#his wrinkles and the fact that he actually seems older | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dcxdpdabbles · 6 months

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Excuse me? I really love your work and I was just wondering if we can get another chapter of Passion for Fashion?? I really love that but no rush whether or not u wanna. (Also, I'd love to see the Batfam or croc or anyone be educated WHAT KC actually is lololol I just think it would be fun.)

Danny stares at the man across from him with barely concealed bemusement. Red Robin hides behind his menu, muttering about all the pizza toppings.

It seemed pineapple was a must, and he fought not to wrinkle his nose as various people shot their table side glances. He's noticed the staring since they changed, but Danny is tired of the lingering gawking.

He gets that his date looks suspicious in his get-up, but it's not the worst.

They had to stop at a second-hand store, where he went in to buy a trench coat, a pair of large sunglasses, and a fedora, per Red Robin's request. While inside the store, Red Robin somehow produced a blond wig and some makeup, changing his features just slightly so that he appeared to be a different person.

They both stop at a local gas station to change outfits and finish their prep work in the bathrooms.

Danny had gone in sweats, a stained shirt, and mismatched shoes—he had not been expecting a date—but when he left, he came out wearing an experimental style Dan had found.

It was called Corp Goth, and he secretly adored it. Maybe Sam was onto something when she said a pure black offit made anyone attractive.

It was a form-fitting black jeans, a top with a darker shade of black long-sleeve shirt, and a flowing black trench coat. Dan had included various jewelry pieces, with strict instructions on where to put them so that the style was "balanced," it gave him the slightest hints of old-style rock aesthetics.

Danny felt good about his clothes until Red Robin saw him. He didn't think he was that bad-looking, but if it caused the other to run into a streetlight, Danny would hate to think what other less kind people would say.

"Would Hawiian be alright?" Red Robin finally asks, his voice just a tad bit high. Is he that nervous to be seen by people?

Danny raises a brow. "If that's what you like. I'll do whatever you want me to."

The other teenager—is he? He looks older now with his make-up—a few years—and makes a strange choking sound. "Okay."

"Alright. So now that we know what to tell the waitress when she comes here, can we return to the fact you broke through my window?" Danny asks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs to get comfortable.

A girl nearby chocks on her water, making Danny's head snap in her direction. Her friends quickly pat her back and urgently speak to the blushing girl. When he confirms she is all right, Danny returns his gaze to Red Robin.

He is taken aback by the sharp attention now being aimed at him. Yes, he can't exactly see the other eyes behind those dark sunglasses, but he feels the heavy stare all the same. "I want to discuss your connection to Killer Croc and the Infinite Realms."

Danny considers it. On the one hand, he can't talk about his secret mission, but on the other, he needs to find some information about this place. He's gotten bored wandering around, tinkering with things while the fashion contest dragged on.

They have been here for months and have made no headway in helping Batman. Heck, Danny has yet to even see him. If anything maybe this guy will know some information.

But he thinks he shouldn't lay all his cards just yet. So, he needs to bend the truth a little.

"There isn't much to tell about Killer. He was involved in our kidnapping a few days ago. I guess they hired him without explaining what the job was since he came to apologize for almost trafficking us." Danny shrugs, thinking over his answer as he takes a small sip of his soda, missing his mouth slightly. He quickly catches some of the spilled drink with his tongue, mentally debating himself for being so clumsy. There is a gasp from the same girl three tables away.

Danny fights the urge to sink into his seat as he ignores her. "He said he sells drugs, not people. How he tracked us down is anyone's guess, but since he came all the way in person, I figured I should invite him in and offer him a drink."

Red Robin tilts his head. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you invite him in and offer him a drink?"

"Ugh, 'cause it's good manners?" Honestly, did big-city folks really have no sense of being civil? Amity Park has a small population, but there are enough people to be called a city, and none of them have ever been confused by the idea of being invited in for a drink.

Red Robin considers this answer before he leans forward. "How about your connection to the Infinite Realms?"

Here, Danny carefully selects his replies, ensuring that all his answers are accurate, just not in the way the others will get. "You can say it was my parents, but mostly my mom. She was the one who made the final step and connected the family to the Realms."

"Your mom? Where is she?"

"Dead," Danny whispers, thinking of his own mom, whom he hasn't seen in weeks. He wonders if she or his dad has noticed him missing yet. If they have reported it.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Red Robin looks down at his hands in silence in a show of respect. Danny can appreciate it. However, that doesn't last long before he lifts his head again, this time with a stubborn little tilt to his mouth.

"That wasn't a full explanation of how the Infinite Releams involve you or your brother."

Danny shrugs. "It's how we got our meta powers. The portal to the other side opened on Dan and me, triggering our ice and glowing eyes. We've been inside it a few times, but the portal sealed shut the last time. We haven't been able to go back."

"That's why you here," Red Robin says in great realization. "Gotham has enough death in it that it helps your powers."

Not really, but they can work with that. Danny smiles, putting one finger up against his lips, and Red Robin is true to his name by turning a lovely red hue. Danny hasn't seen anyone blush that hard since Jonny 13 when the other asked him out on a date.

It's cute.

"That and it's also the cheapest living city. Dan really has his heart set on being a fashion designer so we need to save money on fabrics and stuff."

"You're his model. Have you always wanted to go into modeling?"

"Not really. I like mechanical engineering more. Maybe when I finish helping Dan, I'll look for a school to apply to." Danny shrugs, leaning forward to give the other a smirk.

Star once told him that Danny's slow up and down was his best flirting technique after he had done her math homework for her. In return, she agreed to help him get better at dating.

He's not sure how well her lessons had gone, seeing as he still struggled to get a date back home (with the living anyone), but he thinks some of it was right since Red Robin goes even redder, if that's possible.

"Enough about me. How did you get involved in smashing widows and looking tasty in spandex?"

"I-um- well funny enough I-" Whatever he was going to say is lost as a figure jumps down from the darkness, landing on their table. Danny yelps, pushing himself away, but in doing so, he falls backward since his chair is not meant to be leaned like that.

He crashes to the ground with a swear, closing his eyes at the impact. The back of his head stings a little, as Danny slowly cracks open his eyes and stares upwards- at...a man in a bat suit?

"Moby Dick! Are you Batman!" He gasps, finally feeling like they are about to make a step forward in their mission.

The man glares down at him before grunting. "Red Robin. Retreat to cave."

"But-"

"Now"

Then he throws a smoke bomb on the ground. Danny leaps up, but both men are gone by the time the smoke clears. "Wait! Mr. Batman, sir, I need to talk to you!"

There is no reply, just the girls filming with their phones and the sound of speeding cars. Danny kicks the ground. "Oh come on!"

When he wanders home, he finds Dan lying face down on the ground with various ice cream tubs surrounding him. On some pieces of paper are various-sized hearts, the initials "DF + KC" inside them.

Dan is singing heartbreak sounds into the carpet, muffled by his tears.

"Dan, man, have some dignity. You knew the EverBurning for like ten minutes."

The muffled crying gets louder, and Danny rolls his eyes. He slumps onto the couch with a sigh. "Listen, I think I got a lead on Batman. It's a man dressed like a bat. How hard can it be to find him?"

His clone-turn-twin raises one hand, pointing to a smashed button Danny missed when entering the living room. Upon closer inspection, he is startled to find out that it's a miniature microphone and tracker. There is a very tiny symbol on the side.

"Did Red Robin bug our house after breaking our window!?" he asks in outrage as Dan nods. "To think I flirted with him!"

Dan sobs louder. "I tried flirting with the best tail I have ever seen in my life and you got a date with a stalker! We're going to die alone!"

Danny really hopes they finish this stupid mission soon. He's getting tempted to let Clockwork's bomb take him.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #fashion for passion #Part 5 #Dan is in the trenches #He found the bug after cleaning the glass #Bruce interrupted Tim's date #Danny unknowingly looking mind numbing hot

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davidtennantgenderenvy · 9 months

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On David Tennant and Aging

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts in response to Tumblr users’ habit of affectionately calling their favorite middle aged dudes “old men”, David Tennant in particular, saying things like “clearly you’ve never met an actual old person”, “omg you talk about these guys like they’re 80”, “please be normal about people aging”, etc. And on one hand, all of these statements are objectively right and true! But as someone who’s always been really fascinated by and found a lot of beauty in getting older (which I’ve explored in some of my writing on A03 because nobody else is going to do it for me), I’d like to provide a bit more nuance on how I think this label applies to David in particular.

David, obviously, in literal terms, is not “old”, at least not to me- I don’t personally consider people old until they get past 60. 52 is middle aged, simple as that. And yet, when I see David stuck with the “old man” label, it still somehow feels weirdly right, for a number of reasons.

It annoys me so much when people say David “hasn’t aged a day since Doctor Who”, because, well…

He clearly has. A lot. He’s got forehead creases, deep crows’ feet and eyebags, and I think that post-Fourteen we’re gonna see him rocking the grey temples a LOT more. He also has the voice of an older man now, his upper range is still there but the default is much more deep and rich, with a gravelly, rumbling quality that just goes straight through you. I personally think Broadchurch was when David finally started to embrace looking his age- Alec Hardy just wouldn’t have been served by Ten’s fresh-faced boyishness.

Obviously, these are the kinds of changes you’d expect any 52-year-old man to have, but something about David just makes it all seem a bit more… intense? The expressiveness of his face combined with his almost gaunt frame makes his wrinkles very prominent, and when he works his voice to its emotional extremes, his lower register can sound positively ancient, to devastating effect.

David, I think, is someone with an old soul- I don’t think he could be as good as he is at playing ancient characters like Crowley and The Doctor if he weren’t. He has lived so many lives, given so much of himself to so many characters, often incredibly tragic ones, and I think it wears on him. David also has five kids. FIVE. Do you know how exhausting it is to be one of the hardest working actors alive and be a present, loving father to even ONE child? But David somehow does it anyway! Nowadays I see him and my heart breaks because he looks so tired, so weary and fragile. But he’s all the more beautiful for it to me because I know that that is because he is kind. He’s a deeply empathetic person who feels and lives to the absolute fullest, and that story is written so clearly on his face, along with every other story he has ever been a part of.

There’s other things about David that make the label endearingly fitting- his utter hopelessness when it comes to technology, for instance. And he’s just got that warm, wise, grandpa energy too sometimes- look at that above Fourteen picture and tell me I’m wrong!

I once showed my friend who’d only seen David in Doctor Who and Harry Potter a picture of David from Around The World in 80 Days. It was a particularly emotional scene, and his face had just the most beautiful expression of compassion and sadness, every wrinkle on full display. And she said, in a less than complimentary fashion, “he looks so old!” Which, of course, offended me quite a bit at first. But to me, referring to David as old almost feels like a badge of honor, something he’s earned by living fully and selflessly, working hard and being wise and compassionate beyond his years. I think David himself is secretly more than a little insecure about the fact that he’s getting older. There’s sadness behind every jovially self-depreciating remark he’s made about his age in the past year, particularly in comparing himself to Ncuti Gatwa. I know how much David struggles with his impostor syndrome and how people perceive him, and I can clearly see in his eyes the fear of being discarded, the anxiety he feels about if he’ll still be as loved as he was back in 2007 now that he’s closer in age to King Lear than he is to Romeo. So I hope David knows it’s a privilege to watch him grow older, to watch his soul and talents deepen with the crinkles around his eyes. If I, in my silly goofy tumblr girl-ness, call David Tennant an old man, it’s because it’s a label that suits him beautifully- even if it isn’t TECHNICALLY an accurate one yet.

#David tennant #doctor who #the tenth doctor #the fourteenth doctor #good omens #crowley #shakespeare #around the world in 80 days #phileas fogg #pro aging #growing old

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junedenim · 2 months

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i want to stay with you, my love

the consequence of having roommates

warnings: smut, age gap, fingerfucking & stuff

word count: 2.5k

It was convenient small talk. Two strangers leaving a party at the same time. The elevator rattles. The building is old. He's old. Well, older. It's unhealthy, daddy issues labeled by some, predatory by others. But he's quiet and cute and he wore a button-up to a party most people wore a T-shirt too—unless you were old like him.

You weren't. I mean, women always tend to put more effort into these kinds of things than men. Most women at the party look like they came from a business meeting or a strip club. You likely fell into the latter. Your coat, a long tweed thing, concealed that fact. It masked you as one of those professionals.

You know he's looking over. He isn't good at hiding these things, most men aren't. They're sleazy and like women to know when they're disgustingly ogling at them. This guy's shyness is endearing. You noticed it when you were the only two people in the hallway waiting for the elevator. Eyes darting over but always facing forward when you looked over. Now, in the elevator, he continues this behavior.

"Going home for the night?" You ask.

He looks over as if unsure you're speaking to him like he isn't the only other human in this tiny elevator. "No," he answers, "headed out for a smoke." British. Interesting and not done since your study abroad semester in London. "You?" His eyebrows are still raised. He's definitely interested.

"Headed home." You smile. The elevator hits the bottom floor.

He looks down at his watch. You giggle to yourself. What man still owns a watch and actually checks it for the time? "At 10:30? You're either the saddest or the wisest person here tonight." He's smirking, peering down at you as the metal doors open.

Neither of you makes a move to exit the elevator. You smile and look up at him through your eyelashes. "Indulge me and say the wisest." You walk out first but wait for him to join you so you can leave the apartment building together.

"Alright." He's as proper-looking as you can get at 10:30 after several glasses of, what you assume, is whiskey by the smell of it. His hair is buzzed, smooth, and freshly cut. Most notably, he has sunglasses on. At 10:30 at night.

"You mind if I join you for that smoke?" You're flirtatious and suggestive. Everything you need to get the attention of a man at this hour and that attire.

"Could always use the company." He holds the door open to exit the building first.

Outside, the air is bitter. Winter has finally come and he looks like he left his jacket upstairs. You almost want to huddle him like a baby rabbit. Your coat a cocoon for his caterpillar.

He continues his gentlemanly manners by handing a cigarette to you before taking one for himself. The flame sparked from his zippo—yes, a zippo, he might as well pull out a matchbox next time—and a heat spreads on your skin like it's a bonfire. He lights yours first too.

"You Corey Hart or something?" You ask him, taking the first puff.

