#american radio can be SLOW

[xcziel]

some anon somewhere submitted an ask about hey like crazy has been charting for more than a full year now, even in the us - do you think they might make a push for radio after all this time?

and i wanted to yell but it's someone else's blog like

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING FOR AGES

sorry

but like this is how american radio works sometimes y'all

like crazy literally WAS played on the radio last week!!!

on a kpop specific show yeah, but if people flooded the show/station with support with the same fervor that they stream or spam twitter then it's entirely possible for u.s. radio to collectively decide to pull their head out of their ass

the fact that rm is getting sent to radio and now he and jimin are doing joint promo that points to jimin receiving *future* company radio support just makes it even more likely

it would be too cool if fans took advantage and slammed radio with requests for like crazy and got it on the air BEFORE jimin's second album comes out is all i'm saying

[reidmania]

hello!! ok so, i was wondering if i could request a fic that is based around autumn/ october/ halloween because spencer loves spooky season and i fuck with that, anyway, so could you tie that detail into smth kinda like your “everywhere everything” fic fluff wise because i went feral for that one lmao. feel free to ignore if youre not up to it, but i’d love to read what youve got if you do write this. 💙

EVERYWHERE EVERYTHING | spencer reid

part one, part two

summary; spending the week before halloween & going to the pumpkin patch with Spencer in your home town.

warnings; pure love sick fluff, talks about home towns, established relationships, fem reader, halloween, mentions of driving, rushed ending sorry!!

an; i decided to make this request a part two to the everywhere everything fic bc the next verse just fits so well i think?? but it can be read without reading the first part. and that whole song feels like love in autumn!!

im also australian and we dont celebrate halloween like americans do, ive never been to a pumpkin patch so please bare w me during this.

'Drive slowly, I know every route in this county, maybe that ain't such a bad thing I'll tell you where not to speed. It's been a long year and all of our book's pages dog-eared We write out the ends on our palms, dear. Then forget to read, we didn't know that the sun was collapsing 'Til the seas rose and the buildings came crashing. We cried, "Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh" Everywhere, everything, I wanna love you 'til we're food for the worms to eat 'Til our fingers decompose Keep my hand in yours'

"Slow down" You huffed out as Spencer turned down a road you knew all to well, it was familiar and came with a sense of home in place. It was the same road you remembered your father being pulled over everytime for speeding, the same road you had been pulled over on when you had first gotten your licence.

Spencer did as you told him, after sitting in the car with you for an hour mumbling about where was and wasn't safe to go a little faster than the speed limit, he knew to listen. This was your home, you knew it better than he would.

He even refrained from correcting some of your 'fun facts' abot your home town. Purely because listening to your excitement while talking about it made his heart too happy to say anything.

"You know we have gone past about three different pumpkin patches on the way" Spencer asked, raising his eyebrow softly as his head turned from the road to look at you for a moment before turning back to the road.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile taking place over your lips. “Yes, but, this one’s the best. We are literally two minutes away. Please don’t complain.” You muttered with a smile.

The air between the two of you was warm. It lingered with peace and quiet love, the sort that didn’t need to be shouted from a roof top because it was whispered through the way Spencer’s hands reached to grab yours, the way his eyes danced between you and the road, the way the music playing was what you enjoyed rather than the normal radio he would let play in the background.

It didn’t need to be shouted because it was whispered through the way Spencer’s face lit up when he parked the car and looked out the window, the way he turned back to you with just about the widest grin you think ever possible, the way he leant in to place a gentle kiss against your forehead before he got out, walking around the car to open the door for you.

“Pretty right?” You grinned up at him as his eyes took over the scene, the leaves that covered the ground around your feet all the prettiest shades of orange and yellow, the scent of cinnamon filling the air around you, as patches and patches of pumpkins laid in front of you, all surrounded by a brown picket fence.

He just placed another kiss on your the top of your head, clasping his hand with yours, fingers interlinked between one another. The smile on his face and look in his eyes said more about his excitement than words possibly good — so you didn’t mind the lack of response as you began walking towards the patches.

“I wanna find the biggest one.” You mumbled out, looking around the large patches. There was families, friends, other couples surrounding you but your focus was on nothing but Spencer, and finding the biggest possible pumpkin.

Spencer snorted as he looked up at from patches, to look at you. He took in how you looked curled into one of his knitted sweaters, arms wrapped around your torso in order to shield you from the autumn breeze.

“I think that kid just took the biggest one”

You furrowed your eyebrows and spun your body to look behind you to where a kid was walking — To be fair the pumpkin his dad was holding was pretty big, but the smile on the kids face when he jumped around holding hands with his mum made you not mind so much.

“Well.. I’ll get the second biggest” You settled. Spencer smiled as he shook his head, tugging you slightly closer by your hand to pull you into his chest. His hand left yours as his arms came to rest around your waist.

You laughed, as your hands came up to his upper back and the back of his head gently. The two of you swayed side to side for a moment. “Happy?” You asked, silly question. You could feel it radiating off of him.

He pulled his head away to press his forehead against yours, his nose knocking yours lightly as he scrunched up his face for a moment, before pulling back to look down at your face. His lip quipped up into a soft smile. “Very.”

You lean back, his hands moving to hold onto your hips as his thumb slipped up under your sweater, his sweater. His thumb ran small circles over the skin in place. Your smile widened, heart exploding as your skin burnt under the cold of his fingertips.

“Come on, I want to find the perfect pumpkin. We should have a pumpkin carving competition this year, that would be so much fun” You rambled as you pulled away from his touch to walk around the lines and lines of pumpkins.

He laughed, “We should.” He agreed softly, because why would he ever deny you what you wanted, especially something to do with halloween.

He watched as you bent down to run your fingertips run gently along one of the pumpkins in the row: It was a decent size and probably would be simply to carve since he knew your mind was now hyper-fixated on the idea of pumpkin carving instead of finding the biggest possible pumpkin.

“Actually- Did you know each year 150 million dollars is made from pumpkins, and 98 percent of that is from people who purchase them to make jack-o’-lanterns, and 46% of amercia—”

“How many is that?” You cut off as you look up at him from where you were leant down to look at the pumpkins. He smiled.

“A hundred and fifty four million” He answered without even having to think about it. It never failed to stun you. You hummed allowing him to continue on telling you his facts.

“So 46 percent — Or A hundred and fifty four million people, in America make jack-o-lanterns every year. During Halloween the most reason for injury is actually because of pumpkin carving.” He stated.

You stood up, a soft smile on your face as you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Well maybe people should be more careful. I’ve never gotten an injury while carving a pumpkin” You hummed out.

He snorted, taking your hand gently. “Have you ever carved a pumpkin?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

You gasped, “Yes- Actually!! I have.” You said, your voice an octave higher than normally. He smiled, nodding his head in disbelief which only caused you to shake your own.

The rest of the day consisted of you and Spencer walking around the pumpkin patch, making jokes and laughing with one another, you even tried a pumpkin, cinnamon cookie from a stand nearby.. Safe to say you weren’t too fond of it.

But you were fond of the way Spencer’s eyes shone in a different sort of way when the two of you finally picked out a pumpkin each, the way his mood seemed unwavering during the fall season.

You loved him, and you loved halloween.

[candied-boys]

📻Country Radio Themed Prompt List🐎

Y'all, it's rodeo season and I'm havin' a hot cowgirl summer!

I know there are at least a few of us out here who love a little small town, texas two-step, roll in the hay, tailgate party, coffee with a sunrise, dusty boots and sundresses kinda slow life. I know I can't stop putting my favs in situations whenever I listen to country music and I hope y'all hop on the bandwagon and join me for my first creation challenge!

So round up your fav cowboys and giddy up, gurl! We ride 'til the end of September! Radio playlists below👇

FAQ:

Can I submit something I already created if it fits the vibe?

HELL YEAH! Old content that fits the theme in anyway and new creations are all welcome! (Honestly even if it doesn't fit any of the prompts, I'll take any country content I can get so please reblog your works and tag me!)

How can I write for the country genre if I'm not familiar with it?

Don't sweat it! If you vibe with anything here that's more than enough! I tried to pick lyrics with a variety of themes - family, love, coming of age, angst, bad boys/girls etc. They all centre around a sense of connection and relationships - universally human themes.

We're all here playing games that locate the characters inside cultures outside of Japan and we're here writing for cultures outside our own when writing for these games, so don't be shy! Just let yourself have fun.

What should I do with lyrics?

Use the prompts however you like; Any and all types of content submissions are welcome — writing, drabbles, head canons, drawing, mood boards, playlists, whatever makes you say, "Hell yeah!"

Examples: You could use the lyrics directly as quotes, indirectly as the premise for the art. Anything! You could incorporate the lyrics from the rest of the song. There are a ton of great lines/ideas in the rest of each song. You're not restricted to these quotes. I just picked ones that speak to me or have a strong image. If you vibe with it and it inspires you, go for it!

What fandoms can I use with these prompts?

Any suitors from games by CYBIRD (Ikepri, Ikevamp, Ikerev, MidCin, Ikevil, Ikesen, Ikegen, Morganatic Idol, ANYTHING)

What kind of content is allowed?

Sfw, nsfw, dark, angst, fluff, suitor x suitor, selfship, oc x suitor — anything is fine. I only ask that you use Tumblr’s built-in content label system to mark content as mature when appropriate. Use tags and warnings as you see necessary.

What tags should I use?

#CountryRadioCC

please at me @candied-boys so I can add your work to a masterlist

Playlists:

Lyrics:

Heart Like A Truck - Lainey Wilson

I got a hankering for four wide tires

And I can't help it, it's the way I'm wired

'Fore you get too close

Boy, you need to know

Turn - Tyler Hubbard

The way she turns 501s into long, tan legs

She can turn a bad day around like she turns those heads

She can turn one little look into turnin' me on

Five more minutes into all night long

Fishin' in the Dark - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

And it don't matter if we sit forever

And the fish don't bite

Jump in the river and cool ourselves

From the heat of the night

I Grew Up On A Farm - The Reklaws

Why I gotta watch the sunrise

Job ain't ever done till it's done right

I'll tell you what makes me cry about a steel guitar

And why I gotta work so hard

Dirt Cheap - Cody Johnson

That little girl that used to swing right there

I still see her pink bow in her brown hair

Runnin' up after one of them long days

A big smile makin' every little worry fade

Use Me - Dallas Smith

I'll let you go like I always do

Won't hurt as bad 'cause I always knew

That I was just a chapter, no happily-ever-after

Old Dirt Roads - Owen Riegling

Come and find me down where the treeline ends

And the cattails grow

We can be free, livin' our dreams out

Singin' to the radio

American Kids - Kenny Chesney

Sister's got a boyfriend Daddy doesn't like

Now he's sittin' out back, 3030 in his lap

In the blue bug zapper light

Fast Car - Luke Combs

Won't have to drive too far

Just across the border and into the city

And you and I can both get jobs

Finally see what it means to be living

Long Hot Summer - Keith Urban

I wanna see your brown skin shimmer

In the sun for the first time

I gotta be the one who knows just what to do to you

To get me that smile

I Like It, I Love It - Tim McGraw

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear

Cowgirls - Morgan Wallen

And she got a cold heart but she got a warm smile

Cut from the same cloth, she kinda buck-wild

Little bit angel, whole lotta outlaw

She's trouble but I'll tell you right now, y'all

A banner for y'all:

Adorable horse dividers by @/plum98

[pyrrhocorax]

Re: Sweden, Norway, and Denmark's Japanese dialects in Hetalia (and potential implications to their characterization) (with briefer notes about Fin and Ice)

Thanks to @nordickies for being the spark that lit the fire to write this post. This information also personally has informed some of my personal takes on the Nordic 5 for over a decade now, so I hope it is useful. A lot of this was more common knowledge back in the livejournal days of the fandom.

Disclaimer: my Japanese is limited and by no means do I claim to fully understand all of the cultural complexities surrounding this topic. I will try, where I can, to back up my claims with at least somewhat credible sources especially since I am someone who is not Japanese in origin either ethnically or culturally, however I DO know more than the average person would because I have lived in Japan, was exposed from my practical birth to the culture and language waaay more than is typical due to me living overseas, and I have studied the language on an elementary level in several academic settings. I am by no means an expert (I am a wildlife biologist by trade), but all of this is done in good faith, and if you do know more than me (especially since I am limited in my ability to get access to academic texts right now — nor am I going far out of my way to find those, as this is a meta post about Hetalia of all things and I am not going to do a whole giant thesis about this for one post), feel free to correct me and/or send me further resources, as I want to convey as accurate of information I can as possible. Part of my motivation for making this post was to spur conversation and hopefully have others who know more than me contribute to the ongoing conversation, to which, I encourage those who read this post to check the notes for any further updates. Another note that I also do not originate from a Nordic country, so there may also be additional layers people from those countries may be able to add. Thanks! Let's begin.

*********************************************************** Like several characters in Hetalia, the Viking Trio speak in unique Japanese dialects that further make them distinct and characterize them in Japanese. Sweden speaks in a Touhoku dialect, Norway in the Tsugaru dialect (which is a specific type of Touhoku dialect), and Denmark speaks in Ibaraki dialect. The Ibaraki dialect is sometimes seen as belonging to the Touhoku dialect group or the Kantou dialect group, and the classification is debated. Generally, Touhoku accents are characterized by slow speech, the slurring of words together, and the muttering of words — as well as being associated with rural country folk (Kumagi 2011, direct PDF download). This dialect is often translated into English as a redneck/hick accent and drawling speech — and as those who speak it are often characterized or stereotyped as unintelligent folks from out in the sticks. Kumagi cites Inoue (1977) as saying that Touhoku dialects are "degraded at the bottom in the Japanese language" scoring low on "intelligence and emotion-related associations." One American English rough equivalent (not localized, but in terms of reputation in U.S. culture) by my best estimations would likely be Appalachian dialects, which are also stereotypically characterized as being a hillbilly, unintelligent, and rural accent also featuring drawled speech and often truncated speech (source). Like many Touhoku dialect speakers in Japan, Appalachian dialect speakers often hide, mask, or reduce their accent, especially if they relocate someplace outside Appalachia, in order to seem more credible to others, as it is generally seen as an “inferior�� dialect of American English in the wider culture (personal/family lived experience, but also a good radio piece on it here). The other way Touhoku dialects are translated in media are as Upper Midwest or Northern Plains dialects of American English (not the most credible source, but a lot that is on here that I can confirm to be correct). This characterization is likely a more accurate candidate for the Nordics (and may be why Hima chose this dialect group for them), as many immigrants from Nordic countries settled in the Upper Midwest/Northern Plains (source, personal experience living in this region for a lot of my life). Touhoku dialects are also a more northern dialect group, which geographically coincides with the Nordics being, well, northerners!

(Map of Touhoku dialects regionally) I have not been able to find any information re: if Sweden speaks any particular type of Touhoku dialect (or if it is more broad), but I will talk a bit about how his speech was transliterated in early scanlations before moving on to the other two. Because of how slurred/more truncated/less intelligible Touhoku accents generally are (and remember, Den/Nor/Ice did not make their appearance until well after Swe/Fin did!), likely early translators decided to chop off letters/make Sweden's speech seem less intelligible in order to convey that to readers. Unlike Norway and Denmark, Sweden also often speaks in shorter sentences/phrases in Japanese, and given that Finland canonically says "it's just hard to communicate with him" (see Running Away with Mr. Sve) that is also likely why early Hetalia scanlators before official translations of the comics were available (note: god this is making me feel old as hell) made the decision to give him the speech patterns that they did, and that ended up spreading through the fandom. When the other Nordics with their regional dialects dropped, given how Sweden’s vocal trait got translated into English and then fandom ran with it to varying degrees of intelligibility, I think the decision was made to not translate Norway the same way to cause less trouble in fanworks, while the Ibaraki dialect did influence how Denmark was translated (more on that below.

Norway speaks in a very particular Touhoku-family dialect within the series that is generally not well-reflected outside of the source material at all. The Tsugaru dialect is spoken in the northwest part of the country, specifically in the western part of Aomori Prefecture — Tsugaru dialect is a particularly unusual dialect, even by Japanese dialect standards, by being one of the most difficult dialects in Japan to understand (source). Even within Japan itself, people speaking this dialect often have to be subtitled on television for other Japanese audiences to understand, and there have been occasions where the dialect has been displayed on television to marvel at how strange and unintelligible it sounds to other Japanese speakers. Sometimes speakers of this dialect have been characterized (or mischaracterized for comedic effect) as French in Japanese because the odd sound and unintelligability of the dialect (source). Kumagi (2011) also states that "[...] within the Tohoku [alternate transliteration of Touhoku] dialects, Aomori [prefecture in which Tsugaru is spoken] dialect is at the bottom [of the hierarchy]," meaning that even among the already disrespected Touhoku dialects, Tsugaru belongs to the worst of the bunch in terms of reputability and respectability in Japanese perceptions. The Tsugaru dialect is a source of fascination, comedy, and disrepute/low standing all at the same time. While we don’t know why Hima selected Norway to have this dialect, I have a few proposals. First, this gives him a similar flavor to the other members of the Viking Trio while keeping him distinct — while Ibaraki is a more southern dialect geographically (for the region), Tsugaru is spoken both more north and more west than it. So if you map their dialects out on a map, their geographical location to each other also somewhat resembles their actual locations as nations to each other in the Nordics! Which is neat!

