#and that ed might do the same and like. it isn't life ending or the worst thing ever no but it is a nearly daily grinding wearing down

[izzy-b-hands]

I was thinking abt the occasionally fun but mostly frustrating tradition(in the states at least idk for sure if anywhere else does this?)of valentine's day boxes made for school.

That led me here. steddyhands and the dilemma of the valentines day box assignment for louis and alma, special feature on izzy and his rising blood pressure (sorry izzy bby akdnfjgn), which I'll be real i talk more abt in my tags on this since this probably isn't gonna be written out any further, so yeah. More plot talky izzy stuff in my tags.

Noting this in my tags too, but a moment to specify that ed and stede aren't trying to have like. a shitty parenting moment in this, they're just human and excited abt the situation and sorta fuck up a bit.

---

"The point is that they make the box themselves," Izzy says, for what feels like the hundredth time. "The only grade they get is 'did they do it or not'. Their teachers bolded that part of the email, remember? Said to mind getting too competitive about it?"

"Now I think Frenchie would happily take on the commission," Stede continues, thumbs tapping at his phone keyboard. "He'll reply quickly; he always does for me."

"It's a cardboard box," Izzy says. "To hold paper and cardboard valentines and cheap candy. That's it!"

"Money will help, but the overall design needs to be good," Ed says to Stede, as if Izzy and the kids aren't still standing there. "Money can buy resources, but it can't buy pretty, no matter how nice those resources might be."

"Oh that's good! Applies to other things too, I like it!"

"We bought them new shoes last week," Izzy sighs. Why does he keep trying? He couldn't say. "They each have a box already. We just need to help them decorate the boxes. That's it. That is all the teacher means with this project. I even asked Mary and Doug how they read it, and they agreed with me!"

"Ooh Frenchie has mock ups!" Stede cheers softly. "I knew he'd come through."

"It's okay," Alma pats Izzy's hand. "You tried really hard to make them understand. They're just excited."

"Can we go to the art stuff store now?" Louis whines, tugging at Izzy's other hand. "They won't even notice if we leave!"

"We should leave a note at least," Izzy says.

"Dad does love well written notes and random acts of abandonment," Alma sighs. "You dictate and I'll write. I want to practice my cursive."

"Really?"

"Dad can't read my cursive well yet."

"That makes more sense," Izzy says. "Louis, what are you-"

He watches as Louis tugs Stede's wallet from the countertop, and bolts outside, prize held up over his head with both hands.

"He won't notice," Alma reassures him. "You shouldn't have to pay for our stuff for this anyway."

"You've done this before."

"We'd be stupid if we hadn't," Alma tears a page from her notebook. "Here, I wrote it myself. I'm gonna get Louis in the car."

She's out the door after Louis, hands clapping to get his attention just like Mary did with them both.

"Either of you want to help me address that?" Izzy asks Ed and Stede, who he realises have indeed not stopped talking to each other the entire time. "She's a bit young to be acting like that, yeah?"

They're in their own world. Normally, he wouldn't care, but he's Guardian Five out of many and it feels like Parent/Guardians 1-4 could and should have already noticed it ahead of him.

"Fine," Izzy drops Alma's note by Stede's hand, deciding not to read it. That she actually went through with writing it is kindness enough. "I'm going to let her rack up a ridiculous bill on one of your seven credit cards, and they'll make those stupid fucking valentine boxes so fucking ornate..."

His anger fizzes out mid-sentence. Stede isn't listening. Ed isn't listening. Alma keeps honking the horn in the car and how did she get the fucking keys?!

"You know what? Fast food and ice cream for dinner too," Izzy adds. "On your dime. We'll bring you something back."

He turns his attention to Alma and the frank abuse of the car's horn. "Alma! The neighbours already don't like us, let's not make it worse! Not unless you've got something worse than this planned for later-"

--

The door thunks shut.

"Oh," Stede looks over to it. "Didn't Izzy just say something?"

"No idea," Ed replies, looking through design ideas on his phone. "Why?"

"They were just here," Stede continues. "Him and the kids. Right?"

"Maybe they went out for an after school snack," Ed shrugs. "To get inspired for this big art box project thing."

"Is that what this is? What was this for again?"

"Dunno for sure, but look at this," Ed turns the phone to show Stede the screen. "For Louis?"

Stede lets his concerns drop again. Izzy will mention if they're missing any key details about the kids' projects and what needs to be done. "I think he'd love it! Save that."

The house is getting dark around them, and he wonders if Izzy and the kids will be home for dinner.

[stevesbipanic]

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area. 

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning. 

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?” 

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder. 

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures. 

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.”  Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her. 

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently. 

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes. 

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump. 

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat. 

“What’s this?” 

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule. 

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?” 

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.” 

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs. 

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything. 

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm. 

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment. 

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day. 

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was. 

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal. 

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone. 

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing. 

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick. 

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone. 

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?” 

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.” 

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle. 

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…” 

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back. 

“But prison, Agatha? Really?” 

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you. 

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation. 

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO. 

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?” 

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season. 

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back. 

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest. 

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why? 

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an  ocean separated you. 

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.” 

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening. 

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening. 

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes. 

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day. 

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes. 

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed. 

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind. 

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha. 

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes. 

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?” 

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning. 

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper. 

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin. 

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late. 

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions. 

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away. 

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before. 

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared. 

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses. 

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked. 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…” 

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met. 

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage. 

“Has that helped you?” 

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry. 

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation. 

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket. 

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-” 

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.” 

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile. 

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if i could turn back time

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'time travel' rated t wc: 997 cw: mention of canonical character death tags: fix-it, light angst, happy ending, first kiss

-------------------------------------

"I'm telling you Robin, this is probably when things went wrong!"

"And I'm telling you, things probably went wrong in the 60s! This isn't gonna change anything!"

Eddie shouldn't have been listening by the door of the RV, especially not when they thought he was hiding in the back, but he couldn't help his curious nature.

Curiosity killed the cat, but it entertained the banished.

"What are you gonna do, huh? Stay with him and Dustin? Sacrifice yourself? I'm not letting you do that!"

Eddie's brows raised.

"No, but with the three of us, we can remember to close everything off this time so none of us have to sacrifice ourselves. It keeps us all safe."

The voice suddenly stopped and Eddie barely managed to get away from the door before it was flying open and Steve was storming inside.

Alone.

Robin must have gone to help the kids and Nancy with their weapons.

Steve sat down on the couch, put his head in his hands, and groaned.

"Alright there, big boy?"

Steve jumped, his face turning to see Eddie awkwardly standing in the doorway to the back.

"Fine, yeah. Just stressed," Steve relaxed a bit, though Eddie could still see his white knuckles against his knees and his jaw clenching.

"You and Robin having a lover's quarrel out there?" Eddie asked, knowing damn well they weren't together.

He didn't have to know to know that Robin wasn't interested in Steve for the same reason Eddie wasn't interested in Robin.

"We just don't see eye to nose on some things," Steve shrugged. "She knows I'm right, she's just stubborn."

Ignoring the eye to nose comment would go down as one of the most impressive feats of Eddie's life, but he decided to focus on finding out what they were actually arguing about.

"She thinks you're gonna get hurt?" Eddie asked, moving over to the couch.

"More like killed."

Eddie couldn't hide the flinch at his harsh words.

"None of us are gonna die, man. We've got a plan."

"Yeah," Steve sighed. "I'd feel better if I was with you and Dustin though."

"I won't let anything happen to him," Eddie said softly.

He knew how much Steve cared for Dustin, felt that same protectiveness for the kid.

"It's not him I'm worried about."

"I'll be fine. I mean, even if not, it's not like we're friends. You'll all be fine," Eddie shrugged.

Maybe a part of him actually believed that, believed that everyone would go about their days if something happened to him. He didn't think anyone but Wayne would actually miss him, and he'd be fine eventually.

Steve was blinking at him.

"No, we won't." Steve's hand grabbed his knee, squeezing. "You think you don't matter to us, but you do. You have no idea how much you mean to everyone. When something happens to you, none of us will ever be the same."

Eddie's mouth felt dry, and then it hit him what Steve said.

"When?"

Steve's eyes widened.

"I meant if!"

"Steve. Does this magic girl you keep talking about know something? Did someone talk to her?" Eddie stood up and started pacing. "I know I said it'd be fine if something happened to me, but I'd rather not know. And now I'm thinkin' you might know something I don't and maybe Robin does too and-"

Steve grabbed his face between his hands, his grip almost hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Eds, I promise you, I am not letting anything happen to you. Not this time."

Eddie had a million questions, but as he looked into Steve's haunted eyes, he decided to wait.

He decided to trust Steve Harrington.

"Okay. Nothing's gonna happen to me."

----------------------------------

When Eddie made it back through the gate in the trailer, a few bruises on his shoulders and arms, but alive, Steve was there.

Looking at him in a way Eddie couldn't quite recognize.

And then touching him in a way Eddie wouldn't have expected.

His hands were everywhere, feeling along his arms and neck and shoulders, taking inventory of his bruises and cuts, the one bite mark he had on his side.

"You're okay?" He asked breathlessly.

"I'm okay." Eddie responded, just as breathless. "Steve. I'm okay."

His tone made Steve stop what he was doing and look in his eyes.

"Fuck, Eddie," Steve fell into him, pushing his face into his neck, breathing Eddie in as Eddie wrapped his arms around him.

"You gonna tell him or should I?" Robin asked from behind them.

Steve just whimpered in response and Eddie felt a wetness against his skin.

"Are you crying?" he asked, trying to push him away to see if he was okay, but Steve just held him harder.

"He's just happy you didn't die this time," Robin said.

"This time?"

"Yeah. You died the first time and it destroyed him. When we woke up back here, he spent so long trying to focus on you living, he forgot we had a real job to do. No offense."

"None taken," Eddie said. "Stevie, you gotta breathe."

Steve had started gasping for air against him, his whole body shaking as he came down from the adrenaline.

It took ten minutes, a cleared out room, and gentle hands massaging his back for Steve to calm down.

But Eddie sat with him and held him, talked him through whatever he was feeling and assuring him that he was okay.

"We all made it, sweetheart," Eddie whispered against the top of his head.

Steve stiffened in his arms, then instantly relaxed.

"Was it..." Eddie let out a long breath. "Before. When I died. Were we something?"

Steve shook his head and Eddie tried not let the disappointment be visible.

"We weren't yet. But I think we would have been. I wanted to be. Didn't get the chance."

"But this time you do."

Steve's lips pressed against his collar, lingering for a minute before he pulled back.

"This time we do."

[keeksandgigz]

eddie munson x fem! reader

Here's some mean!eddie crumbs cause I'm a whore. Happy Halloween!

cw: mean!eddie, use of a toy, overstimulation, edging, humiliation, dirty talk, orgasm denial

18+ minors dni pls!!! smutty smut smut below the cut!!

You have an issue.

Not one of titanic proportions, not one you'd, like, debate life or death over. It's a bullet- sized issue nestled in the pocket of your panties.

It feels like it's been rumbling against you for hours, while your boyfriend sits next to you on the couch watching some dumb game show. He isn't even paying attention to you, whilst you whine and cry and beg him to turn the finger- sized issue off.

And each time you utter a weak and teary please he yanks at his belt, which he used to bind your hands behind your back after you'd tried to claw your way into your panties and try to turn the toy off at just about after the second time you came.

