#anyway- enjoy this little drabble! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsjaywalkers · 2 months

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offering u some jegulus pirates of the caribbean au (except not exactly but u do get one of the scenes from the first movie) || 3677 words || no cws apart from james being a menace and regulus praying for his downfall (while also being lowkey attracted to him very much against his will)

“But he saved my life!” Regulus insists, starting to feel a little desperate, eyes jumping from his father, to Commodore Lucius, to the stranger who had jumped into the sea to stop him from drowning.

“Yes, Regulus, we heard you the first time,” his father sighs, barely hiding the roll of his eyes. It’s enough to make some heat flood into Regulus’ cheeks, and he has to repress the urge to pout, or even worse, stomp his foot. “But, son, come on. Look at the state of him. You’d have to be incredibly naive to not realise he isn’t a good man.”

“I resent that,” the stranger pipes in, grabbing everyone’s attention. Not like the soldiers’ has been anywhere else since they stormed in. “Why, Governor, appearances can be deceiving.”

Regulus cringes slightly, and it’s not because of his wet clothes, or the cold already seeping into his bones, despite having his father’s, Orion, coat over his shoulders. Or, well, not entirely because of that.

The scold twisting his father’s harsh features is enough to make him want to curl into himself, or at the very least, take a step back. Regulus has been the target of that specific expression more times than he can count, even though he always does his best to remain out of the spotlight. Always seen, but never heard. That’s how his parents prefer him. The only way they can somehow tolerate him.

He’s not his brother, after all, as everyone seems so set on reminding him. Sirius might be brash, and insolent, and sometimes border on rebellious, but he’s the perfect leader. Loved and respected by all. Everyone adores him, even their parents, despite barely being capable of it, and Regulus can’t say he blames them.

Maybe that’s why he’s speaking up now, trying to do the right thing for once, even though every part of him fought against the mere idea. Regulus thinks Sirius will be proud of him, as soon as he returns from his trip and Regulus tells him all about it.

He can’t help but wish he was here with him. Everything feels less scary when his older brother is at his side.

Before his father has the chance to open his mouth, possibly to obliterate the kind stranger that risked his life to save Regulus’, Lucius steps forward, a blonde, nearly white eyebrow arched at the unknown man.

“Deceiving, you say?” he repeats in a drawl, nose turned up in what can only be disgust. Really, Regulus can’t understand what his cousin sees in him. “I suppose we should at least give you the benefit of the doubt.” Lucius gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I believe thanks are in order, then.”

Lucius extends one arm, if a bit begrudgingly, offering his hand to the stranger. Regulus’ eyes widen a little at the gesture, and he can feel his father glaring at Lucius’ back with such ferocity it almost makes him shiver.

Regulus can’t say he blames him. Lucius isn’t disobeying direct orders, mostly because Orion hasn’t said anything concrete, but it comes way too close for comfort.

The stranger eyes the hand with clear wariness, but he still grins and nods a little, before reaching out to give Lucius’ hand a firm shake.

They’ve barely made contact with each other when Lucius grips the stranger harshly, pulling him closer and raising the sleeve of his undershirt up, revealing a branded ‘P’ on his forearm. Regulus can’t quite repress the tiny gasp that escapes his lips.

Lucius’ smile becomes wider, sharper, as he watches the suddenly sheepish stranger with no little amount of satisfaction. “Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?

Regulus grimaces at the word almost at the same time as the stranger winces. He didn’t give it too much thought at first, because he had swallowed a lot of water, and had been too busy coughing it all out to properly notice, but he supposes the man’s attire kind of gives him away.

He wears a red bandanna around his forehead, keeping messy black curls off his face, and many strands of his hair seem to be adorned with beads and colourful trinkets. His hazel eyes seem to possess a mischievous glint in them, and Regulus thinks that, under different circumstances, he might’ve found it charming, considering it sort of reminds him of Sirius. He also sports a short, but definitely unkempt beard all around his mouth.

He takes a peek at his father’s face, and it doesn’t startle Regulus, discovering him looking so smug.

His words aren’t unexpected, either, but they still fill him with dread.

“Hang him,” Orion orders swiftly, almost bored, and the stranger clicks his tongue, more inconvenienced than scared.

Lucius lets out a low chuckle. “Keep your guns on him,” he tells his men, without even bothering to check if they’ll listen. They always do, anyway. “And someone fetch me some irons!”

He raises the sleeve a little higher, and Regulus manages to catch sight of ink on brown skin, something that he’s sure resembles a bird, before Lucius is pulling down the cotton once more.

“James Potter, is it?” he questions blandly, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Captain James Potter,” the pirate corrects a bit sharply, lips stretching into another one of those charming smiles. “Sir,” he adds forcibly, almost as an afterthought.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t see a ship, captain.” Lucius makes a show of looking around, some of his men laughing under their breaths.

The pirate’s, James’, smile never falters. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it don’t exist.”

Lucius gives him an incredibly flat stare, but James doesn’t wilt under it, doesn’t even react, really, and instead continues to hold the Commodore’s gaze.

“Quite sad that I can’t even tell if you’re lying to me or just yourself.” Lucius shakes his head softly.

James opens his mouth, presumably about to retort, when a sudden uproar between the soldiers draws his attention. Even Regulus’ fathers turns around, seeking the origin of all the fuss, and finally putting some distance between him and Regulus.

“Commodore!” One of Lucius’ men exclaims, everyone around him making way for him hastily. “I found—I found the pirate’s things!”

Lucius doesn’t take his eyes off James, not even for a single second, but he raises both eyebrows, clearly pleased by this information. When the soldier finally reaches them, Lucius doesn’t waste a single moment and begins to search through the pirate’s belongings, taking some pleasure in the way James’ expression twitches at the action.

Regulus’ body leans forward almost unconsciously, and he feels a bit embarrassed by how curious he is about this whole scene. If his father weren’t so distracted, he would’ve scolded him by now.

“A gun with no additional shots,” Lucius murmurs dryly, eyes fleeting from the weapon on the soldier’s arms to James. “A rusty sword and a hat. What a pathetic excuse of a pirate.”

James raises a hand, and the men flanking him go tense all over, squinting their eyes at him.

“And yet you have heard of me,” he points out with an easy smile, which, well, it’s not untrue.

Lucius levels him with an unimpressed glare, while James continues grinning widely. Regulus is as stiff as most of Lucius’ men, unsure of what’s gonna happen next, of how long they’re gonna keep throwing jabs at each other until either of them snaps.

Apparently, Lucius has already had enough, because he grabs James by the wrist once again, even more forcibly than before, and starts dragging him away. His men part to let him pass like it’s second-nature, and Regulus can see Lucius is headed to the other side of the crowd, where one of the soldiers is holding some irons.

Regulus moves before he has the chance to think about it.

He runs after Lucius and James, ignoring the startled looks all the men give him, and pretending he doesn’t hear his father call his name in outrage, or the noise of his steps as he follows a moment later.

The heavy coat falls from his shoulders at some point during his little race, and he can only hope that either his father or one of the soldiers manages to take a hold of it before it touches the floor. The punishment for dirtying one of Orion’s coats might not be the worst his father has done to him, but it won’t be fun regardless.

Regulus has never been as athletic, or as strong, as his brother, but he’s fast and nimble, so he manages to slip in between Lucius and the man holding the irons, halting the advance. Lucius stops, James almost crashing into his back and sending them both tumbling.

“Regulus—” he starts, careful but with an edge in his tone.

“Pirate or not, this man saved my life,” Regulus cuts him off, panting a little but making sure to raise his chin proudly, like his mother has always taught him.

