#also if any of this sounds familiar that would be because i’m writing a series about my arrowverse batfam on ao3
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GUILTY AS SIN?
GLUTTONY — part v of we'll write sins like tragedies
pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab)
word count: 3k
summary: after a mission gone wrong, you unknowingly take the fall for a friend; you get drunk with the enemy; and you start to think that, if they’re going to crucify you anyway, you might as well indulge in a few fatal fantasies.
warnings: set during the last olympian so spoilers for the entire pjo book series; luke + reader get drunk; mention of death + war + reader has some survivor's guilt; smut (unprotected p in v, oral f receiving, kinda sub!luke, brief allusion to knife kink — 18 + MDNI) + angst
author's note: not sure how i feel ab this one but i've been workshopping it for weeks so i think her time has come !! also maybe got a bit too deep into book lore oops. also also ive been listening to this song an outrageous amount and i hope i did it justice ANYWAYS lmk what y'all think, thanks sm for reading ♥
♪ "guilty as sin?" by taylor swift
you’re well aware of how suspicious this looks, rendezvousing with the enemy at a sleazy dive bar in the heart of the city.
he walks in, and your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation. his familiar deep brown eyes are now striking gold, and a streak of gray is woven through his signature dark curls — evidence of the battles you've fought, on opposite sides, and an ominous reminder of a war that has yet to be over.
as he casually orders himself a drink and one for you, you keep a hand on your concealed dagger. it’s become an instinct of yours, whenever he’s around.
“i didn’t come here to fight.” he assures, catching the glint of your blade.
“and what about…..” you gesture broadly at him.
“we’re not entirely synched yet, so it gives him a break whenever i’m in full control,” he explains as though reciting from a textbook (something like how to betray your loved ones and overthrow the olympians 101). “it’s only me tonight. i swear on the river styx.”
a shiver passes through you.
about a year ago, luke tracked you down in new york. apparently, kronos was pushing him to do something extreme, and luke felt conflicted.
you thought it had to be some sort of cruel joke, because you could not think of anything more extreme than what luke had already done in facilitating a war between gods and titans. you had no patience for his crocodile tears, not after he played you so well the first time.
you told him as much, then told him to fuck off.
to be fair, you didn’t know that would lead to him bathing in the river styx and becoming a vessel for the titan lord himself.
luke wears the curse of achilles well: all strong muscles and sharp angles, his tan skin glowing ever-so slightly, and his body devoid of any fresh cuts or bruises despite surviving an explosion just a few days prior.
“so….what? you’re the pilot whenever kronos needs to take a really long nap?”
“i’d say timeshare is the closest way to describe it.”
“50/50 ownership?”
“more like 90/10.”
you scoff. “sounds like a scam.”
the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. it reminds you so much of old times, his boyish charm peeking through whenever a camper would try to pull a prank on him, and then complain when he’d beat them to the punch.
“it’s just me,” he repeats, but you didn’t need any more confirmation.
you know deep in your gut, from that mischievous smirk alone: it’s not the lord of time, but luke castellan next to you.
the bar is surprisingly busy for a weeknight. there’s a game being shown on TV, and people wearing sports jerseys occasionally groan or cheer or come to the counter to order another pint for their table while keeping their eyes glued to the screen. the jukebox in the corner plays music from the 70s and 80s as a group of friends starts to dance, tipsy after a deadly combination of jello shots and sangria.
for the first few drinks, you and luke are silent, letting these sounds of regular human existence fill the space between you. you half-expect him to ask about law school admissions, or the new tattoo you got on your upper thigh, or your band’s latest show — all fragments of your own mundane mortal life used to distract yourself from demigod realities.
he doesn’t, though. luke just stares at the hockey game, one you know for a fact he doesn’t care about because the rangers aren’t playing, as he sips his old-fashioned like he has all the time in the world.
“did you wanna meet so we could just sit here in silence or….”
when you had agreed to this meeting, you had a clear goal in mind: find out who the spy is and clear your name.
it might be too much rum or the crushing weight of recent events, but you no longer have the energy nor the drive to be strategic or even cautious around luke. now, you’re looking for a cure to your bone deep boredom and heartache.
"no. i’m here because….” he falters and runs a hand through his hair. “look, i heard about what happened at camp. and, with beck —”
“dying?” you finish, taking one last gulp of your drink. all the rage, resentment and grief you’ve been feeling has been lodged in your throat. you’d hope each sip of your dark and stormy would burn through it, but instead it comes tumbling from your lips.
“honestly, beck would probably still be alive if you didn’t join the dark side. i guess you’re kinda leading the dark side now, aren’t you luke? what’s that like?”
luke polishes off his drink, too, his cheeks flushed. he gestures at the bartender for a third round of drinks. or is it fourth?
“don’t be a dick,” luke sighs once a replenished glass is placed in front of him. “i obviously never wanted to hurt you — any of you.”
if you were of sober mind, maybe you’d point out that it’s too late; that luke already hurt all of you the minute he decided to side with kronos.
“i know i did, though,” he adds after swallowing a mouthful of his drink.
you know that if luke was of sober mind, he would never have admitted that. he seems to know better than to apologize though, hopefully recognizing that the damage has already been done.
it’s not like your hands aren’t bloody, too.
“it was supposed to be me, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “i was supposed to go with percy on the mission, but beck offered to go instead because he thought — he knew — that it would….it would be hard for me to see…. you.”
luke pauses and turns away from you. “you couldn’t have known what would happen.” his voice wavers, too. “beckendorf was looking out for you — it’s what he does. did.”
“i couldn’t even go to the funeral,” you continue. “i feel like i didn’t really get to say goodbye, you know?”
“yeah,” luke hums sorrowfully. “mourning someone who fought for the gods isn’t really allowed where i am.”
again, you could point out the irony in what he’s saying. given everything he’s done, luke dug his own grave and clearly some for his friends, too.
tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. the reality is that one of your best friends died because you couldn’t handle an encounter with your ex-boyfriend, the one you’re currently sitting beside.
you might not have done what they accused you of, but you’re nowhere near innocent. who were you to give yourself permission to cry?
in the dim neon light, you notice a tear slide down luke’s cheek before he wipes it away just as fast.
he clears his throat. “to charles beckendorf: a hero by any other name.”
you tap your glass against luke’s, and you both drink in honor of your lost friend. you drink to everyone and everything you’ve lost, too.
beckendorf is dead; chris has lost his mind; clarisse might start her own war with the apollo cabin over a flying chariot; and ever since the princess andromeda mission went terribly wrong, silena can’t go one minute without bursting into tears.
it was too easy for everything to fall apart, as though this was always what the fates had in store for you — the next generation of greek tragedies.
thankfully, there always comes a break in the tragedy, and it seems to be now: you and luke, getting drunk off whiskey and rum and old memories.
you remember countless times sneaking out to the beach after curfew, mixing store-brand soda with cheap alcohol smuggled into camp by luke’s half-brothers; hot summer nights spent fantasizing about existence outside of camp and returning to your head counselor duties in the morning with chiron and mr. d none the wiser. once you started dating, it became routine for the two of you to wander away from the group for some privacy, somewhere far enough away so that no one could hear you scream luke’s name.
those memories still make your skin flush, even as you’re here drinking cocktails at a bar in the city, with one friend gone to elysium and everyone else calling you a traitor.
“i can’t believe you don’t remember that night! mr. d caught a few senior campers getting drunk in his office? they stole a super expensive bottle of wine, threw up all over the carpet, and had to spend the rest of the night cleaning it?”
you continue shaking your head. you tip your glass back to capture the last drops of amber liquid before confessing:
“what i remember is spending the whole night jealous of malcolm pace because he got to slow dance with you.”
luke lets out something between a scoff and a laugh, then he’s silent for a few moments.
“i love this song,” luke muses, words blurring together. “i haven’t heard it in a while.” he finishes his drink and sets the glass down, holding his hand out to you.
your brain is a bit foggy from all the alcohol, so it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking.
“you wanna dance?”
“yeah,” he answers. “make up for lost time.”
it’s not until you feel luke’s chest pressed against yours, his hands firmly on your waist, that you register what song is currently playing.
“downtown lights” by the blue nile — luke had spent so long trying to find the right song for your first time together.
you told him not to worry, teased him a bit for planning every detail so meticulously, but deep down, your heart swelled with how much he cared.
the empty hermes cabin during capture-the-flag, both of you pretending to be too injured from sparring practice to play. luke’s sweaty hands fumbling with the condom, you having to step in and rip the wrapper with your teeth. clothes being haphazardly thrown on so you could run back to the infirmary before anyone noticed. silent vows to do it again, and again, and again.
the more time spent exploring and experimenting, the more you got the rhythm of each other’s bodies, knew how to make the other squirm and throw their head back in pleasure — and that didn’t just go away when luke joined kronos’ army.
even when your loyalties were more clear, your consciousness was plagued with visions of you and luke together, ones that left your sheets burning, more than the blazing summer heat. you confided in silena about these once, and she assured you that there is no such thing as bad thoughts.
she did warn you, though: it’s when you indulge in these fantasies that they risk becoming fatal.
now, thinking back and forth between memories with luke and the events of this past very shitty week, you realize that maybe that’s why you’re here.
despite everything you’ve done, you supposedly betrayed people you consistently fight beside, fight for; you were thrown out of a place you once considered home and told never to come back.
you were doomed from the start — a daughter of nemesis, assumed to be wicked and revenge-seeking since birth.
well, if they’re going to crucify you anyway…..
once the song ends, you ask:
“you wanna go outside for a smoke?”
your hands start playing with the curls at the base of luke’s neck, hinting at what you were hoping comes next.
luke licks his lips, gold eyes darker than before.
“guess you’re itching to put that celestial bronze to good use,” he says lowly.
“only if you ask nicely,” you drawl.
luke blushes.
you pull away from him, start walking towards the back exit, and pray that he follows you.
—
this is why meeting with you was dangerous: there’s no one else in the world – god, titan, or otherwise – luke castellan would get on his knees for, let alone in the filthy alley behind a bar.
technically, kronos sent luke here to recruit you.
the scythe charm — the one used to communicate with silena — sits heavy in his pocket. it’s part of the reason why you were exiled from camp, why your friends don’t look at you the same way. why you can’t ever go back home, not really.
luke imagines you might resent those who threw you out of camp, but you would never betray them. he knew that you weren’t likely to join kronos’ army.
he’s thankful that, at the very least, you still have a penchant for breaking some rules.
the two of you are a tangled mess of teeth and tongue. luke tastes the spiciness of ginger beer and rum, mixed with sweetness from the clove cigarette you just smoked. you lock one leg around luke’s hip, and the brief glimpse of your lacy black underwear has him throbbing. one of your hands slips underneath his shirt to trace the contours of his abdomen. luke’s breath hitches when your hand reaches down even further.
“wait –” you pause your actions to let luke finish his sentence, and already he regrets voicing his hollow concern. “i….i probably should not be doing this.”
“me neither,” you concede, breathing steadily.“but, they already think i’m guilty.” with your other hand, your thumb dances over his kiss-swollen lips and luke feels something ignite in the pit of his stomach. “maybe i am, with how much i think about you.”
luke knows what’s at stake for him, if anyone finds out, but in a booze-soaked haze and with you looking at him like that, he can’t seem to care.
it’s coming back to him now: that endless cycle of waking up sticky and drenched in sweat over dreams of screaming your name and going about his day like it wasn’t a paradox to be leading kronos’ army and still wanting someone aligned with the enemy to devour him.
when he agreed, however reluctantly, to be a vessel for kronos, luke had to lock those desires inside a vault deep inside his mind.
this might very well be luke’s last chance to satisfy his cravings, once and for all. tonight, he’s in full control of his body and mind.
he’ll happily yield his power to you.
soon enough, your teeth gnaw on his top lip as luke messily thrusts into you, your underwear hastily pushed to the side. he tries to savor every part of this, of you — the heel of your combat boot digging into his back; the sting of your nails where you grip him; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet cherries and burnt vanilla; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging him to go faster, harder. following your orders, luke wraps both of your legs around his waist and digs his fingers further into your hips to keep them secure.
it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the brick wall as your orgasm crashes through you. luke follows a few seconds later, pulling out just in time to paint the inside of your thighs with his cum.
luke grins as he watches you come down from your high, eyes closed, chest heaving, neck engraved with the outline of his teeth.
“sorry, didn’t mean to give you a concussion.”
you open your eyes just to roll them at luke, who’s tucking himself back into his jeans.
“you’re such an asshole,” you jest through labored breaths, registering his shit-eating grin. you fix the hem of your leather skirt and pout dramatically. “and you had to leave a mess behind, didn’t you?”
without another word, luke kneels in front of you.
he leans his head back to admire how your lips curl into a bemused smile at his antics. your fingers press into his pulse point, no doubt feeling how reckless his heartbeat becomes underneath you. once more, your thumb prods at his lips; this time luke grants access, the cold metal of your ring burning on his tongue.
“is this how you pledged loyalty to your titan king?” you taunt.
luke shakes his head, still sucking your digit.
he did have to bow, but not like this. the only entity he’d worship this desperately is you.
“i’m honored,” you coo. luke bites back a whimper when you remove your thumb from his mouth, instead tracing the scar on his face, up his cheekbone. “i have to say though: i miss your brown eyes, pretty boy.”
his whole body is on fire with how you touch him, but your passing observation feels like a knife to the gut. wanting to be good for you, to prove he’s still your pretty boy, luke pushes up the bottom of your skirt so it bunches around your waist.
“luke!” you attempt to scold, concealing a moan when his teeth graze your clit through the damp fabric of your underwear. “someone might see.”
“it’ll be fine, baby,” he assures. “is this new?” luke is mesmerized by the fresh ink on your thigh, fingers trailing over swirling black lines.
you hum, a goddess gazing down on her disciple. “do you like it?”
luke nods. he replaces his fingers with his tongue, journeying across your skin, tasting salty sweat mixed with his cum drying between your legs. he hears your whimpers for more. he complies and plunges two fingers beneath the lace until you reach your peak. luke places one last kiss to your core, before getting up again.
you crash your lips onto his, and you’re kissing him the way you did back when you really loved him, chaotic and feverish. your fingers snake through his curls, and you tug on them just enough to make luke’s head spin.
you’re somehow more intoxicating than however many drinks he downed earlier.
he sees something simmering behind your eyes, when you ask if he wants to come back to your apartment. you both know you shouldn’t, but honestly — in the grand scheme of things, what’s one more sin?as the two of you are tangled beneath your bedsheets, you decide to frame it differently, as a mutual vow: maybe just one more time will satisfy this hunger.
#we've only got two sins left idk how this happened....#thank y'all sm for reading!!#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan#luke castellan x you#luke castellan smut#luke castellan series#luke castellan x nemesis!reader#pjo fanfic#saf writes
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Take Me Home
Summary: After a night out at the bar with your co-workers after a long week at school, Javi picks you up and takes you home
Word Count: 3.2K
Pairing: husband!Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: Alcohol/drinking (girl, you're plastered), allusions to smut, being a drunk, horny mess, mentions of food/eating, being hungover, Javi taking care of you, the Backstreet Boys (?!), just sweet, sweet fluff 😩
A/N: This was inspired by an ask from a sweet anon!! This made me giggle the whole time I was writing it, drunk Osita is my favorite 🤪 You know Javi would absolutely get a kick out of your drunken antics and would take such good care of you and your terrible hangover. Also who doesn't love a drunk Pop-Tart?!
This can be read as a standalone or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!
If there was one thing you knew, it was that the first few weeks of school were never easy. You were tired, stressed, and feeling like you were running on empty. You were hesitant when some of your new coworkers had suggested all of you head to the bar for Happy Hour on Friday after work, knowing damn well you’d be absolutely exhausted. But after the week you’d had, getting drunk with your teacher friends and commiserating about the chaos that was each of your classrooms couldn’t have sounded like a better way to cap off the craziness that had been the past 5 days.
You had offered to ask one of your friends for a ride to the bar so Javi could enjoy his Friday night without having to worry about you, but Javi being Javi, had more than happily dropped you off with your friends, and planned to pick you up around 11:30, giving you what you thought was more than enough time to enjoy a few drinks and de-stress with your co-workers.
4 margaritas and 2 surprise shots of tequila later, it was safe to say the state you were in was a little more than just de-stressed.
With how much you had to drink, you had found yourself paying absolutely zero attention to any clock, and had completely forgotten that you told Javi you would meet him by the front doors when he came to pick you up. Javi had a sneaking suspicion when he pulled up to the parking lot and you were nowhere to be found, that you were probably having a much better time at the bar, and were a few drinks deeper than you intended. Well, Javi wasn’t wrong to assume that you had downed more than just a couple drinks, but what he wasn’t expecting was for you to be absolutely hammered.
Walking through the door, Javi couldn’t help but smile as he saw your familiar frame leaned against the ledge of the edge of the bar, gently rocking your head and swaying your hips to the muffled music playing under the chatter of the bar patrons. You must have been very focused on ordering whatever it was you wanted from the bartender, because you had been seemingly oblivious to Javi’s presence behind you. He firmly placed his broad hand on the small of your back, pressing his fingertips into your hips, making you immediately whip your head around in concern.
“Woah, woah, woah, don’t you dare fucking touch me, I am happily married and will glad beat the shit out of- AH! JAVI!” Your demeanor quickly shifted from a woman ready to throw down in a fist fight, to absolutely ecstatic, realizing the hand resting on your back belonged to your husband. Setting your drink down, you threw your arms around his neck, wrapping him in a tight hug, pressing your face against the soft fabric of his button down shirt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, I thought you were some creep trying to grab my ass. But you’re not a creep, you’re my hot husband, and you can grab my ass all you want. What time is it? You smell really good.” From your giggles and rambling, Javi could tell you’d had more than your fair share to drink, trying to gently put down the glass you had picked up to take a sip from back down on the bar.
“Hi, Hermosa. I’m coming to pick you up, remember? Maybe let’s get you a water instead of finishing the rest of this, okay?” Javi smiled, passing your cup off to the bartender, and exchanging it for a new glass filled with water. Handing it off to you, your face scrunched in confusion as you took a long swing.
“This isn’t a margarita?” You questioned, handing it back to Javi, thinking that he had clearly made a mistake in ordering for you. Laughing, Javi nodded, trying to hand the water back to you.
“I know, Osita. It’s water, baby. Have a few sips and then I’m gonna take you home, alright?”
Raising an eyebrow at him, you gave him a little smirk before obliging, taking a few gulps of the water and setting it back down, crossing your arms against your chest. “Did you say you’re trying to take me home, Javier Peña?”
“Yes, I’m taking you home, you dork.” Javi laughed to himself, shaking his head as he picked up your coat and your purse from the back of the chair you had been perched next to. “Why don’t you go say goodbye to everyone and make sure no one else needs a ride home, okay?” You nodded, speeding off into the dwindling late night crowd, quickly finding your friends, hugging them and then pointing over at Javi, biting down on your lip, as the rest of them giggled, waving at him as he politely waved back. A few moments later, you found Javi again, stumbling through the bar, grabbing a fist full of his button up shirt, pressing up on your tiptoes to give him a long, tender kiss.
“Take me home, baby.”
After your 3rd trip to the bar bathroom and your self pep-talk in the mirror earlier, you knew you were drunk, but you hadn’t realized just how drunk you were until you found yourself trying to crawl your way into Javi’s truck, the passenger’s seat seeming much higher up than usual as you took several missed steps trying to hoist yourself into the car.
“You want help, hermosa?” Javi tried to keep his best from laughing as he watched you struggle.
“....Maybe. Jav, I think I’m actually really drunk. Or the seat got higher. I think it would be less embarrassing if the truck grew. Or maybe I shrunk… Drunk and shrunk, those rhyme, Jav!” You sighed, placing your hands on your hips, looking up at Javi’s car in frustration.
“I think you and the truck are both the same size, baby. Here… 1, 2, 3.” He smiled, grabbing you around your hips, lifting you into your seat, reaching over to click your seatbelt in before making his way to the driver’s side, strapping himself in and starting up the car. As Javi pulled out of the parking lot, you reached down to turn up the volume on the radio, turning it up even louder when you heard it was “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” by the Backstreet Boys. Even in your plastered state, you knew how much Javi despised this song, claiming he’d heard it enough times to last him a thousand lifetimes. You, on the other hand, thought it was catchy as hell, even more so now that you were drunk.
“I don’t understand how you don’t like this song! You yelled over the music, dancing in your seat, singing along to the lyrics.
“Am I original?”
You pointed at Javi, waiting for him to sing along to the “yeah’s”, frowning when all he did was laugh at you,
“Am I the only one?”
You pointed at him again, this time getting a half assed “yeah” out of him as you poked at his shoulder.
“Am I sexual?”
You outstretched your arm towards him, raising an eyebrow and biting down on your lip as you smirked, watching Javi reluctantly sing along to the last “yeah”, shaking his head, laughing at you.
“Am I everything you need, you better rock your body now- EVERYBODYYYYYY!” You screamed, pumping your fist in the air, pretending to sing into your imaginary microphone, Javi trying to keep from bursting into hysterics from your over dramatic performance. You paused mid chorus, looking over to see him lovingly laughing at you, making you give him your most sarcastic stank face. “Are you laughing at me, Javier Jesús Peña? Are you not enjoying your concert?”
“Osita,” He grinned, reaching down to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, “there’s nothing I love more than watching you sing along to whatever song it is while we drive. It’s my favorite thing. Even if you’re fucking ridiculous sometimes.”
“Nuh uh, you’re the ridiculous one, Jav. Ridiculously fucking hot. Do you like, ever look in the mirror and just admire how attractive you are? All the girls at work think so, too. They told me when I was leaving tonight that I was a lucky lady and you know what I told them? Bitch, absolutely I am. My husband is so fucking hot and sweet and perfect and to top it all off, he’s got a huge dick. Wait, maybe I didn’t say that last part to them… If I did, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry, ‘cause it’s true.” Javi practically choked on his own spit, his quiet laughter to himself halted by your last comment.
“Well, you’re very sweet, Osita. I hope for everyone’s sake you spared them the last part.” Javi laughed, giving your hand a little squeeze as you rested your head on his shoulder across the center console.
“I’m being serious, Javi! It really isn’t fair to everyone else how fucking handsome you are. Or that like, you’re fucking sex god. Can we have sex when we get home? Please please please?” You begged, trying to give him your best drunken puppy dog eyes and pouty lip, Javi gently patting your leg knowing you were in absolutely no state to do anything besides get force fed some Gatorade and ibuprofen and go to sleep.
“I think that we need to get you into bed, baby. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”
“Into the bed where we have awesome sex all the time.” You retorted, shooting him a clumsy wink, pointing your finger at him. “Except this morning when we had sex in the bed and the shower. The shower is also a good place for sex. Do you remember when we had sex this morning?” You giggled, rubbing your hand over Javi’s thigh, working your way further up the denim before Javi reached down, placing your hand back in his, pulling it away.
“Yes, Osita, of course I remember. Tonight we’re just gonna get into the bed and sleep.” Javi chuckled, smiling at you with your bright red cheeks, still dancing in your seat to whatever song was playing on the radio as he turned to pull into the driveway of your house.
“Oh my gosh, we’re already home?! That was so fast. Let’s go to bed so we can sleep.” You gave Javi an overexaggerated wink as you parked in the garage, fumbling with the door handle to try and get out of the truck. Wanting to make sure you didn’t topple out of the passenger seat, Javi quickly unbuckled his seat belt, walking around to your side of the car, helping you down. You shot off to the door, fighting with the locked doorknob to try and get it open, instantly turning to panic when you realize it wouldn’t budge. “Jav! Jav! I forgot to bring my keys with me, I think we’re locked out of the house, I’m so- Oh. Nevermind.” Javi came up behind you, dangling his keys before reaching down to unlock the door. You stumbled through the mudroom and down the hallway, your eyes lighting up as you realized you were passing the kitchen. Trying to dart your way towards the pantry, you forgot that you had kicked off your shoes only a few moments earlier, making you slip and stumble on the hardwood floor, promptly landing you right on your ass.
“Jesus Hermosa, are you okay?” Javi rushed over, eyes wide with concern as he watched you tumble, trying to pick you up from the hysterical heap you had fallen into.
“I forgot I had socks on and I slipped. I’m such a fucking idiot, oh my god, that had to have looked so funny. My butt is gonna hurt tomorrow.” You cackled, hoisting your body up as Javi pulled you to stand, holding his hands firm on your hips, making sure you were stable.
“Alright, c’mon Osita, we’re almost to bed.”
“Wait, wait, I want Pop-Tart though! That’s why I was running to the kitchen!” You protested, Javi grabbing you to stop you before you tried to run full force down the hallway and slip again.
“I will get you a Pop-Tart, you just get yourself into bed, okay? I’ll be there in a second.” Javi pleaded with you, trying to direct you back down the hallway towards the bedroom, hoping you would go and he wouldn’t have to wrangle you any further.
“You promise?” You frowned, poking Javi’s chest, standing your ground until you were positive you were getting a Pop-Tart before you fell asleep. Javi leaned down, planting a soft kiss in your hair, brushing a stray piece away from your face, giving you a reassuring smile.
“Yes, I promise.”
That was all it took to have you dancing down the hallway towards the bedroom, back to singing to yourself with each step.
“Everyboddyyyyy, rock your booooddyyy. Rock your body right. Back Street’s back, alright!”
Finally seeing you had made your way into your room, Javi made his way to the kitchen, shuffling through the pantry to grab a shiny silver Pop-Tart wrapper, a red Gatorade and a bottle of Advil from the medicine cabinet before quickly heading back down the hall, your singing now muffled as Javi found you laying face down in the bed, still fully clothed. Javi wasn’t going to let you fall asleep in jeans and a sweater, so he carefully flipped you over, making you giggle as he began to unbutton your pants, shuffling them down your legs.
“I thought you said we weren’t having sex tonight, so why are you undressing me, hmmm?” You sassed, wiggling your bottom half to help Javi get your jeans off before he grabbed your arms, pulling you up to sit and prompting you to lift up your arms, stripping you of your top. “Are you trying to look at my boobs? I want a piece of Pop-Tart before you get a free show.”
“I’m just trying to get you in pajamas, baby. I’m not gonna let you fall asleep in what you wore to the bar. How about this, if you can get yourself in some pajamas, I’ll give you your Pop-Tart.” Javi chuckled, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous compromise he was finding himself making with his drunken wife.
“You strike a hard bargain, Mr. Peña. Fine, I will put on pajamas. Only because I love you very, very, very, very, very much. And I really want that Pop-Tart.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as Javi threw you one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, haphazardly trying to wrestle them onto your body before flopping back down on the bed. “Okay, they’re on! Pop-Tart me, bitch.”
“Did you just say Pop-Tart me, bitch?” Javi snorted, looking at you, sprawled out like a starfish, his shirt draped over your body backwards.
“Pop-Tart me, bitch. Please.” You replied, smugly nodding your head, pointing finger guns at him.
“You’re lucky you’re cute. I’m gonna go close up the house and then I’ll be back in bed. I love you, Osita.” Javi grinned, planting a kiss on your forehead, gently brushing your hair out of your face.