At that he tutted, a bit mean, a bit pitiful "I told you to keep your fucking hands still. Guess I have to do everything myself, don't I baby?" and boy did he.

He had you bent over the couch, your legs on the comfy cushions (he was mean, not evil) and your upper chest rested on the arm rest, feeling yourself leak through your leggings.

The pressure had let up, providing you with a bit of relief from the constant, almost painful, stimulation that came from sitting down.

Unfortunately, he noticed, just because every once in a while he'd press two fingers right against the seam of your leggings, laughing like a maniac at your screams, keeping the pads of his thick fingers there for a few minutes, wait until your wails become cute little uhn noises. Then he lets up.

"Ed please" you had mumbled the first, second, third time.

"You gotta make up your mind, baby I thought you said no more" and he chuckled at that "Cumming's too much for my little crybaby, huh?" it was a rhetorical question, but even if he wanted you to answer, you wouldn't have been able to.

Words were hard for you, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth as you settled your head on the armrest and began drooling.

He had been doing that for the past hour.

"Keepin' count, baby?" he says, acknowledging you for the first time in twenty minutes, taking a swig of his beer.

"Ed...oh.. I- uhn! You didn't- didn't tell me!" you cry, as you feel his free hand trail up the inside of your thigh, to the side of your butt, then smack. His ringed hand delivering a harsh slap right on the right side of your butt.

At this point you're crying. Edging? Overstimulation? Humiliation? It could have been all three or none of them at the same time.

"C'mon, honey, you're so smart" he coos and caresses your head, almost as if he wants to take a look at your brain, the mechanics of what's got you acting so dumb all of a sudden.

"How 'bout this" he adds, and you feel the cushions shift, trembling. Your ears still only hearing the loud buzz of the bullet nestled between your legs. "How 'bout you give me a... I dunno, an approximation. My big brainy slut, aren't you honey? Y'know what that word means" His chest was against your back now, his hair tickling your cheeks, hot breath directly into your earl, gripping the "leash" end of his belt for dear life.

Every one of his words makes you tremble, and you think you might not make it out of this alive. Think. If it'd been an hour since your last orgasm then--

His knee presses right against your cunt, and you scream. "C'mon spelling bee, thought you had it, saw the few cogs in your brain turn a little" his taunts only make you want to grind back into his knee, chasing the release he's ben so cruelly denying you.

He lets up again, and you breathe.

"I- I think it- It was" and his knee is pressed up right against you again and it's moving. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up-

"What was that, honey? Thought you said something" he laughs again. Cocky little shit.

"Ed- Ed... uhn" and that was his cue to remove his knee.

"Didn't think so. Does my little mathlete have a number now?" he kisses behind your ear and it's wet, needy kisses.

Fuck it, you just decide to guess. "I uh- seven?"

"Lucky number seven" he says, and he lets go of his belt. Suddenly you don't feel him on you anymore.

He's grabbing at the sides of your leggings and you swear to god you hear him gasp.

"Holy fucking shit, baby, you're soaked through" he thumbs at the material of your panties, once again pushing the bullet right against your clit.

His thumb rubs up and down, and with him the bullet toy, which you're surprised is still alive.

He gets you close again, and you let out a weak "Eight," once again slumping on the arm rest.

"Good girl" he says, groping your ass and giving it a couple well- timed smacks, making you jump from your haze. You whine.

"Ed can I please cu-" and you feel him move your panties to the side, reaching for the offending toy and turning it off.

Shit. Shit. Now's the time. He's gonna make you cum.

Instead he slowly unravels the belt from your wrists, slowly massaging the tender flesh. He's pulling up your leggings again and with one last kiss to your cheek, your mouth flung open in shock, he sits back down.

"Eddie! What the fuck?" you plop back down on the couch, the slick between your legs is uncomfortably wet "You're an asshole, y'know that?" you dare say, and all he does is chuckle.

"That'll teach you about being a smartass while I'm watching Jeopardy."

[bakasara]

Trying to parse my thoughts on Izzy's death and why I had a different reaction to it than I thought I would. To summarize: I thought I wouldn't like it, but also that they wouldn't do it; the opposite happened– they did it but I'm ok with it.

I'm also feeling like talking through some mourning for an amazing character, so follow along if that's you, too 😌

(I should probably clarify the following thoughts are coming from someone who deeply enjoyed this season.)

I first wondered what would be of Izzy around the end of season 1. I expected him to have a heel-face turn – which I object to calling a redemption arc and I'll get into why, because the distinction ties into his death imo. A lot of antagonistic characters' changes of heart end directly in death, but I thought they'd subvert that trope. And they... did, actually, despite Izzy dying. Not an option I had imagined.

What the show avoided is the logic, the set of tropes attached to the deaths of this kind of character. These deaths usually come as a consequence of the character's changed ethics or "redemption". My being against that scenario came from the diverging natures of traditional redemption arcs and OFMD's rhetoric.

A traditional redemption arc functions by a kind of catholic logic, if you will: the villain can become one of the good guys by balancing out his "sins"/bad deeds with enough good deeds to tip a moral scale. This often involves a purifying suffering, which acts as an agent to expiate one's faults. To the viewer, this suffering can serve to activate our empathy and make the character more sympathetic. It can also legitimize his quest: our trust in the character's good intentions comes from seeing that the character is ready to make sacrifices to become better and he isn't deterred by the hardships of doing the right thing.

The death occurring at the end of a traditional redemption arc acts as the ultimate sacrifice and/or purification. A number of ideas might be at play behind it, depending on each story: only in death can the soul become fully pure, or a final sacrifice is "needed" to demonstrate the change once and for all, or change was only possible up to a point after which there is no viable/acceptable future – the character deserves moral points for changing, but not so many that he also deserves a full life, or past crimes make him more expendable, etc.

But these are all ideas that aren't evoked in any of the crew's journey in OFMD. For starters, the show isn't interested in "catholic" redemption; its focus is on reintegration/rehabilitation into the community. Rather than appealing to the more traditional (in Western media) and more christian principle of "purification of the soul through mortification of the body", it plays with notions of restorative justice.

We see it especially this season with Ed and Izzy. Ed's arc is a whole little lab for it. We have the community being made to decide whether he can stay or should leave; catbell!Ed is made to apologize to the people affected – which he initially does abysmally, with what fandom has dubbed his "CEO's/YouTube apology". Later, he's given the opportunity to have a more honest and genuine conversation with Fang where he learns about how he hurt him. He's made to repair some of the material damage his behavior caused. Some members feel repaid by the idea that they did to him the same he did to them (Fang) while others don't (Lucius), and the show touches on what this means for each/legitimizes both feelings. Arguably, Ed using his treasure to throw Calypso's birthday party – a much needed refrain and moment of social (re-)connection within the community – is an additional form of reparation. While Stede's belief in Ed has a clear role in helping Ed change for the better, Izzy's s2 journey focuses even more intensely on the role of social support within an individual's constructive (re-)integration into their community. The show is condensed by choice of format, but the beats are all there.

With that kind of rhetoric set up, I'd never be able to accept Izzy dying in a way that feels like a punishment for his past crimes, nor in a way that should "confirm" his positive change/"purify" him for good. And he doesn't! By the time he dies, we know full well he's deeply changed, it's already established to completion. How it happens has nothing to do with proving himself – he's randomly shot in battle. It's never questioned that the time he got to live surrounded by affection mattered. The speech he gives Ed is only possible because he's changed, accessing a completely different perspective on piracy/life than before, like we see when he talks to Ricky earlier. The reason the whole crew is paying respect and crying is because he became "the new unicorn", a treasured member with a defined role. But his death itself is the show going back to the initial symbolism of Izzy as ultimate pirate. The narrative function of his death is underscoring that the age of piracy has come to an end. It's nothing to do with his change. It's posited as the "natural conclusion" (again, by symbolic function) of a character that represented piracy through-and-through, not the "natural conclusion" of a process of becoming better.

And for me, that difference changes everything. I can see and accept the logic behind it, even as I mourn Izzy as a character. It makes the grief feel like a catharsis I experience within the context of the story I'm watching, rather than a grief I feel from a show "betraying" me.

It's also a difference that completely changes how Izzy's death relates to his queerness. Izzy's change is intertwined with being able to express queer affection openly. Becoming "a unicorn" is this extremely queer imagery already – a magical rainbow creature. His role becomes akin to a mother to the crew (the mother hen!Izzy many headcanoned last season, tapping into his potential), a position that isn't extraneous to older queens, including our honored real-life mean-old-queer men. Last season he threatened another queer man for showing too much delicacy, effeminacy, vulnerability. Now, his change is a process that culminates in him singing a tender love song among the crew in drag. He's given the privilege of playing the soundtrack to our protagonists making love for the first time, which ties him symbolically to the event in a way it does no other crew member. Suffice it to say that insinuating his process of change should end in death would have been disastrous, as far as I'm concerned. Antithetical to the show's supporting ideology.

But that's not how it went. Grief occupies a big role in the queer community, but it's so rare that we get to experience it cathartically. In real life, we often have to contend with the ways queerphobia causes us trauma or even shortens our lives, or the lives of our friends. In fictional narratives, a lot of characters that get to express queerness unabashedly still die for the transgression. They're still usually the only queer character with relevant screen time or at all, at best one of two that formed a tragic couple.

We almost never have the opportunity to just mourn some motherfucker who died because they meant something else as well that was central to their character. To mourn and know we're mourning someone who wasn't ever punished for being queer-as-in-fuck-you and going all out. To mourn and not feel like it's another message of queer doom, because for once the character is surrounded by an entire crew of other queer characters that go on to live and be happy. To know the story is saying something about life, not about being queer. To know this kind of crafting was deliberate, too, because the creator has talked about working to avoid those tropes. I struggle to remember another time I had the opportunity to grieve for a queer character like they're a human being, without the implication that it's queerness itself that's a death sentence.

And honestly? It feels good. It feels like a form of catharsis I do not dislike. That I'm maybe kinda glad for. OFMD is and stays a magical world. Beyond that, in a show full of queers, one of them dies after getting some extraordinarily meaningful happiness, and it's peaceful, and I get to just be sad for the fucker without the gutting of being reminded that if you're gay, better not shoot too high. It feels like a completely different emotion that no other show, for now, would give me, but OFMD. To me, it's yet another thing it's pulled off.

As it's been known to do.

[theyoungeragrippina]

15 more gentlebeard fic recs!

that i have lovingly hunter/gathered for you all. may they act as sustenance for u in this drought.

they are all complete, do not feature any ongoing steddyhands, and are above 20k words.

peruse part 1 and part 2 at your leisure if you want to compare our tastes/devour more fine literature, or check out my masterlist as an ao3 collection.

happy reading!

it's what isn't in the name by @tciddaemina

41k, mature

"The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and I sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles."

writing is top quality, the depth of understanding the author has for every character is unmatched. i have never felt so gutted to know a writer hasn't written anything else for ofmd.

clarity by @kat0nline

44k, explicit

"After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back."

amnesia/memory loss fic done justice. mary continues to be the best and i love her. only note i wrote after i finished was 'screaming crying throwing up i love you author'.

you are at the top of my lungs by @ratchet

55k, explicit

"Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest... the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself."

this is really a story about healing and hope and grief and love. one of my most favourite eds. this author makes me want to change my whole life, and in this case become an off grid chicken owner that grows food and has gay christmas dinners.

seven point three miles, also by @ratchet

20k (technically just under but it gets a pass because everyone should read it rn), teen and up

"Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped."

when will this author receive their nobel prize in literature. i want to be a fire lookout now. i also want to scream and cry and maybe stare at the ceiling for five hours to process this fic. there is a reason everyone loves this fic.

fine dining by wishingonalightningbolt and sugarybowl

37k, explicit

"Edward Teach is one of the most famous chefs in the world, working under the handle Chef Blackbeard. Not one to be tied down, he does random pop-ups in all types of kitchens, and for the absurdly wealthy, he caters special events. Stede Bonnet wants to throw the best engagement party ever for his ex-wife and best friend, Mary. His assistant recommends the extravagant work of Chef Blackbeard."

my notes just say: 'ed is a chef and stede is a cute guy and they are cute together' and i think that is a pretty good summary tbh.

