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megamindsecretlair · 5 months

Text

All of Me

Pairing: Kane x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Use of n-word. Phone Smut, mutual masturbation (fem and male) cursing, hella dirty talk, begging, possession kink, Daddy kink, teasing, all consensual. Established relationship. Brief mention of violence and murder. No spoilers for the show!

Summary: You were so dreadfully needy and Kane wasn't there to fix it. You decide to call him and tease him a little.

Word Count: 2,366k

A/N: Wanted to do a little sum'n for Thanksgiving while we all winding down from the itis. If I did Tyrone, I'd still be writing! LOL. Ya'll can thank @planetblaque for this! Kane's voice makes me so irrationally feral. Enjoy my rotten brain! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I block ageless blogs.

Taglist: @browngirldominion @dayjlovesromance @flydotty @eggnox @blackerthings @hopelessdisasterr @sevikasblackgf @wide-nose-and-wonderful @monaeesstuff @notapradagurl7 @lovedlover @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @soft-persephone

This was so unfair. You tossed and turned. The cold sheet beside you felt like it was mocking you. You were horny and he wasn’t here. Your feverish skin made sweat gather everywhere.

Your fingers desperately rubbed at your clit, getting wetter by the minute. But something was missing. Or someone. Kane had been gone more often than being there with you. And it fucking sucked. But any time you brought it up, he started in with that smile. That head tilt. He’d simply follow you into the room and work out whatever your attitude was.

You pictured yourself riding him. His hands on your hips, effortlessly lifting you up and down on his dick. You wouldn’t be able to tell who was in charge, him directing your pace or you slamming down on his dick. Gripping him tight inside of you as if you meant to keep him there.

A low, ragged moan escaped you. Your orgasm steadily built higher and higher. You pictured that teardrop on his face. Pictured leaning down and licking it. You knew what it meant. You knew that he was a dangerous man. But then you imagined his voice saying dirty things.

Oh, almost there. Almost there. And…it was gone. “What the fuck!” You screamed into the empty room. That fucking bastard. You were so used to him filling you up that you couldn’t even get off by yourself anymore.

Randomly while taking a bath or shower, you could maybe get there on your own. But nothing else worked. He invaded every part of you. He commanded you, body and soul. And you fucking hated it.

You sat up in bed and cold air hit your damp back. That did little to dull your senses. Your clit was throbbing. You were needy. And he wasn’t here to work it out.

You grabbed the receiver on the nightstand beside you. As you dialed the warehouse’s number, you turned on the light. Your foot dangled off the side of the bed, bouncing as you waited for one of his stupid friends to answer.

“Put Kane on the mu’fucking phone right now,” you demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” the little boy said.

You waited, chewing on your nail. You rubbed your forehead. Your fingers came away wet with sweat. This shit was embarrassing.

“Yeah, baby?” Kane’s deep, raspy voice came over the line and your pusy throbbed in response. Down girl.

“You need to come home, now,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Can’t come home just because I said?”

“We talked about this, mama. I was gon’ have to be gone for a while while I deal with business,” he said.

So fucking nonchalant. Kane hardly raised his voice. It was infuriating. Sometimes, you wanted to see what he looked like when mad. What it would take to make him react or do something out of character. It was toxic but you didn’t give a shit.

You refused to beg. You weren't some weak ass bitch begging for dick. And yet, you called. He was on the phone. You sighed, realizing how fucking stupid you looked sitting in the house by yourself all the time. You liked the solitude in the day time. You didn’t have to deal with anyone but your own company, just the way you liked. But at night, when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the bed no matter how hard you tried, it was lonely. It hit you all over again just how dangerous Kane’s life was.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this Kane,” you said.

Kane sighed on the other end. “You trynna tell me somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes. Your fever was starting to cool. You were still incredibly horny. But you weren’t going to beg.

“Naw. Bye,” you said.

“Wait, you called me. What’s up, for real? Talk to me, baby,” he said.

You listened to the rhythm of his voice. Listening to it, you were starting to get worked up all over again. With a word, he could light a fire under you. With a sentence…

“How long are you gonna be at the warehouse?” You asked. A kernel of an idea wormed its way into your brain.

“Not sure. Why?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. You lay back against the pillows and got comfortable.

“Just wondering…” you said. You played with the coil of the phone.

Kane chuckled. “I know when you up to somethin’.”

“Me?” You asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just wondering how long I got to play with myself,” you said.

It was silent on his side. If it weren’t for the open air, you would have thought he hung up the phone. You trailed your hand over your tummy. Kane liked to place extra kisses there. You pictured him kneeling over you, placing soft kisses and watching how your belly dipped. He’d lick certain spots, guaranteeing a laugh from you.

“Are you touching yourself now?” Kane asked. He was deceptively calm.

“Mhm,” you said. Your hand went lower, slipping beneath your panties. “Wearing your shirt. The long sleeved blue one. And my panties,” you said. Your hand played with your curls and you tried to control your breathing. But this teasing was exactly what you needed. If his punk ass wanted to spend all his time at the warehouse, he ought to know what he was missing out on.

“Where’s your hand at?” Kane asked. You heard shuffling. A creak.

“Hm, over my pussy. Finna play with my clit the way I like,” you said.

“The way you like, huh,” he said.

You gasped as you moved your fingers through your folds. You were soaked. “Ohh,” you cooed. “I’m soooo wet right now.”

Kane sighed. “I’m gonna get yo ass for this, I hope you know that. Touching my shit without me,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so scared. If only I wasn’t so busy takin’ care of business,” you said.

Kane chuckled. He cleared his throat but it did nothing to soften his raspy voice. “You try to talk so tough. It’s kind of cute. But you forget that I know yo ass. You called ‘cause you couldn’t get yourself off, could you?”

You bit your lip, irritation flaring up. His ass would guess on the first try. Oh well, didn’t matter. You were getting what you wanted and that was all that mattered.

“Actually, I came before I called. Thought you might want to hear me cum again,” you said. You started to moan as you pictured whatever retribution he was thinking of. If he would spank you. Bend you over his knee. If he would fuck you in his recliner in the living room. If he would play you like a fiddle. If he would get straight to the point and fuck you stupid, not caring if you were wet enough for his big dick.

“You rubbing your pussy?” Kane asked. His voice went lower, more strained.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Slow it down then.”

“I need to cum,” you said. It had been a horrible night. After you smoked, you got so fuckin’ horny you were bouncing off of the walls. Kane didn’t like you driving by yourself. And he didn’t want you around the warehouse. He didn’t want to have to kill all them niggas for lookin’ sideways at your ass.

You hissed. Murder shouldn’t turn you on. But well, there was something so hot about the way Kane treated you. Like you were the lost City of Atlantis and he guarded the secret with his life.

“Listen to me, mama. I’ma do you this kindness ‘cause I know Daddy ain’t been around. You’re lucky you caught me in a good mood. So slow it down for me. Go slow, them little circles I know you like,” he said.

You listened. Damn him, but you listened. You slowed down, rubbing large circles around your clit. Your legs shook as the pleasure increased. Your breathing slowed with it.

“That’s it. Don’t that feel good?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered. Your head fell back against the pillow, your eyes rolling back to the ceiling.

“When I get home, I’m gon’ lick that sweet pussy of yours. Nice and slow, just like you rubbing,” Kane said.

“Oh shit,” you gasped.

“Gon’ push those thighs to the bed. You won’t be able to close ‘em, no matter how much you want me to,” he continued. “Hmm, run my tongue along your pussy. Fuck you with it.”

“Shit,” you said. You could picture that. His tongue fucking into you. His big hands palming your thighs. Your legs dropped open further, as far as they would go. Your hips moved, wanting him there right now.

“Mhm, slow it back down, mama,” he said.

“Kane, please,” you said. If you admitted that you lied earlier, you’d never live it down. He’d lord it over you until he found something else to mock you with. Your belly tightened, cramping with the need to cum.

“Listen to me, mama. You making me so fuckin’ hard over here,” he said.

“Really?” Your pussy clenched. You loved that you affected him just as much he affected you. That you weren’t alone in this obsession. You did as he said, slowing down again. Your fingers were drenched.

“I’m so wet, Kane. I’m gon’ have to wash these sheets,” you said. You chuckled, your voice breathy.

“Let me hear it then,” Kane said.

You held in a smile, your cheeks scrunching with the effort. You moved the phone from your ear and held it to your pussy. You played with yourself, nice and slow like he wanted. It was quiet in the room. So you heard how wet you were. You paid attention to the sound. It made you wetter.

Your ragged moans were dragged from your throat. You were so close.

You brought the phone back to your ear. Kane sighed and groaned. “Damn, little mama. All that for me?” He asked.

“Yes, baby,” you said.

“Mhm, what you ‘sposed to say?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned.

“There you go. You get that shit right. I shouldn’t have to correct you, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned.

“Now I want you to taste yourself. Taste how I’m getting that pussy screaming for me,” he said.

“Fuck.” You did what he said. Dragging your fingers past your lips and tasting your arousal. You moaned.

“I know it’s been a minute since you had this dick, you miss it, huh?” Kane asked.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you admitted.

“Was that so hard to say?” Kane asked.

“Boy, fuck you,” you said. But there was no heat in your words. He was absolutely right and there was no way that you could deny it. You needed this man. Needed. It should scare you to give so much of yourself to one person. To trust that he’d always be there when you fell. And he had never let you down.

True, moving here was not what you were expecting. You were just happy to have him out of prison and in your arms again. You waited. You deserved his time. Didn’t you? Didn’t you hold it down for him? Weren’t you strong for him? Didn’t you get by, day after day, living with the pain of not having the love of your life in your arms?

His side of the bed was always so painfully icy. Your hand would accidentally brush it and you’d yank it back as if it scalded you. It reinforced how empty your life had been without him. You could survive without Kane. It would hurt like hell, but you believed you could. You didn’t want to have to.

You wanted him here, beside you. Holding you. Kissing you. Making you laugh. Fucking you until you both couldn’t breathe. Until the rays of the sunrise poked through the curtains and illuminated his beautiful face.

“Put them fingers inside you, mama,” he said.

You did as ordered, pushing two fingers inside of you. You gasped. Your voice stuttered. Your fingers were a poor substitute for his thick dick. For the rock of his hips. For his hand on your throat. For his gorgeous eyes closed as he slammed inside of you. Like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Like you were heaven and he was floating above the clouds.

You sighed and moaned. Kane encouraged you, wanting to hear every sound you made. You listened to his own uneven breathing as he jerked himself off. You pictured him sitting, rubbing his dick. Hard at the thought of you.

“I think…I’m cumming,” you moaned.

“That’s okay, mama. Let it go. You been doing so good. Let that shit go and cum for me,” he said.

You screamed his name as you finally came. The wild force of it knocked the breath from you. You felt like you were in the eye of the storm. Everything was still around you, but inside, you were twisting and turning. Roiling with the intensity of the storm. Your body bowed on the bed as your climax surged through you.

Kane groaned as he came. “Goddammit,” he muttered. He panted as he calmed down. You matched his breaths.

You felt so much better. You relaxed against the damp pillowcases beneath you. Your skin turned cold as that phantom fever left you with the orgasm. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you recovered.

Kane took in a deep breath and chuckled. “That’s all you get. I’ll come home and we gon’ talk about you on that bullshit again,” he said.

You giggled. “I’m gonna have to clean myself up. I’m thinkin’...bath. Candles. Definitely gon’ have to touch my pussy again,” you teased.

Kane was silent once more. You heard shuffling and random shifts from him. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m gon’ be home in twenty minutes and yo ass better be right fuckin’ there,” he said.

“If I’m not?” You asked.

“Don’t push me, little mama,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy,” you said. You tried to sound contrite but you both knew that you were happy as hell to finally get some dick. Twenty minutes wasn’t too long was it?

If you enjoyed this, there is more! The Secret Kane Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Kane Files #Kane x Black!reader #Kane x Black reader #Kane x Fem!reader #Kane x Fem reader #Kane x Plus size reader #Kane x you #Kane x reader #Kane imagine #Snowfall fanfic #Snowfall fan fic #Snowfall fanfiction #Snowfall fan fiction #Kane smut #Snowfall smut

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

I loveee your blog. I was wondering if you could do a fic about picking Eddie up from a party but he’s really really drunk and he promised his gf he wouldn’t go over board but he did maybe some angst and fluff. You can decide the rest. 🤍😁

Oops this got away from me. Sorry if it’s too rambly.

Warnings: some language, angst to fluff, insecurity

WC: 2.3k lol

You wish you could say you're sleeping when the phone ring at 2 AM, but you're still awake, cramming for your history test tomorrow. You've been staring at the review sheet for so long that the words start to go blurry. Eddie was supposed to study with you after his Corroded Coffin gig, but he never showed.

Brrrring!

The ring breaks your focus, and you grab the receiver before your parents wake up. "Hello?" you say cautiously.

"Hey, Y/N," it's Gareth. He sounds exhausted as he relays the message to you. "Eddie got wasted and is refusing to leave the bar until he can see you."

You sigh deeply, riddled with both concern and frustration. Eddie's on track to graduate this year--mostly due to your influence--and he's risking it all to get drunk on a random Tuesday night?

"Can you drive him to my place?" you ask, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger.

"Lemme ask," he replies, and you hear him call out: "Ed, we'll take you to Y/N, okay?"

"Noooooo," your boyfriend groans in the background. "Wan' her here nowwwwwww."

Gareth brings the phone back to his ear. "So, uh, that's a no-go."

"I'll be right there," you say through gritted teeth, pulling on your sneakers and grabbing your keys.

The Hideout is basically empty except for the members of Corroded Coffin. Eddie was slumped over in a barstool, resting his head on the counter. You march in angrily.

"C'mon, Eddie, let's go," you shake him awake. "We gotta get you home."

"Babyyyyyyy!" he exclaims, a drunken grin slowly stretching across his face. "Missed you s'much."

"You wouldn't have to miss me if you came over to study, like you promised," you counter, but you know there's no use arguing with him when he's this far gone.

Jeff scoots off of his stool and walks to you. "I'll help you drag his ass to the car," he offers, and you gratefully accept the help.

"Thank you guys for keeping him safe," you address the group, and they respond with weary smiles and a smattering of don't mention its.

You and Jeff guide Eddie to your car and usher him into the backseat.

"Wan' sit next to you, baby," he whines. "Wan' hold your pretty little hand and kiss your pretty little face."

You shake your head. "Lay down and just...be quiet, Eddie," you mutter, Jeff closes the door and wishes you good luck, and you thank him again before driving off.

"Y/N," Eddie pipes up from behind you, reaching out to touch your arm. You pull away as much as you can without jerking the wheel, "'re you mad at me?"

"We're not talking about this while you're drunk, Eddie," you respond shortly, annoyance evident in your tone.

He rolls over from his side to his back. "I hate when you're mad at me," he hiccups. "Just' wan' make you happy, sweetheart."

You want to scream at him, tell him that what would make you happy is him actually graduating this year, walking the across the stage to get his diploma, maybe even going to college with you. Instead, you clamp your mouth shut and focus on the road.

You leave your car running while you help Eddie out of the backseat and into the trailer. "You're not gonna stay?" he pouts, practically falling onto you.

"No," you reply tersely, "I have to get up in three hours to get ready for school. You know, that place you've been for six years? Where we have a huge history test second period?"

"Oh, shit," he exhales, and then laughs uncontrollably. "Yeah, fuck that place."