"Hm?" He wrinkles his brows together. He's got permanent wrinkles too. They're charming like imprints from a life lived. One you have yet to experience.

"'Sunglasses At Night'?" You clarify. He takes a drag of his and he seems so particular about it. He purses his lips out in one direction when blowing the smoke out, much clearer about it than when you talked the smoke out.

He chuckles. "I didn't think you were old enough to know who Corey Hart is." So, he knows how young you are. Is he into that kind of thing? Are you gonna have to call him daddy tonight? You don't mind it but sometimes that stuff can feel so infantilizing and come from guys who would fuck teenagers if they could.

"Child of the digital age," you reply. He takes his sunglasses off then. "You don't have to take them off at my teasing."

"No, no, I just want to see you clearer." He's good.

"And how do I look?" Your lips pout and you take a drag hoping the smoke will elicit memories of burning fires for him.

He eyes you up and down, from those chipped colouring of your stilettos to the fly-aways on your head. "Fucking pulchritudinous."

"Excuse me?" Big words, drunk brain.

"You're fucking gorgeous."

"You using big words to compensate for something?"

He laughs. He laughs at you insulting his manhood. Most men are bitter about that kind of thing. He's throwing his head back and the smoke floods its way out through his nose. "Demonstrating length."

An equal-sparing partner. An even more tempting offer than a simple man. He's attractive, looks like he has money if the watch is anything to go by, intellectual, and—allegedly—has a big cock. You tilt your head. "Oh, yeah?"

"What direction are you going?" He asks.

"I thought you were just heading out for a smoke. Won't your friends be concerned?" Or your girlfriend or wife?

He shakes his head. "Nah, they'll figure it out soon enough. I'm not the type of guy to get kidnapped."

"Who's to say I'm not going to kidnap you?"

He smirks. "I think I'd like you holding me hostage."

You dramatically blink your lashes. "What about me? Am I safe?"

He raises his eyebrows. "From kidnapping? Yes."

"And from other things?"

"Depends on what they are."

You would consider yourself a good judge of character so you wordlessly start walking down 1st Street. He discards his cigarette and walks beside you. "I don't live too far. Could've walked myself home." You feel the need to make that clear. That you're the independent woman who carries pepper spray in her purse.

"I don't doubt that," he says.

You don't even know his name. Something about that is alluring. A complete and total stranger, but you're still curious. "Where's that accent from?"

"British," he answers.

You giggle. "I got that far."

"I'm from up north. Sheffield."

You hum. "I don't know why I bothered asking. I suck at geography."

He teases, "I live in LA now. Do you know where that is?"

"Don't be a smartass now."

"What about yours? I got the American part."

You shake your head. "You're not gonna know. It's a tiny, little thing." You put your index finger and thumb within a centimeter of one another. "I just say LA now. I've lived here since I was 18."

"And what was that? 2 years ago," he jokes.

You slap him with your purse. You quietly laugh too. "I'm 24," you clarify. "What are you? 50?"

He clutches his heart. "You wound me. I was born in 1986 if you can do the math on that one."

You roll your eyes. "Too ashamed to say it out loud."

He switches the subject. "Who do you know up there?"

You ask, "At the party?" He nods. "A friend of a friend. You?"

"Just a friend. My friend."

"How evasive?"

"You're the enigma here."

You hum. You stop walking. It amuses you how quickly he follows your move. You walk up the stairs to your building, unlocking the door. He follows behind, no invitation. "We can sit in the lobby." You gesture him to the ottoman across from the mailboxes.

You take out your vape, offering a hit to me. "You can smoke in here?"

You shrug. "Everyone else does."

"And you choose to smoke that thing?" He sounds like your father. It makes you giggle.

"You've never even tried it. Have you?" You take a hit from it.

He plucks a cigarette out from his pack, sitting it between his lips as he rests on the ottoman. You take your place beside him. "I'll stick with me cigarettes."

You chuckle at his accent. Sure, you like smoking, but you like watching him smoke more. He wraps his lips around the cigarette and hollows his cheeks. It's an arousing sight to watch. You want to reach out and trace his jawline.

"How drunk are you?" He asks.

Considering you had been at the party for only close to an hour and it hadn't quite hit the hour where everyone was drowning in alcohol, your intake had been light. "Two drinks, not very."

"That's good."

"Why?" You smirk over him. The smoke allures you to him, dragging you unconsciously closer to his body.

"I really wanna fuck you."

A vibration rang through you. You sigh, "My roommate is probably home." You lean back against the wall. His eyes follow you everywhere. You look up at him wide-eyed and seductive.

"Worried you can't keep quiet?"

You giggle. "I'm worried about you." She taps his nose and he scrunchs it up. He looks so young when he does it. 10 years gone like that.

"I can't believe I didn't see you at the party." You exhale twin streams of smoke from your nostrils.

"I came late. It's stupid, but I couldn't decide what to wear. It's a kind of social anxiety but with clothes, just clothes, I think. I changed like a hundred times. That's another reason you can't come up. I already have too many clothes lying about on my floor."

"What did you end up wearing?" He's staring at you like he has X-ray vision.

"Oh, just this thing I made."

"Can I see?"

You raise an eyebrow. You take the cigarette from his hands and take a puff. "See!" He exclaims. "Even you prefer it."

"Hush," you say. You press the cigarette between your lips and stand to unbutton the black buttons of the coat. What you're wearing is little of anything. A pink, so pale it's almost white. mini dress so short he's sure if you bent over he could see your underwear. The garment fits you like a glove, obviously hand-tailored to fit.

"You made that?"

You nod. "It's a hobby of mine."

"Let me come upstairs," he says.

"No," you say, sitting back down. "We'll definitely have sex if you come up." You grind your cigarette on the metal stair tread. "What time is it?" You reach over for his wrist before he can look himself. "11, hm."

"This isn't right. Don't let some roommates get in the way of your fun."

You raise an eyebrow and suppress a smile. "My fun? I think you mean your fun."

"Our fun."

You think for a minute. Hum and look around the room. Then, back at him. "No, but I'll check if they are here for you."

You stand and shrug your coat off fully, throwing it over your arm. He's worked up a heat in that lobby. He follows you up to the second landing just outside your apartment door. You shake your head disappointed. "Two sets of shoes." You gesture to the dirty Converses outside the door. "They're both home."

He's luring, standing over you with a look that makes you weak in the knees, unable to move. The scent of his cologne is intoxicating when he pulls your body against his, like an open fire in the woods. He looks down at you, determined and unhesitating, and says flatly, "How sad."

He leans down with a kiss: full-on and inflaming. Your skin burns from the inside out. The taste of whiskey lingers on his lips; the tenderness of his kiss is a surprise. The tip of his nose bumps into yours as you sink into the kiss. His kisses are long and slow, matching the rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

He breaks away, leaning his forehead against yours. "Let me feel your pussy. Yeah?"

You're hypnotized and with a nod and a returning kiss, his hand slides up your thigh, up to the hem of your panties, and carefully finds the skin underneath. Your breath hitches in your throat and you part your legs, as though powerless to resist.

His breathing sinfully against your ear. Then, he slips one finger inside you. It's rough, almost desperate, but enough to make you throb for more. Biting back a moan, you lean against the door to find some much-needed balance.

"You're so fucking wet," he says, nearly groaning the words against your neck, taking a bite at it. Two digits in, he continues fingerfucking you slowly while circling his thumb around your clit.

He stares right into your eyes like he wants to see every sensation he's causing, he keeps bringing you closer and closer to the edge—and you're fucking ready to jump. With heavy breaths and electricity running up and down your body, you melt into his touch, doing your best to stare back at him. To you, it's a fucking challenge.

"Fuck," you moan. He grins.

You grab the back of his head, roughly in a desperate attempt to gain some control, but can't keep yourself from moaning loudly when he starts fervently kissing your neck like a fucking tootsie pop and he's trying to get to the middle. He pulls his fingers out and slides them up, rubbing my clit with just the tip of his index.

Then, you hear an upstairs door slam shut. You quickly come to a conscious state and reach down to push his hand away. He gets the message and helps you fix the skirt of your dress. He looks so rough and tempestuous but acts so precious and sweet, you want to keep him like a stray dog.

He pulls away when the footsteps down the stairs increase in volume. You act as if you are looking for your keys in your purse. He reaches down and takes a handful of your ass. You gasp and look up at him and spot who is skipping down the stairs. "Hey, Britt!" Too cheery but you always were an overactor in your middle school plays. "Where you headed?"

Brittany was a couple of years older than you. She's one of the few people you could consider a friend in your building. The rest were either crackheads and/or cat ladies that'll die in their own vomit. Brittany and her roommate were fun.

"Headed to Brad's for the night." Her on-and-off-again boyfriend. They were either back together now or booty calling.

"Have fun!"

She eyes him—you really should get his name—before she rounds the landing's railing. She can probably see his hand on your ass. "You too!"

You look at him as he watches for Brittany waiting to see her exit. Then, he snaps back and attacks your lips. His hands are quick, spreading up your thigh again. He touches your clit and you feel rushed.

"Oh, fuck—"

He moves his mouth way down your neck, gently biting your collarbone and your knees nearly give out, but he steadies you with his free hand. The pressure on your sweet spot; his lips wantingly kissing every inch of exposed skin; the audacity of this man.

It doesn't take long, a few more rubs and then he pinches your clit and you let go, unable to hold on any longer, and fall into him. Heart pounding, you revel in the euphoric feeling like a sinner who's found God. He holds you up until you find your footing. Your foreheads pressed together as you share shallow breathing nearly in sync.

You laugh like a giddy little girl. "You're ambitious."

"Lucky you were wearing a dress and not down on your knees." His voice is low and husky, only weakening your guard.

"You probably would have already came by the time she interrupted."

"Wanna test it?"

a/n: this might be the prequel to "everything is romantic." i can't help it if all i do is write prequels & sequels!

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #arctic monkeys #junedenim

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corroded-hellfire · 7 months

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With Eliza at school and Luke nervous about a little girl a thought came to me.

How would Eddie react when Eliza came home and I just talked about a boy giving her things, like a picture of them holding hands?

And Luke talking to reader, asking how her dad made her fall in love with him.

Obviously you don't have to do this if you don't want to.

I love you.

This request just seemed like the perfect one for @munson-blurbs and me to write for Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoy and that Cupid shoots all of you in your wonderful butts with an arrow 💘

Warnings: smut, oral, f receiving, male masturbation, pregnant!reader, older!eddie

Words: 2.6k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Little Eliza Munson slides her glittery green Little Mermaid backpack off and sets it down on the coffee table in the living room. Her small Mary Janes had been kicked off near the front door and now she tucks her pink sock-clad feet beneath her as she unzips the bag.

First out comes the folder that her homework is always secured safely inside. Keeping with the theme of Disney Princesses, a smiling Mulan stares up at Eliza as she opens the folder. Before she can get to her homework though, a drawing slips out and floats down onto the carpet next to her. Heaving a sigh and rolling her brown doe eyes in annoyance, she snaps the folder closed as Luke traipses into the room.

Drawings weren’t uncommon in the Munson household. In fact, there was probably a drawing from every member of the family hanging on the over-crowded fridge. But as Luke glimpsed this slightly crumpled paper next to his sister on the navy carpet, he knew he didn’t recognize the style—or lack thereof—from anyone in the house.

“Liza, whatcha got?” he asks his sister.

“A drawing from my boyfriend,” Eliza replies, nonchalantly.

A loud bang and a murmured “shit” from the kitchen has Luke snorting in amusement at what was obviously their dad’s reaction to Eliza’s little announcement.

“Oooh, Liza likes a boooooy!” Luke teases as he walks over towards her. He bends over to pick the drawing up, but Eliza snatches it and slams it down on the table in front of her before he can.

The little girl wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ew, no! I don’t like him. He’s always eating sand from the sandbox.”

Ryan pokes his head in from the kitchen, his mouth full of food like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Hey, Luke used to do that.” He strolls over to his siblings. Luke glares at his older brother as he continues speaking. “When did you finally stop? Last month, right?” Eliza giggles and it diverts Ryan’s attention back to her. “Then why is he your boyfriend if you don’t like him?” The oldest Munson sibling takes a seat down on the floor next to the little girl. He tilts his head as he inspects the drawing the boy made for her. Ryan is able to make out that it’s supposed to be Eliza holding someone’s hand—presumably the boy who drew it. The little hearts around their heads in reds, pinks, and purples add the final touch.

Eliza shrugs. “Cuz he said so.”

“Who said what?” Eddie asks as he comes into the living room. He’s caught wind of what’s going on from being just on the other side of the wall in the kitchen, but he doesn’t wanna come in ready to send this four-year-old boy with a crush on his daughter to Siberia. “Please don’t tell me you listened to Luke again. Didn’t you learn your lesson when we had to unglue those shoes from your feet?”

Luke throws his arms in the air. “Why am I being attacked like this today? You know what, I’m going to find the one person in this family who actually likes me.”

Ryan smirks to himself and can’t help adding, “Wormy Munson died when you were four, dude. He’s long gone.”

Luke flips him the bird as he walks out of the room. Eddie crouches down and looks over the drawing with Ryan when Luke returns with you in tow.

“It’s them,” Luke says in a whiney voice, pointing to his older brother and father.

You sigh and shake your head as you rest your hand on your swollen belly. “Why are you all picking on my son?” You wrap your arms around Luke the best you can in your heavily pregnant state and press a kiss to the side of his head. “My little angel did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah,” Luke adds petulantly, and it transports you back to when he was five. Ryan rolls his eyes and Eddie lets out a bark of laughter. Even Eliza isn’t buying it. Luke pretends to recover from his ordeal and turns to the little girl. “Okay, Eliza,” he says to his sister, “tell Mom what you just told us.”

“My boyfriend drawed me a picture, but he’s gross and I don’t like him.”

“He’s only her boyfriend because he said he was,” Ryan tells you.

“Honey,” you say with a soft sigh, “if you don’t like someone, you can say ‘no, thank you.’”

“And if he doesn’t listen, you can always hit him with the one-two.” Luke demonstrates by punching the air.

