#oddity barks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

galacticgraffiti · 7 months

Text

✿⋅ Oh, to be Alone with You ⋅✿

NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: I try my best to write inclusively. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned in her physicality but not described in detail. If anything escaped me, please let me know! Sorry I couldn't make this more gender neutral, but since this fic is a gift to @naariel I thought I'd use her pronouns. Warnings: dirty daydreams, yearning, lusting after someone, male masturbation, dirty talk, fantasy of PiV sex within the daydream, bath sex, this is written from Halsin's POV

⋆⋅ Inspired by this insane artwork by @naariel ⋅⋆

Author's note: I've been pondering, rotating and marinating this artwork in my mind for WEEKS. It haunts me in the best possible way and I am so happy Naariel gave me permission to reference her art! If you are not already following her, you definitely should - her skill and talent are infinite.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

───── ⋆⋅✿⋅⋆ ─────

Oh, to be Alone with You

Halsin sighs when he finally sits down, long limbs sprawling on the too-small chair that can barely contain him.

Chairs. What superfluous oddities, where a big tree stump might have sufficed. If one has to make them at all, why not at least make them comfortable? Why not sit in the meadows, why not find a place to lay where the sun has warmed a rock that has been washed and polished by the rain? But no, the rules of the city demand he be contained within four walls instead of roaming free, they demand he bathe in a wooden tub instead of out in the wilds, they demand he wear clothes and be polite to people even as they trample the Oak Father’s creations beneath their boots without even stopping to look and enjoy nature’s gifts.

Halsin shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. It has been a long day and he is so tired. A long week. A long few weeks, if he is being honest with himself. In all these centuries, times have been- well- rough, to say the least. But whatever haunts the Sword Coast now… it’s different. Bigger than the invasions of Goblins across the land, bigger than the Shadow druids, bigger even than the Shadow Curse that has occupied Halsin’s every waking hour for nigh on one hundred years.

At least, Thaniel and Oliver have been reunited, some life returning to the lands as it always should have been. A victory, chased for so long, tasting sweet only for a moment before the stale urgency of the matter at hand had seeped back into Halsin’s mind: Mindflayers infecting innocents, magic-infused tadpoles, an Elder Brain… There are too many battles to be fought, and not one of them to be won.

Halsin presses his lips together and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his mind. There are some good things that have come out of this: They have not lost a fight yet, and his newfound companions are… stimulating, to say the least. Fighting alongside them has been a joy and a privilege - watching their blades sear, their magic erupt, their arrows pierce their targets as the bear Halsin rips through flesh and bone. The fighting is necessary, and his companions are more skilled than he could have ever wished for. This day may have been hard, but it was successful nonetheless, and now he is here, freshly bathed and ready to find some rest for the night. If only it could be under the stars, far outside the city walls, he would almost call himself happy. Instead, he must bed down alone, encased by too many walls and a too-small bed frame.

Halsin misses the smell of grass that has not been trampled by hundreds of boot-clad feet, he misses the feeling of bark against his fur, he misses his wildshape and trodding through calm forests instead of bloodied battlefields. He misses air that is crisp and clean and doesn't smell of artificially molten metals. He misses the Grove, he misses Thaniel and he misses the woods. The city has been forsaken by Silvanus, and even if this place is a small oasis of nature, it is not the same as being out among the Oak Father’s creations.

He cracks his neck, his hair tickling his collarbones. Halsin curses quietly to himself, pushing a curl behind his ear. He needs to cut his hair - it’s getting too long. And he needs to braid it again, his plaits are all out of sorts. It might be a hassle to do it without a mirror- but maybe he could ask-

No.

Shaking his head as if to will the thought away, he slumps into the discomfort of the chair a little more.

No, he shouldn't ask her anything. Nothing that would involve her hands on him, at least. Certainly not her fingers buried in his hair, tugging softly, her voice gently commanding that he tilt his head a different way. He can’t ask for that. It would only lead to him asking for more:

More of her hands on him, more of her skin against his, more than innocent touches and whispered goodnights across the campfire. He would ask for everything: To bury himself inside her until the world fades away, to devour her until she is slick with sweat from the pleasure he brings her. To be the keeper of her heart, just as he yearns for her to be the keeper of his.

Halsin can feel the familiar tightness in his back as the golden shimmer of his wildshape travels up to his shoulder blades. One thought of her, and already the bear stirs.

He remembers everything that happened today, even as he tries so hard to think of something else:

He remembers the way she smells, of sweet berries, blood and leather. He remembers her looking up at him, as her fingers clutch her weapon tightly. He remembers the fire in her eyes after the slaughter, the glow in her cheeks when she turned around to look at him and found only the bear. He remembers how she smiled at him, even after all that violence, a smile like the sinking sun, bloodied and red, but more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed up.

And as the day progressed: Her arm bumping into his, her head tilting up when she asked him a question and wanted to read his expression. How her hands slipped around him to reach for some food at the campfire earlier when they rested. Her sweet breath on his face and a mumbled excuse when she walked into him, still drowsy with sleep. And all Halsin wanted to do was pull her into his lap and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and forget about the world, forget about everyone watching, and have her, right then, in that moment. Have her all to himself, make her his very own. To feel her around him, to show her the depth of his affection, the desperation of his desire, the magnitude of his commitment.

All he wanted in that moment - all he still wants - is to touch her, to feel her in ways that he cannot ask for because he is scared she will not want the same thing he does. Halsin wants to lick the sweat off her skin, he wants to be buried between her thighs whenever they can steal away, even for a few minutes, he wants her taste on his tongue when he fights, and to wrap himself around her when they sleep.

The force of his own thoughts makes Halsin shudder, glowing desire stirring deep in his belly.

Her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her skin: How soft she would be against him. How wonderful to hear her voice break when she cries out for him, how she would taste if he could lick her off his fingers, the honey of her thighs, the salt of her sweat. He would give anything to know the expression on her face when she is lost to mindless bliss- he would give everything to know that he is the cause of it.

A low moan escapes his throat then, and Halsin presses his lips together when his mind returns from memory and sweet imagination to this house in the midst of a bustling city. This is not nature, where he can do what pleases him when it pleases him. No, the city - ‘civilisation’ as they call it - comes with rules, expectations, limitations.

He is in someone else’s home, exhausted from the day, the blood barely washed off his skin. And yet, all he can think about is… her. All he can feel is the constriction of his clothing, the confinement of leather where he longs to be touched. He wants to shed like the bear sheds his fur after the winter, he wants to feel free again.

Halsin hums, breathing deeply, willing away the golden sparks of his wildshape that dance along his fingertips. He listens intently, fingers dancing across his thighs, drumming an impatient rhythm.

Nothing in the house stirs. Maybe they are all gone still, running their errands, finding bath houses, visiting old friends and merchants they used to know before they return here for a long night’s rest. Maybe Halsin can have a small pocket of time to himself. Time to dream himself away, to give in to the desire he has harboured for so long.

Maybe… he could use this opportunity to release some of that tension that has settled deep in his belly. Refocus his attention. Maybe it’ll be for the best- not to think of her constantly anymore, not of her smell, or the colour of her eyes, of the way her fingers linger on his for a moment too long whenever they touch, or how much he wished they could have bathed together when he sank into the tub earlier that night.

The city has many downsides, but baths are one of the few things to enjoy. Hot springs are wonderful, but few and far between. Nature provides: The bear does not mind the coldness of a stream in the woods, or the iciness of a mountain lake. But there is nothing like a steaming bath to help prevent the sore ache that settles in his bones after a fight.

If only it was acceptable to ask her if she would join him. If only it had been her hands washing dirt and grime and blood from his skin, brushing his hair, kneading tired muscles, her hands much smaller than his, but strong and determined. Loving.

Halsin lets his head fall back, spine cracking as he settles in the small, uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs to cup his hardening cock. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it…

She glistens in the dim light, thin streams of water trickling down her skin when she emerges from the bath, her lashes stuck together as she beams at him.

“Mhh, we should have done this ages ago!”

“I could not agree more, my heart.” Halsin loves seeing her like this. She looks happy, like she has not a care in the world.

She crawls up into his lap, settling on him, her thighs bracketing his. Her hands run across his chest, lathering him in soap that smells of lavender and thyme. Halsin’s heart is beating in his throat when she leans in to kiss his collarbone, her lips soft, her hair smelling of smoke and flowers as it always does.

Desire surges inside him, crackling like lightning in his veins, and he sends the bear away, far away. This is a moment he wants for himself: Skin against skin, tongues exploring, hands intertwined. This is no place for fangs and claws, not tonight. Halsin unlaces his trousers with steady fingers, though even those few seconds seem unbearable to him. When his hand finally wraps around his cock, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to feel dissatisfied moments after. He wants her hands, her eyes on him, her voice dripping with lust. For now, his imagination will have to do.

He dreams himself back to the bath, thinking of all he could have had, if he had only had the courage to ask.

Her skin is burning hot against his, her fingers leave a flaming trail wherever she touches him.

“Is this alright, my love?” Her voice is full of concern and affection, as it always is when she asks about his comfort and well-being.

“More than alright.” Halsin’s breaths grow shaky when she moves her hips, shallowly grinding down against him. “Gods, I want to-”

“Mhhm?” There is a curious twinkle in her eye. “What is it you want? Tell me. I’m sure I could make your dreams come true.”

Halsin shifts when the wooden backing of the chair digs into his back as he bucks his hips, fucking into his hand that is wrapped around his cock - a poor substitution for what - for who - he really wants.

A growl rings out in the empty room when he closes his eyes and imagines her again.

Her thighs look so lovely, spread wide so he can fit between them. She smells of the bath salts and of herself, and her voice talks to him through the thick fog of his desire.

“I know what you want, don’t I, bear? I’ll take such good care of you if you let me. I’ll make sure you don’t even have to ask for it. I’ll let you taste me, whenever you want- wherever you want. I’ll help you focus- you can focus on me, can’t you? There you go…”

Halsin is panting, his hand moving faster.

She feels good, so good when she sinks down on him, wet with arousal and so willing to take him.

“You, little flower, are the jewel of nature’s creation,” he mumbles. “You are all I could ever want and more. I want to taste you on my tongue, always- for there to never be a day where I won’t know the way you drip for me- for you to never go a day without being satisfied, without feeling loved and cared for. Your happiness is all I want- your ecstasy all I desire. Let me take care of you.”

She moans, her head falling back as she starts to roll her hips, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

“I’ll take care of you as you do of me,” she whispers. “I’ll make sure to provide for you all you could ever need or want. You give and give, let me give you everything I am in return. Be selfish, bear. Take what you want, swallow me whole, devour me without worrying whether it’s too much. I want you to. Mark me- make me yours. Tell the whole world I belong to you, whichever way you desire.”

Her movements are desperate now, her words only sighs and moans, breathless as she buries her head against his shoulder. Halsin inhales the scent of her hair, sinks into her words as the fog of lust that has settled on his brain grows thicker and heavier, until there is not a thought left on his mind but her.

“Halsin-” Gods, his name sounds so sweet off her tongue. “Halsin, I want you to fill me. Please- please, I want to feel full with you, today and every day you’ll fucking let me. I want to fight knowing you are still dripping down my thighs, I want to kiss you under the stars and know I’ll never be without you again.”

The curses that are falling from his lips are ungodly, but Halsin does not care. He is desperate now, mouth open as he calls her name and thinks of the words he wishes he could hear her say.

“Come for me, bear. Come inside me, lay claim to me as only you ever could- f-fuck- make me yours- please- Halsin, I’m yours, I’m yours and yours and yours, as long as you’ll have me- forever if you want to-”

With a cry of her name on his lips, Halsin gives in to pleasure and lets himself be overtaken by a wave of bliss. His thighs tremble as he spills over his hand, sticky warmth dripping from his fingers. He does not open his eyes. Not yet. He wants to stay in the fantasy just a moment longer.

“Halsin, I-”

His eyes open, blood rushing to his cheeks as he returns to the real world and finds her standing in the doorway.

I'm going fucking feral. Running into the woods hoping to find him there, who's with me -

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba

If you have signed up for my taglist and you are not on this list, I could not tag you. Check your settings and sign up again.

#bg3 #halsin #halsin x reader #in some capacity i suppose #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #halsin bg3 #nsft #halsin x f!reader #gala writes

1K notes · View notes

twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 8 months

Note

If it is okay, may I please request a headcannon of MC being found badly injured by Ace, Lilia, Trey, Floyd, and Jamil? I really love these characters so much! And angst, too.

Ace Trappola:

Ace had a hard time keeping the panic from showing on his face, hands hovering over you like he was afraid to touch you. What if he hurt you more? He’d never claimed to have a healing touch but even now he knows there’s not much worse he could do other than finishing the job, a thought that proceeds to make him sick to his stomach. There’s another feeling burning deep in his gut, a rage only held back by the initial shock of seeing you in such a state and trying to process what to do from there. Your safety was at the forefront of his mind, getting you straight to a person who can heal you, even if every other instinct of his wanted to get even with the person who hurt you first.

Floyd Leech:

Though Floyd is not your enemy, you can’t help but feel uneasy as he approached. He’s not really glaring at you but past you, like there was a general barking orders at him that he had no intention of following. He hadn’t said much since he found you, another oddity as he wasn’t generally the quietest. You don’t think he’s ever handle you so gently before as he scooped you up, changing his pace or repositioning you carefully each time you winced or whimpered in pain. The first thing on his mind was returning you to safety, but once you were… He asked with an eerie calmness if you could give details on your assailant, even if it was more than one person, because he fully intended to pay them all back double (and Sevens help whoever tried to stand in his way).

Jamil Viper:

Jamil hadn’t quite gathered himself together, priding himself on analyzing situations, on predicting outcomes, and yet your interference had always been a variable he forgot to account for. Just like in his life, he had never expected you to come crashing in nor had he expected you to make a home beside him. He thought you were crazy for seeing any value in a relationship with him but he supposed you had your uses, hiding behind the shadow of a manipulator despite how truly grateful he was for your presence. Now he’s confronted with that, life spitting in his face again, demanding that he beg on his hands and knees, grovel, to assure that you survived your injuries. He knew the basics of healing, knew how to clean wounds and to dress them properly, but he had to hope mentally you had the strength to pull through for him. He hoped you could hear him begging for forgiveness, a promise to treat your relationship more seriously if you just came back to him.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s always been good at wearing a mask, showcasing a playful smirk or firing off witty flirtations in moments that don’t necessarily fit the mood. But he feels a bit of the façade crack when he sees you in such dire straits, clinging to the last bit of calm he possessed as it tried to slip right through his fingers. It’s not that he’s scared, his battlefield experience allowed him to determine your status with a quick glance, but he felt a deep-seated fury building inside him. He remembered being pulled away from someone important before in a drastic, life-changing moment, unable to protect—fight by their side as he was meant to, and it seemed that same crossroads was appearing before him again. He had been forced into one choice for the sake of Briar Valley before but there are no such forces present now. He kneeled by your side, making a serious face you’re not quite used to seeing on him as he promised he wouldn’t let the culprit touch a hair on your head ever again.

Trey Clover:

Trey is used to keeping his cool under any circumstance, having to be the level-headed vice dorm leader had brought him many days of experiencing pressure to assure emotions didn’t boil over. Yet none of that training matters now when he saw your blood-soaked clothes, his heart skipping a beat until he realized you were still breathing. He tried to talk to you, offering soothing words, promising he’d get you to someone who could help soon. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he knew he likely wouldn’t have the chance to get his hands on the person who hurt you, biting down on his lip so hard it began to bleed, but he couldn’t voice his frustrations now to a person who was in a much worse state than he was. And he didn’t think he ever would, letting his anger fester deep in his chest until he had a moment alone to dispel it.

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Ace Trappola #Lilia Vanrouge #Floyd Leech #Jamil Viper #Trey Clover #Ace Trappola x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Floyd Leech x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Trey Clover x Reader

2K notes · View notes

namism · 2 months

Text

alternate universe | portgas d. ace

➳ categories: marine ace au, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 1.4k

➳ notes: if this fic does numbers, i might consider writing a full-length story ❤️ title came from this underrated banger -> even in an alternate universe by ysanygo

In another universe, Ace is a member of the Marines and you are his colleague from the same division.

In this universe, specifically, Portgas D. Ace, the son of the wanted Gol D. Roger in another timeline, is an exceptional Marine with a driving passion for his work and a renowned hatred for the pirates that conquer the seas. In this universe, you are Portgas D. Ace's secondhand, who later become a Commander under Captain Ace's leadership.

