#speaking of could you ever truly move on from grief in a world like that?

[nellasbookplanet]

In the wake of FCG' fate I've been thinking about death in ttrpgs, and how it kind of exists on three levels:

There’s the gameplay level, where it only makes sense for a combat-heavy, pc-based game to have a tool for resurrection because the characters are going to die a lot and players get attached to them and their plotlines.

Then there’s the narrative level, where you sort of need permanent death on occasion so as not to lose all tension and realism. On this level, sometimes the player will let their character remain dead because they find it more interesting despite there being options of resurrection, or maybe the dice simply won’t allow the resurrection to succeed.

Then, of course, there’s the in-universe level, which is the one that really twists my mind. This is a world where actual resurrection of the actual dead is entirely obtainable, often without any ill effects (I mean, they'll be traumatized, but unless you ask a necromancer to do the resurrection they won’t come back as a zombie or vampire or otherwise wrong). It’s so normal that many adventurers will have gone through it multiple times. Like, imagine actually living in a world where all that keeps you from getting a missing loved one back is the funds to buy a diamond and hire a cleric. As viewers we felt that of course Pike should bring Laudna, a complete stranger, back when asked, but how often does she get this question? How many parents have come and begged her to return their child to them? How many lovers lost but still within reach? When and how does she decide who she saves and who she doesn’t?

From this perspective, I feel like every other adventurer should have the motive/backstory of 'I lost a loved one and am working to obtain the level of power/wealth to get them back'. But of course this is a game, and resurrection is just a game mechanic meant to be practically useful.

Anyway. A story-based actual play kind of has to find a way to balance these three levels. From a narrative perspective letting FCG remain dead makes sense, respects their sacrifice, and ends their arc on a highlight. From a gameplay level it is possible to bring them back but a lot more complicated than a simple revivify. But on an in-universe level, when do you decide if you should let someone remain dead or not? Is the party selfish if they don’t choose to pursue his resurrection the way they did for Laudna? Do they even know, as characters, that it’s technically possible to save someone who's been blown to smithereens? Back in campaign 2, the moment the m9 gained access to higher level resurrection they went to get Molly back (and only failed because his body had been taken back by Lucien). At the end of c1, half the party were in denial about Vax and still looking for ways to save him, because they had always been able to before (and had the game continued longer it wouldn’t have surprised me had they found a way). Deanna was brought back decades after her death (and was kind of fucked up because of it). Bringing someone back could be saving them, showing them just how loved and appreciated they are. Or it could be saving you, forcing someone back from rest and peace into a world that's kept moving without them because you can’t handle the guilt of knowing you let them stay gone when you didn’t have to. How do you know? How would you ever know?

#cr spoilers #sometimes i think about how oryms backstory has it baked in that will was magically impossible to bring back #while yasha was simply not powerful enough in either magic or connections to bring zuala back #and by the time she was years had gone by and yasha had moved on and bringing zuala back would've been cruel and selfish #similar to how deanna was brought back but now she was left behind and alone #speaking of could you ever truly move on from grief in a world like that? #how do you accept the inevitability of death when it isn’t necessarily permanent? #no wonder delilah and sylas went evil to keep each other alive #no wonder laerryn accidentally caused the calamity in trying to break through the planes #the hubris of a world like this would be UNREAL #as would the bitter feelings from everyone who knows this power exists but can’t access it bc they’re like. a farmer #critical role #long post #nella talks cr #cr3 spoilers

[heliads]

speak now (or forever hold your peace)

Charles Leclerc finds himself waiting on someone in a church. All of their friends and family are here, but the only person he can think about, the person he's here for, is Y/N L/N.

masterlist

warnings: marriage, death, angst, pining

They say there’s only two main reasons someone would invite this many people to a church:  a wedding or a funeral. A morbid phrase, certainly, but somehow fitting, as all uncomfortable sayings are. Charles, for one, knows exactly why he’s here today, and the other option is something he doesn’t even want to think about. Not today. Not ever. 

There are many churches in Monaco, but only one would work today. It’s the one right down the street from where both of them lived, him and Y/N, up until the point where Charles started racing and let fast cars and extended contracts take him far, far away from the place that used to be theirs. 

Now he’s back again. Say what you will about fate or destiny, but it does seem to have a clear message. No matter how long Charles runs, he will always circle around far enough to find himself back home. 

That’s the wrong message for today and he knows it. Today is not for thoughts on racing, today is for him and Y/N, Y/N and him. He’s known her since they were both too small to talk but just big enough to know they were meant to be best friends, and now they’re hovering on opposite sides of a church neither of them have really orbited until now. 

Y/N’s parents chose the church, and God knows they’re in over their heads enough as is, so Charles won’t spare another thought towards the location. The place of this event is, of course, insignificant in the long run. What matters most is the life he leads afterwards. 

And what a life indeed. Looking back on it later, and even caught up in the frenetic moment of now, Charles will evenly divide his memories up into two distinct segments:  before this day, and after it. 

The before is marvelous. Childhood friends– they’re better than anyone else, really. Your family loves you because they have to, but your friends choose you because they want to, and that made all the difference. Y/N knew more about Charles than anyone else on this earth who wasn’t a direct blood relation, and despite everything, she still chose him.

It makes no sense, really. How do you grow up watching a boy become obsessed with a team that’ll never let him win a world championship, who will drag away hope just to hold it tantalizingly close, and still believe in him? Charles calls her after every race, the good and the bad, just to hear her voice. Anyone else would get tired of him, but not Y/N. Never Y/N.

It had taken him forever to realize that he loved her. Strange that he didn’t know it until he was old enough to move out of home, but Charles always thought of it like a guarantee, that even if he had nothing he had Y/N, so maybe it was only after they were separated for the first time that he could truly figure it out.

Charles had made her cry when he left. She’d tried not to let the tears out, not in front of him, but he saw the telltale traces of her sadness when he was saying farewell, about to board the plane. Charles had never felt so bad about anything in his entire life, knowing he’d caused Y/N grief, but conversely, nothing ever felt so good as when he’d returned at the end of the season and she’d sprinted into his arms at the airport, back together at last. 

On that day, her head tucked under his chin, both of them physically as close as they could possibly get under the circumstances, Charles finally realized what he knows now in excess:  he was utterly in love with Y/N L/N, and he always would be. 

Right now, the separation between them consists of the white walls of this church and the crowds they’re in. Charles is with his family, and Y/N is with hers, but after this, there will be no more divisions, not really, just the crowd of we-were-here that will make them whole.

Charles knows where he is, and there is, of course, the knowledge that Y/N is somewhere in this very building, just a few doors down but somehow utterly unreachable until the ceremony begins. He hasn’t seen her all day today, actually. Has no idea what she’s even wearing. She’s been prettied up by now, no doubt, a perfect picture of everything he loves, but he will not know until it all starts. 

Charles already knows that he’s going to cry when he sees her, and he tells his mother as much. She clucks her tongue knowingly, then says something about how he always was her emotional boy, even when he was a child. It’s not a bad thing, not always. Sometimes, on days like today, it lets you know that you love someone, and he does love someone. He loves her.

Someone coughs, and Charles flinches slightly, jerking upright and back to reality, out of his head. This is an important day. He’s not going to mess it up just because he was thinking about the past. All he has now is the future, years and years of things that haven’t happened yet and happy memories that he will be blessed to make.

Charles casts a look around the room. His best mates are here with him still, wearing what appears to be the same black suit and trousers. They never officially picked out what they’d wear together, but formalwear always tends to look similar anyway. Not his fault they all have the same taste in suit jackets.

One of his friends from back home stands up, claps him on the shoulder. “You ready to go out there?”

Charles swallows hard, then nods. The sooner it starts, the sooner he gets to the after. He lets his friends go out first, follows them blindly through the innards of a church he hasn’t been to since he was small. He’s half sure that if he just looks hard enough, glances in the periphery of his vision before the ghosts can flicker out of his sight, he’ll catch a glimpse of him and Y/N, shorter than waist height, running from their parents to hide in one of the Sunday school classrooms to laugh and laugh until they were found again.

Instead, Charles keeps his eyes resolutely ahead. The smell of flowers grows almost overpowering the closer he gets to the front of the building, and when his friends pull open the doors to the main room, it’s the first thing he notices, the dozens of sprays of lilies and roses, so many petals that it looks like freshly fallen snow.

His feet slow down once he’s inside, and Charles feels all eyes on him as he processes down the aisle behind his friends. He can see Y/N’s parents already there, front row, then his parents across the aisle from them, his brothers further down the pew. Everyone who knew the two of them are here now, and dry eyes have already started to sparkle.

Charles blinks and he’s at the front of the sanctuary. He looks up at the cross suspended from the wall, breathes in and out quickly, and then he turns and he sees her at last. Y/N, wearing white, but Y/N, perfectly still. Y/N, dead so young, because he is not here for a wedding nor a birth or any kind of happy festivity, but for her funeral.

His knees almost buckle. It takes everything in him to stand over her coffin, to look at her closed eyes and understand that they will never open again. Charles manages to stumble over to his family’s pew and sit down, listening blankly as the members of the church arrive and begin to speak on Y/N’s life, which somehow, impossibly, is already over and done.

Charles can still feel the stares even as speeches are given, memories are shared. They’ve told him that, although this pain is fresh and raw, he’ll be able to get over it in time, because they were both young, and he at least had plenty more years to enjoy even if she didn’t. They click their tongues at him like he’s a child, and express their sympathies. He wants to scream at all of them for not understanding, but of course that would make him seem even more juvenile than before, so he holds his tongue and attempts to keep the tears at bay. It doesn’t entirely work.

Charles knows a lot, actually, more than anyone gives him credit for. He knows what it’s like to sink your whole life into a job that will never give you back anything but your own blood and sweat and tears. He knows what it’s like to love, what it’s like to lose, and exactly how agonizing it feels to sit at the funeral of your best friend, your girlfriend, the woman you should have lived forever with and will now never get the chance. 

Those who would speak have by now, and people start to file from the church again. Charles does not move a muscle, even as his friends and then his family start to shuffle around, fix their clothes, and get up. The tracks of tears are still hot and fresh on his face, so his mother presses a hand briefly to his shoulder and hands him a tissue before directing his brothers to go on without him. 

Charles stays there, watching everyone else depart the room, and he wonders how he is ever supposed to get up and live his life without the one girl who has always been there for him. There has never been any world in which he did not have Y/N with him, and now she is lost to him forever. It is grievously unfair and completely out of his control. He has already been to too many funerals. This one is too final a blow to bear.

Charles is the last one to leave the funeral service. Y/N’s family is kind enough to give him a few moments alone with her in the church. He doesn’t deserve it, not more than them, who had her for longer than he ever did, who knew the secrets he never got to ask about. 

Charles Leclerc sits alone in the church, he clasps his hands together so tightly that the blood rushes out of them from the sheer force of his prayer, and he thinks,

I wish I had married you. 

a/n hahahahhaa

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 charles #f1 charles imagines #f1 charles x reader #f1 charles oneshot

[shourin]

madly in ̵l̷ov̸?̶e¿ voicelines

◇ ✨live✨ version (click to view)

◇ script version (under the cut)

(+bonus! heizou ー it's too bad i can't find his video :c ) same notes as this post for the live voicelines

| About [name]

Ah... Yes. Aren't they endearing?

Hm? I look... upset? My apologies. Please don't worry, as long as you don't harbor any... foul intent towards them, my blade will remain sheathed. You must have known by this point that I don't care for needless confrontations.

| Your Relationship

The protector and the protected would be the best description, I suppose. I try to be the best shelter that I could ever become for the tired dove that they are. A safe space to return to, someone to call home.

... Or at least, this is what I wish to become. My sweet [name] tells me that my protection suffocates them sometimes, but in this ruthless world where the gods will not hesitate to strike their subjects down, can you truly fault someone's desire to protect what is most important to them?

| Competitors

If there is anything I've learned from my life of wandering, it's that obstacles will always present themselves in one's journey. And to move forward, we must eradicate them, lest they ambush us in the future. Don't you agree?

| Would you ever let go?

I'm sure you, who have experienced losses in your journeys, will be able to relate to me when I say that... At a certain point, one will slowly become accustomed to separation and rejections. But do you know what lies past the grief and the numbness when you think it couldn't possibly get worse?

*chuckles* I'm afraid... I have gotten past that point.

| About [name]

Mm? Yes, what about my darling [name]?

Tread carefully now, comrade~ *chuckle*

| Your Relationship

Utterly head over heels, madly invested in each other, completely in love, and is in a loving relationship! Ahaha, don't give me that look! You were the one who asked!

Alright, alright, since you asked nicely... [name] has been with me for as long as I remember, actually. We were neighbors, and we kept in touch even after I joined the Fatui. They stuck by me through thick and thin, always smiling when they greeted me back at the village, despite knowing what I do for a living...

Tell me, how can one not fall in love with someone like that? Such a pure, untainted soul... Being around them feels like I've committed an unforgivable sin in itself, but alas, I've been utterly smitten and I can't exactly remember how to get out of this maze called love anymore. So I guess I'm staying for good, haha!

| Competitors

Ah, of course, there were many, many insects swarming around such beauty... The only irritating thing about it is that none of them - not even a single one - was a fun hunt! Can you believe it?? I've probably gone through a hundred of them by this point, but none makes a worthy opponent! *sigh* Life's hard when you're just too strong...

*grin* Speaking of which, how about it, Traveler? If you're free, why don't we do some sparring~?

| Would you ever let go?

Ahahaha! Comrade, you sure like to joke around...

Perhaps. If you can pry them off my dead body.

| About [name]

[name]? Yes, of course I know them. What do you think about them, Traveler?

Oh? My smile looks scary? I'm not sure what you mean by that, this is my usual smile. *chuckles* Why, have you done something that will potentially incur my wrath? Something like... taking a romantic interest towards my dear fiancé, perhaps?

That's not the case? Well, then, I believe there's nothing you should worry about!

| Your Relationship

[name] has stayed with me throughout my darkest hours. They... gave me much-needed comfort, when I had to take the mantle of the head of the clan. Though it is something I have prepared for my whole life, it was a rather sudden change, and the transition was abrupt. Coupled with the fact that there was no room for mistakes... Yes, I could never thank them enough.

I believe we've developed a deep bond because of it all. So, it's only natural that I repay them by providing them with the best luxuries and the safest shelter to call home. And as the spouse of the head of the Kamisato clan, they won't ever lack anything!

| Competitors

-and make sure to do it without any trace, as usual. You are dismissed.

... Hm? Oh, Traveler. To what do I owe the pleasure?

| Would you ever let go?

My, I'm afraid I'll need context on this one. If this is about my position as the head of my household clan, I would rather not, but I believe Ayaka will become a fine head in my place. If you're talking about the Shuumatsuban, it will undoubtedly cause a few issues. Still, I should manage to hire some elite private mercenaries in their stead, though it would not be preferable.

And if this is concerning [name], then the answer is rather simple:

No.

| About [name]

*smiles* [name] is my greatest treasure. I'm quite sure you've noticed the fondness I hold towards them. I can talk about them all day.

They are a kind one, for starters. Always wishing and striving to please everyone, sometimes to the point that they forgot about themselves. No matter in whichever lives, no matter their position... This aspect of them never changed. It worries me so. Yet, forcibly stripping this away from them would mean that I am rejecting who they are as a person. And that is not what I wish to do.

I'd like to think that I'm protecting them, by making sure that no one tries to take advantage of their kind nature. After all, is it not the job of a lover to make sure their beloved is safe and sound?

| Your Relationship

Would you believe me when I say that I have been in love with them for thousands of years? *chuckles* 

Be it Rex Lapis, Morax, or Zhongli... They have a firm hold of my heart. So it's only fair that I do so in return, don't you think?

| Competitors

As much as I would find it liberating to subdue those who do not deserve their attention, let alone be allowed to lay sight on them... I cannot.

We would not want the seas of Liyue Harbor to turn red from all the blood. It would be unhygienic.

| Would you ever let go?

..... All I wish for is for [name] to be safe.

And the safest place in all Teyvat is by my side.

| About [name]

Oh, did you meet [name]? I suppose you've been frequenting the Kamisato residence lately... What did you think about them?

Hmm, I see, I see! The young miss introduced the two of you! ... .That's fine then.

Aren't they really nice? Did they talk about me? I have some time to spare, so we can sit down for some tea! Why don't you tell me all about it over some tea time snacks?

| Your Relationship

"The perfect couple"? R-Really? Do people really say that? Aw, geez, that's kinda embarrassing, but it makes me happy that people recognize how well we get along with each other, haha!

[name] could be a little stubborn sometimes, but they're just the sweetest! *giggle* Oh, and don't worry, when we get married one day, I'll be sure to invite you as one of the guests!

| Competitors

*strained laugh* Uhm, well, I can't deny that there are a lot of people around us, and with me being busy tending to the Kamisato siblings' needs, there isn't enough time for me to regularly check on them...

B-But, the young master has been really kind, so I really have nothing to worry about! Huh? What kind of help did he provide? Well, there are numerous things, really. For example... He's provided me with an adequate living section in the Kamisato residence, since I'm the young miss' retainer, and he allowed [name] to reside there! Just normal things, you know? Man, I sure am glad I work for a really accommodating boss!

| Would you ever let go?

You know, my mom used to say, if you truly love someone, you should always keep them close to your heart... And I agree wholeheartedly with her! Plus, [name] enjoys my company very much, why would I 'let them go'?

| About [name]

My adorable significant other! What's this, are you investigating them for some reason, Traveler? I assure you, their background is completely clean, with no dirt in sight! I made sure of it, afterall~

Eh? What does that mean? Haha, who knows~

| Your Relationship

It's like a game of cat and mouse, most of the time. I find it mentally stimulating! They always love to test my intelligence by going into hiding somewhere, waiting for me to catch them! Isn't that cute? It's thrilling and keeps me on my toes, that's for sure! They're always so creative about it, too...

