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notquitecanon · 5 months

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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."

"No promises."

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.

____

Ambushed in the night.

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.

And Astarion? Their target?

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.

"SHADOWHEART!"

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader #astarion x you #Astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 fanfic #Astarion self insert

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carowleysposts · 1 month

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Good Omens makes me feel scary things. Let’s talk about it.

So, before I start, I think it’s important to clarify that I am neurodivergent. I have autism and GO is one of my strongest hyper-fixations ever. I am so emotionally and mentally invested in it I could talk about it for days on end and every single detail of this show makes me love it more.

But there’s a really really dark flip side to this love, and I would love to see if there’s anyone else who struggles with it too:

I think I care a little too much.

Although I am aware that this is somewhat “common” for people in the spectrum and my doctors all have confirmed I am not a complete nut case for it, I almost never feel comfortable admitting to those in my life that a piece of fiction has such a strong hold on me and my mental health. And as much as I love everything we’ve seen so far, all the little things I hear and read about season three give me heart-stopping waves of anxiety that are definitely not normal.

Like, I am constantly scared of what will happen, as if it was happening to me. And I know it’s embarrassing, but my brain is simply wired differently, and it feels so awful not being able to talk about it with my friends in real life.

Sometimes I feel like my day is ruined because I read someone say that they think S3 won’t have a happy ending, or that they probably won’t kiss or end up together or something bad like that. And even though I know it’s just fiction, it gives me stomach knots, as it is such a powerful part of my life and I think about is so much.

I have even come as far as to take breaks from Tumblr and mute some words on some social media platforms so that I won’t read Neil’s responses to questions - because they ALSO make me fear terribly and give me crippling anxiety, like when he said it won’t be romantic, or when he says stuff that make me worry for the future - and won’t hear speculation or even be reminded of other stuff people say.

And before anyone asks: Yes! I am fully aware it sounds absurd. And yes, i absolutely do feel crazy and embarrassed about it, but unfortunately this is the reality of many people in the spectrum and many neurodivergent people in general.

I do work, I am a ballet teacher and an author, so of course I have many other things to worry about and do and of course I have a life full of responsibilities and relationships and different pursuits to keep me from actually thinking about it nonstop. But still, even though I am busy and distracted most of the time, every now and then these feelings and worries come and punch me in the gut, and it completely paralyzes me for long moments. I feel kinda sick? I don’t know.

So I guess what I am trying to ask is: do you guys know of anyone who feels the same? Like, is there anyone else who feels like their mind has been absolutely taken over by fiction-related anxiety? And also: what should I do about it? I feel like absolutely no other piece of fiction compares to this one, and my mind simply won’t stop.

Help pls.

#good omens #aziracrow #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #gomens #angel #gomens s2 #prime video #anthony j crowley #crowleys bentley #aziraphale x crowley

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bella-goths-wife · 4 months

Note

Hi! I want to say that you are great at writing the yandere bowers gang. I also wanted to ask if you could do more of them. You can do whatever comes to mind.

The worst things the yandere bowers gang have done to ballerina reader

Thank you so much for the compliment :)

I never really do much for bowers gang since I started them during a hyper-fixation on the movie IT and once I’d moved on I forget to keep writing for them.

I tend to start a series when I hyperfixate on the characters or premise behind it and once I move on i unfortunately tend to stop posting about it but I’m trying to stop doing that!

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, sexual assault, physical abuse, verbal abuse, physical injuries, forced relationships, forced affection, yandere behaviours

I do not condone or intend to romanticise any and all of the warnings used, I am only writing about them for entertainment purposes and I do not believe in romanticising abuse of any kind!!

MDNI!!!

Henry bowers:

The worst thing Henry has done to you is really hard to narrow down in your mind, he makes your life a hell on earth every day so nothing stood out as the worst

Until the day you accidentally made him jealous

A boy from your ballet class had stopped you after class to ask you a few simple questions about your specific techniques during the duet the two of you had

The boy made the mistake of mentioning This duet in front of the entire bowers gang, earning him deadly glares and your pleading look for him to just shut up

You expected Henry to blow up at you the moment the boy left, but he stayed quiet the entire walk back to your house

Which was even more terrifying

Once you all reached your home, he sat you down on your couch and told you a story from when he was a child

He told you about how when he was younger he had a favourite shirt that he wore to school everyday because it was his only clean shirt, but one day his shirt was taken and he had to go back to his house shirtless and in tears as he told his mother what happened

“Do you know what she told me, sweetheart?” He had questioned with a sinister look “if you don’t want someone taking what’s yours, you should put your name on it”

He commanded that the other boys hold your squirming body down on the floor as he got his pocket knife out

He pulled up your skirt and revealed your thigh before carving his initials onto your upper thigh as you screamed and cried in pain

He didn’t cut deep enough to require stitches, but it was deep enough that he was sure it would leave a mark on you forever

Once he finished, he let you lay on the floor in shock and pain for about ten minutes before commenting on what a mess ‘you’ had made on the floor and commanded that you clean up the blood dripping onto the floor

You cried as you cleaned before getting up and trying to care for your injured thigh

As an added bonus to his cruelty, if you backtalked/ got angry at him for the injury, he would grab some salt from the counter and would put in his palm before covering your injury with his hand and rubbing the salt in it

You had to start wearing thicker tights to ballet after that, but the boy had gotten the message

His broken ankles and bruised face had told you that the boys had told him exactly who you belonged to

Patrick:

You’d never felt comfortable around Patrick, ever

He wasn’t as feared as Henry was and he wasn’t as strange as the other boys, he just made your skin crawl

His touches would linger on you for so long that you’d want to carve the skin off just to rid yourself of his touch

But all increased when you were left on your own with him for a night

Henry had told Patrick to stay over for the night on the usual Friday ‘date’ night that you and Henry had, Henry reasoned that Patrick deserved a reward for helping him so much lately

The night started off with forced cuddling during a movie after you had made him dinner and you wanted it to end after the movie but Patrick had different ideas

He followed you to your bedroom and told you that he wanted to sleep in your room for the night

Now normally Patrick was around the other boys so his forced affections had a limit that stopped him from doing anything that made you too scared for your own safety

But but not tonight, tonight it was just the two of you and that thought made you almost wish it was Henry in Patrick’s place

Patrick forced you onto the bed and proceeded to grope you as you cried for him to stop but he didn’t listen

He continued to touch you for his own satisfaction until he grew bored and he laid you down in your bed and cuddled close to you

You remember thinking that him sleeping on your chest was possibly the gentlest thing he’s ever done to you as you cried yourself to sleep in the arms of your abuse

Once you woke up, you notice that Patrick was being unusually nice to you and even defended you from the other boys when they got to rough

This continued for a few weeks until it wore off and he began to be meaner to you then before, that’s when you realised

He saw being kind to you as a repayment for his assault on your body

And you feared the next time he would come to collect his next payment

Victor:

Victor was a very possessive person, he always thought that anything good in his life would be torn away from him

And he saw you as an extension of that, he knew that you were too good to be true and that one day someone would take you away from him and the others

That’s why he reacted so badly when he found out about you sneaking off during class to smoke with Beverly

He knew he couldn’t make it so you could never be around people, but he could definitely make it harder for you to interact with people away from him

He cornered you one day on the way back from your little smoke break and pushed you into the janitors closet

He pulled the pack of cigarettes out your pocket and he pulled one out before lighting it and putting it in your mouth and making you smoke it

He let you get halfway through before he pulled up your shirt to reveal your ribs and holding it there

He took the lit cigarette from your mouth and put it out on your bare skin

You cried in agony at the burning sensation but victor quickly silenced you by pulling out another cigarette from your pack and lighting it and forcing you to smoke it again before putting it out on your ribs

He continued to do this until you ran out of cigarettes, so you had six cigarettes burns on your skin as you cried and begged for mercy

He claimed that it was a punishment for smoking when Henry forbade you from smoking, but that was only a half truth

The real reason was the fact you were interacting with someone outside of him, you were with someone who wasn’t him and it made him furious

After the punishment, he kissed your forehead and left to go back to class

The rest of the boys didn’t believe you when you told them about what happened, they simply stated that victor wasn’t aggressive enough to do that

He was, and he’d do much worse to that Beverly girl if he saw her hanging around you again and being a bad influence

Belch:

Out of all the boys, belch was always the one who was easiest to manipulate

He craved your validation, he needed your approval but most of all he needed to see you dance

He saw your dancing as the one beautiful thing in his life, his sole source of comfort and entertainment

You trusted belch, not a lot but way more than you trusted the rest

And he had caught you at a vulnerable moment when he found you crying in your bathroom with a look of pure horror

He asked you what was the matter and you just broke and fell down to the floor

He held you close, too close to the point it was painful, and he tried to comfort touch

He asked you again what happened and you cry your heart out as you admit that you couldn’t take much more of the constant abuse

You told belch through your cried that you thought about ending it just to get away from them

Belch stroked your hair as you cried yourself to sleep in his too tight hold before he put you in bed and walked to Henry’s house

When you woke up, all the boys surrounded your bed before Henry commanded Patrick and victor to hold you down

They do and Henry and belch stand in front of you before Henry tells you that belch had told him everything you confessed to

He was furious that you thought anyone could take you away from them, even yourself

He told you that he was going to take away something you loved as a punishment before making you try and guess what it was going to be

You guessed everything from your cigarettes to your bed, you only got your answer when belch took a hold of your ankle

You cried and begged and pleaded for mercy, saying you’d give anything

You reasoned that it could stop your ability to dance, and belch seemed hesitant and that but Henry calmly told him that he’d take that risk for you to learn your lesson

Belch was a strong guy, you knew that, everyone knew that

He was the muscle of the group for a reason

But his strength never really came to your mind until he started applying pressure to your ankle in a agonising way

He broke your ankle as you screamed and cried but Henry simply forced a shirt in your mouth to keep you quiet and forced you to make eye contact with belch

The boys forced some painkillers down your throat before leaving

Belch returned as quickly as he could in his moms care only to find you still writhing in pain on your bed

He put you in the car and rushed you to the hospital where he made sure to pay for you to have any medical treatments necessary

He lied to the doctors and told them that you’d simply tripped and fell down the stairs to excuse the bruises that layered your body and your broken leg

The doctors reassured you that it was a clean break and that you would be able to dance after a few months of resting and wearing the cast

You sobbed your eyes out at the thought of not being able to dance for that time and every time belch tried to comfort you, you’d practically shove him away

When the doctor left you alone, belch begged you to look at him and he pleaded that it needed to be done and he didn’t want to hurt you but you needed to be punished

No matter how guilty he felt, you had never been more accurately aware that this boy was not different from the rest

You’ve never looked at him the same or trusted him again since

#slashers x reader #yandere henry bowers x reader #henry bowers x reader #yandere belch huggins x reader #belch huggins x reader #belch huggins #yandere victor criss x reader #victor criss x reader #victor criss #patrick hockstetter x reader #yandere patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #yandere bowers gang #yandere bowers gang x reader #bowers gang

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sixeyescurseuser · 5 months

Text

(1)

The temple curse Geto absorbs has a certain side effect; One that will strip away all the affects of his suppressants.

He calls Shoko immediately. There’s no one else he trusts. Yaga-sensei would find this a pain to deal with, not to mention Geto’s placement at Jujutsu High would be at risk if he’s seen as a liability, and-

Geto would rather claw his insides out then admit to Gojo about being the so-called “burden that would drag them down on missions.”

Using his manta ray curse, Geto gets himself back to campus grounds and rushes to the infirmary where Shoko has already prepared a room in the isolated basement.

Geto has never gone through a full heat, only diluted ones because of meds he began taking once becoming a jujutsu student. Everything completely overwhelms his senses. His body aches already, and he’s beyond light-headed.

Bless Shoko, man. She made sure to get some blankets, pillows, and clothes from Geto’s dorm to bring into the heat room. If she includes some of her clothes and Gojo’s jacket that she stole when he took it off to train just an hour ago, then that’s their secret.

“You know he’s gonna find out, sooner or later?” Shoko states, watching Geto gain a burst of energy as he meticulously arranges his nest.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Geto says absent-mindedly, holding up a dark blue jacket that’s doused in the scent of cotton candy and faint gunpowder.

Shoko sighs heavily, about to point out the fact that Geto is currently hyper fixating on the exact jacket of who they’re talking about.

The sound of sniffles makes her bite her tongue.

There Geto is, holding the jacket up to his nose, clearly basking in the scent. Except tears pool in his eyes, the first few slipping down his cheeks.

“Satoru is going to h-hate me,” Geto chokes out. Shoko blinks, taken aback.

“He’s not going to hate you-“

“Yes he is! He- I lied to him! I’ve been lying to him,” Geto whimpers, subconsciously nuzzling into the fabric that smells like his best friend. The scent of a panicked omega fills the room.

Shoko quickly walks up to the bedside, putting her hand on Geto’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright. Gojo may be petty, but you’re his closest friend! He adores you,” Shoko says softly, rubbing Geto’s arm comfortably.

Geto merely shakes his head, which begins to pound with a sharp pain. He can’t think rationally, the only thoughts pointing to Gojo’s betrayed reaction.

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“Geto…”

“Which is why you can’t tell him about this,” Geto concludes, eyes narrowed as he scrutinizes his friend. “Shoko, promise me.”

Shoko makes the promise. She says she’ll be in periodically to check on Geto, make sure he’s drinking water and eating what little he can stomach.

After Shoko leaves, Geto’s heat continues to burn him from the inside out. That night, he lays in his nest, which feels like it has a crucial piece missing.

The dark blue jacket lays shoved beneath his pillow.

***

Gojo knows something is wrong. He’s very irritable, snapping at everyone and everything. It doesn’t help that Geto hasn’t talked to him since that conversation.

Naturally, Gojo’s been replaying their argument in his mind over and over again.

Why did Suguru get upset?

Angry. He was angry, Gojo corrects.

The itch under Gojo’s skin continues to get worse. When there’s no sign of Geto returning on the day his mission was supposed to end, Gojo is positive something is wrong.

He goes to Yaga-sensei first.

Yaga-sensei doesn’t reveal anything, saying he hasn’t heard from Geto.

Gojo forgoes asking Nanami because apparently he's also pissed at Gojo for whatever he said the other day. Asking Haibara is out of the question.

So without anyone else to bother, Gojo heads to the infirmary.

Right as he enters the front door, Gojo is hit with the most intense wave of chocolate, with a hint of lavender. A scent he’s never smelled before, as that’s sure as hell not Shoko’s citrusy scent.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Gojo heads for the stairwell that leads down into the basement. The scent grows stronger and stronger the closer he gets to the bottom.

A voice in the back of his mind tells him to fucking get a grip: a weird, enticing scent that has his body moving on its own? Major red flag.

But alas, Gojo isn’t thinking clearly. And he’s still hung up on how obviously upset and disappointed Geto was with him. If Gojo can’t do anything right in the moment, he may as well do what his instincts are telling him - to follow the scent of chocolate and lavender.

Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps coming up reveals Shoko, who blocks the path to the rooms in the basement.

“Gojo,” she acknowledges, a hint of surprise on her face. In her hands, she limply carries an empty tray.

“Yo,” Gojo says dumbly. Shoko clicks her tongue, unimpressed by the innocent grin Gojo sends her way.

“You can’t be here.”

Gojo levels her with a determined expression. His subconscious knows who is in the basement. Shoko knows there’s no stopping him, so she reaches up to pinch Gojo’s cheek - HARD.

“You hurt him, I make you wish you were never born.”

When Gojo walks into the room, his brain short circuits.

The scent he was smelling had belonged to an omega.

And that omega was Suguru.