Second, Hima characterizes Norway has being slightly otherworldly and unusual largely due to his fairy-friends and such. But I also think that he likely chose Tsugaru for him not only because that makes him seem like he’s out of this world, but also because Japan is kind of fascinated by that dialect in particular despite not holding it in high regards by it too — sure, it is a hick accent, but it is an interesting hick accent. I think the fact that Japanese speakers sometimes liken the dialect to French is interesting specifically because of how Japanese people often view the French — French culture something that is often romanticized and idealized, and given how Tsugaru dialect can sound French-ish to Japanese speakers, that may be why Norway is kind of designed as the “pretty boy” of the trio by the fandom? In the same way that “Paris Syndrome” is a thing, where Japanese who go to France are often shocked at how their idealized version of France does not live up to the realities of the country (trust me it's real there is a wikipedia page lol), I think you can argue that in-universe Norway can be seen in a lot of different ways depending on the preconceived notions of how you view the dialect. If you view it as French-like and think it sounds interesting, you may find it alluring/beautiful. If you think it is crass, you'll look at it with disdain and disgust. If you think it just sounds silly and stupid, it is. If you think it is nostalgic (as Kumagi states that this is the only positive association this dialect has) and has a close association with nature/pastoral life because of that, it is. I think Norway in canon is characterized on all four of those axioms at the same time (if you really wanna pull canon receipts I will at another time) which makes this make a lot of sense to me as to why that dialect was chosen for him. Third, I think that given Norway was largely the worst off of the three kingdoms for most of history, it makes sense to give him the worst accent in terms of reputation/status out of all of them, too. Note: specifically, re: how Norway uses "brother" in Japanese is also interesting when referring to Denmark. What he is saying is "anko" (あんこ), which literally means "young man/eldest son" directly translated and is specifically only used to mean that in northern Japanese dialects. A good way to put it is it is like people in the U.S. use "bro" as a catch-all term for a similar-aged guy you are trying to get the attention of kind of informally, in the same way you can say "nii-san" to both mean "older brother" and also "guy who seems older than me I am addressing informally" I guess?? Funnily enough, which I didn't know until researching shit, it apparently also means bottom (homosexual) in prison slang??? Which may or may not be intentional I guess on Hima's part, and could also influence your characterization of Norway as a result. Finally we move on to Denmark. The Ibaraki dialect is characterized by number of things, but for our purposes I think that the two most important traits are the general lack of polite speech and the slightly faster rate of speech (unfortunately, my only written sources I can point to are wikipedia and TV tropes again, but I have heard this orally from someone a long time ago - I looked for more credible sources but couldn't find any easily). Because of it being debated as to whether or not is a true Touhoku dialect or if it is actually a Kantou (more southern/eastern) dialect, I think you can also argue that makes sense given Denmark is kind of the "gateway" into the heart of Europe geographically. People have generally translated this as him being excitable and more casual in the way he communicates to other people. I have been able to find less resources on this particular dialect and how it is perceived culturally, so I will sadly have to leave it at that, but from my understanding he is generally translated appropriately in the manga from what I have seen, with the -in' instead of -ing and ya instead of you to have it seem more relaxed/familiar/casual.

Final notes on Finland and Iceland: I cannot confirm this personally, but from what I can hear from Finland, it sounds like he speaks pretty standard Japanese to me, but take that with a grain of salt since I am not the expert here. Which, dialect-wise, places him as the odd person out (which fits with Finnish being the linguistic outgroup of the five) and also puts him as the relatable “stand in” for Japanese people learning about the Nordics — reminder he is the one who introduces them all in that one comic (see The Nordic 5+a) and even earlier comics (see Running Away with Mr. Sve), and we’re viewing the Nordics from largely his perspective). Since Finland in this series is largely characterized (and often deemed a poor stereotype by Finns) because of the Japanese perspective on Finland/Finns, it makes a lot of sense Hima used him kind of as a self-insert for Japanese readers/viewers to understand the Nordics from, as of the Nordic nations, Japanese folks are likely going to have the strongest familiarity/connection to Finland because of the Moomins. Please take the following information about Iceland with heaping grains of salt, but from a memory, I believe he also speaks the Tsugaru dialect, at least some of the time???? This makes sense he shares the Tsugaru dialect with Norway, as he’s Norway’s in-canon sibling, but I have a vague memory of a meta post I cannot 100% confirm or deny exists re: him only speaking the dialect/the dialect coming out more when he’s alone?? This following is speculation since I cannot confirm/deny that right now with my current abilities, but if it is true, would also be an interesting level to his character and make sense — it puts further distance between him and Norway if he purpsefully doesn’t speak the same way as his brother when his brother is present, and it also is reminiscent of my own experience living with people with discriminated accents who then mask their “less desirable” dialects in their teens/20s so they don’t get discriminated against as they move up in the world. Kumagi (2011) states that "Therefore, young female native speakers of Tohoku [alternate transliteration] dialects feel ashamed of their dialects and hesitate to speak them in big cities such as Tokyo. They are made to feel inferiority complex about their dialects, which are stigmatized as unfeminine". Since Iceland is very much characterized as a teen in canon, I think that this makes sense to do in the broader context of Hima’s choices. The specific reason as to why I state that I believe he speaks Tsugaru some of the time but not always is because there are some panels he speaks without it and some where he does seem to have an accent (HWS Chapter 112, relevant screencap below, this is the only time he speaks like this from what I can find in scanlations/translations, but it has to be a deliberate choice). Would love more info on this from someone who knows more about Japanese than I can do.

Again, please check the original post and/or notes for any future additions that I will add/edit accordingly (with notes as to where/when that happened) if any other relevant information surfaces, but I hope that was at least a little informative and interesting to read. I consulted a bunch of other resources too (read a bunch of papers I could find online), but a lot of those I read several months ago and no longer can find :x otherwise I would list them here.

Let me know if there are any typos/things are unclear, b/c holy shit this took a lot more effort and time for me to write up than I thought it was going to, and I am too tired to proofread it after spending several days on it. X_X

[court-jobi]

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore. 

[heli0s-writes]

forget your perfect offering*

summary: Captain America hasn’t been home in years and it’s turned him into something a little lost, a little broken.

a/n: Hi hi!! Guess who's back on the Nomad Steve angst/smut train after 5 months??? 3k words. Please stop reading if you're not 18+ This is very Clumsy adjacent.

--

Captain America hasn’t been home in years and it’s turned him into something a little lost, a little broken. Going dark on the United States government when it’s put a price on your head will do that, he supposes. He’s even picked up a new habit of flinching at shadows despite maneuvering in them for eternity.

Not eternity, but he’s dramatic and full throttle. Never once learned that some things can be half-measures, can be compromised on. He’s got his handful of soldiers—friends— and he can’t forget that they’re friends because soldiers are pawns and friends are crucial.

Back then, he was just a newly reanimated statuette, a votive figurine to justice rendered flesh and bone and so damn brittle. And how could he believe it would last? The entire thing fell apart within a few years—a team scattered to pieces; an entire nation’s vision discarded on the side of the road.

A lot of Americans are angry with him for that, and most days he tries not to be angry at himself, which is stupid according to you and Sam and Nat. But being angry at propaganda and history and circumstances is too intangible to do much with, so at least being angry with himself means he can kneel into a fight, leave too little in the tank for the trip back, find a way to be punished for his transgressions.

He’d always been reckless, but it’s becoming a flag much to red to ignore.

You tell him he’s got a death wish. Plain and simple: keep it up and you’ll die, and nothing more, leaving the jet ride in silence, everyone averting their eyes. But he just wipes the blood out of his mouth and says, “Hasn’t seemed to work out for me yet.”

Back at the house—the house, not his house, or anybody’s house, certainly not a home in its unremarkable exterior, interior, living spaces cobbled together with rickety, mismatched furniture and chipped ceramic kitchenware—he returns to his book. Sinks himself into the reading nook and opens it up to a page he’s been pretending to pay attention to.

Natasha showers first, Sam crashes into his bed face-down, and you linger by the old T.V., poking at the adjacent radio.

“Hey, death boy.”

He looks up, startled. “Death boy?”

“Yeah,” you grin, glancing over your shoulder. “Death boy. Your new superhero name.”

You say it breezily, eyes half-mast because it’s been a real dog-shit kind of day and even Steve can hardly focus.

Sam’s dead to the world and Nat’s going on 30 minutes under water, so it’s a fair estimate to say that it’s to the point where he can feel how powered-down his brain is, and that if he tries to speak more than three phrases at a time, it’ll hardly make any damn sense. Or, inevitably, make matters worse.

He tries for controlled, comes out not so much. “It’s a little morbid, don’t you think?”

You gasp, scandalized. “Silly me, you haven’t been morbid at all recently. Gosh, it’s not like you were trying to get gutted—he was swinging so wide and slow, how could I think you’d manage dodging in time?” You clasp your hands over your mouth dramatically, “How could I suggest—”

“That’s enough.” Steve pinches his nose-bridge with one hand and closes the book with the other. He’s going to drown himself in the bathtub when Natasha’s finished—go drama—but he’s grinning a little bit, not dumb enough to hide when he’s been caught out.

You punch a button on the radio, tune it to a station that’s only slightly screeching with interference. There’s a discernible piano melody but he doesn’t know the song. You tap along, feeling out the rhythm, and then you cast your eyes to the reading nook he’s crushed into before pointing at the middle of the floor.

For all his miserable ruminating he always forgets to account for you at the end of the day, standing there and waiting for him like he’s got any choice. He declares all sorts of bullshit about how making the right decision can feel like no decision at all when it’s inherently justified; reason should feel like reflex, ethics an extension. But lately, the only reflex he’s felt is closer to vanishing.

He’s disappearing from view a little more each night, reduced to a crumbling idol of an endangered faith because humanity’s stopped believing in him and part of him is following the same course. He’s become an old relic chipped away in the flow of time, and some days he’d rather just be good and gone.

Keep it up and you’ll die.

Part of him already has. Part of him’s already in the ground.

“Come on,” you say with a surprising amount of patience, eyes soft and hand extended. “Are you gonna get up or am I gonna have to drag your ass again?”

The song is plunking away, cutting in and out intermittently, notes quivering on scratches of static. Nat’s started to dry her hair, the sound like a tornado alarm trapped in a bathroom but it’s persistent, fighting the wailing blow-dryer for an audience. She’s probably freezing cold because the house’s water heater is shoddy at best and Sam can fix that but he’s been exhausted lately and no one’s going to complain because they’ve never complained about their situation-- not once.

He bites down, frowns a little deeper, but then he’s on his feet, giving chase like you could take him somewhere whole and unbroken. Somewhere he’s been craving for. His hands around your waist are careful, resting his chin on top of your head as you nuzzle in.

He asks through gritted teeth, “Listening for a heartbeat?”

“I know where your heart is.”

He’s so goddamn maudlin, can’t stop the bitterness from lashing out. “Where’s that?”

“With us, death boy. With me.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, dismissive and very, very rude of him, but he’s on a roll and won’t be appeased. You lazily read the lines of his face with stunned eyes, then touch your nose to his bearded chin as you lean up.

You stroke his scalp, spinning the feathery ends of his long hair. “You want to be hurt so bad, don’t you?” Your nails rake down the length of his strong neck. “Is that what you’re used to? Is it more comfortable that way?”

“Enough,” he murmurs faintly, but makes no move to push you away, only stepping in time, rocking along. When your hand tightens into a fist to pull at him, he bites down, shuts his eyes. You do it again, harder, and then let go, letting your fingers spread at the base of his skull, cradling it like a child.

“You want to be beaten within an inch of your life, want to be pried open so you can check if you’re still capable of dying.” Cold words, but your breath is hot, and he’s starting to feel it—that telltale shiver at the base of his spine at the way you won’t break eye contact.

“I know, I know,” you coo, “it hasn’t happened yet.” You move away, smiling big and dark and glistening with promise. “But listen, Steve, all you have to do is ask.”

He can’t tell what expression he’s making, only that your pupils open to swallow him. You’re staring at him, not through him. Taking in his flesh and the warm blood cascading down his face.

The night is taking its toll, it seems. Collecting on long, hard hours, making the both of you reckless.

He thinks about months ago, and the complication of ethics in the way.

Not sleeping with teammates, not losing the fucking plot no matter how much he craved losing it for a couple of hours. There were several weeks before it went sideways, before Bucharest and the Accords, where he spent doing nothing but dedicating himself to daydreaming. He sank into the quiver of his own body as he imagined you and everything he wanted to know by touch.

There were dances, like this. Swaying back and forth in Sam’s backyard and gala celebrations, onlookers getting a few ideas about what his eyes were communicating when he’d trace the curve of your shoulders or the delicate insides of your wrists. How everyone else might follow Captain America into the jaws of death but he’d follow only you, headlong, beyond, and into the goddamn afterlife if you asked him.

But there was a line he couldn’t cross. A soft, tangerine horizon much too far out of his reach when the dark was at his back, beating him to the ground. Making him flinch from warmth because entanglement was too complicated and love was too kind.

Tony asked him what it felt like to fuck up so astronomically. Nat only clucked her tongue, more disappointment in a single sound than Steve had heard from many grand lectures.

Because you would have been vibrant and glorious, damn it. You would have giggled— giggled— when you made love, crooned his name like a songbird and touched him everywhere, all at once. You would have kissed fire back into him, licked your way into the center of that votive figurine and traced his broken heart. You would have excavated him, clawed him out clean, led him into the light.

So, he knows. He knew then, knows now, knows for the rest of his days when he’s let a beautiful thing slip through his fingers.

But sometimes, this happens and his hands feel like they’ve still held on despite his attempts. Sometimes you brush his knuckles, smile at him small and sweet and come into his makeshift room, sit on the side of his bed and exist side by side. Sometimes there wouldn’t even be conversation.

But when you linger by the door, gaze slowly raking down the length of his body and his throat, his mouth, all ten of his fingertips—god, what he wouldn’t give then, to take you to the floor and declare fuck it.

Fuck ethics and fuck his entire life, if needed, because there was only you, only what he’d been needing for ages, only that brilliant and terrifying afterlife awaiting him.

The reflex, then, is not to disappear anymore, but to kneel in.

You say, both hands come to rest around his throat— because you’ve seen him now, seen him the entire time, “If you want it that much, Steve, I can give it to you. A hundred tiny deaths, so sweet and good, until it hurts so bad you really do feel like you’re dying.”

He gulps, Adam’s apple catching each of your fingers on the way up and back down. Says, “Yeah,” before he even registers it. He blurts, going cold and hot and shell-shocked, “I’d let you do anything you want.”

Just then, the bathroom door clatters open and Natasha steps out, towel wrapped around her as she pads across the living space toward her room.

She looks from you to Steve, briefly studying the single foot of distance between your faces, the forgotten music, the way he can’t seem to keep his breathing in order.

The way you’ve got his throat in your hands.

She doesn’t even stop as she passes by, carding her fingers through her hair for a final act of detangling. “Wilson sleeps heavy,” she yawns, which implies, I don’t, so keep whatever the hell it is you two are doing down.

Then she’s gone with only pressure left in her wake. Only his breath fighting with his lungs, his belly tight and hot and his flavorless mouth so fucking starved for yours.

You raise a judgmental eyebrow after he does nothing for a beat too long, too lost in potential backpedaling to advance the plot.  “That’s not asking, Steve.”

He’s stupid, dizzy, like he’s been dropped on his head, but not that stupid. He can’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Doesn’t even know if he says it, but tries anyway, “Will you please,” and the rest goes out the window. You lean in. You kiss him better than he could ever have imagined.

-

He’s living the teenage years he never had.

You kiss him like you’ve got all the time in the world—like it isn’t past four in the morning and the both of you are one silent minute away from slipping into unconsciousness. You kiss lazy and slow and sublime. You press a thumb at the corner of his mouth, touch inside of him, and he wants to do it back. But he wants it right.

“This,” he starts, almost whimpering when you run your teeth beneath his ear, molding your body to his, the two of you staggering into the wall and the end table and poor Natasha across the house must be digging up her earplugs. “I’m not good with—casual—”

“Yeah, you don’t think I know that?” You only pause for enough air to hassle him before taking his hands, your own so small over them, so much power over him, and place them on your waist. “You don’t think I know you’re an all-in kind of guy?”

Of course, you know. Of course, anyone who’s ever heard of Steven Grant Rogers can figure it out. It’s always going to be full throttle for him. Casual isn’t a word that exists in his dictionary, and he won’t compromise on that. He couldn’t do this any other way because now he wants to do it all—to feel you, inside out, across time and the universe and infinity.

He shucks off your clothes, doesn’t mind the grit of the day on your skin, wants it even, to know what you’re like every hour of every day. He tears off his own tac gear, can’t keep his mouth off yours for even a second as he stumbles across the floor.

When he reaches the bed, you climb on top, warm between your legs and so perfect over his thigh. He’s rocking his hips against yours, mouthing at your breasts, grabbing your ass and waist and snarling into your neck like an animal. Lazy and slow twists into frantic and desperate, him throbbing and throbbing against your skin.

He leans back, takes you down with him, bra strap limp at your elbows, panties to the side and he wedges back between the space of his thigh and your sex. He wants—wants.

“You’re warm,” he breathes.

When he pulls out, there’s a sloppy noise following your moan and he rubs his fingers together, awed at the glistening web slipping down to his palm.

One finger becomes two, the coat of slick up to his knuckles and he’s using too much tongue when he kisses you but you don’t mind that at all.

He’s not any kind of virgin but he really feels like one. In the sense that he’s turned on by everything. Too much stimulation. On his skin, in his brain, he’s immersed in one second while predicting the next, seeing the possible ways it could go. Too much pent-up desire swells up the length of his cock as he palms and presses it against the underside of your thigh for contact. His chest is heaving, breath stuttery, eyes wild and unfocused.