I do get worried from time to time, though. I mean, they might get hurt out there while they look for a hiding place... So if you ever spot them out there in any dangerous areas - which they're prone to wander off to - let me know straight away, okay? It might sound like I'm cheating by asking this from a lot of people, but I'd rather have [name] safe and my detective pride bruised rather than have them get hurt, or worse...

| Competitors

Now, see, to make a fair competition, the two candidates must have an equal footing with each other. However, I have yet to see someone who is as interested in [name] as I am, who is just as smart, good-looking, attentive, and capable as me - and to top it all off, have the ability and courage to do whatever it takes to ensure their safety and comfort! So there isn't really any competition going on here, is there?

| Would you ever let go?

Haha, is that a serious question?

Look here partner - a detective worth their salt will chase its target until the end of the world. Now, I'm not saying [name] is a criminal or anything like that, but all I'm saying is...

... I'm not the type who would let my prey get away, you see.

And it's not like I have a shortage of handcuffs to use, haha!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere #kazuha #tartaglia #childe #kamisato ayato #ayato #heizou #zhongli #thoma #kazuha x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #ayato x reader #heizou x reader #zhongli x reader #thoma x reader #rin writes #rin uses her programming skill to have fun

[himbo-aficionado]

I just think its interesting how at the very end of the story, we see Merlin walking past Avalon, the place where he sent off Arthur all those centuries ago. There are many different ways the scene could've went on to display his everlasting loyalty. It easily could've been a scene where maybe Merlin was with his wife and a kid who was named after Arthur, or he became a historian/scholar who kept the Arthurian legends alive after everything he went through or maybe even a physicist trying to build a time machine, find a loop in time to go back and fix the past.

But no.

We see him all alone, old and unequivocally miserable. No longer meddling with fate nor trying anything at all. Lost in a world beyond time that no man should live past or would even be able to comprehend. We see that he never moved on from Arthur, having somewhat a glimmer of hope deep within him. Nobody speaks about how insanely difficult it must have been to have hope especially when you have no end to your own life. As mortals, we can't even bear grief for a short period of time. Yet, Merlin lived the cursed life of an immortal, a life where he will only keep losing everyone he's ever loved. A life full of grief.

In the modern world shown, nobody even believes in magic or practises it and yet he...still believes that someday Arthur will return to him. In the past, he reiterates that he just wants Arthur to see that everything he does is for him. He tells Hunith that Arthur only likes him because he doesn't know him. We see he acknowledges that Arthur is doing acts of service because he likes him yet Merlin couldn't be satiated because he still wasn't his true self to Arthur. To be seen and known for who you truly are is to be loved, that is all he ever wanted from Arthur, even from the very beginning of their relationship.

"You never once sought any credit"

"Its not why I do it"

During the magic reveal, he said "I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.", still desperately wanting it to be known that his entire life was devoted to Arthur. There was no talk about legalising magic and whatnot between them either after that. He only kept repeating that he was born to serve Arthur. We see in real time just how much he meant when he said "There will never be another like you, Arthur." Evidently, he meant that Arthur is the Once and Future King but it also plays out for Merlin, because there never was anyone like Arthur in his life after that. To the point where he could find no purpose upon losing Arthur.

And yes he keeps saying that its his destiny to be Arthur's servant, that he grew up and learned the meaning of duty but is that really all it is? Towards the end, it was apparent that Merlin's objective was no longer for magic to be accepted in Camelot (as much as he wanted it). Ever since he found out about Arthur's Bane, it was all about keeping him alive. Even when the great dragon told him that there is nothing he could do anymore, Merlin could not accept to lose Arthur. "I can't lose him, he's my friend." It didn't matter that magic isn't legal yet in Camelot. He could not give two fucks about it anymore or else we would've seen magic in the future scene. One can assume that he completely stopped trying to find a solution. Or even lost the will to live.

What I'm trying to say is that, the final scene really is more than just an epilogue to show his loyalty, immortality and despair. If you think about it for a moment, it shows that somewhere along all the fights, snide remarks, banter, and what he and Arthur think isn't exactly a friendship, - they're stupid, don't mind that - he was in love with Arthur. And Arthur loved him in return even in the face of death as the truth came crumbling down. Its not as simple as 'falling in love' because, I don't think Merlin woke up one day and realised that he was inconveniently in love with the idiot arrogant prince who was tied to him by fate.

Their love was inevitable but it definitely stopped becoming destiny and duty a long time ago, it became a choice. "I'm happy to be your servant till the day I die". Merlin was, and I quote "putting up" with Arthur not because it was his life sentence to do so; it was because he wanted to. The worst thing of all is: Merlin chose to do it for the rest of his life.

#didn't mean to ramble like that my bad #i was thinking #i will not do it again #merthur brainrot is real #warn ur friends #walk with me #today i will wear my white button down #merthur #bbcmerlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merthur

[rascal-xo]

Hiiii!! I was hoping for a ghost x fem!reader where the reader is dead and ghost can't accept it and the others are worried about him. And one night he sees the reader beside him and hugs her in tears and wonders if she really here but his just hallucinating. I hope I didn't do the whole story for you.

The Call of The Void | Simon Riley x Female Reader |

Chapter summary: It’s been months since your untimely death, and Simon struggles to live in a world where you’re not there.

Warnings: DEATH, violence, angst, hallucinations hostile behavior, grief, alcohol use

Word count: 1.6K

taglist: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasures21 @pukbadger

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I hope I was able to capture your request like you had imagined :))

The atmosphere on small hill was quiet, except for the soft rustle of the grass and the distant chirping of birds. Simon felt overwhelmed with the emptiness that seemed to echo through peaceful surroundings as he found himself in front of a marked cement gravestone.

Your gravestone.

His face was bare under the early hours of morning, a glow casting over him from the rising sun. Simon kneeled in the grass. He brushed his hand over the top of the gravestone, tracing the letters of your name with his fingertips. He could feel the rough texture of the cement beneath his skin, a tangible reminder that you were truly gone.

Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to center himself. He could feel his chest tightening, the pain of his loss threatening to overwhelm him farther. He had come here every day for the past 4 months to try and say goodbye, but he didn't know if he could do it.

He didn't know if he had the strength to let you go.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see the vivid flashbacks of that dreadful night playing on repeat in his mind, haunting him constantly.

- FLASHBACK - **TW: Descriptions of death and explosions**

Simon secured his headset, checking over the comms. He glanced over at you, watching as you carefully checked and readied your rifle, as always before a mission.

Your signature red bandana was tied on your head, keeping your hair out of your face as you focused on your gear. He smiled himself, shaking his head very slightly, admiring the way you carry yourself.

You looked up and caught his eye, "Nervous, L.T?" you teased, giving him a smile. Simon lips turned up beneath his mask, always warming at the sound of your voice. “Never that, Love.”

The mission that the team was about to embark on was dangerous, but it was necessary. You were tasked with recon of enemy cargo in a heavily guarded multi compound facility. It was a mission that required precision and skill, from both ground teams.

When the men reached the perimeter of the compound, they split up, Bravo Team, Soap and Ghost taking a different vantage point while Alpha Team, Gaz and the Captain went into the old launch facility across the compound.

You were positioned on a nearby rooftop, your rifle trained on the main gates.

“Ready on the cover, Sergeant?” Captain Price said, coming over the comms into your earpiece. You were positioned way out of their line of sight.

“All good up here, Cap.” You answered, confidently.

You quickly aimed and fired, taking out the first two guards. You remained focused and steady, picking off any other guards that tried to intervene, ensuring that your team could move forward smoothly.

“Do you ever miss, Lass?” Johnny teased over the comms.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, MacTavish.” You chuckled, speaking back. It was a dangerous game, but you were confident in your skills and training.

“Compounds been cleared. Moving to Alpha.” Soap suddenly said. You hadn’t received any updated information as of yet and continued to scan the area.

Ghost and Soap were already halfway to Alpha team when you cleared the area and began to follow behind. But as you touched ground below, your eye caught the a blinking red light from the first building indicating a remote system coming online.

“Compounds not clear, scanning for hostiles.” You say, turning around.

“Say again?” Captain Price replied firmly over the comms.

“Demolitions may have just went active. Somethings blinking.” You answer, you knew something was off and couldn't shake off the feeling. “I’m clearing it, i’ll be right behind you.”

“Negative, Move out NOW Sergeant!” He ordered, sternly.

“Fucking hell, Y/N.” Ghost added.

As you entered the control room, you found the source of the blinking light. A remote detonation system had been set up, and it was set to go off in a matter of moments. But nothing you did could’ve stopped what was about to ensue.

The darkness was suddenly pierced by a blinding flash of light, and then suddenly everything went dark. The explosion was massive, unleashing an intense wave of energy that rippled through the air, shattering windows and doors, and rattling the very foundations of the surrounding buildings.

“SERGEANT, HOW COPY?” The team scrambled to get to your location, and to get word from you. But there was radio silence on your end.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning debris, fuel, and smoke as Ghost was the first one to get to what was once the standing compound. The hostile had made a self destruct on the building that only you were able to detect, and it had made you its victim.

The explosion had ripped through the building, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Smoke and dust still hung heavily in the air, casting an eerie haze over the scene. Simon couldn’t wrap his head around where to look for you, if you had even made it out.

He called out your name, hoping against hope that you would respond, but the only answer he received was the crackling of flames and the creaking of twisted metal.

As he got closer to the epicenter of the blast, Simon could see the destruction wrought by the explosion. Walls had been torn apart, and the roof had collapsed in on itself, forming a tangled mess of concrete and steel.

When he finally managed to find a red cloth sticking out from under, his worst fears were confirmed. There, beneath the rubble, laid your lifeless body. Simon's heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight of you.

Your hair was matted with dust and debris, and your clothes were torn and stained with blood. But despite the damage, your features were still recognizable, and your beauty shone through even in death.

Your lips were slightly parted, as if you had been caught mid-breath. “Oh sweet girl.” Simon’s voice broke, taking your body in his arms, lifting you from the broken concrete that fell onto your legs.

As he carried you back to the evac in that same hour, Simon took in every detail of your face, committing it to memory. He could see the faint scar on your forehead, the shape of your nose, the softness of your lips.

~ END FLASHBACK ~

Simon finally made his way back to base as he did every morning after slipping out before the sun had arose. His heart was slow and filled with a heaviness that hasn’t left since that day.

He pulled his mask over his face and walked through the front door. Price and Gaz were sitting at the small table in the kitchen area, and paused their conversation turning to look at him.

This was the first time in days he had shown himself. None of the men were able to get him to come out of his quarters. “Ghost.” Gaz spoke up.

His eyes met with the captains now pitiful ones, and he didn’t respond back knowing if he spoke nothing of good heart would come out.

He was angry at the world for taking you, at Price for recruiting you to the team in the first place. If he hadn’t, Simon wouldn’t have ever met you but at least you’d be alive.

Simon made his way to his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud and throwing his balaclava somewhere on the ground.

He took a deep breath and walked over to the side table, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that he had left there the night before. He twisted off the cap and took a long swig, feeling the liquid burn down his throat.

He sank onto the edge of his bed, his eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at the floor beneath him.

The alcohol had started to take effect, but failing to numbing the pain in his chest ever so slightly. He took another swig, and then another, until the bottle was half-empty.

“Does this bruise look bad to you?” Simons head shot up at the echoing of your soft voice in the room.

You came out of the connected bathroom with a hand holding your shirt up to examine the deep bruise on your ribs. “Sons of bitches got me bad.” You chuckle, “Don’t worry they look worse.”

His head was playing a god awful trick on him, but he never wanted it to end. He watched the way you lit up the room, the way your eyes were familiarly glowing as they once used to. His chest pounded with an ache he couldn’t overcome.

Simon's hands trembled as they reached out to you, finding rest around your waist. He let out a strangled sob, feeling the weight of his grief press down on him once more.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Simon closed his eyes, melting into you. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your fingers against in his hair. It was as if you were really there with him.

His chest began to heave, his body shaking with quiet sobs. But just as you came into his life, within seconds you were gone with the breeze coming through the windows.

Simon opened his eyes and found himself alone in his room once again. The reality of loss hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt a new wave of despair wash over him.

He felt lost and alone, adrift in a sea of grief and regret. Simon wanted to hate you for leaving him like this, to kill anyone who brought this upon you, but he would never be able to fill the void.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #call of duty smut #ghost x reader #fanfic #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you

[ele-sme]

In another life

let's thank @tuberculosis-chic for reminding me to finish this.

Spider sat alone by the water's edge; his feet submerged in the cool, calming waves. Tiny fish darted around, a world so small and insignificant compared to the vastness around him. He couldn't help but feel like a little human lost in a massive, overwhelming Na'vi world. The water felt warm against his skin, a stark contrast to the pain that pulsed from the deep cut on his chest. Norm had urged him to return to the high camp for treatment, but Jake, despite his desperate pleas, couldn't sway Norm and Max's decision to let Spider stay with them.

"I just lost my son, don't take this boy away too," Jake had said, but the scientists remained resolute.

Kiri, his closest friend among the siblings, couldn't stop crying after Norm's announcement. The pain in Spider's chest was matched only by the pain in his heart. He needed peace, away from it all.

…

…

…

In the distance, footsteps approached. Familiar, yet impossible. It couldn't be who he thought it was, could it? She would never search for him, not in a million years. But yet there she was, sitting beside him, her tail gently resting on the ground.

"Jake told me you're leaving in an hour or two, is it true?" Neytiri asked softly, her tone filled with sorrow and grief.

Spider turned to look at her, feeling the anger and hurt welling up inside him. "You don't even trust your mate?" he retorted; his words laced with bitterness.

"Sorry i shouldn't have said it," Spider said getting his face down again

"No is okay" Her broken English always amused him, maybe because he was raised fluent in both Na'vi and English and found interesting how the accent was

Or maybe because he heard her speaking English only five or six times in his lifetime.

"I am sorry," Neytiri said, her tone was so sad it could make someone cry. Not Spider, not this time, not after the green infected cut on his chest.

"About what? Almost killing me? Which time should I forgive you for?" he snapped, instantly regretting his sharp words but unable to stop himself.

Her hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear. Despite the hurt he felt, he couldn't stop her when she moved closer to him. Their bodies were now close, and their feet touched in the warm water. A paradoxical moment of comfort from the one who had caused him so much pain.

"For all of it, if I could go back in time I-"

"You can't go back in time, trust me if someone could it would be me going back and not letting N-Neteyam and Lo'ak come to my rescue" the name hurted to say and hear.

But something said and done couldn't be canceled.

"Ma Spider" He turned his face to see her, she never called him by name, she only ever used despicable names to refer to him "I am sorry, I'm truly am. If I could go back, I would take you in, like I did for Kiri" she continued "I see you Spider"

Neytiri's words struck a chord deep within him. He had yearned for acceptance, a place to belong, but it was too late for that now. The pain in his chest intensified, and he whimpered.

Neytiri gently placed her hand on his arm and eased him onto her lap, offering an unexpected comfort. His abuser was now the one trying to console him, and the irony of it all wasn't lost on him.

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the sea the only company they needed. Spider finally gathered the courage to ask, "What would have happened if you had taken me in?"

Neytiri paused, lost in thoughts of an alternate reality. "I probably would have taken you in when I took Kiri. I remember seeing you watching us with those big brown eyes. My instinct was telling me to bring you home, but grief told me to leave you behind" she replied, gently running her fingers through his hair.

A sense of longing enveloped him, imagining the life he could have had. "Then? What would have come next?" he asked, eager to hear the world he could never live.

"I would have made you feel welcome in the clan, just like Kiri. You would have had your special ceremony day," she continued, a smile appearing on both their faces.

"And then?" he prodded further.

"I would have changed your name to something more Na'vi, made you a songchord, and ensured you were part of every important step," she replied, her words like a soothing lullaby to his wounded heart.

A tear trickled down Spider's cheek as he listened, finally hearing the love and care he had craved for so long. "Then?" he whispered, lost in the bittersweet dream.

"I would have been fiercely protective of you. I would have kissed your bruises and helped you rise every time you fell," Neytiri said, her voice carrying the weight of regret.

The pain in his chest persisted, but this time, it wasn't just physical. He had ached for this love, this care, but it was now only an unattainable "if."

"Can you ever forgive me?" Neytiri asked, her sincerity evident.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside him like the relentless waves.

"Can we start over again?"

"Is to late for that"

Norm's arrival broke the moment, and Spider reluctantly pulled away, leaving Neytiri behind. Inside the helicopter, Spider hoped for a peaceful end. He longed for comfort, a final rest from a life marked by loneliness and betrayal. The rhythmic hum of the helicopter's engine lulled him into a drowsy state.

Comfortable.

Comfortable.

Comfortable.

Passing away should always be this comfortable.

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar spider #miles spider socorro #neytiri #jake sully #neteyam #kiri #angst? #angst #one shot #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #major character death #major character injury #plot twist at the end

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer Part 12

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 11k

warnings: swearing, horror adjacent descriptors, angst, super saccharine fluff

In a less than shocking turn of events, you’d ended up running from the cops because, at the end of the day, that is really the only possible way the clusterfuck of the interrogation in the Wheeler’s living room could have ended. 

And that’s not even the strangest thing that’s happened in the last hour, because Eddie and the others are trapped behind Watergate and in dire need of rescue… whatever that means. 

You’d discovered as much by speaking to them… through a Light Brite of all things. 

Your patience for this scenario was very swiftly growing thin before that happened, when all you’d had to try and wrap your head around was the fact that they were calling for your help via Morse code through a flickering light … because that makes sense. 

