#(and those parts are so excellent but i’d like more please)

[eightdoctor]

SO FUCKING SAD we’ll never see fitz and the doctor on screen. like we’ll never see one staring longingly at the other like they want to devour them. Sad!

[mrsjellymunson]

KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Part Two

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing ’s excellent Stranger Prompts challenge - thank you for this, friends!

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But how much has he changed?

Chapter summary: Some answers, more questions 😉

WC: ~8.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, series CW for eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut, post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes, emotional scenes, eventual friends-to-lovers, descriptions of minor injuries, food/eating, mentions of canon-typical torture/experiments.

A/N: This series contains a lot of themes and scenarios that I haven’t written for before, I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. Abundant thanks to @the-unforgivenn for beta-ing and playing The Thesaurus Game 😛 This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it or my general one just lemme know in a comment, ask or message, I’d love to have you on board 🙏💙

Prev: Prologue Part One

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You wake earlier than they do, shards of sunlight peeking through Steve’s pathetically thin and badly arranged curtains hitting you straight in the face.

You don’t move initially, enjoying the sound of both boys’ soft, rhythmic breaths, grateful they’ve both had the opportunity to rest and sleep.

You use this moment of stillness to allow the events of the previous night to filter through your consciousness. Eddie’s still here. He’s somewhat warmer than he was, and is still breathing. You’ll take all of those as a win.

His arm is still wrapped around your ribs, his chest against your back. During the night, one of his thighs has made its way between yours, and his hips are now pressed up against the swell of your ass.

You suppose that if you look at it objectively, he’s in a pretty good approximation of the Recovery Position. Good for him. Promoting healing, aiding recovery, and all that.

And you suppose that if you look at it subjectively, having the entire length of Eddie’s body squashed against the entire length of yours, and having his leg pressed against you just there, stirs feelings that are inappropriate for you to be having right now. Such as how much you’re enjoying it. How safe you feel. How much you wish there weren’t even these small, thin pieces of fabric separating you from him…

He snuffles behind you, groaning softly, and his arm contracts, pulling you even closer to him. You’d much prefer it was more than just the involuntary tensing of a waking man that’s causing him to do this, but push that thought to the back of your mind.

You slowly turn your head as far as you can, only able to see a little of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair is fuzzy as hell, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

In what you hope is a soft and comforting voice, you ask,

“Morning, big guy. How’re you feeling?”

Eddie’s voice is cracked and broken, like he hasn’t used it in a while. It’s gravelly and low as he mumbles,

“Mmf. A little sore, but warm. God, it feels so good to be warm…”

His arm clenches around you again, and he pushes his face into the back of your neck.

Trying to cover an unbidden moan, and inject some levity, you reply,

“Well, thank goodness for that, otherwise all of mine and Steve’s efforts last night would’ve been for nothing.”

Eddie shifts, starting to get a sense of where he is and the situation he’s found himself in. It causes Steve to stir behind him and let out a little groan of his own, and you feel Eddie freeze.

Trying to calm him and keep this obviously bizarre situation simple and light, you mumble,

“Yeah, body heat seemed to be the best way to keep you warm. I don’t suppose waking up naked between me and Harrington was on your bucket list, right?”

Eddie’s cheeks don’t exactly flush (going from pale grey to pale pink far too much of a gradient to be entirely achievable right now), but you do notice a little warmth appear in them.

Eddie jests, at least you think he’s jesting, as his grip around you tightens again, stronger this time as his muscles wake up, and he chuckles lightly as he smooshes his face into your hair,

“Well, it's definitely not the worst place I’ve ever woken up.”

This rouses Steve enough that he’s now fully awake, and he seems to remember where he is too. He moves away from Eddie and sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Glancing over, he mumbles,

“Hey, man. So, there’s literally hundreds of things I wanna ask you right now, but I guess I’ll start with, uh, how are you?”

Steve’s face contorts with a mix of incredulity and embarrassment at the utter banality of the question he just asked.

Unfazed, Eddie replies,

“Honestly, dude? I’m not entirely sure…”

He tries to shift his legs to sit up, but realises how enmeshed they are with yours, and inadvertently pushes his thigh up even closer to you.

Steve continues, unable to stop himself.

“What happened? Where have you been? How did you even get here?”

Eddie lets out a long, low exhale.

Finally picking up on how tired Eddie still is, and how tangled your and Eddie’s limbs are, you guess Steve decides he doesn’t want to get into any of that right now and declares,

“Y’know what, I’m gonna go make coffee.”

He grabs some sweats and a crumpled tee, and heads out towards the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Fuck, this is awkward.

After a short pause, you mumble,

“Yeah, I suppose we should get up too. The kids are gonna be beside themselves, I’d prepare yourself for a barrage of questions if I were you.”

Exhaling, you somewhat reluctantly extricate yourself from Eddie’s embrace, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the pile of clothes you’re grateful you had the foresight to put out last night.

Pulling on jeans, a worn t-shirt and a woollen jumper, you sit back down and turn to Eddie, who’s now leaning up against Steve’s battered headboard, sheets bunched around his waist.

You notice his eyes are still sunken and red-rimmed, but he’s lost some of the sallowness that he had last night, and his features are significantly more relaxed.

As he sits up you have the chance to observe his torso properly. He’s thinner, and much paler, than the boy you remember. The odd appearance of his musculature that you could see last night is still abundantly present.

And there are scars. Lots of scars. They vary in appearance and colour, rough slashes and violent starbursts, in silvery white, muted pinks and shades of angry purples and reds. Some look smooth and well-healed, whilst others are raised and jagged. Some transect the inked designs you came to know so well, and it looks like he might’ve lost a nipple.

Realising you’ve been staring, you tear your eyes away and move them instead to Eddie’s face. He looks terrified, like he’s worried you’re going to find him abhorrent and run away screaming.

He starts to reach for the covers, to cover himself, but you lunge forwards and grab one of his hands in yours. You don’t break his gaze as you tell him,

“It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

His face softens, but his eyebrows remain pinched and his lips are still pressed tightly together.

Finally looking down as you stroke over his hand with both of yours, you notice that the wounds that you bathed and tended to only a few hours ago are practically healed, only a few areas of redness remaining where there were bleeding gashes and scarlet grazes. Some have almost disappeared.

You decide not to focus on this and concentrate instead on the fact that your friend, your best friend, the one you all thought was dead, is back with you here, right now.

Grasping his hand in both of yours, you murmur,

“However it happened, it’s really, really good to have you back, you know.”

He smiles then, and although it reaches his eyes, it does little to lift the grey pallor of his face.

He brings his other hand over, and as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles he notices the ring on your thumb. He runs a pad over the contours of the skull.

“You- You kept this?”

“Of course! I wear it every day. It helps me remember my best friend.” Your voice gets quiet as you add, unsure whether you’re overstepping.

“It helps keep you close to me.”

You hold each other's gaze for a beat too long, and Eddie’s lips open as if he’s going to say something.

Before he has the chance, a ball of anxiety rises in your throat, and you decide you can’t take the risk of him… what?

Telling you you’re stupid? That it doesn’t mean anything? That he wants his ring back?

You know none of this sounds like anything Eddie would say, but in your fragile, exhausted state you need to protect yourself from the risk of emotional harm, no matter how small.

You remove your hand from his and bend to retrieve the clothes Steve left for him, reasoning with a small smile,

“We don’t want you getting cold again, right?”

Eddie starts to dress, grunting a little as his limbs start working again. He only has time to pull on the worn sweatshirt when the door bursts open and the kids rush in. Dustin first, swiftly followed by Mike and Lucas, whilst Will and Jane hang back in the doorway.

The three teens leap, grinning, onto Steve’s bed, whooping and hollering and rolling around. They’re full of questions and theories and tales of what they’ve been doing whilst he’s been gone, all talking over one another.

Whilst Eddie is smiling and laughing and you can tell he’s buoyed by their love and exuberance, you also know he still needs to recover from last night, let alone whatever else he might have been through these past few weeks. So after a few minutes you shoo them out, instructing them to go help Steve make breakfast.

Dustin’s the last to leave, pausing in the doorway as he turns back, running his hand down his cheek and saying, with an infinitely adoring expression on his face,

“I can’t believe you’re here, man. It’s so good to have you back.”

They share friendly smiles before Dustin turns on his heel and follows the others, his voice decreasing in volume as he heads down the hallway yelling,

“I’m on toast duty today! You guys ate all the good peanut butter last time…”

You both snicker at their antics, Eddie shaking his head a little.

You want to say more, but settle for,

“They missed you. We all did.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows and rolls his lips inwards into a tight-lipped smile, and you sense that he’s just as emotional as you all are.

He continues dressing, and you’re relieved the kids didn’t see Eddie’s scars, for all their sakes. You’re not sure whether they’re ready to revisit what happened in the Upside Down, and you don't want Eddie’s first day back with you all to involve him having to uncomfortably explain where they all came from.

He dons the rest of the unfamiliar clothing, and eventually stands, facing you. He spreads his arms wide and pulls a goofy face, raising his eyebrows high and flattening his mouth into a thin line, knowing how unlike ‘him’ he must look right now.

You never imagined you’d ever see your favourite black-loving metalhead in an oversized heather grey Hawkins Athletic sweatshirt, worn navy sweatpants and fluffy white sports socks, but needs must, and at least it’s all clean and he’s staying warm.

There’s a crash in the kitchen, startling both of you, but it prompts you to suggest,

“Come on, let’s go see what chaos those guys are causing.”

You direct him to the front of the house, and as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen all eyes turn to him. You see the kids take in his fluffy hair and new garb. He notices and, preemptively gesturing to himself and in a very close approximation of his Dungeon Master voice, says,

“If anyone says anything about this, I swear I will kill you. Got it?”

Mike and Lucas try to act like they weren’t even looking, and Dustin raises his hands in supplication. Jane laughs at the boys’ responses and Will smirks at the shenanigans, and you’re certain he and Eddie are going to get along just fine.

The kids have made everyone a simple breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and fresh oatmeal and they bring it to the large farmhouse-style table as everyone gets situated. Craving his proximity, you take the chair next to Eddie. Steve’s made a large pot of hot coffee, which is swiftly devoured by the four adults and almost instantly requires replenishment.

The kids want to fill Eddie in on, well, everything. Over breakfast there’s much chatter about what’s been happening in town, how the three of you ended up staying here, how kind and supportive Wayne and Owens have been, even a somewhat discombobulating discussion of what Eddie’s funeral was like. Plus there’s tales from the boys about D&D and stuff that’s important to the teens, most of which you zone out of.

Eddie is also properly introduced to the two he doesn’t know. He greets Will with a broad smile and claps both his hands around the boy’s slender one, a symbolic gesture full of characteristic Eddie warmth, welcoming another sheep even though this particular one has known the others for many years.

You don’t think anyone else notices, but you don’t miss the moment of extended eye contact and tiny nods that are exchanged between him and Jane, as they are introduced and shake hands.

Eddie seems to have a good appetite, devouring four warm, runny-yolked eggs, three slices of toast slathered with butter and jelly, and two large bowls of oatmeal with honey and syrup in rapid succession.

There’s some syrup on his chin when he’s finished. You want to clean it off with your thumb and suck it into your mouth, but you resist the urge.

The food cheers him, even seems to put a little colour in Eddie’s cheeks. Well, perhaps not colour exactly, but a move from grey to white is certainly progress. It’s hardly Cordon Bleu cuisine, but Eddie’s hoovered it up like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. You wonder what he’s been surviving on all this time to make such simple stuff seem so luxurious.

Coffee mugs are refreshed, the table is cleared, and there follows a semi-formal exchange of the personal items of Eddie’s that are in the cabin. Lucas returns his pocket knife, which Eddie thanks him for with a bro handshake and a half-hug, and Dustin gets down on one knee and presents him with his wallet chain on outstretched hands, as if he’s presenting a weapon or battle trophy to his commander. Eddie ruffles his hair and brings him in for a crushing bear hug.

Robin and Steve return his crucifix and boar’s head rings, which he dons, and you can’t help noticing that they’re slightly looser than they used to be. You’re grateful nobody questions why you don’t return the skull ring to him, or seems to notice the knowing glance and small smile that he gives you.

Dishes are cleaned and yet more coffee is brewed, and you head to the utility room to see how Eddie’s clothes are doing in the (noisy, and possibly unsafe) drier. As you return there’s a lull in the conversation.

Ever the direct one, Robin can’t stand the not knowing any longer, and as Steve pours the next round of coffees she blurts,

“So, what the fuck happened? We thought you were dead. You were dead. They fucking buried you!”

The kitchen falls silent for a moment, nobody sure how much Eddie wants to divulge or relive.

He wraps his palms around his steaming mug, and takes a long, slow, deep breath in and out before he starts talking.

“I don’t remember much after that night with the, uh, Demobats. I kinda remember being jostled into a van, or a military-type vehicle maybe? And tubes, bright lights, people shouting…

“The next thing I know, I’m in some kind of lab, a poky room with a tiny cot and metal furniture, and people coming in at all hours to prod at me and stick me with needles. They did all sorts of tests and injected me with shit, and they wouldn’t tell me what any of it was.

“I’m not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that I can’t remember a lot of detail. It’s mostly just pain, agony, and being either chained or locked up. And screaming, so much screaming... Whether that was me or the others, I don’t know.”

You interject,

“There- There were others?”

He nods slowly.

“Yeah, definitely more than just me. I have no idea how many, who they were, what happened to them...”

His hands start trembling, and he lets go of the mug that’s started to shake in his grip, quickly putting his hands in his lap.

“I think the injections they were giving me were concoctions made from the… things they found… down there.

“Owens visited me a couple of times. He said he didn’t like what was being done to me but he wasn’t able to change anything. The last time I saw him he told me he was being transferred to a different site and didn’t think he’d be able to visit again, but he wanted me to know there was someone on his side.”

There’s a brief pause before he continues,

“The last, uhh, experiment was the worst-”

Eddie screws up his face and clenches his teeth at the memory, and balls up one fist, bringing it up to his pursed lips. He squeezes his eyes closed, and a tear appears at the corner of one eye.

You don’t know whether it’s the right thing to do, but you grab his other hand under the table, hoping it’ll give him comfort but fully expecting him to flinch away.

He doesn’t, and his hand clamps around yours in a fierce grip, almost crushing it.

Voice trembling and breaking, he continues.

“It was- Jesus H Christ- it was like liquid fucking fire. All I remember was feeling like they’d injected me with molten lava, and then there was so much shouting, and hands holding me down, and then everything went black...”

He pauses, and nobody else speaks.

Steve swallows, the tap drips into the sink and Robin’s rings clink softly against her coffee mug as she turns it anxiously.

“And then… And then the next thing I remember is coming to, and feeling cold, so- so fucking cold. And darkness, absolute darkness. And I was so scared, and I just started scraping and scratching at whatever was over me, and just kept scrabbling and digging until… there wasn’t anything over me anymore.”

You’re all stunned.

Someone says a quiet ‘fuck’, and you think you hear a sob, perhaps from Dustin.

Steve remains silent but runs a hand through his hair, palm coming to rest over his mouth, and Robin mutters a soft,

“Shit, Eddie.”

You all realise that Eddie wasn’t lying on a slab at all for these past two months, but was being experimented on, and it takes a long moment to sink in.

Eventually, Eddie says,

“Fuck. They really buried me, huh?”

To illustrate his point and as an attempt to inject some humour into the moment, he loosely combs his fingers through his fluffy locks and asks, “When I got here, did I have stuff in my hair?”

There are a few chuckles, and someone throws a balled up paper napkin at him.

There’s another short pause where nobody says anything, but then it’s like a dam breaks and everyone starts talking at once. Robin and Steve make comparisons with the Russians, the kids offer D&D analogies and half-baked scientific theories, and people ask Will and Jane what they think.

For the rest of the morning much discussion ensues, as well as the consumption of store-brand cookies and even more coffee, and you all try to fill in the blanks. Whilst some of the kids interject with ideas and suggestions, others sit quietly, mostly listening. You wonder quite how much secondhand trauma this is going to cause all of them.

As a group you eventually surmise that some shadowy branch of the military was battering Eddie and the others with all sorts of tests, and injecting them with unknown substances, goals unknown and refusing to tell anyone what they were.

Owens clearly never agreed with their approach, and it sounds like he tried to distance himself as much as possible.

The military finally took their experiments too far. Thinking they’d killed him, they eventually released Eddie’s body to his only family, Wayne, and allowed him to be buried.

Unbeknownst to them, their final experiment was the most successful, it just took longer to manifest than the others. Weeks, in fact. Just long enough for the scientists (if you could even call them that) to lose any expectation of a recovery, and for Owens and Wayne to organise a funeral.

Eddie had awoken, dazed, trapped and freezing and with no idea where he was, and had somehow managed to smash the lid of his coffin and scramble his way to the surface. On a rainy night, miles from anywhere.

Finally, Mike is the first to ask the question you think most of you have been contemplating.

“Dude, how did you even find us?”

At particularly painful points in his oration, Eddie has looked to you, seemingly finding comfort in your face, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he replies,

“Honestly? I don’t really know. I just had this… feeling… that I needed to come in this direction. And the closer I got, the more certain I was that this is where I’d find you.” Hurriedly, he looks around the rest of the group and adds, “Find you all.”

He carefully lays the hand not holding yours flat onto the table, and, eyes fixed on the faded floral tablecloth, he chokes back a sob as he asks a question that he’s clearly been holding back.

“Why didn’t anyone- Why didn’t you come find me?”

Robin grabs his hand across the table, wrapping it in both of hers, holding it tightly. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“W-we didn’t know! They didn’t tell us anything about any lab. We thought you were dead. Eddie, that first night? They told us you’d died!”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and you see tears start to slowly run down her cheeks.

Eddie chokes, and his eyes lift to the ceiling.

Dustin’s the first to move as he scrapes his chair back and sprints around to Eddie, enveloping his shoulders and neck in a clumsy but aggressively enthusiastic hug as he mumbles into his friend’s shoulder,

“But you’re not dead. You’re not. You’re here, with us, now. You’re back, Eddie, you’re back...”

Lucas stands too, ruffling Eddie’s hair and half-hugging the top of his head with one arm, leaning his cheek against Eddie’s curls, and you lean into Eddie, placing your forehead against the side of his bicep.

Steve turns from where he’s been brewing even more coffee, and moves to place his hand on a patch of shoulder not covered by Dustin or Lucas, patting softly. As he turns back to the stove he comments,

“Yeah, man. D’you really think we wouldn’t’ve come got you? Fuck those guys and all their crappy experiments. No one does that to a member of The Party.”

You simultaneously feel Eddie’s grip on your hand tighten, and the rest of his body relax. Many of you are crying, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweater darkening in patches from the wet plops of Dustin’s tears.

Will and Jane are affected too, and you see their faces soften as they clasp each other's hands under the table.

Eddie’s breath deepens as he absorbs the love and affection of his friends. You guess he’s not used to this much positive attention, and has clearly received even less over the last few weeks.

You all sit in silence for a few long moments, allowing all this new information to sink in and emotions to settle.

Eventually the noise of the stove and the clattering of coffee supplies, together with a strong gust of wind and the increased pattering of leaves against the window, brings you all back to the room.

Eddie seems to have processed everything faster than the rest of you, his emotions shifting, and as Steve pours more coffee he becomes agitated, slamming his fists on the table, startling all of you with the ferocity of his movements.

You guess he’s angry not only at the testing he underwent, but that they lied to all of you, and let him feel hopeless, like nobody cared.

The kids move back as he stands and starts pacing, running his hands through his already-frizzy hair and shaking his head.

“FUCK! Those bastards! Not only did they use me as some kind of twisted lab rat, but they didn’t even tell you guys I was alive? And they let me think that none of you cared enough to come find me, visit me, get me out? GODDAMMIT!”

He slams a palm into the doorframe, and you all jump a little.

Turning back to the room, Eddie notices the effect he’s having on everyone, and, rubbing the back of his neck, says,

“I think I’m gonna go take a walk…”

He moves towards the back door, the expanse of the disused field behind the cabin seemingly the ideal place for him to get his head together.

But, spying the large axe leaning against the frame, he has a better idea.

“Hey, uh, do you guys have, like, logs ‘n’ shit that need chopping? I really need to, um, work through some stuff. Besides, it’s probably the least I can do, given how much heat and hot water I’ve already cost you all.”

He gives a sheepish snort and brings his hand to his face again.

It’s you who speaks first.

“Are you sure, Eddie? I mean, it’s been a stressful few days. Are you okay to be doing something so… physical?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m feeling a little… pent up. Could do with working some of it off, y’know?”

You nod, figuring all of you are going to need different ways to process this whole bizarre and unsettling situation.

Dustin and Mike find some old tan workboots in a closet, presumably left by the previous owner. They don’t fit perfectly, and it looks like something may have nested in one of them at some point, but they’ll do for now. Eddie pulls them on over his loaned sweats and socks, leaving them unlaced.

Robin offers him his leather jacket. She’s obviously had a go at cleaning off as much of the mud as she can, but you can all tell it’s never going to be quite the same. At least it’s dry now, and Eddie takes it gratefully.

He grabs the old axe and the small hatchet that you use to chop kindling, unlocks the back door and steps outside, closing it behind him.

Dustin wants to go out to him, but Robin grabs him and holds him in a tight hug, explaining that he needs some time to process stuff.

The others give him space, some staying at the kitchen table to process their thoughts, others retreating to the living room and diverting their thoughts with the crackling cartoons that break through the terrible TV signal.

You choose to keep an eye on Eddie, staying back a little from the back door so as not to alarm him, but keeping him within your eye line.

You see Eddie pace a little, muttering to himself, then he shakes his head as if to clear it.

He turns to the log pile and hefts the axe a couple of times, getting the feel of it. He lifts a couple of modestly sized logs onto the stump, wielding the axe above his head and splitting them easily. Almost… effortlessly.

He chops a few more, flinging them into a pile with ease, then moves to lift a few larger ones, breezing through them with the same ‘hot knife through butter’ nonchalance.

It’s the most physical activity you’ve ever seen him do, aside from lifting the odd amp or two, which always left him puffed out. But he’s sailing through the woodpile with barely any exertion.

You can see he’s still processing the contents of your morning, as his features screw up occasionally and grumbled words and what are probably profanities spill from his lips.

As he hefts the axe through the tough logs you can see his eyes are getting redder, and his skin appears paler. You can’t see his body, but the tendons on his hands and neck are popping starkly underneath his translucent skin. And, the wind has picked up considerably since he’s been outside, whipping loose leaves and twigs around the cabin just like it did last night.

Eventually, he starts on the biggest, gnarliest logs. The ones you guys would only attempt when you really, really needed the firewood.

You hear grunts, muffled by the back door, as he works the tougher wood.

The axe gets stuck partway through a particularly thick log, and with an animalistic grunt Eddie yanks the blade from it. Easily lifting the log in his arms, he notches his long fingers into the groove and, in a move that startles you, he rips it into two pieces with his bare hands.

By the back door you suppress a gasp, your hand flying across your mouth and your eyes going wide. You’re not sure whether you should go to him, try to comfort him, or leave him to work through this in whatever way he needs to.

You don’t get the chance to decide, as he finally gets to a particularly old and knotty log that none of you have been able to get anywhere close to splitting. As Eddie slams the axe down into it with a ferocity you didn’t think was possible, he gets it far further than any of you have so far, but again, the blade gets stuck.

The wind picks up even more, as Eddie picks up the axe, log attached, and heaves it around his head, sending it spinning across the back field as he lets out a loud, feral and painful-sounding yell.

Breathing deep for a couple of moments, he runs a hand down his face and begins to trudge across the bumpy earth to retrieve it, coping easily with the rough and uneven ground of the ploughed field and his ill-fitting boots. You can see he’s still yelling expletives and occasionally waving his arms and shouting up into the sky.

The distance that he’s managed to throw the axe is substantial enough that he shrinks in your field of vision by the time he reaches it. You can no longer make out his expression, but as he comes to a halt you do see him bend over and place his hands on his knees, watching his back heave as he takes a few more deep, steadying breaths.

He lifts the axe and heaves both it and the attached heavy log easily over his shoulder with one hand. You consider that you’ve never seen him lift anything with such ease, save maybe his leather jacket, flung over his back, dangling it from one finger on a hot day.

As he turns and starts making his way back to the house, you notice that the wind has started to die down and is whipping less of Eddie’s hair around his face, and leaves and twigs begin to fall to the ground.

You hadn’t realised Jane had come to join you at the back door. Despite not directly knowing Eddie before, she says, in her characteristically deadpan voice, “He is… different now. Isn’t he?”

You purse your lips and nod, quick and small, and find it remarkable that this seemingly awkward young woman, who’s endured so much at the hands of so many, has developed such insight and tenderness.

After removing the axe from the gnarly chunk of wood and placing it by the back door, Eddie spends a few minutes arranging the logs he’s split into neat piles beneath the small shelter. The skin around his eyes is less red now, and his general demeanour seems more relaxed, controlled. Perhaps this has helped after all.

He takes a couple of breaths and composes himself before he heads back towards the door, holding the axe in one hand and a stack of logs atop his other arm.

Bashful, and conscious that you’d rather he didn’t know that you’ve been watching him the entire time, you take a few steps backwards and make like you’re just now coming to the door, opening it for him with a broad smile and directing him to the place in the living room where you store the wood for the fire, thanking him for his efforts.

As he places the last of the wood and starts to take off his jacket, you notice that his hands are again torn and bloody, splinters sticking out every which way and an angry-looking blister on one palm.

You assume that he’s reopened his wounds from last night, but the positions and patterns don’t match up. Everything from last night has almost completely healed, and these are all new.

Regardless of the peculiarities, they need attention, so you instruct him,

“Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You send him to your bedroom as you grab some washcloths, a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit from the bathroom.

You sit him up against your headboard, setting up your supplies on the comforter. Figuring it’s the most practical position for you to be in, you straddle his knees and begin dabbing at his cut and splintered hands with antiseptic. Realising there’s too much debris in the way, and wincing at the sheer size and quantity of them, you grab some tweezers, removing the splinters of various sizes that have embedded into his fingers and palms.

As you swap back to using the wet cloths and begin cleaning the blood from his skin, you’re perhaps less surprised than you should be to find that the new injuries have already stopped bleeding, and some of the smaller ones even appear to be closing up, apparently heading the same way as the cuts on his face and feet from whatever happened last night.

You work quietly for a few moments before your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that? Outside, just now? You seem…”

“Different? Yeah, I know… Don’t ask me how it happened, but I feel different too. Stronger, faster…”

He glances at you through his bangs.

“Less in control…”

His brow is furrowed as he holds your gaze, and you guess he’s waiting for you to back off. You don’t.

“I guess they… changed me.”

You move to touch his chin gently with one hand, wanting to reassure him. You realise that by telling him this you’re going to reveal that you were watching him, but you forge ahead anyway.

“Listen, I’m not gonna pretend that whatever it is that I just saw wasn’t a little… unnerving. But I’ve never felt unsafe around you. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”

He refuses to meet your gaze, and twists his battered hands together in his lap, seemingly fighting with himself.

“I should go. Leave you guys. You’re not safe with me here.”

A vice grip seizes your chest. All logic leaves you, and the only thing you can think about is never letting him go again.

“Eddie, no!”

“I don’t really know what their plan was, but I’m guessing they were trying to make me into a super soldier, or something. They’re not gonna stop. As soon as they find out what happened at the cemetery, they’re gonna try to find me. And if I could find you, they can find me.”

A ball of anxiety forms in you. You can’t let him go. You just can’t.

“I thought you were dead, we all did. I’ve only just found you again, after I thought I’d lost you forever. Please don’t say you’re going to leave?”

Your voice cracks and you swallow back a sob. You lurch forward and grip both of his hands with all the strength you have left, not caring that you’re getting his blood on you, and might even be hurting him.

If Eddie feels any pain, he doesn't flinch. But the sight of you falling to pieces in front of him, because of him, is apparently something he can’t bear.

“Okay, I won’t. I’ll stay tonight, at least. Then we’ll try to figure something out. Maybe contact Owens, see if he knows anything. Alright?”

He raises his head and looks into your eyes now, as you snuffle a little and manage a small smile. He’s yours for tonight, at least.

No, not exactly yours, you have to remind yourself. He’s safe, with all of you, for tonight, at least.

Something else decides to jostle for prominence in your mind, and you ask him, quietly,

“How did you find us? Really. How did you know where to go?”

Eddie takes a deep breath before shifting slightly, and he returns the grip on your hands.

You think you hear a little trepidation in his voice as he speaks.

“I don’t know if this is going to sound crazy, but… what doesn’t these days, right? It’s like- Even before… everything, it’s like every time I left you I left a part of my soul with you. And… it would stay with you all the time we were apart. And then whenever I was with you I’d find it again. That’s how I found you. It was like I was searching for a piece of myself, and somehow I just knew where to find it.”

He goes quiet, dropping his chin to his chest again.

His words play on a loop in your head. Even before… I left a part of my soul with you… and whenever I was with you I’d find it...

You shift forwards even more, closing the gap between you, and the movement makes you become acutely aware of your proximity. You become conscious of the feel of his firm thighs between yours, how good it feels. How, for the second time in less than twenty four hours, you wish there weren’t these thin pieces of fabric between you.

Something sparks in your chest: Could he feel the same way as you?

Your voice trembles as you practically beg him,

“I don't want you ever to leave, Eddie. I don’t want us to ever be apart, and always be there for each other. I don’t want you to ever be missing a part of your soul again. I want to be with you, always.”

Eddie huffs out a sob of his own, lifting your hands to his and nuzzling his face into your knuckles. He takes one and slowly turns his head until his round nose connects with your curled fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he connects his lips with the soft, sensitive skin on your palm.

Tentatively, he moves a little and purses them against the inside of your wrist, lightly pressing them there, inhaling deeply and his breath shuddering slightly as he inhales your scent.

You notice both of your breathing has quickened. You can feel Eddie’s as it passes over your skin, and you feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Eddie looks over at you. His body may have changed in myriad ways, but his eyes remain the same. They’re still the huge, beautiful, warm pools of cacao that have drawn you in since the moment you met. It’s the tether that makes you realise that no matter how else he might’ve changed, deep down he’s still Eddie. Your Eddie.

You move your other hand, gently taking his wrist, and move his free hand up to your face. You close your eyes as you softly kiss his palm, and then move his hand to cup your cheek.

Gently, almost imperceptibly, Eddie moves his thumb and touches it to the very corner of your mouth. You feel a heat in your belly and you turn your head towards it, skimming it over your lips.

Your eyes flick between his chocolate orbs as Eddie bends his thumb ever so slightly. The pad of it pulls at the plush of your lower lip a tiny amount, but it’s enough to create a gap.

Without thinking you start to open your jaw, and he begins to move forwards. As he pushes into your waiting mouth all you can think about is tasting him, and your tongue starts to move. Just as the tip of it is about to make contact with Eddie’s thumb, there’s a jarring yell.

“Hey, everybody! Grub’s up!”

You pull apart with a start, both inhaling sharply.

It’s Robin, calling from the kitchen. Of course you’re grateful that the mums never allow the kids to arrive empty handed, but a large part of you wishes that you and Eddie could’ve had just a little more time to explore… whatever this is.

You let out nervous chuckles as you smile softly at one another, and hold each other’s gaze for probably little longer than is strictly necessary before you gather up the medical supplies and you both stand.

You can’t help but take Eddie’s hand in yours as you pull him towards the kitchen, encouraging him to follow lest he misses out on the delicacy that is Dustin’s mom’s substantial contribution.

“C’mon, Claudia’s lasagnas are totally legendary. It may sound simple, but combined with Mrs Sinclair’s recipe for garlic bread, I promise you, you’re about to have a near-spiritual culinary experience.”

Still feeling the heat of what just occurred in your room you busy yourself with packing away the first aid kit, and then elect to sit across the table from Eddie. You convince yourself that you’re not avoiding him, simply allowing the kids the chance to get close to him for a little while.

As if reading your mind, Dustin immediately plants himself in the chair next to Eddie, swiftly followed by Mike on his other side. Lucas sits next to Dustin, and Will slides in next to Mike. They chatter excitedly about campaigns and creatures and characters, and to see Eddie flanked by his adoring sheep brings a different kind of warmth to your chest.

The conversation remains light over dinner. Jokes are cracked, teasing occurs, and you’re pleased everyone’s getting a break from the tension and horrors.

The culinary delights are as good as you’d promised, and Eddie hums and moans at the delicious bounty before him. He remains pale, but he’s definitely regained some strength, vigour.

He glances over at you after taking an especially large mouthful of the meaty dish, and after you stop giggling at his uncouth antics he grins at you, tomato sauce staining his lips and the sides of his mouth, confirming,

“You’re right, this is goddamn heavenly!”