Lucius blinks at him, before exhaling loudly through his nose. He pulls James from behind him, and with a firm move of his head, the man with the irons rushes from behind Regulus, getting ahold of James quickly and binding his wrists together. Regulus watches for a second before whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes at Lucius.

“Regulus,” the Commodore tries once more, infusing his voice with something that’s too curt to be considered patient. “I admire your kindness. I truly do. But one good deed is not enough to redeem someone of an entire lifetime of wickedness, and I can assure you, this man does not deserve your mercy.”

Regulus bites his lower lip, eyes pleading at Lucius’ impassive face. “But—”

“You foolish, insolent, little—” his father hisses, fingers curling around his forearm and gripping harshly.

Orion begins to pull, attempting to get him away from both Lucius and James, and probably drag him back to the house so he can scold him properly. Maybe even punish him.

Regulus resists, planting his feet firmly on the ground even as his father’s gaze turns furious. He hears Lucius let out an irritated huff at the display, but it doesn’t last long, because one moment Regulus is struggling against his father’s ruthless grip, and the next one there’s a heavy chain around his neck, and a warm, hard body pressed against his back.

Someone gasps. Or perhaps everyone does. They lean forward, automatically reaching for Regulus, because most of these soldiers have known him and his family for years. They’ve been trained to protect him, to keep him safe.

Even his father is staring at him in what can only be terror, eyes wide and lips parted, hands twitching with the need to grab him, push him away from who’s holding him captive.

Regulus inhales shakily. Breathing is a bit difficult, with the chain digging into his neck, but he can manage. He’s staring back at Lucius, at his father, at every single man who’s surrounding him and watching him with anxious eyes. The horror he can see in their faces isn’t helping Regulus to keep calm.

The soldier standing closest to Lucius reaches for his weapon, the noise he makes being the first sound to break the sudden silence.

“Don’t shoot!” Lucius snarls, taking a step forward and raising a stiff arm. However, the movement leads to James using his irons to choke Regulus further, and Lucius freezes up as soon as Regulus lets out a grunt.

“Never expected such a posh little boy to be so keen on defending my honour,” James whispers into his ear, loosening his hold but just barely. “But I’m grateful.”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, a spark of irritation lighting up inside his belly. It’s not enough to erase his fear, but it helps to distract him a little.

Of course the one time he finally decides to speak up and do some good, this happens.

“And you, Commodore,” James goes on, raising his voice and infusing it with cheer. “I knew you’d warm up to me.”

Lucius clenches his jaw, hands curling into fists at his sides, but he keeps still and doesn’t dare breathe a single word.

“Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d love to have my effects back. Please.”

It takes a beat, men glancing at each other a bit unsurely, but when James urges Lucius again with a “Commodore!”, the warning clear in his tone, he finally moves. Lucius turns around and grabs James’ belongings quite aggressively, pointedly ignoring the way James huffs.

Regulus doesn’t even get a moment to relax, because as he watches Lucius moving towards them, arms filled with James’ effects, a warm breath hits him on the side of the neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Do you have a name, darlin’?” James asks quietly, lips grazing the lobe of his ear with every word.

A wave of heat rushes through Regulus, and he isn’t sure if he’s more angry or embarrassed at his body’s reaction.

“Regulus,” he responds through gritted teeth. “Regulus Black.”

“Regulus,” James repeats in a drawl, and Regulus can feel his smile against his skin. He tries to tilt his head to the side, get some space, but there’s no use. The pirate won’t let him go anywhere until he gets what he wants. “Well, then. If you’d be so kind, Regulus.”

He can’t help but frown a little, attempting to look back and find some answers, when Lucius steps right in front of him. He’s giving him James’ belongings before he can even blink, and they’re all very lucky Regulus has such good reflexes.

The moment all the weapons and the belt and the stupid hat are all in his arms, James pulls on the irons and forces him to turn around until they’re facing each other. He has both hands bound and around the back of Regulus’ neck, and they’re standing so close they’re basically breathing into each other’s mouths. The realisation makes Regulus’ heart stutter and his stomach twist uncomfortably, so he tries to move away. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for him to go, and it only ends with James smirking smugly at him, before nodding pointedly at his things.

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line and narrows his eyes at the pirate, quite satisfied at the fact that they’re basically the same height and he can’t look down on him. Not like he needs to, considering the expression he’s sporting.

Oh, he absolutely hates this. He hates that he risked everything to defend a bloody pirate. He hates that he’s being threatened and held hostage and humiliated. He hates that this is only gonna make him look weaker than he already does. He hates that Sirius isn’t here. And more than anything, he hates James Potter.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus gets to work. He starts with the weapons, uncomfortable with how they feel in his hands, how heavy and how cold. He itches to get rid of them.

“Make sure to be nice, yeah, darlin’?” James whispers the moment Regulus begins to fasten the belt holding the sword around his waist.

Regulus wants nothing more than to curse him out, but he settles with wrapping the damn thing extra tight, eyes never leaving James’ and watching as he winces momentarily, before giving Regulus a lazy smile.

“Careful,” James warns, but it’s teasing. Mocking. “You don’t wanna damage the goods.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes before he grabs the gun and what looks like a sash. He attaches the gun to the belt and then puts the sash over James’ shoulder, noticing that he can’t tie it properly on his current position. Biting the inside of his cheek but refusing to show anything on his face, he presses their chests together and his hands travel to James’ back.

Regulus focuses on the task at hand, but it proves to be harder than expected, with the way James chooses to return the embrace to the best of his abilities. As if Regulus is doing this willingly, or something.

James leans into him, until his cheek is touching Regulus’, nose digging into his curls and nuzzling there like they’re—like they’re actually—

Regulus finishes the knot alarmingly fast, his whole face burning, especially when he remembers his father is bearing witness to this whole scene.

Fortunately, there’s only one thing left and it’s that ridiculous hat, so he puts it hastily on James’ head, more than ready to get this torture done and over with. But as soon as it sits on dark curls, Regulus notices it’s crooked, and he’s reaching out once again a second later, righting the damn thing until it’s good, until James looks every bit the pirate that he is.

The smile he receives in return almost blinds him, and Regulus is averting his gaze even before James turns him back around.

The disgust on his father’s face isn’t surprising, but it still stings. Although, not as much as the disappointment does.

“Good job, love,” James murmurs, just for him, and Regulus makes an active effort to not visibly react. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Regulus cocks his head back just enough for their eyes to meet. “You’re despicable,” he spits, hands trembling with barely contained rage.

“So much hatred coming from such a pretty mouth.” James clicks his tongue, but his grin widens. “I saved your life, you saved mine. Now we’re square, yeah?”

He opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, when James lowers the irons around Regulus’ neck enough to grab his gun and then press the barrel of it against Regulus’ temple.

His blood runs cold and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a spark of something inside his gut, and then goosebumps break everywhere on his skin, heat rushing to every point of contact between him and James.

Regulus knows he’s not going to shoot. And yet, a tiny, buried part of him sort of wants him to.

“Gentlemen,” James exclaims, that fake cheer returning to his voice. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to bid you all farewell. Try not to miss me too much, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“You better pray we won’t, pirate,” Lucius snarls, stepping forward at the same time James steps back, still holding onto Regulus.

“Is that a threat, Commodore?”

“It’s a promise.”

James chuckles, and Regulus can feel it rumble against his back. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll be able to keep it.”

He takes another step back, dragging Regulus with him, but the barrel of the gun isn’t touching his head anymore, and he notices James loosening the irons slightly. He must be about to make his escape, and Regulus thinks he should feel relieved about being freed, but he’s too busy being furious at the fact that James is going to get away with this.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be seeing you again, darlin’,” James says into Regulus’ ear.