The admirable grit of your duo is one thing that the Marine upholds. Ordinary soldiers look up to you, while Admirals respect the dedication that you two put in maintaining the Marine code of conduct. There is no one else like your pair.

Lately, however, a few oddities have caught your attention.

"Hey. Take this to Garp's quarters."

You spin on your heel as you feel a leather bag poke your ribcage. Standing beside you is your black-haired freckled partner, whose Marine uniform is yet again unruly and not a bit presentable for the title he holds and the respect he receives. Grabbing the bag from his hold, you point at a mysterious stain on his uniform.

"What's that?" you question.

Ace follows the direction of your eyes, landing on the collar of his inner dress shirt. "Uh, this? Dunno. Got it somewhere from a battle, I guess."

You roll your eyes.

"Sure. Just another one of the dark stains that you get from a battle without the sight of blood," you deadpan. Ace's lips morph into a sheepish smile. "I know what that is, idiot."

"He-he, just checking. I thought you wouldn't notice," comes his excuse.

"Everyone notices the scent of grilled meat on you, Ace. A food stain is no different." You shake your head. "Anyway, I'll catch you later. Garp's office, you say?"

"Yeah. He should be there."

After saluting to your Captain, you march to Vice Admiral Garp's office that is located in the far west wing of the base. On your way to his office, you encounter an unpleasant sight between a horde of your men and the Vice Admiral himself.

In the far end of the hallway come the marching crowd toward the where you just came from. The Vice Admiral, with his giant and brawny build, pokes out from the crowd as he walks side-by-side of what seems to be a lanky man in his 40s, his hands restrained by a pair of handcuffs made of Seastone.

As they approach, you ask one of your men in the frontlines.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The man salutes.

"Commander. We are taking the possessor of the Memo Memo no Mi to Impel Down. We must sail this evening under Admiral Fujitora's orders."

You look past the soldier to inspect the man in question. Vice Admiral Garp washes him out by a ton with their height difference, as well as the muscular composition of their bodies. His hair is matted and unkempt, and his clothes are ragged and baggy. He has his head down as he saunters with the group, like he's afraid of being seen in this feeble state.

As he comes close, however, he raises his head, then looks at you.

"You have an interesting life," he says. Vice Admiral Garp and the Marines who hear this look at him, surprised that he has spoken since his arrival this morning.

"Me?" you ask in disbelief.

The man grins odiously.

"You're the great first mate of the Spade Pirates." Stopping in his tracks, he chuckles. The Marine behind him barks an order to continue walking. Your vision darkens. "You're— you were a great pirate."

Your men look at you, some in horror and some in anticipation of your response to the strange statements. You grit your teeth.

"What the hell are you talking about?" you growl. "I was never a pirate."

He laughs.

"Of course not, but in your first life, you were."

Your look hardens into a glare. Garp yawns, and with a forceful push of the man's shoulder, he orders him back to walking forward.

"Stop yapping, get moving! I'm going to miss my nap time," he yells. The Marines follow suit. He then notices the bag in your hand. "Good timing, Commander (Y/N). Just in time for my departure. I'll see you in a few days."

The Vice Admiral claims his luggage.

"You're going, too, Vice Admiral?"

"The jerks up there said I must," he says.

You nod. "I see."

You go back to your post as you part ways with the pack. They transport the handcuffed man to the coastal area of the base, where a heavily guarded Marine ship is docked and a Seastone cell awaits the Devil Fruit user in its lower deck.

On their way to the coast, Ace runs into Garp, his grandfather, and decides to tag along to oversee the progress of the mission. Before the shaggy man is taken away into the ship, he speaks to Ace in a wary tone.

"Be careful with the power you hold, Fire Fist," he tells the Captain, leaving the young man disturbed as the ship prepares to sail away.

Deep in the night a couple of hours later, you reunite with Ace in the mess hall for dinner. As usual, he comes back to your table with three plates loaded with different dishes, not accounting for the seconds that he will be taking later.

With some of your men gone for the recent mission, you and Ace sit alone together at a table.

"Did you know that they were on that mission?" you ask him.

Ace chomps on a rack of ribs, the barbecue sauce staining the corners of his mouth. "What mission?"

"The one with the weird guy," you say. "Uh, I'm assuming you saw him. Old guy, messy hair, looks like he hasn't taken a bath in a month?"

"Oh." He swallows. "I saw him. He was weird. I'm glad I didn't have to deal with that."

"Weird, huh? Did you talk to him?"

"He told me something about fire and a fist." The Captain laughs. "It sounds ridiculous. No wonder why he's going to Impel Down. Something must be wrong in here."

He taps the side of his head with a finger. You snort.

"He spoke to me as well," you admit. Ace looks at you through his peripheral vision as he picks up a bowl of mashed potatoes. It's heated and well-cooked, just the way he loves them. "He told me I was a pirate in my first life. Can you believe that?"

"I do," your partner chirps.

You glare at him.

"Not the time for jokes, Ace. He said that I was the first mate of the Spade Pirates, or whatever that crew is." You look down at your food, feeling the heat waves hit your face. "Is there even such a thing as the Spade Pirates?"

"We can figure that out now that Garp is gone," suggests Ace. You look unamused. "Just kidding, he-he."

After dinner, you retreat to the barracks. You change into a set of pajamas and slip under the covers of your bed. As soon as your eyelids close, you drift off to a deep sleep.

"Come with me," he tells you, flashing a smile that you have never seen before: lips tight, eyes soft. Strands of his wavy black hair blow on his face as the sea breeze comes and goes, covering his freckles and his smile of sincerity.

"I can't leave Dadan alone." You tell him. He frowns. "I'm sorry."

"She'll be safe with Luffy. Now, come on!"

He tugs your arm toward the shore, where a small boat floats on the water with a thin sail and a couple bags of food that pool around the mast. He hops in the boat. He wears his trademark hat on his head, an orange cowboy hat with a rim of red beads and two smileys in front.

"There's room for one more person and some luggage!"

"I'd rather not, Ace," you say firmly.

Ace purses his lips together. "Are you scared?"

"Uh, no? I told you, I just can't leave this place."

He rests one foot on the edge of the boat. Leaning toward you, he says, "Come with me, please. We'll travel the Grand Line together, and in a few years, maybe we can recruit Luffy into our—"

"Your pirate crew," you finish. "I-I get it, but I can't. I'm not fit for that kind of life."

"You'll be my first mate."

You sigh.

"And what will your pirate crew be named as, Captain Ace?"

He laughs heartily, his bright white teeth showing as his eyes form into crescents.

"The Spade Pirates."

154 notes · View notes

inknopewetrust · 2 years

Text

Oh, Baby, it’s Halloween

Summary: you and Eddie raise a baby… only you’re not a couple and the baby isn’t real… and now Tina’s Halloween party changes the trajectory of your lives forever. Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader [WC: 10k] Warnings: language, discussion of drugs, idiots in love, you all have been too kind which makes me nervous to post this. Quick Links: Masterlist | Part One | Part Two

“What about this one?”

From the other end of the rack, Gareth held up a pair of pants high above his head. Eddie took in the look carefully before shaking his own.

“No holes, remember? I literally just said that like a second ago.”

Who knew picking out clothes for Halloween would be so hard?

“I don’t know why you even have to dress up. Most of the guys will just throw on a leather jacket and call it a day. Greasers from the fuckin’ Outsiders or some shit,” Gareth mumbled as he put the pants back in the lineup of the other hundred pairs on the rack.

Hawkins thrift had a hefty supply of men’s pants with and without holes because the rich and fortunate changed fashion quickly.

Small blessings for those living paycheck to paycheck.

“That’s practically what I wear every day,” Eddie sighed, sifting through the opposite end where a pair of Levi’s in vomit green disgusted him. “And I just have to look the part, alright? It’s one night.”

“Look the part,” his friend snorted, “you’re just trying to impress her. You could wear a potato sack and if she liked you in that, impressing her would be the least of your problems.”

“Is that so bad?” Eddie stopped browsing and stared down at Gareth.

“What? Trying to impress her?”

“Yes,” Eddie answered bluntly causing Gareth to breath in deeply.

To Gareth, no, it wasn’t a bad thing. High school was a zoo and for freaks like Eddie and himself everything was like walking in a glass cage. They were oddities; stickers on pristine windows that said ‘kick me’ and ‘dunce.’ He figured long ago that happiness was something not given or sought, but uncovered from personal discovery and self-preservation.

Eddie walked a tightrope.

One week ago he was assigned a partner that Gareth had passed in the hallway intermittently and thought, ‘oh, she’s cute,’ but Eddie never mentioned her. He didn’t talk about girls the way the jocks or preps talked about them; he didn’t ogle often at the cheerleaders in their little skirts because Eddie’s doctrine told him it was rude—even if he was as hormonal as the rest. He harbored those feelings like a scared little boy and now here he was, with Gareth in Hawkins’ only thrift store, trying to find the perfect pieces for a Halloween costume on a Thursday afternoon for one girl.

Gareth wanted Eddie to be happy. The curly-haired sophomore just didn’t trust people to not play a game with his best friend. He didn’t want to see the person he looked up to most be the laughing stock of high school because he fell head over heels for you.

“No,” he answered honestly, “it’s not a bad thing. I mean,” Gareth snorted, “if Katie Yang told me tomorrow she loved me, I would run off in the sunset with her and never return.”

Eddie barked a laugh. It would never happen. He was pretty sure his fellow senior member of Hellfire swung a very different way—but he couldn’t let Gareth’s dreams of marrying her falter. It would make Gareth too sad to even participate in Eddie’s campaigns.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie went back to searching, “she’s my Katie Yang.”

“How about these then?” Gareth held up another pair and for what Eddie needed them for, they were perfect. He left his spot at the end of the rack, snatching them from his friend's hands and grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Click got me with a pop quiz today,” Nancy whined as she leaned against your locker early Friday afternoon. She had her chin tucked against her chemistry textbook and trapper keeper.

“I don’t know anything about the War of 1812!”

“Does anyone know anything about the war of 1812?” You countered yet her disappointed face did not lift. Yes, some kids knew what had taken place but Nancy missed the lesson. She missed the lesson yesterday because all she was thinking about was how the relationship between herself and Steve was bullshit.

Bullshit. The exact word that you had used to describe it before Eddie swept you away.

“Linda Fischer did! And that Buckley girl that plays the trumpet? She knew all about it; answered nearly every question when it was over.”

“Maybe it’s because they have no life and just study all the time?”

Nancy scoffed, “I study all the time too and look where that got me.”

“It’s just one quiz, Nance,” you swapped your red calculus notebook for the blue history one. Bilbo was perched inside of your locker as you went about collecting your things for the next hour. “I don’t think your grade will suffer.”

Steve’s booming laughter echoed in the hallway.

“Doubt it,” Nancy muttered bitterly as the clang of lockers being hit sounded behind her. Steve smiled radiantly as he tossed a baseball in his hand—it was October, in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere Indiana, and he still managed to find and toss a baseball for fun.

“Doubt what?” He smacked his gum loudly as Nancy turned to copy the way he leaned against the lockers beside yours.

“Click’s pop quiz on the War of 1812,” you cut in before Nancy could. Everyone was required to take Junior American History and everyone remembered that pop quiz well… simply because everyone failed it.

“Oo,” Steve scrunched his nose, “Click is one haggard old broad, isn’t she?”

“The most haggard,” Nancy sighed. Steve peered over her shoulder and tipped his head at Bilbo.

“How’s the baby?”

“Baby is doing just fine, Steve. Just fine.”

“Yeah, mine too,” he winked as if what you said was a joke when it was far from it. Bilbo had mellowed out quite well, actually. It felt like a glitch in the system in many ways but the doll barely made a noise anymore. Two or three tantrums a day made life with Bilbo Munson-L/n a breeze.

“And Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson? What’s he like as a partner?” Steve questioned, “you seem to get on well.”

“Why? Because I’m nice to him?”

“I’m nice to him!” He took your words defensively, “doesn’t mean he isn’t a freak.”

“He’s a good partner, great, even. And you are not nice to him. Last year, you and Tommy would shoot spitballs at Hellfire every day until Higgins told you to stop.”

“That was Tommy’s idea.” He still went along with it. The amusement Steve still felt from the prank made your stomach turn.

“Eddie’s actually trying. We’re doing rather well I’d like to think.”

“Tell that to Tammy and Greg when he didn’t do his project in O’Donnell’s last spring. He nearly cost them their own grades.”

“Well,” you gripped the door to your locker. As you did, your thumb grazed that picture of you and the boys as Star Wars characters a few Halloween’s back. “O’Donnell’s a bitch. She has it out for everyone.”

That’s exactly what Eddie had told you.

“Yeah, right,” Steve said in disbelief, “he put you up to this? Makin’ everyone believe he’s actually gonna graduate on time like the rest of us?”

“Steve,” you huffed. He was angry he wasn’t succeeding at project parenthood and you and Eddie were. The fact that he and Nancy had barely spoken two sentences to each other that entire week also increased his belligerence.

“We’re all managing the best we can. Eddie’s a good partner. It surprised me too but here we are, almost done, and he’s done nothing but stay true to his word.”

Well, mostly. You tried to forget about the school day on Wednesday.

“He giving you free weed or something to get him a good grade? I heard he’s gonna deal the party which means it’s only gonna be fun for an hour before everyone is high and annoying.”

“Hey,” Nancy narrowed her eyes at Steve, “why is everything a deal? If she says he’s a good partner, then he’s a good partner. End of story.”

“So, you’re defending Munson now too?” He rose his eyebrows high beneath his three strands of hair that fell onto his forehead. “Jesus… it’s the literal apocalypse. Apocalypse!”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Done with Steve’s antics, Nancy turned her body away from Steve and back to how she was originally standing. Inside, her mind was fighting every physical urge to apologize and revert back to her timid self of one year ago.

But she could feel the way your demeanor changed when Steve began cutting on Eddie. You were her friend—best friend—and Nancy Wheeler would be dammed if her boyfriend was going to make you feel that way.

Steve was growing. However, he was far from perfect.

“Nance, come on…” Steve complained as he rested his head on her shoulder. She ignored him the best she could at the moment.

“Are you going to the game tonight? Last one for the year,” football game. Nancy’s wide eyes were hopeful that she wouldn’t be stuck standing by a wild Steve and the popular kids she didn’t like.

“No,” you shook your head, grabbing Bilbo out of the locker and shutting it. “I’ve got Bilbo and I have to study for that Spanish test from last week when I get home.”

“You had Bilbo yesterday! What happened to Eddie doing his fair share?”

“He has Hellfire tonight and when we went through our plans, I told him I would take the doll when he had his club. He swapped Sunday so if you aren’t hungover from the party, we can get breakfast or something.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Nancy’s waist, pulling her tightly against him as she breathed out heavily.

“Fine,” she grumbled, “but you’re picking up the tab.”

“You’re really going to study for a Spanish test on a Friday night?” Steve asked, brow quirked and judgmental.

“Tell me, Steve,” you shut your locker, “with Halloween and all of my other homework on Sunday, when would I have time to study for the test? Some of us do study and I know that might surprise you.”

“Ouch,” he winced, pouting as Nancy tried to wiggle from his grasp, “You’re being mean. I blame Munson. He’s corrupting you.”

“Blame away,” you began walking backwards from the two lovers as the clock ticked rapidly toward the end of passing period. “I rather like the person I’m turning into.”

“Have you thought about your costume yet?”

As you stepped out of Clay’s calculus class, Eddie snatched the homework (that the teacher had been passing out not a moment before) from your hands.

He had left Click’s history class five minutes early to catch you before Nancy drove you home. To make frivolous conversation, he asked about calculus and joked about you getting a tutor which left him burned when you told him he should get a tutor too—for all of his classes.

A few hours earlier, he had seen Nancy and Steve snug as a bug beside your locker as the hair’s arrogant attitude turned two faces sour. Eddie had observed it in passing; walking out of the lunchroom with the rest of the Hellfire members he shared it with only to pass your locker without you noticing because the two lovebirds held your attention.

The look on your face then was different than it was now. Relaxed, gratified. Another week was completed and Halloween was tomorrow.

“So…?” You waved a hand in front of his face. Eddie was staring into space; the kind where you don’t realize it because your thoughts are running either a million miles per second or not moving at all.

