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agreeewrites · 5 months ago

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Blue Christmas | S.H. ⋆⁺₊❅.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: You and Steve were casual fwb in high school. You're back in town for Christmas, having just broken up with your college boyfriend. You pick up a sad Christmas movie at Family Video, and Steve refuses to let you wallow alone.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups (not w/ steve), fluffff, talk of self-esteem issues, shitty exes, sweet lil marshmallow stevie, oral, p in v, praise kink, initially she's sorta using Steve to feel better (but he's 1000000% okay with it) and she ends up feeling the feelings.

The soupy heat of Family Video wafts over you when you step through the doors, the salt-covered rug squelching under foot. You lower your hood, shaking out your hair as you peer around the store. Front and center is a Christmas display loaded with movies, complete with a waving, pink-cheeked Santa Clause.

“Y/n?” A familiar, masculine voice calls over Elvis’s version of “Blue Christmas”. You squeeze your eyes shut, having prayed you’d get through Christmas in Hawkins without seeing a singular familiar face beside your mothers, and turn to the voice.

Steve Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington, is standing behind the counter, his hands braced against the edge of it. He looked more or less that same as the last time you saw him a year and a half prior. His jaw was a little squarer, his hair not quite as tall, his shoulders a bit broader. Still just as irritatingly handsome, though.

“Hey, Steve.” You waved, approaching the counter.

“I didn’t know you were coming into town,” he said, smiling as if he was genuinely happy to see you. It wasn’t that you were unhappy to see him, but your previous high school fling was the last person you wanted to see this particular holiday season.

“Yeah, well. Surprise.” You shrugged, wincing internally at the obvious melancholy in your voice.

Of course, Steve clocked it, his smile faltering. “I take it spending your Christmas in Hawkins was a surprise for you too?”

“That obvious?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I lost count of how many times you said you’d never come back once you left.”

Guilt tightened your throat. Why did he make that sound like it was so…personal? “Turns out it’s not simple.”

He hummed in response, moving out from behind the counter, his green vest looking very festive against his red crew neck. “Were you looking for anything in particular?” he asked, leaning against the counter beside you.

God, how did you forget how tall he was? You barely reached his shoulder, his chin tilted down to look at you. His cologne invaded your space, a warmer, spicier blend than you recalled him wearing. His proximity stirred butterflies in your stomach, your body remembering exactly the way felt against you, the ways he used to make you feel…the ways you hadn’t felt since despite being in a year long relationship. Well, despite having been in year long relationship.

You’d ended things when the fall semester wrapped up, effectively incinerating your plans to spend Christmas with him and his family in Chicago. Despite being the one to end things, you were still grieving. Not for him, per se, but the version of yourself you’d lost along the way. Now, you felt directionless and lonely, and being back in the town you left behind was only making you feel worse.

“It’s A Wonderful Life,” you replied, walking towards the Christmas stand to escape his magnetic aura, which somehow, you were still not immune to.

Steve grimaced. “Really? You don’t want something a little more, I dunno, lighthearted?”

“Do I look like I’m in a ‘lighthearted’ place, Harrington?” You bit.

“What’s going on?” He asked, pushing off the counter to come closer, his forehead creased with concern. “You can’t be this upset about spending a few days in Hawkins.”

“Nothing’s going on.” You turn towards the stand, pretending to peruse the options so he doesn’t see the moisture collect along your lashes.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re hurting?” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving you that stern dad look he’d mastered.

You sighed, wiping at your cheek with your scarf. “I was supposed to spend it with my boyfriend, but we broke up instead.” It all came tumbling out of you in a tearful rush. “Now I’m back in dead-end Hawkins with nothing to do by stare at the walls of my childhood bedroom, so I’m looking for a sad movie to wallow in my own misery. Is that okay with you, Officer Steve?”

He stared at you for a moment, dark eyes tracking a tear as it rolled down your cheek. “No, it’s not okay with me.” He grabbed It’s a Wonderful Life of the shelf and walked back to the counter. He rang up the film and dropped it into a bag, along with two boxes of your favorite candy, and a pack of red vines. “Your place or my apartment? My roommate’s cool, y’know, if you want a different view.”

You blinked, trying to piece together what was happening. “Steve, what—”

“Look, you can wallow all you want, but I’m not going to let you do it alone on Christmas.” He wiggled the bag at you. “You coming or not?”

“I—” Going back to Steve’s felt risky. You could still feel a thread of that physical connection with him, the vibration of your body so easily attuning to his. But, you were trying to reclaim who you were before your ex. Maybe being a little reckless was exactly what you needed. “Fuck it. Sure, let’s go to your place.”

He locked up the store and quickly led you through the frigid wind to his car, snow already accumulating on the hood and roof. He opened the door for you, having to tug hard to break the seal of ice, and gestured for you to slide in. The BMW was exactly as you remembered, with it’s dark interior and tinted windows, the smell of Steve embedded in every stitch.

You glanced at the backseat while he rounded the car, heat climbing your neck at the memories the two of you made across that bench seat.

Steve opened the door and you whipped your head forward, but you knew that he caught you, a small smile softening his face as he settled into the drivers seat. Thankfully, he didn’t rib you about it.

He cranked the heat and flipped on the windshield wipers, knocking the snow onto the ground with an umph. “Anything in particular you want to listen to?” He asked, fiddling with the tuning dial.

“Whatever CD you have in is fine,” you said, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “As long as it isn’t, like, Toto.”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “I can’t believe you think I listen to Toto.”

You snorted. “Well, you do listen to Duran Duran.”

“One time!” he argued.

“You had the CD in for a month!”

“Yeah, one month!”

You found yourself smiling, that glow of familiarity wafting over you. It was a little jarring that you felt more at home in the passenger seat of Steve’s car than you did at your actual home, but you could examine that later. For now, you just wanted to enjoy the ease of it. Steve always made everything feel so easy.

It was a trait of his you often resented, but only out of jealousy, and how much it made you miss his when he was gone.

God, you’d really missed him.

“How about this?” He asked, hitting play on the dash. “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” by Night Ranger filtered through, the volume low.

“Acceptable choice, Harrington,” you replied, and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re worse than my friend Eddie,” he chuckled, placing his hand behind your headrest to check his blind spot before pulling out.

“Eddie? As in Eddie Munson?” You were baffled. Golden boy Steve Harrington was friends with Hawkins-reject Eddie Munson? What alternate reality had you stepped into?

“Yeah, why do you look so surprised?” He flicked your ear as he pulled his hand back to the wheel.

“Because!” You squeaked, batting his hand away. “You looked at a joint one time and nearly hurled. I just can’t see it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a changed man,” he hummed, drumming his fingers onto he steering wheel as he navigated the empty streets, the snow falling in golden flurries from the headlights.

“I’m starting to gather.” You settled back into your seat, watching the familiar store fronts roll by and trying not to look at him.

“So, why’d you dump him?” Steve asked, never one to sit in silence for long.

“His cock was too big.”

Steve barked a laugh. “I find that hard to believe. You always were greedy—”

“Steve!” You gasped, smacking his arm as a embarrassment scorched your cheeks.

“What? We’re going to pretend that I didn’t fuck you after prom right there—”

“No, but, Christ!” You laughed, hiding your face in your scarf.

“Hey, you’re the one that brought up cocks.”

“My mistake,” you huffed, catching his eye as he glanced over at you, a cheeky grin crinkling his face.

“’Least it made you smile,” he said, turning into an apartment complex parking lot, full of potholes and poorly plowed snow. “Here we are, Chez Harrington.” He parked, hopped out of the car, and ran around the front to open the door for you.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing him for being so weirdly gentleman-ly. But as soon as you stepped out, your converse slid across a patch of black ice, sending you collapsing into his arms.

“Careful,” he chuckled, his face mere inches from yours. “It’s slippery.” He set you back on your feet and offered you his arm for balance. You begrudgingly accepted, not particularly keen on cracking your skull open a few days before Christmas.

“So who’s your roommate?” You asked as he lead you into the building.

“Robin Buckley,” he replied, fishing his key out of his pocket and letting you both into the heat-blasted lobby.

“Just how many new friends have you made?” You teased, still arm in arm as you walked to the elevator. You remembered Robin, you’d been in English together.

“Ah—” Steve glanced up like he was counting in his head. “A few.”

A stab of loneliness pierced through you. At one point, you’d had loads of friends too, never as many as Steve, of course, but a good group to call your own. But, in college, all of your friends had been your boyfriend’s first, and now…you’d fled to Hawkins, and had no idea if you’d have any friends to return to.

Your melancholy returned in earnest, soured further by the intrusive thought that Steve was only entertaining you because he felt bad for you, or worse, just wanted to get his dick wet. But, weren’t you using him for basically the same reasons? You thought you were, but then he’d been so Steve-like that you’d gotten caught up in your old banter, forgetting that gulf of months between you.

It hadn’t felt forced at all, and that made your heart rate quicken.

The elevator dinged open, jarring you from you reverie.

“Where’d you go?” Steve asked, nudging you inside. Christmas music played softly from the speaker, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”, of course, and tears burned behind you eyes once again.

You just wanted Christmas to be over. All the manufactured joy made your hurt feel that much more real.

“Hey, c’mere.” Steve tugged you into his chest as the doors rolled closed, the elevator lifting off the ground with a mechanical groan.

You curled your hands into his sweater, breathing in his cologne and the lingering scent of saran-wrapped video store, and fought down the wave of emotion trying to choke you.

Steve’s hands rubbed up and down your back, his cheek resting on top of your head. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard Christmas,” he murmured into your hair. “But you’re always welcome to hide away with me whenever you need to. Or want to.”

The doors dinged and you pulled away, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “Thanks, Stevie,” you sniffed.

The look on his face was so soft, you could barely stand it, his features turned down in worry, his brows furrowed just slightly. “C’mon, we gotta get those tears out somehow.” He grabbed your hand and led you down the hall, unlocking the door to his apartment. “Buckley?” He called, flicking on the lights in the kitchen. “Robin, you home?” He called again, walking into the tidy, but cluttered living room.

There were string lights stretched across the ceiling, and a pathetic little Christmas tree on the coffee table. Posters hung on every wall, with weird art and trinkets heaped onto bookshelves and hand-me-down furniture. Steve’s shoes were in a neat row by the door, and Robin’s were scattered everywhere, mixed up and turned around.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. The whole place screamed Steve, form the sports memorabilia, to the specific movie posters by the TV.

“Guess she’s out,” Steve said, coming back into the living room. “I’ll take your coat and scarf.” He extended a hand to you, and you kicked off you shoes before passing him your outerwear, suddenly remembering that you were wearing just a white turtleneck underneath, sans bra.

Steve’s seen your tits countless times. It’s fine, or so you told yourself.

To his credit, he kept his eyes firmly on your face, then walked back to what you assume is his room to set your things down. He returned a few moments later, dressed in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

“I set another pair of pajama pants on the bed if you wanted to, ah, get comfortable,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head and gesturing to your jeans.

A flurry of butterflies tickled your insides. “Sure, thanks,” you said, slipping past him and into his bedroom.

The smell of him enveloped you once again, and you loosed a long exhale after closing the door behind you. His room was less decorated than the rest of the apartment, with just a few photos and posters on the wall, with a bookshelf by the door and his unmade bed up against the window.

You were seized with the desire to climb under his covers, wrap yourself in him, but you resisted.

Unable to help yourself, you snooped around his dresser. There, stuck to the mirror with a piece of scotch tape, was a Polaroid of you and Steve kissing at a party Senior year. He has you dipped low, his hand on your lower back, and your lips tingled at the memory.

As promised, pair of flannel sweatpants waited for you at the foot of the bed, along with a folded up sweatshirt. Your heart gave a painful thump when you realized what hoodie he’d selected. It was his grey Hawkins High hoodie, a faded, roaring tiger on the front and Harrington in bold letters on the back. It had been your favorite of his, one you would steal every chance you got.

You shimmied out of your jeans and pulled on the sweatpants, the fabric soft from wear and a handful of sizes too large. Then, you tugged the hoodie over your head, pausing to bury your face in the collar, breathing in the comforting scent.

When you emerged into the living room, you found him stretched out on the couch, bowls of candy and popcorn set up on the table, the movie’s home screen on the TV. All the lights were off, save the string lights and the Christmas tree, casting the room in a sleepy, warm glow that contrasted perfectly with the flurries of white just outside the window.

You resisted the urge to flop into his arms, and instead curled up on the opposite end of the couch, tucking a blanket around your legs. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but you pretended not to see it.

You didn’t trust yourself to touch him. If being wrapped up in his hoodie felt this magical, what would it feel like to be wrapped up in him?

“Ready?” He asked, pointing the remote.

You nodded, and he hit play.

You didn’t make it twenty minutes before you started crying again, real, hiccuping sobs that you’d been forcing down for over a week.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, gathering you and your blanket in his arms. “That’s it, y/n. You need a good cry, huh?” He laid back onto the couch and tucked you into his side, your legs tangled together, your head buried into his neck as you fell apart. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your hair, and just held you tightly, a safe harbor to crash into.

He let you cry for awhile without question or complaint, letting you soak his shirt with tears, before he cupped your face, lifting your head to look at him.

“You are one of my most favorite people in the whole world,” he said matter-of-factly, spurring renewed tears. But he held your face firm and didn’t let you bury yourself back into his shoulder. “And you deserve all of the wonderful things in life. And anyone who doesn’t give that to you is a fucking idiot.”

“But he was wonderful,” you whimper, trembling in his hands as the truth finally forced itself from you. “He was everything I should have wanted, but I just…I couldn’t love him. And I couldn’t lie to him anymore either.”

“You can’t help who you love,” he said gently, wiping your cheeks and nose with a tissue. “You did the right thing.”

“But what’s wrong with me? I should have been able to—”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Steve said firmly, sitting up slightly to look down at your tear-streaked face. “You’re—” he sighed, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You’re everything, y/n.”

“If nothing's wrong with me, then why do I feel so alone?” you murmur, voice watery and weak.