You grab his face, pull him away from your collar. You’re only a slight mess, but Christ, what a sight. He must be about fifty times worse because you’re grinning wide, looking him up and down as he arches forward to get you back.

You tut, “If I really wanted to kill you,” you say, “I’d leave you right now.”

“Please don’t,” he manages hoarsely, the fire in his belly lashing out.

“Because I’m so nice.”

“Yes.” And suddenly, his sunny face turns overcast, all the joyful cacophony from before muting. “Yes, you are.”

“Steve,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead with your hands for something to do with them.

He hauls himself up on his elbows, starting to feel upset.

You lean back on your palms, head lolling between your shoulder blades, aggrieved.

“Sorry,” he recants.

“Steve.”

He can’t make eye contact, but you don’t ask him to again, only touching his jaw with a finger and erasing the last few minutes with a nuzzle of your nose to his, like saying don’t worry about it, it’s okay.

Then, more kissing, more of that touch he dreamed about and he wants to kick his past self for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

The night melts away, each hour lasting a blink or an eternity—he can’t be bothered by it now. He figures the sun’s coming up, though, because there’s that haze of early morning past the gauzy, frayed curtain.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage each time you grind down, each time you swallow him back inside of you. You push, like an act of resuscitation— one, two, one, two— a rhythmic, electric, life-giving staccato beat that has him gasping for air, has him keening and groaning without any thought to how loud he might be.

And, fuck it, fuck it all. He is, admittedly, loud.

Sorry, Nat, he winces mentally before his brain’s wiped clear of all thought.

There’s nothing but you, and you, and you.

And that poor, broken heart inside of him, crushed to fine powder, being reworked into brilliance.

He lies there afterwards, gazing into the ceiling as he breathes back down to calm. There’s the thrall of exhaustion behind his eyes but it’s being overridden by a terrible, traitorous voice that’s telling him how he can’t seem to stop fucking up.

He can’t breathe suddenly, the room collapsing into a pinhole, darkness threatening the edges of his sight.

And then you say, because you always know what to say, “It’s okay to be a little broken,” you stroke his chest. “Baby, that’s how the light gets in.”

And the morning is breaking through fully now, streaks of it clearing up his eyes, cutting him to pieces beneath you.

“Yes,” he agrees and meets you for another lengthy kiss, every shrapnel inch of him raw and searing hot. All his exposed parts—the grief and agony and self-hatred—turned to gold. You touch his dark edges with your fingertips. You trace a new dawn’s light in his hair.

[gaytistic]

My thoughts on Descendants: The Rise of Red

The Queen of Heart shouldn't have been the ruler of *all* of Wonderland

King of Heart (the Queen's brother) would possibly be an interesting character.

Red should've used her glitter bomb powers throughout the whole movie and her lightning powers since she clearly has some

Idk if Maddox is Red's age but they should be. Also they should've been just a little more deranged. (Non-binary Maddox anyone?)

I hate Prince Charming's blue streak in his hair so much😭 (He should've been blond because of Chad's hair colour) also I think his outfit should've been more white and blue. That way Chloe could've had all three as her colour pallet. Also Red having Red & Black is such a nice contrast to that.

RITA ATE

I like the headcanon that Red's real name is Quinn and they just call her Red. It would be cool if her mother calls her Quinn and Red keeps asking her to call her Red but she doesn't until the end of the movie.

Chloe's outfit doesn't show off her shoes enough

Love ain't it's slow soft start low-key sucks, also there should've been a chorus closer to the start, probably instead of the "Could it really be her" part cuz it's so dumb. These extras💀😭

Queen of Heart's outfit changing is so weird (ate tho)

RITA ATE

Is it just me or did Chloe's hair change?

Chloe so obviously checking Red out💀

Fairy Godmother shouldn't have been Ella's age, she literally her godmother like-

AND HER RUN😭

"Think what you want to boo" 💀💀

-> Think what you want to, Blue (Chloe nickname)

Chloe's hair changed again

Why is young Brigette American?

"cALl uS JAlLadEN"

Who tf is Uliana? WHO THE FUCK IS MORGANA? SERPENTINE? You could've just used more villains like Maleficent💀 Like why wasn't Evil Queen there? Her and Maleficent were canonically friends when they were younger

The VKs actors really ate, I wish the movie could've reflected their awesomeness better

Also this background music is low-key fire

The flamingo scene? That was so embarking like- Maleficent would NEVER hang with those dorks

CHLOE'S HAIR AGAIN

I love Ella, she's so well written

This crew is getting on my nerves, they're just way too random. I love Morgi but who is he? Also he's basically just Gil. This crew is just Uma's crew and it's so unoriginal. Like if you're gonna be unoriginal why not use the OG VK's parents? That would've been so much better

Chloe and her goddamn hair

'fight of our lives' playing in the background of the GlassHeart moment

Brigette dancing to nothing💀 You could've just given her a radio 💀 AND HER WIG

I'm so sick of Chloe's FUCKING WIG CHANGES

'Get your hands dirty' is actually such a good song

'It was time to lose the glass shoes' LESBIANS

Stealing shoes? Ew.

Red is deffs in love with Chloe

The only reason I can think for Maleficent and Hades to be there but no other major villains is that them being in permanent detention means Mal is never gonna be born

Imagine Bridgette playing 'hearts' while doing the shuffle of love

The Chloe & Cinderella reunion is a bit off

RITA👏 ATE👏

Overall really fun and enjoyable movie

[miniwheat77]

Family pt 2. (141 x Reader.)

!CW! flashbacks, PTSD, mentions of SA, depression, violence, blood (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): Reader is struggling after the incident and 141 is trying to pull her away from her dark thoughts.

Blurb? Kinda? Mini fic? XD



Since the incident, you locked yourself in your room. Only coming out for an occasional meal and whatever your Captain needed you to do. He asked the others to leave you alone for a while, give you some time to adjust and feel better about everything. They worried about you so much, worried about your well being after you’d opened up about what happened. Price didn’t tell the others much, other than you were assaulted and you were going to need time to adjust because these were dark times. Everyone was there for you, you knew they were. But your favorite thing about them was the fact that they didn’t change how they treated you because of what happened. They joked with you, talked to you like normal. They didn’t tip toe around you or anything. They didn’t make you feel like an alien for something that happened to you.

The only thing that really changed was how protective they were over you. On missions, you were surrounded by a few members of 141, they kept you safe. When you met Los Vaqueros, it was no different. Every single one of them kept you safe and took to you right away.

“Emergency mission, everyone pack up right now.” Price barges into the mess hall. “What’s going on Captain?”

“4 American Soldiers were kidnapped from a military base a few hours away, Cartel. Took them to a warehouse in Mexico. Alejandro and Rudy and some of his men are meeting us there. This is personal.” Everyone gathers their gear in a hurry, meeting at the infil chopper immediately. It doesn’t take long before everyone is awaiting orders as the chopper lands. “Alright. Alejandro and Rudy are finding a way inside from above. They’re going to give us a signal and tell us which ways to get inside. We cannot rush this, there’s hostages involved.” Everyone nods their heads and wait patiently for some kind of signal from Alejandro or Rudy.

“There is a door and a window on the south side of the building. There’s a kitchen, no one inside. I can cover you while you come in.” Rudy says through their radio. Everyone forms a line, walking quietly along until you’re pressed up against the building, Rudy opening it. Everyone creeps their way inside. “Nobody downstairs, assuming they have them upstairs.” You nod your head, each of you creeping upstairs. “I came from there, didn’t see anyone.” Rudy nods to a window.

“Cover a door each of you.” Price orders and everyone moves along. Soap behind you as you aimed your pistol at the closed door. “3…2…1-“ each of you kick the doors open, guns pointed at the members of the cartel.

What you see in front of you makes you sick. A girl is lying on the bed, tear stained cheeks. The man is half naked and her shirt is ripped. You came in the nick of time. You freeze, gun pointed at him.

It happens in slow motion. Soap’s eyes are wide. He tries to get you to put the gun down, he’s surrendering. Your eyes burn into him, the innocent girl suffering on the bed would never forget this day. She’d never forget his face. But him being dead, is the only way she’ll rest at night. No other gunfire is heard except for you. Your finger squeezing the trigger, his head jerks backward, a bullet right between the eyes. “Y/N- he was surrendering!” Soap says. “Him being dead will only bring peace to her.” You mumble, finally stepping forward. You quickly work to pull off your jacket, passing it to the American Soldier. She was dirty, dirt and blood covered her skin. Shirt torn. Pants still in tact- thankfully. You grounded her with a heavy hand. “You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you.” She nods her head. You’re pulling your first aid kit out of your bag, patching up her wounds. “Cmon, we’re taking you home.” You help her up. The rest of the men gathered the rest of the soldiers, who were battered. After saying your goodbyes and shipping them out to the nearest healthcare facility in the United States, you were on the exfil chopper, heading back to base.

Your eyes bore into the side of the chopper. Elbows resting in your knees as you stared ahead. His head jerking back, the bullet right in his forehead.

As fucked up as it was, it’d bring peace.

“Why did you shoot him if he was surrendering?” Captain Price stands in front of you. “He was trying to rape her.”

“He was surrendering.”

“He’s a rapist.”

“Y/N-“

“He’s a fucking rapist.” You seethe. “He kidnapped them, beat them and tried to rape her. Which is the worse war crime?” You growl. “Y/N.” Your Captain kneels down on one knee in front of you. “Look at me.” He grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I will cover this one up for you. But you have to pull yourself out of this okay? You’re completely unstable. I worry about you and your health, but if you can’t get this together, I’ll have no choice but to send you home. Do you understand?” You look him in the eyes, it’s unsettling. Almost as if you look straight through him. He sighs. He places his forehead to yours, eyes shut as you take a deep breath. “We’re your family Y/N. We’ve got your back. Nobody can hurt you while we’re around, do you understand?” He says. “Yes.” You close your eyes. “You’re okay. We have you now. Nobody will hurt you like that, not ever again.” He holds your hands in his. “I’m putting you on another break. A week. If you can’t handle it anymore, I’ll send you home.”

“I’ll be better Captain. I promise.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you now love, we all agree. We want to kill rapists too. But.. there are rules. We’re on your side of this.” You nod your head.

“You’re going to be okay Y/N. 141 has you now.”

@ellouisa17

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 4

ANOTHER CHAPTER IN LESS THAN A WEEK. BRING ON THE GRINDDDDDD. I will warn that my motiviation for each of my fics comes in waves, so you'll probably get chapters in random chunks ngl. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Mentions of murder. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

PART 1: Chapter 4

Unconditional Violence.

Bambsquabbled (Definition): A 19th Century American slang word essentially meaning stupefied or confounded. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 18th December, 1929.

You had expected the additional Tuesday Mr LeBlanc had given you off to prepare yourself for the radio company to consist of you sleeping in until 11am. But dreams are short lived when you have an aunt who insists the ass-crack of dawn is prime time for everything.

You guessed it was fun to climb onto the roof of your relative’s vast home to collect the crystals you had both put out under the full moon, before the energy given to them was whisked away by the rays of the early golden hour. But when nerves settle in like the green spirals of nausea the night before, sleep takes the hand of another, leaving you to lay there with your over-active mind as it drags you through every possibility and event that could end up with you looking like an idiot in front of your new colleagues, or worse. Can’t think of much worse. But the universe will find a way.

It always does.

When Wednesday finally rolled around, it was barely 6am and you already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Your cousins had found you curled up on the bench swing, having dragged your duvet outside as you balled yourself up like a worm, sipping on the iced tea Agnes had bought you the day before in an attempt to settle your nerves. It did. A little.

And now here you were, the first half of your new workday having gone as smoothly as your awkward self could do.

Ethel, who’s desk was closest to yours, had dubbed you the quiet one after spending an hour running her mouth at you with barely a break for you to chime in. You had also already created quite a commotion on the third floor, a few people intrigued by the new ‘foreigner’. Well – as foreign as you can get when you’re from another English-speaking country, in the biggest cultural melting pot of a city had ever seen in your rural life. But they found you interesting enough.

The oddest thing you had experienced that day, however, was a strange request from your new boss – Mr Durham himself.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pull off a local accent?” he had asked when showing you the phone on your desk.

All you could do was blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to the phone. “Since you’re my assistant, you’re gonna be filtering through the calls I get before passing them onto me. Now, there might be an issue if someone calls expecting to hear me, but instead find themselves speaking to a British girl on the other end. Some can be impatient and might end up putting the phone down before you explain.”

Memories of that one very unpleasant phone call flooded your mind. “Even if I answer: ‘Hello W.A.D Radio, this is Mr Durham’s assistant speaking’??” you replied monotonously.

“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “But do you know how to anyway?”

Frowning, you recalled your time in the cities further in the North. “I guess..? A girl I rented a room from in New York insisted on teaching me for when we went into town, but I struggle to see how it’s important?”

The man put his hands together, pointing them at you in a prayer motion. “Just.. try it out? Talk like your colleagues when you see them, to see if you can get a hang of it – I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Please?”

You gave him a wavering look, but sighed, finally giving in. “Fine, but they can’t make fun of me.”

He beamed, patting you on the back in satisfaction. “I’m sure they won’t! I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

And with that, you sat in your new chair, trying to pointedly ignore the sign at the other end of the room that pointed you to the fifth floor, and began your attempt to settle in.

--

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 8th January, 1930.

There wasn’t much to celebrate when the new decade rolled around. Gone were the so-called ‘Roaring Twenties’, when you would join your parents at the parties and balls they were invited to – when it was acceptable, of course; those higher up in the class hierarchy still grasped to the dwindling standard that children should be seen, not heard. The year you turned eighteen ended up being quite interesting, when the older women who had turned snooty at the sight of your teenage self wandering around their stately homes, tried to attempt a 180°, as they congratulated you reaching adulthood with strained smiles. But you paid them no mind, too busy staring at the paintings or statues that lined their corridors – a stark contrast to the more barren and plain wallpaper that coated the walls you grew up in.

But now that was far behind you, the English garden parties in the spring and summer that you adored so much were now a mere echo in the distances of your mind. The noises of tiny forks clinking on fine china as the little birds twittered in the trees now replaced by the sputtering and groaning of automobiles as you gripped the pole of the tram, your arms tight against your chest as you tried your best to not let the swaying of the vehicle toss you about into the crowd of packed bodies around you.

Making sure the scarf was tucked safely around your neck, you grasped the small briefcase in your hand – mentally preparing yourself for you first day back at the radio station after the new year. Unfortunately for Mr Durham, a small hurricane had passed over during the holiday, and radio stations across the city were temporarily silenced as their mechanics desperately attempted to repair the damaged towers. And also unfortunately for you, only the hosts were offered a couple days off as things got back up and running, though some still showed to prepare for their shows; you, on the other hand, were still expected to show up like any other day.

So here you were, pushing open the (now familiar) double doors, giving a small wave to the receptionist, who’s name turned out to be Diana, and the woman barely raised her hand in response as she continued to tiredly shift through the concerningly large stack of papers on her desk.

You were just about to climb the wide staircase when you heard her call your name (something you were very surprised she knew, considering her tendency to ‘accidentally’ throw paperwork in the bin on the daily), and your wedge heels clacked against the tile flooring as you stumbled slightly, turning to face her as her nasally voice echoed around the large lobby.

“It’s best you stay in the shadows today.” She warned cryptically. “Trouble’s in, and the mechanic’s not happy about the damages – Durham’s getting the brunt of it, but you’ll end up in the crossfire unless you hide out during breaktimes.”

All you could do for a moment was stand and stare, a million thoughts running through your mind. Mostly about who ‘Trouble’ was, and why Diana thought you couldn’t handle the guy and the other mechanic. You did handle the radio man at the repair shop after all, and speaking of the radio, you were quite proud to say you had finished the it in time for Christmas, and had shipped it off with a very passive-aggressive note that hinted for the man to basically never return. Luckily, Mr Boudreaux hadn’t replied to any of your letters since you had begrudgingly accepted the object, but you had suspected he had called the shop once or twice, and you had left Mr LeBlanc to deal with it, mostly because he was quite terrified you would call another customer every name under the sun the second they tried to give you trouble.

Glancing back and forth between Diana and the stairs, you mumbled a slow “Oookay…” before nodding your head and turning on your heel to hurry up the steps. Reaching the third floor, you didn’t stop in your path as you neared your desk, instead dropping your briefcase onto the wooden surface as you dashed by, striding towards the door that had the golden plaque engraved with ‘Mr B. Durham’ onto it. Grasping the handle, you turned the knob, swinging the door open, only to stop in your tracks as you were met with a very empty office.

You frowned. It must be really bad if your boss was no where to be seen. Whipping around, you scanned the main room for him, but only saw a few of your colleagues, the rest still yet to arrive – you were normally expected to be in early to handle Durham’s work as soon as he began.

Throwing your coat and scarf on your chair, you strode back towards the stairs, readjusting the suspenders of your wide-legged trousers as you practically jogged up the steps, and ended up rolling the sleeves of your loose blouse to your elbows as you tried to catch your breath.

On the fourth floor, you spent a couple minutes checking all of your boss’s usual haunts or hiding places, even going as far as interrogating a couple of the workers there for his whereabouts. It wasn’t until some blonde guy that came wandering down the steps from the fifth floor that you got your answer, the man looking up to take in your slightly dishevelled and feral appearance with wide eyes as he stammered out that he was in one of the radio booths. To his further horror, you patted him on the cheek with a thanks as you rounded him, ready to take another flight of stairs to reach your – apparently – floundering boss.

