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faefictions · 3 months

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Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie,

Does it Snow in Indiana?”

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time.

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.”

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well.

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.”

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles.

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes.

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends.

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years.

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day.

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up.

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore.

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now.

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account.

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion.

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner.

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching.

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold.

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper.

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way.

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office.

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?”

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room.

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.”

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.”

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.”

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?”

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.”

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you.

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left.

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.”

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place.

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.”

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice.

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.”

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind.

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on.

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van.

“Left out of the lot?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.”

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him.

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet.

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh.

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow.

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door.

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.”

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van.

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging.

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it.

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat.

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face.

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment.

“Everything ok?”

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought.

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky.

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving.

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.”

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy.

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.”

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.”

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it.

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so.

“That good huh?” you laughed.

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.”

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.”

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie.

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you.

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.”

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process.

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.”

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke.

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face.

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side.

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma.

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you.

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.”

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.”

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him.

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.”

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head.

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way.

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long.

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him.

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more.

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal.

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall.

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much.

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face.

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.”

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding.

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded.

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes.

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard.

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I told you she’d like it here”

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it.

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was.

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking.

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped.

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke.

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply.

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment.

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions.

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought.

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it.

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself.

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away.

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you.

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth.

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

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serenedash · 1 year

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Let's talk khux gameplay and plot,

imo I think part of khux's story telling and the impact of the story gets lost now that the game is defunct. I always thought people didn't appreciate how the gameplay and the mechanics actually had an impact on the story and while that impact become virtually nonexistent later on, I always thought it made the story far more engaging when the game was just chi/unchained chi and also the English translation didn't do it too well ngl

Anyway what I'm specifically talking about is the medal system. Also I feel like the whole bangle thing wasn't explained well in game but really it just comes down to leveling up medals specifically. If you never played khux, you equip medals to your keyblades and they doa specific attack and to level them up you combine multiple of the same medal and you could see how leveled up a medal is by the amount of yellow dots next to it and, in JP at least, this was called "guilt" and like wow that name fucking slaps. And when nightmare chirithy reveals the player has been collecting darkness this whole time thru the medal system, you have literal guilt on your conscious. You are guilty of collecting darkness and negative emotions like guilt to use for your own power. And in Back Cover when the foretellers are made aware of this, there's no stopping it and ofc the player can't stop either, they HAVE to get stronger, you literally have to keep playing the game,

Another part of the game that I appreciated is the way the name changes factored into the game; chi was the original "world line" that the dandelions existed in and at first unchained chi had come off as just a remake but really what we're playing is the continuation, where the player and the dandelions are now in this unchained state/new world line and they're reliving their time as wielders but now without the war/"dark" memories and finally when they relive everything and get back to the "present," they continue on after into "union cross" which I feel like. wasn't explained well in game that much tbh but if you didn't understand what that meant in game, it was just to say that unions didn't matter anymore and they were all dandelions so the unions. when the unions are crossed.

and tbh the experience of playing this game in real time also added to the experience a lot and the impact of the story especially with a player insert character. I think the most effective use of this game being played in real time was Strelitzia. Now in the english version, everything with Strelitzia was all one update and the english ver was behind so honestly they had to do catch up they couldn't really afford to lag behind. But in JP, which most khux fans kept up with using fan translations, Strelitzia's introduction and her death happened about a month apart so it gave the players time to actualyl grow attached to her and THEN we get crushed. You can easily pin point the exact time certain khux fan art was drawn bc in a group drawing of the dandelions Strelitzia is there instead of Lauriam since he was only introduced after her death

and another thing! It only became apparent by the end of the game but khux actually takes place over the course of about 4 years. which is fucking insane. because the dandelions were stuck in the data for 4 years and didn't know it until the glitches started. and the game ran for roughly the same amount of time and we weren't even aware of that either until the glitches! ("why 4 years" there are cutscenes that literally say "4 years ago" so yeah girl what the fuck haha)

Anyway yeah this was just me rambling I think about this so much all the time can you tell. I hope missing link does something like this too tbh it makes it more fun and makes it feel that your actions as the player actually have impact on the story

#source: dude trust me I was there #'who cares about the gameplay of a defunct mobile game' I DO #I wasn't a whale I was exclusively F2P but I ranked well #I was deep in the khux meta I was watching the few khux youtubers seeing if pulls were worth it + keeping up with roboloid's datamines #me reporting all this information back to my party full of casual players and them being like. okay.#I was a very dedicated party leader #khux #im rambling #kingdom hearts #khml #khdr #khux essay

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magicalqueennightmare · 2 months

Text

Broke it All

Billy Russo x Reader

You and Billy have been friends for years but one night ends up with a line being crossed. You admit your true feelings but Billy lies about his until Frank forces him to see the truth

Billy's eyes tracked his fingers as he picked at the label of the beer bottle in front of him. He was waiting for Frank to tie into him but so far the older man was silent, watching the hockey game that played on the TV over the bar.

After a few minutes he exhaled loudly and when Frank cut his eyes at him he waved his hand “C'mon Frankie let me have it” “Have what?” The question alone made him want to scream. “You warned me years ago to not touch her. To not let it go past friends then when we got closer you warned me again, don't break her heart. I slept with her then told her I didn't love her. Don't ya wanna at least get one punch in?”

Frank laughed lightly “Looks like you're beating yourself up well enough. Why hurt my hands? Besides ya got one coming as soon as Kare sees ya” Billy groaned inwardly thinking of Frank's girl and your best friend. Karen Page was a spitfire of a woman and had one hell of a temper when she was protecting someone she loved. That's what had drawn Frank to her. Yeah he'd get his head knocked off his shoulders when he saw the blonde.

“Can I ask one thing?” Frank spoke after studying him for a moment. Billy shrugged “Why not?” “Why'd you lie?”

Billy dropped his gaze down to his hands, the heartbroken look that had been in your eyes when he told you he didn't love you played through his mind. He didn't know why. A part of him said it was to protect you, his job was dangerous. He still had a few old enemies but deep down he knew that was a lie. For one you were basically Frank's little sister. That puts a certain protection on you, not to mention you could take care of yourself well enough.

He lied to protect himself. You meant too much to him, he'd let one night and a few shots overwhelm years of burying his feelings.

“I don't know” he finally admitted and Frank nodded then said “Just know man, when she moves on and finds someone else I'm not letting you beat up the idiot just for the sake of not being you. If she finds someone who cares about her she deserves to be happy” Billy's stomach dropped at that thought.

You, dancing in another man's arms. You, laughing and joking with another man. You, curling up next to another man to watch those horrible horror movies you loved. You, leaning on another man when you had nightmares. You, kissing another man. You, touching another man. You, under another man. You, telling another man you loved him.

“Fuck Frankie. How do I fix this?” a grin split across Frank's face and he checked his watch “Two days and forty five minutes. Pretty decent time to finally get your head out your ass Russo”

#billy russo au #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader

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angelst4re · 9 months

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Hi angel 💕 Could you write a counterfeit jamie smut where the reader used to be friends with benefits with him and he comes back to her town on tour and she ends up in his hotel room if you know what I mean 🤭I love you’re writing <3

hi lovely!! thank you so much!! im sooo sorry for making you wait so long THIS REQUEST IS LITERALLY FROM FEBRUARY??? i hope it's worth the wait :)

Addiction- Counterfeit!Jamie x Reader

warnings: NSFW!!! this contains smut so if that makes you feel uncomfortable then please don't read!! <3

notes: it's been a while... for the last month i've been so busy and when i haven't been busy i've been thinking about noah sebastian and/or cillian murphy (jamie i am sorry i'm in a hoe phase rn!!) but i also have a henry creel drabble to post tomorrow as well so keep an eye out for that :) ALSO I WANNA SAY A BIG THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME!!!! (p.s. this isn't proof read and i wrote this over the span of three weeks so i apologise for any mistakes!!)

When you received the message from Jamie telling you he’s playing a show in your city, you couldn’t contain your excitement. You were out for lunch with two of your friends, who were questioning the wide grin on your face.

“Oh, I just know she’s texting Matt again,” one of your friends smirked, eyeing you up, “are you ever going to meet up with him? You’ve been talking for almost 3 months?!”

“Oh, no, it’s Jamie. He’s playing here with his band next month, he wants me to come and see them. He’s sent two tickets, I could ask for an extra one if you wanted to come with me-”

“That’s perfect! You can ask Matt to come with you!” Your other friend suggested, although it came off as more of a demand.

“But what if he asks about how I know Jamie? I couldn’t really explain that on a first date.”

“Well, just tell him he’s a friend, maybe leave out the ‘with benefits’ part.”

“We stopped that a while ago, actually. I haven’t seen him for almost a year, we’re kinda just friends now.”

“Then that’s your story sorted then,” your friend grinned, picking your phone up from the table and placing it in your hand, “now tell Matt he’s got a concert to go to.”

You were surprised when Matt texted back, telling you he’s never heard of counterfeit before, but he’ll happily listen to them and come with you. You felt a little bad for lying to him, telling him you had no one else to come with you as your friends were working that weekend.

On the evening of the show, Matt came to pick you up. You would’ve usually dressed quite casual for a concert, specifically one of Jamie’s, but this was also a date. You stepped out of your house wearing a black dress, comfortable shoes and a cute handbag to match the outfit.

“You look amazing,” Matt said, unable to wipe the smile from his face, “let’s get going!”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“That guy right there,” Matt shouted through the noise, pointing at Jamie, “is your friend?” His mouth was open in disbelief as you nodded your head. He had already had four beers, and you had only been here just over an hour.

“Yeah, I met him at one of the restaurants I used to work at. It’s a funny story actually, some crazy fangirls were waiting outside for him to leave so I kinda helped him ‘escape’ through the back…” You trailed off as you noticed he wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying, his attention was elsewhere.

“Cool, I’m gonna get another drink, do you want one?”

You shook your head and watched as he disappeared off into the crowd.

Your eyes were drawn to Jamie, reminiscing on the times you had spent together. The times your bodies were intertwined beneath the covers and the times you spent laughing together in the car. You missed him, it was truly like it was a ‘right person, wring time’ kind of situation.

Time passed and passed and you realised Matt hadn’t come back yet. Surely the line wasn’t that long? You just assumed he had gone to the bathroom, especially after drinking that much. But another 15 minutes passed and he still hadn’t returned, so you went to search for him. You assumed he wouldn’t have wandered far from the bar, so you were heading in that direction.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You were pushed up against the hotel door, slamming it shut as his lips met yours. One of your hands found his hair whilst the other was grasping at his shirt, as if you were hanging on to him for your life. The familiar smell of his aftershave, mixed with cigarettes gave you a feeling of nostalgia, and it was as if you were experiencing deja vu.

His hands were on your thighs, pushing your dress up higher and higher, until his cold hands met your bare hips.

“Jamie,” you gasped, pulling back for air. As if he couldn’t take his mouth off you, his lips were now on your neck, kissing and nibbling the spot he knew would make your knees buckle.

The last thing you expected tonight was to leave the show with the singer. With Jamie. But after you went to look for Matt, you caught him with his tongue down another girl's throat. A part of you felt sick, betrayed, but another part of you felt relieved. However, you would never admit that’s how you felt, especially not to your friends.

Jamie had given you a backstage pass, and cleared it with security before the show. You knew how the night was going to end as soon as you received the text from him.

“Why does this always happen,” Jamie asked rhetorically, against the skin of your shoulder as he continued to pepper kisses, “always end up coming back to you.”

You smile at his words, it was true. The two of you just couldn’t seem to keep your hands off each other when you were together.

Before you could process what had happened, you were pushed against the table, and Jamie took your thighs, lifting you to sit on the edge of it as he got down to his knees.

His kisses began at your ankle, and he looked up at you as they got closer and closer. Your calves, your knees and eventually your upper thigh.

“I’ve missed you.” He confessed as he held your thighs open, one finger pushing your underwear to the side.

He dragged a finger through your slick folds, earning a sigh from you as he grazed your clit. You looked down to see a smirk plastered on his face. His eyes briefly met yours before he placed a kiss over your clit, the tip of his tongue nudging it as you dug your nails into the underneath of the wooden table you were sitting on. Jamie quickly noticed this, and the hand that was holding your legs open for him guided your hands back to his hair.

“Shit.” You gasped as you felt a finger gently press into your entrance, his lips now wrapped around your clit, sucking and nipping at it. “M-more…” You managed to whisper.

“That’s not how we ask for something, is it, darling?” Jamie teased, a devilish glint in his eyes as two of his fingers pressed into you, agonisingly slow.

“Please,” you whimpered, “I need… I want more, please, Jamie.”

Jamie chuckled, his thumb now replacing his mouth on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. He stood back up, towering over you before leaning down to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself as he did so.

“I’ve missed hearing you beg,” he whispered, “come on, sweetheart, let go for me. I know you're close.”

He was right. You swore he knew your body better than you did.

You could feel the knot in your belly tightening, getting ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re making such a mess, y’know that? My messy girl, can feel you dripping down my hand,” you could tell what he was doing, he was trying to push you to the edge, he knew what effect his words had on you, and he was taking advantage of that, “that’s it, angel. You can do it, cum for me.”

And that did it.

Your head was thrown back, your thighs trying to close around him as he continued to work you through your orgasm. The moans falling from your lips were muffled by his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

His fingers slipped out of you and he reached for your thighs, his slick coated fingers leaving your skin sticky as he pressed his body against yours, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the bed.