“If you ever dare to go near me again, I’ll kill you myself,” Regulus replies lowly, resisting the urge to turn his head away from James’ filthy mouth.

The pirate hums, and then presses his lips into Regulus’ skin, right under his ear, and it makes him jump, a choked off noise slipping past his mouth.

For a terrifying moment, he thinks James is kissing him, but the gesture stays as a simple contact. It’s probably just another one of his attempts to anger him, to make a fool out of him, and Regulus loathes that it’s working.

“Looking forward to it,” James mumbles into his throat, and Regulus has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood to keep another sound from coming out.

And then, just like that, James is gone. Regulus is still recovering from his words, and the not-really kiss, when the chain disappears from around his neck, the body wrapped around him vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place.

Lucius and the rest of his men rush after James, running past Regulus without giving him a second glance, but when he turns around, eyes desperately searching, he can’t see anything apart from a sea of uniformed soldiers.

Regulus doesn’t stop thinking about what happened all day, not even when his father grabs him by the arm and hauls him home. Or when he screams at him for half an hour, and then sends him straight to bed without dinner. It all feels a bit like he’s in a dream, or a trance, and watching everything from outside.

Nothing seems real anymore. Not since James spoke into his skin while pressing the barrel of his gun to Regulus’ skull.

He isn’t sure of how or when, but one thing is very clear: Regulus is getting revenge. He won’t rest until he sees that bloody pirate behind bars.

#silly little drabble #except they're never little it's a running joke here in itsjaywalkers city at this point #after rewatching the first pirates of the caribbean movie i just couldn't help myself #this scene was screaming jegulus . to me #i had to write it #besides those movies bring me so much comfort and i used to be obsessed with them so #this was bound to happen #anyways i hope u guys enjoy whatever this is #now im going to sleep goodnight mwah mwah #i kinda hate this ngl but at least it’s done #jegulus my beloveds

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henwilsonmd · 1 year

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post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.��

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

#I'M BACK BABY #ofc i HAD to write a coda for this one come on #if this gets interaction i'll probably post on ao3 bc it's pretty long so i'll come back and edit this post if that's the case #anyway i have a LOT of wips that i'm planning on finishing and i want to be more active on here/make some friends #so drop a follow if you want to see any of that lol #anyway this was just a fun little thing that i hope y'all enjoy!#911 #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 6x18 #911 6x18 coda #writing #drabbles #even though it's not really a drabble i want it with the rest of my codas #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

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rush-the-stars · 9 months

Note

CIELO GOD GOD GOD GOD

happy new year vic <33333

gender neutral reader x war god morax/zhongli

cw: blood. biting? the reader is a captive of war. um maybe out of character morax....but im picturing him younger in his long life. a lil more hot blooded. you know.

***

the sun is a bloody dash in the sky. an open wound from the heavens that turns the world crimson and russet.

it's fitting, for a day like this, with so much fighting, so much bloodshed.

the blood of gods gleams gold. it covers you. you are stained in it and in those last, burning rays of the sun, you shine and shimmer.

some of it is your own. most of it is not.

you sit primly despite it, with your knees tucked beneath you and your back straight. you sit serenely with your head poised in a graceful upward tilt— a refusal to surrender the last thing you have now; your pride. your knowledge.

you know something he doesn’t.

and, at the end, you have the pride and knowledge that you almost bested morax the dragon. morax, the god currently winning the archon war. morax, who has finally captured you.

your hands are bound with stone he'd (painstakingly) created. you feel the heat of their power, humming, burning into your skin. it is an attempt at subduing your own divine abilities.

when he appears before you now, he is dressed in black armor. his hair is bound up in a high ponytail, which reveals the chiseled lines of his face. the dragon scales along his temples gleam like precious stones. dark horns curl atop his head proudly, the dragon of this land, with his eyes like the center of the molten earth.

"tell me where you've hidden it."

his demand is met with silence.

you hold his gaze.

more silence.

it stretches long and thick between you.

you let it grow.

he lets out a heavy sigh eventually. and then he moves closer, only to stand over you.

you fall into his great shadow.

"you've lost. you're lucky i didn't kill you." he says and his voice is surprisingly gentle, low and smoky, a rumbling that settles somewhere deep inside you. "and now you can help me win this war and end it."

you turn your face away from him and he is met with your profile. more silence.

"stubborn little god, aren't you?" he hums and it is just shy of wry.

you tilt your head up, gaze focused away from him still, on the camp ahead. his camp of allied gods and mortals and adepti. you focus on the world beyond, as if you might see the hills of heather further on, or the sea itself.

"you'll save lives if you tell me where it is."

you want to look at him and ask why he thinks you'd help him—why his mortals should mean anything to you? why should you want him to win and end the war? but you force yourself to continue to gaze away, to bite back any words threatening to break free from the cage of your mouth.

and then there is a touch at your jaw, careful, almost delicate, as his fingers curl themselves around your face.

he forces you to look towards him, eye level for a moment with muscled thighs beneath onyx armor. and then he pulls your gaze up to find his own, smoldering gold in the evening sun. like the blood you're covered in. like the blood he has washed from himself.

"since you don't feel like talking, then listen to me well."

his thumb caresses your jaw the way a lover might. a careful pass over your skin.

"we can do this peacefully or with great difficulty. i am prepared to offer you freedom if you agree to join me and help me end this war; which is far kinder than i've been to many other gods that have been in your position now. or i will banish you to the dark sea and find what i need on my own.”

“how magnanimous of you.” you finally sneer.

calmly, he says;

“i thought so, too.”

you lurch forward like you might try to strike him, but the binds around your wrists constrict sharply, burning into your skin.

you cry out.

he steadies you.

“easy,” he murmurs, crouching finally to be on your level, face to face. “it hurts, doesn’t it?”

you feel heat in your face; humiliation or frustration. deep, horrible anger. and pain. searing pain that slips up the sinews of muscle in your arms. it tangles in your shoulders, sends pulses of anguish over your back, all over.

you don’t answer.

“i made them especially for you.” he admits. “i made them months ago—long before i caught you.”

“what makes you think i’d help you?” you bite out.

“your desire to be free?” he asks, “the promise of my protection and aid?”

"i don't need your protection—"

"no?" he asks lightly, "you were bested. you are captured."

you jerk your head away from his touch. his hand falls away and he stands again. he gazes down at you.

you snarl, "you are the only one who has done that. before you, i had not been—"

"then consider it protection from me. if you work with me, i will not harm you."

you inhale sharply. your anger constricts around your rib cage like a massive snake. your body aches with it. how dare he—

you force back another rash attempt at striking him.

instead, you gaze beyond him again, as if you could see the future now alongside those heather hills or swirling sea. you wrestle your anger until it will allow you to speak clearly.

you lift your voice and the breeze carries it, laced with venom;

"when i am archon, you'll beg to serve me loyally.

but i will curse you to live beneath the earth and you'll wander in an endless, dark maze. every time you believe you near what you search for, it will change before your eyes, and again you will wander. you'll search for eternity, never to find it.

once in a millennia, i will visit you, and i'll tell you this maze is your protection from me."

you turn to find his eyes. a fissure of heat—the air is charged and sharp with the tang of divinity. a bristling. you think his eyes darken, pupils narrowing to the slits of a reptile.

when he calls out, voice rising to that of a general, you catch the flash of sharpened teeth, "prepare the prisoner for transportation."

immediately, soldiers surge upon you.