Ignoring the embarrassed sputtering of the man behind you, you eye the sign nailed to the wall, the painted hand pointing upwards with a very bold ‘FIFTH FLOOR’ next to it.

“Don’t go up there until I say you’re ready, okay?” Mr Durham’s words echoed through your mind.

Buuuuut, he did say he wanted to discuss the stuff you brought in your briefcase ASAP.

Yea that’ll be your excuse. You can deal with his complaining later.

Reaching your heel-clad foot out, you took the first step, almost like you were expecting an axe to come swing down and impale your forehead. But when nothing happened, you shrugged, and simply continued up.

Recalling the path your boss had taken you on during the initial tour, you managed to find the dreaded corridor that supposedly housed your greatest nightmare.

Extroverted people.

Yeesh.

At that thought, you did consider turning around, but your urge to drag your boss’s arse back downstairs drowned that thought out, and you carried on.

Surprisingly, it was quiet, but at the same time not so much when you remembered that most of them were plating their somewhat wealthy behinds on their armchairs at home as the rest tried to fix the issues of the storm.

Reaching one of the lit rooms, you heard raised voices.

“–really expect me to know? –” “– supposed to be on in an hour! How is that –”

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to try and witness the potential fiasco. And what a fiasco it was.

Wires, cables, and any other random parts that were used for radio technology were strewn across desks, tables and even the floor. Amongst these were two men, and there was only one you recognised.

Just like you had seen him every day for the past month, Mr Durham was stood in his washed-out blue suit and concerningly shiny shoes, and at this point one hand was on his hip, whilst the other rubbed tiredly at his face as whom you assume was the mechanic, was blabbering the poor man’s ear off as he ranted on and on about random parts and problems and he gestured frantically at said random parts and problems. Wait – nevermind, you recognised one and a half.

The man from across the street was here, with his back to you. Again. For fuck’s sake.

This time he was back in the seat you first saw him in, this time with a few strands of dark-brown hair out of place, curling slightly as if to rebel against the intense styling he had put it through. Peeking your head out slightly further, you managed to get a good look at him.

Well for one, he was a triangle. Stupidly broad shoulders that narrowed into a stupidly small waist (triangle), with lanky legs long enough that you could probably chop them off and fashion them into skis. Despite his face not revealed, you could see the semi-light tan on his hands, that were busy turning knobs and dials as he listened in to whatever was coming through the headphones on his head. He was dressed to impress, to say the least, in smart, dark-grey trousers, who’s ironed out edges looked as if they could slice through skin. His high collared cream shirt was tucked away under a relatively tight looking reddish-tan waistcoat, and to top it all off, you could see the back of the black ribbon that was most likely tied in a stupidly even bow.

You didn’t want this guy to sense your staring, so you opted to look back at the other two men who were still chuntering on about god knows what. Stepping into the light that flooded through the glass, you wave slightly to try and get your boss’s attention. A couple seconds passed, and you watched as the mechanic kept glancing at you and Mr Durham, until eventually he nudged the other man on the shoulder, pointing you out.

Turning his head, Mr Durham’s eyes met with yours, and you raised your hand with a questionable thumbs up to see if all was good, only to watch in slight confusion as his eyes widened, and he whipped his head rapidly between you and the faceless man sat at his desk, before marching over to the door and pulling it open a crack, sticking his head out.

“Hey uh,” he half-whispered, surprisingly nervous at your presence. “what’re you doing here?”

You lowered your voice to match his. “You said to come find you as soon as possible this morning, you know, to go over those statistics from that other station?”

Realisation dawned on the man’s face, and he reached up to drag his hand down the side of it. “Shit I forgot,” he cursed, and glanced over his shoulder before facing you again. “I’ll – uh… I’ll be down as soon as I get this sorted. Marty’s givin’ me a run for his money right now and the second Al takes his headphones off I’m gonna feel like I’m entering an early grave.”

Surprised, you eyed the man sat at the desk, who looked far too calm to be threatening anyone right now. “Ok… I guess it can wait. I’ll bring you some coffee up!” you chirped, and Durham went to call out that it wasn’t necessary, but faltered with a frown as he realised you were already halfway down the corridor.

--

Balancing the tray of cups and steaming jug the best you could, you reached the final step, retracing your route to the radio booth that your boss was probably getting murdered in. Walking up, you waited patiently until Mr Durham noticed you, and watched as he reluctantly trudged over to open the door.

Taking your first step in, you were hit with the very potent smell of strong black coffee, as if someone had some brewing every day, and you figured you had made the right call of fetching the same beverage as you placed the tray down on one of the tables.

The mechanic was still going off on one, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as you slowly began pouring the coffee into the cups, listening to the greasy-looking man speak.

“– there’s literally no reason that I can find that’s causing the local outage!” he spouted at your frowning boss. “The boys have already fixed the aerial, and David’s currently on-air and that’s working perfectly fine, so it has to be something in this room!”

During the man’s tirade, you noticed the rustling of papers, and looked over to see the faceless man again, still at his desk, but his hands were fiddling with no purpose, and his head was turned to the left slightly, showing his high cheekbone and the edge of his thin circular glasses.

Looked like someone else was listening in too.

Biting your smile down, you turned back towards the cups in your hand, only to have a glint of light pierce the corner of your eye, and you looked in the opposite direction to a large wooden box, with one of the panels removed, displaying the endless wires and springs that coiled and wound in every direction. But you weren’t looking at that, you were instead looking at the screwdriver that was very prominently glinting in the shine of the ceiling light. This must be the painstakingly obvious problem that the mechanic had painstakingly missed.

Giving a quick glance over at the men, you waited until they faced away, scrapping about the wire pile on the floor, and you reached for the wooden teaspoon on your tray, and inched towards the box. Knowing wood doesn’t normally conduct electricity, you raised your hand, testing it anyway against the hanging wires to see if they were live. Seemingly not, you stuck your hand further in, and began nudging at the tool, slowly loosening the wires around it as you dragged it along the bottom of the box.

When they had deemed your silence as suspicious, the mechanic and Durham turned round, only to see you elbow deep in some very expensive equipment.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” the mechanic cried as he rushed over. “The hell are you doin’??”

Instead of jerking your arm back out and apologising to the man who was slowly turning purple, you gave the screwdriver one last flick, and the three of you watched as it dropped over the edge and fell to the floor with a clatter. Moments of silence passed as you all stared at it, until you decided to explain.

“It was tangled in the wires, which would’ve prevented the electricity flow,” you said plainly. “Plus, if you had tried to power it all up, it could’ve set the place on fire.”

All the mechanic could do was stare down at the tool, but Mr Durham had decided to approach, and bent down to pick up the tool.

“Nice one.” He complimented, turning the object in his hands. Though the warm smile he had put on for you quickly vanished, as his eyes set upon the name engraved on the wooden handle. He pointed at it. “This has your name on it Marty.” He said lowly, his blue eyes turning dark as he regarded the paling man with a look of thunder.

Seeing the outcome, you gestured nervously to the beverages on the table. “Coffee’s there, Mr Durham, I’ll see you downstairs.”

Just as you walked around him, he called your name. “Take ten minutes to yourself and grab some tea, whilst I deal with Marty here.”

Nodding, you curtly took your leave, swinging the door open as you power-walked out, failing to see the sharp pair of eyes following you from where they were sat at the desk.

--

You found the break room housed several curiosities that you were yet to explore in America. Apart from the atrocious fact that the tea station lacked the Yorkshire brand, you found yourself poking at what they called a teabag. Yes, surprise, surprise, the Americans invented something tea related before England or even China did, but you had to admit it was rather useful in helping you not gag at the slimy tea leaves that sat at the bottom of most of your beloved brews.

With the table to your right, you leant your hip against it, your back against the door as you rather noisily mixed the spoon around your large mug, making sure the sugar was dissolved properly before you went to strain the teabag. Lifting it carefully out of the boiling water, you gingerly held your other hand out below it to catch any stray drips from hitting the floor, scanning the room in front of you for a bin that you could chuck it into.

What you foolishly had failed to do however, was hear the footsteps that grew in volume from behind, and you hadn’t realised anything until a very uncomfortable prickle hit the side of your neck, as a very unwanted presence loomed over you. Though, that didn’t last long, as the presence decided to deafen you instead.

“So YOU’RE the new assistant!”

A banshee screech raised from your throat, the teabag flying through the air and onto the floor by your feet as you basically jumped three feet up. Instinctively, however, you didn’t realise what was happening until one elbow flew upwards, slamming into the nose of the man behind you, the other flying round to collide with his ribs. Teaspoon armed in hand, you spun around to face your assailant, only to step on the soggy teabag that was still on the floor, and you cried out again as you slipped and slammed into a very firm chest. Eyes screwed shut, you felt the two of you fall, though quickly broken by the table behind you.

Relieved that you were no longer falling, you swiftly blinked your eyes open, your dark brown ones meeting a pair of equally matching brown. Moments passed as you took in the scene in front of you, and you realised you finally had a face to put to the lanky man from earlier.

Said man was groaning as he rubbed at his nose, his lips twisted into a grimace as he checked for blood. What you noticed however, was the several poignant glances the man took to your right, and you followed, only to see you hand raised, teaspoon in hand, pointing down at him as if you had a machete, ready to stab the lights out of him.

A small gasp left your throat at the realisation, and you quickly pushed yourself off, pointedly ignoring the grunt the man let out as you knocked at his ribs. Taking several steps back, you distanced yourself from him. He had gotten close before, he wasn’t about to do so again.

You watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, using the table as a support as he stood. To a disturbingly tall height might you add. Looks like you did just reach his nose after all.

“I’m uh,” you started as you eyed him, teaspoon machete still in hand, strangely, you instinctively used the southern accent you learnt – it was the one you used with strangers. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to sneak up on me like that.” Reaching over, you snatched up a napkin, offering it to him. “Y’haven’t got anything…?”

Dark eyes flitting between you and the outstretched napkin offering, you watched as something seemed to switch in his demeanour, and a natural smile fell across his tan face as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s quite alright.” He assured, and you blinked at his prominent transatlantic accent. “I figured that wasn’t the best way to say hello to a stranger!” he laughed as he smoothed down his crumpled waistcoat. Reaching his lanky arm out whilst tucking the other behind him, he offered his hand out in greeting. “The name’s Alastor, my dear. And who do I have the most entertaining pleasure to be speaking to?”

You stared at his hand, then flicked your eyes up to him, scanning his grinning face with vigour.

Where, oh where, had you heard that voice before?

Your silence seemed to confuse this Alastor guy, however, and his eyes darted around in confusion as you continued to stare. From what you could see, he had come to a very wrong conclusion about your silence, and leaned over at you slightly, bringing his face level with yours.

“Cat got your tongue, my darling?” His growing cheshire grin reminding you of two very similar people. “You clearly must find me that dashing if your this speechless, haha!” he chortled, the condescension rolling off him in waves.

Oh, you knew exactly where this guy was from.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinised him as you quietly muttered out a single word.

“Boudreaux.”

Alastor blinked, eyes darting around your face, before raising a hand to cup at his ear. “I hate to say but I didn’t quite catch that!” he exclaimed rather loudly.

You felt your brows begin to furrow, so you raise your voice slightly. “I said, Boudreaux.”

Oh you did it now. Sparkles seemed to glitter behind his chocolate eyes as he perked up with glee, straightening up to his full height. “So you do know me after all! I was starting to think you simply had nothing going on in that head of yours!”  he simpered as he tilted his head to look down at you.

Despite his clear mocking, you remained quiet for a moment longer, until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“…You work in a radio station.” You stated flatly.

Alastor looked around, acting as if he had just realised as such. “Yes I am quite aware!” he affirmed in an obvious tone. “Did you want an award for that observation?”

You had to refrain from gaping at this man’s audacity. “… Couldn’t you have just fixed it yourself?”

The man blinked at you. “Fixed what now?”

Oh, this was it. Stepping forward, you didn’t stop until you face was a hand-lengths away from his, and you watched with satisfaction as he shifted at your invasion of his space – talk about a hypocrite as someone who clearly loved to invade the space of others. Staring at the man dead in the eye, you fully dropped the southern accent, your Yorkshire one coming back through full force.

“Your mum’s radio.” You stated simply, raising your brows to regard him with a condescending look that matched his.

You had expected him to brush it off, laughing when he realised who you were. What you hadn’t expected for his pupils to blow wide, his eyes darkening as they narrowed, scrutinising your gaze with his own, and you suddenly felt a little uneasy.

“Oh,” he said lowly. “It’s you.”

Keeping your gaze levelled, you gripped the spoon harder in your hands. That is, until your name was called.

The two of you straightened up, you leaning to look around Alastor as he spun on the spot, the both of you facing Mr Durham, who was looking between the two of you rather nervously. He called your name again.

“C’mon.” he said, refusing to take his eyes off Alastor. “Let’s go over those papers you brought.”

Without a second thought, you darted for your mug of tea, grabbing it along with an almost empty bottle of milk to put in it as you strode around Alastor, feeling the hand of your boss as he put his arm around your shoulder as he quickly led you away, and the back of your head prickled, definitely feeling the sharp eyes on your retreating back this time around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALASTOR'S HERE RAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Watch me disappear from the face of the earth for a week cuz of my executive dysfunction lmao (Blame my adhd not me she's a seperate entity at this point.)

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, see you soon for Chapter 5!!

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[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Chapter 6 of Came up from that lake of fire is up, featuring road trips, haunted inns, and terrible tea.

Excerpt:

Charles sticks his hand out the window as they pass what seems like endless trees, enjoying the feeling of cold air on his face. The sun is shining for once, music is thumping over the radio, and he’s with his best mates. Everything is aces. “Don’t get views like this in London, do we, Edwin?” From the backseat, Edwin’s sigh is audible over the music. “We also aren’t likely to die in an automobile accident in London either. Crystal, do slow down. We promised Jenny we wouldn’t drive her vehicle off a cliff.” In the driver’s seat, Crystal rolls her eyes. “I’m going forty miles an hour. I know cars didn’t go that fast when you were alive, but you also didn’t have seatbelts.” “Or air bags,” Niko adds. “Or air bags!” Crystal throws her hands in the air for emphasis, drawing a protest out of Edwin. Charles twists around in his seat to look at Edwin. “Hey, we’re on a road trip. We’re proper Americans now, yeah?” “Brills,” Edwin deadpans. “I don’t think an hour drive counts as a road trip in the States,” Crystal says. “Then we’ll have to go on a proper road trip, won’t we?” Charles asks. “What do you think, mate? Should we go to California when we’re done with this case? I’ve always wanted to see California.” “Yes, Charles,” Edwin says. “When we’re done with this case, we can take a road trip wherever you’d like.” Charles knows that Edwin wants to remind him that once they’ve found the Deathless, they’ll probably be turned into ghosts again by Edwin’s warden. He also knows that Edwin is holding back the reminder so as not to ruin Charles’s good mood. For a moment, Charles is overcome by such a swell of affection that all he can do is smile goofily at him. “What are you smiling at?” Edwin asks. Charles sees no point in denying it. “You, mate.”

[munsonomenon]

⛧☾༺’Casual’༻☽⛧

Chapter 111: Bite the hand that feeds

⛧ pairing: rockstar! eddie x alt! fem reader, steve x alt! fem reader

⛧ contains: ANGSTTT, love triangle, fluff, fwb, use of alcohol, smoking, pining, pet names, implied friends to lovers, slow burn, asshole! eddie

⛧ word count: 5.4k+

⛧ previous chapter: here

⛧ warnings: allusions to smut ! mdni !

The beams of a blood-orange sunset illuminate your black-rimmed eyes as you reach over to change the current station playing on your car’s stereo, making it almost impossible to read the numbers over the hazy screen. You hear the faint tune of the end of a metal song playing from a station you don’t often frequent and decide to let it play out instead of squinting to find the numbers for the right station. Before the next song can begin to play you hear the raspy voice of a radio host going on about some deal a local business paid to be advertised. You let out a small groan, knowing you can only hear a few songs on your short drive. Leaning over to switch stations again, you are frozen in place by what you hear.

“Tonight, back for the first time since the local groups first ever North American tour, Corroded Coffin live from Hawkins, the very place the band’s success was founded- The Hideout. Our next caller will be the lucky winner of two tickets for tonight’s sold-out concert!”. You’ll never get used to this you think to yourself. Eddie and the band had been gone for six weeks, playing 20 sold-out shows at small venues around both coasts, bringing even more new attention their way. Everything was planned perfectly for their hometown return tonight, at the Hideouts Halloween bash.

Pulling around to the backside of the bar you find the familiar parking space next to eddies van. He’s standing by the back door with one foot resting on the wall, lighting up a cigarette and laughing obnoxiously loud with Gareth. You pull one of your mirrors down and triple-check that your hair and makeup look perfect before hopping out and joining them. You grab your bag and close your car door with the slam of your hip, the sound gaining their attention.

“Hey! Look at that, our biggest fan is here!” Gareth shouts while raising his arms in excitement. “Hey! Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” you say into his shoulder going in for a hug. “Where’s Jeff? Not here yet?” you say as you hug Eddie. “Yeah, he’s late.” Gareth sighs looking toward the pavement scrunching his face with worry. “Again.” Eddie scoffs, chiming in from the side. “I thought he got caught up in something with his girl, but he would’ve answered me by now, not sure.” Eddie snuffs his cigarette out on the brick siding of the bar.