At another point he takes a particularly large bite of some soaked bread, and herb-flecked garlic butter oozes all over his thumb. Your eyes are drawn to it as he brings it to his mouth and presses it between his plump lips, and your eyes connect across the table as he sucks it off, twisting the digit and temporarily giving himself the most salacious pout. He spots you looking, and leaves his thumb in his mouth for what you consider is altogether too long before pulling it out with a pop. You gulp audibly and shift in your seat, grateful for the general clamour disguising your arousal.

You haven’t discussed as a group whether or where Eddie’s going to stay, though it seems to be unspoken between all of you that of course he’s going to remain here until you can all figure out what to do next. You decide not to raise the earlier conversation you had about him possibly leaving.

Dustin’s the first to broach the subject, asking,

“So, where’re you sleeping tonight, Eddie? You wanna come bunk with us in the warmest room in the house?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to extol the virtues of the open fire. His excitement is palpable, and you envy the optimism of youth that can make even the least appealing flat surfaces sound like an enticing bedspace.

You interject on Eddie’s behalf, suggesting,

“Hey guys, I know it would be the coolest sleepover ever, but I think Eddie might’ve earned the luxury of an actual bedroom after what he’s been through recently, don’t you think?”

Dustin looks crestfallen, but recovers quickly, agreeing with an only slightly pouty,

“I suppoooooose…”

Without looking at the others, you turn to Eddie and proffer,

“You’ll stay in my room, right?”

Eddie nods, his curls bouncing, as he agrees, perhaps a little too quickly,

“Of course, yep, that sounds… entirely fine.”

You miss how Robin and Steve glance at each other, Steve raising an eyebrow as Robin smirks at him.

There’s a quick clean up as dishes are done and pans are left to soak. Craving normalcy, you pile into the small living room and manage to make it through about two thirds of another of Keith’s loaned films before blinks get longer, eyes start to close and heads start to loll.

Robin chivvies the teens to get their sleeping bags set up, and there’s the typical grousing and bickering as everyone tries to use the bathroom at the same time. You think at one point three of the boys are trying to use the sink simultaneously, jostling each other and spitting far too enthusiastically in an effort to spray their compatriots. It’s a small nugget of frivolity that makes you consider the possibility that you might just all be okay.

Steve moves the small electric heater from his room back to yours, and you retrieve Eddie’s clothes from the drier. He slips into his Hellfire shirt and clean boxers as you change into your Garfield nightshirt, and then starts to grab blankets from beside you.

Confused, you question,

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, uh… I just thought I’d sleep on the floor, y’know, give you the bed.”

You’re aghast.

“Don't be silly, Eddie. There’s plenty of room. Sleep up here, please? I mean, it’s not like we never have before. All those nights in the trailer when I got too baked to make it home, or you got too baked to drive me, or both…”

You both chuckle at the fond memory. You wonder whether you’ll ever let on that sometimes you were faking it, or deliberately took too many drags from the last blunt, just so you could spend the night with him, in his bed.

He throws the blankets back over and, smiling, climbs in beside you.

Turning off your bedside light, the room becomes bathed in the low, pale blue glow of the moonlight.

You both lie on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Somehow it’s easier to talk like this.

Thumbing the skull ring on your hand, you want to talk about the… other thing that happened, but have no idea how to bring it up.

As you’re ruminating, Eddie beats you to it.

“I hope it wasn’t weird? Earlier, I mean. It was…”

Your thighs clench a minuscule amount as you recall the feel of him between them, and the lightest brush of your lips on various parts of each other, and you finish his sentence for him.

“Nice. It was nice.”

Shit. It was so much more than nice, you think to yourself.

“I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or anything. I guess I’m just a little touch-starved, y’know…?”

“I don’t. Honestly, I’m just glad to be close to you again. And if I made you feel uncomfortable then I’m really sorry…”

You can tell by the minor shifts in the covers and from his general demeanour that Eddie’s fidgeting with his hands.

“You didn’t, I promise.”

There’s another pause, and Eddie huffs out another small breath before he continues,

“Listen, I know the past twenty-four hours has basically been weirdness personified, and I don’t want to make it even weirder, but…can I… maybe… hold you?”

“I think weird is probably the understatement of the century, but it’s okay. And… I think I’d like that.”

You shift closer to one another under the covers, and you turn onto your side as Eddie moves himself to spoon behind you in an echo of your position last night.

He tentatively drapes his arm over you. He feels warmer than when you last did this, and more relaxed, and you press slightly backwards towards him as much as you dare, letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh.

You take Eddie’s hand in yours, threading your fingers with his, running yours over and between his digits and turning his forelimb this way and that. He hums into your hair and lets you move his arm however you like.

But you stop when you glance down in the dim light and spot a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist that you’ve not seen before. It’s definitely new. You know this because you’ve spent hours tracing over every inch of his inked skin, fantasising about following the images with more than just your eyes, imagining using your fingers, your hands, your lips, your tongue…

But this one’s not like any of his others. This one is small and simple, and looks like the outlines of two soft-cornered rectangles with a blocky W between them. It takes you a moment to process what you’re looking at, realising it looks a lot like one you’ve seen before. She’s had it covered with a delicate floral design (having connections in government really can get you anything, including underage ink), but you remember what it looked like.

Jane’s was a rectangle stacked on top of two horizontal lines, but when you looked at it from a different angle it became numbers: 011.

Looking at Eddie’s, you move the position of his arm. It turns the image a little, suddenly giving it more meaning, as you see it depicts a different number: 030.

Quietly, you croak,

“Eddie, what’s thi-?”

You don’t have a chance to process what any of it could mean as Eddie suddenly tenses, his head lifted from the pillows and his face flicking towards the window and back to you.

His brow furrows as he murmurs,

“Do you hear that?”

You strain your ears and hear nothing at first. But then, gradually, and from far away, you hear the disturbingly familiar sounds of flapping, shuffling and screeching.

Goosebumps appear on your arms and the back of your neck as you abruptly recall the only things you know of that make sounds like these:

Creatures from the Upside Down…

Prev: Prologue Part One

Series masterlist

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Thanks so much for reading!

I really hope you enjoyed this part. The next one will probably be the last, and the taglist is open (as is my general one), just say the word, friend 🙂

Comments and reblogs mean the world to me - please let me know what you think!

A/N 2: Did anyone spot the LOTR, Captain America and/or Make Up references? 🧝‍♂️🪓👍 (Also, completely by accident, AQPDO too 😜, and ETA: this and THIS 🫠)

Taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @ali-r3n @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @jasminelafleur @corrodedcoffincumslut @kthomps914 @iletmytittiestitty-russ @findmeincorneliastreet @tlclick73 @sapphire4082 @razzeith @cupid-club @storiesbyrhi @eris-rose-86 @micheledawn1975 @bl0ssomanddie @veemoon @sunshinepeachx @writinginthetwilight @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @idkitsem @em0220 @kookygranger @fanfics-i-find-here @the-unforgivenn @b3lladoonna @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @amandahobblepot @daisy-munson @sheneedsrocknroll92 @maedesculpaeusoubi @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @kellsck @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @babydollface1165

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[sixpennydame]

Make. Believe. ❖ Act 1

Actor!Levi x Fem!Reader

It’s your first sex scene as a leading actress, and it’s with none other than Levi Ackerman. But you both can stay professional….right?

Warnings / Content: NSFW, Minors do not interact, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex

A/N: I've been working on this one shot since April and it's finally here! There will be a Part 2, written from Levi's pov, available now!

Act 2 | Act 3

“Oi, you ok? Ready to do this?”

Levi stands naked before you. It’s nothing new - you’ve seen his nude body several times already while shooting this film. But today is the day that you shoot the main sex scene with him - the first you’ve ever done as a professional actress.

And despite all the preparations you’ve done, you’re nervous as hell about it.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah…I’m ready.”

The Camera Assistant raises the slate, “Scene 24, Take 1…” *Clap*

“Action!”

When your agent told you about the role you knew you were perfect for it. An ingénue role: innocent, pure, but headstrong, and when you finished the audition, you knew you’d gotten it. 

The movie is set in the 1920’s and tells the story about a woman who had been married off to an older, powerful man who owns a large estate. She has an affair with the quiet, mysterious groundskeeper. It’s all about class, duty, and desire.

You knew the role would require several sex scenes, and quite risqué ones at that. But that didn’t bother you. You’d been nude on stage while in acting school and you took your craft seriously.

What made you nervous was that you would be doing the sex scenes with Levi Ackerman. 

You’d had a crush on him since your teenage years, when you saw him in the Attack on Titan series. You, and every other girl that saw him in that show. Ten years later, he was still one of the most sought-after actors in film and television. He excelled in dramatic roles and was a skilled physical actor, even doing most of his own stunts. In interviews, he was always cool and quiet, letting the other actors take the spotlight. He also kept his private life particularly private, and this gave him an air of mystery.

 You weren’t sure what to expect when you met him for the first time with the rest of the cast at the first script table reading.

“Mr. Ackerman, I’ll be playing the part of Anna. It’s an absolute honor to be working with you.”

His grey eyes give you a once over, then he shakes your hand. “Please, call me Levi. I hear this is your first leading role.”

Just shaking his hand, you’re already blushing. How will you react when you actually have to touch him romantically?

You shake those thoughts out of your mind right now. “Y-yes, it is. I’d appreciate any advice you can give me.”

“This director is pretty strict about sticking to the script. I’ve worked with him before. But with love scenes, he’s going to give us a lot of freedom to kind of just do what we want.”

Oh god. He’s already bringing up the sex scenes. And he calls them love scenes. You feel your face getting even hotter. 

He notices. “I’m guessing you’ve never done a love scene before.”

“I uh..” you were going to try to think of something witty to say, but it feels difficult to talk suddenly, “I haven’t, actually.”

He smiles. “It’s normal to feel nervous. The most important thing is for you to trust me, and for us to respect each other.”

The room is filling with more cast and crew as the table reading is about to start. Levi gestures for the both of you to have a seat. “Why don’t we start by getting to know each other after the table reading? When we’re not shooting we can get together and help each other with lines and maybe eat together during breaks. That way, I won’t feel like such a stranger.”

“That would be so nice. Yes, let’s do that,” you reply, feeling better and more comfortable with him already. He just seems so…normal. Not at all the broody, rude character he’s made out to be in the tabloids.

After that, you spent most of your free time with Levi. You’d hang out with each other in your trailers, working on memorizing lines or just talking. The director insisted on shooting most of the movie on location and not in a studio, so you were all left to basically live in a small town in the countryside. Levi would invite you out with other cast and crew friends. He was friendly - much friendlier than you’d imagined him to be - but you noticed that the larger the crowd got, the quieter he became. You much more enjoyed the time when it was just the two of you.

Leading up to your sex scenes, you and Levi were required to meet with an intimacy coach. She was pleased to hear that you and Levi were already getting to know each other, since trust is key. The three of you talked over the scene and the movements required. 

“There will be moments where you two will have to be naked with each other, but when you two actually recreate sexual activity, you can use intimacy barriers and skin colored thongs and underwear,” the coach suggests. “Levi, I know you’ve done sex scenes totally nude in the past.”

That’s right..the independent film he was in a few years ago. There was a lot of controversy about the very explicit sex scene in that movie. So they were completely nude during that scene? Why do you feel jealous?

“Whatever Reader is comfortable with. I’ll follow her lead,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

The coach looks at you. “And you’re comfortable being nude with Levi?”

You’re trying so hard not to blush and look professional, as if this conversation isn’t giving you butterflies in your stomach. You feel Levi’s grey eyes on you. “Yes, it’s not a problem.”

Later that afternoon, your words were put to the test. You were to shoot a scene where your character catches Levi washing outside his cottage. It’s a short scene but you’re nervous. When you arrive on set, Levi is already in a robe waiting. 

The scene is set, and Levi takes off his robe. His body is even better in real life. He’s toned, and he has a perfect six pack with a deep v shape on either side. A black trail of hair leads down to his..

No, you shouldn’t look, it’s unprofessional. But you want to so badly.

“Reader, go to your mark,” the Director’s Assistant says.

“Y-yes, of course.” You take your place by the wall that surrounds his character’s cottage. When the director yells action you walk along the wall until you get to the entrance, but before you enter his garden, you see him washing at a basin near the home. You’re supposed to look for just a moment, then turn back against the wall and blush at seeing him. 

But when you peek around the corner, you can’t help but let your eyes linger for just longer than you’re supposed to. He’s washing himself, the water flowing over his beautifully toned body. His hair is wet and he pushes it back.

“Cut!” the director commands. “Reader, you were staring too long. Remember, she’s shocked at what she sees and quickly turns away, but she’s also titillated.”

You blush and look over to Levi, who you hope is far enough away that he can’t hear what the director is saying. “Got it. Sorry about that.” You take your mark and do it again.

The next day, you had to shoot some other scenes and didn’t see Levi all day. Although the day’s shoot went without a hitch, you couldn’t help but think about that perfect body of his and how you would soon be touching and kissing it. 

You arrived at your trailer earlier than usual the next day. There were a few cast and crew members ambling about, but it was otherwise quiet. You knock on the door of Levi’s trailer.

“Come in,” he answers. When you enter, Levi is casually sitting, drinking his tea and reading through today’s scenes. “I thought we could discuss how we wanted to block today’s physical scenes. It’s no nudity, but since it’s their first time,I think there are some particular movements they want us to include.” 

It’s strange, talking to Levi about, “me grabbing your breast,” or, “when I enter you for the first time,” as if these are the most normal conversations to have in the world. But even hearing him say these words in his deadpan way of speaking is making the blood rush to your cheeks. After a lengthy discussion, you scribble some notes in your script for later, then make your way to your trailer to get into costume.

The scene is set in a hunting cabin far from the main estate. As your character has just left a dinner party, you’re wearing a beautiful wine colored gown that everyone remarks on. Everyone except Levi. He sits in his chair and seems to be in some kind of ultra-focused state. You’d never noticed before, but maybe that’s how he gets into character.

Or maybe he’s nervous too.

Your heart is pounding when the director says action. “Please don’t go,” you say, as you grab Levi’s arm. 

You’d blocked out the scene with Levi this morning, but you suddenly have an urge to deviate slightly from the plan, not because you want to, but because you now feel like that’s what your character would do at this moment. 

You hold his hand and begin to kiss his palm and wrist, then you place it on your cheek. It’s so innocent, but full of yearning.  Levi’s body goes tense, but then he unexpectedly moves his thumb to your lips and you open your mouth. You begin to suck on his thumb, then his pointer finger, looking at him seductively when he finally pulls it out. He lets out a sigh and then he’s kissing you passionately; you pull down his suspenders while he lifts up the gossamer layers of your dress. Your mouths crash together as he undoes his pants. He tastes like spearmint, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. He moves away from the kiss and pulls off your underwear, and then he’s on top of you and between your legs. 

Although his bare ass is showing, the camera angle doesn’t necessitate him completely against your crotch. But he pushes slowly as if he is entering you for the first time and after a few thrusts, he starts getting faster. 

Your character is going through a lot of emotions at this point: desire, guilt, pleasure. You look away and your cheeks begin to flush as Levi continues to move, a certain kind of desperation in every thrust. You both begin to breathe heavily, your hands in his hair and his head in the crook of your neck. One final thrust, and there’s only silence, until..

“Cut!” the director cries out. “Good work, you two. Now, let’s do that again, with some closeup shots.

“You okay?” Levi asks as he gets off of you and grabs a rag to wipe off his sweat. 

You straighten your dress and a makeup assistant comes over to touch-up your makeup. “Yeah..I’m fine.”

“They way you approached me, with the kisses on the palm and taking my fingers - that was a nice change.” He looks at you as he returns to his mark. “You have good instincts.”

“Thanks.” You laugh to yourself, because the compliment makes you blush more than when he was rutting against you.

The cinematographer changes cameras and gets closer. “Alright, let’s do that again..”

——

The next day, you meet with the intimacy coordinator to choreograph the next sex scene scheduled for the end of the week. In the midst of taking notes and discussing with Levi the motivations for each movement, you become quiet, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. Because for the last few days, you’ve had trouble differentiating your feelings for Levi and your character’s feelings for his character. The line seems to be blurring between them, and that concerns you. 

In between scenes, you truly enjoy spending time with Levi. He’s smart and funny. He nerds out about tea and kung fu movies, and you’ve spent many an evening just listening to him go into more detail about the two than you ever thought possible. He gives you ideas when you struggle with character notes, and even helps you to memorize lines. At night, in the privacy of your hotel room, you’ve fantasized about what it might feel like to be desired by him, to hear him say your name as he touches your body.

Then you hear your name being called by the coordinator and you snap out of it. “Is that ok with you? Being completely nude for the scene?” she asks.

“No..no..I’d like for both of us to be covered,” you answer. It’s better this way, you think to yourself. It keeps it professional.

Levi shrugs. “Fine by me.”

You both walk back to the hotel at the end of the day, but Levi stops you before you enter the building.

“Hey, you ok today? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. I guess I’m just nervous about tomorrow.” 

“I get it. But we’ve put a lot of work into this. And I’d like to think we trust each other at this point.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

Just like that, you feel more at ease. He just has such a way with you. “You’re right, we’ve done well so far. And I do trust you, Levi.”

——

When you arrive at your trailer the next morning, there’s a to-go cup on your table. 

To calm your body and mind. —Levi

Your makeup artist smiles as you read the note. “Levi just brought that by. You sure have a great leading man.”

You smile. “Yeah, I sure do.”

The scene takes place in the forest in the afternoon. Your character has snuck away from her home to meet him, far away from spying eyes. The Director has decided to film the scene in sections instead of one long scene, at least for now. 

The marker board is clicked and you and Levi walk hand-in-hand among the trees. He pulls you into a small clearing, then grabs the back of your neck as he starts kissing you fully. You pull away and look him in the eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Your character is a lady of high society; it’s scandalous for someone of her stature to say such a thing, but here she is, with this man that is ‘below’ her, and she wants nothing else than for him to ravage her.

You can totally relate to your character, in that regard.

He moves closer to you and begins to fondle your breasts, then he grabs the front of your white cotton blouse and tears it off of you, revealing your bare chest. 

He lays his chore jacket on the ground. “Undo my trousers,” he commands, and you do so. You then lie down on the jacket beneath you while he pulls down his trousers and takes off his henley shirt. When he takes off his trousers, you look away.

“No - don’t look away. Look at me,” he says with authority. He crouches over you and easily pulls off your skirt. 

“Cut! Let’s get them ready for closeup shots.” The Director and his team set up for the next shots as you and Levi sit awkwardly on the ground. You can’t move too much because you don't want to spoil the continuity of the scene, so you freeze as your hair and makeup team tousle your hair and touch up your makeup.

Both of you have your groins covered but other than that, you are completely naked, except you’re still wearing your stockings and boots. The Director tells Levi to get on top of you and he does so.

“Ready to do this?” He whispers.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you answer.

“Scene 24, Take 1..”

*Clap*

Levi is immediately kissing your lips, then moving down to your neck and collarbone. He looks back up at you and begins to thrust, each one hard and deliberate. You begin to move your hips to meet his thrusts and he breathes heavily into the skin of your neck. Even without actually having sex, the friction enough is turning you on; that, and Levi’s kisses on your body.

Then you feel it. A hardening bulge rubbing up against your clit. You look into his eyes and see a brief flash of recognition, but neither of you break character. 

He pulls you up and your legs are wrapped around him. He continues to thrust into you but it’s slower now, your bodies working together as you grind. His hard cock is rubbing your clit just right, and you feel like you could come from just this feeling alone. You’ve forgotten about the hoards of people watching both of you right now and you’re completely in the moment, letting him pull you even closer to him. 

“Levi..” you whisper in his ear. It slips from your mouth before you know it; there aren’t any lines scripted for this scene, and you’re hoping it wasn’t loud enough for the boom mic to pick up. It earns a look from Levi and then he smirks - you’re not sure if that was in character either. 

Your hands grasp at his hair and he starts slowing down. You look up at the sky thinking about the pleasure you - and your character - just felt. Then your lips graze against each other as your breathing becomes more calm.

“And cut! Great work you two I loved how that flowed. Let’s take a 15 minute break. I’ll look through the footage and decide if we need to re-shoot anything.”

Just like that, the moment is gone. The Director and others begin to move equipment and Levi’s assistant brings him a robe. He has it on and around him before you can barely get off of him.

“Good work,” he says curtly as he walks off. Your assistant takes a little longer to get to you, so you’re sitting there, naked, trying to figure out just exactly what happened between the two of you.

Levi keeps his distance during the break and as he listens to the director’s notes. You have to re-shoot a few closeup shots, and although the energy is still there, something is different. You can feel it. 

——

Levi doesn’t come out with you and the crew for dinner that night, and he doesn’t reply to your text messages. You’re worried - did you do something to offend him? Was it because you moaned his name during the scene?

That has to be it. It probably made him feel awkward. Maybe he thinks you’re unprofessional. It makes your palms cold and clammy just thinking about disappointing him, you can’t bear it.

But you can’t deny that he was turned on during the scene. You felt him against you. You couldn’t have imagined that.

You walk back to your hotel room lethargically. You think about texting him again, this time apologizing for your behavior, but before you can, there’s a knock on your door.

“Levi?”

“Hey.” He shifts one leg to the other, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you open the door wider for him to enter, “come in.”

He enters, his body language clearly restless and troubled. “What’s up?” you question.

“About today’s shoot….I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’m always professional. I respect you as an actress.”  

He paces the room and has a difficult time looking at you. You assume he’s going to reprimand you for your behavior today, so you prepare yourself. “I know you do, Levi. And I respect you.”

He finally stops in front of you. “But me getting turned on today…I don’t want you to think less of me. It’s just that you’re-“ he runs his hand through his dark hair. 

Butterflies begin to form in your stomach. You’ve never seen Levi this flummoxed before. He takes a deep breath and it seems to give him focus as he moves closer to you. 

“You’ve done something to me. When I had you in my arms today, I couldn’t help myself. Then when you said my name like that…”

He looks into your eyes. “I’ve kissed you countless times during this filming. But right now, I want to kiss you as myself.”

Your heart does backflips and your throat is suddenly dry. “So kiss me,” you invite, moving even closer to him.

It takes him a moment, almost as if he is checking if it’s truly ok. Then with a deep breath, he grabs the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours. Even though you’ve kissed him many times, this time it’s different. There’s an electricity to it, an honesty, as if he’s laying bare his entire self to you. 

His hand moves from your hip bone to under your shirt, his soft touch sending shivers down your spine. It doesn’t take long for his other hand to make it under your shirt as well, and soon he’s pulling it over your head and off of you. 

You also start letting your hands roam, first down his back and then under his t-shirt. You grab the hem and pull it off of him, but before you can do more he’s working on unclasping your bra. 

“I want you so badly.” His voice is low and raspy as he lays you on the bed.

You’ve started peeling off your leggings but he takes them and pulls them off roughly, desperately. “There are condoms in the drawer of the bedside table.” He gives you a look. “You know..just in case.” He smiles, then reaches over to the drawer. As he does so, you pull off your underwear and start touching yourself. You rub your clit in circles, watching him as he stands over you.

There’s a giant bulge in his grey sweatpants and you can see the lust in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.” He throws the condom packet down and dives in between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to have you like this? To take this beautiful pussy as mine?” He starts licking at your folds and you swear you’ve entered heaven. He starts flicking his tongue over your clit, alternating between fast and slow. Your back arches and your hands reach down to grip his hair. 

“Yes, yes, right there….fuck…” You can’t believe this is happening. Levi is here, he wants you, and he’s eating your pussy in a way that no man ever has.

Just when you feel you could climax, he stops. He reaches down next to the bed and picks up the condom package, sticking it in his mouth as he takes off his sweatpants and underwear. 

You’d seen him naked on set, but his cock had been flaccid at the time; now that he’s hard, it’s even more impressive. As he puts on the condom, you lick your lips, preparing yourself to truly - finally - have him inside you.

He can see the desire in your eyes. “Look at you - so eager for my cock are you?”

“Yes, Levi, I want it so badly. I’ve always wanted you.” You open your legs a little wider, inviting him to go between them. 

He moves in and looks down on you as he touches his cock. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. I don’t know how I’ve kept myself in check for this long.” 

You smile. “So you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Of course I have. How could I not?” He positions himself above you and rubs his cock on your entrance, covering it with your juices. “When I’m not on set with you, you’re all I think about.”

Before this night, Levi had always had a quiet, awkward confidence to him, as if there were a multitude of thoughts happening just below the surface; but now, he was assertive and cocky, telling you his thoughts and desires without any restraint. You loved seeing this new side of him.

He enters you slowly and you both take a deep breath, then he begins to move faster as he sees a smile form across your face.

“You feel so good…fuck…” 

Your words encourage him to pick up the pace, the sounds of his hips slamming into you reverberate throughout the room. “Shit, you’re so wet, I can’t get enough of you.” He moves down to kiss you passionately, then he starts to kiss and suck on your neck.

“Be careful..I have to shoot a scene tomorrow,” you warn, halfheartedly.

“Makeup can cover it up,” he growls in your ear and then continues.

He feels so good, you can’t resist anything this man does to you, so you give into him completely as his cock rams into you and his mouth claims you.

The evening is a flurry of moans and grunts, him having his way with you on the bed, against the wall, in the shower - it was as if you were both discovering pleasure for the first time. Real pleasure - not performative. 

As the sun begins to rise, you both lay exhausted and satisfied in the bed, the sheets in a tangled mess around you.

“This won’t change how we work together, will it?” you ask with a worried look on your face.

“Why would it? If anything, it’ll make our chemistry on screen more believable.” He kisses the top of your head. “And this will make the preparation for the other sex scenes much more interesting,” he says with a boyish grin. 

You can’t argue with that. “I suppose life sometimes does imitate art.” 

Join my taglist!

I'm tagging those who seemed interested when I wrote the drabble, but let me know if you wanna be untagged.

@thevelria @lunaeheroine18 @meltingforthatackerman @adanfore @blondebebop @levisfavoriteacup @dont-f-with-moogles @itty-bitty-baby-face @ricecrispiebirb @whorenamedbee @rec-a-fic @leviismybby @littlerequiem @satorizz @lost-in-the-daylight @nube55 @kingkonoha @mrsackxrman @youre-ackermine @luvjiro @wanderlustqueen-writes @mrsackermannx (happy late birthday present, bby, this one-shot is for you <;3)

[harrywavycurly]

What You Deserve Part 5: Details

Masterlist: Here

CW: brief mention of toxic ex

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this update it answers some questions and shows another side of Eddie, it’s a long one and I broke it up into sections!✨

“What…are those?” “They’re called flowers.” “And who..are they for?” “They are for you…you didn’t expect me to show up to our first…date empty handed did you?” “This…this is a date? You’re calling this a date? We are on a date?” “Hey hey relax a bit please it’s okay…I just…I mean yes? I’d call this a date because it’s…well it’s when we are going to discus our…relationship so yeah…it’s a date.” “Okay…” “is that okay? It doesn’t need to be a date if it’s too-” “No no it’s a date…yeah we…are going on a date.” “Perfect…uhm do you want to maybe…get in the car now?”

“Holy shit.” “What’s wrong?…are you cold? You can wear my jacket if you’d like?” “Sorry I’m fine it’s just….I didn’t get a good look at you in the car because I was distracted by the flowers but…seriously…do you always just look like…this?” “Uh…yes?” “You…you look like you just walked out of a magazine and…well I look-” “Amazing…you look amazing…now unless you have anymore questions…we do have a reservation that we are almost late for.” “This place looks nice…you come here a lot?” “Oh yeah…I take all my first dates here.” “I can see why…” “you…do know I was joking right?… I’ve actually never been here before.” “Oh yeah…yeah I knew that.”

“So…uhm what are some things you…don’t want me to do?” “Oh right to the point huh? Can’t even let me order you a glass of wine first?” “You want to order…for me?” “Oh forgive me….I didn’t mean for it to sound like you can’t order yourself a glass of wine I know you’re more than capable of telling people what you want.” “It’s okay I’ve just…never had someone offer to order for me before.” “Well I’m more than happy to if you want…” “thank you…so-” “hi welcome to Enzo’s what can I get you to drink?” “Hello…I’ll have a glass of your house red and a water to start.” “Perfect…and for you dear? What would you like?” “Uhm…uh…there’s a lot of uhm choices…uh-” “if you’re not sure I can just come back?” “Uh Eddie can you-” “I’ve got you sweetheart…she’ll have a glass of your white wine and a water with lemon please.” “Excellent choice…I’ll get those right out to you.”

“So you asked easier what are some things I would prefer for you not to do…and that’s actually a tough question to answer because I don’t want you to feel like you have a set of rules to follow because you don’t…” “Okay…well there are uh some things…that uhm I’d like if you…didn’t…do.” “Such as?” “I don’t like being around uhm…men when they drink too much so…if you do want to go and get drunk please just…don’t invite me along or…show up at my house banging on my door or yelling my name from the front porch.” “Has…that happened before?” “Yes…several times…and each time it ended…badly.” “It ended badly?…do you mind explaining what that means?” “I don’t want to ruin…the mood by talking about what an asshole my ex is.” “Understandable…so what else would you like for me not to do?” “This one might sound a little odd but..I don’t like being called babe…it just…I don’t like it.” “It’s not odd…we all have names we don’t like to be called…is there anything else?” “I don’t think so.” “Well if you think of anything else…just let me know because I don’t want to do anything or say anything that’ll upset you.”

“How was your dinner?” “It was great…that place was really good and so cute I can see why you picked it for our…uhm first date.” “I’m glad you enjoyed it…do you mind taking a walk with me? I know we have a few more things to…discuss.” “A walk sounds nice…oh you’re a hand holder? I didn’t see that coming.” “Really? Why? Do I not look like someone who likes to hold hands?” “No you look like a…shove my hands in my jacket pocket type of guy or…let me act like I’m busy on my phone so no one bothers me kind of guy.” “I see…well your hands just looked too good not to hold.” “I have been told I have nice hands once or twice.” “You know what? I actually believe that…so I was wondering if we could talk more about what we both want out of this…and maybe set up some…boundaries of some sort?” “You start…what do you want from all of this Edward?” “Ah back to Edward are we?” “Oh shit sorry Eddie.” “It’s okay…well what I want out of this is just…to spend time with you doing things as simple as this…a walk around downtown or more…extravagant things like trips to wherever you’d like to go…but most importantly I just want to make your life easier.” “And…all of that would make…you happy?” “Yes…it would.” “I just don’t see how spending money on me will make you happy?” “It’s not necessarily about spending money on you…yes I have the money to spend but it’s about having someone to do things with…and knowing you’re not stressed or worried about things that I can…easily take care of for you.” “Okay…that kinda makes sense.” “I have managed to build this wonderful life for myself and…I just want someone to enjoy it with me that’s all.” “And that someone is me?” “If you want it to be.” “Okay…but you just have to know this is going to take some getting used to.” “I understand…you’ll have to be patient with me as well because I’m used to doing things alone.” “So we both have to be patient with one another…that can be one of our ground rules.” “Okay…if we are making ground rules let’s add honesty to that list…that’s a big one for me because I don’t have time for games…just tell me the truth…even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings.” “That’s a good one!”

“So…what about you? What do you want out of this?” “I just…I just want to know what it feels like to be…treated well.” “I promise you I can do that.” “Oh trust me…I know.” “Is there anything else you want or…need from me?” “There is one more thing.” “What is it?” “I need you to save Dave.” “You…need me to save…Dave?” “Yes because he means a lot to me and I just…I need you to save him.” “Okay sweetheart…I’ll save him.” “You promise?” “Yes…even if it means he gets a whole heart and brain transplant…I’ll save him.” “Oh thank god…I was so worried you’d tell me you can’t do it.” “Why wouldn’t I be able to do it? You don’t trust my abilities as a mechanic? That hurts…that actually hurts.” “Oh no no I’m sure you’re great with your hands and…getting dirty and…stuff i just…thought maybe you’d say it was a waste of money or something.” “I’ll be honest with you…I could buy you a new car for what it’s going to cost me to fix Dave but…I get it…he means a lot to you.” “Thank you Eddie.” “Anytime.”

“This…was really nice Eddie…thank you.” “I’m happy you had a good time.” “I just…I have one more question.” “I was waiting for this one…go ahead and ask it.” “What do I call you now that we…have set up the ground rules and are actually…moving forward with…this.” “What would you like to call me? Besides Edward.” “I…don’t know? What…do you want to call me?” “Is it wrong that my first instinct was to say mine?” “You…want to call me…yours? Like…like…I’m…yours?” “I would…but if that’s too assertive or makes you uncomfortable-” “I’d like that.” “You would?” “Yes…uh I…would.” “Okay…well you can call me whatever you’d like.” “Uhm does…that include like…boyfriend or…something?” “Sure…whatever feels comfortable.” “Okay…thank you again…for everything.” “You’re welcome…have a goodnight sweetheart…don’t forget to put those flowers in a vase with some water.” “I don’t own a-” “I’ll bring one by tomorrow.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know…now I have a question for you.” “What is it?” “What time do you normally get up in the morning?” “Oh uhm…like nine or so on weekends.” “Perfect…I’ll be here at ten then….goodnight.” “Goodnight…uhm can you uh text me when you get home?” “Sure…can’t have you up all night worried about me.” “Exactly…” “You’re going to have to go inside or I’ll stand out here and find an excuse to keep talking to you all night.” “Oh..right…goodnight Eddie.”

