. He could’ve… Well, I guess it's like you said, he didn’t, but he could’ve and I don’t know what…,” you sniffed, the sobs easing up but tears still dripping down your face as you whispered, “Thank you Joel.”

Joel shook his head sharply, “Ain’t nothing to thank me for. I’d never let someone hurt you like that, I’d never let anyone hurt you at all. You’re mine. Hell, I’d kill him again if I could. He had no right to even think -” 

He had to stop before his blood began to boil once more, an urge to bare his teeth and growl sliding up from the more primal part of him as Joel briefly considered what would have happened if he hadn't made it. He looked away for a moment, trying to compose himself as he stared at the wall. No, he thought to himself, not now. She needs you. 

Soft hands came up and grabbed his cheeks, squishing them as his head was turned forward once more. The last tears rolled down your face, slight tremors jostling you. The panic in your eyes was slowly fading as both of you breathed in each other's presence. You were okay, you were both okay, Joel tried to tell his racing mind. 

“Breathe Joel,” you instructed, your soft gaze hypnotizing him as you held him in your grasp. 

At that moment Joel realized that the tremors that jostled your frame were coming from him. His body was buzzing, the feeling of a looming threat still slamming his heart against the walls of his chest. It felt like he was having a heart attack, which made him panic more because he needed to protect you. He tried to breathe but he didn’t know how to make his lungs work properly, dizziness began clouding his panic attack.  

“Breathe,” you said more forcefully, commanding him to take easy breaths as you rubbed one of your hands over his chest. 

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on matching his breaths to yours as he tried not to wheeze. The hand on his chest eased some of the tightness that wrapped around him and constricted his heart. The other hand was dug into his graying curls, scratching at his scalp and pushing his face back into your neck. A rumbling noise came up from his chest as the last vestiges of danger ebbed away in his mind, still lurking in the shadows but no longer beating at the inside of his being. Sweet nothings whispered in his ear, Joel groaned softly and rubbed his nose against your gland. Mindlessly sucking on the mouth watering skin, Joel tried to remember the last time anyone had cared for him like this. 

He wondered if it was Tess for a moment, before having to stop himself from laughing. Joel had loved Tess as his best friend, but she was anything but sweet. They had indulged each other mainly out of convenience. Once they were done fucking or trying to beat off the loneliness by simply sharing a bed, it was back to business. Joel didn’t feel the same way the one time the subject of more was broached and besides, Tess loved pussy too much to be stuck with someone with a dick. 

“Better?,” you asked him softly and he hummed in reply, snuffling at your neck for a moment before pulling back. 

Joel grabbed your face, pulling your foreheads together and closing his eyes again. He could feel your breath tickling his mustache as he kept his head against yours, reminding him that you were alive. Moving back, Joel kissed you gently on the tip of your nose and wiped your face off again. Satisfied, he moved to lift you off of him. You cried out, scrambling to wrap yourself around him as he sunk back down on the couch. 

“I… Baby, I can’t just leave him in there. Let me go in and I’ll clean it up for y-,” a whine cut Joel off and he sat back, unsure of what to do and unwilling to make you cry again. 

“Please alpha,” you whined, “Please stay with me.”

With the urgency of the request Joel didn’t even have to think, allowing himself to gather you in his arms once more before he said, “Course baby, I’m right here. Never gonna leave you. How could I? S’alright, just rest.” 

As he sat on the couch with you straddling him, your nose pressed into his collar and arms wrapped around his neck, Joel tried not to think of the bloody corpse in the next room. He tried to push the questions he had for you out of his brain as your body got heavier and heavier with each passing moment. He tried not to think about the fact that your body was feverish, scent heightened as a heat slowly made its way out of your core and beckoned him with more intensity with each passing moment. 

Instead Joel let his face push into your hair. He soaked his senses in your aroma, letting it coat the back of his throat as he nuzzled you again. Joel closed his eyes once more, allowing his heart rate to slow with your body safe in his embrace, and let his exhaustion take over. 

#alpha!joel miller #angst #comfort #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #omega reader #a/b/o dynamics #eventual smut #the last of us #violence mention #tlou fanfic #joel tlou

[hanjsquokka]

this is probably the most random thing but none of my friends like kpop and don't acknowledge it 💔 so i'm ranting here (the day i find irl kpop friends is the day its over for everyone) and i just wanted to tell someone :')

i'm recently getting into enhypen + seventeen and my only question is why haven't i listened to them sooner????

probably the only person in the room, but i started liking seventeen because of seungkwan since he was in the devil's plan (on netflix!) which is one of my favorite shows ever and i watched the8's antifragile cover during one of their concerts (one where i think he was injured because one of his hands were in his pockets i believe) and they became my two favorites (as of now). my first seventeen song is i believe left and right but i'm addicted to hot (sue me).

i've been a listener of enhypen since their debut but only as of late i've been starting to stan them. my favorites have to be jake, niki and heesung but it's very difficult to choose since i like all of them 😭. i even learnt the bite me choreo because it looked so fun. my first song was drunk dazed. i loved the music video so much.

another group is ateez. i've only listened to their super trending songs like bouncy/k-hot chilli peppers (is that the name? help) and crazy form but my favorite is wonderland!! it's so powerful, i get so much work done after i listen to it.

and newjeans!! since they're pretty new, i've already listened to their full discography (in a single walk home??). honestly their songs are so cute but they're so short 💔. i can't stop tapping my feet whenever i listen to attention or eta or hype boy (since i learnt the main choreo for those 😭).

le sserafim!!!!! yunjin can step on me <3 honesty all five of them could and i'd thank them :D

g-idle and twice and red velvet — hwasa! nct 127, wayV (i'm obsessed with lovetalk), kard, itzy, exo, aespa, everglow (i listen to them whenever i need to get shit done), ive and mave — i should stop.

anyways, that's that. if you read all of that, i love you 🥺💗

#expect the most random ass kpop rants from me from now on #their friendships are everything to me :( #( talks w mana 🥡 )

[arceespinkgun]

A Gift for Jazz Fans: "The Mission"

The annuals that are part of the Marvel UK comics continuity have some great stories in them. Somehow, I hadn't known one of those was "The Mission" by Jamie Delano from the 1986 annual until very recently. I've always wanted to see more of Jazz's inner thoughts and feelings explored, and this story delivered on that and then some. It provides really interesting answers to the question, "Underneath it all, who is Jazz, at his core?" (Plus, it gives Hoist a rare chance to show off his skills without being eclipsed by others.) It provides complex characterization of Jazz and his personality that would be great to see return in newer media.

