#Add Drop Shadow Service

[patheditprovider]

Enhancing Earring Images: Color Correction and Clipping Path with Drop Shadow Service

When it comes to showcasing earrings in photographs, achieving the perfect look is essential for attracting customers and making sales. Let's delve into how color correction service and clipping path with drop shadow service can elevate your earring images to the next level.

Color Correction Service for Earring Images

Color correction plays a vital role in ensuring that your earring images look vibrant, true to life, and appealing to potential buyers. Here's why it's essential:

Correcting Color Inconsistencies: Color correction helps to eliminate any discrepancies in color tone or hue, ensuring that the earrings appear as they would in real life.

Enhancing Visual Appeal: By adjusting brightness, contrast, and saturation levels, color correction enhances the overall visual appeal of earring images, making them more attractive to customers.

Maintaining Brand Consistency: Consistent color correction across all earring images helps maintain brand identity and professionalism, which is crucial for building trust with customers.

Clipping Path with Drop Shadow Service

In addition to color correction, utilizing a clipping path with drop shadow service can further enhance the presentation of your earring images. Here's how it can benefit you:

Isolation of Earrings: A clipping path service ensures precise isolation of the earrings from the background, allowing you to showcase them against any backdrop of your choice.

Adding Realism with Drop Shadows: By adding drop shadows to the earrings, you create a sense of depth and realism, making the images more visually appealing and lifelike.

Highlighting Details: Drop shadows can help highlight the intricate details of the earrings, drawing attention to their design and craftsmanship.

Why Choose Professional Services?

While it's possible to attempt color correction and clipping path with drop shadow techniques yourself, opting for professional services offers several advantages:

Expertise and Experience: Professional service providers have the expertise and experience to deliver high-quality results efficiently.

Time and Efficiency: Outsourcing these tasks saves you time and allows you to focus on other aspects of your business, while professionals handle the image editing process swiftly and effectively.

Consistent Quality: Professional services ensure consistent quality across all your earring images, helping you maintain a polished and professional online presence.

Conclusion

In conclusion, investing in color correction service and clipping path with drop shadow service for your earring images is crucial for enhancing their visual appeal and attracting potential customers. By outsourcing these tasks to professional service providers, you can ensure that your earring images stand out and make a lasting impression on your audience.

[mae-falling-in-may]

My Little Flower | The Darkling x Fem!Reader

I wrote this just after finishing the season 2 of Shadow And Bone, it broke me so like it's a bit of a comfort fic I guess ? Just the way Aleksander was possessive of Alina made me feel things and I'm sorry about this... just a few heads up, I'm no Alina hater (I love her) I just needed to add a bit of tension in this, and also this is the first time I fully write smut AND that I post it on the internet. I'm very self conscious about smut because huh, I'm not the best writer in the world and english is not my first language. I still do hope you'll like it, I had fun writing it !!

Pairing : The Darkling x Fem!Reader

Warnings : very light spoilers, SMUT, jealous reader, kinda possessive!dark!aleksander ? established relationship, claiming, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex (protect urselves pls), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, 18+ only MINORS DNI!!!

Summary : Aleksander comes back from the dead, you feel your heart drop when you see him, darker than ever, the scars on his face making you feel weak. He's determined to get the sun summoner, and you're scared that he's drifting from you, but he will show you who you belong to.

Words : 3k

He came back. The one who held you with just one finger, the one who could get you on your knees just with one word. General Kirigan, your General. Hearing what happened in the Fold with the sun summoner and him, broke you. Hell, you didn't know if what happened between you two meant something to him, but you would do anything to make him feel at least something.

My little flower he called you, away from all curious glances. That was the nickname he gave to you, and you held it. You answered it, maybe he called you to have you by his side forever, only for his plans, maybe it was just all an act, but heck, you fell deeply. You fell so deep that nothing would ever make you betray him. You wanted to be with him until you'll be killed in the field, or even just died at his own hands. Whether it was love or a crazy obsession, seeing him alive made your heart much lighter than it was before. You clenched your fists, dangerously planting your nails in your own flesh to keep you from running to him.

His silhouette, his voice, his dark gaze, and his newfound scars, everything about him made your breath hitch. All you could think of right now while he was walking towards other grishas and you, were absolutely disgusting thoughts about how you would go under him to help him relieve himself. You unconsciously held your breath while he was walking towards you. He approached dangerously, all of your body was calling you to be at his service. You gasped for air when he spoke to you.

"My little flower." He whispered, really close to your face so no one could hear him talk. "I'm glad that my most precious Grisha is here." 

You didn't manage to form a proper sentence, you were just stuttering words, and Aleksander saw how you were so emotional. You could only whisper the words: "You're alive.", before bursting into tears. He gently took you into his arms and shushed you.

"It's okay, little flower. I am back, and I'll need you more than anything for what we'll accomplish. Come and join me after dinner please ?" You could only nod while letting your tears drop freely.

~

"I need the Little Saint, you need to locate her, quickly, I want every information you have on her or anyone who's with her, you hear me ?" The tension in the room was heavy, all you could do with your fellow Grishas was to answer "Yes, General." You all waited for him to dismiss every one of you, and with a flick of his hands, he did. They left the room, as you stayed and waited for anything that he could ask you to do. Anything. You heard him shift into his armchair, and when you let yourself stare at him, your mind raced.

She was the one that caused all of this, seeing your General in this state made your heart clench. If only she listened to him, or you had been her, your General wouldn't be suffering like that. A deep cough startled you and your gaze got on Aleksander again, he was sick. You rushed towards him, obviously worried. You kneeled before him, putting a hand on his back and the other one on his knee.

"My General, are you unwell? What happened there ?" The shakiness of your voice betrayed you. 

"Flower." He whispered. "I… It's my new power. The nichevo'ya, they're shadow creatures. They defend me when I'm in danger." He locked his eyes into yours, dark and full of fatigue. You felt him drifting off from you. An explosive wave of emotions passed through you when he looked at you. Was it worry? Hatred for the Sun Summoner? Jealousy? Or just everything that you felt for the General was crashing down deep into your being. You gulped, your mind going from one worry to another, then you asked him quietly.

"Is there anything I can do, my General ?" He lowered his head and waited a bit before answering. "I fear that I do not have a solution for my state right now, flower. I just need… The Sun Summoner, Alina…" He stopped himself, what for? You didn't know, but everything collapsed around you. He didn't need you, the nickname he gave you meant nothing. All you could do was make him feel a bit better about this. You'll bring him back Alina, you swore on your life that you'll do anything for him right? Then you'll do it, even though it will hurt more than you admitted. 

You stood up, he looked at you, confusion and worry in his eyes. You tried to compose yourself and explained.

"I swore on my life that I'll do anything for you, General, if you want the Sun Summoner, I'll bring her back to you, even if I have to die trying to." You waited for an answer, an approval, anything, he stayed silent. You finally turned to leave the room, the sound of your steps resonating on the walls. You didn't want to leave, you wanted to stay, but hell seeing him like that hurt. You were about to open the door and leave when he stopped you with his voice.

"Flower. Please." You heard him stand up, and slow steps coming towards you. "You're the only one that can help me right now. Are you rejecting me? Your General ?" You felt tears building up again, you didn't know how you could tell him how you feel, having him obsessing over his Little Saint was so painful. But did you really have your right to speak up about it? You were just a Grisha, like any other Grisha here, you weren't her, yet you wanted to be her. You faced him back, letting your tears drop freely over your cheeks.

"How could I reject you when I'm not even yours, General? I know you need her, and I know I'll never be her, I've accepted it. Let me accomplish this for you, my General." You sounded hurt, exhausted, and deeply in love. He was dangerously approaching you by now, and for the first time in months, or hell maybe even years, he spoke your name. Not calling you Flower, like he loved to, just your name. He whispered it, and it felt so good on his lips. He cupped your face with his hand softly making you look at him, he seemed hurt.

"You don't understand. Yes, she is the Sun Summoner, and yes, I need her for every reason I already told you. But, what she is not, and will never be, is my precious little Flower. And you know who this is right? You, you belong to me, and I belong to you. I'll never deny that I wished you were the Sun Summoner, so we could accomplish everything together." Even with this, you couldn't believe him, your mind repeated to you that you meant nothing to him and that you weren't her. Even with his hand on your cheek, you couldn't let yourself breathe for him.

"Please, General, don't make me hope for something that I'm unworthy of." Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard the word "unworthy". He abruptly put his arm around your waist and pushed your body towards him with his hand on your back. The hurt gaze he wore before turned into something different, into something frightening.

"Do not use this word to qualify yourself, my flower. You are way more than that. You're my most precious Grisha, my most precious ally, and my dear, dear, friend." His words were spilled like tasty poison, so dangerous but yet, so good. You couldn't help but whimper under his touch. You knew how Aleksander could be possessive, but you simply refused to let yourself believe you were in his catalog. 

Hearing you whimper satisfied him, he let a small smile creep on his face, and he slowly buried his face into your neck. "If you don't believe my words maybe I'll need to show you who you belong to, flower." He kissed your neck, making a path towards your jaw, then your lips. He made sure to dry your tears before kissing you, you sighed into him, your arms making their way to his shoulders. You felt helpless whenever he touched you like this, thinking of nothing more but to please him right now, in this room.

He broke the kiss that left you both breathless, he took a moment to look at you, your eyes, your face, lips, jaw, and neck, and he felt you burning for him. He loves the hold that he had on you. "To bed, without your clothes, please." Even if he would love ripping out your kefta from your body, to expose all of yourself to him, he couldn't, he already had to deal with the million layers of his outfit. So he just followed you to the bed, while you were removing your boots, then your kefta, and then everything that went under it. He was getting rid of his clothing too, but getting distracted by how beautiful you looked for him, his hands stopped doing what he originally wanted to do, and your voice interrupted the silence.

"Do you need help, General ?" You were almost fully naked in front of him, a wave of arousal went through his body, making wearing pants uncomfortable. He nodded at you first, then when you were getting rid of his first few layers of clothes he spoke again.

"Please flower, tonight, only call me by my name. Can you do that ?" You eagerly nodded while you were getting rid of his final upper layer, revealing his scarred torso to you. You let your fingers trail on some of them, wanting to kiss every bit of scars he had on his body. He smiled, loving your admiration and worship, he missed it. He took your wrists in his hand and smiled down at you. 

"I know how much you love to worship me, flower, but not yet, you'll do it when I pump my cock deep inside of you. Right now I want to have you at my mercy and show you who this beautiful body belongs to. You hear me ?" You nodded, unable to form more than one word because of his power over you.

"Words, flower." He removed the last bit of clothes that kept you from being naked, exposing you to him. You stuttered "Yes, I understand Aleksander.", that seemed to please him a lot. He pushed you onto the bed, making his way on top of you. He still had his pants on, enjoying the friction of the fabric when his cock was getting bigger with arousal.

"This time it will be me who worships you. I'm going to taste you and make you scream." You whimpered, while he was kissing your neck, making his way painfully slowly toward your breasts. He kissed them softly before trailing down to your stomach, then your hips. He guided you to open your legs for him and found his hands gripping the back of your thighs. He kissed the inside of your thigh before finally making his way to your perfect already wet cunt. You were this wet since the intense kiss you shared earlier, and the more you felt his touch, the more you would be needy for him. 

He first lapped your pussy, to take a taste out of it, then completely buried his face into it. You weren't ready, it's been so long since you felt any kind of pleasure down there, you gasped and moaned, already on the verge of screaming. And he was just getting started? You knew you were about to break under him. The obscene noises of him tasting all of you made your head spin. He was eating you out like he wouldn't be able to do it after. The tip of his nose was making friction with your clit, and his tongue inside of you. He groaned under you, you were delicious, and he would not get over how delicious you tasted. 

Your moans and the noises he made by tasting you filled the entire room. He was almost tongue-fucking you as you felt your release build-up. You struggled to align proper sentences, just letting out the same words, "Saints, please, Aleksander". He loved how his name sounded on your lips when you were about to come for him, but he would be sure to make you scream it. 

"I'm going to make you cum for me, flower. I want you to scream my name when you do. I don't care if anyone hears, they'll just know who you belong to. You're mine, flower."

He then sucked on your clit and took two fingers to pump them inside of you. You screamed at the newfound sensation of his fingers, and your back arched while you were begging for a release. You were so desperate for him and it made his cock ache under the layer of his pants. He wanted to stop right here and bury himself inside of you just to feel you come around him. He sucked your clit even harder and teased your folds with his fingers. His other hand squeezed your thigh as he felt you crumble under his touch. He knew you were close, you were already losing your mind, and the moans you let out were incoherent at this point. 

“I know you’re close, flower, cum for me.” You screamed his name while hanging onto the bed sheets. The heat of your orgasm flew all over your body, your back arched and your legs were trembling. The delicious feeling of your release was overwhelming, you soaked Aleksander’s face. He pulled out his fingers slowly and kissed one last time your clit, then your cunt. He straightened up so you could see his face better, his hair was a mess and he was panting. He crushed his lips onto yours hungrily, making you taste the mix of your juices and his spit. You moaned against him, your hands finding their way to his groin. You stroked the length of his cock through the fabric. You wished he was fully naked right now, so you could feel him completely. He hummed into your lips and helped you get rid of his pants.

He broke the kiss to fully remove his clothes, which was a relief to both of you. He felt uncomfortable with the hard-on he had since he had first kissed you. And you, you wanted to please him, to have the taste of his cock on your tongue, to suck him so good so he could not think about anything else but you. But you knew it wasn't part of the plan today. You saw his cock already so hard and ready to be buried inside you. You bit your lip at the thought of it, you haven't had anyone since he left for the Fold with Alina, and god you missed him.

He went back once he was fully naked to kiss the corner of your lips. "I know what's on your mind, flower. You missed me, haven't you ?" He continued to kiss your cheek, your jaw, and your neck while placing himself between your legs. You felt him lightly stroke the tip of his cock on the opening of your pussy which made you moan. "Oh, Saints, yes I've missed you Aleksander." You felt him smile on your neck while caressing your body until his hands found your hips. He faced you once again and looked at you fondly with his dark eyes. 

He licked his lips, seeing you desperate for him, he knew you were about to beg for him to fuck you. He didn't even wait for you to say a word that he pumped into you. The feeling and the heat of his cock were oddly overwhelming, and you felt you could cum right here. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, my flower." You couldn't help but moan a please, to indicate that you needed him to move. He smiled and started to thrust into you painfully slowly. 

The rhythm he gave was making you feel every inch of his heat inside of you, you were almost trembling. But you wanted more, you begged once again and put your arms around his shoulders. "Please, Aleksander, I need more." Hearing his name falling through your lips while you were begging felt so good. He let out a curse and started to move into you harder and faster. Both of you loved being in each other's arms so you were on the verge of losing your minds.

The room was filled with your moans, the sound of both your skin slapping on each other, Aleksander's light panting while he was thrusting into you, and the obscene wet sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked cunt. You wanted this moment to last forever, to have Aleksander all for yourself. The sound he made while fucking you was pushing you closer and closer to your release, and he felt it too. "Flower come on my cock with me please ?" You could only nod, overwhelmed by these sensations.

"I want to fill you up, love, can I ?" It was the first time he called you that, you couldn't even process the name you just wanted the both of you to cum. You almost screamed "Yes, please Aleksander.", you were so loud for him, so good to him, you'd never let him go. 

The wave of your orgasm reached you when his thrusts became erratic. Your cunt clenched around him as he finally got the release you seek. You felt his hot seed splashing into you, while he reached to kiss you again while filling you completely. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying everything he gave you. 

"You're mine, my little flower, mine only."

[corazondebeskar-reads]

remember what you're staring at is me

jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 8 - found footage | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 2.9k

summary: A videotape is left on your porch one morning, and it changes everything about your budding relationship with Joel Miller.

warnings: Jackson!Joel, some dark!Joel, some soft!Joel, we love a man who contains multitudes, ambiguous ending, I wish I had made this a much longer one shot but oh well, references to The Hospital Incident, oral (f & m receiving), implicit p in v

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You find it on your porch one morning in an old paper bag. Someone’s written right onto the brown wrapping with black crayon—”you need to know the truth.” It seems rather dramatic once you peel back the paper to find a videotape. 

It's not high quality—the footage is fuzzy and crudely edited together. But there’s just no mistaking the man on the screen. 

Joel and Ellie came into your life when they arrived for the second time in Jackson. You had heard the gossip the first time, but never met the pair. 

You met him fairly quickly when he swung by with a torn jacket, gruff and blunt but polite. Steady. “They, uh, said to ask you about some mending?” 

“Sure thing,” you say easily, smiling at the very handsome stranger. “Let me take a look.”

It was a casual thing, the sewing, and you liked it that way. You didn’t make anything, didn’t haul things to the market. You spun the wool for those who did craft things, and then you kept to your little projects at night.

The push and pull of the needle was the meditation you needed to keep going every day, even now, even safe here in this bubble. Something productive, something to keep your trembling hands busy and your mind blank. 

And in return, you got company and conversation. Most folks knew your services could be bought with a warm drink or baked good, a promise of a favor you’d never call for.

“How long?” he asks, voice flat and serious, but it didn’t prick at you, didn’t land as rough as it set out. 

“Not long,” you muse, looking over the tear—a knife gash of some sort, and the thin lining that peeked out. “Ten minutes if you just want it sewn up, or if you give me a day, I can get it properly stuffed.”

“Sewn, please.” 

Please. You like that. Manners at the end of the world. 

“You sure? Be a lot warmer if I fill it out.” 

“I don’t—” he scowls at the ground. “I barely have anythin’ to offer ya for the mending.”

You want to tell him it’s on the house, call it a welcome basket, but he’s holding out what he does have to offer and your jaw drops just a little, lips parting to make way for a soft, pleased “oh” that has him straightening up. 

“I can find somethin’ else,” he says.

