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kitkatscabinet · 8 months

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Always been you

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! childhood friend reader

Summary: From the moment you first smiled at him as children Simon knew it would always be you.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: some nsfw content so minors keep scrolling

It starts like this, he’s 9 years old feet listlessly guiding himself to the rundown park desperate to be somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t the oppressive confines of home. The weather, as was typical of Manchester, wasn’t exactly cooperating. A dreary grey drizzle that served to keep most of the general populace indoors. Few parents were willing to stand outside and supervise their rowdy children.

That’s not to say the area was completely devoid of activity and for a while Simon was content to sit idly on the swing set and people watch. Trying desperately to ignore the clench in his chest and the sting of tears in the corner of his eyes as he watched the loving interactions between child and parent. Bitterness and wanting in equal parts threatened to consume him.

A voice from the side quickly pulls him from the harrowing thoughts, though he quickly thinks maybe they’d be easier to deal with. It’s a boy, around his age, maybe a little older and he’s boring like Simon’s deeply offended him.

“Get off the swing, I want a turn.” The demand leaves Simon more than a little flabbergasted. Apparently, he takes too long to not follow the sudden command as the boy's face twists in even more displeasure.

“I said, move!” He’s taller, and maybe it's because Simon had already been scared by Tommy that morning but he freezes.

Or maybe it’s just because he’s pathetic, his father’s voice whispers traitorously in his mind.

Thankfully, the thought doesn’t get to stick around for long as a new voice enters the fray. “Hey! Fuck off!” Both boys whirl around with wide eyes at the newcomer, neither sure how to respond to the loudly swearing girl. However, when the boy responds with what Simon assumes to be your name it becomes clear that you already know each other.

“I don’t have to listen a girl.” That proves to be exactly the wrong thing to say, Righteous indignation lights up your face and before Simon can even blink the would-be bully is on the ground, clutching his nose with a cry. You’d punched him, hard enough that Simon could see the blood spilling out from over the crying boy’s hands and down his chin. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, Simon had let you pull on his hand, keeping it in a deceptively strong grip as you marched the two of them away. When you make it far enough from the crime scene you turn to him with a toothy grin, introducing yourself and promptly claiming the title of his new best friend.

It’s not quite love at first sight, but years down the line Simon will recognise it as something close.

The fourth time you meet at the park, not even two weeks from the initial greeting, you ask after his parents. It wasn’t unusual that Simon didn’t talk much, content to listen to you chatter away but you must have noticed something different in that instance of silence. You were alarmingly perceptive like that when it came to him, your eyes feeling as if they were staring directly into his soul, seeing all the shattered hurt he tried to hide. Nodding to yourself you grabbed his hand, an occurrence that he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet - your gentle touch, and tugged him along. You walk him all the way to your house, open the door with an excited bang and march straight up to your parents.

“This is my best friend, Simon, he’s gonna sleep over tonight!” Your parents are rightfully not amused but their protests quickly die down. He has no idea what convinced them in the end, but from then on he’d somehow become a permanent fixture in your home. Dinners became a regular thing which often became sleepovers as you attempted to keep him out of the house that had caused him so much fear and pain. It was about as subtle as a brick to the face but Simon never complained, especially if it meant you’d pull him into your bed as often as possible to sleep.

He hadn’t minded the first two ‘boyfriends’, they had been nothing serious, silly childhood infatuations. Because at the end of the day, it was always him that you returned to. Crawling through his window late at night and pouting that you couldn’t sleep without your favourite pillow, because somehow, despite his protests you always wrestled him into being the little spoon.

No, it isn’t until he’s 17 and more than aware of how painfully in love with you he is that the boyfriends finally become a problem. Simon wasn’t a violent person, didn’t want to be, not like his father was. But as he holds you in his arms after you’d climbed through the window in tears, cuddling up to him under the blanket covering his bed that he swears for the first time in his life he could kill somebody. He offers too, you simply laugh and tell him he’s the best friend you could ever have. You think he’s joking, Simon’s not entirely sure he is.

You’re his first kiss, something that had only occurred at your aghast knowledge that he’d never kissed anyone at all. He’s not sure why you’re surprised, you’re the only person he ever lets near him let alone touch him. It’s simultaneously the best and worst moment of his life because now he actually knows what it feels like to kiss you. Knows that nobody will ever live up to you.

It’s then he realises that you’re his first everything really, first friend, first crush, first and only love.

He reads some of your smutty books, the ones you giggle at, a secret he’ll take to the grave, just to learn what you like. It comes about after a drunken confession on your part, liquor loosening your lips just a tad too much as you detail how much your last boyfriend sucked in bed. It’s a mistake, because now every time he looks at you he can’t help but imagine the way you’d taste. How you’d sound begging so prettily for him.

His decision to join the military was not made lightly, you’d gotten accepted into some fancy university and it’s then Simon starts to realise just how much his entire life has started to revolve around you. As much as he wants to follow, he knows that life isn’t for him, and he knows how much you want him to flourish in whatever path he chooses.

Training isn’t easy, but it’s far from the hardest thing he’d ever done. That title was reserved for telling you about his chosen career path.

“Promise me you’ll always come back home to me” you demand, parting just slightly from your hug to look into his eyes. Simon knows he shouldn’t, after all there’s never any guarantee that he will, but as has been the case since you were both 12 he can’t bare to say no to you.

“I promise love” it’s barely a whisper but you still hear it, your fingers clutching at the back of his shirt starting to shake a little.

He wants to kiss you, he always does, but standing before him now, eyes glassy from the tears you’re trying to hold back, Simon swears you’ve never looked more ethereal. As much as he wants to lean down and finally taste your lips he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you or to him, so instead he presses a soft kiss to your hairline, keeping you held tightly against him.

You send him more care packages than he can count, photos, letters and little trinkets he kept tucked safely away in his bunk or on his person when he could get away with it. He gets teased for it but Simon couldn’t give less of a fuck about their poorly hidden jealousy, not when you cared for him so deeply. Not when he gets to fall asleep with your words in his head and faint scent rubbing off on him.

He’d thought that perhaps the distance would do him some good, would finally douse the blazing flames of his love for you. He really should have known better because as the day's drone on you start to consume his every thought both waking and asleep. His life becomes a series of training and missions that only serve as a way to pass the time until he gets to see you again. Because no matter how much blood stains his hands he knows you’ll always be there to wash it away. He’s aware how selfish it is, to place the brunt of his longing and emotional baggage that only continues to grow in your careful hands, but Simon’s never claimed to be a good man.

Some of the darkness slips out one night, after his brother's wedding, after the revelry had died down and it was just the two of you lying on the grass and looking up at the stars at your insistence. He’ll forever blame it on the alcohol, descriptions of the violence he’d tried so desperately to keep from you pouring from his lips in confession. He can’t bear to look at you, heart roaring in his ears as he waits for the moment you’ll run, the moment you’ll finally realise what a monster he is. That moment never comes, instead, you ensnare him in your protective grip, hands cradling him far more softly than he deserves. It’s that moment that finally cements the fact that you’re never leaving in his mind. You’re never leaving so it’s up to him to pull away before he tarnishes your light, but Simon is weak and so he stays.

It happens after his third tour, the one where he’d had too close a call, the one he’d thought for a few moments he wasn’t coming home from. In those moments he’d thought of you, of your smile and god he regretted. He regretted never telling you how he felt.

It feels like he’s barely off the plane, eyes searching desperately for you before he hears the shout of his name. He spins just in time for you to launch yourself at his chest, gripping desperately onto him. You’ve always tried to keep your affection for him private, knowing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with people staring. Neither of you cared in that moment though and Simon’s already dropped his bags, engulfing you in a near-crushing grip.

It’s an eternity before you pull away, but it’s still too soon. He briefly glimpses the tears in your eyes before he leans down and kisses you. Something in the back of his mind is screaming at him, but he doesn’t really care to listen. At first, you don’t respond and Simon finally panics as the consequences of his actions set in. You don’t give him the chance to run away though, hands grasping his face and keeping him in place.

When you pull away you don’t say anything, simply taking his hand in yours and tugging him out to your car. The drive to your apartment is silent, but not uncomfortable. It isn’t until you’ve pulled him into your bed, in a mirror image of your younger years that you finally break the silence.

“I never thought you felt the same.” The same? The implications of your words seared into the forefront of his mind.

“Silly girl, why would I ever even look at somebody else when you exist?” You let out an adorably embarrassed squawk at his words, lightly hitting him on the chest as you bury your burning face against his neck.“It’s always been you” he murmurs, the confession settling over you like a wave.

For a split second, he fears your relapse into silence means he’d pushed too far too fast. Years of pining bubbling up and over the surface at the slightest bit of reciprocation. You’re quick to shut down his internal spiral with another earth-shattering kiss, pulling away and resting your chin on his chest.

“Yeah, you’ve always been it for me too Si. From the moment I pulled you from that swing." It's a little embarrassing, how fast his heart races at the confession. Tears build in the corners of his eyes as he finally, finally lets himself fully succumb to your love. You're quick to wipe them away though, because you would always take care of your Simon.

#x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost

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prettysweetprettysweet · 8 months

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I spend so much time dwelling on whether there was any sincere sorrow from Lestat in the story we were told, which is almost certainly pointless but I'm vindictive and hold grudges and always crave vengeance and feel an enormous amount of righteous indignation on Louis' behalf, so at this point for me the single most spiritually and emotionally satisfying thing that could happen in season two is Lestat truly recognizing all the pain he's caused and becoming completely dismantled by the weight of his guilt (and in a way that affords him absolutely no sympathy!!)

on that note...the show has us assume that Lestat stowed Antoinette a town away 'by design' in a bid to be discovered and catalyze some sort of passionate reaction from Louis, that Louis' actual reaction of numbness, dissociation, and suicidality was near immediate and kept completely inside, that Antoinette was listening in during this period, and that Lestat was aware of it enough at least to opine to Claudia that Louis couldn't pick an apple in his current state and that he is in worse shape at that point than he ever was during Claudia's absence. Sam mentioned that by this time Lestat was able to hear their thoughts.

I wonder with his chronic self-absorption if he had managed to draw a line from his own actions to their impacts, if it truly registered for Lestat that through his machinations and manipulations he bent Louis so far that he broke in half, that Louis was hurting in a way and with an intensity that he had never hurt before, and that Lestat more-or-less extinguished the flame that made Louis so beautiful in the first place. Did he feel any responsibility and did it cause him sorrow? of course from the story that we've seen so far, its nearly impossible to ascertain Lestat's genuine position emotionally and mentally at any given point.

one moment that causes me to stop is the bench scene when Louis thinks to Claudia 'every night i feel a little crazier' and Lestat makes this face and rapidly jumps up to leave:

with the assumption that Lestat heard this, this could be any number of emotions: exasperation, rage, denial/evasion, fear. but i want it to be at least somewhat sadness and guilt and painful recognition of the ways he is responsible for his husband's devolution into a crazy and suicidal state, his husband who is suffering exactly like Lestat's first love Nicolas, and is increasingly indicating that he will end up exactly like him.

I'm inclined to think he is feeling guilt/sadness/worry because of the way he parts with an earnest and understated declaration of love. to me it just seems like the subtle quietness of it would be the best way to reach Louis through the fog. it's also really delicate and caring in a way that reminds me of how you might talk to a child who has the flu.

the dead look on Louis' face is devastating. I think that because Lestat knows his husband is sick, he's trying to offer warmth and reassurance and encouragement. keep going because i love you. please remember i love you.

#Make Lestat Suffer 2024 #i know they're gonna give it to me good they HAVE to #iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #loustat #yo mismo #yomismoiwtv

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siderealscribblings · 4 months

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Ao3's down, have some NeuviFuri WIP

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"I see…and you're certain there are no survivors?"

Furina paused outside Neuvillette's office, hand raised mid-knock as he heard a grave voice come from inside.

"We aren't sure," a voice said softly. "The members of the derelict order seem to have perished in the explosion and the agents sent to apprehend them have not reported back…I fear we may have lost the squadron entirely."