Head below the cut to read on! I've provided the full story and the illustrations.

The Mission

It was a monochrome world. The onset of the Alaskan winter had clapped the wild land in irons, squeezing the colour from the mountains and the sky. The black-toothed peaks chewed at grey clouds, swollen with snow.

Jazz, the heroic Autobot, was undismayed by the cold. He found the gigantic landscape exhilarating in its scale, its grandeur more a challenge than a threat. Although, in his current mode — disguised as a Porsche — the freezing conditions caused him some minor problems with traction.

He hugged himself closer to the frosted surface of the Alaskan highway and accelerated northwards. The road tested him as it writhed its way across the land. Jazz chased it, with the thrill of perfect control pulsing through him. He slid — broadsiding through the curves — and climbed through the howling gears, arrowing into the straights, cutting through an occasional brief convoy of toiling trucks, like a barracuda through a shoal of jellyfish. The stillness of the massive land invited speed — its silence, noise.

This landscape dwarfed even the Autobots, he thought. How it must oppress and torment the humans who came here! Their design allowed them only marginal resistance to temperature fluctuations. Thankfully, in this, as in most other aspects, Autobots were far superior machinery.

Jazz considered the force which drove him at such speed towards the heart of the Yukon region on the boundary between Canada and Alaska — the perpetual, Earthbound war with the Decepticons. This mission, on which he had embarked with his comrade, Hoist, should have been a straightforward one. A simple observation of the Constructicons, perhaps rounded off with a bit of simple sabotage for good measure. However, something had gone drastically wrong.

Jazz squeezed a few extra revolutions from his motor. He needed to hurry. There were still one hundred miles to cover before he must leave the road, then the same distance again across difficult terrain, to bring him to the origin point of Hoist’s signal. He had not realised that their line of communications had become so extended. It was bad tactics. With enemies as dangerous as the Decepticons, mistakes could be costly.

ACTION AT LAST!

Despite a sense of foreboding, Jazz could not deny that the action was doing him good. He had been idle for too long. For three weeks he had been locked in a freight container. First there was a week, en route from San Francisco to Skagway by sea — a journey which had stressed his balance circuits severely. Then, a further two weeks in a Skagway freight yard, with all systems shut down to conserve fuel. Listening watch only, had been the orders — it had seemed like eternity. When, finally, the brief signal had found his eager antennae and tripped his systems into life, it had not been the one he was expecting. It had been a single brief transmission on the Auto- bots’ Urgent Distress Frequency.

Hoist had done good work as a scout in the past, Jazz had thought as, gunning his powerful motor fiercely, he had cracked out of the steel container as if it were tinfoil; but he lacked flair. He was too methodical for fieldwork. He was a workshop machine, maintainance was his strength. However, with the Decepticons fighting on so many different fronts, the Autobot warriors were spread too thinly. All hands were pressed into service; constant opposition to the enemy was vital. Now Hoist had got himself into trouble. Jazz hoped that his comrade had not tangled with the Constructicons. They would turn him into scrap and use him to make rivets.

Like a snarling bullet, the Porsche ripped into the sub-arctic night. In his riotous wake, snakes of powdered snow writhed, hissing from the road.

SHREWD TACTICS

Until he had stepped into the hole, Hoist had been well satisfied with progress of his mission. It had been no easy task to locate and observe the enemy unit in such haphazard and gargantuan geography as that of the Yukon territory. A city could be lost and never found here. But by shrewd tactics and thoroughly practised techniques he had accomplished his task.

He had tracked the Constructicons and for three days he had waited motionless in the dark, cold, shadows of the mountainside. Only his powerful full-spectrum scanners operated in this time — locked onto the activity of the Constructicons, as constantly they mined and tunnelled their way into the permanently deep-frozen silt of the river plain below.

Whether it was a tactical base they were building, or a mine for some kind of mineral fuel source, Hoist had been unable to ascertain from long range. So, as the Constructicons had now become invisible to his sensory receptors — other than as a clatter of indistinguishable industry beneath the surface of the ice- bound ground — he had deduced that the risk involved in a covert, close-quarters reconnaissance of the target was acceptable.

He had raised his massive bulk to a vertical position. Ice which had lacquered him burst away from his flexing joints in small crystal explosions as the Autobot manoeuvred his frosted form down towards the terraces of the frozen flood-plain.

Conscious of his high sensor profile in this open country, Hoist had kept low, hugging the occasional rocky shoulder with which the mountains nudged the ice-skirted streams towards the river. In this fashion he had approached to within half-a-mile of the enemy’s subterranean work site.

DISASTER!

Then, crossing a low ridge-top with all sensors locked firmly onto the target — alert for the sudden, searing light of a laser — waiting for the rush and metal- tearing fire of a missile — Hoist had stepped forward into nothing. Sudden, split-second, bottomless, unknown, no- thing.

With a gyro-wrenching jolt the drop had stopped short and Hoist was trapped, suspended, held by the shoulders in the impossible grip of the earth frozen hard as granite. His huge legs had flailed at emptiness in wild, futile, energy expenditure and his torso had flexed and strained against the immovable walls of the pit into which he had fallen. Then came realisation that a moment of carelessness had brought potential dis- aster on him and his mission.