As your back hit the mattress, he began to undress. You took off your ruined underwear before you reached for your dress, to slip it off, but he called out to stop you.

“Hey, leave it on. It looks so fucking sexy.” He growled, unbuckling his belt to let his trousers fall to the ground.

He kneeled on the bed and shuffled his way between your legs, holding them open for him as he leaned down to kiss you once again.

“Jamie, please.” You whined, lifting your hips to try and get him to do something.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to hold back, darling. It’s been a while since I’ve…” He doesn’t finish his sentence as you reach your hand between your bodies, palming his hard cock through his boxers.

He grabs your wrists, his fingers digging into the skin sure to leave bruises for you to look back on in the days to come.

“I didn’t tell you that you could touch, now, did I?” His eyes had darkened with need and lust, and the way his face twisted into a devilish smile made a whimper slip from your lips. “So desperate for me, aren’t you baby. I knew all those years ago I had ruined you for any other man, this just proves it, hm?”

With one hand pinning your arms above your head, the other one comes down to drag his thumb over your bottom lip, before you welcome him into your mouth, gently sucking on the tip of his thumb.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “keep your hands here, okay? I know you will, you’re my good girl, right?”

You nod your head and manage to say a muffled ‘yes’ as his thumb presses down on your tongue as he uses his now spare hand to push his boxers down, letting his cock free from its restraints.

He wastes no time, swiping his fingers over your slick, spreading it over his dick before pumping himself a couple times. His breathing is heavy as he lines himself up with you, your hips squirming as you wait for him to finally push in, but he takes his time teasing you beforehand. When the tip finally slips into you, you both let out a moan and his head falls forwards, buried where your neck meets your shoulder.

It’s clear that neither of you have had any action lately, as you both need to take a moment before Jamie begins to move. You dig your nails into the pillow as he begins to slowly move his hips.

His hand that was once over your mouth trails down and rests on your neck, applying a little pressure as your eyes fall shut. You feel how his cock slides into you, nudging spots inside you that made you shiver. He would pull back out until only the tip was left inside, before fucking back into you, getting progressively rougher.

“You look so pretty like this, baby.” He said before leaning down to capture your lips with his.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping your hands planted above your head as you melted into the kiss. You took advantage of the use of your legs, if you couldn’t touch him with your hands.

One of Jamie’s hands slid between your bodies to find your clit again, using his thumb to try and bring you the edge, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer. In the past, you and Jamie went maybe 2 or 3 rounds sometimes in one night. However, it was different tonight. You hadn't seen each other in a long time, let alone had sex.

His pace began to quicken, his thrusts getting rougher and rougher. He buried his face in your neck once more and you couldn’t help but tangle your fingers into his hair, gently tugging on the blonde locks.

“Shit,” he gasped, masked by a dark chuckle as he kissed your neck.

“J-Jamie…” Your mind was too clouded by everything to even think about forming a proper sentence, but Jamie knew you and your body better than you knew yourself, and vice versa.

You knew he was getting close by the way his cock twitched inside you. Your grasp on his hair tightened as you felt your high getting closer and closer.

“Inside.” Was the final word you managed to mutter into his ear before you came undone, your legs locking around him, making sure he wouldn’t pull out before you came down from your high.

As you were beginning to catch your breath, your muscles relaxing as you lay there blissed out, felt him twitch in you once more, cumming inside you with a moan, followed by your name. You rocked your hips as he stilled inside of you, milking his cock of every last drop.

“Fuck,” he groaned, follow by a chuckle as he smiled lazily down at you, “you don’t understand how much I’ve missed you.”

#jamie campbell bower rpf #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie bower x reader #jamie bower smut #jcb #counterfeit jamie <3 #jamie campbell bower x reader

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Hey it’s El! Now this is more of a dark one for the series but the reader is an apprentice handmaiden for Helaena who sees aemond nearly everyday. She has lilac eyes but not the white hair. She is really feisty and after an arguement with aemond who tries to pester her over her eyes she reveals her a distant ancestor probably had an affair with a targaryen. Aemond attempts to comfort her but has ulterior motives. The reader storms out but aemond looks annoyed at being defied. He vows to bed her and talks in his head how if there was one other thing she inherited of the targaryen line it’s their fire. You can change it if you aren’t comfortable with certain aspects

Okay this one is shorter than normal, but I could def do a part two of this if people wanted it, bc I'm liking the vibe!!!!

Dragon Seedling

“My prince, I must again ask that you stop this investigation into my heritage. My blood is half river water for how deep my family’s roots are burrowed into the soil of the Riverlands, there is no Targaryen blood. Perhaps you are seeing purple, where it is merely a unique shade of blue.” You said, clasping your hands in front of you, chin jutted up in defiance.

Aemond had been pestering you about your heritage for ages now, refusing to accept that your violet eyes were just an odd coincidence. The affair your three times over great-grandmother had with a Targaryen lord is a well-kept family secret, resulting in a strain of your family that had Targaryen features. Your mother was hoping perhaps it had finally died out, but then you were born with those tell-tale eyes, and her hopes were dashed.

“Lady y/n, you must admit that it is odd to have Targaryen eyes with, supposedly, no Targaryen blood.” He said, not backing down yet again.

“I do not know what to tell you, it is a mystery from the gods, one we are not meant to solve.”

“Surely you do not believe that.” Aemond snapped, stepping closer to you.

You sighed deeply, then collected yourself. “Aemond, let this die, there is no reason to dig into my past, it will not affect you, Helaena, or Aegon.”

“So you admit you do carry Targaryen blood.” He said, satisfaction clear in his voice.

The short thread of patience you were hanging onto snapped, and you plunged into your anger. “Fine, yes, I admit it. Far back in my family line, there was an affair with a Targaryen lord, but it was long ago, and a great shame to us.”

“Shame? You have the blood of dragons in your veins.” He said, hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling back to his side.

You stepped closer to Aemond, fury blazing in your lilac eyes. “Yes, shame. To go outside your marriage is shameful, and in the case of my distant grandmother, a foolish decision. Look where I am now because of her choices. Being interrogated by a prince, when I have done nothing but faithfully serve his sister for years.”

He faltered, his expression softening. “I apologize, I have overstepped in my desire.”

“Desire?” You asked, anger and confusion mixing together in a way that made you feel sick.

He stepped even closer, your back hitting the cold stone wall. “Yes…I must admit that all these years I have felt a pull, something was calling me to you.”

“A pull?” You echoed, breathing quickening as Aemond’s arms caged you in, his head ducking down, his lips grazing your cheek.

He let out a low hum, eye inspecting your face, but always drawn back to your eyes. “I thought perhaps it was your kindness towards my sister, or your tenacity, but now I see.”

“You see what?” You asked breathlessly, as his lips brushed across yours, heat spiraling out through your body, goosebumps covering your skin.

“It is you, it has always been you, the answer to my dilemma.” His voice is low, so, so low, and you feel it in your bones as you stretch up, mesmerized by his heated gaze.

“Yes.” You said without thinking, lips parting ever so slightly for him.

His nose brushed yours, a seemingly clumsy action for such a graceful man. “You wish to be mine? To help me?”

“Yes, Aemond, of course.” You’re either barely breathing or hyperventilating, you’re not sure at this point. His chest is pressed to yours, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours. Everything is him, every sight, every touch, every sound, and you can almost taste him when he releases a breath.

“Long have I wondered how I would sire children with Targaryen features, when Helaena was married off to Aegon, now I will bed you, and you shall give me the pureblooded heirs I need.” The words sound sweet, like honey dripping off from his lips, but the reality of them shatters the illusion.

“You do not want me, you want to take the chance that I will give you Targaryen looking children. Do you not care how that will look? What if they come out perfect copies of me? Will you abandon them?” You ducked under his arm the heat of your rage burning through the desire and affection you held for Aemond.

“Y/N, do not think such horrid thoughts, with our blood combined, our children will be perfect.” He said, reaching out for you, fingertips grazing the back of your arm.

You turned and faced him, putting space between you two. What did he take you for? Some kind of whore he could use to squeeze out children then discard?

“No, Aemond, I will not risk my name and my future because you think you know better than the gods. There are plenty of Targaryen bastards scattered across the land. I have even heard rumors that Daemon left a bastard in one of the pleasure houses, go seek her out and make her your broodmare.” You turned and left, fuming as you stormed away.

Aemond watched you leave, anger and arousal churning within him. He would have you. There was no one else in the entire realm that was worthy enough to be his wife, and mother of his children. He would take you to bed and make you see, either through words or pleasure, that you belonged to him. He had prayed for an answer, and you were right in front of him all along.

He chuckled darkly as he pictured the rage in your eyes, even if your eyes had been any other color, he would know that anger anywhere. Targaryen rage, dragonfire ran through your veins as surely as it ran through his.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond #meg's writing #apprentice!reader #thanks for the request!#hotd #hotd fanfic #I hope you like it!!!#aemond x fem!reader #aemond x female reader #anon request #mail from el

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eomerofrohan · 1 month

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The Grinding Ice

(an excerpt from an as-yet-unpublished WIP I've been working on featuring some of my Noldor OC's. for @march-of-the-noldor)

After what felt like an eternity trekking across the frozen wasteland, Fingolfin called for the group to halt and make camp. They could not continue on their march as worn out as they were, and although trying to sleep in such an environment would be dangerous, he preferred it to trying to press onward and having his people collapse of exhaustion. They’d had too many close calls already.

“I’ll stay awake for now,” Vanessë whispered to her sister Rainiel as they pitched their tent. “To keep watch for cracking in the ice or anything else. You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Rainiel asked. “You need sleep too.”

“I’ll be fine.” Vanessë handed Rainiel the extra blanket. “Take this.”

“Absolutely not, you keep that if you’re going to try to stay awake in this cold!”

“You need to stay warm while you sleep,” she retorted.

Finally, Rainiel agreed to take the blanket, and she wrapped it around herself with one of the cloaks as extra padding. Then she spread a bedroll out on the ground inside the tent and lay down, curled up in between these layers and still shivering.

Vanessë waited until Rainiel’s breathing was steady. Then, slowly and quietly, she laid the fur-lined cloak Turgon had just given her across her sister’s shoulders and slipped out of the tent without another word, letting the flap close behind her. She went and sat down a few feet away and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the icicles that were slowly forming on the ends of her hair.

“You care about her a lot, I can tell,” Saeldur said, sitting down next to her.

“She didn’t want to come and I feel responsible for her,” Vanessë answered. “Besides, I’m the only one she has now. Our parents stayed in Tirion.”

Saeldur paused. “And… what are your feelings about our expedition?”

Vanessë shivered. “It’s hard to think of anything right now except ice and water. I don’t think I ever want to see ice again for as long as I live. I hope Middle Earth is warm.”

Without saying anything, Saeldur slipped part of his cloak off of his shoulders and wrapped it around hers, so that it covered the both of them. Vanessë glanced at it, surprised, and then looked at him with gratitude.

“I think there may be a limited supply,” he explained. “We didn’t expect to have to come this way, after all.”

“Well, I appreciate your generosity,” Vanessë said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he replied.

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Vanessë was the one who broke it.

“I want to kill Morgoth,” she said.

“What?”

“I want to destroy him completely and utterly. He destroyed what stability we had, destroyed the light of the Trees, destroyed my trust in the Valar… I want to pay him back for all of that. A thousand times.”

Saeldur stared at her. “So, you’re still dedicated, even after hearing the Doom that Mandos set down on us,” he whispered. “Even after… after being betrayed by Fëanor?”

“We don’t need Fëanor,” Vanessë scoffed. “We can do this ourselves. Look around: we are a larger force than his, and better equipped. This ice shelf is full of passionate, dedicated Elves who just spent today helping each other out of a number of bad situations. Fëanor could never.”

Saeldur had to laugh then. “You’re right! He is singularly focused on his own personal ambition. We were taken care of in his fortress, but… not by him.”

“So, what’s this about for you, then?” she asked him. “What made you want to take up your sword and march across a thrice-damned frozen deathtrap?”

He thought about it for a moment, shifting a little under the blanket as he did so, subconsciously shifting a little closer to her, drawn in by her body heat.

“Well, I… I swore an oath to Fëanor. Not that one. An oath of fealty, several years ago. I wanted to be a part of something, and he seemed so promising then. But… I’m not a part of that anymore. I turned away from him. I… I defected. But even having done that, I can’t make myself turn aside from the quest. Maybe it’s that I consider my fealty to have transferred to Fingolfin, so the same oath applies… but I don’t think it’s just that. People don’t swear oaths for the sake of swearing oaths. There’s feeling behind them. Some sort of desire or emotion. It doesn’t just go away.”

She was watching him intently. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I was in Formenos when High King Finwë was killed,” he said softly. “I didn’t see it, of course. No one saw it, it was pitch black. But to think that a being such as Morgoth could just… do that… just come into our home and murder our leader, and none of us could stop him… that chills me to the bone. I can’t sit idle and let him get away with that.”

Vanessë nodded as he spoke. She understood that implicitly.

“I think that’s a very respectable thing to want,” she whispered.

The two of them sat there and talked for many hours, and the longer they talked, the more Vanessë felt like she and Saeldur were on the same wavelength when it came to ambitions and things they would or would not accept. Internally, she breathed a sigh of relief that someone else here felt the same as her.

Saeldur gently nudged her. “Look up,” he whispered.

She glanced upward, then stared. In the sky, thousands of tiny dots of light pierced through the darkness. They stretched all the way from the land she had just left behind to the opposite shore, and they reminded her of Varda’s silver orbs. In that moment, a story came back to her mind.