“Wanna head inside? It’s cold as balls out here, and you have barely any clothes on.” he shivers. you giggle in response “I have clothes on you asshole! You know it gets hot in there.” you shout at him jokingly, you can feel his laugh against your ear as he holds the door open for you, sliding his hand over your back as you move inside.

Hot stuffy air and the clacking of pool balls greet you as soon as you enter the bar. It’s mostly empty except for the few people setting up equipment on the stage and the ’frequent flyers’. The name Eddie dubbed the drunks the bar let in early every night, they were only ever here for the booze and left before the band could even begin. With the size of the crowds they have started picking up lately, the owner has fans wait in line outside of the venue before every one of their gigs so the guys can have some space to set up and rehearse without all of the commotion.

Corroded Coffin’s success is something you still can’t wrap your mind around, it was almost overnight. Eddie had no idea until during one of your many nights in the back of his van down in an old campsite at Lovers Lake. Eddies lips were moving fervently against the soft perfumed skin on your neck and his hand tangled deep in the back of your hair. Whimpers coming from your throat with his every move. His other hand was in between the two of you, rubbing small circles teasingly along your panties. “I’ve waited all night to get you like this doll, couldn’t wait to get you alone.” he purrs into your ear.

You are absorbed in a wave of bliss before he promptly parts his lips from your skin and pauses in place. You let out a desperate moan, “Why’d you stop?” you can sense something is bothering him. “That’s me?” he whispers softly, voice full of confusion. “On the goddamn radio!” he shouts this time, raising his voice. He swiftly slides you off of his lap onto the mattress he has just for occasions like these. You let out another pathetic moan in the vacancy of his touch. “What- what are you talking about, come back.” you wine. He huffs as he shuffles his way in between the two front seats just enough to crank up the volume knob. “Holy shit Ed’s! That is you!” you laugh out in disbelief.

Gareth and Jeff had secretly spent the last month begging the local college station the play the ep they had practically conned Eddie into recording. He didn’t think they were ready, he was his worst critic and they both knew that if it was up to him their music would never see the light of day outside of local shows. Weeks of pleading and a twenty-dollar bill later, his voice was blaring from the speakers in his van.

Eddie was so enraged by their little stunt he didn’t talk to either of them for the next two weeks, which was when people started coming up to him in the bar to ask about his music, people he had never even met. You could never forget the grin he had on his face after he walked back over to the booth you always shared just to tell you that Corroded Coffin had their first real fan.

Not long after they had picked up an interview at the same station that debuted their songs to your town, and it continued to snowball from there. The media was fascinated by how a small-town metal band’s music captivated such a broad spectrum of people. The attention became overwhelming, Eddie didn’t have a choice in all of this happening to him and as elated as he was to be living out his lifelong dreams he didn’t know how to handle it.

He decided that the best thing for whatever it was that you two were, was to just stay ‘casual’, and slow things down. He swears it’s to protect you from the chaos his life is consumed in now, but nothing he could’ve done would’ve shattered you like that did. You were already too far gone and he knew it too, he was afraid of hurting you while he was on a path that wasn’t fully under his control. Robin spent that whole night by your side, laying with you in your bed surrounded by tissues.

She was convinced it was only an excuse for him to be able to sleep around with all of the girls flocking after him now that he had the attention of more than just the girl he flirted with in high school, and you knew she was probably right. You had no reason to be the only other girl he chased after now that it feels like half of the country wants him too.

You follow closely behind Eddie, his hand hovering over your wrist with a loose grip as he guides you to the bartop. “Hey uh- can I get a Budweiser and a vodka Redbull? thanks, man.” He says as he slides his cash to the other side of the sticky wooden surface. You take a seat at the nearest bar stool. Eddie scoots closer to you, sticking his hand in the back pocket of your black denim shorts, and rubbing small circles over the fabric. “You excited for tonight?” his eyes gleaming down into yours. “Playing that song I told you I would. Finally got the fucking solo down, it was driving me batshit. Barely even slept last night, wanted to get it right for you.” he smiles running his thumb along the seam of your pocket. Your heart skips a beat with every word he says.

It had been months since you two had been closer than a stray phone call. He leans in and pushes your hair behind your ear, eyes never parting yours for even a second. “I missed you, you know that?” his voice laced with seduction. You couldn’t resist melting under his touch. It was like electricity being shot down your spine. As much as you wish you didn’t, you craved his touch almost every night since the last you felt it. “I bet you did.” you mock quietly turning your face away from his. You feel the warmth of his skin as he places his hand on your flushed cheek pulling you back around to him.

“Hey! They don’t make girls like you out in California!” his laughter fills the air around you as the bartender interrupts, sliding both of your drinks across the bartop. “Thanks again, man!” he shouts to the bartender who’s already moved on to his next order. “Oh yeah, you’re right. I forgot they’re all smoking hot models and pornstars” you say with a smirk slipping the straw from your drink into your mouth. Eddies face lights up with a playful glow, “I know what game you’re playing, doll.”. You play innocent shrugging your shoulders and continuing to sip on your drink. “I’m just being honest,” you say flatly. You can only imagine all of the girls chasing Eddie down while he was away, you knew better than to dream he was out there wanting you while he was with them. His thumb moves down from your cheek to swipe over your lips and you’re lost for words, in a spout of silence, taking each other in fully.

Before either of you can speak another word the doorman shouts over in your direction. “Hey, Eddie! Sorry to do this to you man but the boss wants us to start letting people in early, running a drink special tonight trying to make a few extra bucks. You wanna head back or are you ready for us to open up shop?”. Eddie’s hands instantly drop from your side, and you look up to him in confusion but aren’t surprised by his adjustment. He looks down with a look of ‘can we not do this right now’ written all over his face before grabbing both of your drinks and turning to face the door. “Shit uh- you’re good man! We can just take these to the back. Ready when you are!” he shouts back. He motions to you to follow him backstage.

As soon as the both of you turn the hallways corner you can hear the sound of fans piling through the doors. Eddie abruptly stops in front of you while walking, excitedly turning on his heel. “Oh shit, almost forgot to tell you! I bought some shitty face paint and some fake blood if you wanna do the honors of making me look all scary and hot for tonight. I’ll probably fuck it up if I do it.” his voice trails off as he keeps walking. “Awe did big scary Munson forget his fangs this year!” you cross your arms teasing him for his default yearly Halloween costume.

He immediately stops in his place again handing you your drink to free his hand before digging around in his pocket, pulling out the coveted fake fangs he’s had for years now. He holds them in between his pointer finger and thumb displaying them proudly. “Come on, do you even know me at all?” he smirks.

You’re halfway through painting eddies face white when Gareth inevitably stumbles into the back room. “Holy fuck dude, that’s sick!” he chuckles when he catches sight of Eddie sitting next to me with his hair in a loose ponytail and the corners of his black-rimmed eyes crinkling with his words. “I didn’t know we were doing this!” he turns to you, “You gotta do mine!”. You look into Eddie’s eyes and giggle. “Let me get finished up with the princess I’ve already got in my chair and I’ll get to you.” Eddie lightly smacks the back of the shoulder you have turned to him and raises his voice “Hey! I am not a princess.” he scoffs playfully. “Whatever you say, beautiful.” You say lightly as you continue to blend the makeup down his cheeks.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Eddie’s eyes were studying your lips with you two being so close together. His hand rests on your hips as you’re leaning into his face. You’re desperately hoping he doesn’t notice all of the small adjustments you make in your seat every time one of his hands slips as he’s talking to Gareth on the other side of the room. You’re taking full advantage of this moment, further memorizing every inch of him in front of you. “Doll? Are you even listening or are you just staring at my face?” he smirks after catching on to the lack of attention you’ve been paying to their conversation.

As you get closer to being done with the vampire face of Eddies dreams you insist on waiting to put the rest on until right before he goes on stage because you know he’s gonna end up smearing it all over his face. He tries to convince you he would be careful but you know him too well for that to work. “Don’t you pout at me, Munson. You are the clumsiest person I know.” you mock his fake sad face. “But the bloods the best part, you’re just teasing me now!” his grip on your waist tightened pleadingly with his words. Your thighs tighten with his grasp on you.

“Not yet! I still need to do Gareths too.” you say composing yourself, he pouts again. You roll your eyes in defeat. You turn to grab the vile of fake blood before you can hear Gareth yell “Hey, you heard the lady! My turn, move your ass!” as he runs up to the chair Eddie had been occupying, halfway jumping down on his lap in a way to force him to get up. “Okay, okay!” Eddie screeches dramatically with his voice high, raising his hands in protest giving his seat to him.

Eddie walks over to the countertop on the far side of the room before grabbing a beer for each of you out of the mini-fridge underneath. “It’s fucking loud out there already!” Eddie says over the sound of the speakers playing the intro to the opening band’s set, handing you both the cold bottles.“I know dude! I’m fucking pumped, it’s insane” Gareth chuckles as if he is in disbelief that any of this is real yet. “I can’t believe it either, honestly.” you reassure Gareth.

“Eddie, can you check my phone? See if Jeff ever answered me. We gotta go on soon.” Gareth mumbles trying not to disturb the brush you have pressed to his skin. “Sure thing.” Eddie drawls out and takes a long swig of his beer before grabbing his friend’s phone off of the shared counter space. His long fingers put the code in without question, showing you this was a trust they shared often. You continue blending the black circles Gareth had requested around his eyes not hearing a peep out of Eddie for a bit longer than usual. Turning your cheek up to face him, seeing him branding a suspicious smirk over his lips. “What’s so funny over there?” you pester gaining Gareth’s attention as he remembers the question he asked Eddie a few moments ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this Rachel chick man?” Eddie chuckles turning the screen with his eyes wide to show a half nude selfie in Gareth’s texts. He immediately lunges up from the space of his chair and passes your knees, reaching for his phone out of Eddie’s hands which are now well above his head as he keeps scrolling. “Hey! Put my sweet Rachel down!” he protests loudly still grasping for the device. Eddie’s loud cackles echo off the walls in the room while he’s balancing on his tippy toes fighting off his friend while they take turns screaming at each other.

Your attention is brought to the other direction of the room when you feel a sudden breeze accompanied by the loudly increasing screams of fans out in the crowd and a bang that knocks dust off of the shelves in the room. “Jeff! Where the fuck have you been!” the other two boys say almost in unison as their bickering immediately comes to an end, still in each other’s arms from their attempts to push the other away. Jeff’s face sours in a confused fashion directly after their question. He doesn’t speak a word as he raises a finger pointing in their direction, looking to you for answers on the way he found his bandmates. “Oh, that. Yeah, I was trying to make them all ’scary and hot’ as Eddie called it, and now they’re all over each other. It’s a turn-on I guess.” you purposefully deceive with your words.

They both immediately jump to their defense before Jeff speaks over them. “If it wasn’t Halloween I definitely would’ve bought that.’ clearly used to their antics. “Uh, hello?” Eddie’s voice says flatly waving a hand in Jeff’s direction, “Where the fuck have you been, dude?” he scoffs. “I’ve been blowing you up all day!” Gareth chimes in from the side, turning his head up to look at the clock on the wall “Look at the time. We need to be on stage within the next ten minutes!” his arms dramatically flailing toward the clock. “Okay! Okay! I get it, listen I’ll explain everything when we’re done, finish getting ready, and let’s take a shot or something! Relax!” he pleads, acknowledging his mistake.

“Doll face! Can you finish me up now? Lipstick, blood, all that shit!” Eddie mutters lowly, wiping away the drop of liquor on his bottom lip with his thumb. “Yeah, one sec.” you gag from the bitter taste slamming your glass down onto the coffee table. He grabs your now free hand to guide you off of the couch to the table and chairs his makeup was set out on while the other boys run through the stage door to grab their instruments. Gareth yells back towards Eddie, his body hanging halfway out of the door frame “Just come out on your mark.” Eddie gives him a thumbs up putting his earpiece in as you grab the burgundy lipstick shade he handpicked for tonight. “Was going for the ‘Rocky Horror” look.” he snickers as you apply the dark color to his plump lips. You bite your lip in response trying to remain focused on your task and now his eyes stare directly into yours. As you’re turning to set the lipstick tube down and pick up the vile of fake blood your focus is completely drained as you feel his hands on your waist, this time even tighter than the last.

“Why’d you go all shy on me now, doll?” his voice low, knowing exactly what he was doing as you turned to him dabbing droplets of the red blood down his lips and chin. “I’m just- uh, focused.” you spill out as his hands meet the sides of your cheeks, leaning in closer. He stays still for a moment, your breaths mixing before he lightly grazes his lips against yours. As he pulls away you’re pulled like a magnet following his motions, desperately seeking more of his touch. “Uh uh, careful now doll. Don’t wanna smudge anything, remember?” he utters smugly as some form of payback, dropping his grasp on you and walking towards the stage doors sending you a wink before fully exiting the room.

You take in a deep breath trying to suffocate the rosy flush given to you from the rush of the liquor and eddies mouth on yours. You grab your face powder and a fluffy brush from your bag to try and conceal the pink in your cheeks before stepping out to join the rest of the crowd. You take your cardigan off of your arms and drape it over the back of the dressing room couch and grab your bag to make your way to the bar before the show begins. The end of the hallway puts you out to a view of the most people you’ve ever seen in the room at once, forcing you to squeeze through the tightly enclosed rows of bodies, now desperate for another drink. Glancing between the gaps in the lines of people who all had the same idea as you, you spot a face you never would have thought you’d see in the crowd of a metal show. “‘Scuse me! sorry-“ you squeak out making your way over to give him a tap on the back.

“Hey! What are you doing out this late in a place like this?” you giggle sarcastically. His face is glazed over in confusion as he turns his head your way before lighting up brightly with shock. “Damn, you caught me.” he laughs off with his hands up. “I just came to see what all the fuss was about. You believe this shit? I’m paying a door fee to get into a show for the kid who used to wear fangs to school.” he scoffs and your lips immediately part with a chuckle. “Oh, just you wait Stevie. Just you wait…” you drag out knowing the trick Eddie, very literally had in his pocket. His face drops as your words hit his ears “Still?” he says almost disapointedly. “I’m not one to spoil surprises!” you say in Eddie’s defense.

The lights in the bar go low and the crowd reacts loudly. “What are you havin’? I’m buying.” Steve yells in your ear over the eruption in the crowd. “Vodka Redbull!” you reply loudly before he repeats your order to the bartender. Your head turns as you hear the loud banging of drums from the speakers on the stage signaling the beginning of the band’s set making your heart pound with every beat. You’ve never felt an energy quite like this from the crowds of one of his shows. As each of them makes their way through the clouds of smoke puddling onto the stage floor the voices roar with anticipation. You push your face in close to Steve’s neck so he can hear you. “I’m gonna head over, just come find me when our drinks are ready!” not wanting to miss a second of Eddie’s performance. Steve nods his head and mumbles a few words you can’t quite make out as the first song of the night starts kicking up.

You shove your way up closer to the stage just in time to see Eddie’s figure appear through the lights, brandishing his signature red crackled guitar. His ring-littered fingers grasp the mic as his eyes scan the sea of people before him. His face is low, submerged in his dark curls, “Hawkins, Indiana…” he whispers seductively with a lopsided smirk over his dark-painted lips, laughing away some of his nerves with the chanting screams. “You have no clue how happy it makes me to see you tonight.” his eyes spotting yours from across the room with a soft smile. The rest of the band playing out a slowly building melody behind him. His eyes still stare daggers directly into yours before blaring out the first chord of their opening song. Eddie thrashes his head as he begins to play, moving all of his hair out of his face to fully display his ghostly skin and sharp teeth to the crowd for the first time causing them to become even louder.

He moves slightly to face you as if the wild screams erupting were all for you, licking the edges of the sharp fangs as he spots you, still playing every chord seamlessly like his life depended on it. It wasn’t until this moment looking to the nearly sinful scene before you, that you noticed how worked up he had gotten you tonight. Watching his fingers flicking over the strings and the bouncing of his hair with every head bang, your knees fall weak. Drips of his sweat glowing under the stage lights bring you flashbacks of his body panting over top of yours. His loosely fitting, white button-up is just transparent enough to tease you with the outline of his waist as the lights beam from behind his stance.

Your mind is in a drought of all thoughts other than him until you feel the graze of an arm around you and realize you had completely forgotten about Steve coming to find you. “Sorry that took so long, fucking slammed tonight.” he loudly says, hovering over your side while handing you the mixed drink he had ordered. “You didn’t have to do all that, Steve.” you tilt your head back to face him. “It’s nothing, just wanted you to have a good time!” his hand moves down to the small of your back as you’re still facing him. You don’t think much of it, he’s probably just trying to keep his place in the ever-moving sea of fans.

Eddie on the other hand, quickly takes note of you and Steve’s proximity to one another and is far from fond of what’s happening before him. He seethes as he watches your attention being spent on Harrington in the middle of his show. It had brought out something in him he had never felt before. He starts moving more intensely around the stage, his chest burning with jealousy at the sight of his arm around you. His voice harshening every word he spits out into his mic, never dropping his sight on you. He can’t stand the way your head falls back with laughter at his bullshit jokes. How close his hands are to the skin he’s so desperate to feel against his again.

Another full song has gone by of Eddie attempting to stifle the pounding in his chest before he decides he’s had enough. You cup your hand around your mouth to shout in unison with the rest of the crowd, feeling Steve’s hand lift off of your hips to clap along. Eddie grabs a bottle off the lip of the stage taking a swig before gathering in a huddle with the rest of the band. “I don’t care if it’s not its spot on the setlist yet! We’re doing it now!” Eddie presses. “Just figure it out, alright?” he looks at each of them waiting for a nod of approval before he walks back to his mark.

