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f1fnatic · 1 year ago

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DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND! ⤿ m. verstappen 1

→ ( in which. . . ) you're at a dreaded sponsor event for redbull and find someone that resents them just as much as you do, if not more.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) max verstappen x fem!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mutual pining, fluff, cursing, mentions of alcohol consumption, chr*stian ho*ner

→ ( authors note. . . ) woohoo! another fic done :p this is just one of the 17 (😀) drafts i have... anyways... hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

you wanted to leave. but you couldn't. you had always hated these types of stuck-up sponsor events. luckily, you noticed some body who hated them just as much as you.

you caught a glimpse of him before he was whisked away by one of the redbull higher-ups. his dirty blonde hair was easy to spot among the brunettes surrounding him.

you, unfortunately, were in the same boat. someone who you forgot the name of was talking your ear off, slurring something along the lines of it being beneficial for their brand if you were to join with them.

being a redbull athlete meant high expectations and a multitude of events. sometimes you were given a heads-up, but tonight you weren't. no, instead, this sponsorship party was sprung upon you by your manager 3 hours before it started. they blamed it on the fact that you were 'unbelievably busy' and 'it slipped their mind.' that put you in a sour mood. you were home, meaning that you had made plans with your family and friends that you had to regrettably cancel.

this man was getting on your last nerve. you could not handle another second of his borderline incoherent mumbling. so, you kindly excused yourself for a drink. you turned on your skinny heel and began to walk away. the corset of your dress digging into your ribs with every step. breathing was becoming a task with the tightening ties. instead of stopping at the bar, you continue walking towards the balcony.

rays of moonlight flood through the dauntingly tall glass doors. you step through the threshold and onto the unusually small balcony. the crisp air feels like a shot of espresso as you breathe in. it rejuvenates you. a light breeze sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps appearing in its wake. there isn't much decor on the platform. string lights are threaded through the railing, potted plants are set in each corner of the rectangular area, and a gas fireplace is placed to the left surrounded by cushioned chairs.

a figure is standing in front of you, body slumped over the rail. you walk over. once you get closer, you are met with the familiar face of max verstappen.

max knew who it was before you reached him. the clicking of your expensive heels on the concrete of the balcony gave you away. as did the cherry-vanilla perfume you adored so much as it wafted in the wind. he was infatuated by you. he very rarely got to see you in person, but when he did, he drank you in like a man starved. the pure beauty you held made him shrink within himself.

"i thought i saw you earlier." you comment. that was a partial lie. you didn't see him directly, but you felt him. you knew that he was there when his burning gaze was digging into the back of your head.

he only smiles. he knew you would be here, much to your dismay. he was almost considering telling christian that he fell ill and wouldn't be able to make it, but he couldn't risk not seeing you. max looked to you and you looked back, a sickeningly sweet smile on your pink tinted lips.

a comfortable silence blanketed the both of you. you had one arm laying atop the balcony rail while the right was propped on your cheek. the golden bracelets fell down your wrist and twinkled in the soft light. your gaze fastened on the breathtaking sight in front of you.

max stood beside you in a trance. everything about you had him head over heels in love (but he wouldn't admit that.) the way your hair softly blew in the breeze, the way your rich blue dress complimented every curve of your built body, and the way your eyes twinkled in the moonlight made butterflies flutter everywhere in his body. they started in his stomach then migrated to his toes and fingertips. he knew he was blushing and was bright red. but the small buzz he had going could be to blame.

you weren't sure when, but at some point your bodies grew closer. maybe it was just max, or maybe the both of you. but the added body heat began to slowly warm you up.

just like before, you could feel his intense, icy gaze burning into the side of your skull. "you're staring."

"i know. just enjoying the view." he replies simply. you turn to look at him, a shocked expression on your face. a light blush began to dust your cheeks.

"is that so?" you ask. he nods simply, closing his eyes and smiling. you playfully scoff before somberly adding, "you know you may grow tired."

"with you in front of me? never." he expresses. "truthfully y/n, if i could paint, you would be my muse. no doubt about it. i would never grow tired of looking at you. your beauty is simply awe inducing."

you were speechless. words escaped you and you were positive your blush got even darker. you shyly went to turn back to face the view but max's hand quickly found yours and tugged your body back to face him. he kept hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers with his.

"don't look away." he states. a heat began to bundle in your core. he had never talked to you this way, nor acted this way. you wish he would. there was something unreadable in his eyes, the bright blue darkening.

you silently stared at each other. neither of you daring to break eye contact. that is, until, the sound of someone clearing their throat made the two of you, unfortunately, separate. the lack of heat made the bitter cold even colder.

you turn your attention to the sound and are met with none other than christian horner. "i hope i'm not interrupting anything." he says smugly.

"nope, nothing at all." max responds, sheepishly sliding his hands into his pants pockets. christian stood in the door way, arms crossed like a doting father.

he acknowledges you with a simple "y/n." you respond with a nod. he then turns his attention back to max. "there's a sponsor wanting to talk to you. something about sunglasses. i told him i'd come and get you."

you look up to max and see him deflate a little. you gave him a sympathetic pout and patted him on the shoulder. "so then, let's go." christian pushes, annoyance laced into his tone. he turns to leave, returning inside just out of view of the glass doors.

max goes to follow, but now it was your turn to grab his hand and make him turn around. he does so enthusiastically. "don't leave me behind, yeah maxie?" you say moving your hands to his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"i won't, i promise schatje." his hands went to rest on your hips. warmth radiated from his palms enveloping you in heat. the both of you started at one another, eyes locked and cheeks flushed, red like a sunburn.

max slowly moves in and you follow. the two of you always seemed to gravitate towards one another; like two galaxies yearning to twirl with each other.

you knew what he wanted, and he knew you wanted the same. blue eyes locked on your pink lips. instead of you connecting with his, you swerve and plant a kiss on his cheek; just at the intersection of skin and lip. your lipstick left a visible imprint almost like a stamp. his blue eyes twinkle and you smile. "you should go before horner grounds you."

max laughs before dropping his hands from your waist and you do the same. that same bitter cold returns but you knew it wouldn't last long, he would be back in no time.

"you'll still be out here, yeah?" he questions.

"i should, unless stephen hunts me down to talk to a sponsor."

"i'll find you before that." he winks. he bowed in front of you playfully. a laugh fell from your lips. god, he loved your laugh. he smiled at himself. turning on his heel he began retreating back inside. he turned to look over your shoulder, bidding you adieu.

there you stood, on the balcony, cheeks red, butterflies flying around restlessly throughout your body, yearning for the man that owned your heart.

first max fic! really happy with how this one turned out. AND OFF TOPIC BUT CHARLES FIRST GRAND PRIX WIN OF THE SEASON?? AND IT WAS MONACO?? OMG?? also, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

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pchelik-please · 2 months ago

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Headcanons for cardbots' anatomy and culture(kinda)

I wrote most of them to set cardbots apart from cybertronians and write down ideas for their mechanical insides. Tumblr seemingly doesn't like the formating im using.

Warning! Its a long read.

Anatomical hc:

Optic is a one whole led screen, very expressive, easily breakable

Charge instead of a spark (a ball of electricity with nerves that run through the whole body, you should under no circumstance touch it)

Charge consists of the Charge Core (a ball of high voltage electricity in the chest) and Charge Veins (thin vein-like strings that run through entire body from the Charge Core)

Charge Core is protected by dense shell made out of machinium. Charge Veins are attached to it

There are five main CV: 2 for arms, 2 for legs, 1 for head, if the mech has any other appendages (Deep Bite has a tail) than there is an extra CV

CV can split to fill smaller connected appendages (fingers, finials) and to connects to the internal organs (fuel tank, transformation hinges, hydraulics, etc)

If the CC' s shell is breached than it will start fizzling out. If the breach is big and not sealed in time the CC will dissolve and the mech will die

Thinner pieces that have CV ( finials, fingers, wings, FV’s flat thing) are very sensitive because the CV is closer to the surface, but fingers are less sensitive cus they’re used often

No combiners (Flame Nova is an exception*, Blue Cop got it from Deus Machina, I don’t fucking know what’s going on with Blastrain)

Can eat multiple form of fuel (it all converts to energy)

In the show they have a weird vicious liquid in their bodies for some fucking reason and I hate it. CHANGE all fuel converts to electricity, no viscous greens

No medical ports (thus can’t download data directly to their processor, have to learn it manually) But maybe they have bluetooth???

They just bonk their heads and send small not important files to each other (photos, short videos and gifs, tho the last two will have shitty quality). But if they have hats they need to take them off.

No partial patch thing (at least not through a cord, maybe through a em connection)

No subspace, its taken by their metal cards and weapons

sealed bots have subspace because their metal cards are stored in the metal breath, but its not big

Alt modes aren’t an exact copy of the scanned vehicle (it like 80% same)Change, they cant chose a different altmode, they are stuck with one forever. Change, the can choose their alt mode but not an exact copy 80%

I don’t think some of them even cared to scan a human vehicle and just stayed with their old altmode even on earth (Blastrain, Sky Gallop, Deep Bite (his altmode still would look animalistic as hell tho), Speranza crew)

Their windows are always tinted, even the front

EYE THINGIES ON FRONT WINDOW (all have it, a projections to better emote)

Very expressive even in alt mode

Have no mouths, there’s nothing like a mouth under the battle mask

Optic color can be changed through a simple medical procedure, means nothing really

There’s no specific organ that lets them transform rather its in their whole body (we have so much shit that makes us walk, not one specific organ)

Wings, cranes and other thin shit on the frame is more sensitive, cus the CV are closer to the surface

Can’t open the charge core chamber, if breached and not closed the charge will fizzle out very quickly, but injuries to charge veins are not lethal (they are very deep and small) usually they lead to the temporal paralysis ( mega ambler's things work the same)

Usually smaller than cybertronians (4-6 meters usually, some are just fucking big (Black hook is a boat but its a tiny ass boat, Heavy Iron was made like that for funsies), some are bigger cus of their frame types (Blasttrain and Sky Gallop))

Metal card can be used even in alt mode

Only one alt form, no triple-cadruple-sixtruple changers (triple changer is like a fantasy, their Spiderman would have it)

Vehicle only alt modes, no monkeys, guns or boomboxes

If an injury is sparking and leaking than its very very fucking bad and you need to go to a doctor NOW

They generally produce much less noise (fans are quiet, electrical inside are not noisy)

Frame types: car (Blue Cop), flight (Cielo, Shadow X), water related (Black Hook (YES HE IS A FLYING BOAT, BUT BOAT NON THE LESS), Deep Bite), other weird wheels (Rock Crush, Blastrain)

Yes there many sub frame types, but its mostly just civilian-small, standard, bigger transportation, giant guy. OWW has different sub types (car different wheels (tank), weird land vehicle metal wheels (trams and trains), something else construction vehicle (Rock Crush) )

OWW are rare

Animal traits are very rare, its a mutation

No claws, maximum is pointy fingers (exception Deep Bite)

FUCKING HATS. They are born with them (I mean not everyone, but it’s not rare). They are held down with small magnets

Are more common in ground frame than in any other (ground, oww, fly, water)

Something getting stuck on frame like a little magnet is okay, but too much of it and you can get sick

They can absorb gas fuel through their fans but its not very effective

THEY HAVE PORES IN THEIR MASKS TO ABSORB OTHER FUEL (they can taste)

Optics are very fragile and can break easily from underwater pressure (water frames are an exception).

water frames have generally sturdier optics, there is an additional layer of protective glass above the led.

Said additional layer can be installed manually (Phoenix Fire has it cus of his job (he has a lot of mods I think))

Are cooler in general (electricity produces less heat)

If they are damaged severely in their rout mode they cant transform (no hand/leg = impartial car that's missing something most likely vital)

The funny ahh guys who are kinda combiners but not really (Flame Nova, Blue Cop Trinity, Blastrain)

Flame Nova and Blastrain were supposedly born like that (not sure about FN) so when they are combined they should feel everything with their outer layer (touches, damage, em fields)

BC wasn’t born with Loader and Commander so when he’s combined he can’t exactly feel anything beyond severe damage and touches (but only cus he knows someone’s touching him)

Can I just make it very fucking individual? They all have different things regarding the combination ( it can be inborn or acquired through fucking magic or through illegal means (???), but it would be different for all of them)

Different fuels taste very different (methane is delicious kinda sweet, gasoline is basic a bit salty (potato), diesel is similar but fruity (???))

Energon and its variants taste like different acid/energy drinks with a fucked up electric aftertaste, bitter, leaves you sick but wanting more

Cardbots have a very diverse diet. Its advisable to consume 2 different types of fuel a day ( usually electricity and smt else)

The taste of the fuels can vary depending on the manufacturer and brand (‘ Coca Coalla’s diesel is weird, I like Fuelnta more its sweeter’ “Dude, Fuelnta is so poorly filtered, your pores have tiny pieces of minerals after you drink it”)

Energon is like a fucked energy drink for them. If they drink it they are going to run on walls for hours at best (at worst they will run around in circles for an entire day, their mind hazed and crazy, and they’ll get an incredible stomachache after all of that)

Cardbots have an organ for converting fuel to the vicious green liquid (I hate it. there's no reason for its existence(VICIOUS GREEN NO MORE)). Different fuels have different processing time (electricity is the fastest, straight to the core)

Energon is very energy dense compared to other fuels, so it's processing is kinda weird (the organ is working at max % with evey other fuel cus efficiency and it would take very long otherwise, but energon slips through it with such speed that the entire fps** can be fucked from it)

Imagine dropping a glass of liquid high concentration fuel into a wood oven

No charge pulse, constant buzzing instead (you cant hear it from all the plating around it) cannot be tracked by cybertronian tracking devices

They’re denser. Can be tossed around without getting any serious dents for much longer than cybertronians

Cultural (kinda) hc :

Electricity expelled through body (spark and little charges) is explained next

electricity expelled through body right next to someone is a horny kinda gesture

if you nuzzle someone and let out a spark of electricity, it will deepen the kiss and considerate a romantic gesture

you ate too much, if its continuing for more than a day than its a health problem related to fuel to energy transition or its an equivalent of a fever (mostly likely the fever)

Gender is expressed mostly only through pronounce

Optic color can be changed quiet easily, but due to optic’s construction it will be one solid color. Dark colors are not used at all.

Wingspeak is known by all flight frames from birth ( flight frame with autism will not know it sry)

Brighter optics = good mood, dim optics = bad mood or a health issue

SLEEP PILE SLEEP PILE SLEEP PILE, warmer bots sink, you know a guy for 1 one day and you now can sleep in a pile (not considerate horny at all). Usually sleep like that in rout mode, alt mode is less comfortable for a sleep pile

Names consist of two words or two roots or a word and a letter (Blue Cop, Blasttrain, Shadow X). The last one is rare and new (like giving your kid a fancy new name)

Something something magnetism and em stuff is very weird and they are very sensitive to it. (Em storm will give them strong migraines or make them horny idk yet)

No spark bonds or anything close to them

They sulk in their altmode (a car sitting in a dark garage is a sad giant robot)

Its harder to notice their fans are working (aka blushing)

They have shallow soup plates with for exmp gasoline and they dip their face mask in it and it slowly gets absorbed

If its gas fuel maybe its like a bong???