Eddie shakes his head and waves his hands in front of him. “Absolutely not.” You breathe a sigh of relief that he’s putting an end to Luke’s bad advice until he says, “you gotta kick, too. Aim for the—”

“Okay, that’s enough violence for our four-year-old, thank you very much.” You waddle your way into the kitchen and open the cupboard to find one of the few boxes that haven’t been ravaged by teenage boys. “Who wants fruit snacks?”

“Not Liza’s boyfriend,” Ryan snickers. “He’s still full from all the sand.”

Luke looks at you for a moment but doesn’t speak until you’ve handed a pouch of fruit snacks to Eliza. “Was Dad your first boyfriend?”

Eddie wraps his arms around your growing middle. “No, but I was her last,” he teases, kissing your cheek with an exaggerated mwah!

The boys mirror each other with their grossed-out faces. Luke shakes it off though and playfully nudges his father out of the way with his shoulder.

“So then how did he make you fall in love with him instead of with another boy?” he asks.

An instinct is telling you that there’s more behind this line of questioning than simple curiosity of your and Eddie’s relationship, but you know better than to pry in front of his siblings—or his dad, for that matter.

Taking advantage of the others being occupied by the snack, you tug Luke towards the front of the living room and plop down on a couch with him. You’re facing him as much as you can with a seven-month pregnant belly, adjusting to a comfortable position.

“So, what do you want to know?” you start off asking Luke, keeping your eagerness to a minimum. The last thing you want to do is scare him away by seeming too excited.

“Well, like…” Luke looks down and picks at a loose thread on his sock. “What made you want to be with dad? Like, you were in college when you two met. There were all those college guys, but you wanted dad. Why? What did he do to…get your attention, I guess?”

Your memory flashes back to when you first met Eddie. It feels like you’re watching a mini movie in your brain about how the two of you ended up together, a reel that wouldn’t be allowed on cable TV. The story isn’t exactly something you want to tell your son, so you comb through to find the bits that can be given as advice.

“What did he do to get my attention?” You shrug and shake your head. “There wasn’t something he specifically did that made me want to be with him. It was a bunch of things that make up who he is. The first thing that caught my attention though was seeing how great of a dad he is to you two boys. You guys just adored him, and he’d do anything for you. It melted my heart.”

Luke chews on his lower lip as he considers your words. “So, there wasn’t something that he…bought you or anything?” He scrunches up his nose in contemplation.

“Luke,” you say with a kind chuckle. “You can’t buy someone’s affection.” When he stays silent, you decide to press your luck. “Is there any particular reason you’re asking?”

His cheeks go pink; it makes you think how bashfulness is an odd look on the boy who is seemingly unfazed by everything.

“There’s, um, this girl at school. And I was gonna ask her to the Valentine’s dance, but I don’t wanna look like an idiot.”

You smile. Mystery solved. Honestly, you should have known that Luke would be experiencing these kinds of feelings sooner rather than later. “Part of liking someone is taking that risk,” you tell him. “Although I highly doubt you’ll look like an idiot.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs, not fully satisfied with that response. “I just don’t wanna do too much, but I also don’t wanna do too little.”

The gift question makes more sense now. Usually, Luke’s gift-giving was reserved for birthdays or bribery, but it looks like he was making an exception to the rule.

“Well, maybe you could get her a rose? Just one, not a whole bouquet,” you suggest. “And then you can ask her to the dance.”

“You think that will work?” Luke asks, a nervous quiver in his voice.

It breaks your heart to see him this anxious, and you wish you could make certain that his plan will be successful.

“Since I don’t know this girl, all I can say is that it should work. And if it doesn’t, she’s not worth your time because she doesn’t realize how thoughtful and caring you are.” You think for a second and then add, “not to mention hilarious.”

“And devastatingly handsome,” he quips with a straight face, making you giggle.

“Of course, that too.”

Your youngest son stands up from the couch and presses a kiss to the top of your hair. Pregnancy hormones have you tearing up as you remember when you used to do that to him.

“Thanks, Ma.”

Luke helps you off the couch and as you walk closer to the kitchen you can hear your husband and daughter conversing.

Eddie stands in front of Eliza with a serious expression. “Now, what do we tell boys we don’t like when they like you?”

“No, thanks!”

“Right!” He offers her his hand, and she slaps him five. “And now what do we tell boys if you do like them?”

Eliza thinks for a moment before remembering the answer. “I got a tall Daddy and crazy big brothers.”

“That’s my girl!”

Luke walks past and chimes in. “Tell them one of your brothers went insane from scurvy. Like it seeped into his brain and turned him into a flesh-eating zombie.”

The little girl makes a grossed-out face, giggling when Eddie gently slaps him upside the head. As if wanting to join in, you feel a kick from within your belly.

“You wanna know how I snagged this gorgeous lady?” Eddie puts an arm around you and looks at Luke. “Turned on the ol’ Munson charm. It’s irresistible.”

The comment about his irresistible charm plays on a loop all evening. Once the kids go to bed, it’s time for you to see if you can whip up some charm of your own.

While Eddie brushes his teeth, you strip down to nothing. Well, nothing but the necklace he gave you on the night you two first slept together. The night you’d finally felt him inside you after months of using your own fingers and pretending it was him. The night he promised to knock you up with his babies.

Mission accomplished.

He walks back into the bedroom, his eyes immediately drawn to the pendant resting between your milk-filled breasts.

“Jesus, baby.” He practically flies into bed and starts kissing you. His burgeoning erection presses against your thigh through his boxers.

You tilt your head slightly, so he knows to move his lips to your neck. “Been thinkin’ about you, Eds. How good you treat me, how loved you make me feel…”

Eddie’s fingers find your clit and make precise circular motions. “Always gonna treat you good. Like my goddamn princess.” His mouth finds your collarbone. “The way you look when you’re pregnant…god damn.”

Smiling, you start to push yourself up, but he shakes his head. “I wanna spoil you tonight.” He positions himself between your thighs, licking a gentle stripe up your folds. “Tastes so fuckin’ sweet. Here, see for yourself.” He leans over your stomach and kisses you so you can taste your own arousal on his tongue.

“‘S all about you tonight,” Eddie promises. He lowers himself back down and buries his nose in your pubic hair. His tongue glides over your clit, softly at first, but gradually increases in pressure.

“Mhm, y-yes. R-Right there,” you murmur, relishing in the build-up to the stimulation.

Eddie’s hips rut against the mattress as he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull himself closer to you. The feeling of your fingers tangling in his hair has him surging towards painfully hard.

The soft moans and whimpers that float from your sweet lips break Eddie’s resolve and he reaches down to wrap a hand around his aching cock. He strokes himself in time with the flicks of his tongue over your aroused clit.

“Eddie…Eddie—oh!” You throw your head back against the pillows. A pleasant warmth grows within you and it has you arching your back, legs tightening around your husband’s head.

“Gonna cum,” you whimper.

“That’s my girl,” Eddie says against your dripping, throbbing pussy. “Cum for me, princess.”

Sparks dance in your vision as your orgasm breaks over you. It makes its way throughout your body, curling into every corner until it feels the absolute euphoria that Eddie brought you.

Trying to catch your breath, you watch with dark eyes as Eddie pushes himself up to his knees. You know what he wants, so you lay down as flat as you can so it’s easier for him to crawl over you.

Eddie’s still fisting his cock, the tip angry and leaking precum. He manages to straddle your body and braces himself with one hand pressed on the mattress right beside your head. His other hand works over his cock until the rhythm becomes erratic—your husband’s telltale sign that he’s about to cum. You only encourage this by arching your back and presenting your enlarged breasts and rounded stomach to him.

With one final growl, Eddie releases over your bare skin. You watch as the pearly white lines make patterns across your belly with each pump of his fist over his cock. There’s so much and you love it.

Once he’s finally spent, Eddie collapses down on the bed next to you. You miss when he’d just fall down onto you after sex, but the growing in your womb has put a pin in that for the time being.

Neither you nor Eddie want to clean his cum from your body, but Eddie grabs his boxers and takes his time in cleaning you. If he went over your nipples more than once or maybe give a tit a squeeze here and there, what of it?

After a few attempts, you manage to roll onto your side so you’re lying face to face with your husband. He leans in closer and gently presses his nose against yours.

“You always make me feel so good,” you say softly.

Eddie smiles and it makes your heart kick up. That smile will never lose its magic.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Eddie replies sleepily.

You lean in the last few inches and press your lips against Eddie’s.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say.

“It’s not Valentine's Day yet,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle.

“True,” you say as you curl up into his chest. “But I don’t need that day to tell you and show you how much I love you.”

“You’re right, sweetheart.” Eddie smiles and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re my Valentine every day.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #dad!eddie #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #request

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copperbadge · 6 months

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Hi Sam! You mentioned being in Texas. Did you get to see the total eclipse?

I did! That's actually why we were in Texas.

I have wanted to see a full solar eclipse since I was about 20, but I've never had the combination of time and means -- couldn't afford it, or couldn't get to where it was total, or couldn't take the time to get there. So two years ago I saw one was coming and said, "this time I'm making it happen." Two days later R called and said, "Do you want to meet up in Texas for the eclipse?"

Our plans had to shift over time, and I won't lie, that was stressful for all of us. I had originally planned to ask R and his wife to chip in half for the rental place, but decided to just cover it myself because they're either divorced or in the end stages of the legal divorce proceedings and R isn't making much money. I remember my mother being poor and trying to take us on nice trips, and I can afford it. Baby U didn't exist when we made these plans and he's traveling with her without a partner for the first time, which has caused wrinkles for all of us (he couldn't get a rental car because he waited too long, so he took a Lyft to Fuckall Nowhere, Texas, like a 2 hour drive, and now has to try and get one in FaNoTX to get to his next stop in San Antonio). The rental was a little more intense and uptight than we anticipated but the people seemed nice in person. I have had Some Stress.

And honestly, it was all worth it.

I don't think a full solar eclipse is life changing for everyone the way some people say, but I do agree that partial eclipse simply doesn't compare. They're too different as experiences. When totality hit and we could see it hit, everyone gasped and was silent for a second and the burst into noise -- cheers, swearing, exclamations. I almost started crying and then began laughing instead because next to me R said "OH MY GOSH" and U echoed softly "oh my gosh" even though she's too young to understand what's going on and was looking at her sippy cup, not the eclipse. We just stood there in awe. We were in a kind of shock for a few hours after.

I'd been dropping some "hot from a PBS documentary" eclipse facts on an older woman before the event, at the little lunch party our host threw, and she'd taken to calling us William Shatner (R) and Carl Sagan (me) and from behind me, halfway through totality, she said, "Carl Sagan, you didn't tell me it would be like THIS."

In future, I will do any travel with R very differently, but it was worth it to see him and the baby and experience that with them.

Also having coparented a toddler for the weekend, I am again glad I don't want and never had kids. She's a joy, but she's a very dribbly joy.

#conversations with r #eclipse #sam travels

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igotanidea · 8 months

Text

Lollipop: Dick Grayson x kid!sister!reader

(part 1 of 4 for the batboys x sister!reader)

This was not supposed to end up like this.

At least at first, cause it was showing signs of impending tragedy.

He was only going to be gone for like 15 minutes with the best intentions of getting his little sister the biggest lollipop available at the fair shop.

And the fact that this beautiful girl was standing there casually, throwing glances his way had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Yes, he was flirty chatty, I mean – can you seriously blame a man with his look and charm? No right? No, of course not.

But, being the responsible older brother, he grabbed his sister and carried her piggyback straight to the shop, while cracking jokes and making the five-year old laugh softly, in the way only little kids can. Literally lighting up his entire world and having a great brother-sister bonding.

„So. Which one of the lollipops would you like Y/N?”

„That one!” she pointed her little fingers to the red and yellow piece of Candy on the display.

„Sure thing, little one, let me handle it for you.”

„Your daughter is so cute…” the girl Dick had an eye on, appeared next to him, flipping her hair flirtatiously, flashing him a bright smile.

Daughter?!

Shit.

Did he look that old that someone might take Y/N for his daughter?!

Was his hair going grey or something?

Did he have wrinkles?

He wasn’t even 30 yet and now he was appearing as a father figure?!

He loved that kiddo, he truly did, but this?

Too much.

„She;s actually my sister” he managed to say even though there was a whirlwind of emotions inside him.

WAS HE OLD NOW?!

„Oh, so cute. And you’re on the babysitter duties I guess?”

„Something like that.”

„Dick!” Y/N squirmed on his shoulders getting impatient and wanting her sweet.

Under any other circumstances in any other company that little word coming out of the word of a five year old would be completely Innocent and harmless, however Y/N had no idea what kind of reaction it may get from a – well- stranger.

“Did you teach her such language?!” the girl frowned in rebuke.

“What?” Dick chuckled nervously “No, no, you don’t understand, this is not a curse, it’s—”

“It sounds like one to me.”

“No!” Dick grinned “It’s actually my name!”

“Your name?” the girl raised an eyebrow “Are you for real right now?”

“Dick!” Y/N cried out again, wriggling so hard she almost fell from his shoulders, but due to some miracle he caught her safely, torn between wanting to smooch her cute little face and hiding her somewhere so she wouldn’t embarrass him even more. “Shh, kiddo. The adults are talking.”

“But I want –”

“I know little one, but if you could just give me five minutes—” Dick held his sister tight to his chest, whispering in his ear but she was not going to take his mysteriousness.

“Hi!” she turned around in her brother’s arms and called upon the girl “you’re pretty.” Her words were only as honest as a kid can be. No filter, no hesitation, no embarrassment and no overthinking.

“Well thank you. I’m Elle.”

“I’m Y/N.” the little girl reached her hand to the older one, squeezing it with the most stern face she could produce still being the cutest human being to walk the earth. “And that’s my brother, Dick. Dick! Come say hi to Elle!”

“That really is your name?”

“It’s Richard actually. But everyone just call me Dick. No subtext, I swear!” he laughed seeing Elle’s sceptic face expression.

“He’s my favorite brother!” Y/N clung to his legs, wrapping those tiny arms around them “yesterday he braided my hair and all the girls in the kindergarten were looking at me with jealousy!”

It was more likely shock, cause “braided” in Dick’s dictionary meant doing so many complex swirls that the complicated hairstyle seemed to stay on the head only by a miracle.