“How we feelin’ tonight Hawkins?” Eddie says smugly, huffing into the mic. He leans down setting his guitar down on the stand beside him on the stage before reaching down his chest, painfully slowly un-buttoning his shirt before sliding it down his arms and throwing it into the crowd. Gaining applause and high-pitched whistles at his newly exposed glistening flesh. Locking his eyes with yours in a cold glare as he stands back up. It doesn’t take long for you to realize he’s putting this whole act on in spite of you being there with Steve. The two of them never got along well. He was everything Eddie wasn’t, and the epitome of everything he wanted to be. Guys like him always took everything he wanted, and he wasn’t letting it happen again.

Eddie had it engraved into his brain that Steve Harrington has been in love with you for years, no amount of convincing evidence would make him come to any other conclusion. You and Steve had almost nothing in common, it even took a while for Robin to get you around to the idea that the town’s popular rich kid wasn’t the dickhead everyone made him out to be. She at points had even teased you about Steve showing up at your front door in twenty years with a wedding ring in hand on one knee, begging for your affection. You pushed it off as a dig at Steve’s very questionable dating history and nothing more. You can’t help but think maybe you were in the wrong with the heat of his hand on your hip and the burning in Eddie’s eyes.

He pulls his guitar strap back over his head, tuning the knobs before moving back to the mic. “I’ve uh- I’ve never played this one live before.” he chuckles, stepping back for a second to take in the screaming filling the room. “It’s a cover actually so uh, don’t boo too hard if I play like shit.” he huffs out. The sound of a bell ringing interrupts the silence of his speech as he moves his mic stand to be perfectly in line with you in Steve’s arms. “This is ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’!” he spits gutturally over the roars of screams. His lips curl into a dark smirk as his tongue runs over his teeth. Every muscle in his toned body flexes as he thrashes backward, his messy sweat-drenched curls sticking to the length of his neck. His chest faces the ceiling as he holds his bent stance, his guitar resting on his hip bones as he shreds out the riff you have ingrained into your head.

Your breath hitches with the first sound of the bells hitting your ears and you are brought back to Eddies promise of playing this song tonight. Him half half-naked in his boxers in his bed smoking a cigarette before sealing his promise with a kiss. You’ve never once seen Eddie perform with this kind of confidence radiating off of him. The almost envious rage he had painted on his face as he moved provocatively made your stomach twist. Your brain can’t keep up with the rush of emotions from the unfair looks Eddie sends your way whenever his eyes peek at you through his long locks. His blatant jealousy wasn’t something you could handle with the amount of alcohol flowing through you.

He falls to his knees with the end of his solo, his mouth agape panting for everyone to see him reflected in a way you had him countless times. His chest heaves heavily up and down as he raises his instrument over his head, flicking his pick one last time letting the note screech out as long as possible. He makes sure he grabs a glance from your eyes once more before tossing his guitar pick to a girl a few rows before you, a tradition he typically would’ve saved for you at the end of his songs. His lips are curled with his tongue in his cheek as he watches their reactions, shooting her a wink. You watch as she bounces with excitement from the encounter, squealing with her friends with a look of disbelief. A similar look you display back to Eddie with a scrunched face. His nostrils are flared with a devilish grin as he looks at you harshly mouthing “Two can play at that game.”, a smile appears on his face before quickly dropping as the lights go down causing an eruption of applause once again, everyone else in the room oblivious to his stunt.

Your stomach drops completely as hot tears of anger well in the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t believe Eddie had the nerve to feel jealous after he practically ripped your heart out to go off and be famous, and you were pathetic enough to reciprocate his emotion. You scoot your way quickly past Steve as he reaches out for you grasping onto your bicep. “Where ya goin’? he mutters in confusion with a sad look. “I uh- just need some fresh air.” you spill out quickly. You keep up your pace before shuffling between people’s shoulders. “Hey! Wait up.” you hear him say muffled by the hundreds of other voices around you reacting to the music. Your heart cracks deeper with every step you make, the echoing of Eddie’s voice off of the walls adding insult to injury. He knew what he was doing, carelessly eager to It takes everything in you to make it through the front entrance without letting the droplets framing your waterline spill over.

༺ the end.

chapter IV: ‘all this time’

coming: tonight!

a/n: thank you so much if you’ve made it this far! i decided to split this chapter up into a fun little double feature!! plz let me know your thoughts <3 enjoyyyy

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Would you recommend watching Earthsea, reading the books or both?

DO NOT WATCH EITHER ADAPTATION OF EARTHSEA (american miniseries and ghibli movie). I cannot stress enough that they are both supremely terrible adaptations of the books, as well as being arguably quite bad as standalone pieces of media. I believe there are some well-liked radio drama adaptations available on Youtube though!

But really, I can’t recommend the books enough. A Wizard of Earthsea is widely beloved for a reason, but imo the rest of the series as a whole far surpasses it. There are good audiobook readings as well, though I’ve found that they can be hard to follow in that format. They’re short but dense so they move at a quick pace and it’s easy to miss significant details and implications.

The first trilogy (A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan, and The Farthest Shore) is very episodic. Each concerns the coming-of-age of a different adolescent protagonist, so you could really read them in any order; chronological is probably the most rewarding, since the protagonist of Wizard is a major character for the whole series, but if you’d prefer to read a book with a female protagonist and/or have a penchant for slow-burn psychological drama, I’d start with Atuan. It’s my favorite book of the first trilogy (and also the shortest!)

The second trilogy (Tehanu, Tales From Earthsea, and The Other Wind) takes a sharp turn into darker, more mature subject matter. It’s messier than the first but far more complex and thematically rich. Sex becomes a major theme—not in the GoT “high fantasy that FUCKS” sense but in the sense that it deconstructs the patriarchal and erotophobic social structures that are presented uncritically in the first trilogy, and often taken for granted as the foundations of high fantasy worldbuilding. These you need to read in chronological order, as they’re far more dependent on your knowledge of the previous books, though a friend of mine has confirmed that Tehanu (my favorite book of the series and one of my favorite books, period) is still powerful as a stand-alone novel.

The illustrated “Books of Earthsea” omnibus also includes the four short stories in the series, two of which she wrote before Wizard (“The Word of Unbinding” and “The Rule of Names”) and two which she wrote after The Other Wind (“The Daughter of Odrin” and “Firelight”), as well as the essay “Earthsea Revisioned.” I highly recommend reading “Revisioned” after Tehanu, as that’s when it was written and that’s the book it chiefly concerns. I read the short stories in chronological order after finishing the novels, which offered a nice retrospective microcosm of the development of the whole series. Whatever you do, save “Firelight” for last.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 5: You Will Always Have My Heart

Eugene Roe x Violet Elwood

Summary: Eugene didn’t know that love could hurt so much, until he met Violet and then all he could think about was her. As Violet’s condition worsens, Eugene grows to realise just how fragile love is. Warnings: mentions of hospitals, critically ill oc, heart break, grief, death

November 20th 1941

Eugene tapped his foot against the cool, tiled floor of the hospital waiting room, knocking along to Artie Shaw on the radio on the nurses station. Violet was in for a check up with the Cardiologist but she’d been gone a little while now and the longer she was away the more anxious Eugene became.

A few minutes later, Violet pushed open the large double doors and made her way down the corridor to greet him, pulling him in for a hug.

“What happened? What did the doctor say? What’s the…?”

“Eugene calm down,” Violet laughed, pulling back from his arms and cupping his cheek, “Everything’s fine, well as fine as things can be. I’m fine, Gene.” She reassured him, pressing her lips to his. He melted into the kiss, the thoughts rushing through his mind slowed as her lips moved on his own.

“But what…” kiss “did the…” kiss “Vi…” kiss. Eugene gave up trying to speak and instead kissed Violet back firmly, his hand coming to rest on her lower back.

“You talk too much, Gene,” she grinned, smoothing her fingers through his dark locks, playfully pulling at the strands and causing him to sigh at the contact.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Vi,” he mumbled, burying his head into her neck and holding her close.

“I’m afraid that I’ll be the one dying first, Gene,” she smiled sadly, holding him close to her.

The hustle and bustle of the hospital faded around them and nothing else mattered in that moment. All Eugene could concentrate on was the woman in his arms, the woman he loved so dearly.

Violet felt a small tear trailing down her cheek as Eugene held her. She hated lying to him but she knew how upset he’d be if she told him the truth. At least this way they could still enjoy their time together without having the time limit the doctor expected hanging over them. Violet tried to push the doctor's words from her mind as Eugene led her from the hospital and towards the bus stop. She hated being so reliant on other people but as simple daily tasks grew ever harder and even breathing was an effort she knew she didn’t have much choice. As they took their seat on the bus, the exertion of the morning caught up with her and she slipped into a dreamless sleep in Eugene’s arms.

December 8th 1941

Violet was sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed, the early morning light creeping through the blinds, illuminating her pale features. She looked tired, with dark, purple circles painted underneath her bright, blue eyes, her cheeks hollowed and her cheekbones protruding more than they used to. But she was still his beautiful girl, Eugene thought to himself as he pushed her blonde locks from her forehead.

The radio was buzzing dramatically in the corner and Eugene stood to move closer, turning up the volume as the president, Franklin D Roosevelt’s voice filled the room.

‘Yesterday, December 7, 1941 a date which will live in infamy the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.’

Eugene froze beside the radio, listening to the president addressing Congress. The speech continued and he took a seat beside the radio, turning up the volume and listening as the president's words resonated with him.

‘The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost.’

His words flowed out of the radio, sickening everyone in the hospital, no one walked past the door.

‘I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire’

Eugene took in a sharp breath, the US had declared war on Japan. They were going to war. What would that mean for him? For Violet? Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, Violet stirred under the covers.

“Gene?” She mumbled sleepily and he was by her side in an instant, smoothing his hand over her cheek.

“I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m here. How are you feeling?” He crouched beside her bed, resting his head on their clasped hands.

“My… chest hurts,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut before she opened them again. She had a procedure the other day and it had taken its toll on her, she was weaker now. Every day seemed like a struggle and he heard one of the nurses mention it was unlikely that she’d be going home again.

“I know, Sweetheart,” Eugene moved so he could lay on the bed beside her and she snuggled against his chest. He could feel her heart beating slowly beside him, lub dub, lub dub.

“What was on the radio?” Violet asked, glancing up at Gene.

He smiled sadly at her, unsure of how to break the news to her, “You know Pearl Harbour was attacked?”

She nodded slowly. “Well the US has declared war on Japan.”

Violet pushed herself up carefully so she could face him properly, “Does that… does that mean you’ll have to go? Go to war?”

Eugene shook his head, “I don’t know yet, but I promise I’m not leaving you unless I have to. You hear me?”

Violet smiled, reaching up but Eugene craned his neck so she could reach his lips easily, planting a small kiss before laying back down.

Violet soon slipped back into her slumber but Eugene couldn’t rest, his mind drifting to the President’s words. What would that mean for his future?

December 11th 1941

“Good mornin’, Sweetheart,” Eugene greeted her, a bunch of flowers in his hand as he moved around the bed, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Good mornin’, Gene, she smiled weakly, reaching out her hand to hold his. He squeezed it gently, pulling up a chair to sit beside her bed. “How are you feelin’ today?”

“She shrugged her shoulders, “Same as yesterday, Gene.”

Eugene nodded slowly, she’d been having a bad week, lots of chest pains, lots of episodes of breathlessness. She was now on oxygen full time and had a nurse coming in every half an hour to monitor her vitals.

Eugene knew that things weren’t going to get better than this, they could only get worse. One of the nurses warned him that she may eventually slip into a coma if she became too weak. It broke his heart to see her suffering so much. She barely ate, most of her nutrition was given via liquid food, and she could barely move. Eugene had taken her for a walk around the hospital grounds in a wheelchair the other day and it was nice to see her smile again.

“How’s your family?” Violet asked, raining her head from the pillow to glance at him, her blue eyes shining brighter than ever but the rest of her seemed to be fading faster by the day.

“They’re okay. They said they’ll be poppin’ by later to see you. Wanted to check on you,” Eugene reassured her. He picked up her hairbrush from the bedside cabinet, smoothing it carefully through her blonde locks. She’d always taken such care of her hair, always neatly curled and pinned, but now it lay flat against her head, lifeless.

“Thank you, Gene. For everything.”

“Of course. I love you, of course I’m gonna look after you,” he pressed his lips against her forehead and she sighed sleepily. “Do you want me to go so you can get some rest?”

“No, no please stay,” Violet shuffled cautiously across the bed to make room for Eugene, “Will you hold me for a while.”

Eugene smiled widely at her, “Of course, Sweetheart.” He slid in easily beside her, wrapping his body around her tiny, weak frame.

December 14th 1941

“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Eugene,” Violet's father explained.

The family were sitting in the waiting room, her mother and sister crying quietly in the corner. Her father had tears in his eyes but he was fighting them, trying to remain strong for his family's sake.

“The doctors don’t think she has long. I’m so sorry, son.” Violet’s father placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before moving back to be with his family.

Eugene was frozen to the spot, the noise of the hospital fading around him into a blur of white noise. The flowers he’d been clutching fell limp to the floor, their petals splaying across the tiles. His mouth was dry, air barely reaching his lungs before it escaped in a sharp breath. He felt his knees buckle, hitting the ground hard, but he didn’t notice the pain. He didn’t feel anything, not anymore.

December 16th 1941

Violet’s breaths were short and shallow, her eyes closed as she rested peacefully against Eugene’s shoulder. Her family all sat around her, their eyes rimmed red and puffy. They had all cried enough over the last few days that Eugene thought he’d never cry again. How could he ever cry over anything else when the worst possible thing had already happened?

“Gene,” Violet mumbled weakly, causing Eugene to jump slightly.

“Yes, Vi.”

“I don’t want to die here, not in this hospital,” she glanced up at him, her hand cupping his cheek. “I want to go back to the lake, it’s our place. I want to go back to the lake, Gene.”

Eugene looked down at her sadly, “We can’t go the lake, Sweetheart. You’re not well enough.”

“Gene, I’m never going to get any better than this. The worst thing that could happen is that I’d die and I’m dying anyway,” she retorted, she understood his anxiousness but at the same time she needed to do this, it was her last chance.

Eugene glanced up at Violet’s family, trying to gauge their reaction. Eugene’s father stood up, giving Eugene a curt nod.

“I’ll bring the car around.”

The drive to the lake was a short one. By the time Eugene had carried Violet out to the car and her mother had carried out her oxygen bottle, her father had brought the car around.

They all bundled in, no one moaning about the tight squeeze or the stuffy air. Violet was sitting on his lap, clinging tightly to the front of his shirt.

“Thank you, Gene, she mumbled, pressing her lips gently to his neck. Eugene had to fight back the tears as he looked down at her, trying to steady his breathing so she didn’t realise he was crying.

When the car pulled up as close to the lake as they could, Violet’s family hurried out of the car, helping carry the oxygen as Eugene carried Violet. They picked a quiet spot, the same spot where Eugene and Violet had their second date.

Violet’s mother lay down a blanket from the back of the car, laying it on the grass so they could sit down. Eugene sat down first so that Violet could sit between his legs, leaning against his chest.

Violet’s mother hovered behind them until her father ushered her away. “Give them some time, Love. She wants to be with Eugene.”

Eugene watched as they walked back to the car, he knew he was hurting but how much pain must they be in losing their eldest daughter?

The sun was hanging low in the sky, just like it had been on their second date. It cast a bright orange glow, like the sky was burning, a lit the flames. The lake itself glowed orange, reflecting the setting sun's rays. It felt as though the whole world was alight.

Eugene grasped Violet’s hands, wrapping them in his own and pulling them close to their chests. He could feel her heartbeat, weak but steady beneath his hands. He could feel her breaths, short and sharp.

“It’s so beautiful,” Violet whispered, her eyes shining brightly in the setting sun and it reminded Eugene of the old Violet before she was sick. The time when they had everything to live for.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled into her hair, burying his face and taking a long, deep breath. She didn’t smell like she used to, of roses and lavender. She smelled clinical, like the hospital. It was as if that place had drained the life from her instead of trying to save it. “You’re perfect.”

“But my heart’s not, that’s far from perfect. I’m sorry my heart wasn’t good enough” she mumbled, glancing up at Eugene, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be perfect for you, Eugene.

Eugene but back a sob, “No, no don’t you ever say that. You are perfect, Violet. God, you are so perfect. Your heart was all I could have ever asked for. I love you so much.” He pulled her in tighter so that she was sat in his lap, her head resting against the crook of his neck.

“I wish we could have had longer,” Violet cried, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed, her breath becoming short, small gasps escaping her. Eugene placed the oxygen mask over her mouth, rubbing her back comfortingly as she coughed.

“It’s okay, Vi. It’s alright. We had the time that God decided for us and it was the best time of my life. I love you so much, don’t ever forget that.”

Violet nodded slowly, unable to speak as she breathed as best she could through the oxygen mask. He placed his lips on her forehead, kissing her lightly as he closed his eyes and began to hum quietly. Violet's breathing became slower, shallower as he hummed and she relaxed into him.

Eugene smoothed his hand over her hair, watching as her blue eyes slid closed, small breaths leaving her lips. “It’s okay, Violet. It’s okay to let go, I’ve got you now.” He whispered into her ear, rocking her slowly, “I love you.”

Violet’s body relaxed in his arms, her breathing slowed until it became inaudible, and her heartbeat slowed beneath his hand.