Furina's guts twisted as she stepped away from the door, quietly ducking into the library next to Neuvillette's office and locking the door behind her. When she occupied Egeria's old quarters, the first order of business was to make sure each room had more than one way out. Call it paranoia, but Furina didn't like to have her back against the wall without a way out. It was not, as Neuvillette suggested, because of her obsession with crime novels; just because The Adventures of Detective Ladybug had a secret door in nearly every installment did not mean that Furina redesigned her palace on a whim because of a light novel.

(Though she would be lying if she said she didn't get a kick out of pressing a hidden switch behind a bookcase to open a passageway into the back of Neuvillette's office.)

"Have you informed Lady Furina about this yet?" The other voice asked, his voice muffled by the wooden panel behind the bookcase in Neuvillette's office.

"No…not until we have something more than dead bodies to report," Neuvillette said. "She has plenty on her mind with the centennial approaching; I'd like to know more before we take our findings to her."

Oh you sneaky lizard! Furina silently huffed, bottling up her indignation to release properly at a later time. How many times must I tell you not to keep things from me?!

"I understand; I’ll leave informing Lady Furina to your discretion,” the other voice said. “For now, what shall my squad do?”

“For now, maintain a perimeter around the Beryl Region and detain anyone who attempts to enter,” Neuvillette said. “I will see to this…disturbance personally and see if the Phantom agents are still alive.”

Phantom agents? Furina thought. What is he doing dispatching the Marechaussee Phantom out without discussing it with me first?!

Furina managed to keep her fury contained until she heard his office door close. Summoning all her righteous indignation, she grabbed the handle of the secret door and wrenched it open. “Ah-ha!”

Thunk! Furina’s grand, dramatic reveal was thwarted as the sliding library door jammed, freezing on the tracks after only opening about a foot.

“I thought I heard something scurrying around in the walls,” Neuvillette sighed, watching Furina grow more and more frustrated as she tried to force the stuck door open. “Do you need help with-”

“N-No, you just sit there and think about what you’ve done!” Furina grunted, shoving her shoulder against the bookcase. “I’ll, mngh, be with you in…just…a moment…”

Neuvillette sighed quietly through his nose, leaning back in his chair to watch Furina give up on opening the door and settle for trying to wriggle her way through the narrow gap between the wall.

“Thought you could, ugh, hide things from me did you?” Furina crowed as triumphantly as one could while squeezing their way through a narrow bookcase.

“I take it you heard most of that conversation just now?” Neuvillette said, bending down to pick Furina’s hat off the ground as it rolled off her head.

“Just the treasonous bits,” Furina grunted, her hips sticking in the frame as she glared impotently at Neuvillette. “I should have you disbarred-”

“You will have to get through the door first,” Neuvillette said, weathering her withering glare with a patient smile. “It would be easier if you go out and come back in the front door, you know.”

Furina had the same thought, but now that Neuvillette had suggested it she was even more determined to wriggle her way through the narrow crack under her own power. She was mortified enough that her ass getting stuck in the crack was the only thing preventing her from confronting her Iudex for his indiscretion; she was not going to back out and admit she made a mistake now.

“I thought I made it clear that I detest it when you lie to me, Neuvillette!” Furina grunted, settling for glaring at him with her torso sticking out of the bookcase.

“Have I lied to you or have I just not discussed this with you yet?” Neuvillette asked, tenting his fingers as he watched her wriggle with a little more success. “There was nothing to discuss until a few moments ago-”

“Oh, but there was enough to dispatch the Marechaussee Phantom under my nose?!” Furina snapped.

“I believe I informed you that the Phantom was investigating increased Primordial Seawater concentration around Elynas’ remains,” Neuvillette said. “I distinctly remember putting it in with the usual crime and law-enforcement reports-”

“You know I don’t read those!” Furina growled.

“Well, if you had, this wouldn’t be such a surprise,” Neuvillette said as Furina finally admitted defeat and slammed the bookcase behind her as she slipped back into the passage. Neuvillette heard her furious footsteps echoing in the passage, listened to the library door bang open and waited for his not-Archon to stamp her way back towards the door to his office.

Bang! The door flew open as Furina stormed through, hair messy and coat covered in dust and grime from the passageway. Were she an actual Archon, Neuvillette might have divine retribution to fear; as it was, she could only scowl at him.

“Explain…yourself,” Furina panted, snatching her hat back from him as he offered it up to her. “Before I have you put on trial!”

“I don’t believe the sitting Iudex will rule against me in this case,” Neuvillette sighed, leaving Furina to fume in front of his desk as he got up and locked the door. “Seawater concentrations have ebbed and flowed over time; per your request, I have taken it upon myself to dispatch research teams to investigate whether or not these surges are anything to worry about before sounding the alarm bells.”

“Well now that people have died, can we start ringing the bells or do we want to wait for a tidal wave to drown us?” Furina grumbled, brushing herself off. “Details; now.”

"They were in the report-"

"You know I trust you to handle everything law-enforcement related in Fontaine; I haven't had the urge to double-check your work in fifty years!" Furina spat. "Although apparently I should have!"

"If it gets you to read my briefs in the future, a little treason would have been well worth it," Neuvillette said. “You are aware that some refugees from the defunct Narzissenkreuz Institute have taken to conducting independent research into the upcoming deluge?”

“Don’t say upcoming like it isn’t avoidable,” Furina hissed as though speaking it aloud would bring on the floods. “Yes and I thought we agreed to let them do what they will? The more brainpower put towards our problem, the better, no?”

“No, as it turns out,” Neuvillette sighed. “We have reason to believe the members of the so-called Narzissenkreuz Ordo have gone a bit mad as scientists do from time to time. We secreted some Phantom agents into their ranks, as you suggested, to keep an eye on their goals…which turned out to be fairly grim.”

Neuvillette held out a crumpled sheet of paper for Furina to read, hands clasped behind his back as he studied her increasingly horrified expression.

“S-Sweet Egeria's ghost, what have they been trying to do?!” Furina hissed, growing more incensed the more she read. “Holy Blade of Narzissenkreuz?! Circle of Four Orthants?! Tree of-what is this drivel?!”

“The barkings of a pack of mad dogs,” Neuvillette said. “I dispatched the Phantoms to bring the Ordo in for questioning but…well, there was a violent explosion in Elynas recently and we seem to have lost contact with our agents. I was planning on departing for Elynas tomorrow to investigate but…I don’t think we’re going to find anything good.”

Furina’s indignation ebbed away as she tossed the report back on Neuvillette’s desk. Things were too grave to be picking fights with Neuvillette at the moment; she could get huffy and bent out of shape all she wanted until lives were on the line. “Right…best to see for ourselves what this is all about. When do we leave?”

“I hope the we you’re referring to doesn’t include you,” Neuvillette said.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Why would it?” Neuvillette sighed. “A derelict order of mad scientists may have performed unspeakable atrocities on the bloated corpse-island of a relic from the Calamity in a misguided attempt to survive the apocalypse and you want to take a day-trip?”

“Seeing as how my retainers have taken to hiding things from me-”

“Hiding things from you by including them in reports placed directly on your desk?”

“-it seems I must take to the field myself to ensure the safety of my people,” Furina barrelled on. "As a good Archon should."

“How gallant of you,” Neuvillette said dryly. “And what if we encounter maniac scientists or gods know what else on that island?”

“That’s where you come in,” Furina said brightly, patting him on the shoulder. “I have every confidence that you are equal to the task of protecting me from danger.”

“The surest way to do that would be for you to remain in Court,” Neuvillette pointed out.

“I was tasked with preventing this calamity,” Furina said. “If the Queen doesn’t lead, how can she expect her subjects to follow?”

“As much as I admire your willingness to lead by example, can’t you just take credit for my work once it’s over?” Neuvillette asked in all sincerity. “You know I’m happy to let you have the limelight; just say you rode in on the back of a mighty white stallion and vanquished the oppressors or…something like that.”

“Your skills as a playwright need a little fine tuning,” Furina sighed. “And what if you happen to die like the Phantom agents might have?”

“I think I’m more difficult to kill than unenlightened mortals,” Neuvillette said.

“Okay, fine; there is no earthly reason why I can’t stay behind while you poke around Elynas’ corpse,” Furina said, folding her arms. “Oh wait, no, I thought of one; I don’t want to.”

Furina had once been reluctant to play the I’m Technically The Archon And I’m Technically In Charge And You Technically Need To Do What I Say card; how Neuvillette longed for those days. “Furina-”

“Wh-what if some deranged maniac from the Ordo takes advantage of your absence and sticks a blade in my ribs?” Furina said, fumbling for a plausible excuse to tag along. “Maybe this is all a ruse to lure you away from the capitol to make an attempt on my life!”

“Not even you are that paranoid,” Neuvillette said, folding his arms. “Speak your mind.”

Furina’s lips twisted in a small pout, glaring away from Neuvillette. “...I don’t like being the only one of us not doing anything. And don’t say I do enough by keeping up appearances; not when you’re ankle-deep in seawater and fighting mad-scientists on my behalf.”

“I’m the only one of us capable of that-”

“Well maybe I would like to be capable of that as well!” Furina snapped. “I’m starting to feel useless and I don’t know how much longer I can go on feeling useless before I go crazy! I haven’t left the Court since Rex Lapis decided to sneak into our country and if I have to look at one more embroidery pattern for the stupid tablecloths for this stupid centennial celebration I am going to drown myself in our swimming pool!”

Furina finished with a stamp of her foot, glaring up at Neuvillette as she fully expected another exasperated sigh. Instead he caught a glint of something that looked like admiration, his lips pursed as he seemed to be weighing her request.

“Rumors about what these Ordo loonies are doing will make it back to court sooner or later,” Furina said, looping an arm through Neuvillette’s and looking out the window towards the horizon. “What better way to convince the people of their Archon’s strength than riding out to meet them in battle with Iudex Neuvillette? You and I both come out looking good, I get some fresh air, and we handle this without involving any more casualties.”

“So long as you are not included in those casualties,” Neuvillette said, fidgeting with the corner of his cloak. “...if we are attacked-”

“I have no shame running and hiding like a terrified pomeranian,” Furina promised.

“You must do exactly as I say for a change,” Neuvillette added.

“I will be the picture of obedience, my Lord,” Furina beamed.

“Even if I tell you to abandon me to my death and save your own life?” Neuvillette asked. Furina hesitated, chewing on the corner of her lip before answering.

“Not happily, but, if you ask me to leave you behind to die…I will,” Furina lied.

#the games of divinity #neuvifuri #furilette #gotta feed people in the famine #WIP of the next chapter #writeblogging

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ghost-bxrd · 26 days

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For "your court of owls batfam" au , how would Bruce react if Cobb ever got seriously hurt to the point of maybe having to be replaced? Also how do Dick and Jason feel about Cobb? Do they get along or is it strictly professional?

MWAHAHA I GOT ONE PERSON INTERESTED IN THIS AU ALREADY! *cheers*

Okay so Talon lore is that very little can keep a Talon down permanently. They can even regrow limbs if given enough time! So that’s neat. But basically replacing Talons isn’t a practice often exercised.

I know the Court canonically tried getting rid of Cobb in the Court of Owls saga because he got defeated by Batman and they didn’t think he’d “recover from the shame of being so thoroughly deafeated”.

It therefore stands to reason that he’s aware that he’s easily replaceable (there is always more than one Talon at any given time, although stored away in cryo usually) if he doesn’t perform to the Court’s expectations. Cobb is the best, been the best, Talon for over a century (?) now, but that means nothing if he fails to fulfill his missions.

So let’s say Cobb gets heavily injured by something that shouldn’t have been much of a challenge for a Talon. Let��s say his inattention/hubris/whatever nearly gets Bruce killed—-

That would be scandalous.

For one, his injuries will take several weeks to heal. Weeks in which the Voice will be virtually defenseless without their Talon. This is unacceptable.

And Two, some regular two bit criminals should have never been able to best a Talon in such a way. It’s a disgrace to the Court.