You bring him to his bed and place the garbage pail next to it. "In case you throw up," you remind him, heading for the door.

"You're really gon' leave me?" His laughs cease immediately; now, he looks like he's about to cry.

"Good night, Eddie," is all you can manage, too frustrated and disappointed to think straight.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie's not at school the next day. You successfully beg Mrs. Click to let him take the test tomorrow, saying that he has food poisoning. She buys the excuse, probably because of Eddie's newly-decent attendance record.

When he told you that he was determined to graduate, that '86 would be his year, you'd held him to it. You constantly reminded him of his goal, turned dates into study sessions, and had some pretty...fun rewards when he got answers correct. D-minuses and Fs gradually turned into C-pluses and B-minuses (with the exception of the "D" in O'Donnell's class, but you can't win 'em all).

You love seeing him motivated, tongue poking out of his mouth as he wracks his brain for vocabulary word definitions and math formulas. You love when he passes a test and hugs you tight, spinning you around, huge smiles on both of your faces. You love when he shows Wayne his grades with childlike enthusiasm, and the older man gives you a little wink.

You don't love Eddie's self-sabotaging behavior, and you plan to make that known.

That opportunity knocks earlier than you anticipate: he's sitting on your front steps when you pull into your driveway.

He looks up at you with his beautiful brown eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, fidgeting with his rings.

“Hey,” you respond. “Click said you can take the test tomorrow before school.”

“Thanks.” He bites his lower lip. “Can we, uh, can we talk?”

“Go for it. Explain to me why you thought getting plastered last night was a good idea.”

Eddie breathes out, puffing his cheeks. “After our gig, one of the regulars came up to me. He goes, ‘don’t see your girl out here tonight.’ And when I told him you were studying at home, he, um,” his eyes drop in shame, “he asked me what a smart girl was doing with someone like me.”

Your heart pangs with sadness, knowing how sensitive Eddie is about his intelligence, especially compared to yours. Still, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. “So a middle-age drunk makes a stupid comment, and you decide to get wasted?”

“He’s got a point, though,” he says sadly, “and it got me thinking...what if I don’t get into Indiana State with you?”

“First of all, he doesn’t have any point.” You take a seat next to him. “You’re smart; you just need help focusing on the right stuff. And second, we talked about that. You’ll go to Hawkins Community College for two years, get your grades up, and then join me.”

Eddie plows ahead, seemingly ignoring your response. “Or what if I get in, but I flunk out? Or realize that college isn’t for me?”

“Then you’ll figure out what you wanna do, Eds. There’s trial-and-error in it sometimes.”

He sighs. “I miss when I didn’t even try. Couldn’t be disappointed because I already knew I failed.”

You stand up and sling your backpack over your shoulder. “Sorry for ruining your lifelong pity-party.” You start to open the door, but turn around before the key clicks in the lock. “Y’know, Eddie, I really love you. I want you to graduate and experience new things, which is why I’ve pushed you so hard to study and go to class. But I can’t make you want it,” you give him a pointed look. “That has to come from you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want that,” he shoots back. “And maybe we’re just too different.”

You take a step back. You’d thought this was just a typical argument, one that would be resolved with talking and time. “W-what are you trying to say?”

Eddie can’t even make eye contact with you; if he does, he’ll start to cry. “Thanks for talking to Click for me,” he mumbles, gets in his van, and speeds down the block.

Three weeks go by; weeks filled with tears and endless games of what-if that your brain likes to conjure up. Good things happened in that time, though: you found out you were accepted into Indiana State with a full scholarship. The first thought that crossed your mind, before even allowing yourself to celebrate, was I wonder if Eddie got in. That brought on a fresh batch of tears.

School is rough. You used to sit at Eddie’s lunch table, legs stretched out on his lap while he rested his arms on your thighs. You’d steal pretzels from his bag when we wasn’t looking, and he’d pretend to be furious when he’d inevitably catch you. Now you eat lunch alone in the library.

And the classes you have together? You do your best not to look at him, acting like he’s not even there. You’ve felt his eyes glance at you, but he quickly pulls them away. He’s made no attempt to reconcile, and you’re not about to force an unwanted relationship.

Finally, you decided to try and distract yourself, heading to Family Video to grab some movies. You definitely need to raid the comedy section, desperate to laugh after being sad for so long. You walk into the store, greeted by Steve saying, “Speak of the devil!”

He and Robin laugh at your confusion, so Robin explains, “We were just talking about you.”

“I figured,” you say amusedly. “Good things, I hope.”

“Just about how Harrington is going to fling himself off of Skull Rock if he has to hear Munson talk about you one more time.” Her answer is met with a subtle jab to the ribs from Steve.

You try to manage a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure he has nothing nice to say about me, since I ruined his ambitions of doing nothing for the rest of his life.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t...she doesn’t know,” he turns to Robin.

“I don’t know what?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Um,” Steve hesitates, “Eddie’s still in love with you. He wants to get back together but he’s convinced himself you’ll say no.”

You roll your eyes. “He has a habit of thinking that, doesn’t he? I’ll reject him, colleges will reject him, the whole damn world will reject him.”

“Y/N,” Robin says softly, “isn’t that how it’s always been for him? His dad, the people at school...why would he think any different?”

Her words sink in, forming a pit in your stomach. “I guess...I just thought I showed him that I wasn’t like that.”

“And you did,” Robin reassures you, “but it’ll take time and patience for him to fully believe it. Right, Steve?” She turns to where Steve had been standing, but no one’s there now. “Uh, Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve calls out from the break room. “Had to pee.”

You and Robin share a small laugh. Neither of you realize that he was lying until you hear the familiar rumble of Eddie’s van outside of the store.

“Steve, what did you do?” you hiss as Eddie parks and jumps onto the pavement.

“I’m fixing things,” he says with a shrug, pulling you into the back room. You hear the chime jingle and Robin’s voice saying, “She’s in there,” and before you know it, you’re face to face with Eddie Munson.

“I have something for you.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. You only have to read the first two lines:

Dear Mr. Munson,

We are pleased to offer you admission to Indiana State University beginning in the Fall 1986 term.

“You got in.” A few weeks ago, you would have pulled him in for a kiss so passionate, his legs would’ve turned to Jell-O. Now, you only offer him a small smile. “That’s amazing. Are you gonna go?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. I won’t know what’ll happen if I don’t try.” He laughs after he says the last part.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” he averts his gaze, “that’s, uh, that’s what Harrington said to me when I was nervous about asking you out.”

“He’s always been good at meddling,” you mutter, not unkindly.

Eddie steps towards you, his hand softly nudging yours. “As soon as I got this letter, all I wanted was to tell you. I picked up the phone so many times but I could never work up the courage to dial the number.”

“I’m really proud of you,” you tell him. “But you should do what you want to do, not what you think I want you to do.”

He shakes his head. “I want to give college a shot. Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared shitless,” he admits shyly, “but I didn’t work this hard for nothing.”

“Well, then, that’s really good,” you offer weakly. “I’ll, uh, see you around.” You start for the door, but his hand gently grabs your wrist.

“Wait,” he blurts out, “please don’t go.” There are tears in his eyes. “I didn’t come here just to show you that letter. I...I still love you Y/N. So much.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I still love you, too. But...you said...”

“I know what I said. And I was being stupid, a coward, running away when things got scary.” You reach over to wipe the tears from his cheeks, and he lets you. “We’re different, yeah, but in a good way. You remind me to keep focused and stay motivated, and I remind you to enjoy yourself and break the rules every once in awhile.”

“We do make a good team,” you concede, allowing yourself to really look into his eyes. They melt you immediately. “But, Eddie, you can’t be getting drunk and blowing off your responsibilities any time you feel insecure.”

He nods. “I know. I don’t want to do that. It hurts me and it hurts you.” He sniffles. “Please, please take me back.” He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around your waist, making you giggle.

“Get up, dingus,” you say between laughs, borrowing Robin’s favorite insult. “I’ll take you back on one condition.”

“Anything,” he says, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“Don’t become that douche on the quad who plays guitar for the sorority girls.”

Eddie leans into you, pressing a smiling kiss to your lips. “That’s easy,” he says as he pulls away. “I only have one girl I wanna impress, anyway.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #requests

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angerissue · 1 year

Text

Yeah, so I posted this on my personal blog already and I'm posting it here too. Recent events consisting of health issues and harassment, along with my recollections of what other people have been through lately on this website, have made me rethink my priorities. I'm going to be stepping back from tumblr.

I'll move my fics to AO3. I'm still deciding what to do about my collaborative writing and all the threads and headcanons.

Honestly, leaving has been on my mind for a while. But the absolute bullshit behaviour I've seen demonstrated towards me, and so many other people, has made me seriously question why I'm still here. I've never posted anything controversial. I've never intentionally tried to hurt people, or spread bad ideologies. I'm a conscientious person of what I think is good moral fiber. But holy fucking shitballs, what has happened to this website? The last few years on this site have been atrocious with all the harassment, the dogpiling, and the other shit where people derive, frankly, a scary amount of joy and amusement from attacking others like it's some kind of entertainment.

People have discovered that if you want attention here, you can do it quickly by fabricating "outrage porn" and dragging someone through the mud. People will believe it without hesitation, because they are so angry about what they are being told, they don't stop to think. People really eat up the "us versus them" mentality, especially when it allows them to feel like a part of a group, and when it gives them a purpose in harassing and/or getting rid of people who are designed to not be in that group. It's especially insidious because all of this harassment seems to be rationalized and justified by the groups participating in them. It's all in the name of this-or-that, it's just moral crusades, just socially-acceptable bullying and/or death wishes with a fresh coat of paint to appeal to a younger crowd. Because it really does seem like a vast majority of the people doing this stuff are in their early twenties or in their teens.

I really do understand why other people have left this website - it is such a buzzkill to feel like you're swimming in a shark tank. I have no desire left to share my work in a place like this. Why make content for a website where its users are so quick to steamroll others, for a quick laugh, no matter how vanilla the content? Why put in the effort to get suspicion; why put in the effort when it feels like I'm just rewarding a Bad Thing, at least to a sizable extent?

Like, I've been posting in the Bruce Banner tag since The Avengers came out. I've been here since many of those popular ship tags were literally empty. And despite the positive reception and complete lack of criticism, despite the masses of people who liked my content, I'm completely unmotivated to post things there now. Last year, there was an isolated incident with fanpols and moral panic people, where one person went out of their way to post some untagged ship hate in the Bruce Banner tag, and after I told them to tag it, they spent three hours scouring my blog for ways to retaliate (and it seems they still haven't blocked me). It was a textbook case of, "lol, let's point and laugh and tell someone they're better off dead because they write a character yet don't incorporate my own headcanons, let's call them [a dozen different types of bigot without due cause]." Predictably, none of their followers reached out and actually inquired about what they saw in the person's smear campaign (all the "damning" screenshots they posted of my blog were headcanons for Bruce Banner, none of which were any indication of personal views and were easily chalked up to either bad wording, ignorance, or literally just nothing because they were reaching farther than Elastigirl to find shit, and upon later inspection, it appeared they even shared many of the same personal headcanons they had harassed me for, which... Eugh). Nobody asked for clarification. They were told what to feel, which was outraged and vitriolic, and they clamoured. Guess what happened when I woke up, saw all this, and blocked everyone because I wasn't having that shit? "Lmaoo they must have blocked me because of my gay ships lmao what a homophobe".

I just. What.

How are people okay with saying this kind of stuff. Like, my brother in christ, you were blocked because you were a twatwaffle, a participant in an outrage porn dogpile. I have dozens of Bruce Banner versions in my headworld, and a shit ton of headcanons of both Bruce and other characters that run the entire gamut of sexuality and orientation; I'm literally a trans person with gay ships; the first ship I ever made fanart of was Cherik, for crying out loud, and two of my favourite ships have always been BrucexLoki and BrucexTony. You are not as accurate as you think you are. Not at all. Get off your high horse before you fall off, it's made of playing cards.

Oh, but I guess it's "funny". I guess it's okay to throw around loaded terms in that case.

Some of this stuff genuinely was funny to me. Because this person had literally scoured my entire blog (and when I'm saying "entire", I mean they went through every page, every post, every single bullet point in my extended reading portal, and there's a load of content in there, folks, and all their visits were recorded in my statcounter so it was pretty easy to see they had spent three hours on there looking for "bad stuff"), found one line in a headcanon that said (in keeping with official canon) this specific Bruce tends to be most attracted to people of the same ethnicity... And they sent me an ask saying, I kid you not: "does Bruce hate black people".

What even. How does this compute. The ask couldn't even offend me if it tried at this point, it was hysterical because of the total quantum leap in logic. I had literally never posted anything else, not a single other line, about ethnicity in any sense, nor would I ever insinuate what they were claiming. It was just a line I threw in because, like most lines, it's nice to paint a more complete picture, and if you've ever seen my content and how outrageously exhaustive it can get, I love painting.

It was less funny when they used this single throwaway line to call me a racist.

But seriously - the entire harassment campaign was based around stupid shit like that, and funnily, it was all tacked onto the original ship hate post this person had originally posted, which was pretty much bait for attention in the first place. Some of the screencaps they took even had contents that directly contradicted what they were even trying to roast me over.

In the end, once they realized I'd blocked them, they dared me to, just about verbatim, "come back and defend this boring white bread man you created".

Sure. Boring. So boring they needed to read all my content for hours (which showed a huge inability to curate their content consumption like an adult), and so boring they stalked my blog for months after the fact and made fun of the fact I went to the ER for an unrelated health issue. It's just ridiculous, especially because if all this criticism about my headcanons had actually come from a place of reparation and not using me as entertainment fodder; if someone had actually talked to me about something that concerned them, I would have completely cooperated and taken the advice. Because I really don't want to be a dick on the internet, I actively look for edification, and I really do want as best as I can.

But I digress.

It's strange, because despite what happened with these clowns, it's not that I'm afraid to be here. I haven't been intimidated into keeping quiet. Rather, I simply have zero motivation to be here or contribute. And really, I'm just deeply disappointed in all the disgusting actions I've seen in this fandom and elsewhere on tumblr, the brazenness of it these last few years. I don't know what happened, but it was never this bad. And people don't deserve it. I've seen a lot worse than what I've received, and let me tell you. It is horrible. Content creators don't deserve to feel like they're playing Russian fucking roulette every time they post some new content, or be fearful that the wrong person will see their work and make a playdate out of harassing them for literally no reason. And on top of that, nope, tumblr just enables this bullshit and doesn't do a thing.

There have been three cases in the last, what, three years, where people I know were dragged severely for doing absolutely nothing wrong. For making boundaries known, for writing certain things, for not responding within a certain time frame. In all but one case, it was always the same ending; they left.

Participation in fandom should not be this stressful for anyone. It really makes me miss the 2012-2015 era, because while it certainly wasn't perfect back then, it was a lot better than nowadays, with all the renewed moral panic shit that is doing nothing of value. It's just carpet-bombing the userbase, and disincentivizing people to make new things, any new things. If there isn't something obvious for the impassioned bully to hit, or something they can manipulate, they'll just make shit up on the spot. Want to guess how many people of good character have been ousted from the Marvel fandom alone since, say, even 2018? Well, I don't have the numbers, but I'm sure they're substantial.

