#arguments
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♪ → YOU MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM! ← ♪
pairing; scaramouche, ayato, childe, kaveh , gn!reader
content warnings; toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, toxic boys, smut, arguments, verbal abuse, rough sex, making up sex, crying, degrading, emontional abuse(?), reader has no vision and is just a normal citizen, attempted physical abuse, dubcon, attempted killing(? Idk scara almost uses electro to shock you), threats of murder
notes; I was listening to mars argo and this song made me have a idea, (it's called runaway) and @cutiesgawr said that I should do like toxic smut or angst thing, while their doing another lyric one ! These boys are toxic, so deal with me ;3 btw
🎞️ SCARAMOUCHE is rather someone that makes you want to scream, his arrogant attitude, his ignorance. His neglection to you, your relationship. All he wanted to do was to get that gnosis, take revenge on those who wronged him. His cruel words, you finally had enough as you can feel tears coming. It wasn't due to sadness but rather due to anger, you harshly rubbed at your eyes as you clenched your fist. You bit at your bottom lip, you inhaled and exhaled. "Scaramouche, I thi-" before you could say your words, he cutted you off. "Just leave me alone, I don't want to deal with you." He said, looking at you with a blank look. You suck on a breath, you wanted to scream right there. "Scara! You bastard! Can you atleast pretend that you care!?" You yelled, you glared at him, he had a dark tint in his eyes as he smiles and looks at you. "Why should I care? I didn't even need you! I could fucking kill you!" He screamed, you stepped back as he laughs and walks towards you. "What's wrong, baby?" He teased. "Where's all your confidence gone? Hah?" He said, you flinch as he corners you, he lets out some electro, seeing a purple light makes you more scared. Your body shakes in fear, how dumb can you be to say that to someone who has an advance! "Hm, you work for that fox girl. Right?" You peek open your eyes as you slowly nod your head. What was he going to do? He leans towards you, his lips landing on yours, you gasp as you push on his chest. Your hands slowly fall to your side, was he finally giving you attention, he pulls away as you whine. He chuckles as rubs at your hips. "I am sorry, baby.. how about I make it up to you~?" He says in a melodic voice, your face feels hot as you nod. He sucks on your neck and bites on it softly, you gasp as you realize that he was going to do it outside. His hands land on your legs as he makes you wrap your legs around him. "mfhm! Scara, w-were outside!" You cried, he hums as he take soff your lower clothing, you closed your eyes as he takes off his lower clothing. Revealing his hard dick, he aims it at your hole. He pushes into you, going you down as you slowly take him. "Mmh!" He groans and moves quickly, you gasp and cling onto him, your back is against the wall as he slams into you, his dick hitting those special spots in you, it makes you go dizzy. You can see stars, he groans in your ear, your hole clenches move around him, your toes begin to curl, you moan loudly. Not caring for someone heard you or not, your eyes roll back as you climax. You let out a sigh, he lets out a small moan as scara climaxes, you can feel his dick twitching in you, you can feel him filling you up. He gently sits you down, your mind feels all mushy. Scara can be a bastard but I guess your into bastards like him!
🕰️ AYATO is a wealthy and praised man, a perfect husband! He was but he wasn't so great, his silver tongue wasn't something that was healthy. Him manipulating you, and everyone else made you mad. How stupid can you be for not realizing it! You have a smile to Thoma as you walk by him, he gave you a smile. You walk down the halls to his office, standing infront of his office, you exhaled as you open the door, ayato was at his desk. Writing on papers, he looks up and smiles, he looks back down, you walk towards him, you were going to talk about his behaviour and actions. "Ayato, I want to speak to you" you remained calm. "Hm? What is it, sweetie?" He said, you sighed. "Why are you manipulating me?" You said, he looks at you and tilts his head... His simple action made you mad, how can he pretend that he doesn't know?! "I feel taken advantage of!" You yelled out, he smiles softly and looks at you. "Ah? What do you mean dearest? Why are you talking crazy?" He said, you clenched your fist as you glared at him. You wanted to scream at him so badly. "Stop pretending! Ayato, you know how cruel it is!" You slammed your fists onto his desk, he doesn't say anything as he looks down and looking at the messy desk. "Sweetie" he got up and you backed away, he smiles as he grabs your wrists. Twirling you around as he gently lays you on his desk, you glare up at him. "Dearest, I could never, I think you been to stressed... How about I make it up to you?" He said, you raised up an eyebrow, what did he mean. He goes down as he looks up at you, his lips curling into a smile. "Wha—!" You let out a moan as his mouth lands in your crotch, you games down at him. "What do you say?" You gripped at the desk, your heart was racing. Your eyes were focused on him and you didn't even feel yourself nodding to his question. His mouth goes back to your crotch, sucking at your sex through your clothing, he smirks as you whine. He takes off your lower clothing, looking at your underwear. He smirks and take sit off, slowly. You whined and he lets out a chuckle, he was amused by you. His tongue touches your sex as he slowly licks at it, his mouth goes on your sex, licking and sucking. You moaned and closed your eyes, your eyes roll back as his mouth doesn't stop pleasuring your sex. Your sex leaks out your pre-cum/juices, you gasped as his teeth touches your sex. Your eyes were completely rolled back, your chest goes up and down, you were seeing stars. He kept on going, soon you were to climax, he sucks more harder, you whined and grip at his hair. You climaxed. "How about we continue later, after I finish work, m'kay?" You nod, he smiles.
🪐 CHILDE is a dangerous man you feel inlove with, his job was risky to be with. His bloodlust and wanting to fight was also dangerous, you grip at your clothing as he practiced and practiced and kept seeking out the blonde traveler. Didn't he know that he can get hurt?! Your hands grasped your clothing, he loved you and you know that! He would give you anything but he was selfish. He wanted power and he kills people, he kills so that he can satisfy his needs, his killing and fighting does that for him. Childe craves more and the world gives him so little, he comes back battered! You didn't like that and you always wanted to scream at him, you feel powerless. You didn't equal to him at all, he had a advance to you already but he was a bigger advance! You gripped at your clothing as you wait for him, you wanted to confess how you felt and you hoped that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. You got up as you faced him, he had some cuts in him, he looks at you and smiles sheepishly. "Childe, can I tal-" he walks by you, you look at him as glared at him. "Listen to me!" You screamed, he stops in his tracks as he turns to look at you. You exhaled and clenched your fist as you tried to hold in your anger. "What is it?" He said. "Stop, being so.." you said, muttering. "What? Stop being what?" He said. "Stop being you!" You blurt out. "What? Stop being me?" He said, his eyes having a dark tint. "That's not what I meant! I meant being so... Selfish!" You yelled out, he glares at you. His glare makes you get goosebumps. "Selfish? Hah! How am I being selfish?" He said, taking a step to you as you take a step back. "I am giving you all you want and you call me selfish? Don't make me laugh!" He said, you flinched. "Argh! See! You don't get what I mean and you just want more and more!" You screamed to him. "More and more of what! All you do is stay at home while I do my job and you dare to speak to me like that?!" He screamed and he takes steps towards, his hand raises up as his weapon comes out. Your eyes widen as you fall to ground, you look up at him as a dark shadow covers his face, he drops to floor as he holds your cheek. "Sorry, baby" he says, you look at him in confusion. "Sorry, baby. Semes like we are both stressed, I didn't mean it..." He said, he kisses you. "Sweet baby, how about we forget about all of this. I think we both need to get rid of our stresses.." he says, you look at him as his hand lays on your thigh. You gasp as he smiles at you, looking at you with a warm look. You were both mad at eachother and now he wants to have sex? You tried your best to be mad and say no but he looks so sweet and warm... What happens if this your last chance if this happening, you and Childe never had sex in while .. you nod your head as he kisses you. Slipping his tongue into your mouth, lifting you up as he lays you on the bed. Your hands gripping at his shoulders. You kiss him as he fastly takes off your clothing and his, his dick is standing up as it leaks out some pre-cum, you moaned when his dick touches your skin. His dick teases your hole before he finally enters you, he puts you in a mating press. Your legs tucked as he kisses you before moving fast. "Fuck... Baby, you feel so good~" he says, his dick hitting spots in you, fast and hard. You can feel yourself ready to cum, your eyes roll back due to his fast movements. "Ahh! Childe!" You cried, your hands grip at his hips as he slams into you. His fast, needy actions show as he is about to climax. Moaning and groaning into your ear, your eyes roll back as you arch your back. His dick hitting at spot in you, your hole clenches and you climax. He kisses your neck and he slams into you, his dick twitching and he fills your hole up. We'll your selfish for his dick and his love and he seems to be selfish for your body and love!