“And he watched all episodes of Dora the explorer with me! He even learned the song, come on Dickie!!” Y/N pulled his trouser leg “come on, sing with me! Jump in! ¡Vámonos! You can lead the way! Hey! Hey!” every exclamation mark was highlighted by the girl's joyful jump.

“Hey! Hey!” Dick grinned getting carried away by the cheerful melody and only after a while realizing that he must be making a fool of himself. “Yeah… um….”

“My brothers love that cartoon too.” Ellie smiled

“Oh, you have brothers?” now that was something the resident flirt could pursue “may it be that they are Y/N’s age?”

“Five and three. Do you think maybe they could hang out?”

“Oh, I absolutely think they could hang out.” Right, because it was all about the younger siblings. “Care to give me your phone number so we can arrange the da--… I mean the acknowledgement?”

Five minutes later Ellie said her goodbye and Dick was left with the very valuable number saved safely in his phone.

“Great job Y/N.” he put his hand up (not too high) so the girl could high (again- not too high) five him.

“Duh!” she scoffed with the face of a girl boss. “But seriously, you should up your game Dick!”

“Up my--? WHAT?! Where did you heard that?!”

“Uncle Wally—”

“Uncle Wally will not get fast enough to run from me now.” Dick hissed

“Hey, Dick?”

“Yeah, Yeah, I know, let’s get you that lollipop first, my little diva. You deserve it.”

He picked her up from the ground and spun joyfully in the air.

Who would have thought that he would actually be the oldest brother to such a tiny precious human, serving perfect role as her guardian angel.

#dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson x batsis #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x oc #nightwing x oc #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff #dick grayson x sister reader

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sykeswrites · 9 months

Text

Machine - Prologue

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader Summary: You were brought onto the team to help eliminate a B.O.W outbreak. They needed your particular area of expertise. Neither you, the team, or Leon himself could have foresaw the attachment that would form between you. Warnings: Older Leon, Slow burn, Everyone needs a hug, limited use of Y/N. Reader is described as masc presenting but they/them pronouns will be used throughout the story. Author's Note: The intention is for this to become a multi-chapter story, but updates may be sporadic. Please be patient x

Leon's POV: He didn't understand why they needed to bring someone new onto the team. They'd done well in the past, there were a few slip ups but... a whole new person? Really? "Stop moping." Claire huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench. Most of the team were sat in the back of a large, very conspicuous van, save for Chris, who'd been tasked with actually convincing whoever the newbie was to get in on the job. He looked at her and rolled his eyes, grunting in annoyance. He'd made his opinion about the situation very clear already, but he'd essentially been ganged up on and bullied into giving in. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of several gunshots and something glass smashing inside the small house that their newbie apparently lived in. He sat up, eyes wide, but nobody else seemed concerned with the noise; in fact, Jill was picking at her nails absentmindedly, and Claire simply cleared her throat and sank further into the bench. "What? That doesn't concern anyone else?" He asked, a level of snark in his tone as if the gunshots had proved his point, but Claire only side-eyed him and shrugged. "If you'd have bothered to do your research you'd have known what to expect." She replied, kicking one of her legs up over the other so they were crossed. He glowered at her in response, but shut up. It felt like hours dragged by before Chris and their newbie appeared. Leon looked up with disguised interest as they stepped into the van, taking in all 5'8 of them from their cropped hair to the combat pants that looked like they fit a little too snugly around the thighs. Chris was first to hop up into the van, moving aside and offering a hand to the younger agent, who unceremoniously batted it away and, with their arms spread out so their hands were secure against the walls of the van, hauled themselves inside in such a way that made their biceps bulge and strain through the tight material of the black tee they were wearing. Their boots thumped loudly against the metal flooring as they steadied themselves, hands adorned with fingerless gloves brushing out the wrinkles that had formed in their pants. "Hey!" Claire called out, giving them a friendly smile. It would seem these two had met before, because the agent swiftly moved over to sit beside her, putting an arm around the redheaded woman. Leon noticed with a shock, mostly surprised that he hadn't noticed already, that the new agent appeared to be a lot younger than the rest of them. Early to mid twenties, maybe. Few formalities were exchanged between everyone and the agent, in which Leon learned their name at last,- he did know it, he'd just forgotten, honest!- but he stayed quiet until the very end. He was about to open his mouth to introduce himself when the younger agent finally looked at him and seemed to register his presence in the corner for the first time and, seemingly without thinking or with any semblance of a verbal filter, blurted out; "Whose the drunk?"

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x male reader #resident evil x male reader #resident evil x reader #male reader #THE READER IS A GUY!!!!!!!

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

Text

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

Lucien was sent to the north two days after his wedding, leaving Elain alone at court. Her sisters were gone, her parents returned to Spring, which left Elain to figure out Autumn without her usual supports. Elain was tempted to isolate herself, but like the females in Spring, the ladies of Autumn stuck together, for the most part. They had branches, smaller groups within the larger one, and Elain wanted to get in with one, just for security.

Which was how she found Ayla.

Ayla clearly led one the smaller groups of females and Elain wondered if it was because she was so obviously beautiful. With long, thick hair the color of cinnamon that fell in heavy, ringlet curls and eyes like obsidian, and a wardrobe to rival the Lady of Autumn herself. If Eris hadn’t already been married, Elain would have assumed Ayla was a contender. She seemed born to rule in some capacity.

And rule she did—over a card game every afternoon in the parlor. It was invitation only, and Elain had been invited by Ayla herself as she’d wandered aimlessly through the hall.

“Elain, right?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside Elain. “I was at your wedding. You were beautiful.”

It was a lie, but Ayla made it seem sincere. “Thank you.”

“I was hoping you’d join me and a few friends this afternoon? We play a friendly game of cards,” she began, fingers twisting a gold ring around her middle finger. “You could ask Arina, too, if she’d like to join.”

“I will,” Elain said, needing to be on good terms with the ladies, especially if Lucien was going to run off every chance he got. Elain was certain he’d run off to meet up with a female and it made her hate him a little.

“Excellent,” Ayla said, clapping delicate hands together. She practically floated away, leaving Elain to track Arina down far, far within the bowels of the palace. She hadn’t realized she’d need permission from the High Lord to actually go inside the library. Beron Vanserra terrified Elain—she’d never ask. Instead, she politely begged one of the scholars to bring Arina to her, and moments later Arina herself appeared, the only bright thing in the gloom.

“We’ve been invited to a card game,” Elain said without preamble.

Arina wrinkled her nose. “By who?”

“Ayla.”

“Ugh–”

“Please come with me,” Elain implored, looking up at the only woman she could count on to be friendly to her. Elain understood that Ayla needed the future Lady of Autumn to appear, if only to enhance her own social status. Back home, the ladies had clamored for Nesta’s friendship and attention, much to their detriment. Nesta loathed social climbers.

“Fine,” Arina grumbled, gathering her skirts as the pair began climbing back up the stairs.

“Why don’t you like her?”

“There was a rumor, when I first came, that she and Eris…”

“Oh. Oh. Did they?”

“Well, I never asked,” Arina sniffed, chin lifted in the air. “I didn’t want him to think I was jealous.”

“But you are jealous,” Elain teased.

“He doesn’t need to know that. His ego is already unchecked without my help. It’s good for him to think he doesn’t quite have me.”

“You accepted the mating bond,” Elain reminded her.

Arina merely waved her hand, as if to say semantics. Elain doubted very much that Eris worried a whole lot about losing Arina given the fact that she’d so easily ingratiated herself into his life. Elain doubted very much Arina would leave him even if he’d slept with every available female at court. Eris was a lot older than Arina—of course he must have.

Though, it made her wonder who her husband had been sleeping with. Surely there must have been people before his murdered lover. Would it bother her? If Ayla slept with Lucien, would Elain avoid her, too?

She didn’t know the answer to that. In some ways, it felt like relief to know her husband had interests outside of annoying her and that he might discreetly pick up with someone else to spare her his attention. It was also strangely humiliating to imagine. Courts were small, insular, and the nobility of Prythian well connected. How long before rumors swirled of Lucien’s disinterest?

Elain could not win.

Elain shoved thoughts of Lucien from her mind. She didn’t want him, so who cared what he did or didn’t do? The pressure in her chest crested for a moment, thrumming with heat before she could settle herself down. Elain took three calming breaths and the feeling subsided, though it lingered just below her ribs, aching like a bruise.

Ayla’s card game was massive. Held in a large parlor papered in orange and brown flowers, the room could have held five hundred people comfortably. Tables were arranged with little placards noting who sat where. A long table held tea sandwiches and cakes, towers of little pastries and every beverage a person could possibly ask for. No one was eating, and when Elain and Arina arrived, the ladies already gathered hushed softly, eyes wide with excitement.

This would be the source of everyone's gossip for the rest of the week.

“You came!” Ayla said, disentangling herself from a group of beautiful women. “I didn’t think—but oh, this is delightful. Here, you’ll sit here.”

Elain didn’t bother to ask who got booted from Ayla’s table. Arina sat, nodding toward the two other women that were already there.

“Zoelyna,” she began pleasantly, smiling at the redhead. “Celeste.”

They looked like sisters, with the same shade of coppery red hair and bright, blue eyes. They smiled at Arina, launching into a thousand questions meant to occupy Arina’s time. Elain watched Arina with some awe, knowing that Arina did not like these functions or, really, any of the people in the Autumn Court. And yet she had this way of making people feel special—seen. Elain hoped to emulate that.

Maybe, she reasoned, she could make herself so beloved among the ladies they would refuse her husband out of respect or love…or fear, which seemed to be the tactic Arina had employed. There was soft reverence to the way everyone spoke to her that suggested their fear of crossing her. It was absurd—Eris was so besotted that anyone with eyes could see it.

Though, Elain supposed he had enough power to make him appealing, even with a mate. A mistress often wielded incredible power and if her husband wanted, he could elevate her to the position of a wife without care or concern to how his actual wife felt about it.

“Explain the rules to me,” Elain said once Ayla sat down, determined to make them all like her.

Ayla beamed. “It’s quite simple, really. Each of us will flip a card in our hand, and the highest suit wins.”

“That’s it?”

“We could make it more interesting, if you like,” Ayla suggested, reaching for a bracelet riddled with diamond on her wrist. “If you want.”

Arina sighed, taking off her pearl earrings while Zoelyna and Celeste both tossed rings in the center of the table. What did Elain have that she could trade besides the coins jingling in her pocket? Reaching within, she pulled out the little pouch and dumped them along with the jewelry.

“Excellent,” Ayla said with a shark's smile. “I look forward to taking your money, ladies.”

“In your dreams,” Arina retorted, picking up her hand of cards delicately. “I think I’ll buy myself a new gown.”

Ayla smiled at her own hand. “I think I’ll get a new pair of shoes.”

Elain didn’t know what she’d do with their things. Probably return them, truthfully. It hadn’t occurred to her until right then that Elain had no money at all other than what had been sent with her. If she needed things, did she ask Lucien? What if he said no? She knew men like that, who controlled the purse strings so tightly their wives had to beg for simple items like shifts and undergarments.

She didn’t hear what Zoelyna or Celeste wanted, lost in her own musings about Lucien’s petty cruelty.

Elain merely shrugged. “I won’t count my coins until they’re in my hand.”

“Smart,” Ayla murmured, eyes bright. “I suppose you aren’t terribly competitive like the rest of us.”

But Elain was competitive. Quietly so, which had always annoyed her sisters. They’d be fighting amongst themselves, battling to be the winner and Elain would sneak in and steal the first prize because they’d forgotten her.

Again.

It was her strategy in this game, too. She watched them watch each other, and threw her first few hands with an exaggerated, yet good natured sigh. Ayla and Arina immediately began going after each other much like Feyre and Nesta would. Elain’s first win was played off with a chagrined smile.

“What fun!” she declared as Ayla put a little mark in her favor. Elain threw her next hand just for good measure before taking the next five. Ayla and Arina chalked it up to a lucky streak, but Elain had just nearly pulled ahead and had no intention of giving that up. With a sweet smile, she continued to lay down her cards until Arina tossed hers down in frustration.

“You’re cheating,” she accused.

“I would never,” Elain protested, half laughing. “You’re simply a sore loser.”

It was the most fun she’d had since…well. Elain couldn’t remember the last time she had that much fun. So much of her time in recent memory had been spent trying to thwart, and later spite,

Lucien, that she’d let her friendships fall to the wayside back home. Here, though, looking at the shining eyes and bright cheeks of the ladies seated before her, she thought perhaps the worst was behind her.

After all, she was married now. There was no more thwarting Lucien outside of the marriage bed, no more spiting him when he slunk off to avoid her. Why shouldn’t she try and find some enjoyment in this moment. Elain smiled. Maybe Lucien would rarely be home.

Maybe she’d be able to enjoy herself.

LUCIEN:

He hadn’t intended to see Jesminda. Lucien had merely wanted to get out of Autumn for a minute, and Dawn was just far enough to clear his senses of Elain. His friend Nuan lived here, and had agreed to host him for a day while he bullshitted around delivering his fathers proposal for new tariffs on goods. Eris must have been monumentally stupid, or desperate, to relocate Jesminda here.

At first, Lucien thought he was merely hallucinating her in the market. But now—that was her light brown skin, her bouncy brown hair, and her wide eyes staring at him, lips parted in an oh. His legs began moving of their own accord, body vibrating with the need to just touch her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head back and forth as she held up a finger. Lucien’s heart shattered even as he kept moving. “I promised your brother. You weren’t supposed to come looking for me.”

“I…I didn’t know,” he managed, fingers brushing the long sleeve of her green gown. “You’re safe.”

“I was,” she agreed, glancing around nervously. Grabbing the front of his tunic, Jesminda dragged him past rows of vibrant market stalls to a darkened ally where they could talk. “Lucien, go home to your wife.”

“I won’t,” he said, reaching for her face. Jesminda let him, her agony a mirror for his own. “We could leave. We could board a boat right now and leave for the continent.”

“And what then, Lucien? Will you work like some common man?”

“You know I would,” he protested, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “I told you I would. My crown means nothing to me—”

“And your wife?” she pressed, pulling her face from his grasp. “What of her? You’ll leave her to the mercy of your father? I wouldn’t ask you to do that on my behalf.”