[zexapher]

Vacuan Nights, Like Vacuan Days

They’re just so great together! I’d love for Jaune and Weiss to get a little downtime in Vacuo to live out a moment like this. They really deserve it, and I’d love to see Jaune’s guitar make a reappearance.

The comic here was inspired by u/Silverstar1243’s excellent piece of art, A Serenade Under the Moonlight. Send some love to them on their twitter, commission some art if you’re willing and able, they’ve made some great stuff.

You folks may have noticed I threw in a couple of references for those in the know; the Golden Oreos behind Yang (double stuffed, I might add) for the trio’s ship, Weiss liking it rough for Mallobaude’s great fic, and of course I made a whole theme around the Arabian Nights Disney song. A song, along with its Aladdin compatriots, which I spent the better part of a day finding covers for just to listen to on repeat while I worked.

This one’s now officially my longest comic project, with 14 panels, two over the past record since I added the White Knight kiss at the end. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Not sure I’d say it was more difficult than my Vanity of Vanities post, but for this one I actually knew how to use my editing software going into it (at least somewhat).

Put a lot of work into this one, been working on it on and off since February. Took a few breaks for vacation, to make my memorial post for Rooster Teeth, and another five meme edits or so, but I came back around to it. First half was pretty easy, relatively minor edits inserting characters into scenes and so on. The second half with Jaune and Weiss was tougher though, with color correcting, merging poses, redrawing features, drawing Jaune’s entire head to fix some lighting issues, etc. Really like how the edit to make Jaune strum his guitar turned out.

The time it took to make the whole comic got me down a little, until I did a bit of math. Including my side projects since starting this, all the scripting and editing and all, I’ve been pumping out a panel every two days. That seems pretty good to me, that kind of accomplishment makes me a little proud of myself.

Really need to get around to watching the second part of the Justice League Crossover movies. It’s got a few Vacuo scenes that might make things a little more authentic instead of me just using Saphron’s house and pretending it’s a suite in Vacuo. I do love taking yet more character stills from Jaune and friends experiencing deep trauma and turning it into something positive, been making that a bit of a personal habit. And I’ve got to say, the background for Jaune and Weiss’ scene is really beautiful, pulled it from when Sun and Neptune hear Ruby’s message about Salem. That’s just a really good shot all on its own, I even saved a copy for my computer’s wallpaper after editing out the two.

Posting a big RWBY White Knight edit, watching not one but two RWBY Beyond episodes, and all on the trail of the news that RWBY’s found partners that they’re negotiating with and that the creative team is expected to stay on. And I'm sipping bubble tea. Life is good.

Anyway, pardon the long write up. I’m invested in this one, and am quite pleased with how the comic turned out. I hope you all get a kick out of it as well!

[dodorimo]

WIP Wednesday

Theater director!Raphael x Tav

He's supposed to be kinda creepy here, so yeah, this is a warning.

· · ──────  ❊  ────── · ·

It is a disaster, a travesty.

He wonders. When Tacitus beheld the charred remains of his beloved Rome, did he feel a similar way?

Chorus girls look to each other for guidance while lead actors traipse over the stage, painfully off-key. He has seen high school productions with more verve than this one.

That he has to share a room with such insipid talent. It is truly heartbreaking.

With a weary sigh, his eyes survey the stage for the weak link, and that’s where he finds her. A girl in the back row, looking a little lost and scared out of her mind.

“Dear God, who does casting these days?” he laments to no one in particular, crossing his legs on the leather seat.

“You do, sir.”

Raphael turns to look at the man beside him, taking in his ill-fitting suit and old-fashioned glasses. Poor fellow. He has neither the knack nor the grip for the job. And the syndicate thought sending this boy would keep him on his toes?

“Oh, I didn’t audition this one or I’d remember her.” There’s a pause while he mulls over his thoughts. “Tell me, Jameson,” he says and ignores when the other man voices a correction. “Why is she here?”

“The girl has promise,” comes the curt response. “She was highly recommended.”

The vague answer does nothing to placate his quickly dampening mood. “Recommended by who? Her parents? Her elementary teacher, perhaps?”

A few cleaning women choose this moment to walk past their seats, prompting the man to lower his voice. “The Royal, sir.”

Raphael reclines back in his seat. There we have it.

What these newcomers fail to understand is that admission to a fancy college isn’t nearly enough accolades for his standards. He didn’t build his reputation by bowing down to paper-pushers and sycophants. In this theater, he dictates the rules. In this theater, he is king.

With a wave of his hand and a few scathing words, he orders the session to be dismissed, much to the relief of those present.

“May I suggest a break instead?”

“You did well today, Johnson. You may take the rest of the day off,” he replies, his tone final.

The man opens his mouth to protest, but turns to leave the room instead. The buzz of conversation slowly dwindles as cast and crew head backstage. They turn off the lights on their way out, leaving the theater in semi-penumbra.

Despite his predisposition for pomp and extravagance, Raphael always thought he worked better on a smaller stage.

“Not you.” He points to the girl tailgating the group. “I’d like to have a word.”

The girl stops in her tracks, a thousand emotions flashing across her face, before settling on fear.

While he waits for her to come around, he pulls two chairs and rearranges them facing each other in the middle of the stage, right below where the headlights shine brightest. The girl moves to sit on one of the chairs, shaking like a foal standing on its hind legs for the first time.

“Fear not. This will only take a moment,” he says, his smile deceptively warm—a skill honed after many years in the business.

She is a pretty little thing, this new choir girl. But then, again, most choir girls are. If her theater career falls to pieces, he can imagine a profession or two where she would excel at. 

“What do you say we start from the beginning of act two?” he suggests, tone amicable as to not alarm her further.

The girl scrambles to flip through the pages of the script, her eyes skimming over the words in rapid succession.

This won’t do. An easier question, then.

“What is your name, dear?”

“River, sir. My name is River.”

“My man told me you came from the capital. Do you like it there?”

“I like it very much, yes.” The small talk seems to calm her enough to allow her to find the right page. What she finds there, however, does not please her in the slightest.

“Sir, this is a scene for two…” she trails off, eyes fearful.

“Make the best of it. Improvise. I can play the part of your would-be lover if you wish.” The abrasive approach isn’t to his liking. Unfortunately for this girl, he is short on patience.

If he had any hope that under the veneer of the ingénue might hide a true thespian spirit, it vanishes the moment she utters the first line.

He stands up and paces aimlessly around the stage. The girl stares at him, dumbfounded.

“You have been on the run. This man, this stranger, offers you solace and a roof above your head. He is charming and not too hard on the eyes. You feel indebted to him. You’re young, naive and you’ve never been properly courted.”

The deviation from the script wouldn’t pose an issue. He is the author, after all, and the play, a successful piece from his earlier career. “Updated” for modern audiences. The word alone is enough to make him grit his teeth. None of his plays needed “updating”. Younger audiences can take their grievances back to their food-stained couches. They had no respect for the classics.

His little summary provokes the intended reaction. He sees the pieces falling into place in her mind.

“Harlequin…” she tries again, this time with more passion. And is that the hint of tears he sees in her eyes? “I've never met anyone like you. If only I could repay you in kind.”

“Good, good… much better.” He returns to his seat.

“Say the word and my body will be yours.” She leans forward, exposing just enough of her cleavage for his eager eyes. It’s a bold move, but not unwelcome. His fingers twitch on his lap. This little dove may surprise him still.

Raphael recites the words that have become second nature to him. “Columbina. I’d rather you not return to your old ways. If you choose to lie with me, it must be of your own free will.” If his voice sounded more condescending than the play requires, it’s just an act of improvisation on his part.

He points to the script in her hand. It’s the cue for her musical number.

If the girl clearly struggled with the finer nuances of the text before, here she needs no assistance. Hers is a voice of singular beauty, the likes of which emerge once in a generation. He suddenly understood why James was so hellbent on bringing her here. It wasn’t just the charming Harlequin who was finding himself enthralled.

When it’s done, he takes off his glasses without saying a word and puts them carefully in his pocket.

“Oh dear, this is…” Beautiful, stupendous, awe-inspiring, his mind supplies. “A little crude, if you don’t mind my directness.”

The girl looks positively devastated, her lips quivering as if about to cry.

“But even the roughest of rocks can be polished into a beautiful piece of jewelry. Isn’t this what they say? Meet me at my office after tomorrow’s rehearsal. I expect you to be well acquainted with the text by then.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Call me Raphael.”

“Raphael…” Her voice rings like angelic bells to his ears. “Until tomorrow.”

[writerblue275]

Jayce finding out about your relationship with Viktor.

Inspiration: Part of my pet name headcanon (HERE) for Viktor! I just had to. The thought of this cute little interaction from the pet name “my most esteemed colleague” was just too good.

Character: Arcane!Viktor

Genre: Headcanon

Category: FLUFF (Ft. Jayce being a bit of a silly goose. 😂.)

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader!

TW: Small mention of alcohol. Swearing (because I swear lmao.)

Important context: Based on what I wrote in the pet name headcanon, I’m writing this with the idea of the reader being a professor at the academy (any subject). Also timeline-wise: this is before the end of the timeskip. Obviously HexTech exists, but Jayce isn’t a councilman yet or anything.

You and Viktor have only been dating maybe a couple months at this point. Your relationship is extremely new.

Not many people in your lives know. Not because you both aren’t happy or excited about this new relationship. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.

You two have never been so happy, but both of you are just fairly private people. Neither of you feel the need to be extremely obvious about your relationship in public. You’re both happy to save affection for those quiet moments alone together.

Someone who surprisingly does know? Heimerdinger. He knows because he’s the one who introduced you to Viktor at the academy holiday party last year. It was only maybe a couple months after you joined the faculty.

He immediately noticed you and Viktor both trying to discreetly check each other out during academy meetings.

“Discreetly” lmao you two were halfway to making heart eyes at each other already, let’s be so fucking for real. But he thought about it and realized you two would actually be really good for each other.

“Viktor, my boy, I’d like to introduce you to one of our newer colleagues here at the academy, Professor (Y/L/N). Professor (Y/L/N) teaches [enter subject] and is already responsible for some incredible projects. Professor, I’m pleased to introduce my former assistant, Viktor. He’s now working in our labs with Mr. Jayce Talis on HexTech.”

You couldn’t help but smile shyly at the tall young man who seems only a bit older than you are. He’s really quite handsome. And his EYES. You were pretty sure you could get lost in those amber eyes forever.

You realized you’d been quietly watching for a moment instead of responding, causing you to blush and stammer out a response.

“V-Very lovely to meet you, Viktor. I’ve asked Professor Heimerdinger to refer to me as (Y/N). Since he still won’t, I hope you will? I find Professor (Y/L/N) too formal for me, at least among colleagues.”

Viktor gave you a smile that made your heart flip. “(Y/N) does seem a lot more fitting, I agree. Happy to call you whatever you’d prefer (SMOOTH VIKTOR 😉). Now, while we were talking, I see they’ve set out the champagne. Would you like me to bring you a glass?”

“I’d love that, thank you! Once you return, I’d love to hear more about the intricacies of HexTech. Your work with Mr. Talis is fascinating and I’d love to understand it better, especially if I can hear from an expert.”

“Happy to talk about it, as long as I can hear more about [subject you teach] and your projects. I admit it’s not a topic I’m extremely familiar with.”

You smiled. “I’d love to tell you about my work, though I can’t promise it’ll be as attention holding as yours.”

Heimerdinger stepped in here, “You sell yourself short, Professor. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our conversations about your projects. Now you two go enjoy yourselves. I’m going to go make sure people aren’t causing any trouble.”

The yordle had been alive long enough to know when two people have excellent chemistry. He noticed the intense sparks between both of you IMMEDIATELY and he figured it wouldn’t be long before the two of you were together. (Surprise surprise he was correct.)

You’d never had so much fun at a work function before that night.

You and Viktor ended up talking together the rest of the party and he walked you home. Turns out the two of you live fairly close to each other.

You and him quickly became friends, and it only took a couple months for him to ask you on a coffee date, which you happily agreed to.

And once again you and him ended up talking together for hours. It was the most enjoyable date you’d ever had. You’d never felt so naturally comfortable with someone before.

And Viktor wasn’t even upset about being away from work for so long (though he did have to create some random excuse to appease Jayce’s curiosity).

Soon one date turned into more, and before too long, the two of you were officially in a relationship.

This brings us back to the present.

Viktor always gets to his lab so much earlier than you arrive at the academy.

To the point you sometimes wonder if he’s slept there. (The answer is sometimes yes.)

But anyway, one Wednesday night when Viktor decides he isn’t going to sleep at the lab, he comes over to your apartment for dinner. And while you two are chatting, he can’t help but complain a bit about the coffee machine in the lab not working.

And while of course you are being a supportive partner and listening to him, it is kind of hilarious, but also concerning, to realize how much this man depends on caffeine to get through his day.

Like you knew he drank coffee. You were not aware how much coffee he consumed since he mostly consumed it in the lab.

As the two of you sit together on the couch, chatting while Viktor goes over notes and you grade assignments, you can’t help but muse out loud a little bit after another round of tired grumbling from him.

“Tomorrow is my light class day. I could bring you coffee and breakfast? Since I know you’re already at the academy before the local cafes open.”

He perks up at the thought.

“I don’t need the breakfast, just the coffee, my dear.”

That earns him a mock stern stare from you.

“Ah ah ah, I’m going to make sure you actually eat breakfast, damnit. Even better, I’ll eat my breakfast with you. I rarely get to see you in the mornings, so it will be nice.”

He can’t help but smile. It would be nice to see you in the morning, especially when he’s tired. You always brighten his day whenever he sees you.

You’ve been visiting him and Jayce in their lab occasionally since you and Viktor became friends, but due to both of your recent schedules, it’s been a while, like since before the two of you made things official.

“That sounds nice, yes. When should I expect you?” His voice is happy as he laces his fingers with your hand that isn’t holding a pen.

You can’t help but blush happily at the little gesture. Viktor becoming more and more affectionate with you in private has been such a lovely surprise.

“I usually get to the academy around 9 on Thursdays. Does 9:15 work for you?”

He nods. “You know my order, yes?”

“Of course, Vitya. But, I also want to go ahead and at least grab coffee and pastries for Jayce and Sky. Do you know their coffee orders?”

After noting down his lab mates’ orders, you happily go back to grading papers, now enjoying companionable silence with Viktor.

Once he decides to get home for the evening, you send him off with a gentle peck and a “I’ll see you tomorrow with breakfast, love.”

He’s blushing so hard on the way home omg. You made him so happy calling him love.

And so the next day, you walk into work with one of those drink carriers, a big bag with pastries, and a smaller bag with your and Viktor’s omelets.

After dropping off the non-essentials in your office, you make your way over to the lab section of the academy.

You knock on their lab’s main door before opening it, just to give them a little heads up someone is coming in.

As you walk in, you’re greeted with a happy, but tired, “(Y/N)!” from Jayce. You and him have become friends too since you became close with Viktor.

“Good morning, Jayce! I’ve brought the lab some treats since I heard the coffee machine is currently out of commission.”

“Did Viktor tell you? Oh my god, you’re my fucking hero!”

Speaking of Viktor, he’s nose deep in textbooks at his desk, but the second Jayce says your name, he looks up and smiles at you, getting up and making his way over to you.”

“Ah! There’s my most esteemed colleague! Come to save the day.”

You can’t help but giggle at the silly little name.

But out of the corner of your eye you see Jayce looking a confused and maybe even just a little bit hurt that Viktor reffered to you, someone he’s only known like six months, as his most esteemed colleague and not him, the man he literally founded HexTech with.

Not that Jayce doesn’t respect you. He’s thinks you’re incredibly impressive, but after all they’ve been through, damn Viktor that hurts a little.

Realizing that you have to be the one to smooth over Jayce’s misunderstanding somehow, you meet Viktor in the middle of the room, smiling as he takes the coffees.

As soon as he takes the coffees and the smaller bag with just breakfast for you two, you lean up and gently peck his cheek and offer him a “Good morning, my most esteemed colleague. I hope you haven’t been caffeine deprived for too long, Viktor.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed by your generous gift and presence, my dear.”

Now out of the corner of your eye you see Jayce’s eyebrows immediately go up in surprise, and he definitely doesn’t look upset anymore. In fact, he looks super excited for both of you, sporting the largest grin.

He even calls out a, “Ah Viktor, they really are your most esteemed colleague, I see.”

You smile at Jayce as you go over to give him the pastry box while Viktor gets a little pink on his cheeks.

“Those are for everyone, Jayce, so I better hear that Sky got some too. Anyway, I suppose I am. He is mine as well! Careful of teasing though. I’ve given Viktor all the coffees to pass out, so he might decide to keep yours for himself.”

Viktor smirks at you as Jayce lets out a tired whine.

“Ah, I like the way you think, my love!”

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Ahhh this was so fun to write. As soon as I put “my most esteemed colleague” as a “slightly silly but still plausible and cute” answer on the list of Viktor’s pet names for his partner, this idea immediately came to mind and I just had to write it. Having been in university, and then grad school, I’ve been colleagues with some pretty cool people. I also loved including the little first meeting and matchmaker Heimerdinger for this Professor!Reader AU! Shoutout again to my friend from college who is my beta reader for Arcane things because she also loves Viktor basically as much as I do (lmao I love my friends)!

[garbagevanfleet]

Pink Lemonade (series)

PART NINE

Pairing: Sam x female!reader

Word Count: 18k words (my longest chapter of anything, ever)

Summary: Being a counselor at your childhood summer camp had been your dream since you were little and you had a specific vision of how it would go when it finally happened. You had not, however, planned to make an immediate enemy.

WARNINGS (this chapter): EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT - 18+ ONLY, tobacco use, feelings, suspense, talk of drugs.

Editor in Chief (and creator of the moodboard on each chapter): @gardenvanfleet

MASTERPOST

Special Playlist here

You were living in a state of bliss - puppy love, sun-kissed bliss. If your infatuation for Sam weren’t all-consuming, you’d probably feel some form of regret for rejecting this kind of thing all throughout your teenage years - all the missed opportunities. But, as it were, he was all you could think about. You found yourself staring longingly at him across the table at breakfast the next morning, as if your pillow didn’t still smell like him from the night before.

With a little work, you were able to convince him to hang out with you at the lake that day, which served as the perfect excuse to show off a swimsuit you’d packed for camp that was just barely on the wrong side of modest. The Rayban’s he’d worn hid his eyes pretty well, but it pleased you to imagine they were glued to you as you laid out next to him in the sun.

The end of your break was quickly approaching; soon, the grounds would be swarming with kids and counselors again, so you took every opportunity you could to be physically close to him. When the break had started, the five days felt like they’d stretch on endlessly, but you knew everything had an end, so you tried not to mourn its passing before it was even over. 

For once, the need to clean the sunscreen and sweat off your skin had outweighed the desire to be intimately close to him, so when you were done at the beach, you and Sam agreed to part ways to shower in your separate cabins with the agreement that you’d meet up again before dinner. You were toweling off when you heard your phone buzz on the lip of the sink, the vibrations sending it sliding into the basin. 

You’d been expecting a text from Sam - maybe a check-in from Josh - so you were a little puzzled to see it was from the director, asking you to report to his office for a meeting at your earliest convenience. You immediately threw your hair up and assured him you’d be there in just a few moments. 

When you knocked on the director’s door, it only took a few seconds for him to call you in. You had those butterflies you’d get any time you were summoned by authority, but nothing about his body language seemed to be out of the ordinary yet. You sat in the leather chair in front of his desk and offered him a smile when he greeted you. 

“How is this summer going for you?” he asked, though you couldn’t tell if it was just small talk, so you kept your response brief. 

“Very well, I think. I’m really enjoying it the more I get comfortable with the role.”

He nodded curtly. “You’re doing an excellent job.” 

You were aware that he wasn’t the type of man to dole out undue compliments, so you let yourself feel pride in his praise as you thanked him. 

“I called you in today because there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you. Has Sam made you aware of his situation?”

Your stomach sank, leaving you with a sharp panic. You tried to shove the feeling down. Though you were terrified he was going to address the very obvious relationship you’d gotten swept up in, he could just as well be checking up on Sam’s performance. 

“No, sir,” you declined, shaking your head to sell what technically wasn’t a lie.

He hummed. “I had suspected as much. Normally it would be strictly against my policies - personal and otherwise - to share personal information about a counselor, but I think you’ll agree that this is an exception.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his folded hands on his desktop in a way that told you he wished he didn’t have to have this conversation. “Sam is here as a condition of legal sentencing. Obviously, I won’t disclose any more information about the crime itself, but he’s a counselor with us this summer because he’s serving a sentence.”

It wasn’t tough to keep a straight face since he hadn’t given you anything you didn’t already know, but you braced yourself as you nodded for him to continue.

“I speak regularly with his parole officer - a check-in to ensure everything is going as planned, and from what I’ve seen thus far, he’s been a perfectly adequate counselor. Having had a closer eye on him, would you agree?” 

“Absolutely,” you agreed instantly. You knew Clarence Graywater well enough to know he valued professionalism above anything else, so you tried to approach the subject with a sterile tone instead of gushing the way you’d become accustomed to. “Sam is actually a great counselor. Every cycle of kids has loved him and he’s been a great partner to have - very easy to work with.”

The dark humor behind the situation wasn’t lost on you; if he’d asked you the same question a few weeks ago, who knows how you would have responded. 

“Very well,” he allowed. You might have been able to convince yourself that this was nothing more than a routine evaluation of Sam’s work if it weren’t for the way the director’s mouth tightened at the corners. 

He fixed his eyes on the desk for a beat as he seemed to consider his next words. “Since we can’t very well monitor his behavior for the court if he isn’t here, another condition of Sam’s parole is that he be strictly forbidden from leaving the camp grounds.” After a brief pause for you to process what he was saying, he continued. “That being said, did you and Sam leave the grounds yesterday?” 

You tried as hard as you could to keep the disappointment from your face, but you knew he could see it. Your stomach was in knots as you swallowed back the nervous lump at the back of your throat and nodded. “We did.” You had to force yourself to cautiously ask, “What’s going to happen?”

The director wasn’t one to let his emotions get the better of him, but for the first time since you’d known him, the frown he was wearing showed genuine sympathy for your situation. “I’m sure you understand how serious this is. I don’t see any other choice but to report this back to the proper authorities. Please get yourself prepared to proceed without a partner for the last two cycles - we’ll split his future campers up amongst other counselors.” 

You liked to think you could handle a lot. You’d always been able to stay cool under pressure, but you could feel your bottom lip starting to quiver pathetically. Unable to fully control your volume, you blurted, “No, wait. Please - this isn’t Sam’s fault.” 

“Then who would you place the blame on?” he asked, though hadn’t seemed to make a firm decision, leaving you to hope that you could reason with him. 

“Me. I was the one that asked him to go to town with me. We went there to get supplies for the campers - little stuff like snacks and prizes for the games we play with the kids. I asked him to go because I thought he’d know what to pick out for his boys better than I would.” Again, not technically a lie. 

“Sam was well aware of the conditions of his sentencing,” the director replied, shocking you by still keeping a sympathetic approach. 

“But I was the one-” You cut yourself off in frustration before trying again. “You have to agree that there’s a power imbalance between us - even though we’re both new counselors here this summer, I’m the one that’s familiar with how everything works. I’m positive he felt as though he couldn’t say no. He may not have even really considered it ‘leaving the grounds’, since we were going to get supplies for the campers here. It’s a moral gray area at best.”

He was visibly struggling with the decision as he stared at nothing in particular. “What would you have me do then?”

You let your eyes slip shut as you tried to banish the emotions that were swallowing you up. “Please. Please, consider not reporting this. He’s more than halfway through this summer. I don’t want to have to do this alone, and I don’t want to have to get familiar with a new partner.” 

He remained stony-faced with his eyes fixed on you. “You’re proposing I let Sam break the terms of a legal sentence?”

“Please. This is my fault and I’ll take full responsibility for it,” you stated. “I never break rules, but I can’t see the harm in letting this one slide. You’re the director of this camp; if you feel like you must report this to his officer, you could explain that you assigned us to get supplies and he was monitored the whole time by a trusted member of your staff - because he was. I was with him every second that we were away from here.” 

A few long seconds passed by, marked by the rhythmic ticking of the antique standing clock against the far wall of his office. You held your breath until your lungs started to ache for air as you awaited his final judgment, and finally, he cleared his throat to speak. 

“I’m not going to report this, but believe me when I say I don’t enjoy being put in this position. If anything like this happens again, I won’t hesitate to take action.”

This time you didn’t even try to disguise the relief you felt as you heaved out a breath. “Thank you so much.” 

“Find something for the two of you to do as adequate punishment,” he instructed, leaning back in his chair as the heavy cloud hanging over the room dissipated. He waved you out with a little smile, letting you know he still had a soft spot for you as a counselor. Still, you didn’t waste any time getting out of his line of sight, lest he change his mind. 

It wasn’t until you got out of the building and onto the dirt path that you started to feel it - this crippling anger weighing you down. It was different than the frustrated jealousy you’d felt not that long ago at breakfast. This felt more like true betrayal. 

You let yourself soak in it on the walk back to your cabin. Sam was conveniently standing just outside his door, so clearly unsuspecting as he stamped out his cigarette with a pleased smile. “There you are. I was wondering where you could have snuck off to.” 

You reached past him and opened his cabin door, planted a hand on his chest, and guided him inside, all without saying a word; you knew there weren’t a lot of people around, but you didn’t want to risk the off chance that someone would hear you lay into him.

“Sam, I just got back from the director’s office,” you stated firmly.

Instantly, you could see it click into place for him as a worried frown formed over his features. Still, he had the audacity to ask, “What- Why?” 

“You know why,” you snapped, not bothering to dampen the acid in your tone.

He bit into his bottom lip and muttered a curse in dread for what you were about to say to him.

“Why would you do something like that?!”

He flinched just slightly at your volume, but you could see his posture hardening in defense. “Why the fuck would he have called you in and not me?”

Ignoring his question, you demanded, “Why would you put me in a position like that? Why wouldn’t you have just said no when I asked if you wanted to go into town?” 

“I don’t know, you just looked so hopeful-”

You shook your head. “No, don’t you dare put this on me. You could have just told me you weren’t allowed to leave the fucking grounds - that you were breaking the fucking law!” 

“It’s embarrassing,” he reasoned with a deep-set frown. “I honestly figured that since everyone was gone and we were on break, no one would notice if I was gone for a couple of hours.”

“That’s stupid, and you know it.”

He didn’t bother denying it. Instead he just quietly asked, “So, I’m leaving then? They’re sending me back?” 

A bitter laugh escaped you. “No, Sam, you’re not. You’re not, because I talked him out of reporting it - because I took responsibility for it.” 

You’d been expecting him to look relieved, but instead, he adopted a frustrated expression. With a tight-set jaw and a quiet kind of outrage, he asked, “What?”

“I took responsibility for your stupid choice,” you snarled unforgivingly. “I’ve worked hard to earn the director’s trust and I’m so humiliated, Sam.” 

Behind his eyes, you could see him sorting through his emotions, trying to figure out how he should feel. You were hopeful for a second that he’d come to his senses - that he’d apologize and thank you profusely and recognize your sacrifice for what it was, but your stomach sunk as his eyebrows threaded together in a deep frown. He snapped, cold and petulant, “No one asked you to do that. I don’t need you to speak for me, nor do I want it.”

The response felt like a kick in the teeth, forcing you to take a second to gather your thoughts back up. When you could speak, you found that it came out as a jagged cry. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be going to fucking jail, Sam! The very least you could do is thank me and apologize, but honestly, I’d expect something closer to groveling.” 

There was a fire burning in him, making his normally soft, brown eyes look sharp and spiteful. “I’m not a fucking child. I didn’t ask you to take the fall for me - you did that all on your own. I made my choice and you made yours.” 

You just stared at him, slowly shaking your head in disbelief. The few seconds of silence in the room was crushingly heavy as all the fight drained from you, leaving you feeling empty. You couldn’t see the point in wasting any more emotional energy on him, so your voice was calm and small as you told him, “You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met in my life. I guess this is for the best.”

The sudden lack of hostility seemed to sober him. Once the outrage cleared and he got a look of just how disappointed you were, he softened, ripping his eyes away and casting them elsewhere. In your infinite naivety, you gave him a couple of seconds to apologize - to make it even a little bit better - but, he faltered. 

You decided you didn’t want to wait for him to slap together some pitiful explanation. He called your name as you turned around and left him there, but you answered only by shutting the door hard behind you. You hoped that the lack of closure would haunt him. Just a few hours ago, he’d had access to nearly every single part of you, but the one thing you weren’t willing to give him was the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

❀❀❀

The next few hours felt like months - they crawled by with a frustrating reluctance as you sat with your back against the headboard of your bed and your face buried in your bent knees. 

Just like that, you’d run the entire gamut of a romantic relationship - start to finish. This was just the bookend. The after.  

You knew there were people in the world that experienced real tragedy, but this hurt. In that moment, the only thing you could feel was the ache - the loss and betrayal, leaving you without any perspective on just how mundane an issue it actually was.  

You were able to find a little comfort in reminding yourself that Josh would be back sometime the following day, and whether it was true or not, you assured yourself that he’d know how to help. 

He showed up early the next day, some time shortly after breakfast (which Sam was predictably absent for). When he knocked on your cabin door, you’d had a fleeting moment of hopeful panic that it would be Sam. 

Josh was wearing a little smile when you opened the door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coral-colored shorts as he absently rocked on his white sneakers. He greeted you with a side hug, and you hadn’t been intending to, but you pulled him in fully, a little too tight to just be casually happy to see someone. 

The truth was that it was such a relief to not be alone with your thoughts, and the comforting presence of your best friend was exactly what you’d needed.

There was the slightest hesitation, like he was trying to figure out if he was missing something, before he gave a confused laugh and hugged you back. “It’s nice to see you too,” he joked, but he tensed entirely when you pulled away and he got a good look at you. 

Josh’s brown eyes scanned over your defeated posture, his expression slipping into one of concern when he recognized the state you were in. “Are you alright?” he asked, following you back to your room. 

With how tight your throat felt, you knew you couldn’t trust your voice to not make a fool of you, so you settled for shrugging at him. It obviously wasn’t a satisfying answer, so he repeated the question, a little more pointedly as he sat next to you on your bed. 

After deciding there was no point in lying to him by playing it off, you pursed your lips and shook your head. 

There was a genuine sympathy behind the way he cautiously placed a hand in the center of your back, between your shoulder blades, reminding you that this was your friend - that he was just about the safest person on earth to confide in. 

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he prompted, using a tone of voice that gave you an out in case you wanted to say no. 

It took a few good seconds for you to gather enough courage to speak after you parted your lips. You couldn’t quite meet his eyes, so you fixed them on a knot in the hardwood floor boards as you admitted to him, “Everything fell apart.” 

“With Sam?” 

You nodded. “Yeah.” 

Josh hadn’t known you for that long, and going through heartbreak together was uncharted territory; there was a bit of uncertainty in guessing how you liked to be comforted. It was clear that he wasn’t sure in his decision to hold out his hand for you, but you took it without hesitation, using it to pull yourself closer to him until your side was pressed to his. 

You felt him let out a little breath in preparation before requesting, “Tell me what happened.”  

“He’s just so fucking-” You started off with a harsh, bitter tone, but cut yourself off instantly - despite how he’d hurt you, Sam was still Josh’s brother and it didn’t feel right. When you spoke again, it was more restrained and collected. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to leave and so we went into town on a date- I asked him if he wanted to and he didn’t tell me he couldn’t, Josh.” 

He stiffened next to you, wearing a frightened look when you met his eyes. “Fuck. Is he okay- Is he still here?” 

You closed your eyes and nodded. For some reason, the thing that suddenly choked you up was that you’d never heard Josh swear like that until it came to concern for his brother. 

Since the fight with Sam, you’d been counting down the seconds until you could talk to Josh about it, but now that the moment was upon you, all you could muster was a weak, flat tone of explanation.

“Yes, he’s still here. Graywater called me into his office yesterday to question me about it. He was going to report it, but I convinced him not to.”

Josh’s features sloped into a puzzled frown as he cautiously asked, “Sam’s not in trouble at all?” 

You breathed a humorless laugh and shook your head. “No.” 

You tried not to feel upset at the relieved exhale Josh gave upon hearing that confirmation. “You took the blame for him?” 

“Yep.” 

There was a silent pause before he chanced, “And how did he take it?” 

“Not well, Josh,” you stated sourly. 

