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#maybe she showed him how to do the dreads maybe she taught him how to braid
imfinereallyy · 10 months
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hummingbirds
Steve’s crying on the porch of his parents' house, with a duffel bag and baseball bat, when Eddie pulls into the driveway.
“Jesus, Steve, what happened?” Eddie crouches down to get eye level with Steve. Despite being dark out, the sun set long ago, and the outdoor lights weren’t on. Steve turns to look at his parents' car in the driveway and thinks back to when the lock had distinctly turned shut on the front door. They were around to switch the lights on; they just didn’t care anymore to do so.
Steve is grateful for the moonlight, as he can see the pretty lines on Eddie’s face. Even if they currently curve into a frown.
“Hey Eds.” Steve’s voice cracks.
“Stevie…what happened?” Eddie asks again, this time it’s gently. It cradles Steve and holds him softly. He wishes Eddie’s hands would do the same.
“Did you know hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward?” Steve sniffles.
Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion, “What? Birds? You lost me.”
Steve pushes past Eddie’s confused face. “They are the only birds to fly backward. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dustin to teach me that out of the munchkins. It was actually El. She’s apparently going through a bird phase. And I don’t think the others are very interested. So I try to pay attention when she talks about it. And she taught me about hummingbirds.”
Eddie settles on his knees, “That’s great, man and those little shits should listen to her more, but I’m not sure what that has to do with what’s wrong. You called me to come pick you up and hung up before I could even answer.”
Steve bites his lip, “Sorry, my dad clicked the phone off.” Eddie’s face shows surprise, but Steve keeps talking before he can interrupt. “And well, I guess hummingbirds have nothing to do with anything. It’s stupid, really.”
“No, no. It’s not stupid. Tell me about the birds, Stevie.” Eddie’s hand finally reaches out to Steve. He brushes the fallen hair out of his face, and something in Steve just sets him off.
“You see, they can fly backward. And well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, my cousin Tucker is here to visit. And let me tell you, he is the worst. Like Eddie, you would hate him. Conservative, capitalist enthusiast, real bootlicker kind of guy.”
“Sounds like the worst. Especially if he made you use the big words.” Eddie’s hand falls away, and Steve mourns the loss. Normally, when people make jokes about his intelligence, it stings. It makes him feel small. But when Eddie does it, it isn’t mean or a poke at how stupid Steve is. With Eddie, it’s almost like he’s reminding Steve that he is smart. That maybe Steve is the one making himself small.
He is.
“Anyway, he’s visiting, right? So my parents come home. And I haven’t seen them in months, since before spring break. It’s nearly October, and I haven’t seen them, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or dreading their arrival. It’s always a fight when they are around, how I’m not good enough, how I should be more. Their visits always end up being cut short, and me feeling like shit. But this stupid, stupid part of me was hoping it would be different this time. They haven’t seen me since the “earthquakes.” Surely they’ll be happy to see I’m okay, right?”
Eddie stays silent, his face revealing nothing.
“Of course, it’s not. They only came home because my cousin Tucker was in town. All the way from Indy cause it’s so far. And my mom ‘made’ dinner, as in she ordered it and pretended she made it. It wasn’t even that good, but we all pretended it was the best thing ever made. Cause that’s what they do, pretend. And the dinner is fine, boring. Most of it is just me staying silent while my dad and Tucker talk about the business. Tucker runs the Indy office while my dad is in New York. Ya see, Tucker has been gunning to take over for my dad when he retires, which is another word for dies—“ Steve let’s put a bitter laugh; he wonders if his parents are listening. He doubts it.
“—and they are going on for the whole meal, and I’m almost through the home stretch when my dad brings up me, coming to work for him.”
Eddie reacts finally, “You’re going to New York?” His voice is strained, like he is trying very hard not to yell, not at Steve, but at anyone who will listen. Steve is quick to correct.
“No, no, I’m not. This was news to me to Eds. I have no interest in my dad's business, and as far as I was concerned, he didn’t want me a part of it either. Guess that has changed. Has? Had? I don’t know…” Steve trails off.
“Harrington.”
“Don’t call me that. It makes me think you’re mad at me. Besides, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Steve bites.
“Sorry, Steve. I’m not mad. I promise. Just, what do you mean?” Eddie’s head tilts to the side, his curls cascading down his shoulder. It reminds Steve of a river, dark water rippling in the moonlight.
“I was so shocked, Eds. When he said that. That I was quiet, I should have corrected him, maybe. Maybe I could have fixed it. But Tucker was so quick to act. He was pissed. He knows my working for my dad means me being set up to take over. And Tucker, he’s worked too hard to make sure he does get the business. But instead of yelling, he just gets this concerned look on his face. And he…”
“He what?”
Steve wrenches his eyes shut as he recalls the rest. As he recalls the way Tucker’s face faked worry as he struck. Like he has been waiting for the right moment to ruin Steve. He manages to open his eyes eventually, only to see Eddie’s face once again. The honest look on his face is enough to push Steve on.
“In the summer, Robin was feeling sad. This was before you guys knew about each other, and I was the only one who knew about her. And she was sad cause nothing had happened with Vicky and she felt so alone. And I hated seeing her like that. And so, so I took her to Indy. And, and—“ Steve starts to hyperventilate.
Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, Steve. Come on, baby, match my breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Steve matches Eddie’s breath. Ignores how the word baby calms him down instantly. “Tucker told my dad that he saw me in Indy. That he saw me come out of a gay club, Eddie. And he went on about how they should focus more on getting me help, than putting me in a power position, again Eds, which I don’t even want! And how I would be a bad look for the company. How would it look if a company whose whole image is family values, only successor, turned out to be gay.”
Eddie flinches a bit, but doesn’t let go of him. Steve feels instant regret. “That isn’t what I meant, Eddie.”
Eddie shushes him, “I know, sweetheart. You’re just upset. I know. Did you tell him that you weren’t there for you? Or maybe that Rick was mistaken; it was a regular club?”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, “And what? Tell him that my two best friends in the entire world are gay? So that I can be shipped off to New York and never see them again? Yeah right. I’d rather face the bats again than be removed from you two. And I’m not going to out you guys like that.”
Something warm crosses Eddie’s face, “So, you lied then?”
“Before I could say anything my dad reacted.”
Eddie freezes, a darkness swims in his eyes. “He put his hands on you?”
“No, no!” Steve panics, and he purposely leaves out the ‘not this time.’ Eddie isn’t necessarily a violent person. But he does have a protective streak. As admirable as it is, Steve doesn’t want him to get hurt.
Eddie relaxes but only slightly.
“He was actually pretty calm, which is even more terrifying. I expected him to yell, throw things. But instead he just turns and says, ‘Is this true, Steven?’. And what gets me is they didn’t even question why my cousin was anywhere near that club in the first place. Why did he see me there? Instead, he just asks me if it’s true. And it’s the first time in a long time, if ever, that my dad asks me this. He always just assumes I’ve fucked up. And this time, he really asked me about the truth. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to. So I didn’t. I just told him, ‘Yes. It’s true.’”
“Stevie…”
Steve throws out a bitter laugh, “And you know what? He still doesn’t freak out. He just tells me I have five minutes to get my shit and get out. That I needed to call a ride because the car was under the name Steve Harrington, and I was no longer a Harrington. And he was so calm. And my mom just sat there, and I just listened. I didn’t fight. I am so tired of fighting.”
“Steve, why not just tell them the truth? Tell them you were there for a friend?” Eddie’s tone isn’t scolding, only curious.
“See, that’s because I started thinking about hummingbirds, Eddie. I started thinking about how they fly forwards and backward and how they are the only ones that can do that. Isn’t that fascinating? These small birds are so strong and interesting, and can do something no one else can do. But no other birds understand; the rest of them just fly forwards Eds. And I—I feel like that sometimes. That I’m not flying in one direction, ya know?”
Steve feels like he isn’t making much sense, but then Eddie nods and looks at Steve. Like really looks at Steve, and sees him. And Steve feels raw, stripped of his skin, exposed, and it should hurt, but it feels so fucking good. And Eddie stares deep into Steve’s eyes and says, “Yea, I know.”
“I didn’t want to lie. Because even though Tucker was wrong, he was also right. I wasn’t there for me, but I think I needed to be there. To get it. And I think that I’m flying backward, Eds. And I’m worried it’s wrong of me, that it shouldn’t be allowed. And that there is no purpose to me flying backward if I can just go forwards. If I can just fly with the rest of them. But I don’t think, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken flight before. Not before I understood I could also go backward.”
It’s in this moment, where Steve is covered in tears and snot that Eddie finally takes his hands and cradles Steve’s face. Steve’s never felt safer.
“Listen to me, sweetheart; there is nothing wrong with you. Okay? Nothing wrong with you. Just because you can fly forwards doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes you’re going to have to fly backward; you’re not going to have a choice. It’s just the direction you’re fast, huge, hummingbird heart takes you. And it might take you a bit to learn that. To understand that, but I will make sure that you do. Because you, Steve Harrington, are fucking fearless and fucking beautiful, and I am so goddamn proud of you.”
Steve finally reaches his breaking point and collapses in Eddie’s arms. Full body, ugly sobs wreck Steve. He is sure that he is soaking Eddie’s favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt to the bone, but he can’t find it himself to care. His fingers dig into Eddie’s back as he clutches tighter as his breathing picks up.
“Breathe, baby, breathe. Remember that. I got you. I got you.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear.
Steve picks his head up when he finally calms down, and looks at Eddie. “You.”
“What’s that?” Eddie says softly, rubbing circles through Steve’s polo.
“I called you. Because, I think—no, I know, that I’ve been flying backward, to you. For a while now. And I knew that, even if you weren’t too, you’d still show up. And I just—just need you to know that. I am so grateful you showed up.”
Steve knows he should feel nervous telling Eddie all this, but he isn’t. He strangely feels like his dad at this moment, calm and unmoving. Steve doesn’t understand many things in this world, but he understands that even if Eddie doesn’t love him like that, Eddie still loves Steve in plenty of other ways.
It’s still nice, though, when Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes and releases a breath.
Eddie slides his head down slightly so their foreheads are pushed together affectionately. “Stevie, I’ll always fly backward to you.”
Although it’s awful how they got here, Steve can’t help but feel happy at this moment. He also can’t help the silly giggle that comes out of him, “I think we have just lost all meaning to this metaphor at this point.”
Eddie snorts, “Oh, have we? And here I thought we were having a nice moment, a poetic one at that, telling each other ‘I love you.’”
Steve blinks at him, “You love me?”
Eddie frown lines finally turn upwards, “Yea baby, I love you.”
“I—“
Eddie cuts Steve off. “Tell me in the morning. When your tears have dried, and I’ve woken up with you in my arms. I want to hear it in the daylight. Okay? Let’s go home.” Eddie stands, offering a hand to Steve.
“Home?”
“Yea home, got to fly back to our nest.”
Steve can’t help the snort he releases, “Dork.”
Eddie just smiles, “Thought I told you to save the ‘I love you’ til the morning.”
Steve smiles back as he takes Eddie’s hand, “I didn’t…”
Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers, “Yea, ya did.”
****
I’m back, not dead, and in my feelings. Thinking about expanding on this one. I hope you guys like it. 🧡🧡
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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months
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The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU
You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| you're here! Word count: 5317 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig This fic on AO3
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— You’re really quiet, little princess. 
König isn’t ashamed of staring at you the whole horse ride. He isn’t ashamed of touching you, his precious treasure – cupping your breasts through that pathetic excuse of a corset, trying to feel of your legs through the billions of skirts, his touches sprawling across your skin like bruises. He is a soldier in all regards – his touches are far from gentle, far from how he should behave with his bride. You feel like a piece of meat being presented for him to devour. Like an unwilling sacrifice for a benevolent god. 
— Should I scream then?
Snarkiness isn't something that the princess should have – but it's the only weapon you have, although you are not sure if you can even use it. Emperor is laughing, and it is supposed to be a good thing – you were trained to receive such reactions, like a little dog standing and doing tricks on command; you were taught to strive for smiles on the faces of others. But König doesn’t allow you to see his smile, but König laughs all the time while describing to his soldiers the things he wants to do to you. It is almost surely, that he doesn’t think you know his language – you wish you didn’t know. 
— I can give you a reason to scream. — You shall not threaten a… — I’m not threatening you, kleine Katzen. With a good time, maybe. — What are you referring to? — That I would love nothing more but to rip your skirt off and show your cunt a royal treatment, princess.
Emperor has a foul mouth, wandering eyes, and grabby hands – he behaves like a drunk man in a tavern, even though you have never once been in a tavern, and the only drunk men you barely saw were the castle guards on various celebrations. He doesn’t act like a glorious king from the romance novels – and you don’t think that you ever read a novel about a king or an emperor, not about princes and glorious knights. People with this much power don’t deserve love, they already have everything they have – so why would he kidnap you? 
You turn away from him, the obscenity of his mouth makes your whole face burn. You are trying to hide yourself in your hands, you want to grasp something like a little fan or a handkerchief – everything to sustain your dignity. You are wearing the princess’s name and you have to behave like her – even if you don’t think that she would care about how you are behaving yourself. The dread of being exposed lingers in your chest, the only thing that doesn’t allow you to scream and launch on him like a wild cat. Rules and modesty tie you down stronger than any corset could. 
Like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s trap – you steal looks at the nature around you, excited and terrified to see it for the first time – not the perfect greenery of the castle garden, but an untamed nature. You saw the city for the first time – your capital, not burned and agonized under the empire’s boot, but eerie quiet. The city doesn’t know your face, the princess was hidden, kept in the tower as a means to escape the burden of marriage proposals and possible wars for the sake of securing her beauty. Nobody here knows you for your face, and for them, it’s just the empire’s knights, a power from a country too foreign to be worried about, and a random kidnapped girl in a dissarranged dress and tears streaming down her face. 
A hand on your waist secured you in place. No matter how much you squirm and cry, try to forget all the filthy nonsense he is whispering in your ear, you are forced to listen – and you want to cry every time his face hovers over yours. His hands are touching you, too much for comfort, your are still wrapped in his cape, but it’s a very small mercy for your torn dress and fragile body. 
