#anyone gets in the way of her doing her job and they're off spitting in people's coffees and writing passive aggressive sticky notes

[thestardustcreetchure]

Knowing what we know now of what becomes of Niko Sasaki, I firmly believe Litty and Kingham are her feral personal assistants terrorizing everyone else in whichever department of the afterlife bureau she's part of

[allur1ngs]

we ALL know how protective bada can be right? we’ve seen it we’ve read it…

BUT we’ve never seen how the other bebe girls act when someone tries approaching y/n or is making her feel uncomfortable. i feel like out of all of them lusher would be the most violent and hyo would definitely be the most protective seeing as she’s literally y/ns bodyguard (also bada would 100% kill her if anything happens to her)

you're absolutely correct!!

tw: violence, torture, and a creepy man!!

she not only is the most violent--she's also the one to get physical quicker!! and she feels the angriest out of all the girls, because how dare some lowlife make you feel uncomfortable--(it doesn't matter if the person making you feel uncomfortable is rich or somewhat powerful as well--they're lowlife scum in her mind). you're her sweet unnie, and the soon-to-be wife of her best friend, she'd kill anyone before they get the chance to lay their hands on you.

tatter is next up on "most aggressive" out of all the girls. she's quite literally right behind lusher, except she usually hopes that the person bothering you will realize who you are and back the fuck up, but if they don't do so immediately, she's more than happy to fuck them up without a second thought.

after that the girls are all equally as protective/violent, except soweon is in dead last.

she takes after tatter in the regard that she wants the person to stop bothering you without having to use force. but of course, if they don't, she's following in the other girl's footsteps, and using physical violence to protect you.

hyo, as you mentioned, is absolutely the most protective out of them all, even lusher. her job is of course to keep you safe, but beyond that, she genuinely cares about you. she thinks of you almost like a little lamb she has to protect--of course, she knows you're strong as well--but that's her main goal during confrontations. protect you first, then beat the absolute shit out of whoever is bothering you.

(also let's not forget that if bada finds a SINGLE scratch on you, tiny or not, she'll literally have hyo's head. and there's nothing hyo hates more than disappointing bada, and you getting hurt)

so let's put together a little scenario to show what the girls would be like in practice.

imagine that you were out on a date night with bada (the girls decided to tag along for some fun and to protect you both), but she has to head home early because of some urgent business, and you're not exactly ready to leave yet.

bada says you can stay out, but only if all of the girls stay with you and keep an eye out for you, while she heads back home.

you agree, and with a sweet kiss and a, "i love you, please stay safe,"--and a expectant look at the girls, your fiancée is off on her way home.

you stay out for a while, and just when you start to feel ready to head home, a man starts to bother you.

he begins by just staring at you while you talk to the girls, his gaze curious, until he starts to really look you up and down, and gets the stupidest, and most disgusting idea ever.

he shouts things at you like, "hey what are you doing out so late? it can be dangerous out here," and, "why don't you ditch your little friends and come have a good time with me?"

lusher freezes in her spot, her teeth slowly beginning to grind against each other painfully. scolding hot anger is already building up in her gut as she turns around to look at the man harassing you.

"do you think that's funny?" she starts walking over to him slowly, like a predator that has their pray cornered. "how dare you speak to her like that?" (she does that thing you see in k dramas a lot where they take in a sharp breath of air and make a disgusted face iykwim)

the guy is most likely drunk, because he somehow still doesn't recognize you, or the fact that lusher has a gun that's just barely visible in its holster on her hip. so he keeps spitting out disgusting things, adding in a "bitch" here and there to you and lusher--

hyo steps up, standing in front of you and placing her hands over your ears so you don't hear what the man is saying, or see him, then gives the signal for lusher to do her worst.

she does so without another second of hesitation, punching the drunk man staight in the stomach, then in his face. when he lands on the floor she starts kicking him in the stomach over and over again--surprised that he still has the energy to spew vulgar things about you while getting the absolute shit beaten out of him.

tatter joins lusher, and breaking the man's nose with a particularly strong kick. they both taunt him, telling him that he'll suffer a fate worse than death for the things he said--the rest of the girls come in as well, with soweon being the last.

when they're done with him he looks like a lifeless shell of his former self, bruises and blood splattered all over him--he's basically unrecognizable.

so you think that they'd probably kill him now, right?

wrong.

lusher picks up the man and places him in the truck of the car, smiling at his terrified face while the other girls focus on comforting you and reassuring you that you'll be alright.