Worst still is how you couldn’t even dismiss that one as a fluke, considering you were the one to notice it.

You truly cannot wait for the world to start making sense again, and you have a sinking suspicion that you’re going to have to wait a very long time for that to happen. 

The Hawkins PD had spectacularly lost control of the room after the not-so-secret information of your relationship with Roane County’s Most Wanted came to light – no thanks at all to Erica, who has never been your biggest fan in the first place, so, really, you have to ask yourself why you’re even shocked that she would take the first chance presented to throw you under the bus.

In an effort to try and reign things back in, they’d decided to start one-on-one questioning, making the very poor decision, to begin with Max, which was likely to end the interviewing process before it even began. 

You wondered idly if they realized the gravity of their mistake as they led her into the other room and shut the door behind them. 

Thankfully, the spotlight gradually faded from you as the room dispersed into a plethora of individual huddles to discuss other things of evident import.

Suddenly it was like you weren’t even there, the closest thing to a status quo you have experienced since your parents moved away. It used to be a point of significant grief to you, moving through the world largely unseen and unheard by the people around you.

In your youth, it had always been your fondest wish to be the kind of person who lit up a room when you entered, you wanted to turn heads and have people look at you the way Dustin did, like you hung the moon. 

The closest you ever came to skirting that dream was the brief interval in High School when you were still attached to Carol Perkins, who put you into the proximity of the likes of Steve Harrington back when he was still King of Hawkins High.

You were never promoted to anything more than serving as Carol’s shadow,  an unwanted tag-along who people didn’t miss if you weren’t there.

It was one of the things that had made it so incandescently easy to slip unnoticed out of your put-together world and into Eddie’s, but here and now, you’ve never been more thankful to be ignored in your life. 

You’d almost even managed to steal away before Claudia Henderson caught you in the doorway, beside herself and blubbering, as is her natural state. She had a hundred and one questions for you, none of which she could properly vocalize as she dabbed at her nose with a crumpled tissue and went on and on about the state of her poor nerves.

Because you’ve never been the type of person to be unkind, particularly to someone who has been nothing but good to you, considering the circumstances, you did your best to assure her that things were not as dire as they seemed.

You told her that there was a completely rational explanation to all of this (though you failed to provide one) that you would rather cut off your own arm than even think about putting Dustin in danger, and yes you promise you are still coming to dinner next Wednesday like you always do. 

Every word of it was true, save for the last part, of course, considering you’re supposed to be halfway to Timbuktu with Eddie by next Wednesday.

How you’re going to manage that with no car, no money, and now no Eddie, you have no earthly idea. It strikes you with a miserable pang that suddenly you’re back at square one, no better off than you had been two days back, trudging up Kerley Street with Wayne’s money in your pocket and wondering just how in the hell you expected to conquer this Sysiphean hurdle. 

On a hope and a prayer, you suppose, though now you can’t even afford to skirt by on that considering the money had been stuffed into the pocket of the jacket you’d been liberated from in your struggle to be free of Jason and his toadies. 

It was your favorite jacket, and you wonder miserably what’s become of it.  

Life is a bitch and then you die, and that’s just the way of the world. 

This is a right mess, innit, Edward? 

Suddenly, as if answering the inane question of your inner dialogue, there came a subtle flickering of the overhead lamp in the foyer. The pulsing of the light was a violent thing, a sickly orange glow stabbing you in the eye and demanding your attention. 

Claudia Henderson was still sniffling in front of you, and if only for good manner’s sake, you tried to ignore it, but the blinking light was absolutely incessant. Try as you might, you could not stop looking at the damn thing. 

It was so pervasive that you’d ultimately had to excuse yourself from the room to casually go and investigate what you imagined could only be a failing lightbulb. 

You assume that you must have looked completely insane, standing beneath the lamp, glaring up at it and willing it to shut the fuck up, but perhaps more insane was just how familiar its nagging was. 

You couldn’t help but feel that you’d summoned it somehow, particularly so when you realized how bizarrely reminiscent the flashing bulb was of the way Eddie used to subtly prod you for your attention during the brief, ill-advised quarter you’d been seated next to him in eleventh-grade History class.

You hadn’t learned a damn thing in those few short months, nothing except that Eddie inexplicably knows the tiniest bit of Morse Code and will drum out call signs onto your leg when he’s bored.

Most commonly, it would be the same pitiful cry for help when Mrs. O’Donnell’s pedantic lessons about the Napoleonic wars became too much: dot dot dot - dash dash dash - dot dot dot… 

You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t the exact sequence the light was flashing in, but the longer you stood and stared, the less you believed that.  

dot dot dot - dash dash dash - dot dot dot… 

Suddenly, you had a sneaking suspicion. A notion you knew could hold no water, but if it was even remotely possible how could you live with yourself if you ignored it? 

dot dot dot - dash dash dash - dot dot dot… 

You glanced carefully over your shoulder, making absolutely sure that no one was around to see, that no one would witness what you were about to do.

You knew you would have no way to explain it if someone asked, but you also knew you had to try.  

You turned your face up to the light and spoke to it in an almost inaudible whisper. 

“...Eddie?”

The light flared so brightly then that it left spots of color blooming across your vision, evidently answering you as the blinking became that much more incessant.

dotdotdotdashdashdashdotdotdotdotdotdotdashdashdashdotdotdotdotdotdotdashdashdashdotdotdot!

You gasped without really meaning to, clapping your hands over your mouth a moment too late in an attempt to muffle the sound. You stared at the light until the flashing colors completely overtook your vision and the pulsing was all you could see, then you blindly began twisting in manic circles, looking this time for someone, anyone to come and see what you were seeing.

No, not just anyone. Dustin. You needed Dustin to see what you were seeing.

You found him standing around the kitchen island huddled in tense conversation with the Sinclairs. You didn’t greet them as you made a beeline for the teen boy. He didn’t have the time to even finish saying your name before you seized him by the elbow and wrenched him back out into the foyer. 

“Come look at this–” You’d hissed, dragging him into the next room with Lucas and Erica quickly tailing behind.

You directed their attention to the lamp with a sharp jab of your finger and leveled Dustin with a tense look. 

“Am I crazy, or is that light speaking in Morse code?” 

Despite being thoroughly convinced it was Eddie somehow making that light flash from wherever he was, some tiny rational part of your brain still hoped that maybe Dustin would discount the flickering lamp as nothing more than a latent concussion from Jason Carver’s special brand of chivalry.  

You had to be crazy, right? Because lights don’t speak… right?

Still, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing any of you had ever heard that week, and as outlandish as it seemed, if there was even the slightest chance that it was Eddie calling for help, you couldn’t in good conscience ignore that, so you all sat and very carefully counted it out. 

Dot dot dot – dash dash dash - Dot. Dot. Motherfucking dot – blinking as clear as day, assaulting your senses just like the silly little rubber love taps of Eddie’s pencil against the meat of your thigh in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class.  

… S.O.S. …

You don’t know how he was doing it, you don’t even really care, you only know that if he put his mind to it, and was extremely fucking determined, he would find a way to make that light flash, to invade your space and make you understand in no uncertain terms that he needed your help. 

Then came the nonsense with Holly’s Lite Bright, which you had little hope of following as Dustin shouted questions into the ether and the screen lit up with vague swirling answers and symbols. 

You were right. It was Eddie. That much was evidently clear, and you still don’t exactly know how to feel about it.

Much less clear was the message being passed through to you, how the others had passed through the thing Dustin was calling Watergate and had been cut off.

Now they needed a Plan B, an alternate method to find their way back.

How Dustin gleaned all that information from a few dozen flashing bulbs is beyond you, though you suppose now it’s no different than how you’d decided in the first place that it was Eddie calling for help through more or less the same means. Still, it left you feeling like the odd man out, like there was some kind of vital prerequisite knowledge you were missing, as it was apparently not all that confusing to everyone else, frustratingly so. 

Lucas, Erica, and even Max, who had been absent during the entire lamp episode, processed the information about so-called gates and seemed to understand immediately what needed to be done.

To them it was simple: the others were trapped. They needed another gate, and they knew exactly where they needed to go to find it.  

No one apparently seemed to think it was important to explain to you what any of that meant.

They just kept repeating those same basic phrases and ushering you around with varying degrees of annoyance, as if you were completely on board with what needed to be done next and were just being willfully obtuse about the whole thing. 

The next thing you knew, you were perched on the back of Dustin’s bike while he peddled like a madman, the shouting voices of the parents at your back, imploring you to stop and growing quieter every second.

You swallowed any anxiety you felt about the impending doom that awaited you and armed with a plan you still weren’t exactly clear on, you made the speedy escape across town.

It didn’t take long for you to realize where you were headed. After all this time, you could have made the journey in your sleep: the Forest Hills trailer park.  

And here you find yourself back at the Munson trailer, which is probably the last place you’d expected to go in search of whatever gate it is Dustin keeps going on about. 

It’s a welcome sight, as always. Even under the circumstances, seeing the dingy tin siding and mismatched patio furniture feels more like coming home than your own home does. 

You can’t help but feel a pang of strident relief to see that not only is the police presence gone, but someone thought to shut the front door. 

You wouldn’t outright admit it, because you knew it was highly implausible, but once you’d realized your destination you’d spent the duration of the ride trying to wrestle down the irrational fear that somehow Chrissy’s body would still be lying there in the doorway like it had been the last time you were here. 

You knew rationally that it wouldn’t, cops don’t leave bodies lying around at crime scenes, but if you’ve learned anything from the past few days, it’s that you can’t depend upon rationality to prevail in this world.

Not anymore. 

The lights are on, though as you file up the steps behind the others like a gaggle of good little ducklings, you tell yourself that doesn’t expressly mean anyone is home. 

Dustin barges in, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from telling him to knock as you cross the threshold and try to take some semblance of comfort in the cloying familiarity of the place. It’s difficult to do with no one home.

No Wayne sitting in his chair watching his shows through the snowy static of the rabbit-eared television.

No Eddie, shut away in his room with manic melodies rattling the door on its frame. 

You survey the room without really meaning to, turning in a slow circle to take stock of everything – all of Wayne’s knickknacks and keepsakes remain in their rightful place, thankfully spared from evidence impound.

With all the lights on, the room is bathed in that same amber glow that always comes in the evening, giving the place a cozy feeling, but you can’t help but suppress a shiver at how empty it all feels. 

How devoid of life.  

It strikes you with a sudden and potent spike of anxiety that you don’t know what has become of Wayne. Standing there in the living room, you can see every inch of the trailer, save for the bathroom tucked away down the hall and Eddie’s bedroom, the door of which stands ajar. 

When is a door not a door?

You resist the urge to go looking for him, knowing full well that if he were here, tucked away somewhere, the commotion of your arrival would have brought him out to investigate.   

You suddenly find yourself hoping beyond hope that, for lack of knowing what else to do and unwilling to just sit on his hands waiting for some kind of news – good or bad – Wayne simply went to work.

You know what he would say.

"Rent's due when it’s due. Rain or shine, bills gotta be paid. The world don’t stop for nobody, no matter what. Better to stay busy."   

It makes you sick to think of him worrying about Eddie with no hope of impending relief. How lonely it must be, working the factory floor, pretending everything is as it should be, meanwhile his nephew is in the wind?  

Still, it’s a better thing to consider than the alternative, that his coming to your rescue landed him in trouble and he’s not at the plant, but sitting in a cell at the Police Station.

You won’t let yourself consider that notion, if only because you don’t know what you would do if that were the case.      

You barely have time to consider the possibility of how you might intend to bail him out were that the case, as you finish your turn about the room and find your attention is yet again demanded by something in the ceiling.

This time it is not something so banal as a flickering light — you’d never get that lucky twice.

You noticed a lot of things that didn’t expressly belong when you’d stepped through the door of the trailer, stray lines of abandoned police tape floating in the breeze outside, chalky black debris of fingerprinting powder smeared across almost every flat surface in the room, but what you hadn’t noticed, was the angry red sore in the ceiling, throbbing and pulsing and glaring back at you like the Eye of Sauron set atop its perch at the fortress of Barad-dûr.

That seems… wrong. 

For a moment it’s all any of you can do but stare at it.

“What the hell is that?” Erica asks, voicing the sentiment everyone must surely be feeling and doing her best to sound tough despite the way you can feel her inching to move behind you in an attempt to hide from the thing. 

You let her do it without so much as a sideways glance, despite how you’re still pissed at her. 

“The gate.” Dustin says solemnly, “The one Vecna used Chrissy to open.”

The information causes your heart to seize with terror. All this talk of gates, of this elusive one and of the gate the other half of your party had gone in search of at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, you never thought this is what would be waiting for you. 

A fleshy open sore growing out of the drywall like an ulcer.

You don’t know what you’d been picturing this whole time, but it certainly hadn’t been that … and Vecna had used Chrissy to open it…

The notion causes a violent shudder to rip through your body. You still don’t know how you feel about this whole Vecna nonsense, but you’d seen what happened to Chrissy by way of Patrick’s demise.

It’s still close enough to send your heart skipping a few beats faster, just the one time had been enough to damn near ruin you, but Eddie had had to see it twice… 

Oh, Eddie… You think, briefly submitting to the despair of it, My poor, sweet Eddie… 

You swallow the feeling and your silent wish that he was here, standing by your side and sharing the horror of it all. You wish he was here, but you’re glad he isn’t, because for as bad as the brief sojourn to the Wheeler’s house had been, it would have been decidedly worse with him present.   

Still, if this thing really is the gate where you were meant to meet the rest of your party, then where are they? What are you meant to do now that you’ve found it?

You feel your stomach tighten with worry, standing in the trailer and wondering not for the first time that week where the hell Eddie could possibly be, hoping to God the answer doesn’t lie within that … thing. 

You’re vaguely aware of a conversation occurring around you, Lucas says something to your left, and Dustin answers to your right. You don’t acknowledge them, however.  

You’re too busy looking at the fleshy, pulsating sore in the ceiling, trying to quantify how something like that could come to exist in the real world, outside of all the horror movies and urban legends and your worst nightmares.

You’re so busy staring up at it, half afraid that if you take your eyes off of it, it’s going to move and snatch one of you up into its capacious maw like it’s the goddamn Blob or something worse, that you don’t notice when your charges come to a decision or see when Dustin retreats to the hall closet to retrieve the broom.

You don’t see him come trotting back into the room brandishing it like the spear he intends to use it as, and you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. 

Suddenly, he’s standing directly below the thing, prodding at it experimentally with the long wooden handle.

Your heart leaps up into your throat, and before you can even open your mouth to protest such an obviously suicidal action, he thrusts up with as much force as he can muster and the broom pierces the fleshy veil with a sickening snap.

You watch in horror as the thing tears open … inwardly, which is highly disturbing, and you scream, as is the only natural way to react to something like that.

Thankfully the sound is more or less masked by the harmonized screaming of the frightened teenagers around you.

Worst still is the way the noise echoes back at you as a group of disembodied voices answers, screaming from the other side of the gate, if that's what it actually is – it is yet another highly disturbing development that sends the lot of you scrambling backward, tripping over the odd piece of furniture – and each other– as you go.  

Max, Lucas, and Erica converge around you in a tight huddle – you can feel three sets of nervous hands fisting at your clothes and suddenly it’s like you’re all little kids again. Normally you would have made a mental note to tease them about it later, Erica, especially after such a violent betrayal at the Wheeler’s, but you’re too gripped in your own terror to even consider it, let alone realize that Dustin is not among your little fear huddle.

He’s still standing fixed to his spot below the thing, looking directly up into the gaping maw of the hole in Eddie’s ceiling. 

For a very long moment, no one dares to breathe – no one but Dustin, who is grinning ear to ear at whatever it is only he can see. 

“Dustin–” you hiss, swiping at him with a clawed hand. Your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve, but you don’t dare move to try and get a better grip on him, “Get away from that thing!”

He glances over to regard you in a way that is much too casual for your liking and, inexplicably, shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” He assures you, casually gesturing for you to approach, “Come see.” 

No. Your most primal instincts tell you, Absolutely not. 

Gate or not, something in the furthest reaches of your mind is telling you that thing is an Eater, whatever it is. If you get any closer it’s going to snap you up and swallow you whole. 

But Dustin is still there… it hasn’t eaten him.   

Every rational bone in your body is screaming at you to stay as far away from the hole in the ceiling as humanly possible. Still, the fact that Dustin remains unharmed causes the shutter of your mind to click over and awaken some patently unwise part of your lizard brain. 

You’re suddenly dangerously curious to know what is on the other side. 

You’ve seen enough horror movies to know it’s a patently bad idea, a surefire way to end up another tally on the kill count, but it’s not every day you happen upon a fleshy otherworldly portal growing in the ceiling of your ex-boyfriend’s home.

Dustin beckons again with a crook of his finger and you silently weigh your options. If nothing more, you can grab him and get him out of the way in the event that the thing is just playing possum… still, the urge is not entirely selfless. 

You can’t help yourself. You have to look. 

You edge forward, much to the alarm of the others who dig their fingers in tighter and silently will you not to move, all while doing absolutely nothing to stop you.

Together, you creep across the floor in millimeters, one tiny step after the other. It’s dark on the other side, but what little you can see is strangely familiar, if only in the gut-wrenching sense of the uncanny valley. You take another step, and another, features and fixtures coming into view, painting the scene of a room you know far too well. 

A room you’re currently standing in. 

Your brain creaks under the weight of what comes into focus as you move further and further, until finally, you come to find yourselves below the thing, staring up at the people looking down at you through the ceiling in a mind-bending mirror image.

For half a moment, you can feel your brain stall and begin to make crunchy sounds as it struggles to keep itself intact. 

It’s the Munson trailer, or at least some bizarro version of it that has been abandoned for at least ten or fifteen years. 