Cords and wires are mostly associated with internal organs and thus are kinda gross

Seeing cybertronian's medical ports and cables is very weird and gross

There’s deffinetly something like old English (Sky Gallop speaks with fucking thee thy and thou s)

Red Blitz’ name from Sky Gallop sounded like Crimson Flash (???)

That means that their language was changing rather rapidly (kinda like English) if the old version is still around, but the major changes occurred long ago enough that most people who speak it are either old Knights (Sky Gallop) or some high old caste (also Sky Gallop)

Maybe im making baseless assumptions based off of one character

DEUS MACHINA IS A GINORMOUS BALL OF ELECTRICITY THAT USES A COMPUTER AS A SHELL

CC is a parallel to Deus in a way ( the essence of a person is in a ball of electricity that is in protective shell / the essence of a God/Creator/Planet is a ginormous ball of electricity in a protective shell/computer)

The computer itself is just a shell, without it Deus will be absolutely incomprehensible for cardbots (they will receive every em signal that Deus consists of and just BOOM). I think that if you stood infront of itself with no shell you would understand everything She wants to say but also absolutely nothing because of the way Deus is constructed

I have a scene of Blue Cop floating in front of Deus in Her core. She doesn’t say anything but hundreds and thousands of meanings of Her words are in his processor. She cares about her creations but she knows they will never comprehend Her real form so she just sticks to the giant computer in the core of Machina.

Since Her shell is a computer it needs service. Every service bot of Hers is also a religious figure

I think her presence would stretch for miles, washing everything in Her em signals and Her electricity. Deus is omnipresent without Her shell. When Machina was blown up everyone had sensed Her. Her dying spirit. Her presence. Her emotions.

She has desmos music vibes

ELECTRICITY SYMBOLISM in visual art

A spark or a bolt between 2 bots is romantic, meaning close intimacy

A ball with sparks around it is a religious thing. Has a caring, kind, all-knowing undertone to it

Half a ball with sparks is also religious. Has an omnipresent, all-knowing, always watching undertone, used rarely. Mostly used in religious texts and paintings/posters

A lot of thin bolts of electricity around someone = pain, sickness, punishment for greed (if the sparks are closer to beak)

2-3 sparks around beak = good taste, awesome fuel, hearty meal

CN structure = insides, strong but thin and curvy, weasy

Im gonna reread it later and think 'bruh what was i on'

Cardbots generally deal with loneliness worse. And they all at least for some time were alone when they landed on earth (their save capsules/podes are for 1 person) so they do appreciate the company more. S1 group is especially clingy in their sleep pile cus no one wants to lose anyone again (its a bit denser than a normal one) even Heavy Iron couldn't sleep alone for very long. And they are generally more sociable than cybertronians I think.

Number 1 psychological issue is abandonment issues/anxiety

Smaller bots sleep curled up, the bigger the bot the more they spread out ( HI is 🧍‍♂️ while BC is 🧶)

The single-colored optic (exm Heavy Iron) is an intimidation tactic. Though can be turned on instinctively if the bot isn’t thinking straight (BC high on energon, Flash&Bit bros with the metal from s2)

#metal cardbot #i regret nothing #i think #sry if there's any russian words left i dont wanna look for them now #robot insanity

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tootoomanycats · 5 months ago

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The Plan

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans...

Pairing:

Gil-Galad x Human Reader Fem

Word Count: 6,415 words

If you prefer to read on AO3 its HERE

Summary: (SET IN THE RINGS OF POWER TV SERIES) (Takes place years before the first episode) As time settles the world’s chaos, Gil-Galad begins to feel an unusual boredom. After centuries of war, his days are now filled with mundane paperwork, the ink on the parchment mocking him with its monotony. When he receives a letter from Master Boat Builder Cirdan, asking for aid for a small group of humans whose ship has sunk, Gil-Galad agrees, recognizing his duty to help. Upon meeting the High King, you are caught off guard by an unexpected attraction. With your ship at the bottom of the bay, you aim to use your charm to secure a new vessel for yourself and your crew. However, as days go by, Gil-Galad's genuine compassion and kindness complicate things. The initial plan to flirt and deceive begins to clash with the genuine emotions that develop. You find yourself torn between the charming facade and emerging feelings for the High King. As the truth looms closer, the question remains—how will Gil-Galad react when he learns the real reason behind your visit?

Warnings:

Mentions of fire

Descriptions of injuries

Descriptions of partial nudity

Reader is not a holy good person.

Two ideots pining and refusing to acknowledge it.

Not Beta Read

(smut stuff will be in chapter two, promise)

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone!

It’s finally here! Thank you for being so patient while I finally got this done and posted. In my overeagerness, I was hoping to get this finished on New Year’s Day, but sadly, life and depression got a hold of me. I have entirely rewritten this chapter and how it plays out over four times. This time, I finally had to reel my worry that this wasn't good enough and just be okay with where it was. Please note that I'm writing this without sitting to very strict guidelines of what elves are commonly like in the book. I am writing Gil-Galad and Elves with the idea that history books and lore always paint figureheads and royalty as if they lived by strict morals and values. And I think it's much more interesting if we see what Gil-Galad would have experienced if he had fallen in love, and it, in the end, was kept secret from history. You'll notice that Elrond isn't going to be in this; that is because at the same time this story is going on- I have a one-shot of what Elrond is doing elsewhere. I am working on it, but I have no set date for finishing it as of right now. As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you fed your starving artist today?

Tea.

Every night since his arrival in Grey Havens, the Master Boat Builder has made a point to enjoy a cup of tea before heading off to bed. Be it rain, snow, or shine, that cup of tea will always be had.

The weather was sublime this evening: cool temperatures, clear skies, and a calm breeze. Weather being what it is, he opened the workshop’s doors to watch as the sun’s last glow gave way to darkness.

Once the last sip was finished, he reached for the large doors to close them for the night. But as he pulled the last one, a shimmer of light in the water caught his attention; its reflection was unusually bright.

Leaning out the side, hand gripping the door handle for balance, he gasped in shock at finding the source. Just a few leagues away was a double-masted ship- inflamed.

Its bow was raised dramatically into the cool night air, exposing an accumulation of maritime fauna. The vessels aft dragged along the sea bed, echoing whenever it hit high points of rocks. What wood was visible was already ashes or becoming the next fuel source for the inferno. Screams and bodies jumping into the river could be heard above all else.

Running out of the boat house, Cirdan reached the town’s warning bell. Its massive size was stuck from disuse and rust. He kicked hard and kept kicking until his ankle and foot burned in protest, until finally, it groaned in movement. The piercing sound of the tocsin woke and alerted those who lived nearby as he shouted, “FIRE!”

It became chaos as orders were given, supplies packed, and horses mounted. The few elves who could, followed the older one, sprinting to offer aid to the tragedy’s survivors.

——

Wet, freezing, and homeless.

The strength it had taken to carry your first mate from the ship’s bowls to the deck had caused more than one muscle to pull. Short as he is, the man is surprisingly heavy.

Unfortunately, jumping from a burning ship was more manageable than carrying him to shore. As the line of buoyancy and gravity met, a new struggle began as you started to stand halfway out of the water.

Heavy, wet clothes worked against frozen, numb limbs with each soaking step to dry land and out of its icy grip. Ankles almost twisting with each slippery step on the shore rocks before finally collapsing onto soft sand.

A small blessing was the man you had carried came too with only a few short chest compressions. You joined him on the sand once he could fully sit up and catch his breath.

What was left of the crew watched as the top of the crow’s nest disappeared, the bay groaning and gurgling in its consumption. The ship you and many others once called home had been swallowed into the water’s depths.

A hand gently pressed into your left shoulder, its callouses felt through the singed holes of your shirt—the contact causing you to look at the much shorter man. “I’m sorry, Captain. You did your best.”

The words meant well, but instead of commiserating, they reminded you that this was your failure. When the sensation of your throat tightening and eyes misting began, you shook your head. There would be no grieving until a new home was acquired.

Looking back at the shorter man, face composed and emotions pushed to the side. “Do we know where we’ve landed, Sal? I didn’t have time to look at the map; when I saw the opening, I thought it would be the only chance for our escape.”

Sal’s singular green eye widened before looking around the visible area, knowing he would be the only one of you to see in such darkness. “Not sure, we’ve never been this far north before.”

Not good.

Standing up, you internally shivered as the sensation of wet, sandy, cloth peeled from your damp, chilled skin. The only possessions left were on everyone’s backs, holes and all.

A strike of panic set in at that realization. Taking inventory, a hand reached up to count the baubles that adorned your earnings, relieved to feel all was accounted for. Looking down at the blistered and burned fingers, you grimaced at the thought of how bad the pain would be when removing the various roughly smithed rings. One of the bands looked almost embedded past the first few layers of skin, potentially touching bone.

Sal had followed in checking his personage for anything of value, even lifting his eye patch and ensuring that the smooth, unpolished diamond he kept was still hidden in the empty socket.

“We’re going to be stuck on land until a new home can be procured.” Turning, you saw the group huddled together for warmth, teeth chattering as they shivered.

“From here on out, it’s dry land rules and roles. We’re starting from nothing, so best behaviors until that changes.” At the nods given in response, you turned to your first mate. “We need to start a fire; we don’t need anyone dying of hypothermia-“ Everyone froze at a distinct sound.

Hoof-beats.

The sound rumbled further up into the tree line, accompanied by voices that called out, echoing into the fjord. Lanterns swayed and grew brighter with each moment the owners grew closer.

Head snapping back to the others, you whispered, “Remember the rules. No one speaks until I say so.” A groan caught your attention just before Sal almost lost his balance. “What's wrong? Why-“ Pulling your hand away from the back of his head, you felt the warmth just as you smelt its metallic scent.

Your hand was entirely coated in bright red blood from just that moment of contact; a quick glance back at the sand where he had first laid showed a small puddle where the ground's compression had helped to pause the bleeding, only momentarily. “Why didn't you say anything?” you hissed before trying to apply what little pressure your pain-filled hand could tolerate. A gruff whisper was his only response: “Didn't want to worry you.”

“Idiot” was the only word that could be mustered while ideas sprinted in your mind at what to do next. The lanterns were getting closer, the voices becoming more evident each second. It was a gamble, but it was the only possible choice you could see.

“Someone, help us!” Shouting into the night air, voice raising louder with the following sentence. “Pirates have attacked us!” At first, the crew members' confusion read clearly on their faces, until your stern glare made them realize what was happening. One by one, they began clutching various parts of their bodies, crying out and groaning in pain.

Sal chuckled in your arms, shaking his head before he lost consciousness, his full weight now on you to hold up. Once the owners of the lanterns broke through the bushes, they rushed in to help. But it was clear that there was surprise on both parties’ sides when seeing who the other was.

Elves? Just how far north had you drifted?

Cirdan was genuinely shocked at what he and his townspeople stumbled upon. When first spotting the burning ship, the assumption was that the sailors aboard would be his own kind—not humans. As the others rushed to those rolling in agony on the sand, he quickly made his way to where you were struggling to maintain balance while holding a relatively short man.

Finally, you allowed the tears to flow, teeth chattering as the adrenalin began to wear off and what little warmth you had dissipated. “Please, help us.” The older elf’s heart broke at the sight before him, and within the hour, you and your crew had been taken back to town to be tended to.

By midnight, Sal’s head had been stitched and bandaged. Once asleep, the shorter man's snoring rattled the walls of the boat builders' small home. The other members' wounds had been cleaned before special herbs that none of you recognized were placed over them. With no spare rooms, Cirdan was left to care for the ship’s captain on his dining table.

The first rinse to clean the wounds on your palms had not been too painful. But as the elf used various instruments to take out the bits of splintered wood, broken threads of rope, and shattered glass, you began to think that he was torturing you instead of healing.

At another flinch, Cirdan’s focus shifted to take in your exhausted face. The grimacing expression telling how much you were ready to be done with the tedious task before you both. “Almost done. I am pleased to say you will still have full use of your hands.” He whispered.

As everyone else slept, only a few candles lit the small area needed to see as he worked. In search of distraction from the sensitive and tender discomfort, attention shifted to the papers scattered around the table he had you perched on. The first few were just lists and notes, but something caught your eye.

It was beautiful.

Triple-masted, square-cut sales, the hull was designed in such detail that it felt like, with one good shake, it would drop out of the page into the water.

As you became further engrossed with the drawing, you unknowingly leaned further and further. Cirdan looked up, ready to ask you to sit still again. But when he followed where your attention had gone, he smiled softly before gently guiding your palms back into the position needed. Focusing back on digging out a particularly stubborn glass shard, he egged on your curiosity. “If you enjoy that one, you should see the one you are sitting on.”

When a deep blush of embarrassment spread across your face, he chuckled. “Here, let me help.” With the boat master’s aid to lean to the opposite side now, he pulled free the design to lay the now crinkled paper on the table for easier viewing.

Just like the previous design, this, too, was stunning. Were such ships possible to build? Once back to work on your hands, you took the opportunity to shift your attention from the design to begin admiring the unique features of the elf's home.

Intricate hand-carved details were everywhere. Spiraled door handles, doorway arches with such delicate flowers and vines it was a wonder they didn’t break, and the wall next to the dining table was carved from ceiling to floor, detailing a flock of cranes surrounded by tall standing trees.

“Did you design them?” Attention back to the page that had previously been sat on. An idea began to form in your mind at his nod and smile. “They’re beautiful; building something as grand as those must take a lifetime.”

“They are, though I am not sure if they will ever be brought into existence.” The tone of his voice tells of the pride in his creations and the enjoyment of such praise.

Allowing your voice to soften, your head tilting, and your lips turning up at the corners as you spoke, “They’re unique. It's so clear in everything you touch that this is what you were meant to do.”

As you continued, the tips of pointed ears peeking out from silver hair tinged in a faint blush. “Every detail thought through so clearly,” Cirdan gulped as he nervously tried to focus on the task before him.

But the poor boat builder struggled even more when you teasingly smiled while praising his work. “Even your door handles and chairs adorn your touches.” Your eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to see the faint tinge of a flustered blush topping the apples of his cheeks. A single fluter of your lashes and you glanced at his lips for a moment before returning to the pages laid out.

“Um, Y-yes. Yes, I feel such joy and fulfillment in what I do and what it means for my people.” He placed the metal instruments down on the woven cloth that held other items, ones that looked sharper and more intimidating the longer you looked. The response was a murmured thank you as he began placing crushed herbs over the now clean wounds. As the gauze was wrapped around each finger delicately, it was Cirdan’s turn to ask a question.