“Varda created the stars so that the first Elves would not awaken in darkness,” she whispered. “This is… this is the light our people were born under.”

“Maybe our road is not so hopeless after all,” Saeldur said. “Morgoth can destroy the Trees, but he cannot destroy the stars, and we are banished from Valinor, but we keep the first gift we were given. No one can take the stars from us.”

Vanessë smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I like the way you think, Saeldur Elennion.”

After a while, they drifted off to sleep there in the middle of the Helcaraxë, both wrapped in a single cloak, with Rainiel sleeping a few feet away and a handful of the most noble Elves they’d ever met patrolling quietly around them. A cold wind blew, but they snuggled together for warmth, and in that moment, it seemed like their exile might not be such a bad thing after all.

#silmarillion #fanfic #march of the noldor #helcaraxe #my posts

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gimmethatagustd · 1 year

Note

Ohhhh how I’ve always wanted to participate in one of these, you are one of my favorite writers & ummm I’m ot7, but but but any member of the Hyung line that’s completely up to you 😮‍💨🥵💜💜 also also number 23 🤍🤍🫣

Can I, tell you what I think my biggest flaw is, baby? / I try to be consistent, but I can't / Can I, have an honest moment with you right now, baby? / Tell me who the fuck you wanna be

» pairing: yoongi x reader

» genre: BTS | 18+ | drabble | exes | angst

» wc/date: 747 | December 2022

» warnings: emotional manipulation/gaslighting | marking | making out~

» notes: stoppp you're so sweet!! thank you for sending in a request 🥺 i realllly tried not to write yoongi for this one cuz i have multiple yoongi requests BUT I COULD NOT STOP MYSELF so i hope you enjoy. sorry it's ~angsty~ this song really puts me in a mood

You never realized how much space Yoongi had taken up in your life until you packed your belongings into a single suitcase. Four years of life condensed into a small rectangle.

It didn’t even bulge at the seams. Your clothes were neatly folded inside, along with shoes, accessories, and makeup you hadn’t already brought to your mom’s house. Your electronics were already at home, except for your Switch. You left that on the coffee table in Yoongi’s apartment; he’d bought it for you. It didn’t bother you much to return it. You’d used those games to cope with an emptiness you would no longer need to suffer.

At least not by the hands of Yoongi.

“Is this permanent?”

He watched you answer his question by sliding the key to his apartment off your keychain. It clattered onto the kitchen counter where you’d spent hours making kimchi with Yoongi and Hoseok, back when the two friends still spoke to each other and Yoongi had light in his eyes. They’d always twinkled with mischief like he knew something you didn’t.

Just wait, his eyes once seemed to say, and you always held onto the edge of your seat.

Now he stared at you with an empty darkness that made your skin prickle.

“Baby…”

“Don’t. Yoongi, please. Don’t.” Your protest was weak. You were weak.

He slipped his finger beneath your chin and lifted your face to look up at his. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on your lips. When was the last time he’d touched you so gently? His lips were warm and soft. They always were. They molded against yours, locking together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. That was the problem with Yoongi: everything fell into place so easily.

It started with silly things. He hated crunchy french fries, while you hated the mushy ones. He liked putting away clean dishes, and you preferred to be the one to wash them. You were scared of conflict, and he loved taking care of you. Where one of you was lacking, the other filled in the gaps.

Until Yoongi was the one taking from you. He took and took and took until you had too many empty gaps you scrambled to fill.

He pulled back slowly to look you in the eyes. A bit of color was brushed across his cheeks, and his lips were parted slightly. He didn’t look as upset as you expected, but Yoongi had never been predictable. The confidence with which he carried himself was part of the reason why you were drawn to him. It was a quiet confidence, a feeling simmering deep in his soul rather than something boisterous and assaulting. It was an inner strength you’d never had until he taught it to you.

“We always pull through, baby. Me and you against the world, right? It’s always been me and you.” His smooth voice was a familiar lullaby, but your dreams had turned into nightmares long ago.

“It’s not me and you anymore, though…” You wanted your voice to be strong and sure, but it wavered as Yoongi slipped his hand beneath your sweater. His cool fingers gripped your hip, and you felt your entire body shiver.

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s you and your music. You and your friends. You and everyone else but me.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, face tilted slightly to whisper against your lips. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yoongi.” Your heart fluttered despite the weight that pressed into your chest. You wanted him to kiss you again so badly you felt tears burn in the corners of your eyes. He made everything so hard.

“I love you. It’s always gonna be me and you, jagi. Always.”

It was wrong to melt into the kiss he gifted you. It was wrong to let your mouth fall open, a soft moan escaping your lips when you felt his tongue swirl against yours. It was wrong to let him pull you flush against his chest and walk you backward until your body pressed against the kitchen counter. It was wrong to open your legs and throw your arms around his neck when he lifted you onto the counter and slotted himself between your thighs. It was wrong to rip your sweater over your head and let it fall onto the tiled floor.

“Be gentle with me, Yoongi,” you whispered into his dark hair as he decorated your neck with marks sucked into your skin.

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

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kaicean · 1 year

Text

I normally just draw and not make long text posts but I have bundled up Natsu/Lucy feelings I want to word vomit ever since I picked up the Fairy Tail game out of curiosity (PLS & THIS & ?!?!) and most of all watched the Dragon Cry movie for the very first time a few months ago (July ironically). This movie dragged me back by the neck to this ship I loved several years ago.

Now I own a copy of the movie’s storyboard manga drawn by Mashima himself and the pamphlet. I flip through the pages of these two more times than I can count like-

真島自らが描いた、ナツの回想の中ルーシィ Natsu’s recollection of Lucy, drawn by Mashima himself

I’ve read several essays + interview (i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii to name a few) revolving around the famous nalu scenes in the movie, but I don’t think I ever came across anyone talking about what I think is the ultimate song that perfectly captures them in their entirety—Dragon Cry’s ending theme What You Are by Polka Dots.

There are only two translations I found, one of them being from the wiki but it’s a little off. This one is more accurate. My translation version is a mix of it plus usage of DeepL so it may not be entirely accurate but it’s close enough.

I absolutely see this song as Lucy -> Natsu due to obvious phrases within the lyrics and it fits my headcanon of Natsu being metaphorically Lucy’s brightest star. His name means summer which has ties to the sun, aka the brightest star. The sun is known to be the brightest star because it’s the closest to us, just like the person closest to Lucy is Natsu.

You're still you, no matter what Softly illuminating the darkness You're a star

Self explanatory, first line starts off with Lucy’s answer to Natsu’s “What do I look like?” question. This was first shown to us in the beginning of the movie so let’s keep that in mind.

Where is tomorrow? The past cannot be erased In a pitch-dark world I found a warm, enveloping light "It's gonna be okay" the voice said That voice echoed in my heart I want to believe in you, whatever you are Whatever the road I take, I want to be by your side I want to keep walking Wish on a star Let's find it, let's find it The only light

This can be easily depicted by my favorite scene in Snow Fairy opening, where Lucy’s world was rainy and bleak until a literal light shines through when she looks at Fairy Tail, particularly Mirajane and main team:

She ran away from home, stripped herself from Lucy Heartfilia to just Lucy, and began her own journey. Her world was small and lonely due to her strict upbringing but it was thanks to Natsu, who led her to Fairy Tail, that her world brightened and expanded since that day. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t hide her Heartfilia name for long which led us to the Phantom Lord arc. Here was where Natsu firmly assured her twice that she could stay in the guild and that it is her home that she can come back to, because she’s Lucy of Fairy Tail. These feelings were further cemented towards the end of the arc by Makarov. From then, she stopped running away and faced her past/father head-on, before returning home to the guild.

The cherry blossom colored dusk reflects in your eyes I'm not sad, yet the tears spilled Someone once said that the most beautiful things are fleeting No matter what today is, it has meaning I’ll always be by your side I'll hold your hand tight Let's tell each other The feelings hidden in our hearts You're a star You're a star

This part screams post-Tenrou Island and GMG arc+. One of my top favorite chapters is chapter 257 which happened after the 7-year timeskip. Natsu, Lucy and Happy traveled to visit Lucy’s father only to find out he had passed away just one month prior. Natsu offered her words of comfort and space but it’s this chapter where the lost of time was incredibly overwhelming for Lucy. I truly believe it was after this day (her BIRTHDAY no less wtf Mashima, satanic much???) that “time” was seen more precious and that every day has a meaning. Lucy’s first step of moving forward was tagging along with Natsu and Happy on a job, and her monologue just hits.

The concept of each moment being precious solidified during the GMG arc. Future Lucy lost her life to save her past self before wishing she could go on more adventures. Present Lucy proclaimed she had to laugh, cry, and live enough for both her and her future self. In Future Lucy’s version of heaven, it was Natsu who first called out to her and pulled her hand to say “Let’s continue on our adventure” before they ceased to exist.

And in the current timeline, present Lucy felt what Future Lucy felt in her heart. She then thanked Natsu, for saving her and their future.

You ask, "What am I?" I'll answer, "You're you” That assurance is all we need from each other Let’s make a wish upon the shining stars You're still you, no matter what The one who gently shines in the darkness That's right, my own Superstar A Superstar that lights up this road that goes on and on You're a star

At the end of the song, we circled back to the beginning, just like we did in the movie where Natsu asked Lucy for the second time what he looked like and she assured him yet again that Natsu looked like Natsu, obviously. And this was enough.

Natsu was the one who saved her (unintentionally) back in Hargeon thus leading her to Fairy Tail and stuck with her ever since. He became the person who she was closest to and vice versa. It was thanks to him that she got to experience so many things and came out stronger from it. Without meeting him and Happy, she wouldn’t be the person she was today. No matter what happens, as Natsu told her at the end of the main series, it doesn’t matter because they will always be together, to continue on more adventures!

I love when songs line up perfectly with the theme and this takes the cake. Thanks for coming to my TED talk as I continue to listen to this song on repeat and cry. I can’t wait until I can draw all of this out in the future, something similar to my comic here.

Also if there is an analysis of nalu + dragon cry’s ending theme out there, pls throw it my way thanks I will literally die on this hill.

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu #nalu analysis #i love dragon cry sm y'all don't understand #literally singlehandedly brought me back to this franchise #and now i suffer hell bi-weekly

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cakeboxie · 8 months

Text

Oh boy I just kinda, wrote this on a whim uh, I’m sorry lmao

Pairing: Gepard Landau/GN reader

TWs: Implied child neglect, thoughts of cheating, implied age gap (geppie is 36, reader is at least 15 years younger)

Sfw

Gepard Landau, second eldest child of the Landau family and their only son.

The man who commanded respect no matter where he went in the Belobog overworld. Polite, respectful, and a skilled soldier and strategist.

To say expectations for him were high could be the understatement of the century. Especially with his very traditional, and militant father. Who barely even congratulated him when he became captain at 18, the youngest in history, who rarely looked at him before then.

But also;

Gepard Landau, who enjoys growing flowers, and drawing, but it’s not particularly good at either activity. Who is still close friends with Serval. Former crybaby and now, unbelievably, desperately, head over heels in love with the person staring up at him, curious eyes and a confused expression as to why Captain Gepard was staring at them.

“Captain? Is there something wrong?”

“A-ah. No. Continue your training.”

“Yes Captain.”

The warmth in his cheeks makes him want to melt into the ground. He should not be thinking about anyone like this, but especially not you. One of many new and, frankly, unremarkable recruits. Your stance was fine, you knew how to use your weight to your advantage to make up for strength you had yet to build, just as you had been taught. A perfectly average recruit who would grow into a perfectly average soldier.

Yet he found his eyes drawn to you time and time again, his mind rebelling against him and finding its way to you only when it’s the most inconvenient for the captain.

Even if you weren’t a recruit, he’s married. The woman his father picked for him 5 or so years ago now, a perfectly palatable woman. She had no interest in him nor him towards her, but that is the life of a nobleman. He still is expecting not to cheat, to be faithful regardless of his opinion of her.

And yet here he is, trying with all his will to not stare at you, the fresh recruit easily 15 years his junior if not more. That alone made him feel… Something, the fact that he can’t place what is its own beast.

He is Captain Gepard Landau, 36 years old and married, his wife 4 months pregnant. Cornered in a quiet part of the restricted zone by the person his brain had been fixated on for 2 years now.

“I’m done with this little guessing game, Captain. What have I done to make you hate me so much?”

His flesh burns like he’s been set aflame. He can’t tell you he doesn’t hate you, that he loves you more than life itself.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You’re a shit liar, Gepard.”

It’s been a long time since he’d cried, but the pure malice behind your words and the way you spit his name made him want to.

“I’m.. not lying.”

“Then tell me what’s going on. For as long as I’ve been a soldier you’ve been harder on me, and at the same time won’t let me take any important patrols. You clearly think I’m a good fighter or you wouldn’t have me spar with the lieutenants, why can I not go on night patrols, or be on the front lines with the others you put against them?”

Because the thought of you getting hurt makes him feel sick like nothing else ever has.

Because if you died fighting a fragmentum monster he doesn’t think he could ever see one again without sobbing.

“Because I-“

No, no he can’t. Not now, not yet.

“Because what, Gepard?”

The way your voice softened… Maybe he can.