(also all of their trunks are sound proof...i'm sure you know why)

when they get home they take you in first, lusher staying behind to take the man out when you've settled into bed and the girls continue to take care of you.

she takes him straight to bada's office and throws him on the floor before explaining to her everything that happened.

so, that fate worse then death that i mentioned before?

yeah, that's bada.

that man will be just barely clinging onto life while your fiancée makes him pay for the things he'd said about you.

[sansxfuckyou]

so, why'd ya do that?

summary: in Shadow's defence, Sonic should be able to tell when he's bluffing

tags: sparring, cafe meetup, chattin' it out, Amy and Sonic are roomies

authors note: @ohposhers @aethiriarts so i wrote some sonadow and you're are the sonadow fans in my dm's. it turned out a little bit mid methinks, but fuck it we ball and send it off the sonadow nation.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58263085

"You wanna kiss me so bad," Sonic taunted in spite of the blood that had made it's way to his lips from a fierce punch mere moments ago.

"What if I do?" Shadow snapped back.

And holy fuck that was not supposed to be the response that Sonic got for his smug remark.

He's pretty sure that it's visible the way that his mind crashes, a blank look sort of creeping onto his face. Wild way to respond to that. He's never ever had anyone say anything like that to him before, usually it gets him another punch to the snout.

But that?

Not that.

The grip on his shoulder presses down again, forcing quills into dirt and it hurts. But it jolts Sonic back into reality, he stares up at Shadow and finds a sharp gaze searing into him.

"Well?" Shadow said, a low growl vibratory on his voice.

Sonic smirked, trying to regain his footing, "Then do it, coward-"

And, well, maybe Sonic should've expected Shadow to actually do it. He isn't usually the type to bluff. It still leaves Sonic absolutely dumbfounded even as he watches Shadow rear back and wipe the blood, Sonics blood, off his lips with the back of his hand.

They're supposed to be fighting right now.

Not supposed to be doing whatever it is that Shadow just did.

Still, he stands up like nothing happened, "Good match."

Sonic takes a full moment to register the words and give a response, gathering his composure to come to sit up. He still struggles to be coherent, "Shadow- wait. I. What."

"Our sparring session is over, I have to go do some real missions," Shadow said, he spat the words with some form of bland venom. Not quite aggressive or disappointed or anything really, just flat and firm.

"Could you at least tell me why you did that?" Sonic asked, shocked exasperation on his voice as he spoke.

"You told me to," Shadow said, "Same time, same place, next week?"

"Well, yeah obviously- you still didn't answer my question though." As he spoke he ambled over to Shadow.

"I did, if you didn't want me too you shouldn't have put the offer out there," Shadow snarked back, "Now please, let me do my actual job."

Sonic retracts himself, hands raised in surrender, "Be on your way, my good fellow."

And in a flash of green chaos Shadow is gone.

That leaves Sonic to contemplate by himself.

Man what the fuck Shadow?

-/-/-/-

"Hey, Amy, what does it mean if a guy kisses you?" Sonic asked over dinner.

Amy nearly choked on her own spit, "A guy kissed you?!"

"Yeah-"

"Who was it?" That exuberant glee she held in her youth has returned tenfold at the knowledge of her friends latest affair. Not an affair though. It was just a kiss, to her knowledge. Still, excitement courses through her.

Sonic waved off her statement, "Nu uh, not telling."

"Then I won't tell you what it means," Amy said.

"Alright, that's cool, I'll go ask Rouge instead," Sonic said, a bit of a huff on his voice.

"You know she'll ask the same question." Came the singsong response. The pink hedgehog gives a pleased hum as she places aside her plate to the coffee table and reaches to turn down the tv. "I'll explain it to you if you want me too."