But how can that possibly be? 

Everything you can make out in the darkness is covered in thick layers of dust and grime, including the group of people standing huddled in the singular pool of light cast into their world from yours.

“...O-kay…” Max begins drolly beside you, “...What?” 

Out of everything you expected to find on the other side – which is not much considering you’d drawn a total blank in that department – you never considered you’d find the rest of your party on the other side.

That was perhaps stupid of you, but it feels like a fitting assessment, as you are starting to feel very stupid, staring up at the harrowed faces of Nancy, Steve, Eddie, and Robin all gawping back down at you … or maybe it’s up … you can’t say for certain which you think it is and it's starting to give you a headache.

Maddeningly, like they aren’t caught in a weird inverted interdimensional portal in the ceiling, everyone on the other side reacts with varying degrees of relief, laughing even. 

Dustin is just as inappropriately pleased with the outcome of his actions, offering you a smile and gesturing to the missing half of your party in a way that is just a little more casual than you’re comfortable with, considering the circumstances.

Oddly, you find that you’re not entirely sure why you’re so surprised. Dustin had called it a gate, after all.

And wasn’t that the plan from the start? Meet them on the other side and bring them through? It only then occurs to you how little you’d truly comprehended your so-called plan.

He’s grinning at you, everyone is grinning and laughing and calling back and forth to one another, and suddenly you feel like you’re going to scream.

You swallow the intent and open your mouth to speak calmly, quietly… it doesn’t work. 

“What the fuck.” You can’t stop yourself from saying – Dustin’s features drop. “Dustin?”

Part of you is well aware of just how shrill you’ve become, but it is summarily drowned out by the title scroll of your inner dialogue screaming unintelligibly at the Lovecraftian madness you’ve unceremoniously encountered. You’d always thought it was a lame cop-out, the hero who lost his mind at the sight of horrors he could not comprehend, things beyond description.

You can comprehend a lot, and it has always felt like nothing more than a cheap literary trope to avoid having to describe a monster. Yet suddenly here you are, desperately trying to hold the broken pieces of your brain together, failing to comprehend what you’re seeing right in front of you. 

You’re freaking out. You’re totally freaking out. 

Dustin seems to sense your dangerous proximity to madness, as he says your name, calmly and slowly, putting his hands out as he approaches, like you’re some kind of wild animal backed into a corner, and you would slug him if he were any closer.

“Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Don’t freak out?!” You mimic, willing yourself in vain to calm down. You gesture angrily to the gate, “Are you fucking kidding? Dustin–!” 

He doesn’t let you finish.

“This is all completely normal — trust me,” He assures you, speaking quickly and still using that stupid tone of voice that you imagine is meant to be calming. “We’ve all been through this before, right guys? Steve? Nancy?”

Before anyone can vouch for the truth of that statement, Eddie interjects from somewhere above you.

“Uh, yeah… hate to break it to you, Bud, but nothing about this is normal…” He deadpans.

Your head snaps up to regard his frizzy-haired form, splattered and smeared in dark grey muck and grime, looking very much like he’s just crawled through some kind of interdimensional crawl space. 

When your eyes meet, he presses his mouth into a tight line that you imagine is meant to be a smile and he waves awkwardly at you, like he isn’t quite sure what else to do.

For half a moment your heart seizes in something you can’t differentiate as fondness or panic as you try to decide whether or not the dark substance splattered across his hands is blood. 

“Eddie–!” You start, but the words get caught in your throat. 

“I know — I’ll fill you in later,” he huffs.

It does nothing to calm you. You can’t wait for later. You want to ask what’s happened, if he’s hurt, but your throat has slammed shut and try as you might you can’t make the sound come out, so you end up gaping stupidly up at him, working your jaw like a dying fish.

You can only imagine how goddamn foolish you must look, losing your shit in the middle of his living room. You’re supposed to be calm, level headed. Shit doesn’t phase you, you’re cool.

Dustin calls your name again, pulling your attention away from Eddie and back into the real world. Thankfully, you’re suddenly furious, and it’s more than grounding enough to hold your shit together. 

“Somebody had better tell me what the hell is going on,” You start, “And I mean right. Fucking. Now.”

Dustin heaves a long suffering sigh, one that garners a wide-eyed, incredulous look from you. Then he’s shaking his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” He says, gesturing to the portal. “That’s the Upsidedown.”

It just about damn near breaks your brain. The Upsidedown is real, which means Jane Hopper (who you know for a fact isn’t actually related to the late Chief), or El, or whatever Mike’s weird girlfriend’s name is, really does have superpowers, and this is all actually happening.

Oh, Jesus…

Your vision swims and goes spotty and for half a moment you feel suddenly like the trailer has been set adrift at sea. The floor roils beneath your feet and you moan pitifully, doubling over to brace your hands on your knees. 

“Uh oh…” someone says from above you. Maybe Robin, you think. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You hum. 

It causes a collective dissenting hum to pass through both the upright and inverted versions of the room. You’re vaguely aware of Eddie calling to you from somewhere above you.

“Oh, shit – okay, sit down a put your head between your knees!” He says. 

“That never works,” Steve argues, and an instant commotion breaks out all around you.

It's overwhelming, though you suppose some part of you understands. 

Nobody wants to see you blow chunks all over your sneakers, least of all you, but then again you didn’t ask to have the curtain pulled back like that with not even the courtesy of being told to pay no mind to the man you found there. Oz is on the horizon with Kansas swiftly slipping out from under you.

The Wizard isn’t real, but the Upsidedown is, which means everything else you think you know is probably a lie. 

It’s totally cool and not scary at all, and you’re definitely not about to pass out. Nope, not at all…  

Once again, a unanimous decision is made without your input – they found the gate, and now they’ve got to bring the party through. Someone moves you to the side as the room breaks into a flurry of motion, and you watch miserably from the couch as you wait for your bout of hysteria to pass.

Eddie’s mattress is dragged out into the living room, and rude comments are made about the state of his laundry. You wonder idly when he last changed his sheets and distract yourself by assuming it was probably the last time you changed them. 

So, what… a year? Gross.

When prompted, you move aimlessly to the linen closet in the hall and begin retrieving bedsheets by the handful until the cupboard is bare. Then, you sit and help knot them together to form a makeshift rope.

It’s mindless work that you’re happy to do. As the elder Munson says: better to stay busy. 

When the rope is finished and passed through the ceiling to the other side only to hang in suspended animation between the two worlds, you decide that you’ve had quite enough of the Upsidedown for today and slip wordlessly away from the group. 

No one sees you go, and just like that you’re invisible again. Good, maybe if you’re lucky you can fade out of existence and escape the madness of everything that’s happened in the last half hour.

Down the hall and into the back bedroom, you pad across the threshold of Eddie’s door and sink down onto the exposed box spring, carefully tucking one foot beneath you and taking creature comfort in the familiarity of your surroundings as you do your best to center yourself.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

You try to tune out everything from the trailer beyond by turning your mind to Eddie’s room. You look hard at everything, all his posters and knickknacks, dirty laundry and papers, and Sweetheart, his prized possession in its rightful place backed by the mirror. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

The image reflected in its surface shows you movement as someone arrives in the doorway, and you ready yourself to be moved as Lucas or Max or someone else comes looking for yet another thing needed in the ongoing rescue of the others. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

No one asks you to move, but a strong, calloused hand curling around your shoulder draws you back to yourself. You don’t need to look to know who it is. Even without his reflection in the mirror or the heavy metal press of his rings, you know Eddie’s touch like nothing else in this world. 

“Sorry I’m late, Sweetheart.” He says softly, and you catch yourself wondering for half a moment whether he’s talking to you or the guitar. 

You have your answer as, slowly, you turn to regard him and follow his movement as he sinks down to sit beside you on the bed.

You watch Eddie watching you, taking in his grimy features, the damp ends of his hair where it has not completely dried yet. There is something black and viscous spattered across his hands, and his nail beds are crusted with dried blood from where you know he’s been picking at them. Nervous habit. 

It takes what feels like a very long moment for him to speak, and when he does, it almost feels like he has no idea what to say. You don’t blame him. What is there to say after all that madness?  

“You doin’ okay?” Eddie asks gently, his voice barely a whisper as he turns shy eyes up at you.

Part of you hates the way he’s clearly treating you with kid gloves like he isn’t sure just how fragile you are right now and he’s leery of pushing you over the edge, but the rest of you is just so unbelievably happy he’s back.

You would throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him until he tapped out if you could make yourself move.

Still, with Eddie here, somehow all of this nonsense seems slightly more palatable if only because you know he’s got to be as lost in all of this as you are.    

You offer him a lopsided shrug.

“Got your message,” You mumble, “Came running.” 

He breathes an airy laugh out through his nose.

“You always do.” 

You feel his hand slide down the length of your arm, never letting go as he pulls your hand into his lap and laces his fingers with yours. 

You hadn’t even realized that he was still touching you, and now you’re stuck staring at the point of contact, your hand in his.

You still can’t tell what the dried muck spread all over his hands is, you’re not certain anymore that it’s blood, but you’re also not certain it isn’t — you almost don’t hear Eddie calling your name.

Slowly, you lift your eyes to meet his and find him looking at you expectantly. 

You hadn’t heard what he’d said. 

“Are you okay?” He asks again when you force yourself to focus on him, brows knitting tightly over his eyes. 

You pull your shoulders up to your ears and briefly debate whether you ought to tell him the truth. 

No, you absolutely are the furthest thing from okay.

Everything you know is a lie and you’re pretty sure nothing is ever going to go back to being normal. Somehow you can’t manage it, as sitting there, looking at him, suddenly all you can feel is relief. Suddenly square one doesn’t seem so bad.

Slowly, you feel the corners of your lips begin to creep up. You reach across to brush his hair back from his forehead, tracing the dirty planes of his face before coming down to cup his jaw. He catches your hand and holds it there, turning in to press a chaste kiss to your palm. 

You smile and nod. 

“I’m okay,” You tell him, and start down the path to fooling yourself into believing it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Upsidedown was bad, but it wasn’t the worst thing Eddie has witnessed all day, because they’d all taken their turns climbing the rope to slip back into the real world and left it and all its hive-mind bullshit behind.

Watching Nancy slip into the catatonia of Vecna’s curse and tearing his room apart in a panic looking for the elusive “music” everyone was suddenly crying out for was an excursion in brief but blinding terror. Somehow – he doesn’t know how – she’d snapped out of it, rendering it, not the worst thing that has happened all day.  

Boosting his shitty neighbor’s Winnebago had been almost fun until Eddie realized that, inexplicably, he’d picked what was perhaps the worst getaway car in the history of mankind.

He’d picked it because it was a home as much as it was a vehicle, something they could all take a moment to breathe in, and because he knew how angry it would make the particular couple who owned the thing. He didn’t give a shit, he wanted a nap and a shower and to get as far away from the place that was supposed to be his home as fast as humanly possible.

Harrington was driving like a bat out of hell, and he was almost proud of him until noticed everyone getting thrown around, desperately trying to cling to any surface they could find. Eddie realized his mistake with a sickening start. 

Seatbelts. 

There were no goddamn seatbelts in the RV. 

Visions of car accidents and open-casket funerals nearly sent him over the edge and Eddie seized you by the back of your pants.

He pulled you firmly into place to sit in his lap where he could hold you in a constricting embrace and protect you from whatever kind of vehicular disaster they were surely headed for, all the while barking orders at everyone to sit the fuck down and hold on to something.

Despite the way it triggered violently sepia-toned memories of the last time he ever saw his mother alive, it still wasn’t the worst thing he’d witnessed all day.

No, all of that he could manage, compartmentalize alongside all the other crazy shit he was electing not to think about… but The War Zone? That was a beast in its own category. 

They’d rolled in expecting to find the parking lot empty like it has been every other time Eddie made the jaunt out to the Army Surplus store, for one reason or another, and yet they found the place teeming with life.

Everyone and their mother, it seemed, everyone Eddie has known his whole life, turned out to arm themselves to the teeth like they thought they were the cast of Red Dawn and the Russians were at the gate. 

If he didn’t know better he would have thought the good people of Hawkins were readying themselves for war. 

But it wasn’t the threat of war that had whipped them into a frothy bloodlust, only the lingering threat of a Munson among them. They were getting ready to hunt their newest boogeyman, root him out and string him up for all the world to see.

A warning to anyone who dared to be different in any capacity. 

They’d done the same with his father once upon a time, not that the bastard didn’t deserve it, but now they were getting ready to hunt him, and that was so much worse… 

Worse than the Upsidedown or the near miss with Nancy and Vecna, was the knowledge that this town hated him bad enough to arm themselves with bear traps and grenades.

It left Eddie feeling like he’d been wrenched out of himself and discarded, leaving nothing more than an empty shell devoid of any higher function than the primal urge to run. 

Every single person in this god-forsaken, nice little midwestern town, this backwater hell wants him dead… he’s never going to get out of Hawkins. 

He’ll die first. 

The sobering realization of the violence his neighbors are capable of weighs heavy like a cinder block tied to his ankle dragging him deeper and deeper into the darkness.

He can hardly breathe for the pressure it puts on him, and by the time they reach the field, Eddie is just about ready to spin out. 

The door swings open and he’s out of the RV before the wheels have even stopped rolling, gravel crunching underfoot and grass swaying as he stalks out into the field at a pace. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just needs space, distance — quiet. 

Behind him, he’s vaguely aware of hearing Dustin calling after him, followed very quickly by your hushed,

“Let him go, Dustin …”

Thank God for that, he doesn’t think he can stand any semblance of human interaction right now. He can’t grin and bear it and pretend he’s okay, not when he’s ready to fly apart at the seams.

Eddie walks until he can’t hear the idle chatter of the group anymore, feeling something akin to a balloon swelling in his chest. He doesn’t know what will happen if it bursts.

He can’t breathe.

He doesn’t understand what he did to make those good people hate him so much. He’s never understood it, and suddenly he feels like he’s eleven years old again, walking down the interstate, wiping blood and tears on the sleeve of his suit jacket because nobody loves him, nobody is on his side and he wants to scream, hurl himself to the ground and rant and rail and cry about how unfair his stupid life is until he’s empty.

He doesn’t do any of that, though, he just stops and breathes deep the clean air.

It’s heavy with the smell of rain, wildflowers, and water and Eddie sinks to his knees and prays for the ground to open up and swallow him. Let him go back to the Earth, let him cease to exist.

After all, that’s what everybody wants, right? To wipe away any trace of him having ever existed? 

How cruel it was that his parents didn’t smother him in the crib, they could have saved everyone an awful lot of grief. 

Why else was he born if not to suffer, to feel all the hurt, and misery, and pain in the world? They ought to have ended his suffering before it even began. 

He wipes moodily at the breaking damn of his tears, streaking uncontrollably down his face, cutting rivets through the dirt caked into his skin, and he hates, hates, hates…

It’s not fair — it’s just not fucking fair. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before the gentle crunch of approaching footsteps reach him, growing gradually louder, and louder. 

After a moment Eddie feels a hand creep up between his shoulder blades and rest momentarily in the space there. He knows it’s you without even looking up from where he’s ripping up fistfuls of grass like a petulant child.

Who else would be it? Who else is brave enough to face the monster? 

You slowly come to circle around and sink down quietly to sit in the grass in front of him. You’re close enough that your knees are nearly touching, and the proximity is not enough.

Eddie wishes you would reach for him, wrap him up and hold him in your arms and tell him it’s going to be okay until he believes it. 

He wishes you would love him again like you used to. 

He wishes it were that easy. 

He doesn’t ask for it, because he doesn’t deserve it, and you don’t speak, you just watch and wait. 

Eddie can’t help but feel so slightly ashamed, of what he doesn’t rightly know – maybe for storming off like he did, maybe for this whole scenario, but he suddenly can’t meet your gaze and the idle wishing continues.

He wishes none of this had happened and he wishes more than anything that he’d swallowed his pride and just gone to your stupid graduation ceremony.

Maybe if he had you’d be a hundred miles away now, living together somewhere in a tiny little apartment, struggling to pay your bills, sharing every meal and every night and morning, living your lives blissfully removed from Hawkins and Chrissy Cunningham and Vecna and everything else that has come together to unceremoniously ruin Eddie’s life in the span of a week. 

He sniffs, wipes the back of his hand across his nose, and clears his throat to try and banish the bullshit emotion welling up inside of him.

He can’t place it: Fear? Anger? Frustration? Exhaustion? He doesn’t know what the feeling is, he only knows it’s big enough that if he’s not careful it’s going to swallow him whole. 

He thinks if he could trace it, he would find that it manifested the moment he walked into his living room and found Chrissy frozen to the spot. Though maybe sooner, maybe it started the afternoon he’d spent shamelessly flirting with her at the picnic table behind the school or the moment he tried to drink himself into oblivion last summer.

Maybe it started when he stood there and watched as you walked out of his life. 

He shouldn’t have let you go, and he’s sick with the notion.

You’re still watching him, waiting for him to speak. 

As always, Eddie is happy to indulge you – he furiously scrubs his hands over his face to try and banish any residual wetness from the tears that have, thankfully, since stopped. 

“Everybody in this goddamn town wants me dead.” he croaks – his voice is thick and creaky from disuse. 

You don’t miss a beat.

“And everybody in this goddamn town is going to have to go through me to get to you.” 

In spite of himself, Eddie can’t help the bitter snort of laughter that bubbles up in him.

After a moment, you nudge him with your knee.  

“Hey, I promised Wayne I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” you say, “and I’m not about to start breaking my promises … especially to Wayne.” 

Eddie hums thoughtfully, well aware of the consequences of such an unforgivable action. There’s not much in this world that is as terrible as getting caught under Wayne Munson’s disappointed gaze.