He had fallen into some kind of vertical shaft — not a natural feature — and was now wedged with his arms trapped uselessly by his sides. Worst of all, his head and the armoured dome of his shoulders were sticking up above the surface of the ground, like a beacon for the first Constructicon who surfaced for a routine defensive scan. He had decided to risk a brief emergency trans- mission, calculating that even if the enemy intercepted his signal and destroyed him, Jazz would still have the target’s location.

As the frozen hours passed, there was wind. With the wind came snow — swarming out of the darkness liked crazed bees. The Autobot scout waited. He could do nothing else.

ROUGH TERRAIN

After leaving the Alaskan highway and enduring twenty miles of cratered dirt road, until the risk of mechanical damage began to outweigh the benefits of speed, Jazz reluctantly abandoned his Porsche mode and transformed.

There had followed eight hours of slow, zig-zag navigation through a savage landscape. He had climbed boulder-strewn mountain passes and ploughed, stumbling through drifted fields of snow. The wind drove constant flights

of ice needles which scoured him abrasively, periodically clogging his sensory receptors, blinding and disorientating him as he struggled to make his way towards the source of the distress signal.

His sensors determined the location of the Constructicons easily enough. Briefly he considered a lightning, maximum fire-power strike on the concealed installation. But however tempting the prospect of entombing the Constructicons in a crypt of their own manufacture, Jazz's priority had had to be to ascertain the fate of Hoist. He thought he detected traces of Autobot alloys — but the geometry of the image was wrong.

Apprehensively he went to full scanner power and focused. Out on the snow carpet he now distinguished the head and shoulders of his comrade. The Constructicons must have destroyed him and left this wreckage as a warning — or a trap. Fascination and dread drew Jazz down onto his belly and he furrowed forward through the snow, armour grinding on the hard ground beneath. His weaponry was ranged and armed.

As he drew near to the remains of Hoist, he was fine-tuned to a hair trigger of violent reaction, expecting a Constructicon ambush at any second. So, when suddenly his comrade’s head swivelled towards him and spoke, it was unfortunate, but not surprising, that Jazz reacted in the way that he did.

Hoist had remained completely still as the snow hurried down around him, covering his body and the pit. Once more he had shut down all systems except for perception, to minimise the chances of detection by the enemy and to conserve fuel. When, eventually, he sensed movement behind him he knew that it must be Jazz. Gratefully he turned to greet him.

RELEASED

His comrade’s action was spontaneous — and ultimately disastrous. At the sound of Hoist’s voice, Jazz flipped over in a blur of motion. He snapped into an attack position and Hoist saw the Autobot’s photon-rifle lurch as it discharged a concentrated gem of solar power into the Constructicon position.

“Why?” Hoist asked, bewildered. “Why did you do that?”

As soon as he had fired, Jazz realised he had responded more like an untested junior warrior on his first mission, than a hardened Autobot commander. He had jeopardised their position in the extreme. He recovered his equilibrium and sprang into action. Straddling the pit, he bent and thrust down his arms to find firm purchase on the smooth, hard armour of the trapped Autobot. Enormous feet chewed into the frozen ground as machinery stressed and levered. Jazz increased power to maximum and, slowly, the dead weight of Hoist began to lift from the pit.

“Trust you to come all this way without mishap and then to fall into a gold-mine at the last minute!”

“Gold-mine?” replied Hoist, as his shoulder armour screamed in friction with the rock-hard earth.

“Do you mean that humans would endure these conditions to dig a useless metal from the ground…”

“They have no logic.”

Jazz would have liked to explain what he had learned of the Klondike gold rushes. How hundreds of thousands of men and women forced their way into the wilderness — enduring misery upon misery, deprivation upon deprivation — in order to win riches and respect. But he knew that Hoist would not understand — and the time was inappropriate.

With an ungainly metallic slithering, the bulk of the freed Autobot tangled him into the snow. Jazz extricated him- self and was about to suggest that they made a hasty strategic withdrawal when he was distracted by a sudden prickle of light from the enemy position. He barely had time to acknowledge this as laser fire, when the world turned red and then disappeared in a flare of purest sterile white.

Clumsily rolling into an operating position, Hoist saw and felt the vicious lines of laser light cutting the air and boiling into the snow around them. Instinctively, he returned fire, his arm launching a covering pattern of heat-seeking missiles which charged, vapour trailing behind them, into the enemy emplacement. He looked for Jazz — and was dismayed to see him stationary and fully exposed to the Constructicon fire. Hoist’s expert eye scanned for damage — and found it. Jazz had been hit in the side of the head.

The armoured steel, still glowing faintly, was puckered around a small, neat puncture. Hoist knew that the Autobot’s sensory and logistical circuits — a complex honeycomb of micro-circuitry — must have been powdered by this hot-shot.

The Constructicons were fanning out, trying to surround them before moving in to finish them off. Hoist had to get both of them into concealment, or a strong defensive position — or they were doomed.

Fortunately, although Jazz's logic circuits had been re-structured by the laser, his motor mechanisms were unimpaired. Bellowing wildly, Hoist bundled him frantically towards the sheltering slopes of the dark mountainside. With fortune and the inaccuracy of the Constructicon marksmen, they might just make it before they were overrun…

CONFUSION

Abruptly, he was aware that he had been moving for a long time.

Who was he? Where was he? Why was he?

What was that thunderous voice that roared in his head? Why was he being pushed, slipping, sliding, crashing and reeling through the jagged black and soft white of this place?

On a ridgetop, he stopped and turned to consider his tormentor, a powerful machine of destruction and violence. He struggled to frame intelligible sounds, but a siren wail that seemed to mimic the wind was all that burst from him. Simultaneously, a splash of fire blossomed beside them, throwing out shoots of rock and ice which rattled and punched at his metallic hide.

He was still listening to the complex percussion of the falling debris, when the violent machine swung a mighty arm and struck him a ringing blow. Surprised and unbalanced, he toppled and fell, limbs scrabbling wildly for grip where there was none. Then he was moving, accelerating downwards in a reckless exhilaration of speed, cleaving up plumes of soft, white powder. He was out of control.