"I'm not gonna tell you who it is-"

"Don't worry, I have a hunch. I'm generous anyways, I let you live here for free."

Sonic rolled his eyes.

"It probably means he likes you, if he asked then you might like him back because you said yes."

"Well I thought he was joking."

"That does complicate things- do you like him?"

"Obviously, but it's complicated!"

That gave Amy pause.

Well shit.

This might be a little bit harder than she expected.

"You like him enough to let him kiss you, so that means something. You're one interesting hedgehog."

"Okay, so how come my best friend kissed me?"

"Is he your best friend? Do you think he feels differently?"

Sonic can't quite answer firmly, he doesn't fricking know. Shadow isn't exactly an open book. Still, "Of course he doesn't!"

Amy catches the hesitation, "You should go talk to him about it, see if he's caught some feelings for you."

"There's no way that he has!"

"You can never be too sure about feelings, they're fickle, Sonic."

"What would you know about it?"

Amy gestures vaguely to the apartment, "We went from me chasing you around with a hammer to living together as besties- that seems pretty fickle to me."

Sonic huffs, "Fine, I'll ask him about his feelings."

A grin creeps onto Amy's face, "Yay, now eat your dinner! You've got a mission tomorrow and we cannot have you drop unconscious on the spot."

"Alright, alright."

-/-/-/-

"A coffee date?" Shadow asked, just to make sure he heard correctly.

"Yeah, just to chat!" Sonic answered with as he slammed down his heel on a badnik, metal shredding under the force.

Shadow bashes his elbow into a different badnik before speaking, "I'll consider it."

"Okay great! How does tomorrow sound?" Was Sonic's response to the notion.

"How about we work out a time and place after this mission?"

-/-/-/-

Shadow is used to Sonic being late, so it's very much a surprise to see the blue blur waiting patiently for him at a patio table with a mug in hand. He's tapping his foot anxiously on the ground and it deterred most of the other patrons. He perks up the second he sees Shadow, a smile quickly rising to his face as his postures straightens.

He takes a seat across from his friend and finds a cup of iced water sitting in front of him.

Sonic slides over a plate with half of a croissant, cleanly sliced in half.

Shadow raises a brow.

"I thought you might enjoy it, so I saved ya half," Sonic said as calmly as he could despite nerves wracking his form.

Shadow takes the plate, "Thank you." He breaks off a piece of the croissant before speaking again, "What did you want to talk about?"

"Why did you kiss me?" Sonic asked.

Shadow shrugged, "I was given the chance and I wanted too, why else?"

Sonic just sort of stared at him, "That's seriously it?"

"You wouldn't take a hint any other way," Shadow said, a scoff of disappointment on his voice. He knew Sonic was dense as a brick but this? This is a whole other level.

He stares at Sonic as he processes the words.

"People already think we're dating, Sonic- there are rumours flying around town, Sonic," Shadow said, leaning forward just a bit.

"What do you mean there are rumours?" Sonic questioned.

"Do none of your friends keep you up to date on that sort of thing?" Shadow asked back.

Sonic shook his head, "None of them gossip."

"Rouge is good for that sort of thing, she knows everything," Shadow said. He broke off another piece of croissant, "But I kissed you to get it into your thick skull that I like you- and yet you still had to come ask me to confirm it for yourself. You really are an idiot."

"Huh." Sonic pauses, "I guess Amy was right about you liking me-"

Shadow refrains from barking at Sonic and first falters to swallow his bite of croissant, holding up a hand as if to say one moment. Then he wipes his lips of crumbs and speaks, "You told Amy!?"

"In no uncertain terms! I didn't say it outright, I just asked her for some advice."

"That girl has never once been in a relationship, how would she know anything!?"

"It was her or Tails, I think I chose right, Shads."

Shadow sighs, "Look, just, do you like me back?"

Sonic shrugged, "Yeah, 'course I do. Might be fun to date you while we're at it."

"You are so annoying- fuck, I can't believe I love you."

"I can't believe it took you so long to say it."