“Thank you, Gene. Thank you for loving me,” she whispered, taking one last deep breath before she fell silent, slipping away from the world. Eugene watched as her body relaxed, her ragged breathing stilled and her heartbeat stopped under his hand. She looked so peaceful, her face no longer lined with worry, but her flesh smooth over her gaunt features. She was finally at peace.

Eugene’s tears flowed freely now, he didn’t want her to see him crying, didn’t want her last memory to be of him in a state, but now he could. He didn’t hold anything back, clutching her lifeless body as if she could anchor him to this world as he fell apart.

“Goodbye Violet,” he sobbed, “I love you.”

December 20th 1941

Eugene bundled some belongings into his kit bag, mainly a few spare pairs of clothes, some smart shoes, and a book for the train journey. His parents were going to drop him off at the station to start his journey to basic training. He’d never managed to tell Violet he’d enlisted on December 12th, it seemed so far away at the time.

His parents were waiting outside as he collected up his last few things, shoving the photo of his family into his book so it wouldn’t become damaged.

The scrapbook Violet gave him for his birthday sat on his bedside table, pride of place. He’d looked through the photos every night since she passed, reading over her words of encouragement. She knew him so well. Each phrase or paragraph made him smile, they got him through each day without her.

As he turned over the final page of the book he noticed a white piece of paper sticking out the edge of the book. He pulled it free, unfolding the paper and revealing a letter written in Violet’s hand. Eugene felt the scrapbook fall from his hands and onto his bed. His eyes trained on the letter.

To My Dearest Eugene,

By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. I wish we could have had more time together, but then all of the time in the world would still not have been enough.

To be loved by you was the greatest treasure of my life. You are a special man Eugene Roe. You filled my life with light and I don’t want you to hide that light from the world. I want you to show the world how wonderful you are Eugene and you have to promise me that you will love again. I know that there is someone else out there for you and I want you to find her. She will be so lucky to have you Gene.

Thank you for everything Eugene, thank you for making me feel special and for loving me despite knowing our ending. I wish you all the luck in the world, my love. I love you with all my heart.

Yours always

Violet

Eugene didn’t find the usual tears slipping down his face but instead, a wide smile spread across his lips. He folded the letter, placing it alongside the picture of himself and Violet, before doing up his kit bag and sliming it over his shoulder. He gave one last glance at his childhood bedroom, unsure of when he would next see it. He walked down the familiar stairs and along the corridor. He looked back at the house he had occupied for the last 20 years, filled with so many memories.

“Thank you, Violet.” He closed the door, following his way down the familiar path and towards the car. He’d soon be in another State on a very different path than he’d imagined but at least he knew that no matter what Violet would be watching over him.

Tags: @blueberry-ovaries @mads-weasley @coco-bean-1218 @she-wolf09231982 @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @allthingsimagines @bucky32557038ww2 @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @xxluckystrike @hogwartslegacypics @softguarnere

[kyronymph]

Seclusion

Konig x Fem!Reader

Category: Slowburn; Smut

Warnings: Violent imagery in beginning.

Tags: Size difference, Giant dick, Asking consent, Blowjob, Eating out, Missionary, Doggy, Gentle and Hard fucking, Praising, Aftercare. Codename: Raptor for y/n

Notes: My first ever fanfiction. Heavily inspired by my current playlist lol And of course my undying love for this giant hunk of a man. I'm open to criticism as this is my first time writing! It's slow at the beginning on purpose, but you can always skip to the end for the spicy stuff! Hope you guys enjoy <3

“HQ do you copy?” Konig radios in. “Copy. You’re clear to move forward. You have execute authority.” “Copy. Konig Out.” You watch as the giant switches from relaxed to laser focused. From your short time on the team, you’ve noticed his ability to adapt perfectly to any situation. He looks over at you and your teammates, confirming you all are ready to go. The five of you head towards the snow-covered forest clearing slowly, crouching to avoid detection. The mission is to gather intel on illegal weapons distribution by the United States Government. Konig signals you and your teammates to go into position. While they keep guard, you head into one of their tents and look for the laptop. You find it quickly and plug in the hardware to begin downloading the necessary files. All goes well until you hear Konig over the radio, “GET OUT OF THERE NOW RAPTOR!” You can hear the slightest hint of panic in his voice. You know you need to leave now, but the download is nearly finished. You take the chance and wait for the download to finish.

A gunshot rings out and you hear a thud nearby. The ice cold realization that a teammate has been downed hits you instantly. Gunfire is erupting all around as you watch the meter count down. “Come on, faster damn it!” you mumble angrily at the device. A shuffling sound comes from the tent entrance, startling you. One of the Americans found you and is pointing a pistol at you. You stay still, trying to think of a way out. If you grab for your gun, you’re a goner. You don’t know much English, just German and Russian, so talking your way out is out of the question. You put your hands up, thinking being captured is better than being killed here. Just as you raise your hands, the American falls to the ground as if his puppet strings were cut. Konig, with his silenced pistol pointing where the soldier’s head was, stands at the entrance of the tent. You mark the look of relief in his eyes as he sees you unharmed. “Let’s go, now” he says firmly. You nod, but turn to grab the device. Better some intel than none, especially with how badly the mission has gone so far. Heading out of the tent you see two of your teammates laying on the ground, blood pooling under their lifeless bodies. 

As you make your way out of the encampment, backup for the Americans shows up. “Fuck” Konig grunts. He instinctively puts you behind him. You’ve never been this close to him so you’ve never experienced this protectiveness. “When I say go, you run. Got it?” he says to you without turning. “I’m not leaving you Konig” you reply desperately. “I need you to get out of here, please.” His tone is soft, he sounds worried. You’re stunned and confused as this comes out of nowhere. “Please Raptor,” he begs. You nod. The Americans go to surround the three of you. “Go” he whispers. Without hesitation, you sprint for the nearest trees. At that moment, he begins spraying down Americans with your teammate. 

You nearly make it to the treeline when you feel something hit your shoulder. Your shoulder goes slack and a hot pain shoots through your body, but you keep running. One of the Americans must have gotten past Konig. You start to panic but will yourself to stay calm and think. Your knowledge and quick thinking is why you got on this team afterall. 

The snow shows your footprints, as well as the blood trickling from your shoulder. You spot a small stream, so you get up and start running for it. The American spots you and lets off another round. This one hits you in the thigh, causing you to fall hard into the icy ground. Panic sets in immediately, knowing you have no way out. The American comes up to you and laughs. He says something in a mocking tone, but you don’t know what it is. You’re laying on your back now and he stands above you. He takes his gloves off and cracks his knuckles on both hands. You brace yourself as he straddles you and begins punching you in the gut, then the face, the chest, gut again, face again, and so forth. The metallic taste in your mouth is strong. He could be doing worse things, you think to yourself.

As you lay there, being beaten, you nearly lose consciousness. After God knows how many minutes you hear a rage-filled scream. The American stops and turns to the sound, and you can see his face drop in pure fear. It’s Konig running full-speed at the American. The American tries to make a run for it but he’s too slow. Konig grabs him by the back of the neck and slams him on the ground. He then flips the soldier and begins beating his face. You can hear the crunch of bone each time his massive fists make contact. “Don’t ever fucking touch her again!” he screams as he punches the American. The soldier goes limp, but you can still see his chest rising and falling. “Wake up, I want you to feel this,” Konig says with what you can only assume is a smirk under the mask. You can see the pure murderous intent in his gaze. He slaps the American until he gains consciousness. Then he picks him up by the throat. With his 6’10”, heavily built stance, he has the soldier dangling far off the ground. Both hands wrapped around his neck, he squeezes and you watch as the soldier claws at Konig’s hands. After a few minutes the soldier goes completely limp. Konig lets go and he falls to the floor with a heavy thud. 

Konig turns to you and you watch as his gaze instantly switches to worry. He runs to you and falls to his knees. He opens his jack and rips two pieces of fabric from his under shirt. He ties off your thigh and tries his best to cover your shoulder wound. He covers you in his massive jacket and picks you up effortlessly. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.” He runs for a while, not showing any sign of exhaustion. “Where’s Jaeger?” you ask weakly. “He’s gone too.” Konig says without an ounce of sadness. Resigned, you lose consciousness.

When you come to, you’re in what looks like an old office. You try to prop yourself up but pain shoots through you. You look at your shoulder and thigh and notice clean bandaging. Your mind immediately jumps to Konig. You look around the small room and see no sign of him. Ignoring the burning pain, you get up and limp out of the room. You exit the office and see him sitting at a makeshift cooking pot situated in a large open room. Some old machinery litters the place but otherwise there’s plenty of space. Konig hears you and turns, getting up instantly to pick you up. “You should be laying down,” he says, looking down at your face. That hint of relief shows in his blue-grey eyes again. You take a moment to admire his eyes, given it’s the only thing you can see and you’ve never been this close to him. While fully conscious at least. You catch yourself, feeling your cheeks heat as he stares at you intently. “Let me get you something comfortable to lay on at least” he says as he gently places you on his seat. He walks into a second office and emerges moments later with a few couch cushions and a thick blanket. “That's all I could find, I’m sorry.” Apologizing? The American must have knocked a few good ones into you. Konig NEVER apologizes to anyone. Not even our higher-ups. He must have realized what he said as he turns his head to the side quickly. “I, um, I made us something to eat. I went out and only found a few squirrels. Eat as much as you want, I will take what is left.” Konig says rather quietly. You oblige and start eating, but leave a full squirrel for the giant. 

“Thank you for taking care of me Konig” you say with full gratitude. This is probably the most you’ve talked to him at any point in time. He usually keeps to himself and only says what needs to be said. Given the circumstances, it might not be too weird though. Konig turns to look at you and you see his eyes soften. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks again. You turn away out of embarrassment. “I will always look out for you, Raptor,” he says softly. His voice is beautiful. Not one you would expect from a man of his stature. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” he says shyly. He seems so out of character. Konig is not known to be shy or nervous. Closed off, but not shy. What happened to the big, cocky, murder-happy brute? Konig sees you thinking and decides to move closer to you. He sits down on the cold concrete floor, knees tucked to his chest. 

You turn to look at him and he turns to look at you. “At least sit on these cushions if you want to be on the floor” you say in a joking tone. He looks at the cushion and then back at you. “I’m too big” he says matter of factly and turns back to the fire. You feel as though a blush crosses his cheeks, but you can’t tell with that damned mask on. “What do you look like under there anyway?” you say casually, trying to keep the conversation going. He keeps his gaze on the fire as he says “probably not what you imagine I look like.” “Hmph. Take it off then and let me be the judge of that” you say playfully. Now he turns to look at you. “You won’t like it. I rather not” he says with a defeated tone. What happened to this man, you wonder to yourself. “If you don’t feel comfortable that’s alright” you say genuinely. His gaze softens, making you blush. That goddamned look. You feel butterflies in your stomach, more so than you have ever felt with any man or woman. “Are you good with personal questions?” you ask. “No,” he grunts back. “Alright well I’m bored so I’m gonna ask anyway” you say with a big smile. Konig looks at you with that soft gaze again, and you swear you can see a smile in those beautiful eyes of his. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” you ask shyly. You look down at your hands to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Yes. Have you?” he replies. Shocked that he actually answered, you look back up at him. “Oh really? Who? And no I have not” you say with surprise. “Some girl in high school” he answers shortly. You catch him take a quick look at your lips. “How would you feel being my first kiss, Konig?” you ask boldly. You have no idea where this confidence is even coming from. He might not usually be shy, but you definitely are. Konig’s eyes widen and he turns to the fire quickly. He’s definitely blushing under there now. “I uh, I don’t know” he says softly. You look at him and slump a little. Pain shoots through your shoulder but you ignore it. The perceived rejection is enough to focus on. Konig turns and sees your disappointment. “No, no I didn’t mean it that way Raptor. I just… no one likes me. I’m meant to be alone. I hurt everyone I try to get close to. I don’t want to do that to you too. I don’t mind sitting on the sidelines and watching you live your life. As long as it’s a good one” he says solemnly. “You’re not meant to be alone Konig, that’s bullshit. Everyone deserves to be loved. Yes, even you, you big goof” you say tenderly. He looks at you with that soft gaze and you swear you could melt. He says nothing as he moves closer. “Raptor, no one has ever been so kind to me as you. Even before today, you have always shown me kindness and warmth. You’re the only one who isn’t afraid of me or what I can do. I have loved you from afar ever since you joined our unit” he speaks to you softly. “I just haven’t said anything because I was afraid you would laugh or be disgusted.” “WHy would I ever be disgusted by you, Konig?” you ask as you stare into his eyes. Without another word he gently cradles your head in his giant hand and lifts his mask with the other. You take a second to look at his face. He’s on the paler side and has sandy brown hair sticking out from under his helmet. Eye black covers around his eyes, and slightly onto his nose. You can still see his light colored eyelashes and brows through it. His nose is on the larger side, but not wide, and has a bump on the bridge. It’s slightly bent to the left, likely from being broken in a fight. His lips are full but not overly large, and a gorgeous pink. His jawline is sharp but his overall face has a soft look to it. And of course, those beautiful blue-grey eyes of his. He looks at you and leans in for a kiss. 

He’s gentle, so as not to hurt you and your injuries. His lips are soft velvet on yours. You love the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth on yours. You lift your good arm and grab the back of his head. The kiss begins to turn more ravenous, his tongue finding its way to yours. Although it is your first kiss, it feels natural. He acts as a guide. You move a bit and wince at the pain. He immediately stops kissing you and looks at you with concern. He looks down and notices the wound opening on your thigh. 

Worried, Konig runs to grab fresh bandages and some water. He cleans your wound and bandages it. He caresses your face gently and then leans down for a forehead kiss. “I think it’s best if you get some rest” he says softly. You oblige, even though you rather be doing other things. Damn you, American, you grumble in your head. Sleep comes fast once you lay down fully. You dream of Konig, and all the things you want him to do to you.

The next morning you wake, and see Konig laying on the cold concrete next to you, asleep. You look at him laying there, mask back on, and he begins to move. His eyes open and lock onto you instantly. “Good morning Raptor” he says with a smile in his eyes. “Good morning Konig,” you say back. “I know you’re still in bad shape, but we really need to contact HQ. Do you think you can work on that?” he asks, worry written in his eyes. You know the worry is for your well-being. “I feel better, I can handle it” you say confidently. “Alright. I will go hunt for some food. If you need anything, radio me. And I mean anything” he says with that soft look. You smile and nod at him. He turns to grab his gear and head outside. You begin working with the minimal equipment Konig was able to scrounge up from god knows where. With the equipment available this will probably take some time. 

A few hours later, Konig returns with a doe slung over his massive shoulder. The deer looks deceptively small slung over his shoulder, but as he gets closer you see just how big it is. This man makes everything look small. You wonder what you look like next to him and blush. “What are you thinking about Raptor?” Konig asks with the hint of a smirk. The question snaps you out of it and you reply, “Nothing, just trying to figure something out.” “Mmhmm” is the only reply you get back. 

Konig begins his work on the deer. Despite his massive hands, he’s extremely precise and delicate. You watch him work, his muscles working in his strong forearms. Blood clearly does not bother him. The warm crimson liquid covers his hands. He’s surprisingly efficient with the deer’s carcass. Every cut is precise and thought out. You leave him to his work and continue on yours.

Your work has you entirely focused, Konig has to remind you to eat and rest throughout the several days it takes. Your wounds are healing quickly. You can walk and lift things, though there is still some pain. Konig does most of the heavy work for you, even though you insist on doing it yourself. After a while, you get a makeshift signal enhancer up and ready. You attempt to radio to HQ but get no response on the other end. Defeated, you get up and move to the fire. Konig is cooking up some of the deer meat you have left. It needs to be eaten today, as the snow can only preserve it for so long. Konig turns to look at you. “What’s wrong Raptor?” “I got the radio enhancer up and running but I’m hearing nothing back from HQ. I know they probably need to verify some things and make sure it isn’t a trap, but it’s still frustrating” you say in an irritated tone. “It’s going to be okay. We will get out of here one way or another. I promise” he says with that soft look. You look at him and smile, knowing he speaks the truth.

This is the first time you’ve had some time to relax since working on the signal enhancer. You sign and tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on your knees. You hear Konig move closer to you, and then you feel his arm wrap tightly around you. “So, uh, did you want to talk about that kiss at all…?” Konig asks shyly. You lift your head and look up at him. He’s so massive next to you, your mind jumps immediately to the thought of him above you. You blush hard and look away. “It was amazing” you say wholeheartedly. “I’ve been thinking about you these past few days. I did not want to bother you though, seeing how focused you were on your work” he says quietly. He lifts his mask and you see the heat in his face. His eyes dart to your lips and back to your eyes. The look makes you blush even more. “Oh yeah? What exactly have you been thinking of, big guy?” you ask playfully. Before he can respond, you get up and settle yourself in his lap, facing him. He chokes on whatever he was about to say and his face turns a bright red. You feel his already massive bulge get bigger and harder under your weight. You look down with wide eyes, shocked at the sheer size of him straining against his cargo pants. He lets out a small grunt. Without question he grabs your face, gently, but with ravenous lust. The kiss isn’t gentle this time. He kisses you ravenously, wanting to taste every inch of your mouth. Your tongues tangle and spar, only parting for a moment to catch your breaths. He pulls back and stares at your bruised lips. “This is what I have been thinking about,” he says with a lust-tainted voice. He picks you up and moves you to the office, kissing you on the way. He seats himself on the couch with you straddled in his lap. You feel his hot cock press into your wet heat through layers of clothing. Having never been with someone, you second guess yourself. Will you be able to handle all of him? Konig senses your thoughts shift and stops. “Is everything okay? Are you uncomfortable? We can stop right now, I will hold no grudge Raptor” he says with nothing but pure love and concern in his gaze. You smile at him and say “I appreciate that so much Konig. I want to keep going, I’m just worried about you, uh, fitting I guess” with a huge blush. “Oh” he says with a glance down at his straining bugle. “I promise to be gentle, and we stop whenever you say the word” he says, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “I would never wish to hurt you, no matter how badly I want to be inside you” he says with that cocky grin you know so well. That’s all you need as you get back to tasting his sweet lips. You bounce slightly, trying to rub that ache between your legs. He rocks with you, hands on your hips, savoring the pressure. 