“Move! Move!” Hoist roared in frustration. His damaged comrade stood, vacant, as if engrossed in some strange entertainment. Hoist shoved him again, as he had been shoving him for hour after mountainous hour, mile after ice-bound mile, trying desperately to keep ahead of the pursuing Constructicons.

He watched for a second as Jazz tobogganed down the ice-slope and then, spurred on by the laser fire that pierced and shattered the black rock around him, he too launched himself on the armour-rattling descent.

If Hoist’s navigation was correct they should have cleared the high peaks now and should soon be able to make the tree-line and find forest cover. Fifteen hundred feet below, he came abruptly to rest at the foot of the ice-slope. He shook free the snow that had compacted itself in his scanners and looked for his hapless companion. Locating him, Hoist groaned inwardly — more aberrant behaviour!

The second-in-command of the Autobot Warriors, right-hand of the great Optimus Prime, was sitting atop a large snow-clad boulder — his attention rapt upon six balls of compacted snow, which he manipulated skillfully from hand to hand, managing to keep them all airborne and mobile.

Juggling. In the midst of a potential battle-zone, he was juggling! Still, at least there was nothing wrong with his co-ordination, thought Hoist.

COVER AT LAST

After several miles of difficult descent through a boulder-choked gully, they entered the forest.

Hoist felt marginally more secure as they moved between the trees. They would help screen them from the Constructicon scanners. His damaged companion, Jazz, seemed to be inhabiting a different world. He had lost all awareness of their mission and the danger they were in. He sauntered along, stopping to investigate every feature of their environment in minute detail, as if each held the secrets of the Universe. It was highly tedious and Hoist wasted critical fuel in constantly prodding the Autobot onwards.

Hoist had calculated that their fuel reserves would not take them beyond reach of the enemy. They were going to need transport. A vague plan was forming in his logic centres. He knew that, mathematically, its chances of success were slim; but the only alternative was ultimate destruction at the hands of the Constructicons. They must press on to the south. They needed a river.

Simultaneous with the awareness of a distant crashing and shattering of timber which assailed his senses, Hoist realised that Jazz was no longer with him. Desperately he scanned, trying to locate his comrade’s metal bulk amongst the distracting ghost images thrown back by the trees.

Jazz sat as if sculpted from the landscape. His attention was wholly focused on a stunningly perfect piece of machinery. Four delicately precise limbs supported a powerful, lithe, brown torso. The head, set atop a strong flexible neck, bore strange, spreading antennae with which, for some mysterious purpose, it scraped at the column of one of the tall, static machines.

Suddenly, the entrancing machine froze. Briefly, it cocked its head to one side and then was gone. Disappointed, he turned to find the Violent One shouldering his way through the densely packed columns, like an avalanche.

DEVASTATOR!

Hoist knew from the scale and volume of the fast closing pursuit that the Constructicons must have combined into their awesome composite form — Devastator. Frantically he bullied the unwilling Jazz through the clawing forest. He was urged both by the horrendous tearing of timber, as the gargantuan Decepticon machine levelled all before it in its single-minded desire to annihilate them — and by the fact that he sensed the presence of water ahead.

In seconds they broke from the trees and stood on the rocky banks of a river.

Instantly Hoist was assailed by doubt. A hundred yards upstream the towering, curved, concrete wall of what he recognised to be a hydro-electric dam spanned the river gorge. What should have been a violent torrent was reduced to a sedate surge. Surely the water would not have depth or power enough for his purpose. Nevertheless, with Devastator’s ruthless destruction of the forest rending the mountain air, he knew that defeat could not be contemplated. They were Heroic Autobots — the conflict would continue to the end.

Quickly Hoist selected four tall, thick pine trees. With a series of rapid, powerful movements, he felled and stripped them of branches. Then he manipulated them into the water. It was barely deep enough to float them.

Hoist sensed that the end was near. They would have to stand and fight.

Fifty yards downstream, the mighty form of Devastator ripped, splintering out of the forest. Remorselessly it scanned the river gorge for its enemies. Hoist primed his weaponry and looked for Jazz. In full view, the damaged Autobot was standing, facing the soaring wall of the dam, calmly scanning it from top to bottom and from side to side.

CAUGHT IN THE OPEN

Ugly, he thought to himself. This wall was ugly. It should not be here, obstructing the flow of the water. The water was a part of the big machine that was this planet. The planet was part of the solar system and that was part… The wall was wrong.

Sounds from behind turned him. Two things were happening. The Violent One who harrassed him constantly, was approaching at speed and beyond him a gigantic machine straddled the river, crushing boulders to powder under its enormous weight. This giant was pointing at him.

Then the Violent One cannoned into him, slamming him back into the ugly concrete of the wall. At the same moment, from the pointing arm of the giant machine, a light flared out, like the light of suns. Energy crackled past him and solid heat chewed into the wall, concentrating on a patch which suddenly spurted water and steam in a glittering power-jet.

Then the Violent One was dragging him again. The pulsing light danced from the giant's arm several more times but it did not touch them. The Violent One reached suddenly for his head — and then there was nothing at all.

FINAL CHANCE

There was a chance, one final, desperate chance. Hoist saw it and took it. The ten-thousand degree pulse of solar energy which Devastator had launched at Jazz had punched a hole straight through the dam. Hoist saw cracks, beginning as filaments but rapidly spreading into a web which crumbled from its centre. He knew that he had but scant seconds.

He dragged Jazz to where the tree trunks bobbed and lurched, side by side on the slowly rising river. With the quick, deft skill of an expert mechanic, he shut down Jazz’s systems completely. He just had time to lay the disabled Autobot on the loose raft and throw himself on top — clenching and binding the tree trunks together with his own huge strength — before the dam disintegrated.

A mighty, surging roar of water boiled into the river gorge and plucked up the cumbersome vessel like a feather, spinning and tossing it forward in a wild freedom of escape.