He leaned his forehead against yours, shaky breathes mingling in the warm air. You could feel his heart racing against yours “You were never alone. I was always right where you left me,” he breathed, his nose bumping yours. “All you had to do was call.”

You sat up, shoving him off of you. “Why didn’t you call, Steve?” You felt panicked, overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions waiting for your attention. Desire, guilt for feeling desire so soon after your breakup, fear of rejection, embarrassment for how quickly you were falling for his charm once again. Ashamed that you came here in the first place, and thrilled that you still had a place to go to.

“I—” Hurt shadowed his face. “You told me you were leaving for good. That you didn't want anything to do with Hawkins.” You jumped up and he stood with you, following you as you fled to the kitchen. “That you wanted a new life!”

“I didn't mean you, Steve!” You shouted, slamming your hands on the counter. “But you had everything. Friends, prospects, a family, Nancy,” you spit. “I had nothing here but you.” The confession slipped out before you had a chance to stop yourself, like the words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue, laying just beneath the surface.

Steve stared at you, baffled. “You think I didn't need you?” He asked, voice softening.

You shook your head, turning away so he didn't see you start to cry again.

His hands gripped your shoulders and you gasped when he spun you around, his head bent low to look you in the eye. “Y/n, you and I both know that I'm probably going to die in Hawkins. I'm not one of the ones that gets out.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he didn't stop.

“But you. You wanted to get out, you did get out.” He shook you as if to punctuate his point. “And I've missed you like crazy. Every damn day. But I couldn't hold you back. I couldn't be the reason you stayed here.”

Your heart fractured at his words, that he thought he wasn't worth being someone's reason. That he would somehow hold you back from happiness.

He was your happiness. And you'd been too blinded by fantasies of escaping to see it. You'd told him your entire relationship, or whatever the hell it was, that you would never stay. That Hawkins wasn't good enough for you. And he’d heard that he wasn't good enough for you.

You did what was supposed to be “better”, what you thought you always wanted, and you were completely miserable.

“Steve, I—” you couldn't find the words to express what you were thinking, what you were feeling.

“Don't. Don't give me hope unless you really mean it.” His jaw clenched, honey brown eyes rimmed with red. “I let you go once, I can't—I can’t do it again.” He leaned his forehead against yours, releasing a shaky exhale.

It clicked then, why you wanted so badly to escape from Hawkins. Why you always kept Steve at arms length despite the way your soul twined with his. Why you couldn't make the relationship with your ex work.

You dreamed your entire life of fleeing, so you were terrified of what staying meant.

“Steve,” you murmured, placing your hands on his chest, his heart thumping wildly beneath your palms. “I don't want to run anymore.”

His heart beat impossibly faster, his muscles tensing.

“I want you. Wherever we are, whatever that means.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss the corner of his mouth. “Hawkins isn't my home. You are.”

Steve made a pained sound in his throat, then crashed his lips to yours, desperate and rough. You opened for him, his tongue delving between your lips to lick at your teeth, dance with your tongue, claiming every square inch of your mouth as his.

You'd shared countless kisses, but none were this fervid, this hungry. Gone was your playful, tender Stevie, and in his place stood a starving man ready to claim what was his.

Heat spilled through your body, your pussy throbbing with each stroke of his tongue. Your fingers found there way into his hair, drawing him closer, wishing you could open up your skin and let him crawl inside so you'd never be apart again.

You gasped for air, chest burning as he licked a stripe up your neck, latching onto your pulse point and sucking hard.

“Steve,” you whined, lifting your left leg and wrapping it around his waist so you could angle yourself closer. His hips immediately started grinding into yours, the hardness of him hitting your clit just right through his sweatpants.

“Goddamn, I missed you,” he groaned, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses over your neck, his hand sliding under his hoodie to feel your fevered skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he shifted to pull it over your head and tossing it across the kitchen, leaving you in your thin turtleneck.

“A turtleneck has literally never looked so sexy.” He dropped to his knees, his hot mouth finding your taut nipples through the fabric.

You moaned, head falling back as you carded your fingers through his thick hair, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed your sensitive points and you nearly collapsed onto him, the pleasure and pain rewiring your brain.

“So fucking perfect,” he hummed, biting at your outside of your left breast. His hands found the waist band of your pants, tugging them down and tossing them aside with your hoodie. “Jump up f’me,” he said, hands on your hips.

You did as you were told and he lifted you into the counter, your clothed pussy now level with his face.

“Steve,” you said, tilting his chin up to look at you. His eyes were on fire, wild with desire. “What if Robin comes home?”

“Lucky Robin,” he chuckled, voice raspy, and ducked out of your hold, his tongue laving a scalding stroke over your soaked panties.

“Ohh—shit, Stevie,” you loosed a pornstar-esque moan as he bathed your pussy with his tongue, sucking at the fabric and your clit. He finally pulled your panties aside, his tongue making direct contact with your puffy lips. You felt like you were vibrating out of your skin, the pleasure so intense you felt it in every pore, every follicle, every cell of your body.

He groaned, a euphoric sound, as he lapped at your entrance, his tongue delving inside the way he knew you liked.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration as he pulled back to bite at the meat of your thigh. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

You pulled at his hair, urging him back between your thighs, but he resisted, seeming to have let some the urgency ebb in favor of toying with you.

“What, honey? Your ex not take good care of my pussy?” He spread your sticky lips with his pointer and middle finger, exposing your swollen clit.

My pussy. A fresh swell of arousal pulsed through you at his words.

“No, never,” you whined, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as he studied you.

“Never?” He asked, looking up at you with his eyebrows raised. “He never ate you out?”

You shook your head, glancing away in shame.

“You poor thing,” he cooed, the tip of his tongue flicking over your exposed bundle and making your body jerk. “That why you're so squirmy, love?”

You nodded, biting your lips as he continued to slowly trace his tongue over you. “Please, baby. I need you,” you whimpered, lifting your hips to chase his mouth. “Please, Stevie. Please make me cum.”

You felt him smile against you, those brown eyes watching your face pinch with desperation, chest heaving.

“Since you asked so nicely…” He flattened his tongue against you and licked upwards, and you melted onto the counter, bliss rocking through you. The urgency from earlier returned, and he feasted on your cunt like it was the most delicious meal he'd ever had.

His tongue and teeth were everywhere, ratcheting you higher and higher with every nip, flick, and suck. You were on cloud nine, loudly singing his praises as he worshiped you with his tongue.

You felt that knot of pleasure tighten to the breaking point, hovering on the edge for less than a heartbeat before he sent you careening over the edge and into euphoria.

“Fuck, Steve!” You cried, your body convulsing as the orgasm ravaged through you. He was smiling again, lapping at the fresh honey spilling from you and holding you securely to the counter so you didn't slide off.

“There’s my girl,” he praised, licking his lips as he rose to his feet. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” He peppered kisses across your exposed neck, pulse fluttering just under the skin. “I almost feel bad for the guy. What kind of idiot wouldn't want to drown in you?”

You got your bearings, blinking away the stars in your eyes. “I even gave him head,” you chuckled, sitting up with a little assistance.

“I didn't need to know that.” He rolled his eyes, kissing you lightly, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

“Are you jealous, baby?” You hummed, kissing along the curve of his neck.

“Duh.” His grip tightened on your thighs, head tipping slightly to give you better access.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” You palmed his cock through his pants, licking his cheek to make him smile. “He wasn't nearly as pretty as you.”

“Of course not. Who is?” He joked, but his voice was rough with desire, his hips canting forward to rub against your hand.

“C’mon, pretty boy. Let's go to your room.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He scooped you up and practically ran to his room, flopping backwards onto the mattress with you still in his arms so you straddled him.

You leaned down and captured his lips in another kiss, quickly deepening it with a drag of your teeth on his lower lip. But before he could get too into it, you broke the kiss and shifted down his body, pushing up his shirt to kiss along his torso.

He moaned, propping himself up his elbows to watch you through heavy lids. You licked along his hip bone, making his cock kick against your chest.

“Shirt off,” you ordered, and he quickly obliged, tossing it to the end of the bed. “So handsome, Stevie,” you cooed, pausing to admire his more muscular build, though he was still quite lean. You couldn't help but lean forward and press some kisses along his happy trail and the hair across his chest, loving the masculine look and feel of him.

You kissed back down his body, settling on your knees between his legs. He watched with rapt attention as you pulled his sweatpants down and freed his weeping cock. It bounced up, slapping him in the stomach and smearing pearly precum against his skin.

It was just as pretty as your remembered, more length than girth, with a rose petal flush and pronounced veins.

You licked up the mess he’d made, kissing around his shaft while it nudged at your cheek.

“Baby,” he whined, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Quit teasing me.”

You smirked and licked a long stripe up the root of him, earning a throaty cry. You let your instincts take over, remembering every sensitive place and technique that made him unravel while you worked his cock with your tongue, doing everything but taking him fully into your mouth.

“Holy fucking—baby, you're killing me.” His hips bucked up against you, desperate to be wrapped in the heat of your body. “Mmmph, that feels unreal.”

You glanced up at him, finding his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut. A flush had spread across his chest, a dewy sheen over his skin.

Satisfied that you'd tortured him long enough, you took his cock in your mouth, swallowing him in a fluid motion. You only reached about three-quarters of the way down before your throat protested, though he acted like you swallowed him all the way to his soul.

“Fuuuuck, y/n,” he moaned, gripping you tighter as you bobbed up and down, hallowing your cheeks. “You suck him this good?” He asked, taking over your motions and lifting and lowering you on his cock.

You shook your head as best you could, drool dribbling down your chin.

“Good,” he rasped, releasing you so you could return to your own rhythm.

You reached up and wrapped one of your hands around the base, stroking him in time with your mouth. He fell back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his face, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Baby, you're gonna make cum if you keep that up,” he warned, fisting the sheets with his free hand. “F-fucking shit.”

You finally eased off him, the demanding ache between your legs too much to ignore. You needed him inside you. Now.

Apparently on the same page, he wasted no time grabbing you by the waist and tossing you back onto the bed. He climbed up between your legs, his hands braced on either side of your head. His cock was nestled against your sloppy center, drooling and hot to the touch.

He leaned down and kissed you, sweet and chaste considering you were just gagging on his cock. “This what you want?” He asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.

It felt like he wasn't just asking about the sex.

“More than anything,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smiled and kissed you again, one of his hands reaching down to line himself up with your entrance. Breaking the kiss, you buried your face into the safety of his neck as his slid into you, your thoroughly aroused pussy accepting him with ease.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he murmured into your hair pressing soothing kisses to the top of your head. “You were ready for me, huh? So wet and soft—god—fuck.” His voice broke as you rolled your hips against him, his length gliding through you.

You threw your head back, crying out when he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. He eased out, slow and steady, before slamming home again, knocking every thought from your mind.

“I remember how you like it, honey. Want me to fuck you stupid?” He asked, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“Yes, God, yes,” you moaned, already swept up in the current of pleasure.

“I got you, pretty girl. Just relax.” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before reaching up to grip the headboard. He doubled his pace, rutting into you at a rate that made you see stars, your body completely surrendering to him.

With Steve, you didn't have to think. You didn't have to doubt. You could just let go and trust that he would have you.

He fucked you hard, sliding his hand between you to pet your clit the way you loved, slow and soft in comparison to the brutality of his thrusts. He could play you like an instrument, and it drove you fucking wild.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you, already a wreck for me. Does that feel good, honey?” He mouthed into the skin of your neck, breath hot and panting.

You keened when he changed the angle of his hips, hitting the terrible, magical spot inside you. Your orgasm was coming on fast, your whole body trembling as it wound higher and higher.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock, that's it. Good fucking girl—fuck!” Your and Steve’s orgasms collided, sucking the air out of the room and sending you both reeling. Bodies clinging to one another as he fucked you threw it, your pussy baring down hard on his pulsing cock.

“Fuck, I love you,” he panted, collapsing on top of you, sweaty and warm and trembling. “I love you,” he repeated, like he was a little stunned the words came out of his mouth.

You wrapped your limbs around him, his softening cock notching a bit deeper, making you both gasp. “I love you too,” you whisper, hardly believing that those words were finally coming out of your mouth after so many years.

You were so full. So full of him, of love, of excitement for what this meant. Suddenly, Christmas sounded magical again.

You lay together in a tangle of limbs, just breathing and feeling one another, basking in the honeyed afterglow.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed, sounding almost drunk.

“Merry Christmas.” You kissed his temple, feeling your eyes start to grow heavy.

Ring ring!

“Gah, fuck,” Steve huffed, reluctantly shoving off of you and pulling on some sweatpants.

Ring ring!

He padded out into the kitchen and you followed him, wrapping a quilt around your naked body and giggling at the irritated look on his face.

“Go for Steve,” he answered, and you had to cover your mouth to suppress a laugh.

“Go for Steve? Really? That's embarrassing.” A female voice drifted through the speaker. Robin, you presumed. “Have you eaten yet?”

Steve smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. “Not dinner, no. Why?”

“Of course dinner. Do you want pizza, or—oh God, ew. Don't ever speak to me like that again.” Robin was quiet for a beat. “Does that mean Santa brought y/n home?”

Your jaw dropped, and Steve flushed scarlet.

“Pizza sounds great! Peppers and onions, extra sauce. Thanks, Rob!” Steve slammed the phone into the receiver.

You slinked towards him, sliding your hands up his bare chest while he tried to avoid your eyes, pink staining his cheeks. “Stevie?”

“Hm?”

“Did you ask Santa for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I may have asked a mall Santa at the bar while I was drunk. Maybe.”

You grinned, affection melting your heart, and grabbed his face to peck his warm cheek. “And you remembered my pizza order,” you cooed, nuzzling him.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, or whatever.” He murmured, catching your lips in a smiling kiss.

“I love you too, Harrington.”

Thanks for reading!