"are we preparing them for the dark sea?" one asks.

morax stares hard at you.

"no," he says and when they pull you to your feet, you think about running. you think about shoving them off of you. you wonder how far you'd get or if stone binds would seize and paralyze you.

you wonder how well he had to know you to create them.

"where to then?" another soldier asks.

"to my quarters at the other camp. i will join you." he says.

momentarily, you are stunned.

"sir, are you sure—"

"make haste." he says simply, and then he steps to you, towers over you, even at your full height while standing now. and when he speaks again, it is softly and could be his own curse to you;

"the god isn't to leave my sights. i'll see to all of their needs from now on."

"i'll make your life hell." you promise.

his smile is almost amused, but his eyes are smoldering embers.

he lifts his hand to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. his voice is even;

"just as you'll be archon?"

this time, when you lash out, you turn and sink your teeth into his hand. you bite to break skin. his blood floods your mouth.

(you have already gotten a taste, now you want it all—)

he wrenches his hand away, examining it, lifting it to his face to gain a closer look. it burns gold with his blood which slides down his wrist, over the slope of his forearm. he flexes his hand, the muscles jumping, strong and proud. your ring of teeth marks is like a halo along the meat of his hand.

"when i make you a muzzle, should i call it protection for me or for you?"

"i hope my bite scars you." you hiss.

he lifts his hand higher to the scarlet sun, bathes it in light. you catch a flash of fang from the corner of his wry smile.

"i hope it does, too."

#idek anymore!!!#you must understand i think morax is a little bit of a shit #just a little smug or arrogant at points maybe?#mostly to his enemies #especially when hes younger #me to me: no you shouldn't write a part 2 to this drabble where he bathes the reader of all the divine blood #anyways hope you enjoy <3333 #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!#zhongli x reader

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cacoetheswriting · 1 year

Text

you’re losing me

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader word count: 1.1k

summary: an exchange of forgotten items after the end of long-term a relationship.

content warnings: angsty angst, no happy ending (sorry), heartbreak, hurt / no comfort, mentions of marriage, eddie has commitment issues, minor use of pet names, adult language — also, this is very much unedited as i wrote it in one sitting, so excuse any & all mistakes, thank you! <3

“Here you go,” you say, arms stretching outward to hand Eddie a cardboard box. “This is everything you left behind at our— ehm,” you clear your throat, “at my place.”

Eddie hesitates for a moment, glancing between his packed belongings in your grasp and the sad expression on your face. You look tired, that much is clear. Sleep-less and puffy-eyed from all the tears you’ve undoubtedly shed as a result of his actions — or lack thereof.

The tremble of your lip alone causes his insides to twist. He’s never meant to bring you any pain, all though he knew that to be inevitable.

After all, a five year relationship coming to an end in one night is bound to bring pain.

“I don’t understand,” Eddie said, to which you replied, “I know you don’t.”

“I thought we were good,” it sounded like a plea.

You wiped the tears with the sleeve of your jumper. “How can we be good when you prioritise everything over me?” You questioned, voice breaking. “How can we be good, Eddie, when I give you all my best me’s, my endless empathy, and all you do is hurt my feelings?”

The brunette reached for you, but you instantly pulled back.

“You don’t want to get married.”

Eventually, Eddie drops the arm that was pressing against the doorframe above his head, and reaches for the box. His ring-clad fingers brush against yours gently as he holds onto the cardboard, an action that makes the air in your throat hitch momentarily.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” you mumble, hiding your hands in the pockets of your jacket. The imprints of his brief touch lingering on your skin.

A small, nervous smile circles your lips.

Eddie returns the expression.

“It’s okay,” he reassures quietly. “Thank you for even bringing this over, you didn’t have to do that. You could've called and I would’ve swung by our— uhm, by your place after my shift.”

“I just thought this would be easier,” you lie, the real reason being a lot more complicated. You really wanted to see him. To say you missed him, missed the life you two had, would be an understatement of the century.

Eddie nods, placing the cardboard box on the floor then kicking it slightly to the side — out of sight, out of mind. He glances around the trailer, hands now on his hips, before settling his attention back on you, not really sure what to say next.

He used to be able to talk to you for hours on end, about everything and nothing all at once. Town gossip, respective hobbies, work days, memories shared, his life before you, your life before him, the life you were planning to have together. No topic left unscathed. And now, whenever you bumped into one another, as rare as these meetings have been, he bites his tongue, afraid to say the wrong thing.

You do the same and it’s heartbreaking, really.

Especially because you still loved him.

— Deeply.

“I better get going,” you say meekly, breaking the silence that has surrounded the two of you. “Have a good day at work.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart.”

Jesus, fuck. Eddie bites his tongue, albeit a little too late, and instantly hates himself for letting the moniker slip. But you don’t react.

Instead, with one last longing look, you turn on your heel and begin your short journey down the concrete steps and dusty driveway. You can feel your ex-boyfriends eyes burn into the back of your frame, silently observing as you unlock the car and slide in behind the wheel, but you do your best to ignore his gaze.

Just like you ignored the pet name.

“Sweetheart—”

“And honestly, I wouldn’t marry me either,” it was a low blow, but the words escaped your lips before you got a chance to think about the repercussions.

Eddie said your name then with an over-exaggerated eye roll. However, that’s all he did. There was no rebuttal to your sentence. He didn’t argue or tell you how wrong you were. He didn’t offer any willingness to fight for you, fight for what was left of your relationship.

There was an ache in your chest. Slow, excruciating. The invisible walls were closing in around you, cutting off the oxygen, and as a result, your limbs seemed too heavy for your body. Like they no longer belonged to you. Almost alien.

It was hard to breathe. And all you wanted to do was scream for him to wake the fuck up because he was losing you. You wanted to scream and plead with him to do something, anything at all. Risk something, even though he’s already risked it all by not reacting the way you selfishly hoped he would.

Yet, Eddie simply stared at you.

And just like that, you knew it was over. Completely and utterly, over.

One hand on the wheel, you exhale. Eddie used to say he’d choose you no matter what, and now, not only did you know that wasn’t entirely true — because he let you walk away too easily, without a fight — your lives were also going to change and you were going to be heading in completely different directions, metaphorically as well as physically.

Key in the ignition, you’re about to start the engine when the sound of your name shifts your attention back to the person you’re trying to leave behind. For good, this time.

His tone, and the way your name falls off his tongue so effortlessly, as it’s done so many times before, is enough to make your heart skip a beat, and against your better judgement, you turn to face him again, rolling down your car window so he can lean his forearm against the glass.

Dipping his head to your eye level, Eddie clears his throat.

“I was wondering,” he begins, “The guys and I are playing in Indianapolis on Friday night, maybe you’d like to come?” He asks, then quickly adds, “If you’re free, that is.”

Your heart soars at his invite. You think to immediately say yes, because you’d go to the ends of the Earth if he’d only ask. But reality quickly clocks you in the head when you remember where you are, and why you’re here in the first place.

“You don’t want to get married, and I don’t want to settle any longer.”

Despite how much you still loved him, agreeing to go see him play would only bring more sorrow. It would tangle the two of you in an endless loop of sacrifices and that wasn’t fair.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Eddie.”

He tries to hide the disappointment by plastering a kind smile on his face, but you notice it regardless. Which of course you do. You’ve loved this man for five years before it all went to shit.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

There’s the moniker again. However, this time, he means to use it.

And when he taps his fingers on the roof of your car, retreating backwards, you smile at him one last time and say your goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Eddie.”.

as always, thank you so so much for reading <3

main masterlist

#idk how i feel about this but ive been listening to this song nonstop and it really has me in tears #anyways i hope you enjoy this sad little fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things

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shady-tavern · 1 year

Text

Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

***

The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass.