“I am curious about your ship; it saddens me that I did not have a chance to see its beauty.” The fingers he still wrapped tensed in his hands; at looking up, he saw how the color left your face, eyes turned down; it was clear you weren't there with him at that moment. “Oh, I am sorry,” turning, he brought a warm cup of tea to your lips, your hands still unable to hold anything. “In my curiosity, I did not think of your pain and loss.”

The elves' eyes watched subtly as your lips curled and then relaxed to part, observing how your throat swallowed the warm liquid he had provided. Patiently waiting until you had your fill before putting the cup down and turning back to finish bandaging up to your wrists.

Cirdan finished the bandaging with the last wrap around your wrist. In the time it took to stand, gather the instruments, and look between you and his designs on the table, an idea began to form at the front of his mind. “Is it difficult to ascertain a new vessel in your homelands?” His back faced you as he cleaned the blood from the metal objects in the sink.

His shoulders dropped as your voice broke. “My home is very far from here.” For the second time in the night, the boat master felt his heartbreak at such sadness.

That settles it, then. He had to do something. There was only so long and so little room that Grey Haven’s harbor could offer hospitality, not to mention there being no clear path ahead for you. “What I say next, you must know, is not meant to push you out.” He watches the way you curl into yourself, preparing in resignation already.

“My home is small, not suited to provide the proper healing your crew needs. I will send a message to my king-,” Your eyes widen, shaking your head as you tell him no. But he will hear none of it. Raising a hand to stop your protests, the elf continues, “I will write to my king and ask that he finds it in his heart to show compassion, especially to those that deserve it.”

You tell him you don't know how to repay his kindness; he scoffs and drinks the now-cold tea to hide the blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. The rest of the night is spent playing a few games of chess. It would have just been one, but with your hands being as they are, you kept accidentally bumping multiple pieces around. With each game, the conversation turned back to ships, elven ships.

As the darkness of night began to give way to the first glow of dawn on the horizon, Cirdan excused himself to write the letter that would be sent ahead to Lindon’s Capital. At that same time, you went to Sal. Gently, you slinked into the bedroom so as not to wake the rest of the crew before sitting on the edge of the bed that was so graciously granted to your first mate.

“Sal, Sal!” You voiced louder than planned at the shorter man’s deep sleep, which refused to release him. Finally, the rough shake to his shoulder roused him. “Wha-Whats going on?” With a quick hand over his mouth to quiet him down, you pressed a finger to your lips before whispering. “I have just spent the last few hours speaking with our new friend. He has been very kind.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at the responding wiggling eyebrows, his single eye wide in excitement. “How kind?” You leaned in to reply with a whisper, a wicked smile its companion. “Kind enough to ask if his king would help us.” Sal’s jaw dropped in shock before punching your shoulder. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”

Sitting straight, the back of your hand pressed to your forehead, sighing dramatically before speaking, “Who will take pity on little ole me, a female captain with no ship to call home? My poor crew, so ill, that even elven healers struggle to help them.”

Shaking his head while chuckling, Sal crossed his arms while wiggling more comfortably into the bed’s soft feather pillows. “So what’s the plan?”

Your smirk grew at the question.

———————

With the first rays of morning light, a plan in motion, and rules set in place, you met with Cirdan and the escort outside his home, where a hiccup had already appeared.

You nervously approached the giant beast, flinching back when its large nostrils grunted out a rush of breath. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. Can I not just walk behind?” A sympathetic smile graced the boat master’s lips as the other elf mounted their steed. “Walking would take extra days that your crew may not have. If you are unsure of riding alone, ride with the escort; they will ensure your safe arrival.”

Anxiously, you nodded in agreement, unable to see a different path around the logic presented. A few awkward jumps and one petrified yelp later saw you and the expert rider heading up the road to the capital—the poor elf at the mercy of your fearfully white-knuckled grip in their ribs. The pain in your hands be damned.

Lindon’s Palace

My Dear King,

I write to you earnestly, asking that aid be offered to someone deserving of such compassion. A pirate attack has left my new friend without a ship or home, and a crew suffering from ailments beyond my healing capabilities. The ship's Captain will arrive with an escort so that you yourself can make sound judgments of their character.

Gil-Galad re-read the letter. In his years of friendship with the Lord of Grey Haven, only a handful of times had the elder asked for royal assistance, unlike some of the other stewards of his kingdom, who seemed to lack such abstention.

He sighed when sid-eyeing the pile of letters and scrolls stacked high upon the oak desk, still awaiting answers. Fiddling with the paper’s edge, unrolling it further as he sat in thought, a previously unseen line of penmanship caught his attention.

I suggest conversing over a game of chess; you may be pleasantly surprised as I was in their company.

Your Faithful Friend, Cirdan

With a scoff, he flicked the paper back to its place on the desk's clutter. It had been hours, and barely a dent had been made in the mountain of documents that had arrived the day before.

With his kingdom settling into a gentle rhythm after so many years of war, the High King started feeling something unexpected- boredom. Gone were the days of extreme stress, battle planning, and mourning for his people. Now, they were filled with small pleasantries, mastering crafts, and, unfortunately, paperwork.

Leaning back into the hand-carved chair, fingers rubbed along the pulsing ache of his forehead, pain caused by the hours of eyes straining on documents.

A groan left his chest when an unfortunately familiar warmth spread across the top of a kneecap. The morning’s rays had started to inch into his room, their gentle cares on his vestige announcing that another sleepless night had passed.

Muscles ached and throbbed as he stood to stretch before walking to the window to watch the sunrise. His attention to the sunrise over the horizon was shifted down from his room in the tower at the arrival of a horse carrying two persons.

One was an elf, and the other a human woman. It was hard not to chuckle while watching as her arms shakily reached out to the escort to assist in the dismount from their horse, legs wobbling once on solid ground. As the escort walked off with the creature to announce their arrival, she stayed in place, observing the entry area's flora and white-barked trees.

It was rare to see a human in his kingdom. Even in memory, it was a struggle to gleam the last one and when they came. It was not surprising, as curiosity peaked about the mortal creature that had appeared at random.

That is what he told himself, at least, as his eyes fixated on the wild wind-swept hair that glowed from the crepuscular rays of morning. And repeated internally again, when observing the silhouette outlined from the sheer fabrics she wore when bending to smell a vine of jasmine.

The voice was not repeated a third time when his eyes honed in on the gentle slopes of her bust; nipples pebbled hard by the cold morning's dew. Each movement allowed more and more to be revealed by the fabric's owner. The tall elf’s heart rate panicked at admiring rounded hips that harmonized with the tops of plush, strong thighs and a waist--

When a knock raps at the bedroom door, he jumps, placing a wide palm to his chest, letting out a breath he was unaware was being held. With a final glance back at the woman, he shakes his head and asks the attendant to come in.

“High King, a visitor has arrived from Grey Haven to speak with you. Master Cirdan has sent them.” Gil-Galad froze, and his heart rate, still yet to calm down from moments ago, increased.

A quick glance to the desk where Cirdan’s note sat, as its words read out in his mind. Certainly, she was not the captain he spoke of. What in the world was that blasted boatmaker thinking? The shorter elf’s expression made Gil-Galad realize he took longer than usual to respond.

“I will be there in but a moment. Please see that our guest is attended to until then.” Gil-Galad’s eyebrow quirked as his attendant paused awkwardly, a tilt of his head letting the shorter elf know to speak. “Sire, your meeting with the human may need to wait a few days so that-“ Gil-Galad held up his hand as the memory of sheer fabric flashed away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Master Cirdan has informed me that the aid needed for the human stands on the direness of time. I will meet with them first during my morning meal; that should allow a better inclusion of my schedule.”

With a swift nod, the shorter elf leaves to inform the morning staff of the changes. In the reflection across from where he stood, exhausted eyes and a stern expression looked back. In a singular sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Just when it seems a moment to himself has appeared, the morning maids come in to prepare a bath and lay out the royal robes.

In toe behind them, the royal retainer began listing the days itinerary, explaining how every minute of the hours were filled with meetings, agreements, and document signatures. With a singular sigh and torpid blink, he turns to take the prepared bath and begrudgingly get the day started.

When an attendant had come to gather you and usher the way to an empty grand dining room to wait, it felt like a small gift.

Palpations had been occurring every few minutes since the moment your feet touched the ground after riding for hours. Hopefully, this would give time to help calm them. Chalking the rapid heart rate up to nerves and still feeling so tired, you reminded yourself that rest, food, and sleep would come eventually. But the plan took precedence over everything, no matter the cost.

The first few minutes were spent sitting at the opposite end of the room’s expansive stone table, until those nerves raised back up—skin itching, and not just on the slowly scabbing wounds of your hands. Legs crossed only to un-cross and then cross again. The liquid in the glass of wine on the table rippled from how hard your knee bounced. When all this did nothing to aid in the growing feeling of unease, you resorted to pacing back and forth, back and forth, until the feeling of dizziness came on.

At the sound of your stomach echoing into the quiet room, you side-eyed the table. The temptation was hard to resist at the site of the varying fruits, cheeses, bread, and dishes for breakfast. While subtle, the aromas still had made their way to your nose.

With a head shake, you continued pacing; by now, you were sure that a grove had been worked into the floor. Glancing back to the chair at the opposite end of the table, a small tremor corded its way from where the palpations started to both of your poor, still wobbling legs. One misstep, one accidental insult, and the plan would be over before it could be put into motion.

With a deep breath, you hoped to calm your heart’s racing; nervousness would not be an ally. Another breath, followed by many more in succession. Still, the beating thrummed with such intensity it felt as if the betraying organ was in your throat, determined to expel itself and do a jig at your feet to taunt you.

Distraction.

Distraction would help, you hoped. Turning around, you desperately tried to focus now on the grandiose tapestry that hung twenty feet in the air. Its textured masterpiece taking so much space that the raw threadbare edges touched the flooring and side walls.

Red, look for something red. Rose bushes came into clarity on the lower section. A breath, this one a little easier- but still, your chest held tight. Animals, find the animals. Swans were flying in the open sky of the fibers- was that a unicorn?

Each detail of the textile artwork helped to distract from the sensation that rattled against your ribs. In a further attempt to add comfort, you wrapped your arms around yourself, desperately hoping to soothe the nerves that struggled to dissipate.

____

Even after the warmth of a bath and fresh clothes, Gil-Galad found his heart rate had yet to slow since looking out the window. Surely it was just another sleepless night of work that made it hard to calm such a tempestuous beating? Obviously, this peculiar feeling was not brought on by how his mind's eye sought to wave the memory of curves, backlit in a warm glow—always right when mental clarity was needed.

When reaching the dining hall, Gil-Galad held up a hand to let his attendant know he would be entering the room alone, unannounced. Cirdan had made it clear that he should make a sound and solid judgment of the Captain's character before making any decisions in the offer of aid. A wisdom he would heed. Speaking would also be better without extra eyes watching. However, it would have been better if his mind had been allowed to think of questions to ask before this moment.

Quietly, the private royal entrance opened, its door only opening for him and him alone. Stone that once lay flat and blended into the wall shifted back, then slid just enough for his size to squeeze into the room—unnoticed. The internal expectation from past interactions with mortals was that his guest would be gorging themselves on the food laid before them. But once inside, surprise met that expectation. The only other chair besides his sat empty, the dishes untouched.

There, at the other end of the room, unaware of his presence, you stood. Elven ears picked up the sounds of deep breathing, eyes watching as your heavily bandaged hands rubbed your arms while swaying gently from side to side. Gil-Galad’s eyes trailed once more to the clothes draped on your figure. Cirdan had dressed you in something so sheer?

Perhaps the boat builder had not realized that the gift offered to you had been- No. Cirdan was too bright and observant to have missed something like this. That old perverted- at the memory of this morning, the realization he had no hill to stand on and judge hit him.

Yet, he could not look away. The tension came back to his chest, and just as it began to crawl its way down, inch by inch, to an area of his body that he refused to acknowledge, panic set in and forced the moment to break.

“You have yet to eat.”

With a yelp of shock, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Turning with wide eyes and a hand to your poor, overworked, thumping heart. Finding the voice’s owner standing at the opposite end of the room.

When first trying to picture what an elven king might have looked like, your imagination pulled from what was known of your own kind. Rulers that were repugnant, rotund, and gangrenous from a life of riches and idleness.

What you did not anticipate was to be greeted with the amused expression of a very tall elf, whose attractiveness you pretended not to feel any way about. It took a moment for the shock to pass before finding yourself. “N-no.” A breath. “No, I felt it would be rude to eat before my host arrived.”

It was as if time had frozen for a moment, two statues unmoving as they visually memorized what was in front of them. Sheer fabric clashed with the opulent, almost excessive layers of gold on the opposite side. Warm brown eyes, unblinking in their seriousness, scrutinized the shocked hesitancy in your own.

When you both tried to speak simultaneously, a polite smile graced his lips as he motioned for you to go first. A thanks would be the best choice, grateful that such a renowned, elven king would spare an hour to hear a poor human captain’s woes. Pleasantries to be embellished so prettily in their bestowment.

Sadly, that option would be ruined by a comically loud growl from your stomach, no doubt retaliation at being teased for so long by such appetizing smells. Gil-Galad watched as your eyes shut laggardly before opening again, now refusing to meet his own from embarrassment.

He gave you a gift of mercy in finding the strength to choke back a laugh. “It would appear that, as a host, I have been discourteous to test the patience of such a considerate guest.” Motioning for you to sit, he continued, “Please, eat. I would ask if you are hungry, but I believe that answer has already been given.”

Unlike the High King, you did not find the strength to choke back a laugh from the jest. When your eyes met again, an expression of mirth greeted the faint blush of your cheeks. Gods have mercy; this was going to be a challenge. The elf barely said two sentences, and already, you were struggling.

Gil-Galad gulped as you pulled up your chair to sit more comfortably; he could not understand the reasons for his nerves. His gaze trailed once more to the unexpected guest across the table, unknowingly unaware of the detail being taken in of your personage.

In the earnings that dangled down to the tops of your collar bones, polished beads of sea glass glowed, backlit by the candles behind you. Indigo-dyed whalebone and sea urchin spines brandished with petrified beads of amber hung on uneven lengths of fishing wire.

Rough and raw cut jewels adorned roughly smithed mental bands, assorted in the widths of rings that hung from your neck while your fingers healed. He would admit that such ornaments are much more maximal and eclectic than is commonly seen of his own kind.

His heart rate, which had just calmed, began racing again as he watched your lips part, tongue welcoming a bite of food. His vision tunneled to take in greater detail when your brows knit together in pleasure as the flavors danced across your palate.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of the hyper-focus when reaching forward to grip the golden handle of a wine glass. Trying to calm the returning tension he had felt when watching you from when he first entered the room. This was going to be a problem.

Light filtered off your fork, hand tremoring in hunger as the choices become overwhelming. It felt as if the room was getting darker and hazy around its edges. Cirdan had offered food when playing chess, but between the pain in your hands and the nausea from still coming down from the adrenalin of survival, any thought of eating was quickly turned down.

