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cowgurrrl · 26 days

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Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this.

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles.

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls.

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle.

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head.

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates.

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise.

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be.

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face.

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you.

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you.

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod.

"Okay."

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to.

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles.

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller comfort #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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the-froschamethyst4 · 6 months

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Scars are beautiful

𖤐Pairing: Husband! König x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, smut, anxiety, language, insecurities, kissing, biting, blow job, mentioning of hard and soft (you know)

𖤐Summary: After König came back from the Military and is now living at home, he's worried his wife may not want him anymore because of all his scar he has on his body now.

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——————

It was a nice and sunny day in Germany right now. König sat on the couch in the living room in the same pajama pants he went to bed in and a tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscles just right.

He was just endlessly flipping through channels on the TV, he lands on one that he won't watch just have it play in the background as he does some house chores before Y/n, his wife of 4 years wakes up.

He fixed coffee for the both of them and unloaded the dishwasher and had placed his nasty, dirty and stinky gym clothes in the washer.

He pours some creamer in his coffee and no sugar; he doesn't like it overbearingly sweet like his wife does.

He fixed the way Y/n likes her coffee creamer and two spoonsful of sugar, he goes upstairs and just barely pushed the door open with his foot.

König saw Y/n was already up, she was just stretching upward, and the neck of her shirt exposes her right shoulder, she smiles seeing her husband come in holding her favorite mug knowing what's already in it.

"The way, I like it?" She asked, before he placed it in her hands.

"You already know it, liebe (love)," he kisses her temple and goes back downstairs, Y/n likes to stay in bed a little bit longer looking at her phone watching TikTok videos, going through X, Instagram and opening Snaps from her friends.

König held his mug and looked down at his hand, he saw the scar on the back of his hand that was like an 'X', after coming home from the Military his body was almost covered in scars, he became nervous that Y/n may not want to be with him anymore, he hates that he thinks like this, and he knows Y/n could NEVER leave him. Especially not over some scars.

He could see his reflection in the microwave and over his right eyebrow was a scar. The corner of his upper lip had a small scar that one hurt the most, he also knows his back and chest were covered in scars as well, he hasn't taken his shirt off around Y/n after coming home a month ago.

Y/n's honestly never really noticed that he hasn't done it, before he would almost walk around the house naked.

Y/n finally came downstairs and smiled at her husband, but she could see his face was done. She walks up to him.

"König?"

"Oh hey," he says as if he didn't just see her not too long ago.

"Is everything okay?" She asks.

"Umm~" he was hesitant. "How do you feel about my scars? Have you noticed that I'm basically not walking around the house naked anymore?"

Y/n took a deep breath. "I mean I haven't noticed really, I thought since he was around guys a lot you learned to be a little more modest or something but...the scars, King...they do not bother me. I love you, don't I? If they did, wouldn't I have left already? I will never leave you over some scars that showed your bravery. I could never do that to you..." she says, cupping his face and kissing him.

He smiles into the kiss knowing he'll feel safe with Y/n no matter what.

"Usually this is the opposite type of conversation, you're usually the one trying to calm me down about my insecurities." She smiles.

"Well, sometimes I need that encouragement too."

"I know," she places her pointer finger under his chin and her thumb tugged at his bottom lip before kissing him again.

He slightly moans into the kiss. his hands went to her waist as she did all the work, her hands on his shoulders but one measly moving down tugging at the pajama pants.

He smirks knowing what she wanted, and he knows what himself wanted as well.

"Are you sure?"

She pulls away from him. "The last time we did it was the night you came back home and nothing after that, yes, I want it," she says as he smirks and started to tug his pants down, she gets off him just a little bit to see his dick.

It wasn't hard just yet; she goes on her knees and looks up at him. He moves down just a little bit slouching on the back of the couch. The cold air against his lower half just made him twitch just a little bit till her hand goes around him.

Immediately he wanted to cum in her hand.

"H-Holy shit!"

"I haven't done anything yet, King," she giggles.

"I know, but your hands are so soft and...your hands, just look small holding me," he says while holding back a chuckle.

König was big and girthy even when soft he was still big. She starts to pump his cock in her hands, he placed his head back and let out a breathy moan.

"H-Holy fuck," he mutters. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her eyes looked cute looking up at him. "D-Don't look a-at me like that," he says.

She smirks and hums around his cock. He jolts his hips up, his tip just barely hit the back of her throat.

König grips some of her hair and just rested his hand, he wasn't forcing her or anything, he wanted to let her know, he was comfortable.

She focused on bobbing her head and swirling her tongue around his dick. He places his head back again and felt himself twitch inside of her mouth.

Then he cums in her mouth. she moves her mouth and cum leaked from the corner of her mouth. He holds her chin and watches her swallow. She opens her mouth showing off that she could take him.

"That was fucking hot, liebe..." he removes his shirt and kicked his pants away from his feet, he picks her up off the floor. "I want to stuff you now," he says making Y/n giggle at him.

"Do your worst," she teases.

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König was sweating from head to toe, his hair stuck to his forehead as Y/n was shaking, her body was sweaty as well, her body laid limp on the bed, trying her hardest to catch her breath.

She felt small and useless under König.

He gets off of her and laid next to her looking up at the ceiling with her, her soft pants were the only thing his ears could focus on. He sits up now and looks down at her tummy.

He leans down to rest his ear against her.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"I just thought...how wonderful and cool would it be to have a...little us running around the house?"

"A baby?"

"Yeah...why not...I talked with Price, he has 2 two kids of his own and he says when he retires, he wants to be part of their lives...and I want that too..."

"King...could I think about it?"

Y/n sometimes feels like she's ready for a kid, but she also feels like she's not ready just yet. She was a big kid of her own looking right at her.

"I'm just not sure if we are ready to have a kid yet...I have you to worry about first."

"Okay, okay, I understand," he said, looking down and chuckling. "Please do think about it."

"I will and I will get back to you when I have an answer," she giggles as König smiled and leaned down kissing her lips again.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig

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alonetimelover · 7 months

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A fluffy little number 10 (5 words) for the blurb night🥺

"I miss you every day."

pairing: Harry Styles x popstar!reader

summary: YN is away and Harry is back home with their two kids - Judie and Teddy. When the name 'mama' is mentioned they just need to call her.

word count: 1k

blurb#1 blurb#2

popsatr!reader

“Judie. Please, put your brother down,” Harry said to his older child, seeing how Jude was lifting Teddy up and moving him somewhere else.

“But daddy. But daddy,” Jude repeated, fixing the laughing Teddy in his arms. “Teddy was falling on his bum! I don’t want him to fall.”

Jude had a sad look on his face. From the moment Theodore, or Teddy like everybody called him, was born, Jude was very protective of him and his mother. Harry couldn’t get close to YN without Jude’s consent (that was based on asking his mum if she wanted him to let his dad through). But with days and weeks passing by, Jude learned that no one close to him wanted to harm his brother or mother. It didn’t change how his protectiveness stayed with him one year in the future though.

“Oh, I understand, Judie.” Harry kneeled in front of his children, being eye-to-eye with Jude. “But, Teddy is learning how to walk. You need to let him learn so he can run around the garden with you.”

“But when you run you can fall and, and hurt your knee, or hands, or, or head. I did! Remember when I, when I fall long long time ago? I have an owie now.”

Judie forgot that he was holding Teddy and wanted to show his father the scar that formed on his left knee from two years ago. It was a bad fall that stopped Harry’s heart when he witnessed it.

“Be careful,” Harry said, putting his hands around Teddy to hold him up.

“Oopsie. I’m sorry, little brother,” Judie whispered. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

“I think that Teddy would really love it if you did,” Harry encouraged, turning Teddy towards Jude.

“But he didn’t say yes. You daddy and mummy say people have to wait for a, what was it called, daddy?”

“A green light.”

“Yes! Green light! And Teddy don’t have one.”

“I’m very happy that you remembered our conversation, Judie. Good job!” Harry smiled, feeling proud of his son. “We also talked about the fact that Teddy can’t speak yet.”

“He can! You are so silly, daddy!”

“Am I?” Harry laughed, tickling Judie with the right arm, the left one leaving secure around Teddy.

“Stop, daddy! Tickles, tickles!” Judie broke into laughter. “Teddy say ‘mama’!”

Judie sat in front of his younger brother, unruly locks covering his eyes. He waited patiently for Theodore to stop picking on his father’s beard. Harry grasped gently Teddy’s hand that was yanking his facial hair, kissing it a few times.

“Say mama, little guy.”

Thedore’s eyes lit up at the name of his favourite person. From the moment he was born, he was just like a magnet, wanting to be as close as possible to his mum. When he started crawling, he’d followed her everywhere. And his first word was ‘dada’, ironically. The last few days, when YN wasn’t at home, were hard on the two boys, but Harry was the best father they could have asked for.

“Mama!”

“Yay!” Jude stood up and started jumping up and down. He did his ‘happy dance’, wiggling his body from left to right, making Teddy clap his hands in amusement.

“Do you want to call mama, boys?”

The scream coming from Jude’s throat was enough confirmation. He sprinted to the couch, sitting comfortably between two pillows - like always when they were calling YN.

“Daddy, daddy! Can I hold Taddy?”

“Yes, you can. But remember to be very gentle and secure, yeah?”

“Yes!”

Teddy was sitten in his older brother’s arms, looking up at him and giving him his sweet, toothy smile. Harry at the same moment was trying to FaceTime YN on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Mama! Hi!” Judie greeted his mum, smiling from ear to ear.

“Hello, my big boy! And hello, you little guy,” YN said to her kids. “How are you guys?”

“Mama, mama I safe Judie today!”

“Oh, did you? What happened?”

“He fall on his bum!”

“Did he? Was he trying to get up from the ground?”

“Yes! How do you know?” Jude asked with big eyes, in shock.

“Teddy is learning how to walk, baby. He wants to be able to walk and run and play with you.”

“That’s what dad said. You are really smart, daddy.”

“Oh, thank you, Judie.” Harry smiled at his son, kissing his head. “Am I smart because I said what mum did?”

“Yes! She is super smart. But I love you both. Super much.”

Judie was nodding his head, agreeing with himself that his parents were really the best.

“We love you too, Judie.”

Then the comfortable silence took over their call. Judie played with Teddy’s fingers when he tried to bite them and get relief from his achy gums. Harry was admiring his wife, counting hours till she would be back home with him and their kids.

“I miss you, mummy.” Jude said sadly, tears in his eyes.

Harry immediately scooted over to him and embraced him tightly.

“Judie, I miss you everyday, every hour and minute. I need to stay with granny for a little more time and then I am coming back to you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, baby. Not tomorrow, but soon. I will call daddy when. Okay?”

“It’s taking so long,” Judie complained. “Can you hurry up?”

“I’ll try. But hey, did you finish that cosmo project granda bought you?”

Jude’s eyes widened. He forgot.

“Daddy, hold Teddy. I need to work!”

And just like that Jude was off the living room and on his way to the bedroom when the lay-out of the solar system was waiting for him to finish. Harry placed his youngest in his arms and took the phone in his hand.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, baby. How are you holding up?”

“Great. Mum was here today to help me meal-prep for the week. We cleaned all over the house while Jude and Teddy were having their naps. Ate dinner and soon is the time for the baths and making them go to sleep.”

“You’re doing great, Harry.”

Harry smiled at the screen, winking at YN. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I should be back in four days and then I am all yours.”

“I like the sound of that.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #popstar!reader

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therainscene · 9 days

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Stranger Things 4 is themed around A Nightmare on Elm Street -- Vecna is a child-killer-turned-demon who murders teenagers from within their own minds; his heavily scarred skin and clawed hand resemble that of Freddy Krueger; and the actor who played Freddy himself plays his father.

I think Stranger Things 5 is gearing up to do something similar with The Terminator. Linda Hamilton (Sarah Connor) is the upcoming guest star this season; Vecna's exposed skull and vine-covered neck resembles the T-800--

--and Will's speech at the end of S4 bears striking similarities to Kyle Reece's famous "it can't be reasoned with" speech.

If Vecna is the T-800... then the Mind Flayer is the perfect candidate for Skynet.

[And Hawkins National Laboratory is Cyberdyne Systems -- a military-funded lab that meddled with phenomena beyond its ability to control and paved the way for a sinister hive mind to enter the world.]

I'm pretty sure that the Mind Flayer lies at the heart of whatever timey-wimey stuff is going on. It's suspiciously linked to timeline inconsistencies -- Will is already able to sense it in his neck before his possession in S2, and young Henry in TFS is haunted by the spider monster he wasn't supposed to create for another 20 years.