“I love you too, Javi. My Pop-Tart and my pussy are both ready for you when you get back.” You giggled, reaching over to grab the shiny, silver snack package Javi had left for you on your nightstand, now grabbing it like a microphone as you sang into it. “Back Street’s back, alrightttttt!”
“Jesus Christ…” Javi laughed, shaking his head as he gave you one last kiss before making his way back out of the bedroom, leaving you happily humming as you nibbled on the corner of your Pop-Tart, propped up on your stack of pillows. It didn’t take long for Javi to close up around the house, making sure to grab an extra package of Pop-Tarts and a big glass of water from the kitchen on his way back. “How’s the Pop-Tart, Osita?” Javi asked, gently closing the door behind him.
Silence.
“Osita?” He asked again, this time turning around to see that your singing and giggles had come to an end as you were passed out cold, sprawled out on top of the covers, Pop-Tart resting on your chest, rising and falling slowly with your soft snores. Javi laughed to himself, carefully taking the Pop-Tart off your chest and lifting you up to tuck you in under the covers, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “Ducles sueños, Osita. Te amo mucho, loca (Sweet dreams, little bear. I love you so much, crazy.)
The next morning, you could hear yourself audibly groan as you turned over in the bed, shielding yourself from the sunlight peeking through the cracks in your curtain, head pounding from the brightness. You rubbed your eyes, squinting as you looked over at your nightstand to see the red letters of your alarm clock reading “10:37 A.M.” and the shiny glare of an opened Pop-Tart package, covered by a blue sticky note. You twisted over, realizing that Javi’s side of the bed was empty, before turning back with a grunt, reaching over to grab the sticky note.
Morning Osita. There’s Advil and Gatorade for you when you wake up. I think you may need it. I’ll have breakfast for you whenever you get up, unless you just want the Pop-Tart.
Love you
-J
Slowly, you hoisted yourself up, grabbing the Gatorade and pills Javi and left for you, popping them in your mouth, followed by a big swig of your drink, running both your hands over your face before letting out a deep sigh and sliding out of bed. You trudged down the hallway, rubbing your hand on your hip to ease the bruising pain you had felt since getting out of bed, greeted by the smell of breakfast in the kitchen, and Javi sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, sleepy head.” Javi chuckled, peeking over the top of his newspaper as he watched you as you stumbled your way into one of the empty kitchen chairs next to him at the table.
“I feel like shit.” You groaned, propping your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. Javi set down his paper, draping his arm over your back, tracing small circles with his thumb along your still backwards shirt as he planted a soft kiss in your messy, sleepy hair.
“You were pretty drunk last night, Osita. Did you see the note I left for you?” Javi laughed quietly, shaking his head as he continued to rub your back. You turned your head over, looking up at Javi’s sympathetic gaze, scrunching your face as you let out a deep sigh.
“Yes thank you, oh my god, that Gatorade and Advil is gonna save my life. Why the hell was there a Pop-Tart on my nightstand?” You mumbled, reaching over to steal a sip of Javi’s coffee, accidentally letting a little dribble fall down onto your shirt, you were just now realizing it wasn't on right. “Wait, is my shirt backwards? My ass hurts like hell too, what the hell happened last night?”
“Why don’t I get you some breakfast and I’ll tell you all about it.”
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Love your bay children series! Can you please write how the bay turtles are as uncles and how their nephews and nieces are with them <3
Du skriver även jätte bra! Puss och kram
The Kids and Their Uncles (Fluff)
Bayverse!Turtles x reader
A/N: I’ve made these with the focus on you and said turtle’s childrens’ relationship with one of the uncles. Hope that makes sense, lol. Oh, btw, the advice Leo gives Mini is actually one my psychiatrist gave me. Hopefully it also works for others💚
Og mange tak! Jeg har også øvet mig længe💚
(D/W/N) = Donnie’s wife’s name.
Warnings: None💙❤️💜🧡
Leonardo:
“Uncle Mikey!”, 16 year old Romeo called out, holding his odachi high above his head, gleaming with pride when Michelangelo entered the dojo. “See what I can do!” What followed was a series of fast movements that ended with him posing with his odachi just in front of him, shining in the light.
Gerardo let out a sound of amazement, while Marcello rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Show off”.
“Wow, when did you learn that?”, Mikey smiled, knowing how hard his oldest nephew had trained, since Master Splinter first gave him his odachi at the age of 15.
“I learned it myself”, Romeo said proudly, before swinging the odachi in a manner that reminded Mikey of a teenage Leonardo. No doubt that was the oldest son of the fearless leader. “I’m going to show dad later. Do you think he’ll like it?”
“You’re asking if your father will be happy to see something you have learned yourself?”, Mikey asked, his serious tone breaking with his smile as he ruffled the top of Romeo’s head, letting his nephew know that he was joking. “Of course he will. That’s the kind of stuff that will make your old man proud”.
“Me too!”, Gerardo yelled out, mimicking his oldest brother’s moves, but without any weapon in his hands.
“Leo! Is that you?”, Mikey asked jokingly, making the 10 year old laugh loudly, before Romeo put his weapon away, so he and Gerardo engaged in some light hearted sparring, their laughter echoing loudly through the dojo.
Mikey turned to find his other nephew sitting in the corner of the room, watching his brothers run around with a small scowl. Mikey was no stranger to Marcello’s tempered episodes, having been present to many of them, or at least within ear shot. So as he made his way over to the 13 year old Marcello, he knew exactly what was going on. But he would let the young half mutant have a chance, at explaining what he was feeling.
“Hey there, big guy”, Mikey said, taking a seat on the floor next to the grumpy teenager. Marcello shot him a look and greeted him with a small hey, resting his chin in his hand. “Why are you sitting over here?”
“Because those two are taking up the whole dojo”, Marcello mumbled, nodding to his brothers. “A guy can’t get space around here”.
Mikey watched Marcello have his brothers for a moment, before he decided to stand, turning to his nephew with a smile. “Well, guess we then have to make some space”, he said, Marcello looking at him in curiosity. “Ever tried nunchucks before?”
“No”, Marcello answered, unable to hide his smile as he stood up. “Can I try yours?”
“Of course you can”, Mikey said, pulling his nunchucks from his belt, holding them out in front of Marcello, watching his face light up even further. And Mikey’s next words only served to make him smile even brighter. “Time to show your father something the others can’t”.
Raphael:
Raph had never really been good at meditating. He had never really liked it, and he generally had a hard time keeping his mind calm for so long. But he did really want his children to learn it. Or at least get familiar with it, should they ever get to a position where they would need it. And therefore Raph asked Leonardo for help. Leo had always been a natural at meditating, and had for the most part successfully taught his own children to do it, so maybe he could teach Raph’s children the same.
And that was how Leo ended up in the dojo with his nephew and two nieces, helping them clear their minds, the same way that had worked for his own children. But Leo soon found himself facing a difficult situation - these were his nieces and nephew, the children of his hot-tempered and at times inpatient brother. And that much was obvious, from the way the three children had a hard time sitting still, almost refusing to go too far into their own heads.
As Leo spoke about slow breathing, keeping their eyes closed, and bringing their thoughts to focus on the said breathing, only Joan seemed to be able to sit still, wanting to get this over with, so she could go back to whatever a 13 year old teenage girl liked to speed her time with. But her younger siblings weren't finding it as easy. 6 year old Ragnar had a hard time concentrating, his attention being grabbed by every sound outside the dojo, creating all sorts of images in his head. All from his mother and father watching television, to a monster breaking through the entrance of the lair, making him uneasy. Minerva however, just couldn’t sit right. Her legs kept falling asleep and her skin kept crawling, her knee impatiently bouncing in its bent position, pushing up against Joan, drawing an irritated sigh from the frustrated teen, who had just managed to empty her head for a short moment.
“Mini, stop moving your leg”, Leo said without opening his eyes, causing Ragnar to look at him in amazement. How did he do that?
“But, uncle Leo”, Mini said, laying down onto her back, stretching out on the dojo floor. “Meditation is so hard and boring”.
“If you shut up, it maybe wouldn’t be so hard”, Joan mumbled, shooting her little sister a look that made Mini sit back up.
Leo opened his eyes, taking a moment to study Mini as she still couldn’t sit still. “Can you say why it's hard and boring? It’s okay, there’s no right or wrong answer”.
Mini sat for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, thinking her answer through. "It's hard to empty my head”, the 9 year old mumbled.
Leo looked at Mini and thought for a moment, before he finally smiled at her, noticing the relieved expression on her face.
“That’s okay”, Leo said, adjusting his legs. “It’s very hard to just empty your head, especially when you’re used to thinking a lot. What you can do instead, is to notice your thoughts. Take note of them and let them be. Don’t fight them, but let them flow naturally. Hopefully that will feel easier”.
Mini nodded with a bright smile, before folding her legs once more, actually being able to sit still this time. Smiling at the sight, Leo turned his attention towards Ragnar, noticing how he kept throwing glances at the dojo doors.
“Do you want to sit next to me, Ragnar?”, Leo asked, holding out his hand to the small boy. Ragnar nodded before making his way over next to Leo, taking a good hold of his hand, before he sat down next to him with his legs crossed, for once not looking towards the door, when he heard the small sounds coming from the other side.
Donatello:
Sometimes it just happened, and Raph wasn’t really sure how. He would walk into a room, find his nephews and nieces playing with something, either with or without his own children, and suddenly he would be sitting down with them, playing along, all full of life and energy. And today wasn’t any different.
Raph had found his 10 year old nephew, Galileo at the kitchen table, scribbling away at pieces of paper with thick colorful crayons, and a concentrated expression on his face - one that very much reminded Raph of Donatello, whenever he was in deep concentration inside his lab.
Raph had asked Gali about what he was drawing, and soon he sat with his nephew at the kitchen table, drawing all sorts of stars and action heroes, causing Gali great amusement, as they took turns adding to the drawing. However, as the two of them continued their drawing game, they were soon joined by Marie and Dorothy.
The two 5 year old girls sat at the table, grabbing their own pieces of paper and a handful of crayons, only for their attention to be fully caught by Gali and Raph’s drawings. And of course, the two girls wanted in, wanting to join their older brother and their uncle.
“Can we play too?”, Dorothy asked, trying to touch the paper with her pink crayon, only for Gali to turn to her with a dirty look. A look that even Raph has seen many times, whenever Gali felt like his sisters crept in on his personal space.
“No, me and uncle Raph are busy”, Gali said, doing a hand movement, as if he was trying to shoo his sisters away.
“But we want to play!”, Marie whined, her green crayon in hand.
“I said no”, Gali said, turning his back on his sisters, pushing his paper further away from them. And of course, this action caused tears to gloss over the girls eyes, looking longingly at the paper he and Raph had been drawing on.
“You know what?”, Raph suddenly said, catching the attention of the three children once more. “I have a better idea”.
Standing from the table, Raph grabbed the stack of paper, before splaying them out over the kitchen table, until the whole surface was covered in the white paper. The three kids, seeming to understand what Raph was doing, looked up at their uncle with wide smiles, grabbing onto the crayons with excitement.
“Let’s draw the biggest drawing ever!”, Raph said, watching with a happy smile, his nephew and niece smiled at each other, before turning their attention towards the many papers in front of them.
As Raph and three kids continued their drawing, the other kids slowly came to the table, taking a look before adding onto the large piece themselves. It didn’t take long before all the kids of the lair sat around the kitchen table, drawing until there was almost no crayons left.
Michelangelo:
1.5 year old Luis had been sick for a few days now, crying for both you and Mikey at all times. The poor little guy was teething, and with that came sickness and pain, and so, you and Mikey was hung up, spending most of your time with your crying child, trying to soothe the pain in his gums. And this left Sunny BORED. Ever since Luis had gotten sick due to his teething, Sunny had been a bored and sighing mess. She wandered around the lair, waiting for the moment Luis got better, so either you, Mikey or maybe even Luis could come play with her. But until then, she would have to entertain herself, or find someone else to do so. And that was how she ended up in the lab with her uncle, draping herself over a small table on the other side of the room, with a small installation of the solar system on it.
Donnie saw his niece enter the lair, and spoke to her without looking away from his work. “Hey, Sunny. How’s it going?”
“Bored!”, Sunny groaned, resting her chin on the table, her eyes staring at the small earth in front of her. “Luis’ sick, so there’s nothing to do”.
“That doesn’t sound good”, Donnie said, turning his chair so he could watch Sunny, making sure she wasn’t getting her fingers into something she shouldn’t. She had a tendency to touch whatever she found interesting. And just as Donnie had thought, she was now poking at the miniature solar system. “Have you asked Gali if he wants to play?”
“He’s reading with aunt (D/W/N)”, the girl mumbled. However, her flighty attention and curiosity was very soon taken by the miniature she was playing with. “What is this?”
“That?”, Donnie asked, rolling his chair over to her. “That’s the solar system. The one you’re touching right now is earth”.
“Earth”, Sunny repeated, her attention jumping to the small white ball beside it. “What’s this?”
“That’s the moon”, Donnie answered.
“The moon?”, Sunny asked, her eyes shining with excitement. “Like the one in the sky?”
“Yes”, Donnie smiled. “Like the one in the sky”.
“Do there live fairies on the moon?”, Sunny asked, pushing the moon spindle, so it made a rush of circles around the earth.
Donnie chuckled at her question. She was truely Mikey’s daughter.
“Do you want fairies to live on the moon?”, Donnie asked, watching Sunny study the solar system. His niece looked at him and nodded. “Then in that case, there lives moon fairies on the moon. But they are hard to find. They neither like robots or beings that aren’t fairies themselves”.
“But I’m a fairy!”, Sunny exclaimed.
“You are!?”, Donnie asked, acting surprised. He looked around, acting as if he was thinking, making Sunny laugh. “But we’re in my lab! There are robots! Come on fairy, let’s get you out of here and find some of your fairy friends!”
And with a loud giggle, Sunny ran out of the room, waiting for Donnie to close the door to the lab behind him, before they continued their fairy game in the living area.
#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt leonardo#tmnt raphael#tmnt donatello#tmnt michelangelo#tmnt raph#tmnt donnie#tmnt mikey#tmnt leo#tmnt x reader#tmnt leo x reader#tmnt leonardo x reader#tmnt raph x reader#tmnt raphael x reader#tmnt donnie x reader#tmnt donatello x reader#tmnt mikey x reader#tmnt michelangelo x reader#tmnt bayverse#tmnt bayverse x reader#tmnt bayverse leo#tmnt bayverse leo x reader#tmnt bayverse leonardo#tmnt bayverse leonardo x reader#tmnt bayverse raph#tmnt bayverse raphael#tmnt bayverse raphael x reader#tmnt bayverse raph x reader#tmnt bayverse donnie
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i wish you love.
chapter i | from the start.
—————
summary: you and Robert’s relationship is strictly professional—working as his assistant and all, your relationship can’t get any farther than that. But you never expected your boss, Robert Fischer to be there for you at your absolute lowest; and now this relationship is as impossible as it gets.
—————
tw: mentions of domestic abuse, manipulation and a toxic relationship
word count: 2.2k
female!reader x robert fischer (inception)
requested by: my dumbass
author’s notes and additional notes: because i recently watched oppenheimer when it premiered and since then, cillian murphy has a chokehold on me that proceeded with me watching the batman trilogy and inception just for him (screaming, crying, moaning). Also, seeing and reading everything i can find that has robert fischer on tumblr, they all inspired me to write something for him too! So, for the first time in a while, i’m back to writing/posting something here and making a story that does not include following the plot of a movie (i realize i tend to do that a lot—which halters me to write in general because i have to follow the movie/tv show. Exhibit A is my wattpad lmao). This is also somewhat of a slow burn, so whoever isn’t interested in that, you probably wanna skip this one. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy this
masterlist !
series masterpost: coming soon !
——————
Your metal water bottle reached the floor with a loud thud, while water splashed out of it, making its way into the cracks of the floorboards. You stopped suddenly at the sight before you, and your body froze. Every inch of you went cold and your heart felt like it was torn to shreds right in your chest at the very sight. Tears flooded your vision in an instant and free fell onto your cheeks.
The tight grasp on the front doorknob on one hand was the only thing keeping you afloat. And with one smooth motion, all sounds and voices around you muffled as you turned around and shut the door as quickly as you opened it. Slumping onto your front porch, your gaze found itself stuck onto the floor and your shoes. The rain downpoured onto you mercilessly, but you couldn't care less. Quickly tucking your legs to your chest, the cold rain mixed with your warm tears and you sobbed.
That was until a familiar voice broke through the muffled world around you and you lifted your head from your chest—seeing him.
———
Three subtle knocks broke Robert out of his concentration. The papers were soon turning into a big blob of printed ink and he was secretly glad that he was interrupted before going on much longer. And with those three subtle knocks, he knew who it was to always rescue him from his thoughts.
It was you, his personal assistant, Y/N L/N. you worked for the million-dollar company for a few years now and worked your way up from secretary assistant to now the highest position in your field—as Robert Fischer’s personal assistant. Your skills were very impressive, even for someone as young as your age who can juggle dates, organize events and handle tasks; even when things piled up and got overwhelming. It was show-stopping really, as your skills made your role almost to the highest position. Robert was beyond impressed, and with countless late nights spent in his office working on endless papers and contracts, he was glad to have someone like you by his side.
Since you started working for Robert, he has been pining on you since you started but he knew it would be near-impossible and also very unprofessional. With his father and the company taking over every part of his life, he wished just once that someone up in the clouds could throw him a bone and not have Fischer-Morrow take whatever personal happiness he had left. Of course, that was never an option, so he opted to keep everything strictly professional and hidden. But those late nights of sneaking glances at the way your brows furrowed in concentration while reading, or the way you twirled the pen between your fingers while reading documents, or the way your lashes perfectly framed your beautiful eyes, Robert took what he got. Even if it was just spending time with you while his heart yearned for more.
“Come in.” He said softly, leaning back into his leather chair as you stepped in ever so gracefully. My god, did he think you were beautiful. “Mr. Fischer, I brought these for you.” You said leaning over and handing Robert a folder with important documents. Your voice was music to his ears and you were the only thing that could make him smile on these long days at work. A small smile brushed his lips as he took the folder from you. “Thank you, Y/N.” you returned with a grateful smile as you returned to your calendar in your hands. “Also, please don’t forget your meeting with your uncle in an hour. He wants to discuss the future of the company but has been booked up until the evening. So you only have an hour with him, unfortunately.”
Your eyes were downcast at the mention of his father and Robert’s smile dropped. Every mention of “the future of the company” really meant what happens after his father’s passing. He looked back up at you and gave a sad smile. “Thank you for reminding me, Y/N.” You gave another polite nod before turning around to exit. “Wait.” You turned around at Robert’s voice and looked at him with wide doe eyes. “Yes, Mr. Fischer?” Robert felt a small brush of heat dust his cheeks as he looked over at you. “Will you be there?” He swallowed; his voice now a softer tone than when you came in. “No.” You said and Robert could feel his embarrassment rise. “But I can be.” You offered with a reassuring smile to your boss. His shoulders dropped and he let out a small chuckle and sigh to release any worries he had in that very moment. “Thank you.” “Of course.” And with that, you turned around and exited his office.
There was always an unspoken friendship between the two of you. It was always kept clean and professional, but nowadays after the countdown started for his father, you realized just how much he needed you. Not only were you his personal assistant, but his friend. A real friend and a real connection he had both inside and outside of work. Not everything was about work, and hell, you both knew a fair bit of each other beyond Fischer-Morrow. Staying late with him in his office completing countless documents, agreements and booking meetings slipped through pockets of Robert’s personal life. Mostly during coffee breaks. You learned about him and how he grew up as the countdown continued.
You could tell that he leaned on you for support through these hard times. You knew the way the way his hands fidgeted when he was anxious or nervous during a meeting, or when his jaw clenched when people mentioned his father’s health state. You knew that look and the bob of his adam’s apple when he was in deep thought and could do nothing but swallow his worry. Every small detail about his habits you caught on and it comforted him to know that he has someone like you looking out for him, while in the workforce, he was looking after everything else.
Truth be told, you were glad that Robert was those bosses with humanity and feeling left in them. He treated you like a friend, not a subordinate below him and often showed you kindness and compassion through his professional facade. Although you don’t disclose many details, he also took note of things you liked and didn’t, and even made a promise to always make up your over-time at the company with him. Either by getting a coffee and snack for you the next morning or paying for you during lunch while out with another man for another boring meeting. It was the least he could do.
Along with your friendship with him, you started to yearn for another life—another life with him in it, and you can feel yourself starting to develop feelings for him. But you pushed it away because of how unprofessional it is, and your home life.
Work and seeing Robert was your only escape from paradise from a rather upsetting personal life. As the home you came back to wasn’t a home at all. It was a persistent struggle with a man you know who is starting to no longer love you. You have your suspicions, but it was a turbulent relationship that made you question whether he even loved you or not. Night after night you were met with something empty, or angry, or a switch of a teasing nobody. It was pathetic really. You knew it was a situation that could turn ugly real bad after a few glasses that shattered to the wall behind you, and you were ready in a fleeting moment to run off to a hotel for a few nights while you find another house for yourself.
That’s why you chose to spend your nights late at the company, with someone who doesn’t—no; who would never treat you the same as he did. You chose to spend your late nights escaping from your home with Robert, and you were so thankful.
———
The meeting with Robert and Peter finally came by, and you accompanied Robert as you both headed to the restaurant that Peter had chosen. Robert opened the car door for you and you nodded as you slipped in, Robert following closely behind.
Shutting the car behind him, the drive began. Opening your organizer, the ride had gotten a bit bumpy, considering the endless construction in the city, a few loose papers and notes had fallen on the floor of the car. They scattered to even Robert’s side of the car and he immediately helped you pick up the loose notes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fischer.” You swiftly repeated. He was able to collect most of the notes quicker than you did as you shoved your organizer to the empty seat between the two of you. As you were about the reach for the last loose note, Robert’s fingers took it in his own. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He softly said, sitting upright on the seat and handing the note to you. His hands brushed against yours and he quickly noticed the slight purple bruising on your hands and knuckles. His face turned to worry as he reached for your hand with a gentle touch. A flash of a fight with your boyfriend a few nights back reminded you of your bruised knuckles as you quickly took the note from his hands; giving him an apologetic smile and retreating your hands behind your organizer.
“Thank you, Mr. Fischer.” You took the rest of the notes collected on your lap and organized them accordingly. “Is everything alright at home Y/N?” The car was coming to a slow stop and they were slowly pulling into the entrance of the restaurant. You looked down and gathered the notes back where they once were and cleared your throat. Looking up at Robert, you gave a small, but false smile in his direction. “Yeah. Everything is fine.” You looked down at your lap once more, avoiding his concerned gaze. His eyes linger on you a little bit longer, his hand slowly reaching your wrist once more. The valet opened the door on Robert’s side, greeting the both of you and stepping aside for the both of you to get out of the car.
You followed Robert as he walked into the restaurant. But instead of walking behind him like you usually do, he lightly guides you with his hand ghosting your waist beside him. His hands make it back to his sides and he flashes you a small comforting smile as you both are led by the waitress to Peter on the rooftop area of the restaurant.
Peter puts down his glass and papers on the table after he sees his godchild at the doorway and smiles at their arrival. Robert looks at you for a swift moment, for some semblance of comfort and you return one, just as he has done so for you in the car.
The two of you approached Peter as he shook your hand first, before putting a comforting hand on his godchild’s shoulder as he led him down to his seat. Robert takes a glance behind him, checking on your presence as you take a seat behind him. Whether it was for himself or your sake, it was needed for the both of you.
—
The meeting had gone on as expected. The two men talk about the what are the next steps for the company, and although hard for Robert, he continues; seemingly empty or uninterested in it all. You notice this immediately, as the notes you write down quickly are all from Peter than your boss himself. You look up to see the two now get into a deeper conversation, and it's not about the business anymore.
“The clock is ticking Robert. We have to think of the future now.” “I know Uncle Peter, but—” Peter puts a hand on Robert’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard son, believe me, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But this is what we have to do.” Robert looks up at him once then back down to the documents in front of him on the table. He lets out a defeated sigh and sits back in his chair. “Alright.”
———
The night had rolled around and everyone slowly had retired for the day and you had finished your tasks. Rising from your chair, you packed all your things and turned off your desk lamp, walking towards the elevator of the large building.
The elevator opens and you walk inside, about to press the ground floor when you instinctively stop and glance at the fifth floor, where Robert’s office was. Thinking he probably left, it wouldn’t hurt to check just in case, right? Quickly glancing at your watch, you decided it would only take a few minutes, and let your finger press the delicate button. It lights up, and you ascend.
The doors let you go with a ding and they close. Stepping onto the main waiting area, you walked through the floor; through the waiting and meeting rooms and to a hall—the path led by shiny wooden floors. You make your way to the end of the hallway to the door of Robert’s office. His name is in bold, black letters embossed on a golden plaque.
You take a breath and lean closer to the door, the three soft knocks that announce your presence.
———
hope you guys love the first instalment! if you wish to be added to a taglist (i might be starting) please let me know in the comments! :3
———
! masterlist !
! series masterpost !
#zarawrites#cillian murphy#cillian smut#cillian murphy x you#cillian x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy imagine#cillian murphy x reader#cillian fluff#cillian x y/n#cillian murphy x y/n#inception#robert fischer#robert fischer x reader#robert fischer imagine#i wish you love: the series
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Resurrection - Wally West
Pairing: Wally West x gn! Reader, platonic! Dick Grayson x reader
Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 5.5k
Summary: it’s been almost a year since Wally died, and life has not been kind to you. it doesn’t help that when you get the flu and your fever spikes, you start seeing the speedster everywhere you turn
CW: loss of a loved one, grief, sickness, hallucinations, reader is worried they’re going crazy, overactive imagination, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, panic attacks, ghosts, reader was a part of Young Justice, mutual pining, friends to lovers, resurrection
This alludes heavily to the Young Justice tv show, especially Wally’s death. I apologize in advance because I have poor knowledge of the Flash Family and speedforce!!
day 1 of me pushing my Wally West agenda!! i absolutely adore Wally, and im so happy to be writing about him. this is literally the longest thing ive ever posted on this site but I got so into the story that I couldn’t stop. hopefully this makes sense and isn’t just a jumble of words 😭also i think from now on im gonna include wally in any of my dick/jason/tim hcs
also im very tempted to do a pt2/make a series of wally adapting to life afterwards
————
You groan in your bed, your fever spiking to an almost unbearable temperature. You spend a lot of time in bed nowadays—ever since your best friend died almost a year ago, you haven’t had the drive to do much. But being sick the past week has only confined you to your bed even more.
You roll over, hoping the other half of your pillow is somehow cooler than the side you’re on now. It’s not, and your body feels like it’s going to overheat. If it was possible to put less clothing on, you would, but the chances of your roommate coming in and seeing you naked are too high.
Speaking of your roommate, you know that when Dick comes home and sees how bad your temperature has gotten, he’ll rush you to the hospital. Paranoid, big brother Dick who insists he can’t lose another friend. Dick, who moved in with you a few months after Wally died because he was afraid you might hurt yourself. Dick, who forced you to put socks on and keep most of your clothes on because even though you feel hot, he knows you’re still vulnerable to the cold.