“She means nothing to me,” Lucien lied, cringing as he said it. Jesminda noticed, nostrils flaring.

“Oh, Lucien,” she whispered and of course she’d know. No one knew him better.

“It means nothing.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You…you think it won’t, but in ten years—fifty years—your mind will drift back to her and you’ll wonder—”

“I won’t,” Lucien said, well aware he was begging when he already knew the answer. He would have gotten on his knees if he could have, would have cut his own throat if she’d asked him to.

But Jesminda wouldn’t, and so Lucien remained standing before her, desperate for her to say the only words he wanted to hear.

I love you, Lucien.

“This is wrong and you know it's wrong,” Jesminda whispered, taking a step toward him. “I swore to your brother I would never speak to you again—”

“Fuck Eris!” Lucien exploded, his feelings all over the place. “Fuck all of it—”

“I want you to go home, Lucien. To your ma—to her. And I want you to treat her well…and…” her bottom lip trembled as Lucien shook his head no. “I want you to leave me alone. Don’t look for me—if you see me in the street, don’t acknowledge me. Don’t write to me. Do not…do not even speak my name.”

“Jes—”

“Swear it,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Swear that you will keep the memories of what we had and you will let me go. Swear it to me right now.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I might as well hand you the sword your father will use to remove my head right now. If you love me, you will let me go.”

Lucien swallowed his urge to cry right along side her. “I could keep you safe.”

“You can’t keep us all safe. You’d sacrifice your mate,” she whispered the word, as if it pained her to say it, “for me?”

Lucien started to say that he would, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t make that promise and Jesminda knew it. She knew what all Fae knew—your mate was the other half of your soul. To lose Elain would be losing part of himself, even if they didn’t want each other or were a bad match.

Shaking her head of curls, Jesminda offered him a brave smile. “I wondered why it didn’t snap for us. I wish…but it didn’t, and it's better to know now that it was never going to. You and I…we were…” She offered him a pretty smile that cracked his heart in half. “I’m glad I know. Some part of me will always love you, Lucien, but I’ve made my peace with how things ended. My family is still in Autumn and I’m hoping to get them out.”

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice cracking.

Jesminda considered this before offering him a bright smile. “I am. I always wanted to see the world…and Dawn is just one stop along the way.”

“I want you to be happy,” he told her, not bothering to add that he wanted her to be happy with him.

“Your brother was generous. I…I’m going to be okay, Lucien. And so will you. Trust me.”

She leaned up on tiptoes, pressed her lips against his cheek, and stepped back before he could do something rash. Jesminda offered him one last smile, eyes glassy and bright, before slipping out of the ally. Lucien let her, back against the brick, terrified that if he saw where she went he’d try and track her down. She’d asked him to let her go, and Lucien wanted to give her what she wanted.

Even if what she wanted wasn’t him.

Abandoning his plan to waste more time in Dawn, Lucien decided to return home for the night before spending the remainder of his time down by the sea drinking with sailors until he forgot his own name. Lucien winnowed onto the grounds, expecting silence.

Instead he found Elain at the center of what seemed to be a rowdy game with a gaggle of the well-bred ladies of court…and Arina, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed to slits.

“She cheated.”

“You’re a sore loser!” Ayla declared, half hiding behind Elain who was clearly trying to mediate the situation. Not far away, Tanwen lounged on marble steps leading up to the palace, wanting the whole thing play out with a furrowed brow. Elain hadn’t noticed him, which gave Lucien and his aching heart a chance to compare her to Jesminda.

“It’s simply a misunderstanding,” Elain assured them both, hands thrown out to keep Arina from swinging. Lucien was in a mood.

“Arina is simply sore that Ayla was promised to Eris before she came along,” Lucien said, silencing the entire lawn as he stalked away. He thought he’d gotten away with it, too, until something hard bounced off the back of his head. Lucien whipped around to find his wife standing there, wide-eyed and impossibly innocent despite the mallet held in her hand.

Arina burst out laughing, doubled over as Ayla pressed her fingertips to her lips.

“Did you throw something at me, wife?”

Elain only shook her head, the picture of chaste nobility. “I would never. Are you well?”

Lucien began to stalk toward her, so angry he could barely contain it. His rage must have shown because some of Elain’s mirth slipped and he saw her fear as she took a step backward.

“Brother!” Tanwen called, jogging toward Lucien before he could do anything rash. “Come inside with me, have a drink. You look like you need it.” It was a warning. Lucien exhaled as he nodded his head. Aware he was being watched by more than just Arina and Ayla, he looked at Elain and said, “You look pretty today.”

That was always an easy complement to give. Lucien couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time when Elain wasn’t pretty.

“You’re falling to pieces,” Tanwen muttered when they were out of earshot. “Too many outbursts and you’ll draw fathers attention.”

“Who asked you?” Lucien snapped.

“You know the consequences. You have a wife now, so you have a weakness. Elain doesn’t look as if she’s faced a hardship in her life. I can’t imagine how she’d fare in the dungeons paying for your fury. But no one asked me,” Tanwen replied, veering off to leave Lucien alone in the hall feeling guilty and angry and so, so empty all at once. Lucien went to one of the study’s in the palace—the one he and his older brothers typically occupied when they were trying to escape the noise of the place—and poured himself a drink. No one came to bother him, which was for the best.

Lucien threw the first glass back like a shot. The second and third, too.

The fourth burned as he pressed his back against the cool wood of the wall and sank to the floor, heart racing. Lucien finished his drink before abandoning the glass for the bottle itself. Eyes closed, all he saw was Jesminda telling him not to look for her ever again. That she was happy.

He wasn’t. She hadn’t asked, likely because she already knew what he’d say.

And she was right. Lucien buried his head in his knees, choking back the urge to sob himself hoarse. She was right. To chase after her was to condemn her entire family to death and his own mate. What kind of male was he?

A foolish one, with a foolish heart.

Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, though he did remember throwing up in a vase somewhere around his seventh or eighth drink. Barely conscious, he felt cool hands on his face and the smell of honey and jasmine.

“Not you,” he slurred as another rougher set of hands hauled him to his feet.

“Take him to the kennels,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eris’s ordered. “I’ll have him hosed down and he can sleep with the dogs since he wants to act like one.”

“Don’t—don’t do that. Bring him to me,” came that melodic voice that could only belong to his wife.

“It would please me far more to see him sleep with the animals.”

“Well, it wouldn’t please me. And if you displease me, I’m going to tell your wife to punish you.”

“I love when my wife punishes me—ow, did you hit me?!”

Lucien peeked open an eye as he was dragged, but the world spinned violently, prompting him to close them again. Elain and Eris spoke more, mostly teasing if Lucien judged the tone of their words right, but in truth he was pretty sure he fell back asleep as he walked.

“You’re heavy,” he heard Elain whisper, fingers undoing the buttons on his jacket deftly.

“And you’re forward,” he mumbled, turning so he could lay on his stomach. “I don’t need your help.”

Elain said nothing, though the scent of her was overpowering.

“Elain?”

A muffled squeak caused Lucien to look down, where he found Elain panting against his chest, shoving him off her. “Please,” she breathed, unaware of how that one little word could fuel a thousand filthy fantasies. Lucien rolled to his side as Elain scrambled off the bed entirely, shaking out her hands as she took a breath.

“Do you feel it?” he mumbled, grabbing a pillow to cuddle it against his chest. Maybe he’d feel better if she, too, knew about the bond.

“My cracked ribs?” she asked, rubbing the side of her body. “I think I’ll be feeling that for days.”

Lucien chucked. “You will if I have my way.”

“Big talk for a man that agreed never to touch me,” she replied without malice, sitting beside him on the bed. “Do you want to tell me what all this is about?”

“No.”

Elain sighed, murmured “fine,” and started to move away from the bed. Lucien reached for her, dragging her against him.

“I was in love, once,” he whispered into her hair, wondering if this was all a mistake. He was simply too drunk to care. “And she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elain replied, because of course she would be. She let him hold her against him, though she twisted on her side so she was facing him. “How did she die?”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “She’s alive. She no longer wishes to see me.”

“Oh,” Elain breathed. “I’m still sorry.”

“It’s for the best,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “It would never have worked between us.”

“Why not?”

Because I was holding out for a mating bond that was never coming.

“We’re just…two different people, I suppose.”

“Is it my fault?”

“No,” he said, because truthfully it wasn’t. “No, this has nothing to do with you. I’m just…” Angry at you, because there’s no one else to be angry with.

They lapsed into silence. Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, and when he woke, it was alone. Elain had been there—a pitcher of water sat on the nightstand beside a few slices of bread with jars of jam and jelly beside it. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting light against the shadows.

Lucien groaned.

“You’re an asshole,” he told himself, rolling onto his stomach so he could push himself up. He knew he was, knew he needed to try and treat Elain better.

But for the rest of the day, Lucien remained in bed.

Drowning in his self-loathing.

ELAIN:

“Hide me,” Elain whispered, grabbing Ayla by the shoulders and shoving her behind a pillar. Ayla squeaked, peering around Elain and Lucien strolled past a moment later, unaware they were hiding just out of view.

“Is the honeymoon over, then?” Ayla whispered once Lucien rounded the corner, unaware of the hiding women mere heartbeats away. Elain couldn’t face him, not after she’d been called to collect him by a nervous servant. She’d found him drunk, jacket half unbuttoned and droll sliding down his cheek pressed against the floor. She’d tried to rouse him, but Lucien was a solid mass of muscle and unmovable. Eris had done it for her, seething with silent fury.

Elain was simply nauseated. He’d gone to see his former love, who’d sent him away likely because it was dishonest and she was a lady of character. That didn’t make his rejection sting any less, even if she didn’t want him.

Everyone would know he’d been drunk over another woman and even if Eris and Arina squashed the ugliest of the rumors, they’d still circulate. He couldn’t go a full day without trying to embarrass her.

“We just…don’t get along well,” Elain admitted, smoothing out her skirts once she was certain Lucien was gone.

“No, I suppose not. I heard,” Ayla added, her face rich with sympathy. Elain swallowed the urge to scream. “I’m sorry. I think I might have killed my husband if he did that.”

“It’s tempting,” Elain admitted, allowing Ayla to walk her out of the palace and toward the apple orchard. Elain drank in the crisp air, catching a whiff of smoke in the air. Turning, she saw Tanwen in the distance, marked by the twin pair of axes he wore criss-crossed along his back. He was burning leaves—or something distinctly leaf shaped—causing curling tendrils of smoke to waft toward them. Ayla, too, had turned to look, those dark eyes narrowed just at the corners.

“Why does he dress like that?” Elain asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from herself. “Like he’s ready to march into battle.”

Ayla’s eyes never left Tanwen. “I don’t know. He’s never spoken to me.”

That seemed impossible. “Never?”

“The only Vanserra who won’t,” she said, finally turning back to look at Elain. Elain swore a wine colored flush crept up Ayla’s olive skin. “He rarely speaks to the ladies, though, so I take no offense.”

“He talks to me,” Elain said, wondering if he did so simply to irritate Lucien. Ayla glanced at Elain, an inch or so shorter than Elain’s already diminutive frame. If Ayla stood beside Tanwen, he would simply engulf her. It was had to picture what they might talk about, besides—Ayla was a purebred lady, with proper interests and from the little Elain had gathered, a keen mind. Tanwen, on the other hand, didn’t seem so inclined to play courtly games. Perhaps that was the point of the axes. Perhaps they served as a reminder that he solved his problem in a less elegant fashion.

“Well, you’ll have to introduce me then, won’t you?”

“What would you talk to him about?” Elain asked, not meaning to be unkind. She was merely curious why Ayla would care at all. If she was angling for a Vanserra, surely Connall suited her better? He was just as courtly as Eris but without the wife hanging from his arm.

More color overtook Ayla’s features and oh. “Perhaps nothing at all.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Elain said quickly, linking her arm through Ayla’s before she could race off in embarrassment, “if only so you can see how terribly dull he is.”

Ayla offered a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s…thank you.”

Ayla left Elain not long after, begging some excuse which left Elain walking through the neatly lined trees by herself. Kicking fallen apples with her boot, she tried to push everything from her mind and focus only on her surroundings. Think of the positives, she urged herself. Autumn was beautiful in its own, half-dead way. She was making friends, which was nice, and her husband’s family didn’t seem to hate her.

Even Lucien— “There you are,” he said, interrupting her as she tried to come up with something good about him. That was a fools errand, she supposed. The male standing before her looked like a prince, minus the dark bags under his eyes. Every inch of him was immaculate otherwise, which annoyed her. If only he was less handsome, she lamented. Of his brothers, he was easily the loveliest, which made hating him all the more difficult. He was appealing to look at.

In an obnoxious sort of way.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, taking a breath. It was clear he prepared a speech which wasn’t necessary. Elain had half forgotten—or, she wanted to anyway. No need for him to bring it all back up. “About last night—”

“This isn’t necessary,” Elain began, desperate to avoid this. She didn’t want to be confronted, once again, by the knowledge that he did not want her. It was bad enough they were together for an eternity, their marriage inked well before Elain had been old enough to have a say. To know he would always be drinking and thinking of another woman was far worse.

“It is necessary because my brothers inform me you are the spectacle of the morning's gossip. It wasn’t my intention,” Lucien told her, face paling ever so slightly. “I ah…I have a gift—”

“I don’t want your pity gifts, Lucien,” she snapped, rounding on him so quickly that he stumbled back a step. “What I want is for you to get yourself together. You aren’t the only one who wasn’t consulted when this marriage was arranged and yet you act like I somehow conspired to get you. As if you’re some kind of catch. I am doing my best to make a difficult circumstance tolerable while you…you throw all my work in my face. You may as well declare to all of court that you hate me and get it over with.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Lucien said, looking as if he meant it. Not that it meant much, because the damage had already been done. Still, his words stopped her in her tracks. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, an apology was at the bottom of the list.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” he replied with just a little edge to his voice. It was a warning not to push things too far, and if Elain hadn’t been so tired, she might have called his bluff. “I was an ass, okay?

I’m sorry. Now, can I give you my gift?”

“Fine. Show me this gift of yours,” Elain said, certain a little trinket couldn’t undo the gossip that would trail after her for weeks.