(3)

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #ieri shoko #jjk headcanon #satosugu fluff #satosugu headcanon #satosugu fanfic #TBC #cerdrabbles

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your-local-catsitter · 7 months

Text

so uh this headcanon on ao3 has been ripping my brian apart piece by piece. and usually i never get interested into something enough that i post about it- but DAMN has scarab taken over my mind.

this was written whilst listening to laufey very loudly, so sorry if it doesn’t make sense since i was also jamming out.

this follows the headcanon that scrabbey used to have wings, because all scarab beetles have wings. but in f&c we can clearly tell that scrabbey doesn’t have wings.

my take on this is that scrabbey used to be more laid back, which i think is why him and prismo first started dating. since yk prismo is the type of guy to not make a fuss, when scarab now loves to prove a point. (in a very messy way)

i think that once scrabbey got sent on a mission to capture a cosmic criminal but got distracted by the world’s scenery and delayed the job to admire the view. and in cheers (ep. 10) when fionna world gets canonized we see the boss’ phone come out of nowhere, maybe hinting that the boss sees everything no matter what.

so i think that scrabbey got caught not doing his job, which caused orbo to get in trouble. and then orbo got upset that the boss was on his ass, and took out the anger on scrabbey. taking his wings and his antennas, i think this is also why scrabbey has a cane.

the reason why i think that’s why scrabbey has/needs a cane is because my main hyperfixation is cats. and cats whiskers are really important to them, it lets the cat now if they can fit in a area if they’re whiskers fit. and they use whiskers to sense other animal’s presence since their eyes aren’t too well. so idk much about bugs so since yk cats are my hyper fixation. buttttt!! i think that scrabbey’s antennas served as a bugs form of whiskers, and whiskers help cats keep balance! so scrabbey may have trouble standing up straight without his antennae’s causing him to need a cane!

i think that prismo and scrabbey also broke up because of scrabbey’s wings and antennas getting taken, since ik when cats get declawed they start acting out since they can’t protect themselves. i think since prismo is much bigger then scrabbey (both in two dimensions and in scrabbey’s of form) he felt the need to protect himself.

so maybe scrabbey started acting out (as a cat would start biting after being declawed) and hurt prismo both physically and emotionally, causing them to break up.

and as the author of the original head canon has mentioned on ao3, this also helps explain to us why scrabbey wanted to hurt prismo’s world so badly, most likely upset or and jealous about prismo getting off the hook so easily whilst it cost scrabbey his bug features.

blargh uh thanks for reading that laufey induced mess, you’ll probably hear back from me in like 6 months.

#scarab the god auditor #fionna and cake #scarab fionna and cake #headcanon #prohibitedwish #just a little #beautiful stranger is such a good song #laufey

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eureka-its-zico · 19 days

Text

A Body of Stars

Ongoing series

Synopsis: With a galaxy at war, it’s hard to distinguish the stars from the metal of UNSC ships. You were told about the war that waged between the UNSC and insurrectionists; your planet opposing them since you were born. Your enemy was meant to be the UNSC and the Spartans they created, specifically John-117 - the Master Chief. Except, all isn’t as black and white as you were raised to believe, and the galaxy holds secrets far darker than you could’ve imagined.

Pairing: John - 117 x F!Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, Halo TV series/Mass Effect mashup

Warnings: mentions of war, violence

Word count: 11.7k

A/N: Alright. As hyper fixations go, the Halo series (and let’s be real, Pablo is a menace) has my ass in a chokehold. That being said, season 2 was amazing and made me want to work on a small fic that blended the series and my love of BioWare’s Mass Effect. Mass Effect is my favorite sci-fi space game about galactic war, friendship, love, sacrifice. I could rant but I won’t. There will be mentions of certain ME things in here, like the reader having biotics, to go along with the lore of the halo series. So, without further ado: its back story time. I hope someone out there enjoys this and as always, thank you for reading 🖤 much love, Jenn

Year: 2521

•Shadow Sea cluster•

•Lera system•

Destination: Laconix

ETA: 13 hours

The Midsummer Night came out of slip space without a hitch.

Not that he’d been worried. It was one of the few things that Captain Jacob Keyes hadn’t worried about during this current mission. What, or rather who, currently worried him was standing less than ten yards from him and came in the form of his ex-wife. He risked a glance where Dr. Catherine Halsey was hunched over with her nose deep inside another holopad.

Those holopads had been one of the many reasons why their marriage fell apart.

There was no doubting the brilliance her work contributed to the scientific field or the war effort. All of her research was the stepping stone humanity needed in terms of augmentation and the human genome. The contributions Halsey and her Spartans made towards this never-ending battle against the covenant saved lives, but, and it was a big but, Jacob knew that Halsey’s methods were questionable, at best. Hell, he’d been a part of those questionable decisions, driving the helm, while she did what she deemed was necessary.

Vital.

So, Jacob Keyes knew without her ever having to say a word that something was off. The Midsummer Night and the Pegasus holding Halsey’s darling Spartain-III’s were meant to go for a routine extraction. Intel indicated one of the leaders in the insurrectionist rebel groups, Kahn Montrello, was located on a planet within the Lera system of the Shadow Sea cluster. It was a typical snatch-and-grab unless they were met with resistance.

Halsey requesting to tag along was more than just a surprise. It was suspicious. Jacob knew Halsey didn’t do anything without purpose.

“Tell me again why you’ve insisted on inserting yourself into a routine mission dealing with insurrectionists?”

Halsey hadn’t even looked up from the damn holopad to acknowledge he’d walked over.

“I’m just here to gather some data while the Silver Team is dispatched to help your marines on the ground.”

Jacob’s boots scuffed against the metal of the bridge as he moved closer to her. His eyes on Catherine’s back - willing her to turn, to acknowledge him - as her gaze held tightly to the readings she’d taken from a tablet from her lab. The data was transferred to the larger scale computer in the bridge’s main console. Halsey’s eyes roaming endlessly through data Jacob himself knew he’d never understand without her help.

“Come on, Catherine. That may be the bullshit you fed Parangosky and the other admirals, but don’t feed me the same lies and expect it to go down smoothly.”

Halsey broke away for the briefest millisecond from whatever data she was reading. Her eyes skimmed over him before returning back to what was more important.

Research in the name of human exploration always was.

“It’s not bullshit. Data collected in the field is highly valuable for furthering my research; proof to Parangosky the Spartan research is worth her continued funding.”

“That’s a nice speech, Catherine, but I know that any collected data during the mission is recorded and sent back to your lab for analysis. So, when are you going to start telling me something honest?”

Honesty.

Asking Halsey to be anything other than secretive was like asking a tiger to get rid of its stripes. Jacob knew even if she told him - really shared - it still wouldn’t be all of the actual information. Key pieces of information - the most valuable - would be forever stored within her; leverage for another day.

Whatever it was she could see on those holopads had her sky blue eyes wide in excitement. Halsey wouldn’t be able to contain it - hide it - for much longer. If the small rise at the corner of her mouth was any indication, all Jacob needed to do was push a little further. Find the right words to spark a rush of hypotheticals that might turn out to hold some truth. If she didn’t crack yet, it would take one more well-placed question and she would cave.

“Jacob,” her voice was breathy, tinged with unrestrained joy. “I think I found something.”

“What are you talking about, Catherine? Found something?”

More cryptics. More hoops.

A sigh heavy with years of fights - conflicts - departed his lips and Halsey rushed to recover some ground. Her body quickly took back the space he left to place her hand gently on his bicep. The grip was soft but demanding that he stay close; pleading with him not to pull away.

Halsey needed him.

“A few weeks ago the UNSC sent over old documents from companies they’d disassembled. Conatix was one of them.”

It wasn’t hard to spot the confusion that deepened the lines in the crease of Jacob’s forehead and scrunched up his nose. His eyes roamed her face searching for a tell, but if Halsey had one she’d never show it.

“Conatix was an old UNSC factory that produced our warships-“

“Yes, I know.”

“Why would you be interested in anything about warships?”

Halsey scanned the room to make sure no one was watching - no eyes lingering on the two of them - before she directed her attention back to him. The caution that darkened her eyes shifted with a spark Jacob knew all too well.

Halsey had found something. Really found something.

“Usually, nothing of value would be of interest in old documents and schematics for warships but, while scrolling through the files I stumbled upon an encrypted file.”

“UNSC documentation is always encrypted when it’s being shipped out to-“

“To be destroyed, yes I already know that, Jacob,” Halsey cut in. Her body directed back towards the holopad that she carefully picked up. Her fingers darted across the screen hunting for the files in question. “But this was different. It wasn’t schematics or calculations - it was redacted - sealed documents about an incident.”

No sooner had she started Halsey was finished. Her hand reached out to give him the holopad and waited patiently for him to take it.

“Go ahead.”

Jacob looked around the ship's bridge to make sure no one was watching. He needed to be careful, not necessarily for Halsey’s sake, but for that of his crew. He should’ve known - did know - Halsey had a habit, a bad one, to go above the chain of command to get what she wanted. That leverage she saved for a rainy day coming in hot to throw around pawns and pieces as she saw fit to get her way.

Cautiously, Jacob secured the holopad from her and started looking at the documents, or what little he could see. Almost with every swipe all he saw were broken links and documents with holes of information missing. Sentences that formed into two words with the rest gone or replaced by shapes and numbers. An elaborate break in the code.

“I was able to decipher most of them. Get back what information they tried to hide-“

“Catherine,” he whispered her name in warning, not for himself, but for her.

“Jacob - this wasn’t about warships or weapons or schematics. Something happened. A ship they’d used with element zero - eezo - had leaked out over a few colonies. A hole in one of the port engines that wasn’t caught in time.”

“Catherine,” Jacob pleaded again, “This isn’t news or anything that concerns you or me.”

Halsey wasn’t going to back down. He knew she wouldn’t. Not when the sheer joy of finding something undiscovered was close. The science behind furthering human evolution. The moment he realized what this was - what he held in his hands - Jacob knew his eyes were saucers. The sudden shock of realization stunning him to the spot.

“Children, Jacob,” Halsey practically laughed. “The pregnant mothers who were infected by the particles gave birth to children with eezo ingrained into their nervous system. The abilities these files claim they saw…it’s like nothing I’ve ever read.”

In her excitement, Halsey reached out and took a hold of his arm. The startled warmth of her touch was enough to knock Jacob back out of his daze. His eyes skimming one more time over impossible things he saw in diagrams Halsey recreated.

“Even if that was true, you don’t even know if any of them are still alive or where they are.”

With her lips curved up in victory, Halsey plucked the holopad from his hands.

“Yes I do. We’re headed there now.”

————-

“You get caught staring up at the sky again and Caster is going to throw a fit.”

“When isn’t he throwing a fit?”

Your question wasn’t meant for an answer. The words barely made it above a whisper while you kept watch on the green hued light that streaked across the sky like a river. Calling it green felt like you were doing it a disservice. You knew it was more than that - the way it moved with purpose across the endless blue above. The different shades that reminded you of the grass on which you stood and dark as the forest that surrounded you.

“Come on,” Thao called over his shoulder. Your name calling from his lips like it would be enough to coax you forward. “I want to get back to actually enjoy what little of my day I have left.”

“You can enjoy it now,” you reminded him.

It took a few more seconds - another millisecond after that - for your eyes to turn back to the world around you. The snap of a branch somewhere off to your right informing you Thao had taken off without waiting for you to catch up.

“Not when my friends are back at the colony having fun without me. And I’m out here looking for dumb ass yaks.”

A small tut of disapproval clicked at the roof of your mouth. Your stride easily brings you closer to the shorter eleven-year-old boy. It allowed you to gently ruffle his hair. Your efforts were greeted by a grunt of annoyance with his hand grabbing at your wrist to gently shove you away.

“And just think, you would be there now, doing whatever it is you troublemakers do, if you and your friends hadn’t set a flare off inside Caster’s hut. And don’t disrespect the yaks.”

Thao’s eyes disappeared inside his head as your elbow gently nudged his shoulder. You must be making some kind of progress, because this time he made no move to push you away.

“Old man deserved it. Always hoarding the chicken eggs.”

“He owns the chickens.”

“So?”

“So,” you drawled, “it means he owns the eggs. Owning the eggs also means he gets to distribute them however he sees fit.”

“How is that fair? You know he gave Lydia and her kids three eggs last week? Three eggs. What is a family of five supposed to do with that? It’s not right.”

You knew what Thao meant. You understood the feeling of anger that burned into sadness and ultimately to the ash of defeat. Kahn allowed those who proved useful in the fight against the UNSC to have a majority hold on most of the items in the colony. Those who allowed themselves to be shuffled around an unseeable chessboard like pawns.

Willing to die, to give up everything, at his disposal.

All in the name of fighting a government who grew more powerful everyday. The UNSC sharing their own videos of propaganda that showed thousands upon thousands of soldiers equally willing to die for a cause, and Spartans being the unmovable force needed to shift any battle back into the UNSC’s favor. It was this very reason Kahn looked for those desperate enough to join, to do anything he asked, to win.

A devoted father agrees to be a walking bomb to blow up a UNSC building? His family is rewarded with food, wood, and blankets to help make it through the harsh winters. Attempting to infiltrate a building to release a virus, whether you were caught or not, Kahn took care of your family. It could be with livestock, guns for protection, or even the yaks whose pelts made the biggest profit at the markets.

Every loss of life was just another reminder of the men and women who slowly disappeared from the colony. A senseless loss of life. You were still trying to figure out what it was for; what purpose you hadn’t been able to see, because for every life lost in the pursuit of justice against the USNC, their numbers only grew. The colony's numbers, however, weren't so lucky.

“You could turn this war around.”

“I won’t kill for you, Kahn.”

You swiftly whipped your head to the side to rid yourself of the memory. Your eyes narrowing on the green rolling hills on the other side of the treeline. That was where you would find the yaks grazing. You gently patted Thao’ss shoulder - for whatever comfort it would give - before you moved forward to take point.

“That’s because it isn’t fair, Thao.”

“See! Even you agree,” Thao huffed out your name. His small body broke into a jog to match your hurried step. “If anyone in the colony would be able to kick his ass, it would be you.”

Your feet were turning before you’d even realized it. Your body answered the piercing spike of adrenaline in your blood with your hands shooting out to grab his shoulders. The action made you crouch a couple inches until you were face-to-face with Thao. Your eyes scanned wildly across his features reading nothing but uncertainty.

“Don’t ever say something like that out loud again, Thao. Do you understand me?”

“I was only saying-“

“I know what you're trying to say. The answer is no, and if Kahn or any of his dumbass lackies ever heard you even mention something like that we are both as good as dead.”

“But-“

“Tell me you understand!”

If anyone asked why you felt the sudden surge of panic ripple over your skin, you wouldn’t be able to say, or place where it stemmed from. Technically, the both of you were out in the safety of the mountain fields and away from the prying eyes of Kahn’s dictatorship. Lost behind a sea of forest, the rolling fields of green, and poppies that puddled around you like blood.

You’d seen what Kahn and his insurrectionists were capable of. Any whisper - false or not - and the person went missing. Kahn ruled the colony with the fear generated by the UNSC, but cultivated his own like the boogeyman.

“Yeah I get it. Whatever.”

Thao shrugged out of your hold and turned away from you. His pre-teen feet stomped a path out of the tree line and out into the field. A sigh left you, worn and heavy, as you watched his retreat.

I Should’ve been softer…

You let out a huff of air as a hand scrubbed over your face. It was supposed to be a simple ‘herd the yaks back to the colony’ type of day. Not grovel to one of the only people - kid or not - who wasn’t afraid of you.

It was your turn to jog after his retreating form. Quickly, you noticed that he didn’t even look up to acknowledge your presence. He wasn’t sending jokes about being an old lady (you were twenty-four, thank you very much) whose brittle bones could snap under the strain of being a person. You would’ve taken being called an old lady than suffering through the silent treatment.

Gently, you nudged his shoulder with your elbow. When he didn’t turn you tried again and again until, finally, you were rewarded with him turning an annoyed side-eye in your direction. You gave him your best apologetic smile and carefully looped your arm around his shoulders to bring him in close.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I was kind of an asshole.”

“A major asshole.”

“Okay. I’ll accept that major part but only for today.”

“If there was an asshole award, you would’ve taken home the prize-“

“Okay, geez. I get it.”

You both settled into a comfortable pace with your arm still draped over his shoulders. Your mind raced back to the last time you’d been able to do this. Thao had been younger - shorter - and with the rate he was growing, you soon might not be able to reach him. Soon, Thao might not care for your company.

“You know, I am surprised you didn’t fracture an ankle running after me at your tender age.”

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” you grumbled in mock annoyance.

You ended up having to shove him away just to try and hide the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. The sound of Thao’s laughter at your weak attempt at being mean - he 100% knew it took way too much to even make you raise your voice - made the crack of a smile begin to form.