No, no, a new Talon must take Cobb’s place now. He has become obsolete. His services have been appreciated, but, “oh, you understand dear Talon, don’t you? The weak must be culled from the flock”.

And Cobb understands. He does. He’d thought- he thought he’d have more time, though. Time to convince Bruce to let him train the boy after all, to make sure his Voice is protected even after Cobb is gone. That the Court’s machinations will not see Bruce dead before the year is done because the new Talon will not know that Bruce is the best thing to have happened to the Court in a century. They will end up killing Bruce, killing Dick— (he shouldn’t care- he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn’t-)

But then Bruce storms into the labs like the onset of a hurricane, all righteous fury and indignation, Dick hot on his heels (wide eyed and still too little with not enough training to hold out against the new Talon long enough to at least escape) demanding what the fuck is going on and why his Talon isn’t back by his side yet.

And he doesn’t accept the scientists’ reasonings that Cobb has done his duty; has become “outdated”. Doesn’t accept the reassurances of the “new one” being just as good— no, better, than the previous one. Doesn’t accept that a new Talon is supposed to protect him now. (“Him or none,” Bruce says, tone colder than the permafrost of the arctic, and at his side Dick’s eyes flash with unvoiced threat. “Now get out of my way.”)

As to the relationship between Cobb and the kids, well. His and Dick’s relationship is tense at first. Cobb has no interest being anything of a family to him despite their blood relations. He only sees Dick as a potential new (and perfect) Talon that could keep Bruce safe if he himself is deemed “outdated”. He’s not happy about all the potential “going to waste” by Dick being made Bruce’s ward, being allowed to live a sort of normal life. But once Dick approaches him for some training in physical combat… well. Sorry, Cobb tried. He really did. But Dick Grayson invented charisma, and even Cobb isn’t immune. He grudgingly starts liking the kid but will deny that until he’s blue in the face. Dick ends up being the Gray Son of Gotham, the highest ranking court member after Bruce with the training of a Talon.

With Jason it’s more straight forward. At first Cobb is pissed at Bruce for taking in a “street rat” and intending to adopt him, but… well, Jason grows on him “like fungus” (a direct quote). At first Cobb doesn’t really know what to make of Jason. The kid is loud and aggressive, but shrinks away like a wilting flower at the first signs of someone raising their voice. (He’s soft, Cobb thinks. The Court will eat him alive.)

But Jason’s also got a spine of steel as he clearly demonstrates when he jumps Cobb with a knife after an unfortunate misunderstanding where he assumed Bruce was in danger of him, and that kind of loyalty at least he can work with. (The kid’s still soft inside as all get out, but he’s excellent at covering it up with violence and bravado, and his charm is that he’s honest in a way so utterly foreign to the Court that it endears him to all the trustworthy members within a few months).

Jason becomes The Heart of the Court, the morality that Bruce was starting to have trouble clinging to; keeping them all on the right path towards a better future. A better Gotham.

(Cobb absolutely loves the children as much as Bruce does. It just takes him a bit longer to get there. And Jason is his favorite sorry I don’t make the rules. COUGH.)

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bizaar · 2 years

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Cruel Summer - Part One

- Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

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

word count: 5k

warnings: ANGST (the most dramatic babies you've ever seen) mentions of death/dying, swearing, breaking up (so sorry if I forgot anything!)

A.N.: First part of the Babysitter!reader series! I just broke up with someone so you're getting angsty sorry not sorry byyyyyyeee

Your breakup with Eddie was bad. As bad as any teenage horror story of doomed summer romances you’d heard talk of over the course of your adolescence. Bad because you’d always laughed at those couples who went from mooning hopelessly over one another, unequivocally mad for the enduring nature of their love, only to stand in fits of wailing despair when it ended as quickly and passionately as it began. Bad because that was never going to be you, and then suddenly it was. It left you standing hideously exposed, the rosy haze of the life you’d lived enveloped in his everything suddenly lifted to leave you blinking stupidly under a spotlight, fumbling to explain yourself to the crowd.

You try to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t that bad – it’s only the end of your first real relationship, your first real love, you’re first real anything – hoping that somehow saying it will make it true. You rub yourself raw trying to cocoon yourself in the lie.

It was that bad, worse, even, because you didn’t see it coming. Movies had told you that your first love was meant to be an enduring thing, forever if you were careful with it, and that true love was the most powerful force in the universe. You could move mountains and heaven and earth with true love, you could bring back the dead with but a gentle word and a kiss. With true love? You could do anything.

You couldn’t do shit with what was left of Eddie’s love.

A spectacle such as the fallout of a high school relationship is something to behold akin to a volcanic eruption. Toxic to the point of choking anyone within a twelve-foot radius of the poisonous ex-lovers, leaving radioactive trails in their wake. You swore you’d never be foolish enough to lose your mind over someone like that, open yourself up to the kind of hurt that could push you to madness when it was over too soon. Star-crossed lovers turned mortal enemies as the people in their lives take petty sides and do their utmost to tarnish the reputations of the one they once revered.

Real Romeo and Juliet shit, only the really real version, where they don’t get the opportunity to martyr themselves for love, and one day they realize in spite of everything they are still Capulets and Montagues, and the rivalry lives on, made all the more putrid by a love that has overstayed its welcome.

You always told yourself you were too smart for that kind of nonsense, and yet you’d loved Eddie Munson completely, madly and unequivocally, with every inch of every particle in your body, and you’d foolishly thought he felt the same.

You should have seen it coming.

Some tiny, rational part of you had told you not to go see him. You knew you had to babysit tonight, but you’d been too caught up in the fires of your righteous indignation to heed your rational mind.

It’s not every day your boyfriend skips your graduation ceremony and proceeds to avoid you for the better part of the following month. All you’d wanted was a sign of life, an explanation, any kind of answer as to what the hell was going on, and by God had you gotten one.

You do your best not to fall apart as you make your way across town, though if you cared enough to take a look at yourself in any passing reflective surface you would see that you’re doing a piss poor job at that. Your face is pinched tight and streaked with tears, and every odd breath comes in a ragged sob. Your chest aches with a sharp, lancing pain that hurts so terribly you would not be surprised to look down and find that you were bleeding. You imagine the dark, crimson trail you must be leaving, like gorey breadcrumbs one could follow all the way through town back to the Forest Hills trailer park.

You wish you’d thought to drive, then at least you could have broken down in the relative privacy of your car, but you’d wanted the walk to gather your thoughts, to prepare yourself for whatever it was that had kept Eddie so distant from you. Now, subjected to a different kind of walk of shame, your mind is buzzing with the concept of insult to injury.

You imagine you must be quite the sight to behold.

It’s dark by the time you reach your neighborhood, and well past the agreed-upon time when you knock at the Henderson’s front door.

A cursory glance at your watch sends a violent spasm of alarm lancing through your midsection.

You’re late. You’ve never been late before.

It's just another piece of Eddie you’re going to have a very hard time extracting, like a shard of glass from the bottom of your foot.

You try to make yourself presentable in the brief interval between your knocking and Mrs. Henderson’s answering, scrubbing at your eyes and taking deep breath after deep breath. All it accomplishes is to streak your already running eye makeup and push you towards hyperventilating. You are noticeably out of breath when the door finally swings inward, bathing you in golden light.

You imagine you are not the picture of an angel she'd expected, standing there, white-knuckling the strap of your bag, sweating in the August heat, and doing your utmost to look somewhere halfway to normal.

You try not to notice the way Mrs. Henderson’s round, cherubic face falls a little when she claps eyes on you.

Her voice is laced with saccharine concern as she says your name in a way that has you teetering on the edge of breaking down again.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you start, choking on the lump swelling in your throat. “I was— I just—“ In a panic, you bite the excuse off before it can cross the threshold of your lips.

What had you even planned to say? I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Henderson, but you see, my stupid boyfriend just got finished curb-stomping my heart into a pulpy mess and I’m just a bit upset?

Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself with a sobering start. He doesn’t love you anymore.

You feel like you could cry again.

“Time got away from me,” you mumble, tugging sheepishly at the sleeves of your ill-advised cardigan.

In spite of the state of you, Mrs. Henderson brightens and dismisses the notion with a flippant wave.

“Oh, don’t be silly! You’re here now, that’s what matters – come in!”

You follow her over the threshold and into the living room in a haze, depending entirely upon familiarity and muscle memory to get you on track, going through the motions of setting down your bag on the kitchen island as you have hundreds of times before.

Still, you can feel yourself slipping and begin groping for familiarity in the dark, anything to anchor you to this moment: warm wood paneling tinted orange by incandescent light bulbs, dated shag carpet half worn down to threads in the grooves of routine living, frigid air conditioning blasting down on you, flash drying the sweat beading across your neck and shoulders. You blink and watch colors run into each other like crayons in the sun, and breathe deep the strong tang of air freshener covering the faintest hint of a cat somewhere in the house.

You lie to yourself that you're going to be fine as you pluck at a loose string hanging from the fraying hem of your cutoff shorts.

You are vaguely aware of Mrs. Henderson speaking somewhere very far off in the distance.

“Dusty, look who’s here!”

You don’t really hear her, you’re still standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Munson trailer, watching the door ease open after you’d pounded on it.

Eddie had blanched and physically recoiled upon seeing you, confirming your suspicions that he was hiding from you.

“What the fuck, dude.” had been the only thing you’d been able to get out, hurt feelings mixing with anger in a potent combination that had you brimming with angry tears.

You’d watched Eddie hesitate at the door, very clearly considering going right back inside and shutting you out again before he heaved a sigh that carried the weight of the world. The anger that welled in you was poisonous.

Two years of your life washed down the drain in less than twenty minutes. Time wasted. It makes you want to scream.

The next four words you’d spoken ring out, though not in your own voice.

“Where have you been?” Dustin asks, bringing you back to where you stand in the Henderson’s living room. “We were worried sick!”

He’s got his hands on his hips as he stares at you, his tie-dye shirt undulating beneath the warm lights and making you feel like you’re swaying.

His mother is quick to scold him for the audacity of his outburst.

“Dusty.” She warns, tut-tutting him with a slow shake of her head.

Mrs. Henderson had never been much of a disciplinarian.

Dustin makes an incredulous sound and throws up his hands in a way that paints the picture of a mother who has been sitting up, waiting for a wayward child out well past curfew. It would be halfway funny if you had the capacity to laugh.

He slumps moodily into the couch cushions as his mother brightens again and turns to regard you as you slip further out of your body.

“We’ve gotta stop kidding ourselves.” Eddie says somewhere very far away, “This thing has pretty much run its course…”

Mrs. Henderson clasps her hands together and breathes out like she’s preparing to dive into an overlong speech.

“Okay, you know all the emergency contacts, the house rules, I should be back by 11:30...” She says, trotting back and forth across the living room to collect her purse and keys, all the while chattering away, giving the same babysitting spiel she went through every time you stopped over to make sure Dustin didn’t burn the house down.

You nod absently and bid her farewell as she slips out the door, and you feel the bite of pins and studs from Eddie’s battle-vest in the palms of your hands as you shove him.

“Why are you doing this?” You cry, your voice is tight and quavers, threatening to fail before you can even put up any kind of a fight. You’re half blind from the tears collecting at your lashes, “You can’t just—” You choke on the sob welling in your throat. “What happened— Eddie—Baby, just talk to me. Please. We can move past it, whatever it is we can fix it if you just let me—”

He rubs at the back of his neck and rocks back on his heels, like he’s desperate to get away from the situation and it’s taking every fiber of his being to make himself stay.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” He huffs, his voice trembling.

The silence in the living room is punctuated by the muffled sound of Mrs. Henderson’s receding footsteps, followed by the clunk of a car door slamming shut and the rumble of the engine starting. Headlights paint the walls through the front window in a burst of white, and just like that she’s gone. You’re stuck staring out across the street at your house, sitting dark and empty. Your parents aren't home... they're never home, that's why Eddie always comes over... Suddenly, you have to fight the urge to run out the door and retreat to the sanctity of your bedroom, like maybe you'll find him there, and you'll discover you imagined the whole thing.