“This way,” Lucien mumbled, beckoning for her to follow. Elain stayed one pace behind, arms wrapped around the blue fabric of her dress. How long would he make her wear the necklace, she wondered? A few days? Just long enough for everyone to know he was appropriately apologetic?

“Here,” Lucien said, standing outside the edges of an iron gate covered in ivy. “No one has used this in…since I can remember.”

Elain cringed at the creaking hinges before pausing to see what Lucien had brought her to. It had been a garden, once, before decay took over. The once lovely path was made of crumbling, weed eaten stone and gnarled trees swayed in the breeze, ghosts of their once former beauty.

A little earthen pot held a bloom of yellow and red marigolds, peering up at Elain cheerfully.

“Your sisters told me you like to garden,” Lucien said, drawing a small box from somewhere on his person. “They said you do it by hand.”

Elain took the little box, bound in a pink ribbon, to find enchanted gloves. “To protect your hands,” Lucien said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with clear embarrassment. “I thought…” Elain hated the thoughtfulness he’d displayed. How a few days of knowing her, alongside scant pieces of information likely hurled at him between insults, had allowed him to put together the perfect gift. “Thank you,” she said, tucking the gloves into her pocket. Lucien stared for another moment, as though trying to come up with something to say.

“Well, I…should we head back, then?”

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back, taking the most conspicuous path so everyone would see his hand laid atop of hers resting in the crook of his elbow. The ladies nodded approvingly—including his own mother, who Elain suspected had put him up to the whole thing—while the males watched, their expressions guarded. Perhaps they understood how Lucien felt. Perhaps they simply cared less about these sort of things.

Elain knew, as she made her way back to their shared bedroom alone, that the news of his gift would drown out his humiliating behavior. He was clever—calculated. A Vanserra, she supposed. Elain stomped into their bedroom, opened the top drawer, and flung the gloves inside.

She’d take the cut up hands over absolving him. Let him see her cracked nails and the dirt caked in the pads of her fingers and let him see she wasn’t some delicate flower he could trample all over.

Nature was fierce, and so was Elain.

LUCIEN:

His wife would be the death of him.

“Elain!” Lucien shouted across the lawn, for all the good it did. He’d simply alerted her, Lady Ayla, and Arina of his presence, which sent the three of them hiking up their skirts and shrieking with laughter as they disappeared over another hill. Lucien was tempted to leave them to the brewing storm and let them come inside, bone chilled and soaked.

He had also sworn to his mother to be a better husband when she’d come looking for him and boxed him around the ears, declaring she’d raised him better. No one had that conversation with Elain, who was determined to punish him for the humiliation.

She cavorted with Tanwen, letting him teach her to throw axes at trees. She danced with Connall at private parties he wasn’t invited to, and let Eris explain the complicated politics of Autumn when she was bored. And when she wasn’t with her brothers, she ruled court as one of the more fashionable ladies all the others hoped to be like. They copied her hair styles, wore their dresses like her, styled themselves as she did.

And Elain paid him no mind at all unless absolutely forced to. She was in bed most evenings before Lucien, back turned to him and breathing steady. Elain was making a point—he’d humiliated her in service to another female, so she’d treat him the same way. And it irked him. He was trying, even if it was coerced but clearly no one was demanding she treat him well.

“Elain!” he yelled again, voice drowned out by the sound of rumbling thunder. She was still running, unconcerned with the danger. Only Ayla had begun to hang back, the only one of the three who’d grown up in Autumn. She knew how quickly a lightning storm could come and how dangerous they became.

Please turn around, he prayed softly, not wanting to get caught in the frigid rain. Behind him, Tanwen and Connall followed, arms crossed over their chests. No one wanted to go and get Eris—but they would, if they had to. Better Eris’s wrath than Berons, and he’d be irate if he learned Lucien couldn’t control his wife.

Ayla yelled something none of them could hear, hair whipping wildly around her face as she tried desperately to convince Arina and Elain to come back. Arina would never be used to the kind of storms they got here—Lucien heard when it rained in Day, the winds were so brutal they could take the roof off a building. And for Elain, the water was warm, nourishing.

Everything in Autumn was volatile. There were no new beginnings, no rebirths—it was all death and ruin, retribution for an unforgiving world. There was nothing Autumn liked more than to swallow something beautiful whole.

And Elain, Ayla, and Arina were exceptionally beautiful.

Lucien took a step toward Elain, thinking he’d haul her over his shoulders if he had to, reputation be damned. Maybe she’d learn to listen if he embarrassed her a little more. It wasn’t as if she was receptive to his gifts. When he’d seen her torn up hands, Lucien had thought perhaps the gloves hadn’t worked and gifted her a second, enchanted pair.

He’d found both tossed in the top drawer of their shared wardrobe, half buried under her things. Lucien had changed tacts after that, bringing her a pair of pearl earrings to join the gloves. She thanked him with a pretty smile and never wore them which grated on his nerves. How long did she mean to punish him, anyway.

Elain turned just as the skies opened up overhead. Lucien heard Connall swear loudly, stomping past him to demand the females return. Not that it mattered. Shrieking, all three began to run back toward the Forest House as Lucien watched, hair plastered to his face. Elain was quicker than he would have guessed, making her way toward him with eyes he couldn’t read.

Lightning streaked from the sky, illuminating the gray world a violet purple. It missed Elain by mere inches, though Ayla wasn’t as lucky. Elain and Arina screamed as the third female crumpled to the ground, causing them both to turn for her.

Panic flooded Lucien, his thoughts tinged red. They didn’t like each other—and she was still his mate. She was in danger. Instinct overrode all other thoughts as Lucien raced toward her, catching Elain just as she reached Ayla.

“She—”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled in her ear, pulling her against his body. Connall and Tanwen were just behind, hovering over Ayla with nervous hands. They weren’t healers—if they picked her up, would they hurt her?

Lightning streaked again, this time closer to Arina than anyone felt comfortable with. Eris was going to lose his temper when he learned of this. Connall yanked Arina by the arm as Tanwen slid his hands beneath Ayla and lifted her lifeless body into the hair. They moved quickly, battling the wind and rain for the warmth of the Forest House.

“This is my fault,” Elain said through chattering teeth as Tanwen stalked off, not bothering to look back. “I said—I told her to keep running even when she wanted to turn back.”

Lucien almost snapped at her, agreeing that yes, she’d been a pretty little fool. It was the tears, mingling with the rain water on her cheeks, that stopped him from saying so. Elain would punish herself without his help.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her by the elbow. “You’ll catch your death.”

In his mind, every time Lucien blinked he saw the scene unfold differently. Saw the lightning streak toward Elain while he stood too far away, helpless to get to her in time. His heart raced at the image.

“She’s dead—”

“She’s not dead,” Lucien interrupted, heart in his throat. “It struck the ground, not her. She’ll be okay.”

“She looked dead,” Elain lamented as Lucien all but shoved her in their shared room. “She looked—”

“She’s in shock,” Lucien said, unsure if that was true or not. “Tanwen will take her to a healer, she’ll be fine.”

“This wasn’t how they were supposed to meet,” she mumbled, lips blue from the cold. Lucien all but dragged her into their bedroom, throwing flames at the fireplace to bring it roaring to life. Would she let him undress her? Did he even want to undress her? Lucien thought better than to try his luck and instead turned his back, making a show of offering her privacy. Lucien’s fingers itched with the urge, body taut with interest as the rustling sounds of wet clothes slapped to the floor. He could smell her stronger—she reeked of fear, the scent so cloying it helped clear his senses.

Lucien didn’t move, even when he caught a glimpse of fair skin from the corner of his eye. Look at her, just look—and touch and taste and—

The mating bond would be the death of him. If he didn’t get control of himself, she’d smell his desire which would only make things worse between them. Forcing air into his lungs, Lucien counted slowly as Elain dressed, turning only when she gave the word. Her hair was still limp, the ends dripping as she stood in front of the fire, but she was clothed again and Lucien could relax.

“What did you say?” he asked, some of the fog clearing from his mind. He’d forgotten she’d spoken to him.

“I promised Ayla I would introduce her to your brother,” Elain said, chewing her bottom lip with worry. “I meant to do so at a dance, not…”

“Tanwen doesn’t dance,” Lucien said, bewildered. Ayla had been marked for Eris back when she’d first come of age and likely would have been married to him by now had Eris not accidentally met Arina and messed everything up. Tanwen could not have been more different from Eris. He’d gotten the same education, but Tanwen liked blood covered blades and showing his teeth, not fine clothes and sharp words.

Elain was simply mistaken, he decided. She didn’t know these people the way he did, had misinterpreted and was going to create an embarrassing—yet hilarious—moment between his older brother and a lady at court.

“Here,” Lucien said, pulling the blanket from the bed and draping it around Elain’s still trembling shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

Elain said nothing, though she wrapped the corners around her neck as she stared into the fire. “I’m trying,” she murmured after a moment while Lucien hesitated, unsure if he should stay or go.

He sighed. “I know you are.”

He wanted to say that he was trying, too, in his own way. Even if it was bad, or didn’t seem like he was at all.

Lucien was trying.

#elucien #you asked for a vanserra brother romance so this is me trying

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spawksstuff · 1 month

Text

National Association of Broadcasters' Hall of Fame - Part 3/3

William, Leonard, Bill were invited to say a few words. De's speech is at the bottom. But first-

Backstory: In the article posted in Part 1, it mentions how a man rushed the same stage where Ronald Reagan was giving a speech the day before, smashing his award, glass flying everywhere, before getting tackled by the Secret Service (video is online).

William gets up to the podium and says, "Leonard, if somebody comes to grab this and smash it, pinch 'em."

During Leonard's speech, he read the very first Variety review Star Trek got. If you haven't heard it, this is the funniest version of it, along with the actual review. If you haven't seen it, go watch/read it, and then come back:

https://www.tumblr.com/spawksstuff/730307018235281408/variety-review-of-star-trek-september-14-1966-the?source=share

Leonard reads "William Shatner appears wooden."

Then reads "The same goes for Leonard Nimoy, co-stared as Mr. Spock, so-called chief science officer whos bizarre hairdo is a dilly. And DeForest Kelly as chief medico is the same." As soon as he said "DeForest Kelley", De did this:

De's speech. (FYI Brandon Tartikoff is the one that introduced them for their awards and is standing behind De on the left). The transcript is below.

Thank you. There's something very weird about this. We have a new godfather at Paramount now, Mr. Tartikoff. We lost Mancuso so Tartikoff is here to take over our family. Since he's been here we have been celebrated in some very strange ways. I received a Star on Hollywood Boulevard. Then we were immortalized in cement on December the Fifth at Mann's Chinese Theater. Next time I saw Mr. Tartikoff was in Washington, D.C. where we were installed in the National Space Museum where they have a bunch of artifacts for OLD museum pieces. I shudder to think where he's taking us next. I want to express my deepest and heartfelt feelings for you bestowing this honor upon us today. We are, indeed, grateful. But I cannot leave here without quoting a poem, a little short poem that I read, in lieu of some of those smart-ass remarks that Don Rickles made. I wrote a poem sometime ago, and in the body of it, there were a few lines about the critics. You see, what we've done in the motion pictures, we've made a few bucks for Paramount. They haven't done badly. But it seems to be its the critics of someone who can't stand the fact that we're growing older. So I wrote a little thing that said they have critiqued our bellies, our wrinkles, our hair, we just keep going, we don't care. It seems to me that they've never been told that all of us are growing old. Thank you very much.

#deforest kelley #star trek #National Association of Broadcasters' Hall of Fame #1992 #here's the day we hear De say smart-ass #smart ass!#course he said ass in the 96 princess story #but never thought I'd hear it another time #william shatner #leonard nimoy #SMART ASS

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

IT'S SPOOOPY HALLOWEENIE!

Dum-Dum.* Kit Kat. Eddie.

*"I don't know what that is" - in an Australian accent.

Idiots in love/Artist!Reader/Eddie Munson

Warnings: drug use (weed), reader can be read as gender neutral, mention of Billy Hargrove, sitting on Eddie's lap

WC: 778

Divider credit to @saradika (also, Dum-Dums are a brand of lollipop)

Knock knock.

The sound of someone at the door startles you, drawing your attention from your unfinished sketch and to the curly-haired boy clutching a piece of paper in his ringed hand.

“Sorry, uh,” Eddie says with a nervous laugh, “didn’t mean to scare you.” When you don’t reply, he looks around the otherwise-empty classroom. “Is now a bad time, or…?”

You gather your thoughts, heart pounding a mile a minute at the sudden interruption. “N-No, you’re fine,” you stammer. God, he’s so cute. Cheeks tinged red with bashfulness, free hand shoved into his back pocket, frizzy curls brushing against his denim-clad shoulders. “Something I can help you with?” you ask when he remains standing in place.

“Oh! Um, yeah.” He shuffles over to you, as though reminding himself to put one foot in front of the other. “You draw, right? Like, sketches and stuff?” He winces at his stilted attempt at an opening, especially given the fact that your sketchbook is open right in front of you.

“Mhm.”

“Cool.” Eddie nods. “Could I ask you to draw this? It’s for my uncle’s birthday next month.” He hands you the photo, and your heart instantly melts. It’s a picture of him and who you assume is his uncle, and Eddie can’t be much older than ten years old. He’s wearing a blue shirt with an S in a diamond hastily drawn on the front. A faded red towel is tied around his neck in a makeshift cape. The older man stands behind him, half a KitKat bar hanging from his lips like a cigarette. “It was my first Halloween with him.” The first time I ever celebrated Halloween, actually, he thinks, but keeps that information to himself.

You carefully study the photo, careful not to leave fingerprints on it, even though there’s already a smudge in the corner. “I, uh, I don’t know what those stains are,” Eddie mumbles. “I can’t offer a lot of money, but if you smoke…” he mimics taking a pull from a joint, “I can hook you up for free.”

“You sure?” You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t want you getting in trouble or anything.”

Eddie dismisses the notion with a wave. “What’s he gonna do, call the cops?”

“Fair enough,” you agree with a smile.