It just kind of sucks, because I've written this version of Bruce here for over twelve years. And seriously, I have never seen anyone take issue with my headcanons until the harassment last year. I'm pretty careful about what I write, so naturally with the harassment aside, I did review all the headcanons I had written, but after that, and after getting the opinions of a few trusted friends (which I am so grateful for), there wasn't... Anything to fix. They were just headcanons. Not only was this harassment limited to the last year or two, but almost all of the harassment my friends have received has been within the last couple of years, too. Like, alarm bells should be going off there, because wow. Especially when I also consider how much harassment has happened to people outside of my friend group. Especially when I consider how commonplace it has become to throw around shit like "kys" or "I wish you died in the ER" to people you don't like. Especially because it seems like it's just getting worse and worse. I'm seeing this kind of shit in casual posts now, not even directed to anyone. "Go kill yourself". I can open ten carrds, and five of them will have "swallow a knife :) :)" or something in them.

Is it a wonder there are so few content creators here now? Especially fandom olds?

So yeah. I'm out.

If you're a genuinely good person who doesn't make a pastime out of harassing people, and if you ever recall seeing my stuff in the tag and enjoying it, be it my gifsets, my headcanons, or my fics, thank you for that.

If anyone here wants my AO3 or discord, send me a message.

Toodles.

#bruce banner #bullying cw #harassment cw #violence cw

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panie-wanie-dean-bean · 5 months

Text

*slides in at a whopping 10 inches tall*

Hey gang, I don't know how many of you look at my masterlist post, but if you have in the past few minutes you might have noticed it's a bit more sparce than it used to be

I've done this in the past with Incubus and Monster Mash, but from this point on Family Bonding, Witch village, and Funnybone are discontinued. That basically just means I officially will not be making content for them moving forward

The reason I'm doing this is because I was kinda already fucking doing it lol. I just made the aus and lost all interest in them once they were realized

Don't worry, I didn't delete any posts, the tags are right where I left em so you can still look at the few posts for them if you liked them. But having so many aus on my front page was making me antsy and scared to make new shit so I decided to trim the fat so to speak

Another thing to note! If you go looking into my Cult Town au masterlist you may notice that it's empty. This is because I did the thing most artists do at some point, looked back at my old work and went "ew..." so I'm re-writing it! It'll take me a good while just because I plan to add more detail than the first go-round

This is more of a soft reboot if anything. Re-writing the story through the lense of it being a real story people would want to read instead of a mess of drabbles and dispersed lore found on someone else's blog will help me write even more chapters once I'm done, and boy do I plan to! I still need to introduce you all to the tgogm boys and my newbies after all

So, TL;DR, things are a changin but for the better I think. Hope to show y'all what I've been working on soon :D

#family bonding #witch village au #funnybone au #cult town au

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bentnotbroken1fanfiction · 1 year

Text

I posted 768 times in 2022

That's 521 more posts than 2021!

54 posts created (7%)

714 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@memes-saved-me

@bentnotbroken1fanfiction

@meowmeowbilly

@lazybakerart

@ariesbilly

I tagged 179 of my posts in 2022

#harringrove - 49 posts

#billy hargrove - 44 posts

#steve harrington - 25 posts

#writing - 11 posts

#max mayfield - 9 posts

#fanfiction - 8 posts

#bruises - 8 posts

#lol - 8 posts

#stranger things - 8 posts

#bruises on both my knees for you - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 127 characters

#fanfic writers and readers are the only ones that care so much about him that we see every fucked up thing that happened to him

My Top Posts in 2022:

Posting something that I added to AO3 a long time ago but can't find on my blog. If you've already read it, sorry. But I thought I'd add it to tumblr while I wait to finish some things I'm working on.

Billy lights a cigarette. Not because he needs one, he doesn't need much of anything anymore, but to give his mouth something to do while he fills Harrington's grave with dirt.

The pretty boy owes him big time for this. Billy had plans for tonight. Plans that he had to cancel because someone decided to stumble into a den of the undead. And yeah, he didn't have to drag his bitten and dying ass out here and give him his blood, but he couldn't just let an ass as fine as that become little more than a snack.

And sure , maybe his reasons for doing this are that shallow, but he's still doing him a solid. Billy never wanted to sire anyone, so this is totally out of character for him to begin with. Harrington is damn lucky he's still pretty.

He heaves more dirt over him.

Why the fuck was he even at that warehouse anyway? He had zero business being on that side of town, on his side of town. Maybe he should ask him once he climbs his way free. Then smack him upside the head for being a complete moron. Who walks into empty creepy buildings in the middle of the night?

Harrington apparently.

IU must not have a class on street smarts.

He huffs a laugh at the thought of the boy taking that kind of class as he continues his work, and it only takes a few more seconds to fill it all in.

He pats the dirt with the shovel and smirks, "Sleep tight, sweetheart. See you tomorrow."

Harrington crawls into his new life as gracefully as Billy thought he would, which is not at all . He stumbles away from the grave on shaky legs and searches around frantically, fear and panic evident on his dirt smeared face. Once he sees Billy sitting on the hood of his Camaro, his eyes grow comically wide.

"What the fuck? What the fuck is going on? Did I just climb out of a fucking grave? Did you bury me alive, Hargrove?"

"Calm down, Princess. I saved your sorry ass. You'd be a bloodless corpse in a basement right now if I hadn't gotten you out of there."

"Out of where? What are you talking about?"

"Holy shit, you have no idea what you walked in on, do you?"

Confused, he answers, "No?"

"Jesus Christ, you really are an idiot." He throws the other boy a towel to get some of the grime off his skin.

"Gee, thanks." He scowls, but he takes the offering and starts wiping himself off.

Billy sighs, "I don't know why you were at that warehouse, Harrington, but whoever sent you probably wanted you to die," He watches the towel pause on his face, "or at the very least, beat to shit."

"I was there to hook up with a guy." He admits quietly. "He picked the meet up place."

And Billy knows he was the only human in that building last night, so that means that one of the other vampires had set him up. It's not like Billy's never hooked up with a dinner date, but that wasn't what was going on there. He had thought it was just an accident and that they had gotten carried away. But no, they had planned to suck him dry until Billy intervened.

It pisses him off because they don't have to do that anymore. They don't have to wait so long between feedings now. They don't get so lost in their hunger that they kill all of their meals. So killing humans these days is unnecessary. It's an archaic practice that Billy despises.

Fuck.

Now he would have to watch out for those bastards.

"I know it was stupid, and I should have left when I saw how creepy the place was, but I just really needed to get laid."

He laughs at that. He can't help it. "I wouldn't have thought King Steve would end up literally dying for some dick."

"Oh, fuck you, Hargrove." He growls. "Act like you don't gag for it too."

Billy raises a brow. "Gag for it, huh? No, I'm not the one gagging, pretty boy."

See the full post

138 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

Posting a little bit of that Harringrove A/B/O I wrote last night. It needs some work but it's been fun working on it.

The first thing that Billy notices when he walks into his assigned cabin is that there is an odd smell in the air. It's faint. Nothing super obvious. Nothing harsh or musty, but just…different. Almost pleasant. He was prepared for all the insane amounts of Alpha pheromones permeating the camp grounds, the testosterone, even the B.O., so it was a welcome scent to be honest.

He quickly forgets about it though, when he leaves to sign in and get the schedule for this weeks activities and the list of campers under his watch.

But at the mess hall later, his nose twitches and he realizes that he's picking up the same scent he found in the cabin. It seems slightly familiar now…and it's coming from the camp counselors table.

He isn't sure who it's coming from, but now that he's closer to the source he can pick up the familiar underlying smell…it almost smells like Max when she…

But there's no way. This is an Alpha camp. It's impossible for anyone to get in without having already presented…but yet…he's definitely picking up omega.

He looks around in alarm trying to see if anyone else is noticing this. But everyone is laughing, eating, and horsing around. He's the only one that seems to be bothered.

What the fuck is going on? Maybe he's imagining things. He's gotta be.

Right?

Yeah. He's just sensitive lately. That's all.

So he ignores the feeling in his gut that something isn't right and eats his dinner and jokes with the other counselors and tries to hide the fact that his nose is tingling and his skin is itchy.

But later, when he walks back into the cabin to meet the brats he's in charge of, he stops dead in his tracks. He can't ignore his instinct here.

It's Jasmine…and honey…and something woodsy. And while it's not really strong, it's concentrated and more noticeable.

The other counselor assigned to this cabin is already chatting with the kids and when he looks over to Billy he lifts a hand in greeting and Billy just knows.

It's him. It's definitely him.

He's the one.

Billy introduces himself.

Turns out, the guys name is Steve Harrington and he's about to be a senior at Hawkins High. He's in the program to gain some extra curriculars for his college resume.

And he's the prettiest thing that Billy has ever seen.

But he can't ask questions here. They've got a cabin full of newly presented 13 and 14 year olds. It's not the time or place to discuss this.

So he just stays awake all night, keeping watch. Just in case.

But nothing happens.

That day or the next.

But Billy does notice that as the days pass, the smell strengthens a little and now it's affecting him. It puts him on edge. Makes him want to get close. Makes him want to protect…and that is not something that happens to him.

So he's gotta be right.

The only problem is that he doesn't know how to go about this. Steve Harrington seems to be pretty popular among the staff, the counselors, and the kids alike. He's asked around and he found out he's somewhat of a leader at his school. Nickname King Steve.

So someone like that? Probably wouldn't want someone like Billy questioning him about his status.

But he can't ignore it. It would be wrong. So he musters up the courage to approach him one night after the kids go to bed and they're all hanging out by the fire.

"Hey, Harrington. Got a minute?"

See the full post

147 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

So for me, Steve's six little nuggets speech was less endearing and more upsetting. Mostly because of the reason behind him wanting that so badly.

The boy is lonely as fuck.

He wants a big family so he won't ever be alone again. If he has kids, he will always have someone to love and who loves him unconditionally no matter what.

So, yeah. It more broke my heart than made me go "Aw Steve. He's so adorable wanting a bunch of kids and an RV to go on road trips with. UwU."

194 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

Based on this lovely art by @angryhuangyu

Just imagine Billy waking up in Steve's body...

He would wake up and stretch...and realize his ribs don't hurt like they should. His head isn't throbbing and his lip isn't pulling tight. It's strange because, after the argument last night, they definitely should be. So he opens his eyes and is met with an unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar room. But when he looks in the mirror he does see a familiar face.

And of course, there's a freak out because what the actually fuck, but he would quickly deduce that if he's in Harrington's body, that means Harrington is in his.

And if Billy had a typical white picket fence family, he would totally take the opportunity that fate has given him and run with it. He would love to just fuck with King Steve. He would love to just relax in his castle, drinking fancy booze, watching TV, and taking a dip in that sweet inviting swimming pool.

But he doesn't have that kind of family.

He doesn't have a nice suburban dad that thrives on a strong sense of family and community. He has the kind that thrives on pain and punishment.

Which means Harrington is in serious trouble. Because he knows that he's going to wake up and wonder why he feels like shit. He's going to get up and try to leave. (He won't be able to because Billy is grounded.) He will come face to face with his Dad, not knowing what he can and can't say, not knowing the rules.

He's going to say or do something wrong.

And then he's quickly going to find out the secret Billy has been trying so fucking hard to keep.

And yeah, that fact would be irritating and embarrassing as fuck, but that's not what has him in a panic trying to find the stupid keys to the Beemer.

It's the fact that as much shit as Billy gives him, Harrington doesn't deserve to be on the receiving side of Neil Hargrove's anger.

No one but Billy does.

199 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

It's been so long since Billy has heard another person's voice, but now he hears her. Soft but clear in the red tinted darkness.

"Dear, Billy."

It's Max.

His heart beats just a little faster because that's impossible. She can't be here. No one can be here. No one but him. Him and the monster.

But despite what he knows as a fact, his ears are still picking up that ghostly sound.

"I don't know if you can even hear this."

He follows it. Drawn like a moth to a flame. It's not like he wants Max to be subjected to this hellscape, but…

He stops where the voice is the loudest.

At a gravestone….

With his name on it.

What the fuck?

"Ever since you left, everything's been," she pauses, "….a total disaster."

He looks around. She's not actually there, but he can still sense her presence.

What the hell is going on?

He waits for her to keep going, but can only hear her quiet breaths, so he sits down, back against the mossy stone slab.

Waiting.

"For awhile we tried to be happy," she finally continues, "Normal. "

There's so much pain in that word. Even though he can't see her, he knows she's been suffering.

"I know that's impossible…too much has happened…nothing will ever be normal again…"

Billy understands. God how he understands.

"I just…" her voice falters. "I just hope that at least you're finally happy…wherever you are."

His throat tightens, because he's not…He's not happy. And…

"I'm right here, Max." He whispers to the empty space before him. "I'm right here."

252 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #I suck at tagging lol #and I reblog myself 😂

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commaclear · 2 years

Note

1. I saw someone confess how many anons they sent in. And imma be honest. If we’re doing confessions I might as well say that I too have made an unnecessary amount of asks. I’m not talking cheese or teacherussy or ones I’ve signed off on but there are a fuck ton that date back to march or April. Sometimes I scroll through the anons bc I’m feeling a bit snackish and I see one I forgot I wrote and get shocked. I also don’t sign off on analysis that I’m not confident in. And I write dumb shit when I don’t wanna work on my own fics. My two most recent ones got me stabbed by you and then later on I got a empty cherry jar

I go through phases of submitting a lot and not. Either I have too many ideas or none.

2. Why have mfs started beefing with me? First the divorce and now Semi Wilbur defender???? Semi Wilbur Defender wouldn’t have even become an anon without me. Because I was mourning my divorce and making fun of Facebook and being angry at Wilbur and they saw and decided to be a Wilbur kiss ass. But i guess if you wanna fight then meet me in the parking lot at 6pm tomorrow >:( /lh

I would also like to say the only reason the cheese Anon ever happened was because I was eating provolone, Swiss, and Gouda while reading through btp again. It’s not my fault I just let my thoughts win. I actually have a thing in my phone that has cheese and their character alignments for btp and htid that went unfinished. Now this looks weird. I take it back I didn’t write the cheese bullshit ever. I swear. Haha. Not real.

3. I like the new blog color. Very pretty pink.

-The Quackity Analysis Anon

That was you, you fucking bastard?!? Imma start beefing with you now if you keep this shit up. Meet me in the parking lot. /hj

Ty, I like pink, I got a new blog theme too but I'm not done editing it, so it's still got some lorem ipsum, lol

#to be clear you're still my beloved #you're also just a bitch who hurts me continuously #<3 #mutual harm ig #anons my beloved #quackity analysis anon

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socheckitout-mikey · 2 years

Note

could you do hc for dallas going to sleep on the curtis couch only to find the reader there instead? (ik its kina odd ,heh)

okay istg i did one of these on my old blog but in reverse lol, but i can't find it? anyways, sorry this took me ages to write. i decided to make it a small little written piece, but it ended up being almost 5k words? i hope you enjoy what i've come up with tho! (': <333 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: Sleepy Encounters

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Reader

Summary: Buck Merril's place is fully booked one winter night, leaving Dallas with two options: The back of the T-Bird's impeccably hard seat, or the safe haven of the Curtis couch. One seems vastly more comfortable than the other, and in his sleepy state he encounters something unexpected... and it's definitely not Steve Randle.