🚬 KAVEH is someone you admire, his job and how hard he works. But he works about to hard, it's quite concerning. He was a sweet lovable man that you loved so much but you he doesn't spend time with you that much. You know he is busy but does he have to drink, it isn't a the best way to escape from struggles. You wanted to talk about it with him, you wanted him to take a rest and just focus on himself and you. You smiled as you set up dinner ans the bed, you pat yourself on your back, you wait for him. "KAVEH!" You got up as you heard the door open, you see your blonde boyfriend, he looks at you. You smile as your hand rests on his shoulder, you tilt your head. "L-leave me *hic* alone!" He said, you look at him as your eyebrows furrowed, he was drunk. You could smell it on his breath, you sighed and smiled. "Kaveh, I made us dinn-" he walks by you and towards the bedroom door. "I don't want!" He cried, you grab his wrist. "Kaveh, you have to stop" you said, he glares at you. "Just leave me alone" he said, you frowned and point at the table. "Kaveh, I made us dinner and drink some water." You said, his eyes roll. You kept in bothering him as you try to drag him to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He shakes his head and he groans, you want to scream at him. He wants listening and you were starting to get mad. He pushes you as you gasp and look at him, he opens his mouth. He starts spewing out nonsense and words that hurt to you, you grit your teeth and he moves to you. His hand raises up as you lift up your arms. He stops as he sobs, you look at him and he stops to the floor..wiping away his tears. "Sorry.... I am just a fucking mess, I don't want to hurt you and I am so sorry!" He sobs, your eyes tear up and you hug him. It wasn't his fault. "I am so sorry, sweetie.." he cries, you nod your head and kisses his cheek. He loks at you as he kisses you, his hands under your shirt. You pull away. "Kaveh, your drunk an-" he cuts you off. "No... It's okay, I want it, I I want to make it up to you... My love" he says, you smile and he nods his head. You both make your way to the bedroom as you both tangle with eachother, hands in hair as you makeout, you moan and whimper. "I love you so much, I am so sorry, baby.." he says, kissing your chest as he takes off his pants in a hurry, holding you close. "I love you too!" You say, you moan when his dick enters you. You wipe away your tears as he fucks you. Bending you as his tongue sucks on yours, fucking you slow then faster. Your eyes roll back and he begins to moan really loud. Whimpering in your ear as he goes faster, getting sloppy. Your legs tremble in pleasure and his dick twitches. Warning you for his soon-climax. You kisses him harder, slamming your lips together, you both climax at the same time, holding eachother close. You smile and look at him, h kisses your neck and smiles. Well the food probably goes gone cold but oh well!
#tw.toxic#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact smut#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#scara smut#childe x reader#childe smut#kavhe x reader#kaveh smut#ajax x reader#ajax smut#toxic relationships#arguments#🕰️honie's stories#🚬honie's drugs#🎞️honie's film#🪐honie's ring#ayato x reader#ayato smut#tw.abuse
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Try not to take other peoples reactions personally. You never know what a person is experiencing that changes their perception. Their apathy, disinterest, nit picking, etc. is more about them than it is you. Take a deep breathe and try to move past it.
#suggestions#suggestion blog#relationships#stress#arguments#relationship stress#friendships#insecurities#family#family conflict#communication#assume best intentions#recovery#text#positivity#self love#mental health#ed recovery#self care
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We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.
#polls#incognito polls#anonymous#tumblr polls#tumblr users#questions#discourse#arguments#polls about language#submitted oct 30
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Secretly Shot
Pairings: Wandanat x R || avengers (platonic) x R
Word count: 2K
TW: Injury, getting shot, hiding injuries, angst (with happy ending), arguments (with wanda and nat and you), mean avengers (cuz they’re annoyed), hate, fainting (kinda), blame,
Summary: you and the team are at odds, what happens when you go on a misson without them and get hurt?
A/n Kinda more angst than I normally do but it was fun to write. Hope you like it :)
It wasn’t uncommon for little squabbles between the three of you but this time it was different. wanda, Natasha and you had been arguing at the top of your lungs. and no matter how much you loved them and you knew they loved you you worried they would leave you for being difficult and needy. you know they were stressed but it didn’t make you feel any better.
“y/n I’m so sick of you always mess things up. you never do anything right. always causing problems.” nat yelled and wanda piled on the sentiment.
“y/n if you cant just stay out of trouble for once i-i. argh. just stop making issues we always have to clean up after.” wanda said angrily. you knew they were just stressed but it still hurt. the last mission had ended when you made a mistake and weeks of prep had been for nothing. the team was angry with you but none had yelled at you. but you knew wanda and nat had spent many sleepless nights on recon missions for this and you had blown it.
after the two of them stormed out you angrily packed a bag and retreated back to your old room. angrily wiping away tears jarvis summoned you to the conference room.
after a tense ride in the lift with clint who wouldn’t look at you, you slunk into the conference room. fury had a mission for you. you tried not to cry. all you wanted was for your girls to hold you but you knew that wouldn’t happen any time soon. what you didn’t know was that they already felt horrible and were trying to find you.
“when do i leave?” you asked fury who gave you a sympathetic look he knew the team was blaming you.
“right away. but i get it if you want to say goodby-“
“No. I’m ready.” you said.
“ok jet leaves in five.” he said dismissing you. you slunk back to your room took your suit and made your way to the jet not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. if they wanted to know where you were they could ask jarvis. about three hours later the jet touched down in Moscow.
wanda and nat were beside themselves with worry. Jarvis had told them you had left on a mission and they were wreaked. you never left without saying goodbye to them. they knew how dangerous your line of work was so they always made sure to have proper goodbyes. but what worried them most was you going on a mission when the last time they saw you you had looked like a kicked puppy. they wished they could take it all back but no matter how forgiving you may be this was something they knew would take time.
the mission had been going well. you had almost made it the whole way uneducated. it was a solo mission, no backup so you had to be stealthy. but as you slipped through the long hallways of hydra you rounded a corner to find a large group of guards. one spotted you and you dove to hide behind the corner again but one managed to shoot you. the bullet hit your shoulder and you let out a strangled cry. grateful it hasn’t hit you in the leg you took off. making it back to the jet you quickly took off. the mission had been successful but you worried how the team would react to you messing up another mission. you couldn’t loose this job. you wanted to be an avenger. you always had. if you lost this job you lost everything.
after setting the jet on autopilot, you began to strip off the top half of your suit until you sat there with it down by your waist and in a sports bra. carefully you did you best to clean and bandage the wound and you silently thanked bruce for the mini first aid course he had given you when you joined. it was hard because you couldn’t see it properly but you hoped it was clean. the bullet had gone through and from what you could tell as you stitched it up it hadn’t hit anything important.
After you finished wrapping the bandage around your shoulder you went back to the cockpit after cleaning up all traces of your injury and had put away the first aid kit just as it had been before.
after dozing lightly in the cockpit jarvis alerted you that you were getting close to the compound. you switched off autopilot and landed the jet lightly.
wanda and nat heard jarvis alert them you had arrived back and they caught you in the hall by the med bay on their way to find you.
“y/n? are you hurt? did you see bruce?” nat said narrowing her eyes. truth be told you hadn’t, the team couldn’t know you messed up again. you could deal with it yourself. their eyes landed on your bloodied suit. you had stolen some supplies from the med bay and they were hidden in your bag.