The socks scratch at your ankles now and you long to pull them off, lazily dragging your feet together. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your burning nerve ends.
As much pain as you’re in, this is the most you’ve felt since Wally died. From the day you watched him get vaporised, everything around you has just gotten duller by the day. You can hardly stomach to put on your costume, let alone look at Barry or Bart. Even seeing The Flash on the news is enough to make you sick.
“Y/n,” a soft voice echoes from the bed next to you.
You force your eyes open, your dark room greeting you. “Hello?”
There’s no answer, and you’re able to close your eyes again. You relax into your bedsheets, kicking the blankets off of your legs in a desperate attempt to get some relief. Clearly your fever has spiked to the point where you’re losing it.
“Y/n!” The voice is stronger now, and it sounds more desperate than before. More than that—there’s something familiar to it.
You open your eyes again and gasp, all of the breath leaving your body. There, sitting on the bed next to you, is Wally. His green eyes are full of concern, his mouth pulled into a tight line.
“Oh god,” you whine, “I really am losing it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the hallucination of your dead best friend to go away. How could any god be so cruel to inflict this on you? Knowing how you felt about Wally—and what he’d said to you during your last moments together?
When you open your eyes again, he’s still sitting there. His unruly red hair is falling into his face and all you want is to reach out and brush it away.
“You’re not losing it,” he says.
“I’m so sick that I’m hallucinating my dead best friend. How is that not losing it?”
He shrugs. “I mean it does sound pretty crazy, but I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re dead,” you say simply, voice void of emotions. “You died and you left and you’re never coming back.”
“I got better.”
Everything about him screams Wally. His voice, his mannerisms, even the stupid jokes he makes. But you know it’s just your brain playing a stupid trick on you. Your braincells have overheated and you’re left staring at a ghost.
“No, you didn’t. And you never will, Wally. And I know that so I don’t get why my stupid brain can’t leave this alone.”
He lays down on his side next to you, looking up at you with those doe eyes. “There wasn’t a body, you know.”
His words make you angry, they make you choke on the lump in your throat. But he’s right. Something about his death always seemed wrong to you, and even after this long, you still can’t accept it. He’s saying all of the right things, and it almost makes you believe he’s really here.
“So say you are here…why now? Why here? Why am I the only one who’s seen you?”
He strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I don’t really know, y/n. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve watched everything. I know how hard things have been for you guys…”
You don’t say anything, just staring at him expectantly, forcing him to keep talking.
“I’m sorry you’re sick, but I’m glad Dick is taking care of you.”
“Answer the question, Wally. Why now?”
He sighs. “I think it’s because you’re sick. I think once your fever got past a certain point you were able to hear me, and once you could hear me, you could see me.”
“How would that even work?” You squint at him, “how did you even know I could hear you?”
“I didn’t it’s just—it’s a habit to talk to you, you know? But anyway, I think it has something to do with the speed force being attracted to the release of energy, and whenever you have a fever, you release massive amounts of it. But since yours is so high…” he gestures at himself for emphasis.
“So as long as I stay sick, I can see you?”
“I think so.”
“Then I never want to get better,” you murmur.
“Y/n,” he sighs, and the tone he uses makes you freeze. You’ve only ever heard him use it once before—with you on the day he died.
The thought brings a tear to your eye, his words echoing in your ears. I love you, y/n, I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?
When Dick gets home from work, he’s surprised to hear you talking. His first instinct is that you’re feeling better and you’re arranging to go back to work, but as he gets closer to your bedroom door, he realizes it’s not the case.
He listens in for a bit, hearing a one sided conversation. As soon as he hears you say ‘Wally’, he’s barging through your door only to find you talking to the air.
“Dick!” You cry out, gesturing to the empty bed next to you, “look! He’s back, he’s here. Wally’s here!”
Dick’s heart aches for you. You’re clearly unwell and in your feverish state, your mind is playing tricks on you.
“Y/n,” Dick sighs, “I think it’s time we go to a doctor.”
He approaches your bedside slowly, trying not to startle or upset you. He knows you’re hallucinating, and he really doesn’t want to trigger anything worse to happen.
He kneels at your bedside, just behind Wally. “Come on, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“N-no! I can’t leave Wally!”
Wally’s face crinkles up the way it always has when he feels guilty. “Y/n, I think you should go with Rob.”
“No!” You cry out, “you can’t leave me again!”
Dick gives you no warning before he’s pulling you into his arms, your feverish skin scorching his. He holds you securely, even as you cry and beg him to take you back to Wally.
“Wally, please! Do something! Let him see you! Don’t—don’t leave me again!”
“Y/n,” Dick rubs your sweaty hair out of your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re really sick, and you’re hallucinating, but we’ll make you all better. I just need you to trust me.”
You take a deep breath, and then another, looking over Dick’s shoulder at the redhead sitting on your bed, giving you a sad look. He gives you a wave, “it’s okay, y/n. Everything will be okay.”
You just hope he’s right.
—
The hospital takes an eternity to admit you, leaving you lying on Dick’s lap in the waiting room. You keep your eyes closed, hoping that if you open them Wally will be there, but you know he won’t.
Dick strokes your hair, rubs your back, does anything he can to keep you comfortable. When a nurse finally calls your name, he helps you to your feet and half carries you down the hall.
They leave the two of you in a small, isolated room with a bed covered in scratchy sheets. Dick helps you climb up while the nurse insists a doctor will be by shortly.
Dick holds your hand the whole time, the skin on his palm turning sweaty from where your hand touches his. Your fever has only gone up since you left the house and you feel like you’re going to burn alive.
Finally, a doctor comes in and she starts to run all kinds of tests on you. After a while, they insert an IV into your arm and push fluids to keep you hydrated. They give you medicine to help you drift off to sleep, your eyes fluttering shut before you realize what’s happening.
You wake up a few hours later, Dick no longer asleep at your bedside. Your temperature has gone down, and while you still feel feverish, you’re coherent enough to know what’s going on around you.
“—hallucinating our best friend who died almost a year ago.” Dick tried to keep his voice down but you can hear it from the hallway.
“It’s common in extremely high fever’s to experience visual, auditory and sometimes even tactile hallucinations,” the doctor explains. “Y/n’s fever was beyond high enough to cause any number of these complications.”
Your shoulders slump. You knew deep down that Wally wasn’t really there, that he was a hallucination, but a part of you just hoped…
“But it’s going to be alright? There’s not any permanent side effects?”
The doctor sounds tired of Dick’s questions. “No, we’re keeping y/n overnight for observation but there shouldn’t be any long term side effects.”
Dick thanks the woman and slips back into your room, stopping in his tracks past the door when he realises you’re awake. “How are you feeling?” He whispers.
“Somewhat better,” you admit. “Not hallucinating anymore.”
He sits in the chair next to your bed and squeezes your hand. “That’s good to hear.”
“I-I’m sorry if I upset you earlier…talking about Wally and everything. I just—it seemed so real, you know? He was right there, Dick.”
“I know. You don’t need to apologize. Your mind was playing tricks on you, n/n. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.”
You can’t help the tears that trickle down your cheeks. “I just—I miss him so much!”
“It’s okay,” Dick leans over your bed, pulling you tightly to his chest. “I miss him too. I miss him so, so much. And if there was any chance…you know I would take it too.”
“Did I ever tell you what he said to me that day? Just before he passed?”
Dick shakes his head.
“He said—,” your voice shakes so severely it’s hard to get the words out. “He said ‘I love you, y/n. I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?’”
The gears in Dick’s brain click together, and suddenly everything makes sense. It was no secret that you and Wally had been pining after each other for years. Always cuddling and fighting and loving and hating each other. Dick was close to both of you, and he of all people knew how your feelings were bubbling over. He knew how badly you wanted to be with Wally—and how badly Wally wanted to be with you.
It’s a cruel joke, he thinks. That in one day you got everything you wanted, and an hour later had it ripped away. No wonder you’d been like a zombie this year.
“Y/n…” he squeezes your hand reassuringly.
You squeeze his hand back, and between the fever and the medicine and Dick’s skin on yours, everything in the world feels right for a minute.
—
It takes two weeks for you to fully recover from being sick. If it weren’t for your roommate being the ultra rich adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, you probably would have had to go back to work sooner. Dick insisted that you stay home until you were fully recovered, though, offering to cover your bills for the month.
It’s also been two weeks since you saw Wally. It’s been easy to brush it off as a fever dream, but something deep within you wants it to be something more than that. Still, you try to continue on with your day to day life, putting thoughts of the speedster as far away from you as possible.
You pull into the Bludhaven News parking lot with ten minutes to spare. You grab your bag from the passenger seat and clip your badge to your shirt before grabbing the coffee you’d stopped for on the way. You’re determined to make today a good day.
You settle in at your desk, smiling at the picture of you and the original Young Justice team was kids. It makes you happy, but in the most bittersweet meaning of the word. You run your fingers across the glass, stopping them at the lightning symbol on Wally’s chest.
You’re interrupted by your boss stopping at your desk.
“Hey, l/n, good to have you back,” she smiles, and you feel as though she really means it. “We’re having a meeting in five minutes.”
You nod, thanking her. She leaves you at your desk, letting you get organized before you have to meet them in the conference room.
You bring your laptop and coffee and settle in at the big round table in the spinning desk chair. Other journalists, reporters and higher ups slowly file into the room, filling it up until it’s so full it feels almost hard to breathe.
Your boss enters the room last, standing at the front in front of the tv. She welcomes you back before explaining what’s going on in current events, and what she expects everyone to report on.
You sip your coffee, zoning out for the majority of her presentation. Every once and a while, she clicks a remote and the screen changes to a new slide. You don’t pay much attention to the tv, only glancing at it every so often.
When the screen changes to three familiar figures, you freeze. It feels like someone dumped cold water on you, and you’re painfully aware of everything going on around you.
The screen shows Wally, Bart and Barry on the day he died. Wally has a big grin on his face, clad in his Kid Flash suit, giving a salute to a security camera. You’re not sure how they got this picture, but a part of you wishes they didn’t.
“—the one year anniversary since the Flash Family saved the world, and since Kid Flash bravely sacrificed himself to achieve this goal. We want to honour them for their ultimate sacrifice, and that’s why this month, we’ll be doing daily pieces on the great exploits of the family. Also—,”
Her words echo in your ears, everything feels far away from you. The only thing you can focus on is the way your heart is pounding and the way all the air is sucked out of your lungs. Wally’s face stares at you from the tv screen, and the walls close in.
You’re on your feet in an instant. “Pardon me,” you rasp out, before almost running out of the room.
You’re not sure where you’re going. Your head is spinning, your heart is racing, everything is fading away. You stumble your way into the bathroom, locking the door behind you before your knees buckle and you hit the floor.
You claw at your throat, desperate for air. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your fists, desperate for pressure. When you open your eyes, you swear Wally is there.
“You’re not here,” you gasp. “You’re not real.”
Wally’s green eyes are wide, staring at you with concern. “Y/n—,”
“You’re not real! You’re just some ghost—fucking haunting me for no reason at all!”
It breaks his heart to see you like this. So sad, so hurt, barely able to breathe.
“Stop,” you choke out, “stop haunting me! Stop, stop, stop it!”
Wally hasn’t seen you have a panic attack this bad since you were kids. Curled up in a ball, gasping for air and repeating the same word over and over again. He’s desperate to help you—help you like he did back then.
He doesn’t even register what he’s doing until he pulls you into his lap, arms tight around your waist. He keeps a hand over your heart, tracing circles over it.
“Y/n, y/n…” He murmurs softly, “y/n, listen to me. Deep breath in, okay? Follow my example, feel my heart beating.”
You’re not sure how you can feel his arms on you, feel his heart beating against your back. You’re half convinced you’ve already fainted, and you’re laying on the bathroom floor having another fever dream.
Still, you follow his example. You breathe in when you feel his chest rise, and breathe out when you feel his chest fall. You stay silent for a few minutes, leaning completely against Wally until you can breathe again.
Wally rubs your hair, his other hand tracing circles on your hip bone. “How are you feeling?” He asks.
“Better,” you admit.
It takes a few minutes longer for either of you to register that he’s touching you. His hands are on your body and you can feel them.
“Wally, you’re touching me.”
“I’m touching you?”
The shock is almost enough to send you back into a panic attack. Ghosts can’t touch people, neither can fever dreams. But somehow, someway, Wally West is holding you in his arms.
—
You leave the bathroom ten minutes later, after you and Wally went back and forth on if he was really there with you or not. You insist you’re losing it, but Wally insists he’s there, and somehow when you were sick, you connected to the speed force and now you can see him.
You head back to your desk with no intention of working, set on researching the speed force and if it’s possible to connect to it without being a speedster. Of course, Google doesn’t yield the results you hope, so you decide to go a different route.
You pull out your phone and text Dick.
You: do you think you could get me Barry’s number? need it for work
Robin 1.0: I think I can manage
You: you’re the best
Robin 1.0: don’t you know it
It only takes a few minutes before he texts you his contact for Barry Allen. You waste no time in opening the contact and sending him a quick text.
Of course, you don’t get to see what he responds because suddenly your boss is over your shoulder.
“Y/n, you know what our policy is on personal devices at work. There’s too much sensitive information here.”
“I know, I know. But if I play my cards right,” your ability to think on your feet coming in handy, “I could get us an exclusive interview with the Flash.”
She lights up at that. “Okay, but remember, no pictures or recordings.”
“Sure thing,” you nod and wait for her to leave before opening up your phone and seeing that you have a new text.
You: can I ask you a few questions on the speed force?
Barry Allen: sure thing
You: i know the speedforce is like it’s own separate thing that speedsters connect to, but is it possible for non speedsters to connect to it?
Barry Allen: only under extenuating circumstances. not every ordinary person can just connect to it, but if you’ve been in contact with the speedforce unwittingly or if a speedster has accidentally shared particles with you it’s possible. why?
You: just…a theory im working on for work. we’re doing a piece on Flash Family to honour you guys for saving the world and I wanted to look into it more
You: thank you
Barry Allen: do you think you’ve been in contact with a speedster recently?
You: i don’t know, if I’m being honest.
Barry Allen: okay…keep me updated, okay? if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask
You: thanks
You frown, your conversation with Barry only making you feel more confused. How would you have had contact with a speedster or the speedforce? It’s been almost a year since you last touched Wally, and there’s no way the symptoms are only coming out now. And the speedforce—there’s no way for you to have connected with it either.
You look up from your phone only to see Wally sitting on your desk, looking at you with amusement. “Get what you wanted?”
“Why are you still here?”
“What?” He holds his hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You don’t want me here?”
You go to speak but realize your coworkers are giving you strange looks. You quickly put your phone up to your ear, pretending to be on a phone call.
“Of course I want you here. I lo—miss you, okay? But it’s not possible. You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am, y/n. And did Barry not just confirm that to you?”
You sigh. “I will admit, what Barry said does confirm my theory, and what you said while I was sick but…”
“But?”
“It shouldn’t be possible. You were vaporized, Wally. You’re dead. So even if you are here, you’re just a ghost.”
“Ghost, schmost,” he rolls his eyes, leaning in to flick your arm. “Does that not feel real to you?”
“I don’t know, okay? Just—I need time to think. About everything.”
You don’t say it, but it lingers in the air: I need time to think about you.
You put your phone down, indicating to the boy that you’re done talking, before returning to your job. The day goes by fast when you’re contemplating if you’re actually being haunted by the ghost of your best friend or not.
Before you know it, you’re heading home. When you get through the door of the apartment, Dick is nowhere to be found. He must still be at work, you think.
You kick off your shoes and set your bag on the counter before throwing yourself on your bed. You lay down for only a minute before a familiar cologne fills your scent. One you haven’t smelled in a long time.
You don’t need to open your eyes to know that Wally is back. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping I could catch you changing,” you can hear the grin in his voice.
You sit up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wait—if you’ve been here this whole time then…?”
“Yeah,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I didn’t! I mean, I thought about it but…it feels wrong.”
“More wrong than confessing your love to me and then dying?”
Both of you freeze after that, and your hand flies up to your mouth as if you can force the words back in there.
“I—y/n…you know that if I had a choice, I would have come back to you. Right?”
You nod, “I know. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” he places a hand over yours. “I wanted to come back to you. Even though you didn’t say it back, I just thought—”
“You didn’t give me a chance to say it back! You dumped all that on me and then you ran away and left, Wally! You didn’t give me the chance!”
Your outburst surprises both of you. Wally isn’t sure what to do—if he should apologize or be angry or both or neither. So he says nothing.
“I-I think you should go, Wally. You’re only doing harm by being here. You’re dead and I need to move on and I never will if you’re just here haunting me.”
You expect him to argue or to make a joke, but the boy doesn’t do any of that. He gives you a lazy, one handed salute, like the kind he would give before speeding away as kids.
And then he disappears.
You feel sad and angry all at the same time. You know it’s not fair to Wally to lash out at him like that, but how is it fair for him to open up old wounds? For him to haunt you?
When Dick gets home, he’s surprised to see you dressed in your old costume. It’s been so long since you put it on, you look almost strange to him.
“Uh, y/n?” He asks, “not that I’m against this but, what’s up with the costume?”
“I was thinking I could go out on patrol with you tonight,” you explain. “It’s been a while. I need to blow off steam.”
“Okay, let me get changed.”
That’s good enough for you, so you settle in at the counter and wait for Nightwing to suit up. He comes out a few minutes later, clad in the black and blue Nightwing suit.
He looks at you seriously through his domino mask. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“If I don’t get out, I’ll go stir crazy.”
“Okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender. “But don’t push yourself, okay? And I’ll be there the whole time.”
“Alright, dad,” you roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”
—
Patrol goes fine. It’s just the usual robberies and gang violence, nothing that you and Nightwing can’t handle. Of course, that’s until you hear there’s a bank robbery over the scanner.
The two of you are about to take off and head towards the bank when you hear the radio go off again. This time, it’s a jewellery store being robbed.
“Go!” You say to Nightwing, “you get the bank, I can handle the store.”
He seems content with that answer, grappling to the nearest rooftop and heading off towards the bank. You turn and head towards the jewellery store, hoping it’s enough to take your mind off of Wally.
You get to the store just in time to stop the robbers from shooting the owner. You knock the gun out of one of their hands, turning to fight the other one. There’s five total, maybe six, but your vision is tunnelling and all you can focus on is the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your need for a distraction.
You make your way through three of them, and just as you turn to fight the fourth, you hear someone yell from behind you.
“Y/n, look out!”
You knock out the fourth and turn around, just in time to see Wally West pass through you and punch the man in the face. He hits him hard enough to send him falling to the floor.
You stare at Wally in shock. “You—you hit him!”
“Are you okay?” He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You saved me…” You mutter. “How did you do that?”
“I-I don’t know,” he admits, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt and then I passed through you and—”
“Dick!” You exclaim, realising you haven’t heard anything from him in a while, and that he still hasn’t returned to you. “Somethings wrong, Wal. We—I gotta go!”
Wally goes to protest, but you’re already running away. Not only are you running away, you’re running at the speed of light, yellow lightning crackling from your ankles. You don’t realize it, too focused on getting to Dick.
You arrive at the bank to see a bunch of lackeys passed out on the floor. Nightwing is leaning on a counter, holding his hands over a bullet hole in his side.
“Hey!” You cry out, skidding to a stop next to him. The bank smells gross, like gunpowder and..burning rubber? “Are you okay? Did you get them all?”
He clenched his jaw. “All but one. He headed North, there’s no way we’ll catch him. He’s probably out of town by now.”
“No, he’s not going to get away with this. We’re going to find him.”
And before Dick can ask, you’re tearing away from the bank, lightning in your wake. His jaw falls open at the sight. In the dark, with the speed you’re going and the lightning coming out, you almost look like Wally…
You run as fast as you can, keeping your eyes peeled for the man driving the truck of jewels. You catch up to him in no time, throwing your body weight against the truck fast enough to tip it over.
Your veins are electrified, pure lightning in your system, better than adrenaline ever could be. You rip the man out of the truck and toss him onto the street. It only takes one hit for you to knock him out, and only a few more seconds to tie him up.
It’s then that you realize what just happened, how fast you were going. You look down to see the soles of your shoes on fire, the thighs of your costume torn open from the fabric chafing so fast.
Something about the ruined shoes and the torn fabric makes you think of Wally, and the thought of the ghost in the bank saving your life only makes you want to run even more. Is this how he felt everytime he ran? It’s exhilarating, it only makes you want more.
You keep running, running straight up the side of a building before stopping in your tracks on the roof. How did this even happen? You look around, half expecting to see Wally there, but he’s not.
Your legs quiver, threatening to collapse beneath you. Your feet ache from all of the running and your shoes have practically disintegrated into nothing. You know you’re done for the night, your body at its absolute limit.
Your knees buckle, but before you can hit the ground, there’s a streak of yellow and suddenly Wally is holding you up against his chest.
“I—what’s going on?” You ask.
Wally holds you up with one arm, staring at his other hand. He shakes it, going fast enough to make it seem as though his hand is vibrating.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I—something’s changed. I can feel it.”
You hear the unmistakable sound of a grappling hook before Nightwing is landing on the roof. “Holy shit, y/n. How were you going so fast? For a second there, I thought it was—Wally?”
His face pales at the sight of the redhead, clad in his Kid Flash suit, holding you up against his body. There’s no way he’s here now, alive and well, right in front of his eyes.
“You…you can see him?”
Dick is running across the roof in an instant, feet pushing him closer to his best friend. He jumps on both of you, arms wrapping around you both. “Wally,” he sobs into his shoulder. “How—how are you here?”
There’s another flash of lightning—red lightning—and suddenly The Flash is standing next to you guys. “I can answer that.”
Wally grins insanely wide, making sure you’re steady against Dick before jumping to hug his former mentor.
“How did you know I was here?” He asks.
Barry smiles, “I could feel it. In the speedforce. There was a huge amount of energy released and then for the first time in a year, I could feel you.”
“But how did that happen?” Dick interjects, before adding, “not that we’re not happy to see you.”
Wally goes back to hugging you, wiping off the tears that have slipped from your eyes and kissing the top of your forehead. “I think y/n here somehow borrowed my speed and-and opened a portal into the speedforce.”
“I brought you back?” Your voice is so quiet it’s barely a whisper.
“You brought me back!” He’s beaming at you.
He wraps his arms around your waist, spinning you in a circle. He sets you down on the ground, only to tip your head back and plant a kiss to your lips. It’s intense, passionate, full of the longing he’s felt for you since you were kids.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him to keep yourself up. His body is so warm and hard under your touch, so familiar to you. You draw him closer, not even caring if Dick and Barry are standing there staring at you.
When he finally pulls away, he flashes you the biggest smile in the world. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”
“So,” Dick awkwardly says, “why don’t we take this back to our place?”
Wally grabs your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I think that’s a really good idea.”
#wally west#wally west x reader#wally west x you#wally x reader#kid flash#kid flash x reader#kid flash x you#young justice#young Justice x reader#young Justice x you#the flash#dick grayson
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Hi! I absolutely adore your Asymmetrical Warfare series on AO3 (it’s got me back on a competent Jason Todd kick, which, there’s honestly too little of so if you have any recs pls fire away)!
I did have a curiosity that I hope you don’t mind answering though: are there specific reason why you’re not a Tim fan? And does that extend to other members of the batfam as well?
Hi, anon! I’m so glad you’re enjoying Asymmetrical Warfare (competent Jason ftw!). 🙌
Re: Tim. I should probably be more conscientious with my wording around Tim. A lot of what I say in ao3 comments or here tends toward facetious, and tone doesn’t really come across well online.
Which is not to say there aren’t things about Tim that bug me. For example—canon Tim, there are more than few instances of him being downright shitty to Jay’s memory. Case in point, from Batman #456, Tim imagines Jason’s ghost giving him a pep talk about becoming a hero and Jason says he killed himself because he didn’t listen to Batman.
Ah, no sir, the responsible party was the psychopathic clown with a crowbar and some explosives, not the 15 year old trying to save his newly discovered biological mother.
But is this really Tim the character’s fault? Or is it dc’s fault for creating a narrative that brutally murdered a child and then spent decades trashing his memory and blatantly victim-blaming him for it?
It’s really more fanon depictions of Tim that I have a problem with. In particular, the tendency to project Jason’s trauma onto Tim. Trying to spin the white boy who came from an affluent two-parent household as somehow more neglected than the kid whose parents are dead/incarcerated and was literally homeless is just ??? Jason’s backstory touches on so many important societal issues (the gutting of the social safety net, the industrial prison complex, the opioid epidemic, the criminalization of poverty, the stigmatization of sex work), and this approach sweeps all of that under the rug.
It also really gets my goat how many fics masquerade as being about Jason, but are actually just a vehicle for Tim time. These stories tend to dramatize Tim’s character, whether it’s woobie, touch-starved little Timmy who needs constant reassurance and protection, or smarter than everyone ever, can not be out thought or out fought, is actually a CEO while he should be in high school Tim. My problem with this type of narrative is usually two-fold. 1) It dumbs down Jason’s characterization (which should be so rich and complex) to ridiculously oversimplified motivations and actions. And 2) it turns Tim into a caricature of himself, instead of a compelling character with a balance of strengths and weaknesses and a normal amount of teenaged self-esteem.
It probably doesn’t sound like it from this blog post, but I do really try hard in life not to yuck other people’s yum. Just because I don’t care for how Tim is portrayed, it doesn’t make it inherently bad or wrong. And all of this aside, I’ve read plenty of fics where I enjoyed Tim just fine. For example, I love how @bonerot19 writes Tim in their Something in the Static series. And Tim and Jay’s dynamic in WFA is often amusing.
So, yeah, bottom line. Tim is … fine. I’m just not a fan, per se. I try to at least write him fairly in Asymmetrical Warfare, with both the realistic shortcoming of a teenage boy and the awesomeness of Robin. He’s never going to get the same amount of page time as the rest of the crew is, though.
Re: the rest of the batfam. I mean, I often want to bop Bruce on the nose. Especially canon Bruce who beats up his kids and is completely unrepentant about it. But, honestly, that’s not my Bruce. My Bruce, who I love and love to hate in turn, would never do that. (Compartmentalization, the key to happy fic reading and writing.)
I love Babs and Dick. I want to be besties with Steph, but in reality she’s way too cool for me. Duke and Cass I’m less familiar with, but have no problems with. Damian is growing on me, and if dc would just give up the game and admit that Dami and Jay met in the LoA and are actually super special murder brothers at heart, that would be great. Selina is a queen and someday I will write that Selina + Jay and Dami meet in the LoA fic I’ve been dreaming about.
Re: competent Jason fic recs. One of my favorites is butcherbird, fly away home by e_va @e-vasong. Bonus rec, the same author put out a new fic recently, another way to make it to ten, and it not only features competent Jason, it’s Jason & Tim, and I like Tim in it.