On top of that, the ship had floated for two days into the fjord without a bite of food or water. To say you were starving was an understatement. It took every ounce of self-control not to gorge like a wild animal after the first bite into a roasted pear with salted honey, its juices bursting in your mouth.

“Lord Cirdan wrote that your ship and crew were attacked by pirates and are in further need of aid.” The question caught you off guard, cheeks chipmunk-ed out at trying to fit as many roasted butter beans into your mouth as physically possible. Peeking up, it was obvious the elf knew exactly what he had done from the smirk that pulled from the edges of his lips.

As desperate as you were to swallow your way out of this, chewing was the only option. Could you simply spit out the beans? Yes, but that would only cause further humiliation for him to watch the act. Quickly grabbing the napkin laid under the other silverware, you covered your lips and cheeks as you chewed quickly, jaw clicking from the strain.

When finally able to get the last bit down to respond, another question was put forth. “What exactly happened to your ship, the- what was its name?”

Cirdan had been correct in knowing his king would hold no punches in the judgment of your character. Gil-Galad knew that his questioning was starting to get under your skin. And what better way to begin seeing someone for who they are than by seeing how they handle their frustration?

As the minutes passed and no response was given, his eyebrow raised expectantly. Were you trying to formulate a lie? At the tilt of his head, his eyes hardened. “Are you alright?”

You chuckled hollowly, feeling a spark of enjoyment in watching Gil-Galad’s expression change to irritation as you spoke. Two could play at that game. “Only waiting to see if there are other questions, Your Majesty. I do not wish to offend such a curious mind by interrupting its thoughts.”

Gil-Galad knew that if he were here, Elrond would snort out his wine. It appears that the High King would also be judged on how his temper would be handled. Raising his palm, he gave the motion to speak.

With a deep sigh, you tried to calm the frustration that had been brought forth. “My crew and I were set upon by pirates three days ago; their cannons tore holes into the hull of my ship. By some miracle, we escaped from being boarded, but in our escape, I had steered us into a waterway that none of us recognized.”

When no interruption came, you continued. “Lord Cirdan had seen my ship just as it began taking on more water than we could bucket out.” It was unnerving being watched so intensely, warm eyes unblinking in their judgment of every word uttered into the air. “He was kind enough to offer aid. But he realized we have no way of getting home, at least not any way that would not take years on foot.”

Still not a blink from the scrutinizing gaze, you gulped to wet your now cotton-dry throat as sweat dripped down your neck. “Asking for help is not something I have any practice in. But for the people that depend on me, I will do anything in my capabilities to see that they survive.”

Silence stretched between you both. Gil-Galad contemplated your tale, sight now set on the wine glass before him. When speaking of your crew and their care, he could sense no lies, but why was his gut tightening, waiting, and expecting? It felt as if something was missing. Perhaps speaking of such a harrowing escape was not something you wished to delve into further detail.

Or -gods forgive him- the tightening that was felt had nothing to do with your words, and more to do with the internal befuddlement trying to be ignored since your arrival.

You watched as golden fibers wrapped around the barrel waist in front of you strained against expanding ribs. A deep, belly-filled breath was exhaled slowly and quietly in contemplation. As his lips parted to speak, the dining room’s doors opened. The shorter elf that first guided you in giving a small bow.

“High King, I apologize for the interruption, but the lords are gathered and waiting for you.” Whatever tension that had been building was broken instantly. Fresh air from the outside corridor wafted in, and both of you took the opportunity to breathe.

The sound of chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood, an air of equanimity held in his stance as he stared down at where you still sat, slouched back into your seat. “Please forgive my sudden departure. I would like to continue this discussion later this evening if you are amenable to the offer.” He continued at the single nod you gave while walking over to his attendant.

“Please see that our guest is given a room and fed.” At the bow of the shorter elf, the two of them slowly walked out into the hall, leaving you to watch as the door closed behind them. Once Gil-Galad was certain that you could not hear, he leaned down to whisper one last order. “And see to it that she has…warmer attire prepared. I would not wish for our guest to take a chill from the temperature tonight.” At the hesitant bow given before the shorter elf left, Gil-Galad realized he was not the only one struggling whenever what you were wearing was seen.

Once alone, he sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. It had only been a singular hour of the morning, and already, it was obvious that the day would be as long as it was stressful.

I have this idea that Gil-Galad is never truly content. War? -Hate it. Calm and tranquil? - Bored out of his mind. So when this Captain comes around he both loves and hates how hes feeling. I'm working on outlining the next chapter but it may take a bit before its edited and posted. So please be patient. Love you all and hope you enjoy and are surviging my friends!

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#gil galad #tootoomanycats #the rings of power #ereinion gil galad #gil galad fanfic #gil galad x reader #high king gil galad #gil galad x you #gil galad smut #erenion gil galad #rings of power smut

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pookieprincessa · 6 months ago

Text

Undercover!Price x Civilian!Reader

This idea/prompt has been living in my mind AND drafts rent free for AGES, guys.

Inspired by that Amsterdam operation from MW2 (why aren't people talking about it more?? dangerous guys posing as civilians are my favorite 😭)

This is slow burn-ish except it never burns; mostly "slice of life" kinda fluff. Not proofread yet.

Tw: needles (low-key, brief mention)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It's all you've ever dreamed of.

Your own cafe, beautiful spot in the city, right by the canals where boats of tourists swim by. The railing was covered in pretty flowers, a few tables outside under big canopies to shield your customers from the sun or the rain. Don't even get me started on the evening hours, when you turn on the little lights and give the place such a cozy atmosphere.

It started out small - the locals weren't keen to swap their usual coffee place for the new, cutesy cafe in town. At first.

Then, after the first wave of tourists during the holiday season, you got a ton of good reviews online, some of your younger customers made TikToks about the place - not that you were complaining, free advertisement and all that.

Over time, you've come to recognize a few regulars - an elderly couple that always came in for a cup of coffee and a croissant after church in the morning; a group of girls that bought your sandwiches for school.

And then, there was him.

You've come to know him as "Mr. Price" and that's all you knew about him.

Sometimes, he'd show up everyday, sit at the same spot and drink his coffee.

Sometimes, he'd disappear for days, even weeks. But he came back. Always.

You didn't want to ask about it, didn't want to seem nosy. You didn't comment on the scrapes or bruises you'd occasionally catch on his hands.

Despite his irregular visits, he held a spot in your memory. He was kind, charming. Always asked about your day, always made small talk. He quickly became your favorite customer. You started looking forward to serving him, to hearing him call you sweetheart. He'd often hang around until the late hours of the evening, to keep you company while you cleaned and closed the place (he didn't want to leave you by yourself when it was already dark outside).

Today was different, though. Price didn't let you carry his coffee to his table, he took care of that himself. He didn't make small talk. And he didn't sit in his usual spot, close to the bar. He sat outside. The look on his face was different too, he seemed more serious, even tense.

You glanced at him from time to time, noticing that he kept looking around and talking to someone through an earpiece as he nursed his cup of coffee. You figured it was just connected to his phone.

Inside, Price was panicking. Cursing fate that it was YOUR cafe the men they were supposed to ambush picked for their little "meeting". He hated how he had to suddenly treat you like a stranger. He felt partially lucky, though. He could keep an eye on you this way, make sure you were out of harm's way in your oblivious state. Nonetheless, he couldn't help the rush of anxiety anytime his eyes would meet yours across the cafe. He prayed to all the gods that you don't come up to talk to him like you always did. And he sure as hell couldn't tell his general he couldn't do this op because he's been flirting with the barista.

He didn't want to put you at risk - he grew too fond of you for that. Too fond. He repeated that in his head over and over. But God, he couldn't stay away. Not when you always greeted him with that smile.

And he saw that look of disappointment in your pretty eyes when you noticed he wasn't going to sit in his usual spot close to you.

Yeah, he'd need to tell you the truth pretty soon - it would be a shame if he scared you off.

He just hoped you weren't looking when he stuck a needle in one of the men's neck and dragged him into the backseat of an armored Jeep.

That'd do it.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

#john price #captain price #cod x reader #cod #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x reader

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 1 month ago

Note

Darklord do you think Horse Stan and Ford used to sleep in the same bed(stall?) when they were kids. Do you think sometimes Stan would roll over on top of Ford in the night. Do you think that Ford got so used to the sound of Stan's horse snoring that the room was too quiet when Stan was gone. Do you think that his first night sleeping alone he got the worst sleep he'd ever had in his life. Do you think the first night Stan sleeps alone he just can't get warm. Do you think Ford tries to find heavier blankets to try and bring back the security he got of having horse Stan laying partially on top of him. Do you think Stan insists they install a heater in his stall, even in the summer. Do you think that, despite the overwhelming threat of Bill, and the danger involved in going to sleep without getting rid of him, the first night they sleep together again, Stan draped over Ford like the worlds heaviest weighted blanket(horses on average weigh 900-1200 lbs, good grief) is the best sleep either have had in a decade.

Do you think I'm getting too emotionally invested in a crack au that stems from "ford is born a man, stan is born a horse"

I wish I didn't have to work, so I could create more Horse Stan crack ideas and turn them angsty.

I for sure think they shared a bed/stall for their entire childhood. I'm thinking they have some kind of weird combo room originally designed for centaurs and they shared it because their parents were expecting one eight limbed monstrosity and not two pretty regular horse and boy. Filbriks not gonna shell out more money for a person bed or an actual stall! They can just share the weird bed.

Now I'm thinking of Ford, sweating in college and then his house in Gravity falls, under so many layers of blankets weighted and not, trying to replicate the feeling of being partially crushed by a horse because its the only way he slept for his entire childhood. Stan's side feels bare and cold no matter how many blankets he puts under and over it, so used to Ford being like a huge squishy warm pillow.

I think the moment Stan showed up, and Ford his 'ah' moment about how on earth he expected a horse to go on a boat and dig a hole in the ground, and they have their huge blow out fight, they just collapse in his living room and Stan rolls onto Ford and Ford is slowing being crushed to death and passes out before he can even think about how much of a terrible idea it is. Then Bill is trapped under 900-1200 pounds of horse, stuck and also forced to either hear horse snoring or Stan tear into him. Whats BIll gonna do, huh? Gonna try and come at Stan, the horse? Stan can outrun him any day. Stan's learned the least damaging way to kick people. He's a horse.

I'm also so invested. This au is a pendalum of crack humor to just the saddest thing i can think of. Stan's a horse and its awful but also just the funniest thing.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #horse stan #horse stan au

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sambhavami · 9 days ago

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Krishna Vaasudeva - Bani Basu - 3

This is a partial summary, all the magic is Dr. Basu's!

Balarama walks on, on a winter evening. It is true that them two brothers have faced off against armies of thousands and emerged victorious. Krishna is smart, and capable and strong, but didn’t he do most of the heavy lifting? But everyone just says Krishna this, Krishna that! Even as children, everyone only sang praises of Krishna. He too was one of them, no doubt, he loves his brother more than anything, but still. Also, now people say he is a god. In that case, is Balarama a god too? Or is he relevant only when he follows his brother around? Who is he then? Is he Brahma? Shiva? Sudarshana? Garuda? Balarama looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then he flapped his arms around a bit. No. No feathers. Balarama laughed to himself at the absurdity.

Life was so simple back in Vrindavana. They would sneak off, to secret wrestling spaces, the girls would follow Krishna around like bees around a flower. They would drown in his love. Did any of them love Balarama like that? He isn’t too ugly, now, is he? Back then, even more than the cows, he loved the fields. Scaring off the farmhands, he would complete a day’s work on his own, until Nanda would drag him away by the ear, complaining to his mother, now Vasudeva would think I am using his son as a farmhand now! Balarama could never explain to them that he genuinely enjoys this.

He doesn’t know what Krishna thinks, but nothing in Mathura really pleases him. Not like Vrindavan. His mind keeps wandering back to his childhood. There was a girl. Dark-skinned. Lived near the river. He used to call her Yamuna. He never did find out her name. Thank God, they go out on trips every now and then, or else he would go crazy with all the rules and regulations of the upper echelon.

Krishna isn’t here now. He told everyone he’s going on a random trip, but he’s actually down in the city he calls Dwaravati. No one’s here to talk to him therefore. His mother’s here, so is Devaki, Kanu’s real mom, but he never knew about the twelve others. He finds it difficult to go on respecting his father. Every time he tries to tell his mother all this, he finds her too so anxious, for his safety, upset at his father’s indifference. He ends up swallowing his part entirely.

One day, therefore he just woke up and left. Towards Vrindavan. The ministers had ordered him to not go, but he had laughed in their faces. I am but a simple cowherd, he had said, you can manage for a week or two! Out of the boat on the other side Yamuna, Balarama steps but, his shoes get stuck in the mud. Good riddance, he thinks, as he walks faster towards his home.

When he walks through, the first word out of Nanda’s mouth is, you came alone, or is someone coming?

Balarama laughs it off, wouldn’t you even let me in the house without Kanu now? Where’s my plough?

That’s Balarama! Not where Yashoda is, not where his friends are, but first, his addiction!

In the evening when the whole village gathers in their courtyard, Balarama just shakes his head, I am just on vacation. All the big stuff, the smart plans, that’s all Kanu. I am just a meagre helper, that’s all!

Later he goes out to see the village, but everyone’s busy with their own families and even the cattle don’t remember his scent. After a full round, he comes back frowning, I haven’t forgotten anyone Yasho-maa, it seems you people have forgotten me! He exclaims.

The next day, however, it seems like a festival has started. Everyone comes to see him and shower him in love. Just then, one lady form somewhere says, now just if we can put some black colour on him, wouldn’t we get just a taste of Krishna? Balarama stands up, tearing the garland form his neck, walks up to a hollow Kadamba tree, and starts drinking the water that has fermented over long inside that hollow. Kadambari.

You all can’t seem to think one step ahead of Kanu it seems! You haven’t seen nothing yet! He roars, I’ll show you what Balarama is! He ran, swaying from side to side, screaming Yamuna! Where are you!

The dark-skinned woman, having heard his voice had come out. Pulling her close with his plough, he screams for her to let him have his way. The woman screams and begs him to let her go. Finally, Balarama releases her. I am truly worthless then, he cries. Then again he became angry, From now on, you must walk the path I tell you to, he roars, and draws a wavering line with his plough and disappears into the forest, leaving the village staring speechless at his retreating form.

That night, no one saw Balarama, but a storm came. Almost as if the sky was to break down on their heads. The next morning, they found the river flowing through the forest. Along the path that their Rama had set! The villagers were left speechless once more. The poor woman’s house too had been washed away, and she was nowhere to be found. Only Rama didn’t remember anything.

#krishna #balarama #bani basu #reading impressions

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nenoname · 4 months ago

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my outline for my 999 au!