I've already written a theory on how a causal loop could tie Will and Henry to the Mind Flayer -- whatever's going on is probably more complicated than this, since my theory doesn't explain why the Upside Down is frozen -- but it's worth a read, I think, as it's the same type of time paradox as the one in Terminator and could easily be at the core of ST's time shenanigans.

Will is Kyle Reece or Sarah Connor -- so does that mean he's going to be a gun-toting badass?

No.

This scene is Will coming full circle from that moment in the shed at the start of S1: backed into a corner and forced to resort to violence because he sees no other way out. He doesn't want to kill the monster; he has to.

But the difference is that he's not cornered anymore.

This time around, Will knows his enemy, and he has supportive friends and family at his side. He's just so beaten down -- by Vecna, by Hawkins, by perceived rejections from Mike -- that he's lost all confidence in his ability to stand up for himself on his own terms.

I know it seems at first glance that Will advocates the use of violence in desperate times, but consider the context of the episode in which the above scene appears:

Joyce is reminiscing about her missing son while dealing with Lonnie telling her what to do and feel about it. Shortly after, she realizes how manipulative he's being and permanently kicks him out of her life (and the show lol) -- no violence necessary.

Will's advice hadn't been about the value of violence, but about the value of refusing to play by abusers' rules -- a key lesson in Stranger Things, as we've been watching El learn it the hard way over the course of four seasons.

Will cannot self-actualize by "finally" pulling the trigger on an approach that symbolizes his homophobic father's macho expectations. S5 is going to be about him regaining his self-confidence and allowing his authentic, gentle nature to guide him to the real solution.

So, to return to the "he's not gonna stop" speech: the theme at play here is inevitability, and it's one of the central themes of The Terminator -- not simply because the titular assassin is unstoppable, but because of the love story that drives the plot:

If Skynet hadn't sent the T-800 back in time to kill Sarah Connor before she could give birth to the leader of the human resistance, then Kyle would have had no reason to go back in time and end up unknowingly fathering John. No matter how hard Skynet tried to snuff John Connor out of existence, the rebellious love that created him was just as inevitable as the T-800.

This, I think, is the message at the heart of both Terminator and Stranger Things, and is the reason why The Terminator would be the perfect choice for S5's theme movie:

Sometimes the horrors wrought by humanity are inescapable...

...but so too is the hopeful human drive to love each other and overcome them.

Read Brenner's role in creating Vecna as a metaphor for homophobic Reagan-era fear-mongering and it all clicks into place, I think.

#terminator #stranger things #time travel #byler #will byers #henry creel #mind flayer #my analysis #tfs spoilers

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dreamwritersworld · 1 year

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The chore. Part 2 (Sully family x reader)

this is part two of my first story! :) I decided to add the healing and growing of our character to ease the pain and panic that mayyyy or may not come in the next part 😭. I hope you enjoy it! 💕

Tuk had only just now fallen asleep since it’s been a couple of hours flying. I know that sooner or later she’s going to be hungry so I decided to take a break and go out hunting for our meal. I laid her down safely with my Ikran while I went to go hunt. It had only been an hour since I left so I whistled to see if Tuk was at least up, patiently waiting for a whistle back. She wasn’t thankfully but I was indeed so tired so I just decided to set our meal and future meals for the flight ahead.

I slept longer than expected not as much as Tuk though, I could only hope that the trip wasn’t taking a big hit on her. So I started preparing the meal that I hunted and started a fire, moved Tuk even closer in case she was cold. We ate and got back to flying. A couple of days passed and I can tell as much as Tuk tried to hide it, she was tired of flying and searching for “a place to settle”. She just constantly asked me “are we almost there?” All I had to give her was “We’ll see Tuk-Tuk! Just hold on goofball! :)” I don’t have a plan but I hope she doesn’t notice, she should be at peace and I can’t cause anymore trouble, especially since I’m the reason she wanted to leave the forest.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours I felt tears and a frustrated sob that I noticed Tuk was over hiding how she felt. “Im tired of flying. I want to go home. I want to settle wherever you said home would be. But we can settle another place can’t we? I just want a home.” I couldn’t do anything but hold her while she cried because I knew I had to keep going. I soon realized she was starting to catch a fever, a really bad one so I was in a hurry to find a clan to approach.

Her fever was only getting worse she was hanging on but I didn’t have much time. I feel tears build up, feeling like I let her down until I see huts I think we’re close to something. I hear calls, announcing a newcomers arrival, my arrival. I hold Tuk in my arms crying begging for help. “I do not come to harm anyone Please. Help my sister is sick and it’s only getting worse.” I see the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik coming towards us and I take a kneel to show some sort of my respects since I am holding Tuk in my arms.

“Why do you come here on our island for?” The woman speaks. “I seek a place to call home. A place to settle. I understand I am different but I will adapt. WE will adapt. We will learn your ways but please accept us. My sister is burning up and- please just heal her please.” The two turn to each other and discuss with their eyes as I wait and hold Tuk tight “Sister it hurts, everything hurts”

“I know Tuk, I know it’s ok just hang on” they turn back to me and the Tsahik says “Come with me child.” I follow quickly, hearing the Olo'eyktan urge everyone to return to the normal “Everyone go back to your duties!”

I stand by watching her do her work by the time she’s done Tuk is feelings better but quickly rested. The Olo'eyktan walks in as soon as she is done and she turns to me and says. “My name is Ronal, this is my husband Tonowari. How long have you been out flying?” I look up nervous to speak “M-my name is y/n. Who you just treated is Tuk. We have been flying for a couple of days now.” Silence is between us as she contemplates her next words “You seek a place to settle yes? Well you must learn our ways as you already stated. You must not fall behind.”

“Yes, yes I understand thank you. Thank you truly” She takes a moment to look at my face “Child, what is that scar?” I watch as she touches it. “Oh, it was from a fight I was in. Trust me I don’t do those anymore.” She laughs at how quick I was to cover it up. Then they decided that although we were newcomers, we shouldn’t have our own mauri since we were young. I couldn’t argue this since we are their guest, so they settled us comfortably into a far corner of their Mauri.

Finally a real sleep.

I woke up to a meal being cooked and settled on the table. I had greeted the leaders and introduced myself to their children. The girl, Tyseria lead the conversation asking about Tuk and I’s interests and hobbies and we all seemed to get along until it was time to clean up and I was asked to stay longer while the two siblings did chores. Tuk had walked away into our corner to start beading a bracelet with the new materials Tyseria gave her.

In a gentle voice Tonowari said “We do not mean to bring harm but we must know what went wrong seeing as you are a child taking care of a child. How has it come to this?” I looked down slightly saddened taking in what he said as it was true and seemingly sad. Although I had to be honest and stay true to my word, I told them everything, every detail, every word ever spoken about why I fled the forest.

“Well then y/n…we will take care of you and house you. It seems as though it is in your nature to protect the innocent, you have a strong heart. So I am sorry that on that day, the day you were once again shut out and left to die. No one was there to lift you up into their arms, the way you lifted others like Tuk into yours. No one cared for you the way you should’ve been taken care of then, so allow us to care for you now. It’s time to be at peace Y/n. ” and for the first time ever it was ok to cry, cry tears of happiness and comfort. I was finally going to be at peace.

So that’s what they did. We soon became daughters to them. I grew close with Tyseria, took care of Tuk and surprisingly got along with Aonung even if we seemed to always leave conversations with both of us blushing like crazy. At some point it was hard, to lose old habits. I was so used to being on my own and taking care of Tuk I sometimes lost sight of how others perceive me…just a kid.

*flashback*

I unknowingly over worked myself, fighting to show I can still stay on the island, a war nobody even knew was happening. Once Ronal told me to stop working as my hands were starting to bleed, I accidentally got upset and told her “I can’t stop I need to keep going, stopping means I don’t care anymore.” It wasn’t until then Tonowari and Ronal pulled me aside to talk is when I realized this isn’t like before, I’m not alone.

“All right, your not alone anymore and your not a bad person for leaving. You did not come out of the womb as a frustrated person Y/n. You. Y/n, came out of the womb a beautiful child who unbeknownst to her had a couple of wires crossed. So when you have finally received true love. The love you were always meant to have, it set something off in your brain that wants to deny it and keep fighting. You have been fighting a losing game since the first day you were in your other parents care. So you can sit here and continue looking me in the eye and say as calmly as can be, “I’m fine, it’s not big deal, I’m not thinking about it anymore and I am no longer upset at my past.” That. My child, is the disease of silent frustration. It is deadly. The hardest part about having this disease is that no one in the world can see it besides the ones that hold you close. And that is why we are here to show you we care, we are not leaving, we are not going to ignore your feelings, and we will go through this together. As long as we are here no one can hurt you” *

It was moment like those when I needed someone to pull me out of my old habits, even Tyseria and Aonung did.

*Flashback*

I was looking over Tuk while she slept, it had only been a couple of days since we arrived but I was still pondering over the fact that I could’ve lost her if I had no solution to her fever. “What are youuuu thinkin?” I heard Tyseria giggle and say. I stood quiet considering if I should even say anything with the two siblings in the room but I decided to anyways “I thought Tuk would be the one…finally.” Confusion was written on their faces until Aonung said “the one what y/n?” I looked back down “the one who’s life I didn’t harm.” I immediately feel their hugs as Aonung said “you didn’t do anything wrong y/n, you did the best for her.” *

So yes it was difficult, but I made sure we knew their ways and observed everything to show Tuk to be better. We got many eyes and compliments because we learned at a quicker rate and speed than anyone at the island ever did. I didn’t want to overwork Tuk, I could never do that to her so instead while we were doing extra practice I taught her in games, the same way we did in the forest. It was going good and she maintained a smile until we were entering our home and I mentioned us having to practice breathing techniques. That’s when she got frustrated.

“No Y/n I can’t do it. It’s hurts. I can’t practice breathing. It’s easier for you to do when you already know the ways. This is the only thing I can’t and won’t do.” I sigh contemplating my next words, this is about survival and if I need Tuk to be safe I need her to learn how to breath underwater especially since she is surrounded by it. “Tuk please I know it’s hard and trust me I don’t know the ways fully either but we will learn. Together.” She’s silent considering what I’ve said “You made it so that we don’t have to fly anymore Y/n, so we that we can be together still. We’re safe now.” I glance down and smile “yea I guess we are” we sit for a moment enjoying the view of the beach. “All this. It’s worth it. All those times you would ask me if we’d find a home, all I could ever tell you was “We’ll see” and your face would fall every single time.”

“It’s better than saying yes and lying to me.” Tuk admits. “That’s what I told myself. But you want to know something I didn’t tell you? I never had a plan, I never knew where we were going. I never knew anything. I just fought and fought and fought and hoped you didn’t notice. I hoped we’d find something before you did. Did I do a good job?” My voice cracks as I start to tear up hoping I didn’t ruin her. “Of course you did sister! Are you crazy?!” I laugh and continue “When I was about to leave and you swore that you didn’t want to stay. Tuk, I fully believe if you hadn’t come I’d probably be lost. I was right to hear you out back in the forest, you made a request and I just had to trust myself and you to make the hard call. To take you with me. How did I get so lucky?” Tuk smiles and says “You made it so we can so thank you. For everything” I take a moment to stare at her and hold in the morning before saying “your welcome, for everything.”

We clean up the Mauri for awhile and continues the night like normal instead this time I felt a small hand reach out to me. “Can I..? Could I maybe sleep with you tonight.” Something we hadn’t done it in what feels like years. “You know like I did when I was little.” I agreed inviting her in. “Yea I-I’m not scared, just tired.” I smiled at her trying to reassure me while she hugs me in silence “….Tuk you’re still little” I hear her laugh and sigh “yea I know” and we drifted off into sleep.

Hope you enjoyed my loves :)!!! 💕

#avatar 2 #neytiri sully #jake sully #jake sully x reader #sully family x reader #neteyam x reader #loak x reader #avatar the way of water #angst

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Forgiven Not Forgotten | Part 2

Out of the estimated 10 to 15,000 people in Hawkins Indiana, several hundred left just after the earthquake, a handful of families left during the serial killings to protect their families, and the rest?

Those remaining amounted up to about three hospitals worth. Four maximum. Whatever terrors had wrought through Hawkins during those two years of radio silence… had decimated the population.