Old Bae Season by nomadsland

57k, explicit

"Ed picks Stede up at a bar for what ought to be a one-night stand, but it turns out they're attending the same academic conference the next day."

they are scientists and stede experiences self discovery. crab door knockers as a symbol of love. i love this fic because it made me smile so much (and want to get my life together, weirdly).

Vitalis by jfc_anna

29k, explicit

"Crown Prince Stede Bonnet. Reserved, anxious, and newly arranged to be married. A child is expected. Though, with the Prince’s lack of experience, is also highly unlikely. There are murmurs of an educator of sorts amongst the nobility, with raven hair and eyes like fire, who has been the cure of impotence and disagreeable attitudes. He has been called many names, whispered behind hands or between cracks in doors. Siren. Kraken. Devourer of Love."

short and sweet and so different from most other things i've read in this fandom. lots of flirting and pining and copious amounts of seduction.

all that might happen is here somehow by @sungmee

27k, teen

"Stede gets caught in a time loop at the moment where Badminton tries to shoot him."

i put off reading this because i thought i wasn't super keen on time loop fics. i was wrong. this is charming, and a little bit heartbreaking, and VERY well written, and i loved every word. don't make my mistakes. read this rn.

turn on the light by smallestchurch

55k, explicit

"Lighthouse Bookshop had been there seemingly since time immemorial. Over forty years at that spot, sitting proud, a beacon at the heart of the community, and when the old owner decides to sell, it's the perfect vessel for Stede's odd restlessness. And the building is connected to a famous cocktail bar run by a mad genius behind the stick."

smiling through my tears rn. i was so absorbed that the end of the fic came up on me like a jumpscare. stede and ed continue to be posterboys for maladaptive coping mechanisms. books & cocktails & outrageous flirting.

our tesco means death by @stedesparasol

21k, general

"Determined to prove he can earn a living without his family's wealth, Stede applies for a job at the UK's biggest retailer (probably). Hmm, I wonder who his supervisor will be... surely not a handsome bearded man sick of the retail grind until Stede joins his workplace and makes things interesting..."

so unserious and so funny. fuckin' brilliant. made me genuinely laugh out loud so much that my dad asked if i was okay.

Queen Anne’s Renovations and Remodelling by bythedamned

32k, mature

"Ed didn't know why Stede’s house had a room sealed off. Two decades gone, filled with the creation and destruction of things they'd never shared with each other, and Ed no longer had reading privileges to the Book of Stede. So he's left to wonder - what's in the room? Why is the door plastered over? And why does Ed remember kissing Stede on a make-believe ship they’d invented as kids?"

thank u sm to @okayestokapi for the rec!! i love the sort of magical-mystery vibe this carries the whole way through & the conclusion was so charming and clever. heaps of fun.

help me to find peace (tell me you're okay) by @percyjacksonfan3

38k, general

"Stede and the crew come to find Ed and make things right. Turns out Ed is doing the same".

i am simply a sucker for a good post s1 reunion fic, and this is up there with the best. it flows really well, the characterisation is so good, and it felt like such a natural continuation of the s1 story and character arcs!!

Invisible String by @dimplyowl

48k, mature

"Scourge of the Caribbean" has been Stede's favorite book series since he was 12 years old. Now, age 47, divorced, and an aspiring author, he turns back to the series to draw inspiration from the familiar story. But as he starts reading, he realizes that something is different. Blackbeard, the main character, is apathetic and depressed, and the story has changed. Even stranger still, Stede seems to be the only one aware that this change has occurred."

more magic realism!!!!! this is so much fun and such a clever idea (plus such clever execution)! lots of flirting and stede being flustered and cute dates.

The Lion, the Witch and the Auxiliary Wardrobe by @xoxoemynn

21k, explicit

"Edward "Blackbeard" Teach's foolproof strategy to get over devastating heartbreak: 1) bring a witch aboard the ship 2) get trapped in an auxiliary wardrobe with the man who broke your heart 3) well, you'll have to read to find out."

in this house we read everything em writes because it is all brilliant and hilarious, and this is no different. its silly and fun and still tender and sweet, and ed & stede get to be just as embarrassing as they deserve (also there is a currently updating work by the same author u should look at too - take it as an unofficial rec).

Due North by surprise pink (+ gorgeously illustrated by @sungmee who appeared earlier on this list!!!!!!)

28k, mature

"Burnt out from his corporate job and his miserable marriage, Stede takes a seaside vacation where he meets Ed, an artist who takes inspiration from strange dreams that feel like memories. A museum exhibit about Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate brings them together, but it doesn't feel like the first time they've met."

had me googling 'pirate museums near me???' urgently at 1am. romeo & juliet meeting through a fishtank/starcrossed lovers vibes. absolute oodles of pining. a joy of a time to read.

[brazenautomaton]

Please don't take this as an offense... Looking over the posts you've made about how "Popularity" is the Central Unifying Concept ruling every aspect of life, I can't help but feel like it's just as compromised as other worldviews that blame the world's problems on a singular concept like Race, Economics, Patriarchy, Hierarchy, etc.

Am I mistaken in this assessment? How is this any more valid than others? If not, have you ever reexamined the premises to see if you might need to change your views?

I think that those world systems are trying to substitute something else for popularity and fit everything into that hole, when "popularity theory" is upstream of all of them? social power struggles consume every group of people, psychopaths are very good at social power games, social power games result in social status, people use "social status" as a Goodhart's Law-ed proxy for every relevant aspect about a human being unless their balls are right next to the bandsaw and survival is more important than affirming a flattering story about themselves.

there's no structure to this, no intentionality, it's an emergent property of how human beings think. revealed preferences are that people want to reward high-status / popular people and want to punish low-status / unpopular people. they find it difficult to believe or remember negative things about the popular, and similarly can't believe or remember positive things about the unpopular. they want to be seen aligning with the popular and punishing the unpopular. popularity can be correlated with different things in different situations, but those things it correlates with are not the One Solution.

popularity is expressed by bullying. bullies are rewarded for being popular, because bullying is something you can only do if you are popular; this is why people want to fight bullies, cannot form the intent to actually oppose a popular person, and go after unpopular nerds instead. the popular try to punish everyone around them; the unpopular suffer more from this, identifying them for more punishment. people reward this not because of some ideology or sinister machination but because that's how ape cruelty games work.

popularity can certainly correlate to other things, and people try to make those other things into the be-all-end-all explanation. if you're in the South in the 1960s, and you're black, and you're surrounded by white people, no, you're not going to be popular. you're going to be unpopular and people will hate you, seek to harm you, seek to believe bad things about you, and reward others for bullying you. but it isn't "whiteness" that's doing that, it's popularity -- go look at the segregated black high school and everyone behaves the same way toward whoever is on the bottom of their pecking order.

a man or woman who is not fitting into their assigned gender role is going to be unpopular, and gender-conforming people are going to crush them. that's not because men crush women or women crush men it's because the popular crush the unpopular and gender conformity is a lens to use to find the popular. the people who hate "the patriarchy" and "gender conformity" behave exactly the same way towards people for violating a different set of gender norms that they made up, because the problem wasn't that these gender roles are uniquely corrupting, the problem is popularity needs to find a way to punish the unpopular and this was something it used.

[sarucane]

Why didn't Ed always protect Stede?

I'm a bit late to the party and only really got into OFMD with S2, so I've started watching S1 really thoroughly only recently. And I've noticed that there's this narrative in the fandom that Ed and Stede are super protective of each other, particularly Ed--but as I've gone through S1 (number redacted) times, it's been driving me nuts how much Ed doesn't protect Stede.

Sure, there's the meme we all love when Ed stands in front of the firing squad--but for most of the scene before that, he's been standing and watching Stede beg for his life. He's upset, but he doesn't intervene until it's nearly do late. And before that, Ed doesn't say or do a thing about Calico Jack treating Stede like shit--sure it's believable that he just doesn't notice the passive aggression, but not even catching the "Steve" thing? That's something that isn't even intervening, Jack could be making an honest mistake. But the thing no-protection moment that's really driven me nuts is this moment

In the scene before this, Ed and Stede have just had an incredibly emotionally intimate conversation. Ed is clearly at least half in love with Stede at this point. This is a relationship that means something important to him, this is a person he cares for deeply. And…and Izzy almost murdered Stede in front of him, because of him, and he just looked away.

But at the same time, Ed does love Stede, he does intervene to protect him from the English--at great personal risk and cost. By the end of S2 Ed's much better about this kind of thing (though I'd argue he's never as super-protective as I've seen suggested).

So what was going on here? Ed's a total softie inside, especially with Stede, so why was he like this?

And I've got a theory! Here goes:

Mr. "greatest pirate who ever lived" is, in fact, an overachieving rule-follower (cough teacher's pet cough).

Ed doesn't intervene to help Stede because Ed conforms himself to the rules set by whoever has the strongest personality in a room, or whatever "code" is being pushed on him/is easiest to follow.

I think this is part of why Ed often struggles to identify what he wants, or hold onto a firm sense of his self-identity. And I think it's a lot of why he's so attracted to Stede, and why that relationship is so important to his development: Ed is much less likely to follow the rules when he's one-on-one with someone, and spending a lot of time alone with Stede gives him much more mental space to understand what he wants.

And just like Stede is most successful when he doesn't try to follow the traditional rules of pirating, Ed is most successful--in his relationship with Stede and outside it--when he doesn't obsess over bending to the rules, and instead picks and chooses which ones to follow and which ones to discard.

I have a partly-written super-long version of this where I go episode by episode looking at how the rules theme works with Ed's character mechanics, but I'm just going to focus on the topic question here (I might get around to posting the long version, but I also might be distracted by something shiny;) )

So let's start with The Art of Fuckery and the thing that was driving me crazy.

Ed's core conflict in this episode was whether he'd going to send Stede to "doggy heaven." Why would he follow Stede to doggy heaven? Because according to Izzy, Stede is categorized as a pet, and Ed has "a policy regarding pets aboard your vessel." It's a rule. Ed has to follow it.

And Ed fully intends to follow it, right up until the kraken turns up and the rules go out the window. And then he's in a safe space with Stede, drowning in memory of the good rules he broke (don't kill people you love). But Stede rejects the idea that Ed breaking that rule makes him a bad person. He appeals, instead, to friendship. And offers his own rule: that they could pretend the murder thing never happened.

Because that's the amazing thing about Stede: he lives at the intersection of aristocratic and pirate rules (which isn't supposed to exist, and which drew Ed to him), and he makes up his own rules.

When Ed's with Stede, he can follow different rules, unlike anything he'd imagined. Can even sometimes make up his own rules. Can actually pay attention to himself, think about what he wants, what he likes and fears.