“Oh, no. That’s… amazing,” you say, taking the jar into your hands and popping the lid. They certainly aren’t potent, not like you remember, but oh, you could die from just the faint smell of the cinnamon sticks. “This is… more than enough. I’ll owe you, I reckon.”

“I dunno about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Seriously,” you say, eyes wide. You set the jar on the counter. “For that, I’ll get the whole thing done tonight.” After all, the delay had only been so you could go to bed. 

“Y’ain’t got to do that, I don’t mean to be a bother.”

You brush him off and start gathering your supplies. If you steep the thread in tea for a bit, you think, you might be able to get close to the color of the fabric.

He turns down a cup when you offer but does take a seat at the table. He’s as stiff as your late husband’s favorite bourbon, but the blunt edges grow a little duller when you don’t try to keep up small talk.

The bright overhead light casts him in shadow, deepening the circles under his eyes and drooping his wrinkles in inky black. But his eyes are bright and curious as he watches you start to add unspun wool from your stockpile into the jacket, trying to shape and layer it evenly through the inside. You have to make a couple incisions but keep them tight to the hemlines and existing stitching.

The thread dries quickly with the hearth raging and he speaks for the first time as you weave it through the needle’s eye.

“What’s that?” 

“It’s a threader,” you say, offering it to him to see after you’ve pulled it loose. “I, um. I’m not as dexterous as I used to be and I can’t say my sight’s as keen, either. Makes it easier to use these damn tiny needles. Luckily, it wasn’t a very in-demand item when people were raiding shops.” 

“Huh,” is all he says, sliding it back across the table to you. 

The stitching is quick and rote. You’re used to people pouring out their life stories and desires and drama when they sit at your table or on your sofa, feet kicked up on your coffee table while you sew. 

But this silence with Joel is warm, too. You’re almost regretful the job didn’t take longer.

You stand up and he follows, pushing his chair neatly back into its place. He takes the coat and runs a gentle finger across the original wound.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. 

You give him a wan smile, never having found those words to settle right in your skin. “Nice meeting you, Joel,” you say instead. “You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and lets himself out. 

You lock the door behind him and wonder why you feel so energized. That tea was decaf, after all. And a little fuzzy, if you were totally honest, but you weren’t going to dump it down the drain just over a few fibers. 

One day when he comes, it’s with a bundle of thick socks and another, smaller jacket. Not a difficult job, but the gift he brings to trade knocks you off kilter so hard that you have to sit down.

“Not sure if it’ll be any use to you, but figured you’d know someone who can use it if you don’t,” he says, looking at the floor.

You’ve gotten to know him a little better, though his visits are few and far between. But he’s gotten more comfortable around town, more interested in following that wild daughter of his than hiding away. 

Sometimes, he’ll even sit at your table in the mess. You’d even go as far to say that the two of you were friends.

So you can tell what he’s trying so hard not to project. He’s nervous.

It looks almost like a desk lamp with its sturdy base and bent wooden arm, but in place of a shade and bulb is a hoop. You recognize it immediately and your stomach swoops. It’s an embroidery stand and you might faint just from that, just from having a steady way to hold the fabric tight as you sew. 

But that isn’t all. He shows you how to turn the peg that loosens the grip of the handle on the side, a raw hewn thing that doesn’t match the worn stain of the stand. You’re burning, head spinning, and the fuzzy darkness at the edges of the world stop you from focusing on the gift. 

The carved handle, he says, with hands curling around either side of you, has been partially hollowed to accommodate the end of the magnifying glass. You can raise and lower it with the peg and rotate the handle to use the other side of the glass.

“Joel,” you say uncertainly. He doesn’t really seem like he’ll want the attention drawn to it, but you have to know. “Did you make that?”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Just added the glass is all.”

“Just added the glass,” you echo in a whisper. But you know he doesn’t mean he only attached it. He made the entire attachment and fit it onto the stand. 

His ears are red and he won’t look at you. 

You set a cautious hand on his arm where it reaches across your shoulder, still resting on the table. He’s caging you in from where he leaned over to demonstrate. “Joel, this is incredible. This is… this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Ain’t a big deal,” he mumbles but he doesn’t shake off your hand. “Just saw it and thought it might be useful.”

You feel emboldened by his kindness, so you curl your hand around his bicep. “Can I thank you?”

He looks down at you now, seeking something that he must find, confirmation in your blown out pupils and parted lips, and nods. 

He doesn’t break away as you slip from the chair to sink onto your knees or when your fingers loop around his belt to pry it open. 

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” you say, voice tight. 

He shakes his head. “You’re not.” His voice is the rumble of thunder breaking a tense summer night. 

You don’t bother removing his belt, simply knocking it open to reach for his zipper. 

You’re about to tug his pants down when the door opens. 

“Hey sugar,” Tommy drawls, “all my fuckin boxers have holes. Can you help a guy out? Promise they’re cle—“

His loud mouth gave just enough warning for Joel to pull his shirt down over his belt and for you to fumble at rolling the cuff of one pant leg up just so, reaching for a pin. 

“Oh hey, Joel!” Tommy says happily. “Finally fixin’ those ratty old things?” 

It’s a fucking miracle that he’s in these jeans, his favorites. Actually, it’s not, he wears them all the time, and they’re just a little too long so the bottoms are torn up. 

“Guess so,” Joel scowls. He’ll have to finally let you hem them now. 

“Just leave ‘em on the table, Tommy,” you say around the needle between your teeth. “And tell Maria to stop bein’ so rough with them.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “She can’t help it, sugar. I’m irresistible, see?” He claps his brother on the back and takes his leave. 

You slump a little, sighing as you set the needle on the table before moving to resume your activity. 

But Joel steps back. “I should get goin’,” he says. The line between his brow is cavernous and his lips are tugged down at the corners. 

“Oh. Okay,” you say, and pull yourself up with a hand clutching the table. 

“So. Thanks again,” he says. And then he’s gone. 

You let yourself drop dramatically into a chair, groan growing as it turns physical when your tailbone hits the seat wrong. 

You’re rubbing your forehead and thinking about going to bed to give yourself a pity orgasm when the door opens. He’s quiet and cautious, but he pushes the door shut behind him and locks it. 

“M’sorry,” he says. “I…”

“It’s okay,” you say with a tired smile. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, offering you a hand. 

You take it and let him pull you to standing. 

His other hand finds your waist. “I was bein’ a coward.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Darlin’, you couldn’t,” he says. His arm slides further around, pulling you to him in a gentle embrace. He looks down at you through heavy lids, watching the way your lips part just a little. “You still want this?”

You bring a hand up to cup at the hair that curls down the nape of his neck. “Please,” you whisper. 

He matches your motion, cradling your head in his palm as he dips his head to kiss you. He wastes no time, licking into your welcoming mouth, seeking out the earthiness of the tea still lingering on your tongue and the sweet shiver of goosebumps prickling across his skin as you wind your fingers into his hair.

“Shit,” he mumbles when you break away for air. “What do you want, baby? What can I have? You gotta tell me now, before I can’t think straight.”

“You can have whatever you want, Joel,” you say, hot breath brushing his swollen lips before he presses them to you again with a growl.

It’s a much quicker kiss, and he breaks away to drop to his knees and push your skirt up to your hips. You have to lean back with both hands clenching the edge of the table not to fall over in shock.

He nuzzles against the soft cotton of your panties and groans at the smell of your wet cunt. He mouths at it gently over the fabric before hooking his finger around the gusset and pulling it aside to part your lips with his tongue. 

“Not fair,” you gasp as he feasts. “I was supposed to—supposed to do that for you.”

“You said whatever I want, darlin’,” he says against your pussy, chasing the taste of you. 

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck.” 

“Gimmie one and I’ll let you suck my cock if ya want it so bad,” he says, plunging two thick fingers in and basking in the way you squeal and squirm. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, pistoning in and out like he’s trying to win a race. 

It works, with his tongue on your clit and his fingers against that soft, secret part of you that no one has touched before, you gush around where he spreads you. “That’s it,” he croons, “good girl. Good fuckin’ girl, give me another.”

“You said—”

He cuts you off by sucking on your clit and your hips rock, wobbling the table as he takes another from you anyway. 

“Couch or bed?” he says, tugging your panties down your legs now that he’s sated the immediate urge. 

“Don’t care,” you say.

“Alright, bed,” he says. “Wanna do this right.” 

“Don’t think you could do it wrong,” you say, a lazy, sated smile on your face and a lightness to your eyes that he thinks he could get addicted to. 

He does let you suck his cock, and thinks maybe he could die happy from the warm, wet of your mouth and the way you look up at him like he’s the only thing in the world. 

At that moment, he is. You had resigned yourself to keeping your little crush a secret until it faded, too fond of him to risk it, but here? Now? Now that you’ve had him, you don’t think you can ever go back. 

He’s gentle in a way you can’t quite name. It’s not that he’s soft with you, but just aware. Like he knows where you’re capable of meeting him and settles there. He makes room for himself in you like you’d done for his coat, opening you up and stuffing you until you’re warm and full and renewed. 

He doesn’t leave you to stitch yourself up, either. He buries his face in your tits and holds you tight after, cleans the both of you up with a warm towel, and kisses you before he leaves.

Neither of you want him to go, but he’s got Ellie at home and won’t—can’t—worry her by not coming home. Not without warning. Next time, he whispers, and it carries a question and a promise. 

There is a next time. And another. And another. You think you might be in trouble. You do far less mending jobs once your evenings are taken over by Joel. You still take them, darning socks on the soft with your feet in his lap, or basking in the way he looks proud and satisfied when you use the stand to fix up bigger projects. Some of your favorite nights are when he sits and strums his guitar while you sew, just two people finding peace by creating it themselves. Together. 

So when eight months later, that tape finds its way into the VCR you’ve only used twice, you’re more than familiar with the bulking shape of him. The way his hair sticks up when he runs worried hands through it. The grip of those hands, sure and steady.

He finds you there on your third viewing. You didn’t even hear him come up the porch, didn’t realize the sun was starting to crest over the mountains, that he’d be coming by with breakfast just like he promised.

The little Joel on screen is working his way to the operating room. You’ve stopped flinching at each crack of the gun or collapsing body. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” 

You do startle when he speaks, unaware that he’d been watching you watch the tape for a minute. His voice is low and slow, something lurking beneath the baritone that trips an alarm. 

This isn’t your Joel. This is that one, the one from the TV. 

He moves like a jaguar, slinking and graceful. “Where,” he snarls, breath curling off your clammy skin, “did you get this?” His hand curls around your shoulder at the base of your neck. 

“It was on my porch,” you whisper. 

His fingers dig in a little where he holds you in place. “Try again.”

“It’s the truth, I swear. I didn’t know what it was.” 

“How much did you watch?”

“All of it,” you whisper, though it feels like the click of a lock.

“Goddamnit, baby. Why’d you have to do that?” 

There’s an actual click, the unmistakable flick of a release. 

“Joel, please,” you say, voice breaking. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“I can’t take that chance,” he says. 

He still hasn’t brought the knife close to you, though, so you hazard a glance over your shoulder. You wish you hadn’t. He’s gone, his sweet eyes dead to the world, no whisper of his gentleness to be found. 

“I swear, please. You can trust me.” 

“Can’t trust anyone in this world, darlin’. You shoulda realized that by now.”

*title from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour

[blackjackkent]

"I never thought I'd say this, but I need your advice."

Any BG3 character of your choice to Minsc, just for fun, haha

(Sentence starter meme)

Ahhhh this was fun. :D I'm not entirely sure this turned out my best work, but I do love Minsc muchly and it was definitely fun to bounce two characters off each other that I don't normally. ^_^

TY for the prompt!

---

"I never thought I would say this. But I would welcome your advice."

Minsc looks up as a lithe, stringy shadow falls across the light from the campfire. The interruption is unexpected but not surprising; he has been deep in a conversation with Boo, and he finds quite often that those around him see fit to interrupt such conversations as if they were not happening. For a time it bothered him, but Boo has reassured him that there is no offense to be taken. Boo will always be there, after all; all others in Minsc’s life ebb and flow with the tides of victory and tragedy.

So he tucks the hamster with practiced ease into his pocket and smiles genially at the githyanki warrior standing outside his tent. “Then it you shall have! What may Minsc of Rashemen do for Lae’zel of Creche K’liir?”

Lae’zel shifts uneasily from foot to foot. Her cat’s-pupil eyes are narrowed as if in wariness, though Minsc cannot fathom why. He has fought many gith in their raids upon his homeland, but he has never - that he can recall - shown threat to Lae’zel here in Baldur’s Gate.

“What troubles you?” he asks, his tone lowering in volume slightly. “If it has a butt that may be kicked, Minsc and Boo shall remove it from your sight!”

“Chk.” The young warrior flinches defensively. “You suggest I cannot fight my own battles?”

“By no means!” Minsc smiles widely. “Minsc has seen too many githyanki blades piercing unwary bellies to believe so! But Minsc and Boo never saw a righteous battle to which we could not add a blow in service. You have only to point the way.”

“It is not battle for which I require you, berserker,” she says, staring with distinct interest at the cobblestone next to his boot.

He tips his head slowly to one side. “For what, then?” he asks agreeably.

There’s a short pause. “You are from Rashemen,” Lae’zel says quietly. “You have traveled far from the place you would call home. You have seen loss as much as you have seen victory. Yet you thrive among strangers and show no fear of failure or of mockery. You are… joyful.”

Minsc nods vigorously. “All of these things are true, yes!”

A muscle works sharply in Lae’zel’s jaw. “I would know by what secret you manage it,” she says gruffly, and drops into a sitting position opposite him in a single motion, her legs crossed. “For I am also far from home. And each day I feel farther still.”

“Ahhh… I can understand this.” Minsc’s smile fades and he nods gravely. “However far Minsc has traveled from Rashemen, Lae’zel has surely traveled farther from the rocks of wildspace.”

“Yes.” 

He considers her for a moment thoughtfully. “But what tongue would dare to mock you? Minsc has seen Lae’zel fight. The ferocity of at least ten hamsters. No, twenty!”

In spite of herself, Lae’zel’s lips twitch with a flash of amusement. “This is a compliment, among the Rashemaar?”

“It is a fact only,” Minsc says gravely. “Boo confirms it.”

“Indeed.” She does not fidget, but Minsc can tell by her intense stillness that she would like to, and she still does not quite meet his eyes. “There is much in which I have failed.” She admits it flatly, like a soldier at attention reciting a patrol report. “My former goddess seeks my head. I once thought to ride a red dragon through the Astral, and instead I crawl upon Toril’s face like a broken beast.” A slight pause. “And we seek a monster even among ghaik, the creature of ultimate nightmare, my people’s greatest enemy. We hunt ghaik at the expense of all other endeavors, yet in my first hunt I shamed myself twice over in failure and capture. Meanwhile, the people of this realm cannot comprehend true githyanki majesty; they look upon me and see a brute animal, alien and vicious.”

Her lips draw in a tight line. “To fear such things is shameful. It serves no purpose. Ch’ka m’vakoth sta’leth - ‘where faith goes, fear stands aside.’ But my faith falters, and so I feel it. I know my own weakness, my own strangeness in this place. So I would know your secret, istik, that you stand among strangers, and bear the worm’s curse and the mocking of weaker folk, and laugh.”

Minsc clicks his tongue thoughtfully, and within his pocket Boo gives a loud squeak of dismay. Neither of them knows Lae'zel very well - and indeed this is probably why she speaks with such candor to him - but Boo's endless compassion is roused on the gith's behalf, and Minsc shares it. She is young; she does not yet know how to carry all the conflicting feelings within her, while Minsc is an old hand at the maelstrom. 

He thinks for quite a long time in silence before he decides how to answer. Lae’zel waits in patient stillness, like a spring coiled back on itself, unsprung. Her eyes glint in the flickering firelight. 

“Minsc has often been told,” Minsc says gravely after a while, “that his mind is as full of holes as the cheese within his pack. But his eyes have no holes and and his ears only two, and they see and hear much. And true it is that at times there is mocking at Minsc’s expense. But Minsc has found it is not all alike.”

He begins to tick off on his fingers. “There is the mocking that is true and right, where Minsc has failed. In these things Minsc mocks himself as well - to have fallen thrall to the worm and seen his mind made not his own. To have seen friends fall while he could not save them. These are fearful matters, and as when Boo encounters a hungry cat on a dark night, there is no shame in feeling all the fur stand up. In these things, Minsc thinks there are matters to be learned within the story of his failure, and so he sifts about for those good bits among the rotten and counts them a blessing.”

He tips his head pensively to one side. “Then there is the mocking of evil tongues. Those who taunt so as to distract Minsc’s boot from their buttocks.” His lips curl in a tight, feral smile. “These bear no thinking of at all, except for the thinking that chooses where my blade might slice them.” 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the smile fades again. “Then there is the mocking which is foolish, cruelty without cause. Those who decry Boo as no more than a common hamster, and Minsc as a mad mongrel to be kicked about. This is the sort you mean, I think.” He waits for her to nod before he goes on. “Minsc has traveled many leagues from Rashemen, and in that time he has learned much. And one thing he has learned is that not all those who speak are worthy of the hearing. So Minsc stays among those who would value him, and kicks off those who would not as he would kick dust from his boot.”

“A thing easily said and less easily done,” Lae’zel says bitterly. “In K’liir, one is not afforded such choice. The eyes of judgment are always watching, and they suffer no failure.”

“But we are not in K’liir,” Minsc says brightly. “And so Lae’zel may choose which of her failings are worthy of scorn, and need not suffer the opinions of rude strangers whose tongues would prattle foolishness. Or - if they are not strangers, she will tell Minsc, and Minsc and Boo will see to it the rudeness is well thrashed out of itself.”

She says nothing for a long moment, but he can see the wiry, tight muscle of her shoulders start to relax slowly. “Hardly spoken like a sage,” she murmurs dryly. “And yet well-spoken in its own way.” 