So when the Harringtons got the call, when Steve’s croaky voice filled that speaker, and told them exactly where he was, which hospital they’d been taken to, they hadn’t wasted a single second, they jumped into the car, and broke several speed laws to get there.

The sight that greeted them on the other side of those double doors would be forever seared into their minds.

Families they’d known, broken, missing members neither Lynda or John wanted to assume about, were they alive, being treated in one of the rooms, or were they lost, neither wanted to know, so they pushed through, eyes roaming those waiting to be seen or waiting for news on friends and family until someone familiar appeared.

Lynda spotted her first, her legs pulled up on the chair, arms tucked around her knees, surrounded by a small hoard of younger teens, all supporting various non-life threatening injuries and scars they probably didn’t want to speak about.

It was like they’d come from a warzone, clothes torn, patched up by rags tied in places to cover skin, dirty skin, hair matted, clinging to each other, haunted. Nothing life threatening, it looked like they were all just… waiting.

Waiting for people who knew them to turn up for them.

“Robin!!” Lynda gasped, loud enough to catch the girls attention, her head snapping up, eyes wide as the parents rushed forward, Robin rose to her feet, stumbled almost just in time to be gathered up into Lynda’s arms, much to her surprise. She didn’t fight it though, no… instead she melted into it, as though it was the first physical contact she’d had that didn’t involve fighting for her life in two whole years. “Where—where are your parents, Robin?”

“T-They… I don’t know, they got out… I think… but I—I haven’t seen them, I think people are still learning that they can come back, if they even want to come back, I mean… there isn’t much left back there for anyone to come back to—Steve! Steve you want—you want Steve right?” The other kids seemed to have perked up, watching the interaction in confusion.

“Where is he, Robin?” Robin looked to John, her gaze a mixture of uncertainty and hesitance. “Please… we know he’s here, he called us, sounded—”

“He’s been in and out, worlds best babysitter took a beating from something… big, protecting these idiots.” They hadn’t been made to sign anything yet, but it was hard to explain what exactly had come for them in the end without sounding like she should be in a hug me jacket getting thrown into a rubber room. “C’mon, I’ll take you to him.”

“Robin? Who’s—” one of the kids started to rise from his seat, or… not a kid, probably closer to a young adult at that point, forced to grow up far too quickly.

“Steve’s parents.”

“Holy shit, they exist?” Both parents cast similar frowns in the boys direction for that little quip “—sorry It’s just… I’ve known him for years and never met you, doesn’t even—”

“That’s enough Dustin” Robin cut him off, sharply but not unkindly. “You don’t know everything, just drop it. C’mon, this way.” She seemed to be walking on a limp, but she was walking, leading them down a corridor until she made it to a door left slightly ajar, the one opposite it flanked on either side by a pair of soldiers. The Harringtons assumed she’d be leading them to the other. But no. She stopped outside of the one closed too and looked at the pair like they’d personally offended her.

They didn’t even try and stop her when she grabbed the handle, instead stepping a little further apart to allow her and her guests to enter with her, John closed the door behind him.

The room was quiet, mostly, save for a radio playing quietly by the window, a genre that no-one would ever assume could be played quietly, and the steady beep of life saving machines. It wasn’t a large room, only big enough for a single bed, the machines, some room to walk around, and a couple of chairs, private, but it housed two people anyway. One on the bed, hooked up to all those machines, skin pale, scarred, his hair long and messy in a way Lynda would probably guess he’d had curls at one point.

Not anymore, it was just a matted mess by that point, one of his hands resting in the linens, handcuffs on his wrist linking him to the bed, the other wrapped in someone else’s grip.

That someone else… the other—

“Steven?” His head snapped up at his father’s voice, hand swiftly withdrawing from the man’s in the bed, his hair had been cut short, possibly to the scalp for convenience, the lengths seemingly only just growing back, he had scars around his neck from what looked like barbs, scars down his arms, both old and new, bruising, treated injuries that'd likely looked way worse when he was admitted.

another round of injuries his parents figured he'd struggle to tell them about.

He rose to his feet, he looked… thin beneath the hospital garbs they’d put him in. Thinner than he should have been, he’d always been broad but now… it was as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in two years. Likely living off of whatever they could scrounge together.

“Stevie, my baby…” Lynda’s voice sounded more like a pained whine, but it was the only warning Steve got before his mother lurched forward and wrapped him up in a fierce hug, adjusting only when her son winced and hissed in pain “you—you were s-supposed to—you were supposed to call to—to contact us, you—”

“I know… I know I—we got cut off, that call, it was the last one any of us could make, those bastards cut us off when they realised it wasn’t gonna be like the times before.” It wasn’t going to be a quick one and done. That the thing they were dealing with was much bigger than just one evil.

It was a whole hoard of evil. Not just Henry. Henry had back up in the form of a gigantic evil cloud, monsters of all shapes and sizes, and an arsenal of loved ones to use as his own personal puppets to terrorize and destroy the people left behind. Eddie being the only one actually there.

“The times before?” John’s voice had his son looking up from the hug his mother had trapped him in. His eyes seemed to dip “Steven… please…”

Steve shook his head, he couldn’t, not there anyway. “I’m fine though,” he’d change the subject instead, a regular instance in the Harrington household, hide the truth and mask it with an “I‘m fine” “bit banged up, but I’ll live…” he released the hold on his mother, even if she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Who’s this…?” And they let it happen. Every time they let it happen, let the subject go, let it switch to something new, John would allow it for now, but… once out of there, once the dust settled, they’d be having that talk. For now, he was okay with letting the subject change. Aiming it instead at the elephant in the room.

The unconscious man in the bed his son had been holding onto moments ago. That ember, that tiny spark in his son, perhaps… perhaps it was still there.

“Eddie… he uh… he helped, at the end… he—we wouldn’t be alive without him… we thought—we thought he was dead for months but… he wasn’t.” Another touchy subject, but at least that one his son was willing to talk about.

“The handcuffs?”

“Police still think he killed a bunch of kids before the earthquake, the handcuffs are a ‘precaution’ apparently, as if he’s going anywhere.” The serial killer. Eddie Munson. Lynda’s head snapped to the man, eyes wide “he didn’t!” Steve was quick to assure her “It looked bad, it did, it looked like he did it, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t he—he’s good… he’s good. He saved us.”

“Saved you? How?”

“It’s hard to explain…”

Robin on the other hand, didn’t care quite as much as their son did when it came to hiding the facts. “Evil guy, Henry Creel, actual culprit in the Creel murders of ’59 and actual serial killer, we thought Eddie died before the earthquake cause he basically got ate alive by a bunch of evil bats, but Henry was using him as a henchman of sorts, kept him alive to use against us cause we all felt guilty over it which… y’know, fair, he didn’t have to stay involved but he did, and he got ate of course, we felt guilty. I dunno how, but he snapped out of it at like… the last minute, and bought us enough time to take him down, now he’s just…” she motioned to the bed, the steady beep of the monitor going off rhythmically. “We got him out this time though.”

“…What?” Both Harringtons asked in unison.

“Robin” Steve hissed.

“What? Jeez, they haven’t made us sign anything yet.”

“…Sign something? What do you mean sign something?” Lynda looked between them, the two young adults clearly exhausted. “Steven? What have you signed?”

“NDA’s mom, each time, they’ve forced us to sign these Non-Disclosur—”

“Who?”

“Y’know… the government?”

There was something distinctly satisfying about watching a 5’4" woman demolishing a government agent. Something almost the entirety of the Party managed to witness when someone from said government finally decided to grace them with their presence to sign those pretty shut your mouth documents they were so fond of dolling out.

John Harrington watched with what could only be described as a dopey grin on his face as he leaned in to whoever was closest, this being one very tired Mike Wheeler, to say “You know she majored in Contract Law back in the day? Minor in Ethics too. God look at her go.” Totally and completely smitten over his own wife’s rage.

Apparently forcing minors to sign NDA’s, while technically legal for them to scribble on the dotted line, couldn’t actually be held up anywhere in court due to age and how dare they force children, not just her OWN but other children to sign that shit without a parent or legal guardian present.

It ended with her loudly declaring that “NOBODY in this hallway will be signing your goddamn papers, and as for the previous ones? You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” Then, on her heel she turned, and returned to the group, leaving a stunned government agent floundering in the hallway having clearly expected an easy ride. “Everyone, get your things, you’re coming home with us.” Too revved up to stop just yet.

“Excuse me, why would we go with you? Ain’t you ever heard of stranger danger, ma’am?”

“Erica Sinclair, I held you when you were just 3 months old and I bought you and your brother your first strollers, now get your backside out to that car this instant.” Erica shut up, momentarily subdued, but she did have to wonder when exactly her parents had met the Harringtons, later, questions for later. Maybe when she and her brother found their parents. “We have a house with two bathrooms and enough food to feed an army, let’s go.” Not quite the six bathroom four bedroom estate they’d had in Hawkins but…

They weren’t going back there. Nobody was going back there.

The modest two bed close by would do as home base for now, even if it wasn’t quite big enough to hold everyone, they’d make do. John stepped forward to add, “we have a working phone too, get you in touch with the people you need to be in touch with, and we’ll let the front desk know to inform anyone who comes looking where you’ve gone. It’ll be okay, let’s get you out of here and cleaned up.”

“Mom… I’m not leaving Eddie, we’re not… not again, he’s—he’s all on his own I—I can’t.”

“Honey…” Lynda started, but… that little boy they’d long since watched withdraw into himself, he was just… there, for the briefest of moments, showing himself, his emotions, raw, and tired, but it was enough, her son was in there, clawing back to the surface, she wasn’t about to ruin it now. “How about we go home, we get you all cleaned up, get you something to eat, and then we come back and figure out what to do about Eddie, how’s that sound?”

“We have plenty of world class lawyers on our side, Son, we’ll get him out of here in no time, just… let’s get you cleaned up first, Okay? The house is only half an hour away.” Close, they’d be close, the hesitation on all of their faces though, this poor boy, whoever he was… they all hesitated to leave him, there was a lot of love in that hallway, each one as determined as the last to stay with their friend.

“…Alright shitheads, to the car.” Not a single one of those kids argued, Steve was in charge, but Mike and Lucas both hung back.

“I’m gonna stay with the Byers, Nance, Holly, and my mom are with them so—”

“An I’m gonna stick with Max until her mom gets here.” Doctors said she could wake up at any time after her brain activity kicked back up when the dust settled… when Henry died. He wanted to be there when she did. “I’ll be fine though, promise.”

And when Lynda stepped forward to hand Mike a little card with a number scribbled on it, saying “This is our home number, If anything changes with your friend, Eddie while we’re gone, call us, okay? We’ll be right back here in a flash.” She caught the faint smile on her sons face in her peripheral vision.

Baby steps.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #ForgivenNotForgottenFiclet #Steddie #Post!S5 #Mentions of Kas Eddie #Hurt/Comfort #Miscommunication

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mamisfavmosher · 9 months

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Can i pls have poly judgement day x Fem reader where they see scars on her body from when she was younger?

of course! thanks for the request!

unveiled // poly!judgment day x fem!reader

warning: some graphic descriptions, suggestive language near the end

When I was younger, I was involved in a horrific car accident. There were shards of glass everywhere, I was covered in my own blood, and half the car had been smashed in. The paramedics had pulled me out of the car unconscious and I ended up stuck in the hospital for over a week. The accident could've brought death, but fortunately, it spared me with only a few large scars to bear its memory.

While I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed of these marks on my body, they weren't the first thing everyone knew about me. As a professional wrestler for the WWE, the main subject of most of my conversations were focused on my life now and my career. Only a few of my closest friends knew of the accident and my scars, and that's the way I typically prefer to keep it.

I joined The Judgment Day a few months ago and my career was only getting better. Learning a bunch of new techniques from each of the members had greatly increased the amount of victories I scored in the ring. After spending so much time with the four of them, our relationship became personal and intimate. It was never spoken of or declared as official, but we all knew that we loved each other and that was enough for us.

Now, as I sit in the locker room alone, trying on a new ring outfit, I felt a little anxious. The other members of the faction had never seen my scars and this outfit showed a little more skin than any of my others which made a few of the marks visible. I knew they wouldn't mind and I was certain they would never make me feel bad about them, but there is something so intimate about showing vulnerability that made me feel nauseous.

I nervously stood in front of the mirror, chewing on my lip as I heard a knock on the door. "Can I come in?" It was Rhea. I silently panicked and threw on an oversized t-shirt before rushing to open the door for her. "Hey, cutie." She smiled at me and kissed my forehead.