“Hm?” He asked, standing a bit straighter after realizing he hadn’t answered your question.

“Have you thought about your Halloween costume yet?” You questioned again as you slipped another notebook into your backpack.

“Got it yesterday, actually,” Eddie’s grin made your stomach flutter. He had that devilish smirk that made the football players angry as he stood on tables and jeered at their dull ignorance of being jocks.

“And it is what?”

“A surprise,” his eyes flicked to the pictures in your locker and this time, you caught him looking. Backing up a bit, the hand that wasn’t holding your backpack by its handle traced the edges of the pictures and plucked them off one by one from their spots.

“This one is from the Fourth of July last year,” you motioned for Eddie to take it and he did. “Nancy’s mom had us take all the kids to the fireworks at the fairgrounds.”

“Ah, the fireworks,” Eddie recalled, “pretty sure last year I graffitied Mayor Kline’s garage door the same time those were going on.”

“You didn’t,” you put the other picture in your hand up to your lips, hiding your mouth in bewilderment that he would openly admit to that. That shit made the news.

“Oh, but I did,” Eddie declared in a whispered excitement. The way he scrunched his nose at your disbelief made you beam from underneath the picture. “In big fat letters: if you repeat a lie enough, it becomes the truth.”

“In protest of Kline’s decision to build that mall? He was going to sell Forest Hill’s land, right?” You removed the picture from your mouth as the reality of his act of political artistic expression came to full realization. Eddie didn’t do things like that just to get a rise out of people. He did it because he hated the guy and without protest, who knew where he would be living at the moment.

“Yes, ma’am,” he held his chin out proudly, “saved the people of the trailer park. Local hero and all…” he boasted with a smile before handing back the first picture.

“So, you and Wheeler have been friends for a bit?”

“Since we were little,” you nodded your head and stuck that picture back onto the metal locker. Eddie took the second one you offered. “Our parents went to school together and I guess they’re not in the same tax bracket anymore but Karen Wheeler and my mom still get together every Sunday to talk shit about Nancy’s dad.”

“Not yours?” Eddie snickered.

“No,” you dropped your backpack on the ground and faced him fully, “my parents get along just fine. But these little dweebs,” you pointed your finger at the boys in the photo, “are the same ones from the car the other day.”

“This one,” he pointed to Mike, “is Wheeler’s brother.”

“Mike,” you gave him an ‘uh-huh,’ “and this here is Will Byers—who I don’t babysit,” you looked up at him, “and these two… these two are the worst offenders of them all.”

Eddie hardly doubted that. Two cheeky smiles hanging onto your shoulders as your arms wrapped around theirs. A curly haired Han Solo and a grinning Luke Skywalker.

“Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair. I’ve babysat them since I was like… eight.”

“You’re good with kids then?” He quirked a brow, genuinely asking.

Every second he could spend getting to know you better he grasped tightly.

“I guess,” he looked back at the picture and saw the joy on those kids faces. They were happy to be there; they were happy to be in your presence and he couldn’t blame them in the slightest. “It’s as good as a job as any but I don’t know if I’ll ever want my own. Maybe if the right circumstances present themselves I’ll change my mind.”

“But they’ve got nothing on Bilbo, right?”

“Oh, no,” you laughed and grabbed the picture back, “Bilbo runs circles around them. Doesn’t talk back, does his homework on time…”

“Are you going to bring Bilbo to Tina’s? Not really sure Sandra Dee would be seen carrying a baby.”

“My dad offered to make sure any tantrums would be dealt with. We are free to live our lives as childless parents,” you joked and Eddie imagined this Halloween but also a hundred more. “You can pick him up when you drop me off.”

Childless or not. A part of him couldn’t imagine it without you.

“You have,” Eddie cleared his throat, eyes darting around the hallway before landing back to you, “you have really nice parents, by the way.”

“Thanks,” taken aback by his honesty, “I mean, I think they’re just like everyone else’s but yeah, I guess they’re nice.”

“Not everyone’s parents would have let me stay at their house all afternoon,” he shoved his hands into his jacket’s pockets and leaned against the lockers with a slouch. “Some of us drew the short straw in that department.”

Eddie never talked about his home life. You knew of Wayne because he worked at the plant with your dad, but no one ever really talked about it. In sixth grade, he was out for a week because his mom died. The teacher passed around a card for you all to sign yet no one said a word when he returned.

“Well,” you shrugged to pretend it wasn’t as heavy as it seemed, “the families we’re given don’t have to be the ones we choose. These kids,” you pointed to the picture you just put back, “are my family even if we don’t share any blood.”

“You know,” Eddie gazed at you with tender eyes that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t in tune with your own emotions. “You’re a little too smart for your own good.”

You laughed, grinning from ear to ear as you leaned down to grab your backpack again. “Not at math, though.”

“No,” Eddie shook his head. He ducked his head, feeling the heat creep onto his neck until it found its way on his cheeks. His hair hid what you couldn’t see. You grabbed your science textbook and Bilbo before closing your locker. When he willed the tint away, he watched the way you adjusted the bag on your shoulders with one hand as you held Bilbo in the other.

“I guess not math.”

“I’d rather have the emotional intelligence anyway,” tossing your head in the direction of the door, Eddie animatedly sprung himself from the lockers and back into the emptying hallway. Two cheerleaders nearly ran into him and he lifted his arms like he had been caught for murder.

Emotional intelligence. If you had stronger, clearer emotional intelligence you would have taken the initiative to ask Eddie out. You would have realized your crush on him was firm and unyielding enough to warrant an actual date.

But the “not date, date” of Tina’s Halloween party loitered between the two of you. Neither had mentioned the “not date” besides the costumes you were going to wear that wouldn’t match.

As you navigated the halls together to exit the building, Eddie walked beside you and every so often, his arm would brush yours. Not on accident.

“Dustin and those kids, they’re in middle school?”

“Eighth graders…” just the thought that next fall they’d be in high school made you feel really old. “They’ll be coming here next year.”

“I’ll have to tell Gareth about them,” he said, “maybe when I’m gone he can recruit them for Hellfire.”

“You gonna graduate on time, Munson?” You smiled, knocking your shoulder into the arm that kept grazing you. As dramatically as Eddie could, he stumbled and rubbed his arm like it hurt.

“That’s offensive, you know that?” He feigned insult. “If I don’t, I’ll just welcome them myself. The lost sheepies are the ones that are easiest to catch.”

“Lost sheepies,” you repeated softly. Eddie pattered his way back beside you.

“They’d probably like you a lot,” you told him when he returned. “Will would take a minute to warm up to you but I think Dustin would cling to you. He likes the… weird ones.”

“First I’m not gonna graduate on time and now I’m weird?” Eddie threw his head back. “You’re killin’ me today with this defamation.”

Defamation. ‘Where the hell did that come from,’ Eddie thought to himself.

“I don’t think you being weird is a bad thing, Eddie,” Eddie. Not Munson or anything else. It was something he’d never tire of hearing. “You just embrace it. Weird is cool—even if Billy or Tammy or Carol don’t think so.”

“You’re pretty weird yourself, mama.”

The end of the hallway was quickly approaching and Eddie jogged forward, opening the door for you and holding open.

“Thanks,” you told him, “for both the… compliment and the door.”

“It’s what fellow weirdos do for each other,” at the end of the walkway, Eddie realized he was going in one direction and you the other.

The end of Friday had been reached. Only the Halloween party was left.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?” He asked as if the answer wasn’t clear. You nodded, head giving an enthusiastic bob you’d be thinking over later.

“How will I know what to look for if you don’t tell me what your going as?” You shouted as he walked toward his van. There wasn’t a part of you that cared what other people thought anymore.

Carol and Billy get fucked. There was only one life you’d remember and you’d be dammed if Eddie wasn’t a part of it in some way.

“Don’t worry, mama,” he turned around and kept walking backwards. A smirk playing on lips like it always belonged there. “You’ll recognize me.”

“Okay,” Nancy came trotting back into her room from her mother’s closet, “here,” she tossed a small red scarf into your lap as you sat on her bed.

“What’s this?”

“The ascot I said I’d give you,” she said like it was obvious. Nancy fiddled with the black tie on her shirt in the mirror above her dresser.

“Nance,” you called over to her, catching her eyes, “have you ever seen Grease?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then you’d know that Sandy doesn’t wear an ascot… just red shoes.”

“No,” she objected, “she definitely wears an ascot.”

“Tell that to Olivia Newton-John,” you got up from the bed and went straight to her closet, pulling it open to reveal a small stack of VHS tapes at the bottom. Grease was the fifth one down and on the back, Danny and Sandy at the senior carnival fun house was plastered on the back.

You handed it to her on unsteady legs as the red heels you wore were beginning to become unforgiving. One night, just one night.

“See,” you told her, “no ascot.”

“I swear to God she had one,” Nancy looked in wonder before handing it back to you. “But you’ve got the shirt and leggings and belt. That’s good enough.”

“No jacket though,” you sat back down on her bed.

“Maybe there’s a reason you couldn’t find it,” she giggled to herself like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, yeah?” You questioned. All this dancing around… you didn’t want Monday to arrive and end with Eddie never speaking to you again. Wishing upon a shooting star, whatever confidence you could muster tonight would have to manifest itself into reality.

Project Parenthood was not going to end on your watch without you asking Eddie Munson out on a date.

That was what you came to terms with Friday night.

You just hoped he didn’t think you a fool for believing he might actually say yes. You also didn’t take Eddie to be the kind of guy who’d be embarrassed that a girl asked him out. What if he wanted someone to be forward? What if he liked confidence and strife over classic gender roles being challenged?

The guy was as non-conformist as a person could get.

“Well, maybe Billy Hargrove would lend me his,” you joked and she dropped the tube of mascara she had just picked up back on the dresser.

“Billy Hargrove?” She spoke in a harsh whisper as her hand searched for it again. “What the hell—“

Nancy took one look at you and saw the mischief all over your face. It was a joke. You were joking. You wouldn’t let Billy Hargrove touch you with a ten foot pole.

“I think if Eddie Munson heard you say that he would keel over.”

“I think if Eddie Munson heard I had a big fat crush on him he’d keel over.”

Nancy thought it was nice to hear you admit that.

“Die from excitement or die from embarrassment?” Nancy laughed as you fell back against the bed. Her pillows sounded a “poof” as you laid against them.

“Hopefully not that latter.”

“I don’t think he would die from embarrassment… if my opinion means anything,” she returned the wand to the tube before sitting down beside your reclined figure on the bed. Nancy took your hand in hers and squeezed it.

“Eddie is the strangest, weirdest person I think I’ve ever laid eyes on but if he can make you happy, then that’s all I want for you.”

“Even after what I said about you and Steve the other day? You still want me to be the one to ride off into a sunset?”

Nancy shrugged, looking down at your hands entwined. “Sometimes the truth is hard to swallow. Maybe Steve just isn’t the one.”

“But he’s the Joel to your Lana.”

“Tonight, yeah,” she sighed, patting your hands with her free one, “but the bullshit has to stop. I just don’t know how to tell him.”

“Nance,” you fidgeted your hand out of hers and sat up on your elbows. Nancy’s room full of cream colors and pinks was juvenile while her experiences and feelings were far from it.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? It’s been two years and sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all. Where his mind is at, concerns… I try and get him to open up but he just won’t. How am I supposed to be a good girlfriend when all he wants to do is party and hang with friends on the weekend?”

“This has to be your decision,” you told her candidly, “and perhaps after tonight you’ll feel differently.”

“We still on for breakfast tomorrow?” Nancy got up from the bed and went back to her dresser. “That way I can tell you all about it because Eddie’s taking you home.”

“Yeah, we’re still on.”

“And then you can tell me all about how Eddie is actually, surprisingly, a good kisser,” she laughed as you stuffed your head into her pillows.

“You really sound like Barb; you know that?”

“No, no,” Nancy shook her head, putting up a finger in the mirror, “Barb would say, ‘you really think Eddie Munson would be a good boyfriend? Don’t you remember when he hotboxed weed in his van at lunch last year and Chief Hopper had to tape off the parking spot because little kids were accidentally given a second-hand high?’ That’s what she’d say.”

“And then she’d ask if he made it to second base,” you grinned, turning over to stare at her ceiling. “Only to be followed with a very loud ‘eww, I can’t believe you did that!”

“I miss her,” Nancy said fondly, “she wasn’t the biggest fan of Steve but she’d want me to be happy. She’d want you to be happy to so,” she gave you that knowing look, “you’re gonna put on some red lipstick and drink a couple beers and by the time Eddie Munson knows what’s hit him, he’ll be so in love no other girl could compare.”

Overwhelming.

That was the first word that popped into your mind when you thought of the scene around you. It was nine-thirty, there were cars parked sloppily on the grass and students scattered everywhere. The music was blasting from Tina’s stereo so loudly it might burst your eardrum by the time the night is over and it helped none that the one thing you wanted to find was missing—somewhere in the house or the yards but not beside you.

Third wheeling with Steve and Nancy wasn’t fun when they argued on the ride over.

You sat in the back of Steve’s BMW wishing to be sucked into the seat only to never be seen again. Nancy’s attitude shifted from excited to upset and Steve was just being an asshole about the whole “parties are fun and we’re going to stay the entire time” conversation that started the argument. Those feelings lingered when the car parked, when the three of you made it inside, and then when you found yourself stuffed into a corner beside a curio cabinet.

“Oh, God,” Nancy mumbled when Billy Hargrove—alongside Tommy Hagen and the rest of the goons who couldn’t separate themselves from the freshest meat—clocked the three of you standing away from the entry way’s makeshift dance floor. “Don’t start anything,” she told Steve who looked in the direction she stared.

Besides the crushing weight of the party on your shoulders, stepping out of your comfort zone in a Halloween costume that Nancy picked out for you made your hands shake with tension. The confident thoughts of earlier running out of your mind the second everyone started looking at you like a fish out of water. A couple guys whistled, the girls judged. There was no happy medium at a place like this.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new keg king, Harrington,” Tommy gloated as Billy challenged Steve. He pulled off his sunglasses and Nancy turned around to you.

“Let’s go get a drink, yeah?” She asked with pleading eyes. You glanced at the group of hot-shot boys—their gazes watching you and Nancy like pieces of meat for taking and it made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you let Nancy hook her pinky through yours as the two of you trekked past groups of your peers quickly getting drunk and eating scattered snacks in the kitchen. A couple, whom you didn’t know, were swapping tongues beside the stove.

On the counter beside open bottles of booze, a bowl fitted with dry ice and a ruby liquid sat being consumed by a boy in a toga. He chugged a red cup down before filling another one and doing the same. That was ‘pure fuel’ or the one drink that could send anyone to that drunken bliss with so much as a sip. Nancy peered into it like a mysterious lake.

“Do you want any?” She picked up two red solo cups, offering up one for you but you looked around for the fridge instead. Behind you, next to the two making out, the fridge was left cracked open.

“No,” you walked the small space to the fridge and grabbed a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon out of it. It was a party; Tina was going to buy the cheapest beer she could. “And I wouldn’t suggest you drink a ton of that either.”

“Why?” Nancy contested, swiping the cup into the bowl. “Aren’t we supposed to have fun? Get drunk and make stupid mistakes while we’re young? Just be stupid teenagers for one night.”

She was still pissed off at Steve.

“If you’re going to drink that,” you cracked open the can in relief when one of your nails didn’t break, “try to know your limit, alright? I don’t want to babysit you over the toilet later.”

“Deal,” she chugged the cup over the bowl as Steve rejoined the two of you. He began protesting her actions immediately and she replied by using his words against him—the same ones he used to argue to stay at the party. Nancy filled her cup again, slammed it, and wiped the excess of her face before leaving the two of you in the dust.

“You say somethin’ to her?” Steve turned to you with an accusatory glare. “She’s been weird all week.”

“She’s been weird or you’ve been ignoring her?” You countered unexpectedly.

“I haven’t been ignoring her.”

“I’ve seen you with Tammy Thompson more times than I can count this week and every day when Nance takes me home, you don’t kiss her goodbye.”

“We’re partners, remember?” Steve scoffed. “You should know that more than anyone. Where is the freak anyway? I can smell the weed; I know he’s here yet he’s not with you…” He was mad too. Steve and Nancy both angry at each other made everyone else in their paths feel the scorching ire of their pain.

“He’s not my date, Steve… He’s my partner, remember?”