She lets out a slow, heavy breath. “In truth it is not any current mockery that troubles me,” she adds in an undertone, “but the fear of it in the future. Of being found wanting, when all is said and done, by those whose opinions mean most. Among the githyanki, the weak are culled out, dishonored, sometimes killed. I would not…” 

She trails off and makes a noise of frustration as she struggles to find the words that express what is in her mind. “My people and my goddess are behind me now, and that is a shame I carry, but there are others I would still not wish to fail.”

Minsc nods. “Your people hone themselves to a sharp point, and perhaps their cruelty is worth its cost where they travel among the stars,” he says. “But where we stand upon the ground, there is no call for such culling. If it brings you comfort, you may look upon Jaheira - for she has found Minsc wanting many a time, and has told him so in full voice, but always with friendship, and always remaining by his side.”

Lae’zel lifts her head and looks at him fully for the first time, and chews the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. This, it seems, might be a new concept to her - that her failure could be censured and forgiven in the same breath. “That is some comfort, yes,” she says, with uncharacteristic softness. “I thank you.”

“No thanks is necessary,” Minsc booms cheerfully. There’s another soft squeak from his pocket, and he nods. “Only Boo asks that should you ever travel again into the skies, that you keep your eyes widened in search of another such as he. Surely you, of all our comrades, might have heard tell of other such miniature giant space hamsters, and Boo has sought a mate for many a long year.”

Lae’zel actually laughs softly. “You may tell your hamster I have heard no such tales - but in return for your counsel I shall report any I might find, and we shall consider it an even trade.”

[unfair-water-plane]

I’m very new to talking about things online, but just wanted to share a headcanon.

After the events of ME:3, humanity has to start rebuilding. Arcturus is gone, very likely much of earth’s governance is gone or indoctrinated beyond the ability to lead. They are going to need new faces in high places, and whose is chock full of people who have shown their mettle? The Alliance. It��s natural that leaders will rise from military places, and that can be dangerous. It’s so easy to go martial law when everyone is…well, martial.

But you know who probably be okay with leaving the alliance? Who has the moral fiber to stand not just for earth but as a leader for the whole galaxy? Who has not just the trust of the Spectres but has earned their way among them, and who they know will not treat them like cannon fodder in the rebuilding of everything?

That’s right, introducing humanity’s new councilor:

Kaidan Alenko.

The way I see it (and your mileage may vary, I’m basing this on my own experience and service), if I had busted my way all the way to N7, was an operational commander and had a frigate no one had the balls to take from me I would be in no hurry to just end that rise. I have a headcanon that N7 is hell in career growth since they don’t drop a bundle on training and then promote you out of the field, so Shepard’s probably primed for a life of spec ops service with Commander, or maybe Major eventually, as his high water mark.

Now add in the fact that your husband (because you know the minute Shepard managed to open even one eye Kaidan was welding a ring on that finger) is going to be humanity’s councilor. He’s going to need someone in his corner who is unquestioningly loyal, fiercely protective, and has once a month spa dates with the Shadow Broker.

But I think Kaidan is like be so good at that role. He’s a natural peace maker, has spent a lifetime developing control over himself and his action. The first time one of the other councilors starts to just pass down uncollaborative mandates Kaidan drags them all aside for six hours of methodical debate and a galactic sized MCPP. By the end of the first month he’s completely eliminated standing on the platforms and holding condescending debate in front of applicants. Round table discussions with home planets, involved parties and unbiased observers becomes the norm. There will never be another ‘cruel and unfortunate truth’ moment with Councilor Alenko demanding the mindset of respect through service.

(And in the background, completely uninvolved in the discussion but never too far away during the emotional debates, Reaper Killer and Galactic hero Commander Shepard alternates between staring at humanity’s councilor like he hung the stars and seeing how quickly he can intimidate an end of a meeting at the first sign of a migraine).

Anyway, that’s just my two cents. Wanted to get it out of my head.

[lakesbian]

Very curious to hear you elaborate on your thoughts of dungeon meshi anime sucking! Most of the folks I’ve seen talk about it have been pretty positive, and while as a fan of the manga I dropped out of the anime partway through I can’t really articulate why I stopped watching

this is gonna be pretty unformed but maybe @haunting-hole could add more if she wants. to phrase it to the best of my ability (unfortunately sans picture examples because i don't have time to dig them up):

it looks bad. or, well, the issue is actually that it just looks okay. the lighting is extremely washed out and sterile feeling. the manga has 1. gorgeous art and 2. extremely strong usage of light and shadow to convey tone, and the anime drops the ball both on fully conveying the atmosphere of those environments via their color (because the lighting is sterile and ubiquitous) and on using color in more subtle ways to convey the tone that the manga was initially striking for certain plot beats, whether that be horror or humor or emotional closeness. good example of this is comparing the first fawin fight in the anime vs the manga--in the manga, there's really stark use of light and shadow that adds an immense sense of emotional gravity, and the anime Does Not Have That

i think it in general lacks the artistic nuances that make the manga good...like first fawin fight as an example again. when she rips her shirt off in the manga, she's extremely bloodsplattered with a horrifyingly slackjawed, unfocused, animalistic look--she looks like a predatory animal. in the anime, the expression is altered in a way that makes her appear significantly more in control of her faculties than she actually is. or directly compare delgal's birth in the manga to delgal's birth in the anime--the one in the manga feels extremely personal and intimate and human, and the one in the anime has absolutely none of that weight because of how the scene is designed and drawn

i understand that things have to get cut out oftentimes in adaptations but i cannot fathom why they decided to cut namari explaining how resurrection works because it's literally Critical context for understanding the plot event of why everyone is so horrified when they find falin's bones. the sense of dread is so much more significant in the manga...i remember seeing a big post having 2 explain why this was a big deal 4 anime-onlies bc they were just straight up missing the critical worldbuilding detail that Resurrection Doesn't Fucking Work So Good when someone is just Bones. like please. that's importance.

the manga does comedy, horror, horror-comedy, extremely convincing character-focused emotional intimacy, etc. the anime has like. i don't fully know how to articulate it, it tries to recreate panels one-to-one but it ends up coming off as awkward and jarring instead. toshiro and laios' fight is particularly dire for this. i haven't watched the most recent episode myself but my friend whom i trust to be so right about dungeon meshi reported that it completely shits the bed on giving senshi's backstory the same compelling gravity as the manga. and also they put one of those overly cheery shiny yellow backgrounds over a group hug scene that's incredibly cozy and intimate and not at all humorously played up or lighthearted in the manga.

like, i think it really just boils down to the fact that the manga is a solid 5/5 with broad appeal, and the anime is a 3/5 mediocre sort of situation you just kinda drop without really thinking about why. just starkly milquetoast compared to everything the manga does. the anime being this popular is like watching people flock 2 outback steakhouse when a michelin star restaurant is right next door handing out free meals. it's Fine, it's Perfectly Serviceable depending on how distinguishing your taste is, but it's distinctly worse in comparison to the manga, and i don't care about seeing the same story rehashed in a diminished quality

[slidersimp]

Dog Football

A ficlet set in the same universe (au? narrative thread? story? Idk y'all) as my fic at my side in which Maverick gets a service dog named Tess for his PTSD post-TGM and the daggers fall in love with her immediately. Ft. occasional fun shenanigans to break up the sad emo content.

——

When Maverick looked up at a shadow covering his beach chair, the sound of footsteps on sand coming to a stop beside him, he wasn’t surprised to see Admiral Simpson standing beside him, hands on his hips as he surveyed the beach in front of them. He was surprised, however, to see the relaxed smile on the Admiral’s face. It was true they weren’t under a deadly time crunch like they had been the last time this little scene had played out, with the mission and all its disastrous consequences looming over all their heads, but a smile still wasn’t something he expected out of the Admiral under most circumstances. He was even more surprised when the Admiral glanced behind him, then sat down in the sand beside Maverick’s chair, uniform and all.

“Dogfight football?” Simpson asked, nodding towards the aviators in front of them.

At the waterline, the daggers were racing over the sand, throwing footballs between them and shouting. Since the last time they’d played, they’d started to get more of a handle on the game, figuring out something of a strategy, but the longer they went on, the more it descended into chaos. Not to mention a certain curveball that the aviators had been all too happy to introduce.

“Not quite.” Maverick told the admiral, his eyes on a single figure within the group. “Dog football. They came up with it themselves.”

The daggers had opted to keep both footballs, though at least one of them—or both, for one rather comical moment—was almost always in the mouth of a certain German Shepherd, Tess. Maverick watched the daggers chasing her into the water while they scrambled with the other ball, trying to lead her over to their respective sides or entice her back to the field of play. He wasn’t sure Tess had any idea what the rules were, but she was running circles around the daggers, evading their grabs for the ball and lighting up cheers of triumph or shouts of dismay whenever she raced into an endzone marked by a line carved into the sand.

“It looks like they’re still doing offense and defense.” Simpson observed. They watched Coyote take a sliding dive for Tess, grabbing for the football in her mouth before she dodged away, tail wagging. “Did they add any new rules for her?”

Maverick shrugged. “I’m not sure I understand it anymore, to be honest. They’re not allowed to tackle her, but that’s my rule.” 

Simpson nodded. “Smart.”

“And, I think if she scores in an endzone it gives the team more points than if a human scores.” 

Maverick watched Rooster rush past Tess, lightly shoving her playfully, lunging away and continuing to run to lure her to follow him. She was hot on his heels as he raced towards his endzone until Phoenix whistled loudly, slapping her thighs and calling for her to come her way instead. Rooster hurried to redirect her with his own calls and Maverick and Cyclone watched the opposing struggle until Payback and Fanboy slid in the sand to reach Tess, fighting to wrestle the football from her grip.

“It’s been a lot of this.” Maverick told Cyclone.

Shouts erupted from the sand as Fanboy pried the football from Tess’s jaws, nearly dropping it in the sand. He scrambled to get control of it, tossing it to Hangman before Phoenix could snatch it from his hands.

“Tess! Go long!” Jake was at the back of the pack, but he raised the ball and Tess knew exactly what he was offering, taking off sprinting towards the other end of the sectioned off patch of sand. He threw the ball hard and the aviators all watched it fly, the other football forgotten.

Tess caught the pass in the air, landing just beyond the line marking the end zone and the aviators erupted into a chaos of cheers and screams. Maverick watched Rooster nearly knock Hangman to the ground as he launched himself at him with a shout of triumph. Hondo’s whistle singled the end of the game, and Cyclone patted Maverick’s shoulder.

“Keep up the good work.” 

Maverick grinned. “It’s good to see you, Admiral.”

[mindswriters]

stuck with me - eddie munson

summary: there's no way you're leaving eddie alone, not even when he's accused of murder and you're about to face monsters from another world.

pairing: eddie munson × female!reader (almost gn except for using the word girlfriend one single time)

warnings: established relationship but not public to everyone, you also didn't know about the upside down before (joined the gang when they were looking for eddie), half of it is basically a rewrite of s04e03 so yes, it has spoilers, probably typos and maybe grammar errors, suggestiveness towards the end but far from actual smut, curse words and I think that's it.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: another eddie fic because, well, i'm obsessed. wrote it last night while i should be studying for the test i'll have in a couple minutes, so please be kind and leave your note to supress my lack of intelligence and interest in physics! hope y'all like it!

“Delivery service!” opening the door, you and Dustin sing song with a smile, showing the amount of bags in your hands to a startled and breathy version of Eddie.

“Jesus H Christ, you scared the shit out of me, you pricks.” he says dropping his broken glass bottle and coming up to greet you.

“Hello for you too, my outlaw boyfriend!” you joke before giving a quick peck on his lips, hands too busy with bags to give him a proper hug.

“No funny in that but yes, hi, baby. What’s all this?” Eddie says peeking through the bags Robin and Steve had already dropped on the table.

“Junk food and beers.” Robin says in a breath, leaning against the door.

“That and a lot of unnecessary things that Y/n made us grab too.” Steve complains rolling his eyes to you, who was organizing your own things in a corner.

“Toilet paper is needed, Steve.” Max mumbles, taking a seat in an old cooler box that was around.

“Yes, it is. But mixtapes, D&D magazines, and super-secret polaroids are not.” now leaning against one of the walls, Steve keeps muttering.

“What? You brought my D&D magazines? And our super-secret polaroids?” Eddie stops his search for food around the bags to at once look at you.

“Yes, I did. God knows how much time you’re gonna be stuck here.” you smirk dropping your backpack carefully in the ground, going towards the boat to take a seat for you.

“Shit, when did you get them?” he asks excitedly, grabbing a Yoo-hoo bottle and a box of Honeycomb, before joining you in the boat.

“Probably when she made us wait a full round of 15 minutes outside her house, which wasn’t even in the same direction as the supermarket.” Dustin said arching his eyebrows in your direction, earning a roll of your eyes.

“Would you guys just stop complaining?” Max scoffs to the boys.

“Yeah, we have important stuff to talk about here.” Robin completes and you thank them with your eyes, because you knew that Eddie was about to ask why you made them stop by your house.

“Thanks, girls.” you murmur while forcing a smile to Steve and Dustin.

“Okay, hit me then, what you’ve got?” Eddie shrugs saying for them to continue.

“So, we got, uh, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?” Dustin asks carefully.

“Bad news first, always.” Ed responds with his mouth full from eating desperately, making you frown to his gross attitude.

“Alright, bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you. Also, they’re, uh, pretty convinced that you killed Chrissy.” Dustin explains, Eddie’s eyes almost popping out of his head.

“Like, 100% kind of convinced.” Max completes twitching her eyebrows.

“Which makes 0% kind of sense.” you add your own opinion, even though it’s not necessary since Eddie knows that you guys believe him.

“And the good news?” Ed asks, wondering if you could really bring something good at this point.

“Your name hasn't gone public yet. But if we found out about you, it’s only a matter of time before others do too. And once that gets out, everyone and their shadow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you.” Robin said all at once, being the rational thinker in the situation.

“Hunt the freak, right?” Eddie says with a crack in his voice, due to his anxious trembling lips.

“Exactly.” Robin agrees but offering a concerning smile.

“Shit.” the metal head whispers, making you bring your body closer to his, arms brushing as a small signal of comfort.

“So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” Dustin concludes the plan, which sounded easy if told in the voice tone he used.

“That’s all, Dustin, that’s all?” Eddie rhetorically asks, kind of incredulous that the kid was being serious with him.

“Yeah, uhm, that’s pretty much it.” the younger boy confirms shaking his head, supported by Steve who also nodded positively.

“Oh, you guys are being serious. Of course, you’re being serious.” you scoff, thinking about how crazy this plan sounds to you and Eddie.

“Listen, Eddie, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this kind of thing before.” Robin calmly says, trying to put some hope into you.

“I haven’t.” you state staring between her and Eddie.

“I mean, they have a… a few times, and I… I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel like we got this.” she finishes with a positive smile. If you and Eddie were cartoon characters, you’d surely have question marks above your heads right now.

“Yes. We usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but, uh, those went bye-bye, so…” Steve finally says, still searching words to explain what’s on his mind.

“So, we’re technically in more of the…” Robin tries to help him but is not successfully also.

“Kinda…” both of them starts to mumble random words, making it hard for you and Eddie to follow.

“Brainstorming phase.” Max interrupts, catching everyone’s attention.

“Brainstorming.” Steve repeats snaping his fingers at her when she finds the perfect word.

“There’s… there’s nothing to worry about.” Dustin splutters followed by a thumbs up from Steve, making you and Eddie exchange shocked looks. Before you could say or question anything, you were all startled by sirens wailing on the street.

“Shit.” Steve runs quickly to one of the windows.

“Tarp. Tarp. Use the tarp.” Robin says before following Steve, you make quick work in getting out from the boat and helping Eddie hide under the tarp.

You all run towards the small windows of the cabin when the sirens increase, seeing two police cars and an ambulance fast crossing the road in the direction of the woods. Thank God they wouldn’t pay any attention to Rick’s house by the lake, or you’d be screwed.

“Holy shit, what now?” you say running your hands through your hair.

“Follow them. Let’s follow them and find out what happened, it must have a clue for Vecna or something.” Robin says, Steve searching in his pocket for the car keys in the next second.

“Eddie, stay there and keep it cool. We’ll come back as soon as possible.” Dustin says when leaving the cabin with the others.

You were about to follow them when it passes through your head, what if we don’t come back? The thought alone making you stop in your tracks and look above your shoulder, seeing how Eddie tried to peek discretely from under the tarp. With everything that happened on the last two days, you couldn’t leave him alone, not again. You just left the night before because you needed to get supplements, and you wouldn’t have asked for Steve to stop by your house if you hadn’t considered the possibility of sticking with Eddie before. His D&D magazines, mixtapes and super-secret polaroids weren’t the only thing you got from your house, but also some clothes and necessary items for you, you just didn’t want to tell it to the group because you knew they would question your risky decision.

“Hey, Dustin!” you yell, running towards the boy and directly grabbing his backpack.

“Come on, Y/n, what are you waiting for?” the boy huffs wondering why you’d stop him in the middle of a hurry.

“Where are your radio-receivers? The Walkie-Talkies?” you ask searching around his things.

“Here, but why do want them now?” he answers opening another compartment and handing you one of his radio-receivers.

“Come on, Y/l/n, we don’t have the whole day!” Steve calls from the car, Max being the only one who waited for you with the door open.

“I’m sticking with him.” you confess to Dustin while closing his backpack.

“You´re what? Y/n, that’s risky, you never dealt with this before, what if-“ the boy starts rambling, but you are quick to shut him down.

“I’m here for him, it makes no sense in leaving. It’s decided, I’m staying.” you say earning a warning look from Dustin “We’ll be ok. Teams, remember? If anything, we’ll call for you.” you offer an assuring smile.

“Shit, okay. Just be careful, and don’t do anything stupid.” the boy warns with a sigh before running alone towards the car.

“Good luck.” you wave your receiver in the air when you notice the confused faces from Robin, Steve and Max.