Josh let his eyes slip shut as he let out a long, frustrated sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and, in an exasperated whisper, he breathed to no one in particular, “Oh, no...Sam.”

“He was genuinely angry.” You waited a beat before admitting, “Granted, I was fucking mad at him for not telling me and putting me in that position in the first place, but I’m fucking stupid for expecting him to apologize.” 

He shook his head at you, half-pleading, “Don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t your fault.” 

You swallowed back a sob; you’d been carrying around so much guilt, that hearing him absolve you of it was like the snap of a rubber band. When he heard it, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“It’s okay.” A deep frown was audible behind the assurance as he offered it to you.

You shook your head as best you could with your cheek against his shoulder. “It’s not.” 

“Listen, I know this hurts - I can only imagine, but take a deep breath,” he requested, waiting until you did so to continue. “You’ve got a choice to make now. You can pack it up and walk away from whatever it is you two have - no one on earth could blame you for that. The summer will come to an end, you’ll go home, and you probably won’t ever see him again. This’ll all just morph into a fond memory some day.”

You should find that idea comforting, but instead, after a couple of silent seconds, you prompted, “Or?”

“Or, you could forgive him.”

You huffed exasperatedly. “It’s kinda hard to forgive someone that doesn’t understand how he’s fucked up.”

Josh shook his head and warned, “No, no. Don’t mistake his stubbornness for stupidity - he’s not stupid. I promise you that Sam knows exactly what he’s done. I’m willing to bet he’s sitting in his cabin beating the shit out of himself right now.” 

“I don’t care,” you informed him flatly, prompting him to hum in amusement. 

“I don’t either,” he agreed, making you crack a smile that he couldn’t see thanks to the position you were sitting in, leaning against him. “But, my point is - he does care. Despite his very poor choices, he cares about you a lot, which lands you on the very short list of people that can claim the same.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, feeling the ache of grief at the thought. “Sometimes I think he only cares about himself.” 

“I didn’t ask him to stay with you that night of the party,” he admitted after a silent moment of consideration, wearing a little smile. “I am guilty of some meddling between you two, but not that.”

You frowned, pulling your cheek off his shoulder so you could look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I asked him to walk you back to your cabin that night because I was trying to see how much he’d do for you. I knew he was soft for you, but I wanted to know just how bad it was.” 

“Did he tell you he liked me?” you tried, grasping for something to help you understand.

Josh snickered at you. “C’mon - he didn’t have to. I’ve seen the way he treats people he actually dislikes. If you genuinely don’t like someone, you go out of your way to not be around them. If you don’t like them, you don’t pick on them. All you two ever did was just rough flirting, as far as I could tell.” 

Your eyes narrowed accusingly as you felt your face flush pink. “There were times when he was genuinely kinda mean to me.” 

He rolled his eyes fondly, but you weren’t sure if it was meant for you or Sam. “That’s because he’s lousy at letting people in. I think he panicked when he realized how close he was to getting what he wanted.” He paused for a second and then pointedly added, “Which is obviously you.” 

You stared at him as you tried to process what he was saying, but when you realized you didn’t have the energy or time necessary to do so, you asked, “So...the party?” 

“Ah, right. So, when I asked him to walk you back to your cabin, I was hoping maybe it would help him realize that he had feelings for you, but I never expected him to stay with you,” Josh explained and then snorted a laugh. “You should have seen his face - the moment when he realized you’d told me he lied and said I made him stay. I swear to god he was ready to physically fight me if I brought it up to him, but I never did.” 

“Are you gonna talk to him now?” you asked carefully, dreading the answer. The last thing you wanted was to create tension between the two of them, and you knew Sam would take that confrontation even more poorly than he had with you.

“No,” he assured. “I’m going to try as hard as I can to stay out of it unless he directly asks me for advice, but he won’t.” 

You hummed, considering. “What if I never want to see him again? Can you and I still be friends?” 

He frowned and then took your hand to give it a little squeeze. “Of course. We were friends before him.” 

Offering him a smile was really all you could think to do. The truth was that you didn’t know how you wanted to proceed with Sam, but it made you feel full and warm to know that you’d always have a friend like Josh. 

He did an excellent job of keeping you distracted for the rest of the day. You decided that, for your punishment, you’d work on cleaning up the beach; it wasn’t like people actively littered, but things would fall off boats or blow out of trash cans, make their way into the water, and inevitably end up strewn about the sand. Josh walked with you, picking up an odd piece of garbage here and there and tucking it into the bag you were carrying when you held it open for him. 

As nice as it felt to be doing something good with a person that always made you feel at ease, the weight of your problems had a physical effect on you, and that grew tenfold, the moment you’d gotten back to your cabin. The knowledge that new campers would be showing up in the morning was like a looming fist hanging over you - not because you didn’t want to do this job, but simply because that meant you’d be forced to interact with Sam again. 

The time came too soon. Counselors started getting lined up right after breakfast was finished, ready to be debriefed about the upcoming cycle of kids, but Sam didn’t show up until the last minute. You pointedly didn’t look at him directly, because, frankly, you didn’t want to know how he was doing. 

You weren’t sure whether or not he’d hold his head high and pretend like nothing had happened, or if he’d look a little downtrodden, maybe even apologetic, but you didn’t care to know. You told yourself it wouldn’t make a difference anyway - you’d be able to maintain your coldness towards him, no matter what he appeared to be feeling, but you knew it was a lie. You knew that if he did look sad, it would only leave you with unwarranted guilt, and you refused to let that happen. As Sam took his place beside you, you glanced up at Josh to catch him giving you a sympathetic, tight little smile that you forced yourself to return. 

The children were sweet and excited, which helped a great deal; it was hard to be angry when they were beaming toothy grins at each other. It served to remind you that, no matter what drama you were experiencing, it wasn’t fair to the children to let them shoulder the burden with you. They were there to have a fun, educational two weeks, and you decided then and there that you were going to set aside your issues with Sam whenever they were around, but that quickly proved to be easier said than done. 

For the first couple of hours, you were able to go off on your own with your girls, getting acquainted with them, but that could only last so long. One timeslot before dinner, you were set to do a forest foliage activity as a whole team, and the entire day, you kept looking at your schedule like it would magically change. You tried to hype yourself up on the walk to the meeting place. You told yourself it would be okay - that all you had to do was remember how shitty he’d been to you, and it would be easy to stay hating him, but you were fucking wrong. You kept your eyes anywhere else but on him as you approached the group of boys, but it didn’t matter how justified your anger was - the second you met his gaze, you lost your grip on it. 

He was standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his hair tied back more carelessly than he usually opted for. If you hadn’t spent so much of the last few weeks studying his features, you surely wouldn’t have noticed the slight bags under his eyes. His face was void of an expression, but not in the controlled way he used to wear to convince you of how bored he was by it all - now, he just looked spent. He looked like a child’s toy that was nearing the end of its battery life. 

When he met your stare, you realized that Josh was right - Sam was visibly perfectly aware of how he’d hurt you. 

Naively, you’d been praying you’d look at him and feel disgusted. You’d sincerely hoped that you’d see his face and find that you didn’t want him anymore. You wanted the pain he’d inflicted to be enough to override the infatuation that once consumed your every passing second - but it didn’t. He let you hold his eyes for a few seconds before ripping them away to fix his focus on the ground, and that hurt so much worse than anything he’d done up to that point. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting - it wasn’t like he was going to rush up to you and pull you into his arms. It wasn’t even reasonable for you to expect that he’d apologize - not in front of all of these unknowing kids. Still, you were learning, more and more every day, that emotions don’t abide by the rules of logic. It didn’t make a difference - it still hurt.

You introduced him to your girls as the boys’ counselor but didn’t speak a word to Sam directly as you walked them through the ins and outs of regional wild plants. You barely had to consult your manual to teach them what was poisonous and some history about what certain things were once used for, all the while, reminding them that it was never okay to eat anything you found in the forest. Sam seemed more or less content to just let you take over, which, stupidly, also upset you. It was starting to become clear that there was nothing he could have done that wouldn’t piss you off - you’d have been seething if he’d chimed in without prompting. 

At the end of the activity, you left any parting nicety unsaid and headed off to dinner separately. True to “first day” form, your girls stuck close to your side, carrying on a riveting conversation about iceberg lettuce as you lead them through the food line, and when it came time to pick a table, you breathed a sigh of relief to find that Josh was alone at a table with a few of his boys, working on opening milk cartons and sauce packets for them. 

“Can we sit?” you asked him, receiving a slightly-confused smile back. 

“Of course, make yourselves comfy.” 

Quiet enough that only a few kids and Josh could hear, you added, “I guess I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to sit with Sam.” 

He took on a sympathetic expression as he flicked his eyes across the room. You followed the direction to see Sam, sitting with his boys pooled around him towards the back corner of the hall. Another counselor you didn’t recognize was at the table too, but they weren’t interacting with anyone but their own campers.

Deep, deep within you, you felt bad, but you put on a cold expression, deciding to say nothing, lest something truly mean accidentally slip out. You were sure that it would only be a couple of days before his campers were off on their own and Sam was back to eating in his cabin. 

For the rest of the meal, he went unmentioned. Instead, the Maple boys excitedly told you and your girls all about the farmette activity they’d just had with Josh, melting your chilled heart by gushing excitedly about the baby animals. 

You leaned across the table towards a couple of them. Employing a playful, hushed tone as if it were a secret, you asked them, “Josh didn’t steal any kittens, did he?”

Josh let out a gasp of faux offense, putting his hand on his chest to exaggeratedly object. “I would never. How could you accuse me of something like that?” 

Just as you’d hoped, that sent the group of kids sitting around you into fits of giggles, and for the first time in too long, everything felt okay. 

❀❀❀

For the remainder of that week, you were successfully able to avoid speaking to Sam directly. Every day, he became less of a main character in your life, and every day, the anger subsided a little bit more. 

You were still upset, of course; what he’d done had been shitty and wrong, but it wasn’t weighing you down like it once had. It used to feel like that fight had left you with a kind of heartache plague, but you found yourself going whole days without thinking of him unless your eyes were on him directly. 

Your logical brain thought it would be efficient to plan it all out - if you kept letting go of a little anger at a time, you’d likely feel perfectly okay by the end of the summer. You still expected it would hurt when you dug into the memory of it, but that’s all he’d be - a memory.

Except, shit never works that way, and you, apparently, never learn. During a free period, you were getting some of your things organized in your room when there was a gentle knock on the door. 

In honesty, you had such faith in it being Josh, that you hadn’t even considered you’d answer the door to see Sam standing in front of you in a pair of jean shorts and his yellow camp shirt. 

“What?” You shocked yourself with how sharp your tone was, and you were suddenly grateful that all your girls were off on their own - they didn’t need to see you act like this. 

In the opposite direction, he used a sheepish demeanor that was so unlike him that it took you off guard. “Hey,” he offered simply. “Should we go pack for the trip?” 

You let your eyes slip shut in exasperation. In the pursuit of getting him off your mind, you’d forgotten all about the camping trip - it had slipped your thoughts so thoroughly, that you assumed he was there to apologize. 

Instead of actively addressing the fact that you’d forgotten, you just shook your head, just on the wrong side of bitterness as you declined. “No, I’ll do it alone in a bit.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you and asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

He pulled his eyes from your to roll them tiredly. “You’re really going to do all this work by yourself because you don’t want to be in the same room as me?” 

“Yep. How does it feel?” you spat back, clearly referencing how he used to do the same to you. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t the way his shoulders slumped. You’d never seen him look so dejected, but it was pretty easy to deduce that he wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty - he was just past the point of being able to hold back his guilt. 

“Bad,” he admitted simply. “But I’m not going to let you pack all that shit alone.”

Just like that, the fire was lit again. Your hands balled into fists as you sarcastically drawled, “Oh, you’re not going to let me?” 

Shocking you, yet again, Sam offered no hostility to match yours; if he was angry, you saw no evidence of it. He put his hands up in surrender. 

“Listen, let’s just go do this and get it over with. You don’t have to like me - you don’t even have to be cordial, but I’m here to help.”

As much as it pained you to acknowledge, even in your own head, he was right. But, who the fuck was he to suddenly be acting like a responsible adult? That’s what you’d wanted from day one, but the character development now?

It felt like a slight. 

You let out a suspiciously tight scoff, and you rolled your eyes dramatically to hide the fact that they were starting to water. 

“Fine, whatever. I’ll meet you down there in fifteen,” you informed him coldly, turning on your heel and shutting the door in his face. 

You heard his shoes crunching up the rocky dirt as he walked away from the cabins, and you waited until the sound was faint enough before letting out a choked-back sob. You counted yourself lucky that it was solitary - you were able to push everything else back after you dabbed at your eyes. 

You considered standing him up as you surveyed yourself in your bathroom mirror, just to make damn sure he wasn’t clued into how that interaction had affected you. In the end, you decided it would be beyond childish - you were still a counselor, this was still your job, and he was still your partner, no matter how deeply and thoroughly you lamented it. 

When you showed up to the dining hall, he was already in the kitchen, pulling down the familiar red cooler from the shelves. The only acknowledgment you received upon entering was his eyes flicking up from his task to meet yours, and only for a split second, but that was fine by you. 

The room was tense and uncomfortable as you both silently packed. You made sure to be conscious of where he was so you could keep a good distance between the two of you, but you must have lost track of him at some point - you turned to grab the ice packs out of the freezer and ran directly into him. Your chests collided, knocking the breath from your lungs and sending the ice packs skittering across the tile with the solid impact.

It was exactly like that first day of camp, except this time, he was the one wearing an apologetic grimace, waiting for you to snap. He had ahold of your arms as he steadied you, but you pulled away from his touch out of panic and stumbled back against the island in the middle of the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, causing you to exasperatedly shake your head. 

“It’s fine,” you dismissed flatly, nodding your chin towards the door. “Go. I can get the rest.” 

Out of your peripheral vision, you could see him staring at you in disappointed uncertainty for a few prolonged seconds before exiting the room. To your deep dismay, soon after he was gone, you found that it didn’t feel as satisfying to be alone as you hoped it would. 

The next day was the worst you’d had on the grounds of Camp Forest Springs. From the moment breakfast was over, you were stuck with Sam. He was with you while you collected the packed coolers, and he brought up the rear on the walk out to the campsite. He was there, falling into the routine of crafting a fire in the pit and right by your side as you prepared the food, and you were forced into learning a tough lesson: All the progress you’d thought you’d made with unraveling your feelings for him was simply because you’d been able to create physical distance between the two of you. You hadn’t had to see him. Or hear his voice. Or smell him when he was close enough, but suddenly, it was like you were bound to him. 

The entire time you were out there, you’d been dreading bedtime. On one hand, going to bed would mean that this experience was almost over. On the other, it meant you were nearing a milestone; for the past three cycles, you’d met him outside in the middle of the night. It had become an unspoken tradition that you once looked forward to.

But, as you slipped into your sleeping bag, the only thing you could think of was the conversation you’d had with Josh when he got back from break. You had a choice to make. Foolishly, you hoped maybe Sam wouldn’t do it - that maybe he’d spare you the burden, but there was no such luck; about an hour after you’d gone to bed, you heard the tell-tale rustling sound of him sneaking out of his tent. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, pursing your lips anxiously. Multiple times, you considered going out to talk to him - just because you would meet him out there didn’t mean you’d have to forgive him, right? You could have it both ways - you could keep your dignity by staying mad and still go out to see him, right?

It was nothing but a pretty lie you were trying to convince yourself of. You wanted to forgive him - you missed him and the way he talked and his unguarded, goofy laugh, but you had to protect yourself. 

With your face buried into the fabric of your pillow, you tried to keep quiet as you cried, but it became increasingly difficult when, after about twenty minutes of waiting for you, he made his way back to his tent and slipped inside. You weren’t sure how long you laid there, struggling to breathe through your choked sobbing, but one thing was for sure - you’d certainly made a choice. 

❀❀❀

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Sam’s eyes the next morning, but he didn’t seem to be going out of his way to get your attention. Maybe he was hoping you hadn’t heard him last night, either to spare himself the embarrassment of being rejected or to hold onto the hope that everything was still going to work itself out. 

The guilt ate you alive to the point that you texted Josh to come to your cabin during your first free period the following day. He arrived chipper as usual but his expression fell the second he realized you’d been crying again. 

You did your best to explain it all to him, but he had to put in some effort to make out certain parts when you got too choked up to speak properly.

“I feel so fucking bad,” you told him once you felt like you could catch your breath. “How do people get through this and still function?” 

He hummed through a sympathetic smile. “Love’s just like that. But, I would like to also point out - you’re getting through it and functioning.”

You barked out a humorless laugh. “Barely. If you could call this ‘functioning’.”

“Well, I’ve yet to see you let the quality of your work slip. But, maybe you should think about what this means. Maybe you feel this bad right now because you don’t want to let him go.” While he spoke, he rubbed comforting circles into your back with a firm palm. 

You groaned, tipping your head back in frustration. “Don’t tell me that.” 

There was an amused little tilt to his lips as he replied, “I don’t think I have to. I think you already know.” He paused a second before cautiously continuing. “It hurts this bad because you love him.”

You shot him a look that was supposed to be an accusatory glare but ended up as a pleading frown. “I don’t know if I can do it.” 

“I’m not saying you have to or even should. I’m just saying - I think you should hear him out.” 

“Okay, but first he would actually have to apologize.” 

“If he apologizes,” Josh agreed with a nod. “But I have a feeling that he will.” 

You weren’t as sure, but in the moment, the affirmation helped ease a little of the ache, so you let it slide. 

❀❀❀

Sam stayed true to his unspoken stance on letting you eat your meals in peace, even when your and Josh’s kids started branching off on their own, leaving open seats at your table. Even you had to admit, it was kinda sweet. Whenever he’d avoided eating meals with you in the past, it was so he could be alone in his cabin, but he surprised you by sticking by his kids, letting them plant themselves next to him for every mealtime. 

More to his credit, even with you giving him the coldest possible atmosphere every time he was within twenty feet of you, he stayed cordial - open, even - to your attention, should you choose to give it to him. The dynamic stayed like that for a couple of days, but you could feel the tension starting to build. 

It didn’t feel hostile at all - at least, not on his part. You could feel him looking at you, either staring absently or sneaking quick peeks when he thought you were focused on something else. 

The dam finally broke on the last day of that cycle. The special activity was making tie-dyed t-shirts with your kids, and while it was fun to watch them get really excited about all the possible colors, you knew the second they announced it that it was going to be a monumental mess. Everyone was given rain ponchos and medical gloves, but that didn’t help with the kid that accidentally splashed lime green on your face as you were bent over to help her. 

She had obviously not done it on purpose and she was immediately apologetic, but you were left trying to wipe the little dots of pigment from your cheeks in the camera of your phone. You were so focused on yourself on the little screen that you hadn’t realized Sam was standing right in front of you until you heard him speak. 

“You should leave it - I think it suits you,” he suggested with a little smile, far too playful for what the nature of your current relationship called for. You lowered your phone to find him visibly questioning whether that was an okay thing to say, and it took everything in you to pretend it wasn’t charming, because you sure as fuck wished it weren’t. 

As punishment for cracking your resolve so easily, you kept a blank expression as you stared directly into his eyes and let him stew in the tense uncertainty for a few long seconds before asking, “What do you want?” 

He worried his lips together at your sharp tone before he worked up the courage to meekly joke, “All business these days, huh?” When he realized you were only going to stare impatiently for a few more fleeting moments before he would lose his chance, he cleared his throat and softly asked, “I’m just hoping- Can we talk?”

Despite Josh’s words about “hearing him out” ringing in your head, before you could stop it, you snapped, “No.” 

He frowned for only a second before breathing a nervous laugh and trying again. “Okay, can I talk and you listen?” 

After wrestling with yourself, you let out a long, relenting sigh. “Talk,” you allowed through an impatient tone. 

Looking genuinely relieved, he glanced around to make sure no campers were within earshot, but all of them were preoccupied, having spread out and spilled over into other groups to socialize. 

He briefly gathered his thoughts and then admitted, “I miss you. A lot.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, and you would have found it repulsively unacceptable if it weren’t for the genuine emotion behind it. It was quiet and breathy. Humble. He was lowering himself to you in a way he never had before. 

It didn’t make everything right, but it did get your attention. Still, you weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily, even if he did look particularly lovely with his hair freshly washed and wavy as the summer breeze brushed the tips of it against his collarbones. 

“Did Josh put you up to this?” you asked, keeping your tone from letting on that a part of you desperately wanted to forget every undesirable thing he’d ever said or done.

He drew in a slow breath as he figured out how he wanted to answer. “I was under the impression that the right way to approach the situation was to leave you alone. Y’know, since you really seemed like you wanted to be...left..alone.” 

The explanation was choppy as he pulled the thought from his lagging brain.  

“I just wanted to show you that I could respect that,” he continued, finally answering your question before adding, “But he told me that was ‘fucking stupid’ - his words, not mine.”

That was what did it. You weren’t quick enough to stop the smile that broke your façade but seeing it seemed to give him a cautious optimism that was almost worth it. You schooled your expression back to something serious just a second later to press him further. “Okay, but were you just not going to apologize to me?” 

“Honest to god, I really thought you’d see me coming to you to apologize as selfish - like you think I was only doing it so I could rid myself of some of the guilt.” 

You scanned his features for sincerity, not rushing yourself, even though he was visibly anxious. When you decided he was being genuine, you stated, “That’s also ‘fucking stupid’.”

A tired little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he nodded. “Yeah, he said the same thing.” After a beat of him realizing you were waiting on him to continue, he hurried to add, “So, I intended to come over here today to just apologize to you - I was going to tell you that you don’t have to be nice to me or forgive me, but- Well, I’m bad at this. So, when I opened my mouth, that’s...obviously not what came out.” 

You huffed a humorless laugh and rolled your eyes. “It still hasn’t come out, and I’ve been listening to you talk for like two minutes - which is a hell of a lot longer than you deserve.” 

He quickly nodded. “I know. I am sorry, but I don’t think I can give the heartfelt apology you deserve without attracting some attention. So, I was hoping we could talk again tomorrow. In private.” He paused for comedic effect and then playfully finished with, “Y’know, in case I cry.” 

He was right - if you were ever going to get the emotion from him that you were owed, you were going to have to have the comfort of privacy. Just because you didn’t want him thinking he was off the hook, you rolled your eyes, though there was a shade of fondness buried in the gesture despite your wishes. “Fine.” 

The breath he let out was visibly relieved as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean shorts. You nodded at the bright purple dye splattered down his upper arm, visible due to him having ripped the sleeves off his t-shirt at some point in the past. 

“But, you’re probably gonna wanna wash that off sooner rather than later.”

He glanced down to the spot and a genuine smile spread across his mouth, like he was tickled-fucking-pink to be talking about literally anything else. You figured that was a pretty good time to make your exit, before he could coax any more niceties out of you. 

❀❀❀

You spent the next morning seeing your campers off, making sure to not meet Sam’s eyes from across the dirt pick-up area - you didn’t want him assuming he had any place in your thoughts, even though he was all you thought about half the time. 

He hadn’t given you any specific time he was planning to stop by, so after getting back to your cabin, you took a long shower, deciding that you weren’t going to plan your day around him. As you washed off all the sweat and dirt, you tried to mentally prepare yourself for whatever was going to spill out his mouth, and at the end, you had a renewed sense of confidence. You reminded yourself that he was just coming over to apologize. You were under no obligation to forgive him or even treat him kindly, even if he was making an honest effort. 

He finally showed up about halfway through the day, giving you a tight little smile as you swung open the cabin door. Instead of greeting him, you stepped aside as a prompt for him to enter, and he did so wordlessly. 

You leaned back against the shut door and stared at him until he figured out that you were waiting for him to speak, and upon that realization, he started in a haste. 

“Sorry that it took me so long. I wanted to give you time to enjoy being child-free again,” he explained and then continued with cautious hopefulness. “I think you’d be proud of me - I already took all the laundry down to be washed.” 

“I suppose I would be if circumstances were different,” you admitted, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. “But they’re not.”

He let out a long breath, cast his eyes to the knotted wooden floor and then nodded. “You’re right.” 

“You know, it’s not even about you not telling me you weren’t supposed to leave the grounds - that was obviously shitty of you, but I could have forgiven you easily enough. But, having you get angry at me for trying to help fix your fuck up was fucking heartbreaking, Sam.”

“I know,” he spoke softly, but you just shook your head at him. 

“No, I don’t think you do,” you objected, starting to feel your sinuses sting with the threat of tears that you immediately worked to fight off. “I thought we were so far past that. We’d been spending so much time together and everything felt so easy with you for the first time. I finally didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells to try and stay in your good graces.” 

After taking some time to process what you were saying, he finally looked you in the eye and, in the most sincere tone you’d ever heard him use, he told you, “I’m sorry. You deserved better than that. There’s really no suitable excuse, so I won’t try to make one up, but I hate knowing I hurt you like that. I regretted it instantly but I was too much of a prideful jackass to apologize before you left.”

You were pretty sure he was done speaking until he seemed to remember something and then sucked in a quick breath before adding, “And, thank you. I know I would be sitting in a jail cell right now if it weren’t for you sticking your neck out.”

Admittedly, you weren’t sure what to say. You’d been worried you’d be tempted to forgive him instantly - without question, but you found no such temptation. You nodded at him, offering only a little “okay”. 

He looked just a little disappointed in this interaction ending this way, but he was making an honest effort to hide it, which you appreciated - you couldn’t handle having to feel guilty on top of everything else. Thankfully, he left without another word, only tossing you the same tight smile he’d been wearing upon entering your cabin. 

❀❀❀

When you told Josh all about what happened, he seemed earnestly happy for you and Sam both that the worst part was behind you. “It’s all uphill from here,” he’d said, but you weren’t so sure. Sure, maybe the worst part was behind you, but that didn’t mean anything past that would be pleasant. 

Sam stuck true to his word - you never felt like he was trying to butter you up or work his way back into your good graces. He actually hadn’t even addressed you about anything other than work until the day before this cycle’s camping trip. 

When he showed up at your door to ask if you were ready to pack up the food, he’d offered to meet you down in the kitchen like you had last time, but you declined. After all, it was silly to make you each walk there separately when you were headed to the same place at the same time. 

Neither of you said a word as you paced the trails, but it wasn’t uncomfortable the way it had been before. Finally, after months of this, he felt like your co-worker. Just your co-worker. It was what you’d thought you’d wanted from the beginning, but you found you didn’t like him like this very much either. Which left you with an odd dilemma. You hated having Sam as your adversary, but you didn’t like having him as a friend either - not after everything you’d experienced with him. It felt incomplete. 

But, you didn’t know if you had it in you to truly forgive him. Or to let yourself love him again, not in the unbridled way you had before.

As you pulled food from the cabinet and set it on the kitchen island to be sorted and packed away, for the first time in a while, you heard him let out a quiet sigh. You couldn’t see his expression because he was facing the fridge, but it was quick, as if he were preparing himself for something. 

He spun around on his heel and met your eyes, wearing a smile that didn’t quite cover the concern in his eyes. “I have something to say.” 

“I can see that,” you noted with a nod, keeping your tone a little flat but not cold. “Say it, then.” 

His eyes flicked around as he sunk his top row of teeth into his bottom lip. “Look, I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings. I’m kind of notorious for it actually,” he unnecessarily informed you with an anxious-sounding laugh. “I always trip myself up thinking that I’m not going to be able to put my thoughts to words so I just don’t even try.”

He saw your features slip into a slight frown in your confusion, so he rushed himself to figure out how to continue. 

“I guess I’m just trying to say that the thing we do on the camping night - where we slip out of our tents and meet- It’s something I...didn’t realize meant something to me until you didn’t show up last time and I guess I just wanted to know if we could...go back to doing that.” 

As you fixed your eyes on the floor, you licked your lips absently, having to use every bit of your brainpower to not show him what that question had done to you; you were feeling butterflies again. You’d really convinced yourself that you wouldn’t feel that way about him again, but it was always a lie and you knew it. The proof was in the way your heart was racing.

You’d been expecting him to walk it back as soon as he’d seen your hesitation, but, to his credit, he just waited patiently for your reply. 

You opened your mouth to tell him you weren’t sure, but what came out was a rather struggled admission of, “Sam, you’re fucking killing me.” It shocked you to have said it, but it shocked him enough that he sucked in a sharp breath and then let the stainless steel fridge door hold his weight as he concernedly but cautiously asked, “What do you mean?” 

As you stared at him, you could feel your eyebrows knitted together in a deep-set, distressed frown. “Do you really think I want nothing to do with you now? You think I went from wishing you were my honest-to-god boyfriend to suddenly actually despising you?” The tone of your voice came out desperate, but you didn’t have the capacity to care as his eyes widened. 

“Sam, it has taken everything I’ve got to keep you at a distance. Aside from the fact that we work together in close proximity every single day, I fucking miss you too.” In your despair, you’d said it all but the one thing that you’d been keeping for yourself, but you realized, at that exact moment, that you could never move forward until you told him, “I loved you, Sam. I- I still do, but I don’t think I can go through that again. I know it’s dramatic and it makes me sound crazy, which is why I decided to bury it all, but I’ve never experienced anything that hurt the way that did.”

He looked like he was barely breathing as he ran his hands through his hair, his breathing suddenly choppy and labored.  

“You’ve taught me a lot of hard lessons, Sam, and I am currently trying my very fucking best to learn them.” 

It fell silent between the two of you for just a second before he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Please don’t let that be what you take away from this.” He gestured between the two of you with his pointer finger.

The laugh you let out was tinged with just a shade of bitterness as you asked, “What do you want me to take from it?”

Even though it seemed like the logical next step in the conversation, the question took him off guard. He stared at you in silence for a few prolonged moments as his bottom lip hung open an inch or so. The moment he decided on an answer was visible, but even then, he had to take a quick breath before admitting, “Me.” 

Unsure as to what he was implying, you naturally took on a puzzled expression, forcing him to clarify, “I want you to take me with you. Even as ‘just a friend’.”

You pursed your lips together as you held his gaze - you were hoping to find some kind of deception behind his eyes so that you could reject him and still feel like you did the right thing, but the only thing you found was sincerity. Even though the shade of his eyes was altered by the harsh, fluorescent lighting, it was still Sam - the soft Sam that he’d accidentally let you get to know. 

It hurt. You suddenly felt so choked that you had to work on shoving back the lump in your throat. You shook your head at him, unsure to your very core about what your next step should be. 

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know if I can be ‘just your friend’,” you informed him sorrowfully. 

“Will you try?” he asked, the hope evident in both his eyes and his cadence. He was doing everything right - he wasn’t putting guilt or pressure on you. Nothing he was doing felt manipulative or as if there were an ulterior motive behind it. He was speaking with you in the most respectful manner possible and that realization put a sour look on your face. 

“Why couldn’t you have just done this in the first place?” you lamented, gesturing to him with an open palm. “Absolutely none of this would have had to happen if you’d just been this person with me. Why does it seem like this honesty is coming to you so easily now - after you’ve already done the damage?” 

He seemed to take the question to heart. He let his eyes slip shut and his head tip back as he took a deep, shaking breath, finally past the point of trying to control your perception of him. “I can’t take it back, babe,” he informed you apologetically but as soon as the term of endearment slipped from his mouth, he looked you over to make sure you didn’t react negatively. When he realized you were going to let it go unaddressed, he continued, “But you have to know I regret it, right?” 

“Of course, you do,” you agreed with a firm frown of grief, leaving all the rest unsaid. 

The room fell silent, save for the whirring sound of the refrigerator, leaving the two of you to feel the weight of the words you’d shared. After a while, he let out a sigh of surrender and anxiously scratched at the back of his neck. 

“Look, I’m going to be honest - I’m not sure what to do here. I don’t know where the line is between ‘communicating my regrets and trying to make amends’ and ‘being a fucking nuisance’ so...” He trailed off before starting again, his tone even more gentle this time. “I’ve laid it all out for you. You know I still want you - however you’ll take me. The rest is up to you.” 

He didn’t wait for a response before offering you a weak but honest smile and turning back to the task of collecting the condiments. For the next moment, he busied himself to show you he could respectfully move on from the moment, but you remained stagnant, just taking him in like this. 

Obviously unsure as to why you were just staring at him, unmoving, he snuck a look at you out of the corner of his eye and then curiously pivoted to face you again. 

You weren’t really sure what you were going to say when you opened your mouth, but it just naturally slipped out anyway. “I’ll think about it, Sam,” you stated, more confidently than you felt as you nodded tightly. 

You could see the way your assurance changed his posture - defeated and droopy to pulling in a hopeful breath until his lungs were full. Just because you felt like he’d truly earned it, you quietly told him, “And thank you. For trying.” 

As much as he was trying to downplay it, a wistful smile found his lips, effectively melting the ice you’d built around him in your mind just a little more. He gave you a nod and this time, when you both went back to packing, it didn’t feel quite so heavy. 