The road is long and short at the same time. Your kingdom was bordering one of Northern Empire territories, but it’s days away – you never once thought that having the Empire right on your border would be such a nuisance, that it would allow them to simply take whatever they want from your tiny country – the rules of politics are never applying to those in power and, unfortunately, you found out the worst way possible. The road is treacherous, with people surrounding you, with soldiers going through the beheaded country like it’s nothing. You were biting your lips the entire first day of the ride, trying not to cry – you do not want to give him the pleasure of seeing your distress, but you can’t help but sob every time he exits the cabin to yell at his soldiers or laugh at something. 
You are not tied up, they trust you too much – they all know you would not be able to run, seeing just a helpless princess, a little war trophy of their emperor. The war trophy without the war, just a doll for him to enjoy. You steal a few glances at him – his spread legs that make you wonder how the poor horse even can handle him riding it, his mighty body, and his muscular arms. He could wrestle a dragon, you think – he could lift up the whole carriage and bring you back to the capital like this. He is a cocky bastard, not even having his sword in his hand whenever you move too much – too confident that this weak princess would not be able to resist him. You don’t want to fall from the horse and so you freeze in your tracks, even when they hit a small pause on the journey.
You can’t, of course – your hands are trained to hold clothes, to braid hair and, sometimes, fetch the water buckets – but you are mostly proficient in holding books, turning pages and embroidering. You can make tea, you can support the conversation, you can faint dramatically whenever the right opportunity occurs, but the ride has been happening for a few hours already, and you fainted three times – for specific reasons, of course, but fainting now would surely be a bit too much. 
— Is little princess too tired to hold herself straight? 
König chuckles in your ear, hands pushing you against his body. You don’t want to say anything, you’d rather continue your ride until you’re completely exhausted – books were never talking about how hard it is to ride a horse, that your rear would feel numb after the first hour, and your head would be bouncing on every little bump on the road. You never thought that the roads of your kingdom were so terribly maintained – and never thought it would be such a problem. 
You grit your teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming just how weak you are – but he stops his horse once you are not responding, a hand slides under your hips to help you get out from the damned animal. You swear to god that you will never ride this foul creature again – but the god, as always, stays silent. 
— What is it? 
— Princess isn’t used to long detours. We’d have to stop before dawn if we want to keep this a secret for now. — Could travel for a few more hours before it’s too bright.
His second-in-command is a weird man, no doubt. Tall, broad, wearing armor with tiger prints all over the metal – although you never saw a tiger in real life, only on various illustrations of the books you were reading for the Princess. He is painfully informal in a way that makes you wonder how he can keep his head on his shoulders – surely, if he’d talk this way to a king, he wouldn’t be such a profound member of the army. König only shakes his head, pointing at you as the reason to stop – as you begged him to get off this bloody thing. — I need my princess with all innards intact. Especially the soft ones.
Emperor laughs, cupping your ass through the skirts. He somehow managed to grope your softness without breaking the corsage, and you’d feel thankful for him, but the dress was ruined anyway – all the hard work of redoing it over and over, every time you had to manage to squish the princess inside of the harsh corset and billion skirts, every little detail you were thinking through together…it feels somehow suitable, to wear a destroyed dress. Fake princess deserves fake luxury, but even the modesty he allows you to have with his coat wrapped around you feels forced.
Stopping right now, when you feel numb and your legs are getting weak and squishy like that weird transparent foreign delicacy, is very considerate of him. So much so you don’t even want to acknowledge it, hoping he’d just continue to go forward until all the traces of your past are gone. You’re too tired to consider anything from escaping to even opening your eyes. Suddenly, being on a horse of this size doesn't sound like something out of a fairytale. Suddenly, you realize that the horses are tall. 
— What’s wrong, princess? 
— I’m not going down.
You are sitting, frozen on top of his horse. One of your hands is keeping his coat wrapped securely around your body while the other squeezes the reins, hoping not to fall miserably to the ground. You hear soldiers laugh – the embarrassment spreads around your cheeks when you understand that a true princess would have horse riding lessons. You two never did – it would give you too much freedom, and your castle would never accommodate to large grounds of free roaming to keep a princess and her loyal maiden entertained. You can only hope they won’t think that the absence of your riding lessons would be too suspicious – and you also hope that he would just allow you to never jump down to the ground that feels horrifyingly far from you. 
— Do you wish to run with my horse? 
— Yes, your Highness. — Run, then. I’ll be waiting, little princess.
There is a laugh in his voice – you squeeze the reins and try to holster them, maybe kick the foul creature to the side so it would take the hint and start running in the direction of the nearest forest. Maybe you would get lucky, and the horse would drop you in front of the house of a kind forest witch that would take you as her student – you can cook, and you can read, so, naturally, any witch would be happy to have you as a disciple. Maybe you will get even more lucky, and the horse will kick you in the head after dropping you, finishing your misery in a tragic road accident. Not a honorable death, but a quick and interesting one. The horse remains frozen in place – just like you. König gently caresses its face, giving it something to eat – an apple, perhaps, a nice and tasty fruit, or sugar cubes, the delicacy that the princess would often indulge in but never gave you, or something of a…ah, this is it – you are starting to get jealous of his horse. Mayhaps, death is the only choice for you now. 
— I will run. 
— Of course you will. 
— Sir, should we prepare the archers? 
— Don’t know it yet. Maybe the princess escape would be too swift for them. 
You feel your whole face burn – they laugh, they all laugh, looking at you like a piece of meat, a funny joke between them. You don’t want to fall from the horse, and you don’t want to stand here either – but every time you look down at the ground that is so, so far away, you can only shake in your seat. You feel like crying once again – and this is what brings you to the edge. With a deep sigh and shaking hands, you jump down swiftly, your eyes closed and your legs getting tangled in the various skirts, dragging you down. ***
The emperor had an understanding of what he was getting into when he kidnapped a princess. Princesses, pretty and young ones especially, are mysterious creatures that should be carefully studied by the imperial scientist in order to determine how in hell they can even exist without killing themselves on something stupid three times per day. This one, however, was a crowned ruler of weird girls – sometimes throughout the journey, he was thinking about returning her to the king and choosing another one. Then he remembered that he beheaded the king – and so, the bloody dot was sealed in the history of relationships between Northern Empire and this tiny shithole in the middle of nowhere. 
Besides, the princess was too adorable to really throw her out. She is smart – for someone like her, anyway; her snarkiness combined with the primal fear of him and his men made him feel strong, more significant than before. It’s funny, in a way – König had defeated countless great warriors and spent his life turning the tiny Empire into the most powerful nation on the blonde, and yet, he never once felt this achieved as when he held the princess in his arms. The emperor never thought of marriage as a necessity, his whole magic endeavors securing that he would never have to worry about leaving an heir or having someone else to rule – but the loneliness can hit you like a royal stallion bred for the purpose of battery ramming into castle doors, and you can find yourself yearning for something that you never thought you’d want. Speaking of royal horses…
The princess is cute, the princess is dumb, and the princess is the most weird and perfect creature in the whole wide world. Makes him wonder just what was you doing in your little castle with your little servants, running around like ants under your dainty heel. You are snarky to him when you know that he is too busy to strike you and too tired to care about his opinion – he likes that about you, little yawns and feeble attempts to appear strong in front of him. He doesn’t, however, like the way you are frozen on top of his horse. He needs his wife helpless, yes, dependant on him in everything – and he also needs her to ask for help when needed, not…well, not jumping from the height of a royal horse in that stupid dress of yours. 
God, hive him strength. 
König, the ruler of the Northern Empire, biggest royal regime on the globe, thought that he overcame his anxiety when he was young, so long ago, he forgot how fast his heart can beat when the situation is going out of his control. He remembers this dreadful feeling now when that stupid brain of yours has decided that jumping from a horse is a good idea. He is fast, swift enough to catch you before you fall to the ground, and he squeezes your hips enough to hear the crack of that stupid dress construction. 
He has to stop himself from yelling. From putting you in your place and slapping you across that perfect face of yours – never the one to beat women, König feels like spanking the shit out of you now. His eyes are flashing with anxiety, and he grabs your shoulders, putting you in front of him – you can’t see his face, covered by his mask, and it’s a small grace for someone like you. He is scary when angry, nostrils flashing with rage when he thinks that you’d rather break your neck than ask him for help. 
— Made others set the camp for tonight. 
Horangi is as perfect as a knight can be – his friend, his partner in crime, one of the only ones who still can survive his temper and not be intimidated by it. He can see the worry in his eyes when König is pushing the little princess down to his hold, draping the various skirts across his hands to rip them away – and he quickly yells at the other soldiers who produced the operation, making them run in various directions to collect wood, stones and set up the tents for tonight. They have to move away from the popular roads, even though nobody in this kingdom would be strong enough to hurt them anyways – but this operation should be a secret, at least relatively, until the princess is secured as his empress, and her body is sprawled across his sheets, withering from pleasure and…
Ah, Scheisse. König cannot stay mad at her when the mere thought of her smile makes his dick twitch in his pants. He survived through horribly throbbing erection against the metal plates of his armor for the whole ride, the small mercy of not having her soft body press against him directly. It didn’t stop him from wanting more, from whispering filthy things, completely undeserving of your virtue. You are bringing him down to his knees – even an emperor is just a man when a pretty girl looks at him, and even at is age, he could feel like a young lover searching for his bride’s hand. 
Oh, but König would love something more than just your hand. 
He should be thankful to his knights for how quickly they made a tent for him to secure the dignity of the first moment between a man and his sweetheart. He usually does everything himself, not wanting to make a lady in waiting out of his knights, but he enjoys their help now – he surely won’t be able to prepare for sleep with his wild cat of a bride in his hands. You are unusually active for a princess, trying to get out of his hands, kicking him with your adorable legs, still wrapped in a ruined skirt. Perhaps you were so mad at him for destroying your dress – he gets it, knowing how sensitive ladies are about this. He’d buy you a new one right away, but, for your stupidity, you deserve to wear only his coat until they are inside the borders of the Empire. 
— Did you hit your head before I got you, princess? What were you thinking? — You told me to run. I did, Your Royal Highness. 
He pinches his nose through the mask, not believing just how arrogant you sound – he wants to push you down, to open that dumb skirt of yours and give your precious ass a few spanks before setting you down, making you sit on the ruined muscle until you’d learn your lesson. The king was definitely not punishing you enough if you still think that you can talk to your betters (and elders) like this. 
— I dared you to run. Thinking you’d accept the consequences with the dignity of a royal lady. 
— Why don’t you kill me then? For belittling your dignity. 
You look too snarky for his liking – he can see how terrified you are, little shakes of your hands and tears in your eyes. You are provoking him, picking the dragon with a stick so he’d burn you to a crisp. König knows that the customs of your kingdom value a good death over everything and just how much you’d love to fall into the grasp of a common tragedy. He also knows that he will not bury his bride before they are even married. 
It’s only natural that the emperor grasps the front of your dress, the edges of the corset you tried to tie down to save some of your dignity. The fabric rips with ridiculous ease, all the gold spent on making it runs with the speed of a thread being torn. Suddenly, your front is exposed, even the underwear is not enough to conceal your privacy. König indulges in the view of your open skin, glossy from sweat and so, so delicious in dim magical light erupting from an artificial candle. He knows that he is playing a dangerous game, that not touching you now would be his greatest accomplishment and greatest torture at the same time – your body meant to be touched, you look like a doll and like a statue, like the greatest treasure and the most desirable slut he ever laid his eyes on. 
The emperor is a man in the end – a war dog, closer to death than to the start of his life, a perfect incarnation of a horrible match to a young princess like you. Too wrathful, too arrogant, with more chips on his shoulders than the hair on your head, and yet, he holds you closely, putting you out of the torture device you are calling a dress. 
You breathe for the first time in forever, and your mouth is shaking from unspoken tears and spoken pleas. He holds himself back from cupping your face in his hands and crushing your lips in a kiss, not because he doesn’t think he deserves it, but because you deserve better than to be fucked on the ground of his tent without proper preparation and some relaxing oils for your body. One kiss would never be enough for him, and he hadn’t touched a woman in far too long to handle himself properly now. 
You look like you need to be ravaged – the greatest temptation König ever experienced. 
— I can do so much to you, little princess. More than you could ever imagine. 
— i’m not…n…not little. Your Highness. 
— You are, compared to me. Should be scared, not snarky. 
— I’m not snarky. 
Just for this, he loses control – your voice, shaking with tears but never losing that arrogant edge, that delicious drawl that cannot be described as something that belongs to a princess, makes him lose all of the composure he had. König had prepared himself for a lady who would fall in his arms and cry the whole night long, he prepared himself for a fierce fighter that would try to kill him immediately – but you are soft and vengeful at the same time, too weak to resist him, but not too helpless to not run his mouth. You speak before you think, and it’s an adorable quality for a princess and horrible – for an empress. good thing you would be his regent, a pretty thing like you should never be annoyed with politics and mingling. König pushes you across his lap, his free hand is tearing through various skirts, and what is left from that awful strick construction you tried to pass as a skirt support. He never understood why anyone would live through this torture – you’d look way nicer in his shirt and nothing more. Or, even better, nothing at all, chained to a bed in his bedroom until he’d think that you are tamed enough to be shown in public. 
You yelp in surprise, precious dumb thing. Just like a princess, you are not accustomed to the consequences of your own actions – you think that you can just run your mouth or do dumb things without his wrath falling upon you…and, little princess, you’re in for quite a shock. Your emperor doesn’t have enough patience for this, even though he did want you as his wife and knew what chaos it could bring. He just never thought that he’d have so much pleasure in looking at your adorable bottoms, all modest and long. Your underpants are adorably white, not stained from multiple washings, crisp and new – he feels the fabric with his fingers and almost thinks to not rip them away, just to appreciate the fine silks that went into constructing it. 
His mercy is cut short by that sweet whimper of yours. You plead with him not to touch you – like you have a saying on this. König defiled the death itself, so why would he even consider such silly things as chastity before marriage? He certainly had enough women in his bed to forbid him from ever going to heaven, and robbing you of your innocence would be a small crime against all the countless sins he already committed. 
But, he doesn’t want you to hate him – and you would, certainly, not in the fiery and passionate way he might enjoy, but a quiet, broken anger. He doesn’t want to turn this fragile thing into the broken shell of the betrothed princess, even if you need to be taught a harsh lesson – and you deserve much better than having your cunt destroyed on the harsh floor of his tent. 
— You’re lucky, little princess. 
He laughs, taking down your underpants – a harsh hand on your bottom, rough fingers that almost burn you without a glove to conceal his touches. You whimper when he lashes on the sensitive skin, stroking sensitive skin. If you knew how hard you make him, you’d run away with his horse already. 