I'm still open for holiday requests, so feel free to send your ideas my way!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #steve stranger things #steve x reader #steve x you #christmas #christmas fic

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angelinthefire · 4 months ago

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Vi's journey in "Blisters and Bedrock"

Let's talk about Vi in episode 5 "Blisters and Bedrock". This is some of my favourite character development stuff for her, I really love it.

One question that the creators posed in s1 was "can you love a monster?" That was explored with Jinx and Silco. Silco embraced the monstrous. And the question of whether Vi would keep loving Jinx.

But then there's a role reversal in s2. With Vander being the monstrous one. And there's a role reversal between Jinx and Vi too.

We start with Vi at her absolute lowest. Literally in the bottom of a pit. She has no one left that she's close to. She's got Loris, but she pushes him away too.

She's directionless, and doing the one thing she knows how to do best: punch.

She's tormented by how things ended with Caitlyn, and constantly reminded of her.

She's having a crisis of identity. Dying her hair, breaking her mirror, blacking out her face tattoo, with this wide black streaks that cut across her face.

And she looks absolutely brutal.The anger in her eyes when she's fighting. The screaming. The two-headed wolf on her jacket, that recalls the creature Warwick was made out of.

This is the worst shape we've ever seen Vi in.

And then when Jinx shows up, Vi immediately jumps to the worst conclusion. And immediately starts choking Jinx. The look on her face is murderous. It’s very reminicent of Vander choking Silco.

Of course the difference with Silco is that Jinx doesn’t fight back. Even though she's absolutely capable of it. Her eyes don't get that shimmer-pink haze, she doesn't lift a finger against Vi.

Vi does relant and agree to go after Vander, but the the last shot of her emphasizes what a mess she is, covered in black, in the mirror, fractured.

Although Vi starts at a low point, her journey with Jinx continues to take her downward. They end up going to the literal rock-bottom together. And there's something almost cleansing about that - like once they get to the bottom, then they can start rebuilding.

But they have to get there first.

The next sign to Vi that she needs to reevaluated who Jinx is, is when she sees the mural of Jinx depicted heroically, with the profile of Vander overhead.

I've seen a lot of different interpretations of what Vi's reaction to the mural means, and I think she's affronted, and even hurt. She's been telling herself her sister is dead. Jinx has killed people, she killed the mother of Vi's girlfriend! And now she's being depicted as a hero? Alongside Vander no less?

And Vi responds by immediately trying to tear down this more flattering image of Jinx. She tells Jinx that their quest for Vander is just a fantasy, she takes shot at Jinx's relationship with Isha.

And Jinx doesn't take the bait! At one point, being insulted by her sister would have absolutely destroyed her. But now she turns the tables back on Vi, when Vi says, "at least they didn't have to see the psycho their daughter turned into," asking "which one?"

Not only is Vi needing to reevaluate how she sees Jinx, Jinx sees Vi in a more level-headed way as well, Vi isn't the be-all-end-all that she used to be for Jinx. Jinx knows now that she can build relationships and find acceptance elsewhere.

But Vi keeps escalating - again, she's falling back on her default, she's fighting. She drops her gauntlets, which is a challenge, but she's also dropping her armour momentarily.

And, unlike the sister's last fight, this one is scrappy and messy. It looks a lot more like siblings fighting together - even though fighting like this isn't something Vi and Powder did as kids, because Vi was always in a position of looking after Powder. But now, they can fight as equals.

And then, of course, Isha jumps in. And Vi hits her, recalling the time she struck Powder.

And we get to see Jinx being sweet with Isha, and sisterly. We also see that Isha is fine and shrugs it off, she's not like Powder, Jinx isn't protective of her in the same way that Vi was. Jinx is the big sister now, and not only that, she's doing it her own way, and it seems to be working.

What happens next is a very interesting character moment for Vi, I think. She asks Jinx why she came for her, saying "you don't actually need my help. You haven't for a long time."

Vi isn't playing the role of protector, she isn't needed. Jinx is a fully formed person, who doesn't even look up to Vi anymore. So what could Jinx possibly want with her? She feels useless.

The sisters are re-evaluating each other, but Vi has yet to be able to conceptualize how she can relate to Jinx, on this new basis.

Jinx explains that she sees this as a do-over. Which I think you could spend a lot of time unpacking, which I'm not going to do in this post. Except to say that Vi and Jinx had to go through all kinds of character growth and changes to even be able to work together as equals.

Their next scene is finding the hangout space in the mine that Vander and Silco used. We get the image of Silco's jacket hung up within Vander's jacket, evoking the kind of protective relationship that Vi and Jinx used to have, and presumably Vander and Silco.

And of course the apology letter. Jinx reads it, speaking in Vander's voice, curled up small in the chair, facing the candle light; while Vi sulks in the shadows behind her, in her two-headed hound jacket.

Jinx says that "everything might've been different" if Silco had found the letter, and while I'm not sure that's true, I think the bigger point is that Vander was willing to take the first step to patch things up with Silco, and shoulder some responsibility for what went wrong. And I think that's the thing that resonates with Vi as well, as we see her almost reach out to Jinx. But Vi isn't quite able to do that yet, she instead puts her gauntlet, her armour, back on.

But then Warwick shows up. Jinx tells her it's Vander, and Vi doesn't believe her. But she does step into the protector role again. Vi is back on familiar ground, fighting to defend the people she cares about. And it's the first sign that Vi does really still care about Jinx, that she jumps into action to defend her.

And the fight follows. These two characters that were heros in the first season, who have now been brought to their lowest point, their most violent and monstrous. As I said in my other post about this episode, Vi even looks a bit like a two-headed monster from Warwick's POV, with her gauntlets as the heads of some kind of beast, and the hexgems as their eyes.

So they fight, and then Warwick starts freaking out, torn between the scent of blood, and the recognition of his family. And Jinx begs Vi to believe her that it's Vander. And with the weight of the rest of the episode behind them, with Vi already on the threshold of being able to forgive Jinx, Vi takes that leap of faith, and listens to Jinx.

Vi stops fighting. In a way, it's the first time in the episode that she stops fighting.

And then that's when she gets her family back.

I just think that it's lovely journey for Vi. And something that was really necessary for her character, that I hadn't even thought about before - getting to a place where she could relate to Jinx as a sister, rather than as a protector (or an enemy), and being able to see herself as something other than just a fighter.

#vi arcane #arcane thoughts #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #long post

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poorlemons · 4 months ago

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For Clear Image Michael:

Is her body facing trouble after being in the Distortion? How's that holding up for her as time goes by? (I know we discussed a bit but I'd love to see you elaborate)

Also, how has she reacted to the loss of people she knew before the Distortion? (e.g. Gertrude, Gerry (from what I recall you had them know each other? I could be wrong), maybe OG Elias, her old cat...)

How's our favourite lady coping in this day and age with the world? Opinions on capitalism? Maybe the coffee shops are under new management and don't know her order anymore? What's a newly discovered pet peeve regarding fashion, or traffic?

Has she ever known how to drive? If so, would she consider getting a car or is a bike good enough? (Tall person on bike hmmmmm)

ohh good questions good questions!

yeahh!! she's absolutely facing troubles. I cant imagine your bones being rearranged by some eldritch entity feels particularly nice! First and foremost is the fact that she's definitely aching all the time. Usually smthn dull and in the background, but its There. Her body isn't used to being set up like a... well, normal human being, and it physically protests it. I feel like things do get dislocated easier, i mean, all of her bones being in her hands b/c no bones anywhere else is going to cause issues. And her hands- those ones are big problem children, I don't think they're still 100% right on the inside, stuff shifts and gets locked up and a bunch of other painful shit. she mitigates that with compression gloves, physically holding her hands together as they should be. honestly she probably has a good few braces for herself depending on what decides its not real at any given day. I also think her vision got Way worse. Its just all sorts of wrong, she has very thick glasses now. And i do think she's more prone to headaches and stuff like that, bright lights, flashing images, strong smells, it all can set off a headache. One fun trait she has now has sharper senses (ignoring eyesight) in general. this is fun in some cases and not so fun in others. The hallways were designed to be sensory overload n confusing and whatever and her body kinda adjusted to be able to parse out things through that. Also she's a bit taller, as a treat

2. Loss... oh i think that one is conflicting to her. I think at first, she doesn't really... register it? She'd been something Else for so long that the passage of time and the *changes* hadn't settled in for her yet. But after a little while... and a little while of settling back into the archives, it really hits her. and i don't think she really understands how she feels. Specifically about Gertrude. Gertrude is definitely a touchy subject for Michael. I think she has a lot of anger harbored in her towards the old Archivist, and obviously for good reason. But I don't think she has the energy to be truely angry, she is *so* tired. Michael held Gertrude dear, they'd worked together for so long. Its like a hollow rage and sadness mixed together into to form numb acceptance. It happened, nobody stopped it, she couldn't have stopped it, so she just... gives up on the directionless anger. Clearly it wasn't getting her anywhere. Is this healthy? probably not but she has issues, OK? Maybe it wasn't familial or friendship, but Gertrude was a persistent *presence* in her life. there was trust there, and it was ruthlessly thrown aside. which leads me into my next thought. Michael absolutely has like. attachment issues now, hands down. Gertrude used her trust against her, Emma kept her ignorant, anyone remotely nice to her down in the archives fucking died, she was literally the embodiment of lying and fake friends and shit for a while- oh she's not going to be going into any relationship easily. Sure she'll interact with people and stuff, she is so desperate to have *people* around her again, not just victims to the Distortion. But they're at an arms length, yknow? She's weary around a lot of people, Basira kinda reminds her of Gertrude, Tim has a painfully recognizable anger and grief, Melanie is angry but in a way that's normal-scary... but i think, i think she has an interesting dynamic with jon, and eventually the others, probably but that's not what this section is about. Uhh no she doesn't know Gerry. Sorry all you doorkeay/gerrymichael enjoyers. I like my michaels miserable, lonely and despondent. If the Distortion every hung out with Gerry (like in my bookeater au) uhhh I don't think that really translated much to Michael Shelley's feeling on him. She's distantly aware of him, and feels very bad for him, as Eric's son, but it wouldn't have been *her* that knew him. It was the Distortion. OG elias... that one confuses her. Elias getting bodysnatched is baffling to her. They probably smoked together once or something but that would have been decades ago. She can't even feel any grief or anger because its just so perplexing. Like. Genuinely what the fuck is even going on anymore. HONEYCOMB..... fuck... FUCK.... she misses her cat SO MUCH!! its who she grieves the strongest. Like, that was her baby and she LEFT HER!! Actually agonizing for her, she breaks down crying over that one. That was her one true, honest companion, everyone else used her, but Honeycomb just loved Michael with all her little heart could muster. And Michael *left* her. Even if it wasn't her choice fully, she still feels that guilt.

3. Poorly. She is coping poorly. She has no money, no ID, no home, and not cat. Michael is doing Badly. No one really remembers her (but maybe, just maybe like, one or two staff members in a coffee shop- or a regular or smthn- do and it literally means the world to her. Maybe i will make Michael some outside-the-institute friends) and the world has moved on without her. In a way, she is displaced in time without ever having to discover time travel. Modern trends are absolutely lost on her, and also on me so I cant even begin to think of what bothers her. Though she's also in her like, 40s so honestly nobody bats too much of an eye at her not keeping up with the youthes. Also she will always have beef with capitalism. Shit is wild.

4. Do not put her behind a wheel, the poor thing has anxiety. I just... can't imagine she'd do well with that, even before the distortion. Michael would absolutely choose to struggle with a bike over having to drive, she's stubborn like that. And post-distortion, with how easily she gets overwhelmed by stuff, I think it'd be a bad idea.

#neil moment #asks #clear image au #tma au #michael shelley

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lastflowerofyourhouse · 2 months ago

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i had genuinely forgotten this draft existed until i found it. it's about two years old and could use some rewriting, but i might actually go back to it at some point. i have a few ideas for the others.

There is a gaping hole where childhood should be. There are no old familial comforts. There is no history, personal or shared. If there is grief, it is directionless and echoes in the void.

---

Here is how it goes. Cassiopeia cannot remember family recipes, but sometimes she wakes up with cravings. Soft, nostalgic cravings, her mouth longing for flavor and texture which she cannot connect to any food she can recall eating. This happens, especially, when she is sick or sad or stressed.

She thinks it's stupid to be a historian, an archivist of the history of things, and not to have any idea of her own history. She doesn't know where she's been, and it leaves her chest funny and hollow and tight when she thinks about it too hard. She thinks about everything too hard.

She becomes creative. She grows her own veggies. She's always had a gift for trial and error, and meticulous notes. She spends hours chopping, frying, sauteing. Something in her rejoices when her efforts yield a dish which is inexplicably familiar. She sweats twelve hours at a time in increasingly warm kitchens, full of smells of spices, smells of burning, of fats and juices and breads. She nicks herself with knives, burns herself on pans, whisks until her wrists ache, and is occasionally rewarded with a ghost of deja vu. She cherishes the thought of some lost grandmother’s hands preparing the same dish.

She hopes that she was always an orphan, that her family was dead when the bombs dropped. She is logical. She knows that they cooked for her. She knows what that means.

---

Here is how it goes. Augustine and Alfred are brothers with no childhood.

Something in Augustine aches, looking at his little brother and not knowing what he looked like as a child. He is older than Alfred by enough years, he knows, that he should recall Alfred’s first steps, perhaps even his birth. He should know Alfred's embarrassing childhood nicknames. He doesn't even know his brother's name.

Alfred looks at his older brother, his skinny necromancer of an older brother, and he wonders if there was a time when Augustine was bigger than him, stronger than him. He wonders if there was a time when Augustine was his protector. But he has only known him as an adult.

There are muscle memories. Something in Augustine always wants to reach down further than is necessary, to clasp Alfred's shoulder.

They both wonder who their parents were. They both wonder when, exactly, they lost them. They do not speak about it. They do not dare to hope.

#my post #the lyctors #fic fragments

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hymen-restoration-project · 5 months ago

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I’m blocking u after this, cause I’m on ur dni list due to not really caring about what others kinks or ships are, but like also just trying to be nice would like to inform you that ur dni list makes very clear ur very young.