#pvbbywrites #honkai gepard #gepard landau x reader #gepard x you #hsr gepard #gepard x reader #gepard landau #gepard

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pengemis-receh · 3 months

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I was reading your long post on the elementals and got whiplash in the end with your Allahuakbar in the tags 😭

And then i saw your profile having a hijab and went "oh yea shes muslim. Neat :D"

Anyway aside from that

Love the ted talk that was a very nice read :]

It amazes me how much you try to find information despite beimg on hiatus for 8 years. There was.. ALOT of phases but the fandom has stayed relatively the same, the only phase i really miss is the threads and occasional "boi life update"

Pretty sure bbb is in fact ambidextrous! We never see him write with his left hand but he uses weapons with it (sword, bows, etc) and you need a lot of coordination to do that

Surprised how you didn't talk about the biggest worry of if boi has complete amnesia, there were a lot of speculation back then of what would happen if a situation where boi was alone and was split for a long time, we speculated that the elements would create its own concious with a mix of boi's beliefs and personality. But at that point would they even WANT to combine back?

At the time we were all just "oh haha just what-ifs tho, no need to worry" and then a teaser art work of bbb movie 3 was shown where boi was ALONE.

Boi is never alone, he always had his friends, even in movie 2 he had Gopal, this time hes alone. Not even ochobot is with him.

So there was a moment everyone went WILD it was beautiful, now obviously most people speculated that he was trying to find his dad or was searching something for Tok Aba

But there were a couple people who were like "hey guys what happens if boi split haha, who gonna get him back together haha, whos gonna remind him haha... oh god what if the elements seperate.." annnnnnddd that kinda got me thinking..

If boi got split for too long to the point of the elements becoming they're own 'person' obviously Boi's friends (and tapops) will eventually get them to combine back again

But which memories would boi get? All of them? If he split into 3 he'll have 3 memories but what if he split into 5? Which memories would dominate?

Can boi tell which are really his and which are the elements?

What if specific elements made new friends? Would boi feel guilty? Would boi care about these characters like how his elements cared for them? The elements are him after all

But where does the line end between him and the elements? Where is evern the line drawn that separates him with them?

How can he differentiate which action of his was himself and not pushed by a certain element personality?

How can boi live with himself with the fact he might be keeping 7 people from living?

Hehe I'm delighted . Assalamualaikum, Anon ^^

Tbh, It's a wild short ride if I remembered it again. I didn't know there's the comic ver of Galaxy season 1 and movie 2; the battle card sets; action figures; magazines; heck, when the movie 2 come out in theater, I did not managed to watch it.

A funny story how I went back to this series. When I was on staycation at the hotel this year, that night, my sister stumbled upon one of my local tv(uuuuh I forgot whether it's mnc tv or rtv) that showing one of Galaxy season 1 episode. She asked me how Boboiboy's get bigger and why am I did not watch this series anymore. My reason is same as what I've mentioned about Duri and Solar here and that's the end of it.

But later when I'm back home, I somehow... Felt an urge to re-watch its series? I have to tell you first, I followed Boboiboy's account on Twitter like two years ago, I read some issues when Monsta released season 2 comic on webtoon but I stopped shortly after.

So when people hyped about the upcoming Sori, I myself didn't feel like to watch it since I constantly reminded myself to finish the galaxy season 1 first.

Therefore I hurriedly marathon-ed all series. A bit of back and forth between Galaxy series and original series to refresh my mind before went to movie 2 and Sori. And even then I stopped my read at issue 6 to watch Sori in blind. Counting all that I finished this series within.... Three... Weeks or more I guess?

For now I only own the Google play book ones, baby steps to buy all the physical comic books and the card packs too I guess. (Aaaaaaaaa I want the galaxy season 1 and movie 2 comic books SO BAD >:[ )

I MISSED THAT IMPORTANT PART WADEFA—

Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya me too, anon, ME TOO!

Windara and Gur'latan arc made me absolutely concerned with boi's mental health.

When talking about amnesia awareness. We had this line from both comic and Sori.

Yet the final episode of Sori piqued my interest.

Monsta surprisingly didn't dwell this deeper in comic book ver. They didn't show how much the effect could impact the elemental's well being.

edit: I really want to highlight how much Hali's big will to fight his amnesia illnesses. When others starts to forget their surroundings, Hali on the other hand decided to increase his pace. Desperately find a way to meet his other twins. Notice how Hali forgetting Gopal's name but not Yaya at first... Until Hali also forgotten her name.

Yet Yaya somehow understood Hali's frustration by accepting her temporary name. All that scene made my eyes wide when I compared it to comic ver.

(btw how about I call him "Oboi" like many people call him since it's cuter and easier to type? We good? moving on.)

The comic ver only portrayed a fainted Oboi, whereas Sori purposely added an extra few frames of him "suffering" and said more than just felt dizzy.

(my pc record program got error again, and my phone didn't support internal audio. Apologies for the mute sound m(__)m)

This scene is peculiar indeed. Aside from how pretty the recombined animation is, this scene made me realize: "Oh? Oooooooh? Okay, Monsta. Let's see where this is going."

Can I say I'm very, veerry much in gratitude to Monsta that they added those extra scenes more detailed and logical? People need to remind that Boboiboy is a freaking human. A FRAGILE LIVING BEING THAT IS STILL. A MIDDLE. SCHOOLER.

he's no superman or spiderman genes shit. He and Kokotiam gang are purely normal teenagers with no special genes inside them. It's all because of the special power tool that came from a robot. That's it.

I forgot where I got this fact, please please PLEASE tell me I'm wrong, but when I stumbled upon some random trivia on the internet, I was mouth agape with the line:

"All season 2 events happened in 3 months"

My brain.exe stopped working at the moment. All I could think was, "Wallahi THAT'S FUCKING TIGHT EVENTS!! WTF??!!"

Another reason why TAPOPS is useless and just let youngsters did all the dirty work. Just like how this tweet deliberately writes it. Couldn't agree more.

(I won't translate it to English since its a long thread. So please read it yourself 😅)

ehem. moving on.

At the time we were all just "oh haha just what-ifs tho, no need to worry" and then a teaser art work of bbb movie 3 was shown where boi was ALONE.

(where did you get that, anon? O.O)

So there was a moment everyone went WILD it was beautiful, now obviously most people speculated that he was trying to find his dad or was searching something for Tok Aba

Anon, I was frantically screaming when I saw this in the opening vid of motion comic series.

Like,

WHY WOULD YOU TEASE THIS IMAGE WHEN I DIDN'T EVEN FIND ONE IN YOUR COMIC, MONSTA????

Ehem.

Also, I thought when boi said this

It means all Kokotiam gang's are staying on earth, right? as usual? back to what they did in eps 1 or issue 1 in both season 2 events?

But after you mentioned it I ... somehow reminded myself of Tok Aba's worrying physical illness.

If...

If what you say about the movie 3 teaser is true, anon...

Then does Boboiboy is alone after he...?

... some people say that Tok Aba was hiding his painful disease all from Boboiboy like how he spotted in ... gosh I forgot which issue is it and the last one. Also, I guess Kokotiam gang didn't too. No idea about Ochobot though, I went 50/50 with that...

...please tell me this isn't true...

...please...

fuck where are you and your wife, Amato? >:/

HOOOLD—ONE AT THE TIME ANON

I'm at my Tumblr image post limit, so I'll continue this topic in reblog.

Update: I made it into separate post here

#boboiboy #boboiboy galaxy #bbbg #bbbglxs2 #boboiboy sori #bbb #menjawab anon

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demon-of-the-ancient-world · 6 months

Text

There is Thunder in our Hearts (part 4)

Read on AO3

@levithestripper @grantairescurls @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics @eriexplosion @starrose17

Lagertha finds him.

Again, he hears her before he sees her. He would know her sounds anywhere.

"What are you doing?" she asks him, without coming into his line of sight.

"I," he says, "am making a handle. For a knife. For one of my boys."

"Which boy?"

He doesn't answer, only continues whittling away at the chunk of beechwood. It's the shape of a wolf's head, a strong shape. Each flick of the knife calms him. Somewhat.

"Ragnar." She's quiet now. Not angry.

His grip on the half-made handle tightens. "I am still listening."

Now she gets closer to him. When he looks up at her there are pinched lines of worry around her mouth, tired grey streaks around her eyes.

"Bjorn has returned," she says quietly. "Our son. He is unhurt."

Her words chip away at something in him, a gentler version of the knife he's using now. He lays the the project down, hands trembling. Bjorn. His eldest son. "And Floki?"

"Alive, too."

His oldest friend. His oldest son. Ragner is hit with a wave of almost giddy triumph. He's won. Again. "Did they say how it went with the Gotlanders?"

"They have agreed, for the time being, to side with us. With you."

"Good."

He keeps whittling. She doesn't need to say anything else. If he keeps his eyes locked away from her for long enough, she won't.

"The peace is a fragile one."

He shrugs.

"Ragnar," she says, softly. He keeps whittling. "Ragnar."

"What."

He hears her soft footsteps behind him, and then a hand brushes his shoulder, tightening there. "I will say it once: Athelstan may still die. I know it, you know it. Go to him. Speak to him."

Ragnar keeps whittling.

"He has asked for you. Many times."

"I can't."

His fingers grip the knife handle, hard enough that its surface digs into his skin. "I cannot face him, Lagertha. Why can no one understand that?"

She sits before him, pale brows drawn together in a frown. "You blame yourself. That does not mean he will blame you. You know how he is."

"I never said I blamed myself."

"Clearly you blame someone. And I don't think it's him."

She doesn't understand. Does she think he wants to see him, near death as he is?

"Go to him. You are being unreasonable - "

"I cannot stand the proof."

The truth explodes out of him like a sparking birch log. It sears his throat, it shames him.

Lagertha takes his hand in her own, roughened from gripping axe-hilts, from carding and spinning and weaving. Athelstan's hands are like that now, too. They weren't always. "Proof of what? Say it."

He can't look at her. His hand lifts, covers his face, and the other squeezes tight. The knife falls somewhere on the floor.

When he speaks it's hardly above a whisper. "That the gods can twist my fate too. That they can twist the fate of those I have claimed. That I am not my own god. I rule these people. I do not rule myself."

She is silent for a long time. The awful, raw thing he's just spat out lies thick between them, like a mass of blood and flesh.

"Well," she says, "I could have told you that."

He snorts out a a bitter laugh. The mass thins, slightly. "I am a man. I am not a god. And neither can I do battle with gods. There are times I forget that. I hate to admit I forget it."

But it doesn't seem to matter much now. There are other things that matter more than his pride. Even that, he cringes to admit - even to himself.

"Then you must - "

"I can't. Do not tell me what I must and must not do."

"Look at me." She takes his jaw in her hand, turning him toward her fierce face. "On this night, eight years ago, I burned our daughter's body on the beach."

He freezes in place. She has frozen him, her words have cast a frost spell.

"Look at me."

He can't not look. "You were not there."

"Don't." Something shatters the ice around him. "Do not speak to me about that - "

Her grip is like iron around his wrist. "I will speak of it as long as I have to. "Our child died. And you were not there. You went away and fucked another woman - "

Ragnar gets up. He wrenches his own hands from hers but they're still cold, icy rings about his wrists where she held him. He can't look, he can't think, all he can do is pace back and forth through the room like a goat soon to be slaughtered. She's finally done it, finally cracked away the piece of him he'd so badly tried to keep in place. How is it even after years of separation she still knows how to do that?

Somehow he ends up near a corner, forearms pressed into the wall, his head resting on his hands. He searches for thoughts but finds none, his mind a spinning whirl of cold, dark things he cannot start remembering. All he wants to do is tear something in half, or someone.

Eventually he hears Lagertha stand, make her way to the door. She doesn't come to him. "If you abandon the ones you love, they will begin to abandon you," he hears her say quietly. "Do not give yourself another night to regret."

Then the door closes, and he is alone.

****

When he walks into the room Athelstan lies in, it feels as if he's dragging his feet behind him, each step screaming not to proceed. But he does it. For you, priest, he thinks. For you, daughter.

A tallow candle stands by the bed, the only light in the otherwise shadowy room. Ragnar pulls up a stool and sits by the motionless, bedbound form.

Athelstan lies limp, breathing shallowly, but breathing. Someone has dressed him in a warm shirt, retied the bandages underneath. As Ragnar watches his head moves fitfully on the pillow, a line creasing between his brows. A small, pained sound escapes him that tears something deep in Ragnar's chest.

"Easy now," he says quietly. He dares to touch Athelstan's chest, to feel the warmth of life under his skin, the rapid little heart. Once he does, he finds it hard to move the hand away.

"You're all right now. I knew they'd take good care of you." The bandages - the ones Ragnar can see - are still clean for now. At least he doesn't have to see the blood his friend has spilled.

Rage comes over him, so quick and bright his hands shake and there's nowhere to contain it. Why had his men not listened to Athelstan? To him? Why did it have to come to this? Why were there those who supported Horrik still?

Why why why had he just not gone instead?

"Because I wanted to," he says aloud.

No, not for cowardice. He'd wanted to. Oh, by the gods he'd wanted to. But he had wanted to go to Gotland too, and to calm the outland raids Torstein had been sent to quell - and, more than anything, he wanted to be raiding with his brother across the sea, unknowing of and indifferent to all this chaos.

He had wanted so many things and couldn't have them all, so he had chosen to have none. "A king should deny himself wants in favour of his people's needs, isn't that right?" He says. "Denying yourself of pleasures - you taught me that idea, didn't you?"

Athelstan doesn't hear, doesn't speak.

"I don't know what brings you pleasure, my friend. I have tried to learn. But after all these years I still cannot understand parts of you. But I know the things that please me, and one of them is getting to kill those who have wronged me, and have done harm to those I care for. That pleases me a great deal."