— How am I lucky? You…you killed the king, you destroyed my country, you…
— I killed your father, yes, but I left you alive. 
— To make a show for your soldiers, I assume.. 
— If I wanted to leave you to waste, I would allow them to bounce you on their dicks a while ago. 
— How d…
— You’re lucky because you’re mine, little princess. Not going to share you with anyone. But…
— But? 
Your voice has finally gone down. he can almost taste the dread in your tone. König was burning down villages, destroyed his enemies with nothing more but a rusty sword and hatred in his heart – but he truly feels like a monster when he slaps your ass for the first time and sees your tear-filled eyes staring at him. God, he never was faithful, but hurting you feels like defiling an angel. 
And he loves every second of it. 
— You need to learn a lesson of respect, little princess.
It’s a small grace that he doesn’t make you count his slaps – he simply pushes you down, makes sure that your face is lying on his cloak, just for something soft to rely on, and gives you enough slapping to make the rest of horseriding as painful as possible. Maybe, it would teach you a lesson that if you need help, you’d have to ask him, to beg him for this – and not try to hurt yourself by doing it on your own. You’re awfully independent and resilient for the princess. 
It took him at least five strong, harsh lashes of his hand on your rear to make you cry as loud as he wanted you to. He cups your face in his palm, forcing you up his lap – and smothered your lips with a kiss. König knows he is overstepping; he wouldn’t be able to let go of you after devouring your lips like that, but he doesn’t care, at least for now. He wants to be your everything, to push every thought out of your head and fill it with himself. 
He adores the thought of being your first kiss, your first everything – you’re so inexperienced, so fragile in his hold. Never once thinking of himself as an appreciator of all the thighs dainty and artsy, he wants to worship that pout, your closed eyes, and little prayers of mercy you whisper between each kiss. Your body feels too enticing in his hands, a treasure he needs to keep all to himself. It’s a miracle he didn’t push your underwear down and took you all the way – as much as he wanted to touch you. 
König smiled when you cried into the kiss, trembling in his hold like a caged animal. Never once he thought he’d have this much fun without taking some plumpy woman on his dick, but you are full of surprises. Another five smacks on your ass left you with a bruised bottom and tear-strained, wet face. The look of misery in your eyes made him cackle – god, you were adorable. Continue like this, and he’d spend the rest of his life with you on his lap. 
— We will sleep now. The Empire borders are still days away, and you don’t look like you could handle the road right now. 
You pout, pushing yourself off his lap. Even the hard floor of the tent was better, the cold fabric made your butt sting a bit less. You still couldn’t sit straight, still miserable, with a burning feeling in the depths of your tummy – hate, perhaps, that made your hands shake and your thighs feel a bit too wet and warm for your liking. There is a knot in your lower stomach that makes you feel weird, anxious, that makes you squeeze your legs shut as you push through the pain and get your underpants on again. The soft silks of the princess’s undergarments made you feel a bit better. 
— I’d love nothing more but to run away while we’re still at my home, Butcher.
He smiles under his hood, pushing his hand on your backside. You freeze as he rolls you over, making you fit perfectly against his broad chest. He is a horrible, disgusting human being, clingy and warm around you – his bear-like hold is too strong on your limbs, making you freeze completely. 
— I’m sure you are, Liebling. And I would love to catch you and spank your rear again. 
— I will…you won’t catch me. 
— Someone will. I’ll pay handsomely to any knight or wandering hunter to bring my wife back to me. 
— I’m not y…your wife. 
— Yet. 
You turn away from him – try to, at least. He squeezes you against his chest makes you calm down in his hold like a wild cat he picked up on the side of the road. You don’t want to admit it, but he is warm, cozy, and even the harsh fabric he threw on the ground to make you a bed feels nice compared to the castle floors where you spend so much time. You still squirm, trying to find a good position to lay next to him without feeling like a toy in the hands of a grabby kid. König feels your wounded, perfect ass grinding against him – out of most of his armor, he can’t contain his erection now. Oh, how the strong emperor wished he’d have 
— Stop moving, princess. Unless you want to consummate our marriage early. 
— I’m not…I’m not moving. 
— You are squirming. Is the ground not to your liking?
— I must prefer sleeping in a grave with my papa. — Can’t promise you this…but isn’t sleeping with the Death himself would be enough? — You’re not death, your highness. A blight, maybe. Or a plague. — You’re making me blush, little princess. There is a smile in his voice. You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you can’t say anything. Too many nights sleeping by the princess’s bedspot, always being the first one to greet her at sunrise and the last one to tell her stories before going to sleep. Like a loyal dog on the wooden floor, with a pillow under your cheek for comfort – all of her other handmaidens, precious ladies from good families, had their own quarters and rooms. 
You had a cot by her bed and her endless affection. 
Compared to this, sleeping on the floor of a rich tent with an emperor by your side isn’t as bad. You have to remind yourself that you are sleeping with a murdered, pillager, kidnapper and colonialist – you shouldn’t feel warm by his side. But, he hugs you like a lover. But, he buries his masked face in your hair and inhales your scent – sweet fragrances mixed with the blood and sweat of a long journey. 
You fall asleep in his arms before you can think of something smart to say. 
König doesn’t fall asleep until hour later – too busy looking at your precious form, wrapped so perfectly in his arms. 
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Aye, dawg. What's good, dawg? Hope you have a good day, dawg
Earth 43Miles Morales × Fashionista Reader
Gurl is SASSY. Maybe like Edna from the incredibles when it comes to fashion. She’s a complete goof. I honestly don’t care what you do with this. I just see her finding out about him being Prowler then complaining about his outfit
(What's up, dawg. Hope you enjoy, dawg) taglist
Earth 42!Miles Morales x Fashionista!Reader
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Boy was so amused by your sass
He just found it so funny, and loved to flirt and tease you
So you being sassy about practically anything made him love you even more
It just made you all the more attractive about your sass
And if you threw insults and sarcasm in there?
Chiefs kiss, puddy in your hands and a ring secured
He also took notice, immediately, about how serious you were about fashion
Appearances, accessories or matching, anything and everything to do with fashion you were all over it
He stepped out of line in the wrong outfit?
Damn, you had so much to say so quickly and suddenly you were forcing him to change
You practically ran everything he wore because he knew if you didn't, somehow and someday you would find out
He also had to sit through your rants about someone's outfit in the wrong season, wearing uggs, mismatching, and any little fashion pet peeve you had
He just hummed, running his thumb on your waist from behind because he had no idea what the shit you were saying
But he loves the look on your face and how passionate and serious you were about it
Like fashion was your own form of art, and he didn't mind
He also loves the little fashion shows you would give him or he would be able to help you pick out an outfit
Or if you forced him to watch runway shows, he wouldn't do it by himself, but he would sit through them for you
You would also force him to match with you but he sat through it
But every relationship came with it's secrets, and his was he was the Prowler
He hid it from you successfully for a while, genuinely believing if you found out you would leave
So he hid it for your whole relationship
Until one night he fucked up, coming into his room and you were sitting there waiting for him
He was happy, relieved to see you only to have a feeling of dread wash over him as he saw you picking at his Prowler suit at his desk
You never even looked up, almost dissecting every little detail and every material of the costume as he stood frozen in the doorway
He tried slipping away, unnoticed before he froze when you finally spoke, not even looking up at him
"If you want to be a vigilante, at least be better dressed. You make one little costume…and you choose this material? Have I taught you nothing?!"
He was honestly shocked that was your response
Even more so that you didn't care if he was selling crack, being a damn mafia boss or being the fucking prowler and in your words
"Do whatever you want, darling, but don't you embarass me in that outfit ever-fucking again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@mushystrawberries @sweetheartlizzie07 @itstooearly-its3am @Ihavetoexist @kaorussgf @samsketchezz @yas-v @Lovelymiaablogss
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the-blue-fairie · 4 months
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Art by @shes-an-iso – commissioned by me and posted here with permission
Realization.
It is ten years ago and I am watching Frozen.
It is ten years ago and I am watching Elsa transform herself into her truest self, watching her spin threads of blue around herself, seizing power for herself – radical self-actualization.
The glint of Elsa’s ice dress reflects in my eyes as I watch Elsa strut into the sunlight – and I do not have words for why I am so moved.
I do not have words, but the shimmer stays.
It is ten years ago and I am choosing to become a part of the Frozen fandom.
I have lurked in fandom circles before, but never posted a thing, never made an account.
It is my first time being part of an online fan community – and, as awful as fandoms can be at times, this fandom – for me – ten years ago – is truly a community.
I begin to make friends in the Frozen fandom.
Some of these friends are trans.
The gleam of Elsa’s hair in the rose-gold dawn shines again in my eyes, and shyly, I begin asking questions of my friends.
Realization is nothing without the words to process it – and my friends give me words, my friends help me to understand.
I am a trans woman.
It is in this online space that I first take the name Liza for myself, since this online space is the only place that I can allow myself to be.
I build for myself. My blog is my own ice palace. What I cannot sculpt in daily life, I carve within online spaces – offering my writing, my thoughts, my edits, my soul to the world.
Everyone here knows me as Liza.
Even as I’m in the closet to my family for years, in here, I am Liza. My friends know me as I am, and as Liza is all they will ever know me.
But I am in the closet. For years.
(It’s why Do You Want to Build a Snowman still breaks me.)
In the closet more out of some misplaced sense of duty to my family than out of dread, though I am scared. Always scared. And then in the closet because I feel it’s better if I bury this. Not better for me, but for them. If I’m bleeding inside, it doesn’t matter. I can put on a show. I have fine-woven gloves. Well-taught decorum. Be the good girl you always have to be, etc.
(Maybe it’s my fault I’m in the closet for years. Anons on this site have told me that in the past. I don’t have it as bad as others in the closet, I’m just a coward, the fault is mine, the fault is mine…)
Fuck off.
(People blame Elsa for the thirteen years in the same way, placing the blame on her and not the tutelage that trained her, because her parents loved her, you see, and love becomes a convenient means of shifting blame to the victim.)
In June 2016, after the Pulse shooting, I make a post about how I’m never going to come out. I am terrified, heartbroken, mangled by grief – but my friends are there for me. My friends send me messages of support, of compassion.
I still cherish the memory of those.
Years pass. When I finally come out to my father, I can barely say the words, barely look him in the eye.
It is ten years since Frozen and I have come out to my family – far too late. I have been on HRT more than a year now.
(My dad still misgenders me when he thinks I’m out of earshot. He resents when I get frustrated with him over this.)
It is ten years since Frozen and I am Elsa on the North Mountain, staring into the whirlwind of an uncertain future, defiant and scared.
And I know – I know – that I didn’t process I was trans because of the film – it was because of the friendship of fellow trans people, trans people who happened to be Frozen fans a decade ago – but my journey of self-realization, my time in the closet, my creation of a sense of self, are so entwined with memories of Frozen that I can’t help but think of it when thinking about my own transition…
Can’t help but think of Elsa, hips swaying, arms outstretched, flashing, radiant –
Happy tenth anniversary, Frozen.
And thank you. Thank you.
(This is okay to reblog. In fact, please do. It is a sliver of my soul that I offer to the world.)
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xoxo-sarah · 1 month
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Can't Come Back From This
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↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x medic!Reader
↝warning: death, blood, apocalypse, zombies, crying, angst, not proof read
|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||
↝⎙ 2.17.24
Divider by @saradika-graphics
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You stumbled past the door, practically falling down the steps. The only thing stopping you from falling onto the pavement was the railing on the stairs.
It was as if everything was going in slow-motion.
Red. Dead. Blood.
The same 3 words kept repeating in your head. A nagging voice that wasn't your own repeating the words that would surely drive you insane.
The crimson liquid ran down your arms and hands, splattering onto the ground, weaving into the cracks of the concrete. Red liquid. Blood.
"Y/n?" Daryl slowed from his absentminded walk down the street, stopping across from you on the other side of the road. His eyes followed yours as they drifted to your hands. His body moved before his brain could process what was happening, or what had happened for your hands to be covered in blood and your expression as if you had seen a ghost. "What happened?" Daryl held your hands, asking the only question that seemed to come out, out of all the questions swimming around in his head.
"Bit."
His head shot up, looking at every inch of your face. Your face, that kept the same distant expression. He went into panic-mode. His eyes went from your face to your body, checking your arms, legs, everything. As far as his eyes could see, your hands were the only thing bleeding.
Your head shook, "Sammy."
Daryl felt his stomach drop. Any relief he felt when he relieved you weren't bleeding turned to dread.
Sammy. Sammy was a young boy, probably around 17, 18. He was a good kid, as far as Daryl knew. The kid was always offering to help in any way he could. He would go on runs and come back with more than needed. He kept the small kids of Alexandria entertained. Sammy would help teach the kids and others how to use weapons correctly. He could make a mean rabbit stew. But you could probably thank Carol for that. She taught the kid so much since he showed up. And he listened to every word.
Sammy was learning from Siddiq the same time you were. He was always one step ahead of you in asking questions. You didn't blame him. He was a smart learner, and willing to teach if you didn't understand something the way Siddiq explained it. "Want to learn how to save someone's life in the apocalypse." Sammy had told you, with a goofy grin. The same goofy grin he wore all the time.
You two were close, like brother and sister.
Losing him had to feel like what losing Merle felt like. Maybe even worse.
"Hey," Your dull eyes met his. Your eyes had never lacked this amount of emotion before, not even with what you have all been through this far. Your body fell forwards just as he touched your elbows. You laid limp in his arms. He couldn't care less about the blood soaking into his top as you clung to it. "Yer okay."
His attention was brought to the ajar door. A clattering inside seemed to only faze him. "I-" You hiccuped, "I couldn't do it. I couldn't, Daryl."
He had been rushed in late last night, bleeding so much, you were unable to find the wound at first. He was gargling on his own blood, trying to reach for his neck as you frantically cleaned him.
When you had finally found the wound under all the blood, you tried to save him. Tried to cut his leg off Before the infection traveled. But it was too late. His body went limp. You stayed by his side the rest of the night, staring at his peaceful expression, aside from all the grime.
The world was cruel, you had already known that. Way before the apocalypse. But this was a new level of cruel. One that one person couldn't come back from on their own.
The groaning continued, following the sound of your voice. The old body of Sammy growled and groaned, clawing at the door as you laid in the arms of the man you felt comfort in in other ways most nights.