Also, relax child. I’m not ur parent, nor do I want to be, but spewing out directionless anger only tires you out unnecessarily. Breathe, and recall that not everything is a crisis.( and most crises are better approached calmly when possible)It seems like that around your age but I promise it doesn’t stay bad forever. I’m sorry you’re having issues with your dad, I hope that situation works out for you, and remember that what you put on the internet stays there public forever. Bye kid ✌️

Ugh another adult being ageist thinking they know what it's like to be a teenager.

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ofthecaravel · 1 year ago

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Heaven In Time

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Am I A Con Man Or A Brother?

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Summary: A year or so after meeting, Sam and Danny are on the road again and hope to get through Sam's home state of Alabama with no trouble. Easy enough, right?

Tags: Religious trauma, hella guilt tripping/mentions of religious upbringing, Fighting, sauciness but no outright smut, healthy ass relationship

Words: 5.6k

A/N: Welcome back! Sorry! Let me know what you think. Chap 3 is in progress 👀 Also this is kinda random but would any of y'all be interested in a playlist for this fic? Do people still do that?

“You gonna be good while I go in?”

“Ye of little faith.”

“You, mister, of chatting mouth and wayfaring legs.”

“Since when do you complain about my legs? You didn’t seem to mind ‘em when they were over your sh-”

“Hey now, hey now, okay. What did I just say about behaving yourself? Jesus Christ.”

Sam laughed brashly as he hopped up on the hood of the truck and made a show of crossing his legs with an angelic smile. Danny, standing over Sam with a firm grasp on his chin, rolled his eyes with the beginnings of a smile spreading over his tan face. It had turned out that Danny’s initial baseless accusations of Sam’s rebellious attitude had proven to be mostly accurate, with the only difference being that Sam’s tendency to wander around fell more on the side of striking up friendships with random strangers and impeding their errands schedule rather than picking fights with vagrants and ending up in the back of sketchy white vans. Over the last year they’d spent on the road, Sam’s increasing confidence and grasp on individuality had given him a smart mouth and big opinions. Gone were the days of the meek, awkward preacher’s son with a guilty conscience that sat on his chest like a rock. Now he stood tall with a proud demeanor and, more often than not, in cut off denim shorts with a cigarette hanging from his bitten lips.

Sam settled on the hood in that same fashion then, pulling a cigarette from the pack bulging in the front pocket of his tiny shorts and sticking it in his mouth, pleadingly pushing it out towards Danny with a calculated batting of his lashes to get the point across. Danny rolled his eyes again but quickly pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it up, secretly very pleased to be the one to dote on Sam. Despite Sam’s drastic change in personality making him a far cry from the dusty hitchhiker Danny had picked up back in Texas, Danny’s affection only grew as the months passed them by. It was weird for him to look back on how this trip had begun: alone and directionless, setting off from his family farm in Florida with no one at his side. Sometimes when they were driving, Danny found it hard to recall a time without Sam’s passenger side chatter. How did he get as far as Texas without it? Silence was distressing to him now. Still, he found great fun in requesting it of Sam.

“Just stay here and be quiet,” Danny requested with faux exasperation. “I’m only gonna be in there for a few minutes for snacks and paying for gas and the bathroom. I don’t want to come out to you preaching to your huddled masses like that time in Santa Ana.”

“I know,” Sam whined. “How many times do I have to tell you those guys came up to me?”

“Watch your tone,” Danny whispered as he leaned in, his grasp returning to Sam’s jaw. “What you should know is that I want to get us through Alabama as fast as possible, okay? For you, Sammy, remember that.”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled, removing the cigarette from his lips with a guilty frown. “I do know. Sorry, daddy.”

Sam batted his lashes again and watched Danny’s face flicker at his words. It was a cheap trick, but it certainly didn’t hurt to slip in Danny’s favorite nickname every once in a while to win his favor in a matter of seconds.

“It’s okay,” Danny instantly assured him, melting like he always did at the title Sam had appointed him. It only ever trickled into their daytime conversations when Sam was being truly appreciative. He gave Sam a quick kiss before letting him go and taking a step towards the gas station itself.

“5 minutes max, I promise.”

��Go already,” Sam grinned, waving with a royal flourish as Danny tossed him a wink and went through the chiming doors of the gas station, leaving Sam to take a drag from his cigarette and watch its smoke unfurl into the clear sky above. It was a still, sweltering summer day, the kind of familiar weather that kept Sam aware of their presence in his home state. There was no way to get to their destination of Danny’s Floridian hometown without going through Alabama, which Sam kept swearing up and down would be no issue to him, despite the both of them knowing that Sam would no doubt have at least one instance of grief. So far he was having no problems, and as he absently bounced his shoe and closed his eyes against the comforting sun, Sam started to actually feel optimistic.

After a minute, Sam became aware of the creeping feeling that he was being watched. With his eyes closed it felt unfounded, but when gut instinct and a rolling chill over his otherwise sweaty skin told him to peek and assess his surroundings, he realized that he had good reason for it.

Outside the gas station standing on the ledge of sidewalk facing the last pump was a young man dressed in a short sleeved, cream colored button down staring directly at Sam. His features were blurry because of the distance and because Sam only had one eye open to assess him, but Sam could see that he had his dark, shoulder length hair pulled into a neat, low ponytail and that he grasped a stack of pamphlets in his hands. This tidy, modest appearance hit a little too close to home for Sam and he scowled remembering when something similar used to be his daily attire. Danny had joked about Sam’s preaching, but he and his brothers really did used to stand on sidewalk corners like the guy in front of him now, waving their hands and crying out with adolescent passion. His scowl deepened and he closed his eyes.

Great, Sam thought in annoyance, pursing his lips against his cigarette. Rookie mistake to actually make eye contact with the guy. Now he’s gonna be over here any minute now asking me about my relationship with God. That’s gotta be the last thing I wanna think about right now. No, thank you.

Another few minutes passed and the creeping unease remained in the pit of Sam’s stomach and kept his ears perked uncomfortably. With an irritated sigh, he opened his eyes again and saw that, sure enough, the sidewalk preacher was still staring him down. He had even moved up a couple pumps, now only a few feet away from Sam. Doing his best not to look at the guy, Sam groaned and slid off the hood of the car, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under the rubber sole of his Converse. The man took this as an opportunity to hastily approach. Sam couldn’t help but give a theatrical sigh at the sight, leaning his head back to stare at the sky for another moment as a last ditch effort to ground himself before the inevitable nonsense.

He must have seen me and Danny, Sam concluded mentally. And now he’s here to save my soul from our sinful ways. Whoopee.

“Listen, man, I don’t want any trouble,” Sam started, already frustrated. “I know the spiel, okay? God didn’t work for me, it’s nothing personal.”

“Sammy?”

Sam’s head immediately jerked forward to properly face the man in front of him. In an instant, he was drowned in cold and felt his knees threaten to buckle. He struggled not to disassociate, breathing urgently through his nose as his lips shut and refused to part.

How could he have stared right into this face and not seen who it was in an instant? There was no else whose voice would crack with such specific inflection over his nickname; a nickname never given freely, mind you.

The round brown eyes constantly shadowed from worry and late night prayer. The combed dark hair and disciplined posture.

It was Jake, his brother, a thousand times over.

“Sammy,” Jake repeated. He sounded worn down and nearly pleading, seemingly just as baffled as Sam about seeing his brother before him.

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. His thoughts were thick with shame and gave no more room for that last little spark of hope that he could make it through Alabama unscathed. All he could do was gawk at Jake, who gawked right back at him with what he knew was a near identical expression to his own. He had always felt he existed as some warped mirror of Jake, and here he was, pressed up against the glass yet again when he thought he’d shattered it long ago.

“What are you doing here?” Sam whispered. With their hometown miles out from the provincial rest stop they were at, Sam was becoming increasingly convinced that Jake’s presence was a mirage brought on by the heat.

“What are you doing here?” Jake countered. His eyes were wild and darted over Sam head to toe. A hand came up to grasp his forehead, a nervous tic that Sam remembered (of course) and found oddly comforting to see after all this time.

“Gas,” Sam answered dumbly. It was true, but obviously not the answer Jake was looking for. Sam felt close to tears in a manner of seconds when hurt flashed over Jake’s face, clearly from Sam’s cold brevity and…well, everything.

“So, you have a car now?”

“I-”

“Come on, babe, what’d I say? No mingling!”

Sam had hardly registered the crisp bell of the gas station doors cheerily bursting open, revealing Danny with an armful of beers and wrapped sandwiches. He wore a bright smile as he usually did when he was with Sam, and Sam watched helplessly as it fell at the sight of Sam’s face painted with frozen desperation. Never taking his eyes off of Sam, Danny set his treasures down on his seat through the truck’s open window and was at Sam’s side in a second, a protective hand already up to shove Jake back if need be.

“Can I help you, man?” Danny asked curtly, glaring down at Jake with his dark eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

“Who is this guy?” Jake asked Sam in an amused tone, as if he truly couldn’t believe that Sam would go anywhere near Danny. When Jake had known him, it would have been a fair assumption for him to make, but now there was nothing further from the truth.

“Who are you?” Danny shot right back, adjusting to stand partly in front of Sam. His shield and sword all rolled into one. Sam felt grateful for his protection but knew it was unnecessary.

“Danny, this is, uh, my brother,” Sam introduced nervously, putting a hand on his bare arm and giving it a calming squeeze. “Jake, this is Danny.”

Jake held out a polite hand for Danny to shake, which he obliged with a mistrustful squint of his hazel eyes. In Sam’s stories about his childhood, Jake had never really been the enemy in any of them, save for silly childhood disputes. But his compliance never made him a hero either, and Sam knew that Danny was recalling all he could remember of Sam’s brothers from the rude way he pulled his hand back from the handshake. Jake didn’t appear to care at all, turning his gaze on Sam once more with a weak laugh.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Jake asked. “We read your note, of course, but forgive me for beginning to think the worst had happened when there was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. Mom started reading the news all the way up in Montgomery just in case there was mention of you.”

“No, uh, I’ve been traveling,” Sam explained, incapable of making eye contact. “Mostly stuck to the Southern states, but, yeah. We’re actually not staying, we’re headed to Danny's place in Florida right now.”

“Wow,” Jake remarked blankly, nodding thoughtfully. “Okay. We, huh?”

“Danny was kind enough to pick me up in Texas,” Sam clarified, nodding towards Danny. “We’ve stuck together since then.”

“Somebody had to keep him safe,” Danny said in a clipped voice, looking Jake up and down with an accusatory glare. Jake continued to not acknowledge Danny’s obvious distaste for him and pressed onwards. He gave another nod that turned into a disbelieving shake of the head.

“How in the world did you get to Texas with no ride? I have about a million questions, Sammy, forgive me for my impatience. I mean, for starters, you look…”

Jake gestured vaguely to Sam’s bare bones outfit composed of a maroon band tee more suited to Danny’s frame than his (which made sense, considering it was Danny’s), meaning it fell so low it almost entirely covered Sam’s very short shorts. It was a standard outfit for him now, but the last time Jake had seen Sam, he’d been dressed in something nearly identical to the outfit Jake wore, complete with the long tweed pants in the blistering heat. Sam’s hair, kept long to compliment his newfound appreciation for his androgynous features and to serve as something extra for Danny to pull when they were caught up in motel bedroom devotions, was pulled into low frizzy pigtails that Jake no doubt found bizarre.

For the first time in a long time, Sam began to feel self conscious.

“Different?” Sam asked, putting a hand on his hip. “Is that cool with you?”

“I…of course, it’s just…definitely different,” Jake agreed, a hint of venom finally tinting his words. “I hoped maybe you’d gone off to, you know, spread the good word, but I can tell from your outf-”

“You wouldn’t have thought that if you’d actually read my note like you said you did. You know why I left, Jake.”

“Were things really so terrible?” Jake prodded, his condescending tone now entirely betraying his bright attitude. “So horribly bad that you just had to leave behind your entire family who has done nothing but love you, just by the way, and an entire church that you had responsibility in? I can’t think of a single person in Shady Grove that doesn’t pray for you each and every day. I can tell you didn’t have faith in us, Sam, but we had faith in you. Still do.”

“I wasn’t happy,” Sam hissed, tears finally stinging his eyes as he stepped forward and got in his brother’s face, still clinging to Danny’s arm as he waited for his chance to intervene. “Nobody listened to me! Or, yeah, maybe I didn’t speak up enough, but even if I did, you all would’ve just heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Come to dinner, Sammy,” Jake begged, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder with a firm grip. “Come to my place. I won’t even tell Mom and Dad, but you’ve got to see Josh, at least. He talks about you in every single sermon, he-”

“You’re not listening,” Sam groaned defeatedly, flushing hot with frustration and humiliation. He felt Danny’s anxious eyes on him while his brother’s thick skull and saccharine words regressed Sam into a childlike tantrum. Jake shook his head as if it weren’t true, as if Sam was behaving completely out of line. That was something Sam really did hate about his brother sometimes; he could make him feel so stupid for nothing at all.

“Why can’t you ever admit that there are things about home that don’t work?” Sam raged on. “Just ‘cause they work for you doesn’t mean they work for me. I had to go, Jake. I, I have to go.”

“Let’s go,” Danny urged, his voice uncharacteristically cool and tense. “Ready when you are.”

“I’m ready,” Sam snarled, glaring at Jake one more time before turning on his heel and stomping to the side door. Jake followed with a frustrated huff through his nose, grabbing Sam’s wrist and yanking him so hard he stumbled.

“I love you, Sam,” Jake said firmly, passion flashing in his amber eyes. “That’s why I’m tough on you, okay? Mom and Dad love you. Josh loves you. Come home.”

“No,” Sam barked, pulling his wrist away. “Get off, Jake, I’m fucking leaving.”

Jake stood and watched Sam climb into the passenger side and slam the door, pointedly staring through the windshield and ignoring his fuming brother as Danny hurriedly tossed the food and drink from his seat into the back. Jake smacked his palm against the door and won Sam’s attention again, who now saw that Jake’s furious expression had begun to devolve into tears.

