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birdie123au · 10 months

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mania

mania - a spirit who personifies madness and insanity

Grief has consumed your every waking thought. You are given an opportunity from a long lost ally to lose everything so that those you love can have it all.

tw: mentions of suicide and self-sacrifice

part five of five

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“The prince battled Odysseus for the armor of Achilles,” the doctor said, “When he had lost the battle, the young prince became mad with obsession– completely insane. It wasn’t until he finally found clarity did he realize the way he had disgraced himself, you, and his family. It was said yesterday night they found the prince after he had thrown himself on his own spear; right on the beach with the blood still fresh.”

The world around you ceased to spin. You felt as though your feet were glued in place. At that moment, nothing had felt real. You had known Ajax for almost twenty years and had been his lover for over half the time. You knew him. You knew he could never do such a thing. He would never lose his mind and disgrace himself severely over some silly armor.

“No,” you said, “I’m sorry, but this can’t be true.”

“Oh Y/n,” the queen said, eyes filled with tears as she approached you, “I’m so sorry, dearest,”

Queen Hesione then wrapped you in a hug, tears dampening your robe. You stood stiff, your expression completely blank.

The gods had completely turned their back on you that night. After discovering the curse of your father, your true parentage, and the death of your husband you were certain the night could not get any worse. It wasn’t until a young doctor came running down the hall to the door of your chambers where most of the royal family and staff were gathered did you realize something was severely wrong.

At the bedside of King Telamon you watched in complete shock as you saw his wife, your mother in law, cradling his limp body in her arms while screaming bloody murder. Princess Tonia had passed out at this point, so the handmaidens brought her to a nearby couch and began fanning her face.

“Don’t just stand there!” cried the doctor to his staff, “Fetch the medication, prepare to attempt revival!”

The night was chaotic. Doctors, handmaidens, and guards were sent running around the palace. This commotion had woken your children who then overhead of their fathers deaths through panicked and confused servants’ screams. Queen Hesione continued her screams even when the guards were forced to detain her off to the side of the room. Each time Tonia regained consciousness she only passed out once more. And so you stood, stiff as a board at the side of the late king’s bed, having not moved an inch.

“Mother!” Alex cried as he ran into the room.

“Mother, what's happening?” Simon said, running alongside his brother. The two boys stopped at either one of your sides. You placed an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them in closer as you watched the frantic doctors' futile attempt to revive the dead king.

“Is it true?” Alex asked again, crying in grief, “Are they both dead?”

You said nothing to the boys, instead pulling them in closer to your bodies. Your boys, your poor, sweet boys, would now be forever without a father and grandfather. They would never know Ajax’s eyes, his mischievous smile, or his soft hair.

“Take the women out of the room!” a doctor yelled, “Prepare to make the incision into the chest!”

Queen Hesione began to scream louder; “No!” she cried, “What are you doing to him! Why is he bleeding from the mouth! What have you done!”

The guards then escorted the hysterical queen out of the room. Followed by several servants lifting the passed out Tonia after her. Followed by a guard placing his hand on your back and guiding the three of you out the door.

They brought you all to the queen’s chambers but separated you from your sons, promising to guide them back to their bedrooms. The shock of the evening had yet to wear off, but you once more watched in surprise as the guards locked the door from the outside.

The queen pounded on the door, still in hysterics, demanding the three of you be let out. She stood there for hours banging and pleading. Only then did you come up from behind her, dragging her away slightly. You expected her to fight back, but the poor woman was overwhelmed with grief, so she instead braced your touch. You had yet to cry, scream, or yell. You felt numb– completely incapable of expressing any other emotion beside neutrality. At this point you were on your knees, cradling the queen in your arms.

You began thinking. What had once been impartial feelings of denial began to change, transform, into much uglier, nastier feelings. You became consumed with a strong sense of anger. Anger at Ajax for his reckless actions.

How could he have possibly been so careless as to fight in a battle of a dead man’s armor. He had strong, durable armor of his own. Was that not enough for him? You wondered how losing in such a battle could have made him so erratic to the point he had been driven insane. Was he that desperate for a piece or medal? Or was it something more? Perhaps it was his final straw. He had been gone for a decade, not having seen his loved ones in many years. He was desperate to meet his children. When the boys had turned five years old he told you he had almost sent a letter to his father, beginning to go home, it was only when he realized that was the way of the coward to back down. Prideful he was, dead he is. You had to wonder if this superficial quality of honor and duty was worth the mental hardship he had truly endured over the decade.

It was only then when you imagined him, full of pain and deep sadness, wanting nothing more than to return home to your arms and back to his family, did the tears finally begin to flow.

–––––––––

The guards had locked the three of you in the queen’s chamber for thirteen days.

The only visitor allowed was that of your eldest son, Alexandros, the king of Salamis. You could tell he was scared, confused, and experiencing heavy grief at the loss of his father and grandfather. He remained strong and assured you that confining you to the chamber was by the order of the doctors, not him. The dowager queen yelled at him for this, calling him foolish and distrustful. The boy began to cry, assuring her that the doctor had your best interest in mind. He was only ten, you reminded the queen, ten and king of an entire kingdom– he is truly doing his best to rule during this time of great sadness, it was not his fault he had placed his trust in a man with sinister interest.

It took only a few more visits for the boy to command your release. The dowager queen was beside herself with pain, mumbling about how cruel the gods were to take not only one son but two as well as her husband all in a year. Tonia weeped constantly but, by the command of her husband, was forced to return to Sparta until the funeral would begin. Then there was you. Mother of the king, late wife of the crowned prince, and so you did the only possible thing you could imagine. You went to the temple of the gods and began to pray. You prayed to your father, the late priest, for guidance. You also prayed for your husband to have a smooth passage into the afterlife. He was a warrior, you thought, surely his great sacrifices would be honored. You developed bruises on your legs from the amount of time you sat praying.

The rest of your spare time was spent by your sons’ side. You counseled Alex on his leadership and decision making; you read academic passages and scrolls with Simon, making sure his reading ability stayed fulfilled.

Despite your tears and deep sadness, you held yourself together to the best of your abilities. That was until the funeral.

Something about watching Ajax’s bloody body, covered in a white sheet, being lowered into the ground caused you to snap. You began weeping, wailing even, and you needed to be held up by two members of the royal counsel to even stand up straight.

You went mad with grief. Locking yourself in your chambers, you refused visits from anyone but Dowager Queen Hesione and your two sons. Yet even when they visited with gifts and kind words to lift your spirits, all you could do was cry. Each day you would pace around your room, rereading the hundreds of letters from your late husband spanning back to your days as a teenager. This continued for weeks until one day when you had enough, tore up every single letter he wrote you during his time away at war, and threw them from your window.

When you told Hesione what you had done she cradled you in a hug, begging you not to destroy any more of his belongings or yourself. She thought it best to get you out of your chambers, going on walks with her. But each time you would pass by a statue of Hebe or emblem of a god you would begin to weep all over again.

During your time locked up in your quarters, you had shredded many of your royal dresses, opting to wear the same outfits as the servants, and developed a deep aversion for the ocean. Each time a person would walk in smelling of salt you would have a fit of sadness.

The queen, Alex, and Simon continued their best to not only process their own grief, but also help you with yours. In a final attempt, Simon wrote to his aunt, Rosaria, begging for help. It was then where you found yourself in a small carriage, being ushered off to the Temple of Athena.

–––––––––

“Y/n?” Rosaria said, helping you out of the carriage, “Do you need to sit down?”

You understood why she asked such a question despite the fact you were standing just fine. You had lost several pounds, due to the fact you hardly ever ate, and your eyes appeared sunken and dazed, because of all the tears you shed. The grief you thought you could once control had completely spiraled, driving you mad. You did not eat, sleep, or bathe. In fact, the very first thing Rosaria did upon your arrival was throw you in a cold tub of water.

She stayed by your side as you cried to her, complained, and cried some more. Rosaria spoke little to you, instead dedicating her entire presence as a sort of counselor. You appreciated her few words of wisdom, tales from the gods of tragedy and losses of love. It reminded you of your father. Oh how you wished he could be at your side.

Each morning at the temple you would take walks with one of the priestesses. They were short, low commitment exercises that the doctor had prescribed to you to ‘better your condition.’ You had no desire to go towards the beach, so you instead walked amongst the gardens and trees. The priestesses would tell you stories about the heroes and gods who had walked this very same path to the temple while you in turn would tell tales of the kings and warriors of Salamis.

A particular priestess who you took a great liking to, besides Rosaria, was an elderly woman by the name of Xanthia. Because her name reminded you of the headmistress who had grown up despising you or at the very least mistreated you, you did not trust Xanthia. However, these cruel assumptions were quickly shattered when you took your very first walk with her. She shared a story about her little sister, how her late husband was a great warrior built in battle, and how the girl was visited by the goddess Persephone one late night in the spring. She said this following was forever lasting, just like the memories she shared with her dead husband.

Xanthia had a maternal quality about her, a certain warmth not many of the priestesses possessed. This intrigued you, as Xanthia had never married nor mothered any children. Walking with linked arms reminded you of the Dowager Queen Hesione, who you missed dearly.

“Y/n?” Xanthia said with a frail voice, “Why don’t you tell me a story.”

“Oh course,” you replied, “About what?”

“I would like to hear,” she paused for a moment, “A story about your mother.”

“Ah,” you said, “I never really knew my mother… I was born a bastard and was raised entirely by my father.”

“If your mother showed up in front of you now, not at all dead” she said, “would you show her any ill will? Or would you place value on xenia and tradition over personal grievances?”

You thought for a moment.

“Well, I must confess,” you began, “If she showed up in front of me many years ago, I would have slammed the door in her face.”

Xanthia looked disappointed in your answer, but allowed you to continue with your words; “But…well, now I am a mother too. I understand there are certain sacrifices we must make. Sacrifices our children may never truly understand, but if they are to protect them, then who are we to judge and show ill will? It doesn’t excuse the way she made me feel, but it does bring me peace.”

“The gods will reward you for your graciousness,” Xanthia said, “Just you wait.”

The two of you continued on a path down to where a stream raced over a path of sharp rocks. Typically this is where the priestess would turn the two of you around, but Xanthia continued marching you forward. Her grip was strong despite her old age.

“Princess?” she asked, “Do you know how to skip rocks?”

You laughed, immediately being transported to a memory of when you and Ajax were 14. It was a bright summer day, and he had managed to sneak out of class, literally, through a window. His teacher was so exhausted he hadn’t even noticed the boy had left. It was there where he attempted to teach you how to skip rocks. You were terrible. For every distance Ajax’s rock would travel, you traveled a quarter of the way. The two of you spent hours pelting rocks into the sea, and by the end of it you were no better from where you had started.

“Oh– no,” you said, still giggling, “My husband tried to teach me once when we were very young, but I was no good.”

“You said you were a cupbearer, were you not?” Xanthia replied with another question, “I’m sure you have good hand-eye coordination. Come. Let us practice skipping rocks.”

You agreed, not wanting to turn down such an offer. It had been many years since you had last tried, maybe you would yield some better results. As you watched the elderly woman fetch you a rock, you began to ponder a peculiarity from earlier in your conversation: how was it she knew your mother was ‘dead’?