Daryl moved back, holding you at arms length. "Gotta take care of it. Sit down." He helped you sit and lean against the steps.
He was quick with it. Almost as soon as he opened the door and walked in, he was walking out.
"Yer alright." He knew you wouldn't be the same again. You probably wouldn't laugh or make fun of him for a while. Hell, you might even quite working in the infirmary. He wouldn't blame you.
You had dealt with plenty of deaths before. There's just some you can't come back from.
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•2021-2024 by sarahwasfound•
•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]
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steddierthings · 1 year
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Been thinking a lot lately about Robin and Steve’s bathroom scene and what it would be like if Robin didn’t confess to Steve. If the truth serum had worn off just enough that she could say, “Ok, yeah. I…I feel the same way.” And Steve would still pull himself across the gross floor under the stalls to look at her but he’d be grinning and sweet as he said “Yeah? Really?” And she would smile too but it would be hard and heavy and she would stop as soon as he looked the other way.
She would expect a kiss, despite how gross their mouths are right now, but when he doesn’t lean in, when he just keeps smiling at her and gives her knee a nudge with his knee, she is so so grateful.
After it’s over, as they huddle close to each other and Steve winds his arms around her, pulls her close and murmurs in her ear, “I’ve got you, we’re alive, you’re alive, it’s gonna be okay” as she shakes and shakes and shakes in his arms, she thinks maybe it really will be okay. They survived the craziest shit she never could have imagined, and this boy she thought was such a useless asshole is the one thing holding her together right now. His arms are warm and solid and she never wants to leave them. But then her parents show up to take her home. He squeezes her tight and whispers in her ear, “can I call you tomorrow?” before letting her go. She nods because what else can she do. She smiles because that’s what you’re supposed to do. She says, “I’d like that,” softly in the way that she’s heard other girls do. Then she gets in the car with her parents and they barely make it out of the parking lot before her body’s heaving with sobs and it’s only partially because she almost died at the hands of Russians and fought otherworldly monsters in a shopping mall.
She doesn’t actually expect it—she’s heard enough girls complain about guys not calling when they say they will— but Steve does call her the next day. Her mom gives her a knowing wink before leaving her alone in the kitchen as she twists the phone cord between her fingers and tries to figure out how to say, “I didn’t mean it, I don’t want this, I just want to be normal.
“Did your parents pick you up after I left?” is what she says instead.
“Oh, no, I drove home.”
“Dingus! You were drugged! You probably have a concussion!”
“Yeah, but it was fine. They were—they were really tired when I called, so I just told them they didn’t need to worry about it.”
The way his voice sounds—unbothered in the way that someone who’s taught themselves not to expect more sounds—makes her forget about the sick feeling in her gut and she spends the rest of the call telling him funny stories and teasing him in a gentle way she never could manage when they were at Scoops. By the end of their call she’s smiling for real for the first time since they plummeted down an elevator shaft.
The calls don’t stop after that. Every night at 8:30 the phone rings. Every night she stares at it, lets it ring as she silently chants don’t pick it up don’t pick it up don’t pick it up but inevitably she pictures Steve at home with parents who, he quietly confessed to her one night, were mad at him for getting hurt because they had to postpone their trip abroad so it didn’t look bad to their neighbors that they’d left their concussed son alone while his face still looked like hamburger meat. She’ll remember how safe she felt in his arms in the mall parking lot and how sweet and patient he is whenever she shies away from any talk of romances. Then she’ll push the dread aside, pick up the phone, and by the end of every conversation she thinks she never wants to talk to anyone else except Steve Harrington. The cord still ends up in knots that her mom fusses at her about.
Eventually his parents leave for their trip, and Steve declares his face healed enough that he can go out in public again. Robin’s so happy for him, can hear the glee in his voice as he tells her. He’s hated being cooped up in forced proximity with his parents. She’s so happy that she’s completely blindsided by his next words.
“I think we should celebrate. Let me take you out.”
“What?”
“We could go to Enzo’s. Maybe catch a movie beforehand.” Panic’s got a chokehold on her throat so she doesn’t say anything. He clears his throat, speaks fast, nervous. “Or if you don’t like that we could go bowling? No, wait you said you hate bowling. I know! We could pack a picnic, drive up to Lover’s Lake.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roll, Sparky.” She’s not doing a great job of keeping the hysteria out of her voice but she thinks maybe Steve’s too nervous to notice. And isn’t that something? Robin Buckley, band nerd and all around awkward human making Steve “The Hair” Harrington nervous. Even she gets a little feminine thrill from that. But it doesn’t last long. “Steve, these all sound like dates.”
“Well, yeah, that’s because they are. Come on, Rob, don’t tell me you forgot about our bathroom floor confessions. I’m the one with the concussion,” he jokes, but his voice is tight.
“I—no, I didn’t forget.”
“So what do you say? Dinner and a movie? Picnic? Something else?” She hesitates a beat too long and he starts backtracking. “We don’t have to. It’s no big deal, we can just forget that it happened, if you don’t feel the same way anymore. Or, uh, we could just go as friends. I’d—I’d like that too.”
He’s giving her an out, and she thinks he might even mean it when he says he’d like that too. That he would be just fine being her friend and nothing more. But she’s been there before. In 8th grade when Drew Basham, her best friend since 4th grade, tried to kiss her when they were on a class field trip and she told him no. He told all their friends they kissed anyway and that she had bad breath and wouldn’t stop calling him and then he never talked to her again. Or junior year when Sammy Lawrence, first French horn and her third closest friend in band, asked her on a date five times and asked her if she was a fucking lesbo after she turned him didn’t the fifth time. She doesn’t think she could take that from the boy who gave her the number to his personal line and lets her call him at 2 am after she’s woken up from a screaming nightmare.
“No, let’s. Let’s do it. Maybe keep it small, though? Just go to the diner?”
“Yeah?” he says, surprised and pleased. They make a plan for Saturday night. When they hang up, Robin sneaks into her parents room where they’re watching late night TV. Her mom scoots over and Robin curls up next to her, lays her head on her shoulder, and tries not to cry.
——
Steve Harrington on a date is An Experience. He picks her up right on time, at 6, early enough so they can see a movie after if they want. His hair is styled to high heaven and he’s wearing just enough cologne that she can appreciate it without being overwhelmed. He introduces himself to her parents, charms her mom and jokes around with her dad. Tells Robin that she looks really pretty even though she knows she looks like a sweaty mess she changed her clothes so many times. How would she know what to wear on a date with a guy? But she can tell he means it because he has to clear his throat in the middle of the words and she thinks he maybe even blushes.
He opens the car door for her and doesn’t make fun of her when she reaches for it at the same time, almost making them both trip when she startles at finding his hand on the handle too. Instead, he steadies her, lets his hand slide down her arm, squeezes her hand at the end and guides her into her seat. She barely resists the urge to claw at every piece of her skin he touched.
At the diner they get a corner booth so they can sit close. She thinks he called ahead to have them hold it for them because the lady at the cash register winks at him as they head immediately to the back and it’s primo space that’s free on a busy night.
She can tell he’s pulling out all his moves for her, but by the end of the night she’s even more miserable than she was at the beginning. Everything he says is exactly what she would expect him to say to a random preppy cheerleader or girls soccer team captain or even Nancy Wheeler on their first date. It’s all a script, and by the end of the night even he seems bored and frustrated with how much it’s not working. So maybe it’ll be easy. He’ll drive her home, they’ll decide they’re just not right for each other like that and if she’s luckier than she’s ever been in her life, they’ll go back to giving each other shit interspersed with moments of intense vulnerability and understanding that she’s never experienced with another human being. But if precedent has taught her anything, she knows it’s way more likely they’ll decide they’re just not right for each other and she’ll never hear from him again.
But as he’s driving her home in uncomfortable silence, he suddenly slaps the steering wheel, says, “fuck it” and makes an illegal u-turn, tires squealing. It startles a laugh out of Robin as she gasps, “what the fuck, Steve?”
“Put on some tunes, Buckley, we’re taking a detour.” She stares at him and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “You better hurry or I’m putting on top 40 and I know how you feel about that.” His energy, so different from just a minute ago, is infectious, and Robin find herself grinning, scrambling for the glove compartment where she knows he keeps his tapes. She’s a little shocked to find a Ramones cassette but it feels perfect for whatever mood he’s gotten into as they speed down a backroad, wild and energetic and defiant.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere, I don’t care. We’re just driving. Roll your window down,” he says, and does the same. “We’re better than whatever that was back there, Buckley.”
“Should you be calling me my last name when we’re on a date?”
“Does it matter? We fought monsters. We got tortured by Russians. We puked next to each other in a mall bathroom. We’re Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington and we can do whatever the fuck we want on a date, right?”
“Right!” She lets out a whoop as the air whips around her. Steve grabs her hand and for the first time it doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels like shared trauma and safety and love and best friends.
They drive the backroads until they reach a random clearing that she’s never noticed before but Steve seems familiar with. There’s still some light so they get out and Steve pulls a blanket and a battery-powered lantern from his trunk. They both ignore the nail bat laid next to it. For some reason, without even signaling each other, they race to the middle of the clearing, Steve loudly declaring himself the winner at an arbitrary finish line. Robin tackles him as he does a victory pose and they grapple with each other until they’re both gasping for air. Eventually Steve stands up to spread the blanket out and Robin rolls onto it. Steve lies next to her, close but not touching. The night’s warm and her body’s spent and she’s happy. They stay like that, quiet and together, as the stars come out.
After a while Steve rolls onto his side, watching her in the lantern light. She tenses up, her heart already breaking in anticipation of whatever he’s going to say or try to do. It would be a perfect moment for a kiss if she were anyone else. But she’s not and if he tries to kiss her, she thinks she might vomit. Or worse, kiss him back. But he must feel her tense because he edges back ever so slightly. “Whoa, you’re okay, Rob. We’re okay.” Every other time Steve’s told her that, she’s believed him and he hasn’t lied to her yet, so she shakes herself and turns to face him.
He smiles at her and it’s soft and sweet and not bitter at all. “So, tonight kinda sucked, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. But I do want to ask you something.”
She licks her lips, a nervous habit she curses herself for when his eyes drop to them. “Ask away.”
“Did you actually want to go on a date with me?”
“Of course—”
“Ah ah, be honest. I promise whatever you say will be okay.”
The words are hard, they stick in her throat and turn her stomach. She doesn’t want to hurt him, this boy who almost died right next to her, who held her hand and saved her life and talked to her for hours so she didn’t have to listen to the thoughts in her own head. But if he promises her it’ll be okay, she’ll believe him and deal with the heartbreak later if he lied.
“No, I didn’t.” And what she feared happening all night finally happens and he kisses her, but it’s after he’s scooted close, gathered her up in his arms, and it’s on her forehead not her mouth. He smiles down at her bewildered face.
“Then we are never doing that again. Okay?”
She can’t keep the catch out of her voice. “But I don’t want to lose you.”
“You say that now, but I think you’re stuck with me, Buckley. For life. I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates.”
She eyes him intently, looking for any trace of disappointment, of insincerity. But there’s nothing but fondness and understanding. Soulmates. She turns the word over in her mind. It feels right. Almost right.
“Platonic soulmates,” she says.
“Sure, platonic. Whatever you say. I have no idea what that means but I’m game to be it.”
“You know, Platonic? With a capital P? Like Plato?”
“Like the dog?”
Robin groans. “Like the dog? The cartoon dog?! Not even like the planet? Oh my god, Steve.” She can’t stop laughing. This is her soulmate. “Plato? The philosopher? Nothing?”
He hops up, grinning. He reaches a hand down to help her up. “Come on, it’s getting late. You can explain all about this philosopher to me in the car.”
Later, Robin will tell him the real story about Mrs. Click’s class. About crumbs and stupid questions and Tammy Thompson. He won’t understand at first but then he will and they’ll sing Bonnie Tyler and they’ll laugh and cry and hug because neither of them has had someone truly know them until they found each other.
For now, Robin takes his hand and lets him drive her home and tells him as they walk to the door and don’t kiss that this is the greatest date she’s ever been on.
—————————————————————————
Not really sure what happened here. Woke up at 5 am, started writing, and this just poured out. I think I’m kinda proud of it! Not really sure what should be tagged as far as content warnings so lmk if you notice anything I don’t include but should. I’ll put this on ao3 at some point. Would love to hear your thoughts!
Now on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45469138
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madzandmore · 2 months
Note
can you please do where Tom and Bill having kids at the same time,Tom had a son and Bill had a daughter,the fandom calls them Tom and Bill jr. because they literally look exactly like them. and their dad's reaction when they created a band and they didn't tell them because they thought it's embarrass
(I'm making this short because I'm suck at English)
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TOM AND BILL - FLUFF
this is such a cute request.
THEIR KIDS ARE LIKE 11/12 IN THIS!!!!!
Tom and Bill Kaulitz - Following In Our Footsteps
Tom and Bill both had kids around the same time. They wanted to do that so they would be raised like siblings. They wanted their kids to carry on the same legacy they had.
And that’s what they did. Tom’s child was born just a couple days before Bill’s. It’s ironic because Tom is the older twin.
But they did everything together. When Tom was busy he would give his child to Bill to take care off. And the same with Bill.
BILLS POV-
My daughter Kimberly (iykyk) and Tom’s son Nick (iykyk) were having a sleepover. It was their 50th sleepover of the year and I was hosting it.
Tom came over to drop Nick off and hang out with me while the kids have their time.
“What’s up Tom.” I bring my brother in for a hug.
“Hey Bill, nothing much.” He moved aside to let Nick in.
“Kimberly!” Nick shouts from the door as he spots her.
“Nick!” My daughter shouts from behind me as they run to each other, hugging as if they hadn’t seen each other for years.
“Wow you guys are really excited.” I comment on their childish ways.
“But I haven’t seen him in like, forever.” She says sassily.
“I know it’s been like yearsss.” Nick dreads and adds on.
“Ok kiddos, go upstairs and play.” Tom says already getting tired of their little games.
The kids smile at each other and they run up the stairs laughing their head off. “They’re crazy.” I shake my head and cross my arms.
“Agreed.”
NICKS POV-
“Ok what should we do Kim?” I ask my little cousin as we sit in her room on her fluffy pink carpet.
“Umm I don’t know? Maybe draw?” She requests raising an eyebrow and throwing her hands up.
“Mmm but we always draw I wanna do something different.” I debate wanting to to something that we haven’t done yet.