You pull back and look at his gorgeous eyes. Then you look down at the massive bulge sitting under you. You slide down from your straddling position and sit yourself between his legs. You lift a hand and move to unbutton and then unzip his cargo pants. You feel the strain lighten a bit in his soft boxers. He lets out a little grunt at the extra space. You start rubbing him up and down gently, then sliding your hand down and cupping his balls through the fabric. You roll your fingers and play with them. Konig lets out a little whimper. You look up at him and smirk. Your fingers find their way to the band of his boxers and pull them down. You let out a small gasp as his full length comes free. If you had to guess, he’s 11.5 inches with a girth between a redbull can and a soda can. It’s absolutely massive and Konig can tell what you’re thinking about. “You’re just big all around huh” you say while staring at his length. Konig chuckles at that. You grab his cock at the base and move your mouth to his tip. He’s uncut, but with how hard he is, his pink tip is peeking out clearly. You lick the underside of his tip up to the slit. “Fuck” Konig grunts at the feeling of your warm tongue on his cock. You stroke his cock gently at the base as you continue teasing his tip. After licking up several beads of precum, you close your mouth around his head, continuing to work his tip with your tongue. Konig grunts and runs a hand through his hair. His other is gripping the couch’s armrest tightly. You slowly work your way down his cock, taking as much in your mouth as you can. You’re careful to keep him from cumming, you want this to last. As you work his cock, his hand travels to the back of your head. He grips your hair but doesn’t force you down. You enjoy the feeling of his fingers in your hair, his warmth seeping from his palm. You pick up the pace and put more pressure with your hands. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum” Konig grunts with a low voice. The hand gripping the couch squeezes the fabric, ripping it. You feel him pulse and start emptying into your mouth. He rocks his hips forward with each throb. You hear his sign as he lets out the breath he was holding. The cum spills out of the side of your mouth, running down his length. You swallow what’s left in your mouth.

Konig grabs you gently and sits you on the couch, the seat still warm from his massive body. He pulls you forward by the legs, sliding your cargo pants off. He spreads your legs and stares hungrily at your wetness. He looks up at you with that ravenous look in his eyes. Then he moves his face down to your core. His tongue swipes from bottom to top, slightly lingering on the bead at the top of your core. He circles it, then teases it gently with his tongue. You grab his hair and push his face into your center. He stiffens his tongue and enters you. You let out a soft moan. You feel him smirk at your pleasure. He pulls his tongue out and teases you again. “You will cum for me” he says with a grunt. With that, he slides one of his fingers into you. You arch your back at the filling feeling of just one finger. He licks and teases at your clit while he thrusts his finger in and out at a steady pace. He’s careful not to change his rhythm, as you get closer to climaxing. He keeps going until you grip his finger and pulse as the release washes over you. He chuckles, saying “good girl” while he stares at you with that seductive look.

He stands, towering over you as you lay on the couch. Konig walks out of the office, returning with the cushions by the fire. He lays them on the floor, then walks over to you, and offers you a hand. You take it and he pulls you up effortlessly. He bends over to kiss you. “Are you sure you want to keep going?” he asks genuinely. You let out a breathy “yes” and that’s enough for him to take you over to the cushions and lay you down. He stares into your eyes with a look that is nothing but pure love. He kisses you passionately, tangling your tongue with his. He pulls away and moves down to your center. He tastes the sweetness of your cum one last time. Then he moves up and hovers over you. Konig guides his tip to your entrance, teasing it by rubbing his head up and down your core. He stops at your entrance again and slowly pushes into you, looking at your face the entire time. You groan at the sheer size of him. “That’s my good girl” he says in a breath. He lets go of his cock as he slowly pushes into you, then out, progressing further with each thrust. You grab at his tensed forearms, feeling his muscles. He groans with each thrust deeper into you. “Fuck, you feel so good on my cock baby girl” he moans as he thrusts. You grip hard onto his cock as he fills every inch of space you have. Once he’s fully in you, you feel your stomach stretch slightly. Looking down, you can see the bulge of his cock in you. You whimper at the filling feeling of having him inside you. Konig starts speeding up with his thrusts. You moan at the feeling of him pushing into you. He keeps thrusting, guiding his head down to your peaked nipples. He pulls your shirt up and removes your bra, all while continuing to thrust. His massive hand surrounds your breast. He licks and twists gently at your nipple. The extra stimulation is enough to finish you again. Konig feels you pulse and grip on his cock, causing him to cum. “Fuck!” he shouts as he erupts. You feel every pulse of his cock as he fills you with cum. You both pant hard as you relish the sheer bliss of the moment. Then Konig flips you over, placing the cushions in a way that supports your abdomen. He pulls you up slightly, your ass facing up. He rubs it and gives it a soft smack. You whimper at the sting of it but like the feeling. He runs his thumb across your center, causing you to jerk at the sensitivity of it. Konig lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m gonna fuck you like the animal I am now, is that okay baby girl?” he says with that cocky tone. “Y-yes, I want you to fuck me hard Konig,” you say in response. “That’s my good girl” he lets out on a breath. He guides his cock to your entrance. All gentleness disappears as he thrust fully into you, slightly shoving you forward. He lets out a loud grunt as he grabs your ass and grips it. He begins thrusting ravenously. You moan as his balls slap against you with each thrust. He puts one leg up with his foot on the floor, the other with his knee on the floor. He thrusts harder and the friction makes you cum hard. He cums at the same time, your pulses in sync as he empties into you. The cum spills out from being overfilled. He slowly pulls out of you and starts rubbing your back gently. You get up and turn to face him. He’s on his knees on the floor. You walk up to him and hug him and he holds you tight. You barely have to bend down to kiss him in this position. “That was amazing,” you say to Konig. “Yes it was,” he says with lust still in his eyes. “This should be a regular thing,” he says, this time with love in his gaze. “I would like that,” you say with a smile. You both get up and move to the couch. He lays down awkwardly, barely fitting on it. His legs hang off the end. You giggle at the image and lay down on top of him. You snuggle into his chest and he wraps his arms around you tightly, followed by a forehead kiss. “H-how do you feel about being my girlfriend?” he asks nervously, all signs of that dominant beast from just minutes earlier, gone. “I would love that Konig,” you say, caressing his beautifully rough face.

[writtenjewels]

Ameli

I'll Wait

He could find no way to ease his restless nerves. Pacing made his captors nervous; he wasn't allowed to smoke; he did not want to pick up a nail-biting habit. Salim ended up drumming his fingers on his thigh. Whenever someone walked into the room he would perk up, only to be disappointed when it wasn't Jason. The men in hazmat suits finally allowed Salim to speak with his son, and he was eager to talk to Jason about it.

Truth be told, he would have been eager to see Jason regardless. He felt amiable toward the other three Americans, but he and Jason had gone through a lot in a short amount of time. They were far more than just allies of convenience; they were the sword and the shield.

Jason finally appeared and Salim felt his spirits lift. He still couldn't get over how different Jason looked away from the catacombs. Without his hat, he could have been just another American tourist. His dark hair was cut a little longer than a military buzz cut and not being allowed a razor had allowed dark stubble to start growing on his jawline. His faded blue shirt had already made him stand out but now it seemed even more eye-catching, like he had brought a piece of the sky into the quarantine with him.

“Hey,” Jason greeted him. “You look like you got good news.”

“I should not have doubted your 'civilized words,' my friend,” Salim said, beaming. “I called Zain and told him I'm safe. He opened the present I gave him over the phone. He was very pleased.”

“You'll give him a bigger present when you get home,” Jason assured him. He sounded so sure and confident. Salim clung onto it, just as he did when they were down in the catacombs.

“I found a deck of cards,” Salim mentioned. “I can teach you an Arabic card game.” There was a moment of hesitation from Jason and he took in a slow breath. He nodded and followed Salim over to a table.

It wasn't the first time Salim noticed Jason losing his confidence. He watched it happen when Jason told him about the checkpoint. He understood what it meant for this man to be so open and vulnerable around him, and met it with gentle patience. Salim was trying to offer that again. He was scared that if he pushed too hard or confronted Jason before he was ready, he would lose Jason.

It would have been easier if air support was never called. Then he might have had time to get away before help came. If he was the one to walk away, he could bear it. Salim told Jason that Zain was all he had left in this world. That was no longer true, and it was terrifying.

“I hear you thinkin',” Jason prodded him.

“How?” The question was a distraction and Salim felt a little cowardly for using it. “You always seem able to hear my thoughts.”

“I'm tuned into your signal.” Jason tapped his temple.

“Normally I would think you're messing with me again, but we've just encountered alien vampires.” Salim started shuffling the cards. The games he knew required four people, but he could still teach Jason the basics. “Your ears being transmitters for brain radio waves doesn't seem so strange.” Jason's lips moved into a little smile and their eyes met. There was a shift in Jason's eyes as his expression softened more. It was for only a moment before he seemed to catch himself and pull back, but it was enough to make Salim hope.

“You got a way with words, Salim,” Jason remarked.

“So do you.” He caught Jason's gaze again. Looking at Jason away from the shadows made Salim's heart beat a little faster. Those freckles were so charming. The ache in his body was unfamiliar but powerful. Now he was the one taking the slow breath.

What he felt was illegal here. He shouldn't even be considering it. Yet Jason helped him to believe in impossible things down in the catacombs. If he would just give Salim hope now... Be patient. Wait.

“Salim,” Jason spoke up. Salim paused in the middle of shuffling the cards. “Seriously, man, what's up?”

“I was thinking that despite everything, I'm happy to be here.”

“Same,” Jason agreed. He smiled, his face turning a little pink. Salim's heart skipped when he saw it. Maybe... maybe... “I think for the first time--” Jason stopped, dropping his gaze.

“It's okay,” Salim soothed him. He rested his hand on the table within easy reach of Jason. “You're okay.” Jason's expression shifted into that vulnerability he showed Salim before. Salim flipped his hand over. If Jason could hear thoughts, Salim hoped he tuned in now. He needed Jason to do this for him again, as he did over and over in those catacombs.

“Salim...” There was that vulnerable look in Jason's eyes again. Salim leaned closer, thinking Jason wanted to say something. Instead, he felt a tentative peck on his mouth. It sent a spark through his whole body and it took everything in him to hold back the flood of emotion. He was so afraid that he might scare Jason away. So he returned the pressure gently before pulling back.

“For the first time,” Jason resumed, the pink on his cheeks deepening to red, “I'm really happy.”

Once again, he was giving Salim hope.

[elenavr13]

Darkiplier/Damien Playlist (Updated)

172 songs

Evermore- Dan Stevens

Everybody Wants To Tule the World- Lorde

Control- Halsey

Gasoline- Halsey

Dynasty- MIIA

Judas- Lady Gaga

Take Me To Church- Hozier

Castle- Halsey

Sing To Me- MISSIO

Kamikazee- MISSIO

Panic Room- Au/Ra

Isolate- Sub Urban

Elastic Heart (Rock Cover)- Written by Wolves

Crossfire- Stephen

Dead!- My Chemical Romance

Stressed Out- Twenty One Pilots

Look What You Made Me Do- Taylor Swift

Smooth Criminal- Michael Jackson

The Voice of Darkiplier- Markiplier

I’ll Be Good- Jaymes Young

I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

Do I Wanna Know- Arctic Monkeys

In His Eyes- Jekyll & Hyde (musical)

Can You Feel My Heart- Bring Me to the Horizon

Feeling Good- Michael Buble

Can You Feel My Heart x Favorite Dress (slowed)- Miro remix

My Demons- Starset

Achilles Come Down- Gang of Youth

Monster- Skillet

What’s the Use of Feeling Blue- Caleb Hyles

Where I Want to Be- Chess in Concert

Can’t Help Falling In Love- Ice Nine Kills

The American Nightmare- Ice Nine Kills

A Grave Mistake- Ice Nine Kills

Left Behind- DAGames

Farewell II Flesh- Ice Nine Kills

Below the Surface- Griffinilla

The Wrecked and the Worried- NateWantsToBattle

You Can’t Take Me Anywhere- NateWantsToBattle

Goner- Twenty One Pilots

You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid- The Offspring

Fake You Out- Twenty One Pilots

Miss You- Corpse

Epoch- The Living Tombstone

In the End- Linkin Park

Me, Myself & Hyde- Ice Nine Kills

The World In My Hands- Ice Nine Kills

Popular Monster- Falling In Reverse

Monster- Imagine Dragons

What I Could Have Been- Sting

Hushh- AViVA

Phantom of the Opera

Darkside- NEONI

Broken- DNMO & Sub Urban

Killer In the Mirror- Set It Off

Doubt- Twenty One Pilots

I’m Not Okay- My Chemical Romance

Friends on the Other Side- Princess and the Frog

Poison- WE ARE THE FURY

Apologize- One Republic

My Lullaby (metal cover)- Jonathan Young

I See Red (slowed)- Everybody Loves an Outlaw

Tear In My Heart- Twenty One Pilots

I Hate Everything About You- Three Days Grace

F.L.Y- Ice Nine Kills

Migraine- Twenty One Pilots

Car Radio- Twenty One Pilots

Demons- MISSIO

Snakes- PVRIS & MIYAVI

Villain- KDA

Royalty- Egzod & Maestro Chives ft. Neoni

The Red Means I Love You- Madds Buckley

Loser- Neoni

Not Ready To Die- Avenged Sevenfold

I Want You- Mitski

Poltergeist- Corpse

Life Waster- Corpse

All Of Me (slowed)- John Legend

Young And Beautiful- Lana Del Rey

Dark Paradise (slowed)- Lana Del Rey

How Villains Are Made- Madalen Duke

Love and War- Fluerie

Dark Things- Adona

Wicked Game- Ursine Vulpine

Neptune- Sleeping At Last

Enemy- Tommee Profitt

Far From Home (The Raven)- Sam Tinnesz

City Of The Dead- Eurielle

Throne- Saint Mesa

Paint it, Black- Ciara cover

Man Or A Monster- Sam Tinnesz

Dark On Me- Starset

Hell’s Comin’ With Me- Poor Mans Poison

Wires- The Neighbourhood

Liquid Smooth- Mitski

Little Dark Age- MGMT

Devil In Disguise- Elvis (LLusion)

Toxic- 2WEI

Dark Room- Foreign Figures & EJ Michels

Heathens- Twenty One Pilots

Dance With The Devil- Breaking Benjamin

Black Out Days- Phantogram

Somewhere Only We Know- Keane

Monsters- Ruelle

Whispers In The Dark- Skillet

Salvaged- NateWantsToBattle

Saint Bernard- Lincoln

F*ck You- Silent Child

I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead- Thomas Borchert, Brandi Burkhardt

Broken Inside- Broken Iris

Sweet Dreams- Besomorph

EVIL- AViVA

Saints- Echos

Screaming Bloody Murder- Sum 41

Dandelions (slowed)- Ruth B

Master Mirror- Ashley Serena

Everyday A Little Death- The Count of Monte Cristo

FREAK- Jordan Friction

Broken (slowed)- lovelytheband

Michelle- Sir Chloe

Like A Villain- BAD OMENS

If It’s Vengeance You Want- Unlike Pluto

Monster- Fight The Fade

Listen Before I Go- Billie Eilish

Mary On a Cross (slowed)- Ghost

R.I.F.P.- MOTHICA

Nervous- Lola Blanc

Unravel- Johnathan Young

Lost In Paradise- Evanescence

Lies- Evanescence

Haunted- Laura Les

Dread- Unlike Pluto

Monsters- Shinedown

Black Soul- Shinedown

Sorrow- Sleeping At Last

Seeing Red- Saint Chaos

Villain- Bella Poarch

Lithium- Nirvana

Smells Like Teen Spirit- Nirvana

Down With The Sickness- Disturbed

Animal I Have Become- Three Day Grace

Greed- Godsmack

One of Us is the Killer- The Dillinger Escape Plan

All The King’s Horses- Karmina

Gilded Lily- Cults

Haunted & Unwanted- NateWantsToBattle

Symbol of My Regret- NateWantsToBattle

In My Head- NateWantsToBattle

Vendetta- Unsecret & Krigare

Nothing To Me- NateWantsToBattle

Chasing Cars- Sleeping At Last

Villain- MISSIO

Used to the Darkness- Des Rocs

Unforgiven- Ghost Nation

Monster- Starset

Eight- Sleeping At Last

Already Gone- Sleeping At Last

Devilish- The Phantoms

Motherland- Reach

Falling Away From Me- Korn

Just a Man- Jorge Rivera-Herrans & EPIC Ensemble

Something Wicked- Starset

Darkness in Me- Fight The Fade

I Would Die for You- In This Moment

Eye For An Eye- Rina Sawayama

Psycho in my Head- Skillet

Done With Everything- Line So Thin

Monster- Besomorph

Twisted Games- Night Panda, Krigarè

Killer Inside of Me- Willyecho

King For A Day- Pierce The Veil ft. Kellin Quinn

someone i’m not- Layto