–––––––––

“I remember now!” you laughed, “He hit you right on the center of your face. There was so much blood, I thought father was going to pass out then and there!”

“It was ridiculous,” Rosaria clarified, patting Simon’s head, “He had no right to laugh at me– you don’t either, Y/n. Or should I remind you of the chum incident?”

“Oh please, that was with a prince! You got your ass kicked by a serving boy. What was his name again? Theon?”

“Theon,” she confirmed, “How could I forget.”

Today was one of the many days in which Simon was able to visit you and the fellow priestesses. Alex, your elder son, was often not able to accompany you due to his many duties as king. He was heartbroken over this, Simon assured you, and would write to you often demanding to know when your treatments were over and you could finally return home.

It had only been several weeks since you had left, but your children, mother-in-law, and handmaidens were said to have been itching for your return. You tried not to focus on such matters whenever Simon would visit. You instead tried to keep things light hearted by sharing stories, just as the priestesses had done for you. You were getting better. Some days you woke up incapable of getting off your bed, but others, most days, you found the motivation to pull yourself up and live through the day to the fullest of your abilities.

All was going well. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. That someone or something was around the corner, reading again to tear down the walls you had built up for yourself.

“Well,” Rosaria said, “It’s time for me to relight the candles and bless the halls. Simon, stay with your mother and read her some more stories. I’ll be back as soon as I can to fetch you for dinner.”

“Yes Aunt Rosaria,” Simon replied, shifting in his seat to locate his textbook.

“Have fun!” you said, exaggerating your wave as Rosaria was walking towards the exit door of your chambers.

“Y/n, before I forget,” she said, turning around to face you once more, “Sister Xanthia would like to meet with you after the sun goes down.”

“Interesting, do you know why?” you question as Simon snuggled up next to you, ready to start reading.

“No,” Rosaria said, “But she does want to meet you at the beach. I think it's part of your prescribed treatment. Let me know if you want me to be there.”

The beach? You froze. You took a deep breath, regained your composure, and nodded. You and Rosaria would meet Xanthia at the beach.

“Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone,” Rosaria said, shutting the door.

You placed your head on your son’s shoulder, and so the two of you spent the rest of your afternoon reading tales of great heroes and their triumphs.

–––––––––

“It’s getting late,” Rosaria said, annoyed, “I don’t understand what could possibly be taking her so long.”

“Maybe she fell?” you replied, worried, “What if she lost her balance on the walk and is stuck waiting for our help?”

The two of you remained in the same spot for several minutes before deciding it was best to head back to the trail. Afterall, if Xanthia had truly fallen or gotten lost, it was best to find her as soon as possible and bring her back to the temple.

You and Rosaria walked in silence while holding hands. You were not nearly as mad with sadness as you thought you would be, returning to the beach for the first time in many weeks, especially at night. It was calm. Oddly calm, as if the beach had been blessed by the lord of the sea himself. The two of you had only made it for several steps when you both stopped in your tracks.

A feeling, unlike any you had before, began to consume your chest. You looked at Rosaria and realized very quickly from the way her eyes widened that she too was feeling it. It was a mixture of anxiety, the feeling of being watched by something far greater than yourself, and happiness. It was then when you noticed a faint glow from behind you. The two of you whipped your heads around in unison, breaking your hands apart in the process.

Behind you stood a sight out of an epic. Xanthia, or whoever it truly was, stood behind you. Though she was not the woman you had grown to love. She was younger, far younger, and significantly taller. She had long, brown hair that curled like a princess. Her beauty was breathtaking, but the sight of her strong arms disrupted the image. Despite this, her aura in which she stepped confidently was unbreakable. She was no mortal.

“Xanthia…?” Rosaria was first to ask after a few moments of silence.

The unknown woman’s face changed from a neutral expression to one with joy; “Yes, you could call me that.”

She began to walk towards the two of you. The closer she got, the more you and Rosaria understood that it was you who she was approaching. You who she had looked eyes with.

“Or,” she said, grabbing both of your hands into hers; they were soft and had a welcoming warmth, “You could call me my true name: Hebe.”

“Mother?!” you blurted out, stumbling backwards in your place.

“What.” Rosaria said, exasperated.

“Hello my child,” she said, removing one of your hands to stroke your hair as mothers often did, “How you have grown since I’ve last seen you in my true form.”

“I–I,” you stumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“To wish my dear daughter a happy birthday, of course,” she said, smiling with a warmth and beauty you had never seen before, “I also wish to speak of something important.”

You held your breath; “I have learned from a recent… discovery of yours that you have finally learned the truth of your father’s conditions. Or perhaps, your family's condition. I’m sure your knowledge is not vast, but it is true that my own father is responsible for a certain… curse that haunted my late lover.”

“Yes..yes because of his,” you paused, “His hubris, yes?”

“Well, sure,” the goddess responded, “But again, that is not the truth entirely. I’m sure he had not gone into great detail, but his own father lost his wife at a young age. His father’s father did as well, and so for many generations this was true. It was a great curse from the goddess Aphrodite, who was angered by an ancient ancestry of your family for being more beautiful as she and so she cursed her. She made it so a husband who she truly loved would die young and in pain. The goddess made it so any of her descendants would suffer the same fate. It was I who tried to lift this curse from my husband, but it only ended up making it worse as he sacrifices his virtues for love.”

“Mother,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “Why do you tell me this?”

“Because,” her face grew stern, sad almost, “I wish to offer you a proposal.”

Your eyebrows bent in suspicion and anticipation.

“I recently had one of my other, godly children, wed a child of Aphrodite’s,” she began, “And so I sat down with that insufferable woman and negotiated a deal. A deal for your children, my grandsons. An agreement that would end the curse that has loomed over your family for generations. Your children would not have to live a life of misery as their lovers, children, or themselves are stolen away too soon; they would live long, happy, fulfilling lives. But the cost…is one very grim.”

“Tell me mother,” you said, squeezing your hands around hers in desperation, “How can I protect them?”

“A soul for a soul,” she told you, sadness consuming her being, “Well, a soul for two souls is more accurate.”

“I don’t understand?” you whispered, “Are you saying I need to…”

“Yes,” she responded without needing to hear the rest of your sentence, “The greatest sacrifice. You said to me, Y/n, that you believed mothers were capable of making sacrifices beyond their child’s ability to comprehend. You have always had great respect and love for your father, you threw away everything he ever knew and loved so that he could raise you.”

You pinched your eyes shut, debating what was the best choice for you to make. But then, you imagined a moment from several months ago when the boys chased their little cousin around. The looks of pure childhood innocent and fun in their eyes made your choice as clear as day.

“My children will not be alone,” you said, defying the very nature of grief, “They will grow stronger, and I will be united with my love once more.”

“So you will do it?” the goddess asked, “Oh Y/n, I knew it would be you. It always was going to be.”

“Um,” Rosaria said, “What on earth is happening.”

Instead of responding to her shock, you let go of your mothers hands and instead wrapped Rosaria in a hug.

“Rosaria,” you said, tears freely streaming down your face “My first friend, my ally, my sister. Please, promise me you’ll take care of them.”

Several moments later, without saying a word, Rosaria returned your hug. A silent sign of support.

And so your mother took your hand and the two of you walked deep into the water, never to return again. As the waves reached higher on your body, you looked towards where you mother stood. But there in her place was another figure, Ajax, grasping your hand and leading you through the ocean. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

–––––––––

The king stood on the great rocks, peering over the hill of Salamis into the great big ocean. His ginger hair, which fell down to his chin, moved as freely as it could under the weight of his golden crown. Every morning after breakfast at the very same time on the very same rocks he would look out into the very great sea. Sometimes he was joined by his brother, on occasions his grandmother, on holiday’s his priestess aunt, and oftentimes his wife.

The king was known throughout the land as being good. He was fair and ruled with jurisdiction. He was pious and had great respect for the gods. Each day he dressed in clothes of mourning, honoring his late parents who died when he was just a boy. Alexandros had been king of Salamis for eighteen years, a husband for twelve, and a father for ten.

The king loved his subjects, his family, and his role as their protectors. He had a rough childhood. No father, a tense situation at court, and growing up in the midst of one of the greatest wars Greece had ever seen. Still, he was deeply loved by those around him and was never seen as corrupt or unjust. However, one thing from his childhood that never ceased to shake him up was the death of his mother, the Princess Y/n.

The king’s brother, Prince Simonides, became the scribe of history. He too was loved by the people, but for very different reasons than the kind. He was seen as just, a historian who took into account several perspectives, and far less consumed by the grief of losing his mother. He worked alongside his aunt, Princess Tonia of Sparta, and his ward, the Princess Eudora. Despite their great distance in location, the two brothers remained extremely close and would visit often.

The king not only honored his deceased mother in his daily actions, he also remembered the father he never knew. Ajax the Great was sure to be remembered by all as a strong warrior whose skill was only less to Achilles. Statues, caves, and even a festival was created, by command of the king, to honor his name.

The king would spend the rest of his life mourning his parents. Still, he shared great moments of joy and fulfillment. He also found comfort in the fact that his parents were reunited in the afterlife, their love now eternal. From the love of his wife, brother, Aunt Rosaria, the Dowager Queen Hesione, and his children he understood why his mother did what she did. She chose love, and so he would too.

“Father?” the voice of his oldest child, a girl, called out to him, “Won’t you come inside? Mother is requesting your presence. Uncle and your Spartan Aunt have arrived.”

“Excellent,” King Alex responded, “I’ll be there in just a minute to greet them, Y/n.”

#ajax genshin impact #ajax x reader #childe genshin impact #childe x reader #tartaglia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #rosaria genshin impact #major character death #tragic endings #angst #angst with sort of happy endings #partially inspired by the barbie movie lmao

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hairmetal666 · 8 months

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Eddie Munson gets famous at fifteen, after a YouTube video goes viral.

He's the kind of famous where he can't leave his house without being mobbed; where his name is plastered across grocery store tabloids and every fifth Pop Crave post; who has to make special arrangements with stores, whose body guards have body guards, who's forgotten what it's like to be normal. He's the kind of famous with well-chronicled stints in and out of rehab

And he thinks, at thirty, why not do a reality show? Why not let everyone in the world into his life because they're there anyway?

There's this guy on the crew, beautiful as a fucking sunrise. He's all golden-tanned and chestnut-haired, with these big hazel eyes that makes Eddie stomach swoop deliciously whenever they happen to meet his.

His name is Steve.

And Eddie, well. He's learned his lesson about jumping into relationships. So, Steve is nice to look at, and that's all there is to it.

---

They're at the studio, and Eddie, he only smokes when he's recording but he's "not allowed" to do that inside. So, he steps out into the alley behind the building, eyes falling shut as he hands search his pockets for his pack of Camels and his Zippo.

"I didn't realize you smoked," a deep voice says from the darkness.

Eddie startles, eyes flying open. Steve is leaning against the brick of the building, cigarette perched between his pursed lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Steve. With the crew."

"Eddie," he answers by instinct.

"I know," Steve chuckles. His hazel eyes are golden in the yellow streetlight.