“this bloods not mine.” you lied with anger still in your voice. “now i need to get back to write my mission report so if you don’t mind, get out of my way.” you growled still mad they had made you feel so awful earlier. wanda flinched slightly at your tone and nat’s glare returned. you pushed past them, hiding a wince as you jostled your shoulder slightly. the two girls let you go and you almost cried at how easily they had, you almost wanted them to fight you on it. but at least they would honour your wishes.
you set the bag down the the bed and opened your laptop to start the report. typing hurt your shoulder so you began to write it with your right hand only. it took almost double as long and so halfway you decided to take a shower. as you stood the world tilted and you balanced yourself against the wall. hobbling slowly to the shower you stripped and showered trying to keep the wound dry. after you threw away the blood-soaked bandages and rewrapped it carefully. it was better this time as you had a mirror but unfortunately you could see how poor the stitches were and how red and angry the wound looked. you winced as you finished dressing it. you knew you needed to see bruce, to get it treated properly but you couldn’t see anymore disappointment on the faces of your team without crying. you changed into comfy loose clothes and Wanda’s hoodie before curling up in bed again with your laptop to finish the report. you knew you had to write about the injury so you gave the basic details. although as you finished up your eyes drooped. they were heavy and you struggled to stay away. in the low light you drifted off seeing it as nothing but being tired.
it was a mere few minutes later that a knock came on the door. At the lack of response wanda hesitated before opening the door. her and nat peered in to the dimly lit room. they saw a lump in the bed and slowly came in not turning on the light. wanda carefully took the laptop from your knees and nat nudged your shoulder to wake you up. when you didn’t stir she removed her hand. it felt wet and sticky and as she looked at it her heart stuttered. it was covered in blood. looking back at your shoulder she saw a dark patch covering your left side as blood seeped out of the wound.
“wanda bring the laptop and come with me.” nat said scooping you up. wanda looked up at the urgency in her girlfriends voice and immediately gasped as she saw your bloody shoulder.
“dammit y/n/n.” she said stifling tears. the two of them rushed to the med bay with you in Nat’s arms.
when they arrived wanda began skimming your report to give the information to bruce to treat you better. her breath caught in her throat as she released you and been shot. she couldn’t help the tears that fell when she realised you felt you couldn’t tell them.
“whats going on?” bruce said.
“y/n/n was shot on her mission.” wanda said and bruce and Natasha took off your clothes leaving you in the fluffy pants and a sports bra. bruce winced at the sight of the bloodied bandages knowing he didn’t do them. carefully he cut them off and gasped at the sight of the poorly done stitches. no wonder you had passed out, the stitches had barely stopped the bleeding and you were loosing too much blood. carefully and with wanda and nat watching on he cut the stitches, checked the wound and redid them in much neater rows. after about seven stitches he tied off the last one and rewrapped the wound. he fiddled with an iv as he began to give you some more blood to replace what you had lost. wanda and nat watched with bated breath. they felt awful. this was all their fault.
they sat in silence by your bedside as bruce went back to his office to give them some privacy. after a few minutes they heard you groan and they both sat up straighter almost in unison.
“y/n/n?” wanda said stroking the hair from your face. nat held you hand as you groaned again.
“aww bubs your ok.” nat said
“your in the sick bay baby you passed out.” wanda cooed.
“why didn’t you tell us you were hurt.” nat said frowning slightly.
“didn’t want you to be disappointed again.” you mumbled still on a-lot of pain meds.
wanda’s heart broke audibly as nat somehow felt worse.
“no detka you could never disappoint us. never ever.” wanda said.
“but i messed up.” you mumbled eyes glossy with tears.
“baby we will love you no matter what.” nat said using her thumb to rub circles over your knuckles. wanda was quick to wipe away the tears that fell down your cheeks as your chest shook.
“honey we are so sorry and you hope you can forgive us. you didn’t need that stress right now we just need to focus on getting you better sweets.” wanda cooed.
“i already have.” you muttered and nat gave a sad smile. they knew you had a kind heart, you had forgiven them almost straight away but that didn’t make the two girls feel less guilty about their actions.
“sleep now bubs, we’re not going anywhere.” nat said and you shuffled over with a wince indicating you wanted cuddled with sleepy grabby hands.
wanda chuckled “I’m not sure we’ll all fit baby.” and at your pout wanda knew she couldn’t say no. careful of your IV she picked you up and laid you on-top of her as nat came and laid beside wanda as she threw an arm over your lower back. wanda’s hands came to your hair to give you a scalp massage as you rested you head into the side of her neck. you hummed softly and drifted off the sleep knowing you were safe in the arms of your girls.
MASTERLIST
#angst with a happy ending#marvel#the avengers#wanda maximoff#wandanat#natasha romanov#sicfic#wanda marvel#natasha romaoff#wandanat x reader#wandanat comfort#sick reader#hurt reader#injured reader#arguments#wandanat x r#mean avengers#comfort fic#hurt/comfort#hurt / no comfort#comfort#injury#getting shot#r faints from bloodloss#hiding injuries#reader needs a hug#missons#avengers compound#bruce banner#breif clint barton
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Whump Prompt #1340
@skiny406 asked:
Would you do a prompt where caretaker and whumpee have a huge fight, and then whumpee is hurt (stabbed, poisoned, whatever you want) and tries to call caretaker but they just don’t answer (either is busy or just mad) and later they got to hear the VOICEMAILS.
I thought of a string of voicemails. Feel free to change them to suit your injury/situation!
“Hey it’s me, I know you don’t want to talk to me but I- fuck I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and If I can do anything, I will. I’ll uh- I’ll maybe talk to you later?”
“Hi [character], I hope you’re alright. Um. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I do understand but- but I really need you to call me back.”
“I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me, you don’t need to call me back… it would just be good to hear your voice. I’m um, I’m sorry for everything. I hope you’re okay. Probably better than me right now, ha, but don’t worry, I’ll uh. I’ll be alright.”
“Fuck, ouch, alright. Hey [character], ah, would you- could- maybe call me back? It’s um. Shit I’m sorry, it’s not important, I’ll try [another character] again.”
*starts with the whumpee gasping for breath* “H- hi, it’s me, please, I know you’re mad, and you don’t want to talk to me again but I- I really need you to call me back.”
“Alright. Message received. You’re pissed at me- you’re fucking pissed and I’m sorry, alright? Just- pick up the phone. Please. I-I’m in trouble again.”
*there’s a pause with just some breathing. There are voices in the background.*
“Heeeyyy [character], sorry about the last one. Pocket dial hahah! Must have done it when I sat down.” *they stop to cough, it’s hacking and wheezy.* “I’m sorry. I really am- I shouldn’t have shouted at you, you didn’t deserve that. I’m in a bit of trouble… it’s’all a bit blurry, but- but I managed to get here on my own. Call me back… please?”
“It’s um. It’s not looking good. I- I just want to say I’m sorry, again, I truly am.” They’re gasping now, perhaps crying. “I’m sorry….”
“This is [nurses name] calling from [the hospital], [whumpee] has you listed as their emergency contact. Please call this number as soon as you’re available.”
*there’s another message. Just voices and the whirring of machines. Maybe some crying. There’s a muffled curse before it cuts off again.*
“… I miss you.”
“Do you miss me? I- I understand if you don’t. Just tell me you’re okay, please?”
“I can go home tomorrow. I’ve been given the all clear, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ll um. I’ll leave you alone. I um. I understand, I’m a mess. You were right. Just - no - don’t call me back.”
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Daminette December 2023: 13-Wednesday
Paris couldn't believe what they were seeing: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was in Gotham Academy, in uniform! They hadn't see her in four years! What shocked them even more was seeing her arguing with some guy and she wasn't backing down.
The students in Gotham Academy didn't pay them any attention. Everyone ignored the shouting and yelling; they just kept walking as if they didn't see or hear them.
"Shouldn't you get a teacher?" Nino asked a student passing by.
"For what?" asked the brunette.
The class pointed at the arguing students.
"Wat day is it?" the brunette questioned.
"Wednesday." Max answered, "Does it matter?"
"It's their 'Argue Day'." the Gotham student declared.
"Argue day?" Mylene asked, confused.
"Yeah." the student stated, with a shrug, "Like clockwork. Teachers learned to deal with it. They get competitive, too."
"My boyfriend wouldn't put up with this sort of thing." Lila declared, "He hates violence."
"Oh, who is you boyfriend?" the brunette questioned.
"Damian Wayne." Lila smiled.
The brunette started laughing and pointing at Lila.
"Dude?" the blonde nearby questioned.
"This bitch said Damian Wayne is her boyfriend! She also said he hated violence!" the brunette answered and continued to laugh.
The blonde joined, howling with laughter. The Paris class shifted uncomfortably.