But when Ed's in a crowd, or alone with someone trying to impose something on him, he conforms. So when Izzy invokes Pirate Rules and steamrolls Ed ("no you're not doing this,") Ed lets him.

It's a character flaw, and it's a serious one...but it's also one Ed works on when he stops complaining about the treasure hunt business. And when he and Stede discuss the idea of co-captains, and arrangement that would break the rule that "a ship has only one captain."

Which Ed is able to do because he's in a safe space. Calico Jack disrupts that, and introduces a succession of games with clearly defined rules, which Ed follows one after another. And Ed has so little self-awareness, is so easily swamped by Jack's personality, that he doesn't notice how Jack's treating Stede, let alone defend him, and he bows to every hint of pressure.

And all that culminates in Ed having to make a decision: follow pirate rules, where everyone's just at "various stages of screwing each other over," or do what he wants. Go help his friend, the guy he loves.

Which just ends up with him being absorbed right back into the pirate system of rules. He tries to use this at first, faking a confession on the grounds that he's a "life is cheap sort of guy." But Izzy's outsmarted him, and Izzy invokes pirate rules again: that Ed told him the rule for a first mate was "above all loyalty to your captain."

Ed doesn't call out for the Act of Grace until the last minute. He could have done it at the trial--he didn't. This is a hard thing for him to do, because he's surrounded by rule-following pressure, from Izzy and from Chauncy. The last time he was in a situation like this, Ed just looked away and let Stede die (he thought).

But the thing about Ed is that he's "half insane." For years, he used the combo of being considered "mad" and also having Izzy around to have his cake and eat it too with rules, to be the world's greatest pirate and also hang onto his own authentic self.

As a result, Ed got good at finding loopholes. Places where you can follow the rules and break them, at the same time. Getting run through, but in a place that missed "all the important bits." Being sentenced to death, but asking for an Act of Grace.

It's a big deal when Ed steps in front of Stede like that. He's acting against pirate rules, risking being absorbed by the rules set by the English.

He does it for Stede--and that starts to set him free. After that, Ed's never just following the rules again. He actually can't, even when he tries: his going kraken at the end of S1 and start of S2 is doomed from the start and full of contradictions, starting with the fact that he's on Stede's ship, the ship with hidden passages where rule-breaking can be hidden until it's needed.

Ed struggles a lot to figure out which rules to follow ("I will abide by the guidelines"), which rules to set aside ("Can we take it slow?"), when to make up his own rules ("So we're innkeepers now."). And Stede helps him, telling him things like "This can be whatever we want it to be," and "you're not a dick, life's a dick."

I don't really have a clever conclusion to this particular meta. It's a messy thing, and individual figuring out how to their life does and does not intersect with society. This theme doesn't resolve neatly, it just stops at the end of the season, like the tension between Ed/kraken/Blackbeard.

But there's a lot of hope here, I think. When Ed acts to protect Stede, and to fight alongside him, he's not just being a protective partner. It's a learned action, the physical manifestation of a decision Ed's made about who he wants to be in the world. Rules be damned.

[icarus-last-fall]

I wanna write a long fic

Warning : ! It's not instead of the fic ideas you gave me but in addition !

I want to write a long fic (like 30 chapters or more) but I have more than one idea so lemme know what you think :

Option 1 : Summer AU

(I call it an au but it can take place in canon)(it's after Sirius left square Grimmaurd)

Regulus convinces his parents to let him spend summer vacations at a secondary house of the Black family that is rarely used but Sirius had the idea to go (without being allowed) at the same place with his friends

Lots of chaos ensues, the two groups become one, light Black brothers angst with happy ending, mentioned Evans sisters angst, Wolfstar, Jegulus, Rosekiller, Dorlene, Marylily/Pandalily

Probably multi povs but can be done any way

Option 2 : One year at Hogwarts

Pandora and Lily start dating, so they want their friend groups to hang out.

Basically a look into everyone's mental state (spoiler warning: they're all f-ed up)

(again) lot of chaos, (again) the two groups become one, Black brothers angst, Evans sisters angst, Wolfstar, Jegulus, Rosekiller, Dorlene, Pandalily (wdym my ships are always the same)

Absolutely multi povs

Option 3 : Royalty AU

I have no plot for this one but it's Sirius and Regulus being princes and dealing with all this (and also meeting the loves of their lives)

Wolfstar, Jegulus, bg Rosekiller, bg Dorlene, bg Marlily/Pandalily

No idea what pov this should be but probably Sirius and Regulus povs switching? Or maybe third person idk yet

Option 4 : Highschool (muggle?) AU

Edit : I just realized that I call it an highschool AU but even if they are in highschool it doesn't really have anything to do with the story? Or not that much at least so now I feel like an impostor, it's probably more a muggle AU

Well an highschool au obviously, the start is that Regulus is trans ftm and he's at an all girl's school and when he comes out to his parents their reactions are... not good? So he goes to Sirius' house and he ends up living with him. And then Sirius' friend group and Regulus' friend group meet. (Sirius friends are James, Remus and Barty and Regulus friends are Lily, Mary, Marlene, Pandora and Evan)(Dorcas is Barty's roommate so she's not in any friend group yet)

To be original lots of chaos, the two groups become one, Wolfstar, jegulus, rosekiller, dorlene, (established) marylily

I planned on multi povs but it can change

Option 5 : Narcissa point of view on Black brothers angst

Narcissa watching Sirius and Regulus grow apart throughout the years

This is not Narcissa centric, just Sirius and Regulus relation in her eyes, so even if there will obviously be some of her thoughts, life, relationships and insecurities it stays focused on the black brothers

Black brothers angst, light black sisters angst, main character death, only one of my options that doesn't end well, canon-compliant

Narcissa's pov obvi

Option 6 : Full Hogwarts story

The whole seven years at Hogwarts of a marauders era character

Might not be Will probably not be canon-compliant cause I want a happy ending

I haven't decided on which character to write yet, if this idea is the one that wins the poll I'll make another one for you guys to tell me who you want this to be about

Only one pov, the one of the main character

Warning : ! The poll result isn't definitive, it just helps me decide I might do another one in the end !

Also feel free to dm me/send me an ask if you have any question/things you'd like me to add to a story <33

[shares-a-vest]

@steddie-week Day Six: True

Call him a snap. A lovesick loser. A nerd. A guy who likes fantasy stories and make-believe a little too much. An idiot who is setting himself up for disappointment and heartbreak.

But Eddie Munson believes in True Love.

He has read the stories and been swept up in the romantic plotlines of his favourites. He creates NPCs for his campaigns with unnecessarily detailed backstories with whole lives set out for them. Then he uses them to write poems and short stories he keeps safe in his notebooks for no one to see, where everyone gets a sweeping grand love story and a 'happily ever after' waiting for them by the end.

He's well aware others catch on, especially after he starts dating Steve. Yeah, an actual real-life love story sweeps him off his feet and he lets his guard down. Dustin and Lucas call him, "a pathetic lameoid". Mike and Will descend into a chorus of gagging noises. Even the guys tease him for writing song lyrics featuring admittedly, very obvious saccharine declarations. George will give a "Yuck", Gareth practically sings out his disgusted "Ew" and Jeff gives perhaps the worst reaction of all...

"Eddie... just. No."

Steve might as well be a Prince. Or a Knight in shining armour. A combination of both, maybe? Mixed in with the weapons and demon-slaying expertise of a high-stats Barbarian who runs around shirtless.

When Steve visited him in the hospital, drugged-up delirium had Eddie's mind drifting to fairytales where he lay in a nightmare-riddled slumber as a blood-stained and beat-up version of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Just laying in wait to be fixed by true love's kiss.

Steve calls Eddie his Prince sometimes when he's being all sappy and cute. It makes them both blush and giggle because, while it's romantic, it is also Steve trying desperately to sound impressive.

But Steve really is the Prince. Eddie insists on the matter. Even when he arrives at the trailer from a closing shift at Family Video, visibly tired with dark eyes, hair now flat and unstyled with a pained expression on his face as he blinks at a snail's pace.

"Thank god, I'm home" he sighs, voice cracking a little as he sets his keys down on the shelf near the front light switch.

Eddie snaps his book shut (A collection of Grimm Fairytales, no less), feeling all giddy at the thought Steve considers the place 'home'. But his glee doesn't last long as his homebound Prince barely toes off one of his sneakers before he clambers forward, arms unstretched in the direction of the couch.

Eddie catches him - or more, Steve collapses onto the couch and rolls into him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he panics, brushing back the mop of hair that has flopped in his face.

"I have a headache," Steve groans, talking into his makeshift pyjama top - an old Hawkins Tigers t-shirt, "Started as I was closing up."

Steve heaves his body against the couch, resting his head on the cushion back and screws his eyes shut. He fumbles with the buttons on his polo, failing to get anywhere near unbuttoning them. So, Eddie does it for him, barely finishing on the last one before Steve pops his shirt off and flings it halfway across the room.

Then Steve starts doing the same with his belt and fly as a wash of sickly paleness drains down his pretty face.

"I'll do it," he grumbles, pushing Steve's mighty paws away.

He helps there too, willing away a blush and a dirty joke as he loosens Steve's obscenely tight jeans. He isn't exactly sure how it works anatomically, but he is growing more certain with every headache that these damn jeans aren't doing him any favours (other than giving him a tight little, very squeezable, butt).

Steve puffs out what is vaguely a laugh before he slurs, "Think this is as far as you gonna get tonight, Eds."

He gestures at his underwear peaking out from his undone jeans.

"You want me to run you a bath? Squish you into the teeny-tiny combo?"

Steve sniffs under his arm and grimaces at himself.

"'Kay," he lolls his head back on the couch.

"Anything else?"

"Can you make me some tea?"

"Tea?" he questions.

He can't help it. Usually, he keeps his queries to a minimum when Steve is like this (which has been all too frequent lately) but this is a new request.

"Wayne made me some last week when I had a migraine."

"This is the first I'm hearing of it," he says, and in lieu of a physical presence, he glares at his uncle's recliner chair.

Steve smiles at the ceiling, his eyelids softening with a light flutter as he hums, presumably thinking about this magic tea Wayne is most definitely being interrogated about first thing in the morning.

"'S'nice," Steve shrugs.

"That old man with his tea collection like he's some old English Granny."

"Stops me from feeling sick."

Eddie leans over and pecks his deceptively-hot cheek. Stinky and on the precipice of a migraine or not, Steve is still his Prince Charming. He pauses there. Steve must feel his breath lingering because his lip quirks, threatening a smile and he opens his eyes.

"What?" he asks, a teasing tone dancing in there somewhere as he blinks slowly.

Eddie takes his hand and squeezes it.

"Let me kiss you."

"Okay," Steve replies and puckers his lips without moving an inch.

"True love's kiss will make you feel better, promise," he whispers as he closes the distance between them and presses a soft kiss to Steve's lips.

Steve squeaks out a noise and Eddie can feel his frown as he murmurs, "You're so silly."