"Oh, right." He lights his cigarette and inhales deep.

"I really like what you're doing in there." Steve nods his head towards the studio.

"You a fan?"

"Never listened to you much before. Not really a metal kinda guy, but I like it."

People aren't usually honest with Eddie. It's refreshing.

"Glad you're getting into it! How's your--uh, job going?"

Steve laughs. "First assistant camera, that's my job." Eddie's expression must read a total blank, but Steve only smiles. "I make sure everything's in focus while we film"

"Is that--hard?"

"Sometimes," Steve agrees. "How do you like being the star of a reality show?"

Eddie huffs out a breath. "It's more fun than I expected. Like, sure it's weird to have you guys follow me around, but at least I invited you, you know?"

Steve's dark eyes are fathomless in his perfect face. "You'll let me know? If anything happens that you don't like?"

Eddie nods, taken aback by the serious line of Steve's pretty mouth. Before he can respond more, the back door creaks open, Gareth's backlit shape leaning into the alley. "Eddie? They're ready for you."

"Duty calls." He smiles at Steve as he stomps out his cigarette. "See you around."

---

Eddie goes to a house party in the hills. It's just a handful of people, all of them he's known for years, no cameras in sight.

Someone asks how things are going with the band. Eddie doesn't think anything of it. Why should he, among friends? Why should he when they already know the resentment that Gareth, Jeff, and Freak have for him? Eddie got signed and not his band. The guys--they never really forgave him, think he could have tried harder.

So, he says--he says--"I wish they didn't resent me so goddamn much still. To this day! They're millionaires and they're pissed at me? Fuck that. I got them here. I got us all here."

They're filming the next day at Eddie's house. He's working on a new song, engrossed in his acoustic and his notebook.

He's so in the zone, it takes him a second to register when Gareth bursts into the house.

"Fuck you, Munson," Gareth screams. "What the fuck is this shit?" Eddie's own voice pours from Gareth's phone, and Eddie's stunned speechless for dozens of seconds as he tries to comprehend what's happening.

"I didn't--" he tires. He raises his hands placatingly, but his minds a whirlwind, thoughts a tangle, heart a mess of betrayal and hurt and fear.

"We should be fucking grateful?" Gareth yells. "You spoiled piece of shit, fuck you!" He lunges towards Eddie, but Steve darts from behind the camera, moving to block Gareth's path.

"Stop filming," Eddie shouts. He lifts his arms to block the shit. "Get out," he snaps at the crew. " Now!"

He and Gareth scuffle towards a set of double-doors, heated words low and unintelligible.

"Don't come in." He tells the crew. "Steve, I mean it. Tell them to stop."

Eddie shoves Gareth into the other room, slamming the door behind him. Still, the mics pick up the screaming fight between the two men.

Hours later, Eddie finally makes his way back to the main part of the house, finds Steve standing at the kitchen island.

"Why are you still here?" He's too exhausted from the fight to put any inflection into it.

"I was wo--I wanted to make sure everything was okay," Steve says. He relaxes against the island. "Are yo--is everything okay?"

Eddie's laugh is humorless. "Something like that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The tears he kept at bay with Gareth prick at his eyelids until they burn. "Not really, no."

Steve nods. "We could--you wanna watch a movie?"

This startles a laugh out of Eddie, one that has tears flooding his eyes and he has to blink fast, look down, anything so Steve doesn't notice.

"You know what I want?" he says. It's soft enough that maybe Steve, across the kitchen, wouldn't hear.

"What?"

"To have friends who won't sell me out for a couple thousand bucks." The tears start falling, his throat choked with emotion.

He wants to stop, embarrassed to be crying in front of Steve, but now that he's started, sobs shake his shoulders and he can't keep quiet.

Steve reaches for him. "Is this okay?" he whispers, hands rubbing circles against his back.

Eddie nods, cries for a while as Steve makes soothing motions against his back.

"I just wish I was normal," he mumbles when he has words again.

Steve's hold on him tightens. "I'm sorry, Eddie."

Shame hits him then, too hard to ignore, and he steps away. "I'm gonna--I'm gonna go. I--Thanks again."

He ignores the sound of Steve calling him back.

---

Eddie's playing a show. He's playing a show in a small club, something he hasn't been able to do for years, but he's doing it right now. It's electric, vibrating through his body, the crowd screaming along with every word.

So much of this is because of Steve, and Eddie can't think about it, because men like Steve aren't for guys like Eddie.

As he plays, his eyes scan the small crowd, find Steve easily. He's gazing at Eddie, lips slicked pink and parted, eyes shining. Eddie knows this look; the naked desire obvious. A heat he never lets himself feel for Steve blooms low in his abdomen, but--

He wails into his mic, forcing his thoughts away from that path. He has a show to play, one that's pumping his veins full of satisfied adrenaline. Nothing can ruin it.

When the show ends, Eddie is high, endorphins and adrenaline pounding through his bloodstream.

Eddie, the band, and the film crew make their way out the club's backdoor. There's a car idling close by, but they only get a few steps in before there's shouting; the ear-shattering click of dozens of camera shutters; overwhelming burst of flashes.

Eddie is disoriented, dizzy; the rapid shift from the best night he's had in years, to this, mobbed by paparazzi, people screaming his name, crowding their small group. He stumbles, black spots still obstructing his vision.

Arms catch around him, holding him steady. "You okay?" Steve asks.

Before he can answer, one of the paps yells, "Munson's wasted! Can't even walk!"

"C'mon, Ed, I've got you," Steve says.

"Just get into the booze, Munson, or someone had Molly too? Maybe a little coke? That used to be your thing, right? Snort a little blow and do a show?"

Eddie tenses, almost stops, but Steve keeps him going.

The crowd surges around them, more voices yelling, more flashbulbs popping, the guy saying, "He can't even stand without help! You got a real problem you know?"and he just--can't anymore. He whirls out of Steve's grasp, lunges for the guy.

"What's your fucking problem, man?" Eddie hisses. "What did I do to you, huh?"

"Real tough, Munson, huh?" The man sneers. He shoves Eddie hard, knocking him back a few steps.

Eddie's vision fuzzes out, brain buzzing. He snarls, knows he does, knows he's losing it, can't make it stop.

Strong arms wrap around his waist, pull him off his feet. He fights it until he's pressed into a wall, until cold hands cup his face.

"Baby, baby, you have to calm down," Steve murmurs. "You have to breathe, can you do that for me?"

"I want--he can't--I--"

Steve presses harder against him, bodies joined. "You're having a panic attack, yeah? Can you breathe with me, baby? Match me?"

Eddie nods, tries, wants to be good for Steve.

He calms, as much from the breathing exercise as being held by the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Pressing his face against Steve's neck he says, "why are you always around for my worst moments? I'm such a fucking mess."

"I don't think you're a mess," he says. "I think you've gotten hurt, you've gotten cornered. And your reactions are normal."

"Why do you even care?" Eddie asks.

Steve doesn't even pause. "Cause I like you, Eddie." His hold tightens for a second. "I like you a lot."

Eddie scoffs. "Yeah, you like Eddie Munson, the hot rockstar. Not the loser who cries in your arms"

Cold air hits Eddie as Steve steps away to meet Eddie's eyes. You want to know something? I didn't expect to like you at all. I admit, I bought into all the stories on the internet. But you were never anything like that, Ed. Not even once."

Steve takes a deep breath, turning away as his cheeks grow pink. "And you--you're always going out of your way for people. The day I knew I was gone for you? Three weeks into filming. There was this kid interning. You didn't know a thing about him, just some twenty-year-old, and you sat down and talked to him. Were genuinely interested in everything he said."

"Steve," Eddie's voice breaks. He has to cover his mouth, lips a wobbling mess.

"I want to give you normal, Eddie, as much as I can. If you'll let me."

The moisture tumbles free from his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. Eddie laughs. "God, Steve, you're--I like you, too."

Steve brushes the tears away. "So, you'd go on a date with me?"

"I think I would really like to go on a date with you, yeah."

Steve leans in, slow and gentle, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Eddie's mouth. It lights him up like a fresh struck match, nerve endings on fire. He thinks it's so much more than like already.

"Take me home, sweetheart," he says.

"Getting fresh with me, Munson," Steve smirks. "I won't have you using your rockstar wiles to seduce me."

Eddie's laugh echoes off the brick of the surrounding buildings. "Oh, sweetheart, my rockstar ways will destroy you."

"That a promise?"

---

Six months later, the first and only season of Welcome to Hell premieres. Instead, of chronicling a rockstar's debauched and wild lifestyle, it's a soft and charming love story. It shows Steve and Eddie growing closer, Steve working late into the night, to give Eddie the hint of normalcy he's so desperate for, to make him happy. It shows Eddie's eyes track Steve across a room, something like sadness crossing his face. It shows a concert that Steve arranged, the fight with the pap outside the venue, brief glimpses of Steve and Eddie in the aftermath, the gentle kiss.

In the last interview of the season, the producer asks Eddie if there will be a season two of Welcome to Hell.

Eddie smiles, glances off camera, which pans to find Steve in worn jeans and a Metallica hoodie, hair messy and wearing glasses. He gazes at Eddie, smiles this soft, aching thing.

"Nah, I don't think I need it anymore," Eddie answers. Throwing the camera a smile that matches Steve's.

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luvv4j4ybe11 · 6 months

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With time

✧𝐓𝐰𝐢n 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤

✧Tw!!: mentions of death,sibling loss, lo’ak dies instead of neteyam, lots of crying, first time celebrating birthday without your twin brother, mentions of su!c!de, underaged dr!nking, mentions of alcohol,mostly angst with some fluff towards the end (if you squint),feelings of grief and depression and I think that’s all, enjoy this lil Drabble<33

✧Dividers by @benkeibear

✧ translation(s): Skxawng-moron,idiot , kuru-queue, hammerbrow fish- the goldfish that kiri was playing with in that one scene (idk how else to describe it😭)

(Listen to this to make it extra sad🥰)

You woke up feeling the weight on your chest being even heavier than usual. Your face still wet with tears from last nights realization. That realization being that today was your birthday but not just yours, it was his too. Ever since the night he died, you haven’t left your side of the marui since.

Even though it’s been four months since your twin brother died, that day just keeps replaying in your head, the sound of your mother screaming, the look of absolute devastation on your older brothers face, the blood on your hands, the sound of tsireya crying, lo’aks cold expression, the way your father looked at you with complete disappointment and spat out a cold, “you’ve done enough”

Every time you thought about it you felt sick.

And naturally, being Navi twins you guys were connected more than normal siblings were, you felt each other’s heartbeats, felt when the other was happy or sad, uncomfortable or frustrated. So when you felt cold and utterly alone, you knew he was gone.

But yet there’s still times you hear his heartbeat, you feel how lonely he is and how much sorrow he’s filed with. And it makes you weak with sadness every time.

Being pulled out of your thoughts by a small pair of hands on your bicep shaking you back and forth, you turn around to see your baby sister staring back at you with a smile on her face, her eyes still washed with sadness. Yes, she was young, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. She knew how to read the room better than kids your age did.