Word Count: 4,941

Warnings: swearing, fighting, bickering, mentions of injury/violence, mentions of a switchblade used on a car, mentions of dally being homeless, dally being a bit of a dick, rough housing with no intent to harm bc the reader was sleepy and didn't know their own strength lmaoo. if i've missed anything out then lemme know!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

January brought it's iciest blues upon winter's breath, touching Tulsa, Oklahoma with its thickest blanket of snow in quite some time. New Year's Eve had come and went on the dying leaves of mistletoe and cheap festive booze. Although the festivities were still booming days later for Buck Merrill at his cheap looking home, Dallas Winston - tipsy from his drinks and a great night partying with his buddy Tim Shepard, he soon came to the realisation that his usual room he'd called his home for the past couple of months had been awarded to a drunken couple about to defile his bed and probably what little personal belongings he still had up in that space.

There was a vivid stroke of disbelief that struck Dally callously in the gut upon hearing the sudden news. It almost made him laugh out loud vehemently as he propped himself up on his elbows against the kitchen table.

"You gotta be shitting me." Dal's plump lips spread out into a dangerous grin prompted by booze and a short fuse.

He shook his head, turning it to the left to find Tim sneering at him with his latest female fascination sitting friskily on his lap.

Buck gulped thickly, intoxicated himself, but all too aware of the insatiably violent repercussions that often ensued when Dallas Winston didn't get his way. Sure they were buddies, but Buck never enjoyed being bullied. It always bugged the older male that he could be bullied into things despite his tough exterior. Dally was his rodeo partner and the pair had made an unspoken promise about Dally staying with him for a while.

The beanstalk of a cowboy cleared his throat uncomfortably, standing up straight as though he was calculating the distance between himself and Dally’s lengthy striking distance.

“M’sorry man,” Buck shrugged with what seemed like indifference. His voice faltered slightly, to which Dally could manage to make out over the cheap, booming music. “I got offered a better deal for it!"

'A better deal?' Dallas pondered to himself, his bushy eyebrows raising up, crinkling his youthful forehead in a way that reminded Tim of an empty chip bag.

This had to be a joke. All of his shit from his pop's place was up there! Buck knew he despised it when someone went digging through his stuff, let alone slept on his mattress that wasn't his girlfriend!

There’d always been this rule between them that had sprouted since day one of Dallas periodically staying there: What became Dally’s, stayed Dally’s. Buck knew this like it was the Eleventh Commandment or something!

Buck had given him a place to crash pretty much every night, which meant that Dallas kept away the rowdy people Buck was too scared stiff to show the door to during parties. Not to mention he promised to work his ass off the next time he rode bull so Buck would get all of the betting dough. It was all free of charge on both ends, so why was his rodeo partner backing out now? He knew better than this.

“A better deal?” Dally snorted, fiddling with the empty brown glass beer bottle in front of him on the coffee table. It gleamed in the fluorescent light that twitched on and off rapidly behind Buck. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

Even to Dally himself, he appeared menacing in his small, warped reflection in the deep chocolate glass. His eyebrows were pinched together all funny and he couldn’t even look up at his buddy that he wanted nothing more than to sock straight in the face. Maybe knocking a few more teeth loose would help Buck remember who he was screwing over.

“They gave him seventy bucks!” Tim chimed in loudly like he was a pirate’s parrot. Man was he wasted if he was tattling on the owner of this house.

Buck shot him a look with his beady eyes, his face hot under the low lights, and he cursed at the snitch known as Tim Shepard. A cussing out was cuing up.

“Seventy bucks?!” Dally squawked out, almost sounding like he was choking. He smoothed a hand down his chin, because who the hell had that kind of cash in a dump like this unless they stole or gambled it?

Buck shrugged his shoulders, leaning up against the doorframe adjacent to Dally. He looked cool, but his eyes gave way to an uneasiness he’d hoped to avoid. He wasn’t about to give up his own bed for the rascal who wasn’t paying him zilch to bum around his place and offer up very little in return.

“Times are hard right now.” His excuse was poor, even Tim could see right through it.

A deal was a deal and he’d made one with Dally, whether silent or not. You stuck to your word when it came to the notoriously difficult seventeen year old, otherwise there was hell to pay.

Hitting hard times and all that was nonsense! This place was always bustling, because it was filled with wild people who did wild things: and when wild people did wild things, there was always this influx of money and other means of value that came along with it - despite it’s corrupt origins.

"Hard times my ass." The younger one seethed out with bitter acrimony, leaning his body forward against the wooden table. “We had a deal.” He continued to counter.

“What deal?” Buck raised his eyebrows like it was the first time he’d ever heard of this made up agreement.

Dally let out a cold laugh, settling back into the kitchen chair around Buck’s dining table. There’d been a poker game going on an hour ago that Dally had fixed to win in his favour. He’d made double of seventy bucks, but wasn’t about to spend a single cent of it here.

“You pullin’ my leg or somethin’, man?” Dally let out a huff of irritation, for once willing to take things in good humour.

But all there was was this uneasy standoff between the two men: Buck was silent, his eyes were the only thing giving away his guiltiness. Dally’s clenched fists sat on top of the table and shook violently. His knuckles were this creamy bone white.

“If I come back tomorrow and my shit’s been taken, I swear to God you’ll be on a stretcher to the hospital.” He rasped out loudly, jabbing his finger onto the countertop with promise.

“You ain’t gonna do squat.” Buck challenged.

Oh, he should have kept that bucked toothless mouth shut!

It wasn’t long until Dallas had exited Buck’s home with a belligerent push of the front screen door. The thing squealed and groaned with the violent movement until it banged against the wooden planks of the wall behind it and slammed back shut behind him. A string of hostile cusses flew from Dally’s mouth, threats flying along with them at breakneck speed and over his right shoulder. Buck lay on the ground inside, clutching his fresh black eye and a busted nose. That was the last time Dallas would afford to get fucked over by him.

There was a formidable and sour expression plastered to his handsome face that made Dallas appear several years older than his actual age. Like a domino effect, people outside chatting stopped before hurriedly looking the other way - even if they were on the friendlier side of his acquaintance -. Everybody that had a brain knew not to even look at Dally when he was in a foul mood like this.

As he stepped off the front porch, he was met with snow fluttering down in a breath-taking delicate fashion from the starless dark sky. It dusted onto the shoulders of his notorious brown leather jacket with the fortunate sheepskin lining. Although the cold suddenly bit on his nose, ears and appendages, he was toasty warm with rampant rage that needed some sort of outburst to thwart it. He turned the corner of the home sharply where there were less people and in his line of sight was his only refuge for the night. Buck’s T-Bird, which was blanketed with an inch of snow by now, looked about the only warm place he could bunk for the night since his pop’s kicked him out once again.

Sleeping in the frigid T-Bird with just the clothes on his back and a hope not to freeze to death seemed plausible. He’d slept in much worse places back in New York City that made the car seem like a five star hotel. Yet in his bitterness, Dallas had a distinct mental image of Tim Shepard rapping on the window the following afternoon in his hungover stupor, suddenly brightened up to poke fun at how his buddy who’s mirror the image was of a kicked puppy, settling for being Buck’s bitch because he had nowhere else to go.

Dallas gritted his teeth, his breath coming out in laboured, frustrated smoky plumes whilst he pocketed his hands in his back pockets, his fist instinctively curled around his pretty switchblade. A gnarly idea slashed an opening into his twisted mind: Buck would have no T-Bird, and the beauty of it was that hopefully Buck was too hammered to remember where the black eye and broken nose had come from in the morning. If Tim wanted to snitch then, then he’d get what was coming for him.

“Hope that seventy bucks was worth it…” Dally muttered smartly to himself, making good work of his switchblade.

With a fraction of his anger righted somehow, Dally turned out of the drive on foot and began the long, logical walk towards the Curtis Brother’s house. There lay his only warm safe haven from the cold in the form of a couch he hoped was not occupied by his his pal Steve Randle. Although Dallas had taken the floor of the living room on many occasions, his foul mood was an indication that if Steve or anyone else was situated on that couch, they’d be taking the floor. Otherwise they’d be met with a deadly shove landing them there. He’d fight for that spot, especially since he’d been virtually homeless once again through the fault of his deadbeat father.

The lengthy walk was spent on Dallas stewing over the audacity Buck had in wronging him, despite the fact he logically was aware that he’d not been bringing any real income into the place he had been bumming around at. Dally didn’t care, nobody wronged him like that and it bothered him something awful that his rodeo partner had turned his back on him in his time of need.

After all, Dally had been real smart about who he’d told his housing situation to. His gang knew and so did Buck; all sworn to secrecy to keep it hidden from his girlfriend who would have made a fuss about the entire ordeal. He needed a place to stay, not someone who would worry about the minute details on a consistent basis then bug him nonstop about said details. He didn’t need to be fretted over, because he was fine! He always made ends meet somehow, whether that came from stealing, lying or cheating: Dallas Winston could rely on himself solely - even if he didn’t like to admit that he needed other people such as Buck and the gang in between time to get by.

Realistically Dally knew that bringing (y/n) into this wouldn’t have pleaded his case for the better: He was accustomed to couch surfing since a young age back in New York, so this was his life and her babying and concern would have only grated on his nerves since he wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t like she could have convinced her parents to offer up their living room couch to him since his extensive criminal record and daunting reputation left him in an unfavourable light regarding her parents. Sure there was the option of having snuck into (y/n)’s room more often, but too many times in a row harboured questions that Dally was too guarded to ever answer truthfully to anyone, let alone to her.

Perhaps he was just too embarrassed to, because a part of him thought that she deserved better than a bum like him: He kept getting thrown back into the cooler like it was his primary home, which never made (y/n) happy at all. Yet she knew there was no changing him, but he always caught that look of disappointment in her eyes when he’d be sent away for however long this time.

Dallas Winston was nothing but a hoodlum, the worst of the worst. He’d done so many unspeakable things for crying out loud! How had he bagged not only such a good looker, but also someone relatively good? Good was meant in the sense that sure she’d break the rules, maybe some more minor laws if she wouldn’t get caught, but overall, she wasn’t cut from the same stretch of cloth as Dallas had been from birth: Goodness had rotted from the inside out when he was just ten years old, freshly shipped off to juvenile detention for the first time.

He was stuck this way for good, because people couldn’t change. The world wouldn’t change.

His feet crunched through the snow of the vacant lot when he came hurtling into the present moment. He quivered from the cold - even his toes were numb from walking so long in it -. A habitual sniffle came from him just as his eyes veered off to the left to find that old beaten up car seat completely vacant and no fresh ruined remnants of a fire within its wake. Johnny’s absence here was a godsend to Dallas who was happy to discover his friend had some sort of smarts in his noggin. That was one less thing he had to worry about, even if it meant that Johnny was holed up in his parents place. A relatively warmer place away from the elements was better than the straight up snow being your blanket.

He continued on his lonesome trek towards his safe haven of warmth.

Dallas felt some relief wash over him as he slowly took one step up on the porch at a time. He got to the mat outside of the screen door and stomped his feet good and hard, because Darry would no doubt bitch about the soggy carpet in the morning. His numbed fingers curled around the handle, softly yanking it open. He kicked the other door open, slightly left ajar for some unfathomable reason and Dally was overcome with the sweet nectar that was a warm home. It felt scalding on his frozen skin that had gone slightly damp on his face from his shaggy bangs dripping melted snowflakes onto his reddened skin. He let out a sigh, shoving them back before kicking off his smelly boots by the door.

His actions were gentle as he hung up his jacket, careful not to make much noise so he didn't wake the occupants of the home up. The only other permeating in the house was the TV that blew static since the station it was on had come to it’s nightly end. He found that odd and it should have been a dead giveaway that someone else was occupying the couch. Yet in his sleepy state, too exhausted and cold to feel any indignance for the extra work, he journeyed over to the device with a creek of the floorboards underneath his weight to switch it off.

The room and himself plummeted into darkness and without thinking, he backed up towards the couch with the intention to flop backwards on it and hit the hay.

Dallas’s sturdy back came into contact with a hard object curled in on itself. It hurt like hell, kicking the wind straight out of his lungs whilst his head smacked violently against the arm of the couch. He groaned at the same time he heard a sickly moan underneath him. However his mind, plagued with the desire to sleep, did not register what or who was underneath him.

There came a struggle, something stirring and buried under his body weight, before a desperate, “Can’t breathe!” twinkled into his ears in a familiar twang and pitch.

“What the hell?” He grunted out, tired of the sharp elbow digging in the back of his ribs. He leaned his arm upon the back of the couch and hoisted his body weight up so his fingers stretched out into the dark and flicked on the lamp.

Light pooled outwards, stinging his eyes and he hissed, blinking profusely before getting a look at exactly who was under him, because it certainly was not Steve.

There, half curled up, bestowing both a grouchy and painful expression was his girlfriend. (y/n) looked up at him, digging herself deeper into the comfortable couch and making good use of Dallas’s looming shadow to shield her from the light. Her eyes adjusted first, half lidded, but she didn’t say anything to him.

‘Is this a dream?’ She inquired quietly in her mind, studying Dally’s irritated features. For a moment she had forgotten her own bedless predicament and wondered why he was half hovering over her in an odd twisted fashion like he was Spiderman.

Dallas blinked a few more times, stunned to find his girlfriend bumming on Darry’s couch at this hour. Had her home been set on fire or something? Because this sort of shtick just didn’t happen in the real world.

Their silence loomed for a few short minutes before Dallas twisted round fully and knelt down by her feet. He wasn’t entirely smooth about the motion, his left hand flying out instinctively onto the armrest above her head to prevent himself from falling on top of (y/n) and really doing any intentional damage. The dog tags around his neck flung out from the confines of his black beat up t-shirt and swung like a pendulum between them, scuffing her cheek a few times. Irritation consumed her and her right hand flew up to catch it and shoot daggers up at Dallas.

“What the hell are ya doin’ here? Ain’t you meant to be at home sleepin’?” He spoke a little louder than he intended to. After all, he’d been expecting smartass Steve.

“Sleepin’! What does it look like I’m doin’?” She hissed out like a cobra, her eyebrows knitted together in a way that spelled she wasn’t happy with him.

“No dumbass,” Dally began, much quieter this time, “I meant-”

“I know what you meant-” She hissed once more, fingers still curled around his dog tags, but her eyes refused to lock on his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

He was riddled with impatience, a new thing to grow angry about. All he wanted to do was get a few hours of shut eye and be on his merry way by noon. But something about the way (y/n) wasn’t making room for him on the couch grated him like he was a measly piece of cheddar cheese. He could not be bothered with being dealt another unjust hand tonight

His left hand slid down the armrest beside her hair and he did his best to gently shove her deeper into the back of the couch with a, “Move over!” tumbling from his plump lips that usually had a smoke between them.

“I can’t!” She challenged back, shoving up against his shoulder in retaliation much stronger than she’d meant so.

The sharp movement caused the chain around his neck to snap off. He veered off to the left and he shot off over her legs and the side of the couch. He thumped into the coffee table just as his left forearm steadied himself. He grunted out in more than frustration, his eyes falling on his favourite piece of jewellery dangling in her hands like it was a betrayal.

“I was here first!” (y/n) declared logically, suddenly backed up by all the courage in the world that caused her to turn her back on Dallas. In retaliation, she stuck her butt out underneath the blanket thrown over her in a haphazard fashion to prohibit her boyfriend from joining her on the couch.

If he’d asked more politely then maybe she would have considered his abnormal request at such an ungodly hour.