Thanks so much for the ask, anon! Really great questions. Kudos if you made it through the whole post. 💙
#keen converses#fic rec#tim drake#jason todd#my fic#asymmetrical warfare#batfam thoughts#character thoughts
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american heartbreak - i
summary: all June Summers wants is to be Rafe Cameron’s date to the county fair dance. Everyone from town would be there and she was tired of going alone. She was tired of watching him dance with other women, tired of waiting around for him.
warnings: cowboy!rafe x oc (minimal to no oc description, mutual pining, angst, fluff
wc: 2.7k
an: I hope you guys enjoy! I love cowboy rafe. I also just love writing au’s there’s so much more room for creative freedom. I basically just use rafe as a face claim bc drew starkey is a literal greek god.
series masterlist
The sound of June’s boots as she paced back and forth behind the counter were beginning to drive Amber crazy. She was trimming tulips to make a new bouquet but she could barely concentrate when the her coworker was an anxious mess. The soft sound of music wasn’t enough to drown out the clacking of boots against wood. June bit her fingernails anxiously, her stare not leaving the floor as she was lost in thought.
“June I swear I’m going to kill you if you don’t relax,” She scolded the girl who stopped abruptly.
She smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I just am really nervous. What if he like laughs at me or something?”
Amber rolled her eyes, “That boy would never laugh at you.”
“You never know. What if he like thinks I’m crazy or worse never speaks to me again after he rejects me because he feels so bad!” She exclaimed dramatically.
“How do you even sleep at night with all this worrying?”
“I don’t get much of it.”
All week June had been practicing over and over in her head how she would ask her lifelong crush, Rafe, to the county fair. At the end of the night there would be a dance that the whole town went to. It was a big deal around here, and going with a date was a big deal. Every year there would be some new surprising couple that would be the talk of the town for the next few weeks before some new gossip spread. June had been pining over Rafe Cameron like a love sick puppy since they were eleven years old when boys started becoming cute and not gross anymore.
She had planned on asking him when he came in this afternoon. Rafe always came in on thursday evenings after practice to buy a fresh bouquet of flowers to take to his mom’s grave. A tradition he started in high school, the day before the rodeo, he’d go visit his mom. To this day he swore she was his goodluck charm. When June started working at the flower shop at sixteen she was ecstatic to have another excuse to see Rafe.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and her palms started sweating, it was six now which meant he was out of practice by now. June decided to make herself busy in the mean time to occupy her jittery fingers.
Rafe parked outside the small flower shop and let out a sigh of relief. Being at the flower shop on meant it was the end of his practice week and now he just had to worry about riding. It also meant he got to visit his favorite girl, and he wasn’t talking about his mom.
He looked into his rearview mirror of his old pick up truck and adjusted his hat. Checking himself to make sure he didn’t have any dirt or muck on his face. He got out of his truck making long strides towards the door. As he entered that all too familiar bell jingled alerting June and Amber or his presence. The smell of fresh flowers over took his senses, as well as the presence of his favorite flower girl.
June looked up from where she was picking the leaves off of the carnation stems. Her eyes widening for a second, her face beginning to feel hot as she smiled shyly at him. Suddenly any ounce of confidence she had to ask him about the dance left her body. That smirk he always wore turning her into a pile of mush. She’s surprised her legs were still holding her up as he walked over to the counter.
“Hi Rafe,” She said softly. Amber smiled to herself as she watched them interact. She sneakily walked into the back room to give them some privacy. It was a little routine she did whenever Rafe came in.
“Hi sweetheart, whatcha got today for me?” He asked resting his palms against the counter supporting his weight as he leaned towards her.
He was such a natural flirt. She could barely look him in the eyes most of the time, “we just got a bunch of beautiful tulips in so I made you a bouquet of purple ones with some baby’s breath,” June walked over to the one of the bucked holding an abundance of bouquets, “I also put a few daisy’s to add a bit more to it.”
She showed him the bouquet proudly. A wide smile spreading across his face, “That is beautiful. You’re so good. Mom will love them.”
June knew Rafe’s mom. She cared for everyone in town like they were all her family. Whenever June would be over at their house hanging out with Sarah she would make them food, always let them ride horses. When they were really young she’d let them play in the rain and get all muddy, when other mom’s in town would scold her for letting the kids look like a mess. She was the sweetest woman.
“Always the best for her,” She fidgeted with her hands nervously. If he knew the effect he had on her he’d be too powerful.
He pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. Since he was their best customer she never charged him more than that. Clueless Rafe just thought that was how much each bouquet was, “Am I seeing you tomorrow at the rodeo?”
She nodded, “Of course. I might help out Mrs.Mayfield sell raffle tickets.”
“Always the helpful one. I better see you at the Rooster after,” He pointed at her scolding playfully. Roosters was one of the local bars everyone went out to.
June laughed softly, “Maybe, I doubt you’d even notice if I wasn’t there.”
“Darlin I always notice when you’re not around,” He smirked, “I better get going to see mom.”
“Goodluck tomorrow Rafe,” She smiled with a small wave as he began walking out.
He tipped his hat at her with that cute lopsided smile on his lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow Ms.Summers.”
June watched him walk out to his truck, a dumb love struck smile on her face. That crush she’s had on him since second grade was never going away.
“You chicken.”
She jumped and reached to clutch her chest, “Oh my god you scared me.” She scolded her friend.
Amber had her arms crossed leaning against the doorway to the back, “You didn’t ask him!”
“I couldn’t! My brain got all blurry. I-I just can’t handle the thought of rejection. Especially not from him.”
“Did you not hear everything he said to you?” She walked over standing in front of June, “He practically was begging you to go tomorrow. Verbatim said ‘I always notice when you’re not around’ um hello?”
June shrugged, “He’s just being nice, that’s just Rafe.”
Amber stared at her with a deadpan expression, “I wish I could put you in a choke hold right now.”
She rolled her eyes, “I’ll try to ask him tomorrow after the rodeo.”
“I’m sure you will. But we’re definitely going out after,” She smiled.
-
June and Amber had been friends since they were in diapers. Their moms being best friends themselves it was almost a given that their two daughters would be just as close. After they graduated high school they took all the money they had saved up and rented a cute little house in town. Now they were working on buying out Mr.Robertson for his flower shop. They had been working in it since they were fifteen and they wanted it to be their’s. Mr.Roberston kindly offered to sell it to them since he was getting too old to take care of it himself and once he sold it he’d move to Florida with his daughter.
The girls were close to buying it, needing a few more months to get the rest of the money. Most people wanted to move out of the small town they were born in but that wasn’t June or Amber. June liked it there, she liked the familiarity and the comfort it brought. She liked her life here, she liked living with her best friend and working with her too. She liked being five minutes away from her parents. June felt lucky to be where she was and have the people she had in her life.
After closing they had stopped by the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner. Now headed home in June’s dad’s old mustang they enjoyed the cool summer afternoon breeze and listened to their favorite artist, Taylor Swift. June felt like she had the perfect life. The only thing she longed for was someone to be by her side. Of course she had Amber but she wanted a romantic relationship. She wanted someone who could hold her at night and take her out on dates.
It’s not like she hadn’t tried to get a boyfriend. June had gone on a few dates but they never ended well. She was seeing Liam, a local mechanic, for a month but then she saw him flirting and kiss another girl at Rooster’s. After that she went on a date with a local bull rider, one of Rafe’s teammates, but he never called her after the night was over. June thought it was because she didn’t put out on the first date. She doesn’t know that it was because Rafe cornered the guy and threatened him. Told him if he ever went out with you again he’d tie him to his truck and drag him across town.
Amber had her own boyfriend, James, who was friends with Rafe. They worked together on the Cameron farm and occasionally helped coach Rafe. June has refused his attempts to set her up with Rafe more times than she could count. James moved to town a few years ago after he heard that the Cameron’s were looking for another ranch hand.
“Wanna invite Sarah for dinner?” Amber asked as they carried the groceries into the house.
June shrugged, “Sure, we haven’t seen her since she left for Charleston.”
“I’ll call her, can you get started on the potatoes please,” Amber said as she started dialing Sarah.
“yeah yeah,” June rolled her eyes playfully as she unpacked the grocery bags.
The three girls were all friends in school and Sarah ended up moving to North Carolina for college once they graduated. They managed to stay as close as possible with the distance. Sarah is Rafe’s sister and of course she knew of June’s infatuation with her older brother. Sarah wanted them to end up together, always talked about how perfect it would be to have her as a sister in law.
When they were younger and June would go to Sarah’s house she always prayed she’d run into Rafe. Occasionally she would but he was the same old Rafe back then. Would make slightly flirty comments towards her making her flustered and making her crush on him grow.
-
The girls sat around the dining table laughing at old stories from their childhood. Every time they got together it felt like they were fifteen again sneaking alcohol from Ward’s liquor cabinet and turning into a fit of tipsy giggles.
“And then Rafe came out from the barn and June practically jumped on him she was so excited to see him,” Sarah laughed tilting her head back.
June covered her embarrassed face at the memory, “Oh god! I forgot about that.”
“That was the closest you’ve gotten to him like ever,” Amber added, “You need to drink tequila again.”
“That will probably be the closest I get to him ever,” She said a hint of sadness in her voice.
“June you should just ask him out yourself. Forget all that old fashioned stuff. My brother would never be mean to you.”
June took a sip of her wine, “I know he wouldn’t be mean but it’s the rejection that turns me away. He could have anyone why would he want me. He also is always out with some other girl. She’s usually a lot prettier than me.”
“June Summers you know I don’t tolerate that negative talk in our house,” Amber scolded, “You are beautiful and he would be lucky to have someone like you. I also highly doubt he’d reject you.”
She smiled at her, “And how do you know that?”
Sarah rolled her eyes, “Because he’s like practically in love with you! He doesn’t great other girls the way he treats you. He also looks at you different.”
“Then why has he never asked me out! It just doesn’t make sense. I’d rather keep him as a friend than lose him completely.”
“I wish he didn’t have such a thick skull then maybe he’d have some sense,” Sarah stood grabbing the girls empty plates to take to the sink.
“Fallin off too many bulls in his life,” Amber giggled.
June stood to grab the bottle or wine to refill their glasses, “Oh I’m gonna head out soon. Rafe is picking me up on his way home from James’ and he texted me he’s on his way,” Sarah said beginning to wash the dishes.
“Come on so early?” Amber gave her puppy eyes.
She laughed, “Yes, I have an exam online in the morning I still need to study for. That masters won’t get itself ladies.”
“Speaking of James has Amber told you that she thinks he’s going to propose soon,” June smirked trying to forget about the fact that Rafe was coming to her house soon.
“Shut up!” Sarah exclaimed.
“I know! He’s been so suspicious lately! He’s been working a lot and he’s not so subtly asked me for my ring size last month. Then he went to the city last week but he didn’t want me to come because he said he was doing some boring errands for Ward,” Amber’s cheeks began hurting from smiling so much at the thought of her boyfriend, “But I don’t believe that for a second. I think he went to buy a ring.”
“Oh please get married soon! I want to be a bridesmaid,” Sarah said excitedly as she dried her hands. There was a knock on the door as she finished, “That’s me, go get the door June while I get my things together.” She smirked at her friend.
“I hate you guys,” She whisper shouted in case he could hear them. Amber practically pushed June to the door.
She took a deep breath fixing her hair a bit before opening the door. He stood looking the same as he did earlier that day, still just as handsome as before. He smiled as soon as he saw her, he was really hoping it’d be June answering the door.
“Hi Rafe,” She said softly. Her timid demeanor returning whenever she was around him, he made all her confidence vanish always.
“Hi sweetheart, how are you tonight?” He asked with that cute smile he always wore around her. For a second she pretended he was picking her up for their first date.
“I’m good, and you?” She asked politely still stuck in her daydream.
“Better now, is Sarah ready?” He asked breaking her from her fantasy. Truthfully Rafe didn’t want the conversation to end but he knew he was there for a reason.
“Uh yeah she’s just getting her things,” As if on cue Sarah showed up next to June.
“I’m ready,” She hugged June tightly, “I’ll see you tomorrow Juney.”
“Does that mean you’re going out tomorrow with everyone?” Rafe asked with a smirk, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“I guess so, can’t say no to this one,” She smiled nodding her head towards Sarah.
“I’m her favorite what can I say,” Sarah shrugged smirking, “Come on Rafe I gotta study.” She walked towards the truck leaving Rafe behind.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then June bug,” He tipped his hat at her like he always did before walking down the porch steps.
“Bye Rafe,” She waved and waved towards Sarah who was smiling at the pair from inside the truck.
June spent the night praying that the words Sarah said earlier that night were true. That Rafe somehow was in love with her. But she couldn’t help that voice that was always in the back of her head telling her how that could never be possible.
Maybe tomorrow she’d have some tequila.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron series#rafe cameron x reader#rafe fic#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fic#rafe obx#rafe cameron smut#rafe outer banks
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Hello! Do you still write for MBAV? If so, I’d like to request a Rory X Male!reader! The reader has been a vampire for many years now, he was forced to drink human blood and after that one time, he lived off of animal blood (like the cullens) anyways, Reader moves back to Whitechapel and is enrolled into the high school. The readers a total nerd, Loving things like cartoons (TMNT, MLP, TOH, Amphibia) and animes (fairytail, mha, TPN, your name, weathering with you.) and things like Harry Potter, stranger things, Riverdale, narnia and stuff. He and Rory meet in the computer lab and just kinda click? They geek out together and just kind of start dating, not even having to ask eachother or tell any one? (Sorry if this sounds confusing or anything! And obviously you don’t have to do this! <3)
Rory Keaner With a Nerdy Vampire Boyfriend Headcanons
Masterlist
Request Something!
A/N: im gonna keep the reader’s interests vague bc tbh i havent even heard of some of the things mentioned in the request. also i know that dusk is kind of the MBAV version of twilight, but theres a twilight reference in here lol
***
Moving back to Whitechapel your senior year of high school wasn’t really something you had in mind
You left town for a reason
Turning into a vampire at your first high school party was a little bit traumatic
Your parents, seeing you were different but not knowing why, thought a change of scenery would help you
It did a bit, until your parents decided to move back to Whitechapel
Before your last year of school started, you decided to rediscover the town you had grown up in
That’s when you met Rory Keaner
You were happy to see that Whitechapel didn’t change much in the three years you’ve been gone. You remembered where the important places were, like the high school, the best restaurants, and things like that. Everything else was a bit fuzzy, but a little exploring would fix that.
Something that caught your eye quickly was a little bookstore near the pizza shop you and your family used to frequent. Remembering the cash you stuffed in your pocket before you left, you walked into the shop.
You immediately found the comic book section, eyes quickly scanning over the vast selection. You couldn’t help but gasp when you spotted the latest installment of one of your favorite comic book series. You picked it up with care, looking over the glossy cover.
“Hey, you like that too?” A blonde boy about your age asked, looking at the comic with you from over your shoulder. “I love that series!”
You looked at him, surprised by his presence and enthusiasm.
“Really?” You asked, and he nodded. “I’ve been looking, like, everywhere for this one. Every place I’ve gone to was either sold out or didn’t carry it.”
“Same!” The boy responded. He reached behind you, grabbing something from the shelf. “Lucky for us, it looks like we just found the last two copies here.”
“Lucky us.” You mused. You couldn’t help but admire the stranger in front of you; there was something very alluring about him that you couldn’t place.
“I’m Rory.” He offered his hand. “I kinda feel like I’ve seen you before.”
The strange thing, you realized as you shook his hand, was that you felt the same way about him.
“Maybe you have.” You shrugged. “I used to live in Whitechapel up until a few years ago. I just moved back. I’m Y/n.”
“Well, Y/n…” Rory said with a bright smile. You wondered if he had any other expressions. “It’s nice to have you back.”
When you start going to school, seeing Rory feels like a saving grace
You barely remember Whitechapel High from the first time you attended, mainly because you only went the first few weeks of freshman year
He immediately took you under his wing, introducing you to his friends and inviting you to hang out with him
His friends seemed a bit familiar to you as well, but you couldn’t really place it
You and Rory bonded quickly; you were definitely each other’s best friend
One night, while playing games in his room, you found out why Rory and his friends had seemed so familiar
You had been over at Rory’s for a few hours, and as time passed, you started to notice a strange smell. It wasn’t bad, luckily. It actually smelled very good, delicious even.
“You okay?” Rory asked as the two of you were loading into a new level. He noticed your little sniffles as you tried to discreetly figure out the scent.
“Do you smell that?” You asked, rising from your place on his bed. Rory watched you in confusion as you tried to follow the scent, soon being led to his bottom dresser drawer. “What’s in here?”
Suddenly remembering what was in the drawer, Rory made a noise to discourage you from looking. But it was too late because your curiosity had gotten the best of you, and now you were holding up a pint bag of blood. You turned to look at him with a questioning look, eyes darting between him and the blood.
“I- I can explain!” He said, dropping the controller.
“It smells so good.” You interrupted his frazzled thoughts with the whisper, taking a long and deep inhale. “It’s been so long since I’ve had human blood. So long since I’ve even smelled it.”
“What?” Rory moved towards you, and you took your eyes off the bag. “What do you me-”
“Are you a vampire?” You asked. It seemed like a safe question to ask, because you couldn’t think of any other reason for Rory to have a pint of blood in his dresser.
“How did you…?” Rory trailed off, trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.
But then you flashed your fangs, and suddenly everything clicked.
“When did you turn?” Rory asked curiously, grabbing your hands and leading you back to sit on his bed.
“Freshman year.” You answered, dropping the blood bag on the mattress. “It was my first high school party, but apparently, it was being thrown by some cult leader or something. That’s why I left Whitechapel in the first place, I was totally freaking out about it, and my parents thought that I should move schools.”
“Wait! I think I got turned at the same party! Was the guy’s name Jesse?”
“Yeah!”
“Me, Erica, and Sarah got turned at that party, and then Ethan and Benny kicked his ass!”
So that’s why your new friends seemed so familiar. They were involved with probably the craziest event of your life, in one way or another.
“Wait, so what did you mean by not drinking human blood?” Rory asked, tilting his head curiously. “Don’t we need it to survive?”
“Well, we just need blood.” You said. “I haven’t had human blood since Jesse turned me. I guess you could say I’m like a… vegetarian vampire. I only drink animal blood.”
“Wow! How’d you figure out you could do that?”
“...Have you ever seen Twilight?”
Finding out you were both vampires just brought the two of you closer together
Now you tag along with the rest of the gang on their supernatural adventures
You do “nerd things” (as Erica calls it) with the boys, like playing different games and collecting comics or figures
But you still spend the most time with Rory
And as you spend more time together, your feelings for each other grow
I like to think Rory is affectionate with anyone who allows him to
It wasn’t uncommon to find Rory’s hands on you. Either around your shoulders, or your waist, or clasped around one of your own. You quickly grew used to it, to the point where it would seem concerning for him to not be touching you.
Plus, his touch always made your undead cheeks warmer.
Then, the affection progressed to kisses. Quick pecks on the cheek in greeting, or on the temple in comfort. It was always casual, like the two of you had been like this for years.
And then, one day, Rory kissed your lips instead. You were rambling about a new book you had read, and Rory just couldn’t help himself. You looked so cute, and although Rory loved to hear you talk, he was just overcome with the urge to lean over and kiss you.
You didn’t say anything about it, and neither did he. You just smiled at each other and then continued the conversation.
But that doesn’t mean Rory stopped kissing you after that.
#agaypanic#rory keaner x reader#rory keaner headcanons#rory keaner#rory keaner x male!reader#my babysitter's a vampire#my babysitter's a vampire x reader
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Back To You
Jonah Hauer-King x Reader
Literally writing this because I want to 🥰 this will be a multi-part series on how love always manages to find its way back to where it’s supposed to be. Some trigger warnings: car accident, memory loss, unborn child loss (mentioned), hospital.
Chapter 1
I wake up in to the sounds of repetitive beeping and distant accented voices. I can’t make out who any of them are or what they’re saying other than a few words here and there. I squint my eyes, as if the motion will help me hear what they’re saying. I’m able focus on two voices that sound particularly worried. One is a male. British. The other is familiar. My sister?
As quick as I’m able to pick them up I lose them to the overwhelming pain that hits me well…everywhere. My head, my back, my stomach. It must make my heart rate accelerate because the machine next to me starts beeping rapidly and uncontrollably, the noise mixed with the pain makes me feel nauseous.
A doctor and a few nurses rush in.
“She’s awake!” A nurse calls out to the male voice and my sister (I think) in the hall.
“Oh thank god,” the man says. I see a glimpse of him before the curtain to my room is shut. From what I see I do not know him. And that confuses me even more than the soft accent he speaks with.
“Hello, y/n, it’s so nice to see you awake,” a man that I assume is a doctor says. He’s British also. What’s with that? “We thought you’d sleep another few days, but this is great news. Great progress. Tell me now, what’s hurting you?”
“Everything,” I groan, as a female nurse with a kind smile wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm. Even lifting it hurts.
“Pressures within range,” she says a few moments after with, of course, a British accent.
The doctor, who had stepped out after assessing my pain level, reappears with a syringe. “This is for your pain, but it won’t knock you out. Now that you’re up we’d like to keep you awake, make some assessments.”
The doctor injects me and within minutes I feel my pain ebbing away. “I’m sorry, but what the hell happened?”
The doctor, who’s name is Vincent, which I can now make out by the embroidery on his white coat, gives me a tight smile. “You were in a car accident, y/n, you suffered many injuries including a grade four concussion, among others which I won’t overwhelm you with now.”
Dr. Vincent steps out and this time I can hear his whispers. “She’s stable and alert and that’s what’s important. We worry about memory loss with the type of head injury she sustained, so don’t be alarmed if she doesn’t seem like her self or seems to have lapses in memory. They’ll come back as her head and brain heal.”
The British man says words I can’t hear even when I strain to do so.
“Just be patient with her,” Dr. Vincent replies. “I only want one of you in to see her at a time as to not overwhelm her. Which ever one of you would like to see her first is welcome to.”
There’s a moment of silence followed by more whispering until I finally see a familiar face. My sister pushes open the curtain and runs to my side. She’s on her knees in an instant, taking my hand into hers. I catch a peek of the man in the hall before the curtain flutters closed. This time he’s not peering into my room. He’s pacing and I see him run a hand over his face.
“Y/n, thank god. We thought we were going to lose you too,” Haven says.
Who else did we lose?
���I came as soon as Jonah called. He’s a mess, y/n.”
Who the fuck is Jonah?
“Are you okay? How’s your head? How’s your stomach?” Her hands goes to my belly and then she pulls it away, awkwardly.
“Haven, I have no idea what happened. What’s going on? Where am I? Everyone’s fucking British but us.”
I can see the worry in her eyes. The type that she thinks I can’t see, but I know is there when she’s not trying to panic. She’s not good at hiding it.
“The doctor said not overwhelm you.”
“Well then tell me something!”
“You were in a car accident and got really hurt, y/n. They had to pull you out of the car and revive you on the side of the road.”
Holy shit. I fucking died. But I’m here and I’m in one piece. The severity of the situation sinks in and it must be evident on my face since Haven is nodding in agreement. “You’re lucky to be alive, y/n,” Haven adds her eyes moving down to my stomach again. “And I guess since you asked, everyone’s British because you’re in England.”
The room begins to spin as I digest her words. “Wait. What? When the fuck? Why am I in England!?”
“You don’t-”
The curtain swipes open in a fast motion and the man from the other side storms in. His face is full of emotion, none of which I can place. Now that I see him in his entirety, he’s very attractive, even through the flurry of emotions he’s wearing and the obvious lack of sleep, his eyes are kind. He’s at least six foot tall. He has to duck under the curtain rod closing off my room to keep from hitting his head. His dark hair is messy, which matches the sleepy eyes. If I wasn’t totally numb from the pain medication, I’d definitely try to get his attention.
Except, I don’t have to try at all. He’s focused on me and relief floods his face. His whole body relaxes when he sees me, like a thousand pound weight has just been plucked off of his shoulders and he can finally breath again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his accent as soft and kind as his eyes. “I know he said only one person at a time, but I couldn’t wait.”
Haven moves to the corner of the room. I glance over at her but she won’t make eye contact with me. She knows I don’t know this man. She’s biting her bottom lip like she does when she’s nervous, waiting for something to happen. The man takes her seat and slides his hand into mine. His hands are big, totally engulfing mine in his grasp, and his skin is soft.
“I was so scared, y/n,” he says softly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
I’m about to open my mouth, to say what? I’m not sure but I’m stopped when he brings his face to mine. He’s trying to kiss me and as kissable as he looks this is all just too much. I have no idea what’s going on or who he is or what he’s talking about.
“Jonah,” Haven starts.
My hand goes his chest just as his lips graze mine. I can smell the coffee on his breath that has probably been keeping him awake for the last few hours. I put a gentle pressure on his chest and his breath hitches in a gentle gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Jonah asks, that same mixture of emotions flood his face again. I immediately feel guilty and I don’t know why.
“I…I don’t.”
“Jonah,” my sister steps in. Jonah turns his head, looking at her and I see her shake her head, a seeing a silent question. He turns back to me and I can see the tears in his eyes as he blinks them away.
“You don’t remember me?” Jonah asks. There’s almost a hint of a smile on his face. As if I’m telling a bad joke and he’s waiting to hear the punchline. But I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t even answer his question. I don’t know why but I wish I could lie. I don’t even know this man and I want to please him. I want to tell him that I remember him and kiss him back…but I can’t. Nothing about him is familiar. “I’m your husband, y/n,” Jonah says, his voice shaking as each word comes out. “Please tell me you remember that.”
“I…I’m sorry,” is all I can manage to say.
Jonah let’s go of my hand and runs it down his face. He gets up and walks quickly out of the room. I see and hear his footsteps as he walks down the hall. Moments later he’s walking back with what I assume is Dr. Vincent.
“There has to be something we can do. I already lost our baby in the accident I can’t lose her too,” Jonah whispers.
Haven sits back down where Jonah was.
“Baby?” I ask.
“You were pregnant, y/n. They were able to save you but they weren’t able to save the baby. I’m so sorry.”
The pain in my stomach makes sense to me now. What doesn’t is that I don’t feel an immense amount of loss. I should. But I don’t. And it feels so wrong. The room spins again and my breathing is coming out rapidly. My chest rises and falls so quickly, I’m barely able to get a full breath in before exhaling again. My heart rate monitor beeps uncontrollably again as the Dr. Vincent comes in.
The last thing I see before my eyes close again is Jonah.
This is my first non Timothee chalamet related fic so be nice to me 😂 if you want to be added to my Jonah tag list let me know!
#Jonah hauer king#Jonah hauer-king#Jonah hauer king imagine#Jonah hauer king fan fiction#Jonah hauer king x reader#writing#fan fic
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Cruel Little Vixen 7
Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Journalist!Reader
Summary: The universe continues to teach you and Eddie some important lessons. Tensions rise when the world becomes aware of the rockstar’s girl. And top it all off, you and Eddie are forced to make an important decision regarding your relationship.