Rolling your eyes, you brushed past him and left him in the kitchen alone. A quick escape through the door that led to the backyard let the cool breeze meet your face and the sting of Steve’s words fell from you. It was a rather nice October night. It was just cold enough where jackets could be enjoyed but the Midwestern urge to remain strong in the breeze left many without one. There was a bonfire raging in the back and friend groups scattered on the lawn.

Katie Yang was sitting around the bonfire when her eyes caught the door to Tina’s house open and close.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull—not from the smell of weed surrounding her, but from the fact that Eddie hadn’t been lying.

An hour ago, Eddie rolled up to Tina’s with a backpack full of drugs yet that wasn’t what everyone talked about as the fast murmured rumors made their way through crowds of students like tidal wave. With the three other members of Hellfire that had been invited because they were seniors, the whispers surrounded them first before someone had the will to approach them.

“Shit,” She didn’t know their name, “did you hear about Munson?”

“What about him?” Katie asked them and they threw their head back, hair going a wild as they screeched.

“He’s dressed as fucking Danny Zuko! And not the cool one!”

“Danny Zuko…” Katie trailed off, furrowing her brows as she tried to place the name. “From Grease?”

Eddie was musical, yes, but he didn’t like a ton of musicals.

“You’re joking,” one of the members of Hellfire said before moving through the living room crowd and peeking out through the blinds of the closest window.

“Holy fucking shit!”

He stuck out like a sore thumb. He was wearing the classic all black, tight jeans with a white cardigan sweater embossed with a red ‘R’ sewed into the side. Eddie’s hair was pulled into a ponytail and while he didn’t wear the look often, some of the drunk girls in the yard were ogling him like they’d jump his bones in an instant. When he came inside, the students gawked before realizing their weed had arrived and while they jested with Eddie, their words didn’t hit him. Katie could see the way their words brushed off his shoulder and he kept looking at the door.

So, an hour after that she saw you walk out of Tina’s house dressed as Sandy, Katie had to bite back the first remark that came to mind. She picked a couple blades of grass off the ground as Eddie rolled papers next to her on a tree stump—the glow from the bonfire lighting his work.

“Why’d you decide to go as Danny?” Katie proposed, watching you lean against one of the columns and drink the rancid PBR like it was water.

“Why not?” Eddie replied but focused solely on the ratio of weed to paper in his lap. Every time he put a rolled one down next to him, someone would swipe it, light it, and disappear before he could complain.

“Didn’t take you for a man who’d grovel for a lady, that’s all.”

“I don’t grovel, Yang,” he quipped and she smiled, folding her arms over her bent legs and laying her head on it.

“Besides, you see me crawling now?” Eddie motioned to the papers in his lap. “Little miss Mary Jane is the priority right now.”

“You sure about that?”

Eddie heard the way she crooned, her eyes flicking from his own to the house. His heart skipped a beat. The knowledge that if he looked now, he’d see you there—perhaps not even looking in his direction—but available for him to admire for a time. Since the moment you told him you were going as Sandy, he dreamt, daydreamed, about what you’d look like. How the vision he conjured was nothing compared to the way you’d embrace every part of yourself in an outfit like that.

“I can roll, if you want,” Katie suggested as he contemplated throwing the weed on the ground and forgetting all about it. He did admit once that he’d consider going sober for you. Before he could even object, she took the baggie from beside him and put a hand out for the papers.

“Gareth told me all about it,” she admitted. Eddie couldn’t even be mad. “Go get that girl, Munson. It’s not every day your dreams come true.”

All he could muster was a tight smile for her.

There were a lot of people in the yard. Every face blurred the brighter the fire got; some littered in the grass, others standing, a few on stools or stumps. Your feet were aching as you gripped the banister to relieve the pressure. A half drank PBR clutched in one hand as you stared down at your feet. Eddie sauntered over to the house as you shifted your feet. His quiet steps against the grass not alerting you that he had been sitting in the backyard at all.

Eddie planted himself a foot away from the deck in front of you, swallowing his fears and trying to embody the voice of surprise that mimicked the exact moment in the movie. A little accent, a little bit of the ‘ol greaser swagger.

Just a guy, seeing a girl, and absolutely smitten in the way in which she looks.

“Mama!?”

And only Eddie could get that smile to creep onto your face.

The not date, date was simple.

It had taken you an entire hour to find Eddie on a property no bigger than the Wheeler’s and the moment you heard his ‘surprised’ voice, you knew the evening had changed for the better. For two hours, you sat beside one another and just talked. He talked about his hobbies and joked about his nerdy interests while you detailed your own and he listened as intently as you had for his. In his stupid letterman cardigan and his stupid ponytailed hair, Eddie sat beside you on the deck—backs against the railing as you sat on the wood floor—and admitted that he hadn’t ever planned to wear a costume in the first place.

“So,” you knocked your heeled foot against his converse, “where in the world did you manage to find that sweater?”

“This old thing?” He pulled at the lapels, “I have a bunch of them in my closest. What? You’ve never seen me wear these before?” He lived for the giggle that left your lips. Painted in a candy red, it was hard not to look right at them.

“Oh, yeah,” you faked support for his lie, “all the time, Eddie. It’s your best look obviously.”

“That’s what I said!” Eddie cackled, drawing a can of beer to his lips. “Gareth helped me. His sister used to watch Grease all the time so he had a pretty good idea of what I was looking for.”

“I’ll have to thank him then,” you moved your hands to sit in your lap, fingernails making a small clicking sound as they met before looking over at him.

“Why?”

You leaned your head in as he would have done. “Because he helped you pick out those jeans.”

For a second, Eddie was stunned silent. His lip quirked, eyes sparkling and wide with utter fascination that you had just explicitly flirted with him when he had been planning to make all the moves on Halloween. It was his moment; his situation that he grasped tightly and ran with because if it wasn’t him, he felt it would slip through his fingers.

But you had just given him hope that his feelings may have not been one sided. That your kindness and acceptance of him wasn’t misplaced in pity but instead in attraction.

“Well,” he said lowly, “then I guess I have to thank Wheeler then, too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because she told you to dress like this and I think you just walked out of a fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

The surge of butterflies hit your confidence like the wolf blowing down the house made of sticks—wavering for a second before standing tall again. Eddie had a blush dusting his cheeks yet he didn’t hide from you; a tightrope growing thicker for every word shared, every sentiment revealed and accepted.

“I guess I should dress like this all the time?”

Eddie nudged you playfully, appreciating that you reciprocated it and swayed back toward him. “I think I like the way you dress everyday a little bit more.”

“Yeah, me too. Kinda miss those rings… you're not ‘Eddie’ without them. Or the vest, leather jacket… any of it.”

He looked down at his ringless hands only to agree. There was a nakedness to his appearance without them. He had his necklace, but no bracelet, no rings, no chain, no handcuff belt, and it felt different even if it was just a costume.

“I am surprised you chose this Danny to dress up as.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, “I guess it’s ironic for me too.”

“Ironic?” He questioned. “How?”

“When Danny and Sandy realize they like each other,” you spoke carefully to find the right words. From the time you’ve spent with Eddie over the last week and two days, he listened to everything. He remembered much more than he let on and he read people, their emotions, and their words with caution; “they change themselves only to fall back to who they were because no one has to change to be loved.”

“Do you remember when I said you were too smart for your own good?”

You laughed, glancing at him for a second too long before biting your lip. “You don’t have to stop being ‘Eddie’ for people to like you. I’m more than content with Eddie Munson “rockstar” than I am Eddie Munson “letterman Danny Zuko.”

“Wow,” he said, drawing out the word slowly, “did the girl next door just say she liked me?”

Only Eddie would joke about it. And only Eddie could make you feel good about admitting it.

“Well,” he said when he let the thought process through him, “you should know that you don’t have to be “hot girl Sandy” for me to like you either. I am more than content with “head in a book” and “Bilbo’s mama” than I am “leather bound in red heels.” And as he did whenever he wanted to invade your personal space more than sitting close, he leaned in, down to your ear, “but before you run off and never wear this again, indulge me?”

You turned your head at his words. He was so close. The smell of his cologne mixed with two cans of beer, one joint, and three cigarettes right beside you—arms touching, head barely two inches from yours. If this was a fantasy and he had begun the conversation two hours before with one of the most iconic lines from the film, all you would have to do is embody her like Nancy had told you and reply in kind.

Eddie could see the cogs turning in your head. Thoughts on how to go about it racking every part.

“Come on,” he leaned back, scrambling to his feet so quickly he almost knocked over his can. Eddie extended a hand, helping you stand before leading you back to the closest end of the deck. He let go of your hand and held them out in front of him as if telling you to stay before backing away.

“Okay, wait, wait, wait!” Eddie dug into the pocket of his white sweater and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Tapping one from the pack, he held it up as an offering with enthusiastic eyes.

“Trust me, alright?”

You nodded, hands laid out along the railing of the deck on either side. The temptation was biting at him; the way you were effortlessly drawing him in. Closer and closer until he couldn’t breathe because he was so consumed by you that all he needed was one… little… taste.

He lifted his hand toward his face, showing you what he wanted. Eddie had the unlit cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers, pulling it away from his lips untouched.

“Open your mouth a little bit,” he said and watched as you followed his direction with no complaint.

Eddie stepped closer, hand going over your right arm that was outstretched to lift the cigarette toward your lips and inching the filter forward. You watched his eyes drift down, taking in the way your lips looked so different yet all the same coated in that red lipstick.

“You ever smoke before?” He asked lowly; voice an airless buzz against your face.

“Once or twice,” you admitted and he nodded, hair pulled back in a ponytail by a black scrunchie you could barely see. The sounds of Bon Jovi’s Runaway playing loudly around you.

“Then indulge me in this,” he replied as he let the filter land between your lips and let his fingers go. The cigarette teetered there between the red as they held it; Eddie not pulling back as he dug into his pocket again and pulled out a lighter.

“Still alright?”

You hummed around the stick and his knees nearly buckled at the sound. But he had to keep his cool. Eddie had to be suave; Eddie had to be tempting.

His thumb sparked the fire and it burned bright between you. The reflection of the blaze shining in both of your eyes and captivating, if only for a moment, the seconds before the brink.

Eddie held the flame to the other end and when it lit, he backed away quickly. He bit down on his lower lip, nodding for you to do it and briefly, you felt a little ridiculous as the scattered students of Hawkins high disappeared around you. Their presence not important compared to the one dressed as letterman Danny Zuko.

The butt sizzled and flashed its angry red. You had yet to breathe it in. Eyes watching his every gesture as he stood there, waiting expectantly for you to make the move. He made his, you make yours, and then he would have to go again. A game of chess with two idiots in love.

Your demeanor changed when you breathed in the stick for the first time. Once or twice his ass, Eddie thought as you didn’t even lift your hands off the railings to grab it away from your lips—just held it there between them as the smoke escaped from the sides.

‘If he can make you happy, then that’s all I want for you,’ Nancy’s admission playing loudly in your head that balanced the rapid thumping of your heart.

If you hadn’t known Eddie held a candle for you before, the way he was looking at you now was enough. If his admission wasn’t enough, his eyes were. Utterly captivated by the way you stood—confident and seductive. Hip slightly jutted out, your heeled feet helped bend one leg and the image was perfect. Seared into his brain forever as the moment he realized that you were the one in his dreams.

A fantasy where he was the strapping Aragorn—a hero, courageous and strong, with his Arwen—timeless and headstrong, kind and forgiving.

Your eyes broke away from his stare and out to the yard. The cigarette’s smoke left your lips again. Eddie rose both of his hands into a prayer position; fingers meeting and resting against his lips right under his nose. The anticipation was killing him.

In an instant, your eyes returned and what he saw sent him to an early grave. He met his maker and was cast away like Icarus as you adjusted the way your posture presented you from the top of your head, out your fingers, and through your toes.

Sandy to Frenchie to Rizzo be dammed. You embodied something greater than them all and he was lucky enough to be at the receiving end of it.

And then you said it.

You indulged him in a fantasy he didn’t even know he had until you told him what you were going as.

“Tell me about it,” manicured fingers took the cigarette away from your lips and the smoke billowed into the night, “stud.”

And like Sandy does in the film, you dropped the cigarette and put it out with your shoe, arms going back to the decks railing and looking back at Eddie. Checkmate.

However, Eddie couldn’t have you get the checkmate. He couldn’t have you be the one to end up on top when he had been planning this for days. Since the moment he shrieked outside of Gareth’s window that he had a crush on you—fully formed and not a silly grade school one that made him want to tug pigtails and call you names. Eddie shook his head, dropping his hands from their position and drew close. He caged you into that spot and with the permission in your eyes, one of his hands grazed your side.

A brush of knuckles along the fabric of your shirt, belt, then pants, before his palm became certain. Running along the same track his knuckles had just traced before settling on your waist.

“Indulge me one more thing,” Eddie’s breath barely hitched when you rested one hand on the arm he had around you and the other gripped his sweater. He took his other hand and rested it on your jaw, thumb caressing a spot as his fingers gingerly held your head.

“Let me take you out. On a real date where I can bring you flowers,” he smiled the same time you did, “and your dad can tell me to have you home by nine but I’ll have you back at nine-o-five because I can’t stop kissing you in my shitty van.”

You pulled him closer, hand clutching his sweater tightly to keep him to you. “You beat me to it.”

“Yeah, mama?” He smiled, eyes consistently trained on your red lips. “You gonna ask me out?”

“I can’t,” you could barely function with the way your heart leapt, “I’ve already got a date.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Yes and are you gonna kiss me, Munson? I don’t think I can—“

Eddie didn’t let you finish. He pressed his lips to yours and you accepted them eagerly. His gentle touch a haven as the deal was sealed. Your hand that rested on his forearm moved to his hair, tugging out the scrunchie because if you were going to kiss Eddie, all of him had to be part of it. He reveled the feeling of your fingers weaving into his hair; lips threatening to grin as he got his girl and you got your boy. Nervousness subsiding, all that was left was the tenderness of being two people in love.

No longer two idiots in love; no longer two fake parenting partners.

But a pair fit like two puzzle pieces made for one another.

And when Mr. Allen collected the dolls on Monday, he revealed that each had a floppy disk inside their plush bodies that recorded the number of tantrums and minutes passed between them until soothed. As it turned out, you and Eddie had the best times in the class and in all of Mr. Allen’s years of teaching, Eddie Munson was the first one to prove him wrong. The ‘A’ on top of his assignment sheet at the end of that week became his most important achievement at the time.

Not because he managed to care for a fake baby, but because in the end, he walked out of the class hand and hand with you knowing that everything—no matter what would happen in his life—would be okay.

[Mario Bonus Round Sound: Oh, Baby, it’s Real]

The early morning sunlight trickled into the room from the breaks in the blinds. Everything was sterile; light woods and itchy fabrics, the bed wasn’t comfortable but it was better than the chair. A bag sat in the corner unzipped and its contents unflatteringly pulled out of it. There were fast food wrappers on a tray table with empty cups sitting on the windowsill ready to be basked in sunlight.

Eddie had never been more tired.

The chaise was a second option because he couldn’t have the bed and he would never ask to have it anyway. The chair had grown increasingly unworthy of his attention after sixteen hours of pacing and sitting, pacing and sitting. He could barely keep his eyes open. The kind of tired that Eddie was feeling made everything sluggish; his body laid out on the green piece of furniture, his hand skimmed the cold tile floor as the sounds of a tile cleaner passed by the closed door.

If someone asked eighteen-year-old Eddie Munson where he thought he’d be at thirty, sitting here, in a hospital in Los Angeles would not be his first assumption.

Mega rockstar? Hot-shot guitarist with the best hair? Those were more probable than this.

But he let the whirring of the machine act as white noise. However, in the life that he wouldn’t trade for anything, quiet never lasted long.

“Mr. Munson?” A hand shook his shoulder, nudging the sleep he wished for into the back of his mind to be dreamt of another time.

“Mr. Munson,” the voice called again. Eddie cracked an eye open and saw the nurse give him a small smile, pity for the obvious tiredness that drooped from his face. “I’m sorry to wake you but there are visitors outside and I didn’t want to bring them in because of…”

She didn’t need to say it. People posing to be friends or family just to get a picture or a story. It was something he had to deal with, yet never got used to. It wasn’t natural nor normal to have to hide pieces of a person’s life because people felt entitled to every piece of them. The price of fame was high; the balance of privacy and publicity was a difficult seesaw.