"Listen here, Faker," the blonde spoke, "you're not dating our ice Prince. Not to mention Damian is one of the most violent Waynes to roam these halls."
Lila sniffled, "He just doesn't want the media to know. I'm not lying."
"Well, that's lie number two." the brunette counted, "Damian doesn't care about the media. They gave him the title 'Ice Prince'."
"Do you know how many reporters have broken their arms, hands, or fingers trying to get a scoop from him?" the blonde questioned.
"You the ones lying!" Aly shouted, "Lila said he was kind and helpful Damian Wayne does charity work with her, for the environment!"
"It's not that hard to look up." the blonde scoffed, :About every other weekend, he's in the park casually talking to Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and playign with their hyenas as they plan 'How to green up Gotham'."
Lila paled hearing how he associated with rogues. That hadn't been what she expected.
"Supposedly, his mother is just as bad as they are." the brunette declared, "If not worse."
Lila gulped, trying to figure out how to keep her classmates under her control as her lie began to unravel.
"If anything, it sound like you googled 'rich kid+my age in Gotham' and Damian Wayne popped up first." the blonde responded.
"How can you say that about our friend?" Kim demanded.
The boys pointed to Marinette and the boy arguing still.
"That is Damian Wayne." the brunette answered, "By tomorrow, they'll be back to cuddling and kissing, like they have been for the past three years."
"They basically chose one day a week to let their frustrations out on each other." the blonde spoke, "It just happens to be on Wednesday."
The Parisians turned to Lila for an answer.
"I-I'm sure that's not it." Lila declared in a panic.
"Oh, really?" questioned the blonde boy, "Yo, Mari! How many times did Damian drug your coffee and drag you to bed, last week?"
"Four!" she shouted, still glaring at him.
Damian scoffed, "It was three."
"Liar!" Marinette screamed.
The class watched on in confusion.
"Damian, how many times did Mari make you new clothes last month?" the brunette asked.
"Ten!" Damian exclaimed in frustration.
Marinette scoffed, "Like you don't complain about those 'monkey suits' and how uncomfortable they are."
"I didn't ask you to go out of you way, Angel, and make me those things!" Damian rebutted.
"Oh, so now my designs are things?" Mari declared, "I just wanted you to be comfortable!"
"I'm fine!" the young Wayne sighed, "You need to sleep!"
"How long did she stay up?" the blonde questioned.
"She didn't sleep." Damian growled.
Marinette threw her hands up before resting them on her hips, "I slept on the drive over. I drank Tim's coffee. It usually has at least five espressos. Not the most I've had."
"What?" Damian shouted.
"Ah, so that's the reason this time." the brunette spoke.
"Sorry, Liar, but no one in Gotham will believe that you are anything to Gotham's Ice Prince when there are pictures being posted, like this, by his very own brothers." the blonde declared.
He turned his phone around to see Marinette and Damian dressed in pajamas and curled up in bed together.
"Everyone in Gotham Academy knows they live together at Wayne Manor." he continued, "Not to mention, the moment someone tries to touch her or get in her personal space, he threatens to kill them."
"He had five knives taken away this month." the brunette stated.
"Actually, it was eight." the blonde commented.
"Oh, when did I miss those?" the brunette questioned.
"You were sick for a week." the blonde answered.
"Gotha." the brunette spoke, "So, good luck and welcome to Gotham."
"Have a good Wednesday." the blonde spoke as they walked away.
Marinette yawned, "Why am I yawning? I drank Tim's coffee."
"Todd switched his coffee with decaf." Damian smiled, "You just happened to drink it, instead."
"No." she whined, "You did this on purpose!"
"I did not force you to drink Drake's coffee not did I force you to stay up all night." he answered, "If anything, Todd is upset that you ruined his prank."
"But-" Mari yawned again.
Damian smirked and picked her into his arms, "We are going home and you are going to bed."
"School." Marinette replied.
"I already messaged the teachers on the ride over that e would be missing the next two days." the young Wayne answered, "I've also paid Todd $100 for messing up his plan. In exchange, he will bring you lunch and dinner."
Marinette didn't respond and curled up in his arms. Damian just walked out of the school.
"Okay!" someone shouted, "Who had them making up under fifteen minutes?"
"Awww, man!"
"I could have sworn they would argue longer today."
"Didn't expect her to not sleep."
"Or have decaf."
"If she had just had that coffee."
"How much did you lose?"
"$20."
"Lucky; $30."
"50."
Paris watched on as money was exchanged. Marinette and Damian Wayne's couple argument had gotten so common that people were gambling on it. They started to turn to Lila, who obviously had no idea how to explain what had just happened.
"So, you really were a liar." Nathaniel whispered, "Marinette was right, all along."
"I don't think we'll get to apologize to Marinette," Rose sniffled, "But she looks happy."
"Can't say you will be by the end of this trip, Lila." Alix sneered.
Lila was out of her element as Gotham had quickly spread her lie about dating Damian. No one believed her and if she said anything, they would just laugh at her. Not to metion her own classmates were now ignoring her. This hadn't been what she had planned; it was just another Wednesday. Nothing special about it.
TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events@animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218
#daminette december 2023#daminette#akuma class#marinette dupain cheng#damian wayne#marinette x damian#damian x marinette#lila lies#lila exposed#bets#gambling#gotham academy#dc x mlb#mlb x dc#wednesday#arguments#tired af marinette#mochinek0
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Hi! Hope you're having an amazing week ^^. I was wondering how would the ro's react to mc saying "i wish I'd never met you" during an argument (like in deep romance)
Ohhhh, that makes my heart hurt just thinking about it!
--
Adam/Ava
They would do their best not to let the pain show across their features before stoically saying, "Then we are in agreement on that. Your life would be free without me in it."
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Nate/Nat
They would totally crumble at that and be like, "You don't really mean that, do you? Even with what we've gone through…don't you think it's been enough?"
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Felix/Farah
I'm not even sure they could brush it off with a joke if they were in deep romance.
They would very openly show how hurt they were before walking away. They would need time to process that!
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Mason/Morgan
Deep romance? Hmmm...
Probably be on the edge of tears before storming away with a, "Then let me make it easier by not being here at all."
--
Thank you so much for the painful ask...my heart didn't need that today...hehe! ;D
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Timeless
Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.
The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.
“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.
“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”
Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”
Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.
“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.
“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”
Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.
He was already familiar with it.
“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”
Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”
“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”
Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”
Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”
“I just pointed out that statistically—”
“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously.
Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”
Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”
“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes.
“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.
Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”
Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”
Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.
“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”
Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.
“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”
Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”
Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”
Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.
“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.
Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.
Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.
He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.
PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.
Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.
It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’
He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.
“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.
“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I’m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”
“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”
Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”
Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”
Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”
“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”
“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”
It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.
“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”
Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.
Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.
“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.
“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.
“Ma, not tonight—”
“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”
Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.
Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.
Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”
“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.
“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”
If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”
Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.
This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’
Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.
At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.
Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.
“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”
Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.
Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.
It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?
A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf.
Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.
He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.
Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.
But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”
Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”
Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”
“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”
He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”
Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”
“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.
Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”
“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”
“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.
At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.
Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.
Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back.
In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’
Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.
He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.
Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.
It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.
He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.
— — — — —
“I bought these.”
Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.
He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”
Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”
Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”
Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”
Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”
But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”
“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”
“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”
He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.
Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”
He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”
Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”
He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”
Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”
Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”
Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras’s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”
Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.
They had all the time in the world.
#exr#enjolras x grantaire#enjoltaire#enjolras#grantaire#fanfiction#les miserables#modern au#flashbacks#kind of sort of#idk what to call them#arguments#making up#fluff#idiots in love
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I’d say that a solid 40% of anti-vegan posts are arguing against imaginary vegans representing beliefs that none of us actually hold. This is usually accompanied by hundreds of people in the notes getting angry about said vegan spectres, then proceeding to cite them as the reason they eat cheeseburgers. Hope you guys are doing okay.
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‘Just shut up, will you?’ he said. ‘It’s Hogswatch! That’s not the time for silly arguments, all right?’
‘Oh, yes it is,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies glumly. ‘It’s exactly the time for silly arguments. In our family we were lucky to get through dinner without a reprise of What A Shame Henry Didn’t Go Into Business With Our Ron. Or Why Hasn’t Anyone Taught Those Kids To Use A Knife? That was another favourite.’