The trip out to the campsite felt easier this time around. It wasn’t as fun or exciting as it would have been if you were on the same terms with him as you’d been at any point before the fight, but it also didn’t feel like a grim death march like the last time either so you counted it as a win. 

He wasn’t as timid with you anymore either, which, to your deep surprise, was a relief. You’d thought it would be upsetting to look at him and not see him looking like a guilty puppy, but it wasn’t at all. That’s why, as you tucked into your sleeping bag for the night, you didn’t zip it - “just in case”, you’d told yourself. 

It felt a little like deja vu as you lay awake, waiting with bated breath as you strained your ears. The night was calm and quiet, but you were irrationally afraid you were going to miss it - you weren’t sure you even wanted to meet with him that night, but you didn’t want to be robbed of the decision either. 

You hadn’t realized you’d started to doze until you were swiftly pulled from your sleep by the familiar rustling, and the second you heard the sound of his footfall on the dirt, you started to shrug out of your sleeping bag.

Sam was sitting on the same log you always found him on, but he clearly was not expecting you - when he heard you slip through the tent flap, his head whipped around to show you his surprised face outlined by the moonlight. You kept a relatively flat expression as you sat next to him, leaving a few inches in between the two of you; then you just folded your hands in your lap and fixed your eyes on them. 

You could feel him studying your face, charmingly trying to figure out if it was safe to let himself feel hopeful, but the relief was audible, even through a whisper as he admitted, “I can’t believe you came.” 

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and cautiously allowed your lips to turn up into a little smile. “No? Do you think I shouldn’t have?” 

He immediately opened his mouth to reply but then stopped himself abruptly. After taking a second to chew it over, he let out the most sheepish laugh you’d ever heard from him, breathy and nervous. “I don’t think that’s for me to answer. Do I think I deserve whatever you’re giving me right now?” he asked rhetorically, and then instantly answered himself, “Probably not. But I’m...indescribably happy to see you.”  

There was something you had to get off your chest, but it was a struggle to get yourself to say it. You bit your lip and dug deep inside of yourself to admit, “I’m self-conscious that I’ve overreacting.” 

Once he realized what you were suggesting, he shook his head so quickly and fervently that you could only deduce that he was afraid to even let that idea hang in the air. Sam took a big, risky chance; without hesitation, he planted his hand on your jaw to turn your face to him, forcing you to look directly into his eyes and there was absolutely no way for you to voice what that did to you.

The wind picked up just then, graciously muffling the sounds of your voices and eliminating the risk of the kids hearing you over the rustling of debris and leaves. 

“Don’t,” he half-pleaded, innocently leaning in a little closer to you so you wouldn’t miss what he was saying. “Don’t do that. I hurt you. I knew how much this job meant to you- means to you and I still risked leaving the grounds without telling you what we were risking, and that’s bad enough.” He paused, grimacing as he considered the right words. “But, then, you put out the fucking fire for me. I can just hear you talking to the director in that way that you do - diplomatic and informed, reasoning with him to spare whatever punishment I undeniably deserve.” There was a hint of a dreamy tone under the desperation and haste to get it all out and the sound of it suddenly had you struggling to choke back tears.

“Just- Please, don’t blame yourself for this to justify wanting to forgive me. I hurt you. I’d love for us to be okay but that’s not the way to do it.”

You held his stare for too long, waiting for your tongue to speak without you having to come up with the right words. When that didn’t happen, all you could do was rasp out, “Okay.” 

His eyes darted back and forth between yours like he was searching for a thread - anything to give him clarity as to what that meant for the two of you, but even you didn’t know. You let him struggle for only a couple of seconds before cracking a smile that instantly softened him further.

“Okay?” he tried, hopeful despite himself. 

You nodded at him, slowly reaching to brush a strip of hair from where it had fallen from the lazy bun he’d tied it into. To your surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as you’d thought it would when you whispered, “I forgive you.” 

He froze as you watched him visibly wrestle with the choice before deciding to use his hand under your jaw to guide you to him. You held your breath, your heart racing as you realized he was probably about to kiss you, but he didn’t. He spared you the burden of having to make a split-second decision about whether or not it was appropriate for him to rush you into something so romantically intimate, and instead, he met you in the middle to lay his forehead against yours. 

You could feel him preparing to say something meaningful, but the moment slipped past in silence. The two of you stayed like that for a few prolonged moments until he pulled away. 

This time, looking at his face was different. It was almost as if speaking the intention to forgive him had magically pulled it into existence. Out of everything that had happened between you since your conversation in the kitchen, none of it made sense to your logical brain, but that was just another perfect bullet point for the lesson you were learning about how lawless emotions are by nature. 

“So, there’s this building on the edge of my hometown,” he started, piquing your interest with his casual tone. “And you know how every town has that one decrepit place that’s famously forbidden and you’ve heard twenty different stories about it? It’s always like ‘a guy went crazy and murdered his family in that house’ or ‘a kid got lost in this old mine and they never found him’.”

You hummed an agreement, giving him a confused look that caused him to chuckle, pursing his lips to muffle it lest the two of you get too loud. 

“So, in my hometown, that obligatory location is this shack-like building out in the woods. There’s so much bullshit lore that locals have tied to this place but the one thing we know is that it was a tiny church a long time ago. It hasn’t been maintained for decades - like, the wood siding is covered in moss and shit or has just degraded completely in some places. The windows are boarded over and it smells like mold inside and there’s broken glass and loose nails all over.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and he matched it, obviously finding amusement in stringing you along blindly. 

“Well, that lovely place I’m describing is apparently the perfect venue for parties, but the land it’s on is owned by the city now and the city is pretty serious about keeping people away from it because it’s obviously not a structurally safe place for anyone to be, let alone a bunch of drunken young people, but there’s no real way for the city to prevent people from partying there because any amount of money spent on security would be a waste. So, I’m sure you’re wondering why they haven’t just torn the shit hole down, right?” he prompted. 

Either Sam was just a great storyteller or the story itself was out of place enough to catch and hold your interest, but either way, you were invested. You took the moment to tease him by playing along and cheekily asking, “Sam, why haven’t they just torn the shit hole down?” 

You weren’t expecting it, but as he smirked at your antics, he took your chin between his fingers to hold you still as he answered. “Because, next to the church, there’s a little bitty cemetery. There are two slabs left that are obviously headstones - completely unreadable - but who knows how many people are actually buried there. In order for the city to be able to clear the lot, they’d have to find records of the bodies and remove them very carefully and then there’s the issue of how the fuck they’d even locate and get in touch with the families of these people- Anyway, the city just tacks up ‘No Trespassing’ signs all over the property and nails the door shut every now and again to discourage people from snooping, but other than that, they just leave the place alone and hope that the church will decay enough that it collapses of natural causes.” 

He let go of your chin somewhere in the middle of that last part of the explanation, but you could still feel the effects of being handled by him like that, making it difficult to function in the way you wanted to. You struggled to find the impressed tone that you were looking for, instead stumbling over the statement, “Wow. You know a lot about this building.”

His pink little smirk stretched into a satisfied smile as he nodded. Using an intentionally pointed tone, he sounded beyond pleased to inform you, “Well, I ought to, because I burned the place to the ground last year.” 

Before you’d even decided if you’d heard him right, your fingers anxiously found your lips as your eyes widened. “Oh my god,” was all you could think to say. 

He nodded, and there was a distinct lack of regret behind it. 

“Why?!” 

“I want to say it was all just bad luck, but that’d be a lie and, per Josh’s suggestion, I’m trying this new thing where I take responsibility for the shitty things I do,” he teased, making you breathe a laugh despite your shock. “So, a friend of a friend was having a going away party because he was joining the military. Or...maybe it was that he just got back from deployment? I can’t remember because I didn’t want to go, but I do remember thinking that it was a really bad idea from the start. Everything was really dry last summer - like we were nearing ‘drought’ territory during this period, and here these assholes were, lighting a fucking bonfire in the middle of this crispy-ass grass, surrounded by a dry forest. It was a tinderbox. Smokey the fucking bear couldn’t have come up with a better scenario for a fire-related mishap. And, I know you’re clever enough to figure out what happens next.”

You shook your head, giving him an expectant look. “I mean, obviously a fire breaks out, but was everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, mostly everyone bailed. It’s the rural Midwest, so I’m sure a lot of people had hard drugs on them or in them that they didn’t want to get caught with.”

You were stunned silent for a few moments. “You were worried that I was going to find your arrest boring?”

He nodded coyly, a bit too matter-of-fact for that to be the end of it. 

“Getting arrested for burning down a church is maybe the most interesting thing I can think of,” you argued, struggling to keep your voice low in your state of disbelief. 

“Well, that’s because I didn’t get arrested for burning down a church,” he informed you, making your expression fall flat quickly and dramatically enough to pull a laugh that threatened on “full volume” from his lips. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

With a faux-innocent smile as your own consolation, he stated, “I got arrested a month later for driving high.” 

You narrowed your eyes to stare at him accusingly. “Then what the fuck was the point of that whole long-ass story?” 

“Because I told myself if you met me out here tonight, I’d tell you what I got arrested for, but getting arrested for driving high is boring, so I thought I’d lead with the most interesting story I could think of - which is 100% true, by the way.”

Yet again, you wanted to be angry with yourself for finding the whole thing charming, but before you could say a word, he added, “Plus, I’ve missed being this physically close to you and I’m, admittedly, kind of selfish so I wanted to draw this moment out as long as possible.” 

Still in a state of disbelief, you sat up straight, fighting to keep a shocked smile from your lips and failing miserably. You shook your head at him disapprovingly but there wasn’t a single shred of hard feelings to grab at anymore, making his next line unnecessary. 

“Remember how you used to fish so hard for information about me? Well, you got some,” he stated, smirking. “And there’s plenty more to fish for if you’d still like to keep me around- As a friend.”

He’d added the last bit as an assurance, making sure you knew he wasn’t expecting anything from you, but you were digging your fingers into the meat of your leg to keep from touching him. 

Your throat was tight, giving your voice a rasp as you told him, “I don’t wanna be your friend.” 

His expression had just started slipping into a showcase of his disappointment when he realized what you were actually implying. You could feel him staring at you and how your eyes were fixed on his lips, making him sound a little desperate as he asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

You glanced over your shoulder towards the tents, but you wanted it just as badly as him, so you didn’t have to think about it too hard when he framed your face with his hands and half-pleaded, “One kiss isn’t going to hurt anything- Please.” 

You nodded at him fervently but you didn’t wait for him to make a move; instead, you just leaned in and pressed your lips to his. It was a little rough, but you weren’t complaining because the rush of serotonin through your veins felt like a wave of warm water. You chased the feeling by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and found that, somehow, that felt even better. 

He didn’t show any signs of objection as you broke the kiss to hook your chin over his shoulder, feeling his nose nuzzle into the hair by your ear. You sat and soaked in the moment for a few long seconds before sitting up so you could look into his eyes.

You had to work to school your face into a serious, stern expression as you informed him, “If you ever hurt me like that again, I’m going to fuck your brother.” 

Just like you were hoping for, a deeply shocked smile found his lips, but before he could make any kind of quip, you added some comedic relief by clarifying, “Not Josh - the other one. Josh 2.” 

A hand flew up to catch a sharp laugh as it fell out of his mouth. “Jake, but okay. I guess that’s fair,” he informed you in the fondest tone. 

“Damn right,” you agreed and then stood, holding your hand out to pull him up too. “Well, Samuel, this was a shockingly pleasant way to kill half an hour or so, but we should get to bed.” 

He offered you only a smile in allowance, but you pulled him into another hug when you reached the tents that he returned in a way that you could only describe as grateful, but you’d only hugged him so you could press your lips to his ear. “Find me again when the kids are gone this weekend,” you instructed and felt his fingers flex against your back in a very uncontrolled way. 

You placed a kiss against his cheek that you could only assume he found frustratingly chaste and then slipped into your tent. 

❀❀❀

You arrived to dinner before Josh the next evening, giving you plenty of time to think. As your eyes scanned over the bustling dining hall and saw how many of the campers had formed their own groups, leaving their counselors to eat with their coworkers, you couldn’t help but feel the sting of the realization that it was almost over. In just a couple of weeks, you’d have to start looking for a different job - one that could never, ever compare. 

You tried to push the feeling down, lest your eyes start to water in such a public place. 

Luckily, you weren’t alone for too much longer; just a moment later, Josh opened the doors for his kids and ushered them all in with a sweet smile, pointing them towards the food line despite them having gotten the routine down a week and a half ago. His boys scattered to sit in their own little clusters but Josh could always be counted on to take the seat across from you. 

“So, how was the camping trip?” he asked, and something behind his chipper tone told you he was somehow more informed than he ought to be. 

You offered him a fond smile and shook your head. “It sounds like you already know how it went,” you replied before popping a slice of an orange into your mouth.

“I have a hunch,” he allowed cheekily. 

“How? How do you seem to know everything before I do?” 

He shrugged, though he looked proud despite his casual response. “A couple of reasons. One - neither of you are as difficult to read as you think you are. And, two - Sam asked for my advice on the subject.” 

“Oh?” you pressed, eliciting a nod of his head. 

“Well, I guess I kind of forced my advice on him, actually,” A grin spread across his lips and he split his dinner roll to butter it. “If I didn’t practically kick his butt after your fight, I’m not sure he would have made any moves to fix it. Not that he didn’t want to,” he quickly added. “I just know that, when he fucks up socially, he tends to remove himself from the equation so he can’t make it worse.”

“Or, perhaps because he’s too ashamed to confront it,” you suggested, trying to sound flat but accidentally letting a scolding fondness taint the words. 

“Sure,” Josh agreed, endearingly struggling to get the little packet of butter open. “I have no doubt that was part of it. All I’m saying is, I know he wanted to make it better - he just didn’t know how, so I gave him a...let’s say ‘gentle nudge’.”

You breathed a laugh. “Well, thank you. And, yes, things feel better,” you agreed, after a moment, adding, “I missed him a lot.” 

A smile, maybe too pleased for someone mostly unaffected by the situation, spread across his lips. 

When Sam walked in just a minute later, all his kids in tow, he met your eyes for only a second before helping his boys through the line, leaving you in your infatuation over what a good counselor he’d become over the last few weeks. He sat across from you, next to Josh, and you were relieved to find that it instantly felt comfortable, thanks to Josh’s flawless sense for directing conversation. 

The special activity for that cycle ended up being a hike out to a special location on the campgrounds that you’d always loved as a child, called Blueberry Bog. It was a glacially-formed kettle bog; the water was covered in soft, vibrant green moss that acted almost like a trampoline. The kids were pretty underwhelmed until they were informed that they didn’t have to stay on the wooden boardwalk - that they could go out onto the moss and explore. You watched with the kind of satisfaction you’d imagine a parent would have, listening to the kids squeal as their feet squished into the plush surface.

The following day was supposed to bring rain, and it didn’t disappoint in that regard. When you’d woken up to your alarm, you could hear the sound of thunder in the distance, and when you’d gotten out to the main room of your cabin, a few of the girls were already at the windows, watching the lightning streak across the sky. You’d all raced down to the dining hall with your coats over your heads to keep as dry as you could, and after breakfast, that was where their parents came to pick them up. The “goodbyes” were getting harder and harder, and this time you had to take deep breaths in between children to prevent yourself from crying. 

All of Sam’s campers were gone before the final stragglers of your group had been picked up, so you met his eyes across the room to share a look that he’d accurately interpreted as an invitation. 

He showed up at your cabin just a few minutes after you’d gotten back with a softness behind his eyes as you opened the door for him. 

You leaned against the doorframe, blocking his way in so you could playfully inquire, “Would you like to come inside?”

He nodded, breathing a curious laugh. 

You hummed in consideration, smirking along with him as he realized that you were intentionally keeping him out in the rain. “Ask nicely.”

He appeared to chew it over before smugly declaring, “No.” Sam placed his hand in the center of your chest and guided you out of the way with ease, despite your efforts to anchor yourself in place with shocked giggles spilling from your mouth. 

“You’d think you’d be doing whatever you possibly could to win me over again,” you scoffed teasingly, crossing your arms over your chest as a statement. 

He shut the door behind him and wrapped his hands around your biceps so he could move you, yet again. When he had your back against the door, he was wearing a fond expression to note, “I suspect I already have.”

You’d been intending to take the joke further - to play along for as long as he’d allow - but you couldn’t seem to find the drive after that. The ache in your chest reminded you just how much you missed interacting with him like this again. As awful as the admission was, you were suddenly aware of just how different your summer would have been without him - borderline boring, if you had to guess.  

You cupped his jaw in your hands, your voice cracking a little as you admitted, “You never really lost me.”

As easy as it would have been for him to kiss you then - to lead you into a sexual tryst - instead, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours like he had at the campsite. 

You let the softness of the moment settle over you as you matched his breathing. The silence remained until you broke it, in the most cautious way you could manage. 

“Sam, what’s going to happen when the summer’s over?” 

He withdrew just enough that he could see your face as a pensive expression masked his features. 

“I’m not sure.” 

Your stomach sank just a little. You tried again, “In the kitchen, you said that you wanted me to take you with me.”

While he pressed the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed into a troubled look. “I want to keep seeing you - of course. I just haven’t worked out the details yet.” 

As unsatisfying as that answer was, you knew it was as much as he could offer you at that moment, so you let him know there were no hard feelings by pecking a kiss on his thumb. 

“Well, no need to try and sort it all out right now.” You looked him up and down, putting on a little smirk as you suggested, “I think we have some catching up to do, Sam.” 

The breath he let out held a surprising amount of relief - like he’d been waiting for your cue. Without wasting a second, he gripped your waist, spinning you around and pointing you towards your bedroom door with a nod of his chin. You huffed a laugh, reaching to thread your fingers through his so you could lead him, but he pulled his hand away before you could. 

He only let you feel the sting of rejection for a split second before he was wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, playfully lifting you, mid-step. The surprise of it drew a pitchy squeal from your grinning lips, but he never pulled you fully off your feet. The gesture was simply meant to be a teasing prompt to rush you along, though you had a suspicion that he was only half-joking. 

You’d thought he’d want you on the bed immediately, but you’d barely made it into your room before you felt him anchor you in place. The heat from his mouth as he pressed his lips into the crook of your neck made you physically melt, relying on him to help hold your weight as you leaned back against him. 

You reached over your shoulder to wind your fingers in his hair, deciding then that he must have washed it earlier that morning, as you were able to rake through the silky strands with ease. He let out a soft, absent hum that vibrated against your neck as you gently scratched your nails over his scalp.

The edges of his teeth dragging over your delicate, thin skin made you shiver as goosebumps rose down your arms. His fingers were slipping around your body, dipping under the hem of your shirt to tease along your navel, which only worsened your sensitivity. 

You didn’t want to pull away from him, but you wanted to see his face. You used to see his angular features as intimidating, but you’d gotten lucky - lucky enough to have seen the truly soft side of him. Looking into his eyes used to leave you feeling utterly insignificant, but you could feel your chest swell hopelessly at the depth behind them now; even in the dim, cool light of the grey sky filtering in through your bedroom window, there was a warmth. The moment his lips touched yours, you felt the spark in your chest as if you were experiencing it for the first time, all over again.

Facing him now, you pressed your body flush to his, planting your hands on his chest as your fingers grasped at his shirt. You realized that being able to feel his body heat - his skin on yours - felt right. Like a muscle memory. 

He directed you to sit on the edge of the bed and then bent at the waist to kiss you. You were distracted enough by his tongue swiping out across your bottom lip that you didn’t realize he was sinking to his knees until you felt his hand on your stomach, gently pushing you back. 

You were going to give him a questioning look until you felt his fingers unsnapping the button on your pants. It was setting in, what was about to happen, and you had to take a few deep, controlled breaths to try to still your pounding heart as he slid your panties down.

His fingers almost felt cool when he stroked them over your skin, using a gentle, mindful touch. He gave you plenty of time to get comfortable, directing your focus on where his lips connected with your thigh. You could feel the pleasant burn when he sucked the muscle into his mouth, no doubt intending to leave you with a fuschia-pink bloom to remember this moment by. 

After seemingly avoiding the area up until then, it was the pointed tip of his nose brushing against your clit that made you gasp. Your fingers twisted into the duvet as his considered dipping into you, just barely sliding in to the first knuckle as a tease before withdrawing. 

Sam’s tongue was hot as he ran the flat of it over your skin, slow and languid like a dance. He opted to not use much pressure at first, but instead, letting it build with each lap over your clit. 

Your teeth were sunken into your bottom lip, mindlessly rolling it between your bite until it was tender. A dreamy hum or two escaped you as you pictured the scene behind your eyelids, but when you decided that wasn’t enough, you sat up, propping yourself on your elbows to take it all in. 

He looked lovely with his face buried between your thighs and when he saw you watching him, he met your eyes, planting his hands on the small of your waist to keep you in place. 

Despite the obscenity of the situation, he looked so soft and sweet that you didn’t think twice before reaching to tuck a strip of his hair behind his ear. To your surprise, he careened into the touch absently, pulling his mouth from your pussy so he could press a chaste kiss to the meat of your thumb. 

Before you could retract it, the fingers of his left hand wrapped around your wrist as he sucked your thumb into his mouth, and the fingers of his right hand finally slipped into you to the hilt. A tide of warmth spread through your abdomen as he worked the digits into you to the hilt, but you had to suck in a sharp gasp when his tongue flicked over your clit again. It felt like an electric shock that had your eyes squeezing shut, so you couldn’t protest when he coaxed you into laying back again. 

You wound your grip into his hair, trying to remain mindful of being too rough, but you couldn’t quite reach the thought. You knew you were tugging too harshly on the strands as he seemed to decide to draw you to the edge, but you couldn’t care, because you were peering over it in a matter of minutes. 

You were entirely lost in the sensation; it was all-consuming as it dragged you down into it. The resulting orgasm had you panting as you rode it out, barely conscious of your hips moving to grind yourself against Sam’s tongue. 

At the end of it, all of your muscles untensed at once, allowing you to let go of Sam’s hair as you sunk back into the mattress from your rigid position. 

A content hum slipped from Sam’s lips as he pressed a kiss to the spot on your thigh he’d been bothering earlier, and you could tell by the warmth of the sound that he was smiling proudly. 

He didn’t let you say anything as he guided you further up the bed, which was good, because you weren’t sure you could form an intelligent sentence - at least, not for a couple of minutes. 

He stripped down, not spending a lot of time on the show of it until he realized you were watching him. Once he had your eyes, he stroked over himself a couple of times for you. 

As he settled over you, he helped you sit up enough that he could slip your shirt off, leaving you both entirely unclothed. A warmth spread over your face when you realized you could taste yourself on his tongue, but he effectively erased the thought from your mind by parting your legs and slipped himself in between them. 

Your lips were connected in a kiss, but that didn’t stop you from moaning into each other’s mouths as he slid in. He had clearly been intending to take it slow and let you adjust, but he couldn’t seem to help himself from instantly falling into a rhythm with his little rocking motion. Luckily, you were more than ready. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down onto you, feeling almost cozy under the weight of him. The heat of his body perfectly mirrored the warm feeling you were left with as he slid in and out of you. You tried to bury your sounds into the crook of his neck, but you knew he could hear them perfectly, even over the sound of the relentless rain and the occasional rolling thunder outside.

Over your head, his arm reached to anchor himself on the edge of your headboard, giving him more leverage to work his hips against yours without having to pull away from you much. Without your conscious permission, your teeth nipped into the skin of his bicep, spurring him into a rougher motion that you instantly fell in love with. 

The sound of his breathing, quick and labored, made your eyes roll back into their sockets. You could tell he was getting closer to his end as his movements became less controlled, and even as present as you were in the moment, you took the opportunity to recognize how lucky you were to get him like this - so unguarded and raw. 

His eyes were squeezed shut, letting out an almost pained little whimper as he came and you could feel the shudder through his whole body. You cupped his face, thumbing over his cheekbone and enjoying the blissfully peaceful moment as he grounded himself again. Once he was conscious enough, he rested his forehead against yours, sweetly nuzzling his nose against yours. 

“I missed you,” he whispered under his breath. There was a vulnerability to the admission - just by the tone of it, you knew it was one of the most honest things he’d said to you thus far. 

“I’m right here,” you stated in return. 

❀❀❀

The next two weeks were unspeakably pleasant. 

You realized that, for the first time since the beginning of the summer, interacting with Sam was truly easy. As much as you’d love to say it felt like there had never been any bad blood between you and him in the first place, that wasn’t quite true; you could feel the scar tissue of a wound fully healed, but that made it even more satisfying, knowing that you’d worked through it together.

On the last day of the last cycle, you were proud to admit that you made it through the process of parting with your campers, completely tear-free, even though you caught Josh getting a little watery-eyed with every crouched hug he gave. 

After the campers were gone for the year, the counselors got to stay on the grounds for the remaining two days of the weekend, with the promise of a celebration that Saturday evening. Not everyone stayed - there were some counselors that saw more value in getting home, and you couldn’t blame them, but you were desperate to milk this experience for all it was worth. After all, even though you’d have to be dead before you’d miss doing this again the following year, you’d never be a first time counselor again. 

You and all the other counselors were informed that there would be fireworks after sundown, and you were free to go wherever you’d like on the grounds to watch, but Josh was quick to inform you that he already had the perfect spot. 

He led you and Sam on quite the hike that afternoon, and even though there was a vague trail to follow, it was clear people didn’t take it very often. 

As a branch of thorns grabbed onto your bare leg, you let out a hissing curse and then annoyedly asked, “Josh, where the fuck are we even going? There’s absolutely no way this spot is worth it right? I’m sure we could have seen perfectly fine from the beach.” 

He snickered, glancing back over his shoulder to remind you, “I told you to prepare for a little hike.”

“This is not a ‘little hike’, you jackass,” Sam muttered, cautiously side-stepping a sharp-looking branch. 

“You’re bitching now, but I promise it’ll be worth it,” Josh quipped back, completely unbothered, if the grin he was wearing was anything to judge by. 

“Oh, yeah? Then why did Ashley opt out of this trip?” you challenged. 

“Ah, because in the midst of the drama between you two,” Josh started, pausing to gesture to you and Sam. “You missed her whole story arc. I think she’s kinda been seeing a guy from Birch.”

You tried not to sound too disbelieving as you asked, “Really? Because I honestly thought you’d end up hooking up with her?” 

Josh snorted, flashing his white teeth. “Absolutely not. Unlike the rest of you, I know how to keep things professional.”

Either not buying his story or not willing to let the dig slide, Sam snarkily retorted, “Don’t worry, Josh - I’m sure you’ll get one next year.” 

The sun was mid-way through setting when you finally reached your destination. You’d been able to tell you were hiking at an incline on the way up, but you weren’t expecting for the woods to open up and show you a view of the grounds from one of the surrounding bluffs. 

The entire perimeter of the lake was visible to you, completely unobscured. Seeing your favorite place on earth spread out for you on a platter like that almost choked you up until you felt Sam’s hand on your lower back, giving you a knowing smile when you met his eyes. 

“Okay, Josh. I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong. This is a primo spot,” you surrendered, prompting him to beam at you proudly as he pulled a folded blanket from his backpack to spread out over the grass. 

“Thank you, thank you.” 

“Yeah, except I think you’re both forgetting that we’ll have to navigate our way back down in the dark,” Sam informed you smugly, but Josh just waved him off. 

“Let’s worry about that when we get to it.” 

The three of you got comfy on the blanket, settling into each other in a little bundle as you prepared for the show. 

“So, when are you coming to visit?” Josh asked you, and your confused little smile caused him to elaborate. “I mean, I just assumed you’d be coming to stay with us for a while, right?” 

You and Sam shared a blank look before you admitted, “I honestly hadn’t thought about it.” 

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be able to go off to school for the fall semester,” Sam half-agreed, sounding like he was weighing the idea in his head. 

“I’m sure you’ll get there next year,” Josh assured without concern. He finished with a sly grin, “Y’know, assuming you can change your hardcore criminal ways and not land yourself in jail.” He met your eyes and teasingly informed you, “Did you know that Sam was arrested for trafficking exotic animals? When the FBI caught him, he was trying to smuggle a pangolin across the border.”

“Oh, wow, dreamy,” you quipped, playing along as Sam lovingly rolled his eyes. 

“I already told her all about it.” 

Josh hummed, looking pleased with the development. “I figured, but I had to try.”

After a comfortable pause, he put on a playful grin and asked, “So, Sam. Think you’ll come back next year?” 

Sam looked like he wanted to say no, if not just for the principal. You could only imagine that they’d had this conversation a few times before, and Sam had given him a firm declination, but there was a hint of a smile to Sam’s tilted lips now as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes. 

He wrapped his arm around your waist, tilting you towards him until you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“We’ll see,” he replied, pulling a contented hum from his brother’s upturned mouth.

There was a certain kind of peace you’d come to know when you were a camper at Forest Springs - the kind of happiness you can only get from the bliss of a responsibility-free childhood. Those two weeks in the summer always simultaneously felt like they went on for months and flew by in a single breath. You couldn’t put a price on the freedom to do whatever your little heart desired and the comfort of knowing you were safe and sound under the care of an adult. To say you missed that feeling would be a criminally-steep understatement. You ached for it. 

Somewhere, deep, deep inside, you had come back to Camp Forest Springs this summer in hopes of feeling it again, but you were wise enough to know that no matter how badly you wanted it back, that time in your life had passed, and that was truly okay. 

Instead, you’d get to pack up and end your first year as a counselor with three different prizes - a love, a new best friend, and the knowledge that you’d been able to gift that same feeling to your campers. 

That was more than enough.

_____________ I just wanted to say a whole-hearted thank you to everyone that stuck with me through this story. It was a big challenge to write believable pacing and dialog, but I’m proud of us for sticking it out to the end! 

As always, your comments, tweets, replies, and asks mean the world, but if you feel like you’d like to show your appreciation in an even more meaningful way, you could always buy me a coffee <3 

Thanks again, Alana 

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[zahri-melitor]

so i'm reading certain nightwing volumes from '96 - 02 for my current reading run following NML (shout out to @havendance, cannot thank you enough 🫶🏾) and while some aspects of how he's written is very compelling and interesting to chew on, for the most part it's been pretty....boring?? like i'm gonna keep reading it so i can have as much context as possible, but it feels more like a chore 😩

anyways, i read your response on that “who’d you choose to write nightwing” poll and i’d love to get your opinion on what nightwing runs/writers to read outside of those 8 volumes. i really wanna get into dick grayson’s character and personality! also, if it’s cool with you, anyone else please feel free to add to this!

-dominomasc

Hey, dominomasc. Unknowingly you've just raised one of the fundamental incongruities of how comics work.

Comics are about layers of stories providing depth to a character and about dozens of different interpretations more than they are about a single amazing run. (Some characters have That Run! But on average, most don't). Dick Grayson, a character that has existed for 84 years, has some very fun stories from all sorts of writers. His title, Nightwing, is also an excellent example of how a lot of long running titles often don't really have a stand out section that's head and shoulders above the rest.

I promise, you are never going to run out of stories to read about Dick Grayson (Comicsvine has him at 9,593 appearances as I write this). So yes, this is going to be about two things: advice on finding stories about Dick that vibe for you; and advice on understanding Dick alongside other storylines.

Taking into account what's listed above and the fact I'm moderately obsessive, I have compiled a discussion of most of the major writers who have written Nightwing runs, or who have written major titles that Dick also prominently appears in.

I am at heart a 'Dick belongs to the Bat Office' person and my expertise in most characters starts with COIE. On that basis I'm not going to dip into pre-Crisis here.

Marv Wolfman & George Pérez: New Teen Titans (1980-1993ish). I am not going to explain all the title names here; you're going to have to go get more detail from someone who treats NTT period as their special interest. Wolfman and Pérez are the architects of Nightwing as a character, separate to Robin, that Dick grew into. Read this period if you're interested in Dick as a young adult among the other Titans going through the transition into adulthood and independence, and his relationship with Kory. Basically it's a superhero young adult soap opera. It can be quite uneven in places, particularly towards the back end, and there are approximately a thousand discussions over which storylines are good and which should be fired into the sun. I am not a subject expert for this period.

Because of the state of the Titans titles in the early 1990s, the Bat office demanded Dick Grayson back under their control. Exactly when they got him back is slightly debated, but it would be fair to say Batman #500 (October 1993) marks his transition back to being a Bat character (around the start of Knightquest); by KnightsEnd and Prodigal (July 1994-January 1995) Dick is once again firmly a member of the Batman set of characters, and has remained so to date.

Prodigal, by Chuck Dixon, Alan Grant, Doug Moench: (Batman #512 to Robin #13). Use a reading list here as the stories are spread across multiple titles. Prodigal is 12 issues about Dick's first time being Batman, with Tim as his Robin, and his feelings about returning home to Gotham as an adult. Robin #13 in particular is possibly the most important issue of the story, as it's the foundation of a reset in Bruce and Dick's relationship with each other and how it is going to be characterised for the next decade or so.