Eddie sat up, the nurse pulling back and waiting for him at the door. She had seen many people walk through these halls, sit and stay by their partner’s side during the most life changing moment they’d ever have and Eddie was no different than the best of them. As he past the bed, he rubbed a foot covered in a yellow blanket and hospital grade sheets gently before exiting the room.

“I put them in a room down here because they were adamant that they were family,” she told him, her glasses swinging on her scrubs and hair graying at the roots. “One young man was particularly vibrant in his language… Claims he’s her brother but I don’t think they look anything alike.”

Eddie chuckled, squeezing the woman’s shoulder as she pointed to the door that she had huddled them all in. “I think I know exactly who that is actually.”

“If you bring them in the room, have them try to be quiet. You don’t see much silence up here and I’d rather give the opportunity for peaceful rest.”

“Will do,” he said but deep down, he felt that silence wouldn’t last if the gaggle of people he believed to be beyond the door to the other room turned to be true.

“Congratulations again,” she said and left him in the hall.

Eddie could hear the chatter beyond the threshold; bickering and the distinct sound of plastic wrap around flowers and balloons crinkling through the air. His life had changed so much from 1984. Each year more difficult and challenging—unprecedented and terrifying but here he was, an established adult man with his life (sort of) put together. Everything was clicking into place and most of it stemmed from the moment Steve Harrington and a girl named Lisa drew two names out of Mr. Allen’s bowls from home.

He walked through the doorway and saw fifteen smiling, giddy faces beaming back at him with balloons, bags, and flowers in their hands. Dustin was holding a teddy bear, El, Max, and Lucas were carrying bags of food for everyone to eat for lunch.

“Surprise!” They shouted in scattered exclamations of excited cheers.

Eddie had never been so happy to have a family—one of his own and one of his choosing.

Dustin was the first to barrel into him, throwing his arms around Eddie and hugging him tightly. It set off a chain reaction in the room. Arms and bodies squished, Eddie couldn’t tell if it was Hopper, Wayne, or your dad who rubbed the top of his head like he was a dog. Either way, the love was felt; the love was absorbed and it spread further into the hospital than just that little room. Fifteen connected souls bonding over something new.

“Congrats man,” Steve extended a hand, grasping Eddie’s with a firm grip as Robin hung off his shoulder. “Never thought I’d see you like this. But it also confirms that you and Y/n do the deed and I don’t like thinking about that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled tiredly. They could see how drained he was. Only the older ones in the room could relate to how Eddie was feeling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be here either.”

“But you know what?” Nancy piped up from beside Steve. “I never had a doubt that you’d be a good dad.”

“Thanks, Wheeler,” hearing that from Nancy meant a lot. Dustin popped up again from beside Nancy, tucking himself in between her and Eddie. He still had that bear clutched in his hands.

“Can we meet him?”

El looked excitedly at him, “can I hold him!?” It was her first time doing something like this.

“Only if you keep your trap closed,” Eddie warned Dustin, face serious as it could be. “That nurse will kick my ass if you throw a rager in there, alright? So keep the volume low…” Eddie stopped, thinking on it for a second. Fifteen people all at once would be like running a race on a Hawkins street with a million other people. “And we’ll go in groups. Grandparents first, then godparents, then everyone else, ‘Kay?”

“Eye-eye captain,” Dustin saluted him but kept on Eddie’s heels as everyone exited the empty room to transition to one with two. The door was left cracked open, the quiet nature of the room wanting to be left undisturbed had to be broken.

They had traveled all this way for this moment.

“Let me go in first,” Eddie told them, the older adults giving him fond smiles because he was taking it as seriously as they hoped he did. Maybe that project parenthood assignment had left a lingering impact on him. Maybe Eddie Munson had just matured into the person he always wished his parents were and wasn’t going to screw it up because life could be unkind sometimes. “I’ll come get you.”

Fifteen people who hailed from Hawkins were left in the hallway as Eddie re-entered the room. He tried to keep his footsteps quiet but in the end, it was useless because the second he turned the small corner that blocked his view of the bed, you were sitting up with the television remote in your hand. Across the way, Grease played silently on the screen.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him as you tried to keep your voice low. “Did something happen?”

Eddie shook his head, walking straight over to the side of the bed where he took your hand, kissing the back of it before rubbing his thumb against the back of it.

“We’ve got a party bus of visitors from Indiana,” he said, looking over you to the plastic bassinet that was positioned beside the bed. Wrapped in a white blanket—in a perfect swaddle—was his little boy. “They’re all waiting outside the door and won’t take no for an answer,” he joked.

“My parents out there? Wayne?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, thumb still running across the back of your hand. “I think your mom has already cried. Her eyes are kind of puffy.”

“Don’t tell her that,” you muttered, taking your own look at the little bundle. On the sticker behind his little head, one last name, un-hyphenated, was written in black ink behind him. One family, one unit.

But his name wasn’t Bilbo.

“Can they come in?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “just tell them to be quiet.”

Eddie smiled at you. Even in his tiredness, he could never hide the joy in his eyes. He was proud, eons beyond it in reality, but you had given him something he’d never dreamed of. A family. He would always have Wayne but now he had your parents, he had the kids, he had friends beyond Corroded Coffin and the people he worked with.

“I love you. You know that right?” He ran his free hand over your forehead, brushing the hair there and bending down to leave a kiss.

“You tell me every day,” you smiled, “and I love you too.”

“Then I guess he should meet his grandparents, huh?”

And when Eddie brought in your parents, Wayne, Hopper and Joyce, the sight brought you back to the first time Eddie ever stepped foot in your house.

How your dad watched reruns on the T.V. while you peeked out the blinds for him. He had known it then that Eddie was your forever. An arm wrapped around the man he considered to be the closest thing to a son he’d ever have, your father smiled at you the moment he saw the look in your eyes. Your mother skipped you completely and cooed at the little boy.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered at his chubby little face, “you have the best parents in the world.”

Tag List (Closed):

Thank you all for reading and supporting this fic series. I hope you enjoyed the last part and will stick around for any other Eddie writings I may do in the future. If you have been tagged in the tag list, I would humbly ask that you like and reblog to support but I also love reading and interacting with comments! I just love to hear from everyone so chat away—I want to know your thoughts.

@bakugouswh0r3 @scenesofobx @angelbabyivy @softspaceboibrian @clinicallyonline17 @captaincarmel164 @spottedzebrasinpartyhates @empty-and-nameless @mqus0n @coolnamestillpending @onlyangel-444 @langaslefthairstrand @fic-for-readers @eateraa @copycatkillerfics @thatlonelypieceoftoast @sweetpeapod @lovely-josuke @thorodinsvn @josephquinnlov3r @chelseacast @barnesmunsonlover14 @lankysimp @munsonsmel0dy @carolineesnell @manicpixiedreamgir @random-fandom-900 @greillustrated @loeysooflower0 @theartoflovingcinema @mitsuyas-sewing-machine @teenagegoateecollectorposts @goblins-writing @eddietheebrave @residentdormouse @bdpst-massacre @misscaitygrace @anths-girl @authorlovers @kellysimagines @alotofsomething @elmunson @aheadfullofsteverogers @yoongjennie88 @certifiablesimp @sk8-wytch @keene200213 @stiegasaw @fangirling-4-ever

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 2 #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x female reader #joseph quinn #fluff #romance

3K notes · View notes

ryoalouette · 5 months

Text

Got inspired by a Solo Leveling fic, then translating it to DPxDC

Here's another streamer cook Danny AU. The only oddity is that the cooking ingredients he got is Very Odd, Ominously Glowing Green, and sometimes the watcher of the stream/video really have absolutely no idea if the ingredient is supposed to be a root, some kind of meat or what.

Pre Jazz Knowing at the start, ofc. Common (fandom? canon?) misconception of people around him is that Danny is scared by ghosts, thus he always disappears from ghost fights, leaving Phantom to fight ghosts using the Fenton thermos supplied by him. Or something like that. Maybe the misconception too, is that he's dating Phantom that Phantom can use Fentom gadgets.

But either way.

It's Jazz's idea of eating something ghostly (aside from their living hotdogs and turkeys, that is) to make Danny less scared (ha) of the ghosts.

Now I don't remember when exactly Danny and co went to the GZ to explore, but the general idea is that Sam and Tucker just used Jazz's idea for lolz while they're in GZ that they stocked up some ghostly food ingredients.

GZ rock? Oh why not, we can have some ghostly rock stew like those Chinese people got! GZ tree bark? Ghostly tree bread! So on and so forth!

Meanwhile people in the other sides of the world is just. Am I tripping? So many bewilderment. Is the green green hue kryptonite (one of the Kents)?? Lazarus Water (one of the Batfam/LoA)?? For consumption???

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #I know that there's blue ramen #but here's a glowing ghostly green ramen made by Danny #Century Egg? Oh we got glowing ghostly green MILENNIAL EGG made by Danny (and Clockwork)#Clockwork is just enjoying the reactions of those watching his kid's vids #wildly entertaining

136 notes · View notes

delopsia · 5 months

Text

Hi, I misread an ask and thought we were discussing omega! Rhett and Reader with Alpha Bob, and now I've had to do the copy-paste of shame 🧍‍♂️ This is just a cute little long-winded ramble about Rhett hailing from a long line of alphas and coming into his own after meeting Reader and Bobby 💐 This can turn into a one-shot if anyone asks me for it.

Not a soul could have expected that the infamous youngest son of Royal Abbott, beefy cowboy, and reckless bull rider, was an omega. Hell, Rhett hadn't even expected it.

Even in his toddler and early childhood stages, he fell into every tell-tale sign and stereotype that an alpha child would. A little too possessive of his toys, flashing his teeth on the playground, would prickle at the presence of alphas. He was damn near identical to Perry.

Royal was convinced that their youngest would turn out to be an alpha. Hell, he'd been bragging about his unbroken family lineage since before Rhett was even born. He knew every one of his children would be alphas. And it would only make sense, hailing from a long line of them; in fact, the Abbott family hadn't seen a beta or omega born since the late 1800s. Questioning it, in the family's eyes, was pointless. Why would the tradition break now?

And then Rhett hit those years, the awkwardness of becoming a teenager topped off by the sudden maturing of scent glands. Little patches of skin learning to produce thin oils; some kids struggle with overproduction, and some need specialized creams because their glands are drying out. As if dealing with acne and hormones wasn't enough for them to deal with.

Cecelia's suspicions came when Rhett's scent change didn't match Perry's. Where Perry had experienced a sudden shift, overproducing so much scent that Royal could literally lift his nose to the wind and know where his eldest was from a mile away, Rhett was a quiet change.

Over the course of six months, he lost that 'new' scent he was born with and acquired something that can only be described as smores at a campfire. Smokey and warm, with a slight sweetness, so well hidden that the only way to catch a whiff of it is to have your nose right next to the scent glands on his neck. And while sweetness isn't a scent reserved exclusively for omegas, it was an anomaly on both sides of the family.

So when seventeen-year-old Rhett came home from school early one day, complaining about his face being hot and an uncomfortable churn in his belly, Cecelia couldn't say she was surprised.

Perry, quite frankly, did not give a damn when he found out, it was none of his business, and even if it did bug him, he was too focused on the birth of his daughter to spare it much thought. But Royal was a firestorm of his own. He couldn't understand it. How could this possibly happen? And no matter how much he yelled and screamed, this wasn't a matter that could simply be remedied by words.

It was only during this argument that it became painfully clear that Rhett didn't function like the stereotype depicted. Even with Royal's barking and challenging, Rhett didn't fold like he was meant to. Being an omega didn't change his rougher nature, going toe to toe with his father, a mountain in the wind, refusing to be moved.

It frustrates Royal to no end; he breaks tradition in every way possible. An omega hailing from generations of alphas who refuses to act the way an omega traditionally should. Doesn't loosen his shoulders and slightly lower his head, when an alpha enters the room, no matter how hard Royal tries to pull it out of him.

Even stranger. Rhett fully commits to the alpha-dominated sport of bull riding. Is so disguised in his nature that not even his many, many hookups realize he isn't an alpha. It's an oddity that perplexes even Rhett himself.

A part of him is always tempted to skip his medications and experience a full-blown heat in the safety of a cozy hotel. He knows a handful of gentle-handed alphas who would be more than willing to take care of him, has toys and everything he could possibly need, but it just doesn't...do anything for him. He's tried it before, but even with the fever and hint of delirium, it quit being fun after an hour, and calling someone just filled his belly with dread. Watching TV, snuggled in the sheets, was all he truly did.

His friend Archie, an older guy who has been around the sun a few more times than Rhett has, suggests that it's simply because Rhett hasn't found the right people. And maybe he's got a point because one summer, everything changes.

You're similar to Rhett in the whole 'omega not acting like an omega' situation. It's never been something you've gone out of your way to adhere to; other than being rudely reminded of your heats when you forget to take your medication a few days in a row, you pass as all three.

Taking bits and pieces from each to create the unique design of your personality, unable to fall into the trap of being a carbon copy of everyone else in your gender. In the event you truly need to, you can get away with convincing others that you're a beta or an alpha. It's a nifty trick that not everyone can pull off. Where your friend has to bathe in special pheromones to trick those around her, you can simply open your mouth and make a claim.

Unlike Rhett, Bob comes from a patchwork of secondary genders. Alphas, betas, omegas, there's no true pattern to his family, and rarely does anyone display the behaviors associated with their status. His momma is an omega who is often mistaken for an alpha; his younger sisters are betas, but one acts like the spitting stereotype of an omega. It's such an afterthought in the Floyd family that Bob didn't even really notice he was an alpha until someone made a comment about it.

The spectrum of dominance is a much larger issue with alphas than it is with omegas. It's one thing for an omega to break their traditional roles, but the whole 'alpha' thing is a mess of its own. Some wise guy decided that being an alpha wasn't enough and started up a trend of "true" and "false" alphas, depending on how well you adhered to the stereotype. Bob, one way or another, has found himself labeled a false alpha; his presence simply doesn't command the submission of everyone else in the room. Frankly, he doesn't give a damn. So what if he's frequently mistaken for a beta?

So when he's dragged to a concert in the middle of nowhere Wyoming, and this rough and tough cowboy lowers his head at him, Bob doesn't know what the hell to think. And there's you, right behind the unnamed cowboy, downright confused about why you just submitted yourself to a complete stranger when you exclusively reserve that motion for your loved ones.

To you, a quiet alpha like Bob isn't all that out of the ordinary.

To Rhett, it's a breath of fresh air.

It takes some time to get out into the quiet of the parking lot, but one way or another, the three of you are perched in the back of Rhett's truck. Playfully bickering, bewildered about how Bob took one look at you and knew you were lying about being a beta. He'd identified you and Rhett so easily as if he were being asked as simple as what color shirt you were wearing. A feat that had made your skin crawl in the past, now an odd sense of comfort, like he was seeing you for you and not anything else.

Rhett's having the strangest experience of his life. All he can think about is rubbing his head against the glands on Bob's neck, like a damn cat dying to drown in the woodsiness of his scent. That's never happened before, and he explains it as such. He's rarely ever felt the instincts of an omega, forget learning to calm them. He only explains it because of a whine he didn't know he made. Doesn't expect Bob to tilt his head and invite him over.

But he doesn't know what to do. The instinct is strong, but it's not all the way there. Until you squirm over and nuzzle up on the other side of Bob, running the glands at your temples against the ones on Bob's neck. Here you two are. Strangers. Rubbing up on another stranger. Rhett's not sure what to do about the twinging in his chest as he nuzzles into Bobby's neck. Bob is just happy to be a comfort, kind in a manner that you haven't seen in a long time.

All things considered, it should be a one-night thing. An odd memory that you look back on and wonder what the hell you were thinking. But you're all in the same hotel, and it's so hard to stay away from each other.

Staying out late at a diner, falling asleep in Rhett's hotel room to the tune of the television. You come back from sightseeing with friends and run into Rhett in the hall. He sees you nuzzling your friends and has all sorts of questions about how that works. You're more than content to show him.

Bob returns from lunch and becomes a willing test dummy to all of Rhett's confused instincts. Where Rhett would usually lash out at someone asserting dominance over him, when Bobby tries, he bends and shows his neck.

When Rhett gets home, he starts acting funny. Before the trip, he never paid his phone much attention. Now he's buying a new one that won't overheat or freeze over a text message. He's found himself muffling whines over phone calls and jumping every time his phone dares make a noise 'cause it could be you or Robby. Over the course of a few days, he's gone from lone wolf to pack-oriented, physically hurting for the presence of people he's just met.