“Ooo I have an idea! Let’s create a band, like our dads!” I have a cheeky smirk on my face knowing that my dad taught me how to play a little bit of guitar.
“That’s an amazing idea! I know how to play a little guitar and you have a good voice.” I jump with excitement.
“Thank you. But first we need a name.” She starts to think. Looking at her celling for ideas.
“I know, I know. What about Berlin Kidz?” I say.
“That’s perfect!” She gleams. “Now we need to get a microphone and a guitar. How are we going to do that?”
“Wait. Don’t you have a little play microphone uncle Bill gave you?” I ask knowing she got one for Christmas last year.
“Omg yes! I do.” She jumps up and goes to her small toy box. Rummaging through the toys and scouting for the play microphone. “Found it.” She holds it up in the air.
It’s a pink and orange colour with white glitter around the edges. “That’s perfect.” I comment.
“Okay Nick, did you bring your guitar?” She asks crossing her fingers in hope.
“Let me ask my dad hold on.” My open the door and run down the stairs where I see my dad and uncle Bill on the couch.
“Dad.”
“Yeah, what do you need Nick?” He turns around from the couch and looks at me.
“Did we bring my little guitar? I want to show Kimberly a song I made up.” I move back and forth on my feet.
“Yeah buddy, it’s in the car, here’s the keys and make sure to lock the door when you’re done.” He goes into his pocket and gets the keys. Handing them to me.
“Thank you dad.” I go out the front door and to our car. Unlocking it and going into the back seat where it was laying across the seats.
I grab it and close the car door, locking it and going back inside. “Here you go.” I throw my dad the keys and go upstairs.
“Hey Kimberly, I have my guitar.” I show her the wooden guitar in my hands sitting on the chair in her room and positioning the guitar on my lap.
“Amazing, do you have a riff?” She stands next to me.
“Well I’ve been working on this one melody and maybe you can think of lyrics for it?” I strung the guitar once to make sure it’s tuned.
“Okay let’s see it.”
I start to strum the guitar. Playing all the notes that my dad has taught me, alining them into a rhythm that I’ve made over the weeks.
She starts humming to the melody humming little words under her breath. “Okay I think I got it.” She stops me and starts singing to lyrics.
(I’m not making lyrics to just imagine it.)
TOMS POV-
As me and Bill are talking on his couch we start to hear singing and guitar. I know Nick wanted to show Kimberly a song but I don’t know that singing was involved.
“Hold on Bill, do you hear that?” I interrupt him talking we both pause, listening to the kids.
“Omg Tom, they’re making a song. Kimberly is singing and Nick is playing guitar.” His eyes shot open.
“They’re really good together. Let’s so see them.” I suggest.
“Wait, let me go up there and get a video, I want to post it on instagram. Stay here.” He gets up and grabs his phone.
BILLS POV-
I slowly walk to Kimberly’s room and crack the door open just a little so I can get a better look. Going to instagram and opening the camera I start to record them.
Making sure I don’t make any noise I stay outside if the door and peak my phone inside the room, capturing their little performance.
After about 30 seconds I stop recording and walk back downstairs. “Tom I got it!” I whisper-yell and sit back next to him on the couch.
“Show me.” I give him my phone and he presses play on the video. Smiling when he sees Nick playing the guitar riff he told him about. “I taught him out to do that.” He says pointing.
“It’s the cutest thing ever.” I take the phone from him and start typing a caption to the video.
It reads: ‘Following in our footsteps’ with a heart emoji. I tag Tom in the caption and post it. “Omg this is going to blow up.” I laugh and we go back to talking.
THE NEXT DAY + KIMBERLYS POV-
It’s the next day. Me and Nick finished our song and Uncle Tom went home last night after dinner. Now it was time for Nick to go home as well since his dad was here to pick him up.
“Bye Nick, I’ll see you probably next week.” I give him a hug.
“Bye Kimberly, hop-“ He gets cut off by my dad.
“Before you guys say goodbye, me and Uncle Tom want to show you something.” Me and Nick both look at each other in confusion. What did they want to show us?
Then my dad pulls out his phone and shows us a video. It’s me and Nick playing our song!
“Dad!” I cover my face in embarrassment, my grace turning pink.
“Uncle Bill!” Nick whines as well turning fully around and also throwing his hands onto his face.
“But you guys were so cute! Our fans are calling you guys Tom and Bill jr. it’s the best thing ever.” He protests and closes out of the video.
“I think you guys sound beautiful, maybe you could give us a performance?” Uncle Tom wiggles his eyebrows smirking and teasing us about our little ‘band’ we made.
“Okay maybe.” Nick says laughing at his facial expressions.
“Perfect, well it was nice having you here Nick. Bye guys.” My dad hugs Uncle Tom and Nick.
“Bye Uncle Tom.” I give him a hug. “Bye Nick.” I wave at him as they walk through the door.
SO FUCKING CUTE OMG. the band name is kinda of cringe but it’s okay.
ALSO THANK YOU GUYS FOR ALL THE LOVE SND SUPPORT. I CAME BACK FROM SCHOOL WITH 99+ NOTIFICATIONS. I FELT LIKE A CELEBRITY.
BYE BBYS<3
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oddballwriter · 3 months
Note
My god I just finished reading all of your moon boys as dads blurbs and holy shit
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I was hoping you would write a blurb/one-shot where Marc just can't help but compare fem! reader (they have 2 sons) and his mother, but the reader doesn't act the way his mom would and that is slowly but surely healing him. Maybe also where their younger boy gets hurt while playing with his brother and she calms their oldest by saying "It wasn't your fault, you didn't do it on purpose". Poor Marc would definitely start crying as soon as they're alone. Anyway, toodles!
Healing Wounds
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Summary: Fatherhood was something that really healed Marc in a way that he couldn't imagine, and with that, situations are a lot less stress-inducing and let him enjoy finer moments with his family.
Warnings: Talk about Marc's trauma. Thoughts of self-doubt and being unable to let go of the past. Y/N and Marc (and the rest) being good parents. A whole lot of fluff at the end.  
Author’s Snip: We love letting our man heal his mental and emotional wounds.
I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.
Word Count: 859
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It was kind of funny. Of course, you and him end up having two sons. It just had to happen like that didn't it. It wasn't like he didn't want them. God, no. Marc would never trade his boys for anything and he knows that neither would you.
But it was always there in the back of his mind. The faintest overlay in his vision and memory to back when he was a kid and all of its awful moments. All the screaming, crying, pain, and moments and milestones that were stained no matter how much he tried to scrub the bad out.
With your first, Aaron, there was the dread of being a parent and doing it wrong. He didn't want to get any of it wrong but there was the dilemma of where exactly he was meant to be. Too much of a pushover then his son would be spoiled and never get the hang of life. Too strict and demanding then he'd just be her. And Marc would rather die than even be her in the slightest. It was a hard thing for him to balance in his own mind. Marc was gone for a while but you all knew that it was for him to reflect and gather himself. Marc very much still had some wounds that he needed to lick before he took that journey.
And he did great. All three of them did great in their own ways but Marc clearly felt more comfortable and secure with himself being a dad and also working with you. You knew deep down that you were a part of that security, that the image was mostly on you. And you made sure that Marc never saw her in you even once. It's not like you were planning too, of course. You couldn't even imagine doing such things, or how any mother could have the audacity.
But when Matthew, or Matty as you all call him, came along there was a new dilemma that brought on more thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. But Marc knew that Aaron and you managed to heal those wounds, so he knew that this would heal up so much more. He just needed to believe in himself and you, and the process.
Marc had the usual talk that a parent would with a soon-to-be older sibling, the whole "Just because we're having another one and are giving them more attention doesn't mean we don't love you. They just need more attention because they're small". Aaron understood, matter of fact he seemed really excited to be an older brother. Marc took that and made it something to use for healing. You and him taught Aaron how to help take care of Matthew and how to hold him, letting him be a part of his baby brother's life.
Years went by and they both grew, you bought a house, Marc started feeling better, and everything felt perfect. Sure, there were some moments but they never really impacted anything. There was no fear, no nights spent laying awake worrying about something happening, no moments where the ghosts of a past long since passed showed up in his mind.
That was until one day when everything was seemingly normal. You were doing something, Marc wasn't really paying attention and also couldn't remember what he was doing either. The boys were playing in the backyard. But at some point, you both hear a scream and then a cry coming from the backyard.
Rushing out, you find Matthew sitting on the grass crying and holding his foot while Aaron is kneeling next to him and looks upset and panicked. You go and pick up Matthew while Aaron is repeating "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." and possibly about to cry himself. That's when it all gets Marc, and hard.
He feels overwhelmed by everything, but just before it gets too much he sees you try and settle your boys down. "What happened?" you asked Aaron calmly while holding Matthew who was sniffling into your shoulder. "We were playing soccer and he was going to get the ball in my goal so I tried to stop him, but I didn't know where his foot was so when I kicked he fell." Aaron explains as he starts to cry. You kneel down to his eye level, "Hey, it's okay, sweetie." you shush, "Was it an accident?" you ask. Aaron nods as he whips his tears. "Okay, then it wasn't your fault. You didn't mean to trip him." you say as you help him whip away his tears. "Are you okay, Matty?" you ask the smaller boy to which he nods.
"Alright. Then why don't we just hug it out and maybe sit down for a little or do something inside, yeah?" you suggest. The two boys immediately go in for the group hug, but you glance up at Marc, seeing him watch the whole thing, and gesture for him to join in. Marc, trying to hold back the water in his eyes, joins in. It lasts a few seconds but Marc can feel the situation healing up something again.
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torukmaktoskxawng · 23 days
Text
run away with me - part two
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Part One Here
Pairing: Nor/Fem!Sarentu!Reader
Summary: Nor hesitantly returns. And while Ri'nela is quick to forgive and welcome him back into the Sarentu... he knew that you would not be as forgiving. But you wouldn't be the woman he loved if you did.
Word Count: +3k
Warnings: Spoilers for AFoP, only one or two uses of Y/n, proofread by me, ANGST!!!
Taglist: @mooniequeen @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter
A/n: This needed a Part 2 (especially now that I finally got to that you-know-what scene on AFoP. I had a feeling it would happen but still!)
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Ri'nela is tsahik now.
Nor is honestly so proud of her, and of everyone he left behind. When he returned and realized that everyone in the Resistance was still around -apart from those who were lost to the attack on HQ- even after so long, he was internally relieved. While he initially hated the very sight of his human allies, he had spent so much time traveling alone, surviving in the wild, and reflecting on himself and his inner demons... to the point where he knew that the Resistance was not part of his pain and Priya and the others were innocent. He had come to the same conclusion as So'lek did. They were his allies, and they wanted Eywa to be free from the pain the Sky People inflicted on her just as much as he did.
As Ri'nela shows him around, keeping her arm linked with his as if afraid he would disappear, Nor quickly notices a few things are different among the new Sarentu clan and their tawtute allies. There were several more Na'vi than he remembered. All of them come from different backgrounds, wearing various clothes and different styles from one another, and none of them bore the mark of the Sarentu. Some had very young children among them, and to his surprise, they bore the mark of the Sarentu. They all greeted Ri'nela respectfully as she passed by them, addressing her as their tsahik. The only one who appeared to treat Ri'nela the same as before and call her by her name was Teylan, but Nor suspected that she likely asked him to. Teylan gave the other Sarentu male a wide berth, and Nor couldn't blame him. 
While Ri'nela leads Nor away from the clan to journey to the Hollows, he notices one other thing about the Na'vi living among the reformed Sarentu.
You were not among them.
He didn't dare ask, no matter how much it pained him to do so. He felt as though he had no right to know about you, to know what you've been up to or if you were even still alive. He knows Ri'nela will be expecting him to ask, but he's still as stubborn as when they were kids, so he bit his tongue.
And maybe that's why Ri'nela brings him to the Circle of Ancestors, something he dreaded but knew it needed to be done. He had felt like a stranger in Eywa's presence, not having connected to her since he and his friends first found a Tarsyu flower. Nor felt as though he didn't deserve to connect to the Great Mother, not after growing up in the shadow of the Sky People, learning their ways and forgetting everything he had been taught as a child. After he left the Resistance, he felt more ashamed of who he became and was convinced Eywa would hate him now more than ever after what he did. 
Ri'nela was patient with Nor, encouraging him to connect to Eywa, at least just this once. She promised she would never make him do it again if that was what he wanted, and so, Nor knelt in the grass and slowly took his kuru in hand, finally making the connection. 
He finally got to see the truth for himself, revealing what Alma did... or, technically what she didn't do. While his anger and resentment still festered, there was also unimaginable guilt. After he saw Alma's memories, he also saw yours. 
He saw your fear and pain while walking through the remnants of the Circle of Songs, the place the Sarentu were butchered during their annual moot, now laid barren within the yavä'. He had been on the radio with you as you traveled through it, remembering how he listened to your distress at your discovery in the midst of searching for proof of Anufi's innocence. He remembered feeling helpless, wishing more than anything that he could have gone with you. He should have gone with you...
He saw your grief and pain... your anger and fear. He saw everything you went through, and most of it was without him, when you needed him the most. He saw you every time you connected to the Circle of Ancestors, downloading your memories in case something happened to you. He saw how you wept in front of Eywa while clutching a familiar carved stone in your hand, the one he had gifted you after promising to always stay by your side.
Your memories did little to comfort him, and as he finally disconnected from the Circle of Ancestors, his curiosity got the better of him, glancing over at Ri'nela as she carefully watched him with folded arms.
"Where... where is she?" He finally asked.
"She's persistent in spreading stories and democracy across other clans, like a true Sarentu," Ri'nela doesn't hesitate to answer, having been waiting for him to ask, "While I remain here to lead our clan, she ventures out there, as our envoy, to find new friends and spread our wisdom. She always comes back with stories of her adventures and sometimes brings home other Na'vi who wish to join the Sarentu. She always has something new to tell me from her travels."
"So..." his ears begin to rise with hope, "She eventually comes back?"
"Always. It could be days or months, but she always comes home. Although... she never stays long."
Ri'nela sucks in a deep breath, her gaze heavy, "I can see it in her eyes. She is saddened by us. She looks at me and Teylan and thinks of you. That is why she travels so much... to be rid of your memory. To forget that you abandoned her."