The yaks were about another ten or so feet ahead of you both. Their massive bodies moved in slow steps while they grazed along the long grass. You weren’t sure if it was their adorable long bangs that made it impossible for them to notice you right away (doubtful) or if they just didn’t consider either of you a threat (possible). Either way, they didn’t startle as the two of you closed the remaining distance. Didn’t jump up to try and kick or gore either of you with their horns when Thao produced the ropes from his satchel.

It took a grand total of ten minutes, maybe less, to have all seven of the yaks securely held in makeshift collars from the rope. Their large bodies begrudgingly followed the two of you as you gently pulled the lead, forcing them to give up their meal of dewy grass and follow you back through the treeline.

“You know,” Thao cautiously began, his eyes skimming between you and the trees. “This might be a lot faster if you just…ya know, float them up.”

“Float them up?”

“With your blue magic.”

This time you weren’t able to hide your smile as you shook your head.

“It’s called biotics, Thao, not blue magic.”

“Blue magic sounds waaaay cooler than ‘biotics’. Who even came up with that lame name, anyway.”

“You can thank the good folks at Conatix for that one.”

One of the yaks pulled back on its lead forcing you to give a slight tug back. You could understand if they were tired after eating, but you really didn’t have time in your schedule for yak naps. A huff of air came from the nostrils of the yak to drive home that it wasn't happy not having its nap. Or maybe it was the berry bush it was after, either way, napping and eating stops were prohibited.

You weren’t aware the conversation had died until Thao’s voice interrupted the silence.

“Is it true that you were born like that?”

His question was timid - afraid he would upset you. You were used to the questions; the stares. You remember sitting with your parents in a room, about Thao’s age, when Conatix came back around trying to clean up their mess. Said mess being spilling eezo from their ships across planets that later infected children. While some pregnant mothers had children like you, exposed to element zero in the womb creating a nervous system made of eezo, a majority were far less lucky. Children born riddled with tumors or horrific physical complications that left them in pain their entire lives.

You were supposed to be a lucky one.

One of the lucky ones they’d been trying to take back with them to their laboratories. A lucky one meant to be bought by a substantial fee that your parents quickly declined. It was the last choice they ever got to make for you before they mysteriously died in a tragic accident off-world.

“Yes.”

You didn’t feel lucky and maybe it was the way the words crumbled out of your mouth. The way they sat suspended in the air in a swirl of regrets and dead wishes that Thao knew you didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about your past or anything that reminded you that what you are - who you are - has felt like one big burden. You wondered, most nights, if there was a possibility that curses could be born.

————

The rest of the walk back was filled with an awkward silence. You weren’t sure if it was one you’d made by your lack of response, or if Thao no longer felt like talking. A part of you feared the image he’d held of you since he was young, full of mystery that made you seem cool, was slowly becoming destroyed. You knew it was a matter of time before it happened.

You were an anomaly.

Children saw you as magical, while adults believed you could perform some kind of mind control or read their thoughts. It was the main reason Kahn wanted you to join the resistance. Who wouldn’t want someone who could read thoughts and control minds on their team? You’d know when and where attacks could happen and make them blow up their ships from the inside. Unfortunately, for Kahn, the only thoughts you could read were your own and, as of right now, they were desperately shouting at you not to lose one of the few friends you had left.

Even if they happened to be a young boy who was notorious for being the most talkative kid in the colony.

With a few more steps up the hill, you both came to a stop at the top of the hill. You took in the thatched roofs of the huts that lay scattered in a misshapen circle of rows. The outer ring of homes were made of clay and the only splash’s of color came from designs being painted on the sides of homes or flowers planted in the yard.

The middle ring was meant to be for men like Kahn and his commanders; men and women of importance so that they lived closer to the final, smaller ring, of storefronts and farmers. The middle circle was left open and featured a large walkway down the center of town and out into the hills.

Kahn specifically had the colony built this way. The walkway was the most important, because Kahn believed it was good for his people to be able to watch those that fought for their freedoms return from another victory against the UNSC. You knew it was more about parading around having people kiss his ass than for uplifting any kind of morale.

It was the same path that Thao and you took now as you brought in the yaks from the mountains. You knew it wouldn’t be long until you got them back inside their pen and with the irritated snorts and tugs on their leashes, the yaks knew it too. The sound of multiple small feet came rushing in on Thao’s side and the faces of a few village children came into view. They made sure to stop just before they got in the way of a yak.

“Thao, can you come play?”

“Not yet. I have to finish this choir for Caster.”

A lot of groaning ensued and you felt your free hand reach over the back of a yak. Your fingers waving for him to give you his leashes. Thao’s brow raised in question and you only answered him by pointing at the leash and waving him again to hand it over.

“Hurry up and give them to me before I change my mind.”

You were trying to be grumpy. The way any elder in town would complain about the youth of today being too soft and not knowing the meaning of hard work and blah blah. You were sure they were all just stuck in super grouchy mode from having to be an adult with responsibilities for too long. And because of that, you knew, instead of looking grumpy, a smile was already brightening up your face. Thao’s face lit up in response and his eyes darted - unsure - from up the path and back to you.

“Are you sure? Caster -“

“Will never know that you didn’t help bring them all the way back. Now, like I said, hand over the lead before I suddenly have a fit of amnesia.”

He didn’t need further prompting. Thao’s hand smashed the remaining leashes into your waiting palm and turned on his heel to run off with the other kids. A soft, “thank you,” calling out behind him.

You didn’t waste any more time watching their retreating backs as they tore down a small alleyway between huts. You had your own things that you still needed to finish today. As you continued on your way, you greeted people who were outside in their gardens or hanging up laundry. Some of them returned your greetings of, “Hello,” with grunts with their backs turned to you or hurried inside. Apparently, if they didn’t look you in the eye or were behind the safety of a wall it kept you from using your mind control powers.

You were willing to bet Kahn had something to do with that latest lie about your make believe abilities. If you wouldn’t fight for him, why not cause a little mass panic in your presence. You being the monster and him, the hero, forcing you to toe the line. No ‘mind reading’ unless it was for the ‘cause’.

As you neared the pen in front of Caster’s shop, you started to rotate the leashes tighter in your hands. You were positive if the yaks felt a slack in their leash, they would attempt a revolt. They also weren’t the biggest fan of the metal pen of broken down ships Caster created to house them; the metal of an old hatch door from a USNC frigate - rusted and covered in moss - groaned as it opened. A sound the yaks knew well and instantly sent their hooves stamping into the muddy grass.

“Alright, ladies, I don’t want any trouble. It’s time to get your butts back in here - whoa!”You shot around with a start as one of the yaks gently bumped its nose against your back sending you forward towards the pen. “None of that,” you mumbled. Your index finger pointing at your chest then back to every single one of them. “Your home, not mine. Now go.”

With a cautious glance over your shoulder you took a step forward leading the herd inside. It wasn’t until you’d begun to remove their leashes that the familiar sound of a man clearing his throat brought your gaze up to search the fence. It didn’t take long for you to find Caster leaning against it. An arm hanging over while the other held up whatever self-righteous bullshit questioning he was about to spew.

“Where’s Thao?”

“He helped me bring them here, Caster. I sent him on his way once we reached the pen.”

“That’s not what he was told to do and you don’t have any authority to change orders.”

Every word reached you like a slap in the face. Caster’s irritation was evident with the click of his tongue. You tried to keep your face neutral; your gaze fixed on one of the yak's as your fingers ran through the tangled fur. You gave one final pat to signal your departure before you walked back to the pen’s exit.

“I wasn’t aware Thao had to be the specific individual to deliver a bunch of yaks inside the pen.”

“Bullshit,” Caster snarled your name. His body closing the distance between you as you stepped through the pen entrance. “You can try and play dumb with me all you want, but we both know you aren’t that damn dense. Thao can’t shut up even for a second in his sleep, and you’re trying to tell me the boy magically didn’t complain the whole time he was with you?”

Caster invaded what little space you had once you stepped fully out from behind the pen. The door hadn’t even closed yet before Caster rushed you, attempting to trap you between him and the metal. The cold gray of his eyes roamed your face waiting for you to break at his intimidation.

One of the Shadow Sea’s three moons would have to explode first before that ever happened.

You jammed the cool metal of the pens chains into his chest. You didn’t bother to see if he would catch it when you released it. You knew he would, and when Caster did, you made sure to take a step towards him forcing the older man two options; hold his ground or back up. You weren’t surprised when he did the latter.

“You’re right, Caster, I’m not that damn dense. Close up your own fucking pen.”

You didn’t give him the chance to reply. The first step you took forced him to take another step back, your shoulder ramming into his as you pushed your way past him.

Could you have gone around?

Yes, but, no matter what, it felt a lot better being petty for a couple of seconds than pretending for a second you cared.

It didn’t take Caster long to find his bearings. The sound of the chains rustling in his hands and a slew of curses thrown at your back were the first to greet you before he yelled after you: “Just wait until Kahn hears about this!”

“Yea, yea,” you mumbled.

You were willing to bet no matter how the exchange between Caster and you went, Kahn was always going to hear how it went. Good or bad. Caster yelled something else at your retreating back. You responded with a wave and continued back down the main path before you veered off course into a smaller path. It was one you knew well since you were a child. One you knew led to your grandparents' hut.

Smoke rose from the clay chimney and you knew, before you entered through the doorway, you’d find your grandfather working to dry his latest clay pots by the fire. Your grandmothers weathered fingers working tirelessly with a needle and her beadwork scattered over the small table. It was only a few days before everyone with goods left to try and sell them at the Market. You moved through the small space stopping to kiss the top of your grandmother’s head before you gently took over for your grandfather.

“And where did you run off to this morning?”

You didn’t have to look up to feel the weight of your grandfather’s stare. His scrutinizing eyes waiting for you to give him a response knowing full well it wasn’t going to be the one he wanted.

“There is no need to worry, grandpa. I was nowhere and everywhere all at once.”

“That sentence alone turned what little hair I have left white.”

“All of your hairs’ already white.”

“Precisely my point,” he groaned.

The soft chuckle of your grandmother cut through the tension in the small room. Your eyes now directed to the open flame and focused on turning the pot slowly with the tongs. The last thing you wanted to hear on top of giving your grandfather white hair and an early grave was ruining a pot he’d worked on most of this morning.

“Would you two stop it? I’m sure she has a perfectly good explanation for why she was missing this morning. Don’t you dear?”

Your grandmother sent a coy look in your direction and you couldn’t wait to completely crush her dreams. While your grandfather believed in hard work, your grandmother believed in finding a good spouse who could provide for the imaginary great grandchildren she’d already named.

Either that or joining the resistance.

“I was out helping Thao rally up the yaks that ran away this morning.”

A sigh so heavy escaped from your grandfather’s chest that you could’ve sworn all your ancestors before you joined him.

“And there it is.”

The soft call of your name forced your attention back to where your grandmother now sat idle. Her hands placing the beadwork and adjoining needles on the table. Her small frame turned on the bench to make sure she had your full attention.

“I’m happy you want to help but you already know Kahn will-“

“Will throw a bitch fit. Yeah, yeah, I know.”

A smack on your arm sent you jolting back in surprise. Your eyes cautiously roaming over to your grandmother to see if she was going to hit you again. With how tightly her lips were pressed together, you had a feeling, with some of the things that came from your mouth, the possibility of her doing it again was imminent.

“Whether you like him or not, Kahn is our leader.”

“No, he is your leader. Kahn will never be mine. A real leader doesn’t sacrifice their people to gain information or so they don’t get locked up inside a UNSC prison.”

“And do you think there is someone more fit to lead if he was gone? Who do you think would run the rebellion?”

“Plenty of more competent individuals could step forward to take his place if he wasn’t aro-“

You realized you sounded like Thao who, hours before, you’d shushed him into complacency. Your fear for his safety was paramount over how right his words might have been. And here you were doing the exact same thing inside your grandparents hut.

“Enough!”

Your grandfather wasn’t known for raising his voice and when he did it was usually out of desperation; a fear that surpassed anger that delved into worry from the unknown. You could see it now etched into every wrinkle that creased in the sagging skin of his sunburnt face. The way he tried to hold onto the anger before it was swept away by something he wouldn’t voice in fear of giving it a name.

“Whether you like it or not, Kahn runs this settlement. He is the only one working here to free us from the tyrant that is the UNSC! At least he is doing something, which is more than I can say for my own granddaughter!”

“Ernest,” your grandmother’s voice cautioned.

“So you want me to just let him use me like some kind of weapon?”

You no longer cared about holding the pinchers over the fire or the clay pot - your grandfather's life’s work - held delicately between them. As you stood up from the stool you dropped the pinchers and the sound of clay cracking tapered over your shuddering breathing for just a moment. You moved away from the fire towards a corner of the room closest to the door. The thunder in your ears drowning out the shouts of your grandmother; your eyes coming in and out of focus as you tried to ease the panic from your veins.

It would only take a second - a fatal second of panic to fill the room with a cobalt hue of flame that would ruin everything.

“Kahn offers you a way to use your gift, to teach you how to use it, and better help our people and you spit in his face!” He hissed. “Your parents gave their life for the cause-“

“And what has Kahn given!?” You hadn’t meant to scream. Each word laced with a grief stricken with rage that only bloomed brighter over time. “He asks families to give their husbands, wives, their children to fight his battles and what the fuck does he do for us?!”

“Why can’t you ever see that you can help save us? Kahn can help teach you how to control it.”

“Help me control it or control me?”

“You ungrateful child.”

His words hissed through the air and buried themselves in the hollow of your chest. Your feet involuntarily took a step back, ready to flee the hut, ready to find peace in the hills of the forest when the collective raised shouts of the villagers rang out from behind the walls.

“UNSC vessels spotted!”

It was the distraction you needed to escape the hut. The shouts of worried men and women pushing you to rush outside and greedily take gulp after gulp of fresh air until the flare, the warmth, of your power began to dig back inside your skin. When you dragged your gaze away from the grass you were greeted with villagers running back and forth. The ones who sprinted down the open lane back out towards the open forest only ended up coming back moments later.

You made your way out into the crowd, weaving in between the bodies to get to the heart of the circle their bodies created. They all stood in large huddled groups; mothers clutching their children and the able bodied men moving in front of them, in front of everyone, to try and guard them. The villagers who tried running down the main road were coming, as if herded, back to the center of the village. You didn’t understand why they were all running back to the middle.

This was a kill zone.

Strategically the worst place to be for any of the resistance fighters if they were going to make any attempt to fight back. It wasn't until you made it to the middle that your earlier rage turned to ice as you watched the UNSC marines, and four very big fucking Spartans, make their way up the middle.

If Spartans were here you knew no one stood a chance. A fight would be suicide. You needed to get back to your grandparents. You needed -

“Attention settlers of the Lera system of Laconix: I am Captain Jacob Keyes of the USNC. We have viable intel that led us to believe that you are harboring a fugitive by the name of Kahn Montrello - a known insurrectionist. We are asking for your cooperation in this matter. We can resolve this matter peacefully, with no need to resort to any unnecessary violence.”

“Screw you! You have no jurisdiction here or any outer colonies.”

Fred. That was his name. Maybe. You didn’t know - couldn’t remember. Your brain couldn’t think past your own rushing pulse or speeding thoughts. He was just pushing past the crowd with angry shouts and limbs flying while he moved towards them. You watched as he made his way towards the marines like a man on fire, and was met by a Marine who burned brighter. The butt of their gun cracking against his cheek sent him spiraling to the ground.

You weren’t sure if you were already panicked or if the sight of blood seeping through his fingers caused it. No matter what the real reason was you knew there was no getting around whatever came next. Like a swarm of locusts, the marines fanned out and moved forward. Their bodies corralled the villagers tighter together and kept any hope of escape at bay.

It was the perfect time for Kahn to make his appearance. His form practically glided from between a lake of terrified bodies frozen in fear, clutching one another, as he opened his arms in welcome.

“You say you wish us no violence, only want our cooperation, and yet attack a simple working man.”

“You need to stay where you are or you will be taken down with force,” a marine answered, their gun trained on Kahn who continued to take careful steps forward.