"I can't believe you had to ask me outright to realize how insane the tension between us is."

"Fair point."

Shadow groans in annoyance, "You are, so dumb."

Sonic leans in a bit, "Yeah, I might be." He's smirking, "Wanna go spar?" He quirks a brow that's loaded with implications.

Shadow chuckles, "After I finish my croissant, we can spar all day and night."

[everydayyoulovemeless]

How about the Fallout 4 robots meeting the robots from New Vegas?? owo

Fallout 4 Robots Meeting New Vegas Robots

➼ Word Count » 1.6k ➼ Warnings » Slightly suggestive (fisto) ➼ Genre » Platonic ➼ A/N » This takes place in the Mojave cause it'd be hard for a lot of the bots from nv to move across the country

Codsworth finds Victor to be quite the character. The moment he saw him and the amount of dust he tracked behind him, he immediately decided that he should step in and help clean him off. If it left any impression on the butler, then it was that RobCo didn't have the same prestige as General Atomics had.

Victor didn't care as much as Codsworth did about the mud and grime that clung to him, but he didn't stop him from wiping his screen down.

When Codsworth happened to meet Mr. House himself, he made sure to snarkily bring up how his company seems to be 'letting itself go'. Mr. House mostly just ignored him, assuming that that was just how he was programmed to be, but he's definitely not allowed in the Lucky 38 anymore out of fear that he'll find it dirty.

Another thing that gets Codsworth itching to grab a bottle of Windex is when he's introduced to Rex. The poor mutt! Not only is he covered in sand, but that awful paint job on his side! Dear God, if he doesn't get the poor dog washed off instantly he fears he might break down!

However, after he's done scrubbing him down, he decides he finds Rex to be quite the creature and would gift him one of the Jangles plushies that Sole doesn't stop flooding his inventory with. He'll certainly find it more endearing than he does.

If there's anyone Codsworth feels understands him most, it's Yes Man. At least he's inclined to sweep every now and then. The two actually get along quite well with how sarcastic and passive-aggressive they can come across as, as well as they're desire to be helpful in any way possible.

Codsworth thinks he's an absolute hoot and couldn't think of a better way to spend his afternoon than gossiping with the optimistic bot.

Curie drops everything when she spots Rex off in the distance. What a scientific marvel he is! She's never seen anything like him before and will take plenty of notes to see if she can't upgrade Dogmeat in the same way when she gets back home.

Rex also happens to be really fond of Curie (mainly because she gives him attention) because of how much better she makes him feel. Who knew he had so many broken parts? And without even realizing it? It's a good thing she came along when she did!

In fact, there are a lot of people who are fond of Curie. One of the main ones being Muggy. Her kind and gentle aura is something he never realized he was missing in his day-to-day life and he will beg her on bended knee to take him with her. He can't stand being with the Think Tank any longer! Please!

The Think Tank couldn't care less if Muggy went with her or not, they just want her out.

They can't stand how naive Curie is. She's clueless! And impossible to talk to! Not to mention how eager she is to put her grimy, wastelander hands on everything.

So, Curie leaves the wonders of Big MT with her strange, new friend to finally go and visit the place she came here for in the first place - Vegas. But she very quickly loses sight of the extravagant place around her when she meets Yes Man.

The two couldn't possibly be more of a perfect match and, although Curie can't ever pick up on Yes Man's sarcasm, and Yes Man can't do anything else but shrug at the scientific terms Curie spits out, they still seem to agree on most things.

They're both so kind to one another and have that same sort of curiosity about a world they've been sheltered from for so long, that they hardly leave each other's sides.

Nick feels a tinge of guilt when he sees Rex running toward him. Even though he's never lived it, he has memories of opening up the morning paper and reading about the reconstruction happening on the West Coast police dogs to make them look how he does. At least he seems happy though, right? Can't be mad at that. He'll scratch him on the head and smile a bit when Rex sits and tilts his head in recognition of his occupation as a detective, and he finds his instinct admirable when it comes to spotting danger, but there's something about the dog that makes him feel a bit off.