Despite how her tone was soft and gentle, her words cut deep into Nor's skin, making him flinch in pain as his ears and tail lowered in distress and guilt. Ri'nela lowers herself to her knees, meeting Nor's eyes with a stern, cold expression, "When she returns-- and she will, you will not abandon her again."
Nor swallows sharply and nods once, his voice so quiet and strange to him, "What do I even say to her?"
The Sarentu tsahik lifts her chin, "I would do nothing less than beg for her forgiveness on your hands and knees."
~~~~~~~~~
Nor had been living among the Sarentu and the Resistance for two months before you finally made your appearance.
You flew in by ikran, fast and agile, your Bonded barely giving herself time to fan out her wings to stop her descent before her talons landed gracefully on the ground. Luckily, no one was close enough to be ambushed by the harsh entrance, but once people began to realize who had made a quick landing in the center of their community, they all began to flock toward you and your ikran, eager to see you and hear about your travels.
Nor didn't know that it had been you who landed, but when Ri'nela came to fetch him, both relief and dread fought each other in his stomach, his lungs barely expanding enough for him to breathe. He follows the tsahik out of his new kelku and toward the crowd, unconsciously keeping his head down so you wouldn't immediately see him.
Not like that was an issue as you were currently occupied by your friends and family, barely giving you time to dismount from your ikran before you were bombarded with hugs and warm welcomes.
"Y/n!"
"Teylan!" You laugh excitedly, hopping down from your banshee as Teylan runs up to you. He bends low just before he scoops you up in his arms and swings you around in the air enthusiastically, causing you to let out a soft squeal of surprise.
Nor watched this soft display from a distance, a small twinge of his tail indicating he was slightly jealous. He was aware of what Teylan had done and knew why neither you nor Ri'nela felt the need to tell Nor about their friend's betrayal after the first HQ was destroyed. At the time, Nor was hateful and blamed everyone who wronged him and his loved ones. He understands why he was never told about Teylan's betrayal, knowing it wouldn't have gone well... knowing that it might have ended up like what happened with Alma's avatar.
Despite coming to terms with himself and calmly accepting both Alma and Teylan's betrayals, Nor couldn't help but feel bothered as he watched Teylan set you down and begin rambling about everything you might have missed while you were gone. It bothered him that you had forgiven Teylan easily enough, your smile wide and keeping your eyes solely on your dear friend as he talked so he knew he had your full attention. 
So'lek walked up and greeted you as well with a small yet warm smile, asking about your travels and other clans. Nor felt his eyes lower in shame. While the lone warrior was sympathetic to Nor and how he felt, So'lek has yet to speak to him, only watching from a distance with those disappointed eyes. Nor couldn't blame him. He had let So'lek down, just like many others.
He stands back, letting everyone else greet you first, but Ri'nela won't let him run away, no matter how much he wishes he could. Keeping Nor to stay put with just one, pointed glare, she turns away and walks up to you, embracing you tightly before whispering into your ear,
"There is someone here to see you."
"Is it Anufi?" You asked excitedly, not yet catching whatever dire note was in your friend's voice as you pulled out of her hug to inspect her face, continuing to ramble, "Or Okul? I promised them I would bring some of Relun's best recipes the next time I visited. I didn't think Okul would be so impatient--"
You cut yourself off, voice faltering on your tongue as your eyes catch movement behind Ri'nela. Peering over her shoulder, words fail you as your eyes widen in shock, face quickly losing color as if you had seen a ghost. 
Nor felt his skin prickle under your watchful eye, noting the way your ears and tail fell before he could even blink. Standing closer to you than before, he made a quick observation about your attire, his eyes scanning the songcord running up and down your arm, longer than it had ever been before. His own ears lowered when he noticed a familiar item dangling from the cord.
You still had his stone. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
~~~~~~~~~
After you were given time to relax and have a home-cooked meal with your friends and loved ones, you found yourself in a secluded part of the forest near the base, arms crossed and internal walls up as you stood before Nor, alone. Ri'nela insisted the two of you talked privately, and the two of you both had your own reasons to disagree with her, but didn't dare protest. 
You let the two of you linger in a long, sullen silence, making Nor's skin crawl uncomfortably, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground while yours practically bore into his flesh. He wished he didn't deserve your hatred, knowing that you were unforgiving when you wanted to be. Perhaps it was because you were younger, but you always seemed so... kind and gentle, but eager to fight for what was right. You always wanted to fight for your home, for the memory of your mother and sister. You had wanted to fight so that other Na'vi children never went through what you went through with Nor, Ri'nela, Teylan, and the other Sarentu children who were abducted. Nor has seen your fire directed at the Sky People and he was always proud to witness your ruthlessness... but he never thought he'd be on the receiving end of it. 
And now that you were less young and less naive, it was hard to picture that younger, more hopeful you. As he stood before you, he couldn't help but wonder where had the time gone.
Your eyes never leave his form, your expression impassive as you finally spoke, "How long before you leave again?"
Nor flinched, eyes still downcast, "I... I don't intend on leaving."
"Like you did last time."
He winced once more, voice quiet in response, "Could you ever forgive me?"
Your eyes narrow, "Why should I?"
"You seem to have forgiven Teylan easily enough."
"Because at least Teylan stayed and did everything in his power to show he deserved forgiveness," you snapped. Although you never raised your voice, your words still felt like a punch to the gut, "At least Cortez stayed and tried her best to right her wrongs, instead of running like a coward and avoiding her responsibilities."
His eyes finally lift to meet hers, irises riddled with guilt and pain, "I'm so sorry..."
You glared at him for what felt like forever when really it was only a few minutes. Eventually, your posture relaxes, the anger bleeding away into defeat and quiet resentment. You shook your head, voice equally as quiet as his, "I don't blame you for how you feel. I don't even blame you for what you did, despite how much I wish you didn't do it."
Your own eyes lowered, unable to look at him as you whispered, "I blame you for leaving and not making it right. For abandoning us-- your family."
Nor wanted to reach out and touch you, but instead curled his hands into fists to restrain himself, keeping them at his sides while looking out over the forest, "Why... Why didn't you just track me down and drag me back?"
He couldn't help but wonder. You were an excellent tracker and hunter, far more observant and patient than he had ever been. Many times while he was alone out in the wild, he would dream of you ambushing him, screaming at the top of your lungs before you grabbed him by the ear and brought him back... back home. Nor would often wake up from these dreams and feel cold, often looking around to see if you were actually there or not. But you never showed up.
You bite your lip, "I thought about it... many times actually. Sometimes it was almost an unbearable temptation and I had to keep busy to stop myself."
He glanced back with disbelief, "Why?"
"Because as much as I hate you..." If you had realized just how much those words hurt him, you didn't show it, your mind far away even as you looked directly at him, practically looking right through him, "I would never make you do anything against your will. That would make me no better than Mercer. You wanted to be left alone. So that's what I gave you... even if it left the most unimaginable pain in my chest. It was worse than Aha'ri because at least I knew my sister was dead... but I had no idea where you were or if you were alive."
Nor was harshly reminded of what he saw in the Circle of Ancestors, your pain still at the very front of his mind, the very pain he caused for disappearing without a trace. His eyes glance down to your wrist, longingly staring at the small stone with the mark of the Sarentu he had carved into its surface.
"I'm sorry."
"You said that. You also said that you go wherever I go," she followed his gaze and lifted the stone up to her eye level, staring at it while remembering all of those promises he made the day he gave the stone to her, "You said if you ever leave, it would only be when I was ready to go with you. You lied."
Nor finally stepped forward, hands reaching out to you as he tried to bargain, "B... But I'm here now. I-- I'm here to stay and make things right again. I can make things right. Teylan and Alma... they came back to make things right. I want to do the same."
"Yes. Now. When the fighting is over, not when it mattered." You bite back.
He sucked in air through his teeth, hissing as though he was in pain, your words like venom, "I know. I know I made a mistake. I should have returned immediately after leaving. I should have gone to cool off and then come straight back to you. I... I should not have hurt Alma. I should not have hurt you." 
"And unless you can turn back time, you can't change what you've done," you step away, keeping your distance, keeping your walls high and on guard as you mutter, "I should be grateful you wanted to try and traditionally court me. If we hadn't taken things slow... had we mated... I don't think I could have survived what you did."
Your eyes glare deep in his soul, "What was that phrase Mercer used to say? 'I dodged a bullet?'"
Nor's ears stay low and pinned to his skull, looking like a kicked puppy, "Please do not say that."
"Why?"
"Because you are not Mercer."
"No, but as of right now, it's easier to say his name than yours," the words stung, hurting Nor even more when he caught the way your voice cracked. Glancing up, his heart shattered at the sight of tears slowly spilling down your face, your lip trembling as you tried to keep your words steady, "I expected Mercer to do terrible things. I... I never expected for you-- for you to--"
Leave.
You scoff to yourself, your words ashes in your mouth, "I should've known. You wanted to leave from the start. Maybe if I had let you go from the start, this would have hurt less."
"But I am here now," he quickly soothes, "I'm here."
You don't glare at him, but your wet eyes bore into him as though he had betrayed you all over again. You let out a shaky sigh through your nose as you slowly open your mouth, making your tongue move before you could hold back your words, "... I don't need you right now. I needed you back then, but not now. I needed you when it mattered."
He could almost see your walls building ever higher in your mind and heart, his own beginning to crumble to dust, "Y/n, please--"
"I'm not going to make you leave again," you quickly add, turning your back to him as you start walking back toward the Resistance base, distantly speaking without sparing any emotions, "I'll do that myself. I have to leave at first light tomorrow to meet up with the Zeswa before they take off for migration. I think it would be best if you and I don't interact from here on out whenever I come back home. Stay or leave, I don't care anymore."
You walk back without uttering another word. You don't even look back to see Nor's reaction. He watches you retreat until you completely disappear from view, the urge to run after you so strong he has to bite his tongue from calling out to you. Something made him stay put, letting you go despite how his anger and sadness were pleading with him to pick up his feet, to follow you, to say everything he didn't know how to say but by Eywa, he wanted to try.
But he didn't. He knew this was no more than he deserved for what he put you through alone.
~~~~~~~~~
A/n: This is definitely getting a Part 3 😈 Lemme know if you would like to be tagged in it!
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givehimthemedicine · 23 days
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run with me // an elmax ficlet
El and (blind) Max finally make it to California, where Max promised to show her the beach.
This is a future visit to the elmax from my story Do Not Cry. In that, Max spent the night before her Vecna death with El, and said she wished she could have shown El the beach, and El tried to make it happen in a remote-viewing sort of way. They’re kind of a QPR in this universe. 
--
Los Angeles is absolutely nothing like Hawkins. In a lot of ways that’s exciting, but in others it makes El appreciate home.
This trip was supposed to be something they did right away, as soon as Max was healed, just to celebrate being alive. But between a long recovery, depression, an almost-apocalypse, and tight funds, they haven’t made it until now - the week of Max’s 20th birthday.
The driver says what they owe, and El leans sideways a little for Max to whisper in her ear how much money to really give him. She knows the rule - that you have to give people more money than what they say - but she doesn’t understand why, or which times, or how much extra, so knowing that is Max’s job and counting out the bills is hers. 
El hands it to the man and slides out of the cab, looping their bag over her shoulder and extending her hand for Max.
As soon as Max steps out, she turns and faces the water. It's the sound, El realizes, but she likes the idea of Max just being drawn to it naturally, because she comes from here. Two little suns glint off her dark glasses as she tips her smiling face up towards it. 
The air feels different here. Loud and thick and alive.
“Ready?” El asks, linking their arms.
“I’m ready,” Max answers, nearly bouncy with impatience. It’s good to see her so excited.
Max can walk around okay by herself with her cane, but she likes El’s arm better, and El is more than happy to oblige. Even if Max could walk and see as well as ever, El would still take her arm right now, just to be close to her for this. 
They walk until pavement gives way to sand, and El immediately discovers two things she had not expected: that it would be very confusing to her legs, and that it would immediately get all into her flip-flops in a gritty, hurty way. 
But now isn’t really the time to say that, because Max is slowing to a stop.
They stand there with the breeze in their hair as Max seems to take in a view that she cannot see.
"Well," she gestures broadly with her arm. "There it is."
"This is beautiful, Max," El says. She hasn’t looked at the water yet.
Over five years ago now was the terrifying night Max had been convinced was her last. She had said she wished they could’ve gone to the beach together, and there wasn't time to really go, so El had tried her best to make it happen in their minds. It was El’s desperate try at giving her one last moment of happiness, in case she was right. It had not been much of a success.
Ever since then, El has eagerly looked forward to this moment happening for real.
But she has also kind of dreaded it. 
Neither of them thought Max would magically be able to see when they stepped into the sand. Or maybe they both secretly had. Maybe in one teensy speck of El’s mind she hadn’t ruled it out, because impossible things have happened to them before. But even while this is a dream come true, to finally find out the answer really is no, hurts.
Bittersweet - Will taught her that word - is when something is happy and sad at the same time. Unsure which way to feel, El is watching Max for guidance, but Max is having the same problem. Smiling, but also trying not to cry a little bit.
After giving Max a moment with her thoughts, El hugs her arm tighter and it seems to pull her out.
She offers El a smile and reaches under her sunglasses to wipe a tear in a way that El knows means ignore that. 
So okay. They are going with sweet, for now.
Max dips and hands El one shoe, then the other, and El copies her. It’s easier to walk without them.
They go forward to where the sand starts to slope down toward the water, which is beautiful, now that El actually sees it. It’s not beautiful in a soft pretty way, like a flower, but beautiful in a wild, uncontainable, unimaginably strong way, like…. well. She can’t really think of anything it’s like. 
She thinks back to the glimpses of beach Max had shared that night. It had been a glitchy patchwork of different memories, but the main way was a day full of towering, fluffy white clouds.
For a moment, El considers saying the sky looks exactly that way today, in case that is what would make Max happiest. But that would be lying.
So now that it’s her turn to show the beach to Max, she tells her the truth: that the sky is mostly blue today, except there are some wispy foggy clouds that scoot along very fast on the breeze. 
She tells her that the sun looks glittery on the water, and that it is almost hard to tell where the ocean stops and the sky starts. 
She tells her how many people are around, and that there is a dog who looks friendly enough that he might come over to them, and kids flying a red kite, and a big group of seagulls standing around like they are all talking about something important.
There is a boat out there that’s either really big and really far away, or medium big and medium far away. It feels weird to look at the horizon and not know how far away it is. El has probably never seen so far in her entire life.