All you want is to crawl under the covers and disappear from the world entirely, but there are too many artifacts of your relationship scattered across the expanse of your bedroom. Polaroids, mix tapes, band-tees, memories. You wonder with stark despair whether you’re ever going to be able to set foot in your bedroom again. It feels perhaps a tad overdramatic, but there’s so much of Eddie in you now, so much of his personality blended with yours, that it feels like an appropriate response. "Drama" may as well have been Eddie's middle name – his middle name is Joseph, you think absently, and suddenly you don’t know what you’re going to do with that kind of intimate information.

You aren’t exactly sure if you’re failing to grasp the situation or just plain rejecting it, but you refuse to accept that Eddie is trying to end your relationship over what essentially equates to nothing, and the fight it has kicked up is arguably the worst thing either of you has ever been through.

Despair turns him mean. He’s pacing and carding his hands through his hair like he can’t stand it, like he’s about to fly apart at the seams, and somehow it’s your fault.

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie snaps, face wet with tears, “What— you want me to tell you I don’t love you anymore? Is that what you want?" When you fail to answer he takes a step toward you and suddenly he's shouting, "Tell me what I can say to make you understand that this is over!”

You shake your head in defiance and openly sob, hands crossed over one another, pressed flat to the left side of your chest where you feel the pain of a phantom wound, gaping, bloody, and raw. Your strident refusal to answer the terrible question speaks for itself, and it wrenches a sob from somewhere deep inside Eddie. For the briefest of moments, he crumples, crushing the heels of his palms into his eyes in a way that is so heartbreakingly boyish you have to stop yourself from trying to hug him.

For a long moment, it’s all either of you can do but stand there, watching the other fall apart and hating each other for it.

Finally, Eddie breathes out hard like he’s trying to calm down. It doesn’t work.

“Okay,” He sniffs, voice trembling as he swipes the back of his hand across his nose, “Fine, I can do that– be the bad guy? If that’s what it takes...”

You shake your head and can’t help but take a tentative step toward him. Then another, and another, until suddenly you’re toe to toe with him.

“Don’t…” you plead, your voice is small and very nearly doesn’t make it through the vice that has your throat. “Please don’t…” His hands are shaking as you reach for them, his brows knit together and the corners of his mouth turn down in a mask of devastation.

“I don’t love you anymore.” He says softly, forcing the words out like it physically hurts to say them.

They embed themselves in you like little shards of glass and suddenly you've taken to bleeding, but you don’t believe him. You think you wouldn't be able to make yourself believe him if your life depended on it, even if it was true, because you loved him so much it hurt. So much you felt like this could very possibly kill you if he didn't stop. How could he not feel the same? How could this not be killing him the way it was killing you?

You knit your fingers desperately in the front of his shirt.

“You don’t mean it — please don’t say that.”

You try to meet his gaze, like maybe if you can make him see you, really see you, it might stop this, but he won’t look at you. You have to bite back the violent urge to damn him for his cowardice.

Eddie shakes his head, dark curls dancing around his face as he gets caught on a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t fucking love you anymore.” His voice breaks.

“Yes you do!” you shout, shoving him hard enough to send him staggering back a pace. “Why are you doing this, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

Eddie hangs his head as new tears roll down his face to collect at the point of his chin and suddenly you can’t decide if you’re more angry or heartbroken as you reach for him again. You know you're babbling, but you're desperate to say anything that might somehow get through to him to make him abandon this terrible crusade.

Eddie won't hear you. He shrugs out of your touch and shakes his head again, crossing his arms over his chest to hug his biceps like it’s the only sense of security he has. All the fight has gone out of him.

It's over...

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks from where he’s sat on the couch.

You turn slowly and blink at him, feeling suddenly like you’ve been submerged in water, swaying on your feet with the tide. You’d almost completely forgotten he was there.

He’s staring at you with the most intense mask of concern you’ve ever seen on him. It’s a strangely sober look for Dustin, somehow too world-weary for the little boy you’d thought you knew so well.

You realize a bit too late that he’d asked you a question. You know you need to respond if only to keep up appearances, but you feel wrong, like you’ve been pulled out of your body and had something else stuffed back in that is trying very hard – and failing – to emulate a human being. It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“I’m good.” You lie. “I’m really really good. In fact, I’m great.”

He furrows his brows and you know immediately you’d pushed it too much.

You’re bad, you’re so so bad. In fact, you’re terrible.

“O-kay…” He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he seems too preoccupied with something else to care much about it.

Dustin fidgets with his fingers, twisting the digits and picking at the skin of his nail beds like he’s become suddenly nervous in your presence.

“So… listen,” He starts, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You hear the words, but not in Dustin’s voice.

Eddie has walked you out to the empty jungle gym standing in the middle of the trailer park. Before the fight, before the violent implosion of your relationship, before he says the words he can never take back, he slumps against the rusted metal structure and stuffs his hands in his pockets, casting his gaze down to the divet in the earth he makes with the toe of his dingy sneaker.

“We need to talk…” He says, and you feel yourself getting pulled swiftly down into the dark... deeper under the water.

The pressure makes your head swell.

From the beginning, everyone had warned you Eddie was going to break your heart. Friends, family, even teachers, as inappropriate as that advice had been. It always made you angry, determined to prove them wrong. Maybe it had started as an act of rebellion, leaning hard into a relationship that was evidently no good for you, but none of them knew how Eddie was sweet, and kind, and fun and funny and everything but what everyone warned you he would be.

You hate that in the end, he was the one who had made them right. Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that bullshit.

The end…

Just the notion of it is enough to send you teetering over the edge of hysteria. Something wells up from the aching spot behind your lungs, like a balloon filling with water, blocking your windpipe and threatening to suffocate you. Your ribs crack and you feel yourself begin to bleed again as it swells to the point of pain. You feel like you’re about to burst.

The words are spilling out over your lips before you have the good sense to realize you should excuse yourself before you have a breakdown in the middle of the Henderson’s living room.

“Hold that thought, Dusty, just for one second,” You gasp, turning and practically sprinting for the bathroom down the hall.

You shut the door behind you and rip one of the fluffy white towels Mrs. Henderson keeps down from the rack and cram your face into the thick terry cloth. For a moment there is nothing, then a sharp intake of breath before you’re screaming, as loud and as long as you can before your head starts to swim. The sound is mercifully muffled by the fibers. It catapults you into a memory from last spring.

You’re sitting on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest, absolutely fuming over the injustice of something completely trivial – a poor grade on a test, an undeserved reprimand, the specificities of it don’t matter, because Eddie is there, and he still loves you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, doing his best to lift your spirits.

Your toes are tucked neatly beneath his thighs and he’s got his hands around your calf, tapping out a guitar riff there. As casual a gesture as it may have seemed, it’s suddenly so intimate and you’re struck with a pang of grief as you realize you’re never going to be that close to him again.

“Jesus, I’m so mad I could scream.” You huff, the angry lump in your throat makes you feel like you’d tried to swallow a softball.

Eddie tilts forward and crosses his arms over your knees, hugging you there.

“Do it.” He says, ghosting his lips over the exposed skin poking through a tear in your jeans, “Let’s see what those pipes can do.”

You cast a dour look his way and wire your jaw shut, beginning a mental count of all the reasons you can’t just start screaming in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. You’re not supposed to have boys over and if you scream your mom will come running and flip her lid, someone might call the cops … it’s going to be too loud?

As if he’d anticipated your excuses, Eddie pushes up and snatches one of the pillows you sit nestled among at the head of your bed, tucking it into the space between your knees and your chest.

“Scream into the pillow.” He instructs, patting the creases flat in a way that feels gentlemanly.

When you level him with an unimpressed look he rolls his big dark eyes and takes the pillow back.

“Like this,” Deep breath, and the muffled smack of his face hitting the pillow before there is the faintest sound of Eddie screaming theatrically into the fabric and goose down. You bite your lip to keep from giggling and remind yourself that you’re supposed to be furious, indignant, incensed even. Hard to keep up that facade when you’re dating someone like Eddie, who would more than likely combust into flames if he tried to go a full day without doing something entirely absurd and unhinged just to make you laugh.

When he’s done screaming, Eddie is red-faced, hair wild and brows furrowed beneath the curly fringe that falls across his forehead. There is a thin line of spit, grossly drawn out from the semi-damp pillowcase to where it is attached to the plump flesh of his bottom lip. He severs the connection with a swipe of his tongue and makes a show of coughing and spluttering, fishing a stay feather from his mouth. You snort with laughter.

He grins that Cheshire Cat smile of his, cheeks indenting with dimples, and shoves the pillow back towards you.

“You’re up, Babycakes.” He says.

You recoil with playful disgust, “Gross, no way!”

“Why not?” He asks, furrowing his brows in a way that conflicts with the wide stretch of his mouth.

“You just slobbered all over it!”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and suddenly there is the faintest hint of mischief glinting there. You meet his gaze, tentatively waiting for whatever appalling thing he is about to say.

“Like that’s ever bothered you before.” He says.

It’s relatively tame in the grand scheme of things, but the way his eyebrows jump with innuendo has you blushing.

“Eddie!”

“Ed-die!”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he mimics you, pitching his voice up to mock you, absolutely scandalized.

His pretty doe eyes sparkle with delight and you take the opportunity to snatch the pillow from him, only to whip it around and whack him upside the head. The pillow explodes in a snowy cloud of feathers, and the next thing you know he’s surged forward, and you’re screaming with laughter, bracing your hands against his chest and shoulders to try and hold him at bay as he licks a fat wet stripe up the side of your face.

The towel in the Henderson’s bathroom is perhaps as effective a buffer as a pillow, it certainly does a better job at mopping up your tears as you release yourself from the cotton prison, red-faced and breathless. You’ve left dark smudges on the white fabric where your tears have made your eyeliner run, more than it already has. You only manage to feel slightly bad about that, suppressing a pitiful whimper as you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water. You’re hoping the shift in temperature might force you into some kind of hard reset, bring you back to your senses, but you’re not so certain it’s going to work this time.

Eddie taught you to do that.

“Helps with panic attacks,” he’d said at the time, rubbing your back and speaking soft, gentle words to you as you stood with your head in the bathroom sink.

The foolish tragedy of breaking up is that everything reminds you of Eddie. Every inch of this town, your house, your bedroom, your own goddamn body is laced with him. You feel raw, and despite this being your first real heartbreak, somehow you know even after you get over him, if you ever get over him, you’re never gonna be the same again.

You hate how you suddenly understand all those sappy love songs, all those foolish people standing in not so private corners of very public spaces, wailing about how they thought someone had loved them while everyone looks on in varying degrees of concern. Therein lies the problem of giving yourself over to someone so completely, loving them entirely.

I thought he loved me.

You slump to the cold tile floor and hug your knees to your chest.

You tell yourself you could leave, should leave, pick up and start over somewhere new, somewhere quiet and untainted by the echoes of him. Your memories are loud and pervasive and every one of them revolves around him, foolishly, as if he is all you’ve ever known.

You could just leave… It’s sorely tempting, you’ve graduated, no immediate plans on the horizon… newly single? There’s nothing holding you here –you quietly wonder if that was Eddie’s aim, but you’re still too upset to give him that much credit– you even allow yourself to begin a flight of fancy, entertaining an escape from Hawkins, from Indiana entirely. Then you remember the way he had cradled your face in his hands as he extracted himself from your life.

“There’s nothing for you here. This goddamn town is gonna suck the life out of you if you don’t get out.”

If you leave Hawkins now, that means Eddie wins, despite the fact that you’d been so painfully unaware it was even a competition. You suppose that this is how it starts, the taking sides, the tearing down one’s reputation. You can just imagine yourself, maybe a year from now, in a new town with new friends, going on and telling stories about how your ex was such a fuck up, a total man-child, couldn’t even graduate high school… He was a guitarist in this really shitty metal band and played this stupid fantasy game every weekend with a bunch of kids, that’s weird right? What a freak. You could knock the teeth out of that version of you for being so cruel.