Ragnar folds his trembling fingers together. The stain of blood still lingers under his nails. "You always tell me to wait. To think about my actions. To not act with impulse alone. So I waited. I thought. I didn't run off to Gotland or Guthbrand or the mountains - I stayed here. Had I gone away to fight for my people, I would leave them undefended. So I stayed, and others had died for it. How was I to win?"

Athelstan shifts in his sleep. He's facing Ragnar more now, and all Ragnar can see is the round bruise around his eye, the long still-healing cut on one cheek. Something reaches inside him and squeezes, crushing.

This is what happens, he thinks. Men who fight get hurt.

But Athelstan isn't men who fight. Athelstan is Athelstan.

His hands are tucked beneath a blanket, and Ragnar is reluctant to wake him, but he settles for laying his own hand on Athelstan's shoulder, squeezing it as tightly as he dares. He leans close, both hoping his friend can somehow hear him and hoping he cannot and won't remember a second of this when he is recovered.

"I'm sorry." he says. "I know you can hear that."

His thumb strokes, gently as is possible, meeting bandages and feverish skin. By the gods...he's so small.

"I hurt you. You will hate me for it. You can, if you like. But you don't have to. If you want, give it to me and I swear I will hate myself enough for the both of us."

There's a small sound, something almost like a plea, that comes from the prone body. And Ragnar draws away, uncertain. He should not stay. If Athelstan wakes...

"I don't want you to die tonight," he says, so quietly. "You are not ready. I am not ready." He hides the tremor in his voice behind an uncertain smile. "Certainly the gods are not ready - not for you. You would puzzle them so much still, priest. Best you let them get used to you a little more before you join them."

Athelstan's head shifts. Very carefully, Ragnar lays his hand against his cheek, his forehead. Impatiently brushes away a few strands of ink-dark hair. "I did not mean to send you to your death," he tells him. "I never meant for that to happen. I believed...too much. Can you understand that? Can you forgive me?"

And I forgive you, he wants to say, but he can't. There is nothing for him to forgive.

He thinks of Athelstan, lying alone and bleeding into the mossy northern ground. He thinks of Gyda, who he could not save. "I'm here now," he says. He cannot be a god. Sometimes he fears he cannot even be a king. All he can be is here. "Do not let anyone let you think I've abandoned you. I never could."

The head in his hands shifts again, this time towards him. As if Athelstan wants to be closer.

"I will stay with you until the sun rises. I'm here now."

He stays right there, cradling Athelstan's head in his hand and listening to his every breath. To both their breaths, wound together. Making up for lost time.

Until the sun rises.

****

Birds.

When Athelstan begins to wake the first thing he hears is one of them, chirruping incessantly on the other side of the wall. For a moment he thinks he must be near a window, one of the narrow slices in Lindisfarne's walls that lets in the cold breath of the sea.

For a moment he lets it be true. He's slept late, perhaps he is unwell, and soon one of the brothers will see to him. There is no pain at his side, no beard on his cheeks and no scars on his hands.

He is at peace. For a moment.

But a twist in his side brings a closed sound of pain to his lips. Even so much as shifting his body is too tall of an order, so he endures. He aches in every part he can name.

Slowly, very slowly, he pries his eyes open. The first thing he notes is that he is in the same room as before, tucked away from the rest of the hall. The brief worry he had that he might have died and gone to...wherever he is fated to go, fades.

The second is that someone has dressed him in a warm wool shirt, soft against his skin - and the third is that he isn't alone in the room.

He has to blink hard several times to recognize the person sitting across from him. At first he thinks it could be Ragnar, but...

"Bjorn," he mutters.

He still wonders if he could be wrong until the figure looks up, eyes widening. "You're not dead!"

Athelstan can't help it - a small smile curves his mouth. "Neither are you. Does your mother know?"

The younger man nods enthusiastically. "I've seen her already. And my father. Floki came back unharmed as well."

He'll certainly be glad to see me alive, Athelstan thinks, drily. "And Gotland..."

Bjorn shrugs, his face darkening. "They have agreed not to wage war, that is something. But they see my father as a rival still, one they can intimidate. We will see."

Athelstan lies back, already feeling winded. But he's stronger than he was, he can feel in his bones a shaky energy already returning. The wound still aches, but not so terribly as it had. He isn't eager to move just yet.

"I heard about how your raid went...my father killed two of the men, did he tell you?"

Athelstan's stomach swoops out from under him. "He...he didn't."

Bjorn shrugs, though he looks uncomfortable. "Well. It happened. Before I returned. But they deserved it," he adds quickly. "That they would betray you when my father - when their king's honour is at stake...and you could have been killed."

"I could have been killed whether they betrayed me or not," Athelstan says.

"What they did didn't help," Bjorn says darkly. "My father gave you that position...that they could not respect it..."

"I know." Athelstan closes his eyes again, weary. The last thing he wants to think about is this, and yet it's the only thing it makes sense to think about. He has to think about it.

But Bjorn is eager to talk, eager to go over things. He is - unmaliciously, Athelstan is sure - thoughtless of the fact that his current conversation partner may not be in the best state for the talk he wants.

"He trusted them," Bjorn continues, "breaking my father's trust was never a thing that would end well for them."

Athelstan gives a noncommittal grunt, closing his eyes. He trusted me too, is all he can think. Are my own failings not breaking his trust?

"Athelstan?" says Bjorn, sounding alarmed. "Are you...still there?"

He drags his eyes back open, coming to fix them on the young man hovering near his bed. "I'm all right," he says in the most reassuring tone he can manage. "But I am weary. It is...difficult to speak to you, and I fear it will only get harder."

Bjorn nods, enthusiastic even about that. "I will go, and let you rest. My mother may come to you though...she says you need to be watched."

Of course she does. "Thank you, Bjorn."

He doesn't have the strength to do much else. His eyes fall shut and he's asleep again in seconds.

The cycle begins anew shortly after; waking to someone changing the bandages on one or more of his wounds, sipping water and healing herbs, falling asleep again. Sometimes he manages to get out a word or two in between, a question. Often he isn't awake long enough to hear the answer.

As Bjorn promised, Lagertha does show up after a time, and hovers over him with folded arms and a frown, scanning his wounds with an unflinching eye where the healing woman pulls away the bandages.

"I am better," he tells her, though the weakness in his voice isn't helping to convince her. "They've told me it's only a matter of time until I can walk again. With some help."

He adds the last part rather guiltily. In truth, despite wanting badly to rejoin the world, a part of him wishes he could remain hidden here for a little while longer. At least until he can sort out his many thoughts with a clearer head.

And he wants no one helping him. It is horribly embarrassing to need so much.

But he continues to need. Often he feels tired enough to sleep through an entire day if they'd let him, he cannot raise his right arm and he's always chilled, always thirsty. He is still working out how to tell those looking after him these things without them thinking he is complaining.

And his head aches. That he doesn't bother telling anyone.

Lagertha touches his forehead, lightly with the backs of her fingers. She sits beside him. "You are very lucky, you know," she says. "The gods have favoured you. I am sometimes alarmed at the amount of times you have escaped death."

Athelstan would have laughed, if it didn't hurt. He watches her hand, roughened from years of shield and sword-bearing, now carefully adjusting his blankets. "I hope it isn't the last time."

At his words her face only looks to be filled with a deeper sadness. "I feared it would be. Many times in the last few days I have thought your journey to Valhalla was near."

Athelstan smiles thinly. "I don't think the gods would welcome a sick man into the hall of warriors."

"They would," she says sharply. "Are these not battle wounds? And your fight continued long after your sword fell. I sat here beside you telling you not to surrender - I would know."

He doesn't remember that part.

"You scared me. I have watched friends die before." Her voice softens. "And this is not the first time I have sat with you while you battled a deadly fever."

Athelstan's heart sinks. He hadn't thought...

"Do you know what day it is?" she asks quietly, looking back at him.

What day? It takes him a moment, scrambling to count up how much time has passed since the raid - and then he remembers, and all her wanting to stay, the depth of her fear, makes sense.

Oh.

"I haven't prayed," is all he can think to say. "Normally I do - every year - and not only to my god..."

"I know." Lagertha has been thumbing his shoulder where blanket meets bandage, almost absent-mindedly. There is a heaviness in her face. "I hear you. The years when we have been in the same place, I've heard you. You ask for our gods to keep her safe. You ask them for a sign from her, that she can hear you. That she knows she is loved, that we think of her. You share your memories, and ask that the gods pass them on to her."

Warmth floods his cheeks. "I...I hope it has not insulted you. She was your child, not mine."

"It comforts me," she says. "No, I am glad someone thinks of her. She would want to hear you speak to her. She cared for you."

Athelstan doesn't cry. He is steady, as always, a great deal of hurt needed to elicit that response. But something is making it hard to speak, a hard knot forming at the back of his throat. "I did not know it was today," he manages. Any other year he would have kept track - and has.

"I did," Lagertha says quietly. "Do not worry, priest; I thought of her for both of us."

He gives a stiff nod. It's made his heart seem to fall out through his back, remembering.

"For a while I wondered if the gods were telling me and Ragnar something - that you should die when she did."

"But I didn't."

"No. No, you didn't."

Another memory. This one of his first time waking after his illness long ago, the first thing in his sight her face bent low over his. The world shining like dew, like a too-bright candle. Have I died? he'd asked, his words all running into one another.

No, you haven't, she'd answered, her face impossibly sad. He thinks he'd asked for Ragnar then too, and Lagertha said he's not here, go back to sleep.

When he'd woken next, Gyda was dead beside him.

"I prayed for her then, too," he tells Lagertha. "When I could manage it. If I could not say the prayers aloud I'd say them in my head, again and again, to as many gods as I could remember..."

The hand on his shoulder pauses. "I didn't know that," she says.

Keep her safe, he'd thought, his feverish mind in a thousand different places. Keep her safe. For me. For her mother.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

Lagertha brushes away a stray hair from his face. "It was enough. We did enough. We tried. And now she feasts with the gods."

Athelstan had wondered, at the time, whether it was because of him. That he had brought the plague on these people; he had been meant as a sacrifice and the gods were denied what they were promised. And so they had taken the lives of half the village, and left him alive to see what he had done.

Lagertha straightens. "It is the time to remember. To think of her, and to think of what comes next. But we have no room for guilt," she adds sternly, frowning at him. "That will do you no good."

He nods, feeling chided. Time to go forward, and forward.

The bedclothes rustle as she rises, and once again she adjusts them - though with his good hand he's perfectly capable of doing so himself. Her hand strokes his hair again, thumb brushing lightly over his forehead. "Sleep, priest," she says. "I think the worst is done."

Once she is gone, he shuts his eyes and rolls to his side. And prays in a whisper.

****

It's another day and a half before he can stand on his own, shaky and leaning heavily on a crutch, three before he's able to be out of bed for most of his waking hours. The arrow-pierced leg trembles badly and threatens to give out, but he's told if he rests it properly from time to time it shouldn't collapse under him. The wound in his side, which has left a tight and crooked scar, gives him a low constant ache, pulling unexpectedly at times and leaving him breathless and in pain.

And his broken arm is still in a sling. His writing arm. Of course, even the things he can do that aren't fighting are barred from him.

When he can, he ventures outside to sit on the steps of the hall, or further out into the village. The sun is too bright on his eyes, the breeze chill enough to leave him shivering after only a short time. But being somewhere other than that dark room is like breathing air anew, and he breathes it deep.

Sometimes folk he knows from the village - an elderly sail mender he greets whenever he sees him near the harbour, twin nine year old boys who admire his axes, the woman who sells onions and angelica root - will see him and come up to him, faces concerned or disbelieving. The boys tentatively ask if they can see his scar, and he's hesitant at first but when he finally pulls away his tunic their impressed comments can't help but make him smile.

The sail mender bides him sit on the dock when they talk, mentioning nothing but regarding him with concern. The onion seller passes him a bundle of herbs - ones he knows will help with pain and easy sleep - with a gentle pat on his hand as he passes her stall. An old woman he has hardly spoken to at all touches his arm and asks him how he fares.

This is how he finds out that word of his deeds, and word of his injuries, has travelled far beyond the confines of the great hall. Naturally, he finds it hard to spend any length of time outside without returning flushed with embarrassment.

Not that he isn't touched. He is, and deeply so. But in no way has he expected it.

"You are loved," Lagertha tells him one day. She insists on accompanying him on most ventures, hovering close enough to catch him should he stumble. "Don't you see how they all care for you? Even the ones you barely know?"

"I am a curiosity," he says drily, cheeks heated yet again. "An oddity. I fascinate them the way a foreign plant might."

"And you are good to people. All people. They remember that."

He doesn't think on it too hard. Doing so only makes his already aching head more painful.

On one of the rare occasions he manages to slip out unaccompanied, he limps to the yards behind the great hall, where he hopes he won't be seen. Once there he stands blinking in the sun, just breathing. He's still alive. The world is still alive.

He's still hobbling with his crutch, but makes it over to a low wall and sits, stretching his painful leg out in front of him. For the first time in a long while, he feels calm. At peace. The sky is nearing sunset, and streaked with rose-gold clouds, and smoke is rising from the hall's roof. He's at home.

The sound of movement from the hall's half open door makes him look up, and when he does he startles involuntarily. Ragnar stands just a few paces away, knife in hand.

For a long moment he stares at Athelstan, not saying a word. Then he strides up to him as if nothing could prevent him from doing so. Athelstan is momentarily envious at the sheer ease with which he moves through the world.

"Priest," he says, not looking at him but sitting down on the wall a few feet away. "I did not expect to find you here."