Dallas he didn’t think, his fingers moved of their own venomous accord and the tips pinched her right butt cheek curtly. It caused her to jostle, her knee slamming into the back of the couch and they were lucky her yelp had been muffled by the thick blanket Sodapop had no doubt thrown onto her at some point during the night. She whipped around to face him like a bat racing out of hell - the blanket getting caught around her feet. Her face was swarmed with all the signs of rage and it made him laugh out loud while he faced her.

“Take the floor. You’re meant to be a gentleman.” She pointed out, totally knowing it was futile because Dallas Winston was never a gentleman.

“Take the floor?!” He forgot his little triumph in getting her to turn around and became irritated. “What? You think I’d get a bad back for you? In your dreams, babe! The shivers are dead!” He pointed at her childishly.

“The shivers?” She muttered to herself perplexed as she stared at her boyfriend. What was that meant to indicate?

It sounded made up. Then realisation began to dawn across her breath-taking features and she let out a swift, quiet laugh. It sounded abnormal, all smug and out of character for her.

“You think I’m being funny?” He snapped at her.

“Don’t you mean chivalry?” She sneered triumphantly, a mirror image of how Dally looked like every time he teased her for saying something stupid.

“That’s what I said! Are you calling me dumb?” He inquired seriously, parking his butt on the coffee table because his knees were aching from kneeling down.

“I didn’t have to, you did it all on your own.” She pointed out.

It was true, he had.

A blush scalded his cheeks as though he’d been branded by a red hot poker. He was embarrassed, but it wasn’t like words and shit were his forte. Everybody knew that! So he went to the next best line of defence: Attempting to roast her.

“You've been hanging out with Pony again or something? You sound like a walking talking dictionary.” He stated, flicking her forehead playfully. It sounded weak and he even knew it.

(y/n) rolled her eyes at him in such a fashion that if she’d rolled them any harder, they would have popped out of her head and landed in his lap. She didn’t hesitate to roll over once more, certain that Dallas would tire himself out once the, “You’re gonna wake up Darry.” left her lips in that nasally sing-song tone.

Was that supposed to be some terrifying threat that was meant to leave Dally shaking in his stinky socks? It made him snort because even Darry wouldn’t dare go up against him, because he was too wild. The oldest Curtis was smart, he wasn’t going to risk getting into anything heated with Dally. In his eyes he ran the show, but one of Dally’s daunting dark looks (however fake) that spelled out he was in a bad mood would result in Darry steering clear of him; though he did have to admit that in a sleep driven stupor, Darry wouldn’t have as much sense as his waking self typically did.

That didn’t matter to Dallas. He’d take him on either way, just like he did anyone else.

“Yeah?” Dallas leaned closer, his cold lips pressed against her ear, making the volume of his voice test her eardrums. He’d play into her little game. “S’that meant to be a threat?” She could hear the smile in his tone.

“Maybe if I yell loud enough he’ll kick you off the couch for me. Now move!” He hissed himself, pressing his frigid hands against the back of her neck.

A striking yelp came out of her throat, startling even Dallas as he sat back. She sat up, eyes ablaze with anger and the pair sat there quietly, listening to the way Darry’s snoring broke up. He twisted in bed for a few short minutes before his snoring started up again and Dallas grinned at her evilly.

“Great going, dumbass! You could’ve gotten us kicked out!” She launched the couch cushion at him, her voice a shouting whisper.

Dallas effortlessly captured the cushion in his hand like it were any miscellaneous item someone had thrown his way. He was smug, biting his lip whilst all his anger washed away because he’d won this argument the dirty way. His long thick fingers squashed the feathery insides of the beaten up cushion between his hands. His dark eyes spelt mischief and (y/n) sighed out, admitting her defeat.

“Fine!” She huffed out, wrapping the blanket around herself as she got to her feet.

Dally rose from the coffee table and playfully flopped onto the couch, jutting the pillow behind his head to break the fall against the armrest. He laid there, his infamous shit eating grin stretching across the expenditure of his entire countenance. She hated how annoying her boyfriend could be, rolling her eyes and getting ready to retreat with the warm blanket to Darry’s armchair. She didn’t get far when Dallas encased her thighs in his right arm, tugging her down on top of him.

“Don’t be such a grump!” He teased her quietly, impishly smirking at her.

She responded by straddling him, tucking her head into his strong chest in defeat. Dally's hands yanked areas of the blanket so he could be covered up too.

"Blanket hog." He muttered under his breath before his lithe fingers reached up over his head and flicked the lamp's switch off.

Darkness came upon them, thin lines of silver moonlight streaking in through the blinds. Dally pretended they didn't exist, shuffling about to gain the most comfortable position. He felt his shaggy bangs sticking to his forehead, almost dried and laughed to himself a little over the encounter he'd had with (y/n). If anyone had pushed him like that, they'd be kissing the dirt under the house right now, but he had a soft spot for her: Besides, he didn't get a kick out of doing things like that to women.

"What's so funny?" (y/n) asked suddenly, shivering on top of him and feeling his cool skin through their thin, worn out clothes.

"Nothin'." He mumbled in the darkness, eyes shut.

"You're cold." She complained, stating the obvious.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." He laughed into her hair, blowing air into her face just to be a nuisance, but there was a gentleness to his actions.

"I hate you."

"No you don't, sweetheart." He countered with a smile on his lips.

He was correct, she didn't hate him: No matter how annoying or awful he could be, (y/n) loved Dally and Dally loved her too. Sure they hadn't said it yet, but even the gang could tell it too. Their little scuffle, his broken dog tags that she still held in her fist and his bruised ego from their unintentional rough housing was something to chortle about now and in the months to come.

Dally forgave her, but he wasn't so certain that she had forgiven him for waking her up in such a painful way. It hadn't been his fault, he'd just assumed it was Steve or nobody. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought his cutesy girlfriend would be bumming on a greasers couch.

"What're you doin' here anyway?" Dally's voice was hushed in the darkness, his big fingers smoothing up and down her back in a relaxing fashion.

(y/n) was silent, deliberating whether she should tell him what had happened or not. For a moment, Dally thought she'd already KO'd, but then she sucked in a deep breath,

"I got kicked out because I embarrassed my dad in front of the neighbours so Darry had to come pick me up." She rushed it out in one breath.

It sounded unrealistic and Dally clicked his tongue in a false disappointed fashion, his eyebrows raised in the dark, "You streak the neighbours or somethin'?" He teased her ruthlessly.

"No!" She growled, offended and embarrassed. He could just imagine the glowing embarrassment rife in her expression.

"Then what'd you do, goody two shoes?"

"I drank too much and puked on the neighbours front porch..." She muttered quietly.

Dallas would have been a real bastard and gotten her to repeat it, but the first time she said it was hilarious enough. He erupted into a fit of laughter so loud, he shook underneath her.

"Soda! You better quit gigglin' like a school girl or so help me God-" Darry's booming voice echoed in the house.

"Huh?" Soda groaned, voice muffled from his face being squashed in his pillow.

"Shut up!" (y/n) giggled quietly, slapping her hand over Dally's mouth. "You're gonna get us both killed!" She hissed, her smile pressed into his collarbone.

Dally attempted to stifle himself, burying his face into (y/n)'s hair just as Darry sat up in bed and muttered nonsense to himself like, "I got work in the morning!"

"What you talkin' about? I got work in the mornin' too!" Soda sassed back from across the hallway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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interact-if · 2 years

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Day 1 of the Game Jam Winners Months Featured Author Interviews, starting with Rhain!

Rhain (Raindev), author of The Hanging Heart

The hungering tree stands tall on the hill beyond the village. it is a beautiful but dangerous, almost malicious thing. it rises high, trunk white as snow, leaves a mix of gold and crimson. no one dares to approach it, not anymore - too many lost their minds to its vicious pull, but none can resist casting a quick glance, admiring its vibrancy against the dead sky or even coveting the shimmering heart hanging from its lower branches. you most of all. in a world where people wear their glimmering hearts, sources of power and magic, in bracelets and in chains around their necks, you have none. your chest is empty like theirs, but you have no heart to call your our own. you don’t know - or don’t remember - why, which isn’t surprising; the last years are foggy for many, since the war of the angels ended and the world, shattered and hurting, started healing. for a heartless being like you, nothing is as tempting as the hanging heart on the branches of the hungering tree. but claiming it as your own might be even more dangerous than you thought. something watches from amidst the tree’s leaves and some villagers might know more than they let on - about you, about the tree, and about the war that ravaged the world. you might get more than you bargained for.

Read more about The Hanging Heart [here]

The Hanging Heart Demo | Dev Blog

Tags: Fantasy, Mystery, Content Warning for Violence.

[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!]

Q1 . Tell us about the story you made for the Jam!

The Hanging Heart is about exactly what it says in the title: a heart hanging from a tree, except the heart is magical and tree is monstrous, starving and dangerous. It tells the story of the main character – the player – who, for some reason, has no heart in a world where people walk around with their hearts in chains around their necks or safely stored in their pockets. Hearts are a source of magic, of humanity, and not having one makes the player an outcast in the tiny village the story is set in. That’s why the main character is fascinated by the hanging heart and desires to claim it for themselves, except, you know, there is a vicious, mind-eating tree kind of guarding it.

Q2. What was the biggest challenge in creating a game in such a short time span? How did you manage it?

The fact that I started halfway through the jam, mostly! I found out about the jam right when it was announced but when January rolled around, I had completely forgotten about it. So, when I saw the post again I just went “oh, shit” and spent a few days wondering if I should even try anymore. It was only when the idea for The Hanging Heart popped in my mind that I committed to participating and it was already January 13th or 14th by then. I ended up cutting a whole route because of that and decided to go for a very short story that is the same in every route (all two of them lol), except you get to experience it in a different way in each one. Going for more variation or more endings would have made it impossible to submit the game for the jam in time.

Q3. What was your inspiration for your entry?

A prompt by deepwaterwritingprompts on Tumblr! Their blog is my favorite prompt blog ever and months ago they posted one that got stuck in my head. I don’t remember the words exactly, but it was about a tree growing out of the last vampire’s heart and a group that every year tries to steal its fruit before the council burns the tree again. The imagery of a tree growing out of a supernatural being’s heart was very interesting to me, and I’m a huge fan of forest magic and trees as more aware, conscient beings, so I smashed all of this together and got the first inkling of what would become The Hanging Heart.

Q4. Is this your first time working on a game like this? What do you like (or not like) about working in this format?

It’s not my first interactive fiction game, but it is certainly is my first interactive fiction game whose story was, from the very beginning, intended for an interactive fiction game. My first IF was adapted from a short story and even though I like the story a lot, it was pretty obvious it wasn’t planned for an interactive medium. So with The Hanging Heart I tried to use the interactive part more, even if I had to cut a lot because of the time constraint.

What I enjoy most about working with IFs is the freedom that comes with it. Sure, a story is still a story and there are expectations about how it should be developed, but if you make it interactive you can come up with all sorts of things and mechanics to enhance the experience. Plus, the idea of choice leading directly to different outcomes is very fun. I love playing games, not strictly IFs, where after a playthrough I find out online about wildly different scenarios other players got because of different choices. It makes the story world feel more alive to me.

There is very little I dislike about IFs. If I had to pick anything I’d say the blank slate protagonist. The idea of having to accommodate super different personalities for the main character was what kept me away from IFs from a long time. There are aspects of it I deeply enjoy: being able to choose gender, appearance, pronouns, sometimes powers or background, etc – these are fun to make and fun to play as, especially as someone who is rarely – if ever – represented in the media. But dealing with the possibility of wildly different personalities for the main character is just not fun for me. Some character archetypes I just don’t want to write about. So that’s what I do nowadays. You can come up with the appearance for the heartless in The Hanging Heart, for example, but you will never get the choice to make them give up on the heart. You might choose to give up on it for now, but they will try again. If they gave up, they wouldn’t be the heartless. Having a base personality (and even motivation) defined and letting the player decide how the character develops is far more interesting for me.

Q5. What is your favorite part about your entry? What have you enjoyed most doing during the Jam?

The relationship between the characters is certainly my favorite thing about The Hanging Heart. The songbird, the guardian and the heartless are a very fun trio to write about, even if their relationship isn’t obvious/there on the page for most of the story. That’s what I enjoyed most: trying to leave hints of just how connected these characters are throughout the story, even if the heartless has no clue about it.

Q6. What is your advice for sprint projects like this one?

Cut your scope in half. Then do it again. If during the jam (or the sprint) it still feels a bit too big, cut it if in half one more time. The initial idea for The Hanging Heart was waaay bigger than the final product, and not only because I cut a route. It spent a lot more time developing the world, as well as the characters themselves, but 1) I didn’t have the time for that, and 2) that was not what the story was about. The Hanging Heart depends a lot on mood and atmosphere, and overstaying the welcome could’ve ruined that.

The more time you spend in a story – and I say this as in, the world of the story itself, the length of it – the more you are expected to explain it all and this explaining can be too much for the story you are trying to tell. So, my advice is: go serial killer on you scope and know what kind of story you are aiming for.

Q7. Do you have any other works you'd like to promote?

Yes! My main project is Briarheart, where you play as the chosen one who failed returning to the royal court after seven years in exile to marry someone you mother – the queen – chose for you. It involves a lot of what I like to write about, and in this aspect it is very similar to The Hanging Heart: it has forest magic, weird trees, a post-apocalyptic fantasy world, etc. It’s also much bigger and more complex than The Hanging Heart. If The Hanging Heart was a feisty house cat, Briarheart is a very pissed lion, and it is currently coming for me.

Jokes aside, I’m writing the first chapter of Briarheart and my plan is to release it as soon as possible with the already written prologue (maybe this month? Fingers crossed). If I had to pitch the story, I’d say it’s HOLLOW KNIGHT meets FINAL FANTASY XIV meets, uh, THE HANGING HEART. It focuses a lot on platonic relationships, duty and devotion, and embracing and/or refusing a fate chosen for you. You can read more about it on the intro post or on the briarheart tag on my blog.

#if: events #if: game jam 22 #if: game jam

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cosmictulips · 2 years

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*waves* Hello, I am alive and doing okay lol. so really quick ---

thank you to everyone who supports me. all of my star cadets whether you are "new" to this blog or a long time supporter. I see y'all, I love y'all.

Just a heads up I am going to New York for a School thing this coming thursday.

I am trying to get as much set up as possible but honestly, that's been really rough LOL because life has a way of throwing shit at me. example A, me getting a stomach flu.

but anyway, I could use all the money I can get since 100 of what I just made has to now go...elsewhere. lmao.

I am just about 60 short at meeting my 800 goal for NY. crazy right?

And since I got a job this month, it's also the last month I am promoting my store. so if you wish to get a reading from me, now is the time to do so.

I've been horrendously slow recently but... there's not much I can do about it when aries season decides that fucking with me is a good idea lmao.

you can read my reviews, I'm very on point and the readings are always quite lengthy and worth way more than I charge.

I've also been doing this since I was 11 lmao.

You don't have to pay for a reading. just you being here is enough.

I just figured I'd make this announcement since I'm seeing some new faces and I know not everyone sees...well, everything.