NO READ MORE LINE BREAK ADDED DUE TO GLITCH
A/N: It’s been a tough ass road, but I’m back. I’ve experienced challenges with the last two parts of my story being deleted and having to start over, my mental health’s hung by a fucking thread, I’ve been anxious to post because I feel like my work’s not good enough but ya know what I love writing and it keeps me happy! The series is coming to an end. Just one more part (tried making this the last one but the ending’s too damn long). I cannot wait to finish this because I’ve had so many fic ideas I’ve been meaning to share. I wanna complete requests and ask for some of yall ideas or whatever. I just want to have some fun with this. Any this chapter’s filled with slight rom com elements and tropes. It’s definitely a healing experience for both reader and Eddie. Especially Eddie. It’s a wild ride so please enjoy! Also Happy New Years! 🥳
>>>>>Series Masterlist Part 7 of 8
Word Count: 10.8k
Warnings: overload of fluff and 🌽, heavy flirting, idiots in love, airplane jokes, some angst, brief blood and violence, talks of negligent parents and juvenile detention, hinted abuse of a minor character, smutty smut, kissing/making out, fingering, squirting, handjob, light dirty talk, nipple play, mile high club activities, graphic language, Eddie loves drinking his respect women juice
2 years ago…
“We’re Corroded Coffin and we’re the band your parents wished you never listened to! 2, 3, 4!” Eddie shouts into the mic, counting in time to Gareth’s drumstick taps. The drums to Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” are the first to make its noise before the familiar guitar riff picks up after it.
Then, he sings and the crowd’s loving it.
The former nightclub bartender and now manager of Corroded Coffin, Eugene Neds, spotted great potential in the enigma that was Eddie Munson that night. In a band of 19-year-olds passing off as 21 to perform at a venue much too risqué for kids their age, the man only had eyes for the lead guitarist/singer. Eddie was going to be a star, he was sure of it. Eugene just needed to make sure that he would be the one to make it happen.
The music cuts abruptly. “Hey, asshole! Leave her the fuck alone, alright.” Eddie shouts on the mic, pointing over at the bar. The spotlight lands on the inebriated giant of a man towering over a visibly uncomfortable woman.
“Why don’t you mind your goddamn business?” The large man slurs.
“I’m not so sure it’s your business either, man. She wants absolutely nothing to do with you.” Eddie hops off stage, approaching the man as if he were David in Goliath’s presence.
At that moment, Eddie realized he was tired of running, tired of bullies, and tired of being picked on for being different. Those days have been laid to rest along with all his grievances of high school. The man had since gained the grit needed to face danger head on. It was the day he reclaimed the title, ‘The Freak’.
“You looking for a fight, little guy?” The large man attempts to intimidate, towering over him.
“Well, if you won’t leave her alone…then yes…I am looking for a fight.” Eddie stares daggers up at the man.
Not a second longer, the man’s fist connects with Eddie’s jaw, sending him back against a table with a few glasses being knocked over. Eddie’s wild hair covers over his face. He swipes a thumb over his lips. Blood. Blood that was now seeping from his mouth. The room is quiet, not a peep. But then the sound of laughter. It was manic. Wicked. And craziest of all, it wasn’t coming from the man who’d thrown the first punch.
It was the enigma himself.
So this was what it felt like to be punched? To taste blood? To stand up and fight instead of running? To laugh in the face of danger. And it felt so good.
The metalhead looks up at the giant man. His teeth, bloodied red. A terrifying smile of nightmares. He stands planted on his two feet again.
“You want some more, freak?” The large man says, swinging a fist in the air once again only this time Eddie swiftly ducks out the way. He surges forward at the large man, full speed, sliding from under him so that he is now right behind the man.
Eddie quickly climbs on top of the bar table. “You’re not so big from where I’m standing,” He quips then points at the liquor hose in the bartender’s hands. “Hey, could I borrow that?”
The bartender hands it over. Holding the nozzle over the giant man’s head, Eddie's famous smirk is the only warning. The man could barely register what was going on before the trigger’s pulled, beer spraying and trickling down his head.
The large man was now wet and red with anger. Eddie makes no haste with his next move, spatting blood in the bully’s face and uppercutting him with a kick to his chin. The large man goes down with a loud thud. The room is in an uproar of applause and thus the beer dumping incident became a fan favorite legend. To this day, fans of Corroded Coffin pay homage at concerts, dumping cans of beer on their heads.
The band was soon tossed out of the venue that night and although Eddie’s friends had sung their praises, he couldn’t help but to feel guilty having ruined their biggest gig.
Then, he was approached by that very bartender on his way back to his van. The one who’d soon change the trajectory of his life. The one that promised a life of glitters and gold. Eugene Neds had sold Eddie a dream. A dream that was disguised as a lending hand to the young man.
“I can make Corroded Coffin a household name.” He says, holding out a business card.
A former manager of countless failed bands, Eugene was convinced he’d finally found the kind of talent that would free him of the depressing bore of a penniless 9 to 5. Eddie Munson would be his project. His success story of taking a teenage dirtbag with the attitude and skills and molding him into a sex symbol. Thus creating ‘Francis The Freak’.
But then… YOU came along. The rockstar’s undoing. You were tearing down the walls that were so perfectly built.
Mr. Neds calls it: You’ll be the end of Eddie and his band. The only form of control Mr. Neds has now would be keeping your relationship with Eddie under wraps. He’ll be patient, though. He knows this couldn’t possibly last between you two. Certainly, you were just another pair of legs that captured his short attention span until he eventually got bored.
Mr. Neds snaps out of his thoughts at the sounds of your giggling, eyes looking at the rearview mirror from his seat on the tour bus. You and Eddie were cozied up in the back, him showing you some scars.
“So, that explains the NPC-like behavior of your fans dumping beers on their heads or asking you to spit on them,” You deduce. “I’m glad to be in the know. This’ll be great tying that into my last article.”
“Did you really say NPC? As in Non-Player Character? You little nerd, am I rubbing off on you?” Eddie teases, poking your tummy.
“Hey, I know things.” You laugh, poking him back. “But you shouldn’t solve everything with fists. I’ve never known you to be a fighter.”
“I’m a lover, but I’m no pacifist.”
“You, a lover?”
“Mhm, want me to demonstrate?” His mouth attacks your neck, you squeal in delight.
So lost in each other, you couldn’t have noticed the manager’s demands to the driver to halt the bus. He had grown more and more frustrated at the sight of you and Eddie being so close. He decidedly gets out of his seat, walking down the aisle past the bandmates who could immediately sense something about to go down but all they could do was follow with their eyes as the manager made his way over to you.
“Y/n, Eddie…I’ll need you to test a theory for me. Stand beside one another.” The manager demands, breaking your moment together.
“What’s your point?” Eddie asks, squinting his eyes.
“We need to make sure that you both won’t look so ‘friendly’ with one another,” The manager explains. “The media are bloodhounds. One whiff of the hormones circulating between you would send them into a frenzy and next thing ya know you’re on the cover of yet another magazine.”
“Are you suggesting that the chemistry between us is so intense that remotely standing beside each other would give us away?” You ask, incredulously.
“Precisely.”
“Are you familiar with the term ‘delusional’?” You question rhetorically, causing Eddie to chuckle.
“Not delusional. Perceptive.”
“You weren’t very ‘perceptive’ when Eddie and I got together.” You smirk.
“I’ve suspected. I just chose to ignore it. It only became too difficult to deny when the two of you became sloppy with it.” Mr. Neds scoffs.
“We can totally stand beside each other without being ‘friendly’.” Eddie defends.
“Oh, is that so?” Mr. Neds asks, mockingly. “Because right now, right before my eyes, I see you and Eddie sat extremely close on this loveseat with his hand caressing your thigh…and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”
Eddie’s eyes widened, looking down at the hand that graced your supple skin lovingly. The two of you jump apart as if burned by the other.
“See what I mean,” Mr. Neds lets out a dry laugh. “Now please stand. Both of you.”
“Fine.” You and Eddie mutter in unison.
Standing up at once, your arms knock against each other’s. Your eyes trained at the contact and how close in proximity you both were. You blush, eyes on him. He notices your flustered state, smirking down at you.
“Jesus Christ.” Mr. Neds rubs at his temple, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Oh, they’ve got it bad.” Mel says as he walks in biting nonchalantly into an apple.
“It’s worse than I thought,” The manager groans. “You’re like magnets! You’ll need to stand at least 7 feet apart.”
“7 feet?! How the hell am I supposed to interview and complete my article from 7 feet away?” You argue.
“Anything is possible.” Mr. Neds answers.
“You’re being a real pain in the ass, Eugene.” Eddie says to the 40-something man.
“Welcome to my world,” He retorts. “If 7 feet’s such a big deal then I’ll be reasonable. 5 feet. No more negotiations.”
“This is so stupid.” Eddie shakes his head.
“Don’t be so upset, brother. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder or some bullshit like that. It could actually be quite romantic.” Mel chimes in.
“Mel…get the hell outta here.” Eddie and Mr. Neds sneers together.
Mel exits, a middle finger up in the air while the other brings the apple to his lips.
“Now if we’re going to work together and keep the peace,” The manager begins. “We need to do this my way. No, ‘ands’, ‘ifs’, or ‘buts’ about it. We’ll be at the airport to catch a plane to New York soon so—.”
“Whoa,” Eddie interrupts. “I thought we were going back home?”
“Well, I’ve booked a performance for Corroded Coffin to attend. It was an offer that I couldn’t refuse. A Holiday Parade! And it won’t just be televised in Hawkins like you’re used to. It’ll be all over America. No worries about rehearsals either. Just do everything exactly how you did at Mantra•esque. Ever since that performance, word’s been traveling about the new hot band in town. You’ll have an interview with the hosts of the parade right after so please be on your best behavior.”
“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Eddie’s voice raises.
“Well, you would’ve heard about it along with the boys if you hadn’t snuck out last night.”
“I have even caught my breath yet, man.”
“You had countless nights to rest. You spent them sneaking around with your…girlfriend. Eddie, I only ever want what’s best for you. If I hadn’t discovered you, where do you think you would’ve been?” Mr. Neds rests a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder. A visual much akin to that of a demon resting on gullible shoulders, pleading for their victim to sign away his rights. “You would have still been living in that shitty trailer park while your uncle picked up 12 and 16 hour shifts just to keep a roof over your heads. Remember, you’re not doing this for yourself. This is survival. You understand I only mean well…do you?”
Eddie’s jaw clenches, a quick nod.
“I knew you would. It’s nothing personal, kid. It’s just what they call ‘business as usual’. It’ll only be for a few more days and then you could enjoy all the time you need in Hawkins before the next tour.” The manager pats his back before making his way back up front to inform the driver to get back on track.
Sitting back on the little loveseat, you climb into Eddie’s lap while your arms wrapped around his neck for a hug. “He shouldn’t be allowed to speak to you that way.”
“He’s right, though.” Eddie huffs, caressing your back.
You felt yourself becoming angry for him, pulling away to look him in the eye. “He’s wrong. With or without him, you could do anything. Anyone could’ve seen that light in you. I have. You’ve got something special and no fucking manager could take that away from you, okay.”
Eddie’s stoic expression softens into a warm smile. “Look at you being all protective. Making you my girlfriend’s made you all soft.” He chuckles.
“No one messes with my man,” You shrugged with a smile. “He talks to you like that again and I’ll knock him down a peg or two.”
“That’s very cute,” He kisses the space between your eyebrows. “But you don’t have to defend me, ya know. I’m a big boy.”
“What? You think I couldn’t do it or something?” You ball your fists into your sides.
“Oh, no. My hesitancy is more concerned with how badly you’ll hurt his ego. I still need the man to be able to stand on his two feet if he’s getting this band going.” Eddie jokes.
“But…i-is that what you want? To keep this going?” You asked, twiddling with your thumbs.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“What about taking a break? You’re going to perform in New York then you’ve got Europe in a week or so. It just seems like a lot.”
“It does seem like a lot. But if I have you beside me, it wouldn’t be so bad,” He catches himself. “In New York, I mean.”
Eddie made sure to include that last part not wanting the inevitable conversation to be brought up. Eventually, it will. As you’ve mentioned, the tour for Europe is approaching. The next time you’ll see each other again wouldn’t probably be for another 6 months. Maybe more. But what really affected him was the idea that you wouldn't think to consider going on tour with him. Especially since a little before bed last night, Eddie had asked you a question that tested everything between you two and all you could do was ignore it and say your goodnight.
“You want me to go to New York with you?” You asked.
He shrugs, shyly. “Well, yeah. I thought it was obvious. You’re fine to say ‘no’.” That response was meant for both situations: New York and Europe.
You take a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go with you…” Eddie’s eyes lit up until you finished the last part of your sentence. “…to New York.”
“Y-yeah,” He clears his throat then echoes. “To New York.”
————
It was greatly in your favor that Eddie’s manager had decided to keep up with his “5 feet apart” rule, sitting you in separate seats across the aisle from one another. Why? Because you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about “the inevitable conversation”. Eventually…you’ll give your answer. Just not now. Not when things are going so well between you two.
You bury your head in your journal not exactly writing anything of importance, simply scribbling away to keep yourself from wondering if he was looking at you. But curiosity gets the best of you, so you peek up from your journal and catch Eddie’s eyes on you, too. You both look away at once, you resume your doodling nervously.
When you went to look over your shoulder this time, Eddie made a face silly enough to make you giggle and roll your eyes. He points at the journal in your hand, gesturing you to slide it over. You check your surroundings to make sure no one’s looking before doing so.
You waited as he proceeded to write something down. Then, he turned the journal to face you. In big letters: “Hi.”
You smile, waving and mouthing a “Hi” back.
He writes something down again and turns it over to face you. “Writing you here so Neds doesn’t try to listen in.”
You nod to confirm that you understand.
He writes. “What were you writing about?”
He could’ve turned the page to see exactly that but he didn’t wish to invade your privacy. You do the honors. Turning the page to which you scribbled different drawing variations of his name. You’re a little embarrassed to show him that he’s all you’ve been thinking about. But then he smiles eager to show you what he’d been reading.
He holds up his book, opening it to the page where his thumb held it open and reveals a polaroid photo of you looking up at him and him, down at you on the Manta•esque stage. This was his way of letting you know he’s thinking about you, too.
You smiled, writing him back. “How’d you get that?”
“Junie.”
“The camera guy?”
“Yep. Begged him to take at least one picture of you for me. It’s my favorite. I was going to share it with you but, selfishly, I want to keep it for myself.”
Is this really the same guy I met in that dressing room some weeks ago?
“Lovely view we have up here.” He writes.
You shoot him deadpan stare, not amused by the airplane joke. He tugs at the collar of his shirt in feigned nervousness before gesturing for the journal again. He writes. “Okay, I can see how that aviation joke went over your head.”
Still unamused. You wrote back. “I really appreciate corny jokes but these are just painfully bad.”
“Are you saying my jokes didn’t…land?”
“Please stop. If you’re going to tell airplane jokes, at least tell the Wright ones.”
Now he’s the one to look at you unamused and confused.
You scribbled quickly to explain yourself. “Get it? Wright. Like the Wright brothers. The first ones to fly an airplane?”
“Sorry, but your knowledge of world history is lost on me. I failed that class miserably.”
“I guess you can say it went over your head.”
“You can’t just repeat my joke. Joke stealing’s no laughing matter.”
Okay, that tickled you a bit. Smiling to yourself, you hadn’t realized Eddie passing you the notebook once again, until you felt the pages brush your arm.
“Think you can meet me in the restroom in 5?”
You scoff out loud. “I hope you're not thinking about what I think you’re thinking about.”
“I wanna talk.” He simply writes.
How could three words be so frightening? So ominous? Your heart pounds hard, daring to jump out of your chest.
“Are we not talking now? What would you need to talk about that can’t be said here?”
You anticipated his reply. Leaning over your seat, trying to peek but more so averting your eyes. You mindlessly picked at the skin around your fingernails, nerves getting the best of you.
With a solemn face, he holds out the journal to you. You meet his eyes then down at his hands, hesitating to reach for the book. The regretful look on Eddie’s face gave away that he was second guessing what he’d written down. When your fingertips grazes it, it falls out of his hand with an audible slap to the ground.
The two of you scramble to reach for it, kneeling down. Your hands accidentally touch in the attempt to take the book for yourselves. Instead of pulling away, you both ceased your frantic movements. Eddie’s thumb caressing the palm of your hand. You focus on this action then look into his big brown eyes.
The bing of the attendant assistance button pulls you out of the trance. Taking the notebook, you stand on your two feet and hug it to your chest. With a stern nod of confirmation, you stride your way down the first class aisle towards the restroom.
You shut the door behind, back rested against it as you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. Eyes closed, you peel the notebook away from you. Your hands are outstretched in front of you and when you were sure it was directly in your field of vision, you opened your eyes and read.
“Europe.”
So it began. The inevitable conversation. There’s rhythmic knock and you were sure it was him, stepping away from the door and facing it. He opens it enough to let him slide through before he closing it behind him quietly.
“Hi.” He breathes out.
“Hi.” You say in quick breath as if you were scared to breathe at all.
“I guess you read the note.”
You don’t say a word, nodding tentatively.
“Y/n, I—“
“Why’re you calling me that?” You interrupt.
“You mean…your first… name?” He says, eyes squinting in confusion.
“Yeah. You usually call me some stupid pet name. What are we on first name bases now?”
“I thought you didn’t like it?” His eyebrow raises.
“It’s grown on me.” Your face grows hot as you cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Besides, do you just call me those names simply because I don’t like it.”
“At first, yeah. But I do it now because I like you.”
Your face grows even hotter, hoping he doesn’t see the effect he has on you right now. You should be upset, girl! “So, what gives? Why aren’t you calling me a vixen or a babe or whatever the fuck?”
“I just figured it’d be more appropriate for what I’ve got to say,” He explains before taking a deep breath. “I’d like to---”
You couldn’t bring yourself to hear much more of it. Okay. So he wants to talk about the tour in Europe? What exactly does he want from you? You couldn’t possibly give him an answer he’d be happy to hear.
“I’m sorry,” You cut him off again. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to forget. To pretend that there was no tour so that I can enjoy being in the present, being with you. But now I know that sometimes…it’s okay to face the inevitable. So…I think I’m ready now.”
“You’re ready?” He says, eyes shimmering despite the dimly lit environment.
“Yes,” You confirmed, lowering your head to keep him from seeing your tears. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. We should break up and—”
“What the hell are you talking about? I never mentioned breaking up. I hadn’t mentioned much at all since you kept interrupting.”
“You didn’t need to mention it. The signs are all there.”
“Really? Because I’m trying to see them for myself. They must be—I don’t know—invisible. Nonexistent.”
“You can’t possibly think I can just throw my career away to be some groupie for you.”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.” He jokes.
You roll your eyes. “I can’t go on that tour with you, Eddie. I have my dream and you have yours. I can’t put my work on the line when I’ve gotten this far.”
“So long distance not a thing?”
“I couldn’t do that to you. It wouldn’t be right. You’re gonna be a star. You’ll meet plenty of women who’d want you. I don’t want to hold you back. I just won’t do it. You deserve to be free to be with whoever you want.”
“You’re un-fucking-believable, Y/n,” He towers over you. “You have no right to make these decisions for me. That’s for me to decide. I’m tired of people telling me what to do, how to feel, what to think. I may not be the brightest but I’m not stupid. What about what I want?”
“What do you want?!”
“You, woman! I want you!”
“If you want me because you think I’ll be this doting girlfriend of your dreams who’s at your side at all times, who ‘sits down and shuts up’, constantly obeying your wishes; I am not that kind of girl.”
“Okay.” He shrugs, demeanor cool and collected.
“Okay? As in…”
“Okay, as in ‘I’m not asking you to be the girl of my dreams’. You already are, goddamn it. As stubborn, self-righteous and bitchy as you can be, I admire every part of you. Good or bad. I want you to have control over your own decisions and be unfiltered as you are. But sometimes, you do need to learn when to shut the hell up and listen to what I’m trying to tell you.”
You began to seethe at his words, opening your mouth to protest only for him to put his palm over it. He shushes you, his free hand putting a finger to his lips. “I’m gonna remove my hand now. You’ll be quiet, right?” He searches your glass-like eyes. You nod slowly, your stare holding sincerity.
“Good girl,” He praises, pulling his hand away. He straightens his composure as if to prepare himself for his own news. “I won’t be going on tour. I’ll follow you.”
Now you’re shaking your head at him. “No. You couldn’t. This is your chance!”
“There’ll be plenty of tours in the future. We can have time for each other until then. Get to know each other well enough so that you’ll start to believe me when I say there’s no one else I’d want besides you.”
Your eyes, the size of saucers. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! I would never ask you to do something like that.”
“That’s the thing. It’s my choice. I’m practicing this thing called ‘autonomy’. It’s quite refreshing actually.”
“It’s stupid!”
“That’s just your opinion.”
“It’s 100% fact,” You notice him approaching you slowly and closely. He’s got that devilish grin playing on his lips. “Stay away from me. 5 feet apart, remember?”
You place a hand on his chest, stopping any attempt for him to move further. He looks down at your shaky hand. He knows it’s futile, so he laughs. “We followin’ rules now?”
“I said, stay the fuck away, Munson.” You squeaked.
“That doesn’t sound very confident,” He chuckles darkly. “You sure you want me to stay away?”
You let out a shaky breath. He bites his lip. This shouldn’t excite him as much as it did, but he was HARD. And it didn’t help that the turbulence brought his attention to your full breasts bouncing temptingly in his gaze. Even covered by your scantily clad tank top, it was see-through enough to leave little to the imagination. He grasps your wrist, pulling your hand off his chest to hold.
He knew exactly how to push your buttons. You hate to admit it, but you were turned on, too. The wetness pooling in your underwear was undeniable.
“I think you like it when I’m this close,” He lets go of your wrist, testing the waters and taking another step. This time you don’t stop him. “I’m sure you remember the way I make you feel when my hand is between your legs.”
“Eddie…” You pleaded.
“You know what else I think, you wanted me to follow you the whole time. Is that why you ask if I wanted to keep the tour going? Why you’ve made me wait hand and foot for an answer? So, you can break me.”
“Not true.” You whimpered.
“Then, you manipulate me into thinking I’m breaking up with you,” He laughs incredulously. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, little vixen. I thought you were better than that,” His fingers coil around your neck tight, but not tight enough to cut off any air circulation. “But you couldn’t get rid of me that easily. Even if you were to leave me right now, you wouldn’t be able to forget me. You’d still feel me here.”
He cups your mound and your mouth drops, knowing that your cover was blown. You were sure that he’d feel you soaking your underwear. It was a blessing and a curse that you decided to wear a skirt today.
“We shouldn’t.” You gasped as he squeezed you down there enough to feel his rings digging into your cotton panties.
Oh yes, we should!
His lips ghosts over the shell of your ear. “You’ve broken me, kitten. Now’s my turn to break you.”
“Let me go.” You whispered weakly.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” He says, tone rich and deep. “There is no letting you go. You’d think I’d ever let another man touch you like this.”
He rolls a thumb over your nipple, perked up for him to tend to. A small moan escapes your lips, causing you to bite them in an attempt to cease any more sounds.
“I couldn’t even begin to imagine someone else hearing those pretty sounds eaving your lips,” With the hand still cupping your face, he swipes his thumb over your full lips and caresses the slightly-healed scar. “Couldn’t even bring myself to use your moans in my songs cause they’re meant for my ears only.”
“How do you think I feel? I get nauseous just imagining you with another girl,” You admit, eyes staring up in hopeless surrender to him. You grow as intensely possessive as him. Your bodies are so close, chests flushed together. Nails digging into his shoulders, you lay a desperate kiss on his lips that makes him feral. “I’m not usually the jealous type but I want you all to myself.”
“You have me.” He whispers, biting down on your soft bottom lip as he cups your butt and guides you to straddle his thigh. Slipping your panties to the side, he presses his thigh into your now exposed core. You knew exactly what he wanted, grinding against the fabric of his jeans. The rough material of the denim against your clit was a delicious surprise to you.
Eddie slips his tongue into your mouth and you immediately suck on the appendage. It felt like you were so in sync with the rhythm of your bodies. Your moans into the kiss competing with one another.
You loved when you got to hear the effect you had on him even without him being inside you. Your hands travel down to the dip in his back, pulling him closer (if it were even possible to be closer than you already were).
You ride his thigh, foreheads against one another and eyes locked. Noticing the erection straining against his jeans, you palm and squeeze it. He thrusts into your hand, pursuing further contact. The two of you work to unbutton his jeans, lowering the zipper until the pants loosened enough. Spitting into your hands, you dip it past the spandex of his boxers and free him of his restraints. You jerk him in your hands at the same tempo you moved your hips against him.
“I don’t want anyone else to touch you like this,” You pant. “Wanna be the only one.”
“I don’t want anyone else hearing how amazing you look you cum,” Removing his thigh away from between your legs, he shoves two thick fingers into you. You gasp which then melds into a moan at the feeling of being stretched so suddenly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head until Eddie snaps you out of it, gripping your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Eyes on me, little vixen.”
The feeling of his fingers, which were perfectly long enough to hit depths that even your own fingers couldn’t reach, drove you into a level of high you were scared to reach for. You tug his cock harder, faster in your hand and feel the precum coat your fingers with added lubrication.
Your stares grew intensely along with the sounds of your heavy breathing. You were getting lightheaded, knowing that the end was soon approaching.
“Want you inside me.” You begged, not caring enough that you were in an airplane restroom.
“Unh…fuck…not here,” He grunts. “Next time I fuck you will be at my place, in my bed so my sheets could smell like you.”
He wiggles a finger in you, teasing the sensitive trigger. His fingers are shot out of you and you’re squirting before you could even recognize that you’ve come.
“Holy shit, holy shit!” You squeal, vision going white. You convulse under him, hearing him groan and the familiar sticky feeling of his essence running in your hands.
You both cling onto each other moments after, his head to your chest feeling your heart beating erratically. When Eddie finally peels off of you, your body grows cold mourning the loss of his warmth. He cleans the two of you up, taking his time, cleaning between your legs and running a wet paper towel on the palms of your coated hands. He wordlessly watches your eyes tracking his hands, before placing a kiss to your now spotless fingers.
“You ready to go out there?” He asks.
“Could we walk out together?” You curl an arm around his, batting your lashes. You know it’s a risky thing to ask.
“Sure, babe.” A big warm smile plastered on his face.
When he feels as if you’re ready, he gives you a reassuring look before unlocking the door and stepping out. Undeniably, you were sure there would be eyes on you. So, releasing a breath, you walk down the aisle hand in hand with your heads high, ignoring the hushed whispers between passengers.
As the two of you approach the section where Corroded Coffin‘s seated, Mr. Neds looks back furiously in contrast to your blissed out states.
Instead of sitting in his “assigned” seat, Eddie sits beside you, putting an arm around you and smirking at the manager.
“Something wrong…Eugene?” Eddie mocks.
“Really? In the restroom? Are you forgetting we have 15 other passengers with us in a section small enough to hear someone’s heartbeat?” He replies through gritted teeth.
“She was quiet enough. As much as she could, anyway.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Very.”
“I’ll enjoy myself, too, someday. Currently, I’m thinking of how great that tour in Europe will be for you. It's a shame Y/n’s decided she won’t be joining us, though.” Mr.Neds says sarcastically.