‘And the sulks,’ said Ponder Stibbons.
‘Oh, the sulks,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘Not a proper Hogswatch without everyone sitting staring at different walls.’
‘The games were worse,’ said Ponder.
‘Worse than the kids hitting one another with their toys, d’you think? Not a proper Hogswatch afternoon without wheels and bits of broken dolly everywhere and everyone whining. Assault and battery included.’
‘We had a game called Hunt the Slipper,’ said Ponder. ‘Someone hid a slipper. And then we had to find it. And then we had a row.’
‘It’s not really bad,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘I mean, not proper Hogswatch bad, unless everyone’s wearing a paper hat. There’s always that bit, isn’t there, when someone’s horrible great-aunt puts on a paper hat and smirks at everyone because she’s being so bohemian.’
‘I’d forgotten about the paper hats,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘And then later on someone’ll suggest a board game,’ said Ponder.
‘That’s right. Where no one exactly remembers all the rules.’
‘Which doesn’t stop someone suggesting that you play for pennies.’
‘And five minutes later there’s two people not speaking to one another for the rest of their lives because of tuppence.’
‘And some horrible little kid—’
‘I know, I know! Some little kid who’s been allowed to stay up wins everyone’s money by being a nasty little cut-throat swot!’
‘Right!’
‘Er . . .’ said Ponder, who rather suspected that he had been that child.
‘And don’t forget the presents,’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, as if reading off some internal list of gloom. ‘How . . . how full of potential they seem in all that paper, how pregnant with possibilities . . . and then you open them and basically the wrapping paper was more interesting and you have to say “How thoughtful, that will come in handy.” It’s not better to give than to receive, in my opinion, it’s just less embarrassing.’
‘I’ve worked out,’ said the Senior Wrangler, ‘that over the years I have been a net exporter of Hogswatch presents—’
‘Oh, everyone is,’ said the Chair. ‘You spend a fortune on other people and what you get when all the paper is cleared away is one slipper that’s the wrong colour and a book about earwax.’
-- Terry Pratchett - Hogfather
#Terry Pratchett#discworld quotes#GNU Terry Pratchett#quotes#Hogfather#wizards#Mustrum Ridcully#Ponder Stibbons#the Chair of Indefinite Studies#the Lecturer in Recent Runes#the Senior Wrangler#Hogswatch#christmas#relatives#celebrations#arguments#sulks#games#paper hats
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As Granny and Oats lurched from mud slough to bog, Oats reflected on the story in the Book of Om--the story, really--about the prophet Brutha and his journey with Om across the burning desert, which had ended up changing Omnianism forever. It had replaced swords with sermons, which at least caused fewer deaths except in the case of the really very long ones, and had broken the Church into a thousand pieces which had then started arguing with one another and finally turned out Oats, who argued with himself.
Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum
#granny weatherwax#esme weatherwax#mightily oats#brutha#om#carpe jugulum#small gods#crossover#omnians#history#religion#the book of om#factions#sects#arguments#consequences#belief#stories#sermons#violence#the really very long ones#he argued with himself
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Words Like A Bullet, Wounding My Soul
(also on ao3)
This is Part One, Part Two is Posted Here!
CW: Implied/Referenced Sex, Safeword Use (No Smut, Though)
Rating: Teen
WC: 2,543
Tags: Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Arguing, Eddie Being Mean, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Insecure Eddie Munson, Insecure Steve Harrington, Safeword Use, NO SMUT, Using a Safeword While Arguing, Hard of Hearing Steve Harrington, Dialogue Heavy
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson
-----------------
Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington were two forces not to be reckoned with. Everybody knew this. If Eddie was snippy and rough and loud—then people zipped their lips, threw away the key, and sat on their hands. If Steve was cold and distant and biting with every word—then the others knew to be warm and inviting and leave the past in the past.
These were known facts.
It was also known that Eddie and Steve were a pair. They were gentle with each other and all soft and gooey around the edges. Often, they'd circulate each other in public—skimming fingertips over backs of hands, sharing straws because somebody "forgot" to grab another—or behind the privacy of closed doors—entangled on the couch during movie nights and washing dishes after large dinners and exchanging quiet glances that everyone knew meant, "Horny and Impatient."
But they definitely knew how to choke each other out. Insecurities ran deep and were easy to point out. Like mold on bread slices.
So it makes perfect senes that they constantly argued, too. Usually mundane situations. Things like: "Ugh, Steve! It's my turn to choose what we watch, enough with the basketball!" and "Eddie, stop leaving your dishes strewn about!" and "No, I'll pick up everybody and drop them off!" Though, these were quickly resolved. A deep breath taken, a compromise made, and a few warm pecks exchanged.
However, on a slow Thursday evening in the middle of November, things go haywire.
They've been neck at neck for hours. Biting back and forth about the usual. The dishes. Your sports game. No, I'll do this. No, I can do it. Yet, everything comes crashing down the moment Eddie says:
"God, you're being so stupid!" Shouted and spitting. He's red faced and wild. His body lanky and petrifying the way a molten skeleton in some very graphic thriller movie would be.
Steve stops where he's been pacing in the living room. Now glancing back over to Eddie on the couch. "What?" he asks in a quiet, shaking voice. He doesn't remember anything about the argument, but he can definitely hear the way Eddie's voice echoes now. Doesn't know where the snarky remarks were going, how they dissolved now into this.
This being the two of them several feet apart in the same room. Not looking at each other, trying to find the most convenient and decorated corner of the Harrington's living room. Spitting and biting and growling.
"You're being so stupid!" Eddie shouts again. "I feel like every time I try to explain something to you, I'm just talking to a brick wall! Do you even listen to me? Or are you just a fucking space cadet all the time?" He runs a frustrated hand down his face, pulling at his features exaggeratingly. "For once, I wish you'd listen to me, just once!"
There's a tense moment where Steve just stands rigid and Eddie must take this as some sort of confirmation. Because he hefts himself up from the couch and makes his way around the coffee table to where Steve is just standing. A bony finger stabs into Steve's chest. Eddie closes in, voice low and husky. Face centimeters away, eyes lit with ingenuine mirth and teeth glinting in the shape of fangs. "See?" he questions lowly. "Can't even fucking give me an answer."
And something finally wakes up in Steve. He takes a wobbling step back, feeling cold air rush around him. "Wh-what? Of course I listen to you. I just—"
"You just what?" Eddie raises. His voice itching to be loud and louder. "You just listen to what you want to hear? Want me to call you pretty names and tell you how good you are and how excited I am to see you?" he taunts. "But when it's something I care about—"
Steve flinches at his wording.
"—when it's something I care about, you just can't bother," Eddie growls. "If it isn't fascinating to you, then you just tune me out. Your brain fucking implodes and shrivels back down to being jock sized and empty." He takes a hefty step forward, once again in Steve's orbit. A palm raises in Steve's line of sight, it shoves hard at his chest. Not sending him to the floor, but stumbling enough that he wheezes from the impact.
Eddie moves again to try it once more, to make Steve feel small.
But, Steve sidesteps him. "That's not true," he tries to argue, but it sounds too soft and tiny to be anything. "You were talking about D&D and I tried to follow along, but you know how I am with that stuff. It doesn't—"
"It doesn't connect," Eddie mocks. "Fuck you, Harrington. I've heard that a million times before and each one of those times, I've explained this shit to you. Over and over and—"
"Fuck me?! Fuck you, Eddie!" Save finally screams back. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You're being such an asshole, you know how I am with being called du—"
Eddie scoffs. "Oh, so for years, you and your little pack of high school bullies can mock me for shit. Call me names. Toss me around. And the one time I finally call you out on this, it's suddenly too much?!" he roars. "You're so—" He grunts, groans, screams nearly.
"Stop, Eddie," Steve demands. Tome firm first.
But Eddie barrels on anyway. "You're such a dick. You think everything revolves around you. You don't care for anything I have to say. You—"
"Stop," Steve pleads.