“So, that’s it? That’s all you got to say?” Jake cried. “So high and mighty you can’t even say you love us anymore?”

“Of course I love you, stupid!” Sam yelled, grabbing an empty plastic water bottle out of the cup holder and smacking it on Jake’s head. “I just can’t love you here!”

Jake grabbed the water bottle out of Sam’s hand and tossed it right back at him, ducking when Sam fully threw it through the window. Jake crouched out of Sam’s reach as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something urgently on one of his many disheveled pamphlets. Despite Sam’s flurry of smacking hands, Jake managed to shove it through the window and onto Sam’s lap.

“That’s the address and that’s what time I’ll have dinner on the table,” Jake explained, his teary eyes flashing as he pointed at the pamphlet with vigor. “There will be two places set for you and your, your Danny, and I really hope to see you both!”

“I really hope you like disappointment!” Sam hollered, heart hammering like a jackrabbit as he and Jake launched into a new round of arguing.

Unable to stand back and watch anymore, Danny rolled up Sam’s window for him and finally began to pull out of the gas station. Jake yelled something as they sped out of the lot, and Sam let out a frustrated scream in response. He was unable to look back at his brother, instead electing to fold at the waist and let out another muffled scream against his bare legs.

Danny, frazzled from the sibling explosion that had just set off in front of his eyes, was honestly unsure on what the hell to do. He settled for a soothing hand on Sam’s back, rubbing calming circles and asking Sam to breathe and settle down in the most serene voice he could manage. Sam listened and managed to subdue his roaring need to shriek out his frustrations, but he stayed crumpled over with his head between his thighs. As always, Sam’s complete and utter silence was a million times worse to Danny, and he debated whether or not to ask him something just to get both their minds on a new track.

“So, you wanna go to that dinner, or…?”

Yeah, Danny regretted that the second it left his mouth.

Sam’s silence persisted and Danny swallowed nervously, trying to appreciate the sparse scenery that surrounded the highway so that his brain had something else to do.

5 entire minutes passed without Sam saying anything, which was probably the longest he had ever gone in the year Danny had traveled with him. He was never this quiet, not even in his sleep. But frankly, Danny couldn’t blame him. Danny’s heart broke for Sam, and he bit back regretful tears thinking of how he should’ve just stepped between them and pulled Sam into the truck before Jake got a chance to say anything at all. After another excruciating minute, he figured there wasn’t much use in spiraling, so Danny decided to pull over on the side of the empty road and turn off the truck.

“What can I do to help you, Sam?” Danny asked in a hushed voice, his hand returning to Sam’s back and tilting his head to try and catch a glimpse of Sam’s face.

Sam thought for a second, sniffling wetly before finally turning from the valley of his legs to miserably look up at Danny. Danny’s heart sank at the sight of his lashes heavy with tears and his nose and cheeks painted poppy red.

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered, throat scratchy from exertion. “Take me out behind the barn and shoot me.”

“Sam,” Danny sighed at his dramatics, reaching over Sam’s head to click open the glove box and pull out a clean handkerchief. He presented it to Sam, who made no move to grab it, so he rested it on top of his head with a little smile.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, still unmoving and sniffing pathetically. His gaze was blank and defeated and his face was still dotted with tears, which Danny lovingly swept away with a curled knuckle.

“That was a lot,” Danny commented steadily, still trying to pry a productive conversation out of the ever stubborn Sam. “Definitely wouldn’t have picked that station if I had known your people would be anywhere near it.”

“He really shouldn’t have been,” Sam complained. “Shady Grove is, like, 10 miles out closer to the coast. But it’s not completely unheard of for him to go to the most random fucking places for his sidewalk preaching. Divine timing, I guess. Great.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Danny whispered, mirroring Sam’s posture as best he could to try and meet Sam’s eye. When he did, Sam’s bottom lip quivered and he clasped a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated groan that filled the entire cabin of the truck.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam apologized, his voice shaking with frustration. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that. Fuck, he just makes me so crazy, it’s like I don’t even know what happens.”

“Don’t apologize,” Danny insisted, running his fingers along the soft hair at Sam’s temples to try and ground him. “He came at you pretty hard. I know he’s your brother and everything, but if you gave me the go ahead, I would’ve knocked him upside the head with the way he was talking to you.”

“I wish you had,” Sam grumbled. There was a sore pang when he said it, and Sam found himself falling quiet and staring into space again. “But, like…”

Danny had spent enough time with Sam to feel confident in his ability to read his mind, and from the mournful, longing glaze over Sam’s eyes, he made an educated guess as to where Sam’s head was at.

“But, like…you still kinda want to go to dinner tonight?” Danny asked, attempting to finish Sam’s sentence.

Sam let out another theatrical groan and answered by gently banging his forehead against the pamphlet on his lap, which doubled as a nod in the affirmative. Despite the anxiety that the prospect of a dinner with Sam’s brothers stirred in Danny’s chest, he was happy to do whatever it took to get Sam through the night without trying to throw himself out of the truck.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that,” Danny assured him, brushing his fingers against Sam’s flushed cheek. “And the second you say we need to go, we’ll go. Does that sound good?”

“Mmhm,” Sam hummed against the paper.

Danny watched Sam’s dejected body language for another minute before taking action again. With a quick jerk of the reclining lever, he laid his seat back and scooted until he was sitting in the backseat. After landing with a bounce on the leather, Danny shifted the beers and sandwiches once again while Sam sat up and gave him a quizzical look.

“What?” Sam asked simply, a confused smile very slowly seeping into his expression as Danny settled in the middle of the backseat and opened up his arms.

“Someone needs a hug,” Danny determined, beckoning Sam into his lap with a cheeky grin.

“You are so goddamn corny,” Sam whined. Despite his rolling eyes, he quickly scrambled out of his seat and clumsily landed in Danny’s embrace. Danny’s arms wrapped around him in an instant and Sam unraveled completely at the comfort, throwing his arms around Danny’s neck as he sank into his broad chest and nuzzled against Danny’s freckled shoulder. Danny held him tight and pressed kisses to the crown of Sam’s head as he felt the erratic cadence of Sam’s heart beating against his own begin to even out into a stable thrum.

“Feeling a little better?” Danny asked tentatively. Sam replied with a muffled hum against his skin and Danny laughed, smoothing the loose hairs that had escaped Sam’s pigtails and were waving wildly in the humidity. Sam pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Danny let out a happy hum of his own. Danny gave one of Sam’s pigtails a gentle tug to tilt his head back and met him halfway, closing his eyes with a smile that he pressed against Sam’s already puckered lips. While they got caught up in a lazy kiss, Danny carefully worked to slide the elastics from Sam’s hair and combed through his impressive tresses with his long fingers. Sam sighed into Danny’s mouth at the relaxing sensation, cupping Danny’s face and slipping his tongue into the equation while Danny indulged in a smug smile.

“I feel better,” Sam finally admitted, giggling when Danny mapped a trail of kisses from his jaw down his neck. “Much better, actually.”

“Yeah? You feel as good as you did last night?” Danny purred against his neck, grinning and bearing his teeth against his skin when Sam scoffed. Danny had found that this was another surefire way to keep Sam’s mind out of a dark place; tease the hell out of him.

“Danny!” Sam squealed, batting his shoulders and squirming in his lap. “Shut up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, who was the one talking about legs over shoulders no less than an hour ago?”

“I-”

“It was definitely you.”

“Hearsay!” Sam laughed. “Tell it to my lawyer.”

When Danny lifted his head from his throat to smile at him, he could see the rosy glow had already returned to Sam’s face. Danny’s heart fluttered at the thought that he could be the person to do that to someone, much less someone as wholly deserving of joy as Sam.

“You wanna hear something funny?” Sam chuckled while Danny leaned back against the leather seat, one hand on Sam’s waist and the other still fussing with his hair.

“Hm?”

“We didn’t even get gas.”

Danny froze and blinked blankly.

“...Fuck, you’re right!”

Sam’s raucous laugh filled the truck as Danny shifted and looked out the back window, staring longingly at the pump somewhere in the distance behind them despite it being entirely out of his sight.

“Damn. There goes my 15 bucks,” Danny grumbled.

“You only put 15 bucks on the pump? Cheap bitch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have anything you’d like to contribute to the gas fund? Or would you like to keep dipping your sticky little fingers into it and spending it on cigarettes and cotton candy?”

“Absolutely,” Sam smiled triumphantly. “I mean, worse comes to worse, we can always stop in some seedy little town and get me a job working the pole. We’d have gas money for a year.”

“Fuck no,” Danny blurted. Sam cackled again when Danny bulged his eyes at the idea, his grip subconsciously tightening on his waist. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Jealous?” Sam flirted, tapping the tip of Danny’s nose and winking. He rolled his hips as if he were straddling a stripper pole and Danny let out a suffocated groan at the sensation. Not allowing himself to dive into the salacious imagery Sam had conjured, Danny used his leverage on Sam’s hips to hold him still.

“No, Sam, I’m super into the idea of you being half naked on stage in front of a bunch of podunk perverts,” Danny replied sarcastically, swatting his ass. “Of course I’m jealous, you little shit.”

“Well, you don’t have to be, ‘cause I’d never,” Sam cooed, clearly still delighted by Danny’s knee jerk reaction. “You know damn well I’m all yours.”

“Yeah, you are,” Danny hummed, chasing another kiss and mumbling against Sam’s lips. “And you know damn well you’re safe as long as you’re with me, right?”

“Since the day we met,” Sam confirmed, heart fluttering and racing as he recalled the first time he’d seen Danny. This was something he did almost every night to soothe himself to sleep, a practice that had replaced the psalm recitations he’d done for years after he steadily found them less and less effective at calming him. He’d picture Danny, nothing short of drop dead gorgeous in a ratty flannel and his combed out curls pulled into a ponytail, with his head tilted to the side as he regarded Sam and his pathetic little suitcase. Frozen in place, Sam’s thumb had stayed pointing up in the air for a beat too long as he assessed the amusing contrast of the gorgeous stranger in such a beat up hunk of junk. In the same way that something had urged Danny to drive through the thoroughfare in the first place, something had given Sam complete assurance that if he got into the truck with this total stranger, it would be the start of his life as opposed to the end.

Despite the fact that they were far from being on speaking terms, Sam couldn’t help but thank God for it.

“Good,” Danny smiled. “Remember, the second you want out tonight, we’re outta there. You call the shots.”

“Don’t I always?”

Danny raised an eyebrow at Sam and Sam smiled with faux innocence, tucking a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear while Danny sighed fondly. Without the other knowing, both of them felt a sudden urge to tell the other one something. Something that had been on both of their minds for a long time. While it didn’t really need to be confirmed when the time they spent together spoke volumes about how they felt, it still had yet to be said. But Danny was worried Sam was a little too vulnerable at the moment to process the impact it might have, and Sam was worried Danny wouldn’t say it back, so they let the next few minutes pass with quiet chatting and kissing instead. Not that they could complain about that.

“What time is it?” Danny eventually asked, answering his own question by looking over Sam’s shoulder at the radio’s clock. “4:30ish? How long do you reckon it’ll take to get to Jake’s?”

“Only like 20 minutes if we backtrack and take some shortcuts,” Sam explained. “I’ll be our fearless navigator, of course.”

“That’ll be a first,” Danny muttered, which earned him a light slap on the arm. “Well, shit, what should we do for an hour? Anything fun to do in glorious Baldwin county, Mr. Navigator?”

Sam stared off into space for a moment, seemingly deep in thought as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pushed out into a focused pout. However, when Sam’s eyes eventually fell on the space between their bodies and his eyebrow arched suggestively, Danny realized that he had fallen for an act.

“Unbelievable,” Danny groaned as Sam smiled flirtatiously and pawed at his belt. “I thought maybe you knew some roadside attractions nearby we could go to. I should’ve known better.”

“I mean, we’re already back here,” Sam purred, sliding a hand up the front of Danny’s muscle tee. “And no one’s driven by since we pulled over.”

“Unbelievable,” Danny repeated, shaking his head slightly but obliging entirely when Sam’s lips found his and his hands made quick work of pulling off Danny’s shirt.

This reckless nerve and seeming insatiability was one of many side effects of Sam’s newfound confidence. Ever since that inciting night at the motel where Sam had stayed under Danny until the sun came up and writhed nonstop from nothing more than kisses and hands on his hips, he had become hopelessly addicted to Danny’s touch. It was fully Danny’s fault for indulging him as often as he did, but he really had tried to take it as slow as he possibly could. Danny knew that Sam had no prior experience and very little knowledge of the body when it came to the pleasure it could provide, and he had wanted to give him a low stakes, enjoyable education.

However, this had become increasingly more difficult when he found Sam crawling into his lap time and time again with professedly innocent questions, all of which were whispered into his ear with hot breath that sent chills down his spine. Sam had insisted on hands-on demonstrations and begged so sweetly, which made it nearly impossible for Danny to continue the patient pace he had planned for him. This eventually cultivated in a “celebration” their first night in Los Angeles where Danny had caved entirely and awarded Sam his sacrament. He’d crossed the line between the divine and the Earth, called Sam his little lamb, and awoke the next morning with Sam’s head on his chest and his virginity (however conceptual that may be) locked up safe in the parts of his mind reserved for the most sacred sentiments. Deep down, Danny knew he’d be trying in vain for the rest of his days trying to replicate the ecstasy of truly feeling Sam for the first time. Fingernails dug so deep in his biceps he’d emerged with a single crescent moon scar, Sam’s hips bucking to accommodate Danny’s stuttering push into him, a pounding fist on the wall from outraged neighbors being drowned out from the rattle of the bedposts…that was a high Danny was going to chase to no avail. But he was more than happy to try.

Plus, how could he ever say no to Sam? Maybe someday he’d regret letting Sam get whatever he wanted, but from the way Sam looked unbuttoning his jeans with his rosy bottom lip tucked triumphantly between his teeth, Danny was pretty sure regret was the last thing he was feeling.