“Sis, come on, get up! It’s your birthday!” She says while climbing onto you to give you a hug, which was something she did every year, but this one was more gentle and genuine than the others. You break the hug to place a hand on her head, lightly ruffling her braids,“Maybe later tuktuk, I’m still a little tired.” You say,weakly trying to hide the pain in your features with a fake smile.

She frowns at this, making you let out a soft chuckle as you go to push her off of you. Making her cling onto you more. “That’s what you always say!, please sis, can you get up? For me? For lo’ak?” She says while looking at you with puppy dog eyes. The slight mention of his name brings tears to your eyes, not ready to start this day without him.

“Sister, leave her be, alright? How about you go see what kiri is up to?” Neteyam says as he lifts the curtain to get into your side of the hut, holding it open for tuk to run out eagerly to find her sister.

Closing it, he glances at you before siting on your sleeping mat, “Sister, I’m-” “Teyam don’t. I can’t go through today with this fake sympathetic bullshit!, you guys were constantly on both of our asses for everything! You guys never cared about how we felt! How he felt! You know how many times he came to me telling me how dad made him feel like shit? Or how kiri was pushing him about certain things? Or how he caught dad talking to you about how he’s, “too reckless” and he “wouldn’t be surprised if he got himself killed”?”

His ears pin back to his skull immediately, knowing the exact conversation you were referring to. “Sister, you think that didn’t bother me too? I told him that lo’ak only acted like that because he wanted to be like him. But of course he didn’t listen. And do you think I wasn’t aware of how you guys felt? Why do you think I’d always have both of your guys backs whenever you got into trouble? Why do you think I came up with lies left and right to mom and dad so you two wouldn’t get your asses beat? I wanted to avoid making you guys feel like that, but I only have so much control y/n..” he says as he squeezes his his fists in anger, his feelings from that night bubbling to the surface again.

You move from your comfortable position to sit next to him, bringing him into a much needed hug. “Brother, I know you did. I know you try every single day. And I look up to you because of that. You’re stronger than I am. You keep pushing forward even though there’s so much shit happening to you, I don’t understand how you do it.” You say as you feel tears flowing from your face, the hug reminding you of how lo’ak used to hug you whenever you were in a mood.

“I do it because of you guys. Because of him. You guys are the reason I keep pushing. And especially the both of your skxawng asses” he says with a soft chuckle before breaking the hug, placing his hand on your head softly, something he did with you and lo’ak that became a comfort thing for the both of you. “You can do this today sister, I believe in you, we all do.” His tone making tears automatically spill over your eyes, and causing you to notice his tear filled eyes.

Looking for some sort of grounding you place your hand over his and squeeze, taking multiple deep breaths before speaking. “Teyam.. I can’t, I miss him so much. Everytime I wake up I feel so alone and cold, but I can still hear his breath, and his heartbeat. My pain is not only mine, but his too.” You say in between sobs, watching neteyams breathing get more shallow as he tries to hold in his tears. His features covered in concern.

“Oh baby sis..” bringing you into another much needed hug. He places a light kiss on your forehead before rubbing your back and gently swaying you from side to side,trying to calm down your cries.

Kiri walks in quietly, the feeling of your pain drawing her to your room. Her whole body goes slack and cold when she sees your state, making her glance at Neteyam. That feeling intensifying even more once she saw the pain in his eyes. She takes her place behind you, quickly inserting herself into the hug. Wrapping her right arm around your waist and the other overlapping with neteyams so she can hold him too,her chin resting on your shoulder.

“You feel him don’t you? His heartbeat? His sorrow? His breath? Like he’s just a word about to be spoken?” Without lifting your head you nod quickly, too mentally exhausted speak anymore. “I know how you feel sister. Take that feeling as a way of him telling you to keep going. Keep breathing for him, keep your heart beating for him. That sorrow will be gone once he sees that you’re living for him.”

Her words make you sob even more. Knowing she’s right, he’s always hated seeing you cry, and he did anything to fix it. Purposely making himself look like a dumbass, making you go on an ikran ride with him, asking you to go exploring with him, taking you to you guys secret spot, pinky promises. He did anything for you. And so did you.

A wave of calm suddenly hits you, making your sobs come to a complete stop, and your breathing becomes more level. Feeling the change, your siblings give each other a confused glance before looking down at you. “Sister?..” they both say in sync as you break the hug and get up, your features going completely cold. “I’m going to visit him..if that’s ok with you guys” you say while lifting up a blanket, revealing a stash of alcohol you’ve been keeping ever since his funeral.

Quickly you take a bottle and cover it back up, grabbing your hunting knife and putting on both you and lo’aks matching bracelets you made on your 10th birthday. Walking towards the curtain to leave, you’re pulled back by a gentle pull on your shoulder.

“Y/n..don’t don’t drink today. It’s not gonna stop you from hurting, and you know that.” Kiri says while gliding her hand down to your hand that was holding the alcohol firmly. “Yeah, I know that kiri, but it dulls it somewhat. And it stops me from wanting to throw myself off of a cliff so I think it’s worth it. Plus it’s my birthday! I’m allowed to drink as much as I want today!!” You say in a fake enthusiastic tone, your sarcasm reminding them so much of lo’ak.

“Y/n.” Neteyam says in a soft but stern tone, the one that told you that whatever he was about to say was gonna be serious. “Don’t drink. I know you’ve been hurting more than we have but we need you here. Lo’ak needs you here. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt.” He says as his voice starts to crack slightly, remembering all the things the three of them would come up with whenever you were anything but happy and content.

Feeling the tears well in your eyes again, you squeeze the bottle tighter, fighting the instinct to drown your feelings in the burning liquid.

Glancing over at them, your heart breaks seeing the genuine hurt on their faces because of the realization you’ve been drinking this whole time and they didn’t know. Sighing angrily,you shove the bottle into neteyams chest. “Fine, but when I get back just save me a bottle, because I know it’ll be gone by the time I come back.” You say while turning out of your room swiftly, leaving kiri and neteyam there speechless.

Once you get to the spirt tree, you thank payakan and tell him that you’ll see him soon. Ever since lo’aks passing you’ve only really left your marui to go see payakan, knowing he carries the same weight as you do.

While swimming towards the tree, you mentally prepare yourself for this painful experience. You’ve been avoiding coming to the tree in the first place, because you knew how much it take out of you. And he knew the same.

Connecting your kuru to the tree, you’re brought to you and lo’aks secret spot back at your actual home. The only place that brought you two comfort. Tentatively, you walk through the clearing, lo’ak still not in sight.

“Lo?, where are you?” You call out, the sound of your own voice making you realize you weren’t 15, but you were younger. Walking towards a curtain of flora that led to a small river, you catch a glimpse of your brother, making you walk quicker.

Once you get there you see lo’ak sitting at the edge of river with his feet languidly swaying in the water, just staring into the water. Almost like he was waiting for something, or someone. You don’t say anything at first, just taking in the sight of him after not seeing him for months.

“Brother..” you say softly, not wanting to disturb his peace. His head whips in the direction of your voice, his expression lighting up as he gets up and walks towards you. “Sister!!, I thought you’d never show!” He says as he takes you into a hug, the sound of his voice making you giggle since he was also his younger self.

“Of course I did, it just took me a little time. You know I’d always come to see your skxawng ass” you say as you break the hug to shove his face with your pointer and middle finger. He giggles at that, his smile making the weight on your chest get lighter.

Grabbing your hand, he guides you to where he was sitting. Taking your seat beside him, you gaze out into the water with him.Nervously playing with your extra finger, you take a breath before talking about what you were avoiding for so long.

“Brother I’m-” you exhale slowly before continuing, noticing out of the corner of your eye how all lo’aks attention was turned to you. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here. It should’ve been me that got shot that night. I was the one that put the idea into your head to go save spider. I should’ve just told you and teyam to go so I could’ve got spider by myself-” “Sister,” he cuts you off, your rambling making the pain in his heart worse. “It’s not your fault. You need to stop hurting yourself like this. It’s not fair to you. You need to focus on now. Not ‘what if’. And plus, It’s not like I would’ve listened to you if you told me to go anyway, there’s no way in hell I’d let that happen.”

Both of you giggle at the last part, knowing that he’s not lying. Once your laughs die down, you look down at your hands, that feeling of guilt still lingering in your chest. Glancing over at you, he notices how you’re playing with your pinkies, a telltale sign that told him something was bothering you.“Sister, what else is it?” He says as he leans back onto his hands, noticing how your shoulders slightly go stiff from his question.

Turning your body to face him, you don’t fail to notice the genuine look of concern in his eyes. “You know what day it is today?” You ask, making his expression completely drop. “Yeah, I know.” The words feeling like a weight on his tongue. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do today without you lo’. I can’t. It hurts too much.” You say as the tears finally spill over your face, the grief crawling back up your throat once again. “No, y/n, you can and you will. For me. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can’t live out there. Live for me, y/n. Stop letting yourself be consumed by grief and guilt. I hate seeing you like this and you know that.” He says sternly, making sure you know he’s being serious.

All you do is nod your head, not trusting your voice with the lump in your throat and the never ending tears that keep falling from your eyes. The sight of your hurting form makes lo’aks heart twist in pain. And the fact he couldn’t really do much hurt even more. “Come here, sis,” Placing his hand on your shoulder he pulls you towards him. Giving you a much needed hug, immediately making you sob into the crook of his neck.

“I miss you, twin” he says while resting his chin on your shoulder, letting the tears fall freely from his eyes. You let out a broken, “i miss you more” as the void in your chest grows the longer you two hug.

Once you finally calm down,you break the hug, now seeing each other how you guys remember. “Well shit..” you both say in sync, making you both laugh. “You look so grown. I don’t like it.” Lo’ak says as he admires you a little longer, a feeling of peace swirling in his chest. “Yeah,me neither” you say in a soft tone, once again feeling guilty for moving on without him with you.

Placing left hand on your head, and his right on your shoulder he looks at you with a soft smile on his face, “Y/n,you’ll be ok. I’ll always be watching you, and I’ll always protect you.” The tone of his voice making you inhale sharply so the next wave of tears doesn’t come. He raises his pinky finger towards you, waiting for you to do the same. You let out a soft chuckle at his childish behavior before obliging.

Once both of you pinkies are holding onto one another, he grips your shoulder tighter. “Promise me, that you won’t give up on yourself, that you won’t push everyone away, that you won’t drink your feelings away. Promise me that you can get over this feeling. That you will live through this feeling.”

You squeeze his pinky even tightly as you feel the tears well up in your eyes, realizing that time will make no difference to how much you miss him. But it will for how much you will grow through this feeling.

Tugging his pinky towards yours, you nod your head ‘yes’ before saying, “I promise. I promise I’ll do my best for you. I promise that I’ll try for you.” The words making a smile appear on his face. He brings you into a loving hug, the warmth of comfort washing over both of you guys.

“Happy birthday,twin” you guys say in sync again, a soft giggle coming from both of you. Breaking the hug, he grabs your hands and squeezes them tightly “ow! That hurts!” “I don’t care! I want you to have fun for me today alright? Celebrate us! Spend time with everyone that loves you and gives a shit about you. You deserve it!” he says through his laughs, making you smile softly at his childish demeanor.