(because there’s no way i’m actually going to actually finish this rip)

tldr: it's a death game on a boat, and nothing convoluted happens whatsoever!

Basically everything I had planned with giant spoilers for the Zero Escape series below!!!

youtube

Protag!Ford POV

Teen!Ford gets kidnapped on his way to college, wakes up on a replica of the Titanic, gradually meets the other participants, Zero introduces themself + rules of the game

Preston (doesn’t get a codename cos lame rich asshole) gets blown up to establish stakes if participants don’t abide by the rules (aka bombs in stomach allegedly)

Snakeyes is way too similar to a certain estranged twin despite being an old man…

Puzzle time!

Guess who got murdered! Almost everyone!

Repeat 1-5, with a lil variation (not all bad ends are murders, some are merely Ford getting softlocked/unable to continue any further)

And again

And again–

Ford gradually builds up subconscious memories that lead into a “true end”

Tri is the culprit of the murders to no one’s surprise

What do you mean this is 2013

What do you mean time travel is a thing

Everyone here is from different time periods

Oh god that old man really is Stanley

What do you mean quantum timeline divergence

What do you mean there’s alternative universes

What do you mean this is all to save his brother who is stuck in a similar game, ten years in Ford’s future but thirty years in the past

Ford is Zero??? Or rather his future self is

Tri is the Zero of that other game??? And he created the vlr!game to murder Stanley early before he ruins his plans?? Also the whole. Actually is a triangular demon that had been midway through tricking Zero!Ford before he suddenly switched to murdering Stan

The old Stanley in this game is a clone???? A robot clone of a Stan from another world????????? (partially why he’s way too chill about dying :(((( natural disposition when made aware that he’s a “fake” and knows he can’t go back to his world because he’s not the Stan who belongs there…), while he’s technically Zero’s accomplice, he’s working to try to contain the damage to only this dimension

This game exists to rewrite the reality of Bill's game, Tri/“Silas” hasn’t become vlr's Zero yet or even learnt of the Stan twins existence until this 999!game started (a paradox already formed and there’s no going back unless his memory is somehow erased), the answer Zero!Ford settled on to save his Stanley is a simple “have teen!Ford give mullet!Stan the answers” except he threw in “do it via a psychic connection that’s immune to the laws of space-time (aka morphogenetic field from the VNs) that they don’t have… yet!” (can’t ya like. Use phones or somethin…)

Have the chance to rewrite all of their fates from the get go at the risk of the sheer amount of unstable paradoxes collapsing literally everything, sea clone!Stan working to prevent that because despite his entire life, he knows that some form of him is happy in that world at last and will protect OG world + family at all costs

But Time Pirates CYA!Dipper was in the vlr game all along!!! (with an alt!Wendy as support) using the same trick aka the morphogenetic field connection to communicate between games with Mabel via Axolotl shenanigans!

Protag!Ford free to rescue mullet!Stan without fear of their plane of existence literally blowing up yippee!

Teen!Ford and mullet!Stan only having a moment to see each other before the connection is broken, and the exposition dump is finally over

Order of events

In origin 2012, the Stan twins beat Bill Cipher (in an offshoot of the OG verse, the CYA twins drive between time and space and meet the Axolotl)

In the Zero verse, midway through conning researcher!Ford, the Bill of this multiverse finds out that Stanley had managed to undo Weirdmageddon, doesn't know the details, but hey! Why don't we nip that problem in the bud?

Comes up with the most fucked up way, designed to crush both brothers mentally, vengeance now, wait for another sucker to build a portal in the future when all of the other Zodiac are firmly dead

In 1981 with the boat replica constructed by lingering Ciphertologist cultists, the game begins with mullet Stan and 7 random others, while researcher!Ford is stuck in isolated part of the boat as Bord takes over when he sleeps (ate so many sleeping pills)

Other participants all reach the end but at the last moment Stan gets tricked into entering a room (with the bait being his old photo of him and Ford) that reveals itself to be an incinerator

Only way to unlock the door is via an unsolvable puzzle/needs perpetual motion machine info, Bord uses this as a chance to mock Stan with the claim that Ford is behind this but Stan calls his bluff

At least 7 participants escape. maybe.

A day later, Ford wakes up in an escape room (the captain’s quarters of the boat), and after solving it, he then finds the tape recording what happened to his brother

Breakdown from guilt and grief, proceeds to come up with even more convoluted plan to save his brother, will refuse any other option and is focused on saving that specific Stan

Focuses obsessive research on space/time using some of his knowledge from partial construction of the portal, stealing from Time Cops and partially with Fiddleford's help (who has no idea of his true intentions)

Takes decades to prepare everything, resents the origin twins, but clone/duplicates instead of kidnapping OG!Stan to participate in the game cos didn’t truly want to harm him (you fool, your not-completely messed up intentions has left a Stan astray forever!!)

999!boat is a pocket dimension that's now a mess of time and space, a contradiction, simultaneous time periods at once, at risk of destroying the universe by merely existing

The timeline in the pocket dimension gets erased everytime teen!Ford “loses” and reset to the beginning where only he carries over subconscious memories (or so Zero!Ford believes)

The game is designed to force teen!Ford to interact with “Silas”, ensuring his younger self learns not to trust Bill the hard way (the entire game is basically a messed up form of self harm and endless grief)

The end goal is for teen!Ford to sync up with mullet!Stan’s mental state moments before death so he can access the morphogenetic field

But if teen!Ford does succeed then the giant paradox would mean it’s all for naught anyway!

????

Reveal that Dipper+Mabel got their own plan suckers!!! Offshoots of the origin verse twins who encountered a god (aka the choose your own adventure twins who got lost between time and space, and got enlisted by the Axolotl), possessing younger alt selves but will swap back + wake up in their original dimension without memories of these events aka original end when they met the Axolotl in the hidden page

Kids tricks Bord into thinking Mullet Stan died, got schrodinger cat-ed??? manages to stabilize multiple timelines at once (....don’t ask me the specifics), meaning in the end Zero!Ford failed as his Stan is still dead even though a new timeline was created

The end results in participants being sent home to individual timelines, time-space of this universe now looking more like a messed up amalgamation of 20 yarn balls knotted together

Clone!Stan stays with Zero!Ford + not letting him turn himself in to the Time Cops and now are on the run (he still gets occassional gifts for the Dipper+Mabel+Soos of that timeline even though they don’t know him and never will…)

Back on vlr!boat, there’s an 80s bro reunion, with the threat of Bill still lingering

Teen!Ford chooses to delay college for a bit while searching for teen!Stan, in truth hasn’t quite forgiven his Stan but doesn’t want to lose him

Clone!Stan notes:

More of a scifi-magic duplicate than a clone really

"Existential crisis + having his happy end ripped away from" time

Ends up at peace with himself, even if he and memories were fabricated, still real to him + remembers those past few years of happiness and knows that the real Stan is still out there living his life

Still fucking stressed as hell tho

Will piss Zero!Ford off by sarcastically calling him dad, is honestly freaked out that he’s only like. A few weeks old. And like. A magic robot????

His acting chops being pushed to the limits when confronted with teen Ford, a younger Mabel, a much older Soos (who’s more quieter and a bit more bitter even if it’s still his kind self) and of course Bill possessing a dead con artist’s body

Sometimes Zero!Ford asks him how he handled his grief from losing his Ford to the portal, the simple answer is that he didn’t and he’s the worst person to ask about moving on

And that's mostly it!!!

#blowing open this catbox with extreme prejudice #999 gf au #999 au #stan pines #ford pines #(this will... likely not make much sense)#(but honestly??? thats pretty true to the spirit of VNs)#from this you can instantly see what i mean by 'i wrote the beginning and end but definitely not the middle' haha #stanford pines #stanley pines

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parvulous-writings · 11 days ago

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Day 1 - fathers/family - Safehouse Week 2025

Words: 1.1k

Notes: My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too! If you’d like to support me more, consider reblogging! I’d appreciate it loads!!

The fact that everyone was at the Rook in time for food was an absolute miracle. More often than not, at least one of them was off somewhere else, attending to one lead or another. It was… Nice. It made the Rook feel like more than just a safehouse, a little more homely, even if only for an evening.

Felix had been the one to prepare the meal - a recipe that was apparently from one of the old cookbooks that came with the old house. The German had told the rest of the crew that he had foraged and hunted for most of the ingredients himself. It wasn’t a boat by any means - at least, most of them didn’t think it was intended as a boast - but it did explain the flavour. It was a lot more homey than anything most of the little rag-tag team had had in a long time. The crew had spread themselves throughout both the kitchen and the small living area. Sevati and Felix were in the kitchen; Case, Woods and Marshall had taken up seats in the living room, with Marshall and Case keeping the older man company during mealtime.

Adler was sat in the kitchen - a little bit away from Sev and Felix. He didn’t really mind it, it was a fair bit quieter than the other room, and the other pair in the kitchen with him were leaving him be. Probably for the best, as the American was deeply wrapped up in his own thoughts, and was likely best left to his own devices. The thoughts were off his family. Or, well, what was once his family, as most people saw it. His ex-wife. His son. The woman that he still pined over most nights, and the boy that he’d barely been able to see.

Russell’s feelings were… complicated, when it came to his ex-wife. Did he regret the fact that his marriage had fallen apart so spectacularly? Of course he did. Every day, for eight years or so. But, as he reminded himself each and every time - the reason for it was a good one. He had been serving his country. His duty was something that he could not be swayed or pulled away from.

Why, if he hadn’t stuck to his duty with such steadfastness, there would not be a world for his son to grow up in. Adler’s heart ached from deep within his chest at the thought of his son. He wished he had been able to spend more time with the boy during his formative years; his heart almost yearned for the ability to gain back the time that they had lost. He had looked forward to so much, when he had just been born. Playing catch as a young boy, teaching him how to properly handle and shoot a gun as he got older.

As he thought, he fished his wallet from out of his back pocket. There wasn’t much in it – hardly any cash, a few crumpled and faded receipts, and most importantly, a small, folded up wad. A single, creased and faded photograph. It was old - mid 80s, if anyone were to guess - but it was ever so dear to the man. With a careful and steady hand, he unfolded it. It was of a rather chubby baby, cradled in a woman’s arms. The woman’s face was partially cut out of frame, the shot clearly focusing on the infant. Adler ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the photo, as he casted his mind back to when it was taken. Sometime in 1982 - September, he would guess. 9 years ago, now. That chubby little baby would be nearly a decade old. And Adler hadn’t seen him for at least 7 of those years.

It made his heart - or what was left of it - ache in his chest. He had had such big dreams of being a father, a good father, one that his son was ever so proud of and close to. Instead, he was forced to become more akin to his own father - a non-existent prescient in his son’s life. He wondered, was his boy angry at him like Adler had been at his father, back then? He wouldn’t have blamed the boy, if he was. Had his ex-wife told their boy of all the times that Russell had fell short? All the occasions that he had missed or been late to, because of his job? Or had she let the boy come to his own conclusion?

“Adler.” Sev’s voice broke him from his spiralling thoughts, with all the cadence of having to repeat herself at least two or three times. “Are you okay?” Russell was quick to fold the picture back up, and stuffed it back into its usual seat in his wallet. “Yep,” He replied, simply. “Just peachy.” The look that Sev gave him then was definitely one of ‘I do not believe you’. “What were you looking at?” She queried, putting her cutlery down on her plate, as Felix kept eating his food. “Just a picture,” Adler responded, trying to keep his gaze focused on his half finished meal as a way to get the woman off of his back. “Of what? Something important to you?” “Why does it matter-?” Russell began, but Sev was quick to step in before his voice got too loud. “Because you were looking at it like it was something - or someone - that you missed!” “I was not-” Adler protested, and Sev sighed heavily in frustration. “We are not fools, Adler,” She told him, picking her plate up as she made a move towards the sink.

Adler sat there for a moment, starting to glower. He clearly was not enjoying this conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He insisted. “It’s personal.” Sev opened her mouth to reply with another argument, but quickly aborted the idea when she saw the look that Felix was giving her. He did not want this escalating into a full-scale argument - especially if it drew in the three from the other room. Let Adler keep his secret for now. Felix didn’t get the feeling that it was anything to worry about for the time being – so what was the harm in letting the American keep this to himself?

Phillip Adler would remain Russell’s secret for as long as he could manage it. There was no reason for him to tell the others of his young son yet, no reason for him to potentially compromise the boy. On his watch, no harm would come to his darling son - and Russell Adler was prepared to do anything he could, legal or not, moral or not, to ensure that.

#Safehouse Crew Fanweek 2025 #safehouse crew #call of duty black ops #russell adler #dadler #call of duty black ops 6 #black ops 6 #I had such fun writing this actually

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auncyen · 1 year ago

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what I meant to write: mIrabelle as the one looping having a crying breakdown in the equivalent of act 3 because I thought of it a few days ago and it's been stuck in my head (Panic! at the Dinner Table).

What actually got written: can you imagine how terrible it'd be for another looper to start suspecting Siffrin did something WELL

Siffrin has been suspicious for several days.

(Odile might say 'days' is inaccurate, but it's close enough, you think! You start in early afternoon on one day and then, when everything goes well, see Euphrasie in late afternoon of the next day, so it's around a day--sometimes over...many times under. Also, calling them days feels...better. Maybe it's a 'cycle' or 'loop' for everyone else caught up in this, with them always being reset to the same places, the same lines until you start changing things, but you are moving through time. You're Changing.)

(You're changing, aren't you?)

(For the better?)

--Siffrin has been suspicious for several of your days. They still act like their friendly self--they've even gifted you a flower sometimes! (You suppose other times you might have been too abrupt in waking them up. And sometimes you haven't woken them up at all, because you realize they'll come to the Clocktower anyway. They all will, it's where you're staying. You couldn't come up with anything more creative than a sleepover?) But...something's off.

You first realized something was strange about Siffrin--well, a lot of things are strange about Siffrin. You're more worried about his memory than ever now. Whenever you go into that secret room for the stash of tonics, Siffrin starts talking about a time he ran away from home, only to suddenly stop and look confused. You've tried encouraging him to continue by reminding him of everything he said up to that point (Isabeau applauded your thorough recitation with the most lightheartedness he could muster while still looking Siffrin over with his own concern), but it doesn't jog anything. You've tried guiding Siffrin to tell the story a different way with questions, but it seems like he loses the thread even faster that way. Lately you've just...cut him off from telling the story by laughing as soon as he brings it up and mentioning how mad his parents must have been when he returned. Siffrin still looks confused and lost for a terrible moment when you say that, but then he grins and agrees, and surely he's agreeing because that's what actually happened, isn't it? He said he was playing a prank. He played a silly prank for an hour or two, and then he went home, and probably he got a scolding for it but everything was fine.

...You still. Would like to avoid that room in the future. To not see that scared, lost look on Siffrin. Maybe you're strong enough now that you don't need the tonics?