“Don’t be surprised if that tour has no effect on me whatsoever. Almost like I’m not there.” Eddie retorts.
The two of them exchanged heated glares at one another. You sigh, sinking down in your seat.
————
It took longer than expected to arrive due to the weather conditions. A day and some hours and about 2 plane transfers to be concise. By the time you’d touchdown, it was practically evening but you couldn’t wait to get off the plane. You’ve never been to New York but you and Chrissy have talked about one day moving there together to make names for yourselves.
Despite Eddie clearly being exhausted from all the performances and trips, your joy rubbed off on him and soon he was just as determined to explore the big city as you.
Entering the terminal, you rush up to the big glass windows to stare out at the bustling streets. It’s really cold but no snowfall just yet.
You felt Eddie’s body pressed up against you, shivering enough to make you shake along with him.
“You okay, Eds?”
“Not really. I’m not dressed for this kind of weather. Guess fashionably torn shirts and tight jeans just aren't enough.My only saving grace is my leather jacket.”
You felt more bodies lean into you for warmth. The boys in the band huddling for warmth since you're the only one sporting a faux fleece coat.
“Hey! She’s off limits.” Eddie growls.
“Aw, come on, bruv. I’m practically naked in this top.” Judas says, pressing hard into your shoulder.
“Yeah, sharing’s caring.” Mel chimes in.
“If there’s anything you fuckers should know about me is that I don’t like sharing.” Eddie says pulling you into his body only for the men to follow after.
“Can’t we all just go shopping and get you all some decent clothing? Not rockstar-related?” You say, voice strained from being crushed between them.
“Being a star means sacrificing comfort for style.” Mr. Neds answers.
“That isn’t fair,” You protest. “You wouldn’t want them catching colds before their performances, would you? They need warm clothes.”
Mr. Neds stares you down then up at the boys who defensively reciprocated hostile stares at him.
“Fine. The new tour bus is awaiting us outside. We need to board it quickly or else—“
“Oh my god! It’s Corroded Coffin!” A voice rings through the terminal and soon all eyes around the terminal land on your group. There’s a beat of silence before screams and heavy thuds of feet fill the air. The fans sprint determinedly towards you.
Security immediately pushes you all outside of the terminal, blocking an entrance. The doors of another unmanned entrance burst open as floods of people come crashing through, running towards the tour bus.
You were paralyzed, shocked by the amount of people rushing over until you felt a hand take yours and tug you inside the bus. Another group of bodyguards standing between the doors to keep the crowd from hopping on top of the large vehicle. As best as they could the 4 bodyguards shoo away the crowd before hopping in and the driver quickly pulls off. Everyone on the bus, panting from the exertion of escaping.
“Look at that! Just a small town band, now your name’s being heard in even more places. Told you I’d make Corroded Coffin a household name.” Mr. Neds says proudly.
You exchanged a look with Eddie, who groaned at the manager’s lack of awareness. With stardom came lack of privacy. You felt a foreboding feeling that somehow your privacy would be compromised as well.
—————
“What do you think of this?” Eddie steps out of the dressing room, a man disguised. His outfit consisted of some light gray sweatpants, white kicks, and a basic white long sleeve shirt under his leather jacket. To top it off, his signature wilf curls had been stuffed into his black skully hat for better effect.
“You look great but wouldn’t you want to dress in coordination with your band?” You inquire.
Eddie’s bandmates had done the opposite of dressing casually. Going for the flashiest, expensive clothing.
“Nah, they’ll just end up getting us chased again,” Eddie laughs before looking over his shoulders then whispering. “I’m thinking we ditch ‘em.”
“Eddie…” You began but then suddenly you felt like you were in the mood for an adventure. “Know what…I’m ready for anything. What’d you have in mind?”
He’s taken aback. “The good girl’s looking for trouble?”
“I don’t have to look far. You’re the embodiment of it.” You tease.
“Correct as always, my dear.” He says in a silly posh accent, taking your hand and guiding you to sneak past the guards.
Then, you hear the sound of Eddie’s manager yelling from behind you. “Stop those two!”
You turn to your boyfriend, eyes wide. “Run.”
Next thing you knew, you’re both gunning it out the shopping mall, the bodyguards close behind.
To anyone on the outside, you were simply a rowdy couple caught doing something bad enough to be chased by men in black. After a couple twists and turns around the corner and a few “watch where ya goings”, Eddie leads you down the stairs of a subway station. You were sure you’d lost them until you saw them treading down the stairs a few seconds after.
Eddie pulls out a subway card from his pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” You questioned, panting as you ran.
“I swiped it off one of the guards,” Eddie laughs, also panting. “My dad was a pro pickpocketer.”
“We’ll need to unpack that sometime.”
Swiping the card in the machine, Eddie pushes through the turnstiles but when he swipes the card for your entrance, an error message shows up explaining that you have to wait at least 3 minutes for the next swipe. After a couple tries of the turnstiles not budging, you look over your shoulder and notice the guards closing in.
“What do I do?” You panic.
“Jump over!” He holds out his arms.
Grabbing either side of the gate, you hop over the turnstiles and into his arms just as the men reached you. The two of you resume running, this time having some distance from the guards.
As if your prayers had been answered, a train makes its stop at your station. Rushing in, you and Eddie gloat at the approaching bodyguards as the doors shut and the train pulls away. Clinging to the hand rail above you, you both pant in exhaustion which quickly morphed into laughter.
“You’re a bad influence.” You tease, hitting his shoulder lightly.
“You love it.” He retorts.
The words “you” and “love” in the same sentence. It is so strange that you hung onto them at this moment like they had any meaning outside of its context. But what would it be like to hear those words in a different arrangement? One where it felt more of a confession rather than a dismissive play on words.
Your hand slips caused by the jutting train, sending you out of your thoughts and straight into Eddie’s free arm.
“Geez, kitten. If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just asked,” He jokes. “You don’t have to throw yourself at me.”
Wrapping your arms around his waist, you squeeze tight, cheeks squished against his chest. “I could use one.”
He melts into your embrace with an arm around you while the other keeps you both planted to the ground. It doesn’t matter to him that you were in a crowded train where anyone could spot you together because Eddie felt like he'd taken a trip in a time machine.
He’s like a teenager all over again. Sneaking around and running from the trouble he’s caused, but most of all, he felt this way being with you. Maybe he didn’t get that chance to impress you back then… but he has you now.
So lost in you, he hadn’t registered the light tap on his shoulder until accompanied by a said, “Munson?” From a familiar voice. Eddie turns around and his eyes widened in disbelief.
“Emerson?”
“Holy shit! It is you! Almost didn't recognize you with the hat,” A more mature Gareth stood in your presence. The two boys go in for a bear hug while talking over each other in their excitement. “You look great!”
“Can’t say the same for you, man. You look like shit.” Eddie laughs.
“Fuck off,” Gareth laughs. “I just got off my shift. What are you doing in New York?”
“I should be asking you the same. Hadn’t heard from you or Jeff in 2 years.”
“We moved to New York. They say it’s where everyone’s making a name for themselves.”
“You guys still make music?”
“Hell yeah, we do,” Gareth nods. “Ya know ever since, the band got separated. We knew we couldn’t stop rocking. You wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Good to hear that, bro.”
“And what about you? What’s gotcha in the big city? Tour, maybe.”
“Not exactly a tour. Just a performance and an interview.”
“Aw shit, man. That’s wicked as hell. Rockstar life’s been treating you good it seems. I bet you get tons of chicks,” Gareth says excitedly, ignorant to Eddie’s panicking glare. “How many girls have you—“
He’s interrupted by you clearing your throat stepping out from behind Eddie. “Hello, Emerson.”
He gasps, pointing between the two of you. “Y/n…Eddie…you two are together?”
“Yep, she’s my girl.” Eddie curls an arm around your waist.
“Wow, I’m honestly surprised considering your first article on him. But Eddie did always have a little thing for you back in high school. I’m sure he made it his mission to win you over.”
“S-shut up, dickhead.” Eddie stutters, blushing.
“You read my article?” You ask, a smile creeping up on your lips.
“Oh, yeah. Everyone’s talking about it especially since Corroded Coffin’s performance at Mantra•esque. If ever I need exposure, I’m calling you for an article on mu band. Speaking of which,” Gareth searches through his jeans pocket, pulling out a flier. “You guys should stop by at this Battle of the Bands event tonight at 10. That’s in a couple hours from now so you won’t have to go back and forth until then. It’s at this cool ass venue they call a ‘speakeasy’ in Koreatown. You’ve gotta have a password and everything to get in that shit. Jeff and I will be performing along with our new guitarist, Brody. You’ll dig him. He’s chill.”
You look in the corner of your eye, feeling Eddie tense beside you at the mention of the new member.
“Our band’s called ‘TSNP’,” Gareth continues. “Thou Shall Not Pass. Will you be there, Eds?”
“I…could try. It’s just that I’ll be busy with rehearsals. So, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it, man.” Eddie lies.
“Oh…right. Well, that sucks,” A hint of disappointment in his tone. “Jeff would’ve been super stoked to see you. Sid, too. But I understand you're a big rockstar now.”
There’s silence between them. You shake your head at the men too prideful in expressing their true feelings despite supposedly being best friends.
The rest of the trip remained this way until the train halts to a stop at another station. When the doors open, Gareth makes his way over to them, stopping in his tracks and turning on his heel to look over at his friend one last time.
“When you left, we stopped making music for a while. Just didn’t feel the same. Then, I heard your song on the radio and it brought me back. It would’ve been really great if you had some time to see us play,” Gareth scans Eddie’s features and when he doesn’t get a reaction from him, he sighs. “Have a good night.” Sending you a small wave, he steps out and train’s moving forward again.
You turn to look at Eddie, arms crossed and disappointed. ”There are no rehearsals. It’s not fair to lie to him like that nor is it fair for you not to come and support. They’re your best friends. You have your band, why can’t they?”
“It’s not like I’m the one who chose to replace ‘em.”
“I know. But it’s okay to admit when something hurts,” You give him a small smile to lighten the mood. “I’m sure it hurt them having to make the decision to replace you just as much as it hurt you performing on a big stage without them. They’re chasing their dreams, too. It doesn’t mean they don’t want you to be a part of it. He did invite you, didn’t he? It’s like he said you’re the reason he was brought back.”
“You’re right.” He sighs.
“Of course, I am. I’m always right,” You tease then solemnly say. “No one’s gonna take that bond you all share. Not unless you continue to push them away.”
He nods, not saying a word. Thinking things over until the train makes another abrupt stop. The two of you exit hand in hand into the unexplored territory.
————
You were a lot more appreciative of the quiet moments you and Eddie sometimes had to yourselves. Where you got bask in the intimacy of normalcy. Lately, ever since Corroded Coffin's popularity, it’s constantly felt as if there were people lurking in the shadows, waiting on your next move.
Although, you must say it’s hard basking in the glory with your boyfriend’s face plastered on billboards around the city.
“Your manager’s not entirely wrong,” You say, pointing at the billboard. “Look at you guys up there. You'll probably be as big as Kiss someday.”
“You flatter me…but no,” He pats your head. “They’re untouchable.”
“I mean it, though. You shook the world. I can’t imagine you wanting to leave it behind now. I thought you wanted this tour.”
“I know what you’re trying to do here and I appreciate you considering my career but I’ve got my priorities straight. It took some thinking—not much—but I didn’t need a lot of time to realize I’d rather be with you.”
You try to contain the butterflies fluttering within you. “Now who’s become soft?”
“Shut it,” He laughs, pulling you against him and planting a kiss on your lips then neck until you suddenly pull away. “Did I do something wrong?”
You take him by the shoulders, guiding him to do a 180 degree turn. “There’s Coney Island in the distance. Wanna go?”
“I’m up for it. But just so you know, I like scary rides.”
“Aw, you don’t have to concoct a scheme to get me to cling to you, baby. I like scary rides, too,” Hands clasped behind your back, you teasingly walk circles around him then ahead towards the direction of the bright lights competing with the starry sky. You look over your shoulder and say, “I’ll still hold onto you, though… you’d like.”
He dramatically fakes offense, resting a hand over his heart. “I’m insulted that you would think I’d stoop so low. When would I ever deny the chance for you to hold onto me?”
“Then, what’re you standing all the way back there for? Come here and let me hold you.” You shout from behind you. Something about today made you feel extremely flirtatious. Maybe it was for the reason that Eddie was incognito, allowing you the chance to unabashedly enjoy each other’s company.
Eddie’s eyes now trained on the sway of your hips. “Just a second. I’m enjoying my view.”
You giggle. He rushes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, rocking you side to side. Your cute little game of cat and mouse comes to an abrupt end when you both enter the theme park and are met with scattered patrons all over the park with their heads buried in a magazine…with your faces on them.
“No.” You say, cupping your hands over your mouth in shock.
“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie voices his frustration, eyes squeezed shut.
“That bastard,” You say through gritted teeth. You would have said that it was your fault for posting the article regarding Cole’s scandal. But you hadn’t gotten the chance to publish it, yet. “He was going to post it regardless of whether I’d accept his terms.”
You spot a nearby telephone pole. “I’m calling him and giving him a piece of my goddamn mind,” You say, strutting towards the payphone when Eddie grips your arm. You sneer a “what” at him.
“It’s not worth it. He’ll just try to provoke you which’ll then provoke me.”
You groan, running your hands over your face. “What do we do?”
“The only thing we can do: accept it.”
“Should we leave?”
“No. We’ll enjoy our time here while we can because as soon as we go back. We face reality.” Eddie holds out his hand.
You take it, exhaling and proceeding forward. “Okay but as a heads up, I’m definitely going to take down that man.”
“By all means, crush him,” Your boyfriend encourages. “Now let’s make you forget.”
“How do you suppose we do that?”
“Ferris Wheel, possibly. It’s the only ride without a giant line to wait in. We could talk…and other things.”
You snort. “What ‘things’ could you possibly do on a ferris wheel?”
He simply smirks, walking ahead of you this time. The boy is a menace.
You were considerably glad no one had recognized you from the magazine despite a good amount of park goers including the person operating the ferris wheel having the magazine in hand. After waiting in line patiently, it was your turn to board the ferris wheel car and take your seats.
“Some much needed alone time.” Eddie exhales his relief, both your heads thrown back against the wall of cart in exhaustion.
Not soon after exclaiming this, you both hear the sound of gum popping which causes you to raise your heads simultaneously. Seated in the chair across was a child, somewhere between the ages of 7-9, smacking away at her gum and kicking her feet.
“Hi!” She says, cheerfully.
“Hi, sweetie,” You return the greeting. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Beverly. Also Bev. I’m 8 years old! What’s your name?”
“I’m Y/n. That’s Eddie.” You point to Eddie who seemed uncomfortable.
“He looks scared. Are you scared of the ride, Eddie? It’s not scary. See?” Beverly gestures to herself seated.
“You okay, Eddie?” You asked, concerned.
He leans over, whispering to you as not for the little girl to hear. “It’s just…little kids freak me out, ya know. They always ask so many questions, forcing me to question my own existence.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take it from here,”You turned your attention back to the little girl. “Beverly, what are you doing here all alone? Where are your parents or guardians?”
“I wanted to ride the ferris wheel. Mommy said I couldn’t ride because it was bad. But I really wanted to.”
“Sweetie, it’s not okay to disobey your mother. Especially when she means well. She’s probably worried sick looking for you. I have an idea. Once this ride’s over, I’ll help you find her.”
“But she’ll be so angry.”
“Rightfully so, sweetie. But she’ll only be mad because she loves you.”
“So I can’t stay here?”
“You can’t run away from your problems. There’s a time where you’ve gotta face ‘em head on,” You were thinking maybe you should practice what you preach considering that running is exactly what you’ve been doing. “Tell ya what? I will have a talk with your mother to smoothen things over so she wouldn’t be too angry.”
“You promise?” She says, outstretching her arm and holding out her pinky.
“Promise.” You intertwine your pinky with hers.
“So when do you think we’ll get off this ride?” She asks.
“A few minutes or so.” You answered.
“Really? Even when it’s standing still.”
“Standing still?” Your eyes bugged out, looking over at Eddie who was just the same.
“Fuck! The Ferris Wheel’s stopped!” He exclaims.
“No swearing, Eds. Let’s not corrupt the kid.”
“Did you hear what I said?” He groans, standing up in the cart and walking back and forth.
“Yes! And could you please stop that? You’re wiggling the cart around.”
“I can’t help it. I hate confined spaces.”
“It’ll be okay,” You reassure him. “I’m sure it won’t be long before help.
The sound of a safety horn rings and then the click of a bullhorn. “Passengers, we’re experiencing some technical difficulties. Please allow 30 minutes for help to arrive and another 30 minutes to repair this issue. Please stay put and be safe. Thank you.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic.” Eddie throws his hands up before sinking down to the floor, head in his hands.
You sit beside him. “I didn’t know you were claustrophobic.”
“I’m not but sometimes confined spaces remind me of a certain point in my life…Juvie.”
“You’ve been to juvie?” You asked.
“It’s okay not to be surprised,” He laughs. “But yeah, I have.”
“No, I really am surprised. I never considered it,” You assure. “If you don’t mind me asking…how’d it happen?”
“It’s because I wanted to be like my dad. Ya know, the pro pickpocketer. Well, that wasn’t all he taught me. I learned how to hotwire different vehicles, dismantle and rebuild cars, how to pickpocket, taught me the ins and outs of ‘get rich’ quick schemes, taught me how to deal drugs…the whole nine. I remember wanting to be just like him,” He says. “I never cared much when my mother wasn’t around because he was there. Maybe he wasn’t the best father figure or as present as a parent should be. But when he was there, life didn’t seem so bad. Then one day we’re having some beers on the porch—I was 12, by the way—talking shit and listening to greatest hits. The cops came to arrest me because witnesses saw me stealing parts from a car. Parts that my father begged me to steal because he was too high off his own shit to do it himself. In custody, my dad says, ‘Don’t you worry, buddy. I’ll get you outta there.’ I really wanted to believe he was telling the truth.” Eddie laughs dryly, shaking his head.
Then he continues. “That was the last I saw of him and he didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eyes and say he’s sorry. I was sentenced for 6 months. He never visited me and being in that cell, staring up at the ceiling, alone with my thoughts; I realized it was the first time in my life I knew what it meant to be alone. I found out later he’d been arrested not even a month after my sentencing for serious drug charges. Lock up practically for good. Uncle Wayne took me in even when he hadn’t spoken with my dad in years. Hell, he didn't even know I existed until the guards called him looking for an immediate family member who'd be willing to take me in.”
Your heart broke at the sound of that. To know that he had such a rough childhood but he still managed to be Eddie was remarkable.
“I owe Wayne for everything I am now. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been a dirtbag just like my dad.”
“I’m so sorry.” You say, rubbing his back.
You weren’t sure the right words to say or if you should say anything at all. The little girl, Beverly, slides off her seat, sitting on the ground along with you. Her tiny backpack in front of her as she rummages through it, pulling out a tiny pink book then holds it out to Eddie.
You both look down at it. Eddie, hesitant but otherwise he takes it in his hands.
“My dad is in jail, too,” Beverly says. “Even though I miss him, I think he’s better there than when he’s with me and mommy. At home, he was mean and scary sometimes. Mommy says he’s better now. I think so, too. He calls me princess like he used to. Once he told me that if I'm ever sad or scared, do something I like. He likes to draw. Like me.” She points at the book.
“It’s not creepy drawings of people being buried, is it?” Eddie says, fear sprinkled in his tone.
You discreetly shove his back with your shoulder. “What he means to say is, ‘are you giving us permission to look at your drawings?’”
Beverly nods, a small smile on her face.
Eddie flips through the pages and he’s caught by surprise. They were quite beautifully drawn for something done by an 8 year old. Gothic drawings of birds, spiders, landscapes and such.
“These are actually really cool.” Eddie praises.
“You’ve done these all by yourself?” You ask, also charmed by the work.
“Mhmm,” The little girl hums proudly. “Well, not all of it. Sometimes, dad starts a drawing and I finish it at home. Then, I start a drawing and he finishes it. He says it’s how we can commemorate with each other.”
“I think you mean, ‘communicate’,” You giggle. “That’s a beautiful story, Bev.”
“He also draws on people’s skin,” She adds, pointing to the matching tattoo you and Eddie had gotten. “Like that.”
You smile at your boyfriend, him, back at you in quiet appreciation; reminiscent of your time together so far.
“Hey, kid, I’ve got a friend I’ll be seeing soon,” Eddie grins. “He’s in a new band and I’d like to give him a little gift. I could use some help with creating a new logo for his band. Think you could make one for me while we kill time?”
Beverly beams. “Yeah!”
The little girl immediately takes out art supplies from her bag, taking the book for him to start on a new blank page.
“Did you mean that? We’re going to Gareth’s show?”
He nods, squeezing your hand. “Yeah.”
“Don’t just sit there?” Beverly chastises. “Gimme some ideas.”
Eddie chuckles, leaning over the page and springing ideas with her while you watch in amusement.
————
After 50 minutes, Eddie and Beverly became a close pair. You’d barely spoken with how much the two had gotten along.
“And she’s all, ‘You’re not invited because you’re weird.’” Beverly says in a mocking tone.
“No.” Eddie says in disbelief.
“Yeah and everyone in class had an invitation. She’s always been a real bully. Sometimes she shoves me, pulls my hair…and it makes me angry. Like I want to hurt her.”
Eddie scoffs. “I’ve known asshats like that back in school, too. Wouldn’t even look in my direction because I didn’t have the latest shoes or clothes.”
“Language, Eddie.”
“Sorry, I meant ‘butthats’,” Eddie says, causing Beverly to giggle wildly and nearly color outside the lines. Eddie whispers. “Some advice: don’t stoop down to a bully’s level because then you’ll become a bully, too. It happened to me. I thought solving everything with fists would somehow get people to stop messing with me but it only made me feel worse. It’s okay to stand up for yourself but it’s also okay to tell someone what you're going through. Like an adult.”
You smile at his advice, realizing that he’d listened to you.
He’s becoming really mature.
“However, she did hit you first so it’s only fair game that you get to hit her back.” He adds.
Ooh, so close.
“All done!” Beverly holds up the drawing.
Eddie takes the page, scanning it. It was of a spider spinning a web in the shape of a guitar, a giant cross in the background. It looks badas—“ You shoot him a look. “It’s really cool, kid.”
A whirring sound picks up and the ride’s moving again, the three of you erupt in cheers. When you’d finally reached the bottom, a woman full of fear stood there waiting on the sidelines. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw Beverly.
“Bev! Baby.” Her mother sobs in relief, arms opened wide.
“Mommy!” The little girl jumps into the mother’s arms.
“What did I tell you about leaving my side?! I knew you’d be here. You just don’t quit, do you?” Her mother scolds.
“Ahem.” Beverly says, clearing her throat cuing you.
“Hello, Beverly’s mother,” You waved, introducing yourself. “It’s wonderful meeting you. I’m Y/n and this is Eddie. We found her riding alone and talked about searching for you when the ferris wheel stopped.”
“Hello. Please call me Martha,” She introduces herself. “I told her that ferris wheel’s always giving up. I’m so sorry. I hope she didn’t cause any trouble with you. She can be quite the handful.”
“No. She was an angel. Even drew us a picture.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Bev,” Her mother smiles down at her. “Thank you so much for keeping her happy. She’s usually scared to ride those things alone. If there’s any way I could thank you…”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.” You protest.
“No, no. I’ve got it! If ever you need help planning an event—maybe a party or… wedding,” She darts her eyes between the two of you, handing you a business card. “That's my number right there. I’m a wedding and event planner.”
You blush, profusely. “Umm, okay.”
“Let’s go, Beverly. Say goodbye to the nice people.”
She pouts. “Will I see you guys again?”
You let Eddie have this one. He crouches down to her level and says, “I think so. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be needing a wedding planned or whatever,” You were now blushing so hard that the heat from your face could warm you enough from the cold weather. “Or maybe I could get some cool tattoo ideas from the artist herself.” He finishes, winking at her.
The girl beams. Then, she and her mother were on their way. Eddie, waving at her until they couldn’t see each other anymore.
You smirk at him. “Well, would you look at that. You’ve overcome your fear of children.”
“She’s pretty cool. Reminds me a lot of myself.”
“She’s very special. Bright, too. I think she’s helped me work out a lot up there than any therapy session I’ve had in years.”
“Somehow the universe keeps sending people our way because you and I could use a little push. We’re very stubborn people, ya know. Although, I’m a Taurus. What’s your excuse?”
You laughed. “So are we going to this show or are we going to discuss signs now?”
“Don’t you wanna debate how un-Taurus like I am,” He jokes. “Alright. Let’s go so see TSNP. Dumb name by the way. Hope Gareth didn’t come up with it.”
“Do you think we’ll make it to their performance on time?”
“I think so. But if we don’t, I’d still like to go for the support,” He smiles and curls an arm around your shoulders. “Then you and I could go back and face reality.”
You rest your head on his, walking out of the park; ignorant to the magazines with your faces on them.
Taglist: @that-idiot125 @strangerthingsstories5255 @haylaansmi @tlclick73 @chcolateeyelver @apolixyan @micheledawn1975 @maystecc @gay-weirdo262772 @itswormtrain @httpmedxsa @3m0xbunn1 @bebe0701 @lokiofasgard616 @joeyfilth @secretdryrose @sammararaven @cherrytree69 @bimbobaggins69 @nicolaj1978 @idgafboutyou @eddiesgffff @briasnow-blog @sweetdreamer1010 @sleepyghostygirl @babeyglo @idkidknemore @e0509 @brittney69 @samunson83 @hellfire-puppet @moonisu @mopeymopeymouse @lluviamg06 @shinydixon @cherrysoda444 @lovelyvivii @therese01 @keiracottreau @mirrorsstuff @eddiemunson95 @e-munson666 @munson-fixation @paradoxicalconundrum @lulukings92 @sherrylyn628 @szalipcombo @elamity @munsonswhore86 @kellsck @die-irre-blog @creoleguurl @edsforehead @munsonswhore86 @websterss @screaming-blue-bagel @ick90
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x you#rockstar!eddie munson#rockstar!eddie#rockstar!eddie munson x reader#joseph quinn x reader#stranger things fanfic#eddie stranger things#stranger things x reader#eddie munson au#enemies to friends to lovers#idiots in love#joseph quinn fluff#joseph quinn smut#eddie munson my beloved#eddie munson series#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader angst#stranger things fandom#stranger things smut#eddie munson fandom#joseph quinn#eddie munson x y/n#x reader#y/n#eddie fanfic
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TMA ending reflections (and theories about the sequel!)
When I initially listened to the ending, it felt like a good plan (and the prospects of a perfect happy ending) unnecessarily jeopardised. Jon and Martin’s panicked conversation sounded so hopeless and their final decision felt impulsive. Everything was in shambles, and a good outcome was unlikely at this point. The promise of Somewhere Else seemed like an empty euphemism to make certain death more bearable. I was frustrated, and heartbroken.
Now that I've taken a few days to process and distanced myself from the characters' momentary pain, I actually truly believe that what happened at the end was a happy accident instead.