An image, which would remain in Hoist’s memory banks forever, swept by. In panic and alarm, the Constructicons had disassembled from their Devastator mode as the churning wall of water spewed over them. In a split second they were submerged — bowled and scraped along the bottom of the gorge like pebbles — whilst the Autobots’ raft surfed over them on wild wings of water.

The mission was over, thought Hoist. They had failed, but not completely. The war would continue and he and his comrade Jazz, repaired by Ratchet, would fight the Decepticons again.

Two days later, at a back-road gas- station, just south of the Canadian border, a sleepy pump-jockey was surprised to see a towtruck towing a battered Porsche that looked as if it had been in the wars. He was more surprised, as he watched them disappear down the road, to realise that it had no driver. By Jamie Delano.

#Jazz #Hoist #transformers g1 #transformers marvel #I adore how Jazz zones out on a boulder and juggles snowballs and also marvels at the beauty of nature #And between this and the snow-bot moment from the Sunbow cartoon I will always associate Jazz with snow #Constructicons #Devastator

[souryogurt64]

It's my birthday! I am 24. Semi mixed feelings!!! Birthdays are always really hard for me and also I feel like 24 is legit Adult and for a lot of this year I felt really frustrated and like my life was really stuck and I was like sobbing in the shower listening to "Teen Idle" on loop

But then all of the sudden I got to see fob at the Metro and I got my first big girl job out of nowhere on the same day (and it's a really really really good job!! Like better than anything I ever thought I'd get!!!)

And some of my best friends are coming to stay with me to celebrate this weekend and it's going to be very silly!!! So I feel okay about it now!!!

I'm also proud of myself for writing 2 huge dissertations this year. And for getting actually asked to cover the launch of PWs kinda label thing which was a huge honor and the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. And getting to attend record label press conferences for the first time and I got to ask a real celebrity a question which was fun. I've written and posted well over 50k words this year which is way more than I think I've ever written in that timeframe in my life and I feel like I've gotten a lot better as a writer

And also I'm proud of myself for fostering 17 cats. And for doing Accutane because it's been really hard and scary. I also got to fulfill a couple of smaller more private goals this year. Like I solved a lot of Nancy Drew computer games

I didn't notice when it turned midnight last night because I was working on the Gray dissertation which is on brand lol, I'm very stressed and feel behind on it but I feel good about the progress I made yesterday !!

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

10! 16! 41!

silly me reblogging this during thesis hell weekend- sorry for taking a hot second to get back to it. anywhomst:

10: Want any piercings?

Ehh, there's a few that I kinda vaguely want to get but probably not enough to actually go for it ever. I'm also limited in which ones I can actually get by virtue of my hearing aids— a daith or tragus where the backing would end up by my ear canal won't work, for example, or an industrial or high helix could conflict with the part that sits on top of my ear. As a side note, I have vague memories of expressing interest in getting normal lobe piercings as a kid and being told no because of my hearing aids, which I'm realizing now as an adult is complete and utter bullshit.

Anyways, I'd be vaguely interested in getting a helix piercing lower on my ears, or earlobe piercings. I've also vaguely considered a septum ring, or piercings in areas that are usually covered by clothing (if you catch my drift). Honestly, the latter are the ones I think I'd be most likely to actually get, but it's still not much more than an idle interest.

16: I’ll love you if…

Tough question (and also incredibly vague)! I don't really have anything that's like "oh I'll love you forever if you do xyz..." That said, the things I really need out of close friends or romantic partners are 1) some level of predictability, ie I can reasonably learn how they'll react to most typical situations, and 2) a willingness to listen to my side when we're having an interpersonal problem. Both of these are probably borne out of my generally being allergic to conflict, but I've also very much been burned at times when they weren't there in the past.

41: Where I want to be right now

I'm honestly pretty content with where I'm at right now. I'd say possibly I'd like to fast-forward to August when I'll move in with my new group of roommates because it seems like it'll be a blast and I'm looking forward to it, but I also don't want to skip over graduation & the rest of the summer. I'd say I'd skip to after finals week, but I also don't really want to. If I could just vanish the end of semester hell crunch of assignments and shit I'd be fine.

That said I do think a solid week or two of doing a whole lot of not-very-much in some type of tropical locale would fix me. I want my job to be beach :(

#answered asks

[hresvelged]

strands of white reflect the sun. petite form arrays in bold: black and crimson. when nel looks on her from across the covered corridors of the courtyard, it is as though time had never passed. she supposes in some ways, it had not. edelgard in conversation with her classmates, too distant to be heard, only a pantomime of soundless postures and gestures.

it appears there had been some truth to those who claimed that fódlan would cheat death — still, it does not make it any less of a relief to see the little emperor whole. as though the corpse lying upon the barren ground as they had discussed the true way forward could have merely been said to be sleeping.

sure and paced strides take her across before she considers whether to approach or leave them be, an instinct within her lulling her forward to ascertain the real. ( witnessing one rise from death, standing far at a distance, summons too many ill memories like bubbles of mold and acid, floating to the surface. in another time and place, her jaws could easily have pierced the skull of adrestia's emperor in place of elusia's queen. it was not such an unbelievable thing. )

perhaps this is why she so cherishes those for whom that reality remains still distant and untrue. obscured from foresight. safe — from the carnage and loss that would bring them there.

"little emperor. a moment."

her classmates have dispersed; she catches her at the rare juncture of lingering and departure.

"how are you feeling." a quick study nevertheless. "it is good to see you well."

and, nearly imperceptibly, the edge of scarlet softens. "i enjoyed the conversation we had earlier, and the chance to hear of your ambition. i should like to continue it when able, in calmer surroundings. perhaps over tea, or a meal."

Life breathes through pink lips and eyes of determined lilacs as if they never threatened to dim in the first place; The sheer oddities of Fódlan's current state brings even the defeated back to near perfect form. She stands, and she continues on. Her words heed her classmate's calls, sharing knowledge of new and old. The crest of flames' fire continues to burn, inching her ever closer to her goals. It obeys her; listens to her. She's already seen and felt its betrayal.