On the other hand, Nick can't get enough of Victor. The two will go out and shoot cans all day before returning to some saloon or bar and sharing stories from their time spent out in the wasteland. They're like brothers, just born from opposite sides of the country.

At some point, Nick had found himself tied up in another case while in Freeside and it led him right to where Fisto was stashed. He couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle and a sigh when the bot started offering his 'services', and Nick left as quickly as he arrived, deciding that he didn't want to be involved.

One thing he did get involved in, however, was the little Securitron Curie brought back from outta nowhere. How could he hate a robot who found some kind of... joy? when he cleaned mugs? Muggy warmed up fast to the caffeine-addict human Nick must've once been, as his synth counterpart can't help but down a few cups every morning, despite not ever feeling tired.

X6-88 finds Mr. House to be quite the spectacle. He actually really likes him and wishes to bring his ideas and plans back to the Insitute to try and do those same tactics on the Commonwealth.

Since Mr. House had gone to CIT before the war, X6-88 considers him to be a founder of sorts and has much respect for him and the work he's done in the Mojave.

On the other hand, he finds Victor's happy-go-lucky attitude to be annoying. Even if he were invented by House himself, he can't help but sigh whenever he hears him rolling over to him. He talks way too much and remembers way too little for him to be considered as anything but an inconvenience. He tries to avoid him at all costs if he can help it.

One Securitron that X6 does seem to like, however, is Yes Man. Although he's disappointed that he wasn't what House had originally intended him to be and was made from some dirty wastelander instead, he still finds his attitude and overall composure to be incredibly helpful. If only he were in more... responsible hands, then he could really be doing great things in terms of rebuilding the Mojave.

Yes Man almost envies how pessimistic and emotionless X6 comes off as. A part of him wishes he could express emotions on that side of the spectrum as well, but he supposes he's much more likable with a positive outlook instead.

However, if there's any part of the Mojave that X6-88 thinks could be useful for the Institute, it's all the tech stashed away in Big MT. He's not particularly fond of the Think Tank at all, and could only probably take a few hours of them bickering, but all the information they have with them is enough of a reason for X6-88 to want to kidnap them and bring them back to the Commonwealth to interview them further.

They, of course, make it impossible for him to successfully take them with him since they're all too paranoid to properly be teleported back and he quickly decides to just give up and go back to the Lucky 38.

DiMA likes to debate and challenge Mr. House on his political ideals and, as much as he loves the exercise, he's not fond of how accusatory DiMA can get. Not to mention how easily he seems to get people to rally behind him, so he gets locked out of the Lucky 38 pretty quickly if not Vegas entirely.

DiMA doesn't mind though, he wasn't a big fan of the flashy lights and large crowds anyway. Besides, Freeside is full of such interesting people, that he can't help but prefer it over the city. One of those people being Fisto.

When Nick approached him later one day and told him about his encounter in one of the back alleys, DiMA found himself... concerned, to say the least. And slightly curious.

What kind of robot must one be to be active in such a way? It's strange in any manner, and he was quite intrigued to meet him. However, he was disappointed when he found out he was a Protectron that had only automated messages. How disappointing...

Vegas was fun and all, but DiMA quickly found that he was being called for elsewhere... as he was messing around with one of the radios, he got ahold of the Mysterious Broadcast and disappeared to Big MT.

The scientists, like the other two who visited, were not happy. Especially since DiMA knows what he's doing when it comes to technology.

When he starts messing with Dr. 0's robots and reading through all sorts of Klein's legal documents they decide to ban him from their corner of the Mojave. They may even shut their satellite down altogether because?? they've got the worst types of people entering their lab.

He's honestly going to be the reason everyone has to leave back to the commonwealth. No one wants blud around.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

King Steve

Prompt Day 12: Hallmark Movie Tropes | Word Count: 9963 | Rating: M | CW: Royal Inaccuracies | Tags: King Ralph AU, Unexpected Royalty, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending, Steve POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

Loosely based on the 1991 comedy King Ralph, starring John Goodman, but this time make it Steddie.