“Alright I will!! I’ll come visit you again tonight and I’ll tell you all about today!” You say in a giddy tone, noticing that this has been the first time you’ve been somewhat happy since these last 4 months.

“You better” he says while rolling his eyes dramatically, knowing he did it to make you laugh. Once your laughter dies down, you both look back at the water. Not wanting this moment to end already. “I love you,bro” you say while bumping your shoulder against his, making him laugh and do the same to you. “I love you more,sis” he says with a soft smile on his face, one that replaced the one on yours.

You two stay like this for a while, just basking in each others presence and invading each others space. Thoughts of leaving suddenly crowd your head and the second those thoughts occur, your brother says something about it.“Y/n go spend the day with them. You know how they get on our birthday, plus they’ll make you feel better.” He says in a delicate tone, a soft smile on his face from remembering how much they loved celebrating your birthdays. You sigh softly, before reluctantly standing up.

He gets up with you, bringing you into an affectionate hug. Without breaking it, he whispers “I’ll miss you,sister.” With complete sadness laced in his tone. A tear falls from your face from the sound of his voice,“I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know, brother.” You two stay like this for a while, until it starts getting harder to breathe, a harsh reminder of the truth.

Breaking the hug, you give him a look that lets him know that, making him hesitantly let go of you. “I’ll see you later tonight brother, I promise. I love you!” You say while turning around to leave, hearing him let out a little ‘I love you, too’ before you leave.

Once you reach the surface you catch your breath, calling out to your ilu and mentally going over your interaction with your brother to avoid acknowledging that void in your chest.

It’s a peaceful ride back home, until you start getting in your head about ‘having fun’ today without lo’ak. Because it wasn’t just your birthday, but his too. And celebrating without him just doesn’t feel right, even tuk knows that.

But right when you start having those doubts, a group of hammerbrow fish swarm around you and your ilu, stopping you in your tracks. One of them swims up to your face and flicks your forehead, making you furrow your brows and shove it away. They swim around you and you ilu for awhile longer before leaving, one of them staying back a little longer to look at you.

The whole interaction left you with a smile on your face, knowing that it was definitely lo’ak telling you to calm down, and to stop worrying about unnecessary things. Making hope swirl in your chest.

With time, you know you’ll be okay.

A/N~ this took SO LONG to write oh my fucking god. But we made it!! And I hope you guys enjoyed this (and this is my first angst fic so pls cut me some slack if some phrasing gets repetitive😔) because I did, didn’t enjoy the tears I cried while writing this but it was worth it🩷 if you made it to the end and you’re reading this I wanna thank you so much for reading this whole long ass fic, must really love me huh😏?? LMFAOO but anyway! Otw to write for kinkmas now🏃🏽‍♀️💨

Duces🫶🏽,

Luvv4j4ybe11

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wangxianficrecs · 2 months

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💙 An Inch of Grass, and All The Sunshine of Spring by ChilianXianzi

💙 An Inch of Grass, and All The Sunshine of Spring

by ChilianXianzi

T, WIP, 1k, Wangxian

Part of Exploring Tropes: Time Travel

Summary:"Did you…Did you know our A-Ying?" Cangse Sanren's eyes are wide and full of hope, and Lan Wangji is suddenly struck by the realization that he is the only one in the world now who would still speak of Wei Ying with fondness. Who knows him enough outside of the wild and hurtful rumors scattered across the land. Just him, in all of his own failings and his poor grasp of words. But Lan Wangji had failed Wei Ying once, and if he could not speak for Wei Ying when the whole world had bayed for his blood, then he owes it to Wei Ying to speak of him kindly now, to let his meagre words tumble out of lips unused still to speech after years of silence. He doesn't expect there to be so much words inside him, doesn't expect that his words would carry him until the sky darkens around them. Doesn't expect the embrace enveloping him after he is done - Warm and firm and safe. Kay's comments: Looking at this WIP with great longing and heart-break. I absolutely adore the idea of Wei Wuxian's parents being trapped inside the Burial Mounds and being freed many years later. Unfortunately, they only get freed here after Wei Wuxian's death, but at least Lan Wangji is the one to do it and also the only one who would ever speak kindly of their son. Absolutely devastating and even incomplete worth a read, this story never fails to destroy me. Excerpt: "It's Lan-gongzi, right?" The woman's face brightens, hand gesturing to her own temples to echo Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon, "You're a member of the main clan? Huh, could have sworn I've never seen you - You're one of Qiren's cousins or something? I swear you look just like him if he'd just shave off that awful goatee of his." "Cangse," the man nudges the woman gently, even as he dips another, almost apologetic bow at Lan Wangji, "Come, let's not take more of Lan-Gongzi's time. A-Ying must be waiting for us, with how long we've been gone-" Cangse, the man said. The woman knows his Shufu, knows him enough to see the resemblance even others often pass over between them, knows him enough to call him Qiren. A-Ying must be waiting for us. It's a well-known story, a tragic, cautionary tale for Cultivators walking into every unknown Night Hunt. Baoshan Sanren's brightest disciple and her cultivation partner, who walked into the Burial Mounds one night and never came back. Oh. Oh.

pov lan wangji, canon divergence, time travel, fix-it of sorts, cangse sanren and wei changze live, families of choice, family feels, grief/mourning, parent-child relationship, fluff and angst, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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justaz · 20 days

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post magic reveal, post magic ban lifted, arthur gets to see merlin in all his glory and somehow falls deeper in love with him than he ever thought possible. merlin who is free and accepted and loved and ecstatic by it all, but there's that thought lingering in the back of his mind that only half of their destiny has been fulfilled. magic has returned to camelot but albion is still fractured in many different kingdoms, many of which are still holding onto the hate that uther spread which is seeping into the very fabric of the earth itself. druids and magic users and even magic creatures are still persecuted all across the realm and yeah camelot opened her arms to them but not everyone trusts it (justifiably).

arthur who is choking on the sheer amount of love he has for merlin and promising himself that he'll tell merlin, he'll confess, even if he feelings aren't reciprocated. merlin will know. merlin who has been chewing on an idea for some time now and is planning on bringing it up to arthur. its night as merlin is dressing arthur for bed and they're both quiet and tense. they break at the same time and end up speaking over one another. arthur allows merlin to go first since his nerves are eating away at him. then merlin speaks of leaving.

arthur feels his nerves rot and decay and fall into a bottomless pit. merlin is rambling about how every magical being in albion is still being targeting by various kingdoms and as the prophesied emrys, magic incarnate, druid king, should he not be doing more to help? he doesn't want to leave arthur's side, but he does want to help his people. he's seen only a fraction of the atrocities committed against them and he wishes to protect them, give them somewhere completely safe, a kingdom of magic so to speak. he promises that he'll only be gone for as long as it takes to establish a kingdom (a year? two? three?) but he promises to write and visit often...as long as arthur gives him permission and allows him to leave his service for the time being.

arthur of course agrees, half unhappy about it but completely understanding. surely, out of everyone, he is the one who can understand the weight of responsibility weighing on merlin's shoulders. he mentions that merlin will need someone with experience wearing the crown to guide him. plus, balance. merlin was always there for arthur, guiding him on how to be a better man, a great king, someone worthy of the praise he constantly spewed. it's only right that arthur gets to return that by helping merlin establish a safe haven and home for his people. and politically, camelot being the first kingdom to recognize merlin's and establish some trade agreement or treaty with them will strengthen merlin's kingdom's status and send a message that camelot stands with magic.

merlin smiles wide and asks what arthur was going to say. the king hesitates before biting his tongue and requesting that merlin bring up the honey cakes that had been prepared earlier that night. two of them. since merlin was no longer in his service, he didn't have to stand by and watch arthur eat - not that he ever did, the idiot loved to steal his food. shamelessly!! he never even tried to hide it. they both sat at the table in his chambers until late in the night, nibbling away at the sweets, chasing it down with wine, and chatting away.

arthur wasn't able to confess, but it did not change his feelings. if anything, merlin's heart and the decision he made only added fuel to the raging inferno of love and devotion within arthur. he knows that merlin will keep in contact and will return to his side one day. he gets through the tough days/nights by rereading merlin's letters and imagining seeing him again in royal garb and donning a crown.

#when they finally wed it completely solidifies that camelot is a safe space for magical beings #camelot and whatever name merlin settled on for his kingdom sort of merge together with the marriage as well #which is only the beginning to the prophesied unified albion that they were meant to build together #i just think that merlin shouldve built something for his people #like theyre being prosecuted at every turn #theres no safe place for any of them to reside #theyre always looking over their shoulder #merlin aka emrys aka magic itself should've looked out for his people #his devotion to arthur got in the way of that tho which ig is romantic but also like bro. cmon now.#plus king merlin>>>>#bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merthur #angst sort of #its a happy ending if you read my tags LMAO #fic ideas #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanon #head canon #hc

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not-poignant · 4 months

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Tradewinds Launch - A Fae Tales Novel - Jan 31st

FULL NOVEL RELEASE on JANUARY 31st - EXCLUSIVE to REAM & PATREON ONLY

In the dangerous, ethereal realm of the fae, alliances between the Seelie and Unseelie fae merchants are few. Some say impossible. Matan, a Seelie fae and peacock pheasant shifter with a talent for trade, must keep his Seelie alignment a secret as he embarks on a perilous journey to gather wealth and save a loved one from a terrible curse. He joins an Unseelie merchant caravan of fae who would surely eat him if they learned of his alignment. The enigmatic Udir, a paranoid Unseelie master of poisons and bearded vulture shifter, discovers Matan’s secret and threatens to blackmail him in exchange for vile favours. But Udir’s bravado and bluster hides a painful past and Matan isn’t as innocent or as naïve as he seems. Amid bustling markets, savvy clients, and travelling to new lands Matan has never seen before, Tradewinds is a story of love, found family, trust, betrayal, and the healing that can grow in the shadows of the vibrant, perilous southern fae lands.

Foxhall @ Ream (available on the Gary+Efnisien tiers or higher) Foxhall @ Patreon (available on the Gary+Efnisien tiers of higher)

#tradewinds #pia foxhall #fae tales #fae tales verse #merchantverse #original work #original story #romantic fantasy #epic fantasy #secondary world fantasy #hurt/comfort #like mild angst with a happy ending #it's what i would say lighter than my normal stuff #sort of? dsakfjdsa #it's more 'wildness within' vibes but with no OT3 #there will be excerpts and more coming over the next two weeks #or there should be i need to organise that lmao #but anyway now the announcement post has been made!

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cakesmelons · 10 months

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Epic forced them to get along

With an addition of staremare..

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temporary-tats · 2 months

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Decided to whip up some cover art for my Lumity Soulmates AU, Soul Ties!