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days.

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd.

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one.

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes.

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transparentdiplomatlandgoth @cheesecakev2 @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @aprilraine

#my writing #short story #quin was so chatty #I hope this is an enjoyable read #implied murder #i have no idea why the tagging didn't work for everyone #going to look into it #anyway #hope you enjoy this little thing I cobbled together for quin #and his very much not really tragic backstory #he's just one greedy mf #it's a bit weird to me that there is so little dialogue #but it just worked better this way somehow #anywho #there might be a Drabble for Deals and Revelry later #for quin and his love #he's really just a very fun character to write for #hope I didn't overlook too many spelling mistakes

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baalzebufo · 28 days

Text

good ol fashioned razzmatazz

SO I wrote more... :) ive wanted to do a series of scenes from Gideon's life for a while now- moments in time we didn't see in the show. mostly past, maybe some present or future, depending. wanted to explore his life a little more, and the headcanons ive got surrounding it. drabbles is the best way to solve this because i cant write one long cohesive plot very well haha

ive got a handful of ideas in mind but this is the first one that i finished to any degree. just a little scene from his childhood. gideon makes his first sale, and learns something about himself.

‘What are you up to, sweetie?’

‘Shh- it’s a secret.’

Gideon hushed his mother as he ran over to the back door and shoved his face up against it, peering out through the frosted glass window into the car lot. His mother, Florence, turned her attention away from the oven for a moment to squint at him. He was wearing his favorite dress shirt, the dark blue one covered in golden stars- shorts and sandals for the weather, and his long hair was pulled back into a white braid. The sun caught on his hair through the window, and she could have sworn she saw it sparkle. What a strange little boy they had, she thought.

---

She remembers how tiny he was when she first held him, and how odd his shock of white hair had been. Odder still when she first saw the icy blue eyes he had- not like hers or Bud’s, not at all. Neither of them had even heard of what the doctors diagnosed him with before then. Some sort of ‘congenital condition’, for whatever that meant. All that fancy medical talk was a bit out of her area of expertise. All that mattered to her was that their little boy was alive- and now, at least on his way to better health.

Their little Gideon had been much more adventurous these days. Ever since the doctors had given him the OK during his last hospital visit, he’d seemingly been itching to get outside. He hummed loudly, like he was deep in thought.

Florence smiled. She reached over to the fridge.

‘Well, if you aren’t too busy with your secrets, could you do me a favor?’

‘Hm?’ He whipped his head over to look at his mother, who was holding a little tupperware container.

‘How about you go across the lot and take this to your dad for me?’

The wheels turned for a moment, and Gideon perked up instantly.

‘Y’mean it? On my own?’

‘Of course, hon. As long as you’re careful-’

He nodded, a smile creasing his face. Oh- she couldn’t help it, every time he smiled, she smiled too. Surely every mother thinks their child is the cutest kid on the planet, but well… she KNEW hers was. And she knew that they’d been very protective of him these past few months, what with the hospital scare and all. As much as she fretted about his health- she made a mental note to deep clean his room again this weekend- she couldn’t squash that spirit behind his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to let him out on his own for a little bit.

He took the container from her hands and tucked it under one of his arms, nodding solemnly.

‘Ah’ll handle it, ma’am!’ He stood up straight and gave a little salute, his face faux-stern, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been watching too much TV lately, bless him.

She waved him off as he skittered out of the door, turning her attention back to the oven.

---

Gideon shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. The worst of his sensitivity to it may have gone away with the treatments, but it still got awful bright out in summer. But he’d power through it. After all, he had a mission.

He took off at a run down the winding garden path, rushing through the gate onto the concrete car lot. The weather was hot, but there was that fresh summer breeze blowing in his face that made him glad to be out of his room. He liked it in there plenty- he had books and instruments and more toys than he knew what to do with- but being cooped up in bed for so long had him yearning for the outdoors. He squinted, spying the towering figure of his father through the light glinting off the windows of his work building.

Giggling, he sprinted across the lot as fast as his legs could carry him into the shop.

‘Dad!’ He burst through the door, startling his father. Bud Gleeful whipped around from where he was sat across a little plastic table with a skinny spectacled gentleman, poring over a contract. He wore a battered looking old suit but held himself with an oddly aristocratic air. He seemed out of place on a used car lot.

‘Woah there, sunshine-’ Bud started, his sentence cut off with an oof- as Gideon jumped onto his lap. ‘Heavens, boy! What’s gotten into you?’

Gideon looked up at him- and then across the table to his latest customer. He had put the contract down and was looking down at the two of them, a smile creasing his cheeks. Bud raised a hand, a little embarrassed. ‘Oh my, I’m mighty sorry for the interruption, sir-’

‘Oh, no. It’s quite alright.’ He laughed- he had that fancy city-folk accent, Gideon noticed. He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at him. ‘Now who is this fine little fellow?’

‘Oh, well this is-’

‘Gideon!’ He piped up, folding his hands across his lap with a smile. ‘Gideon Charles Gleeful!’

‘Haha- yep. That’s my lil’ Gideon.’ Bud finished for him, resting one big hand on his son's shoulder. ‘This is my son. Little fella ain’t been too well recently, but he’s lookin’ fit as a fiddle now. Acting it, too! Well now, why’d you rush over here in such a hurry, boy? Does your mother know you’re-’

‘Oh, yeah! I brought ya’ this from mom.’ He held out the container to Bud, who picked it up- turned it over, then hummed in understanding.

‘Hah, oh yeah. I s’pose I did almost forget about lunch, all caught up in negotiatin’.’ He mused. ‘Thank you kindly, sweetheart.’ He leant down to kiss his forehead, which Gideon responded to by playfully swatting him away.

The moment was interrupted then by the man across the table clearing his throat. Gideon and Bud both turned their attention back to him.

‘Mr. Gleeful, I have to be honest- I wasn’t sure if this was the right car for me, a few minutes ago. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I was worried this place might not be… on the up-and-up, if you catch my drift.’ Gideon felt his fathers hand slip off his shoulder, a subtle change in his demeanor.

‘But… well, seeing you here- you seem like a real family man, Mr. Gleeful. Trustworthy. I’m sorry for doubting you.’ He chuckled. ‘I suppose I thought this contract might be too good to be true for a moment there.’

‘Nah, dad’s the best at this stuff!’ Gideon piped up- he felt Bud tense up for a second, about to hush him, but he carried on. ‘I’m gonna learn to sell cars just as good as his, someday! So you can tell yer kids to come buy from me!’

Bud held his breath a moment, but then the customer burst out laughing.

‘Oh- goodness, how sweet. You know what, Gideon? I’ll have to remember that.’

‘That’ll be Mr. Gleeful to you!’

Bud picked him up then, lifting himself out of his chair and carrying his son high up to perch on his shoulder. ‘Okay, that’s enough teasing, boy-’

‘Haha! No, no, he’s got it right.’ The skinny man stood too, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You know what? You’ve got yourself a sale, Mr. Gleeful.’

He held his hand out- up, above Bud’s, to Gideon. He grasped it firmly, grinning ear to ear and shook his hand. The gentleman nodded his head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp 20 dollar bill.

‘Forgive me for being forward- but may I give the young man a commission?’

Bud startled, glancing at it- then back to Gideon- then back to the money. ‘Oh, my- that’s awful kind of you sir, it certainly is! Of course you can.’