"You don't really care for anybody around you, do you?" he questions darkly. "'Just wanted to help,' my ass. Just wanted to clear your name, more like. Am I right? And now you're just stuck here, fucking jumping to whatever conclusions you want, following the wording you want to hear—"
"Red!" Steve screams. "Red, red, red!" he shouts before turning towards the couch and sitting down heavily. Head in his hands, fingers pulling at the hair around his ears. His throat feels like it's on fire and his head is pounding and there's definitely tears threatening to pour from his eyes. Peeking between the gap of his palms, the carpet is a mirage of blended colors, not a single one making a complete picture. But he can't look up from it. Not after having to practically safeword out of an argument.
Eddie is now startled into silence. His body turns to face his boyfriend. Where he sits, shaking and choking on quiet sobs. There's a brief moment where Eddie can literally feel his heart parachute to his stomach. Can hear the sizzling of his organ and the rush of his own blood. He's never heard Steve get loud like this. Usually he's so quiet and pensive and passive aggressive, but this, this is a new side. And Eddie doesn't like it at all.
It was common between them to try new things out and see what pleasure can be derived. And if things were taken too far or something immediately felt off-putting or terrible, they were allowed to exit the scene at any time. The stoplight system. Their shared word being "Asparagus." Things that could easily be heard and shut down everything at once, forcing them into a gentle lull where they share whispered praises and warm compliments and careful touches with a soft rag or just fingers.
So it's not unusual for Eddie to hear it. He's had to comfort Steve after a few scenes. And Steve's done the same for him.
What gets him is the context now. How tense the room feels, like walking into an already heated up sauna. Like walking into a hot tub set to one thousand degrees, in nothing—absolutely nothing.
And even though they’re fighting, Eddie’s immediate care kicks into overdrive. He forces his body to skitter over to the couch, plop down by Steve’s side, and reach out to rub a palm over his back. But when his skin makes contact, Steve flinches away.
“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” he growls. And when his eyes look deep into Eddie’s, there’s something tragic there. “You—You don’t get to say shit like that to me and then try to—Try to,” he chokes. A sob caught between a gag and a phlegm cough cracks open from his chest. “I don’t understand what I did wrong,” he cries out.
Eddie is once again quiet, keeping his hands to himself. Running them nervously over his thighs. It takes everything in him to not reach out and scoop Steve up and run fingers through his hair. He swallows and breathes. Opting to not respond. Maybe this will teach him to shut his mouth, for once.
Steve cries loud and harsh. And Eddie bears witness to it all. The contortion of his body, the reddening of his skin, the pulling of his hair, especially the wailing that’s spilling from his closing throat.
“I was listening,” Steve hiccups. “I was, I swear. I didn’t—“ His breath stutters through his next inhale. Lip sucking inwards when he does attempt a deep breath; it’s not like it lasts, merely only sitting in his lungs for three seconds before punching back between them. “I couldn’t hear you!” He exclaims.
There’s no residual anger in Steve’s tone, though Eddie thinks there should be. God, he feels like a pile of shit just for the way Steve is holding himself right now. How his body is giving up on him. The way he continues to writhe through each stabbing cough and sob and gag and—He just feels like shit.
Though, alarms are going off in Eddie’s head. What Steve just said, that doesn’t make any sense. They were facing each other. They were sitting only two inches apart, practically every open area of skin clinging to one another. For a moment, Eddie once again feels anger spike through him. But the other part of him is overcome with deep concern, rippling in his blood, pouring out in the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow and his mouth shifts downturned.
“You couldn’t hear me?” He parrots.
Steve nods his head. A bobblehead who’s spring is wound too loose, head flopping almost over its shoulders. “I—I was going to tell you, I swear. But I—You were talking and talking and I couldn’t read your lips because that’s really hard and you talk super fast and when you talk fast you mumble and—“ He gags. Slams his back behind into the couch, head dropping over the curved edge. He blinks rapidly, swallows so aggressive that his Adam’s apple appears to be plunging from behind his tongue. A deep breath, short lived. Two more deep breaths and they wheeze through him, but it must be enough because he carries on. “And then you got mad and you were so mean and I swear I was listening, I was interested, I just didn’t understand. And you get so tired of having to reexplain things that I didn’t want to ask and then you got even more mad and now—I was listening, I swear!” He cries out once more.
In response, Eddie’s jaw is dropped slack. He couldn’t hear me, he realizes. Genuinely, really.Scrambling, he whispers, “And I got mad and I called you stupid and then…” And then he called red, you idiot, Eddie self-chastises.
God, he is really a steaming back of flaming dog shit.
Taking another breath, Steve exhales with, “I was listening.” He tilts his head to look directly at Eddie. Eyes open and pleading. Begging to be understood. “I’m losing my hearing, Eds. I was going to tell you, but I didn’t—I didn’t get the chance. And then you were—“
“I was being mean. I was being an asshole. I wasn’t listening to you,” Eddie lists off. “I was doing the things that I accused you of,” he realizes.
Steve nods against the back of the couch. Blinking and blinking and swallowing and trembling.
“Oh my god, you couldn’t hear me, you couldn’t understand me,” Eddie whispers. Suddenly, he shoots upwards. Nearly startling Steve into another frantic round of panic. “How long, Steve?”
“Since March,” Steve admits, almost shamefully. “My head slammed into the wall inside of the Creel house and I ended up with another concussion. And that was the start of it,” he elaborates. “It’s just been going from there.”
As he talks, Eddie begins to silently cry. And when Steve’s done, Eddie sobs.
“And this entire time…Oh my god,” he mumbles. “Oh my god,” he repeats. Choking through his next breath. “Baby—“ Steve perks up at that. “—Baby why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
Steve shrugs. “Everybody else had it worse off. It didn’t seem important.” He sniffs. “Guess now it kind of is though, right?” A humorless chuckle. “If that’s how you’ve been thinking of me.”
Damn him, Eddie thinks. Damn him and stu—and his unnecessary self-sacrificial nature. “Sweetheart, you’re not stupid. I swear, you’re not stupid. Steve, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever had the fortune of coming across. You know just what to say, when to say it. You’ve got that interest in classic literature, which I fucking adore by the way. And you know almost too much about any sport in the world. That’s—Your sport stuff is like D&D for me.
“God, you’re not stupid. Not by a mile. I just—I’ve always been treated like shit for the things I like. And I know that’s not an excuse, it’s just the way I’ve had to adapt and grow, y’know?” He asks rhetorically. “If I got defensive and angry and vicious, then people left me alone. And I could enjoy my stuff in peace. But when I tried to share the things I liked, people were fast to tune me out and shrug me off.” Eddie slowly inches in again, gauging Steve’s reaction. When he doesn’t flinch, but instead moves close, Eddie shoves a hand into the back of his hair and slings his other arm over Steve’s lap. Thumb rubbing at Steve’s denim thigh. He says, “You’ve never been stupid. I just thought you didn’t care. Nobody has ever cared about me the way you care about me, I swear it.”
Steve nuzzles in closer. He breathes against Eddie’s neck. Murmurs, “Everything you like is special to me. And I want to be able to understand. I’m trying.”
“I know baby, I see that now,” Eddie whispers. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you previously and today. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
He squeezes Steve tighter. An attempt to meld their bodies into one.
“I love you so much, Steve. We’re going to figure something out. Learn a language or raise some money for a hearing aid, whatever you want.”
Against Eddie’s chest, Steve nods. “I love you too,” he whispers. Presses a kiss over Eddie’s left pec. “You’re gonna have to show me though.”
“Whatever you fucking want, Steve. You can have anything you want from me.” And he can feel the smirk against his neck. But Eddie is willing and able to give. “Take anything you want from me.”
-----------------
Part Two is Here!
#stranger things#steddie#fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#angst and hurt/comfort#arguments and making up#arguments#hard of hearing steve harrington#established relationship
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We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.
#polls#incognito polls#anonymous#tumblr polls#tumblr users#questions#polls about relationships#submitted nov 30#emotions#partners#dating#relationships#arguments
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒 ┊𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐒.
┊Vil Schoenheit x Reader
┊Angst to Fluff
┊In which (Name) and Vil have an argument leading them to not speak for a week. In turn Vil has a nightmare of (Name) dying.
┊Requested by : Anon
┊CW : Angst, Alcohol, Arguments, Death, Nightmares, Injury, & Fluff
┊Note: this fic is inspired by champagne problems by Taylor Swift
┊Word Count: 1313
In all honesty, the fights have never gotten that bad. It should’ve never gotten that bad.