It makes him think of all the ways he’s let his uncle down in the last year, all the deeply tired sighs and sad eyes he’s had to endure because of the bad decisions Eddie can’t seem to stop making.

“Do you wanna hear something crazy?” He hums, quickly changing the subject for the sake of his own self-preservation - he doesn’t need to relive all the guilt he’s built up in disappointing his uncle on top of everything else presently weighing on him.

You nod. 

“Always.” 

“So… on the other side–” He gives you a knowing look, because he’s not about to start calling it the Upsidedown like it’s a normal place with a normal name. 

Thankfully your brows jump up toward your hairline and you roll your eyes - you are, in fact, picking up what he’s putting down. Good. 

Eddie continues. 

“They’ve got these bats, right? But, not like normal ones—” He pauses a moment to try and find a way to properly explain the most immediate threat waiting for you just below the surface, “Remember in Temple of Doom, all those establishing shots—?”

Your eyes flash with clarity and in an instant you’re nodding, finishing the thought for him. 

“Giant vampire bats.” You say, then pause like you’ve only just realized what it was you said, “Oh, great. So nothing too terrible…”

The sarcasm in your tone is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Eddie shrugs.  

“I mean they damn near pulled Steve’s head off last time, but yeah, no big deal…”

You pull a face.  

“...I was wondering what happened there.” 

You gesture to your throat in emphasis – it had been hard to miss the dark bruises wringing Steve’s neck, but between what happened with Nancy, stealing the RV, and navigating the parking lot of the army surplus outlet, there had been almost no time to explain any of it. 

"Too bad," you continue, "It might have done something to reign that ego in..."

“He’s not so bad…” 

Eddie lets the words hang between you a moment before finally turning his eyes up to watch for your reaction.

Your expression is, for the moment, an unreadable thing if not tinged with the slightest hint of disbelief, so he continues.

“Steve apologized to me,” He clarifies, “For being an asshole back at school.”

It takes you a moment to react, but when you do, your brows come together in a pinched mask of strident disbelief.

“Bullshit.” 

It’s about as much as he’d thought you would say. Eddie lays a palm flat across his chest and raises the other, pantomiming the swearing of an oath.

“Hand to God, he pulled me aside for a gen-u-ine heart-to-heart... I guess facing your mortality like that tends to put things into perspective … not that I would know, I’ve never really been the 'learning lessons' type…”

You laugh, and it’s almost enough to banish all the bad feelings weighing heavy on Eddie’s heart. He bites the inside of his cheek to try and stifle the smile the sound of your laughter brings to the surface.  

“That must have been awkward.” You giggle. 

“Yeah, it was, but it was also really … I don’t know, it was nice.” Eddie shrugs, “You know, people aren’t exactly striving for accountability when it comes to the way they treat the town freak.” And then, “They’d rather just come after me with torches and pitchforks.”

The sentiment wipes the smile right off your face, and it might have sent a pang of regret lancing through Eddie’s midsection if it wasn’t so patently true.

It’s not like you can deny it, you saw the multitude of masses at The War Zone as clearly as he did. Good simple folk whipped into a tizzy over rumors, practically frothing at the mouth with a sudden and violent need for blood. 

His blood.  

Eddie watches the gears in your head turn as you work something over, trying to decide what to say. Only there is nothing to be said, so you make a hollow sound in the back of your throat and you let your gaze drift past him to fix wistfully on the scene beyond.

If he turned, he would see their party spread out, preparing themselves for the insurmountable task ahead, crafting weapons and armor and all the other fixings of battle.

They’ve got a plan to try and stop Vecna, to save Max from the curse, and to clear his name. It’s a very bad plan, in his opinion, an honest-to-God suicide mission, but he supposes if he’s going to die, he might as well do it on his own terms rather than waiting around for the angry mob to descend. 

It doesn’t scare him any less.

Despite his best efforts, his voice is trembling as he speaks. 

“... I can’t see the end of this…”  

You turn your attention back to him, but you don’t answer right away. You just stare at him like you’re trying to commit his features to memory, almost like you’re worried something is going to happen and you’re never going to see him again. 

Probably because you know how bad the plan to stop Vecna is and you’re all going to die the second you set foot back in the Upsidedown.  

“The end of what, Eds?” You finally hum.

“This.” He says, gesturing vaguely to the air, “The saga of all this … bullshit.”

“What do you mean?” 

For some reason, the wide-eyed innocence of your tone sets his teeth on edge. 

“I mean I’m scared, Sweetheart.” He presses, “I don’t know how I’m gonna – how any of us are gonna survive this.”

“...Oh.” You say quietly, and then like you have no idea what to say but you’re desperate to say something to try and provide some sort of comfort to him, “You know, it’s okay to be scared–”

He can’t help but scoff bitterly. 

“Don’t patronize me, okay–” He bites the words off before he can finish the thought. 

It would be so easy to get mean because you’re not the one everyone is gunning for, nobody wants to see your head on a pike, but none of that is your fault. 

There’s no sense in biting your head off over something neither of you has any power over.

Eddie sighs and tips his head forward before starting again.

“All the shit that’s happened?” He says, “It’s like it doesn’t even phase you.”

You roll your eyes and scoff like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Oh, Eddie, come on. You think I’m not scared? I am barely holding it together,” 

He shakes his head.

“Well, you’re real damn good at hiding it because you could’ve fooled me.” 

“Only because I’ve had years of practice.” You huff. “Come on, what’s this really about?”

He hesitates because it feels stupid to admit what he’s thinking, but now that he’s started, he knows you’re not about to just let him drop the subject.

Anyway, it’s like you said, he’s justified in being scared. It’s not like you’re about to turn around and judge him for it, at least he hopes.

He takes a deep, steadying breath to try and center himself before explaining himself.   

“I’m not a hero, you know? I run at the first sign of danger, and I didn’t know that about myself until this week.” Eddie sniffs, “I spent all this time thinking I was pretty brave…  turns out I’m a fucking coward.”

“You are brave.” You insist, “Eddie, you’re the bravest person I know.”

It hits him like a bolt to the chest and suddenly there’s a knot in his throat, threatening to strangle him with emotion. 

Eddie lifts his hand to press the heel of his palm into his eye until it bursts with colors and stars, and he sniffles pitifully, willing himself not to get stupid and teary-eyed again. 

He’s just feeling sorry for himself, and it’s not a good look.    

“No, I’m not, But you? You’re a goddamn superhero, you know that? I don’t know how I got so lucky that you’re always riding in to save my ass, but… well, look, I think we both know I’m not the guy who lives to see the end of this movie.”

“This isn’t a movie.” You press.  

“No, I know that it’s just… I guess what I’m trying to say is … this is so fucked on so many levels, and you’re just… I mean you’re amazing. I’d be dead without you,”

Complimenting you is his default setting, he cannot help but do it, especially when it comes as a substitute for any kind of a straight answer, and you know this better than anyone.

You pull a face and he’s quick to continue before you can argue the point.

“You know it’s true." Eddie insists, "If it weren’t for you, I’d probably still be hiding under a tarp at Rick’s place… or worse..”

You have to know what he means, strung up by Jason Carver and his lackeys and everyone else in this town desperately gearing up for the hunt and their own brand of Good American Justice. You’d never let that happen. You’d burn Hawkins to the ground before you let anyone harm him… he still believes that, in spite of all his faculties telling him otherwise.

Eddie suddenly feels the weight of the situation it bearing down on him like it means to crush him, and it’s too much. He heaves out a shuddering breath and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. 

Immediately, he feels your reassuring touch, rubbing up and down the length of his calf. 

“Hey, listen to me. I  know you’re scared – I’m scared too– but we’re gonna figure this out–”

He drops his hands to hold yours in place at his knees and nods emphatically, quick to assure you that he’s okay and definitely not about to go to pieces. 

“I know,” He assures you, “I know, that’s not what I’m trying to say. There actually is a greater point to this pity party, I swear, I just – Jesus – I just have to find it again...”  

Eddie is painfully aware of how he has begun to ramble. He knows what he wants to say, but suddenly he can’t find the words.

He can almost hear Steve chastizing him for putting his foot in his mouth so spectacularly, urging him to just tell her how you feel.

The advice seemed so heartfelt and eloquent at the time, but under the heat of your gaze, Eddie’s intentions have slipped from his grasp.

He feels like he’s fourteen years old again and terrified of talking to pretty girls – shades of the way he used to feel around you before he knew you. 

You’re looking at him with so much patience and so much adoration, the way you did when he was a shy and stammering mess, before you’d finished dancing around each other in those first few tentative months.

It ties his tongue into knots and makes his throat feel like it’s closing up, and he has to clear his throat to try and keep his voice steady. 

It doesn’t work. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” He trails off, heaves a defeated sigh, and shakes his head for how completely stupid he is sure he must sound, “...is that I don’t know what I’m trying to say… I’m just feeling sorry for myself…”

“Liar.” You say gently.

Eddie can’t help the airy chuckle that rises in him, he must not be as good a liar as he thinks he is, because you always manage to see through his bullshit.

A sticky silence blooms between the two of you, and after a long moment of nothing but birdsong and the grass moving in the breeze, you nudge his knee with yours again, drawing his attention. 

“Spit it out, Munson.” You prompt, giving him a curt nod. 

He would if he knew how.

He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’s sorry, but he’s said it so many times lately it’s started to lose all meaning, and with such diminishing returns he’s afraid to push it past the point of no return.

Eddie hesitates, suddenly worried about overstepping his bounds, but you’re looking at him and batting those pretty eyes so expectantly that he has to say something. 

“Whatever happens,” He begins slowly, “I want you to know I’m just so, so glad you came looking for me … even if you only did it for Wayne,”

You’re quiet for what feels like a very long time, long enough that Eddie starts to get nervous that he said the wrong thing.

You push up then, standing and brushing the dirt from your jeans before reaching down for his hand.

He gives it to you so quickly your palms clap together in a sound that rings out loudly across the field. 

Eddie lets you pull him to his feet and lets you help brush off the dirt and grass from his jeans. It’s almost intimate, the proximity, the gentle touching.

If he wanted to, he could fool himself and read further into it than he has any right to do, but then he turns and catches you standing there, watching him with a subtle smile spread across your face.

“What?” He asks. 

You shake your head.

“Nothing,” You say, “Just enjoying the show.”

It causes the moth in his stomach to kick up a ruckus, and he can’t help but stand a little stunned as you cross your arms over your chest and turn on your heel, starting back across the field toward the camper.

He knows he’s blushing.

He’s got to be, and he feels extremely stupid about it, watching you go, trying not to get too caught up in how he’s suddenly noticed the way your jeans hug your backside – are those the same jeans you were wearing before? 

Were they always that tight? 

Almost like you’d read his mind, you stop short after only a few paces and twist back around to face him. 

“I didn’t do it for Wayne, you know…” You call, matter of factly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It hits Eddie like a fist to the gut, and he does everything in his power not to hope… and yet… he nearly stumbles over his own feet in the rush to close the gap between you, the trek made all the more difficult by the nervous habit of wiping his palms down over the front of his jeans.

“You didn’t?” Eddie stammers, half breathless from the sudden burst of exertion and the hint of possibility hanging heavy in the air. 

You pull your shoulders up to your ears and tilt coquettishly forward, leaning into his space just as he makes those last few steps to you.  

“I did it for you, Dummy.” You whisper.

Oh shit, oh shit oh shit!

His tongue feels fat in his mouth and Eddie has to swallow hard against the way his throat suddenly feels dry.

He could kiss you so easily right now, all he has to do is lean forward.

He’s not sure you’d thank him for it, he has no idea where you stand these days, but, like always, he can’t help but give in to his impulses. 

Just as Eddie begins to lean in to meet you, you turn again and start back in the direction of the others once more 

“And I did it for me…” You say, shrugging, “Mostly I did it for me.” 

It’s enough to drive Eddie just a little bit crazy, and suddenly his heart is hammering in his chest. He shouldn’t hope for anything, because it’s the hope that kills you, so they say.

“Why?” He asks, lengthening his stride in order to fall into step with you.

In the distance, Dustin stands crouched over a pair of galvanized trashcan lids, hammering wicked-looking carpenter nails through their surface area, the sound rings out across the field like the ticking of a clock, counting the seconds as Eddie waits for you to answer.

You walk along, watching your feet as you go, and he thinks he can see the faintest hint of a smile quirking up the corners of your mouth. 

When you glance up at him from the edge of your vision, he can’t stop himself from grinning at you, not even if his life depended on it. 

You don’t answer, you just smile and keep walking. 

He knows why, at least he hopes he does. 

For half a moment he’s overwhelmed with the notion, with the white heat of your gaze. It’s too much, and he has to tear his eyes away for the sake of his own self-preservation… and to keep from stepping into a gopher hole and breaking an ankle.

Eddie glances bashfully down at his sneakers and reaches up to scratch at the stubble he knows must be shadowing his jawline – it’s been days since he showered and he’s suddenly painfully aware of it.

You giggle beside him in a way that feels secretive, conspiratorial even, like it’s a secret shared between you. He can’t help but smile. 

It has Eddie suddenly thinking back to the earliest days of your relationship. To nights laying on your bedroom floor, staring up at the sea of glow-in-the-dark stars, tripping the light fantastic with the dulcet tones of Knights in White Satin playing a soft soundtrack to the cosmos alit in your eyes. 

Your parents aren’t home, but when are they ever?

He can picture your lips, rosy and swollen for the soft languid kisses you’ve been trading for the better part of two hours. Your clothes and hair are in a state, pulled hopelessly out of shape where he’s been pawing at you to gain access to the most tender parts he craved, like some sort of depraved creature, starved for the taste of sweetest flesh.

He’s so incandescently happy he imagines he could sink into the floor, become a ghost and spend the rest of his days haunting these walls if only to always be near you.

He heaves a contented sigh into your mouth as you push forward to knock foreheads with him, ever so tenderly.

Another kiss, just one more… The faintest whisper of your lips graze his, the pads of your fingers trace the lines of his face, your body is pressed into perfect alignment with his, and he’s so caught in the anticipation of you, so drunk on the heady film of proximity that he almost misses it.

He feels those three words more than he hears them, like three bolts to the chest that hit home and sink beneath the surface to permanently embed themselves in the tender flesh of his heart. 

The first time you’d ever told him you loved him is a shining jewel in the collection of treasured memories that live in the secret spot behind his lungs, and he’s been chasing that high for days. 

“Yeah… well…” He mumbles, the memory breathing a little courage into him, enough daring to steal a glance back up at you where he is once again overwhelmed by the way you’re still gazing at him — echoes of the same way you’d looked at him that night if he was being really foolish.

But he was always a fool for you. 

“Well?” You prompt. 

“Well… maybe I need to hear you say it.” 

You stop short and level Eddie with a sly look when he comes to stand beside you.

“Do you?” You ask, turning your gaze up at him. 

The moth flutters against its bars and Eddie has to clear his throat to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah…” He says, nodding, “Yeah, I think I do.”   

The assault on his stomach turns violent when your face splits into a wide, playful grin then. You bite your lip in a failed attempt to stifle it and rock back on your heels.

Eddie feels a nostalgic warmth flood his chest cavity, swirling like the tide against his ribs – he knows that mischievous look very well, and he realizes with a start just how long it’s been since he’s seen it grace your features.

Too long.

If he’d had his wits about him, he might have known what was about to happen next. It would have given him time to reach out and grab you, hold you to the spot. 

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you purr. 

It takes him a moment too long to feed the sentence through the gears in his mind, and by the time Eddie realizes what’s happening, you’ve already turned tail and bolted across the field.  

“Hey–!” He shouts after you, the bright sound of your laughter ringing across the grass as you angle yourself toward Dustin.  

He chases you, and suddenly it’s just like old times, running rampant circles around each other, playing, shouting, and laughing, only this time with the added bonus of Dustin being thrown into the mix.

Once he gets over the initial shock of you using him as a human shield, shoving him between you and Eddie, he’s more than happy to join in your game. 

Were anyone to look over, they would surely be disgusted by the cloyingly saccharine display – the three of you wrestling in the grass like it’s just another spring afternoon and nothing could possibly be amiss in the world.  

#cruel summer fic #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn eddie munson

[rosewaterandivy]

psychopomp

Summary: psychopomp - a conductor of souls to the afterworld.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, if you squint (it's really more of a study in grief/writing exercise)

WC: 972

Warnings/Themes: violence, general sad times, grief, etc.

A/N: Happy Friday! This has been rattling around my brain for a minute. Maybe it's something, maybe it's nothing. Regardless, have at it.

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

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He makes sure Robin gets out, and the kids too.

But not him.

Beaten black and blue, his luck could only go so far.

Months go by, and Dustin never stops listening. Turning the dial as if it’s a clock to be wound, running through the frequencies desperate for a sign.

It never comes.

Yet hope remains eternal.

Cold. Damp. 

Belly to the concrete on the roof as the mark and his wife walk the streets of Stockholm.

Crackling and then, “инициировать цель.”

Eye to the scope, trained on the man’s back. A pulse of the trigger, a bloom of blood as he falls to the ground.

Another pull to the trigger, his wife stumbles.

“цель завершена.”

The headlines the next day will read: Prime Minister of Sweden, Olof Palme, Assassinated & Wife Injured. Suspect Still At Large.

Spring bleeds into summer. Hopper’s miraculous return from beyond the grave.

The first thing Robin says to this revenant of a man is,

“Steve?”

A slow shake of his head, pity evident in his gaze. Watches as she wilts like a hot-house flower, eyes glassy with tears.

Robin swallows a sob, nods briefly and turns toe before he can attempt to comfort her.

A year passes, slower than he’d like. 

Dustin gets on well enough, Hellfire and Suzie to keep him occupied.