"Hi." I meekly said and closed the door behind her. Her eyebrows instantly furrowed at my small demeanor. She stayed next to me, her hands fiddling with the ends of the t-shirt.

"What's up with the shirt? I wanted to see your new gear." Rhea's tone was filled with excitement as she had played a part in the design of the outfit.

"Oh, umm-" I looked around the room to avoid her question, but I was saved by another knock on the door. Rushing over, I opened it to see the three men of the group. "Hi, guys." I weakly smiled at them and let them file into the locker room. They greeted me separately before relaxing onto the couch.

Rhea moved to stand next to the boys and looked at me expectantly. "So? Let us see the new gear!" She exclaimed and I started chewing on my lip again.

"I'm excited to see this! Did they add the little lace up section like I wanted?" Dom asked. I nodded and lifted up the shirt enough for him to see the laces, but nothing else.

"C'mon, lass. Take it off and let us get the full picture!" Finn said with a smirk and Damian agreed with him.

I sighed and looked down at my feet. The anxious feeling was at an all time high as I tried to steady my breathing. They're just marks on my body. The four of them get marks on their bodies all the time. Except their's aren't permanent.

"Babe? What's wrong?" Rhea was concerned. She walked over to me and softly caressed my cheek with her knuckles. I looked up at her and felt my breath halt.

I shook my head. "I don't think I'm ready yet." I could sense all of them being confused as I looked away.

"What do you mean, baby? What's going on?" Her hand gently gripped my jaw and turned my head to face her again. "Talk to us." I could tell she only wanted to help me.

I sighed and nervously looked at all of them. "I have scars... Like big, scary ones." My hands fisted the ends of the shirt I was wearing. "I just don't want you to think less of me when you see them." All of their faces fell when I said this.

"Amorcita..." Damian sighed. "Nothing in this world could make us think less of you. You're our precious girl." He held out his hand for me to take and I did. Pulling me onto his lap, he circled his arms around my waist and held me tight against him. "You're absolutely perfect in our eyes." He said with a kiss to my cheek.

"If it makes you feel any better, you don't have to show us if you don't want to." Dom mentioned. "You can wear one of your normal ring outfits until you're more comfortable." He suggested with a kind smile.

I looked down at my hands in my lap, thinking of my response. "I wanna show you guys. Just give me a minute." I stood up from Damian's lap and moved back into the open space of the room. "Maybe just... look away first?" I was nervous and it was extremely obvious, so they all complied with my wishes. Hesitantly, I peeled the shirt from my body and took a deep breath. "Umm, okay. You can look." I shifted my gaze to the side to avoid their stares.

Shuffling my feet back and forth, I grew uneasy from the lack of response. "That bad, huh?" I asked in disappointment.

"Are you kidding? You look insanely badass!" Dom exclaimed while walking over to me. I giggled at his reaction, but quickly focused back on the others and their responses.

"Love, you're still incredibly beautiful. And, I agree with Dom." Finn aimed a grin at me and I smiled back, chuckling at Dom who mumbled, "She looks like a warrior."

"So, you guys still think I'm pretty?" I cautiously asked.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. No doubt about that." Damian smirked at me and continued to rake his eyes over my figure.

"The prettiest." Rhea confirmed and moved toward me to give me a hug. "We love you, sweet girl. No matter what kind of scars you have. Not to mention, you're such a sexy little thing in this ring gear." She nipped at my neck eliciting a small gasp from me. "You'll have to wear this more often." She winked at me before kissing my head.

"Thanks, guys. I feel a little better now." I smiled at all of them.

"Just a little? Need us to show you how beautiful we think you are?" Dom asked with a suggestive tone, his hand snaking around my waist.

"Dom!" I playfully hit his chest and he laughed at my flustered state.

The rest of the night went amazingly well. I confidently went out into the ring in my new gear, not the slightest bit of anxiety creeping around me. I won my match and the rest of the group quickly took me back to the locker room to show me how proud they were of me.

#rhea ripley #wwe #the judgement day #dominik mysterio #finn balor #wwe superstars #damian priest #fanfiction #rhea ripley x reader #dominik mysterio x reader #finn balor x reader #damian priest x reader #wwe x reader #monday night raw #the judgment day x reader #poly!judgment day

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biancadjarin · 1 year

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🍸🍒Modern!Eddie x Waitress!Reader🍒🍺

Blurb featuring Modern!Bartender!Steve

It’s only a Thursday night but the bar is slammed. It’s your second day and the other waitress, your supposed “trainer”, is nowhere to be found. Probably out back smoking another cigarette. You’re juggling 6 tables and one particularly difficult woman just flagged you down.

“Is everything ok ma’am?” You ask politely. “No, this wine is way too sweet. I wanted something dry. Bring me the pinto grigio!” She says as she pushes the full glass towards you. You smile and turn, rolling your eyes as you approach Steve and Eddie at the bar. Eddie’s sitting on his usual stool, drinking a beer while he scrolls on his phone. You lean onto the sticky bar top and wait for Steve to finish shaking a martini to get his attention.

Eddie eyes your profile, your cute face looking overwhelmed and stressed. He’s never seen you before, he usually knows all the new waitresses here. Fuckin’ Harrington, he thinks, always tries to keep the cute ones for himself.

“Hey.” Eddie says over the loud music, leather covered shoulders angling towards you. His fingers tap around the neck of his beer bottle. You glance at him, one eye still on Steve.

“Hi. Look, I’m swamped, if you want another beer, you gotta ask your bartender.” “No, no, it’s not that. Just- are you ok? Do I need to grab a tray and help you out?” He asks jokingly. You crack a smile at that, and Eddie’s heart starts beating faster.

“Cause I’m serious, I’ll take over. Drinks probably won’t go to the right people and I’d end up spilling food but, hey, fuck it.” He says with a shrug as he gulps the last of his beer. You shake your head and laugh, “please, I think you’re better off right here. I’m fine…” your eyes stare into his for the first time and you swear you feel the ground get pulled out from under you. He’s criminally hot. Like sculpted by the gods hot. Long hair framing the perfect bone structure of his face, two dimples poked into his cheeks as he smiles back at you. His eyes are like warm cups of hot cocoa, sweet and comforting. His worn in Black Sabbath T shirt contradicts his new iPhone 14 shining back at him.

“I’m Eddie. I’m a friend of Steve’s.” He nods toward the floppy haired bartender. “Y/n.” You say as you reach out a hand to shake his. He grabs your hand but he doesn’t shake it. Instead, he just holds it for a second. His warm, guitar string scarred fingers encircling your soft, cold ones. You giggle nervously as the butterflies are shaken awake in your stomach.

Steve appears out of nowhere, “bruh these frat douchebags are going to be the death of me, I think my arm’s going to fall off if I shake another martini.” he says to you and Eddie. You smile your most saccharine smile, “hey Stevie. The woman on 22 doesn’t like this wine. Can I switch it out for a pinot?” He growls in annoyance, “that’s a 7 ounce pour, y/n. you think Tito is gonna be ok with me just pouring that down the drain?” He asks you, referring to the manager. He raises his eyebrows as he throws a towel over his shoulder.

You shrug, “I guess not…” you mumble. “It’s coming out of your tips. Go write it down on the spill sheet.” Steve snaps as he pours the pinot grigio. “Ok, I will. Sorry Steve.” You say as you take the wine and head back to your tables.

“What the hell, man? S’not her fault some bitch didn’t like the shitty wine in this place.” Eddie says as he tosses a peanut at Steve. “How else is she going to learn?” Steve says as he rests his palms on the bar top. “This isn’t a daycare, I’m not here to hold her hand through life.”

“She’s fucking new, Harrington, give her a break.” Eddie says. Steve opens his mouth to argue before being cut off by a guy in a polo. “‘Nother dirty martini, barkeep!” Steve nods at him before looking back at Eddie. “You want another beer?” Steve asks him before he goes back to deal with the group of Chad’s and Dylan’s. Eddie shakes his head as he throws a 20 on the bar, licking his lips and winking at Steve.

He looks around the bar to say goodbye to you but he doesn’t see you. Everyone seems content, drinking their overpriced cocktails, eating their greasy food. Even the woman with the wine seems happy. The other waitress is back but now you’re gone. He heads toward the back door to leave, passing the digital jukebox that the frat bros have taken over-trolling everyone with Nickelback on repeat, passing the bathrooms and the breakroom.

You come out of the breakroom wiping under your eyes, sparkles that were once in your inner corner now smeared down your cheeks. “Scuse me.” You say as you try to squeeze past Eddie. “Hey, hey.” He says, hand coming up to cradle your elbow. “You good?” His eyebrows crinkle in concern, eyes scanning your face. You nod and try to squeak out a “mhm.” but more tears are threatening to spill.

“Was it what Steve said? I told him he’s being too harsh on you. I’m gonna go tell him what a dick he is, making you cry.” He says as he starts to turn around. “No! Please, I appreciate it but it’ll just make it worse. I can’t mess up this job. I just need to do better.” You say, sniffling. “Really. It’s fine.”

Eddie sighs deeply, looking back over his shoulder before turning to face you again. “He needs to do better. You’re doing great.” Eddie says, fingers squeezing the exposed flesh of your arm. You smile, looking up at Eddie and admiring his features in the low light, an old beer neon sign casting shades of blue and red across his face. The tight hallway is made even tighter with boxes and extra chairs lining the walls. This close to Eddie you can smell the beer on his breath, the weed on his shirt and the Cherry Smoke by Tom Ford on his jacket. You smile, “Thanks..”

He nods softly, dimples returning as he matches your smile. His phone starts to vibrate, the opening notes of For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica ringing from it. He looks at it before silencing it and focusing back on you. “I gotta go but can I text you later? You can tell me all about why a sweet, beautiful girl like you needs a job at a shitty dive bar so bad.” He opens up a new iMessage and hands his phone to you. You type in your number and text “Eddie” to yourself.

He takes the phone back from you putting 🖤🍒 after your name. “If Harrington gives you anymore shit, you let me know, ok?” He says before leaning in to kiss your cheek. You smile and nod, all words leaving your brain. He laughs softly as he whispers how cute you are and he heads toward the door.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x y/n #modern!eddie x reader

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deerlottie · 1 month

Note

hc’s about riley w/ a transmasc boyf? :)

okayokay thinking about meeting her when ur pre-t :3

ur scared of getting ur hair cut shorter and she decides to get hers cut with you ☹️ if u hate what the barber did she will Not leave a tip...already writing a bad review in her head

you're in the process of starting hormones and she's there for you every step of the way :(((

going to walmart to print out ur name change form because she doesnt have a printer???? you get her to treat herself and buy one and now shes obsessed with printing of photos she took of you on her camera :(

bakes u a cake with your Official name on it :p

late night talks in the fort about who's taking whose last night name when you get married, how she can't wait for your voice to drop when you start T and that "you should totallyyyy get heart shaped nipples when you get surgery"

both wanting to go all way with each other but your dysphoria is too much :( u both console each other when things get bad and it's just so good. just holding each other tight and whispering how much you love one another while they cry in ur chest and get it all out, reassuring riley that you're here and ur never gonna leave no matter how much she tries to push you away.

literally throws u a party with mutuals friends when you start T ^__^ makes a whole speech about how proud she is of you and how far you've gotten and she's proud to call you her boyfriend

doing ur T shot for you if ur scaredddd :((( makes you hug a pillow tho because the first time she did it, you almost broke her hand the way you were squeezing it 😭

uses her mom's money to pay for ur top surgery too lets be real....

loveslovesloves ur scars and would be sad if you wanted to cover them up tbh 😣shes obsessed with kissing them and tracing them with her fingers

both going to therapy with each other!! either sitting outside n waiting or she'll ask you to come in with her because she doesn't wanna be alone

clothes stealer >__>

before you were living together, every time you'd go over to her apartment it seemed like she was just adding more and more of ur sweaters to her closet... the first thing she says to you when she opens the door is "let me take ur jacket for you :3" and you never leave with it

ur boxers arent safe either!!!! u slept over for a week one time because ur apartment was getting worked on, so you brought over spare clothes and you wake up to riley watching dateline in ur boxers, shirt that you wore the night before AND ur sweatpants....

u cant complain tho because she looks so good in it

mind going blank but just thinking about shaving and shes watching you in the mirror with the most loving gaze ever and u have to tell her to leave so you can breathe properly 😭

riley making this little game when you two watch true crime docs to see who can guess it first and the prize is always a kiss :3 and $10. you've learned to pretend that you dont have ur wallet so you just bribe her with makeout sessions to forget about the money

#riley hart x reader #riley hart thoughts 💭

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sleepyfaequeen · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I saw your life weaver one shot and I just adore it. I was wondering if you maybe had some general LifeWeaver headcanons? Maybe for a clumsy person, who is definitely not me but tends to have old scars and new injuries from things?