The size of the ocean is astounding. She remarks that the world must be all water and they are lucky to be on the only little dry part of it. That wasn’t meant to be funny, but Max laughs.
El is wary of going close to it. She doesn’t like water anyway, but now she understands the stories she has heard of people getting swept out to sea. 
Max promised they won't go into the water, but she does want to walk all the way to the edge and get her feet wet.
It’s colder than El expects, and there are tickly bits of something in it that gives her the heebie jeebies when it washes over her ankles. The uncertain noise she lets out seems to entertain Max very much.
They play with the tides, trying to wait until the last second before scuttling backwards so the water doesn’t get them. Max is perfect at it just by listening. She stands fearlessly still, backing up just far enough at just the right time to escape every wave. 
El is not so good; it surprises her every time. She scream-laughs when it gets the bottoms of her shorts. 
After that, El hands her disposable camera to a lady and asks her to take their picture.
And after that, Max stops in mid-sentence to say she smells hot dogs, so El walks way over to the stand and brings back hot dogs and lemonade to eat on the blanket Max has spread out for them.
And after that they walk along the water’s edge, and because El is watching out for where Max’s feet step, she finds lots of interesting little things that the ocean has offered up.
Every few steps, she bends to pick something up and place it into Max’s hands for her to feel:
Some smooth, dark little rocks. 
A seashell. 
Weird slippery rubbery stuff that is in piles all over - that's seaweed, Max says.
Another seash - oops, no, that is a bottle cap. 
A soggy piece of wood. 
A small pretty rock that is lime green and kind of see-through like she's never seen a rock be - that's not a rock, Max says, it’s a piece of broken glass that the ocean polished smooth. 
That one goes in El’s pocket, and so does every seashell she can find, until they are bulging and there’s no room left in her hands.
“Hold these,” she says, dumping her extra shells into Max’s outstretched hands.
“What are you gonna do with all these?” she asks, amused.
“I want to make a lamp like you used to have.”
“You remember that?”
She remembers Max’s old yellow bedroom fondly; it had been golden and fun in the daytime, warm and cozy at night. Max had read to her by the glow of her seashell-covered lamp, and for a while, she had felt hidden from all her problems.
“Of course,” El says. “I have never seen another one like it. Did you make it by yourself?”
“Pretty sure my mom thrifted it, to be honest.”
“Oh. Well, I liked it, I’m gonna make us another one. They’ll be our shells. And whenever I see it and whenever you touch it, we will remember today.” 
When they get their own apartment together, El will paint their bedroom yellow, and she will read to Max by the light of their seashells, and she will make sure it's as happy and safe a place as Max had given her.
They go back to their blanket to rest awhile, and El dumps all their shells into their bag.
She also takes out the empty mason jar she’d brought along, and scoops it full of sand. That is to keep at home so Max can stick her fingers in it any time she wants. 
Most things that homes are usually decorated with, she realized as soon as Max lost her sight, do not do anything except look pretty. So El is always on the lookout for things that are also pretty to touch and smell and hear, because their home should be filled with things that they can both enjoy.
She goes down her checklist of senses, inhaling deeply. There is a smell here (besides the hot dogs), a smell she has never smelled anywhere else, but she isn’t sure whether it’s really very pleasant, or what exactly it’s coming from.
“What is the smell?” she asks, hoping to find out if Max likes it a lot, and if so, how to capture it for her.
“I don’t really know,” Max answers thoughtfully. “Probably gross stuff, actually, if you think too hard about it. Dead fish and seaweed or whatever. But it’s just kinda… part of it.”
“Hm.” El is pretty sure she should not bring home any dead sea creatures.
She looks at Max. Smiles at the color of her hair in the sun, at the contented smile on her lips, and at the freckled shoulders that she hopes they put enough sunscreen on at the hotel. 
“You look like you fit here.” 
Max's brows peek over the top of her sunglasses. “What do you mean?” 
“I don’t know. You just do.” 
What she actually means is that the way Max’s hair is blowing in the wind looks pretty and mermaidy and graceful, unlike her own, which never stops bothering her face and going in her mouth. But that doesn’t make enough sense to actually say, and Max is weird about compliments.
“Would you like to live here again?”
Max turns as if to look at her surprised. “Why, are you liking LA that much?”
It has been fun to visit and see lots of new things, but truthfully, El has not especially fallen in love with this city so far. And although the ocean is beautiful, it has not especially captivated her. It really only means anything to her because it means something to Max.
“It’s pretty here. But the prettiest thing about it is that you look happy. I would live anyplace that makes you happy.”
Max smiles and reaches out to pat her hand.
“It’s not really the beach I’m happy about. It’s just.. y’know. That this really happened.”
El tips her head against Max’s so that she knows she understands. And she thinks maybe this is time to start crying, because it seems inevitable, but instead Max keeps talking.
“I did wonder if I’d think that when we got here. If I’d step off the plane and feel like, ‘Wow, I’m back home!’”
“You don’t?”
“No. I mean.. I don’t know if I wanna live in Hawkins forever, but.. this doesn’t feel more like home. It just feels like… the past. Not all good memories. Not all bad.”
“Tell me a good one.”
Max shrugs, angling her face into the breeze, smiling when she thinks of something.
"I remember being little and just.. running, out here. You know how you can run a million miles when you’re little and never get tired,” Max begins, and even though El has no idea what it’s like to have run freely as a child, she says “Mhm,” because this is not about her. 
“Like, I’d just run and run down the beach… and I’d have to turn back to my mom or dad before I went too far or I’d get in trouble, but I’d think… the beach goes forever… what if I just didn’t stop. They couldn’t catch me. What if I could just run as far as I felt like..."
El grins. "Let's."
“Huh?”
El looks both ways and chooses the less crowded direction.
“Run with me.“ She picks up Max’s hand and tugs her to her feet.
"I can't run like that anymore.”
“So run like you can run now. I’ll help.”
El means she will use her powers to lift Max - not off the ground, but taking just a little weight off her legs to make it easier.
She used to do that a lot while helping Max learn to walk again, but sometimes she still does it on days when Max is hurting a lot. Only when she has permission, though. Sneaky help makes Max very angry.
Max gestures vaguely. "There's rocks and shit."
El rolls her eyes. Max knows El is careful never to let her get hurt. She is just making excuses because she worries she will look funny. 
“I will take care of your feet. You just run."
Max hesitates, her mouth wanting to twist into a smile. 
"Are those people looking?" she asks of the voices she can hear on the wind. She is always worried people are staring at her.
"No. And the only reason you ever get looked at is for being pretty." El jiggles her hand. "Come on. Run with me."
The smile wins over Max’s mouth, and she leans into a run.
It's more of a limpy jog, one that leans hard into El’s hand for support on some steps, even at half-weight. But El hopes it feels a little tiny bit like the carefree sprint Max had described.
El wishes she could see her face, but instead watches the sand, flicking anything hard out of the path of her feet.
"Ow," Max laughs. "Haha, ow, ow, shh-sh-shit." 
They haven’t covered all that much ground before she loses steam, stumbling to a stop and leaning on El. But she is laughing and out of breath.
"What was that? Like three feet?" Max pants, dropping herself onto the sand.
El lodges her knees into the sand next to her. “No,” she laughs, “a million miles.”
“Does feel like it - oof.”
That was pushing it, maybe; Max will be sore. But El doesn't regret it. It was good for her. 
She’s glad they did that. 
She’s so proud of her, and so glad they’re here. Both of them.
El isn’t sure which one of them it happens for first, but their laughter peters out into - oh, it is happening now. They’re crying. She knee-walks closer and hugs Max hard.
"Max. We made it.” She kisses her head. “We made it.”
Max nods, fingers tightening at the back of her shirt.
This day isn’t exactly the way either of them dreamed it, but it is really here. She wishes she could go back and show it to the terrified girl she once promised it to.
"I told you so," she adds.
Max’s small laugh is muffled. "Yeah,” she answers, her voice wet. “Yeah, you did." 
They stay wrapped tight together for a long time, faces tucked into each other to shelter their tears from the breeze.
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diazsdimples · 2 months
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WIP Wednesday!
Tagged by @wildlife4life @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @smilingbuckley @theotherbuckley @spotsandsocks @tizniz and @daffi-990, thank you my loves!
Okay yes it's Thursday evening here but it's still Wednesday somewhere, right?? I've had,,,, a shit day to say the least (life do not be making it easy rn) and haven't had the beans to work on the Buck/Eddie meeting section that I'd hoped to get done so here's a little bit of Lily's meltdown I wrote last night/ perfected with the help of @theotherbuckley this evening (god bless and thank you so much for your help)
Buck lifts Lily so she’s sitting on his knee, no longer hiding her face in his chest, and uses the pad of thumb to wipe her tears off her cheeks. She looks so small and vulnerable with her little socked feet dangling off the edge of his legs. He silently mourns the day he won’t be able to wrap her up in a bundle and protect her from the world. “Why do you think you’re stupid, baby?” Lily sniffs loudly and Buck grimaces at the horrible, rattly noises. “I can’t do my letters proper.” “What do you mean?” Buck asks, confused. He’s pretty sure Lily was taught how to write letters in preschool and not once did they mention it being a problem. Lily wipes her eyes and leans back into Buck’s chest. “We were learning how to write letters today and I can’t do them right. They keep going round the wrong way and they just don’t look right!” Buck thinks for a moment, trying to remember if Carrie had had similar issues with writing at Lily’s age but in all honesty, that girl had been scarily good at anything to do with the English language and if she was going to come home crying about any subject, it would be math – which Buck didn’t blame her for in the least. She’d inherited his dreadful math abilities, poor kid. All this to say, Buck has absolutely no idea how to go about navigating this with Lily. She’s always been a bit more emotional and sensitive to criticism than Carrie but other than the occasional tantrum because Buck asked her to pick up her toys, he’s never seen Lily this upset over something. Tears are falling steadily down her face now and Buck’s powerless to fix what’s wrong. All he can do at this point is give her his love and support, and he can spiral later. “Lily,” he says, tipping her chin up to look at him again, “today was your very first day at school. Your first day of proper learning. It’s all new, hmmm? Things are going to be difficult for a little bit, but they’ll get easier the more you learn.” “But I can’t do it! I could do math, but I can’t write!” “Hey, sometimes things are a little easier than others, like math is for you. And it’s very rare for people to be perfect at something they’ve never tried before. Do you think I was a perfect firefighter when I first started the academy?” “Yes.” Buck snorts. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, kiddo, but I was far from perfect. I made so many mistakes – I still do, actually. But I’m getting better the more I do it, just like you will with writing. And I’m always going to be so proud of you, no matter how good you are at school, alright? I don’t care if you get straight A’s or C’s, as long as you’re my daughter I’ll love you no matter what.” Lily sniffs long and loud and smacks her lips, which Buck thinks is gross, and holds up her pinkie finger. “Pinkie promise?” she asks, her voice trembling. Buck wraps his pinkie around hers and cups his other hand around their entwined fingers, hand completely enveloping hers. “Pinkie promise,” he repeats, and delicately kisses her knuckles. “Now, do you wanna try your snack again, and then we can watch a show with Carrie maybe?” “Okay,” Lily agrees, hopping off Buck’s lap to the ground and she holds out her hand for him. “I still hate grapes though.”
No pressure tagging @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @puppyboybuckley @watchyourbuck @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @buckbuckgoose @bucksbackwardcap @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @fortheloveofbuddie @housewifebuck @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @nmcggg @evanbegins and anyone else who wants to join!
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bonefall · 8 months
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Can you tell us more about Blizzardwing and Holly's toxic marriage?
Sure! I'll leave the meta reasons for why I feel so strongly about the changes out of this, and just focus on the new HollyBlizzard dynamic
There is brief periods of peace in their mateship, but they're increasingly rare.
Sometimes it seems like Hollyflower is looking for reasons to take out her frustration on Blizzardwing. You can 'feel' it coming.
The kits quickly learn when things are about to get loud, and begin walking on eggshells around their parents
But, there's always a spark that sets off chaos.
Blackkit often feels like it's his fault. He'll do something 'wrong', and then Blizzard is paying for it, and as a result Blizzard makes him pay for it back.
Black dreads Blizzard's visits to the nursery, he wishes they would just stay apart because he can "handle" Holly on her own.
Flintfang and Fernshade were in the older litter, with Blackfoot slightly younger. About one year apart or so.
They were always huge reliefs to him. They would often show up just in time and whisk him away to do fun activities. They showed him how to hunt frogs. They taught him how to skin a vole. Blizzard and Holly would have left him without basic skills otherwise.
But at the end of the day, he would have to go back to the nursery.
Flint and Fern know what it's like growing up in that kind of environment, but at least they had each other you know?
Never, NEVER suggest to Holly or Blizzard that maybe they shouldn't be together. They will unite just to turn their anger onto you.
Blizzard: "She's my mate. I made a promise that I'd always be there for her. You think I'd just play a game with her love? Are you trying to tell me I'm not loyal?"
Holly: "Yeah sure we fight, but that's because I love him. I've never loved anyone else and I never will, how dare you try to drive a wedge between us!"
We're Drowning Together
Coming out of that environment, Blackfoot was a bit of a bully. He wanted to prove his worth to ShadowClan, and sometimes lashed out just to throw his weight around. He was a big boy that came out of the union of The Vicious Hollyflower and Son/Grandson-of-Snowtuft Blizzardwing, and that made a lot of people afraid of him.
That desperation, loneliness, and sadistic streak made him a favorite of the deputy Brokentail, who soon became Brokenstar. He wasn't his first deputy; but it was clear that Brokenstar was preparing him for the role by providing him lots and lots of opportunities for advancement at a young age.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The Holly/Blizzard dynamic has been OVERHAULED for BB.
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leithillustration · 7 months
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Fan Fic Fuck it Friday
All the f's because I'm kind of procrastinating massively rn I'm having such a lovely time taking part in CORB this year and I'm sooo excited to see what @larkral and @scribble-tier write based on my silly pics. In the meantime, the discord chat keeps giving me so many ideas for cute things I could write, if only I had the time!! So far I have: ✨ Wild dragon!Simon leaving offerings of dead things on Baz's door step like cats do for their owners. Does he think Baz is incapable of feeding himself, or does he just adore him and doesn't know how to show it? Does Baz know who the dragon is, or that there's a dragon at all??