He responded with his hands showing he wasn’t armed. Kahn made a show to come to a stop in front of Captain Keyes.

“Maybe that was advice you should’ve opened with, Captain Keyes.”

Kahn was treating this like a joke. He was wearing that easy smile of his displaying he didn’t have a care in the world. He was either suicidal, genocidial in willing to let them completely kill the colony or, you realized with a sickening drop in your stomach, Kahn had another plan.

“And you are?”

“I’m Malcom. Another humble merchant who lives here.”

Liar!

The panic that settled like lead inside your gut dropped heavier, threatening to upend whatever was left from your morning breakfast. You didn’t have to guess what his plans were, because Kahn was laying them bare for everyone to see. The only difference between you and everyone else is that whoever he chose to sacrifice for the name of his ‘revolution’ would be met with silence.

Captain Keyes outlined Kahn’s frame with suspicion and a pebble of hope was thrown your way. Maybe he could sense the lie that costed Kahn’s words. Maybe it would be enough for him to call bullshit.

“Okay, Malcolm. And what is it you’re wanting?”

“I want nothing, Captain. I just want to show you exactly who you are looking for.”

Kahn never intended to point the finger at himself - why would he when there were dozens of men brainwashed to think their sacrifice mattered. You followed his finger like everyone else drawn to the imaginary string he pulled and waited to see what poor fool he chose this time.

Except this time - no…NO!

It was your grandfather who took a step forward out of the dozens of bodies. The wooden tip of his cane met the ground with a depth of a shovel digging a grave with each step. Your grandmother reached out her arms - called for him to come back - but he continued to make his way forward. His head held high like he was making a decision everyone should be proud of.

“I am Kahn Montrello. The man you seek.”

Captain Keyes took one look at your grandfather and you could see the disbelief reflected in his eyes. The way they darkened further on a decision you, or anyone else, would ever be made aware of until he made it.

“I’ve never known an insurrectionist leader to give themselves up so willingly.”

Thank god Captain Keyes was smarter than he looked. Your grandfather, however, wasn’t backing down. He squared his shoulders and planted his hands coolly over the hilt of his cane. His head held high enough for his next words to strangle him.

“Any leader should be willing to give themselves up for the safety of their people. Is that what you can offer me, Captain Keyes? The safety of my colony if I come willingly?”

“What are you doing?”

You were sure it was the panic that surged you forward. How you found yourself taking step after step until you were out from behind every last villager and into the clearing with Kahn and your grandfather.

“Stay back!”

“Don’t take another step forward!”

You were vaguely aware of the commands being slung your way. The arms that lifted weapons as you took scrambling steps towards your grandfather who only looked on with distaste.

“Go back with the others. I won’t tell you again.”

It was the voice he’d used countless times since you were a child. A voice that radiated with authority that now only showcased his age. A part of you wanted to follow his orders and run to your grandmother’s side. To be a good granddaughter and comfort her the way she needed.

But she wouldn’t need comforting if Kahn wasn’t such a fucking coward.

“No!”

He hissed your name as he nervously looked out over the marines. At Captain Keyes.

“Be good and do as you're told.”

“I won’t let you do this!”

“And I don’t need your permission-“

“What about grandma? You’re just going to leave her like this?”

“I wasn’t aware Kahn Montrello had grandchildren?” Keyes quipped.

You could see your grandfather open his mouth to reply and you made sure to cut him off before he could say another lie.

“That’s because he doesn’t because Kahn -“

“Apologies, Captain Keyes,” Kahn cut in. “This girl is unwell. Ever since she lost her parents -“

“Don’t you dare speak about them.“

“-she’s been desperately trying to cling to anyone willing to call her family.”

You weren’t aware you were moving forward until you heard the shouts from the marines; the gasps of fear from your own people. You were vaguely aware of the tingle of heat that moved like a shockwave from your fingertips up your arms until it consumed you. In another time, a different life, maybe you would’ve been aware that your biotics had flared to life and enveloped you in what looked like cobalt flame.

A fitting image for the one Kahn so lovingly painted for you. An unhinged woman filled with crazy fantasies and a desperation for family.

The only thing you could focus on was Kahn who stood before you. The coward who easily was willing to give your grandfather up to the UNSC knowing what they do to insurrectionist leaders. The unspeakable torture done to collect secrets, and their executions televised on every available feed for all to see.

With the thought of your grandfather’s future weighing behind your eyes you lashed out. Your hand rising forward to catch Kahn midway in taking a step back. Your biotics held him suspended in the air. You were vaguely aware of what sounded like your grandfather calling your name. The wood of his cane crunching through dirt and leaves to rush to you.

There was more shouting - orders being relayed and metal clicks of safeties being released - and you knew chaos was about to ensue.

“Spartan’s your orders are to grab the insurrectionist known as Kahn Montrello. Marines focus on providing backup and subduing any and all threats.”

A wash of relief rippled through you. The UNSC had come to their senses. They must have realized Kahn for the liar he was. Captain Keyes caught on that the rouse Kahn created with your grandfather was all a lie.

Except that wasn’t what happened.

The marines who fanned out around the clearing were now moving in towards one sole target: you. The Spartans who Keyes sent forward to capture Kahn weren’t headed in your direction, but towards your grandfather who was visibly shaking as he watched two of the UNSC’s giants - their most powerful weapons - move towards him.

“No! You have it all wrong! He isn’t Kahn!”

You released the hold you had on Kahn. No longer was he held suspended in the air as you sent his body flying towards the marines. Your feet were digging into the soil, pitching you forward in a hard sprint, as you barreled blindly towards your grandfather. You could hear him warning you to stay back - ‘stay away’ - but you never were good with doing what you were told.

The closest Spartan,only identified by the numbers 028 on her chest, was almost on him. They were so close it would only take a couple more inches and this Spartan would grab a hold of him and you would lose him. Forever.

You were running on pure adrenaline. Your vision honed in on nothing else but the hand of the Spartan that reached out to grab at his arm. If they got a hold of him, that was it. You called on every cell of energy in your body, your arm drawing back - nerves frying - as the eezo inside your body compacted in the space around you, changing it into a powerful ball that you launched with a scream. The Spartan barely had time to react when the cobalt sphere of element zero slammed into her suit and sent her flying back.

“Riz!”

You had a split second to make half a shield before the second Spartan’s fist slammed against it. The impact snapped like a shockwave of its own. The force of impact sent your feet sliding back against the dirt. The sound of heavy footsteps following your rolling body forced you to spring to your knees as you called on another surge of element zero and sent it flying like a fastball.

It slammed into the Spartan but, unlike the first one, it barely slowed them down. The impact crackled against the air and the force field around his armor allowing your biotics to push them back only a few feet. It was all the feet you needed to scramble on all fours to your grandfather, who was kneeling in a heap in the dirt.

As soon as you slide in next to him, you put up a small force field - a bubble of blue that encapsulated you both just in time before bullets bounced against the shield. Gently, you secured an arm underneath his shoulders and tried to lift him up to you. All while your right hand stayed pressed against the barrier you’d created. Your arms shaking with the strain of holding back another round of gunfire and the slamming fists of a very big, very angry, Spartan.

You were running out of time. The strain of keeping the barrier up, of using powers you usually never touched, left a noticeable trail of perspiration to crown your forehead. If you kept this up much longer, you knew the nosebleeds would start soon.

“Come on grandpa. We have to get up now. We gotta get you out of here.”

“Just let them take me, deheyah*.”

A heavy wave of memory, weighted with emotions thick and stifling, threatened to knock you off balance. The last time your grandfather had ever called you that, was before your parents died. When you were allowed the luxury of childhood innocence and the imagination that the world held the beauty of magic before it was destroyed by the gravity of reality.

“That’s not going to happen, grandpa. I won’t let it happen. I can’t lose you too.”

Your body jerked with the next slam of a fist against the barrier. The impact sent a shutter down into the marrow of your bones and snapped at your nervous system. The pain was immediate and tore a gasp from you.

“You will never lose me. I will always be with you. Wherever you go. Whatever you choose to be.”

“No.”

You shook your head violently forcing him to reach out to steady you. The soft leather of his hand cupped your cheek quieting your protests and forced you to keep your eyes on him.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Earlier. I just - I just wanted what was best for you. I always have. But…only you know what is best for your life. Never stop fighting. Don’t be afraid of who you can be.”

“Why are you talking like this? This isn’t goodbye grandpa. Come on, I have to get you back to grandma. She’s going to be pissed if you just stay here.”

But it was, wasn’t it? You’d felt it when your hands touched the layers of shawls that draped over his chest. It was wetter than it should’ve been. His eyes glassy and unfocused and struggling to keep them on you while he spoke. Somehow, you’d been a few moments too late when the bullets came your way, and those few seconds allowed the hollow point of a bullet to find a hole in the center of his chest.

Blood covered your left hand as another sharp synopsis of pain resonated through your nervous system. Spartan 028, Riz, was back up and hammering away at the sphere of the barrier you’d created. The pain should’ve been unbearable but nothing compared to the last gasp of air that shuddered from your grandfather. It couldn’t compare to the feeling of his body, lifeless, and sagging towards the earth where the weight forced you to place him.

None of this would’ve happened if Kahn wasn’t a coward. If he didn’t use people, the very people he claimed were his. People he swore to defend and liberate - for his own gain.

The anger swelled brighter inside like a raging flame. Every beating your nervous system took holding up the barrier became a dulled sensation as you struggled to breathe around the loss of your grandfather.

The Spartans had stopped but didn’t move back. A woman was off to your right. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Smiling like she was friendly but the mock kindness didn’t reach her eyes. They were bright with excitement; the way hunters spotted prey. A scientist finding a new object to dissect.

“…I’m Doctor Halsey.”

Of course she was. She wanted to dissect you. The same way the scientists from Conatix tried many years ago by trying to buy you from your parents. She was saying your name but she had no right to it.

This Dr. Halsey.

False smile given under false pretenses. Just like Kahn has his fancy glittering speeches that kept hopes high and results low.

“We don’t want to harm you. If you are willing to come peacefully we promise we will leave the colony immediately. No further bloodshed needs to happen.”

The part of you that wasn’t soaked in grief agreed. It was the best call to make - the right call. It promised no more suffering would happen. It meant your grandmother would be safe.

Your grandmother. A woman who lost her son. Her husband. Now her granddaughter. Who would watch her if you left? The thought alone sprang a sharp refusal to your tongue until you stood, your eyes cast down at the warm body of your grandfather. In that moment, whatever reasonable human being you used to be ceased to exist. The only thing left was rage.

Dr. Halsey must have noticed. No longer was she crouched to be eye level with you. She returned to her full height. Her hands placed out in front to shield herself, as if that would be enough to stop what happened next.

“Whatever you’re thinking - don’t.”

Your reply came in a scream that crawled its way from the pit of despair that had lodged itself inside your heart. The loss of your parents, the death of your grandfather, and for your grandmother who would be alone. You used that hurt, bitterness, and rage and used it to erupt your shield into a burst of biotic energy that detonated like a bomb. The sheer force alone sent the Spartans back.

It wasn’t enough but you only needed a minute or two. Just enough time for you to send your biotics crackling along the air in a line until it grabbed a hold of Kahn and pulled him like a slingshot of force back towards you. When he was close enough, you dropped your left hand that you’d use to control the pull of his body, and cocked back your right arm, your palm open, and launched it forward. The slam of the biotics hit home at the center of his chest launching Kahn back through the scrambling crowd of people, with the sickening crack of his sternum mixing with the scream that tore from your throat.

It was all the time you had before the Spartan marked with 117 came into view. His armored fist closes in like a warthog at full speed against your cheek, sending your body spiraling into the dirt. You could feel the earth shift with tremors as he moved to follow you. You could taste the blood from the hit and wondered if your jaw was broken. If you just lost a whole row of teeth.

“John, Incapacitate her only! I need her to be brought back with us. Alive.”

For a glorious moment, your blurred vision swirled only with the uninterrupted view of the sky before the cameo green of Master Chief, savior of the galaxy - or John - 117 - helmet came into view. A joke was brewing on the back of your tongue, covered in humor and blood before his fist came crashing down your line of sight, and the world became blissfully quiet.

_________

You found that the darkness wasn’t as quiet as you’d hoped.

The impact from the punch the Maater Chief, or John - 117 as that woman called him, had launched you into what felt like a nightmare. Held hostage by a paralysis of your own mind. Unable to change the forms of what you saw. The images were vivid. The sounds carried a weight that sat heavy like lead in your skull. It made you miss the pain of being conscious.

You weren’t sure if the screams that bounced around inside your head were real or if they were just a part of the nightmare. Over and over your broken mind played out the moment a Marine’s bullet found a hole inside your grandfather's gut.

No matter how fast you ran, if you launched yourself in front of him, you were never fast enough. Each step you took sunk deeper into the earth as if your legs were trying to race through quicksand. Your own biotics mysteriously grew quiet - refusing to work for the first time in your life.

No matter what the outcome never changed. Your grandfather was gone, and there was no time travel to head back and change that startling fact.

A sickening lurch, one you knew meant a ship was coming out of slipspace, sent the contents of that morning’s breakfast swirling in your stomach. You barely had time to register that it was real, the nausea, and that you were really about to throw up. You’d barely rolled to your side before said breakfast displayed itself onto a very shiny metal floor.

As soon as you finished, you rolled back onto your back. Your eyes fluttered open to take in the fluorescent lights, the cool slated metal ceiling that matched the walls and floor. It was definitely a cell, and you most definitely found out much too late that your wrists were tied behind your back.

When you were sure you weren’t going to upend anymore of your breakfast, you slowly began to maneuver to sit on the only bench they’d laid you on. The pain in the sockets of your shoulders informing you that you’d been like this for quite a while.

You were still trying to gather your bearings when the sliding doors to your right opened. A woman with blonde hair stood at the forefront with a Spartan, the dusk green armor of John - 117, standing protectively behind her. When she moved, he moved. You couldn’t help but consider her a puppeteer and the Spartan the puppet. He didn’t move unless she did and you doubted he would be doing any of the talking.

She entered the room with a cautionary smile and clinical eyes assessing you before she even entered. It was easy to tell she was a scientist and, more than likely, a very experienced one in whatever it was she specialized in.

“Hello, Subject Cobalt,” she said brightly. Her smile never faltered once. “I’m glad to see that you are alright. My name is Doctor Halsey. I’ve come to do an assessment on you and make sure you didn’t sustain any life-threatening or mind altering issues after what happened back on Laconix.”

Subject Cobalt?

Was that supposed to be you?

You eyed her warily as she took her first step inside the cell. The heavy footsteps of Mjolnir armor followed closely behind. If she suspected you were jumpy - a rabbit in headlights, as the old ones used to say - Halsey never showed it.

A few more steps and she was beside the bench. Another breath and she was sitting beside you. The smile on her face beaming and hollowing out her eyes with rapture at what she must have considered a new species. You made a fine new specimen for any scientist, you would imagine. A nervous system full of eezo that lit your body up like an Earthen Christmas tree and the power to wield it like a weapon.

Doctor Halsey was practically giddy beside you.

“I’m going to do a few simple tests to verify cognitive function isn’t impaired. To do so, I’m going to need your assistance. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Your eyes scanned over her as you considered your options. It turned out to be a very short list that was available to you. The only option being to go along with what she asked.

“Okay.”

That one word was all the go ahead Halsey needed to cause her megawatt smile to go up a notch. She must have thought you would be resistant to following orders and she wasn’t wrong but, from where you were sitting, this seemed like the lesser of two evils.

“Splendid. First, I’m going to run this pen horizontally and vertically. I need you to focus on the tip of the pen, and follow it as closely as you can.”

“Okay.”

Doctor Halsey lifted the pen up to eye level, a few inches away from your face, and waited for your eyes to train on the silver point. You hadn’t expected an examination as soon as you woke up. You weren’t sure if you should’ve felt happy or worried about it. If you were one misstep away from becoming a lab rat.

You’d been so deep in thought - your mind considering all the outcomes and possibilities of this interaction ending well - that you completely missed her first question.

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question?”

Another smile. Another deflection. It was enough, however, for you to notice the tightness in the fine lines of her face. It was so small you could’ve missed it.