I'm currently working on edits and future chapters, as the first 10 chapters are so are due to for an upgrade! Updated chapters will be released alongside new updates. Check Soul Ties out on AO3 if you feel so inclined:

#lumity #sort of beta lumity #the owl house #ao3 fanfic #fanart #luz x amity #luz noceda #amity blight #soulmate au #soulmates #modern au #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #no beta we die like belos #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 link #temp-tats-art

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sockiestupidity · 11 months

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Eating Habits-Miguel O'Hara x platonic!teen reader

sequel to my last fic???-am i fr going to make this a series👁️👁️

Miguel notices a change in your eating patterns😧

warnings-bad writing/grammar/dialogue, angst, bad eating patterns, possible ed???, ooc miguel???, implied abuse/neglect (reader has bad eating patterns bc of fam), might be triggering for some, dw they end up happy again i promise, the word mijo is used like once???

again implied nonverbal reader (nonverbal rep bc i said so🫡) making this up as i go tbh-reader may use aac or communication cards

autistic coded reader????

AGAIN, ENGLISH MAY BE MY FIRST LANGUAGE BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT IM GOOD AT IT(AGAIN, JUST MAKE THIS CLEAR, I AM INDEED A NO SABO KID🥴)

povs may possibly change at times-lowercase intented as usual🤩(possibly no use of y/n in this one🤷‍♂️) IM SO TEHE AB THIS MAN (AND SPOT BUT WE DONT TALK AB THAT) sorry for all the warnings, just wanna make sure yall know what to expect

over time, you and miguel had.. unexpectedly started to bond more and more, which surprised a lot of spiders. the two of you were both equally closed off, but even then miguel had interacted with more spider people than you had. since your arrival, miguel had been the only spider person you had interacted with due to your mistrust.

most of the spiders had decided to simply not acknowledge your new friendship with miguel..simply because miguel had scared them off for you.

with you and miguel forming a new bond, he started to notice something about you..

while you enjoyed all types of cooking and baking, you never really ate much. miguel had chosen not to acknowledge it because he thought you just had a smaller appetite than most spiders, and he also thought his judgement was just clouded due to the fact that he had to eat more than most spiders did.

maybe your portions just looked small because of his size? he glazed over the thought, but it didn't make much sense, he ignored until..

your eating habits became worse, he had now come to the realization when he decided to treat you to a hamburger and you only ate a couple of fries..days later he noticed that when you had cooked something for the rest of the spiders, you hadn't plated any food for yourself. he felt a heavy pang in his heart, he knew the signs, because he would often neglet his humger needs due to his work.

when he brought up his concern that you were not giving yourself food you simply pulled out your cards, flipping to a card that said "no" and another that said "hungry". (A/N-i refuse to believe that reader would have "not" on their card bc "no" is way more conventional so pls dont come at more for this)

miguel heavily sighed, if course he didn't believe you, he could see the fear and sadness in your eyes. when he saw that look, he knew he had to do something.

a couple days had passed and you had stopped cooking and baking all together. you were simply just sitting on a couch that was placed in the HQ living quarters for everyone to use when suddenly you saw a large figure in your peripheral vision. you instantly knew that it was miguel. (A/N: MANS LITERALLY WEARS HIS SUIT EVERYWHERE OK?😭)

once he was in front of you, you decided to look up to him, furrowing your eyebrows to indicate your confusion. he wore an expression that you still were not used to identifying.

sympathy.

he pinched the brige of his nose, this was going to be harder than he thought, "we have to talk, mijo".

you pulled out your phone, getting your acc app ready incase if you need to respond to whatever he was about to announce. trying to do so calmly, as to not make him worry.

you gave him a nod, as to let him know that you were listening. he moved in order to sit next to you on the couch, his weight making a significant shift on the cushions.

"i need you to look at me alright? you don't even have to give me eye contact" he didn't want to pressure you, because he knew how much stress eye contact gave you at times.

you looked in his direction and tilted your body towards him.

he took another deep breath in and out before saying, "i noticed that you've been.. eating less, i mean, eating less than you usually eat.." he trailed off, he had to think carefully about his next words.

as soon as he said this, you looked away with a pained expression on your face.

he touched your cheek, and you flinched at the movement. "hey, none of that alright? i just want to make sure that everything is fine, mijo. has there been something on your mind recently?" he removed his hand from your cheek, wanting you to be able to fully process everything.

you let out a sigh and clicked one of the words you had preset on your app. "family" the robot voice spoke.

miguel nodded, although he hadn't seen everything that had happened he knew that overall, it wasnt the best situation. there was a pause before the robot voice began to speak again.

"food. bad" miguel's heart broke, and his strong stature had softened. he wanted to hug you, but he wasn't sure if he was overstepping your boundaries.

he carefully thought over his words before speaking, "never let anyone ever tell you that good is bad for you, alright mijo? it gives you strength, and helps you live" he looked right at you, making sure you digested every word he had said. he could see you blinking tears away, but they just continued flowing.

abruptly, you began to hug him. miguel was caught by surprise at this, as you buried your head into his chest. he awkwardly patted you on the back.

"from now on, i'll help you out" he stated. he felt you nod your head in agreement, head still buried in his chest.

from then on miguel made sure to coach you during mealtimes, giving you praise when you started to eat normal portions. (a/n hes channeling his inner sport mom vibes🥰). with miguels help, you started to feel more comfortable treating yourself to small treats, and even eating infront of people without caring what they thought about you.

at this moment you realized that, miguel might be your true family.

A/N: CURRENTLY SOBBING DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE THIS SO SAD IM SO SORRY PEOPLE.

on a realer note:if reader is just like u fr id encourage you to please seek some form of help/support system💞its important that u take care of urself-there are multiple free resources that you can find online just with a simple google search

small explanation ab readers fam: due to neglect, reader was never given a lot of food, and the food they made would be for their fam. and their fam would often shame them when they were allowed to eat (again, if reader is just like u fr, pls seek some sort of help)

also if we could please refrain from using the comment section to trauma dump/nbr (i am not a professional, nor am iequipped to handle other's problems)

#angst #atsv #across the spider verse #angst with a happy ending #sort of #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara #platonic relationships #spiderverse x reader #gn reader #x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #platonic reader #running out of tags #again #hope u like it #<3 #teen reader

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wild-magic-oops · 5 months

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Thinking about Gale and Durge living in Waterdeep together. Durge doesn't hide his origin, so it's a pretty well-known fact that he's a bhaalspawn. Reformed, allegedly. He's polite, helpful, loving to his husband. People have good opinions of him. And then murders start happening all over the city. Bloody, cruel, horrible, and decidedly worshiping in nature. And no amount of previously good opinions can save Durge from being the immediate suspect.

After the first murder people start to avoid him, and avoid Gale as well. Gale's reputation at the Blackstaff Academy immediately suffers as a result.

After the second murder a week later, some people start being nasty to Durge, openly so. Many still remain quiet, but don't oppose the loud ones. Gale has to take leave from work until the investigation is complete. Parents have already been complaining and threatening to take their children out of the academy if he continues to teach there. No one wants their child to be taught by the spouse of a brutal serial killer, after all.

Durge feels like shit. No matter that Bhaal's blood doesn't taint him anymore, no matter how hard he's worked on himself to be a better person, his origin will always haunt him, dog every step he takes. And worst of all - Gale suffers for it as well.

After the third murder a week later, Durge isn't surprised that the authorities come to take him away. The investigation is still ongoing for what little that matters when everyone have made up their minds anyway.

#I may add to this later if anyone's interest bc I have some more thoughts I haven't sorted out yet #durgegale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #durge #durge x gale #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #patch 5 spoilers #my posts #I really looked at the wholesome happy ending and went 'what if angst tho???'#wtf is wrong with me lmao

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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 2 months

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3l!grian is frequently depicted as a tragic figure and sometimes i wonder if we even watched the same series

#like yes he is tragic. every character in the series is tragic but i think hes easily the least tragic of the winners #(except maybe cleo. i have my own thoughts about how cleos victory plays into her core themes and why its not as joyous or triumphant as #cleo the players and the fandom at large make it seem that i will have to make a real post about at some point)#grian dies Laughing. he smiles and calls it a dual victory before the final fight. his last words are “its been amazing.”#to me Grians arc is about how he came in with this sense of mirth. had it ripled away by the reality when his joke gets Scar killed.#and then rediscovers it as he learns that the horror of their circumstances doesn't need to keep him from delight #plus also ive never seen a man more delighted to explode three of his friends #ill also bring up that Martyns lore has Grian involved in the games explicitly to COMBAT the angst #that Grians inherent silliness and joy makes the players less hopeless as they meet their endings #and theres obviously parts of martyns lore i can take or leave but this is one area where Eyes and Ears lines up very well with what actions #the characters take and so im happy to bring it up #unlike other parts such as “limlife pearl and cleo retained more trauma between seasons than any player has before”#which i do directly refute as it doesn't seem to line up with the way the characters act and the story plays out #thats for another post though #my point here is 3l grian was having the time of his life and i think there are some fanon interpretationd that disregard that #which theyre free to do im definitely someone who has ignored canon plenty of times in the past (glances at worm)#but i think this is the sort of thing that makes the canon more interesting and compelling #anyway. um. rambled longer than i meant to there #grian #trafficblr #3rd life #3rd life smp #3lsmp

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annmarcus63 · 6 months

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It took him two years to realize that he was hopelessly in love with Geralt. And within a few months he decided to try his luck with the witcher, but he knew that he had to be careful with his advances, that he had to be cautious and cunning so as not to scare him away. He wanted to win Geralt's heart and the first steps were to make sure that he could really win, if not the love, then at least the affection of the witcher.

Jaskier begins with gentle touches, his hand brushing against the other's, and increases the affection in the massages and hair washes he offers Geralt. Followed by intent glances and coquettish smiles, but not too coquettish, he wants to let Geralt know that he's interested in more, much more than just a roll in the hay.

Eventually Jaskier gets bolder. One afternoon, Geralt is leading Roach by the reins on the road and he approaches him as casually as possible to chat about... he honestly can't remember, and with a quick movement he grabs Geralt's hand as if he had done it a hundred times before. Geralt tenses and looks at him, panic and uncertainty in his golden eyes, the bard knows that feeling, so he smiles shyly at him feeling afraid too. Geralt snorts in annoyance, but doesn't pull his hand back. He just leaves it there, relaxed.

Then, the kissing started, forehead kisses that Jaskier placed upon Geralt's frown when he's particularly upset about a contract or with people. The witcher leans at the contact sometimes. So, one night Jaskier looks at Geralt's pretty lips and leans slowly, until their breaths are mingling with each other, mmh the witcher smells so good.

Geralt grunts and turns around to make space between them, almost imperceptible, their thighs no longer touching. “Sorry,” Says, Jaskier. It's ok.

But then, Geralt closes the small gap again and turns back to him, his eyes downcast almost ashamed. Jaskier smiles strangely charmed and leans in to touch his lips briefly with Geralt's, a small touch full of longing and love, so much love. Geralt tries to escape once again, but the bard doesn't let him this time, with both hands he takes the other's face to plant kisses like seeds on his nose, each cheekbone, each closed eye. The witcher trembles under his fingerprints, but the bard soothes him with "shh, I've got you".

They don't go further than that, Jaskier can feel the way Geralt is holding himself back, to wanting what is being offered with such devotion. He's not ready but that's ok, Jaskier'll wait for him as long as it takes. For him, only for him.