The familiarity of Nel's voice cuts away the idle chatter and brings forth her attention with her head held high: "Indeed. I've taken proper care of myself, rest assured." Even if memories of darkness flicker behind eyes of steel, such must remain hers alone. Her memory sustains the imagery of that infirmary, piling on to a list of scratched misfortunes. She blinks once, then twice. To dwell is to place ridicule on her very being. She will not do that. Now, she continues ever forward.

"I feel the same," she echoes with a smile of her own. "I was able to learn more about you, as well. I'm pleased we had the opportunity, circumstances aside— I'd like to continue the conversation, myself." There is a lightness to her words, if only to tear away the emperor visage she constantly wears to show the girl that is Edelgard. "And, I wished to properly thank you. Your concern was duly noted. In fact.." Gesturing behind her, she adds, "When we do continue, tell me your favorite tea. I'll have it prepared."

#( asks ) #nelithic #oo the comparison to the fell xenologue stuff.. weeps

[zanerak]

Was Tagged in this post by @azonine and my edible hit a while ago. let's go for it everybody thank you beloved

Last Song: my sister and i were listening to our spotify blend earlier and i think it's updating itself bc i could've sworn the last thing i remember was something like passion by nicki minaj with a pink album cover but i can't find this song so i think i made it up. likely what i actually hear was Bomb Intro / Pass That Dutch by Missy Elliot. it's my sister's contribution but i vibe with it. apparently we're an 83% match which is interesting. she also keeps making fun of me for saying ethoslab is attractive but i'm literally right. sorry you wouldn't understand

Favorite Color: BRIGHT red slightly pink. i never used to say i have a favorite color and i lost my shoe. i've found it. anyway i gravitate towards red, especially that shade. i also love just black of course but that is a safe color that goes with anything. but red. that's bold. also many flowers are red. flowers are gorgeous. every single one. godbless they make the world cooler

Last Movie/TV: The Wilds. one of those cancelled lesbian shows. unfortunate. it's not as good as Yellowjackets though. i think they spend too much time on everyone's backstories but they're honestly not that complex like half of season 1 is leah having a breakdown over that guy and they want to be like leah is an obsessive person but they only show the one thing like. her other obsessions are so much more interesting i don't care about mr pedophile writer guy i literally do not care. let her go insane she deserves it for being bisexual. the last movie is possibly blue beetle which was alright for an airplane movie, wish i could pause it though. why tf is it a channel? who put live channels on planes? who did that? you deserve SUFFERING. also, while i was writing this i realized i actually later watched the new percy jackson episode with my sister so that actually but i don't remember anything from the books and unfortunately the show is clearly directed towards the same age range as the original series and it's like. good for what it is but selfishly i wish it was cooler for me specifically. rick riordan is cool though

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?: sweet or savory depends on my mood really. but savory maybe? although i am searching it up and now i am confused about the definition. i love the savory crepes (the philly) from crepevine it's possibly my favorite meal ever. would love to eat crepevine every day all day ever

Relationship Status: newly single. please hmu if you like taking care of pathetic people or alternatively have a lot of money

Last Thing I Googled: "vegetable list" to answer the llff qotd which i keep saying in my head as "quote of the day". before that. soojin g-idle. queen. you would've killed it in queencard i know it. also as you can see above i am in fact single

Current Obsession: i think my depression is currently bad enough to prevent me from a single obsession currently. i searched the wilds on tumblr a couple times but it's like 90% people complaining about canceled wlw shows bc tumblr search is unusable. i wouldn't call it anything close to an obsession though, it just happens to be what i'm currently binging. most recently though - poppy seed pets. also rewatched a couple community episodes. such a good show my god. wish alison brie was asian. also i have been thinking about tattoos a lot. specifically my new one which was my first. got with friends. very cute (: further i am going to be so abnormal about the boys s4. i don't have a kin list but i'm starting one rn putting jordan li at the top. minecraft character bdoubleo100 second. king from the owl house third. not for size reason we just both get disrespected. taking recommendations for additions that aren't a random small animal you saw on instagram - please keep in mind that i am 7'4" in real life and extremely intimidating. i am also considering adding nora from the wilds (autistic) and abed community (autistic) and todd sanchez bojack horseman (aspec but actually we're not that similar. i think i am just thinking about him. what a lad.) and perhaps. asian lesbian from scream queens because i too think chanel no. 3 is hot. actually every character from community except pierce is relateable. also generally any character that is "bad" representation of a minority group and knows it but i haven't seen much of that kind of character. they should make more of them for the bitches like me who are simultaneously whitewashed and a stereotype

#trash dump #mine

[windflowerlia]

tagged by @hukiolukio :) tried to add some variety here!

nxde - g-idle (g-idle & mamamoo <3)

return to kintail & other celtic guitar pieces :) lovely

this guy has been uploading great covers of undertale OSTs and i've had some of them on loop recently

die for you - valorant ft. grabbitz (riot games small indie company btw)

if you suddenly think of me - chilichill & a few genshin CN VAs :)

tagging: ANYONE who sees this and wants to play! what kind of music does everyone listen to?