Chuck Dixon: (Nightwing #1-70 1996, Nightwing: Alfred's Return, and a bunch of other one shots) So Dixon is probably DC's most prolific writer of all time, and is the architect of what's been treated as 'default Nightwing'. In this run, Dixon creates Bludhaven and the situation of Dick being its protector, out of a desire to be his own man apart from Bruce. He sets up an extensive Rogue's Gallery for Dick, the most famous of which is making Blockbuster one of Dick's main enemies. He has Dick working at a cop bar and then decide to enter the Bludhaven Police Department in an attempt to investigate it from the inside due to the levels of corruption. This is also the run where Dick and Babs get together as adults. Basically, everything about 'default' Dick that you probably know comes from this run. Dixon's great for character interaction, for world building, and and particularly at making various titles tie together - because he was writing at least 1/3 of DC's entire line for a while there he's the king of crossovers, giving a lot of depth to friendships because characters just pop between titles he's writing. His actual plots however vary between middling to occasional flashes of greatness. I'd consider The Hunt for Oracle (#45-46 and BOP#20-21) and the Shrike story (#55-58) to be the standout storylines in his Nightwing run; for individual issues I'd also point to #6 and #25 for his relationship with Tim, #16 for Dick building his car, and then his crossover issues in events tend to be quality.

Chuck Dixon and Scott Beatty: (Robin: Year One 2000, Batgirl: Year One 2003, Nightwing: Year One - Nightwing #101-106 1996) I am separating these three out from the rest of Dixon's work as they're quite important as retcons over Dick's backstory. Robin and Batgirl are well regarded rewrites of events; Nightwing is less so, partly because it's a solid example of the Jason personality retcon, and partly I think because a lot of people reading this were still well across the two 1980s versions of Dick's transition from Robin to Nightwing. I highly recommend Robin Year One, particularly with the Shrike storyline of Nightwing, as they are interlinked.

Devin Grayson: (Nightwing #71-100 & #107-117 1996, Nightwing/Huntress 1998, Gotham Knights #1-11 & #14-32, The Titans #1-20 1999) Oh, Devin. Devin Grayson is a Dick Grayson superfan (she uses Grayson as her surname because of Dick). She is really good at character introspection - Gotham Knights #1-11 contains some amazing character work. She's also not shy about establishing her own headcanons on characters and retconning their backstories. Devin's biggest contributions to the Dick Grayson lore are in establishing him as Romani and actually writing Bruce adopting Dick. Her run on Nightwing is best understood as a whump, break-the-cutie run, where Blockbuster sets out to destroy Dick's life, and in the process gets Dick fired, breaks up Dick and Babs, burns down Haly's Circus (for the first time), blows up his entire supporting cast, chases Dick out of Bludhaven and leads to Dick going under cover in the mob essentially to punish himself (also not the only time). Dick's also sexually assaulted in Nightwing #93 but I really beg people to read this in context of the rest of the run; this should be looked at as PART of the whole flow of whump, rather than as a separate situation. Grayson also had the title taken off her before she got to the 'comfort' part of the extended hurt/comfort storyline she was writing. It reads a lot better if you think of this in a more transformative fandom, ficcish manner of story rather than as a more standard run. If her Nightwing run is too grim for you, I highly recommend Gotham Knights and her Titans run; Devin Grayson is honestly best when she's writing a constellation of characters around Dick more than when she's writing Dick himself. She adores his friends and family. Standout issues to get a sense of Devin include: Nightwing #100, a self-reflective issue on Dick's history; Nightwing #81, where Dick's in hospital and Cass goes after Slade for him; Titans #15 1999, where the Fab 5 go on a camping trip together to get back to their roots and deal with a lot of tensions in the group; and Gotham Knights #8-11, Transference, where Dick and Tim team up to rescue Bruce, who's been brainwashed by Hugo Strange.

Jay Faerber: (The Titans #21-41 1999) Honestly Faerber's run on The Titans is not that Dick Grayson focused. It's entertaining if you want to read some solid Titans dynamics, but the standout characters you read this run for are Roy and Donna. Seriously, if you're into Roy, Cheshire and Lian drama I highly recommend Faerber's work; otherwise it's not an essential run for Dick.

Judd Winick: (Outsiders #1-25, 34-49 2003, Batman & Robin #23-25 2011) Winick tends to write an angrier and darker edged Dick Grayson, and he has a bunch of really common tropes you see pop out in his writing. These are no different, and thus include an awful lot of violence and characters having sex (so much sex). He can be quite funny as a writer, but honestly his Outsiders run does not have much of that humour. The Batman & Robin story is basically Winick finding some space to tie up his Jason Todd plot before Flashpoint obliterated it, more than an actual story about Dick. If you want a good encapsulating issue to get the vibe of Winick about Dick, take a look at Outsiders #21, which has a good chunk of Dick and Roy AND Dick and Bruce in it, though it's helpful to remember that this issue is set very shortly after War Games and so Dick is in a massive guilt spiral.

Bruce Jones: (Nightwing #118-124 1999) It's One Year Later! Bruce Jones moves Dick back to New York City (as Bludhaven went boom due to Chemo in the lead up to Infinite Crisis) and theoretically sets up Dick's status quo out to Reborn. So. The story Jones is most famous for is the first 4 issues of the run, which are generally referred to by fans as the TentaTodd story. Jason Todd turns up to run around annoying Dick by ALSO dressing up as Nightwing and committing crimes. He also turns into a tentacle monster for a bit. It is certainly a story that exists, but it actually is pretty in line with Jason and Dick's relationship up to Flashpoint: Jason turns up to be a brat who wants attention, does violent things, and Dick exhaustedly kicks the shit out of him and gets him locked up while despairingly going 'why is this my life'. Because of Jason running around killing people as Nightwing, the NYPD get mad at Nightwing and start trying to hunt him down. Jones is for the completionist.

Marv Wolfman: (Nightwing #125-137 1999) Lacking any better ideas, Wolfman gets a run on Nightwing. It's not Wolfman's finest work, to put it bluntly, and it's very obvious that Marv hasn't actually read any of Dixon or Grayson's runs. Marv does set Dick up working as a gymnastics and trapeze coach, which is always a decent job for him. If I had to pick one story from Wolfman, read Nightwing #127, where Dick gets buried alive and digs his way out of the grave.

Peter J. Tomasi: (Nightwing #140-157 1999, Batman & Robin #20-22 2011) Tomasi loves Dick Grayson, and particularly loves Dick's connection to his friends and family. Let me put it this way; in the lead up to Final Crisis and Blackest Night every title got an Origins and Omens short story on the back of an issue. Most books used it to write creepy or introspective reflections on awful stuff especially deaths that have happened to the characters. Tomasi used his to have Dick take Barbara skydiving for her birthday, and echo a bunch of themes from his first issue. I think this is one of the most mature and grown up looks at Dick prior to Flashpoint; Tomasi treats Dick as a grown adult with an adult relationship with Bruce. I love Freefall. Read Freefall to see some really interesting meta on Dick's relationship to the concept of falling and to the concept of catching falling people, a theme that's frequently present in his stories.

Grant Morrison: (Batman & Robin #1-16 2011) Astonishingly given how much of Reborn was designed by Morrison, they don't actually seem to care that much about Dick as a character more than as a prop to set Damian against. Dick's extremely focused on Damian in this title but also does not actually appear to like Damian very much. If I were going to recommend one story out of it I'd probably point to Batman & Robin #7-9, because Dick gets to be a giant hypocrite in them and tries to resurrect Bruce. It goes badly, for all involved.

Scott Snyder: (Detective Comics #871-881, Gates of Gotham, and like every Bat event during n52) The Black Mirror is probably my favourite piece of Dick!Batman storytelling set during Reborn. It's just elegant in terms of how hard Snyder pushes Dick and how his reactions are very much not those that Bruce would have. This is helpfully extremely obvious in that The Black Mirror and Gates of Gotham are actually part of a trilogy, the third act of which is Court of the Owls and due to Flashpoint Snyder had to rewrite CotO quite extensively including swapping Dick out of being Batman and having Bruce as the lead. Read The Black Mirror for Dick having a minor breakdown while solving a complex case with links to James Gordon and Babs. Read Gates of Gotham for incredible Dick & Tim & Cass & Damian fourway storytelling that shows the dynamics of every pairing out of the four.

Fabian Nicieza: (Nightwing #138-139 1999, Batman #703 & #713, parts of Battle for the Cowl, Nightwing #51-56 2016) The thing about FabNic is when he's on, he's very much on, and when he's not it can be painful. I actually almost would have skipped him on this list, but he very much deserves recognition for writing the Nightwing issues of Resurrection of Ra's Al Ghul, which alongside the Robin issues portray exactly how far Dick will go for Tim; and for Batman #703, which is the only issue prior to Bruce's resurrection that actually puts Dick, Tim and Damian on page together as heroes. He also got saddled with writing the start of the Ric Grayson saga under the script of Scott Lobdell, which, well, is definitely at the 'not well regarded' end of his oeuvre. FabNic is again a writer that is really good at character interaction, and I tend to find whenever I'm reading events where there's heaps of writers involved and he's there, the issues I really enjoy are the ones he's had a hand in.

Tony S. Daniel: (Battle for the Cowl, Batman #692-699 & #704-707 & #710-712) Oh, Tony Daniel. Why. Daniel's stories are probably the most classic-Batman of the Dick!Batman stories. His stories revolve a lot around drama at Arkham Asylum, with Harvey and Gilda Dent, and with the Falcones. On balance I think you could probably actually trade Dick out for Bruce in half these stories and it wouldn't make a huge amount of difference. If I were going to suggest one to try, maybe go with #710-712? It's Harvey focused and it has Kitrina Falcone and doesn't actually depend on the whole Jeremiah Arkham thing.

Kyle Higgins: (Nightwing #1-12, 0, & 15-29 2011) For a reboot of Dick Grayson down to his fundamentals, and working within the requirements of the 5 year time line, I like Higgins' work on Nightwing. Sure, I could have done without him burning down Haly's circus, again, and all the Court of the Owls revelations, but some of that was clearly dictated to him, and they way he gave Dick time as a teenager with relationships with other characters at Haly's before his parents died worked quite well. If I were going to cite a favourite part of this run it's probably the last section, #18-29 when Dick moves to Chicago and tries the 'strike out as my own hero with my own city, screw you dad' thing for the first time in the new timeline. Higgins put in quite a bit of cast building work and it's a shame none of it ever got used again between Forever Evil and then Rebirth just ignoring everything during this period.

Tom King and Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #30 2011, Grayson #1-20) I'm going to treat these two together here as I can't actually easily subdivide the run between them. This is the longest period Dick goes undercover working as a spy because his life has just gone to shit. He is both spying on Spyral (for Bruce) but also his job within Spyral is as a spy and special agent. Think James Bond, except Dick also gets to be the focus of the objectification camera. Some people enjoy it as a change of pace, some people can't stand it because it's just a very weird story for Dick and Dick's generally personally unhappy when he's stuck undercover, and it definitely is a highlight in the 'did you know Tom King worked for an intelligence agency? Tom King is working out his feelings about working for an intelligence agency again' oeuvre. If you want to try an issue, I recommend Grayson #5 as probably the best character and storytelling piece in the entire run.

Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #1-34) Good stuff I can say about Seeley's run includes that he used Rebirth as a impetus to rebuild Dick's status quo. He did quite a lot of world building for a new version of Bludhaven, he got Dick back into Nightwing and back into a blue V costume for the first time in 7 years, he's interested in looking at the Grayson family and not so much in terms of the Court of the Owls stuff. He likes Dick and Damian's time as Batman & Robin. Seeley's also a fan of a lot of character beats in terms of Dick's characterisation that were pioneered by Devin Grayson - particularly in terms of Dick being easily attracted to women, being impetuous and hot headed at times, and in the Romani retcon. I don't necessarily see eye to eye with Seeley on all of his characterisation and story choices, but he does a lot of repair work on getting Dick back to being Nightwing, including things like repeating beats from the Dixon and Grayson runs so that Dick has that backstory again, and what that means for his character. I might suggest Nightwing #8 2016, because it revolves around Bruce and Dick and the concept of falling (I'm a sucker for a good falling metaphor) or #9, which is literally a discussion of the changes between n52 and Rebirth with both of the Clark Kents, and in which Clark points Dick to return to Bludhaven (in a sort of re-encapsulation of Clark originally giving Dick the inspiration for the name Nightwing, but this time pointing him to what people treat as his default 'home'). If you like the shape of Dick as Bludhaven's hero from fic, you probably will find Seeley's run has stuff to enjoy.

Sam Humphries: (Nightwing #35-41 2016) So Humphries' storyline is another good example of what a lot of the current run of Nightwing contains since 2016 - reinterpretations and new versions of old stories. In this case, it's an adaption of the Hanging Judge storyline to have taken place in Bludhaven in Bruce and Dick's past. I don't mind it as a story, but it's definitely there to remind you of old story beats.

I haven't yet read Benjamin Percy's run, or any of Ric Grayson yet (which is a combination of Scott Lobdell, Fabian Nicieza and Dan Jurgens), or Tom Taylor's run, so I don't want to give you too explicit opinions on these.

In general terms from experience on other titles and what other people have said: I really loved Benjamin Percy's Detective Comics #35-36 story in n52 and I suspect his Nightwing writing is a perfectly acceptable fill; nobody particularly likes the plot surrounding Ric Grayson, and the fact Scott Lobdell had a hand in plotting it seems to me to explain a bunch of the aspects of the scenario premise that upset a lot of people; Dan Jurgens is a DC workhorse who can turn his hand to anything; and Tom Taylor's run has been described as many as 'rewrite the arc of Devin Grayson's run but make it light and fluffy and free of consequences'. I honestly think if you haven't read much Nightwing yet, Taylor's run may be a good transition run to try to see if he's your vibe; I keep getting the impression he probably makes a good intro for new readers.

If you have any other writers you would like my impression of, please ask specifically; as I've said, Dick's been written by a LOT of people over the years.

[princess-leaorgana]

Fond of You

Summary: Cursed by Shadow Magic and a bomb inside of himself, Gale of Waterdeep takes on one more challenge. Prequal to my longer series 'Of Waterdeep' that I'll be writing little bits of here and their that reflect events that take place in-game.

Gale x Tav (Tavriel, human sorcerer female, described)

M/F

Warnings- Spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3

Read here on Ao3

Gale wasn’t used to being nervous. He excelled at almost every single thing he had ever attempted, and when he was denied a request, he had always figured out a way to get what he wanted. He was privileged and talented, he was ambitious, so nervous was not a normal feeling for him to have. But tonight he was nervous. He was very nervous. He felt stupid about being nervous, but he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He had just been tasked with an impossible task. Self-sacrifice, by divine request. He had been given control back to his body, but only for this. To let the synthetic, cryptic magic that had a hold over his whole life for the past year finally be under his control, until he was able to unleash it. He was given something back, his autonomy, yes, but he was also given back his nerve. There was something, through all of their groups adventures and misadventures he had been pining to do. He wanted more than anything to remove the tadpole from his head and the evil of this cult from Faerun, but not every second of his time was thinking and hatching new ways to do this. He was a human, a human who hadn’t had a lot of social activity in a long time, and now a very loud part of him was dying for more.

‘You look like a wet baby cow.’ Gale’s face turned bright red and he turned to his left. Astarion had snuck up on him at the campfire. That was a very annoying habit the elf had. He had a smarmy little look on his face.

‘I don’t think I want to know what that is supposed to mean,’ Gale remarked, with a decent amount of snark in his voice. Astarion’s smirk grew.

‘It's supposed to mean exactly what I said. You, Gale of Waterdeep, look like a baby cow who has been drenched, pining over at the wilderness. Mummy is coming right back, not to worry,’ he said and tutted playfully and Gale sighed out. His nerves were certainly gone, now that he was talking to Astarion. The vampire was charming, of course he was. The vampire was handsome, of course he was. But the vampire was a snobby asshole who had no idea when to shut up. It was very annoying how Astarion was truly loved by all, but certainly the first one fed to a pack of gnolls if a sacrifice was needed. Gale looked back at the thicket of trees, trying to ignore Astarion. ‘Fine, I was trying to be nice, so now I’ll be honest. Could you please go to her, confess your love to her and rut in a bush somewhere so we no longer have to deal with the sad baby cow face?’ Gale turned bright red again, his ears hot. He shot a look at Astarion, who was no longer smirking. He looked annoyed. ‘Although, now that I think about it, newly matched Gale might be more annoying than love-lost pining Gale.’ Gale stood up from his spot in front of the fire, trying to ignore Astarion, but the elf had one more damned thing to say. ‘I don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, Gale. She’s very….giving,’ he said and Gale stopped dead. He had been wanting to just go away, walk before he did or said anything too stupid, but Astarion had gotten under his skin.

‘After that little scrap we just had with those shadow demons, do you really think I’m the one you want to anger, Astarion?’ He asked and Astarion sat up straighter. A fight just won, luckily, and although no one was really keeping track of kills, Gale’s recent performance in the battlefield made him a fire wielding menace. Astarion laughed a little and put his hands up.

‘Oh, now, Gale, you know I was just-’

‘And she is giving. She’s very giving. Both you and I are very lucky she’s so giving, or I’d be in some remote cave in The Underdark and you’d already been captured by Gur,’ he added, pointing a very stern finger at the elf. Astarion didn’t get another word in before Gale walked away in search of the very person they were talking about, Tav. Tavriel. She was the very point, the epicenter of his nerves that evening, and he would face her, head on. He found her where she said she would be, at the river, washing her clothing.

She knelt over the water, scrubbing fabric. Gale watched her for a moment. He had the instinct to turn around and leave her alone, because how could he do this? How could he confess to her? Confess to her that he adored her, he was falling for her. It wasn’t much of a secret, and Tavriel had, on two occasions, suggested that the two of them become closer, but both times he let the moment slip from his fingers. How could he be so foolish? Both times he had been overcome with worry that the Orb in his chest would detonate if he became too excitable. Spending a night with Tavriel, or even just having her kiss him would be exciting enough. Although, it would have been a very fine way to go, he would never want to put her in any danger. But there wasn’t any danger anymore. No more sating the dark magic within to keep him alive. He only had to command it, he controlled it now. And now he wanted a little more control over his life.

Tavriel was in a nightgown, sort of. A linen dress, but nothing on her feet. That was always the strangest thing about Tav, when all was calm, she never wore anything on her damned feet. He always meant to ask her if she needed shoes, but he didn’t know if that was a delicate question or not. Her hair was still up in a slick braid, it was always that way. He imagined for a moment what it might look like down and he shook his head. He took a few more steps towards her and cleared his throat. She jumped a little and turned to look at him. She grinned. He couldn’t help but copy her.

‘Hello Gale,’ she said and tilted her head. ‘Did you need anything?’ She asked. Oh he did indeed, but he shook his head.

‘No, sorry, I don’t want to disturb you, I only wanted to…chat,’ he said and her grin widened. She nodded her head to space next to her and Gale walked over. She loved chatting with Gale. They were very different people, at first she thought Gale thought very little of her. He was a renowned wizard, a sage, she was a sorcerer. She was very powerful, but she was not as learned as he. Her magic just came to her, but he understood it. He would have had to or he wouldn’t be able to control the Weave at all. Wizards and sorcerers were always known to butt heads. But Tavriel liked Gale. She liked him a lot. He was also just joyful to listen to. When he was proficient at something, he was a showman, and it really amused her.

‘Am I getting another lesson?’ She asked as he sat next to her.

‘That was not the plan, but if my lady is requesting one,’ he said and she giggled. His lady. She knew that was just how Gale spoke, but it still made her blush.

‘What was the plan then?’ She asked him, wringing out a pair of socks.

‘Make an ass of myself,’ he said and Tavriel snorted and shook her head, placing her socks in a little basket.

‘Now what is that supposed to mean?’ She asked him, turning her attention to him fully. She had such bright blue eyes, round features, freckles across her face, she struck him so. Gale looked down for a moment.

‘I’ve been…waiting to tell you something for a while now. For a long while now-’

‘Yes?’ She interrupted, leaning in closer to him. He looked back up at her and he thought he felt his heart stop. When he was younger, before he shared a bed with the goddess of magic, Gale was very easily swayed by pretty girls. And he was charming, handsome and quite well off. Girls used to swarm him, and he got himself in trouble with that a lot. But now, a man in his early forties, a man who had experienced more than many men in history had ever experienced, he was repeatedly struck by this little sorcerer. He had planned a little speech for her, his confession, but it was gone now. He could barely blink. She looked so earnest. It would be obvious to the blind that Tavriel was very keen on him, the most logical part of Gale’s brain knew she was. But he couldn’t seem to admit it to her that he liked her as well, more than likely, he liked her more than she could realize. He might have loved her. ‘Gale?’ She asked as he was taking so much time to think. He blinked and cleared his throat.

‘We’ve been together for a while now-no, I mean adventuring together not-’ he shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment. ‘And in that time I’ve grown…very fond of you,’ he said and opened his eyes. He searched Tavriel’s eyes, why were they so kind to him? The truth was, she was desperate. She had flirted with him twice, both times being rather forward, as she had never been a shy person. She felt very comfortable around Gale, but as two of her advances were met with nerves and shyness, she refused to push further. Their group had to get along and work together more than anything, so she would not create a strain or awkward drift between them by being too forward.

‘Really?’ She asked him softly and he nodded. ‘How fond?’ She asked, her voice a whisper. That question gave him a little relief. He felt stupid being so nervous, she didn’t need to spell it out for him to know how much she cared for him. His face grew a kind smile.

‘Very fond,’ he told her, his voice soft and low, speaking just for her. She felt her heart flip and she looked down at the grass and mud beneath them. She was grinning so wide her face would become sore.

‘I am very happy to hear that,’ she said after a moment of composing herself and she looked back at him. Her freckled cheeks were red. ‘Finally,’ she added and he gave her a little laugh. It was bold, but it was very true, finally indeed. The two shared a nervous giggle and Tavriel glanced out on the water. ‘What now, then?’ She asked and bit her bottom lip. His brown eyes followed her movement and made eye contact with her again.

‘I’d walk through a pit of lava if it meant I could kiss you,’ he admitted and Tavriel needed no more permission. The sorcerer flung herself up to meet Gale’s lips with hers. He was taken aback, but did not waste a second of time. The last time his lips were met with another mortals, well, that was a long time ago. His physical relationship with his patron was different. Everything was illusionary, made of Weave, nothing true. Nothing mortal. He had forgotten the little tingle he felt when kissing another. The way he could hear her breathing, how she smelled. He kissed her back, promising himself that a first kiss should be just that, a first kiss. He didn’t need to make more of it, it was special on its own. He placed a hand on her cheek and lifted his lips from hers, but touched his forehead down to keep in contact with her. Her eyes were so beautiful and bright. She looked so happy.

‘Was that worth a lava pit?’ She whispered and he smiled and hummed a little. She giggled at his reaction and reached her hand out slowly. She was reaching just above his wrapshirt, at his mark, his brand. She’d called it a tattoo before, that certainly wasn’t what it was. ‘Is this going to be alright?’ She asked and he nodded. Although his stomach and heart were both flipping wildly, the Netherese Orb was silent among the rest of his organs. She reached further and touched it gently and Gale let out a faint whimper. Her eyes grew and he shook his head.

‘Sorry, it’s been a long time,’ he said and she nodded and let her hand drop.

‘I’ll go slow,’ she said and he shook his head.

‘Please don’t,’ he asked and she smiled. ‘Since our kidnapping, it’s become very clear to me that every single day could be our last. Even before the kidnapping, to be fair, but we have had ourselves mortal perils galore as of late. I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have. I don’t want to rush or pressure, but Tavriel…I cannot stop thinking about you. Since you weakened my portal on that first day you have strengthened my heart,’ he told her and her face melted. He was a sweet man. Tavriel did have a little secret, one she would probably have to admit to him, with all of the other confessions. Tavriel had never had a male partner before. She liked men, but was much more comfortable with women. There was something so different about her wizard, she just felt so comfortable around him. She never wanted him out of her sight, he made her laugh. He was so kind and positive, she adored him. She leaned up for another kiss and sighed happily when she felt him kiss her back. It was a new feeling, kissing someone with a beard. Where Tavriel was from, facial hair wasn’t common at all. She loved Gale’s beard. He groomed it well, it matched his beautiful hair and his masculine facial features. She wanted him, she wanted to take him to her tent and hold him, touch him, anything, but she would need a bit more time to prepare herself for that.

‘You are a very good kisser,’ she whispered lightly and he chuckled and sat up properly.

‘You’re a bad liar,’ he responded and she giggled and bit her lip.

‘Could we take a walk? Get out of the mud?’ She asked and he nodded, getting himself up with a grunt, but helped her up quickly. She took his hand and stood up with him. ‘How are you feeling?’ She asked him, not letting his hand go, not just yet.

He looked up at her question, up at the terrifying night sky. They were in tents under the protection of dim torches and the power of a light cleric. The lands around them were cursed in shadow weave and nothing but despair lingered. An hour ago, he would have given her a very clear answer to her question. He was feeling dread, anxiety, fear. Perils aside, Gale was usually very positive. Tavriel could attest her bravery to Gale’s positivity. Always making light of each situation helped her face many things in these past days she wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. 

‘I don’t think there is a very good answer to that question,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘But after talking with Eliminster and now you…it’s hard for me to think about what lies just beyond our camp,’ he said and she gave his hand a little squeeze.

‘Elimister’s message left you…happy?’ She asked and he laughed hard and shook his head.

‘Gods no! I mean yes, there was a sliver of hope and relief knowing I would no longer be a danger to myself and all of you, but the rest, the bigger part of that message, happiness is not the emotion I would use to describe how I am feeling,’ he said and she nodded. That made complete sense to her. She had been present during Elminster’s visit. She knew how she could describe her emotions on that visit. Anger. She was still angry about it. ‘However, if we could just leave this conversation to what we are talking about now, I’d be very happy,’ he said and Tavriel nodded. She and Gale hadn’t spoken much about Gale’s new divine mission. Tavriel was convinced Gale was going to go ahead with it. Tavriel would absolutely not allow him to. ‘Because you, you make me happy Tavriel, happier than I’ve been in…well over a year.’ Tavriel squeezed his hand.

‘I’ve never envied all of that about you Gale. You were Msytra’s chosen, her lover, a renowned, powerful and talented wizard, yes, but…to be and feel such loneliness, it breaks my heart to think of you like that. You’re a wonderful man, and tadpole or otherwise, I’m very lucky to know you. To have you in my life,’ Tavriel spoke as they began to walk. ‘We all are,’ she finished and Gale chuckled.

‘Well, you know how to get to a man’s heartstrings, don’t you?’ He asked her and she grinned. She looked down at their interlocked hands and was instantly reminded of one of the first times Gale and her spent any time together. His little Weave lesson. It was the first time Gale had ever gotten a hint that Tavriel was keen on him. They had opened communication between them, their thoughts in a moment of comforting Weave. She might have been thinking about what it would be like to take a romantic walk with Gale, hand in hand.

‘Hmm…just like that moment we shared. Perhaps I have a little talent in Divination,’ she said haughtily, and Gale chuckled and looked down at their hands as well.

‘I used to think very little of Divination when I was younger, but I have dabbled in it. I find most wizards who claim they are sufficient in it are liars, making most people skeptical of the art,’ he told her and she hummed in response.

‘I assume your practice in Divination did not give you fair warning about our misadventures,’ she said, almost being hopeful, as if Gale had some knowledge hidden away. He shook his head.

‘No, believe it or not, locked away in my little tower, I never exactly wanted to see my future,’ he said, his voice a little low. Tavriel sighed and stopped walking. She faced Gale and he frowned.

‘I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to, but Gale, we are going to find another way, I promise. We’ve gotten through a lot together and we can certainly-’ Gale lifted his hand and she stopped talking. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and Gale just shook his head.

‘We haven’t found whatever it is that is The Absolute. There is quite a high chance that when we face it, The Orb will seem like a gift,’ he told her and she frowned. ‘Let us have this discussion then, please,’ he said and she chewed on her bottom lip. She would do anything to keep Gale safe. Allowing him to detonate was absolutely not in her list of possible outcomes. He had said that if Mystra and Elminster said this was the only way, then it was, and Tavriel just stared at the jarring hole in that solution. What if Gale had already died? What if they failed him in their journey so far and he never satiated The Orb with a magical item? What if the nautiloid crash killed him? What if his body gave into ceremorphosis? Then all of life was doomed? She refused to believe it, there was always another way. The Orb might be an easy way out, but it wouldn’t be for Tavriel. She would not allow him to be a sacrifice.

‘I’m sorry that I’m being selfish Gale, you’re going through enough, you don’t need me nagging at you,’ she said softly and sighed.

‘Yes, damn you for giving me something worth living for,’ he told her with a little smile. She looked up at him and half smiled back.

‘You have plenty to live for,’ she told him and he grunted. ‘No no, you speak very highly of your mother. I don’t know if I can say I have the same relationship with mine, but I have a feeling yours would be devastated if she were to lose you,’ she said and he laughed hard at that and he nodded. ‘And Tara? Your tressym? Surely you’d like to keep your best friend happy,’ she said with a confident smile. He shook his head, but he was smiling.

‘I could imagine the three of you getting along quite well,’ he said and smirked. ‘Stubborn, steely, all of you, and brilliant. And much too kind to me,’ he added and she nudged him. She looked at him, trying to find a way to lighten the mood and change the subject. She would not let it go, but she would for tonight.

‘So, how about that lecture?’ She asked him and he lit up a little.

‘Really?’ He asked her and she nodded.

‘Yes, and I will practice and perfect it, give us something to do tonight and…future nights,’ she said and he grinned.

‘How could I possibly refuse that, now…what shall she be taught then?’ He asked and their hands released as he brought one up to his chin. ‘Your current talents all line up in the elements, so let us use that to our advantage. What element do you feel most natural in?’ He said and she tilted her head.

‘Fire I have the most fun with, but my body seems to almost default to lightning, so I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,’ she said and he nodded.

‘Always knew you to be a firecracker,’ he told her and she grinned. ‘But lightening could be a great way to demonstrate the study of Evocation, it is my specialty. The study of controlling offensive elemental magic,’ he told her and lifted his hand. From the ground to his hand, bright blue bolts of lightning crackled. ‘You or any of our companions have never been hurt by anything I’ve casted, correct?’ He asked and she nodded. ‘That is by design. Now, go on,’ he said and nodded to his hand. ‘Reach out to it,’ he said and she obeyed. Lightning would not hurt Tavriel, so she had no fear. As she did, the flow of electricity seemed to bend away from her, like oil meeting water. She glanced up at him and he was grinning, very proud of himself indeed. The lightning disappeared. ‘Now you,’ he said and waved his hand. Tavriel chewed on her lip and raised her hand, copying Gale. Without much of a thought, angry lightning erupted from her palm and connected easily to the ground. Her magic was a bit more wild, but the same spell either way. Gale put his hand close and she hummed.

‘Wait,’ she said and placed her other hand under the first, causing the lightning to go between her hands. She figured she would have more control of it this way. He nodded.

‘Oh, good thinking, very clever,’ he said and her sparks brightened at his compliment. ‘Now, concentrate on your target. You only want to hit your hand, yes? Anger, you want to use anger, whatever might give you that feeling, use that to concentrate,’ he told her and she blinked a few times. She closed her eyes, not having a very easy time channeling her anger. But then she found it. Mystra. How ironic. ‘Do you have it?’ He asked her and she nodded and opened her eyes, looking at him. She felt electricity in her hair. Oh, she was rather angry. But she would need to channel that to her hand. Her left hand was now the lady of mysteries, goddess of magic. Another god to demand a mortal sacrifice their life for ‘the greater good’ because a god is too lazy to care enough. To care about those who gave everything to them, so they could have their damned power. A rogue spark flew, but Gale lifted his hand, trusting her. Gently, he lifted and very subtly, her sparks shot away from his hand. It did not bend gracefully like Gale’s demonstration, but it broke, as if his hand was cutting her magic. ‘Oh, very good. I’ve not yet seen it like that…’ he said and she looked back up at him, smiling at his compliment, but as her concentration shifted, so did her anger, and poor Gale bore the brunt of it. He moved back quickly, holding his hand and shouted out.

‘Oh!’ Tavriel squeaked and took his hand quickly, hissing. ‘Oh my gods, Gale, I’m so sorry,’ she said hurriedly, checking his hand. A little scorched for sure. She blew icy breath on the wound, just enough to cool him down.

‘It’s alright, I’m alright, I should have known better, but by Oghma’s lute, what were you casting?’ He asked. ‘I demonstrated a mere witch bolt,’ he told her and she frowned up at him and shrugged.

‘Lightning,’ she said in a soft voice, feeling horribly guilty. Gale looked at her from a moment and chuckled.