Gideon’s eyes lit up. He eagerly took the twenty, held it up to the light- then slipped it into his pocket. He squirmed- a sign for Bud to pick him up and let him down on the floor again- and stood up straight with his arms folded.

‘Thanks, sir!’ He chirped, and Bud leant down to pat the top of his head.

‘Now Gideon, do you think you could let the grown-ups handle the borin’ part of all this paperwork?’ He crouched to smile at his son.

‘Sure thing.’

‘Alright, sweetpea. Don’t spend your money all in one place, y’hear?’

‘Okay, dad!’

His mission complete, Gideon padded over to the door- leant over his shoulder to wave at the man his father was now pushing a pen into the hand of- and left the room.

Stopping on the sun-soaked car lot, he reached into his pocket and felt the dollar again. Thought about the look on that man's face when he gave him the money, for nothing but a few words and a smile. His dad had a pretty easy job, he figured. But he didn’t really understand the whole sales thing- not yet, at least.

---

Gideon would spend the rest of the day playing in the garden- until he got too hot and tired, and retreated back to his shaded room for a nap. He wouldn’t think too much about what happened that day.

But that night, his father would take them out to the diner and boast loudly about how his son- barely in his fifth year!- had made his first ever sale. He’d let him order dessert- seconds, too. And he’d ask Gideon to stop by the lot more often, especially if he wants to learn to be a salesman someday. He was one talented boy, his parents told him. Showered him with that notion, really. He was destined to be a big shot one day with a personality as glowing as his.

'You have a face folks would never say no to!' His father told him. He didn't mean much when he said it- more of a joke than anything. But something about it settled with Gideon, still learning about the world. Nobody would say no to him, huh...?

He figured that sounded pretty nice.

#gravity falls #gideon gleeful #fanfiction #i was going to structure these drabbles as one of those 5+1 things but uh. i couldnt come up w a cohesive throughline #and also idk if ill write all the ones I have planned. so its better for me to just post em whenever I finish one haha #PLEASE ENJOY... this isnt much rly just. a little scene. gideon is a precocious kid people think hes cute #hes sheltered a bit and spoiled. but generally a Real Sweetheart at this age. hes only beginning to learn about the concept of deception #things will undoubtedly Get Worse since this is before he goes to school in my timeline haha #honestly most of this was me wanting to write a lil about gideons parents #i dont think either of them Intended anything bad in their raising of their son. they just wanted their little angel to be happy #but they do end up enabling some things they reeeeeally shouldnt as time goes on #anyway hes gonna spend that twenty on soooo much candy

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hellsburners · 1 year

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Hi!

So I just saw your post, and I wanna request tasm peter with this angst prompt "maybe it's best to end this"

You stood in front of a wounded man. A hand clutched your chest, a grip so tight you felt nails digging into skin. You thought that holding your chest would ease the pain in your heart. That it’ll ease the sting, or dry up the tears welling from your eyes. He’d look up to you, eyes the same as yours. He’d inch closer, his gait shifting, but you’d fall back. How can someone love a wounded man?

It was the same every night, he’d knock at your window, clothes torn, bruises all over his body, dried blood all over. And tomorrow you’re expected to cook breakfast and act like nothing happened. He’d ask if you’re okay. Okay? you thought. You could’ve died, Peter.

You stayed silent looking down. Your heart was racing, aching, beating like it was about to jump off your rib cage. Your hands were clammy, your knees felt like they were about to break, the weight of the world on your shoulders. He held your hand, it was cold and shaking. He’d try to soothe it with his touch but it won't work.

Everynight I would stare at the window, waiting for you to come, or if you’ll ever come home at all, and—I feel sick. I genuinely feel so sick I feel like I’d die. And I know why you’re doing this and I love you because of that heart of yours but I’m–, tears fall down from your cheeks, the words breaking in between sobs. I’m tired, Pete.

Peter saw this one coming. He noticed the way your worry started to become resentment. Not at him, no you could never, but at the other guy, the mask. You felt that it was always a part of your relationship, the third guy. He wished to ask a question. A question he knew would change everything. That everything you experienced with him will be gone, and that you’ll soon forget about him, but at least by then you will find peace.

Maybe it’s best if we–, you took the words out of his mouth. You look up to him, eye to eye. End this, you’d say after, with a finality that cut him deeper than any of the fresh wounds on his body right now. You were now fully sobbing, your palms cupping your face, the tears flowing non stop.

He wished he could wipe all your tears away, and hug all the pain. He thought of a thousand ways to say sorry nothing would come through his lips. I love you, he said. The words still held so much weight on you. You almost felt like vomiting. Your head is dizzy, not a word coming to your head to scream. You still loved him that would never change, you thought. But no love can ever soothe the pain you were feeling.

You both laid in bed that night, crying in each other’s arms. One last night together. He’d whisper something to you before you drifted off. If I could change everything I would.

You wake up to an empty bed and any trace of him gone, his stuff, the pictures, the notes on the fridge. He thought that if you had a clean slate it would be easier. Leave out all the spaces he had occupied and make room for someone else to fill in. Someone worth all the tears. Whatever was left on your bed was his wet pillow, tears-soaked.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x gender neutral reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker angst #peter parker drabble #peter parker blurb #woah this was hard to write #i listened to a lot of motion sickness by phoebe bridgers btw #i hate you #for what you did #and i miss you like a little kid #anyways enjoy send me more prompts if you liked it

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naffeclipse · 2 years

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Heya Naff, slightly late but Happy New Year!! 🎆 Hope you’re doing well and I wish you much inspiration and many good things this coming year! <33

I had a little query pop to mind recently if that's okay: what if reader in the Deep Dreams universe had megalophobia and/or perhaps even thalassophobia?

I know this might make less sense for fisher Y/N as we know them, so it could hypothetically be some other person, a friend or a future Y/N who makes friends with juvenile Sun and Moon and then only later discovers they've grown to be big sea beasties - maybe seeing them in their dreams is fine but for real it's a different matter, at least until they get used to them :)

How might the boys react?

Having a slight bit of megalophobia myself, the best way I can describe my experience is a gentle anxiety with the need to seek shelter and cower there, but people's experiences can vary (and possibly change depending on the conditions). Also that kinda makes it 10x funnier that I have an affinity for giant creatures xD

Hi, Piixel! Happy New Year to you, too, babe! ♥ Thank you so much, ahhh, you're much too kind! :D I hope you have a beautiful year and an abundance of lovely things happen to you!

Oh ho! Fear of big things and of large bodies of water? I'm sure that totally wouldn't be a source of great fear and conflict with a poor little reader soulbond to a couple of mers hehe (The Sea Beast is an excellent movie btw!! ♥)

Y/N with megalophobia and thalassophobia wouldn't be caught dead on the ocean. You have dreams about two massive mers, and those creatures are always sweet and gentle and attentive, but you're still convinced it's some weird nightmare (even though no real spooky events unfold in said dreams). The mers coax and plead with you to go out to sea so you can all meet, but that's a solid no from you.

Then through a very terrible chance of fate, you're on a boat for whatever reason but very much against your desires, before you get swept away by a rouge wave and left behind. You're alone, struggling to swim in a massive ocean when—oh goodie, that looks like a giant mer floating right below you. What else could go wrong today?

Needless to say, after seeing Moon, then Sun, and realizing that these massive mers you've had dreams about are here in the flesh, you pass out from sheer fright. It's a lot for you to wrap your brain around, but when you come to, you're on Sun's back as he floats gently along the surface, keeping you dry as you begin losing your mind out of the horror of it all while Moon watches you from close by. You can't jump into the great wide ocean to escape the mer carrying you but you can't stay on the thing's scaly back either, so you may have a panic attack. Sun stops and turns his head back to give you his full attention while Moon tries to take you in his hands but that does not help your situation. They can feel your panic and horror, but you can feel confusion and distress at not being able to help, and in fact, them being the cause of your fear.