As he speaks, Athelstan is surprised to find his heart thudding anxiously in his chest. He's winded, close to internal panic. He has to clutch his hand in a fist to stop Ragnar from seeing it tremble. "Nor I you," he replies.

Ragnar takes out a block of dense wood, in the shape of a wolf's head. "Is that a hilt?"

His mouth twitches. "For Ubbe. He's in need of a good strong blade. I'd like to make one for each of my sons, each with a creature hiding in the hilt. A snake for Sigurd, of course, to match his eye."

Athelstan nods, the thunder beneath his ribs dimming somewhat. Maybe they don't have to talk, and instead can just - well, talk.

Ragnar whittles away, and Athelstan sits awkwardly beside him, unsure what to do or say.

"If I were to carve you a hilt, I think I would hide a pig within it."

"A pig?"

"Pigs," he gouges deep into where the wolf's eye would be, "are fiercer than they look. Because we keep them on our farms and eat them up on our tables, we forget that. But they are smart creatures, more so by far than a sheep or a cow. And they will eat anything they are given. Anything."

Ragnar frowns in concentration. "You take anything you are given. You accept and accept and accept, without judgement. Without fear. You think deeply. Have you ever seen a pig think? They do quite a bit of it. And - " he grins - "you don't look it, but you are near as stubborn as one sometimes, priest."

"I'm glad to hear it," Athelstan says drily, very unsure of whether he is being complimented or insulted.

"So. A wolf, a snake, and a pig. What other creatures have I surrounded myself with? We will see."

Athelstan nods again. Despite Ragnar being here - finally here - he feels suddenly lonely.

"Ragnar," he says in a low voice, "thank you. For bringing me back. For bringing me home."

The knife pauses, Ragnar's face unchanging. Athelstan prods onwards. "You saved my life."

The carving commences. "It was the healers who did that. And Lagertha."

"You could have left me where I was - "

"No, I could not."

His voice is sharp enough to make Athelstan hesitate. But something is replacing the anxious fluttering of his heart - a kind of warmth. He has nothing to fear from Ragnar, not his wrath and not whatever other feelings he may have.

There is no threat. None. There never was.

Daring himself, he nudges Ragnar on the arm. Playfully, in a way unlike him. Now Ragnar looks up, surprised. "You saved my life, and then you wouldn't see me. I was half dead, and you couldn't make the effort? You'd let your ex-wife do all the work?"

He says it lightly, and for the first time he feels lightly about it.

But Ragnar's face darkens. "I did see you," he says heavily, as though each word causes him pain. "I saw you. I held you. I was there."

The brief smile is wiped from Athelstan's face as he takes in Ragnar's words. "I didn't know."

Ragnar shrugs unevenly. "It was..." he waves his hand in a vague way. "You were not awake."

"I didn't know. I...thank you."

"Well. Lagertha made me do it."

The words sound so childlike that for a moment Athelstan has the bizarre desire to laugh. And Ragnar must sense it because the corners of his mouth have quirked up again.

I held you, he'd said...once again the heat of embarrassment crawls up Athelstan's neck. But more than that - gratitude.

"Ragnar," he says again, looking full at him, laying a hand more gently on his arm.

Dear friend.

Brother.

He knows not how to say all that he is thinking; I'm sorry, and forgive me, and I missed you, and thank you, and I forgive you, and let's put this all behind us. I respect you. I love you.

"Can we...can we stay here for a little while? Just...to sit. Will you stay with me?" He prays he doesn't sound desperate.

Ragnar finally looks back at him, eyes roving over the bandaged arm and the crutch and what's likely a face full of bruises. Athelstan is struck by how tired he looks. "Anything you like, priest," he says.

So they sit. It's not long at all before Ragnar puts down the carving knife and the wolf's head, and drapes an arm around Athelstan's shoulders, gently but firmly pulling him closer. And Athelstan lets out his breath, properly for the first time in days. All is right. All will be right, soon. It can be, and it will be.

The sun sets.

#vikings #athelnar #athelstan #ragnar lothbrok #vikings fanfiction #PHEW

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sunflowerwilds · 6 months

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i had a realization today while walking my dog. if you know me, you'll know that i am incredibly squeamish around blood and gore in real life settings. getting my blood drawn? live actions movies where the effects (practical or cgi) look real enough? i cant stomach it- it makes me so queasy. but blood and gore in artwork or other forms of media has always fascinated me. i find it can be incredibly beautiful- some of my favourite pieces of media are incredibly bloody! my favourite manga/anime series, parasyte, is super gorey and i love it!! i love drawing bloody images- i don't do it super often but the rare chance i actually do i have a really fun time with it. but then i realized. i've always had this strange fascination with blood. my dad used to let me watch him play fps games when i was a kid. i was definitely too young to being seeing those types of games but oh well. i turned out fine lmao. he would tell me that i always asked to "see more red" whenever he played them. hell, my name is even red. i got it from an image of a blood moon i saw when i was like 11. the correlations keep lining up. i have a vivid memory that's stuck with me all these years. i own the zelda collector's edition for the gamecube and in the manual the little blurb for The Adventure of Link states: "...Link embarked on his most challenging quest yet, unaware that evil forces were hunting him in the hopes of sacrificing Link and using his blood to revive the evil Ganon." I remember reading this and being in awe. I don't know what it was about this particular line but it's stuck with me... and it's bled (pun unintended) into my writing for all these years. an old OC of mine, who is now in the possession of my bestie @seaside-sapphy, leon- his whole original plot revolved around his blood being a part of a prophecy to gain access to an old god's power. this of course isn't how the story goes now by any means but then like now i have ASHES. where the whole story revolves around and has blood as a central plot point and theme. the blooddrinkers. hone's blood being coveted by proxy of being the phoenix??? hello?? it's wild to me that this has been a seed sown so long ago.... and while it's sprouted a few leaves here and there is now coming full circle and finally coming to fruition. it's always been there. it's just manifested itself in another way and it's so strange to think about. writing is cool. writing is fun. go write your stories!! maybe you'll have a sudden realization about yourself in the process too a;lksjdf.

#red rambles

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pityroadart · 1 year

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Hey, what is your process when making collages? How do you collect things for them, how do you decide on quotes and what to draw/paint on and such? I really enjoy them :)

Hello! That's a very good question, I do it so automatically that I'm not entirely sure myself — but since I caught myself in the middle of a cut-and-stick sketchbook session, let's dive into it.

First up, I collect scraps like a trash magpie. Always have done, always will. Any paper items that I enjoy the colour/shape/texture of. Nowadays I tend to enjoy things with bold primary colours or black and white, pages from old maths textbooks or encyclopedias, flyers from local exhibitions, fragile tape and shipping labels from parcels, scraps found on the floor, old shopping lists, slips of paper from inside medicine packets or covid tests etc, anything that jumps out at me.

I collect these things in the pocket at the back of my sketchbook, or in a drawer (I have a whole drawer dedicated to scraps — some picked up from six or seven years ago, and some from last week). I hoard them like some sort of paper-loving dragon.

Other things I like adding are washi tapes, stickers, cinema tickets, drawings (whether straight in the sketchbook or stuck in), and anything else flat enough to fit in there.

Here are a few older sketchbook pages (from about 2014) showing some other types of scraps I've collated and used, and I think you can see where my current style has grown from.

The second part of your question is: but how do I put them all together? Again it's pretty much instinctive by now, but here are a few things I look for:

- Do I have a theme for the page? Is there a central object I want to build around? For the recent star trek pages I shared here, I'd been to see TMP and TWOK at the cinema and glued my tickets into my sketchbook, so I knew I wanted to theme the page around them

- Is there a colour palette? Either I pick colours from my central object, or I decide on a colour palette myself. Nowadays I keep my colour palettes very limited - one or two bolder colours and a range of cream/white/black/grey - but previously I've set the palette as pastel rainbow colours for example, when those were the colours I was more drawn to

- What words, symbols or drawings do I want to add? This can be lyrics that have been stuck in my head or that fit the theme, phrases I've come up with, fragments of found poetry clipped from textbooks, drawings that fit the theme (e.g star trek screencap thumbnails in the first example), etc. They don't have to fit the theme perfectly, or make sense to an external viewer - the important thing is that *you* want them on your page

This image below is a fragment of an as-yet-incomplete page - in which I swatched some leftover watercolour paint onto the page, found it complimented the colour of a sticker from a parcel perfectly (the small circular sticker), then I added an interesting-looking image from an old encyclopedia, which reminded me of a line from a Mountain Goats song: "the low pressure system brings the breezes in", and I wrote out another line from that same song on kraft paper and stuck it in. So it makes sense to me, or maybe someone familiar with the song, but to the average viewer it just looks kinda cool and/or they enjoy the line I've written out.

Then the next thing is to stick everything together! I'll confess, I rarely do this in one sitting - I currently have multiple pages I'm working on, one started the other month and almost complete, one started two weeks ago, and one just started today. I add to it whenever I get an idea or find a scrap that fits. But I used to do the pages in one sitting, and that absolutely works too.

As to how I decide what goes where on the page, that's just intuitive! I've made collage-y type art for at least fifteen years now (and longer if you count playing 'cut and stick' with old magazines as a kid), and I've very much learnt what sort of compositions please me, and how to tell if something feels too cluttered or lopsided or too spacious. But the beauty of this part is it's all personal preference! Shuffle your scraps around before gluing them down, and see what works for you.

Sometimes I add text or drawings first and use scraps in between, sometimes I stick the scraps down first and fill the gaps with text or drawings - there's no one way to do it! And hey, if there's something you don't like, you can always tear it out or stick something over it, that's the joy of mixed media.

Anyway this was a bit long-winded but I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense. Go forth and play with scraps!

#ask #art tips #mixed media #collage #sketchbook #faq

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butler-on-beale-street · 2 years

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Unforgettable | E!Austin Butler X Plus!Reader | Part 8

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of physical assault that skates the lines of sexual assault. If this upsets you, please don't read part 8 or part 9.

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: California feels like a life away when you're desperate for the one that makes you feel safe.

Have you read Part 7?

"Nope," Evelyn said immediately as you rounded the corner of the front desk of the book store. Your eyes followed the postman as he walked away. "Nothing for you. Sorry Y/n." Evey was surprisingly sympathetic for once, her face drawn in a frown.

"It's been almost two weeks," you said, exhaling frustratedly as you leaned against the countertop.

"He's working...probably very busy," Evey defended. She was right. You just struggled to use logic when it came to Elvis. You had feelings for him, and it clogged your judgment, though you'd never admit it. You sighed deeply again.

"I know. I just miss him."

"If you've got time to lean, you've got time to–"

"Clean," You finished Uncle Harold's sentence as he squared the corner with a new shipment of steno pads and office supplies. "Evelyn, honey. Please put these up. Now you won't have to write on the back of the old ones," he said. He'd gotten behind on orders and you'd had to write down book transactions on the back of used steno notes. It wasn't efficient, but it was better than nothing.

"Thank you, Daddy." Evey took the supplies and began to open them.

"Y/n, Baby. Can you please help me balance the books today? The numbers keep coming out different every time I count. You always do it better than me." You nodded.

"Throw in a Nehi?" You asked with an expectant grin. Uncle Harold threw a hand into his pocket to retrieve a nickel, tossing it to you.

"Don't spend it all in one place." He winked at you before stepping away.

"Veronica asked about you. Asked why you haven't returned her calls." Evelyn said, organizing the office supplies. She chewed on a piece of gum especially loudly, smacking her lips. You sighed.

"I've been a bit..."

"Distracted?" Evelyn finished your sentence, eyeing you levely.

"Understandably, I think," You defended, joining her to put up the shipment of supplies. "I don't know how to tell her about Elvis." You spoke honestly. Veronica was a good friend, but she was definitely a talker, and always had new gossip to spill every time you got together. Something warned you to stay quiet, and your version of that was to distance yourself from her.

"That's true. Veronica is one of the most popular girls in school. She talks." It wasn't intentional for her to spread rumors–it was what happened after she told others that would create drama. She was one year younger than you, in her senior year of highschool. She was tall, slender and beautiful. Most likely, she'd gush over the newest football player she was going steady with.

"I caught her outside of Piggly-Wiggly on Thursday. She asked about you–that she hadn't seen or heard from you in a while." You felt guilty, and since you couldn't occupy your time with Elvis, you decided to create a new opportunity.

"Do you remember when we would do our sleepovers with her and Sandra?" You asked with a soft smile.

"Yes. But that was a long time ago...I can't imagine that would be much fun anymore," Evelyn said, turning to watch you.

"You underestimate me, Evey."

***

"Veronica?" You asked through the phone, having dialed your friend from your uncle's office.

"Hello? Y/n?" The voice said over the phone. It was Adam, Veronica's older brother.

"Adam? I thought you were at University."

"I was, but uh..." He paused. "Let's just say I got a bit distracted. Gotta restart in the fall."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Is Ronnie around?" You asked.

"So quick to get off the phone with me, Y/n? It's been too long."

Adam always made you uncomfortable. The way that he always spoke to you and looked at you made you feel small, like a mouse in the eye of a cat. You decided to take the passive route.

"It has been! I'm just seeing if she'd like to have a sleepover with Evey and I. I feel like I haven't seen you guys in ages."

"Mm," He hummed, his voice turning upward with interest. "A sleepover?" He asked, as if he hadn't heard you the first time.

"Yep, like old times." You answered.

"I like the sound of that...." He continued before an extended moment of silence. "Well, let me go grab her."

"Thanks," You responded dryly. You listened to the background noise of their house as he shouted Veronica's name. Another moment passed before you heard the receiver pick up.