Thank you, your one shot made me weak he is such a darling of a man ♥️

Well, I didn't expect another request for Lifeweaver, but I shall grant you what my mind can muster up. I wrote this in one sitting. Enjoy~

Roommates

Summary: You just happen to always slip on your own two feet. Even in Vishkar University. Lucky for you, Vishkar has given you a nurse who is in 24/7.

Pairing: Lifeweaver x fem!reader

Warning(s): fluff

Requested: Yes, anonymous

Song:

A groan escaped (Y/n)'s lips as she laid down on the ground. The days of overworking yourself to the bone (has) finally caught up to you, and you can't help but just accept it. (Y/n) could hear sudden footsteps from upstairs before a familiar face peering down to look at what had probably caused all that ruckus. It was right then and there that she had wished she would've died on impact, so she didn't have to witness her roommate looking at her pathetic hopeless self sprawled out on the ground.

"(Y/n), did you just fall?" Niran asked as he held onto the railing of the top of the stairs.

"No." She replies.

"Then why are you on the ground?" He cocks his head to the side with a small smirk and raised brow.

".. I fell." She admits and this makes him sigh.

"I'm going to help you up." He said, already heading downstairs. Her roommate was always so nice and friendly while she was a clumsy mess. "Does anything hurt?"

"No." She lies. Nothing was broken, but she did feel ashamed that nearly everyone she knew had known her as the person who always would be in an accident.

"Good, then you can get up." He taps her hip and she couldn't help but groan. "Unless you want me to help you."

"No, I'm totally fine here." She smiles as she watched him roll his eyes and stepped over her before resting his hands on his hips.

"This is your last chance, N̂ảp̄hụ̂ng." He warns.

"Or what?" (Y/n) watched as he bends down and grabbed her legs before pulling her down the hallway.

"NIRAN!?" A squeak leaves her lips as he practically drags her. Her arms cover her fluttering face as he continues to drag her before he lets go of her legs and moves. She can't help but peak between her arm, though that was probably a mistake as his chest was in full view. The man was wearing a deep rose pink V neck t-shirt, revealing his hard yet soft looking chest. How was it that she was so blessed and cursed at the same time to have such a good-looking roommate. She swore she only joined Vishkar to learn and provide people with hope for the future. Still, her eyes can't help but look at the way Niran's white hair was tied up in a messy bun, and his bangs happen to fall over his eye.

"You must really like staring at someone who is treating you." He said with an amused smirk on his lips. This makes her avert her eyes before yelping as he picked her up and sits her down onto the couch of their living room. "I'm going to have to ask you if anything hurts. That was a dangerous fall.."

"I'm alright.." (Y/n) stretched her arm before whimpering as she held it to her stomach. Niran can't help but lean forward and reach over, gently holding her arm. "Okay, maybe not as alright as I had thought."

"This is why I'm studying to be you're nurse." He jokes as he decides to have a look at your arm. "Well, I can't fix it now since it's late. Lucky for you, I happen to be trained in wrapping a broken arm."

"Thank you so much, Niran. I'm so sorry to be such a clutz." She let's her eyes meet his soft chocolate ones.

"It's no problem. Without you falling around everywhere, I wouldn't be learning how to treat different kinds of first aid." He chuckles as his eyes glance at every small scar and recent bandages on you. "But really, I think it's rather adorable."

"Ho-!?" She can't help but almost choke on her own saliva before going into a coughing fit. He quickly pats her back before letting his hand rub the middle of her shoulder blades. "You think I'm.."

"Of course, I do. You're also the sweetest person I have ever met on campus."

"Ahh.." She was feeling her entire face burn up and quickly averts her eyes only to see Satya in her light blue pajamas with her pillow under her arm. She looked so tired and upset, which was never good.

"If you two don't stop flirting so loudly, I will not hesitate to strike you both." Her hands already holding up her pillow.

"Wait.. is that a seashell pillow?" Niran asked as he pointed at it. Satya can't help but look at it herself.

"Yes, it is."

"I didn't realize you believed in fairytales." Immediately, Niran's face is met with a loud "fwap" as the pillow is slammed against his face.

"(Y/n) if you're going to start dating him. I suggest you teach him some manners." She takes her pillow back, glaring at Niran before walking back upstairs. "Start with his snoring."

"Satya!" Niran whines as he can't help but tuck his face into your shoulder as he hugs (Y/n). Whether it was to comfort himself or to hold you didn't really matter.

Translation: N̂ảp̄hụ̂ng / น้ำผึ้ง: Honey

#lifeweaver x reader #x reader #niran pruksamanee #overwatch #x clumsy reader #fanfic #headcanon #oneshot #blizzard #love story #romance #lifeweaver #overwatch 2 #ow1 #ow2 #roommates #fem reader #x female reader #x f!reader

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whispering-depths · 8 days

Text

Feast and Folly || Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?

Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.

Read on Ao3

NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)

Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger

“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.

Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.

You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.

“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”

Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—

An agonized groan,

followed by a heavy thump—

Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.

Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.

But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.

Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?

Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought.

Not him.

Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.

But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.

He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.

Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—

“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.

In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.

Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.

Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.

Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.

“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest.

Oh.

The hunger.

It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.

He needs another magical artifact, immediately.

You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.

You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements.

Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.

But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.

“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.

After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.

You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.

“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”

He nods.

The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.

You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.

After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.

The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.

But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?

Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.

The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.

Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.

Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red.

Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.

But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.

“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.

“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”

You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”

You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”

“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”

#gale x tav #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x f!tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my fanfic #my writing #my ocs #oc: tiresia allseer #wild magic sorcerer #gale fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #gale bg3

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Text

My Tav (Tiriel) Headcanons

Ok, so people were asking to post things about Tiriel and her relationship with Astarion Tiriel is a half-elf barbarian with chaotic good alignment

TW: mentions of child abuse (Tiriel is a mess)

Masterlist

Headcanons

Early life

Tiriell is a result of an affair between her married mother and a random high elf she didn't even know the name of.

Tiriel's mother was ashamed for falling for "elven charms" and wanted to forget that night Still, a newborn girl with pointy ears was the evidence of her unfaithfulness.

Tiriel was never loved by her mother - once, the woman even tried to drown her in a river.

Human stepfather used every slur he knew referring to elves and never addressed Tiriel other than "this girl" or "fairy bastard."

As a half-elf, Tiriel was much more beautiful and attractive than other girls in the village, which resulted in direct bullying from women and lusty looks from men.

Tiriel learned how to protect herself by looking ugly. Dirty hair, rags for clothes, name it yourself.

It didn't save her from beatings. When she was 12, the drunk stepfather cut her ear. The village healer managed to stitch it back, but it left a thin scar.

When Tiriel was 15, her siblings cornered her at the cliff and chanting, "Kill the elf," pushed her to a certain death.

Tiriel woke up to a bear who was ready to attack her. At this moment, broken, wounded, and scared, she felt a fire within her chest.

Barbarian rage. Fury, nothing can compare to.

She killed the bear with her bare hands and returned to the village covered in dirt and blood and with a deep cut on her face.

Tiriel beat her stepfather to bloody snot and left the village to never return.

Before the game

Tiriel spent twenty years wandering around Faerun, looking for people and places to call her own.

She met Elves eventually but felt even more like a stranger than among humans.

She didn't know how to speak Elven and knew nothing about her father's kin except for the racial stereotypes she had been fed.

Not a human, not an elf. A stranger among everyone, with no home, no family, no friends.

She joined different adventurous groups, often taking the leading role, but she was left alone once the adventures were over.

Despite being a beautiful woman, Tiriel considered herself ugly (the result of abuse and harassment). She always wore her armor and was ready to attack any man who would look at her.

She never was in a relationship, never had sex, and had very few people she could at least partially trust

At age of 35, she decided to visit Baldur's Gate. She had a wild thought to live the Swords Coast on a ship.

Astarion

It was love at first sight. From the first attack, to be honest

Tiriel knew he was manipulative - it was not the first time she had seen men like this.

But she enjoyed his sweet words.

For the first time in her life, Tiriel didn't cringe at a man who was saying sexual and sweet things to her.

She liked how Astarion made her feel beautiful and desired.

Tiriel suddenly felt a desire to look beatiful.

The more she talked to Astarion, the more relaxed she felt.

She saw a shadow of her own troubles in his red eyes, and Astarion was taken aback by some of her comments (how could she know what he felt?)

Tiriel gifted Astarion a Sussur Dagger, she crafted in the villaged destroyed by goblins.

When Astarion offered her sex, she agreed. She wanted to finally experience what it felt like

The night of passion didn't disappoint her - though she understood Astarion didn't love her and probably wanted something from her.

She just felt grateful for what he did to her body.

As if he washed away the disgust she felt

When he admitted he wasn't honest, she simply joked, "Well, and I wanted to manipulate you into marriage, so what now?"

She never built any trusted relationship with other companions, spending all the time with Astarion. He needed her, and she needed him.

Blood was a small price for having a man in her arms every night.

Tiriel agreed to help him to ascend but made a mental note, "only over my dead body."

She managed to persuade Astarion to be a better person than he thought he was.

But preparing herself for a very long journey to make him fully heal.

Post-game

When Astarion started burning in the sunlight, Tiriel was absolutely mortified. It was the moment when she fully realized what being a vampire meant.

They left Baldur's Gate the next day - they both wanted to see the world and never return to this wretched city.

Trauma is ugly, and Tiriel has to be patient, helping Astarion to adjust to freedom.

The most challenging thing is to convince him that negative emotions could exist.

"Yes, I am angry with you. You hurt me, but it doesn't mean I want to leave you."

Nightmares are unbearable, especially since Tiriel needs her eight hours of sleep.

Sometimes, he thinks his back burns. Sometimes, he doesn't recognize Tiriel. At times, he is so miserable, she doesn't know what to do or what to say.

There are moments when he runs away, and she has no idea where he is, only to wake up by him crawling to her side of the bed in a week.

"Where have you been", she asks Astarion craddling him with her arms.

"Was trying to run from myself", he replies.

Tyrael never told him about her childhood, but she eventually did. Astarion was in horror - at least, he was abused as an adult.

But there are people, still alive, who abused a little girl Tyrael was

His Tiriel.

And he can't stop thinking about a crying redheaded girl who can't understand what she is punished for.

From that moment, Tiriel feels that something changed. Astarion started giving away rather than receiving.

He wants to take care of Tiriel. He wants her to feel loved and wanted, the same way she made him feel.

With years, there is less angst and trauma between them but a relatively mature relationship between two equal people who know the world's sorrows.

They never had any formal ceremony. One day, when Tiriel suffered an injury in a fight, Astarion brought her to a healer and casually said that his wife needed medical help.

Astarion makes sure Tiriel learns at least something about Elves and teaches her Sylvan Elven, his mother tongue.

And to their mutual surprise, Tiriel feels much more comfortable speaking Elven than Common. It is just…natural.

Astarion calls Tiriel"Salen Aester" ("my beloved")

They truly make each other better. Suddenly Astarion feels it is ok to help random people in trouble.

And Tiriel isn't ashamed of her body or her existence.

Settling In

Tiriel and Astarion travel for 15 years.

But eventually, Astarion starts craving stability.

He never knew a home or a family. He desires things people consider "common and boring".

He wants to have a place to call his own

Tiriel hesitates - "home" brings unpleasant memories.

But she agrees to sette at a city-state far away from the Swords Coast.

Suddenly, Astarion wants to do his "law" job again. There are so many idiots who make contracts with supernatural entities. They will pay a fortune to the person who will save them from their doom.

The city's council carefully avoid the fact that Astarion is a vampire. They know he is, but it's always like, "He is the most trusted person this city has ever known, but he suffers from a rare skin condition. Please, don't raise this issue, Astarion is very sensitive about. So is his wife."

Meanwhile, Tiriel does what she does best - protecting people with her two-handed axe.

Their house is comfortable and cozy. There is a library with books in a dozen languages and a garden.

And with small windows and thick curtains

And a basement with Astarion's necromantic and dark magic things.

Family

By the time Astarion and Tiriel settle in, there are, let's say, some tales about weird children with vampiric features, but no one thinks those stories are true.