Besides understanding your message, they still hesitated for a second before listening to Dustin and starting the car, leaving you behind. Taking a deep breath, you watched the car slowly disappear within the road, already taking backward steps to come back into the cabin. When you turned in your feet to face it, you saw the tarp in the exact same position it was when you left, saying that Eddie was still there, sighing, you closed the metal door carefully, trying to make less noise possible and not startle him.

“You can uncover now. It’s clear.” you say approaching the boat again, and Eddie was fast to get up when he heard your voice.

“Y/n? What the fuck are you still doing here?” you can feel how worried he is by the mix between his tone and face expression.

“Uh, they thought it was better for one of us to stay?” you answer but in a doubting tone, you know Eddie, he’s stubborn and overprotective when it comes to you doing things because of him.

“Don’t bullshit me, I heard Steve calling for you.” he gave you a serious stare, making your eyes involuntary switch to the ground “Come on, baby, it’s fucking dangerous for you to stay here. The police are looking for me, and soon the whole town will be doing so. I’m innocent, yeah, but it’s kinda hard for me to prove it right now, but now you? You have nothing to do with that.”

“Yes, I do.” you firmly say, forcing yourself to look at him after being caught “I’m your girlfriend, best friend, and when we established that we agreed that we were stuck with each other for life. There’s no way I’m not sticking with you.” you protest getting closer to him inside the boat.

“We said that when we weren’t dealing with murders, haunts and supernatural shit.” he scoffs rolling his eyes.

“So what? It doesn’t change anything for me. And don’t act as if you would hesitate to do the same if I was the banished one.” you accidentally let your voice sound a little too irritated, gulping as soon as noticed it.

“Baby, it’s just… I don’t want anything bad to happen with you. If what Robin said about this another world is true, I believe that what I saw happening with Chrissy is just the top of the iceberg. I don’t want you to go through this.” he says looking back at you, his hand hesitantly gripping above your knee.

“I didn’t want you to either.” you shift closer in one motion, grabbing his cold hand in your small one “It’s decided Eddie, I’m not changing my mind. If something bad happens, it’s gonna be to the both of us, but I’m sure that if we stick together, like we always did, we’ll fucking kill it and have freaking amazing stories to tell our grandchildren in the future.” you assure him with teary eyes but also the shadow of a smile.

“Fuck, I love you.” he breaths out after a moment of silence from him just staring right into your eyes “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” he whispered between soft kisses, starting by your hand and tracing all the way up your arm.

“You don’t have to do anything. We’re made for loving each other, remember?” you smile caressing his left cheek with your delicate hand “I love you too, Eddie the Banished.” you softly laugh using the new nickname he gave to himself, before kissing him romantically.

“Hm, you know what?” he murmurs against your lips as soon as the kiss starts to become more passionate.

“Uh oh, here it comes. What is it, Eds?” you asked already knowing that he had something not so usual in his mind.

“I guess I won’t need those polaroids anymore, uh? Now that I have you here with me.” he smirks, while putting a strand of hair out of your face.

“For God’s sake, Edward!” you laugh playfully shoving his shoulder and calling him by his name “You really telling me that, even in the actual scenario, the first thing that comes to your mind is our carnal deeds, Munson?” you point around the cabin and the boat you’re in, arching one of your eyebrows when staring at your boyfriend.

“Hey, don’t shame me for that, Y/l/n. Or you’re gonna tell me that you weren’t thinking about our carnal deeds when you brought the blessed polaroids to me, uh?” he said cocking his eyebrows, his tongue lightly smothering his lips when he noticed you had nothing to say against him “Ha! See, I’m right. You dirty little thing.” he claps his palms startling you, but immediately jumping in your direction to cover you in ticklish kisses.

“Okay, okay, I surrender! Maybe I was, but it was me trying to help you!” you laugh defending yourself, trying not to fall out of the boat.

“Yeah, you can help me now, you know, up close and personal…” he whispers moving his messy kisses to your neck.

“Hold on there, Casanova.” you smile carefully stopping him “I’m not sure if I feel like doing it under a tarp at Reefer Rick’s dirty cabin.” you chuckle.

“Yep, kinda nasty, I’m sorry.” He grits his teeth, kissing your hand as an apology.

“It’s okay.” you smile widely back at him “Actually, I’m kinda hungry, and I bought noodles, cheese and bacon… So, how about we get to the house, put our mixtapes for good use and cook ourselves a decent meal, huh?” you suggest grinning.

“What if someone sees or hears us?” he gives you puppy eyes.

“They won’t. We can always keep the house closed, and I’m almost sure that Reefer Rick would totally listen to the same records as us.” you say while getting up from the boat.

“Maybe you do have a point.” he shrugs, grabbing his jacket from under him.

“Plus, up there he probably has a bed, or even a couch, which is much more comfortable than a boat and a tarp.” you smirk reaching your hand out for him.

“Hell yeah, they’re definitely hearing us.” he matches your expression before grabbing your fingers and getting up to follow you.

Deep down, you know that this is short-term joy, a way you easily found to forget about all the shit that’s happening to you both right now. But that’s why you’re here, to help Eddie unwind at the same time you keep growing this everlasting love for each other, because honestly, it doesn't matter if the world is ending out there, as long as you and Eddie are together, you’ll always be happy.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒

pairings ❧ steve harrington x reader

summary ❧ nancy, jonathan, and (y/n) begin their search for a mysterious creature that has been lurking in the shadows of their small town

warnings ❧ female!reader, shit writing, will’s funeral, mentions of guns, mentions of trauma/family issues, mentions of blood/dying deer

word count ❧ 2.4k

additional notes ❧ i wrote this back in august ´･ᴗ･`

I stand next to Nancy, my brother and his friends in front of us as we watch Will's funeral service. A solemn atmosphere surrounds us as we stand around the casket that holds Will's body.

"Just wait 'till we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral," Dustin snickers to his friends, pointing at the crying girl.

"Shut up, Dustin," I whisper kicking his foot lightly before turning my attention back to the man speaking.

"Ow!" Dustin whines, bringing his leg up to rub it, stumbling in the process.

"Shhhh." Mrs. Wheeler leans down to shush my brother.

I drop my white rose into the ground where Will's casket lies and embrace Jonathan to offer my support.

"Hey," I give the boy a gentle smile after pulling away from our hug.

"Hi, thanks for coming." He says softly before shoving his hands in his suit pockets.

"Of course." I say as I move over to Joyce and gently rub her shoulder lovingly, noticing she wouldn't appreciate a hug at the moment.

"Hey, Joyce." I say, "I'm always here if you need anything, okay?" She only offers a small nod in return.

Nancy slowly approaches Jonathan and I and we silently walk together, sitting by a near fence where headstones sit within.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

This is where we know for sure it's been, right?" Jonathan says, showing Nancy and I a map of Hawkins.

"So that's..." I say pointing at the x on the paper in front of us.

"Steve's house." Jonathan confirms with a nod, "And that's the woods where they found Will's bike and... that's my house." Jonathan continues, pointing at the paper.

"It's all so close." Nancy comments and I shift nervously on the ground, looking towards the woods surrounding us.

"Yeah. Exactly." Jonathan says.

"I mean, that's gotta be all within a mile or something." I say, glancing back at the two.

"Whatever this thing is, it's not traveling far." Jonathan finishes with a determined expression as he glances at Nancy and I.

"You want to go out there." Nancy concludes looking back at Jonathan.

"We might not find anything." Jonathan replies with a sigh.

"We found something." I say gesturing between Nancy and I and Jonathan nods.

"And if we do see it..." Nancy adds, "Then what?”

"We kill it."

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Jonathan leads Nancy and I over to a car, opens the passenger side door and starts picking the lock of the glove box.

"What are you doing?" I ask confused, crossing my arms nervously.

"Just give me a second..." Jonathan says as Nancy and I look around uncomfortably.

Jonathan successfully picks the lock, pulling out a gun, checking at the components and stuffing the extra bullets into his pockets.

"Are you serious?" Nancy asks, looking around again to make sure nobody can see us.

"What? You want to find this thing and take another picture?" Jonathan asks sarcastically, "Yell at it?" He gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

"This is a terrible idea." Nancy says, tugging her jacket tighter.

"Yeah, well, it's the best we've got." Jonathan replies shoving the gun in his jacket pocket and Nancy rolls her eyes, "What? You can tell someone, but they're not gonna believe you." He adds.

"You know that."

"Your mom would." I pipe up, trying to break the tension between the two.

"She's been through enough, (Y/n)." Jonathan says sadly.

"She deserves to know." I continue and Nancy glances at me, nodding her head in agreement.

"Yeah, and I'll tell her..." Jonathan says determinedly.

"When this thing is dead.”

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Standing alongside Jonathan in the woods, gun in hand, I aim at the cans in front of me. With a click and a loud shot, I hit three cans dead center. I turn to Jonathan a smug look on my face, and he chuckles before checking his watch for the fifth time.

"Calm down, lover boy." I say, crossing my arms, "She's on her way." Jonathan shakes his head with a chuckle and takes the gun from me, walking up to where I just stood.

Taking aim at the cans, Jonathan fires off multiple shots, only to miss each one. He lowers the gun with a sigh, frustrated with his failure.

"You're supposed to hit the cans, right?" Nancy says, walking over to Jonathan and I with a baseball bat in hand.

"No, actually, you see the spaces in between the cans?" Jonathan says sarcastically, "I'm aiming for those."

"Ah," Nancy replies, setting down her bag and bat.

"You ever shot a gun before?" Jonathan asks.

Nancy scoffs.

"Have you met my parents?" Nancy asks jokingly and Jonathan laughs.

"Yeah, I haven't shot one since I was ten. My dad took me hunting on my birthday." Jonathan explains, "He made me kill a rabbit."

"A rabbit?" I ask softly, kicking the dirt beneath my feet.

"Yeah. I guess he thought it would make me more of a man or something." Jonathan says, "I cried for a week."

"Jesus." Nancy whispers, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

"What? I'm a fan of Thumper." Jonathan says, shrugging and I chuckle lightly.

"I meant your father." Nancy says, looking at Jonathan sadly.

"Yeah..." Jonathan replies, "I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but..." He cocks the gun, "I wasn't around for that part."

"Welcome to the club." I sigh, glancing at the ground.

Nancy gestures towards the gun in Jonathan's hand, eager to take her turn shooting at the cans.

"Um, yeah" Jonathan says and gently hands her the gun, "Just, uh, point and shoot. (Y/n) caught on pretty quickly."

"You could say I'm a natural," I comment with a light smile.

"Of course," Nancy returns my smile and adjusts her grip on the gun, "I don't think my parents ever loved each other." She adds returning to Jonathan's previous point.

"They must've married for some reason." Jonathan says, looking at the girl with all too familiar eyes.

There's something there.

"My mom was young. My dad was older," Nancy begins, aiming the gun, "But he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family." She finishes, gripping the gun tightly.

"Screw that." I say crossing the arms.

"Yeah, screw that." Nancy agrees before releasing the trigger, hitting the can dead on.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Nancy, Jonathan, and I walk through the forest, each of us carrying our weapon of choice. Jonathan grasps the baseball bat that Nancy had brought, while Nancy held the gun. And I carried a crowbar I found in the top shelf in my garage.

"You never said what I was saying." Nancy says quietly as we're walking.

"What?" Jonathan exhales.

"Yesterday." Nancy replies casually, "You said we were saying something and that's why you took our pictures."

"Oh uh, I don't know," Jonathan mutters to the ground before Nancy turns to glance at the boy, urging him to go on.

"I guess, I saw this girl, you know, trying to be someone else," Jonathan says to Nancy sincerely, "But for that moment, it was like you were alone, or you thought you were. And you know, you could just be yourself." He finishes glancing at Nancy for her reaction.

"That is such bullshit." She replies.

"What?" Jonathan says, stopping, Nancy walks ahead before turning back around to face us.

"I am not trying to be someone else." She says taking a couple steps towards Jonathan and I, "Just because I'm dating Steve and you don't like him—"

"You know what? Forget it." Jonathan comments, walking ahead, "I just thought it was a good picture." He adds.

"He's actually a good guy." Nancy says, trying to defend herself. She didn't need to but she did anyway.

"Okay," Jonathan stammers.

"Yesterday with the camera... He's not like that, at all." Nancy says walking inline with Jonathan now, "He was just being protective." She shrugs.

"Yeah, I've been friends with him all my life. He's always been a good guy." I say and Nancy gestures in me direction sending a pointed look a Jonathan almost to say 'see', "He just gets in with the wrong people sometimes." I mumble, kicking the leaves beneath my feet again.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," Jonathan sasses.

"Oh, and I guess what you did was okay?" Nancy retorts.

"No, I never said that." Jonathan says quickly.

"He had every right to be pissed—" Nancy starts, frustrated. I stay back letting them work out their differences. Even if I did have opinions.

"Okay, alright," Jonathan cuts her off frantically, "Does that mean I have to like him?" He asks turning to look at her again.

"No." She replies.

"Listen, don't take it so personally, okay?" Jonathan says angrily, "I don't like most people. He's in the vast majority." He shrugs before walking ahead again.

"You know, I was actually starting to think that you were okay." Nancy says stopping in place.

"Yeah?" Jonathan says back.

"Yeah." Nancy confirms, "Yeah, I was thinking, "Jonathan Byers" maybe he's not the pretentious creep everyone says he is."

"Guys..." I whisper, being ignored, I shove my hands in my pockets and let the argument play out.

"Well, I was just starting to think you were okay." Jonathan replies walking back towards Nancy again, who's mouth turns into an "o" shape, egging the boy on, "I was thinking, "Nancy Wheeler" she's not just another suburban girl who thinks she's rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does. Until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock, who now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of a cul-de-sac. Exactly like their parents, who they thought were so depressing, but now, hey, they get it." Jonathan breaths out before scoffing and walking away for the last time.

I cast one last sympathetic look towards Nancy before jogging up to Jonathan. Together, we walk in silence, Nancy not far behind us.

"What was I saying?" I whisper curiously, "In my picture?"

Jonathan looks up at me in question and I nod confirming I would like to know.

"Uh, you were saying that you wanted nothing more than to be with this guy, but you can't, so you hide away. But it was like, that moment, made you realize that when you're next to him it feels so right." He says truthfully, trudging along beside me.

"Oh..." I felt exposed, Jonathan knew exactly what and who he was talking about. Which made me feel like he saw straight through me, the rough exterior easily cracked with a single picture.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, (Y/n)," Jonathan says sincerely, "I shouldn't have taken that."

"Hey, it's okay. And don't worry," I say glancing back at Nancy, "She'll come around."

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

As the sun set, casting a dark blanket over the woods, the three of us walk in-line with each other. However, the tension between Jonathan and Nancy is still so thick, you could probably cut it with a knife.

Just as we thought all was quiet, a noise suddenly comes from afar, causing me to flinch lightly. Nancy and I exchange a glance and come to a halt, looking around. Jonathan unaware, continues walking until he notices the two of us are stopped.

"What are you tired?" Jonathan turns, asking sarcastically.

"Shut up." Nancy responds, looking around the forest.

"What?" Jonathan says, confused with our actions.

"I heard something..." Nancy whispers.

We hear a whimpering noise, slow and distant, causing us to head cautiously in it's direction until we discover its source. We find an injured, bloodied dear lying on the ground in front of us. It's labored breathing and pained cries makes my heart sink.

"Oh my god..." I whisper, clasping my hand over my mouth.

Nancy has a distraught look on her face before her kneels down in front of the deer. Jonathan sighs and glances towards my teary eyes, touching my shoulder lightly, before bringing his hand back to his side.

"It's been hit by a car," Nancy says softly. The deer lifts it's head slightly before continuing to whimper, "We can't just leave it." Nancy whispers as she slowly holds up the gun.

"I'll do it." Jonathan says confidently.

A few silent tears run down my cheeks.

"I thought you said—" Nancy starts, hesitant.

"I'm not nine anymore." Jonathan replies as Nancy slowly hands him the gun and stands up next to me, rubbing my back comfortingly.

As Jonathan cocks the gun, ready to end the deer's suffering, Nancy and I cling to each other tightly, not wanting to witness the violence. Just as Jonathan prepares to pull the trigger, the deer is violently dragged away, leaving us to stumble backward as we stare at the empty spot where the deer once lay.

"What was that?" I ask breathlessly, clutching my crowbar tight.

"I don't know..." Nancy replies, just as breathless. She starts walking forward, flashlight in hand, following the trail of blood and Jonathan and I trail close behind her.

The trail of blood suddenly stops in an opening in the woods. The three of us looking around frantically, searching for the thing that snatched the deer.

"Where'd it go?" I ask whipping my flashlight around to shine through the trees.

"I don't know," Jonathan replies, confused, "Do you guys see anymore blood?" He asks, pointing his gun.

"No." Nancy and I reply at the same time.

My eyes suddenly spot a drop of blood trailing onto a nearby tree branch. Curious, I wander off in that direction, and discover a tree with an opening covered in a gooey substance. Kneeling down to get a closer look, I reach out and touch it, only for the substance to stick between my fingers. Stretching as I pull them apart.

"Ew..." I whisper to myself. I then notice the trail of blood leading into the tree.

"Nancy?" I call out and look behind me, where my friends once were, "Jonathan?"

"Shit... Here goes nothing." I say, before slowly crawling into the tree.

After squeezing my way out of the opening, slime covers my skin. With my crowbar firmly in hand, I raise it nervously at the sound of a disturbing noise nearby. Hesitantly moving forward, my eyes land on a horrifying scene, so unexpected that I draw in a sharp breath.

"Holy shit."

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[buddie-buddie]

we will find a way (through the dark)

9.2k - t - ao3 In which President Evan Buckley is kidnapped and Secret Service Agent Eddie Diaz falls apart.

This whole Wyoming trip was a bad idea. Eddie had said as much when the travel plans first crossed his desk. Buck, to his credit, had agreed. Neither one of them seemed to understand why a speech at an hour-long ceremony warranted a three-day trip, but that ship had apparently long since sailed.