‘Well, that showed me,’ he said and laughed. He examined his hand quickly and shook his head. ‘It is no matter, I am fine, and I was preparing for this experiment not to work, please stop giving me that look,’ he said, still laughing a little. Tavriel felt embarrassment rise in her cheeks. Gale recognized that very quickly and lifted his mildly scorched hand to her chin, two fingers gently lifting it. That made Tavriel feel a whole different set of nervous emotions. ‘I’m fine,’ he told her, smiling happily. ‘Come now, let us try once more, concentrate this time, don’t let me distract you,’ he told her and she nodded. ‘I know I’m devastatingly charming, but you must focus,’ he said playfully, but there was a shallow overconfidence in his voice. Tavriel smiled and shook her head. She gave way to a giggle and refocused, lifting her hands once more.

The lesson only resulted in two more little zaps to Gale’s hands, and the two decided to walk back to camp. Gale happily carried Tavriel’s laundry. Back at camp, Shadowheart and Astarion sat at the fire, both with goblets in their hands. It was easily assumed they were not drinking the same liquid. They were chatting, but once they caught sight of Tavriel and Gale they stopped. Shadowheart smiled politely, but Astarion was less subtle.

‘There you are! We were getting so worried!’ He said with a smirk and Gale scowled.

‘You look it,’ Tavriel said sarcastically and walked to her little tent. Gale followed her and she took her little hamper from him. ‘Thank you, you really didn’t need to,’ she told him and placed it down so that she could hang her clothing out to dry. Gale smiled down at her.

‘I have to begin to pay you back, for giving me such a magical night,’ he told her softly. ‘I do hope it is not the last of such nights,’ he said and Tavriel smiled up at him.

‘It’ll take more than a century old curse to stop me,’ she told him, just above a whisper and Gale’s smile grew. It was nice to be wanted like that. That Tavriel wanted to be around him. It had been a long time since he had felt that sort of comfort.

‘Rest well, Tavriel,’ he told her and she leaned up for one last kiss of the night. He kissed her forehead, being polite about the few companions that, although were decently far away, were staring at them. Gale, although very excited to share his affection with Tavriel, was raised very differently than most of his companions. He was raised to be a gentleman, gentlemen did not commit acts of public affection. Though their camp in Shadow Cursed Reithwin wasn’t exactly polite society like Waterdeep and Tavriel certainly was not raised to be a gentle lady. She furrowed her brows and leaned up more, leaving him with a sweet little kiss. Nothing to excite anyone over. Gale was not expecting that at all and was a little taken aback by it. It was welcomed, very welcomed, of course. He blinked down at her.

‘Good night Gale,’ she whispered and smiled, planting her feet back on the ground. He was bright red and he turned to his tent, hearing a faint little giggle behind him. Tavriel happily went back to her laundry and was immediately biraged by Shadowheart. The half-elf was a little tipsy, which usually made her snarky, but she looked as joyful as Tavriel felt.

‘Well well well, finally time that spark was finally ignited,’ she said and Tavriel giggled and hushed Shadowheart.

‘I think he’s a little embarrassed,’ she said softly and Shadowheart just kept smiling.

‘I can imagine anyone would be a little nervous after all that time in self-isolation, you can’t exactly blame him,’ she said, very cheerful. Tavriel frowned and shook her head.

‘I don’t, I blame myself. I’m not exactly shy myself,’ she said and Shadowheart’s grin grew.

‘Then you will complete him. And him you, most importantly, of course,’ she said and Tavriel nodded. She hoped her companion was correct on that front. She glanced in the direction of Gale’s tent, the usual purple glow peering through the door flap. Tavriel had seen a lot in the last month, she’d changed a bit as well. She wasn’t confident all of her companions and herself would make it to the end of this adventure, this battle against the Absolute. But she knew one thing, she loved that gods damned wizard.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hey I dunno if you’ve gotten this before but. Do you have anything on autism and DID/OSDD? Specifically resources or accounts and such (since I’ve seen the positivity post)

I struggle with emotional dysregulation, big memory issues (huge chunks of childhood and adolescence missing, forgetting things constantly, dissociating emotions from memories, etc,) frequent daydreaming/spacing out/dissociation, that type of thing (and a bit more that’s a little too complicated to explain in an ask lol)

I’ve always kind of figured it was just part of me being autistic (I’m professionally diagnosed and definitely very autistic regardless lol), but I’ve recently gone down a bit of a rabbit hole relating to plurality and now I’m wondering if it could be a symptom of DID/OSDD instead/as well (I was originally looking at something else and stumbled into the tags somehow. The original thing that led me here was foxes. I think. And then I had a bit of a panic as I realized how some of the symptoms were VERY close to some of my experiences. Especially the memories.) but i also can’t tell if it’s just some sort of brain fog(???? Is that the correct term?) / alexithymia / Unknown Autism Trait 3 that nobody ever talks about and is difficult to find any sort of explanation or resources for. And my brain protested and had the equivalent of being on the verge of a sobbing meltdown or mental overload of some sort when I tried to think about stuff relevant to the topic so I don’t think it’s going to be of much help to me right now.

obviously not asking for diagnosis or to self diagnose at all (since. I understand you cant really do either of those /lh /nm) but I’m curious if any of you know of any resources relating to this specific type of stuff? I feel like I’d go insane trying to find any info on it. (And also I don’t think my brain would want to cooperate if I asked it to because it basically shuts down, gives me a headache, and turns to a pathetic wet sobbing cat whenever I try to think about the possibility so I doubt I’ll be identifying as anything anytime soon but. I want some stuff to think over at least.)

hey, we also are autistic and have dissociative identity disorder. unfortunately, there isn’t really too much research on the overlap between autism and complex dissociative disorder diagnoses at this time, that we know of, but we do think that autistic people may have a higher likelihood of dissociating and developing a cdd than neurotypical people.

we really love mike lloyd’s work at the ctad clinic, and he has an insightful video on the intersection of autism and dissociation here:

here is an open access paper by katherine e. reuben and ayden parish on dissociation as a symptom in autism - it’s an interesting read and wasn’t too difficult for us to parse:

also, here are a couple life experience pieces by folks with both did and autism:

our own autism has contributed to our trauma history in how we were treated, formed attachment, and understood the world as a child. for our own system, our autism and our did are inextricably linked. we are certain that many other autistic systems feel the same.

if exploring this possibility for yourself is causing you great distress, it may be for the best to put this off to the side for now until you have reached a point with more stability or a greater support system in your life. please don’t overwhelm or cause yourself harm by looking into this possibility on your own, if it is unhealthy for you.

if you are in therapy or have a mental health professional in your life who you trust, this would be an excellent thing to bring up to them. though hopefully these resources can help you get started learning about this topic if you have the spoons/ability to do so.

we are no medical expert or research professional, but we are happy to talk more about our personal experience of being both autistic and a did system if anyone would be interested. best of luck to you, anon, with figuring this out. we know how confusing and challenging it can be!

[bleucaesura]

STOLITZØ - MOMENTS

***Blitzø is still in the hospital for this bit. Post “I love you”s.***

“Hey… Loony?”

“Yeah?” Loona didn’t look up from scrolling on her phone.

“Totally weird question… But um…” Blitzø cleared his throat. “Did anyone ELSE visit me?”

He felt bad breaking the comfortable silence they’d been sharing. But he’d been stewing over this weird feeling for a while and he just needed to know.

“What do you mean?” Loona raised an eyebrow and peeked up from her phone.

“I mean like…” Blitzø averted his gaze and scratched his cheek. “Other than you guys? The M&Ms, Fizz and Oz, Stolas…”

Loona uncrossed her ankles, swung her legs off the bed and sat up.

“Ah…” She put her phone face down on the bed and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

Maybe I don’t wanna know the answer…

“So?” He said sheepishly.

“Uh…” Loona sat up straight and began absentmindedly smoothing out the sheets on the bed in front of her. “Yeah, actually.”

Blitzø’s stomach did a weird flip.

“…Who?” He swallowed hard.

“Well.” Loona paused. “I thought it was really weird. But Tex asked if I’d make sure the room was empty for like twenty minutes, so that Verosika could stop by… I thought he was shitting me… But no. She came.”

Blitzø felt like he was hearing her through a tunnel.

F*ck. How the f*ck did I know that?

Loona peeked over at Blitzø.

“I hope that’s ok?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He said offhandedly. Blitzø felt weirdly numb, unsure what to say. “I mean I still have all my parts so she clearly didn’t do any damage, ha ha.”

“Mmm. Why’d you ask?” Loona raised an eyebrow.

“Huh? Oh…” Blitzø stammered, caught off guard. “I dunno. I feel like I had this weird dream that she visited.”

“Huh.” Loona picked up her phone and settled back into her chair and started scrolling. “That IS weird.”

***

“I’m going to get us all something to eat.” Stolas stood and squeezed Blitzø’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Blitzø watched Stolas swish out the door and smiled to himself.

Once he was sure Stolas was gone he turned to Loona and Octavia.

“Could I ask you girls a favour?”

Loona and Octavia looked up at Blitzø from their phones, eyebrows raised.

“I want you to find me something if you can. Probably at that weird store you both like so much.”

They both looked at him, confused.

“With the dead animals?”

“Stylish Occult,” they said in unison.

“Whatever,” he waved it off. “Here’s what I’d like you to get for me, if you can….”

***

Blitzø woke later to the sound of an incoming message. He reached over and groggily unlocked his phone.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked away the blurriness of sleep to find a message from Verosika. More accurately, a message of photos.

He opened the message.

The first photo was of a creepy plush jackalope, dressed up to look like Blitzø. Little jacket, boots and gloves.

Excellent craftsmanship. Five stars. Great job girls.

A little note was tied around its neck: “Hi! My name is Blitzo! Please mutilate me! I deserve it!”

Nice. Nice.

The next one showed the Blitzalope stabbed through with a carving knife.

Deserved.

The next had it rammed in a large pile of shit - which Blitzø assumed was more than likely horse shit.

Mhmm… Yup. Very apropos.

Another had the Blitzalope squished under the tire of Verosika’s pink pussy-wagon.

Clever.

And in the last photo you could see Verosika’s hand flipping the Blitzalope the bird, while the plush was being pissed on by a queef on the sidewalk.

HA! Classic.

Blitzø smiled to himself

He was startled when he saw a speech bubble pop up with those three little dots.

Oh f*ck… What’s she gunna say…

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst.

His phone pinged.

“More useful than you ever were.”

Blitzø smiled and chuckled to himself.

I’m glad you like it, Rosi… You’ll get a proper apology one of these days... I promise.

*****

[gravedigginbbydoll]

His Best Girl

Eddie Munson x Latina! OC

AN: Hi. So this lil blurb is very personal to me and my own experiences (and a few of those of loved ones) as the daughter of a latina immigrant. This is heavily based on Your Best American Girl by Mitski. Also I'm sorry for making Steve an ass at the beginning, I just think pre-upside down and Nancy, he was a bit misguided. And to all my immigrant daughters out there: please know that you are not out of place or just pieces and not a whole. You are a human with multiple facets and pieces and parts to make up something amazing. Anyways, like and reblog if you enjoy as per usual. Love y'all ❤️

CW: Xenophobia, stereotypes, internalized xenophobia and anti-latinidad, pressure of fitting in, strenuous relationship with mother, toxic motherly relationship at times, anxiety, bullying. Fear of not being accepted, etc. Mentions of food. Slightly suggestive thoughts.

I stuck out like a sore thumb in Hawkins. It didn't matter that we had lived there for longer than Billy Hargrove, we got more sneers than he ever did. Teased for lunches homemade by my mother, now rotting in a garbage can behind school. Teased for the poncho I wore in grade school, chubby cheeks wet with tears as I sobbed over the laughter. Teased for my mother’s pronunciation of words like Illinois, too many syllables crowded into her mouth for the english language. 

It didn’t matter how far I distanced myself. I stopped speaking my mother’s native tongue, pushing down the hurt I saw in her eyes that now her own daughter was pitted against her. I stayed silent at my father’s snide comments about her heritage and pretended to be busy when her family called. I tried to get involved in cheerleading and dance, trying to show that I too could be part of the American Dream. Yet still, like a birthmark unable to be scrubbed away, Hawkins remembered me as a stranger. 

It seemed like the effort finally paid off when Steve Harrington got interested in me. I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn't Molly Ringwall. He flirted with me after basketball practice, messing with my scrunchy, stealing my pom poms. I felt my heart soar. I’d finally made it. I’d finally been made a resident in my own community. When he finally asked me out, I felt my chest burst with pride, my sense of belonging almost fulfilled. Yes, my home was tense and sad. But now I could exist outside our little bubble without fear of being ostracized. 

Then came the roadblocks. 

Steve liked my hair straight, down and perfected with hairspray. Liked me clean shaven and bare. Wanted me to do makeup like Carol, simple. Wanted me dressed in pinks and perfect baby blues, the style as All-American and feminine as possible. Wanted me to stop carrying around the small rosary and evil eye bracelet I’d hidden from the rest of the world. I obliged, sugary smiles and gut wrenching nerves, just wanting to stay enough, be enough. 

Then it went deeper. Steve wanted to hear me speak Spanish in private, words hushed and filthy, pushing limits I knew I’d be thinking of later in confession. But in public, he only wanted English, urged me to take French at school instead. He never asked to meet my mother, who had showered me in affection despite my cold shoulder. Who only spoke in proud words over me on the phone whether it be about my latest test, my excelling in dance classes, or just my part on the cheer team. And as we went further, he’d scrutinize little things, like the way I looked, the little superstitions I picked up from my mother, the small bits and pieces of her folded into me. 

It all bubbled over the night I met his family. He warned me that they were tough but his mother was sweet. I sat, makeup perfect, smile shining, and careful to seem like the picture perfect girl they’d approve of. I nibbled at the meal his mother prepared, my heart longing for the familiar comfort of my mamá’s cooking wafting in the kitchen, the laughter in the kitchen as she made milanesa or empanadas. Steve’s mother’s cooking felt cold, lifeless. The casserole was lightly salted, and the energy at the table stale and somehow tense all at once. 

“So, what’s your mother do? Stay at home?,” Steve’s father asked nonchalantly. 

I felt my stomach sink. Wealthy mothers in Hawkins didn’t work. They stayed home while their husbands hopped around their business meetings and towns nearby. My smile faltered, but I decided to be honest. After all, they’d know sooner or later. 

“No, sir. She works at an Italian restaurant downtown.” 

“Well, I suppose Italian isn’t all that different from speaking Spanish,” He offered, shrugging. 

My stomach sank to the floor, my heart squeezed. Something about his inflection, something about his writing off my mother speaking English, stirred something in me. 

Steve stayed silent, his eyes begging me to let it go. 

“My mamá speaks English, sir. As well as Spanish,” My voice shook softly, my hands clenched under the table. 

“Ah, okay. Wasn’t sure. Seems a lot of Hispanics nowadays can’t just try to learn the language when they come into our country, for god's sake. But I should have known. You’re such a…well-adjusted girl.” 

I felt the small thread holding together my façade crack. I breathed in, trying to stop myself from screaming. How could such wealthy and lucky people be so small minded? I gritted my teeth. 

“English is surprisingly a hard language. My mother still struggles with it even after living here longer than she did in her home country.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not struggling. Just don’t understand why they can’t come here and assimilate. I mean, when Steve told us he was dating an ethnic girl, I questioned-” 

Steve paled at the mention of this, turning to me and trying to explain himself through his eyes but staying silent. 

I held up a hand, trying to keep my composure, my words cold and my anger boiling. “We try. Plenty. We try to squeeze into your boxes and norms and bend to your will and it’s never good enough. I still get notes taped to my back that say ‘river crossing’ or slurs that aren’t even correct for my heritage. I still get called ‘gorilla arms’ despite waxing and shaving daily since 6th grade. I get spit on daily and if I even look at some of the people in this town, I worry one day that I’ll be dead in a ditch. And I’m one of the lucky ones. My father is American, and I am fairly pale. I was born two towns over, for christ’s sake. I am just as American as you. My mother and any latino who steps foot in this country deserves to be here as much as you, if not more.” 

I felt my hands shake and my cheeks wet as I wiped at them, the mascara I had been wearing smearing a streaky black as I stood, brushing my hands off on my dress, my heart feeling freed, my chest tempted to break open to allow me to let go more. 

“Now if you excuse me, I must go home.” 

I turned and walked out, leaving behind the big house full of dreams of all-star American athletes and nuclear households, tired mothers and fathers obsessed with infidelity. Part of my heart hoped Steve would run after me, apologize, kiss my cheeks and promise to love all the pieces and intricacies of me, promise to stand up next time. 

But he never did. 

Steve never called back, stopped speaking to me after practice, stopped trying to squeeze himself into my life. Maybe it was me embracing the soft curls of my hair and not shaving day in and out. Maybe it was me wearing what I wanted and quitting cheer to join the newspaper, and finding more people who accepted me for myself. 

I won’t deny that it stung how he found Nancy Wheeler, perfectly American girl without any question. Straight A’s, beautiful, sweet, well-off family. I was happy for him. But I couldn’t deny that my chest stung with the idea that no matter what I did, I’d never be her. 

My mother and I started mending our relationship, and while it always had that complicated knot of trauma and things she wouldn’t discuss, it was better than the frayed edges I’d left. She still pushed me hard, she still was stubborn and said things that would sting for a lifetime. I still cried alone when we fought, guilt over her giving up a life and home to make one mine, and yet I still got upset when she would refuse to budge and claim I'd ‘regret saying these things when (she) was dead and gone.’ 

But I felt less like a broken piece of glass trying to fit into a puzzle. 

I met Eddie while eating lunch outside, still sensitive to classmates upturned noses and sniggering laughs behind their hands. I was at the bleachers, enjoying the fresh air and the empanadas I had reheated secretly in the front office. My mom had made the monthly trek to the latin supermarket to get ingredients and stock up on comforts. I was relishing in the flaky dough and savory inside when a voice startled me. 

“What is that smell?”

I felt shame and embarrassment sink into my bones, knowing some of the kids at Hawkins hated the smell of the food I brought from home, claiming it was ‘too weird’. I turned to look at the voice, feeling my voice caught in my throat at the sight. 

Eddie Munson. 

I recognized the outgoing and loud metalhead anywhere. He was what I tried to distance myself from for so many years, trying to squeeze into Hawkins small sect of acceptable behavior and praised individuals. He always scared me, his clear and blatant middle finger to the idea of blending in, his behavior and interests always villainized in this town. But I also respected him immensely and was almost envious that he could do that, not consumed by thoughts of others mistreating him. 

And yet now here he was, about to join the flock of Hawkins xenophobes, it seemed.

He scrambled to sit down next to me, his lean legs climbing over the seats easily as he sat by me. He had a pack of cigarettes in hand along with what seemed to be Twinkie. He smiled down on me, his wide grin causing my cheeks to heat quickly. Eddie was more attractive than the town of Hawkins gave him credit for, his smile dazzling and his eyes a warm brown. He white Reeboks rested against the bleachers in front of us as he leaned back on his hands, smiling over at me. His bangs came over his eyes a little with the wind, causing him to squint. 

“I’ll trade you one of whatever that delicious thing is for my Twinkie. I forgot to pack a lunch,” he joked, dimples popping out. 

I felt my hands clam up as I fidgeted nervously. 

“I mean, sure, but are you sure you’ll like-” 

“Princess, trust me. I love food. And that little doughy pocket you are currently munching on smells heavenly…Please?” 

I nodded, feeling my stomach twist with nerves as I handed him the food, smiling at him sheepishly. He took it with eager hands, his own nimble fingers brushing mine and swiftly handing me the slightly squashed Twinkie. 

“Sorry, it got a little beat up.” 

I shook my head, shrugging. I had pocketed the twinkie, instead focused on his face while he took an eager bite into the dough, his moan coming soon after, his eyes rolling back into his head, his head thrown back. 

I felt my skin heat up to blazing temperatures, my thighs squirming. 

Who knew Eddie Munson’s moans sounded so… sinful?

He turned to me after chewing and swallowing, his eyes sparkling with interest as he sat up and faced me, scooting closer to me. 

“You’ve got to tell me what that was. That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I need like fifty. Seriously. I’ll give you a free stash if you just bring me one like everyday.”

I laughed, my cheeks still heated and my heart squeezed at the excitement. 

He liked it. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t spit it out. 

“It’s an empanada. My mom makes them.” 

“Em-pan-ahd-a,” He sounded out, stumbling over his words a bit and then grinning at me, his dimples popping up. 

“Seriously though, I’ll pay you to get more of these.” 

Eddie and I formed a bond tighter than anyone I’d ever known. After that meeting, we’d exchanged names and he offered to bring me one sweet each day in exchange for half of my mother’s cooking. 

I was terrified at first, scared he’d turn away a dish or gag at the things she made. But as it turned out, that fear was short-lived. 

Eddie Munson scarfed down empanadas, milanesa, cassava, rice, and soup. He acted as if each meal was worthy of a restaurant, praising my mother's cooking over and over again. I watched with swelling pride as he asked about the dishes and ingredients, how to cook them, and what my favorites were. He took extra care to express his love for the dishes I had assisted with the night before, his sweet words imprinted on my heart like ink. 

We grew from that to more and more hanging out, me being an honorary member of Hellfire, and Corroded Coffin’s number 1 fan. I learned Eddie never got to learn how to ride a bike but could fix cars up pretty well due to working at an auto shop. I learned how Eddie sometimes would visit his dad at the jail but always came out of it bitter. I knew Eddie liked his eggs over medium, not scrambled (‘it looks like brains’), and how he had a tiny chip in his tooth from eating shit at a little league game when he was about 11 (‘I was never athletic, okay?’). And with each small piece of Eddie I got to know more and more, I felt a stronger tug at my heart. A pull to know all the parts of him, to familiarize myself with the calluses on his fingers and the dip in his collarbone. I wanted to consume all the pieces of him and feel our bones lock together. 

One night, I had invited him over to help my mamá and I cook dinner, her over the top doting and affection causing us both to have heated cheeks, his a bright red. She was showing him how to make milanesa, her fingers already coated in eggy breadcrumbs. He listened intently, still joking around and making her laugh. She doted on him despite my fear, affectionately reprimanding him for not wearing socks on the cold floor and having his hair a mess. We laughed and sang along to old traditional love songs wafting in from the record spinning in the living room, Eddie taking my hand and swaying with me in the kitchen. My mother looked over at me with warm eyes, her smile soft and sad. 

I never felt freer than that moment, all the small pieces that made me me visible to Eddie. He looked at me with warm and caring eyes, his smile soft but still bringing out his dimples. He liked me. He liked who I was. He didn’t mind that my mother had an accent or that she was overbearing sometimes, or that she burned palo santo to repel bad spirits and insects alike. He didn’t let Jason stick xenophobic notes to my back without a fight, and never made me feel like I needed to push down my heritage. 

After dinner, I helped my mother wash the dishes while she urged Eddie to talk with my Dad and tour our home. I stayed in the kitchen speaking in hushed tones in Spanish with her, feeling frustration bubble up at her listing of all of Eddie’s flaws. 

He’s too rebellious. 

Ya se, mamá. Pero-

He has too many tattoos.

Sí, pero-

His hair is too long. 

Mamá-

I had just about accepted defeat when she stayed silent for a beat before turning over to me.

“But does he make you happy, mijita? 

I felt my heart skip a bit and a glimmer of hope shine through as I nodded my head and her expression softened. She turned back to her plate that she was scrubbing, looking into the suds rather than me. 

“Good.” 

We sat out on my porch hours after that dinner, our pinkies brushing as we sipped on water, Eddie smoking a cigarette but careful to not let the smoke come my direction. We had slipped into a comfortable silence that was familiar to us. Eddie dropped the cigarette, stomping out the smoke before turning to me and smiling. 

“This was nice. I want more of this. More of us. What do you say, princesa? Be my girl?”

I felt my heart swell as my cheeks burned from my grin, my eyes watering over as I nodded enthusiastically. He pulled my hand closer to him with our connecting pinkies, interlacing the fingers and smiling as I answered. 

“Yes. Always.”

I was on a date with Eddie when I finally saw Steve again. I mean, I had seen him in the hallways in passing, his arm usually wrapped around Nancy. However, I’d heard a rumor that the two had broken up. Steve wasn’t as popular as before and seemed to stop hanging around his group of usual assholes that included Carol and Tommy. But I had never expected to see him at the local mall working at Scoops Ahoy, serving me and Eddie. 

Eddie had a protective arm wrapped around me, his expression guarded as he ordered some ice cream for the both of us. Eddie actively hated the mall, but this was the only place in town that really served ice cream and the two of us combined had a dangerous sweet tooth. He also was aware of me and Steve’s past, and our sour ending. He had soothed and comforted me when I felt afraid he would react the same way to my home and family. 

While Steve rang us up, his expression was pained, which would have been laughable in his uniform if I wasn’t still stung by his behavior. He looked up at me, his eyes sincere as he sighed, his expression guilty. 

“Look…I’m sorry I was such an ass while we were dating. I shouldn’t have let anyone talk to you like that. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’m really sorry.” 

Eddie’s arm wrapped tighter around me, ready to defend me if needed, his gaze on my face. 

But strangely, I felt a sense of closure. A sense of forgiveness. I didn’t need approval from Steve or Hawkins or even Eddie. I could be all the little pieces of myself and my mother, all the parts of Midwest America and Latin America by myself. I deserved to be whole. 

“Thank you. I deserve to be myself and feel proud of where I come from. I appreciate that you know that now.” 

Eddie smiled softly down at me, kissing my forehead as his expression was filled with pride. He paid and tugged me away from the counter, his smile soft as he handed me my ice cream and held my hand with his free one, the other clutching his own. 

“Sweet treat for my favorite girl.” 

I smiled down at the cone, the phrase not lost on me.  Maybe I wasn’t the All-American Girl. But I was Eddie’s girl. And that was more than enough.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Flight of the Sparrow (part 2)

Young!Elendil x reader. This is part two of two.

An arranged marriage fic. Also starring Raumos, the (assistant) Sail Master!

Sexual themes are touched but not elaborated upon.

*****

“So, what do you think? I hear I have missed a performance or something of the sort?” Raumos asked. The assistant Sail Master had just returned from his moment of intimacy with the blonde prostitute, several pieces of silver lighter but in an excellent mood, a sign his coin had been well-spent “And why are you alone? Do not tell me none of the girls present strikes your fancy.”

Elendil shrugged; he had returned to the first room following the other attendees only a few minutes before, and his mind was still focused on the match he had witnessed - on the bravery and fighting ability the Sparrow had demonstrated, her resilience and cleverness in facing a much bigger, stronger opponent. He was happy she had won, and since all seemed to suggest she would fight a new opponent in a month, he would have to ask his friend to procure another coin for him, because he wanted to see her again.

To see her, and maybe even to talk to her.

“That is not it; I am simply… not in the mood for it.” he explained vaguely; Raumos looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Forgive me for saying it, but given what awaits you, I’d indulge in the pleasures of the flesh whether I was inclined or not. At least you will have something pleasant to think back to if the woman your father has chosen for you is not of your liking.”

The assistant Sail Master was right, Elendil reflected as he took a cup of wine -of a considerably lower quality than the one he had tasted soon after his arrival at the arena; it was to be expected, probably, since most of the attendees were by now too drunk to appreciate the difference, or more interested in other types of pleasure- from a passing tray and looked around him. That was not exactly his last night of freedom, but his marriage would take place before the end of the month, and he ought to make the best of the time he was left - specifically, making good memories and enjoying the company of women of his choice, if only those whose company he would have to pay for. Even if he were not expected to remain faithful to his wife, Elendil did not want to regret the evening he had wasted, especially considering that Raumos had brought him there chiefly to distract him and cheer him up.

“Forgive me, my friend. It is not that I do not appreciate your effort, but…”

“Elendil, you know this sort of concern is not necessary between us.” the assistant Sail Master reassured him with a smile “I am worried for you, and in any case spending an evening here is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. I am sorry if you do not like it.”

The young soldier rushed to say he was more than enjoying the evening, whether he did find a woman to spend a moment of intimacy with or not. Around him the feast seemed to have reached his peak, with men and women coupling on any surface available, including the table from which most of the food and drink had already been taken; a symphony of moans and curses filled the air, and suddenly Elendil felt himself suffocating.

“I need air; I am going outside for a minute.” he said, passing his cup to Raumos, who seemed enticed by the graces of the girls once more; his blonde friend had been joined by a raven-haired colleague, and the two of them were now standing together on a chair, kissing as if their lives depended on it “And when I return I will look for a girl that I like, I promise.”

“You do not have to do it to please me, Elendil.”

“I know, I know. I will be back soon, I promise.”

Leaving the room, with its thick and hot air, made him feel better quickly. The armed men were still standing watch outside the door, and Elendil wondered whether he would be allowed in again, since he did not have another coin to present; he soon realised he did not care. Rather, he thought, it would be a relief.

The rain had stopped falling, its distinctive scent still permeating the air. Elendil walked slowly around the perimeter of the arena, enjoying the peace and relative quiet of the night as a gentle wind stirred the branches of the trees. He decided he would allow himself a brief pause before returning inside and making good on his promise to Raumos but, he realised, he felt indifferent to the prospect at best. Even if it turned out to be the best sex of his life, that did not change the fact that in less than a month, he would pledge the rest of his life to a woman who he had never even met.

This was what vexed him the most. Not the prospect of having to renounce meeting other women, or the possibility his wife was unattractive, or bad-tempered, or vapid; rather, it was the knowledge of such an important choice being made for him, without his approval or even just the consideration of his feelings, and there were worse destinies than having a spouse one did not love, especially if one had a promising career he could focus on and find satisfaction in, but he could not help it, he hated it, he felt trapped and exploited and unloved, and while he could not renounce his future and life packing a bag and running away to a place where no one would find him, Elendil could not help detesting the state of affairs he had been forced into…

He was so busy brooding on the not enviable future that awaited him, that he noticed he was not alone only a moment before walking into the other person. A stone bench stood at the centre of a small patch of grass at the back of the arena, under the leaves of a century-old holm tree; a person sat on it, completely unmoving if not for the gentle ripple of the wind through their clothes, and the fact they had never formally met did not stop Elendil from recognising the person who, alerted by the soft sound of his footsteps, had turned to look at him, piercing him with as intense a look as the one received by the challenger who had only a few minutes past left the arena in disgrace… and only slightly less hostile.

“Unlike any other woman present here tonight I am not interested in male companionship.” the Sparrow said when Elendil was still a few paces away “So if that is what you are looking for, I suggest you return inside.”

“No, that is not it!” the young soldier exclaimed; he advanced a little more, and when the moon’s soft light allowed them to actually look at each other, Elendil knew she had also recognised him “I was simply… well, enjoying a little peace. There is too much noise and confusion there.”

“There is indeed.” she agreed; Elendil saw her shoulders sag imperceptibly, and the hint of a smile appear on her lips, as if the young woman was reassured he would not bother her. The last thing he wanted was to change her mind, but the impulse to talk to her was overpowering.

“I… err, forgive me, but I was really impressed by your prowess as a fighter.” the young soldier said, forcing himself not to stammer “You were truly exceptional, worthy of fighting in the arena - I mean, in the main one.”

“You… really believe so?”

“I know so. I have witnessed many fights here, and I do believe you would not look out of place among its champions.”

The woman bit her lip, clearly flattered. “Well… that is very kind of you to say. Had you… bet on me winning?”

Elendil said he had lacked the opportunity, but he clearly should have. “Do you need… I mean, would you like a goblet of wine, or something else? I can… go take it…”

He was sure he was making a fool of himself, like a boy half his age who had never spoken to a girl before, but fortunately the Sparrow did not seem to share his opinion. She smiled. “Thank you, but I have drunk enough for today.” she said; she hesitated for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she added: “You may sit, if it pleases you.”

Elendil quickly decided he did, and a moment later he was sharing the space on the bench with her; she was now wearing a cape, and she must have had the chance to visit a washroom, but her hair was still in disarray, her clothes wrinkled and damp with perspiration, the dark bruises around her eye and on her neck not covered by cosmetics. She did not seem upset or embarrassed at being seen in those conditions; Elendil decided he liked that, and for a few minutes they sat side by side, not speaking, content with enjoying the beauty of the star-lit sky over their heads.

“Is this your first time here at the arena?” 

“It is; my friend led me. I had no idea such a place existed!”

“It is surprising.” she agreed, and smiled “Of course, no one joins this secret society to see me fight.”

He would have; Elendil felt himself blush. “Well… I do know it is against the law, but…”

The woman laughed gently, gesturing at him not to worry. “I am not your wife, which means I have no intention of judging you.” she pointed out “Worse crimes than paying for sex exist; and at least there are guards here who intervene if a client becomes too violent.”

Elendil agreed; for a moment he considered clarifying he was not married, but what difference would it make? After all, even if the vows were yet to be spoken and the dowry paid, he was spoken for, and he probably should not have been in what was for all purposes a private brothel in the first place. The young soldier had no honour to defend that night and he was bitterly aware of it.