He’s not a freak, you insist to no one in particular, He’s wonderful and generous and … and and and? …And he doesn’t love you anymore.

You thump your head against the bathroom cabinet and heave a sigh as you remember that you’re here in the house for a reason.

Dustin is waiting on you.

With a heavy sigh, you push up from the floor on shaky legs and turn back to regard yourself in the mirror.

It’s fine, I’m fine, we’re fine…

And you are. There’s no gaping wound in your chest, no bloodstains streaking down your front. You breathe deep and tell yourself that you really are fine, a little red and puffy in the face, and feeling very much like you’ve been hollowed out, like carving a pumpkin, but fine enough to sit and watch movies with Dustin for a few hours at least. It’s just a breakup. People break up every day. All you have to do is hold your shit together until midnight – you glance at your watch – just four hours and then you can fall apart, rant and rail, and rave and tear down the walls if that’s what it takes.

You take a deep, steadying breath, count backward from three, and whip the door open, doing your best to plaster what you hope is a genuine smile across your face.

"Okay kiddo, you wanna watch a movie or something?" You call as you head down the wall.

You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.

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

346 notes · View notes

lilacwisps · 1 year

Note

Purely because of your HC with Garreth would I be able to request a fic of him and MC getting caught by Professor Weasley please?

Hi nonnie, sorry to keep you waiting, here you go 💜

(based on these headcanons)

As he slams the door to an empty classroom closed behind them, Garreth wonders, distantly, if he should, perhaps, lock it - but then MC's fingers are in his hair again, and she's kissing him, sweet and ardent, making all thought vanish from his mind. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Garreth pulls her close, reveling in the way her body feels against his. MC's soft and eager under his touch, and the small gasp that leaves her lips as he deepens the kiss sets Garreth's blood alight, and his heart races.

Lost in the moment, Garreth barely notices how they shift around the room until he feels MC bump into a table behind her. Without breaking the kiss, Garreth picks her up and sits her on the desk. She chuckles airily as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The feeling of her body against his is utterly intoxicating and makes his head spin in the most delightful way. His hand slides past her thigh down to her knee, then lower stopping just inches from the hem of her skirt…

"What in Merlin's name is going on here!"

Instantly, Garreth's heart drops, and bright blush blooms on his cheeks. MC pulls away, flushed and disheveled and breathless, and Garreth would have liked nothing more than to take in the sight of her, but he cannot - not when his aunt somehow happened upon them.

They've been using empty classrooms for these little diversions for a while now, and perhaps, their luck was bound to run out eventually. Still, Garreth never expected that the first person to catch them would be his aunt.

When Garreth finally brings himself to meet her eyes, aunt Matilda's face is full of righteous indignation. MC hastily fixes her disheveled hair and hops off the desk to stand beside Garreth.

"I would have you explain yourself," aunt Matilda says, looking directly at Garreth.

"I'm sorry, Professor, this is all my fault - I was the one who…led MC astray," Garreth says calmly.

Without looking, he knows that MC's about to protest, so he takes her hand. "Please don't argue," he murmurs lightly, and, after a momentary hesitation, MC nods, making Garreth breathe out a sigh of relief - the last thing he wanted was for her to get in trouble.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Weasley," aunt Matilda says, and Garreth knows now that she's furious, "Instead of setting a good example for our new student, you are encouraging a blatant disregard of Hogwart's code of conduct. But I appreciate your honesty."

With that, his aunt turns to MC, "MC, I believe you have Arithmancy in a few minutes? You better hurry and get to it now - Professor Jones doesn't take too well to tardiness."

MC glances over to Garreth, who gives her a slight, encouraging nod.

"Of course, Professor," MC says then, "I will be on my way. My apologies for what…you've witnessed, it won't happen again."

"I sure hope so," aunt Matilda replies as MC walks past her out of the classroom. She waits until the door closes behind MC before turning to Garreth again, "Garreth, Merlin's beard, it's like you don't get into enough trouble already, now this?"

"I'm sorry," Garreth replies, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, "I just got a little bit carried away…"

"Carried away!?" his aunt exclaims indignantly, "Is that how you view it? Is that what you would tell MC's parents when she's had a child out of wedlock? Is that what you'd have me tell them when I'll inevitably have to explain that their daughter was debauched by my own nephew?"

"I don't think what happened here went quite far enough to cause that…" Garreth says before he can even stop himself. He has many flaws, but none of them have gotten him in quite as much trouble as his habit of making light of uncomfortable situations, and by the look in aunt Matilda's eyes, he knows it's about to happen again.

"You think this is the time for jokes?" she narrows her eyes, "Do you want to spend every free period, evening, and weekend in detention until the end of the year? Since, apparently, you have no understanding of the gravity of the situation - and the only way to prevent a scandal to our family and this school is to keep you physically away from MC?"

Garreth's stomach churns - he loathes the thought of not being able to spend the time with MC - so if his aunt wants him to play at contrition, he will do just that.

"I am very sorry for my behavior," he says calmly, "This will not happen again."

Aunt Matilda holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

"Very well," she says, "If you truly learned your lesson, I suppose two weeks of detention will do."

Garreth almost winces - he planned to collect some potion ingredients later in the evening - but doesn't show any discontent, as that would be the surest way to extend his detention.

"I understand," he replies, "May I go now?"

"One last thing," his aunt says, as he's passing her on his way out of the classroom, "If I hear even a whisper of a rumor involving the two of you that compromises MC's reputation in any way, I will personally ensure that you do the honest thing and marry her."

Bright blush blooms on Garreth's cheeks at her words. They haven't known each other very long, but he likes MC a lot, perhaps, that wouldn't be quite so bad, even if they are quite young…

"And I will also ensure that you are the one who has to explain everything to MC's parents regarding how the situation came about," his aunt finishes coolly.

Instantly, Garreth shudders, his daydream broken - even the thought of that conversation with MC's parents is mortifying.

It seems his aunt notices the change in his demeanor. "Very well," she smiles, "I trust the two of you will behave then."

#hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc

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attorneys-against-court-violence · 9 months

Text

The Magical Turnabout: Cleared!

Whoo! I haven't had a shot of the old AA charm in a while, but something about Case 6-2 clicked for me in that front! I suppose I should go through the old bullet points then, shall I? Let's do this!

(Cutting this off here because GOOD GRIEF are there a lot of thinks about this case)

TRUCYYYYYYYY! I'm so sorry for what DD has done to you, but I really liked her and Apollo here! Who knew that giving your character a stake in the plot and room to breathe actually makes them an interesting person to watch and root for? The legacy of the Gramaryes weighing on her shoulders, her dedication to her magic, her wonderful bond with Apollo... it all shines through, giving me a lot more to grab on to emotionally than in the prior game. In Trucy We Trust!

APOLLO JUSTICE IS DOING FINE! He's got something of a legacy to hold up himself, being the only one alongside Athena to hold the fort while Wright's away. And they were under serious attack, too - losing out on the office and a dear friend & daughter of Wright is a hefty thing to deal with. And yes, he's as jaded and snarky as he ever has been.

Athena's here. That's pretty cool. I'm not going to complain much about her not getting too much here, since this isn't really her story. She's still a god-damn riot and keeps up a charming dynamic with Apollo, and her righteous indignation at Retinz's shenanigans is pretty cathartic.

Ema gets a nice look here too! Showing her in a much happier tune after achieving her dream job - a little reminiscent of her younger years - while still keeping the snide built up from AJ. I do like the conflict of interest her with Trucy on the line. Seems detectives can't go a trilogy without someone they actually like being put in the slammer, but it's a nice crumb.

Case 2-3 was pretty fun in how it faked a magic trick to hide the real murder, but a lot problems got in the way of fully appreciating it. This doesn't have nearly the same issues and manages to make use of the inherent mysteries and mechanics of the magic tricks performed to its advantage. Even the main villain had a grander illusion to unravel at the very end - that being the mystery of how the victim truly perished. It was fun following along & seeing the show behind-the-scenes!

Bonny & Betty are fine. Both are sympathetic enough being admirers tricked into being accomplices in muder. Betty in particular seems scorned to all get-out, having to pretend to be the other for so long. Bonny has to deal with self-esteem issues and a slightly controlling twin sister. I liked them!

Roger. Motherfucking. Retinz. The man's got intelligence up the wazoo but that's about the only admirable trait I can assign to him. This man is easily the most despisable AA villain I've seen in a long time - not counting ones that are hateable due to bad writing, Dual Destinies - who almost managed to get one last cut in on Trucy before he vanished for good. He doesn't make his grudge a secret and his actions - both in setting up his schemes and his general behaviour - make him one awful son of a bitch. A mistrusting, dishonest, egocentric magician who stands in stark contrast to Trucy. Pretty dang good for a one-off villain!

Now then... you're probably wondering what I think of Nahyuta Sahdmadhi. While I'm not going to make sweeping judgements until I see the whole story, I do have some thoughts. Just bare with me.

Khura'in is a country that hasn't seen a Not Guilty verdict in over 20 years. Nahyuta didn't oversee Phoenix's first trial there and the next has yet to come. They have a poor opinion of defense attorneys and a deeply religious reason to want justice for the victim in order to bring them peace. Nahyuta is an asshole. I will make no illusions to the contrary. He is the product of a country that has - at this point - not had any reason to believe the accused isn't the culprit. It's probably not a fair system at all; Manfred's perfect record didn't come about by playing fair, after all. But that's the environment Nahyuta practices and was likely raised in as well. He's got good reason to be an insufferable prat at this point and it's clear we haven't seen the full extent of his character. His cultrue may have largely informed this side of him, but I do enjoy him being in conflict with Ema over indicting someone she knows and cares about. Ones duty taking priority over ones emotions seems like a hint at something... tragic. This is a man who's probably had to push similar feelings down and is well practiced in that, to the point where he's completely shut-off from someone he used to know. We have seen, however, that he is very open to learning about different cultures when the need arises. He went so far as to wait an hour to sample something as simple to L.A. as a burger - enough to be able to recommend a particular flavour. He's researched television programs, social customs, and is even willing to admit that cultrual differences means he might not carry things out as expected. It's one of the more charming parts of his character and I really do enjoy it.

His connection to Apollo... I don't really know what to say at this point. It feels like he occupies an odd middle-ground between Edgeworth and Simon in their debuts. Edgeworth because he actually bothers to talk with Apollo in the lobby, Simon because he's so closed-off that nothing really comes of that. I get what they're doing here - telling us that the prosecutor is someone from the attorney's past and telling us they used to be different - though it's missing something from Phoenix's and Edgeworth's spat in Case 1-2 that gave that scene more to chew on.

Frankly, I think I'll have to check out the rest of SoJ just to figure out if I like the guy or not. Dual Destinies - for as many mistakes it made at the end - did manage to get me to give a hoot about Simon, so maybe SoJ can do something nice with this guy. I've heard the contrary enough times to be cautious but I can't let outside opinion and heresay sway me on these things. Not anymore, at any rate. As before, I want to be damn sure my feelings are my own.

But first! Case 6-4. I've heard many a divisive thing about it - from the wonderful cast to the unfortunate treatment of its leading lady. I'll let you know what side of the coin I land on when I get to the end there.

Until next time! In justice we trust!

#case 6 2 watchthrough #spirit of justice spoilers #ace attorney spoilers

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peachymilkandcream · 5 months

Note

Au where Evelyn was born above ground and now she is one of Captain Levi's cadets please 🙏

Levi x Evelyn AU -> Captain's Orders

(A/N: Ooh I love a good power imbalance here, probably why I adore William x Reader so much. Power and reputation getting poor Evelyn and Reader to get what their men want is so gooood! Also we all know these end with Evelyn knocked up because we stan a good breeding kink)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, manipulation, mind breaking, violence, mine breaking, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, yandere themes, yandere behaviour, misogyny, etc.