They were in for a hell of a night, so why not get as close to heaven before then?

Taglist: @holdingup-fallingsky @milojames16 @spark-my-nature

#oooooooh the plot #oh the plot of it all #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #sanny gvf #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van art #karoufiction

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adrift-in-thyme · 2 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 14: “Feed me poison, fill me til I drown”

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time grows ill by no ordinary sickness

CW for poisoning and all the horrifying symptoms that come with it (including vomiting and severe shortness of breath) and kidnapping

———————————-

The inn has become outrageously loud.

Time isn’t certain when it went from the usual hubbub of gathered humanity to an overwhelming cacophony of noise. All he knows is that he needs to get away from it. Now. Before he gives in to the urge to curl up on the floor in fetal position.

Strange. He can’t recall the last time he yearned to do that.

It has been years, to be certain. Years since a small child hid in a Castle Town alleyway because it had all, very suddenly, grown to be too much.

Time drags in a breath that doesn’t fully fill his lungs and pushes himself to his feet. If he steels himself, perhaps, he can look purposeful rather than panicked.

“What’s up, old man?”

Legend is staring at him from where he sits on a bench, wedged between Wild and Hyrule. He raises an eyebrow.

“You heading to bed already?”

Time tries to smile. It comes out feeling more like a grimace.

When had it grown so cold in here?

It feels as though the winds of Snowhead have swept in through the swinging double doors. He shivers slightly and the small movement makes the pounding in his head a hundred times worse.

“I’m actually headed outside,” he says, his own voice sounding strangely far away. “I just need a bit of air.”

They’re all watching him now, varying levels of concern on their faces.

“Are you alright?” Sky asks.

Time nods. “Don’t worry about me. It’s just a bit stifling in here is all. I’ll be back in soon.”

Most of them still look worried, but he can hardly afford to stand here, assuring them of his good health. The room is closing in now and blurring slightly at the edges. If he doesn’t get out soon…

With a desperate sort of abruptness, Time turns on his heel and heads for the door.

The main streets of Castle Town are still busy. The inn is relatively out of the way, though, situated snuggly in the back of the town. Few people come down here and Time is glad of it. With a sigh of relief he leans back against the wall.

…only for his legs to give way seconds later.

The ground tips beneath his feet, his stomach lurches, and suddenly he finds himself on his hands and knees. He stares down at the cold cobblestone, trying vainly to comprehend what has just happened. He had been fine a half an hour ago — he had been fine mere seconds ago, save of course, for the sudden onset of a migraine and the dizziness and cold and the way the room had surged and shrieked like a monster let loose…but those had been…

Time’s eye widens slightly. A series of shives rage through him, sudden and unbidden and terrible. They make his teeth chatter so hard he has to grit them together to keep from biting his tongue.

Something is wrong, he realizes, somewhat dazedly. Very wrong. He has suffered enough illnesses, enough injuries to know this one is not normal.

But his head has begun to feel heavy, his thoughts as sluggish and thick as the fog of the Lost Woods. And though he grasps for it, the answer he seeks hovers just out of reach.

Then, it flees entirely, replaced instead by sheer panic.

He can’t breathe.

He tries, fighting to draw precious air through airways that suddenly feel too tight. But he only manages a half-breath that leaves him feeling dizzy. Desperately, he inhales once more.

But his lungs don’t expand to welcome the air he craves. Instead, the pounding in his head intensifies. And in the next moment, his stomach rebels violently. He pitches forward and vomits.

There’s blood in it, he notes, blearily. That’s more than a little worrying.

Or it would be if he could think past the immediate conglomeration of dizziness and pain and a hazy sort of directionless fear.

A shudder rages through him. His body decides it no longer has the strength to hold itself up. He collapses sideways and his surroundings tip with him, streetlights smearing golden light across a navy sky, buildings elongating unnaturally.

For a terrible moment, he is certain that he’s falling. And maybe he’ll keep falling, down, down, down into endless darkness and he’ll be trapped again, imprisoned in a world that won’t remember him, a world destined to be destroyed.

But then his shoulder connects painfully with something hard and he realizes he is lying on the cobblestones.

Still fighting to breathe. And now to swallow. It feels as though his entire throat is closing itself off. Soon he won’t have any air at all.

This has all escalated rather quickly, he thinks with an absurd, giddy sort of mirth. And to think all he had wanted was fresh air. Unfortunately, for him there is none to be had.

Another round of shivers come, tearing his aching body apart, stealing what little breath he still has. It drives away the odd hilarity, brings back the panic of before.

He needs to get up. He needs to find help. But even speaking seems an insurmountable challenge.

Time squeezes his eye shut. His fingernails are sharp against his palm, but the pain grounds him, keeps him awake. And somehow, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he has to stay awake.

Nausea roils in him again. He gags, tasting blood and the remnants of dinner. Dimly, he wonders how long ago it was when he sat with the other heroes, listening to them laugh and tell stories over bowls of warm stew. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. But he doubts that that is true.

Either way, the thought of food makes his stomach protest. There is nothing left in it now to expel. Yet his body tries anyway, violently. Clearly, it wants whatever is inside of him, out.

Poison.

The realization finally breaks through. But it’s too late to entertain the fresh wave of panic. He is fading now, the taste of blood pungent on his tongue, stones cold against his skin. Even if he had the strength to do more than lie here and attempt to breathe, it wouldn't do him any good. He doesn’t know how to deal with poison. He’s never had to learn.

Footsteps sound now. He registers them, distantly, through a fog he can’t find his way out of. Then, voices reach him, muffled by the whirring in his ears.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing. I can hear his wheezing from here. Pathetic.”

“Besides, we never wanted him completely dead, remember? Just very, very close. Now, come on. You know what to do.”

Hands grasp his arms and roughly haul him up. Ropes snake around his wrists and pull tight. A cloth finds its way into his mouth. And all the while his every instinct screams at him to run, to struggle, to fight. But his limbs are leaden, unable to even keep him upright. He slumps heavily in his captor’s grasp.

“He won’t last much longer without the antidote.”

“Well, we don’t have much longer before the others worry and come to check on him. We go now. He’ll last until we get where we need to be.”

They begin to drag him. His feet are uncooperative, unable to even catch on the stones as they move forward. Darkness dances tantalizingly before him. He tries and fails to take another breath.

“It’s better this way,” he hears them say faintly, in the moments before he plunges into oblivion, “to keep him in this state. The Hero of Termina…he isn’t one you should underestimate.”

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dont-be-a-gonk · 3 months ago

Note

I'd love to hear more about your opinions on rogue AIs and cyberpsychosis and the ways they can intertwine and simultaneously be totally different :3

I wrote way more than I intended to so uh... mb... but anyways here's some directionless rambles in regards to cyberpsychosis, ai's, and the way rogue ai's could make use of humanity's lack of compassion.

To start cyberpsychosis is entirely separate from rogue ai's and, often, even separate from chrome as well.

This is all personal interpretation via the content I've consumed so take it with a grain of salt but to me, and from what I've read online, cyberpsychosis is more so an umbrella term used to describe people experiencing mental health crises in Cyberpunk. Similar to our real world, mental illness is a stigmatized topic which people in power would rather blame on individuals rather than the corrupt system which fostered them. Yes, some people are inherently inclined to develop illnesses, but many times the triggers that start them could be avoided preemptively (or at least managed).

What I mean to say is cyberpsychosis is incredibly broad and we, as a player, only have our attentions focused onto dangerous examples due to media sensationalization and our interactions with NCPD. Cyberpsychosis is a mental health issue, not based solely around chrome but rather the stresses and violence of every day life. If you recall within cyberpsycho gigs many of the people affected are victims of traumatic surgery, gang violence, and class disparity. Kidnapping victims, down on their luck civilians, homeless veterans, construction workers just trying to do their jobs, ect. What makes them "break" or go into psychosis is not necessarily the chrome itself but the process involved in being chipped/ what lead up to it.

The chrome that's added is simply an extra and dangerous side piece in the puzzle. Regardless of if they had it or not they'd mentally break down, but now as someone with literal weaponry strapped to their bodies... well I think you can see where this is going. Imagine putting an abused dog in the middle of a fireworks display except you also made it so every time the dog barks they shoot a loaded ak. That shit is not gonna end well.

So cyberpsychosis if more mental than physical (with some exceptions) and is a health issue which involves primarily the brain but can be triggered by chrome chipping. Inherently it has no medical connection to tech nor ai and the two topics are entirely separate. However through the media and corporate influence it has turned into an issue of people "misusing" chrome or "taking on more than they can handle". The victims are now at fault, so to speak, and all medical regards go out the window.

This creates a dangerous hole which a rogue ai could fill in. If people already believe its a personal downfall less care will go into helping victims, less victims helped equals more chromed out cyberpsychos, more chromed out cyberpsychos means more malleable minds connected to the net. Someone in a state of psychosis may be experiencing hallucinations, delusions, or intense compulsions so if an ai were to slip in and present itself as one they'd go by undetected. Just another symptom of the person's illness, "oh nothing can be done" yada yada. Now as I've previously mentioned we only get faced with extreme cases, violent offenders who have begun attacking crowds or threatening friends n family. But what about the loners? The people tucked away and consumed by their illness with no outside interaction. Like in real life someone who is experiencing psychosis is not inherently dangerous, no one is, its their environment which allows it. So say someone falls into cyberpsychosis in their lonesome, connected to the net and found by a rogue ai. What better scenario in getting into the world of flesh and blood than this? They could influence their psyche, access their information, demand assistance, and if the ai is ever caught well "it's just cyberpsychosis, nothing to be done". Boom, instant access with no downsides and no commitment. Even with netwatch a loophole like this is easily exploitable and highly volatile.

Say one singular ai connects to a lone cyberpsycho, that cyberpsycho connects that ai's data onto the net through emails, messages, and zip bombs, they then send their data into online support groups, veteran forums, or to victims of traumatic events.

Like a virus they could start infecting masses of people all who'd be shrugged off under the pretense of an unavoidable side effect of their condition. And if someone were to bring into question what was going on there is no way in hell any corps are gonna let people know a possible breach is underway. They're gonna shrug off the problem cause it could make their companies like “look bad". Clearly whatever programs they put their money into to "protect" the masses aren't working or are being misused in ways that benefit no one but the corps themselves. They simply cannot have that damage done to their image.

This would create what I equate to a festering wound, like rot inside the body except the body is a digital network. A digital network with seemingly no end meaning at all times at least one host can be infected. And if even just one is infected others can be too. If a rogue ai were to present itself as god to these people 9 times out of 10 they would feel inclined to believe it. The growth of a digital god or messiah could instill false beliefs which even non cyberpyschos could fall victim to. With faith as their guide these believers could then be connected to the same rogue ai’s network and become infected as well. The rot festers and grows. A bd creator gets infected and decides to install the ai’s data into their wreaths. A netrunner tries to investigate these odd happenings but instead is left with a near invisible time bomb tucked inside their mind. A company sees potential in the ai’s ability and soon they’re brought into a vast network on purpose with no regard for human safety, only pursuit of profits. Fester and grow.

It’s thoughts like this that make me realize, while I do detest corps I understand the purpose behind netwatch as something like this could completely destroy a digital society. The only people who’d be unaffected are pure ganics and those are running out day by day. Even then they often rely on tech to make ends meet so they too could have their livelihoods ruined just not internally.

I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the game Horizon Zero Dawn (and MAJOR spoilers up ahead here in regards to its plot) but an interesting aspect of the story is mass advancement of technology and how it turned against its creators. Militant and agricultural technology which humans relied on so heavily turned volatile, consuming organic matter either as fuel or due to their code. Ultimately the only way humanity could fight back was to pretty much nuke themselves in hopes it took the tech out with them and all future life on earth would simply start over from the beginning, the VERY beginning. Back to rocks and twigs and making sparks fly from stone. Of course there’s more to it than that and I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot (I haven’t played HZD in foreverrrrr) but I think you can see the connection. Should such a power go unchecked the only option may be mass self destruction.

These cyberpsychos are merely a conduit, an excuse, a distraction, and a personal failure on the heart of humanity. As more people lose their compassion for their fellow man the more isolated we become, the stronger our division grows, and soon the unthinkable will become causal necessity. Capitalism and corporations fuel an ever growing disease which denies human connection and favors imaginary numbers over life. Thanks to them rogue ai’s were both born and fostered, and eventually should the blackwall fall, destroy their creators. Ironic the only fighting force is a corp themselves, something which’ll likely prove fatal.

Man idk where I’m going with this but yeah _(:3」∠)_ They call me the senseless rambler the way I uh… ramble… senselessly… :3?

This all plays into my personal idea of a follow story to 2077 so if it seems super fantastical or random that’s prolly why lol. All I’m saying is imagine an ai that understands what it means to hurt vs an ai who simply acts on code. To understand pain is to best replicate it and a human ai hybrid would be nothing short of an armageddon in the making. The infinite paradox of hate.

#chatterbox #ramblings #asks #again I wrote way more than intended lol… and yet I still have thoughts further #shit I was gonna start talking bout cognito hazards n shit but I aint gonna do that to ya #I’d rather not dump that on you unexpectedly #also cognitohazards scare the shit outta me LOL #it’s 2 am… so if any of this is just genuine nonesense… mb…#but anyways thanks for asking :3 I love thinking about in universe shit like this #I want to fully write out my sequel idea but there’s just so much and I am but a lazy man…

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recalled11 · 1 year ago

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Directionless Pt. 4

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5

#recalled #recalled update #Recalled Directionless #part four is here!#also known as the part where 'oh no everyone's hot--'#that's partially why it took a while #the rest was just backgrounds #cause OH MY GOSH #Lookout landing is a real pain in the butt to draw #BUT YEH #and we've got two new companions here!#this was honestly one of the first scenes I came up with when starting Recalled XD #recalled wild #recalled captain #recalled flower #recalled sky #recalled sun #recalled Time #recalled malon

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majorproblems77 · 1 year ago

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Recalled update! So I am here to yell about it for 30 minutes thanks :)

*Scrambling to escape the void that has consumed me over the last few weeks.*

HI, ITS ME

Okay, so we've got a recalled update! Im very excited and have been pouring over this update for a while.