#tag games #not genshin

[eraserbitz]

if hatsune miku seems weird or perhaps like an anomaly to you, then the realm of indie, fanmade voicebanks might be a place to peek into if you're idling. there's voicebanks with strange characters and backstories that have been languishing out there for years...there are also copyright violations like spongeloid. there's even been one (that i know of) who's been folded into the "canon" of vocaloid, like kasane teto...

one that's stuck out to me all these years is tatari, who seems to predate or at least crested the waves of tumblr sexyman/creature design peaks in the 2010s. it just occurred to me that it reminds me of what little i've seen of hazbin, yet it's a bit more appealing somehow, with less budgeting behind it.

i must've been 11 or so when i found a cover of the seventh me (originally made with kagamine len), using a few such voicebanks. it sounded like what you'd expect if you were used to it all, until the end when tatari's shrill voice punctuates the song and twists it from something rather mundane into a song that sounds like it has a creature in its walls. it honestly sounds less like a voice and more like a synthesizer; its also probably the best tatari has ever sounded because every other song i try is so hard to listen to no matter what i do LOL

the original source of the video can't be found anymore, it seems that the creators have moved onto other things. NOW excuse me while i watch utauloid videos for 5 hours

#i saw a post on here and didnt want to hijack it. hi. listen to a weird utauloid and not come #any closer to an understanding of its appeal. With Me

[knightfeared]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃...       Sometimes, he felt like he was more then triple his age at times, frown usually kept etched along his features, not out of genuine irritation or anger, but out of something born from many years of habit. Stress had a tendency to pile on  &  even if it wasn't made known through more... physical ways, the way he carried himself at times, the mental wear  &  tear that clung to his bones like tar  —  how he struggled more then most to pretend he was managing the shift from earlier years back to something more normal knowing what he knew then.

Truthfully? It was harder then it looked.

While, yes  —  he still held the power to leave, to go off world for leisure outside of his key-blade business if he really wanted  —  but therein lay the issue. He now knew what it entailed, what the true cost was for that old sought freedom he used to crave came at.

Change, while he'd always held a skill in adapting, shifting to work with whatever he'd been pitted against or in, he found this one to be more... final. Somehow the looming threat of reality struck more of a chord in fear for him. Laughable, considering when he was called off to fight more regularly. But, in a way, it made sense. Balancing classes  &  trying to navigate the real world with real problems that couldn't be solved with a magic spell or the call of a key-blade  —  it was expected but frustrating in the odd sense of helplessness it inspired.

Hunched over his coffee  ( If you could even call it that by this point... ), something tiredly ordered off the menu  &  probably holding one too many calories from the sheer amount of sugar mixed inside is swirled about within his cup as he listens boredly to the idle chattering of nearby customers. It's not all bad, nor is it even unpleasant. He's just... not all that great with having nothing on his plate.

Restless...

He had nowhere to be today  —  A rare day off coupled sweetly with the lack of any immediate responsibilities  &  life threatening calls from off world  —  he was content to lounge about the comfortable little coffee shop while Sora worked. Small comforts but comforts no less.

Inhaling the steam of his cup as he brings it in close to his face, he lets the scent of the comforting brew within ease away at him, bringing the drink to his lips to steal a light swig before he places it back down on the table just a little off to the side. Returning his attention back down to his book, he knows damn well he's still not going to be able to relax or even focus much on it, a small glance being offered over before it snags on a familiar one peering back curiously.

Head cocking to the side, he arches a brow in question, before he notes how silent the shop suddenly is. How empty  &  quiet. Must've just finished the late afternoon rush then... figures. With a small snort, of some amusement, Riku closes the book, placing it front cover down on the table ahead before returning his sights back over to meet the other Islander's. Leaning back in his chair, before he knows it, a small smile is quick to tug itself along his lips, something that's trailed immediately by a quiet laugh.

                                                             ❝ What? ❞

He asks with a light-hearted narrowing of his eyes, amusement faintly peeking behind seafoam tinged depths. Sora grins back, something that makes his own mirror it.

                                  ❝   I've really missed that. Your laugh. ❞

Now... that catches him off guard, enough to make him fumble for words for more than a moment, eyes widening as he sputters out a scoffed laugh. Part of him wants to deflect, to brush it off as nothing special  —  but when he catches the way the other Islander's eyes seemingly gain a bit of their old spark back, something genuine in the words spoken ringing through with a thinly veiled fondness. How the quietest of laughs is heard  —  Riku decides to let it slide, shaking his head with a small chuckle as he gives his coffee cup another lazy swirl.

A cheeky glance is gifted right back, expression softening a bit as he offers back his own admission.

                                           ❝ Yeah well... I've missed yours too.  ❞

#╰┈➤ ┊❛ DRABBLE. ❜┊ #MUSE: [ RIKU. ] #➤ *𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐒. ( RIKU ) kh verse #Moved this over cause of nostalgia and I kind of want to try doing more with Riku one day #The ideas for what comes after kh adventures are interesting but good god these kids ain’t alright after any of that

[halo-of-light-band]

Stuff I've been listening to: July 15th 2023

I haven't done one of these in like 3 months. Oops, had a lot going on, was a bit busy, but that just means I have more new stuff to talk about! So, in no particular order, here's the stuff I've been listening to lately.

Praise A Lord Who Chews But Which Does Not Consume by Yves Tumor: This is a very interesting album, and it's sort of hard to pin down the themes, and even more difficult to pin down the genre of music. Sometimes it has the instrumentation and rhythm of rock music, sometimes it delves into more pop sounding vocal riffs and choruses, and throughout the whole album it an electronic, experimental sound. The imagery in all the music videos is full of horror and satanism and bondage with glamorous, high-camp outfits on top of it all. Good songs, interesting to listen to, and a good listen for anyone interested in genre-blending stuff.

Favorite tracks: God is a Circle and Echolalia

Songs About My Cats by Venetian Snares: "One of the few good things to make it out of Winnipeg" according to my friend Jamie. This is definitely on the experimental side of my music tastes. No lyrics, weird off-beat rhythms, and weird electronic sounds throughout. If that sounds up your alley, you will thoroughly enjoy this. Plus look at that album art, how can you resist an album with a cat like that on the cover?