Their attempts to calm you down are met with resistance as you want to be anywhere but here in the ocean with two giant mers.

Sun and Moon are bewildered and upset, to say the least. You did often seem nervous in your little dream rendezvous but they thought they did a lovely job of reassuring you it was alright and that they would never hurt you and there's nothing to be scared of. Turns out, not quite. So, they take you safely back to the island shore where you more or less escape from the massive monsters and flee inland. But, there's not a whole lot of places to go on the little island and you've got to sleep eventually, so Sun and Moon decide to spend more personal time with you and show you that really, they're the two baby mers you happened to scoop up one summer day when you were just a tot and didn't realize how scary some things could be.

They'll be patient. You'll see that there is no place safer than with them in the water. They'll help you face your fears and then reunite with you.

If you ever leave your house again, that is.

#piixel i love these questions ahh!#that's rather ironic you enjoy big beasties but to be fair i am also terrified of large bodies of water #i've never strayed too far from shore to say the least lol #yet a lot of my writing is set in the middle of the ocean #anyways here's a fun little drabble!#in deep dreams between the waves #because it's that universe #megalophobia/thalassophobia y/n #mermaid!sun #mermaid!moon #piixelpaint #for y/n in their fear it's a lot more intense just out of control so it's something the boys can help them work through

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good-beanswrites · 11 months

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hello beans!! hope you're doing well 💜 ^w^ I know you've probably gotten a lot of requests - but I'm gonna add to that pile anyway because it's fun and also your writing is wonderful and always cheers me up to read!! I'm so inspired by your drabbles and you really bring these characters and this little world to life ;w;

From drabble list #1:

14. "Please tell me, this is not why you woke me up."

Character(s): honestly anyone, but my gut was saying Es as soon as I saw that sentence so... up to you!

Woo thank you pal, same to you!! Thanks for your kind words ah ;--; This is the perfect line for Es omg, I've been cracking up over it for so long 😂 I was tempted to write them waking up for T2, taking one look around and going "uh-uh," but decided on some T1 comedy...

Es rarely dreamed. Usually it was vague images and thoughts. Sometimes it was just them thinking about breakfast the following morning. Occasionally they were plagued by a nightmare of being forced to sing karaoke with the prisoners. Most of the time, though, it was just silence that welcomed them at the end of the day. Wonderful, peaceful, silence.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

Someone slammed their fist on the door. Es just about fell out of bed.

Mikoto’s voice came from outside. “Oi, get up! There’s been… uh… an incident!”

That was the last thing a prison guard wanted to hear at -- Es checked the clock -- 2am. Damn.

They muttered to themself as they threw on their uniform. Why the prison’s cells didn’t lock was beyond them. Some of the prisoners were more troublesome than others, but the first trial had been going smoothly thus far. Why now?

Their mind flashed with various possibilities, each one worse than the last, all urging them forward. By the time they were running down the hallway, their shirt buttons were a row off, and they had to switch their shoes to the opposite foot. They adjusted the cap clumsily on their head.

Fear gripped their chest as they heard Jackalope’s voice crying out for help from the panopticon. Jackalope never called for help.

Es burst into the room. The prisoners froze, looking up guiltily.

They sat in a huddle on the floor. Yuno and Muu held the little furry warden over a tub of sudsy water. Bottles of soap and shampoo sat nearby. An assortment of brushes and combs sat to the side. Splashes of water spread across the prisoners and ground, speaking to several failed attempts at getting Jackalope into the bath.

Nearby, Mahiru was holding up the tiny guard’s uniform, her sewing kit spread out on her lap. Es spotted bandages on Yuno’s and Kazui’s fingers. Shidou was currently dabbing blood off Fuuta’s nose as he fumed. Jackalope leaned over to nip at the hands holding him, but Yuno and Muu held him fast.

“Es!” came his frantic voice as he thrashed around. “You gotta help me! Make them stop, dammit!”

From the group of prisoners who had been watching from a distance, Haruka turned to them. “Oh! Es! Th-they thought that he needed a -- uh, a bath! His uniform had a h-hole, and Mahiru can s-sew! And they thought, they thought we could do it all t-together… Muu called it a -- a spa night…”

“At two in the morning?” Was all that came to mind.

“We tried to get him to do it earlier today,” Muu said, “but we didn’t get a chance until now.”

“They didn’t get a chance to kidnap me, she means!” He squirmed around some more, swinging his antlers wildly. “They hid around the corner and nabbed me like the filthy criminals they are!!”

Yuno said, “hold still,” as she brought him closer to the water. He kicked his feet wildly, screaming at Es to show a little authority and do something.

“Hold on a second,” they stopped her.

They closed their eyes, pinching the bridge of their nose. They took a measured breath. They were here to contemplate sin and crime, guilt and forgiveness. Their job should have consisted of questions about morality and life and death; they never anticipated looking around their prison and asking, “is human shampoo even safe for his fur?”

Kotoko spoke up from the other side of the room. “That’s what I thought, but is he really a rabbit? He eats human food and everything, we didn’t think a bit of soap was that different.”

Jackalope disagreed (“that stuff is as bad as poison -- poison I tell you!”) but the others chimed in with their agreement. From around the room came promises that they were being gentle with him, and that they’d keep quiet, and that they’d dry and brush his fur really well when they’d finished, and that they’d feed him treats, and that his uniform was already good as new, and so on. A few complaints at getting bit mingled with Jackalope’s own insults.

“-- Alright.” Es held up a hand to silence them all. They knew a warden shouldn’t be making compromises with their prisoners. At the same time, they didn’t have the energy to argue about bunny baths at this time of night. “You can continue, but wash him outside of the tub. And go easy on the shampoo. Any mess you make must be cleaned by morning.”

They were met with excitement and thanks. Jackalope grumbled that they were too soft, but he sounded relieved as he was whisked away from the dreaded bathwater.

Es sighed. There may have been a few bites and bumps, but that was all. No emergency, no fight, no danger plagued Milgram tonight. Their relief quickly turned to annoyance. They leveled their gaze at Mikoto as he entered from the hallway behind.

“Please tell me this isn’t why you woke me up.”

“Huh? Oh, this? No, no -- we have everything under control. Aw, Mappi, that looks great!”

He pointed at her sewing job, revealing bandages on his hands as well. It looked like no one was safe from the rabbit’s little teeth… Then Mikoto jabbed a thumb casually over his shoulder. “Nah, the faucet in the men’s room broke when we tried filling the basin. The whole room’s flooded now. I think it’s gonna start spilling into the hallway soon.”

“WHAT?”

#milgram #es #jackalope #mikoto kayano #and some others #rip es... they are eternally dealing with So Much Bullshit.... 😂😂😂#half the fun was actually writing it and the half of it was sitting around brainstorming all the options of trouble the prisoners could #be getting into at odd hours of the night LMAO #i cycled through so many dares/challenges (the fucked up high school variety) - competitions - show offs - crazy games #and thats Before i considered the genuine trouble they could get into #the line was so versatile asdfsdfsd #anyway uhh dont try this at home and all that -- apparently bathing bunnies IS bad for their fur and very distressing 💀#but im sure our little cryptid prison warden can handle it...#amane and haruka arent involved directly but they are chilling okay #its getting more and more difficult to write milgram humor as they reveal more and more character trauma but im trying!! 😭#thank you so much for the request! these have been such a blast -- i really appreciate it! you are so kind :')#i hope youre doing well and taking good care of yourself pal!!👍✨#i hope you enjoy :D #drabbles

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ingo-ingoing-ingone · 1 year

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Siblings don’t usually stick together, do they? Other people certainly seem to think not. Too bad Emmet and Ingo have never really cared much for normalcy.