"Who's that?" Evelyn asked, walking into the office.

"Ronnie," You whispered.

"Hello?" She asked softly.

"Ronnie! It's Y/n. How are you? How's school?" You asked. You nervously picked at the hem of your dress as you waited for her to answer.

"Y/n? It's been ages! I'm well! School's school. You know how all that goes." She spoke with a peppy tone. "What have you been up to lately? I haven't heard from you in a while." It wasn't her intention to guilt you, though you still felt it pinch at your gut.

"Oh, well you know. The bookshop has been busy..." You began before getting cut off by Evelyn snatching the phone. "Hey!" You yelped.

"You will not believe this!" Evelyn began. You glared at her as ferociously as you could.

"Don't. You. Dare." You spoke in a low tone so that Ronnie couldn't hear you speak. Evelyn cowered slightly.

"Y/n has a beau." She said plainly. You prayed to God that she wouldn't say who it was.

"Oh really? That's wonderful!" Ronnie said into the receiver. "How did you guys meet?" She asked.

"Here," Evelyn said to you, handing over the phone.

"Sorry, Ronnie. Evey stole the phone from me." You apologized. "It's a long story. Hey," You changed the subject. "Remember when we would do those sleepovers with Sandra?"

"Of course I do. Remember when I broke my leg chasing Darcy over the back porch?" You couldn't help but laugh, remembering Ronnie's now long-passed cat, who was always unintentionally starting chaos.

"I do," you chuckled. "So I was thinking maybe we could do a sleepover like old times. I know that Sandra's in Texas now, but you could come over if you're up for it."

"Well, I've got some big tests coming up this week, but the end of the week should be fine. Friday night, maybe?" She asked. To be honest, you were surprised she was so willing, especially with such short notice.

"I'd love that!" You answered.

"We could catch up on Gunsmoke." It was a show that you loved to watch when you all went to school. You'd meet during lunch hour and go and on about James Arness and his run as a U.S. Marshall in the wild, Wild West–not to mention the cast of A-list celebrities that supported the show.

"I haven't watched that in forever," You admitted hesitantly.

"All the more reason for us to watch reruns. You know each new episode is something new anyway. Oh! I almost forgot–we just installed a new in-ground pool. You guys should come to my house instead. We can go swimming!" Ronnie explained.

"Sounds like I need to go shopping," You said, cringing inside. "But I'm excited to see you!"

"Me too–tell her me too," Evelyn insisted, pointing to the phone.

"Evelyn said she's excited to see you, too." You spoke a few more words with Ronnie.

"She said she wants her loafers back from the party last year," you said, raising your eyebrows at Evelyn.

"Oh, those..." She said, averting her gaze. "I don't know where those are," She whispered to you with a grimace. "I'll find them."

You rolled your eyes. "She'll have them for you when we come over." You spoke for a few more moments before ending the call.

"You better find those shoes. They can't have been cheap." You glared at your cousin.

"She's the one who left them," Evelyn said with a shrug.

"Evelyn Dawn Moriarity..." you warned using her full name.

"You're my cousin. You don't get to speak to me like that," she said haughtily.

"Find the shoes and I won't," you said, crossing your arms across your chest.

"Fine, geez. What's gotten up your keister?"

"Evey!" You spat, your tone pulling upward. Evelyn chuckled with success as she bounced pridefully out of your uncle's office.

***

CALIFORNIA

"Now Elvis, your natural instinct is correct, I just wanna see more...intensity. I want you to be the bad guy. Rough it up a bit, right?" Richard Thorpe said. He was already a prominent director in Hollywood, but he was ready and willing to hedge his bets on the new breakout star, Elvis Presley.

Elvis nodded. "Yes sir."

"Action!"

"I'll drive you back to your hotel," Judy Tyler said as her character, Peggy Van Alden.

"I'll walk."

"I think I'm gonna just hate you," Judy spoke again as Peggy.

Elvis turned his head back to her, his gaze intense and trained as he stepped closer. He shook his head slowly, his eyes shifting to something more lustful and contemplative. "You don't hate me. I ain't gonna let you hate me." He pulled her against his lips in a forceful kiss, his arms thrown around her shoulders, catching her off guard. She grasped at his arms, pushing him away from her.

"How dare you think such cheap tactics would work with me?" In his smugness, he pulled her against him once more, crashing his lips against hers. He was the one that broke the kiss this time, stepping away with his eyes still half lidded with lust.

"That ain't tactics, honey," He said swiftly, his eyes locked with hers. "That's just the beast in me." His eyes trailed the outline of her lips, smirking proudly before turning and walking away.

"Cut!" Richard shouted. "Excellent! That's exactly what I'm talking about. You'll have the audience by their collar when they see this," He said, walking on set and pulling Elvis into a friendly embrace. "Well done." He extended his hand out for Elvis to take. Elvis shook it enthusiastically.

"Thank you, sir. I do hope they enjoy it."

"Are you kidding?" You already have America hot on your heels, kid. You're about to be an international superstar. Nothing can stop you. I'd bet my fortune on it," He said, pulling two cuban cigars of the finest quality from his breast pocket. He pulled a zippo lighter out of his pocket as well as a cigar cutter. He cut off the end of both cigars with the instrument, placing one of them between his lips and handing the other over to Elvis. With his zippo, he lit both cigars. "Let's take a walk, Presley." Richard puffed on his cigar, blowing white clouds of smoke into the air. "Good job everyone. That's a wrap for the day."

***

"This whole movie thing," Richard said, strolling slowly around the MGM set alongside Elvis. "How serious are you about it?" He asked. It wasn't a condescending question. Elvis was young–in the prime of his life, and the screen surely brought exposure, guaranteeing him even more fame than he already possessed.

"Well, sir uh," Elvis began, taking a puff of his own cigar as he walked with the director. "I've always wanted to act. Never thought I'd get this far, but I think it's definitely something I'm interested in–to further my career," He said, placing the cigar back between his lips. The director turned and stubbed out his cigar against the exterior brick wall of the facility before taking and wrapping it within his pocket square, stuffing it in the front pocket of his coat.

"If you keep it up," Richard said, pointing emphatically at Elvis, "You'll have plenty more than three movies under your belt. Get some sleep. You'll need it for the rest of the week." Elvis shook Richard's hand firmly, exchanging a kind goodbye.

Elvis drove quietly to his hotel. He insisted on driving himself, wanting a great deal of independence despite his fame and growing net worth.

"Elvis? Oh my goodness it's Elvis Presley!" Elvis rolled to a stop as the traffic lights turned red. He turned his head to find the source of the screaming. Beside him was a beautiful 1956 convertible Lincoln Continental full of gorgeous women. "Elvis, take us with you!"

The driver of the car smiled shyly at him. It was the passengers that were outspoken. They were dressed with the latest fashions, their hair pinned and rolled immaculately.

"Evenin' ladies," Elvis nodded, grinning enthusiastically.

"Where ya headed?" a woman in the backseat asked, her eyes bright with interest, obviously swooning over Elvis's appearance.

"Home sweet home, Doll." Elvis answered simply.

"Ooh, can we come?" the passenger asked, craning her head as she chewed on bubble gum.

"Sorry, but I'm not taking house calls, honey." He winked at her, his grin growing wider across his face. She swooned, giggling flirtatiously. "Here, have this," He said, reaching for his pocket square, bunching it in a ball and tossing it across to the packed car. It didn't make it, landing on the ground just beyond reach. The girls still squabbled to open the door to grab what little piece of Elvis that they could. His eyes flicked upward as the light turned green. "Goodnight, ladies," He said with a two-finger wave, speeding off toward his hotel.

He pulled up to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel just as the sunset began to lower itself into dusk. He did what was suggested and drove into the front porte-cochère of the lavish hotel to be met with a valet that would personally park his car. Elvis was prideful and many times he had to remind himself that he was famous–that he had earned the nice things that had recently come into his life.

"Mr. Presley! We've been waiting for you, sir." A handsome valet began. He was smartly dressed in a red, long smocked coat that was decorated in ornate gold buttons. He wore a black, flat, military style hat on his head that was finished with bright red piping upon it. His black slacks were pressed with crisp center pleats that made him look like a million bucks. Elvis still found himself amazed at the luxury granted to him.

"Please. Call me Elvis," he insisted, shutting the car off and stepping out of it to shake the man's hand. The valet smiled with a soft blush; though it didn't occur to Elvis, it was a surprise for an employee who was sure to have seen celebrities of highest adoration still taken back by Elvis's beauty and kind demeanor.

"When shall we pull up the car for you, Mr.--Elvis?" The valet asked politely, holding out his gloved palm to retrieve the car keys. "Have it ready to go at seven tomorrow morning, if you would."

"Yes, sir."

"One more question for you, sir." Elvis said, pulling out his checkbook and a small pen that was clipped to it. Turns out Elvis was used to writing checks.

"Yes?" The valet asked expectantly.

"What is your name?"

"Michael, sir." He answered.

"Are you married, Michael?" Elvis asked.

"Yes sir. With a little one on the way. Due in three weeks." Michael beamed with pride.

Elvis began to write.

"What's your last name?" Elvis asked.

"Drayton." Elvis remained silent as he wrote out the check.

"This is for you. Take care of your family in preparation for your beautiful baby." He ripped the check from the perforated line, handing it over to Michael.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly take this." He said, shock causing the muscles in his face to go slack.

"You can and you will. Please–it's a gift." Elvis nudged the check towards Michael again, urging him to take it.

"Th-thank you, sir." His eyebrows raised with almost-suspicion.

"Good luck with everything, friend." Elvis patted the man's shoulder, squeezing it before walking away toward the entrance of the hotel.

"Th-thank you!" Michael shouted at his back, to which Elvis gave a small wave before stepping into the revolving glass door.

***

He cranked the shower to as hot as he could stand. Stepping into the stream, his body itched from the sudden heat raining down from above. "Jesus–Lord!" He spat. Rubbing his body down, he reached for the faucet to cool the stream of water. "Whew!" He took his time in the shower, washing away the day, letting the fatigue finally set in.

It wasn't very late when he was finally settled in for the evening, only 9 P.M. He spent the entirety of the shower trying to run lines, but his focus continually slipped to thinking about you. He missed you. He hadn't written like he should have, but days were long and busy, hours ticking well past twelve hours long. He pulled out a small piece of paper from the wallet in his trousers to reveal your home phone number. He called the number into the rotary phone at the side of his bed, rolling the dial in between each digit. He waited for the dial tone to begin, lowering himself onto the bed as it rang.

"Moriarty residence. Harold speaking."

"Hello, Good evening, sir. It's Elvis Presley. I was wondering if–"

"She's not home right now." Uncle Harold answered, cutting Elvis off.

"Oh. She's not?" Elvis asked.

"No. She went skating with Evelyn."

"Oh, well. That's quite alright. Please let her know that I called and was thinking about her."

"I will, son. Taking care of yourself?" Uncle Harold asked. It surprised Elvis that he seemed interested in his well-being considering the mob that he had created outside of his store.

"I am, sir. Working hard, of course." There was a long silence. "Mr. Moriarty? Do you have a moment?"

"You've already got me on the phone, young man. Go ahead." Uncle Harold was quite tough on Elvis, but what he didn't admit out loud was that he actually quite liked him. It was his manner, however, to never give young men too much confidence, especially when they were romantically involved with the people he loved. He was intensely protective and wasn't afraid to show it.

"I wanted to ask–I would do this in person if I could–and...I know I could wait, but–" Elvis sputtered, tripping over his words. He took in a deep breath before letting it out. "I want to ask Y/n to go steady. With me. But I wanted to talk to you first, of course." Another lengthy silence dominated the phone line.

"Do you know what you're asking? Really asking here?" Uncle Harold asked sternly.

"Well, yes sir. I think I do at least," he said with an innocent chuckle.

"Don't you dare hurt her, Elvis." This was the first time that Uncle Harold had said his first name. "She's already lost so much."

"I would never hurt her, sir. That's a promise I never intend to break." There was yet another silence before Uncle Harold spoke again.

"If you do, you'll be praying I don't find you somewhere between Hollywood and Memphis." He spoke sternly.

"I wouldn't expect anything less, sir."

"I know that you like her. I know you were brought up well, son. You have my blessing, but don't think for a second that I don't have my eyes on you."

"Yes sir. Please tell her I called."

"I will. And hey. Good luck on everything. Would love to have you over for dinner again when you get home." Uncle Harold said, softening.

"Wouldn't miss it, sir."

Elvis spent the rest of the evening staring at his ceiling, struggling to fall asleep. Uncle Harold's words of warning looped through his brain on repeat as he lay on his pillow...Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her. Don't– He fell asleep with the message constantly droning on and on.

***

"This will have to do," You said, pulling up a light blue gingham bathing suit that was finished in red piping around the bust.

"Have to do?" Evelyn asked. "Y/n, it's so pretty! You'll look beautiful in it!" Evey was feeling nice today. "Where'd you find it?"

"Sears and Roebuck's–got the last one in my size," you said, biting your bottom lip.

"Well, then it was meant to be. Oh–I found Ronnie's shoes." Evelyn pulled them up in the air. You gasped when you saw it. One of the tongues had been chewed, the leather ripped.

"You let Momo eat her shoes?" You said, your eyes growing wide.

"I didn't let her do anything. I found them under Dad's recliner." Evelyn looked at you regretfully. Momo was a relatively new addition to the family and she was still somewhat of a puppy.

"You're buying her a new pair. She can't wear those anymore."