Rhett has never been great at catching scents, but when you and Bob appear at his rodeo, he smells you before he sees you. Has to be stopped from scaling the fence to join you two up in the stands. Nobody knew Rhett was an omega until after he'd ventured up and snuggled into the juncture of Bob's neck, nuzzling your temple, so completely and utterly content that he chirps for the first time in his life.

And so maybe the three of you are something more than friends now. Nobody needs to know that you and Rhett are boarding a plane to spend the week at Bob's apartment. It's no one's business that they spend weekends at your place and that Rhett sometimes appears for a night because he missed you.

You've been dating for two years when the decision is made to move in together. And you only spend a few months under the same roof when you come home on your lunch break to Rhett, red-faced and confused, lying in the bath. He's home from work early; didn't make mention of it to either of you.

"What's wrong?" You murmur, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, stroking away the bits of hair that cling to his flushed skin. Clammy is the only way you can describe it.

"I'm..." his eyebrows furrow, doesn't seem to understand a lick of what is coming out of his mouth, "leaking?"

His heat started. The info script on his medicine confirmed breakthrough heats were possible, but the aggressiveness of it perplexed you to no end. You've experienced mild breakthroughs, but it's never left you weak in the knees and burning like a furnace. Getting him to cum isn't enough to relieve the ache in his belly; you can't imagine how confusing it must be, to go from zero to one hundred like this.

But there's a burning problem: Bob is deployed. On an aircraft carrier thousands of miles away.

You're trying your best, but you're in over your head. Rhett's going theory is that it's related to the uptick in instinct as of recent; getting into tune with his own body has triggered something that's been building up for years. Avalanching at the worst possible time.

It's not ending. Your strap-on has been enough to satisfy him in the past, but his heat cannot be fooled by prettily colored silicone. He snuggles on your chest and fucks you until you're too sensitive to go another around; he's cum three times, and he's still pawing himself through another orgasm.

His fever should come down after two days, but even using artificial pheromones isn't enough. They're not as subtle as Bob's scent, too intense to trick his overwhelmed brain into a false sense of comfort. Burying his nose into Bob's old shirts is the only thing that works, but he's producing so much of his own pheromones that it's lost in a matter of hours.

Bobby doesn't know something is wrong until Rhett whines pitifully at the sound of his voice. He mistakes it for Rhett, missing him, but it just keeps happening. You have to step out of the room to explain what's going on because Rhett genuinely cannot handle being able to hear Bobby and not feel him.

The worst part of it all is having a specialized doctor come out to verify that Rhett's condition is bad enough to warrant the Navy letting Bob come home. Not because it feels like an intrusion on your privacy, but because of how Rhett just doesn't know how to act about someone intruding in his private space. Doesn't understand these feelings or how to even begin to control them; he didn't get the chance to work through these when he was younger.

Heats rarely fit the criteria, but Rhett's fever exceeds it alone. He's burning up from the inside out; she gives him a shot of something to help take it down, but it's only temporary. He's lucid enough to manage the night. Wakes you up while he's rustling around the kitchen, biting on a slice of plain bread while he cooks a mini pizza.

His fever goes back up before morning.

Bob doesn't make it home until sunset.

It's strange. You expected Rhett to jump him before he was through the front door, but he doesn't budge from his spot. Quietly nestled on the bed, staring at the wall, in his own little world, unreactive until Bob's hand combs through his hair. And then he does to Bob what he did to you; he turns into a glue trap. There's no escaping his kisses and nuzzles and nips.

You're too damn exhausted to join the first time. Laying next to them, half awake, watching as Bobby gently works Rhett open, fucking him into the mattress, blindly holding your hand all the while. You'd expect it to be frenzied. Rhett's got this whole house reeking of his scent, and he's putting up a hell of a show, but Bob's slow with him. Thoroughly wearing Rhett out, shushing his mindless babbles. It's never mentioned, but you've got the feeling it's because Rhett's never been knotted before.

And when it does finally happen, you learn that Rhett's feet twitch when he's knotted. An adorable little spasm that you had heard about but never considered it to be real until now. It must tickle because he's giggling before his orgasm is over, straining to peer down at what's going on.

Evidently, that was all he needed, because the intensity drops overnight. Come morning, Bob wakes to the quiet shuffle of Rhett in the closet, suddenly overcome with the urge to build a nest but completely and utterly confused about it. He's got a pile of clothes and knows he's supposed to do something with them, but it's just not happening.

You wake up surrounded by clothes, blankets, and other soft oddities that Rhett's found himself drawn to. It's a crudely built nest, crafter only by instinct, with no memory or advice from others to guide himself with, but he's so smiling and accepting everything Bobby offers him. Your nests are primarily built out of things you've bought for the occasion, featuring your favorite colors and textures, but the warmth of this one is unrivaled.

Even after, Rhett doesn't necessarily act like an omega. He's still every bit of the rough-and-tumble cowboy from the first day you met, but he's in tune with himself now. He'll go from a bar fight to nuzzling up under Bob's chin and squeezing you to him, all in the same five-minute span.

Officially going off of his medications has finally let his body do its thing, regular heats that fall into sync with yours and little bits of fat collecting on his ass and thighs, squishy and solid in all the right places. He learns to handle himself and never truly conforms to your aesthetically pleasing nests, forever building a warm, messy patchwork of you and Bobby.

Purring is a function lost to the test of time in most, a function gone obsolete, but your contented rumbles teach him to make the noise, too. Most omegas are groomed out of making all their more primal, animalistic noises, but he chirps and makes all sorts of funny noises that you didn't know were related to your nature.

Bobby is forever the pillar that allows for all of your and Rhett's shenanigans, letting the pair of you love up on him or torment him to your heart's content. He's the sleeping giant that lets kids play on him, only raising issue when he's got genuine reason to.

And even now, with the normalization of these funny little behaviors and Rhett becoming fully aware of his own body, the fun of it all never dies down. Maybe it's because of the long-established dynamic or the nontraditional conformation of who you are as individuals.

Or maybe it's got something to do with the newly healed marks on your necks...

#rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #omegaverse

58 notes · View notes

obsolete-stars-if · 3 months

Text

Shut up I literally cannot stop thinking about drink your villain juice. I'm writing a snippet IN THE TUMBLR APP. It's all I'm thinking about.

@drinkyourvillainjuice for even daring to make Alistair that good???

And also @elegantunknownphantom BCS i know you will live for the angst.

Alistair x mc (masc, he/him, trans)

You reach for the plastic container. He doesn't even get to say Hi. You look at it, penne pasta, in... Pesto? Alis has been getting creative ever since you rejected the lasagna. It's not that you don't trust him — You know you shouldn't.

You open the container, give it a smell. Doesn't smell poisoned, but not every poison smells. You dig around in it for a bit, no weird clumps or any other oddities. You pull one penne out and hold it up to his face. He gives a bewildered stare, "Well... Hello to you too?"

"Eat." You tell him, pushing the penne further into his face. He lifts his hands in defense and takes the single pasta and he eats it. You close the container and watch his face. Alis swallows after some chewing – It's not dangerous to eat.

Satisfied you allow yourself to clean your fingers. It's not a pretty act, at least you don't think it is. Stick in your mouth and get your fingers clean, however, Alis seems to have a different opinion, watching your lips. You stop and look over. He looks away.

It feels weird in a way. You shouldn't expose yourself to him, shouldn't even think about how he looks at you. He has been a terrible influence, you shouldn't even have touched the pasta at all, you should tell him to leave, never come back.

"Ben?" But by God, when your name leaves his lips, you feel a bit more human, a bit more alive. Like the goop is beaten back, just a little more.

You hum in return. Alis stops for a moment, "Will you get into the program?"

Ah, there it is. The program. Give a man a pinky and he will devour your entire arm – or however that saying goes. Stumbling around the subject has helped in the past, but he has never outright just asked like this, not after the first meeting that is. "Why are you asking?"

"Have you seen the news? It's just– The entire new Altruists? Thing is scary, and I'm concerned with you just living out here-"

You bark a laugh, "You know what you get yourself into in this city. Didn't you come here seeking them out?" You question, your eyes avert, looking around, anything but his upset face, please. "I mean, handing out free pasta to strangers, who knows, maybe you'll hand free pasta out to a parahuman or villain-" Just shut up.

You can hear him upset. "It's this Thorn that concerns me. The way it changed forms, broke those bones, what if it-"

It. That's all you are, isn't it? You knew it too. You were a subject for so long, and just a drop of humanity makes you forget, but your body is disgusting. It's scary. You're scary. You're a monster to all humans. Oh, how it ate you up, from inside out, leaving nothing but a human looking shell, that it inhabits, it's in your thoughts, in every step you take, it is you. And you can't separate yourself. How foolish to think you could. There is no you. It's all it.

"Benedikt?" Alis voice calls.

You don't look up, you don't deserve to look a human in their eyes and pretend to be one.

"I'm fine." You lie.

#writing #snippet #villain juice #alistair #i cannot be stopped #drink your villain juice #other ppls games #other ifs

53 notes · View notes

lap-wolf · 5 months

Note

HOLY CRAP YOU'RE A SLUGCAT KIN?? /VPOS I MAINLY JUST FOLLOWED YOU FOR SILLY WOLF RELATED THINGS (i'm a wolfdog kin hiii intense waving) BUT THAT'S SO SILLY AND COOL!!!!

AA YEAH YES YES I AM!! The Rivulet-esque aquatic era of slugcat, specifically. :3 I am deep into the Rain World fixation... (and hi fellow wolfdog hiii!! waves back so much!!!!)

#oddity barks #aboutoddity.woof #askanswers.woof

12 notes · View notes

midnightsun-if · 8 months

Text

Just wanted to mention this because I’m finally getting to revise this scene within the second part and I’m excited to talk about it! When the MC gets to Aurelian, and the dorm you’ll be staying in, you’ll be able to choose your rooms design. (Since Aurelian Academy is enchanted, the magic will happily oblige.)

And, yes, each one will potentially offer unique reactions from the various characters.

You’ll be able to choose from these:

Cozy: A crackling hearth sends off a gentle glow throughout the room, something that only exemplifies the dark color palettes strewn throughout: showcased in the deep engravings within the wooden walls, in the plush rug stretched in front of a couch within the small sitting area situated in the corner of the room. It’s a place that radiates warmth, safety, and a general feeling of home.

Elegant: Tastefully chosen decor— from the leather sectional to the hand-engraved bookshel, and even the beautifully crafted stained glass window— complements the overall feel of the room, as well as the beautifully handcrafted crystal chandelier that offers the central lighting. It’s a place that radiates power, wealth, and, above all, comfort.

Gothic: Straight out of the classic vampire guidebook— the room is splashed with black, blood red, with the barest hints of dark gray. Various alcoves are dotted throughout, filled with various oddities, and stone gargoyles stand as sentries within the topmost ones. Dragon clawed scones offering the main lighting for the room. It’s a place that’d make Count Dracula proud.

Minimalist: Less is more, right? Well that saying is personified within this room! Clean lines, sparse furniture, only the necessities, along with a neutral color palette. This place radiates a certain light and airiness that can rarely be found anywhere else!

Normal: The typical Aurelian Dorm experience! Why customize it when you have everything you already need? A simple bay window, along with a sturdy elevated bed, with a desk situated underneath, are the main focal points of the room. Added on, you’ll find a few bookcases, a small couch, and a rather nice rug. It’s a room that’s so good you don’t need to even think about changing it!

Nature: Why go outside when you can simply stay in your room? The bed is seemingly carved at the base of a grand tree itself, along with a small meadow being created to simulate the main sitting area— with bits of bioluminescent bark, mushrooms, and fireflies (not real), being the main lighting of the room. It’s a place that any nature lover will love to spend their downtime in!

Colorful: Why have one simple color scheme when you can have them all? The rainbow has made its home within your room, and you wouldn’t have it any other way! A slew of different colors are dotted throughout— from the tie dye bedspread to the multicolored flames that dance within the hearth— to give you whatever you may need! This is a place that’ll never have you seeing in black and white!

#midnight sun #asks #just wanted to share #mc: room

73 notes · View notes

jinkiezzsstuff · 7 months

Text

Paranormal Investigator

Mike Schmidt x Reader

hey y’all I’m kinda nervy wervy about this bc I haven’t written since 2018, but I just love mikes character soooo much in the movie, n josh hutcherson got be barking like a dog. after watching the movie I had this thought that I just had to get out of my brain. so give me grace on any oddities or mistakes and lemme know what to improve kiss kiss hope you enjoy

Summary: you get caught breaking into Freddy’s by the night guard as he cleans up the mess from the last break in, you both come up with a deal where you can get spooky footage of Freddy’s, while Mike monitors and attempts to contact Garrett.

Warnings: no Vanessa (love her but can’t fit er in), movie spoilers, female reader, doesn’t follow movie plot, written on mobile yikes, and also I have no idea where to go with it could be a one/two part thing or more. Possible illusions to sex, and mature themes.

———

“So you’re telling me, you expected to be breaking in with people who are tryna get me fired? Uh- I’m sorry, how am I supposed to believe you?” The security said absentmindedly sweeping shattered glass. Yes, you had misunderstood the instructions you overheard at Sparkys. You thought the group would break in at night, before the security’s shift, not the morning after the security shift.

“Uh, well the glass on the floor would be a good indication I’m telling the truth.” The security gave you a tired look pausing his sweeping. “I meant about my aunt… uh, anyways, look I have my sister here, I’ve got work to do, you can’t be running around like a crazy person.”

“Oh. Your sister’s your coworker?”

“No, uh, just, I’ve got a lot on my plate for tonight, I won’t contact the cops if you just get out.” He stuttered, words fumbling out of his mouth quickly. The guard found himself battling between confidence and embarrassment, he couldn’t get a clear glimpse of you yet in the dim light but he already knew from what he could see of you that he’d surely be head over heels and make himself look a fool.

“Please? Just let me take a look around, I’ll help you clean this mess, and after you can go off back to work while I do a quick scan of the place. I promise I’ll be out of your hair. I just want some footage.” You begged snapping him out of his thoughts, your eyes bright, glossy and blinking hopefully at him.

Sighing, he rubbed his free hand down his face, eyes panning around the room. Glass still shattered everywhere, things scattered, tables turned, if he wanted to get back to his dream he’d need to be quick with cleaning. “Fine, you’ll help me clean then you’ll do your thing and leave, yeah?” With a single confident nod from you it was decided.

The main area was cleaned fairly quickly, small talk here and there, learning his name was Mike and Abby, his little sister, had to come with him because his babysitter never got back to him. Now in the kitchen Mike looked over to you as you picked up empty scattered pizza boxes. “What exactly are you recording for?”

Standing with empty boxes in hand you looked at Mike and for a minute or so you both simply looked at each other. “Well, I’m kinda into the ghostly stuff, and y’know about the murders.” Mike's brow perked curiously at that, muttering the word ‘murders’ back to himself. “What happened?”

You shrugged, leaning against the metal kitchen counter watching as Mikes eyes followed your every move intensely. “Kids disappeared, cops never found them and it was ruled as a homicide, soon after there were complaints about a rotting smell coming from the animatronics. Public opinion, or rather, the rumour is the kids' corpses are in the suits, and they haunt the joint now.”

Mike opened his mouth to respond but before he could a child’s shriek rang through the pizzaria echoing off the walls. He quickly perked up, fear evident on his face, and within seconds he was shouting his sister's name while sprinting off.

You pulled yourself away from the counter as fast as you could and followed Mike in a panic. You caught up to Mike in the main area stopping your footing just a few steps behind him. The two of you stared astonished for a moment at the animatronics surrounding Abby. Freddy stepped away first, walking menacingly towards the two adults. Thinking fast Mike grabbed a chair in defence, while Freddy’s figure shadowing over both Mike and yourself. Thankfully Abby giggled and skipping her way over to Freddy, Mike and you. “They where tickling me so much, I could barely breathe! Mike this is Freddy, my friend! Freddy this is my brother, Mike!”

Mike looked amazed at his sister, the eased demeanour, the smile on her face, she hadn’t looked like this at home in years but in front of seven foot sentient animatronics, she is? Freddy sized up Mike who still held the chair in front of him, you huddled safely behind him..