===========================================

Levi rubbed at his temples, Erwin was getting on his ass about some riffraff pickpocket that the MPs couldn't be bothered to deal with. Erwin had said it reminded him of the good old days when he was sent to pick up Levi in the Underground and bring him into the Scouts, a taste of his own medicine. Why Erwin wanted another street thug under the banner of the Wings of Freedom was beyond him, but a stubborn one to break into discipline always excited the Captain.

Or at least he was excited until he was actually in the heat of the chase, now he knew why Erwin had such a stick up his ass after hauling in Levi and his friends, this was an ungodly amount of work. The little brat kept running, zig-zagging and slipping just out of his line of sight, the prick had it coming to him.

He slammed into the criminal, sending him to the ground. However as he turned the kid over Levi was hit the realization of what exactly this person was.

"Nice weather we're having isn't it ma'am." He couldn't help but smirk, the pathetic attempt at chest binding just looked unnatural and gave her masculine disguise away.

"What do you want with me? You're one of those Scouts, you guys think you're above everyone."

Levi rolls his eyes. "Of course you would think that, you're nothing more than a criminal." He hauls her to her feet, binding her hands. "Do you have a name?"

She smirks. "Well by first impressions I must seem like a cold and self-righteous asshole, so you can call me Captain Levi."

He rolled his eyes again. "Real mature. Now come on."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Our Commander has offered you a redemption for your thieving ways, becoming one of those Scouts and thinking you're better than everyone."

"And why the hell would I agree to that?"

"Because if not you'll get a nice vacation with the MPs, how well do you calculate you'll last there, especially as a pretty woman like yourself?"

She bites her lip in indignation. "You asshole."

"I'll take that as a yes."

==========================================

If he wasn't so prideful Levi would apologize to Erwin for all the shit he caused him in past, arrogant criminals did not make good soldiers. But unlike Erwin he was more determined to break whoever crossed his path. Those who did stand up to him usually did so on dares or because they had issues with authority, boys without fathers, girls who bought into the idea that women didn't need to listen to men. All of them were broken or dropped out, she would be no different.

It all started the same, more chores, food deprivation, beatings. Normally he regulated himself and didn't let things get too carried away but he wasn't trying to fuck the other Scouts. Evelyn, he found out her name was, had no family, no one to question him or take matters into their own hands. Those other girls were pretty enough but they usually had someone who would pry their way into his very traditional view of marriage. He reasoned if he was hard enough on her she would submit to him, more than anyone had before, becoming his little cum slut of a wife one day. That made it all worth it.

===========================================

Something was up with Levi, according to everyone else Evelyn talked to he was never this rough on anyone else, and how he kept ordering her to his office late at night. All of his demands when it was just them went from Captain and soldier to degrading and borderline sexual requests.

Evelyn wasn't always the brightest, relying on speed instead of thought to pickpocket from people for so long, which is why she only thought it slightly odd when one of her punishments was him bending her over and spanking her. Only later did she discover that this was very abnormal behaviour, but surely there was a reason.

All she could do was take his wrath as best she could, there was no way to fight back. And eventually she got so sore from all his punishments she even started talking back less and less, she wanted them to end. It was getting more and more frustrating as it went on, she was losing sleep, friends, time to herself. It seemed like their rough start made it so she would never been in his good graces. Finally she had enough and asked him outright how to win his favour.

"I'm sick of this Captain, what can I do to stop being punished so much? I've held my tongue and stopped talking back, I've done everything you asked. What can I do?"

Levi smirked at this, waiting for this day for a long time. Even when she seemed disgusted and repulsed at his suggestions she still submitted regardless.

It continued this way for a long time, sexual favours in exchange for special treatment. It wasn't so bad, one day he promised it wouldn't be like this anymore, he would take care of her. They would be happy together, and when he did choose to make her feel good those thoughts didn't seem so bad.

===========================================

It all came crashing down when she found out she was pregnant with Levi's child, no matter how much she begged for him to allow some kind of contraception he always found some excuse. Now she was bound to this man, at his mercy indefinitely.

She swiftly was discharged and wedded to the beloved Captain to avoid scandal. And she had to admit, this life was better than that of trying to survive off scraps and wondering where her next meal would come from. At least now she had everything she needed, at the low price of satisfying this stranger now her husband. What more could she ask for in life?

#attack on titan #break me slowly #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x oc #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader #oneshot requests

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dissolving-mansion · 2 years

Text

I'm having fun imagining a Malevolent x The Magnus Archives crossover.

******

A man walks into the Magnus Institute. Perhaps he is soggy or perhaps he is covered in soot. Perhaps he has a beard or perhaps gaunt serial killer-like cheekbones are completely unobstructed by facial hair. Either way, he radiates the energy of a man who hasn't eaten or slept in a long time and has more than the recommended dose of exercise for a man his age. He is dressed like a noir movie protagonist and his shoes look almost worn through. He is looking around nervously, as if he thinks the building and its staff might eat him alive.

******

Rosie passes the man on his way in and stops, pretending she needs to rearrange the files in her arms to hold them more easily. She watches him (discreetly) for a long moment as he seems to mutter to himself. She catches a dismissive "I don't want to hear it" and an annoyed "I *know* we're being watched" before his eyes swivel around to look at her.

He lets out a startled exclamation.

When he turns to look at her and Rosie Knows she is being observed by more than one thing.... But she works at the Magnus Institute, so she brushes the feeling aside and walks on.

All in all, this is not the most strange thing to happen here. Lots of statement-givers are like this. Rosie is just grateful that she's not the Archivist who will have to deal with this.

******

The man walks down to the Archives next (as anyone who owned any of the pairs of eyes that saw him would have guessed he would have gone).

He smiles and does his best impression of a half-way normal human being, going so far as to soften his far-too-posh voice into something he must think is normal and personable. He does not do a particularly good job at it but that does not phase Sasha at this point because she's worked with... Stranger things than a guy who probably just needs a good nap. Things she's better off distracting herself from.

Business as usual, she decides with a sigh. She processes him and waives him through to Jon before returning to the last probably-not-proper-archival-work-but-Sasha-does-not-remember-enough-about-proper-archival-work-to-question-it task Jon gave her.

She hears the click of the door closing behind him and pays him no more mind.

******

The man enters the office with a demeaner of quiet, slow observation. He is so carefully silent that Jon does not even look up from his paperwork until he hears the squeak of the old chair on the other side of the desk.

Jon looks up and sputters.

Across from him is a man about Jon's age — maybe a bit older — *staring* at Jon. His face is almost expressionless; cold and still as a statue. Despite that, Jon can feel his impatience, feel it rising the longer Jon takes to respond.

"Can I help you?" Jon asks, and the irritation in his tone not entirely put-on. Who is this man? Did one of his assistants let him in? He bets it was Mar—

The man laughs, sharp and bitter and almost maddening, immediately sending Jon's thoughts to a grinding halt.

"Are you the Archivist?" The man asks, sounding amused, but there are teeth under those words. The heat in them makes Jon's nerves feel like a live wire.

"Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute," Jon says slowly, almost cautiously (but he cannot admit to himself why his instincts tell him to be cautious). "Yes, that's me."

"Fucking cultist," the man mutters, seemingly more to himself than to Jon but it makes Jon's hackles rise anyway.

"Excuse me?" Jon says, summoning as much righteous indignation as he can muster, "If you came here to just insult me then you can leave."

The man looks at Jon again and Jon watches him release whatever tension he was holding. He is still frowning but at least Jon no longer feels held at gun point.

"I'm sorry," the man apologises, practically leaking sincerity. "It's just, it's just been a long week. I'm only here because I made a bet with something I should not have and he finds this kind of thing extremely funny."

"... Alright," Jon accepts (for a few reasons, only one of which is the fact that that sounds more or less like a half-way decent apology). He intentionally ignores the fact that the man said 'something' instead of someone, because between Prentiss and Leitner he could do without hearing about anything else that is 'spooky' ever again.

Jon's hope that the world of the supernatural, at its limits, is already known to him dies the second the man open reaches over his desk and turns his tape recorder on. When he speaks, eyes locked with Jon's, that hope is buried.

"Statement of Arthur Lester, regarding the truth. About all of it."

#fic I suppose #Malevolent fics #malevolent #tma #do not archive #Arthur Lester #John doe malevolent #Jonathan sims #Sasha James #Rosie zampano #Kayne is referenced but not included. He and Elias are laughing out loud.#dissolving fics #dissolving chats #08 #fics 08 #works 08 #08 malevolent #08 tma

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a-menaceinpink · 1 year

Text

Tales of the Jedi, Episode 3: Choices

Another Dooku-centric episode, taking place sometime after the TotJ Ep 2 but after Qui-Gon Jinn has been promoted to the rank of master. We get a Mace Windu appearance (king) and a deeper exploration into both Dooku and Windu’s personal politics.

1.1k Words because I have many things to say, as always <3

Episode Summary: Jedi Master Katri is killed on Raxus, but the Senator she’s protecting escapes entirely unharmed. When Masters Dooku and Windu go to collect her body, Dooku takes the orders of the Council into his own hands to investigate the actual cause of her death, as he thinks the whole thing is suspicious. It turns out to be an ambush by the Senator’s guard who are looking to kill the Senator for embezzling funds from the planet and exploiting the planet’s resources at the expense of the people who live there while living on Coruscant and generally avoiding consequences. It’s a good background for the philosophical debate between Windu and Dooku, who have two very different ideologies regarding the law and protocol.

Now let’s dig into those ideologies!!

So wrt Dooku, this episode only cements what was starting to show through the cracks in the last episode. From the way Windu reacts to Dooku wanting to disobey orders (or not disobey but. Go beyond what they were instructed, shall we say), it’s obvious that Dooku has a bit of a reputation for throwing the desires of his superiors to the wind in favor of following what he believes to be right. In this respect, he was strikingly similar to Anakin (Disaster Lineage strikes again <3). I also noted that he’s even more willing to start a fight than he was last episode. Dooku’s barely patient enough to get to the location of the supposed ambush before he’s drawing his lightsaber and threatening the Senator directly.

I’d also say that Dooku is even more unsteady in his faith in the Jedi Council than before or at least more aware of their failings, which in turn makes him wayyyyy more critical. He has no problem taking the side of the rebels (pre-Separatists?) against the Senate because, as established last episode, Dooku agrees that the Senate is corrupt and that the Jedi is at minimum percieved to follow the Senate’s beck and call. Basically, even before he’s showing signs of turning to the Dark Side of the Force, he would definitely be supportive of the Separatists cause as a group of planets seeking to free themselves from the largely exploitative Senate members.

I am left wondering how he turns to the Dark Side after this, since he seems to have such a righteous indignation at the way the Senate behaves, but more on that with episode four.

As we turn to Windu, almost the polar opposite ideology appears. Please note I do not mean that Windu wants to exploit people and supports a corrupt Senate. If you think that and/or hate Windu generally, we are not friends. Anyway.

Windu has a much more strict adherence to the rules. Even though he is ultimately glad that they are able to catch the true killer of Katri, he’s uncomfortable/unhappy with the fact that they had to disobey the mandate of the Council and ended up with the death of a Senator on their hands as a result.

But more than that, Windu doesn’t seem a stickler for the rules as much as he seems to have an unwavering faith in the leadership of the Council and the Jedi Code. He earnestly believes that the Council’s approach is one founded in discussion and decades, if not centuries, of experience and should therefore be respected. I don’t have much more to say on Windu, as he isn’t the focus of the episode, despite his ideology being the mirror in the political debate that the episode presents. That said, I think his behavior this episode is both in line with his behavior in later entries in the Star Wars saga (TCW, Prequels) and it’s a bit more depth than he’s given almost anywhere else, which I really appreciated.

Moving away from characterization and character motives, the political debate presented in this episode is one that has been argued to hell and back in basically every piece of media set in the Prequel / Pre-OG Trilogy era: Laws vs. Doing what you think is right.

Now obviously that’s an insane oversimplification but fear not. I’ll go on.