Steve shoves the key into the lock of the Wienerlicious front door, and jiggles it just so, trying to get the damned thing to open. Robin picked this place as their next place of employment, and he's pretty sure it was just to stick him in another goofy uniform so she could call him dingus more often.

Jokes on her. He looks damn good in lederhosen, way better than she does in the milkmaid getup. So, suck it, Robin. 

Even if he's too old for this shit. He's nearly thirty, and they're still bouncing from crappy job to crappy job, aimless.

He needs a purpose, but he just hasn't found it. Not yet.

He flips on the lights, and goes through all the opening procedures on his own. Robin won't be in until later, so he's gonna be on his own through the lunch rush. If there is a lunch rush. Sometimes, that's non-existent in this place. 

And it seems like today is gonna be one of those days. He hasn't had a customer in an hour, and he's bored out of his goddamn skull. Just watching the hot dogs turn on the roller grill behind him.

Finally, the door swings open, and in walks three stuffy-looking men in suits. Glancing around the place like they're walking in front of a firing squad instead of into a fast food joint.

"Welcome to Wienerlicious," Steve greets.

"We're looking for Mr. Steven Harrington," the first one says in a British accent, and Steve narrows his eyes. He doesn't think he owes money to anyone. Especially not to anyone British. Robin and him might be scraping by, but they've managed to do it all on their own.

"Who's asking?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm Gareth Jones and this is Inspector Goodwin and Inspector Williams," the first man says, like that means anything.

Steve doesn't think he's committed a crime, Pink Panther style, but maybe? He wishes he'd stolen some cash or jewels, but he hasn't, so he's not sure why they've sent two inspectors all the way to the Wienerlicious to talk to him.

"And you're here for…" Steve trails off, moving his hand in a hurry up and spit it out motion. He'd rather get this over with.

"Well, sir, that's a private matter for us to discuss with Mr. Harrington," Inspector Goodwin chimes in, and they are definitely British.

"Then, I guess you're shit outta luck," Steve says, moving back to wiping down the counter. "If you decide you want to order something, you let me know."

He watches them look between each other, clearly debating this offer. But they step up to the counter and study the menu, with a hint of disdain, before ordering three number seven combos. Steve makes them, and puts down the red baskets on a tray. Taking their money, and handing over their change.

They're staring at his name tag. Fuck. He forgot he was wearing it.

"Are you Steven Harrington?" Gareth asks, leaning closer, nearly across the counter.

"And if I am?" Steve asks, taking a step back.

"Then we have an exciting opportunity to share with you," Inspector Williams says, gleefully.

"Listen, I'm not gonna, like, sell Amway or knives or anything. So, just. No, thanks."

They look back and forth, like they don't understand what he's talking about.

Steve sighs, "I have a job. I don't want another, no matter how much money you think I'll be able to make, so thanks. But, no thanks."

Because, yeah, he's in lederhosen, but he's working with Robin and he gets a predictable paycheck. It's a fair trade-off.

"Sir, please, just give us a moment of your time," Gareth pleads, and Steve is annoyed.

"Just arrest me if that's what you're here for," Steve says, nodding towards the two inspectors. Robin will sort it out.

"Oh, no, sir. Not at all. They're here for your protection, for your safety," Gareth says, and Steve wrinkles his forehead at that idea. He's pretty sure he doesn't need protection. "Please, just hear me out, sir."

"Fine, one minute," Steve says, following them to a table, and sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mr. Harrington-"

"Steve," Steve interrupts. 

"Steve," Gareth, the chatty one, says, but it seems physically painful for him to get out of his mouth, "it is my glorious duty to inform you that you're the new King of the United Kingdom, Your Majesty."

"The new King of what now?" Steve asks, because he's been King before. Sure, it was Hawkins High and not the United Kingdom, but he'll pass. He's grown and shit since then.

"Of the United Kingdom, and the entire Commonwealth, Your Majesty." 

Steve laughs, because why wouldn't he laugh. That's ridiculous. 

Then he remembers seeing the news headline that the entire Royal Family had been electrocuted and killed during a holiday photo session, and that they were searching their records for the next heir in line for the throne.