Occasionally, he’ll zone out for a moment or two. Dip back into the recesses of his memory and recall walks along the train tracks, well-intended advice, and pep talks in the car.

A can of Farrah Fawcett hairspray sits on the bathroom counter. 

He can’t bring himself to use it.

“Hey Henderson,” Eddie nudges him with an elbow. “We lost you there for a minute, you good?”

Dustin nods, turning his attention back to the campaign. Attempts a reassuring smile.

It doesn't reach his eyes.

Muggy. Urban.

Vaguely familiar.

He sits in the dark as directed, and waits. Time passes, as it always does.

The jangling of keys, the door creaking open. 

His hand wrapped around the grip, finger poised on the trigger. 

Tick. Thunk.

A strangled gasp as the body falls to the floor. 

He rises from the chair, steps easily over the man as he wheezes out shallow breaths. 

Aims the pistol to the back of his head, pulls the trigger once more for good measure.

Wipes a bead of blood from his boot and walks out the door to disappear in the night.

Dustin’s running out the door when the phone rings from the kitchen.

He answers it with thinly veiled annoyance, “What.”

“You’ll want to be sitting down for this,” Robin says, voice tremulous.

“Rob, I don’t have time for—-"

“Dustin,” She pleads, emotion thick in her voice. “Please.”

Reluctantly, he sits.

And then his world is turned upside down, yet again. 

Robin speaks in a stuttering staccato, because her brain is moving faster than her mouth, rewiring itself with newly gleaned information. 

In California, Jonathan swears he saw someone who looked exactly like Steve— his mirror image, truly, but vacant behind the eyes. He attempted a wave, a greeting, but a hand clamped down on Steve’s shoulder like a vice and turned him down a side street.

He tried to follow, but when he got there, it was vacant. As if no one had ever stepped foot in that alley. Jonathan is adamant that he wasn’t high at the time, and was in such a panic that he called Nancy immediately from his house.

Who then, in turn, called Robin. Who was now speaking to Dustin in a frantic tone. 

“And you know what’s spooky?” She says, voice falling to a hush, “When he called Steve’s name, he turned or was about to until that guy moved him away.”

Dustin can barely breathe.

It’s his senior year and Steve’s been gone since ‘85. He doesn’t have the time for this, there’s a gravestone in the cemetery declaring that Steven Michael Harrington was a loving son and friend, that’s he’s dearly missed.

Oh god, is he missed.

Dustin should know, the only people who visit it more than him are Robin and Max. Fresh seasonal flowers and the gray marble polished to a high sheen. Momentos and notes from the party, monthly check-ins where they tell him about what’s new in their lives.

“Robin,” Dustin says, brows tilting together. “He’s gone, you know he is.”

She sighs, “I don’t— I don’t want to know that Dustin.”

“I get it, I want to believe he’s out there too.” He shakily stands up from the kitchen table. "But if he was alive, Steve would’ve made his way back to us by now.”

“You’re right.” She eeks out, “I just wanted it to be him,” A wet laugh of disbelief. “I wanted to hope so badly, kid.”

“I know,” Dustin rasps, wicking a tear from his eye. “Me too.”

Hot. Cloying. 

Dilapidated houses and ramshackle fences. 

The grip on his shoulder remains, an echo to remind him.

Obey.

He stops in front of the house, loads the gun.

The man is paranoid, as he should be.

“You can kill my body, and you can take my life but you can never kill my soul. My soul will live forever!” He shouts into the early morning light.

Mechanically, he raises the gun and squeezes off two rounds into the man’s face.

The headlines the next day read: Huey Newton Killed; Was a Co-Founder Of Black Panthers.

Mission completed.

The metallic flavor of copper in his nose. The sweet humming from a raspy voice. The notches of a spine pressing against this skin.

Hard angles. Soft curves. A ruby red tongue brushing over a protruding bottom lip. Bloodlust sated and smiling at him like he’s finally come home.

But still, a sound haunts him. The man on the crowded street, pale in the sunlight, eyes blown wide.

“Steve!”

Who the hell is Steve?

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #crawl til dawn #Spotify

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day six : doom

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖    námo⠀〳 reader⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. death is his domain, and yet námo finds himself slipping when he sees a vision of your demise ( angst ៸៸ death ៸៸ war themes )

· ⊰ notes. I am. . . not okay and now neither will any of y'all be <3

He has seen death ample times in his millennia’s worth of existence.

He has witnessed the grief and wallowing of thousands of souls that enter his halls.

He has even found beauty in it. Death, that is. The release of responsibilities. The fierce, icy grip that would soon lead to peace.

He admired it, he envied it.

And yet. . . The day that Námo perceived your final moments, he found himself unable to function. Unable to speak, eat, sleep.

Countless times has he seen death, and yet nothing shook him more to his core than the sight of you laying there on the battlefield. Your body painted with crimson and your eyes shut. That beautiful face of yours so serene despite the wounds that littered your fána. For a moment, he may have considered the possibility of you simply lost in slumber, if it were not for the scene of chaos that carried on around you.

That is what his world had become, chaos. The realisation that he could not protect you broke him in several ways. He knew that this was unstoppable. He knew that this was fate. But what the Vala also knew is that this was cruelty in its finest. For The One to have shown him such horrible imageries — of the person he holds dear no less. . .

Námo was in a state. To know that your end would not be a peaceful send off. You would pass away in the heat of battle, the day of Dagor Dagorath. He will witness your death and yet, despite all his power and might he will not be able to reach you.

For the first time in his entire existence, he wished to listen to the whispers. To defy the very law by which Eru governs. To escape the loop. To break the will. The sight of you laying there on the ground was simply too much to bear.

It keeps him awake for weeks.

Months.

And worst of all? He finds himself drawing away from you. For whenever he sees your face, images of that fateful day to come plague his very eyes. He cannot move, cannot speak. He is ill with anxiety. Choking on the bitter reality.

He shuts you out.

He shuts you out, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Even when his mind screams at him. Reminds him that this is the route that his Creator has set out for him, he still continues. He isolates himself from you. Like a puppet on the strings he obeys and is pulled in the direction of this unwarranted fate.

It matters not how much he tries to fight it. Nor how much he wishes to scream until his lungs pour with crimson as he curses the name he has only ever known as holy.

And it is not until you are lying there on that battlefield. Peaceful amongst the chaos. Unaware of his wailing agony and his desperation to get to you. To scoop you up in his arms and savour your warmth. To whisper into your hair and kiss your lips one final time

It is only then that he truly realises the meaning of the word doom.

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#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊ #námo #námo mandos #namo mandos #námo x reader #namo x reader #námo / reader #the silmarilion #silm #tolkien #tw death #athelasdrabblechallenge #athelas drabble challenge #drabbles #writing

[luna-rainbow]

(Source)

So I just read an anti-Peggy meta on a Chinese blog which I can't verify (and I'm not sure whether any English comics readers have summarised these), but basically Peggy is a Frankenstein of all three of Steve, Bucky and Sharon's characteristics and storylines but without truly reflecting their values, which is why her characterisation is a mess.

Her character background is taken mostly from Sharon: "secret agent, kickass, independent, self-assured". Sharon was the original female Cap America.

Stuff her character took from Bucky (I have no way of verifying this but this seems like a lot more than I expected, also this is translated back from Chinese so there's going to be differences to the original words): (Source)

Peggy walking in on Steve/Lorraine -> Bucky walks in after a French spy forced a kiss on Steve, Bucky apologises while Steve goes all flustered and runs off, "You don't believe in me!"

Steve and Peggy's talk before diving into the ocean -> all of Steve's thoughts pre-dive was about Bucky, "Bucky's figure is like a windswept rock, carved into my mind."

Steve thinking about the date with Peggy after waking up -> the first thing Steve says upon waking is Bucky, and he then searches the world for Bucky

Steve staying in SHIELD because Peggy found it -> Steve stayed in SHIELD because one of the founding members looked like Bucky

Steve carrying Peggy's photo around -> after waking, Steve got some of his belongings back, but along with it Bucky's uniform and photo, which he kept with him everywhere. He'd often take out Bucky's photo and caress it and weep.

Steve seeing Peggy in Wanda's illusion -> Steve always sees Bucky in his dreams

Steve's "dance" promise with Peggy -> Steve and Bucky's Grand Canyon promise, and Steve went there by himself to draw Bucky's picture, pretending they came together.

Steve going back to the past to be with Peggy -> Steve went back to the past to find Bucky, but when he did Bucky died, and the Bucky in his own world disappeared too. When the SHIELD director who looked like Bucky contacted Steve, in a moment of confusion, he agreed and returned to the present.

The "no, you move" words was a climatic scene for Steve in the comics, but was taken from Steve and given to Peggy (via Sharon). As we've discussed elsewhere, this never worked because we have not, demonstrably, ever seen Peggy plant herself in the face of overwhelming pressure and refuse to compromise on something.

I really like this next bit, so I'm going to translate it word for word:

You think it's a tragic love, but it was stolen from Cap and Bucky's relationship. That is Captain's "right partner", that's his insurmountable love from WW2, his 65 years of pining, the existence that he can neither let go nor speak about, he's the quiet grief in his dark nights, he's the exhilaration of their reunion, he's the heartbreak in his every almost-found but repeated disappointments, he's his exhausting search. And someone stole everything from the original, except the suffering.

And I think that's my biggest issue with this character, because she's been written as a Mary-Sue of sorts, with a whole bunch of retroactively added privilege -- which, I dunno, maybe made her feel more appealing to some of the audience, but widened the gap between her and Steve. Steve, who has not lived amongst privilege, and whose whole being is around not letting privileged folks take advantage of others -- against her, a highly privileged woman, who used that privilege to gain more privileges, who then used it to take advantage of others. They are so diametrically opposed in their motivations that I just can't see them working out without either of them breaking character.

Apparently in House of M, she and Steve married, but she could not fathom why Steve continued to oppose unfair policies from the government. Steve lamented only Bucky understood him, but Bucky died during a mission, and Steve stepped down from Cap and divorced Peggy. At the end, an aged Steve walks beneath the streetlights, mourning the words Bucky once said to him. This is a much more likely outcome for their relationship if both remained in character, than whatever EG was.

#anti peggy carter #long post #steve rogers #bucky barnes

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

Hello! Can I request Kyojuro x Tsuguko!Reader that became a demon? I'm fine with either fluff or super angst.🥲

Ooo okay! I hope this is what you wanted! <3 I was a dramaqueen writing this jsksjjdb it's so dramatic and for what 😭

Warning: blood...

Masterlist &lt;3

Kyojuro x Tsuguko!Demon!Reader - Changes

The grief is so overwhelming that you fell it sweltering in your chest, that little ball of pressure that makes it hard to swallow and even harder to breathe. Each breath, in fact, has you feeling more and more suffocated, and the tears that flood your vision irritate your eyes, stinging them and forcing them to shut, causing more to overflow.

Little droplets of your heartbreak catch on your eyelashes, reflecting the light and making stunningly pigmented eyes practically glow in the low moonlight casted across Corps Grove.

Cold wind blows through the grass and against your previously beautiful kimono, which is now decorated in blood. It's so, incredibly difficult to think back on the mission, or what you could've done.

An involuntary sob bubbles up in your chest, and then dies in your throat. Everything is lost.

The headache brought on from crying yourself into dehydration moves to the front of your head, accompanied by that familiar pressure inside of your sinuses as your head tilts down, and you let yourself freely cry.

Rengoku looks scared, upset, worried, and just about any other negative emotion in the book. Why is his beloved not letting him close? Why can't he embrace you?

"My love, what's gotten you so stricken with grief?!"

If only he knew.

"My love--"

"-Don't. ...please. Just- I failed. I failed the damn mission! I-..."

What? He doesn't care, he's failed missions in the past, so why are you reacting this way when the problem can be so easily fixed, he thinks.

"Kyojuro!-"

You wail his name, and his chest physically hurts at the sound. You sound so pained, like everything has been lost, like you've been wounded so deeply, you could never truly heal. Panic starts to set in. He wants to run to you, is fighting every urge not to scoop you into his arms and envelop you, keep you safe from the world. But you won't let him.

You absolutely will not let him get closer.

"I'm a- I-... Kyo- I died-"

Oh.

Oh. He knows what's going on.

He knows it now, and there's a sinking feeling in his stomach and he just looks at you, eyes wide in shock. In horror.

The silence is interrupted by a whistle of the wind, fiery hair being caught in the gust and almost reaching for you. He feels ill. Sick.

Please say something, he thinks now. Is he dreaming? Is this some kind of sick joke?!

"I was-... I-…"

It's almost impossible to speak when your chest spasms with shallow breaths, and your head swims with blooming anxiety over what you could've done, and how you've ruined everything with just a little mistake.

Your gut is filled with sorrow and regret, and in your head you tell yourself that it's not fair, that it really was just a little mistake, but it's far too late now, and you can't undo what has already been done.

"I'm not- I'm- n-not human anymore!-... I don't even know why I'm alive!"

That's when Kyojuro's heart sinks. He scrambles to reason with you though, and his attempts have you smiling through tears, as much as your face hurts and your skin feels tight from the salt dried on your cheeks.

"We have Nezuko! We can have you too! I will absolutely not let you go! My love, we can get past this... Please let me come to you- this changes nothing!"

It's like your heart shatters the moment you hear your beloved Rengoku's voice waver in his pleading. He's always so sure of himself. He's so strong and brave, braver than you could ever hope to be even if you wished upon a falling star. But that's why you fell in love with him. Even in this moment, when everything is up in the air, he's still certain that he loves you.

Your resolve wavers, and for the first time since you've gotten back from your mission, you let him hold you.

He's got you wrapped tightly in his arms in seconds, and even through the physical pain, and emotional torment, he still feels so warm and comforting. You're finally safe. Everything is alright.

#demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer angst #kimetsu rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba x you #kny imagines #kny headcanons #kny #kny rengoku #kny x you #rengoku imagines #rengoku x reader #rengoku x y/n #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x reader angst

[bebepac]

Memories of You

I am participating in @choicesflashfics prompt: Not all love stories get a “happily ever after.” Sometimes ... it’s just once upon a time.” 

The Book:  TRF The Series: The Cordonian Arrangement The Pairings:  Riley x Nico / (Riley x M!OC) past pairing of Liam x Riley Word Count: 2477 Warnings and Ratings:  Character death, adult language, grief/  Teen Song Inspiration: Here Without You By 3 Doors Down Summary:  Liam gives Riley Nico’s final gift.  Riley reminisces of points of her and Nico’s life together towards the end of their relationship.  

Original Post: 03/25/23 at 3:31PM EST

He didn’t even notice her watching him, well not at first.  Nico was sitting up in bed reading a book.  She rested her body against the door frame, watching him.  Finally his eyes slowly drifted up from the book to her.

“What?”  He inquired.

She giggled at him.  Nico smiled back, shaking his head, not understanding.  “Tell me,  what's so funny?”

Riley giggled.  “You’re so cute, Nico.”

Nico set the book on the night table.

“I’m cute?”

Riley nodded her head.

“Very cute. Did you know that your lips move when you are reading to yourself?” 

Nico's smile widened, and he nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, I know, but only when I'm reading a book in English.  I like to sound out the words in my head while I’m reading, to practice.”

“You can barely detect your accent at times when you speak English.”  

“I learned it very young and because I practice! A lot of doors have opened for me in my life knowing multiple languages. I know we’re doing the right thing  teaching Angelo both English and Greek at the same time.  He speaks perfect Greek already.”

“He’s only two.”  

“Well he speaks perfect Greek for a two year old. I want all of our children to know multiple languages.  It’s important. I want all of our children to have every opportunity, every door open to them that they could possibly have or want..”  

“All of our children?”

He jumped out of bed walking over to her, pulling her into his strong sturdy arms.

“Yes, all of the children we’re going to have together, but we have to make them first. We have work to do Wife, come on!"

Riley squealed as Nico picked her up, carrying her over to their bed.

Based on her due date, that night, three weeks before they found out about his diagnosis, Riley had finally gotten pregnant. They had created life together, before they knew Nico's life would be ending.

Riley blinked away the tears. That was a memory. When she opened her eyes their bed was empty. Nico passed away almost two months ago. A sweet memory of when they were happy, before cancer invaded their lives.

Before Liam had left, he gave her something he had been holding onto that he promised Nico he would give to her when he thought the time was right.  Envelopes addressed to each one of them, herself, Angelo, and  one that simply said ‘Baby K.’ She put the others away for safekeeping and began to watch hers.

"Agápi mou (my love) if you are watching this, Liam thought giving you this video would help you more than hurt. Everything I've done, I never wanted to hurt you Riley, even in death. I am grateful for every moment we spent together as a family.  That's why it pains me that I had to leave you this way, knowing all the loss you have experienced in your life, and I never wanted to be the cause of more. I promise you, that I held on to the living world and to you, as long as I physically could, because I didn't want to leave you or Angelo."

Nico's voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears. "And…..I didn't want to leave our baby that you are carrying. 

I wanted to be there, and I am thankful you allowed me to be there for Angelo in all of those ways, so I can hold onto those memories always, and I know what maybe it could have been like with our child. I hope that you will permit Liam to be there for you in that way. It would completely change him as a man.  An experience he should have, that he missed out on, not knowing of Angelo’s existence.  I truly believe Liam would do right by you and our children should you give him the chance. I don't know how much time has passed, but my hope for you is you are in a better place emotionally, that you are coping, and healing,  but you’re not over me just yet.”

Nico’s face turned from deadpan serious to twinkle in his eyes with a mischievous little smirk before he smiled small at first, then laughter erupted from him. 

 Riley smiled at the screen.  Even in grief, he had made her smile.  She rubbed her stomach affectionately.