Besides, it's been 15 years. If Tiriell and Astarion could conceive a child, it would already happen.

And half-elves aren't really fertile.

One day, Astarion notices Tiriel's scent is different: Not weird, not bad - just different.

And her blood tastes unusual.

First, Tiriel thinks she is sick and goes to the healer, who simply says, "Take this herb; they are useful for the baby, and don't waste my time."

It is not clear who is more scared, Astarion or Tiriel.

Tiriel had the worst mother the history knows. She has no idea how to raise the child.

Astarion's issues are well-known.

And the books about vampire children only add to their shared anxiety.

"Dhampirs' blood is undead; it poisons and kills their mothers. Dhampirs are monsters, dhampirs are hated outcasts"

Did Tiriel's mother feel the same, carrying the half-elven child?

But a half-elf is one thing. A dhampir, half-undead, is something else.

Astarion does everything to make Tiriel feel comfortable, but she knows he is worried sick.

It's like a regression toward the first year of their relationship when Astarion was a traumatized mess.

Nightmares are back, he snaps at her more ofthen than usual,

Suddenly, Tiriel has this enduring fear she is going to die during childbirth.

Or that she carries a real monster within her that won't resemble a humanoid at all.

During labor, Astarion refuses to leave Tiriel's side despite the midwife's attempt to kick him out.

Tiriel has been through a lot, but she has never endures so much pain.

"It's an Elven girl," the midwife says, placing a screaming bundle in Tiriel's hands.

The girl has pointy ears, not like Tiriel's, but like Astarion's. Elven ears, not half-elven.

Astarion refuses to take the daughter in his hands.

"She is so delicate, so small, I will harm her."

Tiriel finally places the daughter in his arms, and Astarion turns into a weeping mess, pressing the newborn to his chest.

"Alethaine," he suddenly says. "Can we name her Alethaine?"

Tiriel was so scared all her pregnancy that she never actually thought about the name.

Alethaine Ancunin returns to her mother and Astarion watches his wife breastfeeding their daughter.

"Thank you for giving her to me," Tiriel whispers, caressing Alethaine's ears.

Parents

Tiriel tries her best not to be like her own mother.

She is patient with Alethaine, and so is Astarion.

When she comes back home after fighting yet another monster or an enemy, there is a little girl rushing to her arms.

"Was it a dragon? Dad told you were going to fight a dragon! How big was it?"

Tiriel had a tiny hope Alethaine would be just an Elf, not a dhampir - vampires can have regular kids who don't inherit undead features.

But Alethaine's fangs grew earlier than the rest of her teeth - while she was young enough to be breastfed.

And Tiriel learned it in a painful way.

Tiriel finds comfort in brushing Alethaine's long hair. And the girl allows her to do that even as a teenager.

"Kitten," Tiriel calls her. Alethaine resembles a kitten the same way Astarion resembles a cat. And she bites when she is angry.

Alethaine is smart, inheriting her father's intelligence - she learned to read at four and prefers books to toys.

But Alethaine also learns about her differences at a young age, noticing how neighbor kids avoid her.

Tiriel recognizes her younger self in Alethaine. Stuck between two worlds, asking herself what the hell is wrong with her.

Despite being "daddy's daughter", Alethaine comes to her mother to cry and complain more and more often, confiding her with her fears and anxieties.

The older Alethaine becomes, the more solitary she turns, spending days alone with books.

Sometimes, when people see Tiriel with her daughter, they joke, "What sort of crypt did you find this child?"

"I carried her in my womb and gave birth to her. I'd advise you to shut up before I rage."

Alethaine grew fast, turning from a little baby to a beautiful woman whose hair was silver like moonlight, eyes dark as night, and posture resembles one of a predator.

At 19, she decides to go on her own adventure and find her place in this world.

Tiriel trains her to fight - of course, Alethaine is not her mother, and she cannot lift her two-handed axe. But Tiriel can ensure Alethaine can protect herself if she has to fight someone with such an axe.

Astarion gives Alethaine a dagger as a parting gift - the Sussur Dagger he got from Tiriel years ago.

"Dagger is the last argument in a fight, princess; always be ready to use it."

Two Again

After Alethaine leaves, Tiriel and Astarion are alone for the first time in years.

Tiriel suddenly realizes how much they both changed. In a good way

Astarion is no longer a traumatized mess. He won. The spawn, a slave, that miserable creature he was no longer exists. It is replaced by this handsome man who fears no supernatural entity with their contracts, no monster hunters, not himself. He even looks younger than he did forty years ago.

And she, Tiriel, isn't that scared girl who just wants to feel loved by someone; she has won many battles, and her body bears many scars (including stretches left from pregnancy).

Astarion is immortal, Alethaine will live for centuries - but Tiriel has only 150 years left of her half-elven existence before death takes her.

But she knows Astarion won't step into the sun once she dies. He will live for Alethaine. And he will make sure every bard and storyteller knows about Tiriel's heroic deeds.

She will be remembered long after her death. She will be loved and missed.

"Thank you for giving all this to me," she whispers to Astarion when they sit together, stargazing on the roof of their house.

Astarion doesn't answer anything. He wraps his hands around Tiriel's waist and nuzzles her collarbone.

"Salen Aester," he finally whispers in the silence of the night.

Ok, this is much longer than I thought. But I hope you enjoyed it! And I will make NSFW version soon.

In the meantime...

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl

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zenscrypt · 3 months

Text

"keep counting (for patterns to repeat)"

read on ao3 here!

Rated: T (Teen and Up Audiences)

Content Warning: suicidal ideation/thoughts

Summary:

The clicking footsteps he’s heard pause with another of Tallulah’s loud calls, and Etoiles squints, trying to see where she went--

Whack!

Ah. “Good left-click, Richas,” he jokes in lieu of a greeting. The egg punches him again, also in lieu of a greeting, before Etoiles’ hands are grabbed and carefully guided to the signs he’s placed.

[ TONTON can i propose a trade offer >:D ] [ we get llulah, you get EGGZA? ]

-- It's a quiet night on Quesadilla Island when Tallulah comes to visit her tío's cave for some training. Along the way, Etoiles gets more visitors.

Tallulah is not a fighter.

Quesadilla Island is not built for pacifists.

Purgatory especially was not. The feeling of an axe sitting in her paws was unfamiliar, unwieldy, even uncomfortable, makeshift and knobby because she made it herself at Dapper’s insistence. There were so many mobs -- so many summonings -- and she tried so hard to remember what her papa taught her, to mimic what Chay would do to protect her, to follow the words one of her tíos gave as advice. “Tallulah, when you’re sad, just kill mobs!”

Needless to say, Tallulah was really sad in purgatory. She wasn’t a fighter then, despite everything she went through, and still, she doesn’t think of herself as one now. But she wants to try.

“Tallulah? You don’t need to learn to fight, you are already amazing with your flowers?”

Emphasis on try.

It’s a quiet night when she joins Richar and Pomme on their late-night adventures. Not much happened with Tío Bad, thankfully, besides Richar insisting on breaking Bad’s machines consecutively to see if he would notice, and Pomme and Tallulah watching the chaos unfold. Bad shooed them off eventually after a goodbye with the ghosties; it was late enough Tallulah considered going to sleep, until Bad voiced his surprise of Tío Etoiles being awake at this hour. Pomme disappeared in a flash, as expected, and Richar asked Tallulah if she would stay up to hang out.

It wasn’t often Tallulah got to spend time with her tío. He seemed so busy nowadays, either sleeping through the week or completely gone from sight despite being online, which she wouldn’t want to interrupt. She doesn’t know how badly that code infection is impacting him either -- if it was the cause for him sleeping so much, or the reason she and her family never saw him as often, or if it did anything at all.

Turns out, he’s working on rebuilding his cave entrance when she agrees to come with Richar. Well -- Pomme is, Richar is helping her with the design, and Tío Etoiles is gathering whatever few supplies he can easily grind for. It reminded her of decorating the nest with herself, Chay, and Papa Phil.

It’s a little funny. Tío Etoiles really hasn’t changed, has he?

That brings her to this moment, adjusting the speaker block Pomme gave her. “Tallulah says,” the machine-voice in the block says, which grates Tallulah’s ears a bit as it says her own words, “i want to be a better fighter to defend myself tío, flowers can’t do that against withers :p”

Etoiles hums faintly. His inventory covers most of his face as he gathers more wood for the eggs, but she quietly watches the numbers of that warped scar glitch emerald skin into binary data. His eyes, sightless and cloudy-white, squint at each item he selects. There’s a pause between the items that takes… longer than normal. He doesn’t seem focused.

Tallulah can’t tear her eyes away from the code-infected scar. It’s-- is it a scar? It’s a strange shape that took his entire left arm. It’s infected, which is a more pressing worry. It goes into an eye. Is it impacting him that bad, that he looks so exhausted?

It’s pretty late, too; she asked him how he was, and he mentioned being unable to sleep but not having the energy to explore or do dungeons. Which… sounds like his chronic disease also, but…

Well, it reminds Tallulah of herself mostly. She’s stared at the ceiling of her papi’s house for so long she knows exactly how many blocks it takes up. She could recreate it with only her memory if she had the chance. Playing music only reminded her of how empty the house was, on really bad nights. Some nights, she thought the next day would never come.

She caught herself asking if she wanted it to, sometimes.

Maybe asking for fighting lessons wasn’t the right thing to do. It seemed like a good distraction, but she doesn’t want to force him to if he’s feeling the way she felt on bad nights. Guilt wells in her little eggshell -- did she mess up? He hasn’t responded yet--

“Tallulah,” Etoiles calls softly, stirring her out of her spiraling thoughts, “have you seen my dojo?”

Oh.

Oh!

Tallulah jumps to her feet in an instant, shaking her head rapidly. Maybe she didn’t mess up! Maybe her plan will work! Etoiles is pushing himself up to his feet as she bounces in place, chirping with excitement. When he gestures for her to follow him, she’s already scampering down the staircase to his cave.

---

Tallulah is a good fighter, Etoiles learns.

Flower picking is her strong suit, something better suited for her limited breath and less-than-sharp ears, but Phil must be teaching her well because she uses her height to her advantage. Her aim is impeccable too -- she’s quick to find the weaknesses in his armor and swings with enough force that Etoiles can actually feel the stick smacking into skin. Of course, she gets winded after each of her attacks and Etoiles backs away to give her space, quietly observing.

He does his best to deliver the pointers she seemingly asked for, which is shit because another sleepless night doing nothing but thinking means his English is starting to slip. He’s also missing his swings to give her a challenge, unable to focus long enough on stars and stardust to find where she’s at. He nearly trips on her on occasion, easily the most frustrating of this night. How can he not see a little egg in front of him?

During a moment where Tallulah’s breath starts to sound like a whistle, Etoiles calls for a break. “You did well,” he says, reaching over to pat her mushroom head. Inside her shell, her breath rattles, but she manages a wheezy chirp of satisfaction -- and then faceplants into the tatami mats. Etoiles huffs out a laugh.

“Pick yourself up, queen, you play so well! You can fuck up everyone in your path, no problem. You don’t need my help.” Which he means. He was just about as clumsy and shit as any regular mob on this island, and if he had no armor, he would’ve been dead. Her biggest issue is trying to do so many jumping attacks for critical damage, but if her threats are mobs, she’s perfect. Her form wasn’t even sloppy.

In the distance, he hears the sounds of teleportation and lifts his head to the dojo entrance.

While still face-down and breathing hard, Tallulah slaps a sign on the ground. Keeping his ears alert, Etoiles reaches to translate it. [ you were good target practice tho :D ]

More teleportation sounds go off. He grins at the sign. “Good target practice? Tallulah, I was shit and you know it. I was like- like that horse riding mob, Tallulah. A meature. You could’ve killed me no problem. If you had your flowers, I would be dead in one hit.”

Tallulah trills, and her blurry shape shifts back to a proper sitting position. She’s close enough that her eggshell brushes against his knee, bleeding warmth into his padded leggings. The next sign she places is directly in front of him. [ papa phil thinks roses are pretty strong ]

Does he? Etoiles scoffs, bumping his knee against her goodnaturedly. “Of course Felipe Minecraft knows this. To him, roses must do plus ten damages, and- and Pomme’s favorite flowers do twenty! Sunflowers do three, I know this because they’re a shit flower.”

That wins him another delighted trill and a keyboard smash of a sign, which he takes as a victory.