“What the hells happening?” You asked wide eyed looking around Mike’s shoulder at his face Mike's mouth pulled tightly and released; a mouth shrug in response. Turning slightly to each side he put down the chair and shouted: “This better be a prank, right, there being controlled somewhere in the back? Okay! You got us, you can come out now!” After moments of silence, it was evident nobody was coming. “Okay, Abby let’s go we’re leaving.” Mike rushed, waving Abby forward towards him, and away from the machines.

The animatronics all just stood there, watching as Abby whined to stay, explaining what they liked, as well as how fun they were. To show the two how much they like drawings she scribbled up a heart picture for Bonnie, watching as the bunny took it passively. Neither Mike, nor YN we’re having anything to do with the animatronics though, and luckily it took no longer. Abby waved, and said her goodbye as Mike grabbed both her hand and yours and dragged the two of you off to the exit.

Once outside, you and Abby stood at his car while he ran back in to grab Abby’s things. “What’s your name again?” Abby questioned out of the blue, rocking back and forth on her heels and toes. “YN, I was here for a recording when I met Mike.” YN explained, half there half rethinking what happened. “Like a movie?”

You nodded but couldn’t elaborate as Mike interrupted, stepping beside the two of you. “Okay Abs it’s best if we get home and get you tucked in, YN, will you be, uh, okay?” Mike looked around nervously, he seemed suddenly embarrassed again, this time you could tell.

Scanning the parking lot Mike took note of his car being the only one in the parking lot. “Do you drive?” He asked, now it was your turn to be embarrassed and you shrunk slightly at the question, making Abby to giggle. Mike quickly hushed her and asked her to put her stuff in the trunk and buckle herself in while the two spoke. “No, I take the bus with my bike, then I bike it the rest of the way.” Mike nodded biting the inside of his cheek, he was prone to stupidity at times making quick decisions but this was probably gonna take the cake.

“Listen, if you watch Abby tonight, babysit, i-I’ll give you free range in the pizzaria for a few hours. To record. Of course. And drive you there and back…” YN’s eyebrows shot up, suddenly thinking of every possible outcome being able to catch these animatronics walking without technical reasoning could really kick start something for her. Meanwhile Mike was anxious to get back as fast as possible to dream again, although he felt slightly selfish for leaving his sister with a stranger. Mike eyed the woman again, watching as she processing things in her own mind. She seemed too pretty, to be criminal, maybe Mike had finally lost it.

“You got yourself a deal, boss.” You smirked, voice scaring Mike out of his mind. He quickly nodded, smiling slightly eyes darting back and forth between the concrete and you. The two hopped into the car after attaching your bike to the back. “Abby, YN is gonna watch you tonight, at home. Okay? I gotta get back to work.” Abby awed, whined, and crossed her arms, pulling the biggest most childish scowl she could muster. You just smiled at her antics while Mike pulled out of the parking lot, and down the road.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf fandom #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt #fnaf mike #mike schmidt x reader #fanfic #fnaf michael afton #fnaf michael schmidt #female reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt x female reader

35 notes · View notes

dirtytransmasc · 9 months

Note

Ok but how do you think that alicole would react to getting a phone call from the school that says “yeah your kid got in a fight”?

Likeeeee it’s rotting my dumb little alicole brain

first they're worried. there kids wellbeing comes before any anger or strife or worry/thought of consequences. they just want to know they're safe and ok. they're also quite worried cause their kids are mostly bark and/or well behaved (Aegon is a bit of a class clown, but not all that of s fighter unless provoked. Aemond is easier to sway into a fight, but again, he's not one to throw the first fist. Helaena is a sweetheart and rather's her tongue over a fight. Daeron is a sweet boy and the most behaved of the brothers, even if young and rowdy) so they're worried someone has poked fun at either them or their families many oddities.

Both of them are at the school in an instant, rushing to their child, checking them over. Alicent's definitely not keeping her worry checked, to the point her kid is trying to shove her off (gently) and complaining that they're fine. then it's Cole's turn to check them over, he's just as worried, but he's putting on a strong face.

while they do want to just plead their kids innocence and go home, they do want the full story so they sit as calmly as they can, their kiddo cuddled between them (overprotective parents who? not them, no, no not at all). since Alicent and Cole got married (it was a civil union) later in their lives (I don't think they would have gone for it till Aegon was almost out of highschool and daeron was in middle school) Cole would typically have to argue his position as their father before they could even start their meeting with staff/the principal.

they do let their kids take blame where it's due, but they don't let their I'll treatment from others go unchecked either. they'll make sure their kid wasn't at all provoked and that they're ok mentally/emotionally cause kids can be assholes.

they have a "protect your own" and "don't start a fight but finish it" rules in their household so typically their kids can get off with a scolding from them so long as they had reason. typically their parents praise them once they get in the car, Cole advising them on how they could have done better for next time.

a few scenario's:

Aegon picking a fight with someone picking on his younger siblings, willing to let it remain words until someone tried to touch Hel, and he just wasn't fucking having it. he really only scared the other kid, but it got his point across, don't fuck with his siblings. Cole was proud of him, checking over his injuries with one of those proud dad laughs. Alicent was worried, but conceded when he promised he was fine. they didn't leave that office till the other kid apologized for messing with their kids and forcing their big brother to handle it. they did settle and made Aegon apologize for hitting him instead of getting a teacher.

Hel getting overwhelmed because a group of kids weren't leaving her alone when she was having a sensory overload and hitting anyone who tried to touch her including her teacher (her brothers and dad taught her well and her little punches hurt). Criston nearly blows a fuse when they call it 'fight' when it was nothing close, he'll defend his baby girl with his life on this front. Alicent's threatening to report the school board for the lack of accommodation and understanding. they don't even sit down for the meeting, Criston with Hel on his hip, flanking a very pissed off Alicent, making it clear they won't be staying long. they don't.

Criston had to go to Daeron's daycare to listen to a conflict resolution conversation between the staff and two sniffly 4 year olds. they'd been fighting over a toy. he doesn't know what else he's supposed to do, so he struggles through a "sharing is caring" conversation, trying not to laugh, until they're out the door and in the car. he does tell Daeron he needs to be nice, but knows it won't do much considering how little he is.

Aemond's been in a few situations cause of his eye, and every time he's got his parents support. they worry cause they know his self esteem is a bit shot, but also cause he's disadvantaged in a fight, so they do talk it out more with him, just to be safe. they don't want to be too hard on him, but they don't want to feed the habit of fighting being an outlet, so they double down on him continuing fencing (he was a fencing kid in my mind) to help with it all.

there have been more verbal incidents where the kids were picked on because of their messy family. all 4 kids are very protective over how people view Criston. he's their dad and anyone who says any different is wrong. Daeron's gotten into the most fights about this, especially cause little kids are brutally honest and say things about how daeron looks nothing like him, which makes him upset. older kids may know who the Targaryen family is (who they are and their equivalence of being a royal family in my modern AU I don't know, I just know they're important and wealthy that's just sorta there, a place for alicent and come to run from.) and taunt them for their mom leaving a life of wealth and power or having a dad like Viserys. those fights the kids get complete slack on, cause neither Alicent nor Criston can blame them for protecting their family.

43 notes · View notes

myfandomprompts · 8 months

Text

To Risk It All | Chapter 2

Summary: Daera's family finally arrives in King's Landing, and as tragedy unleashes on her House, Aemond grows fascinated.

Warnings: Blood, mutilation. | Previous part - Masterlist

Daera visited her brother as soon as she was awake, finding him curled in his sheets, evidently still asleep and she concluded that he must have had as little sleep as she did last night.

She had come back from her ride with a lighter heart, Seasmoke allowing her to take in the surroundings of the city, flying her above the bay, over the Kingswood, and finally circling the Red Keep. She tried to memorise each of its towers and passageways before heading back to the Dragon Pit.

It may have helped her find sleep more easily, but she still felt exhausted when she decided to explore the castle ground the next morning, braving the many stares she earned from the court members as she strolled the corridors, proudly displaying her house colours in her aquamarine gown.

She ignored what her mother and great-cousins had planned when they would anchor in King’s Landing, but Daera was set on learning everything she could before their arrival, before she would be forced to face the man who had allowed her father to die ; to face the King.

So she wandered the serpentine stairs, the gardens and the royal sept before her feet were drawn to the lower courtyard. It was far from empty, the training ground below her full of men eager to learn.

Perched on the balcony over the courtyard, Daera watched the trainees wave their sword around, an old weapon master barking orders at them. As she examined their faces, she was left to wonder if the royal family participated in such training. Maybe she would be lucky enough to see one of them.

"Daera."

She recognised the voice instantly as the newcomer took place next to her.

“Princess Rhaenys,” she greeted politely, unable to grant her a smile.

The Queen Who Never Was wore drawn-looking features as she gazed down at the training grounds in turn, her posture stiff and wary. Daera felt sympathy for her great-aunt, whose husband’s fate was currently uncertain, far away at sea, the fate of her House hanging by a threat.

Of their House. “I’ve been told you arrived yesterday, it is a good thing.”

Some of the men below started to form groups, two young squires circling around each other, training swords in hand. “I disagree. I should have come with father and brother, to have insisted upon coming.”

“It would not have changed anything, my dear. None of us could have predicted what would have happened.”

“Mayhaps not, but nonetheless I would have been here.”

Daera scratched the stone of the railing anxiously as she watched one of the men strike a blow to his opponent, sending him to the ground.

“It was a foul act,” Rhaenys continued, the wisdom conveyed in her voice palpable. “I did not see eye to eye with your father regarding his views, but it does not mean I do not mourn for his death, as well as the brutality of it. I am sorry for your loss, Daera.”

Daera risked a glance at her, willing to remain composed under so many eyes scrutinising her. “Thank you, great-aunt. I do hope for the safe return of your husband as well.”

An extended silence settled between the two of them, only filled with the sound of steel against steel, Daera’s gaze lost in its movement and she felt something odd tingling at the back of her neck.

“How is your brother? I did not have the chance to see him. The Queen was surprisingly keen to keep him under her care, I noticed.”

Daera frowned at that, but decided to think about this oddity later as she answered. “I cannot truly tell. He shows remarkable poise, but I fear that the more he keeps to himself, the more resentful he will feel.”

“You must find a way to soothe him, Daera. The grievances we suffer at a tender age cling to us more strongly than any other, grow more powerful than any other. It tends to turn into something darker.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rhaenys spotted a silver-haired man standing at the edge of the training ground, her last words fitting him perfectly as she stared at him. His single valid eye scoured the sparring men as he leaned over the weapon rack, waiting patiently for his turn.

But Daera had not noticed, her thoughts filled with her brother, far away from what was happening below her as the prickling feeling at her neck grew inexplicably stronger.

“I have something for you," Daera watched as her great-aunt reached for the pouch at her waist and presented a silver and blue ring to her. “I secured it… from your father,” she said as Daera’s heartbeat fastened at the sight of her Vaemond’s signet ring. “I took it before the Silent Sisters could gather his belongings. I should have been returned to your brother, or you.”

The Velaryon’s sigil carved onto it shone in the morning sunlight as she reached for it, feeling something heavy in her throat. Or was it the weight of her father’s legacy?

“I… Thank you. Princess Rhaenys,” she managed to say, turning the ring between her fingers as the woman before her nodded in acknowledgement, in sympathy.

The smile the Queen Who Never Was gave her was genuine, a comfort Daera didn’t know she needed. “Please, be careful Daera.”

She took her hands in hers with affection before turning away and leaving her on the balcony to stare at her father’s ring with confusion and repressed tears.

Down below, Aemond Targaryen was weighing his sword in his hand as he placed himself next to the master of arms, eager to prove himself, the very opposite image of his brother that had avoided training yet again. For a moment, he swore he saw something blue flash at the corner of his eye up above, but as he looked, he saw nothing, and the next moment the tension he had felt arriving in the courtyard disappeared.

The scent of jasmine tickled his nose as he started to spar.

Daera spent the rest of her morning in Daemion’s company, ensuring that he had enough to eat, enough to drink, trying to keep him busy with games and occasional conversations that felt empty. Overall, the wait for their kin to arrive was a distress, every hour that passed with the knowledge of their father decaying down in the sept and not in the sea saddening them.

“I met with Princess Rhaenys,” she began when she found the strength to broach the matter. “She said that she regretted not being able to see you.”

Daemion shrugged as he moved a spearman on the board. “I did not wish to see anyone. Queen Alicent granted me the peace I needed.”

“I see,” mused Daera, and she wondered if the Queen did not regret the death of their father more than Rhaenys herself. “She gave me something for you.”

As she presented the signet ring, she saw her brother’s eyes widen a moment before falling in deep reflection. “Father’s ring…”

“It belongs to you now,” she said with a half smile as she extended the ring to him.

But he did not take it.

“I don’t want it,” he stated, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve it.”

Daera withdrew her hand in confusion. “What do you mean, you don’t deserve it, Daemion?”

“I am not worthy of it, not until I avenge him. Until I kill him.”

Daera sensed the uncomfortable weight settle back in her throat as she searched her brother’s eyes, now harshly looking out of the window as if he wished all of what he saw to burn. “Kill who, Daemion?”

Her brother snapped his eyes at her, harsh purple irises staring back at her. “Daemon Targaryen.”

She let her brain process the words before speaking, voice slightly trembling. “Daemion, you can’t say things like that, you know that we cannot make justice ourselves, and the Rogue Prince is-”

“You weren’t there!” he suddenly shouted, voice shrill as tears began to appear at the rim of his eyes. “You did not see how he murdered father, taunting him and then killing him from behind, and no one did anything against that, no one acted. No one.”

Daera was speechless as tears of fury now rolled down her brother’s cheeks, her thoughts clouded with the need to protect her brother from all harm, from impossible pain. She would give her life before she let anything happen to him, before she would let him face the Rogue Prince.

Protect him.

She pulled him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his hair as she tried to stop both their hearts from hammering, to chase the ache away. “I know. I know it is unfair. But we must not think like that, we must be stronger. Do not let those feelings consume you Daemion, or we will lose in the end, I beg of you.”

He remained silent, resting in her arms for a while before they silently resumed their game of Cyvass, but neither of them was focused anymore. What would happen once their mother and cousins finally appear at shore, they didn’t know.

When they were summoned by the Queen, Daera took a moment to grab a chain in the vanity and put her father’s ring around it before safely tucking it in her cleavage and around her neck, hidden. If Daemion did not want it yet, she would wear it for safekeeping, with a promise.

She would save her House from downfall.

The Queen had ordered upon their arrival a plethora of dishes for them to eat, but both Daera and Daemion did not have much appetite. Instead, Daera spent the entirety of the meal wondering what the Queen’s purpose was, why she had kept her brother close and why she invited them while her husband had ordered their father’s tongue removed.

She seemed genuinely sorry for them, and Daera was forced to remember that she was a woman, a mother, before being a Queen. She had also been the one her father had gone to for support when he found none within his own family

It was when cake was served that Daera finally understood the reason for her presence in the Queen’s solar. “You have not yet been betrothed, Lady Velaryon, if I am correct. Neither courted?”

“I am not, your Grace,” she answered clumsily as she swallowed a piece of lemon cake, her brother giving her a fleeting glance beside her. “My father had always been keen on finding a perfect match for me.”

“As is his right. What about your mother? Does she share the same views?”

“Oh, very much so. At this rate, I fear that I will never be married.”

This elicited a smile from Alicent while Daemion stared down at his plate. Talks of his sister going away never pleased him.

“You are an excellent match Daera, do not concern yourself. I am certain that you will have plenty of choices for a suiter when the time comes.”

Daera had not the strength to reply, neither in agreement nor otherwise, and settled for draining the content of her cup in silence. She was the daughter of a fallen man, even called a traitor by some, and Daera doubted that she would be an eligible choice for any of the Lords of the Kingdoms. Not that she eagerly wanted to be married.

But she could now clearly see the Queen’s train of thoughts behind her brown eyes, considering her, anticipating.

She put a stop to that. “How old were you when you married the King?”

Alicent turned pensive. “Eighteen of age. It already seems like a lifetime ago in truth. Viserys has always been a good husband to me, very loving.”

Daera could see the reminiscence within the Queen’s eyes as she looked away, memories of a simpler time when dynasties were not at the brink of breaking apart. She had heard once that she and Princess Rhaenyra were friends once, and wondered how much of it was true.

But she had no chance to ask as the Queen gracefully invited them to pray at the Sept later in the afternoon, a proposition Daera could not bring herself to refuse as the last of the cakes were taken away.