A central problem that’s presented in this episode is that the Senate is fundamentally corrupt. The question is whether the Jedi are complicit in this corruption. Obviously, as Windu states, they are keepers of the peace and thus should be (by their own code) standing by the citizens of these exploited planets and helping them find justice. Unfortunately, the Jedi do tend to follow the orders/requests of the Senate, which gives them the reputation galaxy-wide as basically space cops.

Over and over again, the question asks you through Dooku whether the Council can truly be following the right path is they’re defending those (the Senate) who are explicitly harming those who the Jedi are mandated by the Code to protect (literally everybody else). I don’t think they’re ever going to a come to an answer when it comes to this, although the episode does certainly paint Dooku in a sympathetic light in the same way Anakin is meant to be painted in a sympathetic light when they’re both denied membership on the council status and master status, respectively. You can make an argument for both sides wrt to whether they deserve that sympathy, but frankly I don’t care to argue that point. What’s interesting to the story is how this affects both of them.

I also do think their final exchange on Raxus is super telling for the overall state of affairs in the Jedi Temple: Dooku thinks that the Council is allowing themselves to be misled and thus that each should use their own knowledge (forgetting to slow down, have patience/compassion, or heed the advice of others) while Windu believes that the Council deserves their trust precisely because of it’s apolitical status, disinterest in ego, and adherence to the Jedi Code (forgetting that the Jedi Council can and has been affected by all of those things)

On an IRL politics note, the episode is super anti-industrialization (hello Tolkein my old friend) and asks the fundamental question of whether the rules/the law is worth abiding by if it means that innocent people will get hurt. Despite the short nature of these episodes, they pack a LOT of political philosophy in there.

#star wars rewatch #star wars #tales of the jedi #master dooku #mace windu #master katri #disaster lineage

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butmakeitgayblog · 10 months

Note

I’d like to know how Clarke and Lexa start talking at Gus’, how does it go from Clarke being disinterested in anything having to do with Lexa Dorkus Woods to Lexa helping Clarke study? And from that to just basically hanging out?

Honestly it just starts by accident.

After that initial run in with Lexa at Gus's where she basically made Clarke feel like an idiot for being so pretentious (and technically rude, but Clarke chooses not to think of it that way 😤) about coffee in the quaint little shop, and then the fucking debacle at the gay bar that followed, Clarke kind of has a very annoying itch to go back and set things right.

Not as in to apologize for either run-in.

No, she wants to go in there and set the record straight that she is Not some privileged big city twat. That actually,,,, Lexa was the rude one, if you really think about it, because she didn't even know Clarke like that. And also, like, ok, her point still stands. Who the hell doesn't have an espresso machine in a bookstore/bakery shop?!

Basically Lexa had gotten under her skin and Clarke really fuckin hated how she couldn't seem to shake it. So, bright and early a few days later after her initial bruised ego had quit smarting quite so much Clarke marches herself back across town and all but slams her way into the shop.

Which is... anticlimacticly empty.

So much for a grand entrance.

Instead she's left standing at the counter for a good 5 minutes, working really hard to keep up the head of steam she had created on the walk over. Eventually she just starts to wander around the place, realizing pretty quickly that in her 18 years of life she'd never taken the time to actually do that. Had always just blown throw the place with her rag-tag group of friends in tow whenever they'd scrounged up enough money to buy a few treats, before blowing right back out again.

She runs her fingers over the extensive collection of arts and science books. Kinda marvels at the fact that such a relatively small space could house such a wide and meandering selection. She sees titles that range from the antiquities to the turn of modern art, and honestly nothing about any of these scream out titles Old Man Woods would have chosen to line his shelf.

She's not really paying much attention to what she's doing. More engrossed in just being nosy and trying to see what other treasures this funky little place has when she opens a door she assumes goes to another selection, but instead finds herself standing on the shop's back porch...

... With a set of round green eyes staring right at her.

"Uhh," is her extremely intelligent response. Because every last word of her well rehearsed tirade flies out of her head at the site of prim and proper Miss. Perfect Lexa sitting on a glider, smoking a cigarette.

"If you were looking for the bathroom, turn around and take a left."

Head still completely due to the fact that she's fairly certain she's stepped into the goddamn Twilight Zone for the second time in one week, Clarke lets her eyes follow the path of the glowing tip as Lexa brings the cigarette up and takes another drag.

"Those will kill you, ya know," is really all her short circuiting brain can manage.

Lexa snorts out a laugh without any hint of a smile through an exhaled cloud of smoke.

"Now that would be ironic."

It feels like Lexa's making fun of her. Like she in on some joke that Clarke is just too stupid to possibly ever get. And, oh right, that actually reminds her, she'd come here for a reason.

But... trying to refind that same righteous indignation is so much easier said than done. Really just finds herself frowning. Because, yet again, it's occurring to her that while she'd thought she'd known this girl to a T, it's becoming obvious she knows nothing. Which wouldn't bother her that much... except she'd spent the better part of her life convinced that she did. But putting that image up against this new vibrant one of an openly gay women who drank and smoked cigarettes?

Suddenly nothing about this girl made any sense.

It takes Lexa snapping her fingers a few times to get her attention which is fuuuucking humiliating.

"What?" she practically bites back because how is she constantly on her back foot with this girl?

But all Lexa does is tip her head to the side like a puppy. Considers her with those searching, soulful eyes for a moment before speaking.

"I asked if I you where here for a coffee or something," Lexa says, using the hand still holding the half-burned cigarette to motion to the porch around her. "Though, I have to warn you. We don't keep a secret cappuccino machine stashed back here either."

Little shit...

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Very funny. And yes, I was. Or. I am. But there wasn't anyone —"

Why the fuck does she make Clarke feel so jumbled and undone...

"Right, of course," Lexa cuts her off in a flourish, snuffing out the cigarette on the bottom of her shoe and popping the butt back into the pack. She's up and out of her seat before Clarke can really even finish the entire thought. "Black, no sugar, two pumps of creamer, right?"

"Uh. Yeah," is the only thought Clarke can dumbly string together at her surprise that Lexa would even remember.

The next thought has her eyes staying glued to the red and white pack still in her grasp.

Call it an instinct after having been raised by a doctor for the first 18 years of her life. Call it a petty and childish need to shock this girl just to get even. Call it payback for constantly managing to make her feel so off balance and seeing an opportunity for revenge. Whatever it is that fuels her next movements, Clarke doesn't really bother to think about it as she stops her with an innocent, "Can I see those real quick?" and reaches out the second Lexa moves to step past her to snatch the pack right out of her hand.

Clarke feels victorious in the moment when she can't get more than a garbled yelp of "Hey," out before they're both watching the pack fly in a wide arc through the air and land scattered across the alley about four businesses down.

Lexa looks back at her with wide-eyed shock.

Clarke just shrugs and gives her a grin.

"They slipped."

Lexa is not amused.

But strangely doesn't argue.

She just storms back inside and goes about making up Clarke's order, pointedly putting it down on the counter in front of her in a To Go cup.

Naturally, Clarke decides that's actually an invitation for her to kick back and stay awhile. And that the stoney silence that settles between them for the rest of the morning means she really must come back the next day as well 😈

One day turns into two. Two turns into three, and before Clarke knows what's happening, she's been to the little book shop every single day that week.

But she never catches Lexa with a cigarette again...

#anon #a walk to remember au #AWTR synopsis

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euhemeria · 11 months

Text

As If Anything Could Escape This Wind

Angela wraps an arm around her, then, tucks her head against Fareeha’s shoulder. “You know I’m no good at goodbyes.” An understatement, if ever there were. “Is this one?” She has to ask. “No,” says Angela. “Not yet.”

Fandom: Overwatch Rating: G Characters: Fareeha, Angela Category: F/F Warnings: N/A A little thing about yearning, and the goodbye Fareeha didn't get. AKA Happy Lesbian Pharah Day to all who celebrate! On ao3.

Some people are at ease with quiet, with stillness, but Fareeha much prefers to fill silent moments, when she can. Often, new acquaintances mistake it for unease; that is not so, she simply has enough silence in her life already, the quiet of her empty apartment when she comes home, the long hours, mostly uneventful, guarding Anubis, the waiting, between assignments, when everything is still. She has time enough for introspection—it is not, as some assume, anathema to her, is not counter to her open nature—and prefers to enjoy what time she has with others to the fullest.

The same cannot be said for Angela, sitting across from her at the low table in her living room, pensive. Even after two years in Cairo, half of what Angela owns remains in boxes, but Fareeha is over for tea often enough that this room, at least, is properly furnished, two chairs, a couch, a table, a teacup for them each. Tonight, ‘ahmar, sugar in Fareeha’s and a liqueur in Angela’s. The former is customary, the latter reserved for only the most stressful days.

Normally, Fareeha would ask why—would offer an ear, or a shoulder to cry on, if need be. Tonight, she knows.

“The recall,” she says. They both got it. A surprise, and an unwelcome one; even if Fareeha appreciates that Winston called her back as an agent and not merely an asset, like her mother kept her relegated to for years, the invitation reminds her of that familiar disappointment, the rejection. She thought she was over it, has built a healthy, happy life for herself here, at home, one free from her mother’s meddling, and in a job she can fully call her own, but it still stings, a little, to think about, opened back up a well of anger that she thought had long since run dry.

Winston invited all of the agents back, but why would she go back to somewhere she was never truly welcome?

“You too?” That draws Angela out of her brooding, at least for a moment. Her eyes are focused again, sharp as they find Fareeha’s face.

“Yes,” Fareeha confirms. “Meant for me, not Mum.” It feels an important thing to clarify, somehow, brings back a little of the old defensiveness, she is good enough. “Not that she would have answered it.”

If it were anyone else, Fareeha might have said it differently, might have made it clear that she means that it is because Ana is ‘dead,’ but Angela knows otherwise, has been here for Fareeha as she has grappled with the pain of knowing that her mother is alive, still, and will not speak to her directly, the grief, the second loss. Another rejection—and Angela has supported her throughout it as the pain turned to anger, to resignation.

Likely, Angela would say supported is overstating things. Interpersonal issues, particularly familial ones, are not Angela’s forte, but she does righteous indignance well, and serves good tea, so she listened quietly, when Fareeha needed her to, nodded and put a comforting hand on her knee, was angry on Fareeha’s behalf, when she needed someone to tell her that what her mother did was Not okay, and was there to hold Fareeha, when she cried, pulled Fareeha in close to her chest and rubbed soothing circles on her back until she quieted. For Fareeha, that was more than enough, even if Angela never quite has the right words to say, she always has tea to drink and makes time to listen. Few other people can say the same.

In fact, Fareeha is relatively certain that no one else in her life can, not in the way that Angela does. Somewhere along the line, she passed from being a friend to one of the most important people in Fareeha's life—and is certainly the most important positive relationship Fareeha has, her most significant support system, the person she wants to celebrate her accomplishments with and to whom she can complain about drawbacks. With how much time they spend together, it feels, often, like more than a friendship.

But that is a dangerous thought.

It would be easy, too easy, to slip into fantasy, to read too far into all the little habits Angela has, to imagine that the way she curls into Fareeha, on the good, easy nights is an affectionate gesture, and not just a familiar one, to tell herself that their role as confidantes is proof that she, too, is the most important of Angela’s friends, to let herself imagine, when Angela tells her it is too late to walk home, and insists Fareeha sleep in her bed, that she wants it to be an invitation, but is too afraid to say as much.

That is ridiculous, though. Angela is never, ever afraid to speak her mind—sometimes to her own detriment. If she wanted Fareeha, Fareeha would know, because Angela would have said something by now, surely. She knows Fareeha is a lesbian, has for years, and was more than aware of Fareeha’s crush, when they both were younger, even if she does not know that it lingers, still, has deepened into something else, has been tempered by their friendship not into familial fondness but to love. If she wanted Fareeha, she could have her.

But she does not—at least, she has not said as much, and to Fareeha, that is as good as the same. The only reason Angela has for not voicing her feelings, if she has any, would be that she does not want to pursue them, because Angela is not much one for discretion, or tact.