“Of course. During your biotic episode on Laconix, I noticed your nose started bleeding. Does it do that every time you use your biotics?”

“No.”

The tightness again. This time it was the edges of her smile - suspended in that mock sweetness - that reminded you of your mother. Waiting for you to give more detail without prodding and realizing, rapidly, you feared incriminating yourself. The pen dropped into her lap. Her eyes roaming over your face for a sign - a tell - that she could exploit.

“You aren’t in any kind of trouble. I’m merely trying to help you -“

“Is that what you’re trying here, Dr. Halsey? To be my friend? To tell me I’m not in any danger when you took me off my planet against my will?” You inquired. Her mouth was still suspended open, forming around a word cut short by your desire to not hear anymore bullshit. “It feels like there is more going on than what you’re sharing.”

She schooled her face - even her eyes - to remain emotionless. A perfect blank slate to display only what she wanted without giving away what she didn’t.

“Alright. I watched you. At first, you seemed in control, but after the third or fourth time your biotics displayed themselves, and you overextended their use, you suffered an epistaxis - the nosebleed. Further scans done here in the ship’s medical bay presented signs of swelling and hematoma on the brain. A few hours before you woke up, I had them run another analysis and both are gone. Which leaves me to believe it only occurs upon exhaustion.”

She watched you as she spoke. Her gaze searching, prodding, for signs of whatever reaction she expected but wasn’t getting. You would’ve loved to offer up whatever it was she wanted, if only you knew which specific one she was hunting for.

“Tell me. Do you get migraines?”

“What is this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s a lie,” you shot back.

The tone in your voice matched the anxiety rising in your chest. It caused your words to be rougher than intended, alerting the Spartan in the corner who took a step towards you. Only the rising hand of calm - control - from Dr. Halsey kept him from taking another step.

“I think you understand more than you’re willing to tell me or, at least, not wanting to show your whole hand, anyway. You’re a scientist, right? Probably super smart. Smart enough you probably come from some UNSC lab from Reach or Illium?”

“Reach.”

The carefully constructed smile was back on her lips, but this time you could see a spark of something brighten up the soft blue of her eyes. You were doing something she didn’t expect, but her scientific mind found it fascinating. No doubt logging it away to draw it open later somewhere quiet to dissect.

Your lips pouted around her admission. Reach. One of the top three planets, if not the first, for all private and commercial research filled with legal litigation and NDA’s to protect organizations and UNSC labs from the courts of public opinions. It was how Conatix got away with doing what they did to you and the other kids scattered across the galaxy. Only taking notice when it seemed like something that could benefit them. You weren’t stupid. Halsey had taken one look at what you could do - what you did - and only two things came to mind: control or destroy.

You hadn’t figured out exactly which one you were to Dr. Halsey yet.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Halsey didn’t necessarily give you a reason to think it was an outlandish guess. Everything - everyone - was expendable when it came to science and the betterment of humanity. Or whatever the UNSC’s science team's new slogan was.

“Why would we kill you?”

You tried to shrug off the growing anxiety that sat coiling inside your gut.

“To experiment on me. Take me apart and see what’s buried underneath, so to speak. Isn’t that what you people do.”

“You don’t realize what you are, do you? The advancement of human genetics - biology - that is flowing through you.”

“What’s flowing through me is eezo and it cost hundreds of children their lives.”

“Yes, but for one out of a hundred children there is something remarkable. You. The one out of a thousand. A stepping stone towards humans having a place amongst the vast and ever growing populace of space. I don’t want to kill you, Cobalt. I want to integrate you into my program.”

“What program?”

You wondered if madness was contagious. If you asked anyone else, they might have dismissed your words as too harsh. No doubt calling Halsey’s display of excitement for simply that, but you could see her eyes. Underneath all that perfectly concealed pleasant exterior was an intelligence that was willing to break the norms - rules - to get to whatever she needed.

“I run the Spartan program. Granted, you are well past the parameters to become a Spartan, no, I…I want to make a subunit. I think Cobalt, we can help each other, and not only help each other, but possibly end this war.”

UNSC propaganda.

That’s what the war was. Everyone in the outer colonies knew it was just a fancy attempt to stop the growing surge of colonists from joining the insurrectionists. Halsey sensed your doubt before you disregarded her words with a shake of your head.

“No. The covenant is just a UNSC nightmare story to try and get the outer colonies to toe the line. To allow themselves to be governed under your jurisdiction.”

“I can promise you. It’s not.”

“Of course you would say that! You’re a USNC scientist for Christ’s sake!”

“John.”

Somehow, you’d forgotten that big hunk of tin was in the room. Halsey kept you focused on her - solely on her - that when the Spartan took a step forward, the reflection of the room mirrored in his visor, you almost jumped out of your skin.

In his hand was a holopad that he deposited into her waiting palm. Halsey didn’t waste time logging in. Her fingers tapped wildly across the screen with a speed that left you dizzy. When she found whatever it was she’d been looking for she extended the holopad out for you to take.

“This was transmitted to us only a few hours ago.”

Warily, you watched her. Your mind debating if you should take the holopad or tell her to fuck off. It was more made up videos or fancy speeches, you were sure of it. The grim lines of her face, however, left you wondering just how certain you were. It was her turn to place the holopad in your hands. Your gaze on her a few more seconds before it dropped down to the video that played on the screen.

Bright beams. It’s what you noticed first. Beams that erupted from the sky with such brilliant clarity you knew it could only be one form: plasma. You couldn’t understand - comprehend - what you were seeing.

Plasma on that scale was impossible. It should’ve been and yet, you watched as it sliced through the planet's barrier, through molecules, and simple things like trees and mountains. Everything it touched turned red hot like lava from volcanoes you’d heard stories about that were on the original human planet of earth. While the plasma beam continued its destructive course, the magma it left behind flowed behind.

You didn’t understand until you did.

You knew that mountain. You’d glanced at it many times on walks to neighboring villages for trade. Attempted to climb it a thousand times as a child.

“What is this?”

Your disbelief was met with something you couldn’t place from her. Halsey didn’t offer up sympathy. She offered up an understanding of watching everything you love disappear in a wave of destruction. But how could she understand the hollowness, the sinking feeling of dread that gripped your heart and threatened to make it stop?

“It’s Laconix. Shortly after we left the Covenant arrived. They glassed the planet.”

“Glassed? I - I don’t. I don’t understand.”

You were going to hyperventilate if you weren’t careful.

“It’s gone, Cobalt.” That’s not my name. “The Covenant doesn’t take prisoners. They destroy everything. Kill everything. Your planet is gone.”

Gone.

Your home. What was left of your family - your people - your community. Gone. In less than 7.8 seconds of holopad footage.

“But you can avenge them. You can fight for them and to protect every other planet still left out there in the galaxy and I can help you do it.”

Deep down a part of you knew this had been her tactic all along. If reason didn’t make someone join your cause, then using their emotions against them would. You should’ve seen it coming. Took the time to ask more questions but the growing hole in your soul moved on from shock and grief was rocketing towards unbridled rage at lightning speed.

When you glanced back up at her, Halsey knew she had you before you even spoke.

“What do you need me to do?”

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 1 month

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Hi I really love your save everyone au and it has me hyper fixated on it for a week now! My personal question is does Angel ever have nightmares about the factory and their ptsd so badly that they actually wake up and start crying? How would the toys react? Also, how would the toys react if they found out Angel had any self harming coping mechanisms? (Sorry if that is too sensitive, I actually have self harmed myself when I felt like my existence was just making everyone around me miserable. And a I was going through a lot of stress at the time. I am actually 1 month clean now which I am super proud of. I hope you have a wonderful day and I appreciate you reading and potentially responding to my ask :DDDDDD

You got hyperfixated?! Oh my God 🥺💝😭!!!! I'm so glad you have been enjoying it, please don't be afrad to send me more asks and interact with my posts! I saw your comment on the AO3 fanfic and it made my day!

BEFORE WE START THIS, I just want to let you know that I'm so proud of you for going one entire month clean!!!!! YOU CAN DO THIS!!!! The answer will be under the cut just for the safety of other people reading this, so let's go!

In the past, when my own trauma was still super fresh and I was alone, I unfortunately also had problems relating to self-harm and bad coping mechanisms. It was bad!!!! I have been clean for some time as well, thankfully, but I have been projecting some of that trauma juice(tm) over the toys, Prototype and Angel. And Angel, oh, dear...

I imagine they get some Awful nightmares. They had some during the past decade, but Angel thought of them more as stress dreams than "proper" nightmares related to their PTSD from their coworkers going missing. After the rescue, however, they do get actual nightmares related to their new trauma. They involve the toys being captured and/or taken away from Angel, Angel failing to save them, and the toys they couldn't save staring at them and asking them why didn't they come to the factory during those 10 long, long years. I think it's a matter of time until Angel can't prevent themself from waking up when another toy is already awake and breaking down in tears. Angel would try putting on a brave face, smiling softly as they always do and trying to help the toy to go back to sleep, but it doesn't work.

I think that the first one to see Angel like this is Dogday. Angel wakes up trying to reach to something - or rather, someone -, thinking for a moment their kids were taken away from them. Dogday asks them what's up, Angel tries to brush it off, but they're already crying at this point before Dogday gives them a hug.

When Angel eventually wakes up (Dogday is still good at luring others to sleep, despite all the horrors), they apologize to Dogday, but the big pup is already on high alert for what Angel has next. He tells Poppy, Mommy Long Legs, Delight and Catnap about it so everyone can make a plan on how to comfort Angel. They inevitably wake up in tears again some days later, but this time Dogday isn't the only one awake. I think that the older toys all hug Angel, because they know what it's like to be like this and they want to give Angel some of the kindness they gave to them. Angel ends up breaking down in tears before thanking the group.

During the decade post-HoJ, Angel did develop some self-harm habits. They have some scars they gave themself, and one really nasty one on their belly area from the time they got themself drunk and fell down on some glass. After that, Angel's family begged them to go to therapy. They still drink and still like drinking, but they never got to the point they were before. They also quit self-harm and have been doing clean for around 6 years before returning to the factory.

After the rescue, I think Angel's bad habits creep out again with drinking, some smoking and them overworking themself to take care of the toys. This time they're able to do a work-around their smoking and drinking problems before they could get as bad as before, but it's the toys and the Prototype who have to force Angel to sit down before scolding them with phrases like "how are you supposed to be the parent if you don't rest??? Uh???? UHHH????"

Angel's skin also gets really bad whenever they're stressed - the problem started from their first big trauma -, and post-rescue it sometimes comes back. Angel is more annoyed than worried at this point in time, thankfully.

I think Prototype is the first to take notice of Angel's scars. It's when Angel goes to "visit" him to drink a tiny bit and talk about the kids. It's summer, and Angel takes off their shirt and is only with a pair of baggy shorts + a binder Crafty made for them. The conversation is going as normal as it could be, when all of a sudden Proto just GRABS Angel's arm and asks them about the scars. Angel sighs. "These are old", Prototype takes notice. "Far too old and clean".

"You know why, don't you?", Angel asks. "I did those myself".

"Why?"

There's a pause. Angel sighs. "Because that's everything that helped me deal with the pain of losing all of my coworkers", they confess, not wanting to sound accusatory, not wanting to feel like a coward for doing that instead of running back to the factory (but again, Angel was never a coward. It's the trauma reshaping their own view of themself). "I got better. I don't do this anymore, the kids aren't at risk of my own lack of care for myself".

Prototype is silent for a moment. "I did no ask because of the children. I asked because of you".

Then, he points at his own body, both at the flesh and the wires and metal that made him himself. And although the hut's lights aren't the strongest, Angel can see some marks.

"I was often careless on purpose", Proto confesses. "Focusing on the physical pain helped more than remembering the children I doomed due to my own egoism. Protecting the few I could was all that mattered. I did not care about this body. Sometimes, I still don't".

Angel nods. They both understand what it is like. The human then drinks from their bottle of water, staring at nothing.

"It did get better for me", they tell the Prototype. "Been clean for seven years at this point. One day your scars will be old, too".

Prototype, too, drinks water. "You give me no option but to believe in your words, Angel".

"Good", they nod. "Your only way is up. Never down".

"Or, at least, never as down as we both were in the past".

That's when the human smiles. "That, too".

I can imagine one day during the summer where the family is playing with water guns and throwing water balloons at each other when a toy (maybe Bobby, Poppy, Catnap or even Bunzo) points at one of Angel's scars, asking them if they got that at the factory, and Angel takes one look at the almost-gone cut before replying that it wasn't because of the family's rescue, but something they did to themself post losing their coworkers. "I wasn't feeling well", they explain. "And doing that helped me deal with the pain, even though it hurt me. But I got better. I don't hurt myself anymore".

"Because you have us?", Bunzo asks, innocently.

"Not just that, bunny", they reply, petting him on the head. "I asked people for help and went to a nice doctor, so they could help me. And they did. It's been seven years since I last hurt myself".

"Oh...", and then Delight, covered in water, takes notice of the scar and explanation. She politely touches Angel's arms, before petting them.

"It healed very well", she notes.

"I know, right? I never told it would get this good, but it did. And now I guess it'll be your turn as well", and Angel then grabs a water gun and SPLASHED Delight, causing her to laugh and attack them back.

Later on, when Angel is helping Kissy try up, they feel Catnap headbonking their back. The feline licks Angel's arm before sitting next to them, just like how Dogday himself playfully did that just some hours before, in order to "kiss it better". Angel thanks Catnap, of course, before petting him.

They're glad for having them.

#the sillies got the hurties #cw self harm #tw self harm #poppy playtime #save everyone au #poppy worldwide #ask tag #catnap #dogday #experiment 1006 #poppy playtime prototype #the angel #cried writing this ngl

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softspeirs · 1 month

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Then and There, Wind in Your Hair (Bill “Hoosier” Smith x OC)

Pairing: Bill “Hoosier” Smith x Female OC (could be read as an un-named OC or a reader insert) Summary: After their meeting in Melbourne, Hoosier writes a few letters, dreams a few dreams, and finds her again after coming home. A/N: I know what you’re thinking - “Katie, aren’t you neck deep in your Masters of the Air hyper fixation?!” and the answer is yes, but I just had to write a companion piece to Clouds Overhead. You don’t have to read that one first, but some elements might make more sense if you do. Disclaimer: I don’t own The Pacific. Please don’t repost, translate, or use this fic for AI without my permission.

And we both laid entwined, stared at the night Clouds overhead, but that was all right ‘Cause then and there with the wind in your hair Heaven was jealous to merely look fair against you

He can’t remember how many days it’s been since he was in Melbourne.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he’s able to block out the rapid pounding of his heart and the distant ack-ack of machine gun fire and remember the sound of the waves on the beach, the feeling of her hair tickling his jaw.

There’s a part of him that’s worried he’s going to forget her face, though he’s not sure how that’s possible.

He’s worried about a lot of things. Worried is standard operating procedure these days.

They haven’t been able to get mail out in weeks, the shelling too intense for anything even resembling a CP or a supply depot to be set up, even behind the lines. The lines change rapidly in the Pacific, and he’s not sure he’s brave enough to try to find it even if he did have a letter to send to her.

He’s surprised when they’re finally taken off the line, and there’s mail waiting for him.

Bill, it starts, and he smiles, because she’s the first person in a long time that almost outright refuses to call him Hoosier.

Bill,

I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you off. The War Department has us all running around like chickens with our heads cut off getting ready for our next deployment.

I’m not sure where we’ll be going yet, and I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you if I did. I just hope wherever it is, it’s not as hot as it was in the Philippines when I was there.

Mostly, I hope this whole thing is over soon. I know it’s naïve of me. I signed up to go to war, and I don’t regret it, but I’m tired. I know you are too.

I hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

Thinking of you.

She signs it off with a metaphorical kiss, and he feels his heart kick into overdrive. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s starting to dream about someday, and he can’t stop himself.

Surprisingly, the other guys don’t rag on him about it. They ask him a few questions, but they’re all so distracted about whatever’s coming next, there’s no thought about razzing anyone who’s finding a little slice of joy in anything outside of this hell hole.

He writes her back when he finally has a minute to think.

It’s been a long week, I think. He tells her.

I don’t really know how long it’s been since we were in Melbourne, but I think about it almost every day.