[louiisaaah]

HEARTSTOPPER SEASON 3 SPOILERS 🚨🚨

also tw for all of the sensitive topics this season covered

okay i watched all of heartstopper yesterday and i have thoughts

my first thought is that it was absolutely heartbreaking and nearly made me full on sob on too many occasions

the way they handled charlie's ed and nicks support of that was really good. it was done in a way that was respectful but didn't sugarcoat it. like it was realistic and not just disrespectful to people who have gone through that

one thing i did find was that the pacing was a bit weird. i think everything moved too fast. it might just be because i binged it all in one go but i found that they needed more episodes to fit everything in. there were so many storylines that got pushed to the side that i think deserved more attention. imogen definitely deserved way more screen time and more attention to her discovery story. i know they had the conversations with sahar in the tent and at new years but i found the conversation between her and nick in the hotel room wasn't very impactful. darcy definitely needed explaining better. i felt it was kind of like if you weren't paying attention full attention you wouldn't know that they hadn't gone back to they're mum, or even that they were non binary. the storyline of her abusive household was setup so much in season 2 and not really payed much attention to in season 3.

i think tori's character was perfect this season. you as the audience can tell she's definitely not okay but the people in her life don't pick up on it, which is exactly what her life is like for most of solitare. and the fact that you can tell charlie is her BEST friend but she isn't charlie's best friend. charlie's found his people for life but apart from michael towards the end, she has no one apart from charlie.

i'm not gonna lie i was disappointed by the fight. i wanted to properly see it because as charlie said that argument made them closer but to us it's like that new connection just magically happened because we didn't really see the fight. and because they're relationship so far has been positive it needed a more realistic lens and that fight being bigger really would've done that i think.

ive literally got so many thoughts it's gonna take me years to type them all out so ill do another post at some point. i'm gonna rewatch the whole thing slower and see if i still think it progresses too fast.

overall i genuinly LOVED this season so much and found it so heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. episode four and five were my favourites i think. i'm also the same age as charlie and most of my best friends are a year above me so it hit very close to home in that aspect. my school doesn't even have a sixth form so they all left me to SUFFER on my own it's not okay. anyway that is not what this post is about i loved heartstopper guys

edit: I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT ISAAC

i really love how him and charlie's friendship has developed and his coming out moment was really beautiful. i've literally never seen aro/ace representation in anything so it was really nice to see. it felt like last season he was barely part of the group and him finally talking about how he felt so left out was really powerful

[courtingchaos]

Rent the Space Inside My Mind

1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Man, remember that picture you found? I wonder how you two decide to deal with that little hiccup...

A/N: I've finally come to the realization that this little fic is a labor of love for me. It's my baby so it isn't ever really going to have a real updating schedule. All of that to say, thank you for sticking around and reading you guys! Not a spoiler but just so you know, the end kind of reads like An End, but I have a lot more planned for theses two. This is just like, and end to the pining.

Also, I know others are reading this, but I'm giving a whole shoutout to @fracturedarkness who has been the best cheerleader for me with this story from essentially day one. Literally a ray of sunshine 😘😘😘

(If y'all want a soundtrack at all, just listen to Hozier's Wasteland! Baby. Seriously it's basically all I listened to.)

Warnings: SMUT! There's smut! Halleluiah! 18+ NSFW Minors GTFO

In sixth grade Eddie had caught mono. It was the first serious illness that Wayne had to deal with since taking guardianship four years earlier. Eddie had moaned around the trailer for two weeks, unable to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. He’d been exhausted and couldn’t swallow right. The fever he’d get at night made him nauseous those first few days and that’s the only thing he can compare this sick twist in his gut to. 

Between the picture clutched in your fingers and the intense look on your face, Eddie thinks he might just turn inside out. 

“Ed?”

It sounds like an accusation in his ears. You’ve found him out, evidence catching the light where it waves around between the two of you. Forget trying to tell you his feelings, he’s got a date with  buckshot later. 

He takes it back actually, this feels the same as the day you accidentally met his dad. The sudden visit on a rare stint between prison stays. The lead weight of fear and sadness and pure fucking rage making him go cold and numb.

Eddie is so tired of shit going wrong in his life. 

“Eddie?” How do you sound so soft when he has clearly screwed up so bad?

Also, he went for one shower after making a stupid mess and you decided to what, go through his shit?

Don’t start 

There’s a black mood he gets in sometimes. It creeps up his insides, stains him dark. It makes him mean and he doesn’t want to be mean, not to you. Not to anyone really. 

He knows on a deeper level this is his fault, it was only a matter of time before you found the picture. Tucked in books and forgotten in his sheets he’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long.  

“Eddie!” The sharpness of his name jerks his head out of the haze he’s in. Sees your eyes clearly and you’re not mad, in fact he thinks that might be a smile hidden under all the confusion. 

“Where did you get this?” Even and calm. Could you lend him some of that? His throat clicks when he tries to swallow. 

“I think uh, I think I took it. On ha-Halloween. Last year.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, the deep scratch of it. “We were drunk at Hagan’s. I don’t know wh-“

“You took this?” Another wiggle of the polaroid. Your grip on the box of weed is still white knuckled. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a smile. He can’t really tell anymore, the panic settling in firing off all his alarm bells. 

“You weren’t supposed to find it.” He’s so quiet, hasn’t been quiet like this in a long time. Wasn’t even this quiet sneaking into bedrooms. 

You take a step forward and he launches back. Head hits the door frame and if god is real he would let the paneling swallow him whole right now. 

“Why do you have this? Why all the-” you gesture behind you, “why all my shit? You told me you hadn’t seen my Theo figure anywhere and she’s in the drawer with all my shit!” Your voice gets tight, face scrunching up in complete confusion. “I thought I was loosing my stuff but you’re just stealing all of it! My zippo! Eddie what the fuck?!” No, right, there’s the anger. He’s pressed so firmly against the door jam it’s guaranteed to leave marks for a week. You take another step forward and he has nowhere to go, pinned under your scrutiny and words and the waving hand holding his shame. But where your voice was rising in anger, it drops suddenly, slides into something softer. “Why do you have this?”

Yeah Eddie, why do you have it?

It’s a total accumulation of, let’s be real, two years of unrepentant pining. Two years of being a dick and going after easy girls because you were off limits in his own doctrine. Too good a friend to ruin the relationship, and too good a person to ruin with himself. It’s nights spent at the bookstore waiting for you to get off, watching with a burning in his gut as the dipshit college guy you work with tries to edge his way into a date. Blunts and cigarettes shared like kisses between lips he isn’t allowed to taste otherwise. It’s the grappling like two idiots fighting, breathless giggles and rough shoves that end in headlock hugs and usually him tapping out first, unable to stand being in your embrace if it isn’t for keeps. 

“I…” the space in his room is somehow bigger than it’s ever been, leaving him adrift in the chaos of his things and your things and the too thin air that you’re somehow breathing in just fine. There’s a stutter in his chest where he’s not catching his breath, the familiar heat behind his eyes where the tears are trying to rush forward. “It’s just-fuck! It’s such a creep…move I know and I just didn’t want to l-let it go because it was a good night and-and a good picture and your hand…” he’d dropped his eyes to stare at your feet, unable to say his half-assed explanation to your face. “Your hand. On my leg.” Just a whisper. Swings his hand limply toward you. “I just, it was a nice thought.”  His throat is tight and he’s afraid if you keep looking at him he might cry. 

He’s watched you take enough steps forward so you’re practically toe to toe with him. In his peripheral he watches you toss the box behind you onto the bed, your other clutching the evidence lightly taps against his chest and rests there. 

He looks up through his lashes and his hair, keeping his sight obscured like it’ll protect him from whatever you’re about to say. 

“I can’t believe-“ you cut off with a laugh and a shake of your head, that small smile he thought he saw turning back up. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

Eddie’s stomach has disappeared along with the rest of his insides. There’s never been a real foundation of proof for him, just stolen glances he’s caught you in. That lingering look you’d give him, the way you’d hang onto him longer during a hug sometimes. Mostly just blind hope and his own low simmering ego to egg him on. 

“Do you want to know what I did this morning?” He nods, he really does want to know. There’s the smallest drip of warmth trickling down his back with your words. 

“I woke up and I thought about you. First thought of the day.” A deep breath and he can see the pink blooming up out of the collar of his shirt you’re wearing. “I thought about you and I felt so stupid after, for sitting in the dark and pretending that you’d ever-“ You stop yourself again and drop your eyes to stare at your hand on his chest. 

“You thought about me?” He asks and you nod slowly. He’s got an idea about what that might mean. “Do you maybe also have a secret polaroid?”

A break in the tension and you take a step back, laughing. A real one he knows, warm and happy. The photo hits him in the chest where your hand just was, where you’ve just flicked it at him. “How long Eddie?” 

“What?” He grabs for the photo but it flutters to the ground. 

“How long have you liked me?” Your wide eyes and breathless question challenge him. When he doesn’t respond fast enough for you, you reach out and push his bangs away from his face, smoothing them back. His wispy armor is gone and with it, surprisingly, some of his fear. Your eyes are clear and waiting, smile still pulling at your lips. 

“I don’t, I don’t have like, a date. Like, a-awhile.” Eddie stutters like he’s never spoken these words before. Nerves replacing fear when it starts to finally dawn on him: this isn’t going to end in flames.

The hand at his forehead slides down and rests on his cheek. He hasn’t taken a full breath in since you pushed his hair back, never mind now that your cradling his face, but the fear has been slowly melting off his shoulders while you’ve been staring at him and when your eyes trail down his face, it and the sudden nerves all just disappear. 

He feels your fingers flex along his jaw and he finally takes that breath. 

“I’m not reading this wrong am I?” Barely a whisper but he hears you. Shakes his head and opens his mouth to talk but you cut him off, just as quiet, “I don’t want us to make a mistake.” 

“You think this’d be mistake?” The hurt leaks through without his meaning to. 

“God no, Eddie I-“

There’s a bloom of confidence he hasn’t felt before, something that twist up through his ribs and around his spine. “Good.” 

Reaching out for you feels natural. He’s reached out to you a hundred times before but he’s never slid his hands into your hair. Tucked them up behind your ears and pulled you in close, felt you gasp when he brushes his lips against yours. Your hands pull at his shirt where they’re both fisted in the thin material, keeping him close. When you push into him he feels your mouth open, tongue grazing along his bottom lip; white static across his thoughts. 

It’s 10pm on a Thursday night and your kissing him in his room. Wearing his t-shirt and pushing him against the wall while your kissing him. He feels one of your hands flatten against his chest and his heart rockets off and your still kissing him. There’s your tongue again begging entrance and he yields, feels that barbell slide across his own tongue and he’s done for. It’s better than he could ever fantasize. He wants more of it but you just aren’t close enough. He grips at your hair to pull you in, to try and deepen the kiss but there’s no where else to go. You mumble something against his lips but he just swallows the sound and slides a hand down your back till he can get his fingers up under the hem of the shirt, palm laid flat against the small of your back. 

“Eddie.” You sigh his name and he makes it a personal goal right then to get you to do it again. Your hands wander down his chest and he starts his own wandering down your neck, lips finding any open skin he can kiss. “Hold on, Eddie-“

“I’m not holding on for shit.” He says in between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for months.” Your laugh vibrates under his mouth and it makes his eyes roll. “Do you want me to stop?” He pauses under your ear, panting against you. 

“No.” You sigh and shake your head, leaning into his hand still in your hair. “No I don’t.” 

He spends a few more minutes pulling little sounds out of you that he’s filing away for later. Nipping at your skin when you run your hands under his shirt and push it up. 