Steve bets they didn't expect to find him in lederhosen, slinging wieners with sauerkraut. 

"But I'm an American," Steve finally says, shaking his head.

"We are unfortunately aware, sir," Gareth answers.

"Then, how am I the next in line? That makes no sense." Steve questions, he's never even been to England. 

"On your mother's side. There's no delicate way to say this, but your grandmother had an affair with Prince Richard, and your mother was the product of that affair. So, you're in the line of succession for the throne through the House of Wyndam-Pryce bloodline."

"Okay, go talk to my mother then," Steve says, "she'd love to be a Queen."

"It doesn't work quite like that. See, there's what we call male-preference primogeniture-"

"Well, that's just sexist," Steve says, crossing his arms. He doesn't know what that last word means, but he definitely understands male-preference and can fill in the blanks.

"Yes, well, perhaps that's true," Gareth says, looking flustered, then looking excited, "but you could press to change that! As King. With the help of Parliament. You could work to change it."

"Now, Jones," Inspector Williams says, "you know the law prohibits Monarchs from solving problems."

"Yes, well," Gareth says, backing down a little, "that's a different issue altogether."

"This all seems suspect," Steve says. He wishes Robin were here. She'd know what to ask, what to say to all this. "If I'm not solving world problems, which to be honest, I'm not sure I'd be all that great at anyway, what exactly does this even entail? Is it not like being the President here?"

"No, that's more like the Prime Minister," Inspector Goodwin answers, "not exactly, but closer. You, as King, would be a ceremonial figurehead."

Steve is confused, but that's not exactly new. 

"I don't understand," Steve says, because he definitely doesn't.

"You are the new King. It's your birthright, sir."

Steve is pretty sure he's not interested in any birthrights. He's seen Buffy. Kristy Swanson was hot, but he doesn't want any of that shit for himself. No fucking way.

Unless.

"How much does it pay?" Steve asks.

"Well, it doesn't, exactly…" Gareth trails off.

"Then, again. No," Steve says, moving to stand.

"But as the sovereign, it all belongs to you. To the Crown," Gareth says, and Steve starts picturing that and now it doesn't sound so bad at all.

"All of it?"

"All of it, Your Majesty," Gareth confirms.

"So, are you willing to go with us, Your Majesty? To England?" 

And maybe he'd make a different decision if Robin were here to talk him out of it, but he nods.

"You can't go be the King," Robin says, pacing around the room, one of his shirts clutched in her hands. He jerks it out of her grasp, and stuffs it into his suitcase.

"Apparently, I can," he says, "and you can come with me."

She scoffs, "And do what? Be your lady-in-waiting?"

"Yes!" Steve says, he doesn't know what that is, but yes, if it gets her to come. Absolutely. 

"Steve, no," she says, shaking her head.

"We'll get married really quick and you can be my Queen," he says, nodding his head, "think how fun that'd be? You and me? Ruling a whole country?"

"And the Commonwealth," she says, but shakes her head, snapping out of that idea. "No way, they'd make me have your babies."

"Ew," he says.

"Ew, right back at ya, dingus," she says. 

"Then, I'll go first. Scope it out. And you can come later, once I'm settled in."

"This is a bad idea, Steve," Robin says, really talking with her hands.

"Careful, I'm the King," Steve teases.

"Not my King, dingus, you better keep that in mind," she says, and he smiles, pulling her to his chest.

"I wish you'd come," he says.

"I don't even have a passport," she says.

"Well, neither do I. But apparently, as the King, that doesn't really matter much."

"Oh, this isn't going to go well," she says, pacing again, worrying some more.

"Maybe not, but it'll be an adventure, right? C'mon. Come with me," he begs, trying to give her the eyes. But she's immune.

"Maybe later. If this sticks. I'll get a passport, legally, and come make fun of you in your stupid cape or whatever," she says, and he hugs her again.

A day later, Steve steps out of the black town car, and looks up. Jesus. This place is wild. Fucking crazy, it's a palace, like, for real. He still kind of assumed they'd been teasing when they showed up at his place of work, explaining that while he was once 46th in line for the throne, that he'd now been bumped up to number one. Just because the entire extended royal family died in a freak accident during a portrait session for their annual Christmas card.