You didn’t know which was worse, perhaps it was the insults he bombarded your way, perhaps it was the champagne glass that he threw in a moment of rage that now lay shattered on the floor, or perhaps it was the silence that held so much grief and guilt in the air.
“(Name).... I... I didn’t mean-- “ Vil had a look in his eyes so distinct, yet so foreign to you, he had a look of grief, a look of guilt, and a look of sorrow. Vil’s hand shakily went up to his mouth to stifle a sob as he saw the terror in your eyes. He watched as you moved to walk out.
He watched, yet he didn’t act.
He should’ve acted, he knows he should’ve, but he can’t anymore, for you were already out the door.
His pocket feels a little heavier now.
One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s talked to you. Yet still he continues to catch glimpses of you in the bustling crowds of the student body, he continues to see you sitting around campus with a hint of hurt hidden in your eyes.
He continues to stare longingly at you from afar, missing your love for him, regretting how he let your love slip far beyond where he could reach.
And perhaps it was when you moved to walk away from his view... perhaps it was the moment he realized he was never ready to lose you, yet still, he had to watch you go off to a place where he cannot be, of to a place where his heart is not welcome.
In his sorrow, he decides to return to his dorm and pour himself a glass of Dom Pérignon, deciding to drink his problems away. But he supposes he should stop drinking, for this is what had gotten into his mess. He tries to recall what you called this problem of his.
“Ah... right, they called it champagne problems...” Vil lets out a wet bitter chuckle as tears stain his face, he knows he should stop, yet he downs another glass.
Tonight, with a guilt-ridden heart woven from the strings of a broken tapestry that only your hands can mend, he sucks down his pride and gives you a call. Yet to his dismay, it is not your voice that he loves so dearly that answers, instead the voice that answers is foreign, yet it holds an apologetic tone.
“Hello I am a nurse from the Isle of Sages hospital, are you perhaps a relative of (Name) (Last Name)?” The voice, now identified to belong to a nurse, asks.
Vil isn’t a relative of yours, yet he lies through his teeth, desperate to know why a nurse answered his call and not his beloved.
The next words the nurse utters causes Vil to lose his grip on his phone. He can’t hear anything but the ringing of static and white noise. Vil cannot tell if the sounds hurt his ears, he cannot begin to fathom what he feels, he cannot begin to process such sorrow, such pain.
Instead, Vil is speechless, for a man who has given the students of his dorm so many lectures and scoldings he is finally rendered speechless.
He doesn’t even notice as the tears cascade down his face, he doesn’t notice as the tears fall bellow, soaking the carpet on which he stands, he doesn’t notice a sob break free from his lips, he doesn’t notice the way he clutches his chest in despair, he doesn’t notice the way he mutters soft apologies to you, hoping you hear, yet knowing you can’t.
Then he wakes up, his heart pounding profusely, everything felt as if it was closing in on him, everything was hitting him all at once, the guilt, the fear, and the sorrow.
He let out a soft sob as he recalled the nightmare. “A nightmare... it was simply a nightmare...” Vil reassured himself, yet his mind wandered to scenarios in which maybe this wasn’t simply a nightmare, maybe it was a vision or a memory.
So he grabbed a small item and he ran. He ran barefoot to the Ramshackle Dorm, knocking on your door frantically. “(Name), (Name), let me in please...” Vil’s knocks became desperate, yet finally, to his relief, you opened the door, albeit you were still a tad groggy, having just woken up moments ago. Yet Vil didn’t care about appearances, he didn’t care about the fact that you were both still in a fight, he didn’t care. He simply engulfed you in a hug and sobbed, he muttered apologies into your hair.
“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...” Vil continued to sob, his entire being shaking with each gasp of air. “Forgive me (Name), please forgive me.” Vil begged, desperate for your forgiveness, desperate for your love.
“Calm down, my love. It’s alright.” You whispered gently, combing your fingers through his hair, it has always been your way to reassure and calm him.
“You... you died and I... you...” His voice contains hints of fear, sorrow, and guilt. Vil continues to whisper apologies and cling to you.
“Let me stay here... please... I don’t think I can sleep alone tonight...” Vil pleads softly, looking at you with eyes that held so much guilt and apologies that words cannot even begin to describe.
It takes a cruel person to turn away someone who is as vulnerable as Vil is at the moment, and fortunately, you are not a cruel person, you gently usher him inside and pull him into another tight hug.
As you both go up to your room he whispers one last apology to you before you pull him on the bed and take him into your arms gently. Vil was never the type to be held, always fearing for his appearances, yet tonight was different, he needed this, he needed you.
Neither of you could fall asleep, so you both talked, admitted your faults, and uttered apologies, it wasn’t until the break of dawn when Vil finally confessed what he wanted to say that night.
“Marry me.” Vil blurted out boldly. “I was unsure if I wanted to propose that you left, I was unsure if we were both ready, but one week without you had proven that yes I do need you, and yes it was idiotic of me to almost lose you.” Vil admitted, gently holding the ring out.
“I know we will continue to have our fights and our disagreements, I know we won’t always see eye to eye, but I promise I will never let you sit alone and hurt. I promise I will never let another crestfallen look grace your face again, not even for a moment. I promise that if you trust me with your heart once more I will treat it as if it were glass and I would never drop it, not again."
“This life was once a madhouse before you went and changed it for the better, the moment we first met was the moment I knew that it would be your hand that I would always hold when we will be dancing. The moment we met was the moment I knew that you would be the one to mend my shredded tapestry of a heart.”
“So please...” Vil goes down on one knee, “Marry me."
At the nod of your head, a happy sob escapes from Vil’s lips.
“I think I would be fucked in the head if I didn’t say yes.” You say with a smile as Vil chuckles at your words.
You both will always have disagreements from time to time, and sometimes there won’t be a fine answer to those disagreements, yet you both will always try to find a compromise for every problem, even if the problem was something as silly as a champagne problem.
This has been in my drafts for far too long. Decided to finally finish it!!
Tags : @gingeywolfey @luxaryllis @raix-lv @ruru-kiss @blankescapades @deimospheres @gh0stbastard @kiriesdreamworld @hmmmmmm-give-me-your-gender
strikethrough = Cannot tag
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst angst#angst#twst x reader#vil schoenheit#twst vil#twisted wonderland vil#fluff#twst fluff#taylor swift#champagne problems#did this on a call with lux#twisted wonderland fluff#twisted wonderland angst#disney tw#disney twisted wonderland#vil schoenheit x reader#arguments#mentions of death#proposal#romance#broken heart#vil#—Mika Writes ✧#evermore#omg 1313...
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Whump Prompt #1342
Submitted by @red-river-potato01 - thanks!
Character A is the black sheep of the team and isn't very well-liked by most of the others. Because of this they often lash out at the others since all they ever get is negative feedback. When the rookie Character B joins, A assumes they'll be like the others, especially when the team warns B about them. Yet to their surprise, B ignores all that and is nice to A. A isn't sure what to think, but they soon become very protective of B, enough so that they put themselves in harm's way for them...
#whump#writing#prompts#angst#protective whumpee#ideas#injury#team dynamics#self sacrifice#arguments#miscommunication
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The Bet
So @artiststarme wrote this blurb about the boys’ first serious argument being about how Steve doesn’t like Ozzy Osbourne. I was on my KNEES in the comment section asking if I could flesh it out, and this is the result. I hope you like it!! ❤️
The thing is, they actually have a really healthy relationship.
Everyone mentions it, whether in response to how similar it is to something their parents do, or something the complete opposite of what their parents do.
“Wait,” Max said once. “Weren’t you just arguing?”
Steve and Eddie looked at each other. “We disagreed,” Steve started cautiously. “That doesn’t mean we were arguing or fighting. Sometimes a disagreement doesn’t end in yelling, y’know? Actually it never has to end in yelling, but people are messy and emotional and that’s what it usually ends up as. But… no. We weren’t really arguing.”
Mike narrowed his eyes at Steve when he came to watch Hellfire once. “What’re you doing here?”
Steve shrugged, smiling. “Watching.”
“Why? You don’t even like D&D.”
“I don’t hate it. And Eddie likes it. We make time to engage in things the other likes. Share interests.”
Mike’s nose wrinkled as he thought about it. “Share interests?”