“What’s there to do in Wyoming anyway?” Buck had asked one of his advisors. “Can’t I just fly in for the ceremony and leave as soon as it’s over?” 

Eddie thought that was a brilliant idea. The less time they had to spend away from the White House– the less time they had to spend in Wyoming, of all places– the better. 

Unfortunately, Buck’s team was prepared with an answer, quickly launching into some long-winded explanation full of Washington jargon like strategic and good faith and precedent-setting. It was buzzword salad, as far as Eddie was concerned. 

The way Buck’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they spoke indicated he felt the same. 

Buck going anywhere other than the White House or Camp David is already less than ideal, and heading to some rural area of Wyoming, where there’s bad reception, limited resources, and guns outnumber people 4:1 is pretty much Eddie’s personal hell. 

Now that they’re here, his feelings haven’t exactly changed. His team is incredible, as is the entirety of the Secret Service. They’ve been hard at work clearing buildings, mapping travel routes, surveilling, and filling the gaps left by the less-than ideal amount of local law enforcement support they’ve been provided. 

They’ve been here for a day and a half now, and while Eddie still isn’t feeling great about the trip, he’s no longer walking around with “resting bitch face so severe it might get stuck that way,” as Buck had so lovingly pointed out when Air Force One had first landed. 

Tensions had managed to grow since their arrival, which Eddie knew could be attributed to Buck’s overall frustration with this trip in the first place. A frustration Eddie shared, tenfold. 

Buck was exhausted after a particularly busy week, spread thinner than he had been in recent memory. Thinner than Eddie thought possible. And yet, somehow, even after all these years, Buck still manages to surprise him. 

The night before they were set to leave Washington, Eddie had brought up the idea of postponing the trip. It had been a long, draining week and to add a few days of travel on top of it felt like a cruel and unusual punishment, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. It physically pained him to see Buck so stressed, exhaustion materializing in the bags under his eyes, in the dark circles that cast an unwelcome shadow across his face. 

When Buck didn’t go for that, Eddie suggested shortening it to one day instead of three. He was met with protest, insistence that he’d rather go and be miserable than change his plans and disappoint his constituents. Buck had stopped for a minute, his half-packed suitcase in front of him, and promised that when they got home, he’d stay in bed for a whole day. 

“I’ll allow it,” Eddie had said, wrapping his arms around Buck from behind and dropping a kiss to his temple. 

“I have one condition,” Buck said, relaxing into Eddie’s arms, melting into his touch. 

“Let’s hear it,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s ear.  

“You,” Buck said, pausing and tipping his head back in an attempt to look at Eddie. “Have to stay in bed with me.” 

Eddie grinned. He couldn’t help but squeeze Buck a little tighter, fondness unfurling in his chest. “Deal.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, turning Buck so they were pressed chest to chest, their foreheads resting against one another. “Yeah,” Eddie murmured, stealing a proper kiss. 

-

The first day of the trip goes according to plan. Buck is exhausted, and Eddie can tell he’s losing steam towards the end of the day, but he still manages to keep a warm smile on his face until they make it back to the hotel room. Eddie follows him inside, locking the door behind them as Buck heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“You did well today,” Eddie says, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his suit jacket before crossing the room towards the bed. 

“I– I feel like you guys are smothering me.” Buck’s reply seems to startle both of them. 

Eddie tries not to take it personally. It’s not his fault there are fewer police officers in the entire state of Wyoming than there were students in his high school! Usually when they travel, local police come in to support the Secret Service. The small police population out here has meant fewer support officers than they’re used to. It left Eddie and his team feeling a little stressed, and they had come to the decision that the best way to fill the gaps and compensate for the change in routine was to increase the presence of Buck’s personal detail. 

Instead of two agents shadowing him, they bumped it to three. Instead of four agents surrounding him in open air, they’ve had six. 

Frankly, Eddie isn’t a huge fan of the change in routine, either. He’s been on edge since the second they got here. But if it means keeping Buck safe, he’ll adopt whatever changes are necessary. He might not like it, might spend all day longing for the status quo, but he’ll do it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant keeping Buck safe. Nothing . 

“I’m sorry,” Buck and Eddie say at the same time. 

“No– no, Eddie. I’m sorry,” Buck insists, his eyes wide and searching as he holds Eddie’s gaze. “I– I don’t know where that came from. I just–” 

Eddie sits down beside him. Their knees brush, and the tension in the air dissolves immediately. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for telling me the truth,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry that we had to change your detail. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“There’s nothing here but open air and cows,” Buck grumbles, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with a sigh. “Can’t we decrease it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. Annoying as it is, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he does anything that could potentially put Buck in danger. “No, baby. I’m sorry.”

Buck makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, flopping back onto the mattress. Eddie sighs, taking comfort in knowing that even as tired as he is, Buck hasn’t lost his personality. 

“We just have to get through another day and a half. Not even. First thing Wednesday morning, we’re on the way home,” Eddie reminds him. “And then I believe there’s a deal involving a bed and a locked door that’ll need your attention.” 

-

The following afternoon is Buck’s big speech, the whole reason for the trip in the first place. He spends 15 minutes speaking at a ceremony to honor the 100th birthday of a national park that Eddie isn’t convinced he himself had ever heard of before learning of these travel plans. As Eddie expected, Buck absolutely crushes his speech, complete with a standing ovation before he waves goodbye and heads backstage to meet up with his team. 

“Nice work,” Maddie says, beaming as Buck makes his way down the stairs, trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Chim, and Hen. He strides over to where she’s waiting with a few of his advisors and a flock of additional Secret Service agents. 

Buck lets out a deep breath, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he thanks her. “Now what?” he asks, accepting the bottle of water Eddie passes him with a small smile. 

“Now, you have to go get changed into something more appropriate for skeet shooting with the governor,” Maddie tells him. 

She manages to keep the grin off her face, but Chim fails, chuckling as he claps Buck on the back. “Now this, I can’t wait to see.” 

It’s a twenty minute ride in the motorcade to the rifle club, where Buck is ushered into a sitting room and promised that the governor will be with him shortly. He takes a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs, directly beneath a taxidermy buck. 

“It’s Buck-ception,” Chimney muses. Eddie grins, though it may have less to do with Chim’s bad joke and more to do with the horrified look on Buck’s face as he turns his head and sees the deer mounted directly above him.

“I miss Washington,” Buck grumbles. 

Eddie doesn’t blame him. 

Washington has the Oval Office, which is free of dead animals hanging on the walls. Washington has four times more law enforcement officers in its 70 square miles than Wyoming does in its nearly 100,000. Washington has Christopher. Washington has the Residence. Washington has their bed–– God, Eddie misses their bed. 

Washington has their best memories and some of their worst ones too, but it’s home. And while Eddie’s never felt homesick when Buck’s in reach, he finds himself longing for the city just as much as Buck is. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the governor is striding into the sitting room and Buck is rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand. 

“Mr. President.”

“Mr. Governor,” Buck says with a warm smile. Eddie remains in awe of him– how even when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, doing something he doesn’t want to do, Buck still manages to be so friendly, so genuine. He still manages to share the best parts of himself.  “Thanks for having me.”

The governor returns Buck’s smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” He leads Buck down a hallway to a private locker room, Eddie, Bobby, and Chim trailing behind them alongside the Governor’s security. The Governor motions for Buck to use the room on the left before heading into the room on the right himself.

Chim stands to the left of the door while Bobby walks through the room, returning a moment later with a nod to signal that it’s empty and safe for Buck to enter. He steps into position, standing on the right hand side of the door as Eddie moves to follow Buck inside. 

“I think I can handle this by myself, guys.” Buck motions to the bag in his hand. Eddie tries not to take it personally. He knows Buck is feeling overwhelmed. He said as much last night. And yet, there’s still a pang of rejection at Buck’s words. But he shoves it down, nods, and steps to the side, as much as he hates the idea of Buck being out of their sight. 

But it’s only for a minute. They’re in a building that’s crawling with agents, and this is a private room– Eddie remembers as much from when he saw the building’s plans during his briefing this morning. There are no exterior doors, no doors that connect to other rooms. Just a small changing area connected to a private bathroom. And Buck is only getting changed out of his suit and into whatever sort of skeet shooting attire Maddie put into the bag that’s slung across his shoulder. 

He’ll only be a minute. 

The Governor reappears a few minutes later, his own suit traded for a flannel shirt and a dark khaki vest with matching pants tucked into calf-high boots.

Eddie catches the way Chim’s eyes light up, already anticipating Buck’s getup. He shoots him a look, silently begging him to behave. 

They wait for another minute before Eddie starts to get antsy. He has no idea what could possibly be taking Buck so long. He’s pretty efficient when he gets dressed in the morning, only slowing down to swap lazy kisses with Eddie as they move around the walk-in closet at the same time. That and tying his tie. But Eddie’s out here in the hallway and he’s hard pressed to believe Maddie would pack him a necktie for an afternoon at the rifle club. 

Something must be wrong. 

Eddie steps forward, knocking on the door. “Mr. President, all good?” He waits with bated breath for Buck’s answer, only it doesn’t come. 

“Mr. President?” Eddie tries again, more insistent this time. Again, no response. 

He looks between Chim, Bobby, the Governor, and the two state troopers trailing the Governor, concern written across all five of their faces. 

Fuck. 

Eddie doesn’t waste another second. 

The door is unlocked, but there’s something blocking it. He’s able to twist the knob and push it open, but it only goes a few inches before he’s met with resistance. He slams his shoulder into the door, using all of his weight to push it open far enough that he can make it through. 

A leather-trimmed bench has been dragged over from the middle of the changing area, if the dents in the carpet are any indication of where it once sat. It was shoved in front of the door, clearly meant to slow down anyone trying to make their way inside. Buck’s suit jacket is in a pile on the floor, just beside his dress pants and shoes. His bag lays sideways on the floor, a pair of olive green pants hanging out of the opening. 

His white button-down is in the middle of the floor, stained red with what can only be blood. 

There’s a lot of blood. Too much blood. 

A trail of it starting in the middle of the room, leading out through a wide-open window. 

Shit. 

There are bloody footprints on the carpet. Three pairs in the middle of the floor – two made by shoes and one made by bare feet. By the window, there are only two pairs. Both shoes. They dragged him out. 

The realization burns in Eddie’s chest, nearly breaks him. They dragged him out. 

How did they all miss this? How did none of them hear it? Eddie thinks he might be sick.

Behind him, he hears Bobby radioing in a mayday and calling for a total lockdown. He hears boots in the hallway, voices echoing in his earpiece. The Governor’s saying something, the state troopers, too.

But he can’t focus on any of that. Not when Buck is gone. 

No, not gone. 

Taken. 

The worst of it is the tiny black rectangle in the corner of the room. Buck’s panic button. Eddie beelines toward it, dropping down to get a better look. It’s still intact, which has Eddie trying to wrap his head around why Buck didn’t hit it– it must’ve been in his hand at some point if it made it all the way out of his pocket and across the room. Why didn’t he hit it?

He’s careful not to put any fingerprints on it, pulling a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and using it to flip the thing over. He’s not ready for the sight of the bloody fingerprint, just to the left of the button itself. It trails off, as if the device was knocked out of Buck’s hand before he could get his finger onto the button. 

But he tried. 

Something about that makes it even worse.

-

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, walking into the sitting room, which has since become, for all intents and purposes, Secret Service headquarters. 

He just got off the phone with the director, briefing him on what had gone down. It’s been fourteen minutes since Eddie breached the door to the locker room and they discovered Buck had been taken. Closer to eighteen minutes since Buck entered the locker room in the first place. The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows steadily with each passing minute. He’s desperate for an update– a real update. Not just “Yeah, he’s definitely gone,” which had been the latest one a few minutes ago, before Eddie stepped out to call the director and try to tamp down the rage burning within him before it consumed him. 

“We have footage,” Bobby says, looking up at Eddie from behind a laptop screen. He’s sitting in the same oversized leather chair Buck had been in before, the stupid taxidermy buck above his head. 

God, what Eddie would do to go back to that moment. The things he would change. The things he could prevent. 

“Let me see,” Eddie says. Bobby hesitates, one hand on the laptop screen, as if to shield Eddie from view. 

“Eddie,” Bobby begins. “I just watched it. I think–” His voice is gentle and sympathetic in a way that has Eddie feeling absolutely terrified. 

“No,” Eddie insists. He can hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. He clears his throat, takes a quick breath. “Let me see.”

Bobby hesitates once more, but Eddie steps up next to him, standing over his shoulder and staring down at the screen. Reluctantly, Bobby hits play. 

It’s from an exterior camera, one that had a perfect view of two men dragging Buck out of the locker room window. Eddie stands there fuming, his blood boiling beneath his skin as he sees Buck, covered in blood, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a strip of tape across his mouth. 

He kicks and claws, thrashing around as they pull him out of the open window and throw him in the back of a waiting golf cart. It has a miniature flatbed in the back, and one of the men jumps in beside Buck, locking his legs around him and holding a hand over his mouth to keep him still and quiet. 

The other man throws a tarp over the both of them, concealing them from view, before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding off. 

And then they’re gone. 

Eddie can’t breathe. Buck is gone– taken – on his watch. He’s out there somewhere, barefoot and covered in blood and at the mercy of the two animals who just dragged him through a window right under Eddie’s nose and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. His chest is tight and his head is heavy and everything hurts. He can’t– 

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice sounds far away, too distant to be coming from the man standing directly beside him. “Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie can’t get the words out. Can’t get the air in. Can’t do anything except stand here as his world falls apart and stammer out a broken,  “They– I– I can’t–”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even where Eddie’s wavers, smooth where Eddie’s grates against the lump in his throat. But the fire in his eyes burns just as furiously as the one in Eddie’s. The undercurrent of anger that Eddie can sense coming off of him is just as intense as the one thrumming beneath his own skin. 

And something about that is more comforting than the evenness of his voice ever could be. 

“We’re going to get him back,” Bobby says, matter-of-fact. There’s no room for interpretation, no doubt behind his words. 

“He’s… Bobby, I– I don’t–” 

“He needs you,” Bobby says, his voice low. Quiet enough that it doesn’t draw the attention of the other agents coming in and out of the room, but loud in all the ways that matter. Keep it together , is what Bobby doesn’t say out loud. Keep it together for him. And fall apart later. 

Eddie hears it all the same. 

He nods, managing to get a shaky breath. And then another one. The heat behind his eyes eases up, the pressure in his head and the burn in his chest ebbing away with each additional breath. Not all the way, but it’s enough. 

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes reassuringly in a way that has Eddie’s chest aching for an entirely different reason. 

And then Hen is running into the room, waving a sticky note in her hand. “I got a plate.” 

“Let me have it,” Eddie says. Bobby, to his credit, doesn’t protest as Eddie grabs the laptop out from in front of him and pulls up the database. 

Hen reads off the plate number and Eddie types it in. The system shows a match immediately. He pulls up the driver’s ID and his heart skips in his chest. That’s the same guy from the security video, the one driving the cart away. He’s sure of it. 

If the way Bobby stiffens beside him is any indication, he’s sure of it, too. They share a small nod, and Eddie sends a silent prayer of thanks to every God he can think of before keying his radio. “All agents, be advised, we have an ID on one of our suspects. Dixon Allan, age 31. Driving a white Silverado with a busted left tail light. BOLO is going out now.” 

“Last known address on our friend Mr. Allan is 129 Fox Hollow Road,” Bobby says, looking between Eddie, Chim, and Hen. 

“Well, let’s pay him a visit,” Eddie says. 

-

Eddie kills the Suburban’s engine three doors down from the house. The road has a more suburban feel to it than many of the streets Eddie’s seen since they first arrived two days ago. And yet, despite the paved streets and the houses close together, there’s not a single streetlight on the entire block. Though that’ll work in their favor. The sun is quickly setting, leaving them with only a few more minutes’ worth of daylight before the street is completely blanketed in darkness.

Another two cars pull up behind him, all of the agents careful to close their doors quietly and move silently as they head over to Eddie’s car.

Eddie swaps his suit jacket for a kevlar vest, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down up his forearms as Bobby steps up beside him, clad in his own vest. 

“Eddie.” Bobby says, the fear on his face giving way to something softer, more compassionate. “I can go in first.” 

Eddie’s chest squeezes, the onslaught of emotion catching him completely off guard. 

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Bobby says, the compassion from his face bleeding into his voice and softening the razor-sharp edge of the truth behind his words. 

“I know,” Eddie says solemnly. He knows Bobby is trying to protect him, offering to be the first one in, the first one to see whatever it is these animals have done with Buck. To Buck. 

But what Bobby must not realize is that this – whatever it is they’re walking into – is what Eddie deserves. He’s the one who let Buck into that locker room alone. He’s the one who waited too long to breach the door and get inside. He’s the one who failed. He failed his country, failed his people. Failed Buck. 

And whatever horror scene they’re about to walk in on, Eddie deserves every second of it. He can’t put that on Bobby. Not when all of this is his fault. 

“I’ll lead,” Eddie says, the words scratching against the lump in his throat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything more about it when his earpiece beeps, signaling an incoming communication. “All agents, be advised. SWAT is eleven minutes out.” 

It’s Eddie’s boss, the director of the Secret Service. The unspoken words there are Wait for them. Which Eddie has no plans of doing. 

Eddie keys his radio. “We’re moving in.”

“Special Agent Diaz––”

“Do you have any idea what can happen in eleven minutes?” Eddie demands. He gives zero regard to the reprimand he’s bound to get for interrupting his boss– and over the team comms for everyone else to hear, no less. “What they could do to him?”

“Stand down and wait for SWAT,” the director says. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it costs me my badge!” Eddie hisses, careful not to raise his voice to the point of giving away their position. “It’ll be on your desk first thing tomorrow if that’s how it has to be. But I’m going in there and getting my President. And I’m not waiting eleven minutes to do it.” 