Hope everyone is doing good today. I'm feeling better, if not...empty LOL

#updates #quite proud of myself because I had to husssleeee lmao #and of course those who have bought readings also helped out a lot #but yea #disregard this if you can't buy a reading or tip #Im just telling yall whats happenin lol

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spongebob-connoisseur · 2 years

Note

do you think spongebob is not really taken seriously by anyone these days? in terms of fandoms and stuff just that one post got me thinking do people think of doing fandom stuff with spunch bop as strange and absurd? idk maybe the op of the post was more referring to smut of spongebob characters which i understand more lol it seems like sb is more of this nostalgic memory and meme producing show to many people now than a show with a fandom idk maybe i am reading too much into this lol

I mean? Kinda and kinda no. Tbh I'm glad by general audiences its not taken so seriously. Its def underappreciating the shows legacy as just nostalgia or a meme machine. But its never so bad. People typically get why people like spongebob so much so there isn't much of a problem.

And when fandom gets taken too seriously you end up with the absolute shitshow like when the Steven Universe fandom was in its prime. So I'm glad Spongebob isn't anywhere near that.

We still got some people who take it to a extremes like those cartoon reviewers who every so often go a little too far shitting on the show for being a little too different from the classics that their audiences decide to send death threats to writers and people who work on the show. So there's that extreme.

Tbh I'm glad the SB fandom is just small and isn't taken seriously. It's just a chill bubble. I def know what post your talking about. Its more about smut and I think it's understandable since these are childhood characters who are very un-human. It makes sense people would find it off putting finding smut of something they associate with childhood.

Some view it differently but its not my place to judge. That's for someone else to figure out lol

That aside ehh. I remember someone implying I was insane when I wrote that essay about SB's anxiety issues. Because its a children's show. There is no depth right? But that doesn't mean they don't have some nuance. It's just a little thing I wrote for fun. I run this blog for fun and interact with the fandom for fun.

There's nothing so deep like I'm suffering from vitamin c poisoning just because I decided to take pieces of a well established trait of Sponge's personality and decided to write about it. Might as well yell at the writers for adding any kind of depth or relatability to the characters.

But the show wouldn't have been so memorable and successful if the characters were so mindless and empty as they assume it to be.

Idk but that's just one person out of a crowd. A lot of other people enjoyed my piece and had lots to add onto it. So I don't mind. Its all in good fun and I don't really feel like taking this further as a deep or serious cause as a fandom. I think That's the charm of the SB fandom as a whole since this is the only fandom I really ever deeply interacted with. Most of the time I'm just a silent observer.

It being so small makes it comfortable. We watch the show and support it and share what we feel and share what we made in honor of it. It's enough regardless of what outsiders think of it ya kno?

#I wouldn't be here if SB was a massive fandom #spongebob #spongebob squarepants #the spongebob connoisseur #sb #spongebon squarepants #spongebob meme #Ask

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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hey rach! sooo about max birthday requests could you make a love letter from max?👀 lol i know u usually don't write characters' letters but i would combust if u write a max's one🥺 lmao, anyway thank uuu, ily💓

Love letter from Max Lord

Gender neutral reader x Maxwell Lord

Not showing up in the tags so reblogs would be so appreciated<3

The envelope was the only thing in your mailbox that morning. You didn’t pay much attention to mail, it was a bad habit of yours. You took the letter and threw it haphazardly on your coffee table, freezing up when you noticed the handwriting, doted neatly on the front. It was perfect, inked black calligraphy. And you recognised it all too well.

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen to the ground. Maybe three, four, five, ten minutes? It felt like a lifetime as a thousand thoughts raced through your head at one hundred miles per hour. You were overthinking. You were definitely overthinking.

You hadn’t seen him in twenty years. Twenty whole years and not a single utterance was spoken between either of you. You were in your right mind to just shred the letter and throw it in the trash— because what could he possibly want from you?

Maxwell Lorenzano; your childhood best friend. He’d promised you, when he left to embark on his new life, he promised you he’d write, or at least call. And like the lovestruck dumb fool you were, you waited for him. You waited for him your whole life and he never came back to you. So many empty promises, but your heart felt like it might never heal.

After hours of doting, and pacing backwards and forwards, you decided to open the letter. You’d waited this long for him to reach out — and now he finally had.

——————————————————

Dated: July 7th 1984.

My love,

I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you, but I’m writing it anyway. I can only hope you live at the same address. Although I suppose that would also be a real shame, wouldn’t it? I know how much you wanted to leave that hell-hole of a town. It’s a cloudy day in D.C., especially for Summer. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Okay well, I think about you a lot all the time... Do you ever think about me? A lot has happened recently, I’m not sure if you’ve heard...

But I’ve been spending some time reflecting on my mistakes and regrets. I know you always said I should have no regrets but... it’s difficult, you know? Something I need to work on. Maybe you can help me? I never called or wrote to you like I promised I would, all those years ago. And I’m sorry, I really am. The truth is, I spent so much of my time trying to repress my childhood and all the trauma. Tried to focus on other things, bigger things, better things. Wanted to do better. Be better. Be the best. I guess I kind of got lost along the way.

Something happened. Maybe one day I can explain it to you, but there just isn’t enough paper in the world for me to explain it through this letter. It was... unbelievable. A phenomena. And it got me thinking about you.

I miss you. From the moment I left town, I’ve missed you. And it caused me so much pain that I just repressed my feelings. That’s why I didn’t call. I know, I can’t excuse it, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but it’s the truth.

I’d have these dreams about you... and us... and what we could’ve been if I had never left. Because yes, amidst all my wealth and fortune and success, I still thought about what things would be like if we still lived in the same neighbourhood. Still hung out every night, walking along the river hand in hand and counting the stars above us. It’s funny, there may be distance between us, but every time I look up at the moon, I’m reminded of you and how much you loved it. And I’m comforted in knowing that although we live very different lives, we’re both living underneath the same sky. We both look up and see the same moon.

I wish you could see D.C., it’s wonderful. I think you’d really like it. All the skyscrapers and parks and places to go shopping. It’s nothing like back home.

Shit, I really do miss you. It’s been too long. I think about our final days together. When I kissed you under the big willow tree in your grandmother’s garden. Do you remember? It still haunts me. The perfect taste of your cherry lips and

Did you ever marry? Or settle down? Are you... dating right now? I married, I’m not sure if you heard. We didn’t last long, but I got a son out of it. His name is Alistair and he’s six years old. I’d love for you to meet him, I think you’d both get along really well.

Is my dad

Is my father

Is my father still alive?

I miss you. I want to see you. I need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you again. Please write back and tell me you want to see me too. Please.

I’ve made mistakes, terrible mistakes. But I know never to make the same mistake twice. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me...

Because I still love you. I never stopped, really.

I’m so sorry.

Yours forever, Max.

———————————————

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics

#maxwell lord #wonder woman 1984 #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord x reader #maxwell lorenzano

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angstyaches · 3 years

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my fatal flaw is loving fluff more than whump, but i love whumpy nightmare scenarios…? so…what about charlie having a bad nightmare again, either due to being sick or resulting in getting sick, and being so distressed that he has to call shayne? the reverse scenario (shayne calling charlie) would also be so good but i feel like he’d be more hesitant to do that 🤧 i’m imagining lots of shaking and shaky breathing and self-loathing remedied just a little with some physical comfort? like being held idk. ANYWAY this is my request hehe

I spent ages trying to figure out a scenario where Charlie could call Shayne and Shayne could actually get to him, but when they’re apart, it’s hard for Shayne to spontaneously decide to go to Charlie’s. I could have swapped Shayne in for the sickie but I wanted to do Charlie. Sooo, the comfort is mostly verbal, although Charlie recalls physical comfort from the past. I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind! Feel free to request more nightmare whump anytime, because I adore it.

The events of this fic are referenced (sorry for the first-person POV lol I was trying something out when I started this blog)

CW: nightmare, emeto, crying, anxiety, brief referenced past violence and blood.

___

It was the middle of the night, and the only thing Charlie could hear was the sound of the toilet tank refilling. That, and the tiny gasps that escaped him every now and then as he tried to catch his breath.

His stomach muscles were practically on fire from clenching, and he was still getting his breath back as he leaned against the side of the bath and held his phone to his ear.

The light bounced against the tiles and burned his eyes, but it was better than the dark. The dark had sprouted wings in his dream, along with a set of claws.

Charlie gasped and shook his head, burying it quickly between his knees and trying to get the image out of his head. His spine felt like his skin was crawling all over it.

“Charlie?”

His heart felt like it was going to slip up his throat at the sound of Shayne’s voice on the phone. He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering with sheer relief. He hadn’t quite acknowledged it, but part of him had been terrified that Shayne wouldn’t answer the phone at all.

He’s okay…

“H-hey.” Charlie cringed at how badly his voice was shaking, and it echoed against the empty bathroom shelves just like his retching and coughing had done a few minutes ago. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Hmm? What’re you sorry for?” Shayne mumbled on the other end of the phone.

“You were probably sleeping, I – I just…” Charlie rubbed at his eyes, desperate to get them dry. Nausea was still trickling lightly through his stomach, and he wondered if he’d have to rush back to the toilet bowl sometime soon.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I got sick…” Charlie pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his forehead against his bare knees. His voice almost disappeared completely down his throat. “I… don’t feel well.”

“Shit. I thought you were finished with all that.”

It took Charlie a moment to realise that Shayne was referring to the food poisoning Charlie had accidentally given himself (and Rin) the day before yesterday.

He swallowed thickly, pulling a face at the memory. He’d felt so much better before going to bed; in fact, he’d been starving, his body feeling hollow and achy after purging itself for a day and a half. He’d cooked an entire bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer, made himself four slices of toast, finished off a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, and had gone to bed feeling blissfully better.

He struggled to find a way to gently tell Shayne that the problem that had woken him at 4am had less to do with his stomach and more to do with his brain.

Although the amount of heavy food in his belly admittedly may have contributed somewhat.

“Charlie, you okay?”

He started a bit, realising he hadn’t replied in a while. “I’m – no. Not really,” he whispered, a sharp sob jerking his ribs and scraping at his throat.

“Put me on the, um, the video thing.”

The phone jingled beside Charlie’s ear, telling him that Shayne was requesting a video call. Charlie made an attempt to clean his face off with his pyjama top before accepting it, propping the bottom of his phone against his knee.

“You know, you sound sixty when you call it ‘the video thing’,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Really?” Shayne narrowed his eyes into a glare as soon as he appeared on Charlie’s screen. “Would you say that to my face if it was actually this close to you?”

Charlie managed a weak smile. Some of the tension bled out of him just at the sight of his boyfriend and his sleepy brown eyes. His chin wobbled uncontrollably as emotions swelled in his belly and chest. “I wish it was this close to me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Shayne folded one arm behind his head and leaned back against his pillow. His room was mostly dark, but he seemed to be lying on his back. “Wait, are you real-crying? Not just throwing-up-crying?”

Charlie sighed shakily, rushing to rub away the tears that had sneaked up on him. He felt his lips quiver as he tried to keep the smile from turning into a grimace.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Charlie gulped and nodded. “How could you tell?”

“Give me some credit. I feel like I know you pretty well by now.”

Charlie’s eyes were drawn towards the shrunken image of himself in the top-right corner of the screen, and tried to hold back even more tears. In his own – admittedly warped – opinion, he looked about as disgusting as he felt. He hated that he felt trapped in front of the camera, forcing Shayne to look at him in this state.

“Charlie,” Shayne murmured, his eyes softening in the light of his bedside lamp. “Talk to me, yeah?”

“They’re get – they’re getting worse,” Charlie breathed, burying his face in one hand. It felt a little silly to keep his phone held steady in the other, camera trained on himself even as he covered his eyes and wept, but he didn’t want to cast Shayne aside either. He peered out over the top of his hand, still covering his mouth to try to keep the volume under control.

“I know, but they’re just dreams, remember? They’re not real.”

A gag pulled at Charlie’s throat and he had to shut his eyes. But it was real…

“Deep breaths,” Shayne said, his tone in complete contrast to Charlie’s sobs. “You want to count back from ten with me? Sometimes I need some help. I can get to nine, and then I just get confused.”

Charlie almost laughed through the tears. He wondered if he should have been insulted by Shayne’s attempt to use Charlie’s own method on him. He decided to humour him though, rasping out numbers while thinking that it would never work because he was thinking too hard about it, but by the time they got to zero, he was able to take a breath without his chest hitching.

Shayne said nothing for a few seconds, watching to see what Charlie would do next. He frowned when Charlie shuddered harshly, making the picture wobble.

“You cold?”

Charlie nodded.

“Then go get into bed, idiot.”

He did his best to keep his phone elevated as he walked, but in his exhausted state, Charlie probably gave Shayne a prime view of the stubble under his chin as he made his way back to bed. He shakily propped his phone on the nightstand, next to Vincent the teddy bear, and went to grab a fresh t-shirt from the drawer. He’d sweat through the one he’d fallen asleep in, ruining it even before it had vomit and tears on it.

He finally crawled into bed, his stomach letting out a hollow, unhappy groan as it settled into the new position. Charlie groaned too, reaching out to take his phone in his hand again. He hated how the bedside light made his face look haggard and washed-out.

“All good?” Shayne asked.

“All good,” Charlie slurred, his eyes drooping already. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too, love.”

Charlie pulled his blanket tightly around himself, keeping one arm outstretched with his phone so that he and Shayne could still see one another. His sheets had cooled down a lot since he’d flung himself out from between them earlier, and after crouching on the tiles for so long, it was nice to be surrounded by something soft and pleasant.

Shayne tilted his head slightly as they both lay in silence for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes through their cameras. “How’s the nausea?”

“A little better,” Charlie sighed. “My tummy just kind of hurts.”

Shayne clicked his tongue. “Fuck. I wish I was there with you right now.”

“No.” Although his chest panged with longing for the same thing, Charlie shook his head. “You’re better – you’re safer there, and I don’t –”

The whoosh of dark, leathery wings in the night and the splatter across the hardwood flashed in Charlie’s memory. In the dream, the blood had been Shayne’s; Charlie had watched as Watson had torn his heart right out of his chest before dragging the rest of him away into the sky.

In reality, the blood had been mostly Charlie’s; he’d cut his hands on the broken glass left behind by Watson’s exit through the window.

“Lately, I just…” Charlie swallowed sickly. “I can’t stop thinking about that – that night, remember? When Watson came to my room to find you?”

Shayne fell silent for a moment, seemed to shift position slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I was dreaming about – about that, but… worse.”

“He won’t come for you,” Shayne said. He seemed like he was gritting his teeth. “If he or Madelyn even try to get near that house, they’ll –”

“I know.” Charlie chewed the inside of his lip. He ducked his face below the blanket and quickly dabbed at fresh tears that were starting to form. “But I was so… I was so useless, Shayne, I knew I could have stopped him, but I didn’t, I was frozen solid, I –”

“Ssshhh…” Shayne whispered, the sound crackling gently through the phone’s speaker. “Charlie, love, come out.”

Teeth chattering in his head, Charlie sniffled from under the blanket.

“Please, I want to see you.”

When he crinkled the blanket into his fingers and revealed just the top half of his face to the camera again, Charlie wished he hadn’t gone into detail about the dream at all. Not only did he look like a mess, now he sounded like one, too. He felt himself blush when Shayne’s eyes lit up on the screen, realising Charlie had come out from behind the blanket.

“You know what I think of when I think of that night?”

Charlie swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I think about the way you let me fall asleep on your bed, even though I was being an asshole to you.”

He couldn’t help nuzzling his head against the pillow where Shayne’s head had been that night, while Charlie had sat lengthways with Shayne’s legs across his lap. He’d had crazy butterflies in his stomach, barely able to believe that his crush had shown up in the middle of the night, unconsciously looking for comfort from him.