Evey sighed. "I know. Hearing you say it out loud makes me feel worse." You eyed her with a thin grin. "Let's get packed."

Two hours later, a car pulled outside of the house to pick you and Evelyn up. Only, it wasn't Ronnie. Instead, it was her brother, Adam.

"Hop in, cuties." You didn't want Evelyn to know, but it made you feel intensely uncomfortable to be alone with him, and though Evelyn was accompanying you, it didn't make you feel any less skeeved. You had known Adam for years. You were never close with him, though you were both the same age. Throughout the last years of highschool, you would always catch him staring at you, making snide remarks to his friends. You never thought too much of it because once he was away at school, it made no impact on you anymore. However, seeing him today–it filled you with dread. If you were honest, he was part of the reason that you and Ronnie's relationship had grown more and more distant over the years. You hoped that you were just being overly cautious.

"Come on, slow poke!" Evey said, slinging an overnight bag over her shoulder and pulling her shades down on her face. She practically pranced to the car. You silently thanked God that she took the front seat. You picked up your bag and trudged to the car, opening up the back door and getting in.

"Smile, Princess." Adam said, craning his neck to look at you. "I love seeing those cheeks." Your throat fell to your gut, sending disgust through your body. It took you a moment to understand why you already felt violated. It was because he referred to your cheeks–something that felt intimate between you and Elvis only. You hadn't realized that it would leech into other unwanted interactions. You fought the muscles in your face to reluctantly offer a thin smile.

"So uh, how are you home? Isn't school still going?" Evelyn asked, turning in her seat to address Adam.

"Someone's inquisitive," He said, raising his eyebrows.

"I just thought you were at UT for school." Evey leveled, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, let's just say I didn't have University of Tennessee grades." The car was silent as he continued to drive.

"I'm thinking about selling cars," he said after a while.

"Yeah?" Evelyn entertained.

"Yeah, I think I can sell almost anything–I was born to be an entrepreneur." It took everything in you not to scoff or roll your eyes. Instead, you picked at the beading fabric of your worse-for-wear shirt. "So, I was thinking..." He said, turning in his seat to look between you and Evey as he rolled up to a traffic light. "You both could be my models." You felt your face scrunch inward, disturbed. Evelyn's eyebrows rose with opportunity.

"Oooh! Like pin ups?" She said, her naiveté roaringly obvious.

"Evey, I'm not sure that's the most appropriate–" You began before being cut off with her hand in your face.

"I'd love to." She answered, resolutely. "I've always wanted to look like Grace Kelly. Oooh! Or Natalie Wood."

"You certainly have the look, sugar," Adam encouraged. You squashed yourself as far as you could into the backseat, making yourself as small as possible. You endured the conversation by pulling your thoughts away from inside the vehicle to somewhere in California. You imagined what Elvis was doing. How his days would go. You made yourself upset thinking about the breathtaking woman that he would be kissing. You destroyed the image and recollected on your time with him on the riverwalk and how he made you feel.

"Well, are you coming? Or are you gonna stay in here forever?" Evelyn asked, standing outside of the passenger seat. You looked up at her and realized that you had finally arrived.

"Oh, sorry." You said, collecting yourself and your belongings. Adam walked ahead, announcing your arrival.

"Girls are here!" He shouted as he entered the house. Evelyn left the door open for you as you walked in.

"Well, look-a-there," Mrs. Debby greeted, stepping into the living room with her arms wide out in front of her. You and Evelyn stepped into her embrace and immediately felt your face being squished against her bosom. "It's been too long. You girls look like you've sprung up two inches since the last time I've seen ya'!" Mrs. Debby was a bright and cheerful woman, her blonde hair pulled in a tight updo. She was beautiful and her welcoming personality reflected it.

"Mom, you saw them just a couple months ago. The church benefit, remember?" Ronnie said, stepping out of the back hallway to greet you.

"That feels like forever and a day ago, darling. Your mama's losing her wits it seems."

Ronnie stepped forward giving you both a warm hug. "It's so good to see you guys! Come on!" She exclaimed, ushering you further into the house.

You and Evelyn spent much of the afternoon sprawled across Ronnie's bed with her collection of the latest Modern Teen magazine. "You know, I wish I were his," Ronnie said, lying on her back with one of the magazines opened wide.

"Who's?"

She turned over the magazine so that you could see the cover. "Elvis Presley." She said, her tone swirling sweetly upon the utterance of his name. "He's so handsome. And his voice! I heard he's making a new movie–pulling the bad boy angle." Ronnie's eyes were full of stars as she imagined Elvis in his new role. Nervousness wracked your body. You weren't sure why you wanted to keep the information to yourself. Maybe it was because if everyone knew, it would make you feel like you could lose Elvis at any moment. You were so used to being selfless to almost everyone in your life; you'd choose this time to be selfish. You just hoped that Evey would continue to keep her mouth shut.

"Mmhmm! Jailhouse....Jailhouse Rock!" Evelyn said. You nodded in agreement, but stopped, thinking you were drawing too much attention to yourself.

"Y/n, do you like Elvis?" Ronnie asked.

"Like him? Like what? What do you mean?" You asked, your body filling with adrenaline. Oh my goodness, does she know? Did I say something to give it away?

"Do you like his music at all? Have you watched Love Me Tender or Loving You?" Ronnie asked the question innocently, but it still caught you off guard.

"I mean, yeah! I think he's got a wonderful voice. And he's very attractive, for sure." You couldn't help but blush as you gushed to the girls. Evelyn smiled innocently, but her eyes sparked with cunning, as she relished from sitting on inside information.

"Oh he is! I wonder if he has a girlfriend." Ronnie said, rolling over onto her stomach, turning to look at you. "Can you imagine?" Evelyn looked at you with a devious smile. "It certainly would be very exciting."

"Oh it would be crazy. I've heard he's actually a sweetheart despite what the magazines and newspapers say." Evelyn said, popping a gumdrop into her mouth. "Who knows, maybe one day we'll run into him." Way to insinuate, Evey, you thought.

"What a dream that would be," Ronnie said, her full lips spreading into a wondrous grin. "You guys wanna try out the new pool? Dad just opened it this past week."

"Oh my goodness, yes! How'd you even afford it?" Evelyn asked. The question was inappropriate, but since you were friends, Ronnie let it slide.

"Dad's been saving for a while, plus we didn't take a vacation this past year, so we were able to finally get one. Come on, let's get dressed!"

Ronnie and Evelyn took both bathrooms first to get changed, leaving you to wait. You wanted privacy and a door that locked, mostly out of insecurity than prudeness. "It's all yours!" Evey said, stepping out of the hall bathroom. You stepped in and began getting changed. After a moment, you heard Ronnie call out your name.

"We're going to go ahead and go outside! We won't jump in without you!"

"Okay!" You shouted back, pulling the high waisted two piece up on your body. You looked at yourself in the mirror, silently criticizing the imperfections you saw. You turned your attention away; you could have spent forever picking yourself apart, but you decided to not dwell on it. You grabbed a towel and headed out of the bathroom.

"Gorgeous. Just...gorgeous." Your blood ran cold as you heard him speak. Adam blocked the doorway of the bathroom with his hands on each side of the doorframe. His height trumped yours by several inches.

"Excuse me," you said as politely as you could. His hands moved from the door to your shoulders, pushing you back into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him with the toe of his boot.

"Now, Y/n. Why are you so quick to weasel away from me, hm?" His tone pulled upward as if really asking you a question. "You've really come into your own since the last time I saw you," he spoke, pulling his fingertips to your chin, tilting your head upward to look at him. You wouldn't. His grip was iron-clad. When you pulled away, he'd roughly grab your jaw. "Now that's no way to treat an old friend."

"You're not a friend. You're a creep!" You spat from between gritted teeth. "Get off of me!" You said, pushing his hand away. It only made him more determined. He rammed your body further into the bathroom, past the sink and toilet and into the wall. You winced as your back and head made impact with a thud.

"What is wrong with you? Don't touch me!" You yelped.

"Don't worry, Sugar. Mom and Dad went to town. The girls can't hear you. It's just us. You can be as loud as you need to be. I surely won't stop you. Not this time, at least." Disgust filled every fiber of your being. You reached up and slapped him as hard as you could across his cheek.

"Get your filthy hands off of me. How dare you!" You seethed. He threw you back into the wall, biting kisses into your neck. His hands moved to your hips, his fingertips traveling further and further to rub against your bare skin. You could feel his breath against your neck as he overtook you. You squeezed your eyes shut, fearing the worst. His fingertips moved to the waistband of your swim bottoms. It ignited something in you–a fight or flight response. "Get your damn hands off of me!" You used all of your strength to push him off of you. It was a messy tumble; unexpectedly, he flew backward, catching his foot underneath the wadded bathmat. His hands shot out from his body, reaching to grab hold of anything to keep him upright. In his attempt, items flew off of the sink and onto the tile floor in a loud clatter. "Keep your hands off of me!" You scrambled out of the bathroom, swinging the door open as he attempted to get up. Evelyn arrived on the other side just as you pulled the door open.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her eyebrows rising with concern. She looked past you into the bathroom to see Adam rolled awkwardly on his side, attempting to get up from the floor. "Move out of my way, Y/n." Evelyn took you by the shoulders, physically moving your body into the hallway. In your shock, you watched her stomp into the bathroom and kick him as if she were a kicker for the Green Bay Packers and his groin was a field goal.

"Don't ever lay your hands on anyone I know or love, or so help me," she said ferociously. He averted eye contact, rolling and holding himself within fetal position.

"Bitch!" He spat.

"Come on, Y/n. Let's get out of here." Evelyn took your hand and led you into the kitchen to call home.

Uncle Harold was there within ten minutes, having sped across Memphis dirt roads to get to you. Ronnie was unfortunately caught in the middle, unsure of what to say or do. She pulled you in for a tight hug anyway.

"We'll talk about this later," she said, taking your hand and squeezing it. "I am so, so sorry Y/n. If I had known, I would have ne–" You cut her off.

"Ronnie, you didn't know. It's okay." You said. "I love you. I'll talk to you soon." You sniffled, trying your best to remain stoic through it all. In truth, you hadn't had a moment to process it, and even if you had, you would have still saved the crash for when you were finally alone in your bed.

Uncle Harold wanted to pummel Adam for hurting you. Watching the grief spill out of him only made you feel worse. Evelyn calmed him, knowing you too well. "Daddy. Give her some time. She will be okay. She is still saved. Plus, I kicked him in a very...important area." Uncle Harold winced at the word 'saved', struggling to imagine if Adam had gotten further than he did.

The rest of the drive was dead silent. Evelyn sat next to you on the car ride home, holding your hand tightly. Uncle Harold was insistent on asking you if you were okay, asking what he could do to make it better. He watched you with concern and though you loved him, you couldn't stand to be viewed as a victim. It made you feel weak. "I'm fine. I promise. I just want to be alone." You bent to kiss him on his cheek once he was settled in his recliner, giving him reassurance that you were okay.

"Okay, baby. I'll leave my door cracked. If you need me. For anything, wake me up. I love you."

Once your bedroom door was shut and the lights were turned off, you felt the weight slam you down into your bed. You felt violated. You felt angry. You felt alone. And that's when the tears came. They never seemed to leave, either. The one person that you wanted was hundreds of miles away living it up in Hollywood. And even worse, he knew none of this.

Evelyn waited for the house to fall silent, creeping into the kitchen quietly to grab a snack. She felt awkward in her own home, burdened by not only the knowledge of what happened, but to have seen the fallout. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, she flipped on the dim Tiffany light over the dining room table. Opening the fridge, she retrieved a glass bottle of milk and poured some of it into a glass of her own. She leaned against the counter as she sipped, feeling the tenseness in her shoulders. Her gaze traveled to the items on the countertop: a grocery list, a stack of old newspapers, salt and pepper shakers, and a small memo pad. She pulled the pad over to read it more clearly. Upon it, she saw her father's handwriting: Elvis, Room 456, Beverly Wilshire Hotel... 213-784-3249. When you call, ask for Mr. Vince Jones in room 456. It took you a while to realize that 'Vince' was a false name.

She waited for the dial tone to begin before she dialed the number, getting patched through to an operator. Nervousness flooded her body as she waited for someone to answer the phone. "Beverly Wilshire Hotel, Oliver Reich speaking."

"Uh, Good Evening. May I speak to..." Evelyn looked down at the paper. "Mr. Vince Jones in room 456?" She prayed that the operator would complete her request without further questioning. "Yes ma'am. One moment." She heard the dial tone ring for almost too long before she finally heard a rattle on the other side of the receiver.

"Hello?" The voice asked. It was definitely Elvis. His thick southern drawl was immediate.

"Elvis, hi."

"I'm sorry, who is this?" He asked.

"It's Evelyn, Y/n's cousin."

"Oh, yeah. Listen, I know I haven't written. I've been meaning to, but I'm just so busy–"

She cut him off. "What? I don't care about that. Listen, Elvis. Something happened to Y/n."

"What?" He asked, his voice rising in inflection, his tone full of alert and concern. "What happened? Is she okay? What–"

"She will be. Someone did something to her. A man." There was a long silence on the phone. "Please don't tell me...please..." He almost begged.

"No, but he would have."

"I–I'm leaving tonight. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Elvis, no. You've got a job to do." Evelyn reasoned. "I just know that she would want to hear from you. She needs you."

"I don't give a damn about the movie right now. I'm coming home. I'll deal with the consequences later. Tell her I'm coming home to her." There was a determination in his voice that dared her to argue or question him. "I'll be in Memphis by tomorrow afternoon."

End of part 8.

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