But, but, you need to focus. Siffrin's memory problems are strange and worrying, and you really wished they'd said sooner how bad it is instead of letting you all tease them about it, but what's suspicious is their connection to the King.

You're not entirely sure what it is. When you go to the King, he always singles Siffrin out. "Bright One...do you remember?"

Obviously, with the already-mentioned memory problems, the answer is No. You've tried asking Siffrin if they know the King in any way, but of course he says no? Even if they knew each other once, Siffrin could have forgotten him the same way he can't remember what happened when he went out on the ocean in a boat to prank his parents? You imagined a tragically doomed romance between a villain and a hero with partial amnesia from an injury earned in one of their past scuffles (why is Siffrin's memory that bad???) for all of ten seconds before you realized that if Siffrin could forget the King, he'll surely forget boring, stagnant Mirabelle as soon as he leaves. After that you were too depressed to imagine anything between Siffrin and the King, which was probably for the better. Especially considering...

One time, the King singled out Siffrin in a different way. A terrible way. The first loop--the first day after you defeated the King and got to see Euphrasie for a glimpse of happiness before being sent back--you'd lost your temper a bit. You'd pushed everyone to go through the House faster than any time before, brought back to your senses at the end of the second floor by Odile dryly commenting on her tired feet while giving a pointed look at Bonnie, who was obviously getting worn out. You'd apologized over and over, and chewed your nails off at the second snack break to let them take all the time they needed to recover their energy, and went through the third floor without saying anything to rush Siffrin. You'd kept your temper in check until you saw the King again, and then you'd accused him of being a cheat, an unchanged loser who couldn't accept defeat, and he'd let your venting wash over him with a calm indifference ("I do not know what you speak of, Housemaiden") until you told him exactly what you were speaking of--the time that kept turning back, again and again, the days the loops the returns--

His face is mostly obscured by his long hair, but you could tell by the way his head turned that he'd directed his attention to Siffrin, and you knew it was with a glare by the cold fury in his voice. "What have you done, Bright One. The Universe's will is with me."

And then

the king struck

and Siffrin--

You don't speak to the King anymore. You don't let him talk either. You're pretty sure he told you everything you'd want to know from him. He can use Time Craft, but he isn't the one holding you in these endless days. He thinks Siffrin can use Time Craft, which sounds ridiculous, but since then you've talked with the Change God (you'd wanted reassurance you'd wanted a sign your statue was the only one unbroken in the whole House and you touched its face in reverence and the Change God spoke to you) and they'd told you three things:

you're their favorite!

they're put out by Dormont being stagnant and unchanging, but they're excited to see how exactly you change (maybe being their favorite isn't good. Your favorite characters go through some awful things, after all)

Siffrin isn't not responsible for this???

So it makes sense that Siffrin had a hand in this somehow! After a few more days which let you reach Euphrasie, you realized the time reset at the end only happens while Euphrasie is talking to Siffrin! That's suspicious! And, and, you've tried preventing it by keeping Euphrasie from talking to Siffrin, but she is so insistent she'd like to talk to them, and everyone starts looking at you strangely the more you protest, and you just...can't stop it.

You can't stop Siffrin from ruining things.

You hate that you're even suspicious of him, but he won't admit to using Time Craft when you ask, and surely even with his terrible memory, he'd remember that? He doesn't forget everything! But if he's lying, then...

Then you don't know what that means.

You don't know what to do.

...What Siffrin did: show Mirabelle how to wish and be an islander recognized by other islanders and not particularly liked by the Change God

#in stars and time #in stars and time spoilers #siffrin #mirabelle

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nervousalpacahologram · 1 year ago

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The Fish Theory

I'm Making this post so I can either be proven right or wrong when the DLC Comes out.

In Elden Ring, there's a suspicious hole in the story. That hole is perplexingly mermaid-shaped.

When Godwyn is found in game, something's happened to him. He's become gargantuan, twisted, stuck in the pose of his death and staring listlessly out into the darkness of the Deeproot Depths.

He's also a mermaid.

Why?

One could chock this up to a cool design decision, invoking the Ningen and the other aquatic imagery associated with Those Who Live In Death (Boats, Scales, Fins, Stagnation, Flies, etc). His head resembles a clam, and his hair is matted like it's wet. He has a tail, scaled and mermaid like. This could all just be a cool design.

But Fromsoft, the ones who put staggering amounts of detail into random pieces of iconography, building techniques, and even the road tiling to denote who created it and why, are not one to toss something into a game for it to look cool.

There has to be a reason Godwyn looks like that.

I personally believe that Godwyn was always this fish monster, and never a regular Demigod.

My Evidence:

1: Godwyn's face is never shown.

"But there's paintings of most characters!"

Not Godwyn.

"But the Statue of him cradling Miquella and Malenia!"

There's no confirmation that this is Godwyn. it may very well be Messmer, given his relationship to fire, his descendancy of Marika and/or Radagon, and his neat fit into the Butterfly Theory (Miquella=Nascent, Malenia=Aeonian, Messmer=Smoldering). Again, no confirmation.

"But we see him in the Intro and the cinematic trailer!"

That I will give you, however there is precedence on how this could be subverted. In the shot of him dead:

His face is obscured by shadows and hair, purposefully keeping him anonymous. And yet, a power of the Golden Lineage, demonstrated by Morgott and Mohg, is to project versions of themselves elsewhere:

(Godfrey even displays this to a lesser extent, with the golden clone of him in Leyndell.)

I believe that images of Godwyn and his appearances in the Lands Between are projections of him.

In every shot of Godwyn, you never see his face fully or his legs at all. Both are obscured, and even the shot of his eye only shows the barest hints of skin, which could be the more alive version of his clam-head skin. His forearms, where the fins grow out of in his Prince-of-Death form, are even suspiciously covered up. The skin of the Prince-of-Death is even the same as the head, so no contradictions in skin color there.

My final piece of evidence is this:

All of Queen Marika's children are cursed.

I'm talking specifically of Marika, and not the ones descended from Radagon taking charge. Morgott and Mohg are Omens. Miquella, Malenia, and Messmer are cursed or appear to possess unnatural features (Eternal youth, rot, serpentine characteristics). Ranni, Radahn, and Rykard appear perfectly fine.

So why does Godwyn appear normal, when none of his borthers or sisters do?

I think Godwyn was born as this mermaid-thing, or at least partially. He was born in the Age of Plenty, a time close to the Crucible, and may have inherited inhuman characteristics. But perhaps they were more easily covered-up, or perhaps he could project a version of himself that was more human, or maybe he simply wore a Mimic Veil.

This could explain his alliance with the Ancient Dragons, also creatures of the Crucible. It could explain why Deathroot confers aquatic features on those it effects, instead of the more avian features already associated with Death in the form of the Twinbird: Godwyn, already cursed, is the source of these appearences.

Godwyn doesn't look like that because of the Deathroot, Those Who Live In Death and those infected by Death look like that because of Godwyn.

#Completely crackpot theory (probably) but I just had to get this out #I feel the DLC will give us Death lore #elden ring #godwyn the golden #godwyn the prince of death #elden ring godwyn #rune of death #elden ring theory

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skepsiss · 2 years ago

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Tooth and Nail -pt1- Steddie

You asked for it @strangersteddierthings it uhh...... hurts a lot at the end. Probably have to do a part 2... or more.

Uuhh, it's kinda sad guys. Prompt was to write something where Eddie is the one that is in denial about his queer-ness and Steve is the one who makes him question his sexual identity. Full request here.

14A ish rating. TW: Miscommunication, denial, mild homophobia, suggestion of past trauma (child abuse), use of drugs (weed), mild physical aggression, the f-slur (not spoken to anyone), self-hatred.

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

Eddie Munson was a freak. He’d been labeled as such since he was a little boy with a teen mom who ended up marrying the asshole who got her pregnant. He was a freak when his mother left and a freak when his father went to jail; how no boy who lived that kind of life was normal by any stretch of the word.

It only got worse from there as he got older. A freak for being poor, a freak for having long hair, being a nerd, a metalhead, trailer-trash, drop out–the list went on and on. Eddie had also gotten good at being a freak. He got good at wearing it like armor so people were scared of him instead of just judgemental. He wanted those insults said to his face, not whispered behind his back and no way in hell was he going to take it lying down. It didn’t make things easy, but it was how you coped.

So, why? Why would he give himself another reason to be labeled a freak?

Eddie would fight tooth and nail for any freak or weirdo he managed to befriend. It didn’t matter if you were fat, ugly, smart, dorky, a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter what blend or flavour you happened to be–even if Eddie was partial to the nerds and musicians–you were family as soon as you walked into Hawkins High. Once you were a freak you stayed a freak and it came with Eddie Munson as a perk.

As long as he lived. As long as he was in Hawkins.

It wasn’t surprising to Eddie when he found out Will Byers was gay. He had seen it on him as soon as the boy’s missing poster went up and the subsequent reunion happened. He had never really gotten to know Jonathan–he was a weirdo, but not one that apparently liked Eddie’s flavour–but he, much like the rest of Hawkins, had breathed a sigh of relief was Will was delivered home. It was under weird circumstances and Eddie didn’t know much about middle schoolers, but he knew a freak when he saw one. Will was a nerd and he was gay which meant he was premo-meat to be fried by the masses.

If they were in school, if Will came back to Hawkins and Eddie was there he would have fought for him. It didn’t matter if he was gay because freaks and weirdos stuck together no matter the flavour. So when he found out Robin was gay he felt much the same. He didn’t have anything against queer folk and honestly, he saw them as being in a similar boat as him. He’d embrace someone who was gay way before he’d embrace someone who was Christian–even though he was neither of those things.

Eddie had no love for the church and apparently, all the ‘f-words’ were all damned to hell so they might as well make it a party. Seemed like all the interesting people were hell-bound.

Their little collective. Family. A regular bunch of Addams.

So, why would he give himself another reason to be labeled a freak?

Eddie had been called everything under the sun as far as insults went. He was no stranger to ’bigot’ or ’devil’, ’sinner’ or ’faggot’. You learned not to react or give them a reason to keep poking. You learned not to take it seriously or let it chink your armor. None of it had to be true and denying it wouldn’t help, you just learned to _ignore_ it and tell yourself that they didn’t know you and their insults didn’t mean anything. Surround yourself with people that either love you or respect you and you’re golden. Listen to them, take their opinions, be yourself, and embrace your flavour.

When Steve came out as queer though, Eddie had no clue what to do. The idea that he would claim that label was beyond Eddie’s understanding especially since he hadn’t seen that confession coming from Steve of all people. He was a weirdo by proxy but… No, the thing that really bothered Eddie about that was his reaction. When he found out Robin and Will were as gay as they came he had gone out of his way to make sure they knew he didn’t have a problem with it. He made sure they felt like they were family and if everyone else ditched Eddie wouldn’t.

Tooth and nail. Tooth and nail.

But when Steve came out? Eddie had been shocked, for one thing, and secondly, he had felt his stomach drop out. Panic had flooded him and he was thankful that he wasn’t the only one in the room when it was said.

He had put an arm around Will and jostled him affectionately. He had cracked a joke and smiled at Robin before privately telling her that if she needed anything he was there. He had felt those reactions so naturally almost as if Will and Robin were just telling them all what college they’d be going to. Cool, doesn’t change a thing. Let me know if you need any help with stuff. Easy. Steve though? Steve…

While everyone else in their casual setting seemed to be nodding or not making a fuss–most of them used to this kind of thing by now–Eddie sat there petrified. What did he say? What did he do? Steve wasn’t some kid Eddie could rib and force into an affectionate headlock. He wasn’t a chick he could pretend to posture for so she felt like he had her back. He was… Steve.

Eddie had left that night feeling out of sorts. He hadn’t spoken to Steve and his subdued interaction was pointed out by anyone, but Eddie hadn’t left their little gathering feeling subdued at all. Outwardly maybe, but internally his mind had been locked in place over Steve saying I think I’m bisexual.

Okay… so what? Same as anyone else, right? Queer, whatever–certified freak, cool–so why was he twisted up about it?

Eddie had been spending a lot of time with Steve over the last few months and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he actually liked his company. Steve was sarcastic and charming and a little bit of a bitch but it just made joking around with him easier. Once they had bridged the gap between ‘nerd shit’ and ‘jock shit’ it became easy to spend time with Steve. Eddie had watched Steve relax around him which literally looked like his body relaxing. You wouldn’t know it right away, but Steve was tense when he wasn’t comfortable around you: arms crossed, brows pinched, shoulders tight, jaw locked, and stance controlled. All of that fell away once he settled down and it was easy to be around him then. Eddie had actually enjoyed seeing the process of Steve relaxing around him as they played the NES with Dustin or sat outside and shared a joint without the rest of the goodies-goodies knowing.

He enjoyed Steve’s company, so what was he worried about? Was he scared Steve would come onto him? That was presumptuous of him and probably rude. He wasn’t scared of Will getting a crush on him or any other obviously gay guy he had seen at shows and bars. He’d even turned guys down which always seemed to embarrass them a bit and Eddie hated that he saw a flash of fear in their eyes when he told them he was straight. He always made sure to end the conversation with It’s cool, man. Don’t worry about it and then smile to show he meant no harm.

He liked queer folk. They were family. Why was Steve different?

Eddie’s brain was stuck in fast-forward all night once he got home. He hated it when his brain did that to him. Every image flashed through his brain at supersonic speed and he couldn’t focus on anything. It was exhausting and frustrating and it literally felt like his mind was racing. The only thing that helped was imagining the sprawling darkness of space and slowly… very slowly… adding little pinpricks of light to the image. He had to force himself to slow down and from the outside, he knew it looked like he wasn’t doing anything. It looked like he was being lazy, but in reality, all the energy he usually exuded had just become internalized.

He’d tell Steve it was fine. He’d made sure Steve knew he always had his support. That was what he was supposed to do. That was what he did for everyone else.

But when it happened–when he got his chance to have an aside with Steve–his gut had pulled and his tongue had gotten caught between his teeth. It happened the second time he tried too, and the third, and the fourth–each time he tried to talk to Steve one-on-one he clammed up. It was maddening really and Eddie had started to notice that Steve was suspicious of him–and not in a good way.

The fifth time was different. The fifth time was worse.

They had all been celebrating Max’s return home and as the kids got loud and the sun set it felt like one of those nights where Eddie just didn’t have the energy to be around this many people. He loved socializing–he loved the party–but sometimes it just became too much he could feel his mind drifting away from the scene.

Eddie had started his drift before looking up and catching Steve’s eye across the room. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and as he flicked his gaze up he slowly raised his hand to his mouth and mimed smoking. It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant and Eddie raised his brow in agreement before slinking away.

“I don’t have any on me,” Eddie explained as they stepped out into the dark, “but I’ve got some at home.”

His trailer was only a stone’s throw away from Max’s place so it wasn’t really a big deal. Weed sounded like a good idea too; he could smoke and bring him back to earth and maybe it would settle his nerves enough to properly talk to Steve. He _wanted_ to talk to Steve.