“It was the first night we fell asleep together, too,” Shayne said.

Without realising it, Charlie had slid one hand around the side of his own neck, fingers running lightly through the hair at the back of his head. Shayne had never touched him before that night either, but he’d ran his fingers through his hair as though he’d been doing it for years. Light shivers of pleasure trickled over Charlie’s skin. The panicked pounding in his chest was starting to slow. “That’s true...”

“You’re anything but useless,” Shayne murmured, turning onto his side and adjusting the angle of his phone. His eyes were starting to close. “I think that’s what my point was. I forgot.”

Charlie gave a light, breathy laugh which was cut off by a deep yawn. He hid his face from the camera again, to avoid giving Shayne a view of his tonsils this time. By the time he looked at the screen again, Shayne was struggling to keep his eyes open, but neither of them said anything.

They never found out whose phone dropped out of whose hand first.

#StW Charlie #nightmare mention #emeto #emeto mention #sickfic #emeto sickfic #nightmare whump #whump fic #hurt and comfort #Swallow the World #angst fic #nightmare sickfic #fic length #long fic

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heathenarmyimagines · 3 years

Photo

Title: Find Us

Summary: Something very not good happens.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

You were internally screaming, wondering how the hell you got here. Top less, in a truck with a bloody nosed boy and a cop at the window.

‘I’m gonna need you both to step out of the vehicle.’ the cop said sternly.

Ivar sighed and rolled down your window.

‘Hello officer; did you happen to have a jacket or blanket she could use?’ he asked politely.

‘The male officer sighed.

‘Stay here, I already have your plates and it’s stunning how quick I can have every cop car in the city looking for you.’ he warned before walking to his car.

‘What are we gonna do? Shit what is my mom gonna do?’ you panicked.

‘Calm down. Just be quiet, look totally embarrassed and I can get us out of this.’ Ivar whispered, looking at the cop that was coming back.

The cop held up a grey scratchy looking blanket, but considering that the only thing keeping your nipples covered was your arm you weren’t too picky.

For a moment all you did was look at the cloth the man offered you, wary that moving too much would expose even more of yourself.

Luckily the officer took pity on you and just dropped it into your lap.

‘Thank you.’ you mumbled, pulling it over you.

Once you were secure in your coverage Ivar opened his door and you followed suit.

You sent a concerned look Ivar’s way, seeing how stiffly he was moving, he was visibly wincing with each step.

‘Now that we are all as appropriate as we can be, care to explain why you two are loitering in a closed park.’

‘We are so sorry, it’s just-well we are just, trying to…you know. Take things to the next level in our relationship.’

‘Ivar!’ you gasped.

‘What?! Am I supposed to lie? Kinda hard to do that when you don't have on a shirt, and I’m bleeding because we have horrendous coordination.’ he argued.

The officer snickered but quickly covered it up with a cough.

‘Look, Mr.Ragnarson. I have caught your brothers all over the city in a great many situations, as I’m sure your brothers can attest to. Do not think being rich will keep you out of trouble, however this is your first incident and everyone has been a teenager. Get outta the park and try hitting third base in a place that isn’t public.’ he said.

You were so damn red it was amazing you hadn’t become a damn tomato.

‘Keep the blanket...stay safe.’

‘Thank you officer we are sorry for wasting your time.’ Ivar apologized as the officer got back in his car and drove off.

Immediately you swatted at his arm, repeatedly, almost as hard as you could.

‘What the hell is your problem?!’

‘My legs are giving out soon so help me get back in the car.’ Ivar hissed as he as his knees buckled.

Just before it was too late you managed to catch him, in doing so you nearly hit the ground with him. Thankfully you found your footing and stabilized the both of you, all the while keeping the blanket over your shoulders.

‘Jesus! You’re heavy…’ you groaned out.

‘How sweet of you to say (Y/N), really I’m flattered. Can you drag my heavy ass to the car?’

‘I can try, but I don’t have too much confidence in myself to be honest.’ you confessed.

‘Just let me put some of my weight on you, I can make it.’ he grunted.

You nodded and let Ivar move around a bit, standing a little taller, taking some of his weight off.

Surprisingly enough the two of you moved very well together and got him in the car pretty quickly, all things considered.

‘Alright, you ok Ivar?’ you asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Good because I need you in shape...so I can yell at you the entire ride home.’ you replied hitting him again.

‘Stop that!’ Ivar pouted.

‘Why did you tell that cop you were trying to cop a feel?!’ you hissed.

‘I didn’t tell him that, I said we were trying to have sex.’

‘Ivar!’

‘Did you want to be taken to the station to sit in a cell and wait for the police to call your mom and tell her what you were doing in my car shirtless?’

‘You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met, and that says something coming from someone with six siblings!’ you snapped.

‘Are you done?’

‘...yes.’

‘Good, because I don’t think I can make it to my house.’

‘Excuse me.’

‘My legs are sick of me, I didn’t give my meds time to kick in fully, I didn’t eat and it’s making me feel sick.’ Ivar said weakly, leaning back in his seat.

‘What were you doing driving when you felt this bad?’

‘Had to see you.’

It felt as if the air had been knocked out of you, Ivar had stupidly driven to meet you through pain you couldn’t even comprehend.

Sure you’d had friends before, but you couldn’t think of a single one that would even consider doing what Ivar had without any hesitation.

‘Can you get to my house in one piece?’

Ivar looked over at you, took a second to shake his head affirmative.

‘OK, me casa su casa I guess.’ you smiled.

‘Thanks.’ he said.

‘You’re still the worst.’ you joked before you ran around the truck to get back in the passenger seat.

Ivar closed his door and started the car.

‘My first slumber party, think we’ll get to braid each other’s hair?’ he said weakly.

‘Focus on getting us there buddy.’ you rolled your eyes playfully.

Ivar drove slowly and carefully, if you hadn’t personally witnessed him driving before you’d almost believe he was still a student driver.

Nonetheless, he did make it to your house and he parked safely, without blocking your mom’s car.

‘Good news is we made it, bad news is my couch is super uncomfortable but my room is upstairs.’

‘I can make it.’ Ivar assured you.

Deciding to have faith that Ivar knew what he was and wasn’t capable of, you held back your urge to ask if he was ok.

You got out and the two of you made your way into the house as quietly as you could, quickly you verified that no one was up on the first floor.

So far so good, your mom would have been waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase if she knew beforehand that you had snuck out.

Just as Ivar said, he made it up the stairs surprisingly quiet for a guy who had just nearly collapsed a few minutes earlier.

Once you two were safely in your room with the door closed, and locked Ivar quite literally fell face forward onto your bed.

You walked over to your desk and cut on the lamp, so that you weren’t moving around in nearly complete darkness.

‘Now if you don’t mind, staying in that exact position while I put on a shirt.’ Ivar wordlessly held out a thumbs up.

You pulled a sleep shirt out of your dresser, and just to make you feel a bit better you also put on one of your more comfortable bras.

Finally dressed you begin to fold up the blanket the cop had given you.

‘We’re good.’ you announced quietly.

‘Good, now where did you want me to sleep?’ Ivar asked as he sat up.

‘Uh uh, first I’m going to give you something to eat, you said you felt sick right.’

‘You don’t have to take care of me.’ he declined.

‘Shut up. You feed me everyday at lunch, let me feed you for once.’ you dismissed.

Ivar sighed in defeat and just laid back down.

You went downstairs and made two sandwiches, grabbed the family sized bag of chips that was more than half empty, took two sodas and a pair of bananas from the fridge.

Getting up the stairs and opening your room door proved to be quite the challenge but you prevailed.

With very visible relief you sat down your feast on the bed and took a seat in your office chair, wheeling over to the bedside while Ivar helped himself to one of the bananas.

‘Thanks.’

‘No issue, after that shit fest I need to stress eat...plus can’t have your first sleepover be a complete bust.’

‘So...do you wanna finish talking about-’

‘No, not now. The headache is finally clearing up, plus I’m not ready to get another nose bleed.’ Ivar interrupted.

‘Wait, so the nose bleed wasn’t a side effect of the medicine?’

‘No, neither was the headache. While I wasn’t feeling my bubbly self tonight, my head didn’t hurt until I tried to remember my dreams.’ he explained, finishing his sandwich.

You took a while to think this information ove as Ivar handed you a soda.

‘Yeah we should definitely not do anything that makes your head hurt, not tonight at least.’ you agreed.

The two ate in a comfortable silence, after such an eventful past hour the peace was very much so welcomed.

At last the food had been eaten and the soda cans emptied, so you threw away the trash and did your best to wipe away the crumbs from your covers.

‘So...am I sleeping on the bed?’ Ivar asked.

‘Yes.’ you replied like it was obvious.

‘And you will sleep...where?’

‘On the floor.’

‘No, you sleep in your bed, I’ll take the floor.’ he argued.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’m not letting you sleep on the floor in your own room.’ he said strictly.

‘Well I’m not letting you sleep on my floor either.’ you snapped back.

‘Alright then sleep on the bed, I won’t do anything if you don’t.’ Ivar bargained.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, I definitely won’t do anything other than snore and probably kick you out of bed.’ you scoffed.

Ivar rolled his eyes and awkwardly moved around until he could get comfortably under the covers and laid down.

Still partially annoyed, you walked over to the desk and took one of your prescribed sleeping pills and cut off the light.

After a moment of wondering if you were really about to share a bed with your guy friend you assured yourself that the only feelings you had for Ivar were platonic.

With that in mind you got in the bed and got settled in, you still made sure that there was plenty of space between the two of you.

‘Won’t your mom wonder why I’m here in the morning?’ Ivar asked.

‘No, everyone is going to Sunday morning church service. No one will be coming near my room, not until afternoon service. Benefits of being unable to sleep is getting a lot more opportunities to sleep in.’ you answered.

‘OK, if you’re sure.’ Ivar yawned before turning over.

With Ivar turned around and his breathing already evening out you also succumbed to your own exhaustion and went to sleep in record timing.

But of course you couldn’t just enjoy sleeping, not when your apparent past life was dead set on ruining your current life.

You were back in that strange room with the long fire pit, the smell of old leather and barn animals filled the air,

At first you thought it was empty, dreams like that had seemed to be becoming more common recently.

You sighed and turned, thinking you could walk around the area a bit more, maybe find something useful.

Just as you turned around you certainly found something...someone more specifically.

‘Ah!’ you squeaked out in shock as you were met by the eyeless face of the only man you could actively speak to outside of Ivar.

‘You are making progress with the Boneless one.’ he said.

‘I think I am, but I-we, we have questions and we need them answered.’ you replied.

‘You ask the wrong questions.’

‘You haven’t even heard my-’

‘I know your questions, you want to know why...why doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he remembers, he must remember himself in all his glory, and his disgrace. He will deny it, and the memory will hurt him, but he must.’ the man said, his voice deep, heavy and grave.

For a moment his words took the very air from your lungs, they made the hair on your arms stand up and you wanted to wake up and leave this behind you; but you couldn’t.

‘Fine, I won’t ask you why, but you will tell me this. What will happen to him once he does remember?’ you asked, demanding an answer.

‘What happens when you remember things?’

You were startled out of your sleep by an iPhone ringtone.

Sluggishly you reached over for your phone that was on the nightstand and looked at it in annoyance but it wasn’t ringing.

You felt the bed shift and looked over to see Ivar leaning over to pick up his phone off the floor.

‘What do you want, Hvitserk?’ he answered, his voice deeper than normal.

‘I’m out with (Y/N)...shut up you idiot... yeah...I’ll be home for the damn lunch.’ Ivar said before hanging up and throwing the phone back down on the floor.

Just as you were about to ask what was going on Ivar rolled around facing you, he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You were so close to Ivar’s chest that you could hear his heartbeat.

Ivar was most definitely sleeping if the quiet snore was anything to go off of, and you had no clue how you were supposed to deal with this. So you tried to mentally make a to-do list, if only to make it easier for you not to freak out about how you were cuddling with a boy in your bed.

First thing you needed to know was what time it was, then you needed to get the hell out of this bed.

Luckily you hadn’t put your phone down, it was still in your hand.

So at a very weird angle you held up your hand and strained your neck to look at the screen.

Eleven fifty four in the morning, a solid six hours of sleep you noted absentmindedly.

Ok, step one went without a hitch, now for the next step.

First you moved his arm that was draped over your waist, and did an awkward little skoot backwards until you were almost completely out of the bed.

‘Where you going?’ Ivar asked sleepily.

‘Um, out of bed?’

‘Get back here...I’m sleepy.’

‘I thought you were a morning person.’ you tried.

‘Not on days like this.’

‘It’s almost noon, my family will be back at like twelve thirty.’ you said.

Ivar made a unpleased noise and sat up, he put his feet down then he lightly stomped each foot.

‘At least I can walk now.’ he sighed as he stood up.

‘So...you like to cuddle.’ you smiled, trying to lighten the mood without talking about his legs.

‘Rarely, and don’t go telling people either.’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because I could tell everyone you got caught with your twins out last night.’

‘Ivar!’ you shouted.

‘I’ll be quiet if you will?’ he bargained.

‘Deal, any...dreams last night?’ you asked.

‘No. What about you?’

You nodded.

‘And I got at least two of our questions answered.’

‘Which two?’

‘Well..I know that your nose bleed was because you were remembering. The man with no eyes said the memory would hurt.’

‘The man with no eyes, what else did he say?’ Ivar asked.

‘I asked what would happen if you did remember.’

‘Ok...and?’

‘He just said what happens to me when I remember things.’

Ivar squinted his eyes in confusion.

‘What happens when you remember things?’

‘I mean...nothing, I just have that information again I guess, but the information I remember is usually not an entire lifetime of memories.’ you said.

‘Well, maybe if you’re as lucky as me you’ll get to remember your old life too.’ he sighed.

‘Ivar, I know this all really sucks…’

‘Were you gonna finish the sentence?’

‘No that was it, this sucks.’

Ivar scoffed, but it quickly became a laugh, a contagious kind it seemed as you were also in stitches.

‘Come on, I gotta start getting ready for afternoon service, and I think you have some type of lunch thing with your family.’

‘Yeah. I’ll call you after.’ Ivar promised.

‘Cool, and not to smother you, but let me know how you are feeling when you get in.’

‘Fine. I can text you.’

‘Good.’

The two of you stood still for a minute.

‘Ok bye.’ Ivar said, actually leaving this time.

You weren’t sure why, but something possessed you to look out your window so you could see Ivar get in his car.

And maybe whatever made you come to the window also made Ivar look back up at you.

He smiled and waved, and you returned the favor.

You watched him get in and pull off and you let out a breath that you couldn’t for the life of you remember holding; your chest felt tight and your cheeks were hot.

Oh...this was bad.

#Find us Series #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarson #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #modern!vikings #hvitserk ragnarson

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harrypotterthehufflepuff · 4 years

Text

Sick

This was requested by: Anon !

Request: Can you write something where George is sick with a really bad stomach flu and his S\O takes care of him but his really embarrassed because this is the first time his S\O has seen him so sick and she’s living with him now?

This was so much fun to write, thank you!

Okay, so I just wanted to say that I don’t think George would feel bad for staying home from work, but I decided to go for it and I do think that George (and Fred) must have felt very powerful and more important when they succeeded with their business so I decided to include a bit of that ! And I hope that it’s readable! Also a dirty-minded George has arrived.

(I also spent like 15 minutes trying to find a GIF or photo to go along with the story... It had to be this one...)