“That’s your Daddy, little one.  I hope you can hear him. He always had a joke for me to lighten a heavy mood. He knew how to make me smile, because he understood my sarcastic, dark sense of humor, and he loves you so very much. I hope you can feel his love all the way from heaven.”  

“I believe you’re smiling and I wish I could see you right now in the moment watching this, witnessing the changes to your body, because pregnancy agrees with you. You were more beautiful to me each passing day as you carried Angelo, I can only imagine you now. But, I guess I will just have to settle for this.  I should have known you were pregnant again before you even took the test. How should I have known you’re wondering?”  

Nico entered their bedroom, it appeared to be late one evening.  He walked to the bed; she was sprawled out from under the covers sleeping.  

“Hear that?”  He whispered.

Nico leaned the camera in closer…. To her.

She heard snoring.  Nico made the sound of a mosquito and gently tickled the tip of her nose.  In sleep Riley slapped her face.

Nico covered his mouth trying to not laugh out loud,

 the amusement clear in his eyes.   After a few moments when he was sure she was still asleep, he began speaking in a whisper again.

“Just so we’re clear, I officially win this argument. This is undeniable proof that you snore Riley Karahalios.  

Breathe heavy my ass!  Do you hear that?!?!? That’s a full on snore!!! But it doesn’t make me love you any less, my little buzz saw."

He lovingly pulled the covers up around Riley, tucking her in.  She watched herself snuggle into the covers, and Nico whispered.  “I love you  to the moon and back again.”

She heard herself sigh contentedly, mumble something incoherent, and commence to snoring again.

“But in your defense, you only snore, and you’re an incredibly deep sleeper when you’re pregnant. I guess your body needs the extra rest; you are growing life inside you, eating, and sleeping for two. Sweet dreams."

He planted a kiss to her cheek before  walking  back out of the room, towards the outdoors.  

“In all of this, I really have made peace with what's happening to me.  Maybe that’s not what you want to hear, Riley, but it’s true.  There is so much beauty in this world if you silence yourself enough to listen and pay attention.  I’m going to enjoy as much as I can, while I'm still here.  Our home may be small, but it’s ours. I love the happy home we made together.  

And I know what I asked of you.  I believe you could be happy with Liam again. You were happy with him at one time, because I saw it.  I don’t want to pressure you. That’s not what this is about.  I want you to have love in your life and be and feel supported, and Liam could be that force for you. I want you to seriously think Riley, what will make you truly happy, and chase that, whatever that means to you.  I pray you are closer to finding it now, than you were when I left you."

The video panned out over their yard and their land.

"God, it's a beautiful night. There’s not a cloud in the sky and the temperature is perfect. But.....I want to tell you something else. You told me the story of your brother, and how your life has been touched by the supernatural from a very young age, and I believe every word.  This is why I know you will not doubt what I’m about to tell you.  It's been almost two weeks since we found out we were pregnant, and every night since, I have had dreams of a child. Our child. She comes to me in my dreams every night, giving me glimpses of who she is, and who she will become with you as a mother.  I love everything she has shown me.  She’s so cute, and sassy.

I have memories of a child, our child that isn’t even born yet.  She’s so beautiful, Riley.  She’s going to take your breath away, the moment you lay eyes on her for the first time.”

Riley had just found out two days ago the baby she was carrying is a girl.  Tears filled her eyes, as she caressed her stomach.

"And I see that you love your Papa too. Thank you for giving him such a special gift. I can't wait to meet you, my sweet darling girl."

She heard her voice off camera.

“I couldn’t sleep, and didn’t want to bother you.  I’m coming back inside now.”

He looked back at the camera, smiling.

“You’re calling me, and I want to go and cuddle with you now that you’re awake, so I can hold you until you fall back asleep.”

She paused the video, in that moment, he looked so content in his life and the world around him, and that's the exact way he always made her feel.

Not all love stories get a ‘happily ever after.’  Sometimes …. It’s just once upon a time.

“Is that how you want me to tell our story to our children?”  

“Yes, because even though we didn’t get that opportunity to grow old together I’ve been so happy to be with you, Riley, that you loved me. I've felt love from you everyday  since we left Cordonia. Not going to lie, for a moment, I wondered did you settle for me."

"Nico! I…."

"I know you love me.  Do you have any regrets? If you would have known then, this is what would happen to us now, would you have still chosen me?”

“Yes. Because I love you. You gave me a family, and I’m surrounded by not only your love, but theirs. I would have rather had our happiness for the years we had it, then not at all. Do you have any regrets?"

Nico was silent for a while.

"None about you. But I have one."

"What is it?"

"I love you. I love that our wedding was small and intimate. Deep down I know you and I were all that matters,  but my mother was incredibly hurt that she was not at our wedding.”  

“Then, let's get married again.”

“Riley….”

“When the time comes, you’re not going to have any regrets Nico, I won’t let you.”

“A wedding like that takes time to plan. Time… we don’t have.”  

“With everyone helping, and we have a big family Nico, all we need is a week.”  

“Riley….”  

“Nicolas Alexi Karahalios, will you marry me again?”

Nico smiled,  “Where are my flowers, you’re not going to get on bended knee? Come on, am I really that easy?”

Riley playfully pushed him away from her, to which he pulled her back into his grip.

“Yes, I will marry you again.”  

Riley was right with all of Nico’s sisters, helping and his mother, they were able to pull together a simple and beautiful outdoors ceremony.  

Nico had picked a breezy linen suit for the occasion, one that he later requested he would be buried in.  When it came time for Riley to look at dresses, Nico smiled and told her that he wanted to be surprised. He wanted to do things differently than the first time around.  They followed every tradition to the letter, except spending the night away from each other, the night before the wedding to which Nico flat out refused.  That night before the wedding, Nico wanted his little family close. Riley, Angelo, Nico, shared their bed together, with Chance and Icarus  at their feet.  

The day of the ceremony was perfect weather.  

Nico was in awe of the flowing  dress Riley had picked for their vow renewal.  

During the course of the ceremony, she glanced at Nico.  He looked tired. Without asking, Riley slipped her arm around him, letting him rest some of his weight on her.

“Thank you.”  He whispered in her ear.    

The man that used to be able to pick her up like she was a feather, was having difficulty simply holding himself upright for ten minutes.  But even in that, she still saw strength and determination in his eyes.   Nico enjoyed the rest of the day’s festivities comfortably from his seat with the exemption of the times he wanted to dance with his beautiful wife.

Two weeks later….

“He’s in pain, please give him more medication.”  

The hospice nurse shook her head.

“He’s refusing it.  He says he doesn’t want to fall asleep. He’s very agitated.”

“But he’s in pain, he needs it.”  

“He's fighting his transition. Maybe you should try to talk to him, to see if you can convince him.”  

Nico opened his eyes when she stroked his cheek.

“Please take the medication, Nico.”  

“No.”

"I don't want you to hurt."

"But I don't want you to hurt."

"I'll be fine." She said it even though she didn't believe it.

Nico saw right through her words.

"You're a horrible liar, Riley, you know that."

"Please… don't be in pain for me."

"I am willing to take it all if it means you will have none. You're not ready."

"It wasn't supposed to be this way."

"I know, life rarely follows our plans. You’re not ready.”  

“She’s not, but we will help her through it.”

Nico looked over Riley’s shoulder to his mother  and Athena.

“We will help Riley through it all.  We will take care of her, and your children.  Riley is family and she will always be.  She’ll never be able to get rid of us.”

Each placed a comforting hand on Riley’s shoulders.  Riley laughed  through her tears, her eyes meeting Nico’s again.  

She mustered up the confidence thanks to the two women standing behind her giving her the extra strength she needed in that moment.

“See,  I told you.  I may not be fine right now, but in time, I will be. Thank you for loving me so completely, Nico.”  

“I will love you for eternity Riley, until we meet again.”  

Riley kissed his lips, and finally Nico agreed to take the pain medication.

She settled next to him in bed and whispered in his ear.  “Now you can rest.”

“I can rest.”  

Not even ten minutes later, Nico took his last breath.  

Over two months had elapsed since Nico passed away,  Liam had flown back to Greece a total of three times since he initially left.  Twice for her prenatal appointments, and once for her birthday.  Liam was really trying to be there for her,  and at the same time respect her boundaries, and the grief she was still experiencing.

Liam seemed surprised when he opened the door late that evening.

“Is everything alright Riley?”  

“I… don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

#bebepac writes #the cordonian arrangement #riley x nico #choices fanfiction #trr fanfic #trr fandom #liam x riley #choices flashfics #choices fic writers creations

[skullsnbruises]

It’s finally done… zsibfnsb hhgg

Now I am carefully setting this on a plate for everyone, be kind to my silly fic… I worked hard on it

[Ao3 Link]

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do @poprockpanda

Is it Condescending to be so Scared I Might Hurt you?

/title from Song for a Guilt Sadist by Crywank

(2248 words) [Warning: Death, blood, grief]

“Over here Wil!”

The boy pushed through the leaves into the clearing. There Sally stood beside the river, a small excited grin on her lips. Wilbur’s heart fluttered with the sight of her. They were the definition of young love.

Wilbur carefully stepped over to her, leaning down onto his knees so he met her closer to her level. The giant smiled wide, fangs on display, and what warmed his heart further is that she didn’t flinch.

He was used to the other human kids running from him, bullying him, shouting at him and being fearful. He truly never wanted to hurt anyone! But sometimes, Wilbur’s talking voice was too loud for the smaller beings, and the general belief that giants were evil plagued him. Sally, however, never cared about what others thought. She gave him her heart, without hesitation.

She took his pointer finger in her hand, lifting it to her face. Wilbur carefully traced along her cheek, watching her eyes shut softly with pouring trust.

“I love you,” she whispered out.

“I love you, Sally…”

If only they needn’t hide away like this. Giants had only recently been integrated into human society, though humans didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms. It was a tough and awkward process, slowly introducing himself into human life, adopting their customs, and fitting neatly into their demands. Sally and Wilbur knew that the world wasn’t accepting. If Sally’s parents found out about their relationship, they’d be furious, and wouldn’t allow the two to speak ever again. They had a strong hatred for humans. Sally had mentioned something about a bad experience.

“Wilbur,” she spoke quickly, “I wanted to try something.”

He rested his finger on her cheek, tilting his head slowly, “Hm?”

“I found out something cool about giants-“ she rambled, “there’s this whole book I stole from papa about their… ah-nay-toe-me (anatomy)! He had it hidden upstairs, but check it out!” Sally, on cue, slipped her backpack off her arms, flipped her long red curls back, and slid out a book. It was like a journal- not something published. Scribbled on the front was “The Study of Giants.” The author’s name looked faded, but the last name was hardly recognizable as “Jacobs”.

“What is it?” Wilbur asked dumbly. He could guess, but Sally seemed excited to explain.

“It’s a journal! Some guy wrote it, and inside talks about the adventures this guy had with Giants- before they came here and all,” she blinked lovingly, “The coolest part is back here-“ Sally flipped through, notes scrawled across the faded pages along with the occasional doodle or lifelike drawing.

She settled on a page at last, a layout of special Giant anatomy. There were notes about how these organs differentiated from human anatomy. Sally beamed with joy, “Here! See this?” She pointed to a drawing.

“This is called a storage!” She recited, “Giants have this part in them, next to the stomach and intenstines, that allows them to ‘store’ things inside! The author says that Giants can keep their personal items in there, extra food for later, or-“ She glanced up at Wilbur, catching his eyes. He pursed his lips, waiting for her to finish.

“-Or people!”

“…people?” He really felt stupid now, “Why?”

“See!” Sally continued, “Author Jacobs here thinks humans and Giants used to be friends, and that Giants had this organ to keep their human friends safe from things like snakes or something. The Giants had this kinda feeling,” she peered down at the handwriting, “called ‘instincts’, that made them want to protect humans.”

Wilbur adjusted onto his rear, moving his legs gently around into a comfortable sitting position, “…okay?”

“Isn’t that awesome!” She grinned ear to ear.

Wilbur blinked, “y-yeah!”

Sally shook her fists together happily, giggling under her breath, “See, because I knew you’d find it cool! Why don’t more people know about this? And if humans and Giants used to be friends, why can’t we be now?”

Wilbur nodded.

“And so- what I’m asking Wil, would you eat me?”

His jaw dropped to the floor, “E-Excuse me???”

Sally crawled up his lap, sitting on his legs, “Author Jacobs visited Giants in real life, and not too long ago! According to him, Giants have this organ still! That means you can put me in your storage! Wouldn’t that be cool?” Her smile faded slightly, a sense of embarrassment taking over her, “O-oh unless, you don’t want to protect me… I-“

Wilbur cut her off, “No! No, of course I do! I just…” he had to think. This sounded so strange, and it was so sudden. What if something went wrong? How did he even use his storage??

He cringed at the intrusive image of his fangs biting into her weak body.

She held a fistful of his pants, “…It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she offered a tiny smile.

Wilbur tried to wrap his mind around it. Sally wanted to be eaten. By him.

“Why?”

Sally’s eyes widened slightly, “Okay, one, I think it’s totally cool, and two, wouldn’t it bring us closer together…? And if we can prove humans and Giants can have this type of relationship… wouldn’t that help the world so much?”

“…I suppose.”

“It’s okay if not, I’m sorry I sprung this on you…” Sally frowned.

He sighed, “I’ll do it.”

“You will?!” Sally lit up instantly.

“Yeah,” he purred at her excitement, “I’ll store you.”

She waved her hands around again, “Okay! Awesome! I’m! Okay, here, pick me up Wil!”

He obliged, scooping her into his palms, and bringing her up to his face. Sally rested her forehead on Wilbur’s nose, gentle and soft embrace.

She traced his skin, “Thank you. I’m sorry things have been so… rocky lately.”

He shrugged, “I’m sorry I’m distant.”

Sally sighed, “I know why. You’re worried about everyone. Being the only giant in school, it must suck. Dealing with mean humans- my parents- sneaking around and- all of it sucks.”

He nodded, “…yeah.”

“…thanks Wil. It means a lot.”

The low rumbling in his chest became louder, and Sally giggled at his purr. She booped him on the nose and he pulled her slightly away. He opened his mouth nervously, before closing it again.

“Should I just..?” He hoped Sally would guide him, he still wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

“Yep! Open wide! Just swallow me up whole. The author said that it’s like a Giant’s body understands what they want stored versus eaten- so I’ll be fine!”

Wilbur would be lying if he said he didn’t feel assured by that. He trusted Sally, more than his own family at times. If she promised it would be okay, it would.

He gulped, trying to gain some confidence. Opening his maw again, Wilbur let his teeth and tongue on display as he heard an audible gasp from Sally. She gazed over his mouth with peaked interest, as if memorizing each detail. Wilbur felt a little embarrassed being almost studied like this, but it was Sally. She made him comfortable.

She let out an “okay!” And Wilbur knew that meant she was ready, so he pulled her to his mouth, and felt her small weight as she climbed onto his outstretched tongue. It felt a bit uncomfortable, as all he’s ever put in his mouth before was food- or sand-. She adjusted herself, and Wilbur felt her fingers on the points of his teeth.

He closed only his lips, still a bit nervous about accidentally biting Sally. Her tiny weight traveled around the inside of his mouth, inspecting his teeth like she was his dentist. Wilbur sat there, cheeks puffed and feeling vulnerable. He was glad he brushed that morning, at least.

She pat his tongue, motioning for the next step. Wilbur suddenly had a spike of anxiety, crumpling into his fears and worries. His throat felt dry as his nerves caved.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll be okay,” she promised, her voice a tad muffled.

Wilbur nodded, letting Sally’s voice comfort him. He tilted his head back and gave a hard unceremonious swallow, feeling her body meet his throat, and become stuck there. Wilbur swallowed hard again, painfully nervous.

Sally loosened, and traveled down his esophagus. Wilbur’s eyes widened as he could feel her move down his system. It felt very close, and very nice.

“I trust you,” Wilbur mumbled out, unsure if she could hear.

He could trace the small bump in his throat slowly descend, until the little weight fell into the open compartment of his organ.

Wilbur craned his neck to hear her; Sally’s muddled voice croaked out a little giggle. It warmed his heart, he felt his best quicken.

Maybe Sally was right. This really felt okay, was that so wrong? Wilbur had been running and hiding from humans so long, maybe they really were meant to be friends like she said. The way her weight nestled so cozy inside him, it convinced him. Wilbur felt heat rise to his cheeks, maybe he could convince we parents- then school- then-

Maybe they could be open about their love.

For once, hope flickered in his chest right there beside Sally’s body.

He stilled, and she called out from inside, “I’m all good!”

Wilbur leaned back against a tree, satisfied with her answer. He wasn’t sure how long this was going to last- but knowing the human closely, Sally would be fixated on observing the organ in it’s entirely before she even considered leaving. She would be focused on collecting all the details, tracing each line. He closed his eyes, considering a nap.

Wilbur must have dozed off for a bit- as he awoke to the sun setting and felt a sense of panic boil up in him. Where was-?

Oh yeah, Sally was-

His stomach then growled.

She was… safe.

“Sally?” Wilbur whispered out, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

No response.

He just spoke too quietly- no need to work himself up, “Sally?”

He was just worrying himself! She fell asleep, surely. Wilbur had just woken up- it wasn’t too far-fetched to believe, especially with how late it is now, and how little there is to do in a storage- that she just fell asleep.

“Sally!” Wilbur teared up, staring down at his stomach, fists gripping the fabric of his sweater, “Sally, please, talk to me!”

The silence he was met with was deafening.

“No, no, no, no!” Wilbur cried, droplets of tears staining his clothes now, “She’s fine, she’s safe, Sally- she- you-“

He bawled to himself, rocking back and forth as he gripped his stomach tightly, nails digging into the skin, “You promised it was okay, Sally!”