“That is what I said. He watches basketball with me. Can’t tell me a single thing about it, but he watches and gets excited whenever I do.”
“And we share music with each other,” Eddie added, smirking. “Stevie here’s officially a fan of Dio.”
The thing is, they don’t really argue. It gets to the point where people are starting to bet on when and what their first fight would be about.
Eddie brings it up during band practice one day. “I just don’t get it,” he says. “Steve and I have, arguably, the healthiest relationship out of anybody we know, and now everyone’s fucking betting on our first argument? Do they want us to fight? Do they want us to break up?”
“I mean,” Jeff starts cautiously, “You two are an unlikely pair. He’s part of the group that bullied us in high school. You two couldn’t really be more different if you tried. Like, I get that opposites attract or whatever, but some similarities could be a good thing, y’know?”
Eddie stares for a minute, then abruptly says, “Okay, so I’m not sure about the key on the first song,” and that’s it. Band practice continues.
Eddie, however, is stuck on that moment. He thinks about it all the way home, is preoccupied enough that Steve surprises him when he walks over and slides a hand over his back. “Eds?”
Eddie jumps slightly before turning to face Steve, inadvertently dislodging the hand on his back. “Steve?” Steve stays quiet, lets him think, put the words in the right order. “Do… do you think we’re too different?”
Steve jerks back in shock. “What? Eddie, where is this coming from?”
Eddie shakes his head, sighs, drags fingers through his hair. Won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “No, sorry, it’s stupid, just drop it.”
Steve ducks to catch his gaze, smiling hopefully up at him. “Hey. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“I know,” Eddie says, then turns around. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” Steve returns. “To answer your question, though… I don’t think we’re too different. I mean, We’re working out pretty fine right now. We communicate, we work out our problems… we love each other, plain and simple. We try to get into each others interests. Sure, there are probably things each of us will never really love—you and basketball, for example, and I just don’t understand the hype surrounding Ozzy Osbourne—but-”
“Wait,” Eddie interrupts, brows furrowing. “You don’t get the hype surrounding Ozzy Osbourne?”
Steve shrugs. “No, not really. I don’t like his music.”
“Oh, that- that’s great.” He huffs a hysterical laugh and begins to pace. “I play him constantly, Steve, and you’ve never once said anything?”
“I don’t-”
“And if that’s a lie, what else? D&D? Metallica? Dio?”
“That’s not-”
“Hell, I told Mike that you liked Dio! Was that a lie?”
“No, it-”
“Do I have to go to Mike fuckin’ Wheeler and tell him I lied? Because you don’t tell me things like ‘I don’t like Ozzy Osbourne’?”
“It’s called being in a relationship,” Steve says, louder than either of them had been up to that point. “And I could say the same of you! I know you hate sports. I know you don’t understand basketball and you think football is boring. You refuse to run with me. I know you don’t like it but I thought that’s part of loving each other. Doing so in spite of everything we don’t like. Or has it all been an act for you? Is it all a character you’re playing?” He snaps his mouth shut, takes a few deep breaths, and shakes his head. “I’m going home. Come to me when you’re ready to talk, instead of throwing accusations at me.”
And there Eddie’s left, gripping onto the kitchen counter, watching as Steve walks out the door.
A few days later, Robin Buckley storms in. “Edward Munson, what the hell did you do?”
“Whoa there, missy,” Wayne says. “What’s got you up in a huff?”
Robin does, indeed, huff. “Eddie upset Steve.”
Wayne raises a brow, considers her, then nods. “How about a cup of tea after you’re done yellin’ at him?”
Robin stops short, thinks about it, and nods. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
Wayne just chuckles and shoos her in the direction of Eddie’s room.
She slams the door open, watching as Eddie jumps a foot into the air, his wide eyes opening even wider as he realizes who he’s looking at. “Yeah, dipshit, it’s me,” she says, crossing her arms. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you know how upset Steve is? He doesn’t know if he’s still your boyfriend, and I’m honestly considering telling him to end it now. What the hell could’ve happened to make you avoid him like you’ve been doing? You and I may be friends, but Steve and I are platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmates, and he’ll always come first.”
Eddie gapes at her. “I- he-” he groans and buries his head in his hands. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Majorly,” Robin agrees. “I’ve half a mind to not let you see him, actually, except I know how sneaky you are, and I know you’d find a way regardless. If you thought it was important enough.”
“If-” Eddie gapes again. “He’s the most important thing. I was upset, and I took some things to heart that I really shouldn’t have, and oh, holy shit, I need to talk to him-”
Robin nods approvingly. “Go fix it, Munson.” She leans casually against his doorframe, then says as if completely changing the topic, “y’know, Nancy’s been teaching me to shoot. It’s fun.”
Eddie pales appropriately. “Robin Buckley, you are the scariest woman on the planet, second only to Nancy, and no one deserves you,” he says seriously, laughing when she nods.
Robin wanders back out to the kitchen, where Wayne hands her a mug with a grin. “Heard you gave ‘im hell.”
“Yup,” Robin answers. “He’s gonna go fix it. If he doesn’t, I hope you’ll be okay living on your own.”
Wayne shrugs, an amused twist to his mouth. “I survived thirty-eight years on my own. I think I can do it again.”
“Good,” Robin says, and that’s that, and they both turn to watch as Eddie races out the door.
“Shit shit shit,” Eddie mutters as he throws himself into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on and curses again as fucking Ozzy Osbourne blasts through the speakers. He ejects the tape and tossed it behind him, prepared to sit in silence on the way to Steve’s.
Eleven and a half minutes later, Eddie pulls up to Steve’s house and knocks on the door, shifting impatiently.
Steve opens the door twenty-seven seconds later, and twelve minutes after leaving his house, Eddie says, “I’m so sorry.”
It’s the first thing out of his mouth, flying out practically without permission. There was a plan, a script, but he sees Steve’s hazel eyes and forgets everything he’d ever known.
Steve regards him, then nods and moves aside, inviting him in with a wave of his hand.
“I got really insecure about something and exploded instead of just talking it through,” Eddie continues. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said. I just-” he tears a hand through his hair, makes a frustrated sound.
Steve gently touches his arm, gets his hand out of his hair, directs him to sit on a couch. “I know,” he says quietly, then sighs. “And I owe you an apology. It takes two to argue. I shouldn’t have gotten riled up when you did. It didn’t help anything.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Eddie whispers, desperate to make him understand. “Stevie. This is completely on me.”
“How about we start over?” Steve suggests. “You asked if we were too different. Where’d you get that idea?”
“The band,” Eddie admits. “I was thinking out loud, wondering why everyone had started a betting pool on our first argument, and Jeff said that he thinks it’s because we’re really different. And then I kept thinking about it and got insecure about it. And then you said what you did, about not liking Ozzy, and that really got me insecure because that was the first real compliment I gave you.” Steve blinks, confused. “In the Upside Down? He bit a bat’s head off onstage?”
“Oh, shit,” Steve whispers, understanding trickling in.
“So I thought- I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought it was all fake, that since you didn’t like or accept the compliment, or whatever…” he shakes his head. “It really is stupid. And I’m so sorry I let it go so far.”
Steve sighs. “And I’m sorry. I’d completely forgotten about that complement. I do know how much that means to you, though. And I might not like the guy’s music, but I’ve got no opinions on the man himself. I guess I should’ve specified. And like I said earlier, I never should’ve risen to the bait. I never should’ve said what I did about sports and exercise. So I’m sorry, too.” He holds a tentative hand up, and Eddie pushes it out of the way in favor of wrapping his arms around Steve, who huffs a laugh and returns the gesture. “Love you, Eds,” he murmurs.
“Love you, Stevie. ‘M sorry.”
“‘S alright. I’m sorry too.”
“‘S alright.” They both giggle and pull back a bit, just to lean in again and press their lips together.
“Next time we talk about it,” Steve mutters after they pull apart.
“Agreed,” Eddie says, then pauses. “So who do you think won the bet about our first argument?”
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#stranger things#stranger things fic#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#wayne munson#robin buckley#Wayne and Robin#that’s not a tag yet which is a TRAVESTY#misunderstanding#miscommunication#fights#arguments#idek how to tag this#read op’s first#op I’m so sorry I forgot the blue icee#I hope you like it anyways#starambles
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