I don’t think I can put it better than the Reddit post already has—The original plan proposed by Annabelle could have had equally (if not worse) disastrous outcomes. Even if it had been canonically executed, knowing the way Jonny and Alex love to write, things would still have been shown to end ambiguously—just less tragically poetic. For the purposes of the narrative, I think they did a great job of ending the series on a climactic, fulfilling (and hopeful!) note that remains faithful to the overall tone of The Magnus Archives. Jon and Martin weren’t exactly planning on doing what they did, but it’s given them a chance at the best and happiest ending that was up for grabs.
And I love that I genuinely don’t feel like I have to be in denial of the canon at all to fully believe in this interpretation, since it was left strictly ambiguous on purpose.
But there’s more!
The Magnus Protocol teaser has a seemingly unharmed (and physically corporeal) Martin surprised to see the familiar tape recorder show up again, long after he’s assumed they’ve stopped listening. This, plus the fact that Jonny and Alex have confirmed they will appear in TMA 2, tells me:
It’s unlikely that Jonny and Alex will appear simply to voice other side-characters, even those with distorted voices. It’s clear from Q&As that they take casting very seriously. I can’t see them double-casting (former) main characters.
So we’ll see Martin again, post-escape from Eyepocalypse. Not just an old S1-to-S5-era never-seen-before Magnus Archives tape found by Alice and Sam. Including formerly unrevealed tapes from TMA would be a really nice touch (and I hope we’ll get that too!), but I’m sure Jonny wouldn’t release that particular teaser if he wasn’t solidly planning on following through in some way. Jonny has always been very serious about giving the audience breadcrumb trails with properly viable clues.
Well … what about post-Eyepocalypse Jon? Well, I think Jon is only going to appear in such a way that either fully retains the ambiguity of the TMA ending, or hints/confirms in some way that he is also alive and unharmed (in whatever avatar or semi-avatar form).
In any case, if post-Eyepocalypse Martin (and maybe Jon) do indeed appear (which seems very likely at this point), it will also be implied or shown that they are, indeed, together—in a non-tragic, romantic, bordering on wholesome way.
I say this because confirming their death or separation after the TMA finale would completely ruin the sanctity of the ending. It’s really neatly tied up and beautiful as it is right now. Answering questions to ambiguous events negatively in sequels (eg having formerly surviving main characters simply as side-characters who die in sequels) is really hard to land properly. It borders on being disrespectful of the investment the audience put into the original. Jonny has always been very receptive and sensitive to these things.
However, showing that characters from a previously ambiguous ending are living their best lives as mysterious side-characters that pop in and out—bamboozling the main characters (but delighting the audience)—is a lot easier to execute favourably. It also keeps from taking attention away from the protagonists and the main plot of the sequel.
So my expectation (read: hope) is that we’re going to see Jon and Martin in our world, where the end of TMA implied that the tapes are, and where I assume The Magnus Protocol is set! They will be happy and together (this may be explicit or implied vaguely, I am not sure how they’d keep that completely ambiguous if the post-Eyepocalypse versions of the characters themselves explicitly appear), and nothing worse than TMA finale will happen to them.
I only have this belief because I have incredible faith in Jonny and Alex as writers! I think they subverted insensitive tropes creatively and did just about everything right in TMA, and I can’t say that about most authors I love. Yes, I do generally want my blorbos to be safe and happy, but the above is not just a culmination of my wishful thinking. Jonny and Alex have already said that they certainly aren’t going to try to overshadow TMA, but I’m also hoping The Magnus Protocol will complement TMA while not really trying to step on TMA’s toes. They didn't have to drop so many JonMartin return hints (or even write JonMartin into TMA 2 at all) but they did. Super excited and optimistic for what's to come!
#tma#the magnus archives#jonmartin#jmart#the magnus protocol#tma spoilers#tma s5 spoilers#jonathan sims#alexander j newall#jonny sims#alex newell#martin blackwood#jon sims#john sims#jarchivist#the mag pod#the magnus pod#magnus pod#mag pod#the magnus scrotocol#tma 2#lgbtq+#achillean#mlm#gay#bi#biromantic#asexual#ace#screenshots from r/TheMagnusArchives via moonlightsapphic (repost bc tumblr algorithm completely ignored the reblog lol)
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Carry On by Rainbow Rowell (review/rec)
Genre: Fantasy
My rating: 9/10
I feel like Tumblr is well aware of these books already, but I figured it was a solid start as any.
Carry On and its subsequent books was such a pleasant surprise! Years ago, I had read Fangirl, another book by Rowell. And I loved it! I also recommend that one, but there are no LGBTQ+ characters or themes from what I remember. In it, the main character, Cath, was writing a fanfic from her favorite book series from childhood, Simon Snow. Simon Snow evidently involved a teenage boy named Simon whom attended wizarding school. Oddly, some sort of event or disaster would happen at this school every year, with Simon and his friends (but mostly Simon), being at the center of it. Simon would appear to be some sort of “chosen one”. Sound familiar?
Carry On, is the fanfic that Cath was working on. From Fangirl, we already knew that it followed Simon through his last year at wizarding school and that Cath possibly made the best enemies to lovers story known to the world of fanfiction. I actually avoided reading Carry On for a long time because I usually really hate Harry Potter fics. Not to mention that I thought it was going to be a lot like other spin-off books that end up just being boring. Eventually, out of desperation to find more queer stories, I caved, and I found out that my assumptions were absolutely wrong. It turns out that Cath really did write an excellent enemies to lovers story!
The characters are extremely relatable, and over the series we get to see how these characters develop from teenagers to young adults. I love that we also get to see how they react emotionally to the things that have happened to them as well. Unlike a lot of Chosen-One stories where the main trio can just take on challenge after challenge and make it out seemingly unfazed, it feels like Carry On pulls back the curtain on what these sorts of characters would actually be dealing with after facing huge, life-altering events. I’d like to say more here, but I’m afraid that I will spoil them!
The world of Simon Snow is also pretty hilarious. Every once in a while, Rowell will seemingly poke fun at Harry Potter’s plot holes or stupid rules. These books had me laughing when it didn’t have me in Deep Introspection Mode. What with its tongue-twisters of spells taken from nursery rhymes and the main villain being named “The Insidious Humdrum”. That being said, while Carry On perhaps has its roots in Harry Potter, it is a complete story in its own right. Instead of being about the up-and-coming Chosen One and the chaos that ensues, Carry On is more-so about how people can and do move on and grow after their world was turned upside-down. Most Chosen-One stories, and really most young adult fiction books, end with high school, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the Rowell gave Simon and his friends a future beyond just high school. I love how she shows how at every age there are new challenges to face. Life goes on beyond high school!
Of course, I don’t want to forget the reason that these books have made it onto my blog! Where is the gay content!? The main characters, Simon and Baz fall in love, and it’s adorable. Simon doesn’t realize at first that he may be into men, so he has to have a bit of self-discovery there. Meanwhile, Baz thinks he’s pining for a straight boy who could never fall in love with his enemy and rival and hates vampires, like him. It’s like if Malfoy and Harry were to fall in love, except Malfoy actually has some redeeming qualities and proves that he’s quite nice. I feel like this comparison still doesn’t do Simon and Baz justice though. Rowell also shows the awkwardness between first loves and how it may not always be smooth sailing throughout the books. In addition, I have a headcanon that Penelope, another one of the main characters, may be somewhere on the demiromantic and/or demisexual spectrum.
If your in the mood for laughing, some crying (or both at once), discussions about change, and the feeling that you just want to reach into the books to give a hug to people that don’t exist I highly recommend the Simon Snow trilogy.
#queer books#lgbtq+ books#rainbow rowell#simon snow#carry on#simon snow series#gay books#lgbtq+#booklr#books and reading#book review#book recommendations
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Despair Time: The Meaning of “Thematic Significance”
//Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here again.
//Now, I’m not going to pretend like you haven’t heard me talk about Despair Time over and over at this point, as people often ask me my thoughts or challenge me on my personal theories. I still stand by much of what I’ve said, as I don’t feel the counter-arguments people have presented, while sound in many ways, are particularly strong and also rely on plenty of assumptions.
//I’m not here to talk about any of that.
//Instead, I want to talk about something else. I recently got another ask about DT, and this one wasn’t a theory question, but an entirely different one. One that actually got me thinking as soon as I read it:
//I’ll be the first to say, no, I didn’t write DT. I’m not part of the writing team and I don’t know any of the people involved. If I was, I doubt I’d be pushing any of my theories as hard as I have. Instead, this ask got me thinking about a recurring exception people have taken to my theories and I think I know exactly why.
//I don’t think I’ve properly explained what exactly I mean when I talk about themes and messages. Which is a pretty big oversight, given how much I’ve brought it up.
//I don’t blame anyone for that. After all, as impassioned as fans of any work can be, not everyone is a writer, nor are they as intimately familiar with the mechanics of writing as someone who’s spent well over a decade working toward becoming one.
//But as with many fields with multiple sub-topics to cover, and no one right way to do them all, I also don’t claim to be an expert. I’m just someone who has a passion for this stuff, and it’s what forms the cruxes of my theories. That’s what I want to share with you now, and to hopefully clear up some misunderstandings.
(Just so you know, this has been in the works for a while and I’ve already covered the points I’ve made here at some points before, but I’m sticking with what I’ve written so far.)
//There is a very common stance on writing that anything can happen. That you, as a creator, have infinite freedom to create. This is true in many aspects when it comes to creating a fictional setting and populating it with characters, but you also need to understand another important thing about writing: its limitations.
//Now, I don’t mean limitations on creativity. I mean things like themes, narratives, plot structure, the very bones of a story. These can often be changed and distorted in different and creative ways depending on the work, but you can only bend them so far before they break, and the story breaks with them.
//For example, why is it that when a protagonist dies, it’s often either very early on in the story, or at the climax? You could potentially have it work if they died at the halfway point and another took over, sure. But would it make sense for them to die 23% of the way into the story? 62%? No, because these simply don’t work.
//Take the classic Three-Act Structure. You can see the points at which the story rises and falls between different events, steadily building before arriving at a major moment and then diving back down into another. Of course, this doesn’t apply well to Danganronpa.
//DR has more in line with the five-act structure (technically six, but same logic), which takes all of this and moves it across a wider series of events. Now, you’d be forgiven for looking at this graph and thinking that Act 3′s need to be the climax or turning point, when it can really happen at any point between 3, 4 and 5. As I said, things can be bent in new ways.
//This is where I feel much of the logic for the counter-arguments to my theories comes from, how the story is building up to a turning point in Chapter 3, which means she’s more likely to double down in Chapter 2 in regards to not trusting people.
//if I were looking it purely objectively on a graph like this, I’d understand. But I have to disagree for the reasons I keep bringing up: themes.
___________________________________________________
//In its most basic form, a theme can be thought of as the underlying meaning of a story. What exactly is this piece of art trying to tell us and why? Some are much more overt than others, and DR is definitely in that category regarding its continuous and very unsubtle themes of hope and despair.
//DT, on the other hand, takes the approach and discusses the themes of trust and distrust. These are evident as early as the prologue, where Teruko asks Xander a simple question:
//Now, this is already a huge departure from the canon games, and this moment sets Teruko apart from people like Makoto, Kaede, Shuichi, Komaru, and even Hajime. Whereas most protags would be the ones keeping everyone together or directing their anger at the mastermind, Teruko already feels a sense of doubt against everyone else.
//And as we later learn, this is not for no reason. Yet at the same time, she reels back on that comment when Xander seems uncomfortable.
//Yet he actually agrees with her, up to a point:
//The prologue cements the core theme in here, and Chapter 1 goes a step further and shows us how that sense of trust can go wrong.
//Teruko, who’d spent the chapter hanging out with people she considered friends- especially Xander and Min- gets betrayed hardcore by both of them. Xander is pushed into stabbing Teruko thanks to a mysterious note he received, and his own belief that it was the right call, and Min’s decision to try and frame her for Xander’s accidental death.
//All of this, combined with the group’s unwillingness to even hear her out at first and instead forcing her to defend herself on her own, drives Teruko to give up on trusting people entirely. Come Chapter 2, we see her sticking to that.
//Chapter 1 of DT is very much an exploration of how having too much trust in others can backfire significantly. Does that mean that Chapter 2 would see more doubling down on that? Not necessarily.
//A common mistake made by both amateur writers and some readers is the idea that, because a viewpoint is held by the protagonist, that means it’s the correct one. This is called Protagonist-Centered Morality, and it’s why you get a lot of bad stories where the protag gets away with doing hypocritical things because they’re the hero.
//Now, it can be easy to fall into that with Teruko, who I’ve seen many describe as the most realistic and grounded protag because she understand the situation. Of course, we as the audience know that no amount of trusting and hoping is going to just make the killing game stop two chapters in, but the characters don’t know that.
//There’s also a common view held by many in the DR fandom that characters can be preemptively judged based entirely on their behavior; in particular how people like Eden in DT or Shion in Heartless Deceit are often slapped with the villain card. That being kind and optimistic makes them naive at best or secretly evil at worse.
//I don’t like these sorts of theories because they aren’t based on actual in-universe foreshadowing or hinting. Instead, it feels more like metagaming; using previous experiences with these archetypes and basing your expectations on that, rather than what’s actually in the text.
//When you focus so much on the meta aspects of these fangans, especially ones that aren’t adhering to the regular DR formula, it can really undermine the experiences. With this sort of narrative metagaming, you’re not engaged with the work itself, but the tropes of the series you’re more familiar with.
//Not to mention it feels a bit disrespectful to assume all DR writers are drawing from the exact same idea book.
//We are, but we can explore those ideas in new ways, and that doesn’t always equate to “optimistic character dies/is evil.” I bring all of this up because Chapter 2 is a good source of another important piece of writing: contrast.
_______________________________________________________
//You may have heard a bit of writing advice that says you need to raise the stakes to keep an audience engaged. This is wrong for many reasons, and instead it’s more accurate to say that a story shouldn’t repeat itself too often to keep people engaged. Indeed, many people find grounded stories about characters overcoming emotional issues more compelling than plots about saving the world.
//One of the best ways to avoid repetition is to provide different challenges to your characters. Bigger threats are one option, but there’s also new and unfamiliar situations, which is where I think we’re going with this chapter.
//DT’s first chapter showed us the story of Teruko waking up, meeting a group of her peers, getting to know them, and despite the danger of their situation, offering them a sense of trust...right before all of it is shattered by Xander’s and Min’s actions. That leaves her in a very different position from when she began, now deciding not to trust anyone.
//I don’t believe Chapter 2 is doubling down because so much of it has been devoted to the exact opposite. Many of the characters have been tearing into Teruko for her unwillingness to trust, particularly how she pulls a knife on Charles and J, and how she isolates herself to the point of playing with cacti to stave off boredom.
//To put it another way that might make a bit more sense, have you ever noticed that plans, like heists or military operations, are more likely to succeed when we see less of them? When you get the full details of a plan, it seems more likely to fail in some ways when they put it into action. When you don’t, you get big dramatic reveals of how the plan actually works.
//The reason for that is simple: if you have the plan shown in full once, and it plays out exactly as described, you may as well have either not shown one of them or have them happening concurrently. Otherwise, you’re just repeating yourself unnecessarily.
//Likewise, the more a point is brought up, discussed or challenged in a story or storyline, and the more the protagonist adheres to it, the more likely it is that they’re going to either dismiss that thought by the end or see it in a new perspective. This is especially true if the point is being directly challenged at first, then seemingly not.
//I talk about Eden a lot in this regard as well, because her scene is really the big one that seals this for me. I’ve seen people talk about her optimistic attitude as being naive at best or a sign of villainy at worse, and that’s a take that actually appears in the story with Arei.
//And then she immediately turns that around and admits that, no, she doesn’t believe any of that. In fact, she wants to be like Eden.
//It still hurts to see her like this, just fyi ^^;
//But continuing on, a similar sort of situation occurs earlier with Teruko and Eden in the kitchen, where they talk about why Eden wants to be friends with her so much. Teruko admits that Eden’s the last person she wants to be friends with. Not because she doesn’t like her, but rather that it would hurt too much to lose her.
//Teruko appreciates her kindness, but she also views Eden as naive. She’s under the impression that optimism could only come from a place of ignorance or childishness. The idea that these are things you’re supposed to grow out of, and that being a pessimistic cynic is the rational response to betrayal.
//And of course, Eden tells her how it REALLY is.
//Now, it might be easy to look at this and say “Okay, but you’re still in a killing game and people are gonna die, so why does it matter?”
//It matters because she gets through to Teruko with this speech, if only for a moment.
//Teruko has spent the first three episodes of this chapter pushing people away, threatening them, telling them they’re going to die and that trust is stupid. Yet when Eden tells her this, it makes her heart stir. To the point that she has to deny it to herself that she’s actually moved by her words.
//This is how I can pretty confidently say that Teruko doubling down on her cynicism is very unlikely. She’s also unlikely to dive right back into friendship, but this might be the first taste of compassion she’s had in a long time.
//And this is also why I say DT is not this grimdark edgefest that so many theorists seem to portray it as. The metagaming with character archetypes combined with a lot of assumptions and circumstantial evidence has already lead a lot of people to conclude Eden is the killer and that’s why Teruko will double down.
//None of that is substantiated by the actual character interactions and themes. If that were true, scenes like this would either not exist or they’d exist just to prove Eden wrong. Or, as I’ve seen much more frequently in grimdark stories, Eden would have been the first victim to cement that theme home right from the start.
//And more importantly, there are always the hidden quotes with these characters, whom I refer to many times for these sorts of theories. What’s Teruko’s?
//Chapter 1 demonstrated how far her trust issues go, where two of her friends betrayed her in different ways, and she responded by trying to disconnect herself from the lives of everyone in the game. Yet Teruko cannot, and will never, be able to do that so long as this Killing Game is ongoing.
//In a killing game, either one person wins or one person loses, and Teruko needs to be on the winning side if she wants to live. She’s already made it clear she’d rather not kill or leave the site of the killing game, so that means she has to participate whether she wants to or not.
//And to participate, even from a purely self-interested perspective, she needs to be willing to trust people at their word in some respects. That, I think, can be the setup for a very interesting situation for this chapter.
//Now, you might say “Well, Bubbles, have you considered how many characters in DR aren’t who they say they are? Why are you so certain that Eden or even Teruko is being honest? What if there’s a twist reveal with them?”
//To which I say, yes, I have actually thought of that. In fact, we’ve already seen that with the fandom’s favorite motivational speaker, who is also a perfect example of what I’m talking about.
________________________________________________
//People really like David. A lot. To the point that it actually surprised the creator, who was convinced everyone would hate his guts after this chapter. And I will admit, I am one of those who do.
//I really hate David. A lot. I will, however, be as unbiased as I can in my examination of him, as he’s a perfect example of what I’m talking about.
//The thing about twist reveal characters is that their true nature is always hinted at and foreshadowed in some manner, either in the story or their FTEs (I’d prefer if it was in the story, but maybe that’s just me).
//You see it with characters like Toko, Mukuro, the whole of Class 77-B sans Chiaki, and Korekiyo. They’re not always satisfying, admittedly, but the signs are at least there.
//Super Danganronpa Another 2 is full of these for characters like the Voids and Kanade, who all have little moments here and there, be it in the main story or their FTEs, where they let their true personalities leak through before it’s revealed what they really are.
//Any good twist reveal benefits from foreshadowing, and David is no exception. In fact, seeing DT for the first time, I was already unwilling to trust him right from the get go.
//He puts on this facade of an inspiring, upstanding dude. But as soon as he thinks he’s alone?
//Now, you’d be forgiven for seeing this as a sign that David doesn’t like his title but still wants to help people. That maybe he doesn’t like dealing with people, but nevertheless has good intentions. After all, don’t his interactions with people like Xander and Arei show that?
//I’m sorry, but it’s quite the opposite.
//As we’ve since learned, David Chiem is a manipulative bastard. He not only doesn’t give a damn about other people, he’s an raging misanthrope who looks down on everyone else.
//Not only that, he is actively cruel and malicious toward everyone in the game for no damn reason. Nobody ever actively bullied him, mocked him or did anything to make his life miserable. Yet he lashes out, calling people names, deliberately saying hateful and cruel remarks for no reason other than to hurt them.
//I’ve seen some people try to suggest that David actually does have good intentions, or that he’s doing this for a good cause.
//Pardon my French, but that’s complete bullshit. Here’s why:
//If David had good intentions, he wouldn’t have done any of what he did. He spent the better part of this chapter lying and making things up, from his supposed secret about a family history of depression to the idea that he got Xander’s secret in the trial.
//Unlike Eden, who wears her heart on her sleeve and has never shown a malicious bone in her body, David very clearly hates the people around him. Even before Episode 11, the cracks in his facade were always visible.
//This is also not brushed away with the notion that he’s only like this because Xander died. That may have exacerbated things, but this is David. This is how he really is, fully exposed. He is filled with unmitigated anger and bitterness, and Xander would probably hate his guts if he saw him like this.
//The big reason why I see no good in his actions is because he doesn’t have anyone’s best interest in mind.
//Take Nico, for example. I’m not going to get into the discourse over it, but Nico’s secret is that they’re nonbinary and received absolutely no support for it their whole life. It’s clearly not something they want to talk about, yet David keeps trying to drag it out of them until they relent.
//Likewise, Hu doesn’t want to talk about her secret, yet David keeps trying to press her on it, but then gives up when she doesn’t seem receptive. Instead, they talk about some other secrets, like how Hu used to go by the name “Julia.”
//And what happens later in the trial?
//This is evil. This is unquestionably malicious evil. David couldn’t get her to spill her secrets, so he goes out of his way to harm her with what he does know. How anyone can see this as anything less than evil is beyond me.
//But it also illustrates my point: if Eden is kind by choice, David is kind by motive. He doesn’t care about people, he care about what those people can do for him, and to him, kindness and inspiration is the best way to achieve that goal.
//The thing about manipulators is that they’re as superficial as they come. Their facade is only there to take advantage of trust, yet even when any sort of good graces are lost, they will still use what they know to try and turn things around. When they can’t do that, they just get aggressive and threaten people.
//If you want more proof, here are some lists to look up if you want:
//I’ve looked over David’s actions and attitudes many times, and he dolls out love-bombing pretty frequently, especially with Xander. Everything on these lists, he’s done at some point.
//This isn’t about whether or not I think he’s the killer, but instead reinforces my point about the themes of DT. If Eden represents kindness through choice, and Charles and Arei represent the willingness to change for the better, David represents everything Teruko fears.
//It’s very interesting to look back and see that, when David reveals himself, Teruko isn’t nearly as shocked or appalled as the others. She’d already seen he was putting on a mask, so to her, thus must’ve just felt like a “told ya so” moment. She already expects the worst out of the others, so seeing this already reaffirms what she believes.
//What sense is there in having her double down from that point on?
_________________________________________________
//So, I hope that clears up some of the misunderstandings that may have come from my previous posts. When I talk about thematic significance, this is what I’m referring to. The actual driving ideas and intentions behind a story.
//This isn’t me complaining about elements of the story I don’t like, this isn’t me trying to rewrite it because I think I know better and this isn’t meant to be an insult to anyone who’s ever made a theory I’ve disagreed with. None of that is ever my intention.
//I admit I do find it a little hypocritical that people will accuse me of wanting to rewrite the entire story to fit my desires for it, when I’ve seen theories that do everything from frame characters like Eden and Hu as the villains for incredibly petty reasons, giving them motivations that make no sense for them as characters, to trying to suggest David is the real hero of this story. He’s not. He’s a villain, you guys.
//Putting that aside, all of this is just me hardcore analyzing the story based on the evidence that we’ve been given, and from careful contemplating of the story thus far. What’s my conclusion?
//Teruko is our protagonist, and she’s in a unique position as someone who has to be the one to learn the importance of trust and friendship. This story is her character journey, and while I do think it’s possible for her to double down at some point, I have my doubts that this entire story will be about her getting worse before she gets better.
//Likewise, Eden is our support, and she’s the one who embodies a genuinely optimistic hope, meant to invoke the same sort of role as Makoto or Chiaki, but in a bit more of a side role. If she weren’t meant to serve that role, she would either have died first in this game, and she’s either poised to face a similar fate as Chiaki or she’ll be a survivor. That’s my prediction, at least.
//I think this is what makes this a part of the Danganronpa fangan universe. The overarching nature of this series is about the better angels of our nature overcoming adversity, even in the face of overwhelming despair. If you have a fangan that doesn’t really do that, I greatly hesitate to even call it “Danganronpa.”
//That journey of overcoming adversity doesn’t always equate to perpetual upward momentum, and sometimes people will stumble or not survive the journey, but that doesn’t mean any of it was pointless. It becomes pointless when the story doesn’t offer any sort of character growth or any resolution beyond “Everything is awful, we should just lay down and die.”
//That’s not what Despair Time is, and this is why I emphasize that constantly. Teruko is not our typical protagonist and this isn’t our typical story, but even through a darker and more adversarial group, that doesn’t equate to a story that’s reinforcing those points, but is instead challenging them and showing why going too far in either direction will only lead to failure.
//I have a lot to say about Teruko in particular, but I’ll save those for a proper character analysis. For now, I hope this has cleared up my points about thematic relevance and made my theories make a bit more sense.
//And if you made it this far, thanks for reading!
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Eyyyy I got asked to write an essay about big robots and digressed into mulling over monstrous metaphors
There’s Bones in that Bot
By Emma Mieko Candon
When people met me at 25, the wrongness of my body was immediately apparent. It was the thinness, the frailty, the new scars and fragile veins. Another clue: the walker and its cat-mauled tennis balls. So too the oxygen tank—the fancy kind you keep in a bag that spurts air up the tube into your nose only when you inhale. Tst-tst-tst. Even when I graduated to a cane and a steady gait, I made no effort to hide the red tangle of knotty scars at my throat, though I did my best to contain the chronic cough. (A mistake, BTW. Cover your mouth, but don’t hold it in. Great way to put even more stress on the flesh apparatus.)
I had by then long since been convinced by Donna Haraway’s thesis of cyborg humanity—that we as entities exceeded our flesh the second we developed tool use, and that it got even worse when we introduced the context of gifts and possessions. But as the years go on, the extended thing-ness of my body only grows more apparent. I am artificial and constructed; I am alive because I have been built.
I thought this was what brought me to a fascination with robots and AI—the extension of humanity through embodied machines! But no, my friends said. We remember the whole Gundam thing.
The Machine is a Monster
Right, the whole Gundam thing. About that.
This might sound weird coming from someone who’s just put out a book about beautiful giant robots, but I’ve never really been interested in robots—at least when they aren’t moving. When a giant robot is just standing there/floating in space/being a Gunpla model, a monument to itself, my eyes pass over its silhouette as they would any other large structure. Perhaps I’m impressed by its artistry, or intrigued by the underlying design, but it isn’t really an object of curiosity.
But when that titan lifts its hand? When its leg rises and its foot crashes down—when it turns its arm to reveal the medium of great violence?
Then I am afraid. Then I am fascinated.
I am drawn to large machinery in the way I am to monsters. When I describe something on the magnitude of a spaceship, I know it can be warmth and a home, but it is also, to me, an existential threat of size and speed and impact. My body is all too familiar with its own fragility. I cannot perceive this immensity without thinking of my fundamental physical relationship to it.