“We going to smoke here?” Steve asked as he followed Eddie inside the trailer. Wayne was out and Eddie didn’t have any qualms about Steve coming over to his place.

“Sure, might as well so the impressionable young children,” Eddie mocked, using a stuffy, posh voice, “don’t get tempted by our bad influence.”

He snickered as he touched his own chest, extending his hand skyward and acting as if he were delivering a Shakespearean speech.

“Ms. Languard, is that you?” Steve mocked back, shoving Eddie’s shoulder so he’d continue his walk towards his bedroom.

Eddie laughed again and stumbled down the hall, glad that they could at least joke around with each other still. Yeah, he’d smoke and then he’d properly let Steve know that being queer was cool with him and that they were blood-bonded for life already having survived a demonic war together. Steve would call him dramatic and they’d laugh over it and then things could go back to normal.

Eddie had found one of his baggies of weed after tossing the laundry on his floor about the room for a few minutes before finally getting his stuff together so he could roll them a joint. The buds had been bitter and Eddie had jokingly apologized before hanging the blunt over to Steve to smoke. He had coughed and gagged at the flavour and Eddie had called him a pussy in good humour. Normal. They were acting normal.

As the weed seeped in they got quieter though and Eddie felt himself drifting again as he sat on the foot of his bed. Steve was standing by the window so he could blow the smoke outside even though Eddie didn’t care about the smell. It was polite and Eddie could appreciate that at least.

“You okay?” Steve asked as Eddie caught himself staring blankly at the ground, knees tucked up to his chest.

“Oh–yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just thinking,” he admitted, blinking hard and then smiling at Steve. They shared a chuckle and Steve took a step forward to hand the joint over.

“Thinking about anything interesting?” He asked, carefully turning the blunt in his fingers so Eddie could grab it.

“Yeah, I guess so…” Eddie mumbled, taking a moment before finally putting his feet back on the floor and taking the smoke from Steve.

“You gunna share with the class?” Steve asked and Eddie giggled again at that, the joke was not that funny but the weed was getting to him.

It took another moment as Eddie smoked, his attention drifting a bit before he finally answered.

“I was thinking about what you said the other week,” Eddie admitted, trying to let the hold his anxieties had on him fade away. He could just let those fears slip through his fingers and he’d finally be able to say what he had been meaning to say for weeks now. Weed was good for that.

“The other week…” Eddie continued, and he stood slowly to pass the joint. Steve was staring at him with bemusement and confusion, obviously trying to follow along with what Eddie was saying. Eddie could feel that blanket of anxiety that had been wrapped around him slowly lifting. He didn’t have to think about anything, just say what he meant to say and then they’d be back to normal.

“The other week when you uh, when you told everyone you were gay,” Eddie explained, nodding which got a pinched expression from Steve.

“Bisexual–bi,” he corrected, taking the blunt from Eddie and smoking it.

“Yeah, that,” Eddie answered, “it got me thinking about stuff…”

Eddie could feel himself getting distracted as his mind lost its grasp on the words he had been trying to deliver. He understood what he wanted to say–in sentiment–but he was having a hard time forming the words to go along with it. His attention kept on bending and then refocusing on other things that weren’t important. How his hair was tickling his ears a bit, and how bitter the weed tasted on the back of his tongue, and then to his room and how it was probably embarrassing to have Steve here when it was such a mess–he had to refocus on Steve.

“Uh, you, Steve,” Eddie tried, lifting his hand and poking Steve hard in the chest. He just had to drift his brain over to thinking about Steve.

“Yeah… me?” Steve replied, breathing a small laugh.

Eddie smiled, wondering for a moment if he was acting silly and if he was amusing Steve. He liked it when they joked and he had been missing that the last few days. He missed spending time with Steve. He wanted to tell him he accepted him. He wanted to tell Steve he’d always be there. He wanted to put him in a headlock, rib him, posture a little… see him relax… He wanted to see Steve’s posture change, his brows soften, and his mouth unpinch. And then everything would be normal. How they’d just go back to being freaks together.

Yeah, no more anxieties about all this, it was just Steve. It was just Steve.

“Eddie?” Steve asked and Eddie only vaguely registered that he was touching Steve’s face. He looked confused, but he was smiling, and all Eddie could think about was how beautiful his smile was.

The next thing Eddie knew he was stepping forward as if in a slow dance and pushing Steve back towards the wall he had been leaning on. Steve didn’t fight him, but Eddie didn’t have the presence of mind to question what that meant. He was just moving them across the room so he could press flush against Steve and kiss him. The action had been so gentle Eddie had felt like he was dreaming through the whole thing like it wasn’t really him doing it. Steve shuttered under him and Eddie pulled back just far enough so he could see Steve’s expression. His eyes were closed and his brows were pinched together as if something painful had just happened.

They had kissed and Steve was in pain? They had kissed, why would Steve be in pain? They had kissed.

Eddie let go abruptly and stumbled backward as his anxieties plowed back into him.

“Sorry!” He said quickly, sticking his hands up in front of himself.

Steve didn’t move from the wall and as he opened his eyes slowly and a pang of guilt shot through Eddie. He stumbled back again as his knees hit the edge of the bed forcing him to sit down.

“Sorry, sorry–” Eddie offered, laughing now as his fear bubbled up. Why the hell had he done that? What the fuck was he doing?

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean anything by it, I uh, was just curious.”

That was the reason, right? There probably wasn’t another reason that made sense. He had been high and his brain had just filtered through the possibilities and for some reason, it had settled on a kiss. Fucking weird, but he had never claimed to be normal.

“Curious?” Steve said back slowly as he came out of what seemed like a daze, “you were… curious?”

Eddie felt his throat getting tight and he was desperately trying to swallow the lump that was forming there.

“I was just joking around,” he offered a weak smile and Steve just stared at him. Eddie watched as his expression changed from dazzled confusion to anger.

“What the fuck, man?” Steve bit out sounding insulted. He didn’t sound as angry as Eddie thought, but he did sound upset.

“Sorry, I dunno man, I’m high,” Eddie blurted, speaking to the first excuse that came to mind.

Steve just stared at him before shaking his head in disbelief. His frustration looked like it was building and that in turn was making Eddie shrink back.

“You’re unbelievable…” Steve muttered to himself, as he slowly turned to face his back to Eddie, his hands going to his hip, “unbelievable… what the fuck?”

“Sorry–” Eddie tried once more getting cut off this time as Steve snapped at him.

“Stop apologizing, okay?” He said slicing the air with his hand before settling back down and putting his hand back on his waist.

Eddie shut up and stared as he watched Steve’s shoulder bunch and his posture shift from relaxed to tense.

“Joking around… joking around?” Steve asked, his tone accusatory even though it was level. Eddie just gaped at him, not sure what to say if he wasn’t supposed to apologize anymore. The question seemed like it had been rhetorical anyway.

Eddie watched as Steve touched his own lips, squeezing them sharply as if he were thinking and trying to pull the sensation away from his mouth at the same time.

“So, you were just curious to know–what? What it’s like to kiss a guy? To know if you like guys?” He asked, turning to look at Eddie again but not changing his posture at all.

“I don’t like guys, I’m straight,” Eddie said sharply, his stomach tightening, “I was just…”

Steve’s lip started to curl and Eddie shrunk back further, feeling guilty and embarrassed and ashamed in a way he didn’t know how to communicate. In a way he didn’t want to communicate.

“Just… joking around?” Steve repeated back, his dipping so his delivery lacked emotion. That had stung. That hurt more than Eddie thought it would.

Steve shook his head and raised the joint back to his lips to take a hit.

“Yeah, real funny,” he started to say as he tossed the blunt at Eddie, “a regular riot. Just kiss your buddy Steve. It’s soooo fucking funny that he likes guys.”

Eddie could see that Steve’s cheeks were flushing as his voice hitched slightly. He was keeping it together but his expression was that of a man who had just been betrayed. He looked hurt. It looked like he had just bore his soul and Eddie had laughed in his face. Like he had been cruel for no other reason than to hurt him.

“Steve–” Eddie started, standing up, not sure what to do.

“You’re sorry, I get it,” Steve replied, stepping towards the door and starting to walk away.

“I didn’t mean it like that–” Eddie tried, hurrying after him and grabbing Steve’s shoulder to stop him from leaving. Steve tried to brush him off, but Eddie was determined to hold on.

Steve moved quickly then and it caught Eddie off guard as he grabbed his wrist and whipped around. Steve shoved hard and Eddie stumbled backward until he hit the wall, Steve’s forearm across his chest.

“Don’t–” Steve bit out, sticking his finger aggressively in Eddie’s face, “--fucking touch me.”

His tone was incredibly level but it was obvious that he was holding back real anger. It was easy to forget sometimes that Steve was an athlete. That he could run circles around everyone in the crew and was easily the strongest amongst them under the age of twenty-five. He had survived Russian torture and Eddie had witnessed him using that strength to help the party. Steve was resilient and he was strong… even if he rarely threw a punch.

Eddie was too shocked to react properly and before he knew it Steve had let go of him and stormed out of the trailer. Fear rang Eddie like a bell as he stood there and listened as a car engine turned on and the sound of tires of gravel filtered through the open screendoor. He was shaking, he was sure, his body reacting to old memories and mortified by what had just transpired.

“Fuck…” Eddie mumbled, his throat tight and his lips feeling as if they were glued together.

“Fuck–” he repeated, heaving as he raised his hands to his face and pressed his wrists into his eyes.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouted feeling the tears build as he let his knees buckle under him. He slid down the wall and crumpled, hands still pressed into his eyes as he started to sob openly. He was soothing the memories of that scared child but he was also mourning Steve. It felt bad. Everything felt bad.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie muttered to himself through his tears, his voice thick with phlegm, “what the fuck was that? Why did you do that? You fucking… asshole!”

He was bullying himself, he knew it, but he couldn’t help how upset he was. He was mad at himself for doing something unbelievably stupid and he was frustrated that he was reacting this way to it. But he couldn’t help that it felt like his heart was about to give out as he gasped in breath and his stomach filled with air. He was practically gulping as he forced himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. It was like he was a little kid again. But that wasn’t fair–he didn’t get to act this way. He had been the one that had hurt Steve.

“Fuck,” he gagged, leaning over the sink and turning the tap on. A morbid part of him needed to look and see the fear and sorrow on his face so he looked up at the mirror and cringed at his own appearance. His face was red and tears wouldn’t stop flowing from his eyes. His upper lip had gathered snot and his mouth was turned grotesquely into an open frown.

“Stop it,” he swallowed, gritting his teeth as he stared at himself, “you don’t get to do that.”

Eddie gulped in another breath and stood up straight. He closed his eyes and forced his frustration inwards, forcing himself to just get over it.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he mumbled, breathing out slowly as he tried to calm down, “stop it!” He flipped the switch from upset into anger, tears still running down his face but no longer hyperventilating.

“What the fuck was that?” he repeated, dropping his gaze to look at himself in the mirror again, “you–you… you fucking creep. Asshole. What the hell? You’re fucking straight. How the hell are you going to fix this, asshole? Why would you give yourself another reason to be labeled a freak?”

The words stung and Eddie swallowed hard, looking away from the mirror finally. He was calming down even if he didn’t feel better, pushing those emotions inside to deal with later. It was too raw right now, it was too much, he couldn’t do this right now.

Eddie let out a breath through gritted teeth and then moved back to the sink. He turned the water on full blast and then started yanking his rings off. He didn’t care where they fell, but once his hands were bare he cupped them under the water and splashed the cold liquid into his face. He gasped at the sensation and did it again, did it until he had washed all the snot and tears from his face, and then turned the faucet off.

Eddie hung his head over the sink for a long moment, breathing through his mouth as the water streamed off his face. He settled slowly and sucked in one last hard breath and then dried his face off.

“Fucking hell man…” Eddie said quietly, sounding more exasperated than anything now.

He frowned deeply as he walked back into his bedroom. The joint they had been smoking was on the floor at the foot of his bed and it had started to singe a hole into the carpet. Eddie tisked and picked it up before stamping on the burn mark a few times to make sure it didn’t spread.

How the hell was he going to fix this?

Pt2

#my_writing #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #BIG SAD VIBES #I do not endorse the way Eddie deals with his emotions at all #I do not endorse Steve getting kind of physical with Eddie #I get it and I know why both of them do that but it's still bad #understandable but bad #ANYWAAAYYYYSSSSSS ask me to write things

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laughtalelogs · 7 months ago

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in the shadows of buffalo bay- ch. 1

word count: 3.3k+

Zoro x afab!Reader x Sanji, cowgirl!reader, no use of y/n, no beta reader, all my reader characters are black even if not explicitly stated. if that's not ur jam, then don’t read!

Rating: M, MDNI 18+ (smut will be in future chapters, labelled as Explicit.)

Warnings: themes of alcohol, drug use, smoking, mental health issues, implications of self-harm, and violence to come.

Summary: Zoro is hot and bothered right after Wano, thinking about recent events and the man he hates the most. A new arrival shakes things up, making him more apprehensive, and angry.

chapter Index- prologue, ch.2

the prologue is recommended; but not required reading.

chapter 1 - The devil went down to buffalo bay

Zoro squinted at the mirages on the horizon and leaned back under the Sunny’s deck tree, hoping to find relief from the heat—which was doing a piss-poor job at it. The thick syrupy air and the bleary sun caused slick sweat to coat every inch of his hot skin. It didn’t help the knot that had formed at the base of his skull. He swung his arms up behind his head and rubbed the tender sore with his fingers. He couldn’t figure out which was more annoying—the heat or the throbbing ache.

On any other day, the sea breeze would’ve helped cool him off after such a rough morning. Being aboard the brigantine normally made even the blistering heat of the Grand Line bearable. But here, on this humid scrap of dirt, grass, and jagged rock they dared to call an island, the Sunny sat dead in the center of it, far from the cooling relief of the water.

He grimaced but kept his jaw tight, forcing himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was to draw the Doctor’s attention — Chopper wasn’t faring much better, anyway. Zoro’s gaze shifted toward the deck stairs, where Usopp and the tiny doctor were dramatically draped over one another, pitifully squeezing water onto each other’s heads. The liquid evaporated almost instantly in the oppressive heat.

Zoro clicked his tongue, his eyebrows furrowing as another sharp thrum pulsed through the knot in his head as he let his mind wander. Serves them right, he thought grimly. It’s partially their fault we’re stuck here in the first place.

Their genius of a captain in the middle of the night grabbed two of his even smarter crewmates to Coup De Burst onto land. The same land that they were set to explore that morning. The land that they were only 4 kilometers away from, from what Nami calculated before she went to bed. But no, the call for adventure — no —food, was too great.

Feeling more cynical than usual, he hoped the tattered flyer Usopp found on the ghost ship was a dead end. The sun made its way across the sky, shining down on the sparse field. Beyond the patchy clay valleys, plateaus jutted out from the sea of green and maroon. For a land promising tourism, it looked pretty dead.