“Can I?” The question isn’t even finished before he pulls the shirt over his head and throws it behind you on the dresser. “Oh!” A giggle when he lays his hands back on you, hands rucking up your own shirt where he can run his palms over your midriff. There’s no finesse to his kisses anymore, just laying them wherever he can, anything to make you giggle again. He moves his hands higher, pushing your shirt up so he can finally see your tits again. It’s been a whole ass year since your wore your dress and he’s dreamt about this every day since. He kisses the tops of them and is mesmerized by the way they bounce back under his touch. 

“Hello old friends.”

“Old friends?!” When you laugh they move with you and he has to force himself to look back up at you. 

“Yeah, you saw the picture. We’re well acquainted.” He buries his face down in your cleavage and you hear him take a deep breath. “How do you always smell so good?” He’s layering kisses again and you’re trying to move around until you can pull your own shirt off. “Hey don’t rush this, I have this perfectly planned.” 

“Oh, so you left the drawer open on purpose?”

“Absolutely, it’s been my months long plan.” He takes a step forward to force you back one. Eyebrows scrunched together he scoffs, “I almost let you catch me for a while and then it happens by mistakeand I act like it’s the biggest fuck up ever and now I’ve got you shirtless. Listen, I plan campaigns babe. You know I can write ten steps ahead.” He’s walking you backwards till your legs hit his bed, fingers holding onto your belt loops to keep you close. 

“Eddie?” You hook your fingers into the waistband of his flannel pants, pulling down till they shift off his hips. 

“What?” He’s distracted by your fingers sliding around his hips. 

“You’re so full of shit.” He laughs when steps out of his pants and sees you look down, an immediate tilt to your head. Your fingers still against his skin, skimming the elastic of his boxers but he knows you’re staring at the growing bulge. The clever remark he had ready dies in the back of his throat when he hears the quiet ‘hmm’, watches your tongue poke out to swipe across your lips.

“If you keep staring I’m gonna get self conscious.” One hand covers his mouth to muffle the end of his sentence while the other lightly rubs up against his dick through the thin cotton. Somehow he stays upright, mouth falling open under your hand to pant against your palm. 

“You got any other surprises for me Munson?”

Are you talking to him? He can’t get a braincell to function with the heat of your hand pressed against him, barely moving at all. The button on your jeans is about all he can fathom, getting them opened and remembering how a zipper works is next. Your breath bouncing off of his chest makes him shiver and kind of brings some of his brain back up and running. 

“I uh, I got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He tips you back till you sit and he follows close, making you lay down. You laugh when your back hits the bed and you keep laughing, body shaking as he works your jeans down your legs. 

“What’s so funny, giggles?”

“I’m just…this is the first time I’ve had sex in a bed.”

Eddie stops moving and looks up at you from your feet. “I’m sorry, what?” He hopes he’s just hearing wrong, on account of his brain short circuiting a moment ago.  

“Yeah, it’s just always been in the back of cars.” You say it so flippantly, like it’s just a thing that happened to you. “I mean, It’s whatever. I just realized no one’s ever pushed me back on a bed before.” Your grin is hazy when you look down your body at him but he’s stone sober now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to any of those assholes and he knows it. You’re the best thing to happen to him, and somehow you’ve gone this long with shitty car hookups. 

“No.” He shakes his head and pulls your jeans off fully. Slides your socks off and tosses them in the pile of your clothes. “You’re lying, please tell me your lying.” 

“I’m not! There’s so much more room!” You wave your arms next to you like you’re making a snow angle in his sheets. You sit up quick, bracing yourself on one hand to reach behind yourself to undo your bra when he stops you. 

“You don’t have to do that, I can help.” He’s crowded up against your legs where you’ve dropped them both sideways. 

“I know that, I was just making it easier.” His face must drop because you huff at him. “Look, I’m not stupid Eddie. I just, haven’t had the best track record I guess. I just assumed-“

“That I was gonna be like the other guys.”

You shrug. “Yeah, Hawkin’s finest. You know.” 

That’s a little bit of a blow, he won’t lie, but watching you slam up your walls when they’ve been nonexistent all night makes him switch tactics. 

“You deserve better than that.” He swings his legs to the side so he can lean over you, one arm braced against your hip, the other tilting your chin to look at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you pout before, your bottom lip sticking out pink and wet and he wants to bite it. “I’m serious.” He leans in close, lips brushing yours. “Can I be nice to you?” He whispers against you and your face flushes immediately, eyes darting down to stare at the bed. He can’t stop the grin spreading across his face, delighted with how flustered you get. 

“I-you’re always nice.” You mumble, chin fighting to get away from his hand holding you still. 

“I can be nicer.” He closes the small gap and kisses you again, still holding your chin. He can feel your breathing speed up when it ghosts over his cheek where you’re nose is pressed. When he’s certain you won’t pull away he moves his hand to your back, unhooking the clasps one by one. Eddie pulls back to look at you properly, fingers lightly pulling the straps down your arms. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask.” You say, still nodding your head at him anyways. 

“It’s good manners.” He says simply, wiggling your bra off of you, tossing it to join the growing pile. You’ve shifted back to your elbows, further away from him but giving him a better view. None of his fantasies are measuring up to real life. Just watching the way your tits lay when you shift has him practically drooling. He runs a fingertip from between them and down to your navel, marveling at the softness of your skin. Runs that same fingertip over to a hip and you jump just a little. “Ticklish?”

“Maybe.” Your voice is wobbly, chest rising and falling faster. He lays his palm flat against your stomach and runs it up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast and you sigh, letting your head fall back between your shoulders. 

“You are so fucking pretty.” Eddie means it. Even before all the crushing and jealously he could see it. With your head back he can watch the blush creep down your chest and he marvels at that too. 

“Eddie you can’t just say shit like that.” You sound strained from the angle your at. He runs his thumb under the swell of your breast again just to watch you shudder. 

“What, that your pretty?” He leans down to place a kiss on your chest, can feel your heartbeat tick up faster. He’s only got so much restraint before he grabs you up into his lap but he’s trying hard to be a gentleman about it. You deserve that much for your first time. Well, not overall but with him? Eddie’s determined to make you forget about every other guy who’s even looked at you. 

“Look at me.” He’s dropping kisses along your collarbone trying to get you to lift your head up. His hands have been itching to grab your tits but he wants you to stop being shy for a minute. “Please.” He’s trying to kiss up your neck when you finally lift your head. “Can you scoot up for me?” He asks and you oblige. As soon as your head hits his pillow he’s leaned back, pulling your knees back up so he wedge himself between them. He grabs your hand and pulls it up to kiss your open palm and you close your fingers around his cheeks, making him laugh. 

“Will you stop being cute and just touch me?” 

“How?” He kisses down your wrist, watching you get more flustered. 

“I don’t know, whatever you normally do?”

“No, that was with them, they don’t matter anymore.” He makes it to the crook of your elbow before he lets go and crawls over the top of you, getting in your face to stare you down. “What’d you think about this morning, hm?” He’s keeping track of all the little whimpers your making, the way you bite your lip when he makes you nervous. You won’t meet his eye so he follows your line of sight and you huff at him. 

“Stuff, Eddie. Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands and he thinks he can feel the heat radiating off of you. It’s driving him crazy in the best way, he doesn’t think he’s ever had this effect on anyone before. 

“Aw c’mon. Tell me.” He kisses each finger before moving down to your knuckles and honestly, he just can’t help himself anymore when he brings a hand up to knead at your tits, a quick pinch of a hardened nipple and you gasp into your hands. “Was it this?” He pinches again and you wiggle under him, hips jumping up against him and he drops his head. You’re hot everywhere, and the core of you pressed up against him through his boxers is going to do him in if he’s not careful. “If you don’t tell me I’m gonna have to guess and this could be a long night.” He rolls his hips into you to try to get his point across and to try to get some relief. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” You ask, pulling your hands down to just cover your mouth. Your eyes are wide and glassy, pupils big and dark. 

“No, but I want to know what I do in these dreams of yours.” He moves back to your neck to make a path to your chest where he laps at your nipple. “Something like this?” He asks before wrapping his lips around and sucking, tongue flicking over sensitive skin. You arch your chest up and there’s a laugh caught in your moan. He moves over to your other side, nipping at you before mouthing at your other nipple, hand teasing at your hip. He snaps your underwear against you and you let out a quiet ‘ow’ and try to swat at his hand. “Or was I somewhere else?” His fingertips graze under the band and inch down. Your knees pull up tight around him and he’s so close to saying fuck it to his own game. 

“You were-fuck Eddie, you were going down on me.” You get so quiet, the one hand still on your mouth muffling your voice. 

“Oh?” He lets your nipple go with a wet sound, big grin already set in place. 

“If your gonna make fun of me…”

“Absolutely not.” 

You watch him over your hand place a scattering of kisses down till he hits your underwear, giving you one last questioning look before he hooks his fingers in and pulls them down. You’re also starting to feel a little self conscious when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off you. 

Payback

“Ed.” He just runs his hands up your legs, big palms warm against your thighs. He pulls your knees out a little further before leaning down and re-situating himself between your thighs, leaving open mouthed kisses along the inside. You’re torn between wanting to watch him and wanting to cover your face in embarrassment when he makes the decision for you, pulling at your elbow to drag your hand down to his head. He’s got that lazy smirk on his face and you can feel his breath skipping across too sensitive skin. 

“Give you something to hold on to.” You want to laugh but he’s too quick, fingers moving in to hold you open for him. Your head drops into the pillow when he licks a broad tongue from your center right up to your clit, your back arching up and Eddie’s laugh vibrates through you. 

“Oh fuck.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” You can hear the proud smirk in his voice and if you’d like to say something smart back you won’t, too focused on his mouth working you over. His tongue is soft, even when he points it, uses it to prod at your opening and you forget any remarks you might have had for him. 

“Eddie.” You pull at his hair when he wraps his lips around your clit and he groans. You’re stuck concentrating on his mouth until he slides one finger in and you choke on a gasp. He pulls his mouth away and lays his head against your leg, watching you from under his wet hair. 

“Is this what you thought about?” He can see you nod into the pillow, hand twisted next to your head in the fabric while he pumps his hand slowly. 

“It’s what I thought about.” He hooks his finger up, trying to find that soft spot to make you melt. “I think about it all the time.” The grip on your thigh is tight, keeping it close against his cheek. “Ever since you told me about those shitty dates.” 

“Seriously?” You lift your head, eyes half lidded and face scrunched up. 

“I should have nutted up and said something. They didn’t deserve you.” He pulls his finger out and you watch him suck it into his mouth, watch his eyes roll in his head. You groan and he adds his middle finger before he pulls his hand out, spit slick fingers running up over your clit, teasing you before he slides both back in. He leans in to run his tongue through your folds, watching you from under his lashes while you wriggle around and clutch at the pillow. The hand in his hair grips tighter and your legs squeeze up around his ears and he’s surrounded by you, the low chanting of his name keeping him planted in place. He finally finds that spot, feels you shudder under him before you moan, tilting your hips up to chase his touch. 

“Eddie Eddie Eddie fuck!” You keep rolling your hips against his face and he can’t help himself. He’s been pathetically rutting into the mattress listening to you whine and he can’t take it anymore. He taps under your thigh to get your attention, really gets it when he fully pulls away and you look down at him all concerned. “Why are you stopping?” 