“The Sparrow is a good name for a fighter.” he commented, making her giggle.  

“When I arrived the previous champions were known as the Scourge of Romenna and the Bone-breaker. My fighter name is slightly less menacing.”

“And you beat them?”

“It was not easy, but I did.”

“Then I do believe no one will make fun of you.” Elendil stated; he liked conversing with her, he realised, much more than he did witnessing the debauchery taking place in the room under the arena “Who taught you?”

“A… friend. He was a career combatant, before changing professions; not many would think it was possible, let alone proper, for a girl to learn to fight, but he believed differently… even if we both knew I would have to keep my interest secret.”

“As far as I know there are no rules forbidding women from fighting in the arena. And while some would probably consider you nothing more than a novelty, I’m sure you would quickly change their mind if they saw you fighting just once.

“I know; and believe me, I would give half of my blood to compete there, or in any other real venue, just once, without having to hide. Sadly, my dream will never come true.”

“Why?” Elendil asked, captivated despite himself, and the young woman by his side turned to regard him; for a moment she seemed torn, as if she wanted to answer truthfully but deemed it inappropriate or unsafe for some reason.

“Let us say my father would not approve.” she said in the end, which Elendil supposed made sense; no matter how much trust they had in her strength and resilience and how sincerely they wanted to let her pursue her ambitions, no parent would lightly allow their daughter to take part in such a dangerous endeavour, considering the fighters in the arena would not be gentle with her on account of her sex.

“I am sorry.” he said; he was sincere, and she smiled, as if she had perceived that. 

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

They smiled at each other, at ease as if they had been acquainted for years, at ease as if a deep friendship -or an equally deep rapport of another sort- existed between them. Elendil realised he had not introduced himself, and was about to bridge the gap when he realised he must not: after all, even though they were doing nothing wrong and he was still unmarried, it would have been highly embarrassing -and his father would have killed him- had the news of his presence at that event spread in the city. The Sparrow seemed to be a decent person, she would probably keep his secret if he asked her to, but he had barely met her, could he really trust her with such a delicate issue?

In his heart, Elendil decided he could; still, he found out he lacked the courage to do it.

“Look! It is the Swordsman.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Swordsman in the Sky.” she repeated, a finger of her right hand raised to point at a particularly bright set of stars in the sky above their heads “It is my favourite constellation.”

Elendil nodded. “Yes; the Menelvagor.” he added, almost unconsciously translating the name in Sindarin; the Sparrow looked at him curiously.

“You speak the language of the Elves?”

“I do. I was taught it since I was a child; Elves love stars, so it was deemed important that I learnt the names of the most important constellations.”

“And you do know them?”

“I think I do.” he admitted with a smile; the young woman next to him sighed in evident envy.

“Oh, I wish I knew them as well…”

Elendil decided he did not like seeing her unhappy, no matter how inconsequential the reason. He taught her the names of the stars they could see from their point of observation, and the Sparrow learnt them quickly; when Elendil complimented her pronunciation she smiled, clearly flattered.

“You like stars, I seem to gather.”

“I do. My… mother was an astronomer; she spent nights staring at the sky, drawing maps and consulting some enormous books. Sometimes, even though I should have been in bed, I sat next to her, and she would tell me all the names and their characteristics, and even though I was too young to understand I’d listen avidly and try and remember…”

Bitterness touched her smile. “I like to imagine she is there now; among the stars.” she confided, looking at the hands resting on her lap “We do not know exactly what happens to our dead, and it comforts me to know… well, that even if she left me, she is now surrounded by the things she loved the most. Forgive me, I… I should not bore you with my ravings…”

“You are not raving; and even if you did you would be allowed to, if it brings you comfort.” Elendil argued; he did find her belief moving, certainly better than knowing the people they loved were decomposing in a casket underground “I… I also lost my mother, years ago. She had been sick for years, and… well, I do like to think that wherever she is, she is at least free from any ailment.”

“I am sure she is.”

They smiled at each other; the bench was more than wide enough, but their knees were almost brushing against each other. The night seemed to sing around them; Elendil saw her open her mouth to speak, but he never knew what she was about to say, since a moment later they both heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and without a real reason both hurried to put as much space between them as they could.

“Sparrow? I was looking for you.” the man who had joined them said; Elendil recognized the match’s master of ceremonies. He looked curiously at the young soldier before focusing on the woman “We have your reward, and your companion is looking for you.”

She sighed. “I better not leave him waiting then; thank you.” she said, and stood, clearly reticent to leave. She smiled at Elendil, but waited for the man to have left before speaking.

“Will I… see you again next month?” she asked “I… enjoyed talking to you, I would like to do it again.”

He had enjoyed it as well, just like he had enjoyed seeing her fighting; too much, probably, given what awaited him in a few weeks. “Nothing would make me happier.” he answered sincerely, standing as well “Truly. But I cannot.”

“I can ask the patrons for a coin; more than one, if… if you wanted to return again…”

She wanted him to return; Elendil felt his heartbeat accelerate, and for a moment -for a brief, precious moment- he felt ready to throw caution to the wind, and follow his instinct, and his feelings, to make that night worth it, maybe even unforgettable…

And then the moment passed.

“I am sorry.” he said, and hated himself for the way the Sparrow’s face immediately fell “Believe me, I would give anything to be able to return, and see you again, but… but I really cannot. I… I am not allowed.”

“I see.” she said; she clearly did not, and how could she?, but she smiled, taking a step back. “So this is good-bye; thanks for keeping me company.”

“It was my pleasure. Good-bye, woman of the stars.”

He looked on as she turned and walked away, and despite the warmth of the night Elendil suddenly felt cold.

*

“Compliment her. Tell her she is beautiful - I do not care if she is not, flattering words never hurt when you are talking to a woman. You can hold her hand to help her descend stairs or climb on a carriage, but nothing else; you do not want to be too forward, even though the marriage pact has already been signed. You have the gift? Be careful not to lose it, and please, Elendil, try talking about something other than ships and your training with the Sea Guard…”

Lord Amandil’s warnings and reprimands had accompanied him ever since they had left their home an hour earlier, and for the hundredth time in that interval Elendil bit his lip, forcing himself to listen and nod or shake his head when appropriate, without uttering a single word; he was already nervous without his father breathing down his neck, and his feet felt heavier with every step he took. At least, he attempted to comfort himself, the moment had finally come, and in an hour he would be home again. His marriage would take place in a month, not even an intervention of Eru himself could spare him the destiny his father had planned for him, but at least he would soon know what exactly awaited him, which was an improvement, he supposed, however small.

His father and soon-to-be father-in-law had decided the first meeting between the two future spouses would take place on a neutral ground, a garden in one of the city’s most elegant neighbourhoods. Elendil felt uncomfortable wearing the rich clothes his father had chosen for him, wishing he was instead at the harbour, busy with whatever task his captain had entrusted him with, free to forget, at least for the rest of the afternoon, of the burning injustice he was being subjected to. As they walked along the cobbled path, surrounded by the lush vegetation many of Armenelos’ citizens had decided to enjoy in that warm, sunny morning, the young soldier forced himself to straighten his spine and at least attempt to present himself well; it could not hurt to make a good impression.

He wondered what the state of mind of his intended was at that moment. Arranged marriage were often more difficult to deal with for women than for men; given the fact his future wife would still be untouched at the time of the wedding -Amandil’s trusted physician would examine her on the day before the ceremony; Elendil found the whole matter barbaric, and had asked his father to waive it, but even though his son, and not he, was the interested party, Amandil had refused to listen- she was perhaps nervous at the prospect of her first intimate experience being with a person she barely knew, or perhaps she had wished to share it with someone she had had to part from. Whatever the case, Elendil promised himself he would try and make the encounter as painless for her as possible; theirs was not a love match, or even just something they were taking part in willingly, but perhaps in time they could become friends, or at least learn to coexist without making each other unhappy.

“You look tired.” Amandil mentioned, glancing at his son, as they delved into the least crowded area of the garden “And pale.” 

“I am fine, father.”

“I should hope so. No woman wants to meet a groom who looks like he has spent the night carousing and drinking.”

Elendil bit his lip again, refraining from what would have been a very disrespectful answer. The truth was, he had spent the night carousing and drinking; in the end, he had kept his promise to Raumos and had spent some time alone with one of the prostitutes after she had led him to a tiny secluded room. It had been pleasant, in a vaguely impersonal and mechanical way, and while the girl’s compliments for his body and prowess as a lover would have probably been given in any case, he had to admit his heart had not been completely involved. She had been his last partner as an unmarried man, and Elendil could not even remember her name - assumed she had been sincere in telling him.

Elendil looked at the small chest in his hands and wished desperately the whole affair would be worth it - at least a little.

“Ah, here they are!” his father said, an arm raised in greeting, towards a small pavilion, its iron-wrought dome covered by an elegant white tent, inside which three people were waiting; an older man who had quickly stood to return his father’s greeting, a younger individual who judging from his clothes and sword worn at the belt was a bodyguard, and a woman, who also stood slowly. 

He could not see her face yet; but there was something in that simple and brief movement -the way she carried herself, the slow rising of her head to regard him, the colour of her hair- that had Elendil almost trip over his own feet.

“Do not lag behind.” his father instructed; the young soldier did not answer, and a moment later his future father-in-law walked to meet them, and was exchanging a formal embrace with Amandil before being presented to Elendil, who bowed low, still shaken.   

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my young friend. My daughter is eager to meet you.” the older man, tall and elegantly but sensibly dressed, answered; there was kindness in him, Elendil decided, and a sort of trepidation, as if he was also nervous about that meeting “Allow me to introduce the two of you.”

The woman had climbed down the few steps leading to the pavilion. Elendil felt her utter an odd sound, halfway between a cry and a moan -that voice- quickly silenced by a hand on her mouth, but as he covered the short distance, he found himself unable to raise his eyes to meet hers; blood was rushing in his ears, his heart beating twice as fast. It could not be. Or could it? Please… oh, please, if there is some justice in this world, if I have done something in my life to earn a stroke of luck…

“My darling, these are lord Amandil and his son Elendil.” 

By now they were face to face, the armed guard hovering protectively behind the woman, but all Elendil could see were her delicate shoes, and the hem of her dress. He could feel his father tense beside him, ready to elbow him in the side. He had walked to that encounter without any expectation whatsoever, already bitter and angry at the whole affair, but now he realised there was an emotion he had not considered, and that threatened to make him feel worse than ever…

Disappointment.

He looked at her; the chest with the betrothal gift almost slipped from his grasp. 

“My name is (name).” the Sparrow said, her tone firm; despite the strength and resilience he already knew she possessed for a moment Elendil feared she was about to swoon “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

*

There were stars on her dress, a delicate embroidery on the neckline, sleeves and hem; it was very pretty, and she was as well, and Elendil found the courage to tell her as they walked side by side in the gardens, followed by (name)’s father’s bodyguard, Almaran, from a distance. 

“That is… very nice to say so, my lord.” she answered, openly flattered; she looked shyly at him before averting her gaze once more “My father wanted me to buy a new dress especially for this occasion, but I was able to convince him it would be appropriate for me to wear one of my mother’s old dresses.”

“It is an appropriate dress for an astronomer.”

“It really is.”

She walked slowly, her eyes kept demurely low, wringing her hands until she realised Elendil had noticed, and then she stopped, keeping them clasped in front of her. 

Her behaviour could not have been more different from the frank, open and friendly attitude she had kept on the previous night, when the two of them had spoken outside the arena, and Elendil thought he knew why; the Sparrow -(name), he corrected himself; he had to be very careful when addressing her in public, but the young soldier did not doubt she would always be the Sparrow to him, at least in the privacy of his heart- feared he thought less of her now that he knew of her passion for fighting, and that he would share her secret with their fathers, shaming her and ruining her reputation. 

Nothing could be farther from his intentions -and his feelings- and Elendil knew he needed to tell her as soon as possible, preferably while they were safe from prying ears; fortunately their fathers had conceded them a little time to get to know each other, and that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Shall we sit?” he offered as they walked past another bench; he saw the woman next to him tense, and swallow, her gaze quickly moving to the man shadowing them ten paces behind as if to reassure herself. The bodyguard smiled at her, and then looked meaningfully at Elendil, his hand resting on the short sword hanging from his belt. 

“Of course, my lord.”

He brushed away some leaves from the bench to allow her to sit; Elendil sighed, wondering how to best broach the subject, and then he decided straightforwardness could not hurt.

“I am not going to tell them.” he started softly, looking straight in front of him “I believe there is nothing inappropriate and shameful in what I saw you doing, but even if there was, I would keep my mouth shut.”

Slowly, she raised her gaze to look at him, unsure, as if not daring to believe. “Are you serious, my lord?”

“Elendil, please. I think we should call each other by name, given… well, the circumstances.”

Another smile, still shy, but still beautiful. “Elendil is a lovely name.” (name) commented “Does it… have a meaning? In the language of the Elves?”

“It has two, actually. It means either Elf-friend or One who loves the stars.”

“Oh, that is a name I would love to carry…”

“Well, I can lend it to you, if you wish, sometimes.” he offered, perfectly serious, and they both giggled. “I was serious.” he added softly a moment later “Your secret is safe with me, whatever happens. I swear.”

For the first time since they had been introduced, (name) looked openly at him. “You might change your mind one day.” she warned him; most of the bruises she had received during her match on the previous night had been covered by cosmetics, but the one of her neck was peeking out of her dress’ neckline  “Especially considering I have been told you have been forced into this marriage just like I have, and telling our fathers what you have seen me do would probably be enough to force yours to rescind the pact, and mine to accept it.”

Elendil had not thought about it, but she was right. Even though (name) had not been one of the women selling her body at the arena, and an unsanctioned fight did not exactly qualify as a crime, the whole situation was embarrassing enough Amandil would not consider her a worthy bride for his son. Could it be the way out he had desperately been looking for? The young soldier briefly considered it, and then he attempted to imagine the consequences the scandal would have on (name) if the truth became public.

“Would… your father be angry with you, if he knew about the arena?” he inquired. 

(name) sighed. “He would not beat me if this is what you are afraid of; but he has been looking for a suitable husband for me for years, and he is the sort of man who thinks a woman does not need ideas or interests of her own, if she can share those of her father or husband. Knowing what you saw me do, and where… he does love me, but I do not think he could ever forgive me, or respect me any longer.”

“But there was nothing wrong in what you were doing.”

“I agree; but a man of his age, who has received a certain sort of education, is bound to think in a certain way. It is not like I enjoyed performing in the arena, for a crowd of debauchees who sometimes promise to pay my opponents more if they can tear my clothes off; and I do not do it for the coin either, since Almaran makes sure it goes to an indigent family we are acquainted to.”

Elendil supposed Almaran was the friend who had taught her to fight, and who had been looking for her on the previous night, when he and (name) had parted. “Why do you do it, then?” he asked curiously; (name) looked at him for a moment before answering, as if to make sure he was actually interested in the matter, and was not simply humouring her.

He was not.

“Because it makes me feel strong. Worthy. Alive, even.” she confessed; she seemed almost relieved, as if she had never shared those secrets with anyone “I have been interested in fighting arts since I was little, dreaming about competing in a great arena -in the main stage, obviously- and winning acclaim for my strength and resilience; but as a young girl, once my father saw Almaran teach me how to throw a punch, and he immediately told me to stop, because such activities were not appropriate for a highborn young lady, and I best focus on my embroidery and harp lessons. My mother knew Almaran kept teaching me to fight, and she liked knowing I was able to defend myself in case of danger; but as you know she has passed, and after my father decided we would move here in the city to find me a husband, he told me he expected me to behave respectably, so as not to bring shame on our family. I know it was dangerous and reckless of me to go to the arena, but I could not help it. I do enjoy needlework and music and other feminine occupations, and would like to get married, one day; but those moments on the ring, when I can forget about appropriateness and rules and the need to impress a suitor and focus on simply punching my opponent as hard as I can and avoid his blows… in those moments, and only then, I feel life is worthy to be lived.”

“I know what you feel.”

“You do?”

“Of course; I have always aspired to join the Sea Guard, but I must admit an added value to spending days and even weeks at sea is that I do not have to deal with my father, and his expectations for me as his heir.” Elendil admitted “I do love him, and I know he wants what is best for me, but sometimes I feel myself suffocating. This is why I enjoy being a seaman: when you are on a ship, surrounded by the waves, no one cares if you are a nobleman, or wealthy or from a good family; you still need to hold the rudder, unfurl the sails and carry out whatever task the captain gives you. At sea, no one is given special treatment; when you are on a ship you have your own duties, but you are free from all others.”

(name) grinned; she seemed much more at ease in this company already, which Elendil considered a victory. “Then perhaps we should both steal a ship and sail as far from here as we can.” she suggested. 

“It would be nice. Unfortunately even the largest ship has to dock, sooner or later.”

They both reflected on that truth as they sat side by side, not touching but both aware of the growing closeness between them, a sort of unexpected, chaste intimacy that had blossomed on the previous night as they became acquainted outside the arena, a moment both of them had carried in their heart after they had parted. Elendil wanted to ask (name) what would be worse, having her father know about her secret activities or being forced to marry him, but he found that once again his courage was failing him.

Still, he felt he could be honest with her; it was easy, even, as if they had known each other for a long time. He had never felt anything like that, but he liked it, and he felt grateful for it. 

“I am happy I met you.” he murmured, regarding the woman next to him “I mean… before today. I was very nervous, and I know there is still so much we do not know about each other, and we only spoke for a few minutes, but…”

… but those few minutes had been important; precious, even, and while neither felt able to utter the words, it was a feeling both shared. (name) smiled; she was pretty when she did that, Elendil thought.

“Tell me, the reason why you told me you would not return to the arena… is because you are going to get married?” she asked after a while.

“It is. Yestereve was meant to be… well, a last night of freedom; and I must confess I… did pay one of the ladies for her time.” Elendil admitted; he felt embarrassed, even ashamed, but he knew she deserved to know “But nothing of the sort will happen once we get married, you have my word.”

“I would never ask you that, Elendil; not since I know you have not… chosen me.”

“I know; but I would not be able to live with myself if I spoke the marriage vows already planning to break them. Also, you have not chosen me either.” he pointed out “Do you… have someone?”

“No. You?”

“Neither. I admire your honesty, and have also always considered adulterous affairs squalid, but that does not mean…” she sighed “You seem a good man; and I enjoyed talking to you last night, I wish we had more time for that. But that does not mean an eventual marriage between us would be successful; my father told me I would not have to spend all my time with you, at least once we have had a child or two, but perhaps naively, I have always thought there was more to marriage than conceiving an heir and hosting dinners together. I have always wished for a spouse I could respect, and even like; for a spouse who cared for me beyond the advantages our match could bring him.”

She looked so sincere, open and unashamed as she shared her most intimate desires with a person she barely knew, Elendil felt a surge of affection filling his heart. She did not need protecting, he was sure of it, or to be taken care of, but he promised himself she would never have to regret being forced into that marriage; a marriage, he realised in his heart, he suddenly felt, if not happy, much less nervous about than an hour before.

“I forgot; this is for you.” he said suddenly, offering her the chest he had carried with him up to that point “A gift, to celebrate our first official meeting. I hope it pleases you.”

(name) smiled shyly as she accepted the chest and opened it; resting on the tiny cushion was a bracelet, a heavy, sumptuous jewel, the bright red of the gems almost blinding. It had belonged to Elendil’s grandmother -a kind and generous woman, but not known for her good taste- and had already been out of date when she had worn it. Elendil, who knew nothing of jewellery and feminine tastes, was ready to bet no young woman of his time would ever wear it, no matter how precious the bracelet was.

“Oh! Well, it is beautiful!” (name) exclaimed as she regarded the jewel in her hand; amused, Elendil saw clearly how desperately she was attempting to look more impressed than she actually was “It is so… so…”

“... gaudy?” 

“Well, I was going to say striking, but…”

They shared a smile, and they both started to laugh. “I am sorry.” Elendil said “This is a terrible gift, but my father chose it, and he thought the larger and more ostentatious the jewel, the more impressed you would be. You hate it, do you not?”

(name) admitted that while hate was too strong a word, the bracelet was as far from her tastes as it could be. “But I do appreciate the gesture, and I will make sure to thank your father for it.” she promised “He looks… very stern; proud of you, of course, but not the sort of man who would suffer being gainsaid.”

“You are an excellent judge of character.”

“So if we did attempt to break our betrothal, in the way we have already discussed, you would suffer the consequences as well.” (name) pointed out, and Elendil nodded; Amandil would not blame him for his intended’s actions, but admitting he had been to a brothel, a formally outlawed sort of place where anyone could have recognized him as his father’s son, would have had significant, even tragic repercussions.

“It seems like we both have a lot to lose.” he summed up softly, and the woman next to him nodded sadly “Which is why I was wondering… do you think our fathers would accept, if we asked them to prolong our betrothal?”

“You mean… do not attempt to break the pact, but avoid having to marry within the end of the month?”

“Exactly. I… I enjoy spending time with you, and I do believe any man would be fortunate to be your intended; but we know so little about each other…”

“... and becoming man and wife now would only make us unhappy.” (name) finished for him; she had started wringing her hands again “I agree. Maybe if we both asked them, our fathers would relent; and then we could… do something together another time? There are so many places in the city and its surroundings I still do not know, and maybe in a few weeks or months we will… well…”

… we will have time to decide if we do want to go on with this betrothal or not; whether we like each other enough for that or not, and if we could make each other happy. She had to be too embarrassed to utter the words, but Elendil perceived her intentions nonetheless, and more importantly, he shared them completely.

“I would like that.” he murmured; shyness and nervousness had disappeared, and now his heart was filled with an emotion that was, if not exactly eagerness, at least hope - the hope of discovering living in a cage could be pleasant, with the right cellmate “In fact, it would make me very happy if I could see you again, and… well, I would not say no if you could provide me with another coin for the arena.”

(name) smiled; joy seemed to blossom on her face. “To meet the ladies or…?”

“No; I want to see the Sparrow fight again, and best another opponent.”

“Then I do believe that can be arranged.”

Elendil nodded; he reflected for a moment, then he turned to the man waiting a few paces away, still vigilant even though he had noticed how at ease (name) seemed in his company.

“May I hold your lady’s hand for the remainder of our time together?” he asked courteously.

If Almaran was surprised to be consulted, he did not show it. “I have nothing against it, my lord.” he answered “If my lady permits, that is.”

He nodded, he stood, he bowed. “May I have your hand as we walk, my lady?”

“I would like that, Elendil.”

She took his hand; their fingers intertwined, and there was no need to say more. They started along the path, leaving the chest with the bracelet on the bench behind them.

This fic is dedicated to two of the best people on Tumblr: @hippodameia and @montyc. Thank you so much for asking!!

[fragolar]

Quite the manners || Geralt Of Rivia - The Witcher

Hello darlings, Back to this for a second round. Previous part. Summary: Lexa and Geralt have a tense meal, teasing each other over their differing manners and backgrounds. They agree to share their secrets in their own ways. Despite their initial judgments, they find common ground in their burdens and responsibilities, beginning to understand and respect each other. They realize that perhaps they are more similar than they initially seemed.

She was eating rather slowly, enjoying the lunch in peace, utter silence after quite a long day. However, the sounds coming from across the table were making it hard for her to continue her meal.

Geralt was eating quickly, clearly hungry, but his movements, while hurried, were not entirely unrefined.

“It’s not like I’d remove the food I just granted you from your plate, Witcher. Show some manners and respect for those who are feeding you instead of letting you rot in the pearly white snow.” Her voice was gentle, though it slightly betrayed her irritation.

Geralt paused, looking at her with a calm, measured gaze. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and slowed his pace. “Apologies, Princess,” he said, his tone even. “It’s been four days since my last proper meal. This is the best food I’ve had in a long time.”

The princess sighed, still somewhat annoyed but appreciating the change. She put down her napkin and stood up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my appetite has been satiated.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Princess,” Geralt muttered in a low, husky voice, causing her to pause. Despite her irritation, she found herself momentarily captivated by his presence. “I meant no offense. The food is excellent, and so is your hospitality. I respect your efforts to keep your people safe.”

“Take a bath afterward. You smell like horse manure.” Lexa shifted her attention elsewhere, making Geralt smirk.

“Do you always change the topic when—”

“Careful, Witcher,” she interrupted, trying to mimic Geralt’s manners. However, it only backfired as his little smile grew wider. He rested his back on the chair, his forearms on the edge of the table. Suddenly, her breath was short. They shouldn’t interact like this. Yet it was exciting. Thrilling.

“How come your father decided to keep you a secret? Aren’t royals supposed to embrace as many connections as they can?”

Lexa stood still, debating whether to sit down and talk or to end this interaction. He was dangerous, and his smirk too.

“Because of monsters like you.”

“Touché,” Geralt hummed, pleased with her words. “But I’m asking you for a more elaborate answer.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “Secrets can be burdensome, Princess. Trust is hard to come by. But sometimes, sharing them with the right person can lighten the load.”

“Tell me first why you’re suddenly so interested in the promised child after years of neglecting her.”

Geralt’s gaze softened, his expression betraying a hint of remorse. “I’ve been searching for Ciri for years. She’s like a daughter to me, and I made a promise to protect her. But I’ve failed her before, and I won’t let it happen again. The world is a dangerous place, and she needs me now more than ever. So, despite years of searching and neglecting her, I’ve realized that I can’t abandon her. Not again.”

Lexa sat back down on her chair, staring curiously into his yellow eyes. Did she feel empathy? It was hard to tell. The only certainty was that she trusted his words.

“I wish my own Father asked himself such questions.” Her chuckle echoed in the room. “I’ve been but a mere shadow for decades now.” This time it was Geralt’s turn to listen attentively to her words and observe her expressions. Maybe she wasn’t so spoiled after all. “I never understood why, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Her eyes greeting his. “Finish the food, and go wash yourself. I wasn’t being disrespectful on purpose, you indeed do emanate horse manure.”

“Speaking of horse…”

“Your horse is alive, worry not. She’s in our gardens alongside other horses.”

“That’s a relief, thank you Princess.”

As Geralt finished his bath, he found amusement in the Princess's provocation of adding all kinds of flowers to the water. He felt rather relieved. Upon exiting the bathroom, clothed in the generous garments provided by Lexa's stylists, he encountered the Princess, her hand midair, about to knock.

“Impatient, Princess? Couldn't wait for me to finish?” Geralt's smirk was unmistakable.

Lexa's cheeks began to color as she cleared her throat. “No, not interested. My lovers are finer than your grotesque mannerisms.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, the smirk growing wider. “I'm not here to discuss such scandalous topics. Rather, to inform you that there's a violent storm coming, which will delay your departure.”

“And here I thought I was welcome,” his voice lowered, husky and pungent.

"Partly."

"Partly?"

Lexa hummed softly, holding his gaze, her mind beginning to wander away from her duties. It was a terrible idea to come after he had showered. She should’ve sent a servant to invite him for tea instead. “Remember, I've got your horse and swords,” Lexa warned.

“And what exactly would that entail?” Provocation after provocation. Why was Lexa letting him have so much fun? Did she enjoy it too?

“There's this recipe that involves a horse head stabbed with a silver sword.”

“Lay a finger on my girl and I'll murder all of your livestock.” His tone became unfriendly, clearly not amused by her words. Who knew a Witcher could be so affectionate towards a horse?

“Then don't ask me stupid questions, Witcher. Nor insult my pride.”

Geralt hummed slowly, his voice vibrating in his throat as he looked away and began to walk down the hallway.

They were like cats, wanting to get to know each other but too cautious. Deep down, they both knew how this would end, but they had too much fun to continuously bicker.

Next part.

[bliss-wily]

of all characters why zarbon? he was weak and pointless.

EDIT: Please draw your attention to this post as it’s relevant to this one, only if you wish to as the two posts go hand in hand, but it’s important. https://www.tumblr.com/bliss-wily/743634450086264832/an-apology-it-has-come-to-my-attention-that-a

I’ll agree to disagree. Zarbon was formidable. Vegeta underestimated him, he transformed, he beat Vegeta up but didn’t kill him. Frieza was disappointed in him, but in the short amount of screen time he had in all of his appearances we learn a lot:

He was highly intelligent.

His avoidance of transforming most of the time reveals that the man had been holding back for decades if not centuries. The Raging Blast games imply it was ‘eons’.

Zarbon is a Prince, and despite being regarded as a narcissist unlike Vegeta he isn’t flaunting that title like some shiny badge.

Outside of…Dead Zone? I think? Zarbon is the first to showcase a transformation that isn’t a giant form.

And unlike the Saiyans he takes on a different appearance.

There was depth to his character, his on screen kill count is low, he was shown to be pragmatic and rather humane.

But…he was scared. Frieza threatened to kill him. That threw him off his game.

I think had Zarbon took a moment to process and clear his head he would have beaten Vegeta again. However, I still don’t think he would have killed him…I think he would have turned on Frieza.

Sure he said Frieza-sama in the Japanese version but…

If you had been saying that for decades it’s kinda hard to break the habit. I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

He’s not stupid, I think he was serious about betraying Frieza because think about it..

He served a man who had different values from him out of fear.

Zarb was pragmatic, he just wanted to take care of the source of the problem and leave everything else alone - Frieza didn’t agree.

Unlike the others the boy had a genuine look of sadness and shock when Frieza was quite happy to go through with Planet Vegeta’s destruction.

He is my favourite because there is so many layers to him. He wasn’t in the series long but he’s just so interesting. His race is unique, his personality feels unique. His fighting style was unique too. If anyone had to be revived I hope it’s either Raditz or Zarbon as those two could have been redeemed and they could have joined the Z-Fighters.

He is morally grey, but, Vegeta was down right cruel and could be redeemed. Zarbon had shown evidence of redeeming qualities in all forms of media (wanting peace, worried about Frieza gaining more power, he was self aware, with Dodoria showed remorse and shock when Planet Vegeta was blown up) and he certainly didn’t turn around and kill his closest friend/father figure. (Let’s face it, Nappa basically raised Vegeta and probably Raditz too).

Zarbon isn’t perfect, but that’s what I like to see. He had shortcomings, he was fearful but not a coward, he had phobias, but he also tried to do his job without all the collateral damage and he genuinely cares. He was shocked hearing of Dodoria dying, he gets pissy when alternate timeline Frieza starts insulting him and his ‘star subordinate’, he shows that he’s capable of jealousy and he can be thankful and apologetic.

I understand he’s branded as a narcissist because he thinks he’s beautiful but so many of his traits contradict NPD. He is empathetic, he doesn’t put himself or his own gain above others, he can take accountability for his failures. It seems more so that the other in verse characters place those traits onto him - such as when they expect that Zarbon is only using the future warrior as a slave or to do his dirty work - but he doesn’t.

“You need only watch.” - doesn’t necessarily want help from his student.

“Excellent, I’d much rather spend time with you.” - actually enjoys spending time with his student.

“This session was deeply moving for me. It would not have been possible had we not met.” - can be interpreted in several ways. However; it sounds like a bond is developing.

“I welcome any and all who know how to conduct themselves.” - this is said to a Saiyan, implies that his detest is by person, not an entire race.

“You handled yourself pretty well out there too. My compliments.” - he is always handing out praise to his student. But not just them, there are soldiers on the ship who sound so happy that Zarbon compliments them unlike Frieza and Dodoria.

“Magnificent! You’ve done well to come this far! You’ve done your instructor proud!” - again, actually being happy for his student.

“I am dazzled by your radiance!” - this is just showing more and more depth to this man. I get Zarbon is entitled but he’s a Prince, they’re all a bit entitled.

Some more quotes seeing as I have a ton of screenshots~

“You are my prized trainee!”

“Starting now I will polish you into the most beautiful gem the universe has ever seen!”

“Yes! Yes! You’re just as beautiful as I imagined you’d be!”

“You have my apologies. I should not be so passionate in front of my trainee.”

“Your fighting style is truly elegant. So elegant, in fact, that I’ve fallen in love with it, just watching you train.”

“You are a true diamond in the rough…”

“But several will try to woo you, given your considerable strength, and I wouldn’t want you to choose the wrong master.”

Below, Zarbon being nice and a bit of tsundere/flirt. This game seemed like a dating sim at times.

Then him when it’s life or death with his closest ally by his side.

Also I notice in this fight he will throw himself in front of the future warrior several times. He always gets knocked out every time I do this fight as he won’t let the player get hurt - every other mentor I’ve done this with tends to make it to the end on all versions of the game but Zarbon really puts his neck out there for the player. Whether it’s a glitch in the AI or not; I don’t know. But, it plays into his characterisation.

Anyway I went on a ramble, but why Zarbon? So many reasons. The more lore they add; the more I like him. He’s a complex character in my opinion.

EDIT: Please draw your attention to this post as it’s relevant to this one, only if you wish to as the two posts go hand in hand, but it’s important. https://www.tumblr.com/bliss-wily/743634450086264832/an-apology-it-has-come-to-my-attention-that-a