Geralt makes a stupid wish that sends him into a blurry reality of pain and confusion, his throat hurts, will he lose his voice? There's apple juice and naked people, a proud woman in a black dress, gods she's gorgeous, almost every sorceress is, but she has something special that Jaskier doesn't like.

He understands what it is about, when he encounters a frantic Geralt at the gate, he fears for her, he likes her, he...likes her.

It took him eight years to hold Geralt's hand while walking, it took him ten years to kiss him, but in spite of his unmeasurable efforts he could not achieve what Yennefer did in one day. Maybe his naivete condemned him to misread the signs, maybe it wasn't that Geralt wasn't ready to love someone, maybe he wasn't ready to love Jaskier, at all.

Full fic here

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #joey batey #fix it fic #sort of #Jaskier dreams about a simple life with Geralt #but life has a nack for hurting you before you get what you want #soft Geralt of rivia #angst with a happy ending #possibly #let me know what you think #angst my speciality #mine

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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Steddie Notes Part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

They’re stuck in the Upside Down.

Nancy. Robin. Eddie. And Steve’s so fucked up from the bats, every breath, ever movement, has him in agony, and he just keeps seeing Eddie here, and it makes it all so much worse. This was never supposed to happen. And how was Steve supposed to keep him safe, keep them all safe, when he could barely stand upright from the pain?

Eddie walks a little way ahead with Nancy, fled after saying, “for your modesty, dude,” and throwing his battle vest at Steve’s face. It leaves Steve with Robin as they navigate the vines and random earthquakes to get to the Wheeler’s house.

“What’s wrong with you?” Robin asks.

Steve narrows his eyes. “You mean other than being dragged across a dry lakebed and eaten by fucked up bats?”

“Is it. Eddie?”

He bites his lips between his teeth. Of course Robin knows. She always does. “I hate that he’s part of this, Robs. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think it’s your fault.” It’s not a question.

“How can I not.” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You got dragged into this just by being friends with me. And now Eddie? If he wasn’t our friend—if he wasn’t my—he would be safe.”

“Steve. You know that’s not true. Chrissy was cursed already. She would have always died that night. Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, tears pooling along his lash lines. “We kissed,” he croaks out.

“What?” Robin shrieks loud enough to echo across the desolate, cursed landscape.

Eddie and Nancy glance back in time to see Steve knock his shoulder against her arm. “Quiet,” he hisses.

“Sorry,” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner! When? How? Are you together now?”

His mouth twists. “No. I think I fucked it up? It was—fuck—when he came over after Chrissy. He was so upset, and I was comforting him, and it just happened. I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“So, you haven’t talked about it?”

He gives her a look again. “When would we have had the time?”

“Okay, okay. But he doesn’t seem mad. I mean, he still gazes at you all lovestruck and ridiculous.”

Heat bursts under the skin of Steve’s cheeks. “He does not,” he mumbles.

“But you do need to talk about it. Obviously. You two have been pinning for years.”

“It’s a year and a half. At most. Not even.”

“Feels like years to me.”

Steve scoffs, falls silent. “I’m scared, Robs. What if he doesn’t like me back? He was too upset when I kissed him, and—I pushed it too far.”

“You did pick a truly terrible time to kiss him, and you two should probably talk about that, but Eddie isn’t going to be upset that you have feelings for him.”

“How do you know? There’s no way you can be sure. I don’t want to risk everything.” “Steve, I—” Robin’s mouth contorts into a complicated series of o’s as she fishes for words. “We’re already risking everything,” she says. “With the Upside Down. With Vecna. When we’re back topside, you should take the time you need to talk to him, okay? I promise that, even if he doesn’t like you like that, he’ll still love you as his closest friend.”

He can’t think of the words to argue with, so he nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of Eddie’s battle vest. His finger catches on something deep in the right pocket, accompanied by a telltale burst of pain. Steve hisses, retracting his hand, a drop of scarlet beads from a small slash at the tip of his index finger.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He wipes the blood on the vest—it’s already soaked with it, anyway.

“You okay?” Robin asks, her blue eyes sharp at Steve losing more blood.

“Yeah. Munson’s keeping sharp shit in his pockets again, is all.”

He reaches back into the pocket to find the offending weapon and finds a crumpled sheet of paper. An amused breath bursts out of him as he realizes what it must be, and he fishes it out with hesitation.

It’s crinkled and grimy with age, but Steve unfurls it anyway. It’s his own handwriting at the top: “You ever been in love?”

He doesn’t remember writing it, not clearly. There’s a vague recollection of wobbling around, crossfaded in his bedroom, scrawling words on the first acceptable surface he finds. Doesn’t remember giving it to Eddie, but he’s responded; it’s scrawled right there beneath Steve’s question: “No, but I think I’m falling.”

Steve stops in his tracks, staring at the note, eyes darting from the paper to Eddie. A bright pulse of hope sticks in his throat. They’re going to get out of the Upside Down, and when they do, Steve is telling Eddie everything.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He doesn’t.

Nancy is taken by Vecna and then they fall into planning mode, apparently RV theft mode too (“don’t cha, big boy” is never going to leave his head), and in the panic and fear, there isn’t time.

There’s a little part of him, too, that doesn’t want to say, “I love you,” like it’s a good-bye. He meant it when he told Robin he still has hope, he does, refuses to accept any outcome that isn’t success, that leaves one of their rank dead.

So, he doesn’t talk to Eddie, and they’re in the Upside Down for their last stand and all the words and emotions pile up on his tongue but can’t find flight.

He, Robin, and Nancy turn to go, he’s already kicking himself for his silence, when Eddie’s voice rings out, “Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns fast, almost overbalances, but the meeting of their eyes steadies him. In the rich brown of Eddie’s, Steve thinks he sees all the things he wants to say echoed back. They gaze at each other in silence that thickens every millisecond until Eddie says, “make him pay,” and Steve lifts his chin in acknowledgement. He knows it’s not what Eddie means to say, thinks he understands why he can’t.

There will be plenty of time for their confessions when they get out of this alive. And they will. Steve is sure of it.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It’s over.

It was hard. Bad. But it’s done. Vecna a smoldering ruin on the Upside Down version of the Creel House lawn.

Steve doesn’t feel triumphant, exactly. They’d almost died, strangled by the vines, briefly outmatched by Vecna. He is relieved, though. Eager to get back to the trailer park, to Eddie and Dustin.

They traverse the Upside Down, silent now and free of earthquakes, closing in on the trailer park in record time.

Up ahead, Steve makes out a hunched shape that must be Dustin in his ghillie suit. He wonders where Eddie is, but he’s not afraid.

He picks up speed to close the distance faster. “Dustin!” he shouts. He means it to sound excited, triumphant, but it’s strangled. His heart’s beating too fast.

Steve is near enough, makes out the dark heap at Dustin’s feet. Someone is chanting a high-pitched, unbroken rhythm of “no, no, no, no, no, nononono,” and it takes him several long moments to realize the sound is coming from his own mouth. He can’t make himself stop.

“Steve,” Dustin sobs. He’s covered in red, leaned over Eddie’s prone form.

There’s so much blood, congealing in dark pools on the grey earth.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, hey,” Steve falls to his knees, fighting off the panicked keen building in his throat at Eddie’s mostly closed eyes.

“Babylove, honey, sweetheart, please, please look at me, okay?” There are bites on his cheeks that Steve avoids, tapping at Eddie’s cheekbones with shaking fingers.

Eddie’s eyes flutter, try to focus, but drift. “S’vie?” he rasps.

“Hey, hey, It’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here, but you got to stay awake for me, okay?”

“N’ver thought I’d go to heaven,” Eddie mumbles, he fights his eyes from rolling back.

Steve forces a laugh. “What a line, man,” his focus shifts. “Robin, Nancy, we need to stop the bleeding.”

They work in a flurry of motion, Steve talking to Eddie, struggling to keep him alert.

“You gotta stay with me, Eds. Okay? I can’t be without you. You know that, right? You’re everything, Eddie. Everything.”

Eddie smiles with teeth full of blood. “Whatever you say, angel,” he whispers. His eyes slide shut.

Steve swallows his scream, hefts Eddie into his arms, and runs.

(Part 7)

This is a rough one, please feel free to shout at me about it. Thank you so much for reading! One more part to go; and don't worry, nobody dies and there's a happy ending.

I can't add anymore tags, but I appreciate each and every one of you for coming on the steddie notes journey with me! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

@fandomgenderz @nuttychaosface @thatcottagewitch @idoquitelikebread @shinekocreator @savveth @mackfrfr0 @yourebuckingkiddingme @steddieassheg0es @gamerdano @thebig-smoke @questionablequeeries @zerokrox-blog @thegingervulcan @charlies-candid-corner@perpetual-trashcan @sleepy-rainedrop @marvelous-musicals @hoffmannwrites @fromapayphone @courtjestermunson@juicinmyjams @daydreaming-mood @aceflavouredyougurt @emly03 @pille1983 @darcyshandflex @anteaterballs @adankrivervalleynearyou @didntwant2come @kittsu-makes-glass @alienace

@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflowerr @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

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demonforthesemen · 2 months

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Have read several fics where Lucifer senses Lilith's ownership over Alastor's soul while healing him and now I'm salivating over the concept of Lucifer deciding to try to get closer to Alastor just to keep feeling the remnants of Lilith's energy

#radioapple #sort of #ideally this has a happy ending to me but not without angst first :)#my posts

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wangxianficrecs · 3 months

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Longing (reprise) by ilip13

Longing (reprise)

by ilip13 (@ilip13)

T, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: Finally he cannot take it anymore. "Well, we should get going, either way!" Whatever transpired between them, the day is burning away. "Do you remember Guanyin Temple, Lan Zhan? Even if you don’t, we must get there as soon as possible." He expects a fight. Maybe Lan Zhan only remembers as far as their search after Nie Mingjue’s body parts. Lan Zhan thinks they’re in the middle of some night hunt, so — "I do remember Guanyin Temple," Lan Wangji says slowly. He reaches out as if to touch Wei Wuxian’s face, and then his hand falls away. "Do you?" * Wei Wuxian wakes up the morning after the bathtub incident. (Or is it?) Kay's comments: This story provided the soothing and healing I didn't know my heart needed. It gives Wei Wuxian the chance to finish his confession after Wangxian's first time at the inn in Yunping and I love that for everyone involed and most definitely my heart because the aftermath of the bathtub scene always hurts so good and as much as I love Wangxian's public confession in a moment of desperation, sometimes I wish they could have gotten something private like this as well. Excerpt: "You…" Wei Wuxian flounders, at a loss for words. He feels small, small and exposed, except Lan Wangji chooses to toy with him instead of mete out the proper punishment that Wei Wuxian deserves. Well. Wei Wuxian does not intend to embarrass himself further by recounting all the reasons Lan Wangji should be displeased with him. He crosses his arms and huffs. "Nothing happened. Pay it no mind. I’ll just get dressed and we can go." If anyone is playing games here then it is Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian is in no mood to participate. There’s a painful stab in his heart when he recalls Lan Zhan playing around last night. His joy at being praised by Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian swallows past the lump in his throat. It does not help with the ache in his chest. There is a blur of movement, and then Lan Wangji’s arms are wrapped around him. A gentle kiss pressed to his forehead. Wei Wuxian struggles to be freed; Lan Wangji holds him closer. "Don’t touch me, Lan Zhan," he hisses. Lan Wangji ignores him. The nerve of him.

pov wei wuxian, post-canon, memory loss established relationship, fix-it of sorts, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian, self-doubt, love confessions

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #February 2024 #Teen #short fic <15k #ilip13 #Longing (reprise)#pov wei wuxian #post-canon #memory loss established relationship #fix-it of sorts #emotional hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #soft lan wangji/wei wuxian #self-doubt #love confessions

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j-eryewrites · 5 months

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All of You

MAIN MASTER LIST

ANON Request: Okay I can't have enough Sherlock angst so maybe just some feels or kidnapping or something like that. Thanks for your great work <3🙇🏼‍♀️

ANON REQUEST 2: I love your fics 💕💕 if requests are open, could you do one with BBC Sherlock in which the reader is kidnapped? (but they both have not confessed their love for each other yet, and the kidnapping perhaps prompts Sherlock to confess. idk up to you!) i just l o v e your Sherlock one shots!!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Haunted house, drugging, weapons, canon typical violence, kind of OOC Sherlock, cursing (Let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: So, I got two requests A WHILE AGO and they were so similar I just decided to combine the two of them. (Requests are still not open, I’m just getting to the ones I never got around to writing to.) As for requests, I will be opening them back up once Arbitrary Lives and A Sinner's Redemption have concluded, so start thinking of some request ideas!!