He wonders if he’s showing his hand too much, but he can’t help himself.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re far from the lines, wherever they are, and that things aren’t too bad. We were pulled off the line for a few days here, but I don’t think it’s going to last long.

“Hoosier.” Leckie says, voice hesitant like he hates to be the one to break him out of his letter writing. “We’re moving out.”

Bill sighs. Of course. Not a moment’s reprieve.

I think about you often. He scratches, hesitating only a moment. And I hope that’s okay with you, because it’s just about the only thing getting me out of the trench in the morning.

I hope you’re safe. I’m going to do my best to try to stay safe too.

Yours,

Bill

He writes to her nearly every day. He knows she’ll probably get a few of the letters all at once since the mail is so backed up, but he has nowhere else to put his thoughts, and it’s sending him half insane.

Most of his notes to her are mundane, stories about his guys and only a little bit about the mess going on in his brain. If she were here in person, he’s sure she’d look him dead in the eyes and demand he tell her what he’s thinking, but he tries to shield her from it, at least a little bit.

Her letters are the same, stories about the friends she’s making and at the bottom of one, a piece he rips off and shoves in his trunk - her address back home in Chicago.

Just in case something unexpected happens, I expect you to call on me, Private Smith. I’ll wait for you. There’s no one else.

It brands him like a tattoo right above his heart, on his breastbone where no one but him can see.

I’ll wait for you.

It’s the last thought he has right before it all goes to hell.

When he wakes up in a hospital a week later, he’s half out of his mind with exhaustion and morphine. Still, his first thought is of her.

He asks about her, and the nurse frowns at him. “No one here with that name, sugar. Sorry.”

Did he dream her?

Did his brain invent her just as a survival tactic to make it out alive?

When he sleeps, he does dream of her. He dreams of them. He dreams of that cookie cutter life with the white picket fence, and her smile. He pictures tangerine sunsets and a backyard barbecue. He pictures a little girl with her eyes and his smile.

When he wakes, he wishes he could fall back asleep.

He doesn’t get any mail, and he doesn’t have the time or the energy to write any letters himself. He’s hauled day after day into an empty room for rehabilitation, where a nice Lieutenant named Lanie listens to him curse a blue streak as he tries to put weight on his leg.

“Lanie, I’m beggin’ you to just write down that you saw me walk.”

She frowns. “No can do, Private. Besides, what good is that going to do you? Don’t want to get your dancing shoes on again someday?”

He snorts. “Who’s going to teach me how not to have two left feet?”

She shrugs. “I’ll do it. Or how about that girl you keep asking after? I bet she’d be a willing participant.”

He levels her with a hard gaze. “Lanie, if you know something...”

“Honest, Hoosier. I don’t know.” She leans in a little closer. “The hospital unit is still on the island and they’re socked in. I haven’t been able to get in touch with my friend there to ask her. You know how it can be.”

He sighs. “I know. Thanks for trying.”

“Now do me a favor, will you? Take a few steps so I can get rid of you and go eat some lunch.”

That night when he can’t sleep, he limps his way down to the mess. There’s a few other guys there, but he finds a table alone. Under dim light, he pens out another letter that he hopes makes it to her.

I’m in the hospital, he writes, his hand shaking a little bit from lack of use.

I have no idea if you’ll ever get this. I hope you do. I don’t want you to wonder.

What you told me in the last letter I got from you has kept me going. And it goes without saying (hopefully) that I’ll wait for you too.

Another nurse here, Lieutenant Elaine Meadows (don’t call her that, though, she’ll rip your head off. We call her Lanie) said she’ll keep her eyes and ears open for you if you ever make it here, or if one of your letters ever shows up here for me.

At the bottom is my home address in Indiana. Sorry to say, but I think I’ve got a ticket home.

If you find yourself stateside soon, and God, I really hope you do, please let me know.

I owe you a date.

Twelve weeks go by. He goes home. And between the agony of his leg and the mess inside his mind, Bill’s morale plummets.

He’s thrown back into the absolutely insane situation of having to find a job, but he can’t even fathom trying to work for someone so soon after fighting for his life. He has no idea how any of it makes sense anymore.

He almost sleeps through V-E Day, but manages to drag himself out of his bedroom and have a drink with his dad on V-J Day. They’re both quiet, out on the front porch of the house, listening to the revelry from the neighbors.

“You should get out of town for a few days.” His dad says, out of nowhere.

He frowns. “Pop?” He leans forward, wincing as he straightens his leg. “What do you mean?”

“You need-- you need to get your mind busy again. Take a break from all this, get your mind right, and decide what’s next.” He gives Bill a wry grin. “Besides, where’s that girl of yours, anyway?”

Bill feels himself pale. “I don’t--”

“Oh, don’t bother. You’re not a very good liar.”

Bill chuckles. “Guess not.” His hands tap out a rhythm on his knees, his body and mind unable to be still for too long these days. “Chicago.” He says finally. “She’ll be in Chicago.”

His dad nods. “Interesting.”

He still hasn’t heard from her by the time he makes up his mind to just go for it. He’s been seeing in the paper article after article about men and women coming home from overseas, and he just hopes that she’s one of them.

He really doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he shows up on her mother’s doorstep and she’s not there.

The train feels like it’s going slow as molasses. He sits among men and women in uniform, and he feels out of place. He fidgets. He eavesdrops on conversations about the war and about friends they used to know and what happened to them.

His palms start to itch.

When he arrives at Union Station, he only second guesses himself for a few moments before he seeks a taxi. The ride to the suburbs is nice, and he enjoys watching the trees change color the farther they get from the city. It seems to drag on and yet be over in a flash. He pays the driver, and gets out in front of a large house on a beautiful tree-lined street.

Bill’s hands are sweating. He hears chatter inside the large house, the windows open to let in the autumn breeze, and one voice in particular makes him stop in his tracks and shut his eyes briefly, trying to gather himself.

He knocks, takes a few steps back.

A screen door opens and shuts.

“Oh my god.”

He finally looks up.

They sit together on the back porch of her parent’s house, mugs of steaming coffee in their hands, her free hand tucked into his. Her eyes are closed, but the small smile on her lips proves she’s still awake.

He never thought he’d be here. He never thought he’d get this.

“Bill?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m--” she sits up, takes her hand out of his. He’s surprised to see her eyes filling with tears, and his heart kicks into overdrive.

“What?”

She smiles again. “Sorry. I’m okay, I just-- I can’t really believe we’re here.” She sniffs. “And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most.” She glances down at his long legs that are stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

He’s shaking his head before she can even finish her sentence. He straightens, turning sideways to face her. “You were there for me.” He reaches for her face, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Whether you realized it or not, you were.”

“You didn’t even get a single one of my letters the whole time you were in the hospital--”

Ever since she opened the front door and ran into his arms, he’s felt more at ease than he ever did in Indiana. Despite his mother’s best efforts, he felt unsettled, and this was the final piece he was missing. Even if he had showed up and she apologized and told him it was just a fling, just a wartime romance never destined to go anywhere, at least he would have known.

But this -- this has the potential to heal him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice soft but firm. “The thought of you kept me going. It kept me alive, as far as I’m concerned.”

Her face is a picture. Those doe eyes, a little drier now, looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for her. Doesn’t she know that he thinks that about her, too? He realizes with startling clarity that it’s very possible she has no clue.

“I’m in this,” he gestures between them, “If you are. You owe me a dance, after all.”

She grins, laughs. “I thought you had two left feet.”

He shrugs. “Well, maybe now I’ve got an excuse to be bad at it.”

“I’m in this too. All in.” She whispers. Their faces are so close she could tilt her head only a fraction and close the gap between them.

They linger there, in that so-close-but-not-close-enough state of almost euphoria so long that Bill starts to wonder if he didn’t die on that godforsaken airfield, and this is all something his mind has made up.

But then she finally kisses him, and it’s just as sweet as the first time, and it sends all his senses kicking into overdrive, and it just confirms it: he’s home.

A/N: If you’re craving more of their post-war reunion, a few of those lines are directly from this fic, which has a little more of that scene included.

#softspeirs the pacific fanfiction #bill hoosier smith x oc #hoosier smith x oc #bill smith x oc #the pacific fanfiction #the pacific fanfic #me: writing for hoosier in 2024? more likely than you think!!!!

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

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hi homie! could you possibly write some romantic chaotic crackhead mayhem type shit with billy batson? i can’t stop thinking about it since S:FOTG came out and the hyper fixation on the lore has taken over me once more 😭

Ngl this was kinda crap.

However you were expecting your day to go, having your boyfriend Billy burst into the room with mischief written in his eyes as he moved himself behind you, his boyish laughter filing your ears, most certainly wasn’t on the agenda.

‘What’re you doing?’ You asked, looking over your shoulder at the smiling boy, smiling yourself as a result of how infectious his happiness was to you. ‘Hiding.’ He responded as his eyes remained glued the way he came; his hands resting warmly against your shoulders as his front was pressed firmly against your back as though he couldn’t get any closer. You found it highly endearing when Billy got the time to be in touch with his inner child, it made him look a lot more young and youthful from the boy with the rough edges you were introduced to.

You sighed, ‘what did my fugitive of a boyfriend done now.’

Billy looked at you, taken aback, but you knew it was all fun and games because with you, your boyfriend tended to act a tad more dramatic and carefree then usual. ‘Why you already speculating that I did something wrong? I could be playing hide and seek with Darla for all you’re aware.’ He huffs, dropping his chin fully on to your shoulder, giving you the chance to plant a kiss to his cheek, chuckling.

‘How dare I accuse you of such a vile thing, you’re just a big ol’ baby who can’t hurt a fly.’ You playfully cooed, moving your body so that you were forward facing him before reaching your hands to pinch at his cheeks much like a grandmother would but much softer. Billy groaned, trying to pull away but your hands merely followed after and after a couple of tries, Billy gave in to defeat and allowed you to continue pinching at his cheeks; that was until his eyes peered back the way he had came and spotted Freddy in the doorway, filming everything on his camera, smirking.

‘This’ll make for great blackmail material, thanks for lending a hand y/n.’ Freddy said smugly.

Billy’s eyes widened as they darted from you to his brother, then back to you again. ‘You’re helping Freddy?’ He asked incredulously. You merely shrugged, ‘it’s only fair that I lend him a hand after you glued pink glitter to his batarang replica.’ You reminded him, crossing your arms over your chest as Freddy only smirked like a smug cat at Billy from behind your back, though not before flipping him off when the subject of his beloved replica was brought up.

‘But I’m you’re-.’ ‘Don’t you use the boyfriend card with me Batson.’ You abruptly cut him off before he could finish his sentence, reprimanding him like a mother would with a disobedient child. ‘It’ll get you nowhere.’ Billy’s head perked up with an idea came to him, not knowing whether or not it’ll work but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to at least give it his best shot into getting back in your good graces again.

‘Not even if I asked you whether you wanted to see that new movie that’s debuting at the cinema tonight?’ He asked and Freddy groaned. ‘That’s cheating! You can’t just weasel your way out of this! Besides y/n is strong enough to resist your temptations! Right y/n!’

…

‘Y/n?’ Freddy tried again when you didn’t say anything.

‘Well…we haven’t been on a date for some time now…’ you muttered under your breath.

‘Really!?’ Freddy exclaimed as now it was Billy’s turn to act all smug as he tossed an arm over your shoulder, drawing you into his side. ‘What happened about our plan in getting even!’

‘Sorry Freddy.’ You said sheepishly, rubbing your arm.

‘I’m not.’ Billy said, rubbing his victory in Freddy’s face. ‘what’s the score now? Billy 2, Freddy 0?’ He made a face of false thought before looking entirely too pleased with himself, ‘yeah that sounds about right.’ Billy then looks to you, squeezing your shoulder, ‘c’mon y/n, we’ve got a movie to watch.’ He said as he lead you both out of the room, leaving Freddy alone.

‘Son of a- wait,’ Freddy checked his phone when he remembered that he still had the video of you pinching Billy’s cheeks and began to smirk again as he looked in the direction you both left. ‘That dumbass, thinking he’s ahead and shit but when it is I that has the high ground.’ Freddy mused to himself, ‘I’ll let him live in his delusion for now, for it’ll only make my revenge all the more sweeter.’

#dc imagines #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fic #dc fanfic #Shazam imagines #Shazam imagine #Shazam x reader #Shazam x you #Shazam fic #Shazam fanfic #Billy batson imagines #Billy batson imagine #Billy batson x reader #Billy batson x you #Billy batson fic #billy batson fanfic

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hi-cassiel · 1 year

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My brain is a pit of nothingness, it’s completely empty there are no thoughts EXCEPT for dragon age. That silly little video game has latched on to my mushroom shaped organ and is consuming my entire life

I don’t even have to be playing this stupid game, Im watching the show, I’m reading the books, I’m drawing the characters this goddamn game is in my d r e a m s ! It is my every thought, I started writing an essay about my characters backstory in the middle of a test the brain rot is real

#dragon age 2 #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #dragon age fandom #dragon age brain rot #brain rot #im hyperfixating again #help me the hyper fixation has taken over #we hyperfixating #help help help #head empty #queer #how am i supposed to be normal about this #how am i supposed to live like this

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robyn-hood-10 · 1 month

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Hello! You can call me Robyn if you want, and for my first actual post I wanted to give an explanation for the… interesting, site that Tumblr becomes today. At least with the Danny Phantom fandom (the Phandom if you will). So welcome to Dannypocalyse!

Dannypocalypse is a yearly event celebrating the Danny Phantom! And more so the Phandom in my opinion, as it is essentially a separate entity by now. And in true Phandom fashion, it’s weird (affectionate, with me it’s always the affectionate kind of weird). Not even gonna sugarcoat it. So I am going to do my best to help some wayward new fans or people unfortunate enough to stumble on this event without proper context.

When I was newer to the fandom, I was also missing quite a bit of context for everything. But lucky for me, I am very good at rolling with whatever, so I just accepted weirdness and moved on (seriously, I accepted that Wes Weston was an actual preexisting character for way too long before I really understood).

Essentially Dannypocalyse is just flooding Tumblr especially, with photoshopped photos of the titular character Danny Phantom, and if your wondering where you would find them I’ve got nothing, this is my contribution to Dannypocalyse, (sorry, not my thing), but I am hoping someone more experienced will help.

This event also takes place on the original airing of Danny Phantom, April 3rd!

So no, Tumblr has not been taken over by whatever you thought it was, and yes, it’s essentially an inside joke within a fandom. Fun!

And here are my sources because never let it be said that you shouldn’t cite your sources. (also respect to @narwhalsarefalling, creating an insane annual event out of a joke is peak chaos and power and I have ridiculous levels of respect).

Anyways, that’s all from me folks! Hope this helps make things make a bit more sense! See you next time I feel the need to ramble about my hyper fixations! Bye!

#dannypocalypse #danny phantom #my first real post #anyways #bye.

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callsign-hexen · 10 months

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Barn Lights and Haylofts

Summary: After being away on a trip out of state, you find yourself going to the Abbott ranch to visit on your way home. Little did you know that you were about to walk into something would make you wish you just drove off...

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, sexual tension, the character death of an asshole, descriptions of a dead body (my hyper fixation on the stages of death really starts showing in this), hiding said body, possible grammar mistakes, an insane amount of commas (Seriously, you could take a shot every time you see one and be completely hammered by the end of this), if I miss any let me know!

Author’s note: I finally wrote something! The editing is slim to none, I was too excited!

tag list: @beacheybabes97

You watch as the headlights of your truck light up the road. The moon lights the rest of the way as you drive through the fields of Wabang, Wyoming.

You’ve been out of town for nearly a month at craft festival down south. As much as it feels great to be outside of state lines, you can’t help but feel homesick, so you take a few stops as possible on your way back. You’ve been driving for half a day in the beaten old truck.

You’ve lived in Wabang for as long as you can remember, you were born there, and you can see yourself buried there with the rest of your lineage. Your family worked in wood crafts. For generations, your family has hand carved many items throughout the town. Instead of playing with dolls, you grew up learning to carve. The business was run by you, your mother, and your father. That was, until your mother passed when you were 14, and your father just three years ago. It was all yours now. The old house, the workshop, and a small plot of land that a few cows and other animals that have made their home there.