Favorite tracks: Poor Kakarookee and Fluff Master

Sad Truth by Failstate: Debut EP from a band that I found because they posted a link to reddit. It's got a really good emo/punk rock vibe, with a vibe that's slightly more... somber? Downturned? Something like that. To me, it's proof that emo isn't dead and isn't a stagnant genre. I also really love the way they mixed their vocals, nice and crunchy, something about those distorted vocal textures always scratch a brain itch. Also, I just baught the cassette for this EP and it's a beautiful translucent purple color. If that sways anyone's opinion, lol

Favorite track: Another Ghost

Electra Heart by MARINA

It might be surprising to see top 40 pop music on a list like this, given that I'm an indie bandcamp girlie through and through. However, I do think there's a lot of merit to this album, and it does a lot of interesting things that I don't think is seen often in pop nowadays. It's a concept album about the character of Electra Heart, and centers around themes of female identity and expectations, focusing on various 'archetypes' of femininity that are pushed onto women, which the titular character embodies at various points on the album. Throughout there is a juxtaposition between self-loathing and being full of oneself, this juxtaposition often present in upbeat, emphatic music alongside lyrics of self-hatred. Most of the songs have a very pop feel to them, it's definitely got a more mainstream sound than some of Marina's other albums, so if you're not into that, maybe skip this one, but I think it's worth it for the sheer scope of the writing and theming that is present.

Favorite tracks: Fear and Loathing and Teen Idle

Christmas Island by AJJ: This album has been growing on me! I liked Knife Man and The Bible 2 a lot, so I've been going through more of AJJ's catalog. I like the more rock feel that a lot of the songs on this album have, but Sean Bonnette's vocals and guitar playing still maintain that folksy feel that the band is known for. As is typical for AJJ, there's a lot of very angsty and desperate lyrics, violent and sometimes weird imagery, and a healthy dose of screaming. I really like the Temple Grandin metaphor that was present in multiple songs, writing about how to "find a nicer way to kill it" (a sort of open ended metaphor, but one that I interpret as being both about making awful, unavoidable situations easier, and also knowing when to let something go).

Favorite tracks: Temple Grandin, Kokopelli Face Tattoo, and Temple Grandin Too

#Stuff I've been listening to #Bandcamp #Spotify

[inkedinfantasy]

17 - During a confession (for the kisseroos)

(kiss prompts list)

thanks for the ask!! I've been posting a lot of rowan and g'raha for the past week, so I decided to do this one for n'mhaya! this is part of a larger piece I'll (hopefully) be able to finish one day.

notes for this one: n'mhaya is a non-WOL OC; this is a spin on the scion inn room visit scene from endwalker

N’mhaya paced to and fro across her room, restless, anxious, irritated. The forum’s announcement had put her on edge. Evacuating the whole of the star sounded like an impossibly massive undertaking, and yet so did the prospect of finding some way to stop whatever force would bring the Final Days upon them.

It was late, and there was nothing to do but rest and wait for morning for the time being, and she was slowly going mad in her idleness. Sleep was out of the question while nervous energy still boiled inside her.

There was a sudden knock at her door, and her ears flicked involuntarily at the break in the pattern of silence she’d been mired in for several bells now. She breezed across the room and pulled the door open to reveal Estinien. “I can feel you thinking from down the hall,” he said. “Might I come in?”

In lieu of an answer, she stepped aside. He entered, and she closed the door behind him.

She crossed to the table, clearing away a neglected cup of tea just to have something to do with her hands. Estinien followed her, taking a seat in one of the chairs as she emptied the cup into the sink.

“I would appreciate the company,” she admitted. She paused, and then, with a note of quiet apology in her voice, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s no trouble. It’s better I were here than back in my chambers listening to the twins bicker about tomorrow’s plans the whole night long.” He shifted in his seat. “Gods know I’ve spent enough time away from the people who rely on me.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely fair,” N’mhaya said. “Relying on people is…difficult. Has always been difficult for me. But I’ve known you long enough trust you’ll be there when you’re needed.”

His posture shifted again, sitting up stiffly, his hands in his lap as his expression grew pensive. “I am glad to hear it, from you in particular. Though…I admit sometimes I still wonder if it will ever feel like enough.”

The admission was quiet, painfully bare in its honesty.

“Enough…?”

“To make up for the rest of it. I’ve hurt people. Hurt you.”

She saw his gaze focusing on the part of her shoulder exposed by her shirt, tracing over the gnarled, half-concealed scar tissue where his lance had dug in.

“I did that to you. That’s something you’ll always have to live with,” he said quietly.

“No.” Her tone was firm and clear as she turned to face him. “This,” she said, pulling the collar of her shirt aside to trace over her scar, “was meant to be a fatal wound. Nidhogg aimed for the heart. Nidhogg did not stay his hand. You did that, Estinien, with every part of you that was fighting back. And I can live with that quite happily.”

He blinked at her, stunned into silence.

She covered the distance between them in three quick strides, taking his face in her hands and staring down at him determinedly.

“Estinien, I trust you more than anyone. And I don’t care how many times I need to tell you until you believe it.”

Silence fell, but the moment remained charged with some electric emotion that N’mhaya didn’t dare to name. She could feel his face warm under her hands, his eyes locked on hers, spellbound. She wondered briefly what he saw reflected there, what raw vulnerability he always seemed to coax out of her.

His gaze dipped to her mouth. Her breath caught in her chest.

“Mhaya…” he murmured, his voice low and rough. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and he leaned forward almost unconsciously, his hands fisting in his lap, but he made no move to touch her, not yet.

She exhaled all at once, leaning forward and bracing one knee on the chair as she kissed him. His arms came up to wrap around her waist just as smoothly, pulling her closer. It felt familiar and natural, as if they had done this a hundred times before, laced with the urgency of a long-awaited first kiss.

She pulled back the barest fraction to take a breath, hands sliding back to tangle in his hair. He paused, still holding her, his eyes full of undisguised want.

“I hope you weren’t planning on returning to your room tonight,” she said.

He huffed a small laugh as he pulled her back in. “Not a chance.”

#ffxiv #wolstinien #my writing #oc: n'mhaya mhox #the ship is technically n'mhaya/aymeric/estinien but yeah this is how these two finally got together #after several expansions worth of them agreeing to both date aymeric separately and not talking about any other feelings #they're a mess #I'm gonna try and get the first meeting AU prompt done this week too!