Fareeha finds that charming, most of the time.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Angela says, cutting through Fareeha’s reverie, words spoken as she sets down her cup, careful hands always gentle as they need to be with the porcelain, even when the rest of her motions are sharp, forceful.

“That they sent the recall notice to me?”

A shake of Angela’s head. “That your mother wouldn’t answer it.”

Fareeha can agree, but, “Do you not think I should go?” She has no plans to, is at home here, in her life, has her job, has her friends, has her little interludes in Angela’s perpetually box filled apartment. She does good work, she helps good people, she is more than content, and finally, finally is starting to be recognized as her own woman. Why would she go back to Overwatch, to the organization that allowed her mother to sideline her for all those years?

A pause, a purse of Angela’s lips, “I didn’t say that.”

“That’s not ‘No,’” and if Angela meant No, she would say it.

“It isn’t you,” Angela is quick to reassure. “I don’t think that anyone…” She trails off. “You know how I feel.” She looks down at her hands.

“I do.” There is no use retreading it. When it comes to Overwatch, Angela’s ambivalence is well established, and it is too easy for her to get in the weeds about it. Fareeha has no interest in another two hours of hand-wringing about the right thing, when they both know that there are only less-wrong choices. Not tonight.

Angela does not seem to want to go into it either, not this time, and for a minute, two, they lapse back into silence, Angela contemplating and Fareeha finishing her own tea. If Angela has not spoken by the end of the cup, then she will say something, but for all that she prefers conversation to quiet, she knows, too, the value in giving people time to think. It is clear from Angela’s posture that she is considering something, eyes fixed on her lap as one hand picks at a loose thread on her trousers. There is no use rushing her, at least not yet.

And, selfishly, Fareeha is a little afraid of what comes at the end of this silence. Is Angela considering leaving? If she is, what will Fareeha say? What could she? I’ll miss you does not cover it, but she cannot begin to say what Angela has meant to her, these past few years, not without acknowledging this thing that hangs in the air between them, and she is afraid that, if she says it, if Angela does not feel it too—what would she do then? It is not worth the risk, shattering their delicate peace. She could not bear to lose this.

So she lets it linger, just a little longer, whatever Angela is thinking, even after she finishes her cup.

And, for once, Angela moves first, looks at her sidelong, a little anxious, maybe, to be ask the question, “Are you going?”

“No,” Fareeha says, and she hopes that is the answer Angela wanted to hear, hopes that Angela is staying, too.

“Good,” Angela says, wraps an arm around her, then, tucks her head against Fareeha’s shoulder. “You know I’m no good at goodbyes.”

An understatement, if ever there were.

“Is this one?” She has to ask.

“No,” says Angela. “Not yet.”

Maybe later, is the implication, but Fareeha is okay with that, okay with Not yet, because for now, at least, she is content to wait, to sit in this in between time with Angela, to just be. For now, the quiet is a comfort, is a gentle blanket draping over them, is a shield against the words Fareeha wants to say—and their consequences.

“Good,” is all Fareeha can say, “Good.”

Let the silence linger. She is not ready for goodbye either.

#pharmercy not quite canon but CLOSE ENOUGH FOR ME #AND LESBIAN PHARAH... I WIN! ME!!!#rory writes fic

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the-darkdragonfly · 1 year

Text

New Chapter!! Obliviate: A Dramione Tale

Chapter Three - Samhain

The end of the war is nearing, and its not clear which side will win. The hunt for Muggle-borns is intensifying and Harry knows he needs to hide her. Save her. With no family, Hermione starts a new life in America, unaware that the man she meets at the library one day used to be a schoolmate. A wizard.

Narcissa Malfoy is desperate. The Dark Lord has ruined everything now with his sights firmly set on her son once more, she does the only thing she can think of that might keep his safe. She obliviates him, sending into the Muggle world where he stands a chance at a safer life, even if it’s without her in it.

♥️♥️♥️

Ummmm.... so it's the middle of December, sort of... somehow???

Gross.

I'm sorry! I meant to post this last month but things are dumb and I'm much later than I wanted to be.

♥️♥️♥️

“I have had an idea,” his suite door flew open, revealing a wind-mussed Granger, her hair curling around her head as she unwound the red and yellow scarf, coiled around her like a sleeping cat.

He had given her a keycard-mind you don’t lose it, please- the week prior, after having been alerted by the front desk staff that a friend was waiting for him in the lobby and while they did wish to provide him with the privacy he deserved as their Most Distinguished Guest, would he perhaps be amenable to meeting his friends outside the hotel and escorting them himself? He had laughed, finding Hermione red-faced and brimming with self righteous indignation, her harsh whispers- I’m not God damn Julia Roberts- accompanying her stomping, angry footsteps as he ushered her into the lift. He had promised to clear it up with the front desk immediately, and had placated her by pressing a spare card into her hand.

Since then, she’d become unpredictable- get yourself a cell phone and I’ll call you ahead of time, how ‘bout that?- in her visiting hours and he was both delighted and confused to find more and more of her belongings making his set of rooms their permanent home.

Draco looked up from his tea, the sitting room, in perfect order from housekeeping hours before, once again looked like a discount clothing store, Hermione’s belongings being flung around the space like confetti. He swallowed a grimace and raised an eyebrow instead. She plowed on, her coat joining the heap of outerwear on the cream coloured armchair before flopping down beside him and stealing a biscuit from his tray- I swear to God, woman, you were raised by wolves, do use a saucer this time, I shall beg if I need to- her pale pink scrubs smelling faintly of antiseptic and what Draco had privately referred to as Eau D’Old Person.

“Since I am the only one out of the two of us who is clever enough to have a drivers,” she stopped to pick up her tea mug, sans saucer, and take a careful sip of the Earl Gray he had ordered- pleb- ignoring his barb, “I think we should rent a car and go to Salem for the day tomorrow.”

“What’s Salem?”

“A town,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate-covered digestive. “I saw it on a pamphlet at the front desk. It’s only an hour away.”

He raised an eyebrow again.

“They had witch trials there, it’s quite famous.”

“Witches?”

“Yup.”

“Real ones?”

“Obviously not,” she rolled her eyes, snatching another biscuit before he could bat her fingers away- use your saucer- and popping the whole thing in her mouth, “witches aren’t real.”

♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here.

Read my other stuff here.

Tagging 🥰 (i would love love love to add you - just let me know!)

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xxdeliriouslybookishxx @mysteriouscatstellation @batana54

#Obliviate #a Dramione Tale #the darkdragonfly #draco x hermione #dramione #dramione fanfic #muggle world draco #memory charms

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forwritingjustcause · 1 year

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(Flesh and Bone - Sammy Rae)

The children of Sanctuary played within earshot. It was some fuss about heroes and villains, dragons and their slayers. It was timid, and yet so bold. They had never seen such things. She was sure of it. It was her gift to them.

“And what do you think you are doing, young Knight-King Ji-Ji? Stepping into my lair like this?” Ferri’s voice was pitched down in a facsimile of age and gravitas, the barely suppressed smile leaking brightly, “Surely you know this is beyond even you…”

“Nothing is beyond me! Killin’ big bad lizards is what I do!” Always to the point, Ji-Ji was. Just ten, she didn’t know yet how serious Ferri took his play-acting.

“Lizard? That’s no way to speak to your … murderer!” Ferri growled. The inevitable retort from Jian-Jian was interrupted by the sound of the heavy impact a fourteen year old’s tackle makes. It always went the same way. The scenes never lasted long when they were just an excuse to wrestle.

Aberrant smiled with her teeth. It was a mean-looking thing, strained and bloody as it was, shivering like it was fighting back against something. At least it was honest. And it was the best she could do.

The already ghastly image was further marred by another wave of crimson, shooting out with a barely suppressed cough and dribbling down her chin. It was freshly followed by a wave of furious pain, sitting heavily in the brand at her chest before leaking into her veins, catching in their walls, screaming into her muscles with reckless abandon. Still, she made no sound.

“Argh, it’s not fair!” Ji-Ji managed from underneath a heaping mound of thoughtless boy, “I’m s’posed to be a big warrior king but you’re so much bigger than me.”

“Oh? And you think the dragon’s are gonna fight fair Ji-Ji?” Ferri laughed unabated, “This is practice.”

The statement was shortly followed with a sort of strangled yelp, then the elated giggling of victory and a well-deserved raspberry.

“Oh yeah? Well I can be cheap too, idiot,” A small thump quickly elicited another groan from the felled child, “How’s it feel now?”

“Ferrin Ilstedt!” This was Yve now, pounding the pavement so loudly in the children’s direction that Aby could hear them from all the way on the second floor. For a moment, she shivered at the thought of the reprimand, then laughed. It could hardly be worse than this.

Yve is good people. They’re steadfast and unambitious, prone to fits of righteous indignation and teaching fervor. They loathed the outside world more than most, and had a good head on their shoulders to keep the children mostly in line when the weaker passersby needed rest from whatever ailed them. In all, they kept Sanctuary running, just as well as Aby did. It was symbiotic.

But they were an unpleasant cad when provoked.

“How dare you make such a slop in front of the Shrine? You look an absolute disaster, and you’ve sprayed mud all over the walls! Have you learned nothing of respect in your little lives? After all Sanctuary has done for you, this is how you treat us. Unbelievable. I should have you both exiled.”

There was a beat. Everyone knew when Yve was being overmuch, including themself. That didn’t mean anyone was excited to point it out. Aby was tempted enough to help that she almost began the process of extricating herself from the floor, but another pulse of pain knocked her right back on her ass, eliciting a gasp as the oxygen was forcibly pushed from her lungs.

“But Auntie -” Ferri began.

“Don’t you Auntie me Ilstedt, you will clean this up right now before I go find someone else to do it, otherwise so help me I’ll put you on senior duty so long you’ll need someone to clean out your own bedpan by the time you’re done.”

Before Aberrant could catch her next breath, her mark pulsed again. She felt it sear this time, the smell of burning skin instantaneously lifted into the air, adding to the painful nausea that sat in her bones and made her feel all out of balance. It was a bad episode. Worse than normal. It had been ages since she’d worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She gasped desperately, still clutching at her own throat as she did so.

Fuck. They’re going to hear me. It was her own voice screaming silently in her head, begging her body for silence, but the mark would not cooperate. Another wave of pain crashed into the other and she spat, the blood coming up from her throat mingling with the scream from her lungs to create a sad gargled noise. She clutched at the windowsill desperately, nails cracking under the pressure.

She was back in Cyr. The skin under her fingers crackled with strange energy. The nuns looked on with horror. She was sixteen. A black ichor drips from her fingers. The thief who would have killed her convulses violently. His eyes turn to pitch as she watches. She’s eighty, and she begs for her life as her collarbone withers under its magic. She’s thirteen, the blue sparks of a simple mending spell are turning red. She’s thirty-six. She wears a shirt that exposes her collarbone so that the guildmaster can see. She’s marked. She’s poisoned and she is poison. They give her the job. She’s eighteen and she is hungry. She steals to survive. The food spoils in her hands. She’s forty-two. Yve is screaming at the doorway. Yve is placing their hands on her throat, desperately casting a healing spell. Yve is holding her face, making eye contact yelling, Don’t die on me you stupid bitch Sanctuary needs you still, don’t make do this, don’t make me cry, you told me it was fine, I swear to the gods I will bring you to a necro if you die just so I can kill you one more time, please gods Aby I’m begging.

She’s forty-two. Her lungs clear with hacking cough and spit, Aby clutches her friend close. She mumbles and they cry. She brings them close and she is comforting.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Aby croons, “I’m okay, I’m okay. I’ll always be okay.”

“You could’ve- you could’ve died Aberrant, I-”

“It’ll never kill me, Yve. It’s never killed me.”

And just like that, she was crying too.

And I've been striking matches to watch ‘em burn in my childhood bedrooms, ooh/Little time, little water and light, little seed, every bud blooms, oh

#Aberrant #Eberron #ttrpg #fiction

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