Uni is consuming my life haha.

they are headed towards the castle while having some very important discussions. Mainly, what on earth do we call you all. (Which in its own right I find amusing haha. )

Okay, time for the important things! Recalled and all panels belong to @recalled11 and its wonderful artist @l3ominor. Go check it out!

You can find the comic page here!

Now lets get started because if i dont scream about my blorbo in approximately 5 seconds I'm gonna die

I love group photos of any Calabar, it's awesome to see them all together. And watching fabrics flow is detail that I am obsessed with thank you.

ALSO HIS WIFE AHHHHHHH I LOVE THEM

Its the blorbo, look at hims.

Also i love how chill he is about this. Like, 'oh more problems? Awesome, I needed something to do today' kind of vibe I love it.

Sky's walking stick! I love how inclusive of all sorts of things this AU is i thoroughly enjoy it. He gives me the I can kill you with this walking stick, but also have you met my wife vibes and i love him.

Time and Malon running off like this brings me great joy i love them.

And, sky. Are we talking about your journey or something else cause that's pretty ominous there. foreshadowing? Are we gonna get more about the past of these heroes at one point I'd love to know more about them.

It is a massive Hyrule, espically when you think about just how long it takes to get across each of them in-game. Wild's game it actually takes so long to get across even just Hyrule field.

Time please step back from the edge you're giving me anxiety.

Also backgrounds my beloved. Beautiful i love them.

PFFFFFFT

OMG

When i tell you i was laughing at this for a few minutes i mean it oh my god this is wonderful.

And Malon?! OMG

I find this so damn funny. Its wonderful.

Im so glad everyone is confused it makes this 10x funnier.

(You think when they get to know each other better he'll let Sky/Sun have a go? I would love to see that so much.)

Also seeing Wild smile, Like really smile. The boy deserves the world.

Im glad he's having fun. Its also great to see Zonai tech being used after the events of the 2nd game like this.

Yes, let's step into the wooden box of who knows what together? It'll be fun! :D

Flower, you gotta remember that these people have never seen this sort of thing, please explain.

Like you're doing right now flower? Like you're doing right now?

Everyone is so trusting of this box. I love it.

Just gonna say how GENIUS this is? LIKE A LIFT USING ZONAI WHEELS

I LOVE IT

This tells a lot

Sky is just impressed, look at how happy he is. Wonderful bean

Sun is hanging out, (Is she holding his hand? Thats cute) :D

Captain the professional as always.

Malon and Time are the absolute chaos of the group. Just look at them, Time has obviously never seen something like this and so him being the one who's like basically fallen over here makes so much sense.

Got me cackling again tho, I love this group of idiots a healthy amount.

Them <3

I was thinking about it tho... And the sailcloths they are identical. And we know they are married...

What if the sailcloths are a sign of marriage in this universe? Why else would they both have the same one, down to the blue outline on the edge that is closest to them. Like you give your lover a meaningful symbol to show your love for them, and in Sky's case he made a sailcloth for sun after she made the one he's wearing for him during the events of Skyward sword.

I think its the same one because his one looks significantly bigger than hers, which to me tells of a practical use as well as a decorative or symbolic piece. 332

Like im probably reading too much into this but then again. They are so cute that they would actually do that.

Captain pulling the absolute shenanigans of a group back on track. He is the brain cell of the group you can't change my mind.

HE CALLS HER SUNSHINE AHHHHHH

I LOVE THEM

THESE TWO MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME

Why is everyone in this comic so damn adorable okay, these guys are just cinnamon rolls who saved the world.

Just look at Time's face? You can't tell me he isn't the most cinnamon of the rolls.

AWWWWWWWWW

Have I mentioned how much I love Captain? Cause he is just so chill, but also professional. Professionally chill? Sure.

I can see a stressful situation coming up, and he just is the stoic leader who gets everyone in line and ready to fight the threat.

And flower, Who is just so sweet. I can understand not wanting to be referred to as princess now that their Hyrule is like how it is. I'm surprised this hasn't come up sooner. But it's cute.

Oh the silent princess. How symbolic you are.

I know people are not really into the flower thing but I am, you think we will see some nightshade at one point?

The flower.

The 2 flower heads, one open, one closed, The blue into white. With the yellow detail. It's Flowers colour pallet to a T and I love it. Maybe as we progress through the story we will see pictures of the silent princess again but with a flowering bud or maybe if something bad happens a slightly sad looking one?

I am obsessed with symbolism, so if those become a thing watch this space cause I will be excited about it!

(In fact looking at it I think, the stem in the middle and the yellow on her clothes are colour-matched. A nice detail!)

Okay thats all from me! :D

Have a great day/Night!

#recalled #recalled update #recalled Directionless #recalled Wild #recalled Flower #recalled Time #recalled Malon #recalled Captain #recalled Sky #recalled Sun #ramble corner with major #Sky is once again reminding me why he is the best blorbo #:DDDD #recalled spoilers #comic analysis corner with major #so many characters i love them all #i love making these sm #i wont stop #(unless asked)

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eluviannaa · 8 months ago

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📜 Continued from here.

She nodded at the suggestion, gently pulling the hood of her cloak over tendrils shifting beneath long, pale hair. The fabric framed her face, exaggerating the glow of her violet eyes. It was a familiar habit—more to signal a desire for anonymity than successfully achieving it.

As they walked, she did not pause her own trail of thought. Her steps following the leisurely measure of her words.

“Fate is shaped in the unknown. Surely I don’t need to tell you that true madness lies in directionless repetition. To say nothing of extinguishing opportunity.” Her tone was almost dismissive, as if reciting something tedious.

Felscythe’s paranoia was... curious. Perhaps he merely enjoyed the fashions of the dark arts. But as he stood, even amidst pedestrian concerns, there was a disconnect between presence and philosophy. If true, it was a noteworthy performance. And yet, beyond amusement, the impression of a story. And she did love a good story.

With a shrug, she added, “The Void corrupts indiscriminately, not just those with a sense of duty. Perhaps formal vows would be prudent—if only to provoke followers of the Light. Give them their own book, if you will.” She laughed, recalling some wicked memory.

“Truly, I hate to disappoint someone so dedicated to—" pursing her lips, she gestured broadly to his presence, “but my pursuits haven’t plummeted into the depths of dark servitude just yet.”

@nixalegos

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extra-vertebrae · 2 years ago

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Picked up Tears of the Kingdom for my birthday this year and played it over an art sabbatical. After beating it, I have some thoughts about a pair of critters.

Consider this a "spoiler" line for those who haven't beaten the game.

I've been pondering over the Light Dragon and the Tears associated with her transformation. When you take everything given about the transformation at face value, this dragon bursts into being with no sense of self, but presumably still carrying intact though likely scattered memories of when she was still Zelda. Her first act is to shed tears, presumably created through an intense sorrow borne out of thoughts, concerns, and memories that she no longer understands. Her "new" mind is struck with immense emotional pain that now probably just repeats itself over and over as she aimlessly patrols the skies of Hyrule for thousands of years until a man pulls a toothpick out of her forehead. Alternatively, the shedding of tears is symbolic of the final vestiges of Zelda's self as it ebbs away in her new existence, leaving her mind a blank slate unable to recall, process, or attribute anything to anything.

Of course, the game pulls a cop-out and goes "oh, she was just sleeping this whole time!" at the end, which I think is bullshit, but fine, we can't have Zelda scarred for the remainder of her life. We'll just say her memories of flying aimlessly for however long were just yeeted by the mercy of Sophia and Rauru and leave it at that. The implication is probably a reversal via some super powered Recall, but still.

Then comes Ganon, who takes the same road in an effort to cling to power. A new dragon that, just like Zelda, has no self - just a ream of memories and what is probably a deep, directionless, unfathomable anger towards an insignificant entity. How awful must these paired existences be? How aware are they, truly?

A repeated note in the compendium entries for all of the dragons is: "it causes [x deadly phenomena when people are in close range], but it means no harm." I thought about this later and played with the idea that, what if, even taking story circumstances in hand, Ganon's dragon was the same as the rest in this specific regard - creating phenomena out of no actual intent to harm so much as an instinctual self defence mechanism against an unknown "thing" approaching him. Does Ganon still actually recognise Link from all of 30 seconds ago? Or is he just an animal with the same blank slate as Zelda? Whichever the case, despite all the damage he's done, this feels like an especially tragic end for Ganondorf in the sense that, he technically becomes an entirely new entity that has done absolutely nothing except be confronted by a pair of unfamiliar creatures, and is smote in barely a few minutes. Minutes of existence either fraught with confusing memories of anger and violence, or a blank mind with no comprehensive ability, snuffed out due to an inherent danger he poses through, in a way, no "fault" of his own in this new body and mind.

Just a fun thought I had. I've been wondering since I started playing and seeing all of the Memories, if at any point Ganondorf (or Link and Zelda for that matter) has ever actually possessed free will in being the manifestation (?) of the Triforce of Power (or its spirit? My Zelda lore is rusty as hell and super limited).

ETA: also, I really appreciate the addition of a pig's nose on Ganon's dragon form. A+, I love it.

#tears of the kingdom

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gina103 · 1 year ago

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Girl From The Belly Ch 4

Ch 4 - word count: 4050 Previous - Next

Cassian needed to see her again.

He needed to find out if the entire encounter with the tiny woman he rescued from Lord Babbledon’s drunk clutches was real, he was beginning to suspect himself of dreaming the whole scenario. If it was all a dream, then Cassian was lonelier and more depressed than he thought. He couldn’t help but feel like it was real, the way her tiny body felt sitting in the palm of his hand, the way she moved so realistically, exactly like a real person except doll sized. It had to be real, right?

Cassian had no idea, no clear answer. All he knew, was that he thought of the woman often. So often in fact, he was distracted from his regular hobbies and royal duties. He would frequently be caught lost in his own world, daydreaming, imagining what he would say to the woman if she ever showed up again, what questions he would ask. Maybe she would never show up again, it wouldn’t surprise Cassian if she turned out to be some kind of angel, destined to never show herself again. He certainly hoped not.

That woman, whoever and whatever she was, fascinated him. Despite her not being more than five inches tall, she was less afraid of him than other people his own size were. All his life, people filtered themselves and never spoke freely around him, not even people his own status. They were either fearful or wanted to gain something from him. Cassian had learnt a long time ago that people were not to be trusted. However, for the first time ever since his mother’s death, he was impressed by someone. That mysterious little woman intrigued him, there was something about her that pulled him in. Maybe it was her wittiness, or her cheeky smile, or the fact that she wasn’t afraid to tease him. Cassian wasn’t used to anyone teasing him, he also wasn’t used to anyone acting so carefree, it was almost intoxicating. He needed to know more. He needed to speak to her again or else it would drive him crazy. He’d been so deprived of enjoyable conversations that he felt desperate to latch on to this woman and never let go, whether she was real or not.

“Cassian! Has your sleep been interrupted as of late? Do pay attention!”

The prince in question snapped out of his daze, caught daydreaming for the fourth or fifth time that day.

“Forgive me, Father,” Cassian replied, catching the annoyed gaze of his fiancée.

It had been a difficult day for the prince to be present for. Now that the engagement festivities were over, the wedding planning was underway, much to the annoyance of Cassian. He simply hated everything around him, he especially hated being where he was at the moment, sitting on a sofa in the King’s study, his fiancé next to him, listening to his father go on and on and on with his advisor about his wedding, the guests, the celebration in the capital, and most horribly of all, the wedding night.

Cassian would rather die than think about the wedding night where he will undoubtedly be expected to consummate the marriage and start popping out heirs as fast as possible. He glanced sideways at the Duchess, she seemed poised and perfectly polite as usual, nodding along to whatever the King let pour from his mouth. It was moments like this where he felt the pang of his mother’s absence. He knew that if she could’ve been present, she would be on his side, and maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so alone, so lost, directionless, ambitionless, and isolated. God, he missed his mother. It was then that Cassian finally checked back into his father’s ramblings.

“I do hope to finally be rid of the pianoforte which resides in the music room. I’m afraid I do not see the use in continuing to pay for its tuning if it’s not regularly played.”

“Forgive me, Father for interrupting, but surely you recall the piano’s most frequent visitor?” Cassian interjected. His mother used to play his favorite pieces on that very pianoforte.

“The Queen is no longer here to play that dusty thing,” The King waved his hand dismissively, “and you, my son, shouldn’t be playing it either. The pianoforte is a woman’s instrument, an unfit occupation for a gentleman.”

Red hot anger coursed through the prince’s body. He couldn’t possibly be serious. How dare he speak about his mother in such a flippant and disgusting manner? His fists clenched at his sides, doing everything they could not to go flying at the King’s face.

“If I may speak, your majesty. I do play quite a lot these days, I’m sure that pianoforte still has its uses,” The duchess spoke up, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“You make a lovely point, your grace. However, even if that were true, I fear it may be too much of a temptation for the prince. He needs to prioritize more productive pursuits, such as his riding, his fencing, and his royal duties.”

Cassian merely sat, unresponsively. It was a normal occurrence for his father to ignore him, to speak about him like he wasn’t in the room, like nothing he said mattered. It made no difference in the outcome whether he protested the pianoforte’s removal or not. His father would simply remove it anyway, and once again prove the point that Cassian’s opinion did not matter in the slightest to him.

“Father, that pianoforte is an important heirloom to-,” he tried to say, but before he could finish his sentence, the King interrupted him with a dismissive “shh!”

“I will not entertain your childish fixations on this matter.”

All of a sudden, it felt as though the room had shrunk, it was hard to breathe properly due to the intense wave of anger and despair that hit Cassian. He said nothing, merely standing to his feet, crossing the room towards the door in brisk strides, and exiting the room. Tears threatened to spring to his eyes as he marched down the hallway, but he wiped them as quickly as they came. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing behind him, followed by hurried and delicate footsteps.