The comms are silent for a beat before Eddie keys his radio one more time. “Respectfully, Sir.”

“I would never ask any of you to disobey–” Eddie’s voice trails off as he turns to face his team,  only to find them all in their vests, their weapons drawn. They’re ready to go.

“We know,” Hen says. 

Eddie tries again, shoving down the ball of emotion that’s started unfurling in his chest. “No one is under any obligation to–”

Chim cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all consenting adults here. Now, let’s go get our President back.”

Eddie nods. “Clip your lights on,” he tells them. “Stay light on your feet and wait for my signal.”

He’s met with a round of nods, each of the agents fastening their flashlights onto the top of their guns. As they’re walking down the sidewalk, approaching the house, his earpiece beeps again. 

“Be advised, SWAT recommends breaching at the alpha side.” 

Eddie knows that’s as close to a “You were right and I was wrong” as they’re ever going to get. He’ll take it. 

At least his badge is safe.

“Copy,” Eddie replies. He directs the agents to different sides of the house, approaching the front door with Bobby, Hen, and Chim on his heels. He glances back at them, and once he sees they’re all ready, he turns to the door and kicks it in.

The lights are off, the entire house swathed in a darkness that feels somewhat fitting for the gravity of the situation. Eddie steps over the threshold gun first, feet second. 

His stomach drops as he looks around. He freezes, the beam from his flashlight locked in place. His breath catches in his throat and from somewhere behind him, he can hear Bobby’s do the same. 

The front door opens up into a small entryway, just large enough for a coat rack and a small table pushed up against the wall, holding nothing but a single set of keys– no doubt belonging to the white Silverado parked out front, the same one they used to flee the scene– and a layer of dust Eddie can see from several feet away. Directly ahead is an open door that leads to what looks like the kitchen. To the left, a hallway. 

There are cobwebs in the corners and dust on the floor. The house is cold– too cold for anyone to be living here comfortably. But that’s not what has Eddie’s blood running cold, alarm bells going off in his head as he fights against the fire in his chest to get a clean breath. 

There, on the hallway wall, set clearly against the white paint, is a bloody handprint. 

Beside it, another one. This one messier than the first, the fingerprints trailing away, down the hallway, as if their owner dragged them across the wall. 

As if their owner was dragged. 

Not without a fight, though, if the fingernail scratches in the wall are any indication.  

“Jesus,” Chimney mutters. His voice is empty, hollow in a way Eddie’s never heard it before. Almost as if he’s shut off his emotions, tamped them down in the way Eddie so desperately wishes he was capable of doing himself. 

“Let’s move,” Eddie says, pushing the words past the fear that’s materialized by way of a lump in his throat.

He heads down the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes scan the trail of blood and scratches on the wall. The need to find Buck is the only thing more powerful than the rage burning deep inside him. It’s the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him from falling apart.

The intensity of the blood against the wall trails off the further he gets down the hallway, the heavy, robust marks fading into barely-there traces with each step Eddie takes. He tries to take comfort in knowing that it means Buck wasn’t actively bleeding– at least not from his hands– but any shred of relief is lost to the fear and the fury dangerously close to consuming him.   

The trail ends at the second door on the right. Eddie holds up his free hand in a silent signal to his team to freeze. The quiet footsteps behind him come to a halt, and he turns his head to see Bobby beside him. 

The anguish in his eyes has Eddie feeling like he’s looking in a mirror. Bobby has the same clenched jaw, the same creased forehead, the same fire burning behind his eyes that Eddie feels in his own. But there’s something more there. Something softer. At first, Eddie isn’t sure what to make of it. Then, Bobby nods his head towards the door, a silent offer. 

I’ll go first. 

He doesn’t have to say it out loud–– Eddie hears the unspoken words loud and clear. He knows it’s Bobby’s last attempt to protect him. To shield him from whatever might be behind the door.

Later, he’ll let himself feel the gratitude. Later, once Buck is home and Buck is safe. 

Later, he’ll find Bobby and he’ll thank him. He’ll tell him that he’s never had anyone care about him in the way that Bobby does. He’ll tell him how much the seemingly simple gesture meant to him. How he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby how even though it meant the world to him– maybe even more– he couldn’t take him up on the offer. He hopes Bobby will understand. No, he knows he will. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby “I had to do it.” And later, Bobby will smile and clap him on the shoulder and say “No, I know you did.” Later. Once this is all over. 

But now, all Eddie can do is meet Bobby’s eyes and hope the look he gives him is enough to say all the things he can’t right now. 

And then he moves. 

The door is locked. Eddie wastes no time kicking it open. It slams against the wall, the hinges rattling as he barrels into the room, Bobby and Chimney immediately behind him. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights. There’s a startled whimper from the far corner, and it’s a miracle that Eddie hears it over the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

“Buck!” Eddie crosses the room in three strides. Protocol says he needs to clear the room of any potential threats before entering, but he’s long past the point of giving a single damn about protocol. 

Someone behind him shouts out a “Clear!” and he hears Bobby on the radio, updating the other agents on scene. 

None of that matters to him. His sole focus is Buck. 

Buck, who’s sitting in front of him, eyes wide and wet even in the bright light of Eddie’s flashlight. He’s on the floor in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and there’s tape over his mouth. His captors are nowhere to be seen. He’s alone. 

For reasons Eddie can’t quite name, that makes the knots in his stomach coil even tighter. Buck was alone in here. Buck, who hasn’t been alone– not really, anyway– in years. Buck, who just minutes before being taken had insisted he’d be fine by himself. 

Sure, the alternative is that Buck’s captors could’ve been in here with him, doing god-knows-what to him. And that’s hardly better than Buck being left in here alone. But something about the sight of him all by himself, tucked in the corner of the room and looking smaller than Eddie’s ever seen him, has Eddie’s stomach turning, his chest squeezing beneath the agony of it all. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie promises, easing one corner of the tape up. He’s not sure if that last part is true. Not yet. But it needs to be.

“We’re here, we got you.” That part is true. They have him. 

Finally, finally, they have him. 

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asks. He can barely stand the half-second of wait time between his second and Buck’s reply, which comes by way of a quick head shake. No. 

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief, just as his radio beeps in his ear. “All agents be advised, we have both suspects in custody.” 

Eddie lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob. The relief is palpable, coursing through him and soothing the frayed edges of what little remains of his sanity.

“We got them,” he tells Buck. “It’s over.” 

Buck nods, eyes still shining in a way that feels like a knife to Eddie’s heart. “Gonna take this off, okay?” Eddie says, working hard to keep his voice calm and even. Buck nods eagerly. Bobby is there too, kneeling down at Buck’s side and starting in on the ropes wrapped around his wrists. 

Eddie brings one hand up to the side of Buck’s face, and his chest squeezes at the way Buck immediately melts into the touch. He pulls the tape off with his other hand, dropping it to the ground as soon as it’s off. 

Bobby gets the rope off at the same time and Buck collapses like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, falling into Eddie’s chest with a strangled noise that Eddie knows he’ll be hearing in his nightmares for years to come. 

“I got you,” Eddie says, fighting off a sob he can feel building in his chest. He swallows it down and brings a hand up to the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him close. “I got you.”

Buck’s chest heaves as he draws in a shaky breath, fingers wound so tightly in Eddie’s suit jacket that his knuckles have gone white. “I got you,” Eddie says again. It’s just as much for Buck as it is for himself. 

He holds Buck as close as he possibly can, buries his face in his hair and finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. His hair smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all there’s still the familiar minty fragrance of Buck’s fancy conditioner. It’s barely recognizable, but Eddie clings to it just as hard as he holds onto Buck.

Bobby backs off, gives them a moment to hold each other, to breathe. To let it sink in that this nightmare is finally over. Eddie’s gratitude knows no bounds.

“I– I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice is ragged, trembling in the same way his hands are. 

Eddie’s heart breaks all over again. 

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I told you… I told you not to–” Buck stammers. Eddie eases him back, putting just enough distance between them that he can take Buck’s face in his hands. 

“Buck, please–” It’s all Eddie manages to get out before his voice cracks, hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

He blinks them back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Buck’s. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, his voice wavering. He could apologize every day, every hour, every minute for the rest of his life and it still could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should– I should have insisted.”

Buck shakes his head. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” Eddie insists. “It is, I– I should have…” His sentence trails off when he registers the way Buck is shaking. He’s trembling in Eddie’s arms, his whole body fighting against what Eddie assumes is a combination of an adrenaline crash and the fact that he’s still barely clothed. Eddie lets go of Buck only long enough to stand up. Quick as their lack of contact may be, it’s still met with a sound of protest from Buck. Eddie helps him to his feet, and it’s the first time he gets a proper look at him, and it takes his breath away. There’s dried blood all over him. It’s caked onto his skin, his hair. It’s beneath his fingernails, stuck in the creases of his palms. Sweat-damp curls are plastered against his forehead, and dark circles hang beneath his weary eyes. 

“Come on,” Eddie says gently. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, taking on his weight as he leads him towards the door. 

He keys his radio with his free hand. “All agents be advised, I’m bringing POTUS out. Need medical on standby.”

“No medical,” Buck protests. “I– I’m fine. Just need a shower.” 

“Yes, medical,” Eddie shuts that nonsense down immediately. He leads him out the door and towards the waiting ambulance. 

Maddie is the first one to reach them, running over as soon as she sees them cross the threshold. She meets them halfway across the front lawn, pulling Buck into a tight hug. She’s the only person on Earth for whom Eddie would let go of his hold on Buck, and he doesn’t mind stepping back and letting them have a moment together. Eddie can’t make out what she says to Buck, but if the way his shoulders sag is any indication, it’s exactly what he needed to hear.

-

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the back of the ambulance, Eddie directly next to him. Buck’s head is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finally, finally feels like he’s able to breathe again. Buck is dressed in Secret Service issued sweats, a navy blue crewneck sweatshirt and matching pants. Hen had been quick to bring them over as soon as they made it out of the house, and Eddie’s not sure who was more grateful– him or Buck. 

Eddie was quick to help Buck into them, hoping they’d help to fight against the chill in the night air. He had grabbed a rescue blanket off the back of the ambulance, too, and draped that over Buck’s shoulders in an attempt to get him as warm as possible.

“I– I promise,” Buck says, voice still a little wobbly. “My, uh, my wrists are a little sore. That’s all.” 

“And your head,” Eddie reminds him. 

“And my head,” Buck agrees. 

There’s a small gash on Buck’s forehead, just above the spot where his birthmark kisses his eyebrow. It’s no bigger than an inch wide, and there’s an angry bruise already blooming across the skin behind it. The paramedics already cleaned it and applied a steri-strip, and Eddie was able to find a tiny bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t need stitches. 

That tiny bit of comfort was immediately chased away by rage when Buck explained that one of his captors had accidentally smacked his head against the window frame when dragging him out of the locker room, hence the injury. “It’s weird,” Buck had said, both to Eddie and to the paramedics as they tended to the wound. “He apologized. It was like… I– I don’t know. I almost feel like they didn’t want to hurt me.” 

Buck had also said that they dumped him in the room, tied his hands behind his back, and left him alone almost immediately. They didn’t hurt him, didn’t demand information or national secrets. Didn’t make so much as a single threat. Not that they would have had much time to do so– Buck hadn’t even been there an hour by the time the Secret Service arrived.

It all certainly tracked with what Bobby was getting from Dixon, who apparently started talking before the cuffs were even fastened. Bobby had come by a few minutes before and pulled Eddie aside. Maddie was quick to swoop in and sit with Buck while Eddie was briefed. Apparently, the two idiots were hired by someone to whom the governor had an outstanding debt. They were only supposed to rough him up, but upon realizing the man they had jumped from behind was the president, they panicked and took him. How kidnapping the president of the United States was a better decision than aborting the mission and making a run for it, Eddie will never understand. But all that matters is Buck is here. He’s safe. And Eddie isn’t letting him out of his sight any time soon. Possibly ever. 

Not even to deal with Dixon and his partner. Bobby had asked if Eddie wanted to speak with either one of them before PD took them away, to which Eddie had shaken his head. “You’d be wrong to trust me alone with either one of them,” he said. 

Bobby nodded, understanding. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Buck says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts and back to the present. “My head.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Eddie reminds him. He feels sick at the thought of it, the visuals playing in his mind sending his stomach churning all over again. “It was all over the locker room. And on the walls in the house.”

“Not mine,” Buck says. “It was his. The smaller one. He tried to grab me in the locker room and I– I pushed him off. He hit his head on the corner of a locker. And then he must’ve gotten scraped up on the window, cause his arms were bleeding a lot. He got it all over me.”

Eddie remembers seeing the smaller of the two kidnappers get in the back of the golf cart alongside Buck, the visual of it seared into his mind. That would certainly explain the blood in Buck’s hair, not to mention the streaks of it across his bare body. 

“Okay,” Eddie nods, comforted by the fact that Buck seems to be alright. At least physically. And for now, he’ll let himself take solace in that. For now, that can be enough. 

He tips his head against Buck’s, their temples resting against one another as Eddie takes a shaky breath. Buck’s voice is so quiet, so small, Eddie almost misses it. “I fought back.”

“I know, baby,” he assures him, rubbing reassuring circles into Buck’s back. “I know you did. It’s over now. It’s all over.”  

-

When they get back to the hotel, Buck beelines for the bathroom, eager to shower off the blood and the sweat still caked onto his skin. Eddie fights every instinct telling him to follow Buck inside, to keep himself plastered to Buck’s side. Instead, he tries to give Buck a little bit of space, tries to wait to follow his lead, painful as it may be. He leans against the door frame and watches as Buck turns the shower on and grabs a towel off the rack. 

“Can you–” Buck says quietly, and there’s something uncertain in his voice, something almost a little bit shy, that Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time. He looks between Eddie and the shower, biting on his bottom lip. “I– I don’t… I don’t want…” His voice trails off, his question left unspoken. 

Eddie hears him anyway. Understands him perfectly, in the way he always has. “Of course.” 

He walks the rest of the way into the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his own clothes before helping Buck out of his. Steam fills the room as Eddie guides Buck into the shower and steers him beneath the warm spray. 

Buck closes his eyes, tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, his back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, holding him close as the water sprays over them. Eddie can’t bear to look at it, can’t stand the sight of the water running pink as it swirls around the drain. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and closes his own eyes, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to relax into the feel of Buck pressed up against him.

“Thank you,” Buck’s voice is so small, Eddie barely hears it over the sound of the running water. “I don’t–” 

Eddie’s not sure how Buck was planning to end his sentence before his voice broke off. But it doesn’t change his answer. “It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Buck admits.

“You don’t have to be.”

He feels the sob tear its way through Buck’s chest before he hears it. Buck crumples against him, falling into Eddie’s arms as the gravity of the day’s events seems to finally hit him. 

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, taking on Buck’s weight and easing him onto the floor. He pulls Buck into his lap, holds him against his chest. He ignores the way the tiled floor is digging into the bottom of his thighs, and the way the water is beating on his back on the wrong side of uncomfortable. “I’m here.” 

There’s a certain weight behind his words. They hang heavier in the air between them, as if they’re suspended in the thick cloud of steam. They’re more than just an assurance. 

“I’m here,” Eddie says again. It's a promise. A pledge. And unspoken vow that he’ll never leave again. 

They stay like that for a while, until the sobs wracking Buck’s body fade into sniffles, until the water starts to turn tepid and Eddie gently eases him to his feet just long enough to wash off. He turns the water hotter and work’s Buck’s fancy shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing behind his ears in the way he knows Buck loves. Eddie’s stomach turns as it rinses out pink, the last of the blood disappearing down the drain. 

He follows it with conditioner, the shower filling with its peppermint fragrance. Buck has been using this stuff for so long, Eddie feels like one of Pavlov’s dogs with the way the smell of peppermint instantly soothes him. It’s immediately grounding, and never more so than tonight, as it covers up the metallic scent of the blood washing down the drain. 

Once they’re done and all of the hot water is gone for good, Eddie detaches himself from Buck just long enough to turn the water off and grab Buck a towel, passing it to him before grabbing one for himself. As they towel off and step out of the shower, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s wrist, holding onto him as he guides them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

Buck stands over the dresser for a moment before crossing the room and pulling a t-shirt out of Eddie’s duffle bag. It’s the one he wore to bed last night, and as he turns it over in his hands, Eddie can see some of the lingering tension bleed out of his shoulders. He looks up at Eddie, who nods without hesitation. “All yours, baby.”

They make their way into bed, and Eddie relaxes instantly as Buck curls into his side. Eddie shuts the lights off and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head.

“Thank you for finding me,” Buck says quietly, the words muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. But Eddie hears him loud and clear.

It feels like Eddie’s heart is splitting wide open. He wonders, briefly, if Buck is able to hear it do so from where he’s laying with his head atop Eddie’s chest. 

“Thank you for fighting,” Eddie says, running a hand through Buck’s hair. 

“I didn’t do much,” Buck replies. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You did more than you realize. You fought back, you…” he takes a breath, clears his throat as he searches for the right words. “You bought us time. You fought to make it out of there. You… you gave me– you gave us hope. We needed that.”

He shoves all thoughts of what might have happened if Buck hadn’t fought out of his mind and instead tries to focus on this, on being here with Buck. He tries to focus on the feel of Buck curled up against him, tucked into his side like they’re two puzzle pieces slotting into place. Like the two of them were made for each other.

Eddie likes to think they were.

Buck’s eyes are shining as he props himself up on his elbow, looking at Eddie properly. 

Eddie continues. “Even in our worst moments, we still make a pretty good team.” 

Buck smiles for the first time since this whole nightmare began, and the sight of it alone does more to mend Eddie’s battered heart than he ever thought possible. “You think so?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “I know so.”

"You know what could have stopped them even sooner?" Buck asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s looking more and more like himself with every passing moment, something for which Eddie has never been more grateful.

Eddie knows exactly where this is going. "We're still not giving you a gun. Nice try."