✨ Baz loves marmite, Simon thinks its the worst thing since the mage. Baz likes rhubarb, Simon has never tried it. He doesn't know what a parsnip is. Maybe Baz is a chef in this one.
✨ Simon learning to knit- badly. Penny tries to teach him but has no patience for it as she's only ever knitted with magic. Baz asks Simon why he is leaving bits of wool around the house and Simon shows him the dreadful attempt at a scarf he was trying to make as a birthday gift for Baz. Turns out Baz is a master of knitting- Fiona taught him in a soft moment, having taught herself when she learned her sister was pregnant with Baz.
I might need to write the last one when winter sets in, to give my brain something cosy and warm to play with :3
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dragondemoness · 5 months
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How about a this request. Aoi has a boyfriend that she's taken to the pool with her and he wanna swim saying he doesn't wanna get in. So Aoi plays a prank by pushing him in wanting to show him swimming is fun, thing is the reason he doesn't like it is cause he almost drowned when he was younger as a result of a bully.
Aoi ends up having to pull him out after she realizes he's panicking and funds out why he hates swimming so much, which leads to her being extremely remorseful, and she apologizes for what she did.
Later on after her boyfriend has calmed down she tells them that she gently wants to teach him how to swim so something like what happened in the past doesn't happen again and so that they have something that they can bond more over.
This ended up being more gender-neutral, hope that's alright
Warnings: Reader almost drowns, mentions of past bullying
Aoi Asahina with an S/O who Doesn't like Swimming
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You two had some free time, so Aoi decided to bring you to the pool
Not for a swimming competition she was in, but just for fun
You tried to come up with excuses to avoid going, but she blew them off and grabbed your arm and pulled you along, giving you no time to resist
She was rambling on and on with a grin on her face as you walked together, completely oblivious to the anxiety on your face
The moment you were dreading couldn't have arrived sooner, and you quickly found yourself quivering on the edge of the pool
Aoi had already jumped in, joyfully swimming around and enjoying herself under the sun
Soon, she looked up at you and beckoned you to join her
"Hey (Name), come on in!"
You could only shake your head as you perched yourself next to the pool
"I don't really wanna get in, sorry. I'd rather watch you instead."
Aoi looked at you in confusion
"What's the matter? The water isn't that cold. Honestly, it feels pretty good with the sun out."
"No, that's not it. I don't-- I don't like swimming."
...Huh?
Who didn't like swimming?!
Maybe you were just afraid of water, like Toko?
But Aoi had seen you take baths before, so that couldn't be it
She figured you just haven't tried it yet, so maybe a little push out of your comfort zone would help
So she sneakily climbed out of the pool and tiptoed behind you, then placed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you into the water
"Hehehe! You shoulda seen the look on your face! Don't worry, it's just part of the fu-uun...?"
Her giggling immediately came to a stop when you started panicking, scrambling to raise your head above the water level as you coughed out small puddles of water with tears flowing out of your eyes
Aoi had a short moment of panic herself before immediately taking your hands and helping you out, ignoring everyone staring at the two of you as she guided you inside
She got a towel and wrapped it around your shoulders as you sat down on a bench, giving you a worried look as she moved her hands towards your shoulders to help you calm down
But you immediately flinched away from her before she could touch you, and she quickly stepped back as she waited for you to regain control of your breathing
Once you calmed down, Aoi asked you what caused you to react that way
And you explained that when you were younger, a bully held you underwater in an attempt to drown you, and you turned your back on swimming ever since
Aoi just stared at you in shock as she took this in, and she felt horrible for playing that stupid joke on you before
After making sure she had permission, she approached you and gently pulled you into her chest, giving you a sincere, gentle apology for her actions
She swore never to do it again and agreed to go back home
But later in the evening, Aoi approached you again and offered to help you face your fears
"Look, I know you had a bad experience with it, but what if I taught you how to swim? It won't be scary this time, don't worry. But it's good to be prepared in case it did happen again, y'know? Besides, it'd give us something else to do together!"
You were hesitant, but agreed
A few days after that, Aoi brought you to the indoor pool in Hope's Peak, when she knew that you would be alone
Not having a lifeguard around had you on edge, but Aoi assured you that she wouldn't let anything happen to you
The first day was really just spent convincing you to get into the water, but progress is progress
She made sure to hold your hand and soothe you whenever you got anxious, though
After that, she taught you how to float in the water, and then got started on the actual swimming lessons
Aoi was patient, and she didn't mind that it took a while, or that you were too anxious to continue sometimes
She was just proud that you were willing to learn
And eventually, it would all be worth it
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realmermaid333 · 1 year
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can you do protective Tyler him seeing Xavier keeps bothering Wednesday and Tyler does something about it
(for this idea to work i feel like Xavier needed to be an asshole, so I know he isn’t exactly like this but consider it an AU!)
Nearly everyday after school, Wednesday went to Jericho to sit in the Weathervane. She’d read, do homework, plan investigations and other shenanigans, and visit Tyler— today was no different. 
Tyler and Wednesday weren’t exactly dating, but they weren’t exactly not dating. Things had been rather complicated between them since Laurel went to prison and he returned from his therapy camp to attend Nevermore. At the very least, they were friends— perhaps friends who both had the suppressed urge to kiss. 
Wednesday was peacefully drinking her quad and re-reading Dracula when the most annoying thing happened; Xavier sat down across from her in her booth. It was always dreadful when he’d bother her— and not in a good way. She simply wanted a friendship with him, but he wanted more and he wouldn’t shut up about it. 
“What?” Wednesday asked, clearly peeved by his presence. 
He put his hands up in surrender, “Just coming to say hi! Jeez,”
“You say that, but usually when you talk to me it’s always more than that.”
The sound of Wednesday’s snappy voice caught Tyler’s attention, he looked up from the coffee he was making and saw that, unfortunately, she was speaking to Xavier. 
While it was none of Tyler’s business who Wednesday talked to, considering they weren’t officially dating and he’d never want to be controlling, he was worried because Wednesday didn’t like talking to Xavier. She always complained about him.
He was holding onto this delusional belief that he somehow had a chance with her, even though she made it extremely clear that she did not like him like that. No matter how many times she turned him down, he’d always return to bother her. 
“Are you here to ask me out for the hundredth time, Xavier?”
He smirked in a way that made Wednesday want to punch him, “One of these days I’m gonna grow on you whether you like it or not,” 
She slammed her book shut, “It seems no one taught you the definition of the word no, or maybe you are one of those foolish guys who thinks women don’t know what they want, but I do not like you. And this is not the first time I’ve told you,” 
Wednesday was speaking sternly enough that people at an adjacent table were looking at her. Tyler felt upset, perhaps protective, Xavier was troubling her and it didn’t look like he was backing off— he decided to interfere. 
“What if you went out with me, just once? I’m sure I could win your heart!” 
“The urge I have to hit you is very intense at the moment, I am greatly struggling to suppress it. It would be in your best interest to leave,” 
Tyler approached the table and stood next to Wednesday, “Is everything okay here?” 
“Yes,”
She glared at Xavier, “Absolutely not,”
“Are you bothering her?” Tyler asked calmly. 
“I’d use the word ‘infuriating’, actually,” 
Xavier shook his head, “How is it your business, monster boy? Are you her boyfriend or something?”
“Yes. Actually, he is,” said Wednesday. 
Tyler’s heart skipped a beat, his cheeks turned a rosy pink. Did Wednesday just say he was her boyfriend? Did she mean it? 
Xavier scowled as he got up and stormed out of the coffee shop. 
“Of course! I had to show him my boyfriend to get him to leave me alone. What a vile pig,”
Tyler beamed, “Wait… So you meant it?”
“Meant what?”
“That I am your boyfriend?”
“Of course,” Wednesday smiled a little, a small one, perhaps not visible to the average eye, but Tyler could see it. 
She stared at him for a moment with her mischievous smirk, watching his smile grow wider and his face turn redder— then opened up her book and casually went back to reading. 
Tyler returned to his spot behind the counter with a spring in his step, still smiling. How could he not? Wednesday Addams just said he was her boyfriend.
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Text
Forbidden Lessons XIV
Masterlist
Hi again.
Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion, trauma, depression. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.
Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!
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There is no escape. Home offers no refuge from campus, nor campus from home.Your mother didn’t like the scarf you made her and you didn’t say anything about her lack of gift. You tell her you love her but you don’t know what you feel for her. Or about anything.
You return to college just as aimless as when you left. Your only comfort is your solace, not that it offers much relief. Being alone means there’s nothing to stop your mind, to keep the thoughts from bubbling over.
You sit against the wall on your narrow bed, scrolling through your schedule, dread rising up your chest. You stare at the name. Laufeyson. You search the catalogue. There are no other sections available. He teaches both.
You browse and write down alternatives and book an appointment with a counselour. It’s all you can do. You close your laptop and go to sleep, the uncertainty of a new semester’s beginning swirling in your stomach.
You wake up, dress, drink some tea, and forget about the toast in the slots as you head out. With an empty stomach and racing mind, you arrive at the registrar and join those waiting in the seating area for the academic counselours. You check the time, over and over, until your name is called.
You enter the small room, the older lady on the other side of the desk welcoming you. She confirms your name and is quiet for a moment as she reviews your schedule.
“It says here you want to switch HIS107, but it’s required for your degree,” she sits back, “a prerequisite for most second year courses as well.”
“Oh, isn’t there any equivalent? I was looking at the course Writing and Editing. I know it’s not in the history section but–”
“I cannot substitute an English course for History if said option is still available,” she tisks, “not without good reason. You have no conflicts within your schedule.”
“I know, but I can’t… be in that course.”
“Any particular reason aside from the 8am start?” she asks sardonically.
You nearly swallow your tongue at her tone. You drop your shoulders and stand. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“Have a good day,” she says tritely as you near the door, “next time, I recommend the online helpline. It will save us all energy.”
You emerge into the burgeoning crowd of the registrar. The worst part of college is how you feel like no one. It's not that high school was any better. But now, not even the institution cares; they just want your tuition.
Maybe, you ponder as you come out into the January snow, Professor Laufeyson taught you an important lesson after all. Maybe you are worthless.
💚
You don't know any of your professors, only him. A restless Tuesday has you a wreck on Wednesday. 8am and you're exhausted, drained from a night of grim anticipation.
You're not the first to show. No, one of the last as you skirt in at the minute mark. You enter from the back and sit behind a group of guys that smell skunky.
You open your notebook, focus on opening it, as aim the ballpoint at the paper. Your heart beat thrums louder and louder. Until he speaks.
"Good morning," Laufeyson's timbre carries easily back to you, "welcome back. I'm certain you are all well rested after your holiday."
He receives a grumble from the sea of sleepy students. It's almost laughable. He clicks the pointer in his hand and changes the slide.
"Let us review the syllabus. You will find this under course files. Here you will see all the relevant details…"
Your ears throb, as if loud music pounds around you. Your jaw aches as you grind your teeth and your fist closes around the thin Bic. Your vision pinpoints on the professor's distant figure as you watch his lithe authority.
He nears the first row, looms there. You squint but can't quite see clearly. You hear a snap and look down at the puddle of ink staining the notebook, the plastic case broken and bent.
You want to run. You want to flee. It's too late now.
You wipe your palms on the blank space of the paper and tear it out, crumpling it up. The next is blotched with the overflow but not irrevocably so.
You don't jot down a single word. The introductory course runs short of the usual three house block. You don't move when dismissed, instead you glare at Laufeyson.
What sick fate forces you to sit through his presence? Your eyes well and blur your vision. You quickly swipe them away as students slowly evacuate in talks of coffee and naps.
You frown as you see Laufeyson at his podium, head bent but eyes flicking up. There's a girl you recognise from last semester bent over, gathering up her things. You keep low and slide out of your seat, hiding behind the next row as you get to your hands and knees.
You cover your mouth and hold your breath as you hear the soft leather soles and his rich voice breaks the vacant silence.
"Need some assistance?" He offers.
She giggles and accepts. The shuffle of paper and whisper of zippers follows.
"I remember you from the Fall. You did very well."
"Thank you," she trills, "I love your style. So easy to digest."
"Oh? Well, that's very nice, usually my students have a much different opinion."
Your stomach curdles as you crawl to the end of the row and peek down. You can barely see his head.
"You're so smart!" She strokes his ego unknowingly, "the final paper though. Fifty percent."
"I'm always around to help," he assures, "and you never disappoint. You've potential, darling, I should know. Someone like you, you'll go far."
"Oh, well, thanks," she says giddily.
"Truly, a beautiful woman with a brain, how rare," he purrs.
"Professor," she squeals, "please, that's too much–"
"Dont!" You clatter up to your feet clumsily and storm down the stairs, nearly falling over as your bag bounces on your hip, "don't listen to him. He's a liar–"
Loki rolls his eyes and his hand goes to his hip, "now that is unbecoming. To eavesdrop."
"He's a… bastard!" You snarl, "he will lie to you and then throw you out–"
"You see, she is simply upset because she earned only a C in my first semester. Not like you, she finds much difficulty in her work–"
"Uh," the other girl looks between you, panting and furious, and the addled professor, "I should go. My roommate is buying us lunch and I have to help set up."
"Run, fast," you warn.
She gives you a sheepish look and quickly flits past Laufeyson. His lips thin and he watches her go. The door shuts loudly and leaves you in tense silence.
"You little bitch," he marches towards you, grabbing the front of your jacket as you stand face to face, at his level as you linger on the bottom step, "what do you think you're doing?"
"Saving her," you breathe as you grasp his hands, his strength surges as he trembles in rage, "what do you care about any but yourself?"
"I don't need some pathetic jealous little girl haranguing me. Do not think I will not still have you ejected. From this class in the very least and I know you need it–"
"I don't need you," you wriggle away from him, shoving away his hands, "and neither does she or any one else. You're a monster."
"You tread a fine line," he girds.
"I don't care. Don't you understand, you left me nothing to care about?"
"You're young, melodramatic. You'll get over it, find some dweeb with his nose in a book, marry, have boring sex every blue moon, pop out a tiny grunt, and wish you were with me. That I'd kept a blithering pet like you."
You inhale. You're crying again. You hate that he can see. The tears that never stop. You sniff them back and heave.
"No, I won't do any of that."
You shoulder past him, jabbing him with your elbow, and rush away. You haul open the door and stagger into the corridor as your bag swings awkwardly from your other arm.
There's nothing. Not now, not ahead of you, it's all so bleak. What's worse is you don't think you can keep it from happening to someone else
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