The shop was where you met Rhett.

When you were 12, Royal brought Rhett with him into town to run some errands, one of which being to pick up an order he had placed. It was a simple wooden plaque with Abbott name burned into it to sit on the front porch. Your family ran the business in the workshop across from your house. Your days were spent waking up early, making sure the cows are taken care of, go to school, and come home to learn about wood working. When the Abbotts came by you were sitting on the workshop bench whittling your next little project, a carving of a little wolf howling at the sky. You turn around as you hear them come in.

Royal and the younger Abbott boy stopped at the entrance as they noticed it was just you. Royal greeted you with a call of your name, “Is your dad around?” he asked. You nod your head, hopping off the bench. “Yes sir, he’s over yonder in the pasture. One of our calves started wondering off so he went to make sure she’s alright. Are you here to pick up, Mr. Abbott?” you answered him, shifting your eyes over to the boy next to him. Rhett was in your grade, but the two of you never shared a word to each other, barely even a glance at one another. You sat on the opposite sides of the room and never got near enough to touch.

Now that you stand just a couple of feet from him, you almost feel like you can’t move anymore. Frozen in place until you finally snap yourself out of it before he thinks you’re as weird as everyone else does. You were always the loner everyone picked at.

“Right you are, does your father normally leave you alone at the shop?” Royal asked as you went to pick up his plaque off the shelf on the wall of the workshop. You take it over to him and placed it on the table for him to observe it. “Yeah, but only if it’s either an emergency or if he’ll only be gone for a few minutes. He should be back soon, the calve didn’t wander too far today,” you said. Royal picked up the plaque, admiring the work your father put into it, with a little bit of your help here and there.

“Damn fine work, Cecelia is gonna love this hanging up on the porch,” Royal gestures to Rhett as he looks at the woodwork. “This is my son, Rhett. I understand y’all go to school together.” Rhett shifts his gaze from the projects laying around the shop to you, his height is about the same as yours, his blue eyes looking into yours. He nods his head as a way of acknowledgment, you nod back. No words were said, you didn’t think you could for them in regard to him. You couldn’t tell at the time, but it might have been a schoolgirl crush.

The older Abbott paid for his plaque and the two made their leave. Before hopping into the truck, Rhett looked over to you one more time to see you whipping your head the other direction, trying not to let him see you looking at him back. You continued to see more of the Abbotts bit by bit since that day. You two didn’t get closer until your mothers passing, Cecelia would invite you and your father over for dinner every once in a while, when things got tough. Since then, Rhett began to play the role of some type of bodyguard. He was your only friend. When people would pick on you, they had Rhett to deal with. He would walk you home from school and drive you once the two of you were older. You would work together on his ranch, and he would help around your field if it was needed or keep you company in the shop when you were alone. As the years go on, the schoolgirl crush didn’t go away, but may have worsened. You couldn’t tell him, especially when the two of you were 16 when he caught his eye on Maria Olivares. You never felt like you could match up to her, the prettiest girl in school that every guy fawned over. It wasn’t too bad, at least Rhett was still by your side in one way.

Now the two of you are in your 20s. You’ve attended every rodeo, watched him fall off of every bull and was there to patch him up after every bar fight. After the first few months of your fathers passing, the roles were reversed for a while. You would drink a bit more, and all it took was for one buckle bunny to make a snide remark and her face would meet your fist in a timed record. Rhett dragged you out from the bar one night and drove you home. As he patched you up in the low light at your kitchen table, you would never forget what he said to you.

“Listen, I know this is hard. I know I don’t completely know how you feel, and I won’t for a long time. But it’s not just you still. You have me, and I will always be here. You have Mom, Dad, Perry, and Rebecca. Amy looks up to you and even calls you her aunt. We’re always gonna be here for you, and we don’t want to see you dig yourself into a grave. Let us help you, please.”

You stopped drinking so much that night, and you cried in his arms that night when you finally accepted your grief. He went as far as to sleep over at your house a couple of nights so that you wouldn’t be alone in your childhood home.

You’ve managed to keep the business running well and good. It’s been tough with it being just you, but you’ve been able to keep up with all your father has taught you through the years. You were even able to keep things well enough to go to the craft festival like you and your father did every year. The two of you would spend months preparing all of the little trinkets and projects to sell, and you would sell damn near all of them. You’ve been successful enough to pull it off the past three years.

This is what lands you to where you are now. In the late hours of the night, you were finally made your way back.

It feels like forever, but the Abbott ranch finally makes way into your line of site. You don’t see Rhett’s old, blue GMC in the lot. He doesn’t seem to be home, but with seeing the other cars, everyone else is. You wonder where he could be, it’s later than usual for him to be at the Handsome Gambler. The lights in the house are off except for the faint light from window in the kitchen. You were feeling guilty about possibly waking everyone up, but you feel better knowing that at least someone is still awake at an ungodly hour. Turning off the lights to the truck, you cut the engine and step out. You make your way over to the door leading to the kitchen and gently knock a few times, alerting whoever was inside of your presence. It takes a couple of moments, almost enough to where you think of going ahead and heading home, turning in for the night and catching up on some of the rest you have lost from the drive. As you’re about to turn around, the door finally opens to reveal Royal. He lets out a breath and nods to you, “Well look who it is, when’d you get back in town?”

“Just now actually,” you said with a small laugh and a smile, “thought I would come by and see you guys on my way home, make sure I wasn’t forgotten.” Royal laughs at the statement and gives you a pat on the shoulder. “I doubt that could ever happen, Amy’s been asking when you’d be back almost since you left,” he said.

You both gave a laugh as you thought of Rhett’s niece. You were both 15 when she was born. He was unsure of the arrival of a new child in the house, but the second he held her he knew he would protect her the best he could. He’d take care of anyone who messes with her the same he did with you. Amy follows you almost everywhere you go. When she’s not in school, she’d come with you to the shop with Rhett and watch you work, and you’d teach her how to make a few small things if she begged you enough. “I’m sure she’ll be excited I’m back. I’d go say ‘hi’ to her now, but I don’t want to cause a bother waking her up,” you said. You were about to ask if it was okay to come in and chat a minute, let him know how business was at the festival and how proud you were this year when a noise came up behind him.

You look passed him as Rhett came downstairs, catching your eye in a hoodie sporting a split lip and a bruise on his cheek. He stops and turns in your direction, you lock eyes from across the kitchen as he halts in his place, almost startled at your arrival. “What are you doing here?” he asks you. You chuckle, looking him up and down, “Well that’s something to say after not seeing me for almost a damn month,” you respond. You smoothly walked past Royal, making your way to him to inspect his injuries. You gently take his chin to move his head side to side, he makes a low noise and lazily moves your hand away. “Jesus,” you playfully scold him, “I leave for a while and you get yourself into shit, I really should keep you on a leash, shouldn’t I? Who’d you fight this time, one of the Tillerson boys?” Your comment makes his eyes widen; you see something that you can’t make out in his eyes. Not quite startled, but more of a bit of fear and uncertainty. Within your time together as you got him out of fights here and there, he grew to have a tiny bit of fear over being on the wrong side of your temper. “I guess you can say that,” he says almost as a whisper. You laugh again, glancing back at Royal, “like I said, leash.”

You look back to Rhett, nudging him in the chest, “Seriously, you gotta let me give Luke and Trevor, or whichever one you got into it with, a piece of my mind next time I see them”

Rhett cleared his throat and shifted his stance on his feet. You narrowed your eyes at him a bit, stepping back to completely look at him. You’ve always been able to tell if there was something wrong, or if he was lying. And you can tell now, the stench of lies goes up to high heaven. “You doin’ alright Rhett?” You asked him. He nodded his head a couple of times, “Yeah yeah, my minds just a little fuzzy from the drinks and fightin’ tonight” he said, avoiding your eyes. You nodded your head “mm-hmm” you hummed. You looked back at Royal again, he was looking out the window, as if he was expecting someone. You looked back at Rhett; he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “What did you do?” you asked in a lowered tone.

He finally looks at you, a little more alarmed, “Nothing” he said a little more rushed than he meant to. You stared him down hard, “Nothing” you repeated to him. “So why do you seem so…. jumpy tonight?” He holds your stare, he can tell you have something on him, and he’ll be able to break soon. He was never that good at lying to you or able to keep things from you. “Like I said, drinkin’ and fightin’ cloudin’ my head” he says.

“Rhett” you hear Royal say from behind you. You both look to him; he nods his head to outside in a “hurry up” notion. Rhett seems to understand what his father is trying to say to him and he looks back to you, “Look, it’s gettin’ late, and you drove a good while. You need to go get some sleep. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow, okay? I’ll walk you the truck” he says, motioning you to walk with him. You still stand there, not completely trusting the situation. “Rhett,” you say, “Whatever it is, you might as well say now. I know that you know I can tell when you’re hiding something, and if you want me to still talk to you tomorrow, you’d say it right now.” Rhett almost feels like a child getting in trouble, hell he might as well be. He looks to Royal, who thinks for a second and then sighs, motioning the two of you to go with him. Rhett turns back to you as you await your answer.

“Come on” ……………………………………………………………….. They walk you to the barn across from the house, the moon lights your way as you walk behind Rhett’s towering figure. Your mind is racing, trying to think of any of the possible, stupid situation that Rhett could get himself into, and what it could have been to be hidden in the barn. And how severe could it be for him to try to hide it from you, his closest and only actual friend. When you reach the barn doors, Royal turns around to you.

“Before we show you, you have to swear that anything that you see here must not leave this property. You do not say anything to anyone, especially not to Amy,” he says to you, lowering his voice to where only the three of you can hear. After a moment of contemplation, your mind still soaring over the different situations that this can lead to, you nod your head at him. Royal opens the barn doors, the lights almost burning your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness as dim as they were. When you were finally able to see right, you see that Rhett’s truck is inside rather than where it’s normally parked outside, answering your question from earlier. You shift your attention to Rhett himself; he puts a hand on your back, gently pushing you forward. As you walk closer, you start to see something laying closer to the back. You get a chill running through your spine as you begin to realize what was lying motionless in the back of Rhett’s truck.

Trevor Tillerson was lying in the truck bed, face covered in blood and looking as if he were sleeping. But you have a terrible feeling he’s not. You walk over to him, looking over his pale complexion.

“Him and Perry got into it behind the bar. I wasn’t there when it happened but know Perry’s temper, I’m sure he said something he shouldn’t have while Perry was in the state he was in,” you hear Rhett say behind you. “I left to bring the truck around, he was on the ground when I got back.”

You swallow the lump in your thought that began to rise as you looked at the body. Reaching down to put your fingers to find a pulse point, only to find nothing as you touch his cold skin. You hear Rhett say your name, you can tell he is getting worried at your silence. Your shift your hand to his face, lifting his eyelid, his eyes have already become cloudy just slightly. A sign that this night isn’t gonna end for a long time. You’ve seen death before, all of you have, it’s hard to run a ranch without seeing it. But there’s a hard difference between livestock and a person.

“What are you gonna do now?” you said after what felt like eternity. “What?” Rhett asked. You turn around to the two men behind you. “Rigor mortis sets in within a couple of hours after death. Unless you want to walk up to the police station with a stiff body, I have feeling you guys are gonna try to hide him instead. So you might want to make your plan before we sit here all night staring at a dead body, especially of you don’t want his brothers coming around looking for him.” Rhett looked at you as if you had two heads, walking towards you as he tried to think of what to say to get you out of this. “As far as anyone is concerned, you’re still out of town. If anything, you need to go home before anyone knows you’re here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m standing here, I’m looking at him, this makes me part of it by just being here!” you try to reason with him. They’re gonna need help and they know it; if anyone asks where they were, Rhett could say that he was with you on your first night back as an alibi. Rhett can feel himself starting to get aggravated, he wants you far from here. He wishes he could take you home, or anywhere else as long as it wasn’t the Abbott ranch. “No, your DNA isn’t on anything, you can still go and try to forget this, you need to go before something else happens,” he says. You’re about to defend your case before Royal interrupts you both, “both of you shut up and listen!”

You both turn your attention to the elder man. “Rhett, you help me get him out of the truck, after that I want the both of you to burn the shirt and clean out the back of the truck. I’ll take care of the body,” Rhett was about to say something before his father shot him a look. “We can’t stand here all night arguing, we need to hide the body before his brothers realize something happened.”

After they get Trevor out and wrapped up, you help them get his body strapped to the horse, Tillie. While you strap him in, the lights start flickering. But not in a fuse shortening way, but like they were being manually flipped on and off. You all share a look, “Perry” Royal said. You run over to the door and peak through, “shit!” you say as you see the Tillerson’s at the house. You look back to the men, “The Tillerson’s are here, we gotta hurry.” Royal nods as he mounts Tillie, Rhett going to open the back door. After Royal rides out, you and Rhett quickly throw some bales of hay into the truck bed. You look up at each other as you start to hear voices coming closer by the second. Rhett looks behind you, “Hayloft, up the ladder. They won’t be able to see us under the hay.” You both start that way as the door starts banging against the lock. You both rush up the ladder as fast as you can, falling into the hay just in the nick of time. The Tillerson brothers, along with Perry, walk in only to find an empty stable with a truck full of hay. Not looking up to see the two of you as you cover yourselves.

Rhett holds you close to him as you both hide in the stash of hay. Your bodies flush against one another. You won’t lie and say that you never dreamed of being in this position, except those dreams didn’t involve covering up an accidental murder case.

Rhett’s trying to keep his breathing low, all while trying to catch it. It almost feels like the past two hours have been a blur. With the rush of adrenaline caused by the fucked situation mixed with seeing you after so long, he feels like he could pass out right now with you in his arms like he’s been wanting to for years. The both of you can feel yourselves warming up from the body heat as you lay low in the hay, but not to where you’re suffocating.

After they finally leave, you both keep still as you finally allow yourselves to breath once again. Your body relaxing against Rhett as you calm down from the rush. You can feel his breath against your cheek. His arms tighten around you, almost like he thought you could slip from his fingers. You look over to him, your nose brushing his with how close you were. You shift your body to completely face him, his arms still around you as you two begin to look like lovers in a warm embrace. How you wish that were true. You look at each other, nose to nose, all it could take was a slight movement and you could brush your lips against his. Rhett can feel his heartbeat in his ears, his eyes leaving yours only to look at your lips and back up. You do the same, staring into his bright blue eyes.

You don’t know what makes you pull away slightly. Maybe it’s the fear of rejection, maybe it’s the feeling that it’s the wrong place for this, or maybe you don’t want to ruin how things are between you two. You pull away only an inch from him, still close to feel his body against you, but enough to cool off a bit. “What do you think is gonna happen, Rhett?” you whisper. He looks at you with uncertainty. “I’m not sure,” he says so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him. “All I know is that it’s not gonna be good.” He tucks your head into his neck as you both lay there in the hayloft. He wishes you could both lay there forever, or at least until sunrise.

As you shut your eyes, you wrap your arms around him. You two try to make the most of this calm moment in between chaos. None of you know of what’s to come, but until then, you both rest.

#rhett abbot x reader #Rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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sweetsweetjellybean · 2 years

Text

In The Cold November Rain Part 7 *18+ MDNI

Eddie Munson/FemReader Steve Harrington/FemReader

TW: Story runs congruent to events in the show. If you know what happens in season 4, then you'll know how this will end. *Be warned* 18+ Smut, Angst, High School Fuckery, Drinking, Drugs Let me know if I miss any. NSFW The smut has arrived.

Can you have two great loves in a lifetime?

You've had the ideal childhood in Hawkins with your best friend & protector Steve Harrington. When it's ripped away, can you pick up the pieces? Eddie Munson may be able to help.

A story about the pain of growing up, unrequited love, and loss.

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Sincerest & Eternal Thanks To @loveshotzz A goodess of smut. I worship at her alter.