As both she and her brother made their way out of her solar, she found herself hindered by something tall and dark, managing to avoid colliding with it in time and not to make a complete fool of herself.

“Ah. Lady Daera Velaryon, I presume.”

On her right, Aegon Targaryen was watching her with a half-concealed smile, standing nonchalantly on the threshold. She had to clear her throat in order to compose herself as her brother came to a stop next to her, as taken aback as she was.

“Prince Aegon,” she bowed, unsure, their last encounter still fresh in her mind.

“It seems that you have beaten us to my mother’s, the both of you,” he remarked, glancing at Daemion who looked up at him bashfully. “I hope she will forgive us. We were quite… occupied.”

Daera finally lifted her head to the tall shadow in front of her and when she saw who she had almost crashed into, she felt a shiver travel down her spine.

He was unmistakable, with his long silver hair, a sharp jawline, a single lilac eye staring at her with indifference and the other covered by a leather patch that hid part of a long scar across his pale skin she had seen red with blood in her youth. He was tall, much more so than his brother, lean, dressed in green leather and hands laced behind his back in a flawless confident manner.

Aemond Targaryen.

He had not moved an inch, evidently unbothered by the way she had almost collided with him and as she stared she only saw how his eye coldly examined her, as if she was but a mere obstacle on his path.

She could smell something of a mix between smoke and spice from their close proximity, noticing the lack of dragon scent she had expected from him. It engulfed her senses at once, making her eyes flutter.

He looked like a Prince, a proper one from, as beautiful and biting as the sun.

“My brother, Aemond,” Aegon introduced, tapping lightly on his brother’s back before reporting his gaze to Daera, evidently staring. “But you surely remember him, as he left quite the souvenir at High Tide, didn’t he?”

Aemond had no reaction, keeping his demeanour stiff, his rosy lips drawn in a thin line as he kept an unfaltering gaze on her. She knew him quite cold from reputation, but had not expected to feel this way, the scrutiny.

“Prince Aemond,” she bowed, not leaving his single eye and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding when he finally granted her and Daemion a slight nod, indicating that he was a living breathing person capable of movement. However he remained completely silent, and she instantly wished that he would talk, even for a short moment. One word and she would have confirmation that her suspicions about her encounter in the streets of the capital had been right.

One word and she would know why she had felt that way.

Instead, he remained immobile, expressionless, and she realised she had been staring for far too long.

“You seem tired, Lady Velaryon,” Aegon spoke again, narrowing his eyes in false concern. “Did you have trouble sleeping? Maybe a nightly promenade would have been most helpful. Or a ride perhaps?”

While Daemion next to her stiffened at the Prince's indelicacy upon questioning a grieving person on their looks, Daera was glad to finally see a reaction in the second son who snapped his head towards his brother suspiciously.

“I have done exactly that, actually,” she smiled softly, “I happened to have found my journey quite revealing, as it turns out. Nothing beats the bond that ties us to our dragon, even though the smell I would be glad without,” she kept on, feeling the fleeting glance Aemond gave her, “You seem to be well rested yourself, Prince Aegon.”

She felt the confusion radiate from Aemond as his brother’s smile widened, joyful. “In perfect shape. Nothing more than a good night's sleep to brighten the mood.”

Aemond had his eye narrowed in deep wariness while Daemion was growing impatient, if not uncomfortable.

“The Queen awaits,” came the voice of the dornish looking Kingsguard behind Daera, and she quickly bowed to the Princes before strolling away.

“What did you do?” Aemond asked as soon as he was certain the Velaryons were out of ear shot.

“Nothing,” answered Aegon with exaggerated confusion. “I am not always the one to blame, brother. I could surprise you."

“Do not lie to me, Aegon. I know you were not in your chambers last night.”

“Oh, and you know that how? Since you weren't in yours either?”

Aemond gave him a fuming look as he stepped away in order to let him pass the door to their mother’s solar. Right before he followed, he allowed himself a glance at the two departing forms in the corridor, and tried to remain stiff when the gaze of Daera stared back at him as she turned a corner.

“You have been summoned to the Small Hall.”

Daera looked confused before the white armoured Kingsguard that stood at her door. “But I am to meet with the Queen at the Sept-”

“The Queen is already there with his Grace, the King,” he cut in. "You are to take place beside your household.”

Daera only understood when the Knight waited for her to follow him before going to her brother’s chambers. Her family had arrived and had gone straight to seek an audience with the King without coming to see them first. Daera realised that her brother would have to suffer another public appearance much sooner than expected.

The Small Hall was grand despite the name, with pillars akin to the Throne room placed on each side, however much more humbly carved and candlelights coursing each of them. The Crown had apparently not been willing to repeat the debacle that had been Vaemond and Rhaenyra’s petition and gathered a smaller crowd, faces she did not recognise looking back at her. A single chair had been put at the end of the room, elevated over the people, and Daera was surprised to see the King even in attendance. He was a decaying thing, she thought, barely able to open his single eye, hair falling like broken strings at either side of his face, crown evidently too heavy on his head as he was coated within a dense mantel that was far too big for his frame.

Alicent Hightower stood at his side, silent as she roamed the room like a hawk while further at the side of them stood a man with a Hand designed pin on his robes, a gleaming eye observing her entrance. But what caught her eye was first the bored look of Aegon standing next to his grandfather, and beside him, Aemond.

He truly had the appearance of a Targaryen, her heart jolting in her chest when his gaze landed directly on her, drawn like a magnet. He may not have been the first-born, or even the first male-born son, but everything in him breathed royalty, from his manner of standing to the way he seemed to consider everything around him as owed, like he could make them all bend to his will in a matter of seconds. Without the eye patch, without what made him a monster in reputation, he would have been the most prized possession of the Red Keep.

Mesmerised, she did not have the good sense to break eye contact until she was forced to by the calling of her name. “Daera, Daemion!”

“Mother!” Daemion ran into Lady Elinda’s arms, affectionately wrapping them around his little shoulders. Lady Elinda wore the aquamarine colours of her house, long hair gathered in an intricate bun on her head and the silver seahorse adorning her sleeves, exhausted traits but evidently happy to see her children.

Daera smiled widely while she kissed her mother and greeted the two cousins that stood beside her, their hair dishevelled by the sea wind. They didn't waste a second to whisper inquisitive questions in her ears as they cast a hard gaze on the king.

“Have you been able to talk to the Queen, Daera?” asked Gaemon, not wasting any time to dive into the matter at hand.

“I did. I do believe that she had been helpless in the face of what happened to father. It’s only the Rogue Prince’s doing. And the King’s.”

She was careful to utter her last sentence as quietly as possible, and Gaemon nodded in acknowledgement while exchanging a knowing glance with Malentine as he straightened up to gaze at the King, seated before them all.

“Let us be quick with this… matter,” the King began, breath ragged by the effort as he waved a heavy hand toward Otto Hightower. “They may come forward.”

Daera took her place beside her mother and Daemion, doing her best to make herself as unremarkable as possible standing at the opposite side from where the princelings were standing while her great-cousins advanced.

She noticed that Helaena was absent, the Princess apparently excluded from such gatherings after the ‘incident’, and while she watched Aegon yawn, evidently regretting having participated at all already, Daera searched the many faces present and couldn’t help but remark a very obvious absence: Rhaenys Targaryen.

Did the royals forget to summon her for matters regarding her House? Or did they do it on purpose? Was it why the audience had been precipitated?

“Your Grace, we have come first and foremost to retrieve the body of our kin, Vaemond Velaryon, in order to honour his death with our customs.”

“Yes, yes… Very well. I regret the loss you suffered my Lords. I truly… truly do.”

Daera tried not to visibly wince at the obvious pain the man was under. Malentine spoke next.

“But we came for another purpose, a request, a fair one we wager. Our cousin came to claim his right, his birthright to this court, seeking help from the highest authority there is, on that should be impartial. Yet he was blatantly murdered.”

The room fell silent while the court reminisced Daemon’s crime, not knowing exactly how the King would handle the accusatory tone of Malentine as he kept on, “We demand reparation.”

From her position, she could feel the many eyes staring at the King, awaiting his reaction. But only one eye was set into her great cousin’s sight still, gaze so intense that she was certain she could feel it on her flesh, that it even reached her from this distance. Aemond Targaryen was still as a statue, but she could feel the fire emanating from him.

“And what… What do you suggest… I do?” the King spoke, eyes slightly wider than before, but head lolling nonetheless. “I did not order it and Lord Vaemond was surely not… innocent. He advanced… traitorous claims in his petition. His death is regrettable however…” he kept on, such a long sentence draining his strength and Daera wondered how on earth he could still be alive, “However, I cannot grant your family reparation over the matter… The issue of the succession has been settled.”

It seemed like the Viserys wanted to continue, but nothing else came while Daera felt the two Velaryon men fidget frustratingly in their spot, the decision over the succession of Driftmark still carved in their skins like an insult, as an additional layer to their humiliation, to their loss.

Because they all knew the truth about Lucerys Velaryon.

“Your Grace, nothing in this had been dealt with fairness. Our cousin came with a viable claim, one that would spare our House from great humiliation,” continued Malentine, much more prone to anger than his counterpart. “Great insult had been inflicted to our House, to our name. And we have been punished for this. His wife and children have suffered as well,” he said, gesturing toward where you stood, “The Rogue Prince had no right to do justice himself while ours were violated without consequences!”

Nobody dared to speak while Viserys slightly straightened up in his chair, leaning on his cane.

“And what… rights, have been violated exactly, my Lords? Corlys Velaryon is still your House’s Lord, and let him be found dead or alive, the matter is quite… clear. His grandson will inherit the Driftwood Throne, as Princess Rhaenys agreed to and as I reinstituted… Your cousin’s claim was moot from the start.”

Malentine was about to speak again, but the calmer and stronger voice of Gaemon came to drown it, “We concede to the contrary, your Grace. There is nothing moot in our late cousin’s claim, and we humbly demand that you reconsider what has previously been assessed. We came both to reiterate his petition to our own benefit, as well as justice to be done. If you do not plan to make his murderer answer for his crime, at least your Grace, grant us the seat of our House as reparation. Do what is right."

Daera braced herself as she felt her brother stiffen beside her. Once again, a petition had been stated, and once again, Lucerys Velaryon’s lineage was subtly put into question, and nothing about it pleased Viserys.

“Am I to understand… that you would put into question… my ruling? What has been decided? By your King?”

Alicent Hightower’s chest heaved as she took a sharp breath, eyes somewhere on the ceiling while her father seemed to be gauging Gaemon’s next action, hands tensely linked at his front. On the side, Aegon seemed to be far more entertained than he had been minutes before, brows raised in expectation slightly while next to him his brother wore a completely different expression.

He had one side of his lip somewhat twisted upward, as if repressing a wry smile that Daera would have found quite enticing if it was in any other situation. His eye was darting from his father to Malentine, calmly examining their behaviours. Suddenly, as if he felt her staring, his gaze landed straight on her.

His smile dropped gradually, his chin turning completely toward her. She swallowed, the uneasy feeling at the back of her neck coming back, its warmth spreading to her cheeks as she held his gaze, unable to tear apart from it, as if stuck in a staring contest. The room became momentarily blurry around her while Gaemond answered the King, but she managed to only hear half of what he was saying. Aemond’s lilac eye, even from afar, felt like scrutiny, like he dared her into action, as if he could read all of her anguish and helplessness on her face. She wished she could do the same, but all she saw was his ardent gaze devouring her, features unmoving except from the subtle parting of his lips and her mind was instantly filled with the need to hear his voice, to know what he sounded like, memories of the man in the cloak so vividly imprinted in her. She avidly wanted to hear it, to finally link that stranger to the Targaryen looking at her.

"-for our House, for our blood. Your ruling cost my cousin’s head, as well as our legacy’s sake. You cannot expect us to remain silent while we are robbed of both justice and legacy. He may be your brother, but he cannot be discarded from punishment.”

“Vaemond Velaryon… uttered slanders against the Crown, put into question the integrity of-”

“And he had paid the ultimate price for that. Without a trial, only by the audacity of a man that had none to answer for, simply by telling the truth. Is that your justice? Is that how you have reigned all these years? Upon lies?”

Both Daera and Aemond reported their gaze back at Gaemon’s cold statement at the same time, an icy sensation filling her again as her mother clutched Daemion’s shoulder next to her, bringing him closer.

Viserys was silent for a long while, mouth open as ready to shout, “Lucerys Velaryon is heir to the throne, by blood. He is the grandson of Corlys Velaryon, rightful heir of Laenor Velaryon.”

Malentine inhaled sharply, carefully choosing his next words and frustrated by the King’s obstinacy. “You may think so, your Grace, but this boy cannot command the greatest fleet of Westeros. He cannot command all of the wealth of House Velaryon because it is not owed to him. He is already in line to the Iron Throne, then so be it!” he exclaimed, drawing both Alicent and Otto’s attention to him, “Let him covet your seat, but do let him out of the Driftmark’s succession, stop this masquerade and reinstitute a Velaryon on the Driftwood Throne.”

Many in the room started to whisper, but it died as soon as the strong panting breath of the King made itself heard again, “Owed?... Reinstitute? Lucerys Velaryon is the blood of Corlys Velaryon, and you wish to deny his claim?”

“My King, nothing in their claim-” advanced the Hand in an attempt to talk to the King.

“Is it my daughter you are speaking of, my Lord?” raged the King anew, leaning further on his cane.

Otto stopped in his tracks while Alicent inhaled sharply.

Daera observed his face and she could suddenly see the Great Hall of Nine, lit by many candles as the moon shone outside over the crashing waves, could see the King standing and shouting at the crowd around him while Aemond Targaryen’s eyelid was being sewn back, his blood dripping on the floor.

“And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

“No,” she breathed, taking an imperceptible step forward, fear clawing at her as she remembered the King’s threat. Only one soul had seen her and heard her, his lilac eye now looking at her frightened face.

Both Gaemon and Malentine had raised their chins in defiance as Viserys looked at them with utter disbelief, the Queen and the Hand powerless while Daera’s heart hammered in her chest. However, Gaemon, always level-headed, chose to tread carefully.

“I once again simply demand to be considered as heir to Driftmark and be granted the title upon my uncle’s unfortunate potential demise-”

“I WILL BE… ANSWERED!” shouted the King, his voice twisting into a shrilling sound that made everybody gasp, “Are you so naive as to state the same slanders your cousin spoke? Do you believe I did not hear it?”

“Nothing in Vaemond’s claims was slander, and it is great time that you acknowledge that, despite your obvious lack of sense of justice. Lucerys Velaryon shares no blood with us and I am tired of pretending otherwise.”

As Malentine’s words resonated in the hall, a short silence lingered, and then it all went fast.

The White Cloaks surrounded both of them as Daera’s worst fears took form before her eyes. Viserys yelled orders to have their tongues removed as an armoured hand stopped her from going to her relatives. She could see Otto Hightower speaking hasty words to the King as Alicent brought a hand to her mouth. She saw Malentine’s sword being raised in the air before he was disarmed, Gaemon shouting at him to stand down.

Daera felt her insides twist in horror as she witnessed her great-cousins being dragged away unceremoniously, shouting their indignation, and only her mother’s pull on her arm made her realise that she had rushed to them in panic before a guard had managed to stop her course. But she didn’t yield into her mother’s touch, feeling that she was screaming but unable to hear herself among the mayhem that surrounded her. Soon other guards came to surround them upon seeing her tussle and she was immobilised.

Daera thought for an instant that she would witness her great-cousin’s tongues be removed in front of her, right here on the pavement stone, but she quickly understood that they would be taken down below, in the Dungeon, leaving the Small Hall completely in disarray and rid of the last remnant of her father’s wishes.

Daemion was trembling, head buried in her mother’s robes while Viserys moaned in pain upon his chair, the Queen at his side who spoke to him with concern, urgency in her words. But Daera could not bear to look in this direction, numb to what this monarch represented while her family was humiliated once again, all for a matter of succession that went beyond her own House.

When she was finally forcefully led away from the room, she did not see the single eye that followed her out, fascinated.

Chapter 3

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for beta.

Taglist: @knightprincess@baconturtle@witheredoffherwitch@lexwolfhale @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #smut #slowburn #hotd fanfic #fanfic #dark aemond #dark!aemond x oc #usermyfandomprompts #aemondedit #aemond x velaryon #tria #triafic

39 notes · View notes