Faintly, he hears footsteps, clicking on his quartz floors. Richas and Pomme’s footsteps are quieter than that, but the fact that he can hear this visitor is reassuring. Whoever it is wouldn’t announce their presence so easily if they wanted to harm Tallulah.

He can barely see Tallulah’s stardust pattern next to him, so he doesn’t bother trying to figure out who this is. They’re approaching him anyway. He’ll find out soon enough.

To his left, there’s a gentle rattling noise -- a maraca, he registers, because Tallulah stops shaking it when he looks over. There’s a new sign she’s written, replacing the one in front of him, [ here tío, i think papa phil would want you to have this ]

In her extended paws sits something with a vibrant, rich red color.

A rose. Oh, of course -- what else could it have been? A stray thorn pricks his finger as he takes it, and his dark blood beads onto the soft, scarlet petals just before his body heals over the wound in the next half-second. He huffs out a quiet laugh, rotating the flower in his hand carefully. “This is for me, Tallulah?”

The purple of her mushroom head dips in an enthusiastic nod. It isn’t blue, and it’s not a cornflower, but Etoiles thinks it matches the collection Pomme’s been giving him in his backpack.

“Thank you, Tallulah,” he says solemnly, switching it to his off-hand to pat her bouncy helmet. “I’ll be the strongest warrior on the island with this.”

Tallulah bumps her head against his hand affectionately with a happy chirp. He can hear her tail wag just slightly, dragging on the mats underneath them, before it gives an audible thump. She trills loudly, sudden, and rocks up to her feet, bounding off and out of the dojo without another word. Etoiles blinks.

The clicking footsteps he’s heard pause with another of Tallulah’s loud calls, and Etoiles squints, trying to see where she went--

Whack!

Ah.

If the noisy, high-pitched chirps now ringing in his ears weren’t enough of an indicator of who’s here, the dark blue sign in front of him and hazy red blob of a cow head is. “Nice left-click, Richas,” Etoiles jokes in lieu of a greeting. The egg punches him again, also in lieu of a greeting, before Etoiles’ hands are grabbed more gently than the fast (and painless) punches and carefully guided to the signs he’s placed.

[ TONTON can i propose a trade offer >:D ] [ we get llulah, you get EGGZA? ]

Ah, that explains it. Phil’s here.

Well-- almost Philza. Tallulah and Ph-- Eggza are too far away for him to see, somewhere between his white floors and the distant, dark blackstone of his staircase entrance. “Richas, that is a shit trade, man,” he bemoans, tearing his eyes away but making sure his voice still carries through his cave, “why would I want that piece of shit egg? He doesn’t even have a shell! He- he doesn’t have flowers like Tallulah, and I’m a builder, Richas. I want flowers, not goats.”

It’s pointless to goad on Eggza, he knows, their usual banter tends to fall flat when it’s one-sided -- this man, this tryhard is so focused on grinding for shitty cookies instead of spending time with friends -- but like the grin on his lips, he can’t help himself. Richas lets out a squeaky laugh, reminding him of Pac’s laughter, and swats for his attention again. [ KKKKKKKK ] [ I don’t see any goats but YOU tonton >:D ]

“What!” Etoiles exclaims in mock-offense. “How could you say that, Richas? You’re standing right here?”

Whack. He’s learned, since telling Richas about his blindness, that the egg now communicates his head movements with more punches instead. Somehow, it works for them. Richas paces in front of him with that chirpy laughter before he finally breaks his sign and replaces it with a new one. [ how did llulahs training go??? ]

“She doesn’t need training, actually,” he says. Chayanne is the warrior between the two siblings -- Etoiles would know, constantly ribbing on the egg’s fighting style much to his dismay -- but when your dad is Felipe Minecraft, it makes sense to him that she would impress him so much. To not only fight, but be able to land precise hits when already struggling for breath is black-belt worthy to Etoiles, no stick fight required. “She already knows how to fight well, and I was just a, uh- a body for her to hit. She didn’t need my help.”

Was purgatory what changed her? Fighting to survive would do that, he thinks -- turn pacifists into keen-eyed warriors, even the ones that prefer flowers to weapons like Tallulah. He frowns and presses his thumb against one of the thorns on the rose. What a shitty life, to be forced to fight.

The eggs weren’t forced to fight each other, at least. They weren’t against Badboy and Toby Roblox at least -- or, really, any of their friends. Their siblings. They just had to survive, not compete, not win.

(Ever since that three-day-long dream he had of another purgatory, another chance to win, another fight to survive and kill both strangers and old comrades -- it felt like a dream to him. He hasn’t been sleeping well recently. When he closes his eyes, he dreams of radioactive water, of that brand on his hand staring back at him, of tearing into flesh with his swords and covered in blood and wanting more -- and then he wakes up on this shit island where nothing happens unless he’s unconscious.

Seriously. He sleeps an hour later than usual, and Phil is saying he missed the biggest fight of his lifetime, Empanada died, Tubbo’s armor is gone, Phil was knocked down-- he missed a fun fight because this shit island hates him and so does insomnia.)

Whack! [ so she kicked your ass?? 0_0 ] Richas’ sign says, jerking Etoiles out of his thoughts.

It’s not hard to kick my ass, he wants to say, just stay up until 4AM and log-in right at the spot to turn in your contracts to override all of my team’s hard work. His skin catches on the thorn. Phil’s geta click on quartz again, and Etoiles grins. “Richas, she destroyed me, man. She is- she’s a black belt in my dojo, I stood no chance. She took out this flower and I was on the floor instantly. Minus 70 damages.”

Following right after Phil’s geta are more tapping claws, which wheeze as the egg gets closer -- whack, Tallulah smacks Richas away, startling a bark of laughter from Etoiles. “Like that! See! She’s so cracked!”

His dojo quickly fills with the typical sounds of eggs bickering with each other, the occasional thump or whack of a playfight happening somewhere behind him. Etoiles tilts his head to find a familiar leathery-black mask staring down at him. “Hello, Eggza,” he hums, smiling wide enough to bare his teeth.

Phil makes a muffled, indistinct noise as Etoiles pushes himself up to his feet, and the dark wings behind him rustle quietly, shifting in place. “Are you here to collect your egg, Eggza?” he asks.

A quiet huff. “No?” He raises an eyebrow. Tallulah’s sing-song chirps sound victorious somewhere to his right with Richas’ indignant hisses following right after it. Pomme must’ve stayed at the cave entrance to focus on decorating. What was it Richas asked? “There are no cookies here, Phil. Have you come to my dojo to fight?”

Another huff, this time accentuated with a faint laugh-like noise. Etoiles exclaims in disbelief, “What? You come to my dojo and not want to fight, Felipe? Why the hell are you here then? To say ‘hello, mate’ and be the man that you are?”

Phil laughs that quiet noise again and then turns on his heel in a careful motion, eyeing the ground for a moment. Then-- Etoiles blinks when he hears the sound of… a sign being placed. Phil placed a sign? Curious, he peers around the silhouette of a wing and finds a dark green sign-- dark green?-- “Phil, my bro,” he exclaims, now genuinely incredulous, “you are not an egg? What are these signs? Did you make them just for you?” Sure, maybe that shade he’s never seen before could exist, alongside Gegg’s vibrant-green, but Phil using it?

Is this how deep it goes? he wonders, backing up to give Phil’s wings space. This state that he’s in, Etoiles has only came across Phil around the bakery at spawn, gathering cookies for his eggs -- but he knows Phil like this, too. At least, part of it.

Purgatory didn’t change just Tallulah, after all.

Phil’s wings healed during that time, and with it, something else inside him too. He was coherent in purgatory, though -- coherent enough to speak, stumbling over his bird-like noises to clarify what he was trying to say. Writing with signs is new. (He sees why Fit and Pac call him Eggza now, even if Phil is far from an egg in Etoiles’ eyes.)

How different is he, then? How much is intact since purgatory? His wings were broken from the flight carrying Tubbo, but they weren’t clipped, the Federation hasn’t intervened (yet), they aren’t small and weak and hidden like before the eggs disappeared.

An old itch begins to flare up. Phil’s changed. How far?

The shadows in front of him shift eventually, revealing what Phil’s written. [ can i not say hi to a friend? :> ]

Just as he stooped down to translate it, Etoiles is smacked by a small, fast-tapping paw. Phil’s also hit, eliciting a startled caw from the man and a chorus of tittering egg-laughs. Etoiles hums. “Yes, Richas?”

Richas guides his hand to the signs instead of smacking him again. [ pleasure doing business with you tonton o7 ] [ llulah n i will get back to work >:D ]

Oh, that’s what he asked. Etoiles didn’t even give him an answer -- and he considers complaining again, just to rib on Eggza some more, but instead he ruffles Richas’ cow head. “Okay, Richas,” he says. “Pomme is your leader, don’t forget that.”

Thump. He places another sign. [ don’t forget that ur the best tonton >:] ] Tallulah nudges Phil and chirps something beside Etoiles; Phil echoes it, the noise richer in response, unfamiliar to his ears. Maybe something referring to flock, if he guessed right.

With that, the two eggs head off, their claws scratching at quartz as they run.

Silence follows where Etoiles doesn’t fill it. Phil’s head is turned away, watching the eggs leave, and for a moment, Etoiles wishes he could see. Are there more feathers where there hasn’t been? What else has changed that he can’t see? How much is still Phil?

The elytrian shifts then, remembering himself and the sign he placed at his feet. Soundlessly, he breaks it manually, without an axe, just plucking it from the ground; Etoiles watches the sign disappear into his inventory.

“You come here to say hello,” he voices, catching Phil’s attention with the lilt in his voice, “except you’re writing with signs. You aren’t an egg, Phil. I know your voice, I know where you live -- I know what you are, Phil. You can speak to me, no? You trust me, right?”

It’s not avian-speak Phil makes -- it’s not the typical squawks and chirps Baghera made, nor the noises he catches the eggs making on occasion -- it’s Endspeak. An ancient language that can be disguised as avian, thanks to similar vocal chord structures, but it’s sharper, centered in the chest rather than the throat. If Phil isn’t capable of speech --

How far can he push?

“It’s okay, Phil,” he says quickly. The rose in his left hand is an afterthought as he searches for a stick. “You don’t need to say anything actually. No worries. How about we stick fight? 1v1? You come to my dojo, you should expect a fight, man.”

Unsurprisingly, Phil turns to place a sign again, and Etoiles lets him. Taps the stick he’s holding against his leg, slowly, counting. It can snap easily in his hands if he wanted it to. A clean snap right through the middle, showering the floor in splintering fragments. Phil steps away.

All the text-to-speech translation says is: [ bruh ].

Etoiles sputters -- partially amused by the simple response, the other-- “Bruh, he says, taking 70 years to type it! He can left-click but he can’t type four letters, what the hell? Felipe, my bro, you should know the rules of my dojo. You can’t ‘bruh’ my rules.”

Then, daring, he takes a step forward and smacks the stick against Phil’s leg, where he knows it is. The answering yelp sounds like a bark forced from his chest -- Etoiles grins, sharp. “Come, Phil! Just one fight. It’s all I ask of you.” Just one. One is fair, one is reasonable, one is all he wants. He has to see who this is.

Another sign is placed. Etoiles hums -- and jabs forward, hitting Phil somewhere in his flank. Phil flinches away with a startled hiss, sparks spitting. He takes a step back -- Etoiles matches him, letting his other hand (there’s a flower there?) brush against the sign to translate it as he passes.

[ not fighting you king, its too late ]

Too late, he says, as if they’re sleeping. Phil stops retreating, so he stops advancing, hitting the stick against his knee. He barely registers the pain. The shadows in front of him are massive, but he’s seen bigger -- seen them spread wider as he stood behind them, shielded from view, the rest of the team, Bolas, next to him. Where is it? “Phil, we are here, aren’t we? It won’t take long. You can win and I’ll stop.”

He waits for a sign to be placed, his grip holding the stick tighter. It hasn’t cracked yet, but he aches for the burn. Tap. tap. tap. Just one fight. Just one.

When he hears nothing, he takes another step forward. Phil remains in place. His geta don’t scuff on the dojo’s floors. If Etoiles focuses, he can see that leather-masked gaze holding his somewhere between growing darkness. Wider, wider, it spreads. There? Is that it?

The stick raises into the air.

Shadows flare.