You hadn’t realized that when Eddie had offered to smoke you up for free, he’d meant smoking with him. Over the next few weeks, any free time that wasn’t spent drawing the photo of him and his uncle–whose name was Wayne, you’d learned–you spent with him in a haze of marijuana. Sharing giggles, splitting family bags of potato chips when the munchies inevitably hit, snuggling up on his couch and sleepily watching sitcom reruns consumed your afternoons. To an outsider’s perspective, it looked like you two were together. Truthfully, you had no idea what you and Eddie’s status was.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you sit up suddenly, shifting under the blanket and reaching for your backpack. “I finished this last night.”

Eddie’s bloodshot eyes go wide, and you swear that their glassiness is fueled by more than just pot. “This is…wow,” he breathes out, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is even better than I imagined.” He doesn’t know the technical terms for what you’ve done, but you’ve perfectly captured their enthused expressions, the joy in their eyes evident even just through pencil shading. “You’re amazing.”

And maybe it’s the compliment, or the high, or the way he’s been nestled into you for the last forty minutes, but you tilt his head towards yours and kiss him. Your mouths collide clumsily, and he seems shocked at first, but he quickly eases himself into it to deepen it. One hand cups your cheek while the other pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his lithe waist.

“Wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmurs into you, not wanting to fully break the kiss. “Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were so goddamn pretty.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since you jumped on the cafeteria table and called Billy Hargrove out for leading all those poor girls on,” you admit with a laugh. “He turned bright red.”

Eddie inhales, shrugging his shoulders haphazardly. “Earned myself a pretty little black eye for that.” His nose nudges yours as he leans in to kiss you again. “But it was totally worth it if it meant you noticed me.”

You pull back slightly, taking in his beautiful brown eyes, the tiny patch of stubble where he’d missed shaving, the flyaway hairs on his temple. “Can I keep noticing you?”

“I’d be sad if you stopped.”

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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writingquestionsanswered · 9 months

Note

Hey! I was just wondering if you have any ideas of how I can display the fact that a character has aged (not necessarily from adult to elder but just in general) without describing appearance. I’ve tried searching it up but they never really want into detail or they simply advised on changing the character slightly as in giving them old fashioned hobbies. I’m sorry if this has already been answered or does not simply have a direct way and must be decided by the author. Again I am very sorry if this has already been asked I really don’t mind if you either direct me to the answer or copy and paste it if so :)

Showing a Character Has Aged

When it comes to illustrating that someone has aged, you basically have four choices: describe physical characteristics that illustrate age, describe physical activities that illustrate age, indicate the passage of time, flat-out state that the character has aged.

The problem is that aging isn't a wildly specific thing. People don't take on certain physical characteristics, appearance, or activities at exactly the same age. While there are certainly some activities and behaviors that are broadly specific to age categories, age is not accurately defined by behavior, thought process, personality, etc.

If I say, "The last time I'd seen my nephew he was barely crawling, and now he was not just walking, but climbing on everything..." that's a pretty good indicator that this child has aged. But how much? Because babies don't all learn to crawl at the exact same age, or learn to walk at the exact same age for that matter. Some babies skip crawling and go straight to walking. Other babies seem like they'll never go from crawling to walking and suddenly do. This child could be two weeks older than last time or two years older. It isn't clear at all.

Complicating things is the fact that physical appearance is also not a good indicator of age. I mean... as I've pointed out in the past, Paul. Rudd:

Carrol O'Connor (on the left) is the same age in that photo as Paul Rudd is in the photo on the right (both are early 50s here). And while things like hairstyle and fashion do have an impact on how we view someone's age, some people just get wrinkles/gray hair/gain weight/lose muscle tone sooner or later than others.

And, the advice to "give them old-fashioned hobbies" is terrible. "Old-fashioned hobbies"? What, like candle-making and churning butter? What does that even mean? Maybe these people view hobbies like knitting, stamp collecting, and wood-working as "old-fashioned," but I guarantee those are hobbies that are broadly enjoyed by young people to this day.

If I write, "She sat on the couch lovingly knitting a sweater," that tells me nothing about her actual age because:

And, again, the woman on the left could be sixteen or thirty-five, and the woman on the right could be sixty-two or eighty-six.

So, outside of flat out stating that a character has aged, your best bet is to use a combination of these methods to get the point across...

"It had been over ten years since I last saw Mr. Smith. At the time, he'd recently returned from hiking in the Alps. Now he was hunched over a walker, his formerly salt-and-pepper hair now stark white. The deep grooves that had once made his face look handsome and worldly now made him look wizened and tired."

Between stating the amount of time that has passed (over ten years), physical activities (hunched over a walker vs hiking in the alps), and physical appearance (white hair and tired wrinkles vs salt-and-pepper hair and handsome lines), it is very clear that Mr. Smith has aged quite a bit in the decade since the POV character last saw them.

I hope that helps!

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newtthetranswriter · 1 year

Note

Hello! Can you do Crowley from good omens with an S/O who tends to get distracted really easily, like Crowley will be talking then he'll look beside himself to see you walked of to see something in a window of a shop type of thing.

Paring: Crowley x reader

Word count: 853

A/n: Sorry this took so long I had a very small bout of writer's block but finally worked past it. I hope you enjoy this. Also with Doctor Who being confirmed to exist in the Good Omens world, I believe that people would tell Crowley he looks like Ten and he would deny it saying he is ten times more handsome than him. Any way enjoy requests are still open, and MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DON”T INTERACT.

Today is a day for relaxing, which means forcing my demon of a boyfriend out shopping with me. Okay actually it’s not so much forcing, more like bribing him with a new house plant. You see, Crowley stopped wanting to join me at the mall because I get distracted easily and he always ends up losing me in the crowd, so to make it up to him I promise him a new house plant if he joins me.

After successfully bribing him, we are now walking through the mall. We have spent the last two hours looking at different stores trying to take our time and enjoying our time together. At this moment Crowley was explaining to me that Aziraphale had done something he deemed as stupid, and was trying to get me to agree with him.

“You don’t understand Love, he thinks everyone takes the time out of their days to iron their pants. Like why would you take the time to do that, they’re just going to get wrinkly from wearing them.” He said, adamant that it was weird to press the wrinkles out of one's clothing. But sadly for him I had in fact become distracted by a shirt in the window of Hot Topic.

I had walked away completely, forgetting I was out with my boyfriend. It seemed that Hot Topic was having a throwback sale and one of the big items was a Doctor Who shirt featuring the Tenth Doctor. I couldn’t help but go in to get the shirt, Doctor Who is one of my favorite shows and I couldn’t help but realize that my favorite demon and the Tenth Doctor locked fairly similar.

P.O.V change to Crowley

“Not to mention he also spends an unfathomable amount of time dusting his books, why would you do that, it’s just a bunch of dead trees.” Crowley turned his head to get his partner’s response, only to realize they weren't by him. “Oh you have got to be kidding me.” He said gritting his teeth in annoyance.

He had no clue how long they had been missing and so resigned himself to back track looking for the easily distracted person. “Where the fuck did they run off too?” The demon mumbled to himself, irritated that he once again lost track of his partner.

After looking around for a good ten minutes or so he remembered that Y/n loves to shop at Hot Topic and they likely got distracted by something at the edgy nerd store, and so he made his way to the store. As he walked in he spotted the source of his irritation and walked up behind them as they looked at a wall of funko pops. “Where have you been?” He asked, swinging his arm around their shoulder.

P.o.V back to Y/n

I jumped feeling someone rest their arm on my shoulder but relaxed as I recognised the voice of my favorite demon. “Oh sorry Crowley, I just saw this shirt and had to get it, then they said there was a deal on funkos and now I can’t pick which ones to get.” I apologized for disappearing and showed him the shirt I picked out.

He just rolled his eyes at me and looked at the shirt. “I have told you before I don’t look like him. Why do you insist that I do?” Crowley said, already knowing one of the reasons I picked out the shirt.

“Yes you do, even Aziraphale thinks so. But that’s not the only reason I’m getting it. I love Doctor Who and finding merch for the older seasons can be difficult if you don’t want to shop on amazon.” I explained to him. I looked down at the couple of things in my hands before I remembered the other shirts I had picked out. “Oh and I also got us matching Queen shirts, I figured since we listen to them all the time you enjoy them, so I thought you would like it.” I told him, showing him the matching shirts.

“Aziraphale only agrees because he knows I don’t. And thank you, Love, for thinking of me.” He thanked me for the shirt. Now I know he probably won’t be caught dead wearing it out of the house but It’s nice that he isn’t fighting it. “Now let’s pick out the Funko’s and get going, the angel invited us out to dinner.” He said, placing a kiss on the top of my head.

I smiled at him and finally settled on three Funko’s from Jujutsu Kaisen and headed to the counter. “Ok, but before we go meet with Zira, we have to go to a garden center and get you the plant I promised.” I said as we walked out of the store, with Crowley now holding me to his side so I can’t run off again.

He just laughed and we kept walking out the mall towards the Bently, marking the end of our ‘relaxing’ day. It was always nice to spend time together even if I tend to get sidetracked.

#good omens x reader #crowley x reader #anthony j crowley #good omens #good omens 2

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so-long-soldier-writes · 5 months

Text

Dating in Your 20s

kai parker x reader

summary: it's been a while since you've been on a date, but after months of swiping right, you finally think you've found the one. or, so you thought.

tags: college au (ish), online dating, the scull bar, alcohol, use of date rape drugs / roofies, protective!kai, slightly less sociopathic!kai

word count: 2.2k

a/n: so i've been overly critical of my work lately, and haven't posted a few things i've written because i haven't thought they were good enough. but then i realized that no matter how dumb or cheesy they might be, someone might still enjoy them, so i'm going to post them anyway, especially while i get back into the swing of things. so these next few posts might not be my favorites, but i hope they still make some of you smile <3

It feels like forever since you’ve last been on a date. Ever since the tumultuous relationship with your ex, you’ve been afraid to re-enter the dating pool. It isn’t easy to find people you match with; either your hobbies align, but they’re too cocky, or the conversation’s okay, but you share nothing in common. You’ve been scouring the popular apps for months after realizing you’re ready to try again, but it hasn’t been easy.

That is, until you finally find the perfect match for you.

Two nights ago, you started talking. He’s just your type, and a great conversationalist. There’s a picture with him and his dog in his bio - a plus, and he’s void of any pictures of him holding fish - a bigger plus. The only downside is that his name starts with, “J”, but that’s the only red flag you see.

So, when he asks you on a date after a well-recovered cheesy pick-up line, you agree.

The Scull Bar. Seven o’clock.