Maybe, he was right, then. Hopefully, he'd wake up again just as Franky figured out some miracle to return them to the sea, and that damn cook would have his onigiri ready. A side of cold sake served with a fresh ‘I told you so’ for the rest of the crew to chew on sounded like exactly what he needed.

He cursed under his breath and breathed in the hot air. Why the hell did he keep thinking about curly brows now of all times? His thoughts had been swimming ever since Wano. He tried to drop it, but something about the tension between them felt different now—more candid, somehow. Zoro hated it. Scrunching his eyes closed, he stretched out his straining leg muscles. It was showing, in a more intense way than usual, and Zoro found himself looking like an idiot in front of the other man.

Before leaving with Nami to see if the flyer was a hoax, the dumbass squad—including the captain—were stuck on the boat, along with Robin, Brook, and Jinbei. They were forced to stay behind as punishment for their earlier antics, while Franky stayed to assess the damage to the ship. Zoro had slept through the decision, and they hadn’t bothered waking him. He only noticed when he heard the familiar footsteps draw near and he reached out, grabbing the cook’s leg as he passed under the tree where Zoro sat.

Sanji stopped mid-step, his eyebrow arching in confusion as he glanced back. “Hey, let go, you idiot—”

“—Are you good?” Zoro’s voice was low, and he immediately regretted how it sounded. His grip on Sanji’s pant leg stayed firm, defiant.

Sanji’s face scrunched in disbelief before it melted into his usual smugness. “I’m just fine, thank you very much. Did you hit your head, Moss, or are you just going to miss me that much?”

Zoro refused to reply, glaring instead as Sanji gave a sharp tug, yanking his cuff free. The cook smoothed the tiny wrinkle Zoro had caused, dragging his hand down the length of his leg. The fabric strained slightly over his thigh before relaxing as he let it drop. Typical, Zoro thought. Always worried about his stupid clothes.

“As if,” Zoro muttered, forcing a scoff through the thudding in his chest. “Go ahead, get yourself killed for all I care. Just don’t make a mess.” The words came out harsher than he intended as he leaned back against the tree, shutting his eye tightly. A dull throb pulsed at the back of his skull.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Sanji’s voice was sharp, as he turned to continue to follow Nami who was impatiently waiting by the ladder.

“Take Luffy with you,” Zoro adds, though he already knew the idiot wouldn’t listen. “Bad idea to leave him on the ship, he’s gonna leave anyways.”

“It’s Nami’s call, not mine.” Sanji’s back stiffened as he paused, then looked over his shoulder, his tone clipped.” And if you want to blame anyone, blame those idiots for getting us stuck here in the first place.”

Zoro exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his chest tightening with irritation—or something worse. Good riddance, Curly. Hopefully, the idiot would find something in town to distract himself and stop being such a pain in the ass. It had been three hours since then, and two hours since Luffy bolted off after getting bored. Was the island really that large?

Chopper’s whine through Zoro’s foggy thoughts, “When will they be back? It’s too hot, I’m going to die before I get to try any of the candy,”

“I told you to sit inside with Jinbei, Brook, and Robin, if you were going to complain,” Zoro chided. He doubted there was any food in general.

The door to the galley way opens, and Robin walks quickly to the banister. She peered over the edge, looking down at Usopp and Chopper’s situation with pity.

“It’s quite hot today, isn’t it?” She brings a hand to cover her eyes from the rays, “Usopp, would you happen to still have any of those breath dials?”

Usopp with a sudden burst of renewed energy jumped and spilled the water onto the ground. He startled Chopper, who almost fell if it weren’t for the hands that sprouted next to him and catched him gently.

Chopper wheezed in excitement, unphased and excited about her proposition, “Robin, that’s such a good idea!”

“An astute observation from Robin yet again! I think I have just the right thing in my workshop,” He scratches his chin as the gears turn in his brain, “We’re off, Chopper!”

And a clobbering of leather boots and hooves scrambled away, going down the ladder to the lower part of the ship. Zoro thought back to the cool air that emitted from the shell. His lips twitched upwards.

"No calls yet?" He turned to Robin, who stood looking far off into the distance.

Robin shook her head. "No, which makes me think our Captain hasn’t caught up to Ms. Navigator and the Cook."

"I told that idiot cook he might as well take Luffy with him. He wasn’t going to stay put for long."

Robin hummed impartially, her gaze fixed outwards, her thoughts dancing in her eyes, though she didn’t seem keen on sharing just yet.

Zoro sighed. "Classic, they went and got themselves lost again, leaving it up to us to find them."

Trying to gather the energy to move, he relaxed one last time, looking up at the clear sky. Zoro began to debate whether to take a dip in the fish tank and swim with Jinbei, who seemed to be taking the heat just as badly as the rest of them.

So much for a break, he thought.

Before he could succumb to the exhaustion the dreadful heat pressed on him, he felt a small tremor underneath him.

The subtle thrum became stronger by the second, vibrating the deck and earth around them. His head beat loudly in his ears, his heartbeat ever present. He tried to push back the overwhelming presence creeping closer and closer to him. Robin gripped tight on the rails as she lost her footing underneath the pressure of the Haki. Zoro hesitated for a moment. He quickly decided that Sunny was more important right now.

The hair on his neck stood on end. Without a second thought, he reached for the hilt of his blades, trying to suppress the excitement in his veins. He stood up and ran to the center of the ship, gripping the woven material of his blades as a chill made its way down his spine like a needle grazing over the skin. Someone powerful was coming their way. He peered off in every direction.

Fuck, where was it coming from?

His eyes land on billowing clouds of red dust that barreled in their direction. He squinted, watching the blob get closer. There was no mistake in these barren fields — it was headed straight for them.

"Looks like we got company, bro!" Franky yelled from a distance, who’d been working diligently on the hull of the ship all morning.

"I can see that, I’ll handle it," Zoro said back, watching whatever beast approached, barely making out the outline. Was that a cow?

"I guess nap time’s over," he muttered, jumping off the ship for the first time. The crunch of the red clay beneath him was harder than he’d expected. He strolled closer to the dust cloud approaching, rolling his neck, blocking out the pain he felt.

He looked closer. The challenger began to come into view through the haze of dust and dirt. The distinct rumbling of hooves on the ground confirmed his suspicions, but this beast was large. Its size became more noticeable as it got closer. That didn’t bother Zoro. He’d slain many beasts. He could see clearer now, the horned bull tugged back by the large ring in its nose, reins attached from either side. His gaze traveled up, his eyebrow raised out of pure curiosity.

A woman?

She sat on the back of the massive beast with an air of indifference, her gaze fixed elsewhere, not even sparing a glance in his direction. Her legs were casually crossed, and her hat was drawn low, casting a shadow over her eyes. Wild hair billowed beneath it, flowing, dark tresses like a cloud in the wind. She was dressed in dark leather and denim, the harsh sun reflecting off her tanned skin. Two guns rested on either side of her wide hips, a silent warning. As she closed the distance, she effortlessly tugged the reins bringing he beast to a dramatic halt, mere feet away from the ship.

The bull bellowed, its roar piercing the air, right in Zoro’s face. The roaring pain in his head persisted, but he forced it down. His eyes narrowed as he instinctively reached for Enma. She seemed like the perfect target to test his one-sword style with the new blade. The way she flaunted her skill, like this was some kind of game, already pissed him off.

Another show-off who’d be easily cut down. He can’t help but smile at the idea of humbling her. He unleashes his own haki, a warning as she continued her steadfast approach.

His eyes caught the white gauze wrapped around her finger that stopped at her wrist, clothed fingers absentmindedly fiddling with metal between them. Her gaze flit to him, finally acknowledging his presence. She carried herself with confident, nonchalant approach, that gave way under her intense, dark eyes. The tension between them hung thick in the air, the swirling dust cloud that surrounded them settling around the Sunny. They silently sized each other up, and for a moment, he considered cutting her down, right then and there. Bu, she hadn’t made her move yet. Not yet. Zoro tilted his head back.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his tone sharp, watching as she uncrossed her legs. A small, almost dismissive chuckle leaves her lips, eyes flickering with amusement.

“Well, hello to you, too,” She stretched haphazardly, raising her arms above her head as if Zoro was the most boring thing she could be entertaining right now, He scowled. "I should be asking you the very same thing, pirate." She replied simply. “-I suggest you leave now, if you’re smart.”

“A woman with a bull and a pair of guns… You think you can scare me with that?” Zoro chuckled darkly. "If you were any good, I’d already be bleeding by now."

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, pocketing the small, silver item in her palm. “Ya sure you wanna pick this fight? I can do worse than make you bleed,”

Suddenly, he felt it. The slow building of an ever-present Haki crept up his neck. The prickling sensation ran his blood cold, and he felt adrenaline trill through every nerve in his body. That type of power only had one pure desire: murder. He reflexively reached for Enma to unsheathe it.

It all happened in a flash. One second, he was grabbing for his blade, pulling it out as he felt his own power surge forth into the steel, ready to hack the woman and her bull down. The next second, her gun was drawn, and the shot rang throughout the valley.

Zoro went to dodge the lead, slicing through the air, when he realized what she had been aiming at. Zoro tried to adjust his torso, but the bullet came barreling quicker than he had expected. Before he could fully react, she made a swift motion with her hand still on the reigns.

The massive bull roared again, stomping its hooves hard into the ground. A shockwave sent a violent dust cloud swirling into the air, momentarily obscuring Zoro’s vision. The dust storm clouded the already heavy atmosphere, making it harder for Zoro to track the bullet’s trajectory.

At that moment, Zoro’s world turned to chaos—the thick dust in his eyes, the rumbling hooves, and the overwhelming presence of that woman and her beast.

The bullet came crashing down with a deafening crack, and struck Enma at angle. The impact sent a jarring vibration up his arm. The force of the bullet sent a sickening crack through the air. Bullet barreled against his sword, and Emma sent a sharp shock through his grip, nearly sending the blade flying out of his hands. The chip was deep, nicking the edge of Enma in a way that made his stomach drop. The sting of the blade's damage only added to the tension in his chest, heightening his frustration.

"Fuck!" he seethed, tightened his grip on the hilt, anger rising by the second.

"You’re really in for it now—how the hell am I supposed to fix this?" he yelled, his anger flaring, as he inspected his blade quickly. Humiliation bubbled beneath the surface of his burning skin.

The stupid headache combined with the heat was getting to him, no doubt. He felt his chest tighten, his expression growing darker as his fears crept to the forefront of his mind. What if he was unable to take her down? He pushed that thought away immediately, deepening his stance and getting ready to lunge.

“Is that really how to treat the sheriff of this here island?” She held her hands up defensively, gun loosely dangling between her fingertips. She tutted under her breath. "You pirates really are all the same, huh, no honor at all.”

“And what would you know about honor, with a cheap shot like that?” Zoro said between his teeth. The chip in Enma made controlling the blade’s Haki harder, forcing him to grit his teeth against the strain as he worked the blade back under his command. She'd pay for that.

“Cheap? I like calling it creative.” She bites back, flashing a plastic smile. “You’re the one who drew first, I was just quicker. Bet that’s something you’re not used to,"

“-You don’t know a damn thing about me, or honor,” Zoro snapped, fury bubbling over as his fingers twitched toward his other blades, as he searched for any opening. You could be cut down, just like anything else.

“Zoro, stop,” Robin’s sharp voice cut through his focus. She stepped into his line of sight, raising one hand in warning.

“Give me one good reason,” he growled, his eyes locked on her like a predator tracking prey.

Robin’s tone was calm but firm as she approached the edge of the ship, addressing her directly. “You said you’re the Sheriff of this island?”

Mystery woman winked at Zoro, a gesture that made his blood boil even more, then turned her attention to Robin.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me,” she beamed. “Though I’d say welcome, we’re not exactly open for tourists—especially of your profession.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zoro snapped.

Her gaze flickered to him, her hands flexing around her pistol that was drawn low. “It means, this here island is under marine protection,”

“I don’t see any of ‘em around here,” Zoro retorted,

“And that's dependent on me.” An edge of irritation flares in her voice, commanding and defiant. Zoro frowns deeper. She was definitely trouble. “I’m no marine, though,” She adds.

“We really aren’t here for trouble,” Robin cuts in again, before Zoro could say anything else. “ We actually had found a flyer for a fair, tell me, is this Buffalo Bay?”

Zoro’s irritation burned hotter as your grin faltered, and holstering your weapon. Did you not find him worthy of continuing the fight?

“This is Buffalo Bay,” the mystery woman said gesturing around wistfully, “but we haven’t had a fair in twelve years.”

“Knew it was too good to be true,” Zoro muttered, his pounding headache flaring again.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, she leaned closer, as if preparing to deliver a cutting remark—but before she could speak, the clatter of boots and hooves broke the tension.

“Wait—wait, we’re back!” Chopper’s voice broke through the tense silence, followed by a dramatically underwhelming entrance by him and Ussop.

“Behold! The ultimate cooling machine!” Usopp, grinned ear to ear, brandishing a lopsided contraption that whirred pitifully. Zoro resisted the urge to groan. “Chopper helped me perfect it!”

Chopper nodded enthusiastically, only for the device to sputter and die in a puff of smoke. The tiny reindeer’s ears drooped, as they said there, unmoving. “Well… it was working.”

Usopp blinked, finally taking in the scene. His gaze darted between the new stranger, the massive bull, and Zoro’s tense stance before settling on Robin.

“Uh, did I miss something? Who’s this chick?”

She chuckled softly, lifting a hand in a polite wave. “Hiya.”

Zoro actually groaned this time, “Don’t trust her Usopp,”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Usopp’s knees wavered, and his teeth threatened to chatter. Chopper, too, shifted nervously behind him.

“I guess anyone and anything can be a pirate, these days,” She quipped, earning a sharp glare from Zoro, who bared his teeth in response. “They’re none of your business.”

She waved her hand dismissively, like swatting away an annoying fly. “While I’d love to stay and chat all day, y’all might want to get out of this heat. It’ll kill you if you’re not careful.” She tugged on the bull’s reins, shifting her grip. “You’ll need to head into town—supplies, repairs, food, the whole deal. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Follow me, and don’t dawdle.”

With a sly smile, she turned and spurred the bull forward, leaving in a cloud of red dust, too fast for anyone to follow behind.

Zoro squinted after her, her words lingering like a challenge he wasn’t ready to walk away from. The biting edge he’d felt last night—the creeping sense that something about this was all wrong—was too undeniable to ignore. As he sheathed Enma, the faint resistance from the chip in the blade only sharpened his resolve. At the root of it all was her.

a/n- First chapter down! The next one will be in Sanji's POV, I promise, yours is coming soon than later! I hope you enjoy, I know I was late. Hopefully I'll have chapter 2 out sometime this week. Please make sure to like, comment, and reblog! - lynn

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