“Good reason.” He stands up and pulls off his boxers, rooting around his nightstand for the condoms he knows are in there. He’s oblivious to you on the bed, sitting all the way up now and staring. Of course they’re not where he left them, instead tucked behind his lamp but he grabs one and climbs back on the bed before he realizes what he’s done. “Oh.” Eddie feels his face heat up when he looks down at himself. “I probably should have done that better.” He’s expecting you to laugh or sigh or say something witty but you just snatch the foil out of his hand and tear it open. You only pause for second before wrapping your hand around him and he’s positive this isn’t going to last as long as he’d hopped. When you roll the condom down he hisses and drops, head falling into your shoulder. 

“You okay champ?” 

He just nods and whines when you give him a few easy strokes, watching your hand move up and down his cock. You’re so much more gentle with him than he is with himself. Eyes half open and mouth hanging he’s sure he looks fucking stupid but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want you to stop touching him. When you scoot closer and pull his face up it takes him a moment to realize you’re kissing him, for him to react and do something. 

“C’mere.” He shakes out of his haze enough to move back between your knees, pulling your hips so your ass is flush against his thighs. He pulls your leg up to hook over his hip, placing a quick kiss on your knee before lining himself up.  He rubs the tip of cock against you, catching on your clit twice and making you whimper. 

“Please Ed.” He doesn’t need to be begged twice, grabs the base of his dick and sinks in slow. Sees your breath catch and your eyes roll, “Oh fuck it.” He bottoms out, can feel you clenching around him tight and hot and gasping and laughing and he looses all composure. Fingers dug into your leg wrapped around him he snaps his hips back and into you, punching out a sharp peal of laughter. He does it again, loves the way he can hear the choked off gasp in your throat. When he picks up his pace you grab at the sheets, twisting them up off his bed. 

“Fucking th-thank you-u!” It’s stuttered out between thrust, your face flushed and twisted up in a smile. 

“You know how many times I thought about this?” He has to talk, if he doesn’t talk he’s going to blow his load and he refuses to let your first time together end before a full minute passes. “Every time I looked at that picture I thought about it. I should have fucked you in that bathroom.” Your nails scratch at his thigh where they try to find purchase. “All the rides out to the lake oh fuck- I should have done this sooner, yeah?” He licks his thumb before bringing it down on your clit, running tight circles around it. Your back arches off the bed and he feels you clench around him. “Is that it? Right there-ohmygod.” It almost sounds like you’re crying his name just before you come, nails digging into his thigh when it crashes into you. He watches you tense up and then collapse against the bed, pliant under him where he starts to loose his rhythm. The heat that reached up fast burns up his spine while he watches you revel in your aftershocks, already trying to grab him down to you. The hazy look in your eyes and that grin you’re flashing him send him over the edge, burying himself with a deep groan, your name scattered between curses. He’s whited out until he can catch his breath, gripping your thigh until he can see straight. In the distant ringing in his ears he can hear your giggle under him, soft like the hands trying to pull him closer. 

“Hey.” Your eyes find his in his own haze, slowly coming back down to earth. “Come here.” Gentle tugs to get him to lay down but he shakes his head, asks for minute. He pulls out to get rid of the condom and disappears into the bathroom for minute, leaving you to roll around his bed. When he comes back he turns off his light. Sees that you’ve pulled the blankets up under your chin, one finger poking out to beckon him back in. “I’m cold.” 

Eddie would like to pinch himself just to make sure this is real. In all of his imaginings he never let himself have this part. The sex was easy to think about but this hurt too much to ever linger on. He finds his pants first before crawling back into bed, snaking a hand around your middle and pulling you into him. He wedges his nose up under your jaw and hums, leaving a few soft kisses in his wake. 

“Are you always this cuddly?” 

“I don’t normally get to cuddle.” You’re both quiet in the dark, hushed tones under the blankets. 

“Huh.” Your fingers tangle up in his hair, nails lightly scratching over his scalp. It sends a deep shiver down his spine and he has a split second where he feels like crying. “Their loss.” He feels the kiss you leave on his forehead and just buries his head further into your neck. You smell like you always do, sweet and deep and now a little like him. He drifts off without meaning to. 

It’s not daylight yet, but his room is lighter. There’s no alarm clock going off next to his head so he looks around, trying to find whatever it is that pulled him out of his warm cocoon. 

Bleary vision in the dark, he can barely make out your form jumping quietly into your jeans. He’s peering at you from under the covers, watching you get dressed. You stop mid jump to pick something up, staring at it before padding over to his dresser and tucking it into his mirror. He’s basically awake when you turn to open his door and he quietly asks you where you’re going. 

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” You clutch you chest and try to search through the dark for his eyes, finally see him when he pulls the sheets back a bit. 

“Seriously, where are you goin’?”

“It’s almost 5. I figured Wayne was gonna be home soon so I cleaned up the living room and like, I didn’t know if I should hang around?”

“You sleep over here all the time.” He slides a hand out from under the covers to make a grabby hand at you. “He won’t care.”

“Well I mean, I’m not usually naked in your bed dude.”

“Then leave your shirt on.” Eddie doesn’t understand what you’re not understanding. “I mean it, Wayne isn’t gonna care. If anything he’ll be happy I stopped bitching about you.”

“You bitch about me?”

“No, I bitched about not having you. There’s a difference. Now come here, I’m cold.” He lifts the blankets up quick, making a sweeping motion for you to get back in. “Plus, he won’t say anything unless you do. He likes you too much to embarrass you.” You’re out of your jeans again and crawling over him, trying to avoid kneeing him. 

“Aww, he likes me?”

“Well I like you too.” You’re barely settled before he’s wrapped around you, leg hitched over your thighs and pinning you down. “What’s that get me?” He’s nosing along your jaw again. 

“Depends what you’re looking for.” 

“Mm. Concert tickets to see Ozzy in Indy.”

“Oh that’s a big ask.”

“I see. How about a kiss?” He pulls back to smile lazily up at you. 

“I can do that.”

❣Tag List❣

@edsforehead @fracturedarkness @munsonsguitarpick @bebe07011 @ali-r3n @cantreadbutcute @eddiethesexy @emma77645

[whentherewerebicycles]

ok obviously because i am myself i have to journal through some Big Feelings!!!!

here are some of my feelings:

i feel an immense sense of relief. i have been in so much pain for so long with no solutions and no clear endpoint. i feel like i've been slowly losing my mind for weeks. it is just not good for your brain to experience that much pain or to feel that much raw despair every night for so long. i can have my baby and then i can have the surgeries and then i can get PT and then i can recover normal motor functions and not be in excruciating agony. i feel like i've been so deep in the despair pit that i've started losing sight of the fact that i'm genuinely excited to have a baby. i've started losing sight of the fact that there's going to be a baby, period. it's felt like this would just last forever and ever and ever. but it won't. it might last another month or two but from sunday onwards i will be moving in the direction of less pain.

i feel an immense sense of guilt. i know i should wait until 39-40 weeks for his health/well-being but also i know many people who were induced early and their babies are fine. i was born at 38 weeks and he'll be born at 37.5 weeks and i have had no lasting health issues. and they will keep a close eye on him and we will be able to manage anything that happens. i am trying not to let myself be swallowed up by the fear that i am being hugely selfish by prioritizing an end to my own pain over his well-being. i love him so much and i want him to be healthy but i also have to trust that my health and well-being matters and is important to his health and well-being. like i guess start as you mean to go on, you know, and i want to try to be a parent who can make decisions that take care of my kid but also honor my own needs.

i feel frustrated. as my sister pointed out if people had felt a greater sense of urgency about the pain earlier i probably could have gotten to "clear evidence of nerve damage" sooner and then had time to prepare for an early term induction instead of making it feel so rushed. also maybe i wouldn't have done so much damage to my hands in the meantime. i mean maybe everything would've played out exactly the same way and that's fine but it is still a little frustrating to tell people that you are in the worst pain you've ever experienced and to have them be like aw i'm sorry but that seems normal. but it's fine! it's fine.

i feel kind of proud of myself. one of my goals for pregnancy esp after the pregnancy loss over the summer was to get better at medical self-advocacy. i tend to be really cowed by doctors and to downplay symptoms or to assume that if i am a bit more forceful in asking for things i'll be labeled a difficult patient. but i think over the last couple months i have done a good job of nicely but firmly being like, this is not normal. this is not normal. this is not normal. i know you are saying this is normal but this is not and cannot be normal. and i feel like saying that repeatedly and showing up to the ED and calling all the time finally made people be like hm maybe this isn't normal, and then i was able to get objective confirmation that my hands were sooo fucked up, and now things are happening that are moving me towards a future without this pain.

i feel stressed about work but also in some ways i've moved so far beyond that i don't feel that stressed. like i just don't have time to care about my boss yelling at me or being passive-aggressive towards me for leaving early. i'm about to do something that is so, so, so, so, SO immensely more important and meaningful and life-affirming than like, figuring out who's going to cover tabling events or run an application workshop in the fall. like come on. i am not going to expend a single ounce of energy on that in this last week. i will wrap up everything to the very best of my ability and then i will leave it. nothing is life or death in this job, and i have done a good job already of preparing my team for the transition.

i feel panicky!!!!!! i'm going to have a baby in less than a week. i thought i had more time although like what was i even going to do with that time given the fact that i can barely perform household chores or type for more than 30 min at a time or sleep. i feel panicky just because it feels so sudden, but also like, i have everything i need to bring him home, and i've read all the books and done all the pre-baby prep work and i've spent nine months getting ready for this moment. i have a bunch of chores and errands i want to take care of before sunday, but then i want to really dedicate saturday to reflection and journaling and taking long walks and just like, experiencing the last day of being just me.

i feel grief!!!! a whole part of my life - the part where i'm not a parent - is ending. i wish i had more time to honor that transition and to reflect on what it meant. i will definitely carve out time this week to do that and will try to not fritter away the next five days with errands... i think it's much more important to spend time getting myself emotionally ready.

this is a little dumb but i must voice it aloud: i feel weirdly sad about ending the part of my life where my dogs were my most important companions & beloved creatures. i know they will continue to be my beloved creatures! my best little guy and my sweet scruffy little girl! but the time when we were just a little family unit of three is ending and everything will be different now even if it will also be better and richer in a whole host of ways. i have already done a lot of crying and forcibly snuggling a disgruntled Pip and i anticipate there is a lot more of that in my future this week lol. but we will take lots of good long walks and i'll snuggle them so much and i will just trust that it might take a little time for us to settle back into our new normal but we'll get there.

i feel grief, too, at the thought of not being pregnant anymore. in some ways i'm SO ready... my whole body just feels so heavy and so uncomfortable and so swollen, and of course, as you might have heard, my hands hurt so much i think about cutting my fingers off at least once a night. but for the most part, up until this last stretch of pain, i've really, really loved being pregnant. i love feeling him kick and stretch and roll over inside of me. i love rubbing the outside of my stomach and feeling him press against the inside in response, like we're talking to each other, like we're making contact. my baby!! my little guy i've carried inside of me for nine months. i did expect to have more time to savor the end of pregnancy and to honor the experience (even the painful parts) in ways that felt meaningful to me. i feel real grief about not being sure if i'll ever get to do this again! and i wish, idk, i wish i could've paced myself through the end of it differently and had time away from the distractions of work to really have this experience of being in my very pregnant body, connected to my baby in a way I'll never be again, in a way that has felt really deeply meaningful to me. i'll do my best to make that time this week, and i know it's ok, i know that the next chapter will be so good too, but i can grieve not getting to have the ending to pregnancy i wanted.

i feel ready to be changed forever. the rush at the end is not what i wanted for myself, just in terms of getting my head on straight before he arrived, but on some deeper level i've been ready for this for so long, and i'm so, so ready. i want to meet my baby. i can't believe he's going to be my kid for the rest of my life. i can't believe how lucky i am that i got to choose this for myself and that i get to live the life i wanted. i'm so ready. i'm so ready. i can't wait to meet my kid and i can't wait to meet my new self on the other side of this big, big, big, forever-life-altering change.