Buck lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “But what about a really sharp knife?”

"So you can end up with an accidental self-inflicted stab wound?” Eddie asks. “I don't think so." 

"What about…” Buck begins, his voice trailing off as he inches closer to Eddie. “A super smart…” He brushes his nose against Eddie’s. “Absurdly handsome Secret Service agent…” he drops a quick, playful kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “...Who carries both a gun and a really sharp knife?"

Eddie grins, only for Buck to chase it away with a long, lingering kiss. "Deal," he murmurs against Buck’s lips as they part.

"Great,” Buck leans in again, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss again. “I always did like Bobby."

Eddie can feel Buck’s chuckle rumbling in his chest, and despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he can’t help but laugh alongside him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “But you love me.”

Eddie nods, stealing another kiss. “I do,” he promises. “I really, really do.”

-

Eddie wakes up slowly, a tiny, content sigh falling from his lips as he turns over and reaches for Buck. Only instead of finding his warm boyfriend, all Eddie’s fingers are met with are cold bed sheets. “Baby?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He props himself up on his elbow and blinks slowly as his eyes adjust slowly to the low light. 

It’s too dark for the bed to be this empty. 

He glances over at the door to the ensuite bathroom, but there’s no light slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Buck?” he calls, a little louder this time. When he doesn’t get an answer, he kicks the duvet off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up properly. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking it onto the dimmest setting. It’s still enough light to have him squinting as his eyes adjust. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before standing up and looking around the room.

No. 

No, no, no . Not again. 

His stomach drops, his heart slamming into his ribcage. There’s a pool of blood on the carpet, just next to Buck’s side of the bed. And a trail of blood across the wall, leading from Buck’s side of the bedroom all the way to the door. Five lines for five fingers, fingernail scratches chasing after the bloody smears before cutting out abruptly at the door jamb. He stumbles, nearly falling over as he scrambles towards the hallway. 

“Buck!” The scream tears its way out of his chest, shredding against his vocal cords as he yanks the door open. “BUCK!”

“Eddie.” 

He blinks his eyes open. Buck is leaning over him, his eyes shining with concern. Moonlight pours in through the open window, dancing across his face as he looks down at Eddie. “It’s okay,” Buck assures him. He runs a thumb over Eddie’s cheek, his touch instantly grounding. “You were dreaming.”

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat and tries to catch his breath. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around, trying to get his bearings. 

They’re in bed, in the Residence. The window is open, just how Buck likes it. Buck is beside him. Buck is here. The walls are perfectly clean. No blood. No fingernail scratches. Nothing but wallpaper. 

And Buck is here. Buck is pulling Eddie into his chest, holding him and murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you,” and “You’re safe.” 

Buck is here. 

Eddie’s breathing begins to even out, his heart rate slowing down as he holds onto Buck, his arms wrapped tight around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes. 

“No need,” Buck says simply, as if Eddie waking him up in the middle of the night plagued with nightmares of something that happened months ago is no big deal. 

Self loathing burns in his gut. He hates that he still thinks about that awful, awful night in Wyoming. He hates that everyone else seems to have moved on, and yet there’s a part of him that’s still right there, still standing in that blood-soaked locker room. Still kicking down that door. Still finding Buck, tied up and covered in blood. 

He hates how vivid the memories are when they come. He hates how he feels like he’ll never be normal again. Like it’ll never stop hurting.

He hates the nightmares. Hates the sick, twisted dreams where he sees that bloody wall again and again and again. Hates the dread that consumes him, the darkness that lives inside him still, even now. 

He hates that it ever happened in the first place. That he ever failed Buck like that. 

Eddie remains in awe at how well Buck is doing since that terrible night. Sure, the two of them both clung to each other for the first few days after their return. And it was weeks before Eddie felt like he could breathe again anytime Buck was out of his sight. But Buck seems to be doing well.

He hasn’t been plagued by nightmares in the same way Eddie has. He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up every time their schedules don’t line up and they have to spend a few hours apart. Not like Eddie does, anyway.

He’s doing well. 

Eddie is not.  

“Was it Wyoming again?” Buck asks after a beat. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. Buck passes him a glass of water from the nightstand. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache. 

Buck is so good to him, so in tune. He always knows exactly what Eddie needs, always before Eddie knows it himself. Eddie could live a million lifetimes and still never find the one in which he’s worthy of being loved by Buck. 

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie says, his throat feeling better after downing half the glass of water. “I woke up and you had been taken again.” 

Buck sighs. “Oh, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie is quick to say.

“For what?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs, setting the glass down. “Everything,” he admits. 

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “Stop being sorry for that.”

“But I–”

“You came and got me,” Buck says, cutting him off. “Like you always do.”

“I always will.”

Buck smiles, and still, even after all this time, it’s the most beautiful smile Eddie’s ever known. “I’ve never doubted that.”

[patheditprovider]

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[aldbooks]

Gwynriel Week 1 Day 3 - Solstice Night

My original inspiration for this scene was:

---

Gwyn danced along the empty corridor of the House, still glowing with joy and humming along to the songs she and the other priestesses had sung that lingered in her head. She'd been invited by the High Lord and Lady to join them and their friends for Solstice dinner but had declined in favor of attending service in the Library's chapel. She began to regret that decision as she found herself alone in the vast, quiet house.

She felt a tickle at her cheek and grinned when she looked down. "Not so alone then." She could have sworn the shadow grinned back at her. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your master?"

The little swirling mass shook as though to say "no", putting Gwyn in mind of a naughty child. She chuckled. 

"Well then, I suppose you may keep me company, if you promise to behave." 

The shadow bobbed up and down so violently it was practically vibrating before settling obediently on her shoulder. She lifted a finger to pet it, getting the impression that, if it were a cat, it would be purring. 

She continued to sing softly, the shadow nuzzling into the crook of her neck as she wandered around, looking for something to occupy her. It was then she noticed the decided lack of decoration. "Oh, now," she tutted, coming to a halt in the living room. "This won't do. It's the Winter Solstice! The house should be far more festive than this."

As if in agreement with her, the House suddenly dropped a heaping pile of pine and holly branches before her, along with a basket full of tinsel and bundles of stringed fae lights. 

Smiling, Gwyn placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the space. "Hmm. I think I may need some help with this." The shadow zipped off her shoulder, swirling in front of her face. "Are you volunteering?" It bobbed enthusiastically

She glanced up at the ceiling. "I think we may need some additional light to work by," she requested of the House. Candles appeared on every surface, gently flickering and filling the room with warm, soft, light. "Thank you." 

Gwyn turned to the shadow. "Shall we begin?"

A little over an hour later, Gwyn stood back to evaluate their work. The pine and holly had been strung together into garlands draped over the mantle, around the doors, and across the tables, tinsel strewn over them. Twinkling fae lights had been woven in among the branches, making the whole room glow. The shadow had been very helpful fetching things she needed and holding up sections of garland while she tacked them down. The House, too, got into the spirit, providing various items for her to add to the decor including red and silver ribbons which she fastened into bows and glittering stars she tucked into the garlands.

It was, in her humble opinion, the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. 

When Gwyn had declared their job complete, the House cleared away the remaining scraps of ribbon and branches they had not used and left a small repast, a bottle of wine and slice of cake on the coffee table for Gwyn which she gratefully consumed. 

Leaning back in her chair with a sigh, she idly turned the wine glass between her fingers as she looked about the room in satisfaction. The new decorations, combined with the view of the night sky through the windows leading to the balcony made Gwyn feel strangely nostalgic for something she could not name.

Her smoky, black companion had been flitting around the room for the last few minutes, proudly examining the decorations it had helped to create. It now came to rest before her, observing her curiously. She smiled and saluted it with her glass.

"Thank you, friend. Your assistance was greatly appreciated."

The little shadow seemed to swell and darken, as though puffing out it's chest before gently knocking against the lip of her glass.

---

Azriel sighed for perhaps the millionth time that evening as he flew, unseeingly, towards the cliffs that bracketed the city below. Family gatherings were always difficult these days, but tonight had felt particularly burdensome. 

He'd found himself alone, the odd man out in a room full of couples. Rhys and Cassian were deliriously happy with their mates, Elain and Lucien's relationship seemed to be moving forward, and they had spent most of the evening in quiet conversation. Mor's feelings for Emerie were now painfully obvious, and even Amren had managed to settle down- as much as someone as ancient as her could- with Varian. By the time he'd quietly slipped out of the house, he was quite sure no one had even noticed his departure, so wrapped up in each other as they were. 

The loneliness threatened to crush as he fought against the darker thoughts his brutal mind tried to conjure. As he drew closer to the House of Wind, however, he became aware of a sort of excited buzzing among his shadows. 

Curious what had them so worked up, he glanced around but found nothing to warrant such behavior until he was close enough to the House to see an unusual amount of light burning through the living room windows.

Immediately, his senses were on high alert as he put on a burst of speed, racing forward. There certainly had not been so much light when they'd left, and the fireplace, even at it's peak, could not put out so much light. His first instinct was a fire, followed closely by the threat of some sort of break-in.

He was brought up short a few feet from the balcony as he finally got a clear look inside. 

The light he'd seen, emanated from candles and fae lights that seemed to cover every surface. The tables and mantle were covered in greenery, interspersed with glittery figurines and silk bows. And amidst it all, sat Gwyn. The candlelight played off the coppery strands of her hair, giving the illusion she was glowing as she smiled brilliantly at something. He watched as she raised a wine glass before her as though toasting something and saw, to his amazement, one of his shadows tap against her glass, winding in front of her flirtatiously. 

A quick examination confirmed that he was, in fact, missing a shadow, and he noticed the others edging away from him, as though eager to join the picture before them. 

Landing softly on the balcony, Azriel tucked his wings behind him and silently entered the house, observing Gwyn as she whispered and giggled with the errant shadow. The others began to creep along the floor, curling at her feet like kittens. She noticed almost immediately, hopping up from her seat and spinning around to face him with wide eyes. 

"Azriel," she said, clearly surprised. 

For a moment, Azriel could not breathe enough to respond. She never called him by his name, preferring to use his various titles, usually without the sort of reverence they typically garnered. He lived to hear those names from her lips, he realized. Whether she said them in teasing or anger.

But this, hearing his actual name in her beautiful voice... His chest felt tight and heavy, and all at once it seemed to hit him- the magnitude of his feelings for the female before him. How the hell had he not noticed it before? It seemed to have snuck up on him as stealthily as his shadows, but now that the veil had been drawn back, the culprit revealing itself, he knew it was one secret he'd never be able to keep truly hidden.

"I thought you were at dinner," Gwyn continued, eyeing him as he stepped closer. He moved without conscious thought, as though drawn by a string around his middle. 

"I was," he said softly. He allowed his eyes to graze over her, feeling as though he were seeing her for the first time. He knew every line of her. Every dip and curve, every gentle slope of her face and each freckle that covered the skin of her nose and cheeks. He knew the color of her eyes, that shade of azure that always made him think of the sea. He knew the way her lips curved when she smiled, the sway of her hair as she moved, the smell of her, like moonlight to his shadows.

Love. His shadows whispered the word like a chant, repeating over and over. 

He came to stand before her, their feet mere inches apart as he stared down at her. He understood in that moment, what had eluded him for so long. The times before when he thought himself in love, the pain and longing he'd felt, were little more than the pangs of loneliness because this- what he felt in this moment- was not painful. It was light and vibrant, and full of hope. 

Gwyn's tongue darted out to lick her lips and she swallowed as she peered up at him, her eyes alight with an emotion he knew was mirrored in his own. "I decorated..." she said, gesturing behind her.

"It's beautiful," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. You're beautiful. 

"Thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper and he dared to inch closer. Her head tilted back with the movement, keeping him in her sights. 

"Happy Solstice, Gwyneth," he whispered, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind the delicate arch of her ear. He allowed his fingertips to linger on her jaw as he slowly leaned in. 

"Happy Solstice, Azriel," she breathed.

And then their lips met. 

[heimdallsram]

━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

 When Heimdall returned to lift, he was brooding. He did not taunt you the entire ride up the wall, and never once did he even open his mouth to speak to you. You responded in kind, keeping your eyes on your feet. You did not regret what you had said to him; it had been the truth, after all, and had done its intended job. But still, you felt that Siv was… too overpowering. She had told you how to leave your body for a brief moment of time, but she had not explained in detail how that would be successful. And she had said something to him, too, from the way his face drew tight in thought. You had no memory of it, no matter how much you searched in your and Siv’s shared mind space, and that worried you.

 And… she was blocking you. In every way imaginable, she had forcefully excised your ability to enter your own mind realm completely. You felt nothing when you tried to reach for the knowledge of your previous lives. You were grasping at thin wisps of smoke and ash that drifted to the wind faster than you could gather them.

 A cool breeze began to blow as you trudged along the top of the wall. It snuck down your dress and clung to your skin. Gooseflesh sprouted in places you could not see. You crossed your arms against your chest to quell the shiver you felt in your spine and turned to face the sun, which was, coincidentally, also in the direction of the little Midgardian settlement just outside the wall. They were observing the both of you while doing their chores for the day, churning butter, working metal, tilling small sections of field, the like. The children you had watched make their vow waved and clapped to get your attention, and with your heart soft still with their promise, you lifted your hand and waved back.

 “You would wave to the mongrels?” His first words were dripping with derision. The chill had no effect on him, it seemed, for his skin was clear of gooseflesh—only a mild five o’ clock shadow had grown, indicative that he had not shaved before getting up to monitor you for Odin. The sun caught the blond in his braids at just the right angle, the returning light bright to your eyes. “They do not even know who you are.”

 Your smile faded slowly and, after a moment, you dropped your hand. “Is it so bad to give them some attention? They are what make us strong. They worship us.”

 “No one worships you.”

 “Perhaps.” The little girl and boy continued to wave and dance for you. “But I know they worship a false image of you, Heimdall. All of the gods, they worship theses… twisted versions of them. It may be different, inside these walls, but to them, we are their protectors, their overseers. Ignoring them would be foolish.”

 “Listening to them would make you no better than Tyr.” Heimdall turned away. “I tire of your pretty words and hypocritical moods.”

 You turned to him, eyebrows drawn in confusion. The sun cast you into shadow, cold filling the recesses of where it had once shone upon you. “Pretty words and hypocritical moods? Surely you do not speak of me of those things.”

 “You lie to yourself daily. Don’t think I don’t notice.” He rolls his eyes but the gesture is lost to the indignation that is currently suffusing his person with animated energy. “Strolling the grounds? Eating with Sif? Helping the All-Father? All of it is to fill some desperate longing you feel to be a true goddess and it makes me sick.”

 “There is nothing I seek from your family that they do not offer,” you reply stiffly. He truly knew how to hit far below the belt. “Being bound here like chattel does not change that.”

 “Ah, yes, the Collar of Repentance,” he said in a drawled hiss. He reached for the golden metal cord around your neck, fingers pulling the lengths towards him. You were forced to follow, until he was close enough that he could read the runes on the gold, count the individual frown lines around your mouth. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, some emotion flickering inside them that you had never seen. “Father told me you were stupid enough to sell the object of your confinement to some merchant in Vanaheim.”

 You pressed your lips together tightly. He was just close enough that you were tempted to push him off the wall and watch him fall, fall, fall, all the way down to the corner of the training barracks where he would land with a sickening crack. You would watch him from the top, observe the way brain matter and blood and fluid all spread from his body in a crimson pool, and then you would run for as long as the spells would let you. But if you pushed him now, you would go with him, and you had a feeling that Odin would draw you back faster than you wanted.

 “I was a child.”

 “A foolish one.”

 “A starving one.” You stepped back, but he did not release the collar and you felt it pull against your skin. “Release me.”

 He never acknowledged you. His eyes were trained on the gold between his fingers, thumbing the lengths between his index and thumb thoughtfully. “I never was one for sharing my things.”

 “Excuse me?” You choked out.

 “This allows my father to control you, does it not?” He jerked on it harshly and you brought your hands up to his chest to keep from running into him entirely. “Keeps you awake for days on end, which also, somehow, manages to keep me awake, and shortens my temper. I wonder if I break it, if it will stop.”

 Your eyes drew up to his face, widening at the contemplation you could see dawning upon him. “It cannot be broken. And it is not the collar, but the marriage vow that bothers you.”

 “So you can see it, after all.” Heimdall released the collar and you stumbled back, just to the edge of the wall. You could feel your right heel scrape over nothing but thin air. “I had thought it was you. It was just too convenient, how you were able to see vows and oaths and whatever the fuck else it is you do.”

 “You can’t really blame me,” you huffed. Your fingers touched the raw skin where the collar had pulled. “While fighting you is entertaining, I am miserable here. Seeing you suffer is the only joy I can experience. And this damned collar enforces fidelity.”

 “Does it now?” He raised an eyebrow. “That explains quite a few things, but none of it quite adds up to how you know the names of my mothers.”

 Oh, Siv, you have truly dug me the biggest hole imaginable.

 So you told him the truth. “I do not know the names of your mothers, Heimdall.”

 “No, no, not you, the other you.” He waited for realization to come upon your face, but it never came. He frowned. “The one that oozes power and looks as if she could kill me. Not ringing any bells? Oh, the All-Father is in for a treat.”

 “You won’t be telling Odin anything.” With a firm metaphysical hand and a sneer, you seized the bond and pulled at one of the vows. He made a strange choking sound and reached for his navel. “You see, our vows—as impersonal as they were—included loyalty to each other. Odin was never in that equation; when it comes to me, I will always, always win.”

 You released the vow cautiously. It thrummed yellow between your fingertips, buzzing angrily.

 You continued,”You can try to fight it. But these are permanently binding. I know that best. And I may not be a goddess of any worth, or renown, or power, but know this, dear husband: I am stronger in other ways. Stronger than you could ever imagine. And you would be wrong to treat me as if I am something insignificant, an ant to be crushed under your boot. You hate me, yes, but I can make your very existence something you will regret until the end of your days. This I swear.”