Warnings: Dirty jokes (lol)

Pairing: George weasley x reader

Words: 1k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and i’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

"Merlin, you're burning up, George!" You said, removing your hand from his feverish forehead.

He grunted, adjusting himself on the sofa. "Mmm, It's okay."

"You say that is if you haven't just emptied your guts into a bucket."

His eyes were starry and he kept his hand clutched on his stomach. After days of feeling ill, he had finally come to the senses that it was best not to work for a while. You have been able to keep him at home for four days now.

You draped a blanket over him that Molly had given you on the day you had moved into your new home together. It was brown with red squares. His attempts at playing everything off had become harder and harder as he has become more fatigued. Not being able to keep his food has drained him of all colour he had left.

"Do you not want to move over to the bed?" You asked, looking down at his flushed but somehow still pale face.

"Oh, Darling, you really know how to make a guy feel better." He smirked and winked at you, lazily reaching his hand out for you.

Pushing his hand away, you put your hands on your hips. "George, honestly. You act as if you're dying and you're still somehow a prick. You know what I mean. The bed is more comfortable."

"I feel fine here."

You rolled your eyes at him, feeling defeated you went to make tea. The kitchen was connected to the sitting room and made the house appear more like a little cottage. It was small but it was all you two needed. It had felt right and it seemed as if was the last puzzle piece to make your relationship whole.

You put the kettle on and waited for it to heat up. The sound of the kettle brewing and Georges shallow breathing filled the room. It was however broken by Georges's voice.

"I told Fred I could come in tomorrow."

You immediately snapped your head back to look at him. His face was serious but a small shy smile was playing at his thin lips.

"You did what now?" Your voice was harsh and you hoped he could sense every infuriated particle you put into your words.

Playing with the fringes of the blanket he responded, "I do feel better. And he can't work at the shop alone."

You looked at him impassively, "He's not working alone. He's got Ron with him."

"Hermione is about to give birth any day now, and he won't be able to stick around the shop anymore. Y/N, I've only puked two times today. That's my new record!"

"Don't try and twist this into some funny article." You trotted over to him and sat down by his feet. "Why can't you just stay home? You're working your arse off. You'll infect other people too."

He didn't answer, his eyes focused on his toes. It was true, he has gotten better over the last few days. But he's still sick and going to work would be foolish.

You laid your hand on his naked ankle and ran your thumb over the curve of the bone. "Stay home." You whispered, a hint of pleading came with it.

Still fiddling with the fringes he said, "I feel useless just sitting around all day."

"You're sick, darling."

George shook his head and sighed. "No, just that... lolling around all day without working is making me feel useless. I don't want to feel like that again."

Now it was your turn to frown, "Again?"

"Well, yes. Growing up in a household with no money, and having six siblings to share what we had, was tough. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park." He admitted, not looking up at you.

Having stopped rubbing his ankle you now just looked at him. You felt sad for the man sitting in front of you, but that doesn't mean that he can weary himself.

"I know. But you can't go to work, George. It's a hard and very energy draining job. You need all your strength back." You reassured him, although, he didn't look very reassured at all.

"Y/N, when Fred and I opened this business, and it went well, I felt powerful and important. I now had a steady, and very good, income for the first time in my life. I don't want to sit here and feel like shit while my brothers work." George looked on the brink of crying, which took you by great surprise. Is this sickness making him more emotional?

You proceeded to caress the curve of his ankle in a calming manner. "Oh, George. It's alright. I promise the shop will be standing there when you've recovered from this shit, as you like to call it." You said, trying to make him smile.

"I know." His eyes were glassy and his cheeks flooding with a bright scarlet hue. "I've gotten used to working now. And I'm not a big fan of you pampering me, either."

Pretending to be offended you said, "Excuse me? I think my pampering is a payback for all the things you do for me - even when I'm not sick."

"But you're my girlfriend, I'm the one who's supposed to pamper you all the time."

"What's so wrong with a girlfriend taking care of her boyfriend? A very vain argument you have there."

George smiled and reached out his hand for you again, and this time you took it. He pulled you down to him on the narrow sofa and laid his chin atop of your head. He heaved a great sigh and took in all of your perfumes.

"Nothing, love. It's just usually the other way around." His head bobbed up and down on yours uncomfortably as he spoke.

"Are you stating that I don't ever pamper you? Cause that's a big fat lie, George, and you know it." You exclaimed, your nose against his chest.

"No, no," He demurred, "You please and pamper me very much and I'm very, very thankful for it."

You chuckled and poked him in the chest which made him stir, "Mmm, poke me again."

"You're a sick bastard." You joked.

George nodded approvingly. "Yup, sick in every way"

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley imagine #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley x you #thank you for requesting!#ask reply #:) <3

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hatsukeii · 4 years

Note

Beautiful Trauma by Pink with Nishinoya, please!

Woop yess yeah angst is coming your way.

Okay I’m taking a break from matchups lol they’re getting harder to do because I do like a ton of them every day and like they’re GRUELLING HAVSJSGS they’re gonna be back but like I’m gonna focus on writing scenarios and maybe hcs for a bit then get right back to the matchups:)

Btw @artsamber I’m sorry I genuinely don’t know how marriage fics work and I don’t really see Nishinoya as someone that would lose interest after marriage, but I’ll try my best to incorporate your ideas into this fic!

(I’m legit trying my best to keep this as non explicit as I can because I’m keeping these for future uses if my English teacher ever tells me to write romance or something I can just pull up my blog and use scenarios-)

Beautiful Trauma// Nishinoya Yuu x Reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Mild swearing

Nishinoya didn’t like feeling guilty. He hated the falling sensation he would get whenever he lied. The thought of having to hurt someone disgusted him. He was mostly an open book, it was as if you could read him word for word, everything expressed in those goofy facial expressions. He didn’t ask for much. He wanted someone who he could tease. Someone he could trust with his inner conflicts. Someone that could make him feel appreciated. Out of all the things however, he craved for excitement the most. Excitement that you weren’t able to give him. He loved you, he definitely loved you. But in a couple of years’ time, the spark that used to ignite whenever he looked at you, touched you, kissed you, it was gone. He tried to ignore the emptiness, grasping at any opportunity he could to regain those feelings. Going on more dates, inviting you to all his matches, bringing you over to his house every single week, he did everything he could Nothing worked. He no longer felt special. He had fought so hard for you, everything was all rainbows and unicorns, until it wasn’t. Until you became just another person for him.

You still remember the exact moment you realised he had changed. It still goes through your mind till this day. It was New Year’s Eve. The two of you went out to watch the fireworks at midnight. His hand felt cold that night, not a trace of the usual warmth that embraced your hand perfect to be found.. It felt stale and frigid. He didn’t initiate his usual weird chatter, nor did he make an effort to talk to you at all. Every other couple at the venue was doing some lovey dovey crap, giving each other bone crushing hugs, or laying in their loved one’s lap, occasionally sneaking a kiss or two. Seeing that, you tried to sneak in some romance into your date. You turned towards him, leaning in and giving him a kiss. Your heart fell when he stayed still, not reacting to anything. He didn’t kiss back, he didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t even make an effort to play with your hair. It was as if your kiss had absolutely no effect on him. You tried again, letting go of his hand and cupping his cheek. Still nothing. You pulled away, slightly disappointed at the lack of attention you were getting from him as he stared at you with bored eyes, dragging you down to sit next to him. This should’ve been a sign. A sign that something was wrong. However, you brushed it off. Maybe he was just feeling a bit sick that night.

The lack of attention went on for months. You would have to ask him out every week, just to be able to spend any quality time with him, and most of the time he’d decline, using the same three excuses every time.

“Sorry, I’m busy with volleyball.”

“Feeling a bit tired today, I’ll pass.”

“I have schoolwork, can’t come.”

The rare instances where he doesn’t decline your request, he’s completely indulged in his phone. As if there was something that was better than spending time with the one he loved that was on that godforsaken monitor. You would try poking him, shaking him, nudging him, everything you could possibly do to gain his attention. In return, all you’d receive was an irritated groan or your hand being picked up and put back onto your lap, followed by a wave of depression hitting you by surprise as he continues to scroll mindlessly through his phone. You were tired of this, your gut telling you to just break it off with him. However you were hopeful. Too hopeful. You continued to cling onto the last shred of hope you had in that attention lacking heart of yours, praying that by spending enough time with him, he would go back to his old self. The Nishinoya that she fell in love with. The one that gave her kisses on her cheek, squeezed her hand whenever he held it, cried with her during hard times, pushed her on the swings in an abandoned park. She continued to look forward to a day, where he would once again greet her at her doorstep before walking to school together. That day never came.

Half a year. Half an entire year of hiding his inner conflicts. Nishinoya was done keeping it in. He had to tell you one way or the other anyways. He was sick of seeing how disappointed you’d get after he ignored you time and time again. He was drowning in his own guilt throughout the never-ending six months. That pit of regret that dug itself in his stomach made him want to just rip everything to pieces and scream into a void. He didn’t want to see you like this, but quite frankly there was nothing he could do. His feelings were slowly fading, and they weren’t coming back. Everything that seemed bright in the world went dull as he pondered over his own emotions in his room. Letting out a feral yell, he sent all the books and papers on his desk flying to the floor, ripping some up and stomping on them. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HUH? I CAN’T DO THIS TO HER! I can’t... I can’t hurt her like that.” He grabbed at his hair, pulling at it as he slid down the wall hopelessly, choking out strained sobs and screams as tears poured from his eyes. He was beyond frustrated. He definitely didn’t want to hurt you by telling you how he felt, however hiding it wouldn’t do any good either. In fact, the longer he hid it, the more affected by it you would be. He had made his mind. He was going to tell you the truth the next day, but at what cost? He was scared, definitely. He could already picture what would happen. He would tell you his conflicts, and you two would end it there, with both of you crying and leaving for different classes. He would probably do terribly during practice, maybe even skip it for once, and you would probably go home and cry. It would hurt him to tell you, but it was for the best.

You weren’t feeling ecstatic the next day, although you should’ve been. In your bag, was a framed polaroid, along with a tiny note attached to it, stuffed in between your lunchbox and textbooks. You made sure not to let the note crumple up. That was something important. Your friends teased you about it, calling you a hopeless romantic, lovestruck schoolgirl, and a variety of different romance tropes. All you could do was nod and laugh dryly, and pray they didn’t see the frown on your face throughout the whole day. During lunch, you scanned the cafeteria for your partner, finally landing your eyes on his tiny figure. He was in the very back of the lunch line, scrolling through his phone, again. You took a deep breath, grabbing the polaroid and treading towards him. “Nishinoya, can I talk to you alone for a bit?” The boy’s eyes glanced towards you, before he cracked a fake grin. “Uh sure thing.” You pulled him out of the lunch line, guiding him to behind a random stairwell, leaning on the wall with the framed photo in hand.

“So, for our second anniversary, I made you this. I hope you like it.” Nishinoya froze, before his eyes widened, his mouth slowly opening. “I- I’m so sorry (Y/N), I completely forgot about this! Oh lord I’m so dumb oh god-” He stopped for a moment. This was the perfect opportunity to tell you. You two were finally alone, he could just get it done and over with. He thought about it a bit more. Would it be too much for you? He had already forgotten about you guys’ anniversary, whilst you made an effort to make him something. He decided against it. He would do it another day. “Yuu, it’s okay, Don’t worry about it. Just read the note when you get back. I gotta go eat now, see you around.” And with that, you made your way back to your table. NIshinoya’s heart clenched. He felt terrible. He really hid the fact that he was losing interest from you for months, whilst you continued to believe that he loved you with his whole heart. He stared at the polaroid in his hand. It was from when you two had your first date in a pink cafe. That was the first time he ever kissed you in public. Inside of the frame, was a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. That was the note you were talking about. He let out a heavy sigh, returning to the cafeteria as well.

The note was now in his hands, still folded in that neat square. When school ended, you didn’t wait for Nishinoya like you usually did. Instead, he saw you walk away with another friend, who was patting your back as you were hunched over slightly. His heart dropped. Thank the lords he decided not to tell you today. Polaroid frame in hand, he examined everything. Maybe there was some hidden message behind this. Maybe she wrote something on the back of the polaroid too, instead of just writing a note. He took a few minutes to just observe the framed photo, before giving up and shoving it back into his bag. There was nothing weird or suspicious about it. It was just a normal polaroid. He walked home alone, not waiting for Tanaka. He felt like absolute shit, head hanging low as he walked towards his house, hands in his pocket. The second he got to his room, he threw everything to the floor, scrambling for the framed polaroid and pulling out the untouched note. He opened the note up, to see a neatly written message. It wasn’t just a note, it was a whole letter.

Dear Yuu,

I expected this already, so don’t be sorry. I knew you were going to forget. You’ve changed, everyone could see. Because of that, there’s something I need to tell you.

I’m breaking it off here.

Nishinoya’s eyes widened as he gripped the paper tightly with his now shaky hands. “No way....”

I know you might be confused as to why I’m doing this. But hear me out. I can see that you’ve changed. For the past months you’ve been uninterested. You haven’t been like the old Yuu since New Year’s Eve.

I love you, I do, but I can’t bear to see you force yourself into continuing this facade. It’s been two years, this isn’t a surprise to me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me against your heart’s desire. I’d rather you be happy with the relationship. Please. Let’s just end it here. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now it’s just trauma for me. I hope this anniversary gift is good enough. Goodbye.

Love,

(Y/N)

Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he re-read the letter again. Nothing changed. You had said what you said and Nishinoya felt terrible. He should’ve known you would be able to read through him. He should’ve just told you from the start, instead of keeping it in like a coward. Putting the letter down, he grabbed his bag, and threw it across the room, letting it land to the ground with a thud as his laptop and his textbooks spilled out. “NISHINOYA YUU WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Ah, of course, it was his mom. “NISHINOYA STOP MAKING SO MUCH NOISE!” The short boy ignored her, continuing to let his anger out. He threw all the books from his shelf onto the wooden floor, ripped up pieces of homework, and threw the polaroid to the ground, jumping on it and cracking the glass. He wasn’t mad at you. He was frustrated with himself. He was furious at his own cowardice, that led to him breaking your heart. “Why? It shouldn’t have been like this! I should’ve apologised to her before any of this happened! We might’ve had a chance!”

He continued to massacre his bedroom, throwing everything at his wall and breaking anything he possibly could get his hands on. His legs felt tired from stomping and jumping and his arms ached from ripping everything. He fell back, landing on his ass as he cradled his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted to lie to himself. Tell himself there was nothing he could do about it. Convince himself that he had already tried his best.

But deep down, he knew that he just didn’t try hard enough, and now, the two years you guys spent together, where he loved every single minute of, was nothing but a beautiful trauma.

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @tokyoghoose @artsamber @trashcanweeb @inlwlevi @tiger1719 @mariechan123 @random-fandomlover @kaylacinderella @burnt-tomato @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @just-another-bored-writer @ewfilthymundane @agentvicinity

Comment or dm to be in taglist!!

Okay this is actually so bad I’m sorry idk I just hate this with a passion and I think it’s terrible but I hope you liked it🥺😔💕

References:

Beautiful Trauma lyrics on genius

Comments on the music video

My overanalysing brain

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #haikyuu nishinoya #hq #hq x reader #hq angst #hq scenario #hq headcanons #hq nishinoya #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya scenario #nishinoya angst #anime

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