I don’t know that I was thinking any of this, even on an intuitive level, when Gundam Wing first stomped into my life—when it was Toonami’s heady alternative to Dragon Ball Z that I was instantly in love with for the pretty boys and twisty political intrigue. Now, though, I am well versed in the brittle nature of my body, and I have been taking new hikes through Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans, then more recently (it just finished! go watch it!) Gundam: the Witch from Mercury. Both series are immediately and intimately Gundam at its best:
1. an interrogation of exploited bodies in the context of vast systems and machines
2. the absurd and precious possibility of human connection.
Ah, right, and 3., the eternal backbone of Gundam as a narrative: War…bad???
The Monster is People
War bad. Seems silly. Pithy. Of course war bad. No one right with their mind, body, or soul wants war.
Do they? Enh. Reality seems to beg to differ. War is happening, right now, all over, in all its ugliness and horror. The great machines of nation, capital, hunger, and hatred grind our smallness through cruelty after cruelty. And for all these great things are the dire mechanisms, it is small human hands that pull the triggers and incise flesh. It is a devouring cycle, it is corrosively sick, we are so pitifully trapped.
I struggle to write this with any kind of resonance or meaning. War bad. Simple, two words, three letters each, and yet abysmally less than the entirety they gesture toward. How many more words would I need? How many more letters and syllables and theories and treatises and grotesqueries must I lay down to properly express war?
Because you have to say something. The nothing is worse. Deadly.
But how? How do you encapsulate the monstrous enormity? How do you even begin?
I don’t know, I don’t know. But I see how some have tried.
The People is the Machine
Giant robots are shockingly silly. They’re physically impossible. They’re often being painted bright LEGO colours or being constructed out of mechanized lions. As often as they’re the centre of gritty stories of human suffering (with a touch of transcendent human connection), they’re goofy warriors for goodness, light, and the power of friendship, taking part in schlocky melodrama. When asked by a stranger what I write about, I say “Oh, giant robots” in the most self-effacing tone. SILLY!
Here’s the thing: this genre has a legacy, at least in Japan. There, mecha stories arrive in the aftermath of World War II, during which Japan both suffered and was the perpetrator of unconscionable violence. And in that aftermath, the Japanese government was (and still is) often eager to honour only its own dead—and to sweep under the rug all the horrors it committed.
How do you live with that? How do you breathe? What do you say?
I don’t think it’s always—or even usually—conscious. Maybe you just find yourself drawn to the idea of samurai and ronin, men of violence bound by rigid hierarchies and honour codes. And maybe you particularly like to write stories where their moral centres are flayed open by the commands of their superiors. “Kill that man,” says the lord. “This doesn’t seem right,” says the samurai—as he kills the man, and then has to somehow goddamn live with it.
Maybe this is what you need to express the overwhelming pressure of complicity and silence.
Or maybe you find yourself thinking in terms of the sheerly absurd. Monsters of incredible magnitude. Robots of like immensity. Maybe you use them to evoke atrocities lived and visited upon your world and body. Maybe it seems only right that they should also dance, that they should be cartoonish caricatures of human experience. Because maybe this metaphor of ludicrous size and self is just the best way to articulate a raw immensity that you cannot otherwise grasp.
Maybe that’s why the robot needs to be larger than the world should ever let it be.
They’re Metaphors, Harold
Small wonder that, when I started writing a book driven by the dissolution of my body, I reached for the magnitude of mechs. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. Here was an idea perfectly fashioned for a story of total self-destruction and survival. I wasn’t looking to express how I had been let to live because of my artificial hips, or because of the machines that pumped air and blood out of and back into my body. I was trying to capture a giant.
No. That’s not right. I was trying to say that I had been captured by that giant.
No. That’s not right either. I was trying to say that the giant had pulverized me, and that in so doing, it had made me part of it, and that now I live with the tremors of its weight in my every step.
I got so fucking big.
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Day Three: Eldritch Entity
i literally can’t believe it’s day three already!!! okay, but this story idea has been bouncing around in my brain for a while and i’m so happy to get an excuse to write it. i’m thinking about turning this one into a series, so if you’re interested let me know!!!
ao3 link!
Kate’s Masterlist here!
Trust Only the Dark - 2.2k words
Dani clutched her stomach as she stumbled down the dark cave system, the only light the greenish glow of the blood dripping between her clenched fingers.
Vlad’s stupid bounty hunters finally got a lucky shot after months of stalking. One she didn’t know if she’d survive.
She stumbled over a rock, her knees hitting the ground hard. The pain in her knees magnified by the ache everywhere else. It hurt. Everything hurt.
She blinked away tears as she watched her blood drip onto the ground.
That’s when she saw it.
The shadows crept around her, moving and stretching around the jagged rocks. A shiver ran down her spine as they started collecting in the dips of the cavern walls, thickening into swirling shapes. It reminded her of Johnny’s shadow or Vlad’s shades.
The pools of darkness slowly slithered together, into a large mass in front of her. She watched in fascination as it began to form a humanoid-like shape, sharp at the edges like static but drifting in and out of view like fog.
At its center, two glowing circles formed. They were pure white balls of gas against the darkness, which made them all the more intimidating.
The creature moved its long spider-like limbs skulking towards her like she was a wounded animal. Logically, she knew she should be afraid, that she should run away as far as she could and never look back.
But as she stared into the burning eyes of the creature, she couldn’t bring herself to run. There was something too. . . familiar.
“What,” its voice was a sound somewhere between tv static and shattering glass, the words barely recognizable, “you?”
It stretched out a long, knifelike finger, pointing at her.
Before she could think any better of it, she reached out too. As she neared its out-stretched extremity it screeched, slicing her hand and pulling back into itself.
She gasped, pulling her hand back into her. The scratch on her hand was deep, deep enough that she could see bone, and the sting was amplified by the pain already pulsing through her body. She hissed as she switched which hand was pressing down on her stomach wound so that way her uninjured one could also press down on this wound.
Soon she was gonna run out of hands.
She looked up at the creature as it shifted uneasily back into the crevices like it was waiting for her to attack it.
“I’m sorry,” her voice was barely more than a whisper, but the shadow tilted its head like it understood, “I didn’t mean to—ahh,” she groaned in pain as her head spun. She panted, taking deep breaths until it subsided a bit. She was losing a lot of blood.
And fast.
When she looked back up, the creature had inched forward a bit, its glowing white eyes almost curious.
“What you?” it asked again, this time keeping its distance.
“I’m. . . I’m nothing,” She bowed her head, tears pricking her eyes, “I’m something that’s not supposed to exist. Something no one cares about.” The words were thick in her throat but they were the truth. "I'm just a phantom," she laughed bitterly.
No one cared about her, whether she lived or died. Not really. Not because they actually cared about her or would miss her. They just because they didn’t like death, even less so when they played a passive part. She understood that after all her travels.
The difference between people caring about you and just not wanting to see you die.
The silhouette shifted, getting closer. This time she stayed still, not wanting to frighten it again. She knew what it was like to lash out because you were scared and you were used to people hurting you, she’d seen it so many times—hell she'd done it before.
“Hurt?” it reached out its finger again, this time slower. It dipped the sharp edge in her blood that was pooling on the ground.
She watched as it examined the slightly glowing substance. It looked curious and cautious, but no longer afraid.
“Yeah,” she laughed humorlessly, “he got a lucky shot in. Real lucky.” She smiled grimly up at the thing. Surely it knew she wasn’t going to make it out of this.
It continued to study her. Circling her. She watched the shadows bend and swirl around her like it was trying to engulf her. She continued to stay still, she was dying here anyways. There wasn’t any point in fighting.
Once it finished. . . whatever it was doing, the shadows gathered in front of her again, this time in a much smaller, almost human-shaped form. This time when it held out its claw-like hand it wasn’t scared. It was sure.
“I help,” it said.
Dani looked from its outstretched hand to its white, glowing gaze. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to think she was worth helping. She didn’t quite understand, but she decided that maybe she didn’t have to.
She slowly reached out and took its hand. It felt more solid than she expected it to. It was cold—which was something coming from her—and clammy like fresh snow melting under her touch. It pulled her to her feet, giving her a moment to catch her balance.
It lead her down the long dark cavern, though it didn’t so much as walk, but glide around the bumps and spikes on the ground. It was oddly fascinating to watch, even as she felt her brain becoming more and more cloudy.
She lost a lot. More than even a halfa should. It wouldn’t be long before she collapsed, leaving only a puddle of goo on the rocky ground. At least she wouldn't be alone.
Maybe that's why she was following the creature. Despite everything, even though she knew this creature didn't care for her, she was too scared to truly die alone.
They took twists and turns Dani didn’t understand, moving from one cavern to the next. Just when she thought she didn’t have it in her to keep going, she saw a soft green light emanating from the entrance of a new cave system.
The creature lead her to the cavern, and Dani couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
There was a small pool of a viscous green liquid, swirling around and around in a familiar pattern.
It was ectoplasm.
Her whole body could feel its presence and it ached to consume it. She moved forward, unable to control the pure need in her core. As she got closer she could tell it wasn’t quite right.
It wasn’t like the ectoplasm she knew, it was. . . wrong. Tainted. It was some kind of darkness he couldn't identify, not beyond the surface level.
Still her body craved it. It needed it. If she didn’t consume it she’d die right here. Right now.
She stepped into the pool, feeling the ectoplasm surrounding her skin. It was like a cool balm on her burning muscles, quieting the persistent pain to a dull ache. With each step deeper, she could feel the foreign emotions flooding her system.
There was so much pain. So much fear. So many people had died in Gotham so suddenly, it made sense that it left a tangible mark on the city, a place where the leftover emotions lingered.
Still, she went deeper. Voices started whispering in her ears, distant and indistinguishable. It didn't matter. She continued until she could let herself fall back into the pit, letting the ectoplasm engulf her.
The ectoplasm rushed to her wounds, stitching the skin back together and mixing into her bloodstream.
The voices got louder. The cries and screams of the dead echoed in her ears, they were so lonely. So scared. They didn’t deserve this pain, all this pain—gods there was so much.
She sank deeper and deeper until her back hit the jagged ground.
There was still fear and pain and anger, but there was something else too. Something warmer. Happier.
There was love.
There was hope.
So many loved this city. Loved it so deeply that a part of them got left behind. Had so much faith in it that they never truly believed in anything else. Had so much hope for it that it continued to live on in the very concrete under their feet.
It was unlike anything Dani had ever felt.
It was tragic. It was kind. It was purpose.
Something she lacked. That's why she was falling apart to begin with—she was a ghost without an obsession. A human without a family. She had nothing. Was nothing.
But Gotham. It was so much. So much it hurt.
Dani pushed off the ground and rose to the surface, feeling the cold night air on her wet skin. She gasped filling her lungs and found that just breathing the Gotham air felt different. It felt sweeter. Tangier.
She tried to orient herself, letting the intense feelings fade to a dull roar in the back of her mind. She didn’t know if she’d ever be free of them after that. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
Here there was purpose. There was love.
How could she go back to a life without it?
She stared out at the cave, and almost missed the creature as it slunk back into the darkness.
“Wait,” she called out to it. The thick liquid swished around her as she tried to get out. “Thank you. For saving me.”
It tilted its head in acknowledgment and began to pull back again.
“Don’t go!” She struggled, trying to move even faster but thankfully it froze, seemingly unsure what to do. As she got closer she could see the marks across its dark form, like it’d been torn apart and stitched back together. She wondered if that's why it was so afraid at first.
She reached out but didn't touch it, “You’re hurt too.”
Her words were quiet, but they seemed so loud in the small space.
If she focused, really focused, she could feel the hurt radiating off the creature. But just like the ectoplasm, past the layers of darkness and anger, at its core there was love. Unbelievable, almost unbearable love. There was so much it hurt.
“I curse,” its form sagged in sadness.
“Curse?” she asked. She'd never known a curse to take form, and she'd certainly never seen one so attached to something.
It raised its finger and tapped the space between her eyes. As it did, her vision blurred and she was thrown into what she could only describe as a premonition.
As rows of women were lined up on the gallows, their broken voices calling out to the skies in harmony.
“Gotham will never know peace. Gotham will never know peace. Even after we're deceased, we will haunt your masterpiece, the blood will run in the streets. Gotham will never know peace.”
The promise cracked over their sobs as the men prepared to pull the boxes out from under them. The singing only faltered for a moment as the women dropped, the crack of their necks sickeningly audible in the moment of silence.
As the lifeless bodies swung in the wind the women behind them continued the haunting melody.
Dani gasped, bile rising into her throat. She wanted to cry, to scream and collapse. Those people, all those poor innocent people—gods.
She looked up into the sad eyes of the creature, the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.
“You’re Gotham?”
Gotham made a noise she interpreted as agreement and moved back from her again, trying to hide in the dips of the cave. It was. . . ashamed of what it was. Dani could relate.
“It’s not fair,” she smiled at it sadly but didn’t move any closer, “that you got caught in the crossfire. I don’t blame you. Sometimes it’s hard to be anything but what people make you. I’d know.”
She looked down at her hands. She was nothing without Vlad, yet she was nothing with him.
She could feel the voices of Gotham’s people deep inside her wrapping her in warmth like they were comforting her. Huh.
She looked up at Gotham, its cautious white eyes staring back at her.
Gotham saved her. It embraced her. It loved her, and not because it had to, but because it saw something in her worth loving. Worth fighting for.
Dani held her hand out to Gotham, a single thought solidifying in her mind, “Let me help you. We can share the burden.”
She smiled as the Curse crept forward on uneasy limbs, examining her from all angles.
It reached out and wrapped its thick hand around hers, cautious of its claws.
Dani felt a surge of cold power rush through her, like the ocean breeze on a hot day. It settled underneath her skin, pulling at her core until it completely wrapped around it.
She could feel the streets of Gotham carve themselves into her bones. The hopes of its people settle in her chest. It’s pain in her muscles. She could see and feel everything all at once.
Dani opened her eyes, the Curse still stared back at her but it was different. Smaller. Lighter.
The sound of a baby's first laugh rang distantly in her ears as she felt an old woman take her last breath. Her core sang in harmony with the distant church bells.
The Curse smiled back. It took their joint hands and lead her down the cavers into the very heart of the city.
Exactly where they should be.
#Eldritch Gotham#gotham city personified#and it's a bit creepy but that's okay#dani phantom#dpxdc#dp/dc week 2022#dani becomes part of the city
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antarctic idiots [pt.6] - c! technoblade
summary; in which two anarchist piglins adopt an ender boy.
genre; child! ranboo, piglin hybrid! reader, slight canon divergence from dream smp, fluff, found family au is my shit, reader is now ranboo’s parent i don’t make the rules, techno is a grumpy father but it’s okay you love him, realistic minecraft? (idk how to describe it-), uh angst (if you squint)
pairing; c! technoblade x reader, platonic! ranboo x reader
word count; 2.4k
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a/n; regarding techno's death, i have decieded to continue this series after it's long hiatus. i am not trying to stain techno's death with writing. i see this as keeping his character alive and keeping the memory of him alive. i am also coping this way. kind of. i was really sad about his death on the day it happened but now i'm feeling much different in a good way. i dont think techno would want to see any of us sad especially since he was usually the reason we smiled and not why we cried and i intend to keep it that way.
i will be writing for techno but i refuse to do anything nsfw with him as that just feels so disrespectful to him. obviously if there is any statement from his family about fanfics, this will be taken down.
i will continue to write for techno.
i am saying this to lighten this note, techno himself wrote fanfics about hypixel so there's not much of difference between him and a lot of other writers out there. if you don't like what i'm doing, that's fine, to each their own. i like to think i'm preserving his memory like artists.
today was the festival. you hadn't prepared too much (because how did you really need to prepare for a bombing), only bringing your armor and your trusty sword. you were with techno,, the male wondering if wilbur and tommy were coming to join you both.
"no, techno, they can't. they were exiled."
a beat of silence before, "hah, losers. imagine not being invited, L." techno said as you started to walk to l'manburg. you and techno meet up with other citizens and friends of l'manburg. techno greeting them much easier than you were. you didn't even know why you were invited in the first place, who else knew about you helping pogtopia? "is this where everyone who actually got invited meet up?" techno asked as you noticed some familiar faces. he started to ramble a bit though it didn't last long.
you stood behind techno, both of your shadows looming over the much shorter people in the crowd.
"oh, fundy is here."
"yeah! i got some fun games!" you looked at the fox hybrid. he showed the dunking tank, pranking poor niki for a moment. "hey, hey, technoblade! you have a trident right?" the male piglin nodded. "you think you can shoot yourself into the tank?"
"uh, i can try." techno offered, standing in the lake. his arm rose up in the air as he aimed for the sky, but before he could fly, “you’re not gonna drown me in the tank, right?”
“no.” fundy said, the sly fox was very obvious with his intentions, however techno didn’t seem to mind.
“alright, doesn’t sound like something you would do.” techno shrugged before flying up in the air and into the dunk tank.
“i would not trust fundy-” niki started but got cut off by the male piglin.
“i made it.” his voice muffled due to his helmet and the water. he partly made it. his head was just in the dunk tank while the rest of him hung out on the edge of it. you laughed a little bit as techno goes back to the lake to try again. he made it this time, yelling in victory before he looks up to see a block above his head.
laughing loudly, fundy looks at the piglin, “i lied.”
you and niki start to help him as techno starts rambling, “i should’ve expected this. well, this is the end for me. any second now i’m gonna drown.” he said dramatically. you put your helping to a stop, remembering what the pink haired male told you about his armor. you knew that technoblade won’t die this easily.
“hey, does anyone have popcorn? i want to see how this ends.” you asked anyone nearby you. they said no, leaving you pouting and eating your baked potatoes in despair as you watched techno dramatically lament about his upcoming “death”.
“i only have a few hours with my respiration 3 helmet.” you laughed loudly with others as techno continued his antics. “i’m feeling kind of hungry actually.” he started to eat his steak while fundy seemed to crumble down, complaining about how techno should’ve just died already.
“have you seen how much time this man has put into the smp? he probably has four backup sets!” fundy complained as your laughter calmed down to a few chuckles.
“hold on, i left the stove on at home.” techno broke the block and flew right out with ease. you could tell the fox had long given up at his task of killing techno with the dunk tank.
❚ Quackity > GATHER AT THE MANBURG PODIUM
before the speech had begun, techno shows off his fireworks that he had prepared for the festival. "woo fireworks!" he says in his usual monotone voice as everyone else cheers in awe othe the colorful explosives. you, on the other hand, had seen techno prepare the fireworks in his own base. how did you find that base underwater? he will never know.
"hello everybody and welcome to the manburg festival!" schlatt annouced. "i have invited all the citizens of manburg and some close friends of mine. i just- i just wanted to throw a party to be honest." during the small speech, you glance over to your right and see techno staring up at schlatt. he seemed to have that confused look in his eye, maybe wondering why he was at a party about government. you were wondering that same thing about yourself but even more so as schlatt never really knew you. you were never really around often, especially during the time of the election.
"chat, i'm not gonna do it. i'm literally surrounded by enemies.." your ear twitches, hearing techno muttering to the voices in his head. after a moment, he cheers, "woo party!"
quackity starts leading everyone to pokimane islands. everyone dances and cheers happily until niki and techno start talking about state secrets. "anyone wanna talk about state secrets?" techno asked not-so-subtly.
"you know for the fact that you're really smart, you're really unsubtle with getting private information."
"like you could do any better."
"i can actually. you're talking to the pandora's box after all." you smiled smugly. "how do you think i know about your other base?" techno narrows his eyes at you as your smile turns innocent while you brush your hand against his arm. "i know a lot of things, mr. blade, i would hate to have to pull anything over your head."
after a while, fundy suggested to do a boxing match. "yeah violence! yeahhh!" techno is quick to cheer on as you follow along.
"promoting violence. hell yeah!" you sound just as monotonous as techno does while everyone gathers at the ring.
nearly immediately, fundy is asking for a fight with techno. techno excuses himself for a moment. you watch the pink haired male fly with his trident to do something. you have some idea of what he's doing. just as fast as he flies away, he quickly arrives back and takes off his armor, setting it by you. "watch m' stuff f' me." his voice is a bit more gruffy as you raise an eyebrow upon noticing some familiar particles bubble around him. "don't look a' me like that."
you smiled, "hmm, mr. blade using a potion in a boxing match?" you talked quietly, humming in amusement. techno snorted, a telltale sign that a piglin was not very pleased. you laughed a bit, "don't be so mad, techno. i thought you were the mature one. i'm just pointing things out." techno is silent for a moment while you look at him. you would never say it to his face but he wasn't a bad sight to see or maybe it was just your piglin instincts to admire other piglins. you snort to yourself quietly, a sound that was close to a piglin admiring gold, but techno picks up on it.
"you seem to be admiring me. i am amazing so i get it." you laughed at bit upon seeing his smug smile as he faces you.
"glad to see you're warming up to me now."
"i still don't trust you." he huffed.
"well, trust and warming up to someone is different. i can be an acquaintance. i don't need to be trusted. not yet at least." you hummed. "anyways go beat up fundy, pig man." he snorted at your statement as antfrost starts to count down.
and in just a few seconds, the fox is down and techno is victorious. "who's next!? who's next?!"
"techno, we're gonna have to initiate a drug test on you."
"can we wait 30- no, 29- 27 seconds until then?" you started to laugh watching as techno counts down his potion effect while he fumbles over his words. quackity and fundy seem to not accept that, asking techno for a drug test. but techno is quick to escape. "all of a sudden, i'm gone-" and he's flying before anyone else can say anything.
he does come back as another speech was gonna happen in a few moments. and yet this one gave you a bit of a sinking feeling..
"who am i to say no to that, right? so without further ado, i think i’ll put big man tubbo, my right-hand man, my uh… my protégé, up on the mic to spit some bars!" everyone cheers for tubbo as you clap for him as well. you almost frown upon seeing how he can barely reach the microphone. he's so young for this… him and tommy… you can only think to yourself, hearing his speech. words are being heard and yet you can't listen well enough. you knew what was going on.
"so with that in mind, i'd like to thank everyone for coming to this wonderful event!" a deep chuckle fills your ears as tubbo's speech ends. "what- what's wrong schlatt?"
"i was just thinking about it. you know how we like to have fun, tubbo?" that sounds anything but good. you grip on your sword, something's gonna happen and you don't know if you have the guts to handle it right now.
"yeah.. what- what's up schlatt?"
"you got anything else in that speech?"
"uhhh no! on that note, let the festival begin!" after that all you see in quackity and schlatt whisper to each other and hand each other some bright yellow item. this was looking worse and worse as you watch the two surround tubbo with the paste and soon pouring water over the paste. it was now concrete. tubbo was stuck with no way out.
"what the fuck are they doing.." you muttered, feeling your anger rise. you can hear techno and niki mutter in confusion as they watch everything slowly unfold.
niki's pleas are unheard to schlatt as he speaks, "I know what you've been up to, tubbo."
"what- what have i done? what have i been up to? what are you talking about?" tubbo's eyes are glazed with fear and panic as his hands are pressed against the yellow concrete. he's trying to back up against the chair but he can't move any farther back.
shlatt laughs mockingly, "what i have been up to, he says.." and soon he's yelling, "he's been CONSPIRING with the idiots! with the tyrants! that we kicked out of this server! that we kicked out of this great country!" his voice was as loud and booming as you remember the past. when you escaped before the results were even out for the election, when you decided that this country was not what you wanted to stay in for very long. “i don’t know if you know this, tubbo but treason… isn’t exactly a respectable thing around here… y’know?”
“do you know what happens to traitors, tubbo?” the dark look in schlatt’s eyes have you gripping tighter on the worn out handle of your sword. the leather wrapped around the grip does nothing to help your bubbling anger.
“n-no…”
“nothing good.” he stops looking at tubbo to look into the stunned crowd, “technoblade, why don’t you come up here?” your neck nearly snaps with how hard you turned to look at him. was he working for schlatt? you asked yourself for a moment before seeing how surprised and concerned he was, looking around and having no response to the president. techno glances at you for a moment. both of you seem hesitant on what to do but with an unsettling feeling in his stomach, techno tridents his way to the large stage podium. you can barely keep yourself focused on everything. the whispers of everyone around, the choking atmosphere, and knowing that tubbo might just be in danger of losing a life. your mind is fuzzy as you can’t listen to a word of what schlatt is saying. you can hear snippets but it doesn’t go through your mind. you hear nothing. but then you hear everything.
“take care of the traitor. take care of him.” schlatt’s graveled voice suddenly feels grating to hear.
“you want me to get him- get him some breakfast?” techno’s voice is muffled and yet so clear.
“no…” niki’s cries are unheard as they’re overpowered by the shattering of your heart and the aching of your brain. you wished you could comfort her.
“he won’t. he won’t. he won’t! he’s on our side!” wilbur? when did he get here? how long has he been here? you’re getting rusty, old woman. you shouldn’t have retired, you idiot.
“techno, i need you to take him out.” take him out…?
“to dinner?”
“no! not to dinner! i want you to kill him!” schlatt’s voice screeches through the microphone as techno oh’s in realization.
“techno, you don’t need to do this!”
“it’s- it’s a festival today schlatt…”
you can see him hold his crossbow. he’s gonna do it… he doesn’t have much of a choice. not when they don’t know that he’s with pogtopia. suddenly you’re aware of how surrounded you are, marburg citizens were all in the crowd. you were sure that if techno or you made a wrong move, you would both lose a life.
“i’m sorry tubbo.”
“t-techno?”
your mouth is dry, failing to say anything to help techno in this situation. the battle of the lake was different, it wasn’t this. at least with a battle, you didn’t need to think about what to do. but to be fair, it’s not like you even tried to do any thinking at the time. but either way, this wasn’t a battle. this was an execution.
“i will try to make this as painless and as colorful as possible, tubbo.” techno can only mutter but the mic just barely picks it up.
“technoblade…”
“tubbo, i’m sorry! i’m being subjected to mild amounts of peer pressure.”
“DO IT TECHNOBLADE!”
with a yell, techno fires off the fireworks to tubbo. the thundering boom of the fireworks rings in your ears as you try and cover them to soften noise, just for a little bit. of course it didn’t help but there was nothing else you can think of doing. your feet frozen in place as you watch tubbo die. and soon everyone else would too. you can see the bloodthirst in techno’s eyes as he loads the bow again. so much was happening at once. tommy landed himself onto the podium in tears as he looks at where tubbo’s body lays. he was distraught at techno’s betrayal.
but techno could only see blood.
and you needed to run.
everyone who survived techno’s reign of fireworks is fleeing in panic, including yourself. you can only trip over your feet before using your own trident to get away, going in the same direction as techno while everyone was yelling to get tommy. why didn’t they bother with techno after killing so many citizens? that was something beyond your understanding really. the government ruling over manburg was a really bad one to say the least if they were doing such public executions. what a government that was.
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#mcyt technoblade#techno x reader#technoblade#technoblade x reader#dream smp#dream smp technoblade#dream smp x reader#dream smp techno#antartic idiots
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