 “You bitch,” he coughed. He straightened unsteadily, eyes unfocused and hazy. “I would gladly go to Hel if it meant I could escape you.”

 “You could try.” You watched him with a strange gleam in your eye as he tried to ignore the way the vow was forcing him to keep secrets from Odin. It was likely that he already knew of what had occurred through his ravens, but it gave you some sick sense of pleasure to reveal the power you had over his little lap dog. “You might even succeed. But where you go, I will follow, and one day you will have nowhere to run as Ragnarok breathes down your neck.”

 Siv battered at your mind furiously. This was not part of her plan; you were ruining what carefully laid groundwork you had made on the beach. But you were tired of playing puppet to your past selves and men who thought they knew better. You would make these decisions yourself, and you would pay whatever price would come to you; you had suffered enough for this.

 You had died enough for this.

 Your hands came up to grip his face tightly, as he had your own. Your fingers dug into his cheekbones and ears, a wickedly delicate hold that prevented him from rising to his full height. He still held a hand over the vow where he could not see but feel it, and he stilled under your touch, at the words that poured from your lips like silk.

 “You are mine, and now, you will never be free.”

 With a smile on your face, you dropped your hands and tucked them into your dress. You left him there on that wall, his face rapidly losing composure, and let yourself down into the village below. You bought a cup of ale and nuts, as you always did, and sat down to watch the birds fly among the clouds.

 Heimdall’s roar of fury echoed throughout all of Asgard. But you paid it no mind.

 Instead, you took quiet peace in the thought that if you died today, you had done it, finally, on your terms.

***

  “You speak of the Var goddess.” Tyr had been silent as Atreus spoke of the woman who had graced their presence, for the better part of their journey to Sindri’s home. “A proud lineage, but not one to be trifled with lightly.”

 Kratos furrowed his brow. “You know of their abilities?”

 “Some,” the former god of war offered. Atreus clung to every word, as was a child’s tendency to do so. “They are mysterious in nature. Rarely do they ever participate in worldly matters, save for the first, who aided Odin in killing Ymir.”

 “Really?” Atreus’ mouth opened in surprise. “But I thought—“

 “Stories aren’t always true, lad,” Mimir piped up brightly. “Besides, I think Tyr would know better than anyone what happened that day, eh?”

 “I only know what I was told.” Tyr shook his head slightly. “But please be careful when you make vows with her. They can be more than ruinous if you break the wrong one.”

 “She seemed nice, though,” Atreus hummed in thought. “I don’t think she would hurt me. Or any of us.”

 The giant fixed his golden gaze on the boy briefly. “You have not seen the damage they can cause. The lives they have ruined. The people they have killed when those vows are broken. It would be better that you do not associate yourself with her.”

 Atreus, frowning, followed Tyr through the white door. Kratos, however, remained behind for a moment, brief.

 “I don’t like this,” Mimir said, finally. “Something is wrong here.”

 “But what?” Kratos shook his head tiredly. “A reformed god of war is likely to not be the same as he was before. Being imprisoned has changed him.”

 “Maybe so, brother.” A click of the tongue. “Mayhap I am just lookin’ too far into it.”

| next. taglist: @versiesleeps @kkashibai

[sosobriquet]

I'm cancelling Netflix and letting them know that it's because of their history of cancelling shows after only one or two seasons that

have queer leads

have poc leads

and are very well received by critics and viewers alike

This is my list of shows that meet at least two of the above criteria. I’d love to add more if y’all have suggestions!

The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself (2022)

The Midnight Club (2022)

Warrior Nun (2022)

First Kill (2022)

The Imperfects (2022)

Julie and the Phantoms (2020)

Teenage Bounty Hunters (2020)

I Am Not Okay With This (2020)

The Society (2019)

She’s Gotta Have It (2019)

One Day At A Time (2019)

Dare Me (2019)

The OA (2019)

Everything Sucks (2018)

Sense8 (2018)

The Get Down (2017)

Considering Netflix is "struggling” because their growth is dropping, it might actually count for something if enough people cancel and say why they're doing so.

Also, there are two petitions out there to save The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself. I doubt Netflix will change its mind, but maybe some other network or service will pick it up!

I’m adding a link to the one with the most traction. Please sign if you’re interested at all in an excellent, dark but fun, young adult fantasy series. It’s quite similar to Shadow & Bone, imo.

https://www.change.org/p/save-the-bastard-son-and-the-devil-himself-on-netflix

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 7: Meadow Report

I miss gossip. I miss rushing home from the library at the drop of a hat because Nora, my roommate, had “major dirt” on a classmate that couldn’t wait until I was done studying. Those text messages (or, better yet, phone calls)—the “Come home right now” followed by the “You won’t believe what I heard in the diner today”—summoned me quicker than any house fire ever could. It’s horrible, but it doesn’t feel that way when it’s happening. It feels like an accomplishment, like you’re receiving high-priority intelligence. Young people are wasted in retail and food service; we could really be put to use as spies, I think. It’s an inherent sneakiness that’s kind of thrilling, an unspoken code of conduct that we adhere to without being told: information is to be exchanged only in person, unless it’s an objective and irrefutable fact, in which case you may send it in a text message (but why would you, when it’s so much fun to see the look on your friends’ faces when you spill all the latest drama?). “Tell no one” means “Tell everyone, just don’t let them trace it back to me,” and “You can’t know this” means “No really, tell no one.” I want to exercise my knowledge of this code, to be once again on the receiving end of “You won’t believe this,” but it appears that the only good source of gossip around here is me.

I’ve just about given up on my dreams of scandalous water cooler conversation—having three friends, two of them men, will do that to a girl—when it becomes clear that, unbeknownst to me, I have created the biggest scandal in Evergreen since the death of my uncle. It runs in the family, I guess. The scandal in question? It pertains to Jasper Stevens, because lately I’m nothing without his lanky shadow following me around.

“Tell me everything,” Janie says immediately after clocking in, practically skidding around the corner with a crate of whole coffee beans in tow. She knows something I don’t.

I raise an eyebrow, nearly letting Joshy’s coffee cup overflow as I refill it from the pitcher. “Everything about what?”

Janie rolls her eyes. “Don’t be like that, Andie!”

I turn to Joshy, who’s sitting at the bar. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

He nods, amused. “Moss,” he offers, though I can tell by his sage manner that I won’t be getting any more information from him.

“Oh, Jasper? What about him?”

Janie’s exaggerated groan tells me that she’s at least as starved for good gossip as I am, but I’m no less lost for it. She sets her crate down on the bar before turning to me and, in a voice like a kindergarten teacher’s, says: “Moss was in here the other day. You two left together. Tell me everything.”

“Moss never hangs out in town,” Joshy adds helpfully, “he’s like a cryptid.”

I nod. I think I get it now. And really, who am I to deny a fellow woman the joy of being entirely too invested in someone else’s business? It’s one of life’s purest joys. I assume the position: the one everyone knows, that invites others into your confidence. Elbows on the counter, leaning forward—come closer, I’ll tell you a secret. Janie follows suit, standing beside me with her ear trained toward me. Even Joshy leans in, eager to hear what I have to say. “Well,” I begin, “we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.”

“I knew it,” Janie hisses, slapping the counter.

“At first it was just coincidental, you know? But he started coming over once a week to change out his books and then—I don’t know, we’ve been hanging out. Am I crazy?”

Janie says “No” at the same time that Joshy says “Yes,” and I groan in protest. The couple stares at each other for a few moments, engaged in a silent stalemate. Without breaking eye contact, Joshy raises his hand. “Joshua,” I acknowledge.

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” he says, turning his gaze on me, “this is a really small town, Andie. You need to be completely sure before you make a move. Really weigh those pros and cons.”

“Oh my god, is that what you did before we started dating? You made a pros and cons list?” Janie says, whacking Joshy’s arm. “You know what?” She asks, as he dodges another blow, “Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.”

I put my head down on my arms and take a deep breath before coming back up. “Janie?”

“I think you have to go for it,” she says, “partly because I’m curious—I mean, being in a relationship with Moss, what would that even look like?—but mostly because I want you to be happy, and I think he could be the person to make that happen.”

“You think?”

“I think. Moss isn’t one of those guys you just casually hang out with, you know? He’s an acquired taste. You must get each other though,” she says thoughtfully, “anyway, you lured him into a public cafe, so that’s got to count for something.”

“What do you guys even talk about?” Joshy pipes up, “I mean, I love the guy, but he’s not a real conversationalist, you know what I mean?”

This gives me pause. What do we talk about? We talk about everything, so entirely that it feels like nothing. Like water flowing over rocks, or silk sliding across your skin. It’s unimpeded, uninterrupted even in our moments of silence. One long, continuous conversation. “Everything,” I say, “honestly, if I didn’t know he had a reputation I’d just think he was a run-of-the-mill introvert.”

“So weird,” Janie murmurs, “I mean, you know we all love him, he’s family. But like, the type of family who writes you a letter every five years from a different country, you know?”

“Yeah,” I sigh absently. I want to tell them about that night at the cabin, where he clasped my head to his chest and let his warm cologne breathe life back into my body. I want to tell them about the river, where his hand on my knee sealed my fate as his devoted acolyte. Hell, I want to tell them about how he exchanged War and Peace, unfinished, for The Hobbit because it’s summer and he “should be having fun.” But something about those stories feels too personal to share, like they’re just for us. Eyes on us would ruin the illusion, if that’s all it is.

“For what it’s worth,” Joshy says, “I haven’t seen him so…I don’t know, outgoing? Not for a good couple of years, at least.”

Janie nods, looking like she’s deep in thought. “Yeah. Yeah, come to think of it, he has been more talkative. He gave me a recipe for risotto the other day because he noticed I was buying rice.”

Risotto. Would you look at that. I rake a hand through my hair, wrenching my gaze from my companions as the front window is suddenly assaulted by a barrage of gigantic rain drops. Jesus, it’s like the sky’s got something to prove. I lament a moment for my sundress, which is sure to become a liability on my walk home assuming the storm doesn’t let up in the next ten minutes.

“You wanna head out?” Janie asks, seeing straight through me. “Go ahead, it’ll be dead until the rain stops.”

“Mmkay,” I reply, untying my apron, “call me if you need me.” It’s a formality. She won’t call.

The walk home is, as expected, a balmy torrent of rain that weighs on my dress and clings to my skin. I reflexively fold my arms around my body, but give up consciously after reminding myself that there’s no point. The rain is so all-encompassing it may as well be the air itself I’m passing through, soaking me to the bone. I’m inclined to shiver despite its slimy warmth, and I pick up the pace as I approach the cabin (the cabin which is still a The, caught in the limbo between a His and a My).

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Soaked and saturated, on your front porch steps. Jasper Stevens rises to stand as I approach, unfolding his limbs and stretching like a cat. He passes through the downpour without so much as a blink.

“What are you doing here?” I call, jogging to meet him so we don’t have to yell above the rain. He’s got this look, like he’s faced some kind of ancient evil and accepted his fate.

“Last time it rained like this you had a panic attack,” he says. The rain’s numbed me to everything but his fingertips against the line of my cheekbone. He’s searching me for god knows what—labored breathing, signs of fatigue, I don’t know. It’s mortifying, and I would shrink from him if it didn’t mean he’d stop touching me.

“That wasn’t a panic attack, and it wasn’t because of the rain,” I say casually, taking a small step into his personal space. Janie’s words are circling me like vultures. She’s the devil on my shoulder, convincing me from afar that this man is the solution to my past, present, and future problems. As if sensing my line of thought, he freezes. His breath hitches in his throat for half a second before he continues as if nothing happened. “Why are you really here?”

“Andie…” he says softly, his voice melodic. Sweet and low, like dark brandy.

“Jasper,” I reply. Kiss me, damn it. I can’t be the first one to fold, I’m not the space alien here. Eyes. Lips. Eyes. Kiss me, Jasper Stevens.

I don’t notice the glide of his fingers across my skin until his thumb is brushing my lower lip. “I can’t…” he trails off. I’m about to roll my eyes or finish his sentence or both when he picks it back up: “I can’t be casual about this. If we do this, I mean.”

“What makes you think I want to be casual with you?” I ask. One of us is the Earth right now, pulling the other one in by some invisible gravitational force. I can’t tell if it’s me or him. What makes this man think that I, all of four inches from his face, want anything but his entire self? Here, moments from changing the very fabric of our relationship, I am more certain than ever that I want to immerse myself in him fully. I want us to change each other, I want to change us, I want us to remain exactly as we are. He looks entirely overwhelmed, and I want him to know that it’s really so simple. All he has to do is lean in, and it’ll all be crystal clear.

Jasper’s lips are soft, slightly parted as they brush across mine. A plea for entry, an experimental knock before turning the key he’s always held. I slide a hand over the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair where the rain has curled it away from his skin. My other hand tangles with his somewhere to my right before eventually settling on his chest. His breath catches again, as if I’ve somehow caught him off-guard, and then he’s pulled me in by the waist and he’s kissing me—really—and it’s all I can do not to collapse into him. I can only hope that his thoughts are as blissfully simple as mine are in this moment: this is right this is right this is right.

[liugeaux]

The Best Games of 2004 | 20 Years Gone

A long time ago, in the late 00s, I REALLY wanted to be a Video Games Journalist. I was writing and podcasting for local tech website Techpedition and we even worked our way to E3 2009. I was able to parley my mask of legitimacy into getting a couple dozen free games from publishers, but was never able to break into the "business".

It's fine, I've still paid super close attention to the industry and have a handful of podcasts that I follow. One thing that I missed out on was creating the end-of-year best-of lists that have become so popular with pundits of video games. Partially because I didn't have a big enough outlet for it to matter, but more so because I didn't have the resources to play all the relevant games within their release years to render a judgment.

I typically get around to playing all the games I'm interested in, but it usually takes me about 2-5 years. It's partially a time thing but mostly a budget thing. So, what this is, is the beginning of my trip through the last 20 years of video games. I'll be creating a top 10 list for the last 15 years and going forward, I'll post a new list every year of the top 10 from 5 years ago. That is assuming I keep up with it, lol.

These will be written as if they were published the year of the list, so there will be no references to future games or better sequels, etc. Let's get started. Travel with me back to the year 2004 which, news flash, is now 20 years ago.

#10 - Metroid: Zero Mission

Not only is Zero Mission a solid remake of the classic original Metroid, but it succeeds at both making it feel modern and ultimately super-playable, which isn't something you can say about the old NES game.

#9 - Prince of Persia: The Warrior Within

Much more agro than its predecessor, The Warrior Within builds on the foundation of the standout Sands of Time and smooths out a lot of the jagged edges, specifically in the combat department. Your mileage will likely be tied to how much you like Godsmack-itude, but POP2 is a great sequel.

#8 - Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door

Paper Mario was a weird novelty and shadow follow-up to Super Mario RPG, but despite its clear creative direction, it was missing the character needed to fully succeed in the RPG space. The Thousand-Year Door has character in spades, and it will charm your staples off.

#7 - Sly 2: Band of Thieves

Making Sly Cooper into an open-world heist game took what was a decent platformer to the next level. Where the first game was a solid third place behind Ratchet and Clank and Jak and Daxter, Sly 2 makes the argument that it's a top-tier Sony series. Each mission matters and each of its characters is special.

#6 - Pikmin 2

Better than its predecessor in every way, Pikmin 2 shows the first game's primary game loop wasn't a fluke. The addition of Louie, as a second playable character who's played simultaneously with Olimar, adds a heightened level of stress, making each recovery mission a manic exercise in task prioritization.

#5 - Halo 2

Is Halo 2 as impactful as Halo: Combat Evolved? Not really. The story isn't stellar, and the surprise Arbitor missions are little more than a pallet swap, but dropping the proven Halo action onto the Xbox Live service is game and industry-changing. I'm not a multiplayer guy, but I enjoyed the single player and I recognize how important Halo 2's success is to gaming as a whole.

#4 - Mario vs Donkey Kong

Donkey Kong '94, on the Game Boy, is secretly one of the best games of 1994. Mario vs. Donkey is Nintendo fleshing out that idea and making an addictive puzzle platformer. It starts out simple and sweet and ends hard and satisfying. Had this been the direction the Donkey Kong franchise went rather than Rare's DK Country series, SNES games may have had a very different trajectory.

#3 - Spider-Man 2

Licensed games always suck. Movie tie-in games always suck. Spider-Man 2 is an anomaly on top of an anomaly and it's 100% powered by the Swinging mechanic Treyarch built for the web-crawler. It feels SO good to swing around NYC that it's hard to believe Spider-Man as a character wasn't created specifically for video games.

#2 - Ratchet & Clank: Up Your Arsenal

R&C3 is undoubtedly a great game, I'd even say damn near perfect, but its placement this high on the list may seem a bit weird. That's where my opinion comes in. I'm a huge 3D platformer fan, it's probably my favorite genre. With that factored in with the depth and polish of this shiny new Ratchet game, #2 on the list doesn't seem so outlandish.

#1 - Half-Life 2

There's always talk of "importance" when it comes to works of art. Abbey Road is important, Michelangelo's David is important, and even A Clockwork Orange is important. Video Games, a medium that's still technically in its infancy, has only a handful of important titles. I'd say Half-Life 2 fits the bill. It's use of physics as a gaming mechanic is as technically impressive as it is clever. It's an FPS but it's not "just an FPS" and the mood and tone established throughout are as compelling as that of Blade Runner. Half-Life 2 is a stunner that will be studied for years.

Notable Omissions:

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas - I've never liked GTA games. I respect their scope and ambition, but when it comes to playing them as games, GTA titles just stink.

Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater - I've never gotten into the Metal Gear games and the more people yell at me to play them, the less I want to.

The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap - This one technically came out in North America in 2005. So, with me being from the US, It will hit next year's list.

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II - The Sith Lords - I might end up playing this one eventually, but as of 2024 I have not.

What are your favorite video games from 2004?

See you next time. Cheers!