“Your highness!” The voice of the duchess called. The last thing Cassian wanted to hear.

“Your highness, stop!” He ignored her again.

“Cassian!”

The prince stopped in his tracks. He whirled around to see his fiancé standing before him, looking at him almost sympathetically. He wanted to throw up, he despised the superficial pity of others.

“How dare you address me by that name?” He spat.

“Forgive me, your highness,” she bowed, “I only meant to gain your attention.”

Cassian stared at her impatiently, waiting for her to continue.

“His majesty only wishes to see Feywen prosper, I’m sure, your highness, that you are aware of that?” Cassian scoffed at that, “Aside from this matter, we must discuss our marriage.”

“What is there to discuss?” the prince asked, crossing his arms.

“There are many things to discuss,” the duchess replied firmly, “I understand that you may dislike me, but I do hope his highness can put away his personal qualms in time to produce an heir to his throne.”

“Need we speak of heirs before we are even married?”

“You won’t speak to me of anything else!”

Cassian opened his mouth to try and dismiss her again, but she beat him to it.

“You act as if I am the cause of all your misery! We both realize the purpose of this match. I only wish for his highness to stop childishly avoiding his responsibility to his country!”

“You dare refer to me as childish, your grace?” the prince lowered his voice, “I’d advise you to stay out of my way, nothing good happens to those who overstep their boundaries.”

He turned and marched down the hallway out of sight, leaving his future wife alone.

“Insufferable…” She muttered to herself before making her way back to the King’s office.

Lina was almost floating.

Instead of sweeping the floor of the main room, like she’d been told, she was busy humming the beautiful melodies she heard playing at the ball.

The same ball that brought her into the hands of the prince.

Lina twirled around as she swept. Even though the night had gone horribly wrong, from her falling into the cake, to being kidnapped, it had ended in the most fantastically wonderful way. She remembered how hard it was to sneak back into her room and go to sleep as if nothing happened, as if the prince did not make her promise to see him again. Although she didn’t explicitly promise to him, she had every intention of meeting him again. She just had to be careful how she did it.

Even though Lina wanted to run back to him the next day and catapult herself into his hands, she knew she needed to be patient, or else her family would discover her secret. Another day would have to pass before she would meet him again. For Lina, this would be the hardest task in the world. Ever since that fateful night, prince Cassian occupied every thought in her head. How could he not? Lina remembered how it felt to be held by him, his warm calloused hands protectively cradling her to his chest, the amount of strength and care in his touch was almost overwhelming to recall. The way he spoke to her so kindly, asking her if she was hurt, comforting her when she was literally blubbering in his hands.

“Your laugh suits you much better than your tears…”

Just remembering the gentle tone of his voice uttering those words was enough to cause her to squeal. In the past, when she would spy on him, she could never recall seeing the stoic prince smile or be gentle towards anyone. He always seemed very reserved and even cold at times, but he wasn’t like that at all towards herself. His smile was warm, his eyes were alight with genuine curiosity, wonder, and humor. She was rescued by the prince, and he wanted to know her, what more could Lina ask for in life?

Suddenly, the broom she had been using to dance about the room was snatched from her hands. Lina shrieked in surprise at the sight of her sister before her.

“Did you go see the prince again?” Eunice questioned, crossing her arms.

Lina clutched her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“Why would you think that?”

“Lina please, you only act like that when you’ve gone to spy on him.”

“Act like what?” Lina attempted to seem clueless. She had certainly done more than spy on him.

“Like you’re in a fantasy world or something! What did you do this time?” Eunice was losing patience.

Lina fixed her eyes on the floor. “Well, I didn’t exactly go spy on him.”

Eunice stared impatiently, nodding at her sister to continue.

“I went to watch the ball…”

Lina looked up to see her sister pinching her nose bridge in a very frustrated parental manner.

“Why am I not surprised?” Eunice muttered in disappointment, “don’t let mama catch you acting like a fairy princess.”

She handed the broom back to Lina and walked out of the room, sighing loudly as she went.

“Don’t forget we have to babysit for Mrs. Kettle tonight!” Eunice called out.

“I won’t!”

Lina sighed to herself, was she really that obvious?

She really needed to be more careful. She didn’t want to give herself away to her entire family. At least it was only Eunice who had seen her dancing around. Being secretive would certainly be a challenge for Lina, she was horrible at keeping secrets. Whatever she was thinking or feeling in a given moment was always reflected directly onto her face and body language in an almost exaggerated manner. This habit had certainly gotten her in trouble throughout her life. This, combined with her honest and passionate way of speaking, gained her a reputation as a loudmouth, headstrong, and stubborn girl.

If you were a woman in The Belly, that reputation was a recipe for spinsterhood. Nobody wanted to marry a woman who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

It wasn’t like Lina cared about being marriage material in The Belly, that was something Eunice and her mother worried about far more than she did. It was an unfortunate issue to stress over in Lina’s mind because the pool of men to choose from in their community was filthy. All the young men were simple, sloppy, rude, entitled, and incredibly selfish. Although she understood her own mother’s desire to see her married, it was almost insulting to oneself to choose. Lina compared it to having to sift through garbage. This problem is also the precise reason why Lina would prefer to never be married.

In her mind, the prince was the only man who could even measure up to her standards. If he was a borrower, Lina would have married him faster than it took Mrs. Acorn to spread a rumor. It was a real shame that he had to be human. Interactions with humans were forbidden, unheard of, and punishable by exile in The Belly. It was absolutely imperative that nobody was to find out about her little run-in with the prince, less she be exiled to who-knows-where, never to see her family again.

Although she knew about this very heavy risk, Lina had to see Prince Cassian again. Was it stupid? Irresponsible? Risky? Yes. Was she still going to do it? Of course.

Following rules wasn’t exactly her style.

The next day brought more wedding planning, arguments, and misery for Cassian.

This time however, he at least tried to be involved. He spoke to his future wife more, and finally remembered her first name, Andrea. He discussed names for their future children, and he did his best to be civil towards his father, whom the duchess was finally able to convince to keep the beloved pianoforte the late Queen used to play.

Through all his fake politeness and civilities, Cassian couldn’t stop thinking about that fateful engagement ball, where he rescued that miniscule woman. By now, he’d concluded that he was having a very intense hallucination due to his stressed and exhausted state that night.

It was almost tormenting him that he never learned her name, which was very strange for Cassian who had just now begun consistently recalling the name of his future wife. There had simply never been anyone he’d met who had left such an impression on him, but he’d never met anyone who was the size of his hand either, nor had he held them, or spoken to them, or laughed with them, or felt as strangely drawn to them as he did that woman.

As he sat in his private study, dipping his quill into the ink, and writing in his journal, he did his best to recall the entire encounter in detail. Cassian figured that if it was all an elaborate dream or hallucination, it would be beneficial to put it into writing. Maybe this would be a fantastic bedtime story for his future children. It would be like the stories his mother used to tell him, about fairies and mythical creatures of the forest, complete with life lessons geared towards children at the end.

In Cassian’s case, he had no idea what the lesson could be. What lesson could be learned from rescuing a miniscule woman? Maybe the story didn’t stop there, it wasn’t finished yet.

The cool nighttime breeze from the open window blew softly over the pages of the journal, flickering the flames from the lit candles. The fireplace crackled and popped in the quiet room, blanketing Cassian’s mind in tranquility, warmth, and fondness as he remembered all the simple details of that fateful night. Like the fact that the mystery woman was almost caked in chocolate, and when he gently wiped her tears away with his handkerchief, there was a brown splotch left on it from the chocolate frosting. Cassian smiled to himself. Although she had clearly been through a traumatic and stressful situation, the mystery woman still smiled as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and for that, he admired her. She was so different from anyone he knew.

Cassian could recall the King becoming enraged when the napkins on the dinner table were not arranged in the correct way he would have liked. Or that time he was forced to attend a coming-of-age ball for a distant cousin of his, where many other royals and noble families were in attendance. Just remembering the slimy smiles of the people who bowed and greeted him, who then turned around to scream at a footman for no reason, made his lip curl in disgust. They lashed out over the most superficial and unremarkable things.

There was just so much about the mystery woman that he didn’t know, that he wished he knew, or wished he asked, it was a shame that he would most likely never know the answers to all his questions for her.

Cassian put his quill back in the inkpot and closed his journal. Slowly, he rose to his feet, crossed the room and stood in front of the fireplace. Almost hypnotized by the dancing flames, he closed his eyes and listened to the crackles and pops emitted by it, letting the warmth of the fire drape him in peace.

Tinkle* Tinkle*

He opened his eyes in confusion. Silence. Instead of turning around, he closed his eyes again.

Tinkle* Tinkle*

What was that noise?

Cassian turned around only to freeze in his place when he saw it.

When he saw her.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing on top of his desk, his journal open, struggling to write something with his quill which looked humongous compared to her, was the mystery woman. He watched her huff and puff with his quill a moment longer, scratching something onto the paper of his journal before he said something.

“It’s you…” Cassian said breathlessly, an excited smile creeping onto his face.

The woman’s face snapped out of concentration mode to notice Cassian standing there watching her. A wide grin broke out on her face.

“Good evening, your highness,” She dipped her head in a slight bow.

“What are you doing?” he asked amusedly, walking slowly back to his desk.

“Oh nothing, just leaving a message…” The woman grunted as she attempted to write.

Cassian took a glance at his journal. She had written an A, a d, and seemed to be writing another a as well. He sat down, folded his arms together on the desk, and rested his head on them. The woman turned and shot him a fake annoyed look.

“Are you not going to help me?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I was under the impression that you were self-sufficient,” Cassian shrugged. He reached out and lifted the quill from her grasp, hearing her gasp a little from the sudden intrusion of his hand.

“What do you need me to write?” he asked, leaning closer to the desk so he could hear her better.

He saw her tiny freckled cheeks go slightly pink before she started to spell the word she was writing. Eventually, he ended up with something. A name.

Adalina.

Cassian’s eyes widened in realization. “Is this your name?” he asked.

Her smile widened in glee as she nodded. “I go by Lina, your highness.”

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, “my apologies for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Cassian.”

“I’m aware of your name,” She stuck out her tiny arm, still smiling from ear to ear, “pleased to make your acquaintance.”

How was this woman so smiley? Cassian didn’t know, but it was certainly contagious, and he felt himself smiling back at her.

Lina. That name suited her.

He reached out and carefully grasped her hand in between his pointer finger and thumb. While he shook it as gently as possible, he marveled at the sensation of her microscopic digits. He could feel every individual one against his own fingers. He let go, still taking in her appearance.

“I must admit, it is wonderful to see you no longer covered in chocolate,” he mused.

“Oh yes!” Lina replied sheepishly, “may I ask you to erase that memory from your head?”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Cassian opened his journal to the entry about her, “I’ve written it down right here.”

“You wrote about me?” Her expression was one of genuine surprise.

“Well of course. It’s not everyday that one runs into a woman the size of one’s hand,” Cassian held up his hand next to her for comparison.

For a split second, her expression turned grave. Worried he may have made her uncomfortable, he quickly added, “I can rid of the entry if you wish.”

“Oh no! It’s alright!” Lina said, snapping out of her trance, “You can keep it! I just want to ask something. Will you please keep it a secret that I’m here?”

“I give you my word,” he said earnestly, “however, even if I were to read this journal out loud for the whole kingdom, I doubt there would be a single soul who would believe me.”

Lina cocked her head to the side slightly at the almost bitter tone in his voice. He noticed the splay of freckles running across her face, made clear to him by the flickering golden light of the fireplace. Cassian quickly corrected himself.

“Never mind that. Why has it taken so long for you to make yourself known to me?” he propped his elbow on his desk, resting his chin on his hand.

Lina let out an amused laugh. “Your highness, it has been four days.”

“Four days too long.”

“I didn’t realize you would miss me so much.”

And there it was, that cheeky, gleeful smile was back. Was she some kind of impish, wingless fairy? He was envious at the amount of joy she held.

“I was worried I had dreamt the entire thing.”

Cassian’s other hand was resting on the desk. She moved closer to it, resting her own miniscule hand on top of one of his knuckles.

“Does this feel like a dream?” she asked, locking eyes with him. Her eyes were hazel, they reminded him of a beautiful sunset.

“No,” Cassian said. He was utterly mesmerized.

“What about this?” She draped her body across the back of his hand.

“No,” He could even feel the soft wisps of her auburn hair on his knuckle. He felt goosebumps erupt on his arms. Thanking the universe that she couldn’t see that, he leaned down.

“May I?”

Lina rose and nodded.

Cassian took his time. Taking her hand in between his pointer finger and thumb, he gently caressed it, feeling every little digit beneath his fingers. Then slowly, he moved upwards, grazing his thumb along her arm. Before he knew it, he had reached her shoulder, then he slowly began caressing her back. Lina leaned back more and more into his hand until he was holding her around the waist. She looked completely blissful, her eyes were closed. He gently began playing with her hair as well, just marveling at her. She was so small, so fragile, and she trusted him. It blew his mind how she was even alive.

Knock* Knock*

Cassian quickly let go of Lina and sprang up.

“W-who goes there?” he asked in a fluster.

“Mr. Cutlet, your highness.”

Cassian sighed in exasperation, marched over to the door, and opened it halfway. He stared expectantly at the butler.

“Correspondence from your fiancée for his highness,” the butler held out a letter for him.

The duchess had traveled back to her home country to visit her family for a time, she must have sent word of her safe arrival. Cassian snatched the letter from Mr. Cutlet.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, shutting the door.

When Cassian turned back around, a pang of sadness struck him.

Lina was gone.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he could only hope that she would visit again soon.

And he certainly couldn’t wait for it.

#g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #sfw g/t #g/t fluff #the borrowers #giant/tiny #borrowers #oc: cassian #oc: lina #oc: eunice #oc: idris #Giant/Tiny #g/t original story #g/t ocs

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