[thenightfolknetwork]

My Da is a bit more…traditional then others. They wanted a baby, so they made a deal with a sapio woman interested in selling her unborn child for some riches, and then came me! I realize that’s not how things are typically done anymore since foster and adoption agencies have improved over the years, but it ended up fine I’d like to think.

When people learn that I’m a changeling it’s all “Oh no!  That’s horrible. I’m so sorry!” and I’m like, first of all, that’s kind of rude? I understand where the assumption comes from but come on now. Changeling rights have improved tremendously over the last millennia. I’m fine. I love my Da and I love my identity. I wouldn’t change either of them for the world.

Here's the rub though. Recently, I got put into contact with my bio father. I was really skeptical when I met him because, you know, changeling. A deal’s a deal. Egg donor got riches; I got a happy childhood. What more could you want, and why now?

Apparently, he didn’t know I existed.

My ED not only didn’t tell him about my existence, but also told him that the riches she got were from an inheritance from a distant relative. He only knows what happened now because they got divorced.

I’ve agreed to stay in contact for two reasons, I’m curious about my heritage and the poor bloke looked terribly lonely. It’s not his fault ED went behind his back. The thing is, he’s trying to act all…fatherly. Which, I get it, he technically contributed to my existence, but he’s not my parent, and I don’t want him to be.

It's not his fault he wasn’t there, but at the same time, he just wasn’t. My Da was. I only need one parent, and that position is filled. But, he is a nice guy. I've enjoyed talking to him and learning about the sapio side of my life. But it doesn't change the fact that I am and will always be a changeling.

How do I tell him that I don’t need a parent without making it sound like I want him to bugger off? I’m happy to keep him in my life, just not as a parent.

I think you're right to be concerned about maintaining proper boundaries here, reader. What happened to this man is certainly difficult and complicated, and I hope he can find people to support him through it. But, to be blunt, his emotional well-being simply isn't your responsibility.

It sounds to me as if both of you are approaching this new relationship with very different expectations, working from very different frameworks. You are happy to spend time with someone whose company you enjoy, and to learn more about this side of your heritage. Meanwhile, I wonder if his telling of events might be rather more dramatic – and possibly influenced by some unfortunate stereotypes.

I don't think your biological father is necessarily aware of this kind of prejudice. But without further information about how he has actively worked to unlearn the biases of the dominant sapio-normative culture in this country, I worry he might be acting from a place of unchecked assumptions and misapprehensions.

Sapio-centric culture often frames changelings, subjects of infant substitution and exchanged children like yourself as “stolen”. They are spoken of as being taken from their “real” families and raised by usurpers to the biological parents' rightful role. This often comes with the assumption that the child themselves would naturally wish to be part of their biological parents' family, regardless of the relationship they have with the people who raised them.

Your biological father may be imagining his sudden presence in your life as some kind of powerful reconnection with your “real” family, the revelation of your “true” father with all the emotional connection that implies.

But the role of being your father is already filled. You are happy and comfortable in your identity, and while it's nice to have made this connection, it doesn't mean you suddenly have to take on a heap of new emotional obligations towards the man.

A good first step is clarifying what your biological father wants to get from this reconnection. If he's interested in your for your own sake, and wishes to strike up a friendship with you as a unique, autonomous adult, that's all to the good. If he's asking you to solve his loneliness for him, though, you need to push back. That's not a reasonable thing to ask of a stranger, no matter what your DNA might be.

By all means, set your boundaries with kindness and with due regard for his vulnerable emotional state. But don't let that kindness falter into irresolution. You do nobody any favours by letting him take more from you than you're willing to give.

Communicate your expectations to him, and stick to them. If he behaves in a way that makes you uncomfortable, let him know what the behaviour was and why it was unacceptable, and that if he continues to behave in such a fashion you will stop spending time with him. The rest is up to him.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[wirewitchviolet]

People really need to shout "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT!?" at bigots more often.

So I just kinda absently clicked a link to a super post of those comics with the stick figure and the "pills that make you turn green," which was neat since I only knew about the original. And I'm scrolling down through them all while also doing something else on my second monitor, sort of on autopilot, and ending up not only down in the comments but deep enough into them where the weird bigots start showing up and I see this quote from a weird bigot (skip the bold quotey bits if you don't want this garbage in your life):

BIGOT: "I feel like this is a major over simplification of what it's supposed to be an analog to. By all means, if you're happy transitioning, i won't stop you. But it's a procedure that is irreversable, and i believe it should only be taught to kids at the same age that they're being taught about the birds and the bees at the parents' disgression Any earlier and its edging on, if not, is teaching the birds and the bees to Minors"

RANDOM NORMAL PERSON: "teaching children about trans people isn't enforcing anything on them except hopefully empathy and knowledge, and acceptance if they are indeed trans"

BIGOT AGAIN: "while you're not wrong, you shouldn't teach them about it till they start experiencing puberty. Which is around middle school, which happens to be when they teach sex ed at the Parents Discression

My qualms come with teaching it to kids younger than that. If you want to teach your kids about it from a younger age, do it at home. But you shouldn't do it for the parents before then and even after you do it at the parents' discretion."

Another person whose brain works comes along and is baffled at this person talking about having sex when the subject is... children being aware that trans people exist. But you know, passively.

BIGOT REALLY GOING MASK OFF NOW: "it is a sex thing. You are going through the act of irreversably changing things about your body that are inherently sex related. Therefore, they should be taught alongside other sex related topics in the appropriate manner and time"

Now, the real thing to do here is as soon as this person starts foaming at the mouth and screaming gibberish, you ideally have them removed from the conversation/venue for being a weird violent hatemonger shouting nonsense, but since you can't do that in every possibly context, sometimes you have to engage the person. Here's how that should look if someone pops off like this face to face:

BIGOT: "I feel like this is a major over simplification of what it's supposed to be an analog to. By all means, if you're happy transitioning, i won't stop you. But it's a procedure that is irreversable-"

YOU: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Because see here we have the first instance of this weird bigot shouting baffling nonsense scare words that make no damn sense. What "procedure" is this crackpot here even talking about? You stop them dead, and refuse to let them move on until they explain what they mean. Having seen enough of these in the wild, I will tell you right now that this is almost certainly operating on the deranged bigot logic of "if someone says they are trans they are a crazy man pretending to be a woman and if they say they are transitioning that means they convinced a doctor to cut their genitalia off with a giant pair of scissors and there's no way to ever sew that back on!"

This of course has absolutely no basis in reality whatsoever. This is like... "if you listen to rock and roll music you'll be possessed by the devil and do drugs and get pregnant!" levels of crazy nonsense you can't just say out loud in public without revealing you're some kind of crackpot who doesn't live in reality. You just hold them to this and get them to admit that they are spewing absolute nonsense that makes zero sense in context and hey, nobody else in earshot is going to take this creep seriously and they might even be cowed out of moving on to their next propaganda point.

In this particular case you can also point out that in this specific context (and most other times this comes up, honestly) people are quite specifically talking about a comic metaphorically talking about how silly it is that when people start HRT we have to sign a big huge scary looking consent form that goes "hey, you do realize that if you take this combination of medications that makes your body produce less of these chemicals and more of these other chemicals your body is going to gradually change to be like everyone else's with that ratio right?" And that uh... totally is reversible. If you don't have enough estrogens and have too many androgens, you take one of these things to block production of the latter and these other things to supplement the former. Other way around? Just supplement the androgens, they conveniently suppress estrogen production at the right dosage. If for some reason you decide you don't like that new ratio (or you're freaking out over how people react), just... stop doing that. If it turns out your body fell out of the habit of producing the right ratio somehow, supplement accordingly. It's not really a big deal?

OUR BIGOT IN A HYPOTHETICAL WORLD WHERE BEING SHOUTED DOWN DIDN'T MAKE THEM STOP: "i believe it should only be taught to kids at the same age that they're being taught about the birds and the bees-"

YOU: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Again, just cut this weirdo off. Don't let them keep rushing feverishly through the propaganda bullet points. Demand to know what, exactly, they're worried about being "taught to kids." Like... are we in fact just talking about the concept that trans people exist out there in the world? Because that's a completely absurd and indefensible position to hold. You don't even need to argue back against that one. Being trans is roughly as common as people having red hair. Fairly rare sure, but common enough that if you want to treat that as some sort of forbidden knowledge you're gonna have to keep that kid on like some sort of cult compound with no media access and like... why would you even want to do this?

Maybe they're willing to play the cards on the table that what they really have a problem with is letting trans kids know that being trans is a thing, and that they have options on the table that will allow them to actually lead a good happy life. Again, a pretty damn weird thing to object to, that kind of outs someone as a crank. You could maybe drill deeper on that. Does this person have a kid they suspect is trans? Are they in denial about that and abusing their child to try and "fix them?"

For taht matter, are we still in a world where this person is really conspicuously emphasizing this weird desire to live in a world where sex education isn't taught to children until after they hit puberty? And then only at their parents' discretion, like they kept repeated over and over when given free reign? Because that is a whole other can of worms that someone should really be opening up and interrogating the hell out of.

Like hey... the whole point of sex education is to make sure kids have some basic idea of what sex is prior to any situation where they might be taken advantage of sexually, contract an STI, and/or have some sort of pregnancy scare. You kinda want to get on that as early as you can reasonably expect the kid in question to comprehend what you're even warning them about, and it's kind of a huge red flag when you see people going "only if their parents are OK with it though!" Because like... why the hell wouldn't you be OK with it? The only reasons I can think of are A- you are sexually abusing your child and don't want someone to explain how these things you are doing to them are Bad Actually and they should tell someone, or B- you are confident enough that you have such complete control over where your child is and what your child is doing at every moment of every day that there is no way in hell said child will ever be involved in anything sexual without your direct approval. That one is also abusive, to be clear, and also stupid because we've already established your child is in public school, so, NOT, in fact, under your watchful eye at all times.

And of course, there is again no reason to let a bigot ramble unchecked long enough to get to this point, beyond this being tumblr and moderation being hard to come by of course, but it should go without saying there is absolutely no connection at all between being trans and having sex. It's just a weird association bigots have because A- they are constantly trying to paint trans people as sexual deviants, and B- there is a... really alarming overlap between people who hate trans people and... people who I... don't want to discuss when I'm trying to keep this fairly light... but uh... see option A in the previous paragraph.

Anyway this is all getting way off topic but hey, I'm all for small children being aware that trans people exist and people making it known to young children that being trans is a thing they maybe are, in the interest of... you know, NOT forcing little girls whose parents really badly want them to be little boys to fake it, fail, and get beaten to a pulp by their peers for being weird, and vice versa, and little enbies from also dealing with some variation of this, etc. Let'em all be themselves, and let their weird parents get over it.

But yeah, bigots. Cut them off when they start talking. Interrogate every point as they bring them up. Don't let anything fly. Force them to either admit the horrible agenda they're trying to push today, or the fact that their beliefs are too awful to state in polite society and flee. And be rude and angry about it.