The irony of the situation did not evade you. Sherlock’s latest case involved a serial killer. A serial killer who they were looking for at an abandoned haunted house attraction. The home wasn’t actually haunted, it was just a place years ago that would host a scary Halloween amusement park. However, that information did little to ease your nerves. What made things worse was that Sherlock suggested to split up. You, John, and he would all go separate ways to search for the killer.

Immediately, you had declined. You've seen too many horror movies with John to know that splitting up was the worst thing you could do. Not to mention the experiences you’ve had working with the consulting detective for years. Never split up, that’s what you told yourself, yet here you were, by yourself, walking down the dimly lit halls of the gigantic house. Your mind ran a-wire with the thought of how many hidden rooms and passageways that could be kept in the walls. That image alone terrified you.

With each step you took the house creaked and groaned. If that wasn’t a big neon sign blaring to the killer that you were there, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t but wince as the whole house squeaked with your latest step and at that point, you weren’t sure why you were trying to be quiet.

Muttering curses under your breath you lowered your torch and turned around. You wanted to find Sherlock or John. Their presence made you feel safer and all you wanted to be right now was safe. Your body shivered as a chill crept up your legs to the back of your neck. The waves of nerves tickled the minuscule hairs on your body and if this was a horror movie eerie music would be playing.

“Why did the killer have to be in a haunted house,” you whined as you approached the stairs to the bottom floor of the home where you last saw your tall consulting detective.

Looking down the wooden steps you searched for the bright light of Sherlock’s torch. There was no light to be found. You sighed and pulled out your phone trying to be smart about this. The bright screen of your phone illuminated your view darkening everything behind and in front of you. Your fingers danced across the screen as you pulled up Sherlock’s contact. You pressed a button. The screen flashed with Sherlock’s name and your phone buzzed. But before you could speak or before Sherlock could answer, everything went black.

There was something so insightful about being knocked out: the darkness of everything, the pain you felt in the back of your head like a soundtrack, and the erasure of all feelings. It was almost impossible to feel terrified about the haunted house when you weren’t even conscious in the first place. It was oddly peaceful and quiet, something you haven’t known in a long time since working for Sherlock. You weren’t sure how you became unconscious in the first place. As you lay in the darkness, there was one thought floating around in your mind. Shit.

____

“You’re finally awake,” a hoarse voice cooed.

A harsh light crept into your view causing you to wince. You longed for the darkness that you were encased in moments before. Soon your eyes adjusted to the bright light and began to take in your surroundings.

First things first, you were strapped down to a table. The straps were extremely tight leaving you with barely any room to breathe. You gulped and began to twist underneath the straps. If you could move in the first place.

The voice tsked before laughing. “It’ll be a while before you can move. The paralytic works fast.” Your eyes widened and you began to whimper. “Don’t worry, you can still scream.”

That when you saw them, your captor and the killer. Dauning a medical mask and surgical wear they leaned in close and sniffed you. You closed your eyes at the proximity, wishing that they wouldn't be real if you couldn’t see them. “I can smell the fear coming off of you. It’s intoxicating,” your captor chuckled.

“No…” you whimpered. Your voice was barely audible.

The killer pulled back away from you. “No?”

In your mind, you could go two ways. The first option, go with the idea that your “no” was terrified and try and plead with the killer. It was dignified and kind of cowardly but it was what you wanted to go with. Second, you could play it off cool. Well, as cool as you could while being strapped to a table with the killer’s face hovering over you. You could fight back. Taunt him and maybe provide Sherlock and John with enough time to try and find you. God, you hoped that they’d find you and that your brilliant consulting detective could solve the case. Now that you thought about it the second option seemed more plausible.

“No, he’s going to find me. He’ll beat you. That’s what he does,” you muttered. Your voice still trembled as you delivered this line, but your eyes conveyed your determination and belief in what you said.

All enjoyment from the killer’s face vanished and a darker expression replaced it. The look they were giving you would have paralyzed you if you weren’t already drugged. Their breath was scalding hot as they breathed into your ear. “He’ll never figure it out.”

You scoffed. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? He hasn’t even figured out that you’re gone.” They pulled down their medical mask to flash you a wicked grin. “This house has so many rooms. Twist and turns. You’ll be dead before he finds this room.

You paled. All hope of playing it cool dissipated. You were terrified: Breath evaded you, your heart beat faster than it ever had before, your blood ran cold, and tiny beads of sweat encased your body.

“I’m right. You can even see him here,” the killer pulls up video footage of the house. In the middle of all the split screens, you can see Sherlock and John searching. A tight pain in your chest formed at the sight. “You know that your dear detective is too enamored with the case to remember that others exist. It’s a game and he wants to win, even if it means some of his teammates get left behind.” You can’t help the tears that pool in your eyes causing them to laugh. “It’ll be too late when he realizes it and the closest thing he’ll have to you again are the organs that will be in the bodies of others. You’ll be de–”

“Wrong.”

You sobbed upon hearing that voice. It was Sherlock. He was here. He had come. The killer whirled around to find Sherlock standing with a gun in his hand aimed at them.

“How…” the killer said.

“Should’ve checked your cameras, then you would have realized they were on a loop,” the comforting voice of John spoke.

The killer’s jaw clenched.

“John,” Sherlock said. “ Get Y/N.”

John snuck out behind Sherlock and carefully moved over to you. His eyes scanned over your distressed figure as his hands began to fiddle with the straps.

“It’s alright, Y/N,’ John whispered as he untied the woman.

“I can’t,” you shook your head. “...I can’t move.”

John’s eyes filled with worry as the killer chuckled. “She’s paralyzed. I wouldn’t move her if I were you.” The killer turned around to look back down at you.

“If you move one more centimeter there will be a bullet lodged in your head,” Sherlock growled.

“You wouldn’t,” the killer hissed.

“On the contrary. I like to win my games, even if it means that the rules are bent.” Sherlock’s eyes were glaring at the killer.

Suddenly a muffled voice came from above. It was Lestrade. “Sherlock?”

“Down here, Gary!”

Time seemed to move superficially fast as the police entered the basement. However, time stilled the moment Sherlock retrieved you. John tried his best to pick you up but with the combination of his size and your apparent unmoving state, he found himself useless. Instead, Sherlock stepped up. With limp limbs and a stiff body, Sherlock lifted you off the cold and hard metal table. His gentle hand cradled your head as your body curled into him. He carried you as if you were the most precious and fragile things in the world. His secure and stable arms wrapped around you, pulling you immensely too close to his body, but you did not mind. He was warm and you were cold. He was safe and you were scared. Sherlock was exactly what you needed, and he was there. He was always there for you.

Soon the blaring lights of the police cars filled your vision, concealing the ambulance waiting for you. You hated you couldn’t cling to Sherlock as he passed you over to the EMTs. They scanned your body checking for injuries and asking you questions while they did so. With each response and your insistence on your perfectly fine well-being, the EMTs grew more and more concerned. They wanted to take you to the hospital, but that was the last place you wanted to be: being strapped down to a table, with an IV in your arm, the medical masks, and scrubs. It was all too much too soon. The fear in your eyes was apparent at their conclusion, but before you could open your mouth to display your concerns, Sherlock spoke.

“She’ll be coming home with me.”

“But sir, she’s still drugged and paral–,” the EMT began.

“If you just used your eyes, you would see that the hospital is the last place she wants to be,” Sherlock interjected.

The EMT briefly gazed over at you before recognizing the truth in Sherlock’s words.

“She still needs to be checked on after th–”

“I’m a doctor, I can make sure everything is alright,” John chimed in.

You looked at John and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” your hoarse voice whispered.

John smiled back. The EMT looked between the three of you and sighed placing her hands on her hips. “Alright, I’ll sign off on the paperwork and she’s free to go.”

The moment the paperwork was signed, you were whisked back to Baker Street. Sherlock never left your side as he carried you into his and John’s shared flat and placed you down on their sofa. Mrs.Hudson had brought up tea and snacks in an attempt to get something into your stomach. However, the idea of shifting your body to raise your arms and extend your hand to retrieve the cup of tea and biscuits seemed too big of an ordeal. You were exhausted. Instead, you found the weight of your head too much to bear and collapsed onto Sherlock’s shoulder. With one look, John and Mrs. Hudson ushered themselves out of the flat.

Your body was still trembling as the mental scars still flashed vividly in your mind.

“You’re safe,” Sherlock hummed in a soothing voice. His gentle arms came up to wrap around your torse encouraging a wave of stillness to course through your body. You weren’t sure of what to say. So many ifs running through your head, so you settled for a thank you.

Sherlock responded by pulling you closer. “I’ll always find you.”

A watery smile appeared on your face. It was a smile that you forced as tears crept into the corner of your eyes. “Well, if you hadn’t made it in time, I would have given you my skull. That way you’d always have me on your mantel.” You tried to laugh. It was a poor attempt at a joke and you weren’t really sure why you were making it. You just did.

Sherlock pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. You tried to look away, but his firm hand cupped your chin directing your gaze at him. “No. I don’t want your skull. I want you alive and safe. Anything less and I’ll never be satisfied.”

His eyes seemed to glow as you stared into them. The gorgeous blue lulled you in like a siren at sea. You couldn’t turn away as he brought your face closer to wipe away the tears that had fallen from your face.

“Okay,” you said in a hushed tone.

Sherlock seemed content with that answer and pulled you in to brush his lips against your forehead. He wanted to do more but now wasn’t the time. He wanted to whisper his heart and soul’s greatest secret into your ears and breathe it into your skin. He wanted you, all of you, but for now, holding you close, your heart thumping against each other, and the peaceful melody of your breath against his neck was all he needed.

____

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