Wilbur let out sharp whines, curling into a ball of himself, arms tucked inside of his shirt, legs pulled up as close as he could get- and the boy just sobbed. A wreck of a person, shaking violently and miserably, terrified and alone.

There was no such person as Sally anymore.

Wilbur lay, head on the soft grassy ground, with bright puffy red eyes, glossy wet cheeks, and a dull pain in his head. He lay there in his grief, tired, so very tired.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispered out loud. He closed his eyes softly, only to picture Sally’s trusting warm smile in front of him. His eyes sprung back open despite how heavy they were. Wilbur felt a frown tug his lips down, and wet fill his aching dry eyes.

“Why did I- why did she trust this stupid idea?” He crossed his arms, holding himself close, as if he were the only person who could comfort him in the world.

“What am I gonna…” Wilbur trailed off, unfocused eyes narrowing to stare at a single image of the town across the lake.

“How do I go home…?” The tears spilled over, “What do I tell dad? What do I say to Sally’s folks?“

He blinked, and his mind raced to Wilbur agreeing to Sally’s plan, “Stupid, stupid, stupid-“

Wilbur’s eyes hurt like daggers had gone through them, and refusing to blink caused more pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. He knew the moment he did, he’d see Sally’s eyes in the darkness. He’d picture her face, freckled and dark. He’d see her long red coils, see her push them out of her face. See her soft smile with her missing front teeth as she beamed happily.

See the blood on his nails from where he tore at his body. See the distorted version of her, bloody and crying. Ugly, damp, stained red.

Wilbur slammed his fists against his head over and over, screaming out in agony and stress and bashing his skull against the rocky ground and shouting all the air out of his lungs.

His heart felt shattered. He’d agreed to this, worst of all. Somehow, Wilbur thought it would be a good idea to try this horrific plan, despite his gut telling him how wrong it was. Now Sally was…

He didn’t realize he’d stood up. But Wilbur had to go home. It was that, or stay out here until someone called the police.

He couldn’t tell a single soul what happened today. Nobody would ever be allowed to know, and Wilbur would keep that until the day he joined her.

Covering his midsection with his sleeved arms, he made the walk back home, under the starry night sky, knowing that among the bright lights was a new red star.

#fatal vore tw #posts by sunny #sunnys fics #mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #mcyt vore #dsmp vore #noms are weird au

[rainbowcarousels]

For anyone who has noticed me being very sparse this week, I have one of those demon colds which has laid me out for a week. As such, I don't have a lot for VC's smutty sunday but my upcoming entry to VC Kink week is in it's first draft so I'm happy to share just a small snippet from it.

Nicolas turned back to the audience where Armand sat alone, watching them silently.

“This obsession of yours. I know he’s a peculiarity, a damning dichotomy of a demon that weeps for humanity and rips them open, who cries for witches in one breath and proclaims himself as an exceptionally modern evil in the next, a lordly wolf sewn into the skin of a beautiful, rebellious creature of light so sloppily that you can see it exuded from every part and yet, he is only a man.” Nicolas blinked suddenly several times, before he shook off whatever had stopped him. “He snores, you know.”

The sudden statement, delivered without the running together words of the previous rant, startled Lestat so much that he laughed. For one moment, one brief moment, he thought he might see the boy he’d loved underneath the frenzied fledgling he’d become. “I don’t know if I still do, Nick.”

“The problem is,” Nicki still wasn’t looking at him but rather Armand. “The ever present problem is that he’s a handful. Not just physically though he does have an exceptional cock for someone practically born to be on their back with their legs spread. But that problem, the problem that you’ll never know what you have – the sweet, doomed boy who wailed at the piercing darkness if he so much as glimpsed it, the studious little devotee of a god he doesn’t believe in, the wolfkiller and terror of a lordling, the parisian prostituting himself before a stage of people so they can fuck in back alleys imagining his pretty hair, that voice, the way he speaks and forget their lives or the monster who does not understand how to be a monster at all. Do you really want all that? What is it you truly want, little dark angel?”

Armand was staring at them both, the question left unanswered. Or was it? Was he speaking to Nicolas in the only place Lestat couldn’t hear it?

There was no warning when suddenly Nicolas’ mouth was on his own and gods, but he tasted like blood and nothing else. Nothing familiar, nothing of him left to dig for against his feverish lips and then – suddenly more blood, too much blood for an after taste. It was his own! Nicki had bitten down hard enough that it had sent lightening through him, reawakening desire in his gut that he was sure was gone with the grief over the loss of familiarity but this – this – this was something that made his world dance for a brief few moments before Nicki shoved him off away.

It was only then that he noticed Armand had walked up to the stage, his eyes tracking both of their movements with the dangerous fixation of a predator. If you wanted to truly think of a dichotomy, the feral being beyond those pretty curls was where he would start.

Before Lestat could even get his bearings, Nicki had sat down on the stage floor and pulled Armand into a violent kiss. There was blood spilling down Armand’s lips and onto his chin, but Lestat realised it was neither Nicki’s nor Armand’s blood but his own from Nicolas’ mouth.

As soon as Nicki pulled his stained lips away, Armand used Nicki’s fingers to wipe the remaining blood from his own face into his mouth. It was gratuitous and beautiful, the way his eyes fluttered a few times. There was the softest noise, obscene and desirous and Lestat froze in place to watch the pleasure unfold. Lestat had known those fingers on every part of him, inside his mouth, inside his most private places and wringing him out and that was what it sounded like, that was the only thing comparable to the expression worn on the face of the beautiful boy before them.

My blood did that.

Then Armand surged forwards so fast that Lestat barely saw him move, licking the last of the blood from Nicki’s lips like he couldn’t care to lose even the slightest drop.

There was something happening here, something that was making a heat curl under Lestat’s skin that he had thought was lost to creatures such as them.

“So be it,” Nicolas said suddenly, jumping back on the stage with an agility that he hadn’t had in life. “Ladies and Gentleman, our production this fine evening has a very special guest, a beauty making his debauched debut on this auspicious evening. Let me present to you on this very stage – The Vampire Armand!”

#lestat/nicki/armand #vcsmuttysunday #not beta read because this week has been terrible #i think shotgunning counts as smut? i hope so

[natashasnoodle]

A Promise | Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

*REPOST* again because tumblr despises me

Words: 1.7k

Summary: When visiting a ghost of Natasha's past, she feels overwhelmed and you will be there to keep her afloat.

Warnings: Grief and mourning.

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Grief is a unique thing. People say there are five stages to go through until you have "moved on". Not that anyone truly moves on, whatever or whoever is being grieved stays with a person for the rest of their lives, the pain lessens, but that is not to say that they are still not missed. People still grieve things they lost years ago, love perseveres through thick and thin and can never be taken away.

Love washes over a person like a tide, when you think you couldn't love them more they go ahead and prove you wrong. Grief then comes in like a tsunami, overpowering the calm manner of the tide and leaving destruction in its wake. Destruction and drowning are all that is known, pulling a person down as though they have an anchor attached to their leg.

There is no telling how long the tsunami will last, or how long it will take for the damages to be repaired, all that is known is that one day the calming tide will come back, and the love for lost things is ever prominent. The damage cast from the tsunami will always be remembered, but the tide is back, and calm can be found.

People can mourn over many things. Family, friends, pets, lost time, and even something or someone whom they never knew. The latter can be confusing for many, not understanding why they are mourning for someone they have never met or something that they have never experienced.

Natasha Romanoff was no stranger to this confusion. It had been eating her alive for as long as she could remember, and she couldn't figure out why. She wasn't a person who liked to show any weakness, so she never told anyone about how she felt on the daily, thinking that she was making a big deal out of nothing. She never knew her birth mother, so why was this feeling of mourning and longing for her? Why did she feel as though she had suffered a huge loss? Why did she feel a pain in her chest every night when her brain tormented her before going to sleep?

She didn't have a logical explanation for it and so she didn't tell anyone. But in 2013, when you were paired on a mission with her for SHIELD, she found that she liked your company, and so sought after it more often. This shocked you and everyone else who knew Natasha as she was notorious for not speaking to most of her mission partners after the job was done, and yet she was actively seeking you out. Not that you complained, you liked her company too.

A friendship was soon formed, and soon after a relationship. A year later it turned into a beautiful marriage. She trusted you enough to marry you, and so trusted you enough with her heart. It took a while but she did eventually explain to you her grief and experiences through life and being the first person that she told, you were the first person to reassure her.

To reassure her that it was okay to mourn someone you had never met. Regardless of the fact that Natasha had never seen her birth mother, she still played a big part in her life. She brought her into the world and passed on some of her looks, some of her personality. She had always been with Nat throughout life, the meeting part was redundant.

Your explanation allowed her to accept that part of herself, and in turn, allowed her to start loving herself. That night she cried in your arms for the first time, and you made a promise to never let her go. Nat needed you, and you needed her too.

When the Sokovia accords tore the Avengers apart, the two of you ended up hiding out in Norway. Not that it lasted long. Not even four hours into your stay and the fuel had run out, resulting in Natasha driving you to go and collect some more, though the car was blown up on the way, launching you into an adventure over to Budapest and then Russia to see Nat's family and end the Red Room.

They were an exhausting couple of days, but you were glad that Natasha was able to reconnect with her adoptive family, it was something that she needed, especially her younger sister Yelena. But Nat didn't come out of the adventure feeling peaceful that she had ended the organisation that had ripped her life away, a storm was brewing within her, and she didn't know how to stop it.

She was informed that her mother hadn't abandoned her like she had been told, but that there was a pay-off. One that her birth mother didn't want to go through with, and so persistently tried to track her down, ending with the death of a grieving mother who just wanted her baby back.

Her mother had loved her. She had loved her so much that she spent her last moments fighting hand, tooth, and nail to get her back.

The new information was overwhelming. For over thirty years Natasha had been coming to terms with something that had haunted her, and then she had to learn that everything she thought about her birth mother was not the case. So, you suggested trying to get some closure. One that would be able to stop the tsunami, and bring back the tide.

The next few months were spent gruelling away trying to track the grave of Nat's mother down, which was not an easy feat considering there was no name on the tombstone, and without knowing Natasha's mother's name in the first place. Whilst being in hiding, it was risky as well, they were constantly on edge about creating a digital footprint, but your years of training paid off, and you found the location of the grave without getting attention from the authorities.

So soon enough, the two of you were in Russia, parked down the road from a small field with a cherry tree, and a visible tombstone. You looked over to Natasha in the passenger seat and saw that she had paled as she started chewing on her lip looking terrified. "Hey", you spoke softly and got her attention, though even with the caution she still turned to you looking like a deer in headlights, "It's okay. It's gonna be okay", you cooed, "We can easily come back another time if you aren't quite ready".

She shook her head harshly and opened her car door, "I can do this". You tried to give a smile as you watched her clamber out of the car, but it turned into more of a grimace at her uncharacteristic uncoordinated movements. You opened your door a second later and walked towards your wife who was standing a few paces away. She looked at you with uncertainty, but her confidence picked up slightly when you took her hand. "Let's go", you gestured to the tree with your head, and she breathed out a heavy sigh whilst nodding.

The walk was incredibly slow as Natasha seemed to be doing everything in her power to delay the inevitable, which you didn't mind of course. This whole experience was for her, and so you would go at her pace. Your thumb lightly ran over her knuckles in reassurance as you neared the tree, and your heart broke when you saw the blank tombstone, so you couldn't even begin to comprehend how Nat was feeling as she stood next to you.

Her bottom lip ever so slightly protruded as she took in the sight of her mother's resting place, and silence overcame the two of you, both of you not daring to breathe loudly. Natasha's entire body was tense, and out of the corner of your eye, you spotted her pawing away at a stray tear she had clearly not been able to keep back.

"She's real", she whispered with a broken tone, and you turned to see Nat staring at you as tears filled her waterline. "Yeah baby, she's real", you affirmed and watched Natasha turned back to look ahead as she brought her bottom lip in with her teeth. The entire situation was just... sad. You didn't know what to say to try and comfort her, knowing that no words in this moment would. She just needed to process it all, and that could take months. You would just have to settle for being there for her, being her anchor.

Just as you thought that Natasha was finding some calm in where she stood, her body tensed up further as she let go of your hand and began walking backwards with large strides. "I'm sorry, I can't do this. I'll meet you at the car", she rushed out before turning around and speed walking back. You opened your mouth to protest but she was gone before you could even think of words to say. Sighing and pursing your lips, you turned back to the tombstone and offered it a fond smile and took a few steps forward.

You crouched down and plucked a few weeds away from the bottom of the stone and dusted the top off, trying to make it look more presentable. Your mother-in-law deserved a good resting place. Once you had deemed the area presentable and left a little metal bear figure you had brought a while back so that she had some form of decoration, you placed a hand back on the stone and looked at the car, before looking back.

"I'll look after her for you, always. I promise".

You gave another small smile as you stood and brushed yourself off, saying a small goodbye before walking away. The situation had broken your heart, so you ended up looking at the floor with your hands in your pockets, knowing that if you looked up and saw Natasha looking upset right now you would probably start crying yourself.

But because you weren't looking or paying attention to your surroundings, you missed the fast-paced padding sound of footsteps bounding towards you, and let out a squeaking noise when Nat barrelled into you, holding your entire body weight up as you were sent flying off balance with your hands tucked away. "Thank you", she mumbled into the crook of your neck whilst you worked on getting your hands out of your pockets and gripping Natasha back in a tight hold, rocking her side to side in a gentle motion.

Again there were no words to be said, you just nodded and squeezed her tighter trying to push the tsunami away with all of your might. 

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Taglist: @fxckmiup

Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @diaryoflife

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #black widow #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff

[theseiwrite]

The only reason my body hasn’t perished.

So you wouldn’t ever feel like someone on this planet doesn’t love you wholefully and truly.

I never will ever wipe my tears shed in your name.

They’re proof that I love you, and have loved you.

The are enraptured in your memory,

I’m your embrace and truest kiss,

And if all my other memories fade I hope and pray that yours are the last.

So that at the moment I am forgotten I am still with you.

You know, the only reason I know God exists, is when I say your name.

It’s going to take me a forever to heal, but I know what we had was real.

We changed each others’ hearts and you left an imprint on my soul.

Despite all that lays between us now,

I hope you know,

That apart of me,

Will always and only forever,

Be holding you.

And if I had a flower,

For ever time I’ll think of you,

I could walk in a garden of your flowers forever.

I hope this deep splitting guilt stays with me,

Because it’ll remind me of you and your impact on my heart it’s the love I feel and felt for you manifesting in the only way it can.

So,

And if you’re ever homesick for me, know I’ve left a key hidden under the back door pot.

Don’t hesitate to come back,

Walk right in and sit next to me on the couch as if nothing ever changed.

Pick a movie out for us to watch.

I’ll make popcorn and put out some veggies and kemchi for you to eat and pour our drinks.

I won’t ask you to explain.

I won’t ask about our absence or your sudden reappearance.

I’ll ask if you still prefer whiskey gingers or if you prefer something new and if you’d like to order food.

Don’t be afraid to come home,

I’ve waiting to hear the back door open since I closed the front.

Only forever still means something to me.

Goodbye doesn’t have to be forever.

I’ll dream of you, as I’ve done since that night. And if this is my life, I pray I will dream forever.

You were my easiest hello, and my unforgettable unforgivable hardest goodbye.

You have no idea, how badly I want your name to light up my phone again.

It was so much more than real for me.

You made me feel human again you were my lifeline to the world.

I truly don’t know what to say, except, that it tore my heart from my body saying goodbye to you.

None of this feels real, I feel like I’m awaiting to wake up, that you’ll shake me and tell me I was having a nightmare, I’ll get up and turn the closet light on for the night. I’d leave that light on indefinitely so I’ll never slip into this reality again.

I endlessly think about you. I have a million things to tell you, and most begin with I’m sorry and all end with please forgive me.

I will pronounce your name unlike every other, and I will never say another like yours.

We kinda are, and will always be, every time you feel the sun on your skin or the moonlight seeps into your eyes I’ll be with you and in someway, together, we kinda are.

At the end of your day and all is silent, know that I love you still, within the blood that’s moving through my heart there is a place for you, and that place is sorry and begs for your forgiveness.

I promised you things, and swore I’d never break them, and I didn’t.

I broke myself upon them, I shattered myself and You upon them.

And God, I am so sorry. My Sweet Jagiya, my dream girl. I am sorry, and destroyed.

My hand, my fingers will be separated and ache for yours for all eternity, for all time, for you.

If Loss, if grief, if this feeling means love, then I have loved more than anything and anyone, I have loved so much.

I will and do mean this last line in the totalness that I can.

My hand will never hold another’s, my mouth will never speak another’s name, my eyes will never give another’s gaze, my heart will never have another home. I swear. Only forever is only forever.

And, I’ll never let you go.

I weep for hazel, our Pup, to never know me to beat you home again, sitting on the edge of the couch while I take off my boots and hug her for a full minute and just feel each other breathe against ourselves protecting each other in a way, an eye contact knowing I’ll protect you and you’ll protect me. Please tell her, and I know she won’t understand, which hurts more but, hold her and tell her I’m sorry.

Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.

I am so deathly afraid

The next time our eyes meet

You will find yourself staring at a stranger

And I will find myself watching somebody realize that I have become someone they no longer recognize.

Maybe, in another life we’ll sit across from each other at the table and go over the grocery list and what we want to do that day;

Until then I resign.

I hope you only, only remember all the fun we had Together.

Yes every rose has its thorns, I saw yours and my hands wanted to bleed and still do.

I just need you to know that no matter what happens, it was worth it to me. Being with you, loving you. It was all worth it.

“I Still Do” (Chapter 13, Jagiya) DKL

#writing #dkl #love #me #poetry #poem #poet #hope #wise quotes #slam poetry