And when a solid force collides into him and knocks him flat on his back, all Etoiles can feel is blinding victory. This is it. This has to be it. He just has to-- he has to fight back--

His weapon is gone. All he has is a- a stupid flower that doesn’t even have the same attack stat as a stick-- Phil’s weight keeps him firmly on the ground and staying there, talons burrowing into wrists and a heavy pressure on his stomach. He isn’t struggling. He can’t, he reasons, his arms are heavy and he can barely focus -- but he’s baring his teeth to the elytrian above him like he’s winning. “Wow!” he barks, something inside him thrashing when he cannot, “No stick fights, says Felipe, so he pins me down like an American! Like an American football star, okay. I see you, Felipe.”

Whatever noise he was expecting, he wasn’t thinking a- a croon, now so much louder than he expected, rumbling against his pinned body. A rubber beak nudges against his jawline, shutting Etoiles up instantly. It’s strange -- something wars inside his head, instincts vs. logic, with a clear loser. He cranes his neck up, further, to give Phil space.

Well? Phil won. Spoils go to the victor, after all.

Through the mask, Phil’s breath comes out in huffs against his neck, right at the sensitive-- vulnerable, weak, prime spot to notch a weapon-- junction of his neck. Something inside him thrills at the attention.

Distantly, Etoiles wonders how they must look. Is it just them in his dojo, in the darkness of Phil’s feathers, in the night sky gleaming with star-shaped flowers? Are Phil’s wings shadowing over him, shielding him from view, like the void enveloping him whole? Is he prey caught by an elytrian with its wings poised for flight against its back, about to be slaughtered?

Oh, what a way to die. Etoiles sinks into the embrace. Craves it. Part of Etoiles wants to beg -- he needs to see if Phil will do it. If Phil had the capacity to kill him. If Phil could give him a death he’ll finally be satisfied with.

Make me bleed, he prays.

Aloud, he whispers, barely audible even to himself, “Phil? Can I take off your mask?”

Phil pulls away only slightly, his breath fanning over Etoiles’ face. To his surprise, Phil chirps only a second later in the affirmative. When Etoiles reaches a freed hand to the buckles of the mask, Phil leans into his touch, rumbling quietly, contentedly.

Suddenly, Etoiles’ fingers are unsure, breath lodged in his throat, unseeing eyes squinting in concentration and, distantly, anticipation.

The mask is loose and slides into Etoiles’ hand. Carefully, he sets it to the side beside his head. Then, indulgent, desperate, he cranes his neck up and cups Phil’s jaw with the same hand.

Please, he begs. His lips stay shut.

He waits for the fangs. He waits for talons. He waits for the searing burn of pain to tear his throat open and let him bleed out inside his own home, in his dojo, in the arms of his captain.

If “Eggza” is his elytrian instincts repaired, then Etoiles aches to be his first blood.

Phil’s lips are soft, when they press against his.

…oh.

Of course.

A small laugh huffs against Phil’s lips -- because Etoiles should’ve expected this answer.

He hadn’t realized he asked. Or that Phil heard.

Still, he leans into the kiss, fitting his hand securely over Phil’s cheek to press deeper. It was light, Phil asking his own question in response; on any other day, Etoiles would push further, fight even harder for Phil to give him what he really wanted, but the elytrian above him lets out a coo so low it vibrates in his chest as he slots their lips together.

If Etoiles had any more fight left in him, he would insist he didn’t deserve this. Phil’s arm braces above his head somewhere, and talons run through his hair and against his scalp, and it’s so nice. There’s no yanking. No tearing. No fight he had to win. Just… being held and kissed.

So instead, he sighs and gives into the gentle, lapping waves of fluttering, midnight wings.

(Maybe I’m already bleeding, he thinks distantly. Just not the way he initially thought.)

Phil’s the one that parts first with a quiet hum. Etoiles takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes shut to settle against the mats. His mind feels blissfully quiet for once.

A hand brushes down his face, pets his facial hair, runs across his lips. Etoiles lets it trail over him and feels proud that he only briefly wanted to be kissed again.

Pressure leans against his forehead, stirring his eyes open again. It’s habit to open them, obviously, because he already knows it’s Phil pressing their heads together, his nose slotting against Etoiles’. A trill follows, deep in Phil’s throat, that Etoiles recognizes faintly. He doesn’t know the exact translation, no matter how many times he’s heard Phil make it during purgatory, or to his eggs. He thinks it’s a name. A title, maybe. A declaration.

His chest is tight. Etoiles hums quietly. One day, he’ll figure out what it means.

Eventually, Phil takes mercy on him. With one final trill, he backs away fully, his weight disappearing from Etoiles’ body, and is gone before he even realizes it. The roof of his dojo is plain without the borders of void-coated feathers and golden hair. What a shame.

(What a shame -- that Phil left? Or that Phil didn’t kill him? He isn’t sure.)

As he laments, floating somewhere between the clouds and the night sky, he hears something sharp, quick -- a snap of fingers. Etoiles lifts his head.

Instead of grabbing his gas mask like what Etoiles expected, Phil stands over him with a black-tinted hand offered. Oh. He wants to help Etoiles up? A pleasant warmth sits in his chest like a gentle campfire, and with the snap comes reality.

“Oh, look at you, Felipe,” Etoiles says with a grin, breaking the silent air of his dojo. “Giving me your hand to pull me up like the goat that you are? Thank you, my bro.” He sits up and clasps his hand into Phil’s, letting the elytrian yank him up to his feet with a subtle flap of his wings.

It was a forceful tug alongside an amused chitter, enough that Etoiles has to catch himself before he crashed into Phil; that campfire crackles. It’s not the sun he looks it in spite of the warmth, but somehow, it makes it better. “Okay, Phil? You’re so strong? You have big biceps? You don’t need to flex on me, man, I already know you have a nice cock.”

And, because he can, he reaches for Phil’s face to kiss him again.

His advances are met with a scowl he feels against his lips and a firm swat of one heavy wing upside his head. “Oh, he hits me!” Etoiles shouts with a bark of laughter, ducking out of the way. “Felipe hits me because I gave him a kiss! So you won’t accept my affections either, Phil? Okay, man. Sorry. Your cock is shit, actually.”

Whack! Phil’s wings hit hard, what the hell? The next dodge he does skirts him around the elytrian, sidestepping shadows to stand next to Phil, away from any more wing-hits. Phil chitters louder, almost involuntarily; now it really sounds like his cawing laughter.

Etoiles’ laughing along with him. “Deserved, deserved.”

How could he be so stupid? Why would he ever think Phil would change, just like that, from purgatory? Tallulah still gives flowers, Pomme is still headstrong, Richas… hasn’t changed whatsoever, now that he thinks about it -- and, maybe, Etoiles himself hasn’t changed too. Phil hasn’t.

Phil is still the goat, and the man that won’t listen to his braindead desires of dying a cool death. Why did he ever beg the man to kill him? The thought sounds ridiculous the more he thinks about it.

Would it be legendary? Yes. Is it still something Etoiles wants to happen? Perhaps. Will he ever get it? No.

And he’s fine with that.

Thump. Etoiles blinks. A sign?

Phil turns around to look at him, standing in front with something in his hand and the sign placed by his feet. As Etoiles steps forward to translate it, he catches red in Phil’s dark hands. [ where did this rose come from? ]

Oh. “Tallulah gave it to me,” Etoiles says softly. I forgot it was in my hand, he adds to himself. “I hope it’s not broken?”

The red blur in Phil’s hands looks fine, but it’s hard to tell. Phil examines it with a quiet, contemplative noise for a moment. It’s only a flower, Etoiles catches himself thinking -- but it’s a rose, isn’t it? Roses are strong, Tallulah said. He thought maybe she meant it the same way Pomme means it, but… what about Phil?

A black hand raises to his face, bearing that red, red rose. It hesitates just in front of him, asking, and Etoiles stops himself from taking a step back. Instinctively, he tries to search for Phil’s eyes -- but-- Phil makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. The hand wavers.

It’s Phil, he reminds himself.

When he leans forward, into Phil’s hold, he feels the flower stem slide just above his ear. Talons briefly pinch his skin as Phil carefully adjusts the flower, tucking it underneath his eye-mask, securing it in place. The thorns are gone, as if they’ve been plucked off. All that’s left are the soft petals that brush against the side of Etoiles’ face.

When Etoiles finally gives in and leans down, he feels Phil coo against his lips.

(Flowers aren’t weapons, he knows this. They don't have to be. They shouldn’t be, not just for their shitty attack stats, but also because… it’s nice. A few flowers bloom in his hair on occasion, which Pomme loves for decorations -- and Antoine loves to pluck straight from his scalp -- and while he thinks the blooming is an annoyance, it’s only flowers. The flowers that his daughter loves.

Tallulah said roses are strong, and Phil believes they are, for whatever reason, even when he’s like this. Logically, it makes no sense, but…

Well. Etoiles doesn’t give a shit about the semantics now. Flowers can be powerful if Phil thinks so.)

---

Richarlyson’s feet have never moved faster than the way they do now -- and Tallulah has half the mind to join her in the sprint across Tío Etoiles’ cave. Chayanne is not going to like this when I tell him, she thinks, already imagining the horror in Chayanne’s shell.

[ off she goes ] Pomme writes with a sign that stops Tallulah in her tracks, rumbling in her shell with amusement.

Tallulah faceplants into the floor. [ on her way to ruin a sweet moment :’) ]

Yesyes, Pomme chirps in agreement and a comforting pat on Tallulah’s back, silly egg, silly sibling. With a huff, Tallulah stands back up in time for another wine-red sign to appear, and for Richar to make contact with her papa and tío. He’s accosting them as she expected, surrounding them in a myriad of signs, aggressive chirps, and plenty of punches for the both of them. [ oh well. im sure papa is feeling better now :D ]

Hopefully, he is, Tallulah thinks, but she has a feeling Tío Etoiles is. Beside him, Papa Phil looks content, fondly watching the two bicker with his face free from his silly bird mask. Etoiles takes Richar’s swatting in stride, backing away from him and complimenting his strikes just like when Tallulah was sparring with him.

Unlike that moment, though, Etoiles is grinning, not pensive, and he moves a little more sure on his feet, sidestepping and dodging each Richar blow. He looks… happier.

Tallulah eyes her papa again and rumbles, happy papa, happy, silly. He did that to Tío, she’s sure of it. If a spar wasn’t going to do it, and if Tallulah couldn’t, then she’s glad her papa did. Chayannechen can get defensive over Papa and Pa Missa’s relationship another day. She’s certain this was different, in any case.

Pomme mimics her noises warmly, rustling through her backpack to dig out a diary. Richar suddenly whirls to Phil and starts smacking him with enraged squeaks, causing him to yelp, dodging another attack. Whatever they’re talking about seems like fofoca, but Tío Etoiles doesn’t seem embarrassed, neither does Papa. She can see the rose in her tío’s hair too. Good.

Bomp, Pomme’s placing another sign, floating in the air where she sits. [ whats uncle phil doing here btw??? was he looking for you ? ]

Was he? If she’s being honest, Tallulah isn’t really sure. She left Papa Phil in Rosa’s Sanctuary, where he was half-draped across Missa’s sleeping body, and she wasn’t expecting him to be awake at this time. Even when he’s like this, Endspeaking more than normal, she figured it was too early for him to start gathering cookies. Did he know she was with her tíos and came to find her? Was he here for Etoiles? Was it pure luck, or curiosity, to come here?

She doesn’t know. He was fine, he had reassured her when he first appeared in the cave. Chay and Missa were safe still, but he didn’t elaborate any further than that. She has some guesses as to why her papa is here, like this, and even when he’s extra affectionate and gentle with her in this state, he still doesn’t like sharing his feelings. It wasn’t due to a lack of trust -- it’s just her papa being her papa.

It isn’t a bad thing. He wanted to see somebody here, to check in on them, and Tallulah finds it hard to get upset at her papa when he’s cooing and fawning over her and her siblings. Some nights can be too quiet sometimes.

Eventually, she settles with a simple, [ i think he wanted some company ].

Awake company, that is, at this hour of night. Once she's ready to go, she's sure he'll tag along with her back to the sanctuary for some proper sleep. Whether he woke up due to her absence or from a nightmare, she knows he's tired.

Tallulah thinks she’s earned sleep after this. Tío Etoiles especially deserves it.

#qsmp philza #qsmp etoiles #codebreakers #codebreaker duo #qsmp tallulah #was too nervous to post this on my twitter lmao #aro4aro codebreakers is everything to me but there's no media literacy on that platform they will pull out the boundaries card #so here I am #need to post my fics on here more anyway so hi hello #my writing

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