To your own surprise, you find yourself excited.

~~~

Conversation flows in person as well as it did on the app. He has a cute smile, and gentle wrinkles on the sides of his eyes that only appear when he laughs. He’s about a year older than you, but once you hit your twenties, that doesn’t matter too much. You talk for about an hour, sharing some details about your personal lives. School life, work life, any hobbies not previously mentioned, and some about family and friends. He mentions a crazy ex-girlfriend, which is where you reply, “same, but with my ex-boyfriend.” And while that topic made you a little uneasy, you’re still enjoying yourself, so you try not to linger on it.

As the time on your phone nears nine o’clock, you both agree to get a drink before you part ways. It is a Friday, after all, and the town is small enough that the bar is somewhat a walking distance to your dorm. Of course, you won’t tell him where you live on the first date, but you assure him you won’t be drinking and driving.

With a laugh, he nods, then you both order a round.

“I’m going to hit the bathroom real quick,” you say, needing to pee after all the water you anxiously drank before you left your house.

“Alright, no worries.”

On the opposite side of the bar, a curious eye watches the interaction. In fact, he’s been watching you the whole time, suspicious of your date. Kai thought it was weird for the man to sit at the bar, rather than an actual table. You seemed to shrug it off quickly, but the young witch has kept his sights on you just in case.

For years, Kai has learned to read people through their body language. He can smell out bad intentions from a mile away, and even though he’s never seen this man in his life, he gets them from him. Kai doesn’t know you well, either, but has seen you in the background of vampire collateral. You live in Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie’s dorm building, and every time you accidentally walk into something you shouldn’t see, Stefan or Damon have to compel it from your mind. Kai admits he feels a bit bad for all the students at Whitmore who’ve had their minds wiped a thousand times because the stupid Salvatores are always running a muck around their school.

Of course, he doesn’t usually care too much about anyone, but there’s something he likes about you. Somehow, you’ve managed to be at the scene of every crime. And while you don’t remember it, the two of you have made eye contact each time it’s happened. Then, after you’re compelled to forget, you give him the cutest quizzical look that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Kai doesn’t know enough about you to know you’d be on a date tonight, but he’s listened and observed enough to know this is your first one with this guy. And shit, as much as he doesn’t want to care, he can’t help but feel a strange protectiveness over you.

So, he’s been watching. And listening. And through your words and body, he’s learned a lot about you. But, he’s also learned a lot about your date. As you go to the bathroom for a moment, he learns a little bit more.

The man occupies himself with his phone while awaiting your return. He laughs and scrolls, laughs and scrolls, then double taps to like something, and all the while, Kai cringes. Not one minute have you been gone, and he already needs his phone to entertain him. The witch rolls his eyes and sips his own drink. As he does, the bartender slides yours and his to your date, who then thanks him with a passing glance. Kai watches him put his phone down. His hand retreats to his pocket, and his eyes search for the bathroom door. His leg bounces with slight nervousness as he discreetly pulls something out and drops it in your drink. Kai pulls his mouth off his straw, suspicious. Your date brushes off his hands and picks his phone back up. His leg continues to bounce.

In an instant, Kai slides into the seat beside him. It’s a silent and ominous trick he loves; he’d used it on Damon and Bonnie a thousand times in the prison world.

“Hey,” he taps the man once on the shoulder.

Your date spins around and jumps, hand to his heart. “Fuck! Dude, you scared me. What the hell?”

“What are you doing over here?”

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’ I’m on a date, fuck off.”

“Yeah, but you’re-”

“Hey, sorry,” you return, “there was a bit of a line.”

“That’s fine. This jackass here-”

“Who is this?” You accidentally interrupt, spotting Kai. He was strangely familiar, yet not at all recognizable, as if you’d seen him in a dream.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. This jackass just slid over here and prodded me. Go away, dude.”

Kai nods to you. “Can’t do that. Hey, you said you’re on a date? That’s fun. Is it your first?”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Just curious.” He jabs his thumb to his old seat. An abandoned blue cocktail sits, half drunk, on the bar. “I was just sitting over there just a minute ago and happened to see your date, out of the corner of my eye, fumbling with some pill or powder type of thing. Curious thing is that he put one in your drink, but not his own.”

“What?”

“You’re full of shit,” your date grumbles, turning red, “you’re making that up.”

“Why would I make that up? I saw something, and reported it. Isn’t that the new slogan, ‘see something, say something’?”

“Did you put something in my drink while I was gone?”

“Of course not! Why would you think that? Believe this stranger over me?! Thought this date was going well, now you’re accusing me of roofies?”

“I’m not accusing, I’m just asking! Why would he say that if he didn’t suspect-?”

“God, you are turning out to be just like my ex!”

“Hey, excuse me!? It’s just a question, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The man sighs dramatically. His mood changes on a dime. “I’m not upset, I’m just… hurt that you’d suggest that. I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I would never hurt you.”

You blink, confused by the sudden sulkiness. “Wha-?”

“Here’s this, alright?” Kai starts. “My sister’s a bartender here, so I know they have those little strips that you can put in drinks to test if they’ve been drugged. They’re behind the counter.” Kai reaches over the bar without asking, and pulls a box of them from god-knows-where.

“How do we know you didn’t drug it?” Your date asks Kai.

“I was over there. And why would I do that? I’m not the one on a date with the pretty girl.”

“But you sure seem to know your way around the bar.”

“Are you suggesting the bartenders spike the drinks?”

“I-”

“Right. Purple means spiked. Blue means it’s clear.” He carelessly drops a stick in and lets it float around the surface. The three of you watch curiously, but interest turns to horror as it fades into purple in a matter of seconds. “Hm.”

Suddenly, your ex fishes the paper out and flicks it onto a napkin. “This is stupid! You set me up!”

“I’m still failing to see the point where I would do that on purpose.”

“Shut the hell up, jackass. Maybe you’re just a sociopath that likes to ruin dates for fun, because you have some stupid vendetta against people that are happy.”

“Actually, I’m just looking out for her,” he looks at you, “I’ve seen my fair share of men spiking drinks around here. It’s rather pathetic, actually, that you guys are so lame that you have to hurt girls to get any attention.”

“Fuck you, man. I could have you arrested for accusing me of this bullshit.”

“On the contrary, I could have you arrested.”

He scoffs, turning to you. “You don’t believe this guy, do you?”

You bite your lip. “I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t want to.”

“You don’t. Because it’s completely ridiculous!”

“J-”

“Oh! A ‘J’ name! That should’ve been your first red flag, princess.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Fuck you. You know, I’m out. This is bullshit. Screw you both.” With that, he grabs his jacket and leaves.

You stare straight ahead, still processing what happened. After a moment, you slouch down in your chair and plant your face into the bar counter. “What the hell.”

“Sorry I ruined your date.”

You glance up at the stranger. “Did he really spike it? You saw it?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten involved if he didn’t. I’ve seen it too many times around here. A lot of the time, bartenders catch it, but they’re pretty busy today.”

“Well… thank you for noticing.” You shake your head. “Just when I was feeling comfortable enough to start dating again, someone has to go and be weird.”

Kai chuckles. “Let me buy you a drink for your troubles. Promise I won’t spike it.”

You hesitate, tempted, but a little embarrassed by the whole situation. Part of you just wants to go home and bury yourself under blankets for the rest of the night, but another part of you wants to repay the guy for his kindness. You eye him as the two plans battle in your mind, but ultimately, you sigh and nod an approval. He obviously feels bad for how your night ended and wants to help. The cute dimples are a plus.

“Same drink?”

“Nah, it’s ruined for me now. Maybe that blue thing you’re drinking over there.”

“Coming right up.”

“So I never got your name…” you ask, curious.

“Kai. You?”

“Y/N.”

“Ah, nice. Suits you.”

“Thank you. You said you have a sister who works here?”

“Yeah, the curly-haired blonde over there. To be honest, we don’t get along too well, but we have a deal. I can hang around as long as I help her and her staff stay on top of mother-disappointing college boys and their date rape drugs.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately, this bar is full of them.”

“Well on behalf of girls everywhere, thank you.”

He half smiles. “To be honest, I had a rocky start to life. Did some bad things that landed me nowhere good; that’s why my sister and I aren’t on the best of terms. But I’m trying to be better now, and this, I think, is one good step in that direction.”

“I can get down with that. Admitting your wrongs and wanting to do better. Doubt even half the guys in here would admit their missteps.”

Your drinks arrive - Kai got a second of the one he hadn’t finished - and you both take a sip before nodding.

“Good?”

“Much needed. Thank you, again.”

“Of course. And hey, if you ever need me again, I’m usually here.”

“To be honest, I hope I don’t.” You chuckle playfully. “But, maybe I can see you anyway?” Kai’s surprised expression rattles your confidence. You stutter out the next few words, “not like, on a date or anything. Unless you’d want to. But I’m totally just cool hanging out. It’s just… it’s not everyday a cute guy saves you from a date gone-wrong. Gotta at least ask.”

The man smiles, pulling out his phone. He hands it to you to add your number. “I’d love to, whether on a date or just hanging out.”

“Really?”

“‘Course. Next Friday?”

“Works for me.”

“I have to warn you, though, I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

“Oh before this, I haven’t either.”

“Good. I feel better already.”

You giggle, smacking his arm playfully.

The two of you stay there as you finish your drinks. Around eleven, you wrap up to go home. Kai offers to drive you, but you promise you have a short walk and a small knife in your back pocket, and he nods.

“So, see you Friday?”

He winks. “It’s a date.”

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #tw: roofies

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hirikka · 1 year

Text

I know you know I know too

For @steddie-week Day 6: Misunderstandings

Mike believes that Nancy and Eddie are dating and tries to give Eddie a shovel talk. It does not go as planned.

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Inspired by this post

"Can we talk?" Mike asks as soon as the door swings open.

Eddie blinks at him, glancing over his shoulder as if he's looking for someone else. "Uh, sure? You can come in."

Mike follows Eddie into the apartment, wrinkling his nose at the smell of weed. He's getting really sick of smelling it on all the older teens all the time (maybe if they'd let The Party try some, but they won't, so it's just annoying). Eddie opens a window to air the room out a little bit and then flops onto the couch, all loose-limbed and relaxed. Maybe the weed will actually help in this case; if Eddie’s chilled out enough, he might not get all intense and mad at Mike.

"Are you gonna sit?" Eddie asks.

"No," Mike tells him. He needs to keep whatever advantages he can in this situation because Eddie is older and also could very easily make his life extremely miserable if this goes badly. Honestly, Mike isn’t super sure he wouldn’t be miserable if it goes well either, but that’s a different issue.

"Okay," Eddie says, drawing the word out. "So what's up?"

"I know what you've been doing," Mike tells him.

Eddie stares at him. When Mike doesn’t elaborate, he tilts his head and asks, "What have I been doing?"

"All the dates and stuff. You aren't as subtle as you think."

Eddie sits up a little straighter, frowning. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," Mike says. "And I want you to know that if you mess this up, I will get revenge."

Eddie snorts. "You'll get revenge?"

"I've buried a body before," Mike tells him, trying to channel all the intensity and menace that he can into his tone. It's been a long time since he was a DM, but he thinks he's doing a pretty good job. "And I'm not afraid to do it again."

"Sorry, you've buried a body before? Like, for real?" Eddie looks genuinely shocked, and huh, maybe he never got the full story of what the Cali Crew was up to during spring break.

"Yes, for real!" Mike says. "And like, Hopper would definitely be on my side. So."

Eddie bobs his head in a nod, but he doesn't actually look all that impressed.

"And my girlfriend has super powers."

"I am aware," Eddie says.

"I'm so serious about this," Mike insists, because he feels like Eddie isn’t getting it. "This isn't just some kind of dramatic shovel talk; I'm not just saying shit for fun."

"No, no, I believe you," Eddie tells him, tone serious. “I hear you loud and clear; if I mess this up I’m dead for real, got it. Message received.” Mike has just an instant to feel victorious before Eddie continues, "I just didn't realize you cared about Steve that much."

Mike freezes. "What."

"Steve?" Eddie says, frowning a little in confusion. "I sort of thought you didn't like him that much."

"I'm not talking about Steve. Why would I be talking about Steve?"

"Then who are you threatening me about?"

"Nancy, obviously!" Mike waves a hand, feeling a little desperate. He has a sinking feeling that maybe he's actually wrong, but he’s in too deep to give up now. "You've been spending so much time together, and she’s seemed way happier recently. You must be— Are you not dating?"

"Dating Nancy? No, I am not," Eddie says. "I've been hanging out with her because we're friends, and also for double da—" He stops talking, eyes going wide. "Just because we're friends."

"Double dates?" Mike repeats. He needs to focus on that detail; if he thinks too much about the fact that Eddie thought he was talking about Steve, he's going to have to address what that (probably) means. "If Nancy’s not dating you, who is she dating?"

"Uh, nobody?" Eddie tries. Mike raises an eyebrow and waits. Eddie grimaces, obviously realizing how unconvincing that sounded. "You should ask her about it. Seriously, I can't tell you that."

Ugh. Great. Eddie's going to be stubborn about this. Now that he's on guard, he's probably not going to say anything else accidentally incriminating, even if he is still high enough to have less of a filter than usual. Instead of arguing, Mike changes course. He doesn’t really want an answer to this question, but leaving it a mystery would be worse: "Why did you think I was talking about Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Eddie!"

Eddie sighs. "Jesus, kid, we were waiting for the right time to tell you little twerps."

"You and Steve?" Mike feels like this is maybe actually worse. He hadn't loved the idea of Eddie and Nancy together for a bunch of reasons (including—especially—the fact that Nancy is his sister, and also they don't make any sense together), but Eddie and Steve? "Steve Harrington?"

"Is that a problem, Wheeler?" Eddie gives him one of those intense looks, and Mike is abruptly thrown back to the beginning of freshman year when Eddie was as terrifying as he was compelling.

"He's so lame," Mike whines, because even if he's still a little scared of Eddie, he can't put aside the dismay that Eddie is dating Steve. "And he's a jock! You hate jocks."

Eddie blinks at him for a long moment, and Mike fidgets, wishing this whole thing had maybe never happened. Then Eddie drops back into the couch with a sigh. "Jesus H. Christ, I thought you were being homophobic."

"What, no!" Mike denies immediately, and it's true; he's fine with gay people just. Steve? "I'm not homophobic. I just can't believe you of all people would fall for Steve Harrington."

Eddie laughs. "Trust me, it surprised me too."

Mike sighs. "I'm sorry I freaked you out."

"Nah, it's fine. I expect you to be an asshole sometimes, so that's nothing new." Eddie offers a genuine smile to soften the blow.

"Yeah, well at least I have good taste in guys," Mike says without actually thinking about what he's saying. "Wait—no—that's not—"

"Oh my god," Eddie breathes. "This is the best conversation."

"Shut up!"

"Thank you for telling me," Eddie tells him, tone solemn. "I'm glad you felt you could trust me with this."

"I hate you, actually," Mike decides. "No wonder you and Steve are dating; you both suck."

Eddie cackles, and Mike wishes fervently for the ability to turn back time.

"This is actually the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Mike announces. "And I've dealt with the Upside Down four times."

Eddie manages to get his laughter under control. "Oh, you think this is bad?" He leans in, grinning menacingly. "Just wait until I tell Steve you threatened me to defend his honor."

"Oh god," Mike breathes. "Please don't do that, he'll never let me live it down."

"I don't know, I think he deserves to know how much you care."

"I wasn't talking about him, though. I thought you were dating Nancy!" He knows protesting is probably useless at this point, but he's got to at least try. "It's actually fine if you want to mess up your relationship with Steve."

"I don't think you mean that, though, do you?"

Mike sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm sorry for threatening you, but please don't make me admit to liking Steve."

"Fine, I suppose I can be merciful," Eddie says magnanimously. "I mean, he may have heard the entire thing, since he's in the next room, but..."

"He's here?" Mike hisses.

"Oh yeah," Eddie grins. "You interrupted date night." He wiggles his eyebrows, and Mike wants to die.

"Wow, would you look at the time?" Mike glances around the room, which is completely bare of any clocks. "It's time for me to go!"

"Hey, Wheeler," Eddie says, and he sounds serious again. "Can you please keep your mouth shut about this?"

Mike narrows his eyes. He’s not going to just go along with whatever Eddie wants after all of this, and this might be his only chance to regain the upper hand in this conversation. "Why?"

"Because we want to let everyone know ourselves? We'll do it soon, so you won't have to keep it a secret for a long time or whatever, but it's important to us to get to tell people, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't actually want to think about it anyway."

"Thank you."

"Sure." Mike starts to leave and then stops, turning back to face Eddie again. "And I'm, like, glad you're happy or whatever."

"Wow, that's so touching," Eddie drawls. "Thank you, though." He smiles, and Mike nods, rushing to the door—because yeah, he doesn't actually hate Steve; he can admit to himself he kind of, maybe, likes Steve (Mike will never, ever say it out loud, but Steve is pretty handsome, and he’s actually reliable in a crisis, unlike Nancy and Jonathan, who tend to disappear when shit starts going down), but if he has to actually see him right now, after all of that, he might die.

So he leaves, heading out into the cool night air and feeling much lighter than he had on his way to Eddie's house. His shovel talk may not have gone the way he expected, but that's okay, and anyway, he has a sister to pester about her new girlfriend.

Now that he's over his initial shock, he can put two and two together; he’d assumed that Dustin had finally gotten his wish for Robin and Steve to start dating, but if Steve is dating Eddie, then that means the other half of those double dates is Nancy and Robin.

He actually thinks that Robin Buckley is a pretty good match for Nancy. They make sense together, in a weird way, sort of balance each other out, and he's heard about how well they worked together during Vecna.

That doesn't mean he's not going to bug Nance for keeping it a secret. Especially since it made him embarrass himself in front of Eddie.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mike wheeler #outsider pov #pov mike wheeler #mike's terrible very bad no good day #stranger things #stranger things fic #steddieweek2023 #minor ronance #just mentioned so I'm not tagging it for real

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