Inspired by @loveshotzz & notes by @eddieandbird

Part 7/13? MASTERLIST Ao3

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By the time the second semester of your junior year rolls around, you work on your homework after school every day at the small kitchen table in Eddie's trailer. You helped Eddie when he'd let you. He's less focused on school and more interested in his guitar, some girl, D&D, or anything else. He'd sit in the living room on the couch or on the kitchen counter strumming his guitar, talking to you about whatever he was currently hyper-fixated on. His constant chatter was actually soothing. It was comforting knowing he was there. It became such a habit that you can never study without the tv or radio in the background. He had been talking about this horror film for weeks. It had never made it to Hawkins little theater, but he got a copy on VHS, borrowing it from some guy in Kerley County.

"So, are you going to stay and watch it with me?" Eddie asks while you're finishing your calculus.

"It's Friday night. I couldn't possibly have anything better to do, could I?" You ask sarcastically.

He stops strumming. "Do you have a date?"

The push-pull between you had cooled after reaching a stalemate. Neither of you is willing to give in. You've been on a few dates. You didn't throw it in his face, but you assumed he knew. He never mentioned it and had a few dates of his own. The truth was those boys had bored you to tears. Their sloppy kisses at the end of the night did nothing for you.

"Nope." You sigh, pausing to look at him. "Aren't you seeing someone right now?"

"Unfortunately, sweet Casandra got her fill of the Munson charm."

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically. He moves over to the table to sit across from you. He starts giving you that sad puppy dog look with those big brown eyes. "Alright, but if I have nightmares, you're going to sit up with me all night with the lights on watching care bears or something until I can function normally again."

"Yes!" He sticks out his tongue and fist pumps the air. "You're not going to regret this.

"I already regret this." You're only thirty minutes into the film, and there have been three gory beheadings, and now inexplicably, the couple running from the killer is stopping to have sex.

"Stop. It's not that bad." He takes your foot from where it's stretched out on the couch and puts it in his lap, his hand lightly stroking your instep. "I like these," he says, referring to your fuzzy purple socks. "I feel like I have a cat or something." You lightly kick him with your free foot. He captures it and starts giving it the same treatment. "Be nice, Princess." He turns his attention back to the screen. "They're really going for it now," He says, consumed by the action. The man has taken off the women's shirt and shorts, and she pauses and removes her bra. Eddie sucks in a deep breath.

"No way those are real," you complain. "This is so cheesy. How many virgins do you know with fake boobs?"

"Jealous?" His eyes are still glued to the screen.

"No. I'm very pleased with what I have. Thank you."

"Are you sure? You could ask Santa for a set of those puppies for Christmas. Maybe you get a few more dates."

"I haven't gotten any complaints."

"But you haven't gotten any compliments either."

"Screw you." Crossing your arms over your chest, you attempt to pull your feet away. He tightens his grip keeping them across his lap. Your soft fuzzy socks looked out of place next to his worn black jeans with the chain clipped to his belt loop that attached to the wallet in his back pocket.

"Relax, we both know the royal knockers have never seen the light of day."

"What the hell would you know about it, Eddie?" His teasing can get you worked up faster than anybody you've known.

"I know you're a virgin. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Princess. You'll save yourself for Mr. Right. He won't know how to make you come, but he'll knock you up. Then you can stay home all day and vacuum."

"That's not what I want," you grumble. How can he actually think that? The man is sucking on the woman's boobs, and she's moaning so loud the killer is sure to hear her. You look over at Eddie. His mouth is open, and his breathing is a little faster. "Are you getting turned on?" You ask while running your foot closer to his crotch. He stops its path before it reaches any place interesting, his concentration still focused on the movie.

"Are you?" He asks. You know he's teasing, and you want to call his bluff.

"Maybe." His head whips around. The way he is looking at you has your thighs squeezing together. A wave of desire crests in your belly.

"What are you doing, Princess?"

His hand runs under your pant leg, sliding up your calf. Your tongue wets your lips, and your head falls back. You're definitely turned on now but not because of the movie. His fingertips move to the back of your knee, and he starts tickling you relentlessly.

"Stop, Eddie, please." You beg, squirming and giggling.

"It's not nice to tease." He says, following your squirming body as you slide down the couch, trying to get away from him. He changes tactics and goes for your ribs. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and you're trying to catch your breath. Somehow he's ended up hovering over you. A cocky smirk on his face. It makes you want to kiss it right off him. So you do. He's shocked at first, not responding to your mouth. When you suck his lower lip in between yours, he groans and finally kisses you back. His kisses are just as good as you remembered.

In the future, you will spend time ruminating on what makes someone a good kisser. Is it technique? The right amount of pressure and tongue. The only conclusion you've ever come to is that it comes down to being with the right person; at that moment, he was right for you.

His long eyelashes flutter as he takes his time tasting your mouth. Craving the weight of his body, you wrap your leg around him, encouraging him to drop onto you. Once his pelvis is cradled between your legs, your hips start to roll, grinding against his hardening cock. Even through your clothes, he sets you on fire. "Fuck, sweetheart, if you're trying to prove some kind of point, you're going to break my dick." Laughter bursts past your lips. He looks down at you smiling. There's a hint of stubble on his jaw as your fingers dance over his skin. "You are so beautiful. Your smile feels like the sun. It has since the first time I saw it."

He blushes and drops his mouth down to your neck. His tongue whirls and lips wetly suck the sensitive skin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. He's probably marking you, but you don't mind as long as he doesn't stop. His hand is under your shirt, smoothing up your stomach while his mouth moves lower. An electric current runs under your skin, sending tingles all over your body, and your lungs can't pull in enough air. A high-pitched scream fills the room, along with a chainsaw. Both of you dissolve into unrestrained laughter. Not ready for this to be over, you try enticing him back with your lips but end up giggling into his mouth. He sits up and finds the remote, pressing the buttons to shut off the movie. Righting yourself, you gulp down some water from the glass on the coffee table. "Well, that was fun." He leans back against the couch and scrubs his face.

"Is that it? Do you want me to go?" You ask, twisting the hem of your shirt. Doubt worms its way in as you start to question your actions. He's watching you, his face unreadable while you ache for him.

"I want you…." Keeping your eyes on his mouth, you suck in a deep breath. "To do whatever you want. Stay, go. It's up to you." He looks away, sighing. That stings. "Jesus, Eddie, you'll give a girl a complex. I'm using my best moves here."

The tone of your voice is light, but you avoid his eyes. He takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch and down the narrow hall to his room. He leaves you standing in the doorway and moves around the room, shutting his shades and dumping the clothes piled on his bed on the floor. He retakes your hand, and you sit down with him on the edge of his bed. Keeping your eyes low, you concentrate on his hand, twisting the rings on his long elegant fingers.

"You'll have to spell it out for me, Princess. Because I haven't got a fucking clue about what's happening right now. Are you just fooling around? Do you want me to make you cum? Make out with you? Go down on you? I'm totally open to all those things." He dips his head down, trying to get you to meet his eyes. "Do you want me to marry you? Have your babies?" That gets you to smile and meet his eyes. "Tell me, sweetheart." His free hand caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"I think I want…I want you to fuck me, Eddie." There is a throbbing between your legs, and your heart pounds out of your chest. Something dark passes over his face. His eyes go almost black. He doesn't say anything, and you start to pull back. "Just give me a minute. I'm so fucking turned on I can't see straight."

The outline of his hard dick is visible under his tight jeans. He stops your fingers from wandering up his thigh by bringing the back of your hand to his mouth and kissing it sweetly.

"I want to see you. Take your shirt off. Now." He's daring you, and his demanding tone has wetness pooling in your underwear. Eager to comply, you strip off your shirt and discard it on the floor. Your new wardrobe included nice lingerie, matching sets of lace, and silk. Knowing you had something a little sophisticated underneath, no matter what you wore over it, made you feel self-assured. The sheer lavender set you put on that morning matched your fuzzy socks. Your sensitive nipples are completely visible under the ultra-fine filmy fabric of your bra. In a big show, you raise your arms over your head, shaking your long hair behind your shoulders. His eyes are wide, and his adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"Stand up and face away from me." You do as you're told.

"When did you get so bossy, Eddie?" you tease.

"Don't push me right now, Princess, or you're going to end on your knees with my cock in that smart mouth." His words have a shiver running through you. "Promise?" You ask, looking over your shoulder. His face is tense, like he's waiting for you to refuse. "Take off your jeans." Your fingers open the button and work them down slowly, sticking your ass out as you push them down your legs. You are absolutely drunk on the power of his wanting. He groans like he can't wait anymore. He leans forward and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the flesh on your ass that's not covered by your panties. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he starts nipping at you. His hands unclasp your bra, and you let it slide off your shoulders. He pulls down your panties, and you step out of them, leaving you completely bare in front of him. He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to the bed. It feels like he's everywhere at once, his tongue exploring your mouth, his finger rolling your nipples and pressing into your skin as they drag up your thighs. The sounds you make don't even sound like you. He's making you so needy you're dripping onto his sheets. "Shit Eddie, No one has ever made me feel like this." He pauses and moves his body over you. The cold metal on his belt bites into the skin across your hips.

"Oh yeah? Not even King Dickhead?"

Huffing back on the bed, you cover your face with your hands. "You really want to talk about him right now?" Steve is somehow ruining this for you. He's like a bad penny you can't get rid of.

"Fuck, you're right. I'm sorry I'm fucking this all up." He presses his face into the mattress and groans. "It's okay," you tell him, your hands rubbing up and down his back. He looks into your eyes. "You're so fucking sexy right now. I can't believe this is happening, that you're naked and under me." His tone gets softer. "I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Me too." You admit shyly, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I want to be with you. Please."

His eyes are soft, and he caresses your face. He runs a single finger between the valley of your breasts and moves it lower between your legs but not where you want it.

"Do you ever touch yourself?" He asks. You nod your head and whimper. "I fucking dream about that. I want to know how you do it? Do you touch yourself here?" He runs his finger slowly through your slick folds and circles your clit. "Or like this?" He dips inside you but not very deep. "Do you ever think about me? Do you ever come saying my name?" He starts strumming your clit with his thumb while leaving the other finger teasing your entrance.

"Yes, Eddie. I think about you all the time. Please. I need this." Squirming beneath him, you try to get him deeper, fucking yourself with his fingers.

"I know, Sweetheart. I'm gonna take such good care of you." He thrusts his finger inside you and captures your breast with his mouth sucking in as much as possible. Torturing your nipple with his tongue. He bites down on it gently, and it pushes you over the edge. Tremors wrack your body as you come and come. His thumb doesn't stop; you have to move his hand away when it gets too much. Curling onto your side, your body shakes through the aftershocks. He brushes the hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. "You are so beautiful when you fall apart. I knew you would be." He stands and takes off his shirt. His chest is smooth, and his muscles flex as he undoes his belt and pops the button of his jeans. Your eyes zero in on the line of hair that runs from his belly button into his boxers. You'd catch glimpses of it when he raised his arms, stretching at the lunch table or around the trailer. And you found it so sexy. Pulling him closer by his belt loops, your tongue traces down its path while you lower his zipper and slide down his pants.

The head of his cock is poking up through his boxers, drops of cum beading at the tip. His salty flavor coats your tongue when you give it a single lick. His hands close around your biceps and push you back on the bed. Caging you in with his arms. "Don't start things you're not going to finish." He warns, retaking your mouth. His kisses drive you back into a wanton mass of need despite just coming. Grinding your hips against him, you push his boxers down, and his long cock nestles right against you. Your hips move frantically, sliding his dick through your wetness. The sound of your moans fills the room.

"Please just fuck me, Eddie. You can do anything you want to me. Just make me come again." A blush paints your cheeks red, you're embarrassed by what you're saying, but he's reveling in it. He fucks his head against your clit, driving you crazy.

"I don't know, Princess. That's a hell of an offer, but I can't tell if this pussy wants me bad enough yet. I'm going to have to taste it to know for sure." Just the idea of his mouth on you has you shaking. His hands roughly spread your legs wider, and he nips his way down your body. He handles you like your body was made for him to take. He parts you with his fingers and licks a stripe from your ass to your clit.

"Fuck. I'm going to die a happy man someday, remembering the taste of this cunt." A gasp passes over your lips and your entrance pulses with his words, more slick dripping out. "Do you like my mouth, Sweetheart? Do you like the things I'm saying? Your cunt sure seems to. Wanna see what else it can do?" He penetrates you with his tongue moving it in and out of you, making you utterly wild. He holds your hips in place because you're a writhing mess. His hips ride the sheets while you moan and cry and curse, he goes back to strumming your clit with his fingers, and you scream his name, pulsing around his tongue. Pleasure edges into pain as you try squirming away, but he holds you down and continues fucking you with his tongue.

A second orgasm rips through you. It's so intense the rest of your body shuts down as it passes through you, your vision tunnels, and your ears ring. You want to cry or scream, but no sound escapes as your body shakes so hard it bucks him out of you. Wrung out, your eyes stay closed as he moves up your body, your arms and mouth searching for him. He licks lazily into your mouth, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"Christ, that was so hot. You get so wet when you come. That second time you gushed on my tongue." He says, still kissing your mouth. Returning his kiss, you tilt your hips, so the head of his cock is lined up with your wet entrance. After all that, you still want to know what he'll feel like inside you. "Again, Sweetheart? You look fucked out."

"I want this with you, Eddie. I want you to be my first."

He looks at you with soft eyes. "I'm honored, Princess. Truly but we don't have to do anything more."

"Don't you want me?"

"More than anything," he says, using a softer tone.

You push his curls back away from his face. "I don't love you," you tell him, although you're not entirely sure that's true. There's something there. It's profound, and it's intimate. You trust him with every part of you. He smiles at you, those eyes stripping you bare. "I don't love you either. But I care about you, and I won't hurt you. Is that enough?"

"It's more than enough. You're always enough for me." You kiss deeply, and he slowly pushes himself inside you. The stretch is new. There's a slight pinch and burn. Wincing, you break the kiss, turning your head away from him and squeezing your eyes closed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He presses soft kisses over your eyelids and cheeks. "I can stop."

"No. I'm okay." Your muscles are starting to relax around him. "Just give me another second."

"You feel so goddamn good. Fuck, you're so tight. You're perfect." He's having trouble keeping still. His hips are rock with the tiniest of movements. You open your eyes to study his face. He's at war with himself, fighting the urge to move, but he's being so careful with you. This is why you wanted it to be with him. A warmth spreads in your chest, knowing you made the right choice. He sucks in a breath when you roll your hips. "I'm ready."

"Yeah?" He asks, smiling down at you. His hips rock a little more.

"Yeah." You share kiss after kiss as his strokes become steady and sure.

"I'm not going to last. I'm sorry. You feel too good."

"It's okay. I want you to come." With your feet flat on the bed, you raise your hips to meet him.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck." The muscles in his neck strain, and warm spurts of cum shoot into you. He drops his weight on you, and you run your hands through his hair, holding him close. He sloppily mouthes your neck as he comes down from his high. His eyes widen and he panics. "Shit, Princess, I just came inside you. I forgot to pull out." You widen your eyes but can't keep it up for more than a few seconds. "I'm on the pill. My mom made me start taking it when I wanted to buy anything other than cotton underwear."

"Jesus H. Christ. I thought I was going to have to marry you." He pulls out of you slowly. "Getting stuck with the Munson name would have knocked your crown off for sure."

"Stop. I could only be so lucky." He gives you a tight smile and strokes your cheek. He gets up and leaves the room. The water runs in the bathroom, and you hear him bumping around the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, two Tylenol, and a warm wet towel. "You're probably going to be sore tomorrow," He says, giving you the pills and the water. "I'm going to clean you up. I'll be gentle." You nod and spread your legs for him. He stares for more than a few moments, and you start to close your legs, embarrassed by his scrutiny. He gently stops you with a hand on your thigh. "I wish I could take a picture. Your pussy is completely wrecked." He starts running the towel through your folds. You cover your face. "You're sick, Eddie."

"Yes. Yes, I am. But you had three orgasms. Who did that to you again? I don't recall." Giggling, you bite his shoulder. "Can you stay over tonight?' He asks when he's finished.

"Yeah, My mom thinks I'm at Tina's anyway."

"Good. I want more time with you naked." He moves behind you to spoon, tucking the blankets over you both.

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Tag List @boomhauer @onlyangel-444 @breehumbles @myobmaya @arsenicred @kiki17483

Part 8

I'll tag ya? Thanks for reading!

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #joe kerry #joeseph quinn

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