Hi guys lol I was. Not expecting to write a oneshot tonight but I had the idea and today wasn't great so I wrote it anyways.

College submas, worried Ingo, and reassuring Emmet time :)

#submas #submas positivity #emmet #ingo #just a little drabble lol that I wrote in like. an hour #i should say. NO SHIPPING. NONE. NONE AT ALL. PLATONIC ONLY. THANK YOU #ANYWAYS #they're GOOD BROTHERS your honor #i LOVE THEM!!!!!#this was. cathartic #getting out feelings by letting characters experience what I cannot etc etc etc #i enjoyed writing this

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password-door-lock · 1 year

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Unknown doesn’t really care about you. That’s been his conviction from day one, the truth to which he has clung with a vice grip throughout his acquaintance with you. He doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t care what’s convenient for you, and he doesn’t care about your feelings. He certainly doesn't care that you've been restless all night, waking up at odd intervals to sniffle for a bit before returning to your tossing and turning. He supposes that he does care if you’re able to help him fulfill his plan, though you’ve already thrown a wrench into it once by refusing to enter the code correctly at the apartment. He had no choice but to bring you back to Magenta, which may have been a bad call, but Unknown has about as much patience for surprises as he does for liars— which is to say, none at all— and your inability to listen forced him to make a snap decision on the spot.

Presently, he's working at his desk, and you’re asleep on the couch, stirring and whining occasionally in what he imagines is discomfort. He wonders if you're experiencing something akin to the nightmares that plague him when he forces himself to rest, but then goes out of his way to dissolve the thought. Unknown doesn’t like to linger on his own pain. Why would he? So instead, he watches you sleep fitfully. After a few minutes of this, you blink awake. You sit up, looking around frantically. “Did you have a bad dream, prince(ss)?” Unknown asks, amused despite himself. You look adorable even in the faint light provided by his monitor, with your eyes wide and your head swiveling comically from side to side.

“No; don't worry,” you reply, “But my throat hurts, and my nose is all stuffed up— I think I might have a cold or something.” That much is obvious from your voice.

Even so, Unknown’s fingers pause where they are above his keyboard. In fact, his whole body freezes. He’s stiff, unsure of how to handle the situation. If you have a sore throat and a stuffy nose, then you’re almost definitely sick— Unknown doesn’t have time to process all the reasons why he doesn’t like that thought. He only allows himself to acknowledge the fact that it irks him. “You’re sick,” he informs you, trying not to sound nervous. It’s important that he maintains a calm tone in order to maintain his iron grip on the situation.

You’re already starting to tremble so obviously that he can see it even from his vantage point across the room. What reason do you have to be trembling? Unknown wonders. He’s the one who might get sick as a result of your negligence— he’s been in here with you all night, breathing your air and touching things you’ve also touched. If you’re sick, then there’s a pretty solid chance that Unknown is going to be next— he growls, annoyed at the thought of losing progress with his work for something so pointless. If his head gets foggy with fever, he’ll work a lot slower, which will doubtlessly cause problems for him in his quest for revenge. It pisses him off that this is something over which he has no jurisdiction— you might be at the mercy of his whims, but your illness is not.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. He should feel good that you’re apologizing, taking responsibility; he should enjoy the knowledge that you’re shaking in fear of how he might respond to this latest inconvenience. Yes, you should be sorry, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who brought some bug into the intelligence room, after all.

But, inexplicably, Unknown does not feel comforted at all. “Don’t waste time apologizing,” he snaps. It’s always grounding to snap at people— it reminds him that he’s in control. Of course, you do that well enough on your own; you make your devotion obvious with every thoughtful gesture and every offhand word. It’s almost cute, the way you bend over backwards for him.

Before he can tell you what you should start doing in lieu of telling him you’re sorry, you lapse into a prolonged period of violent coughing. “Sorry,” you choke out again once you’re finished.

“Okay.” Unknown doesn’t even bother telling you not to apologize again. He’s annoyed that you’re sick, but he’s even more annoyed that he has to stop working to help you deal with your emotions. Can’t you handle your feelings on your own? Why would you rely on him for something like this? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just sulk in the corner without making a peep? But Unknown concedes that in all other cases, your reliance on him is a good thing. It makes you easier to control.

Maybe this is a necessary sacrifice, he decides, and that’s what’s compelling him to continue this discussion. If he handles your feelings neatly, you might follow his instructions better, and he can spend his time on more important things. If he lets you stew with your strange guilt, especially when you’re trying to recover from a cold, then he’s going to have to deal with it later, when your emotional and physical condition are both significantly worse. Unknown isn’t interested in that.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” You ask, as if he hasn’t already made it clear to you that there isn’t.

Unknown is beside himself. What are you talking about? How could you possibly help him? You can barely carry on a conversation without losing your train of thought in a fit of coughing. “No. You don’t need to worry about that,” he tells you flatly. “Just keep quiet and rest so you get better fast, hm? I don’t want to deal with a sick assistant any longer than I have to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. Though he doesn’t understand why, Unknown is suddenly very glad that you’re feeling well enough to pester him. “There’s gotta be something I can do.”

“I just told you what to do,” he reminds you, “So maybe you should start listening before you regret it.”

“You’re threatening me? Even though I’m sick?” As if your feigned shock wasn’t annoying enough, you take the liberty of pretending to cough into your hand. Of course, this fake cough soon turns into a fit of very genuine coughing— good. It serves you right for trying to mock him.

“Mhm,” Unknown hums, "Now, why don’t you try to follow directions instead of talking nonsense?” It puts him at ease to play this game with you. He doesn’t have to contend with any emotions he may harbor about the situation if you’re up for a verbal sparring match, and he’d never pass up an opportunity to assert his control.

“Whatever you say.” You salute him, then sneeze obnoxiously into your elbow. For how long, exactly, is he going to have to deal with this behavior? “What did you want me to do, again?”

“Now you’re just looking for attention,” Unknown decides. He has no idea why you’re so committed to the idea of working when he’s giving you not simply the license, but the direct order to rest, though it doesn’t really matter. He’s already told you several times that he doesn’t need you to work on anything, and besides, he wants you to feel better. But that makes sense— of course he would want his assistant to be functioning normally. His motivations are entirely justifiable. “Go lay back down and don’t bother me again.”

“Okay, okay,” you hold up your hands and gaze at him with adoration. “I get it! You don’t want me to work! Who are you and what have you done with Unknown?” He just glares at you, waiting for you to finish giggling at your own joke. “But, sure, whatever, I’ll try to rest. Feel free to wake me up if you need something, though. I want to help you if I can.”

Unknown rolls his eyes. He’s glad to have such a loyal assistant, but you seriously need to stop challenging his authority like this. “I’m not going to tell you again,” he warns.

“I said okay! Look, here I am resting.” After another prolonged coughing fit, you make a big show of laying back down on the couch and closing your eyes— and if Unknown finds himself smirking a little at your fake snoring noises, that’s none of anybody’s business.

#I've been sick for the past few days but now I'm FINALLY well enough to write and edit #So I figured I may as well project onto MC a little bit lol #Also completely unrelated to the fic but also a little related to the fic I got up at 1am so in my mind it's like afternoon right now #anyway enjoy #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble

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