That's a lot to swallow.

Do they not have a designated survivor? Robin has told him about that, in the US. They should have, it seems like. Most definitely.

Water, metal and electricity did not mix. And snap. They were all gone.

And now he's here.

King.

He's being led inside this freaking mansion, and it's way less funny. He's a freaking American. A bastard, apparently, and he shouldn't even be eligible for the throne. Robin looked it up. Made sure he knew that, as she railed on him for even considering doing this.

But they were desperate. And here he is. Steve Harrington, American. King of England. No, Great Britain? United Kingdom? The Commonwealth? He scratches his head and scrunches up his face. He doesn't remember. They went over this on the plane, but he's already forgotten. Shit.

He's just pretty sure it's not the King of England. Even if that sounds right to his American ear.

There's some old, stuffy British dudes waiting to lead him around, and he follows. But he's starting to think he can't be the King. Not again. He's pretty sure being the King of Hawkins High will be nothing in comparison to this. This is actual insanity. 

Actual royalty.

They leave him in his new royal bedroom, and you could fit his and Robin's whole apartment inside this one room. He stands and looks out of the window, and feels homesick. He'd rather be in that tiny apartment with her, than here surrounded by all this opulence. He shouldn't have even agreed to get on the plane, especially not without Robin. They couldn't make him accept this offer, he's pretty sure. Even if they were pretty adamant about it, at the time. It felt like he didn't have a choice, even if he's pretty sure he did. Still does, maybe. He hasn't been, like, crowned or anything. He thinks he can still say no, and probably will.

He'd just been hand stomping lemonade and slinging hot dogs, minding his own business. He was just a little delirious and desperate for something new, anything at all.

He was bored.

And then there these stuffy dudes were, telling him he was the new King. 

It all happened so fast.

He should call Robin soon, to let her know he landed. He really wants her to move here to be with him, if he decides to stay. Surely, that's something he could make happen, with all this money and all these resources.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and there's a guy, probably about his age, standing there, hands properly folded behind his back. When Steve looks at him, he bows his head at the neck.

"Hey," Steve says, turning to face him fully, "I'm Steve."

"I'm Edward, your private secretary, Your Majesty."

"What can I do for you, Eddie," Steve says, and he watches as the man cringes at the informality of it all. He just doesn't look like an Edward. He looks like an Eddie. But if he doesn't like that, Steve won't force it on him. At least not to his face. Not yet. He'll wear him down, first.

"Nothing for me, sir. What can I do for you?" Eddie asks, stepping a little further into the room.

"Edward, I think I'd just like to go to bed," Steve says, and Eddie moves towards the bed, drawing down the sheets and fluffing his pillows. 

It's overkill. But nice. 

"Thanks, you don't have to do that, but I appreciate it," Steve says.

"Your dressing room is over there. I'm sure there's some proper sleeping attire," Eddie suggests, pointing towards the right door. "And if you'd like a bath before bed, I can draw one for you, sir."

A bath doesn't sound half bad, but Steve is pretty sure he can run his own bathwater. He might be the King, and isn't that a stupid thought, but he hasn't forgotten how to do basic things for himself, not yet.

Eddie does it for him anyway, despite Steve's protests, and then shows him the little turtle bell on the marble ledge that he can ding if he needs assistance at any time.

"During my bath?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

And Eddie nods, "Any time at all, sir."

That's weird, Steve thinks, but watches as Eddie closes the big double doors, leaving him alone with his bath. He rings the little turtle bell, and Eddie comes back through the doors.

"Your Majesty?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him.

"Are there bubbles?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks taken aback, but quickly nods and produces a bottle of fancy looking bubble bath from a cabinet.

"Thank you," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie nods at him curtly, before leaving. Again.

Steve wants to ring the turtle, just for shits and giggles, but refrains. He wants Eddie to like him. He's close to his age, and maybe they could be friends. Well, maybe not, he's stuffy like his colleagues, just not as stuffy. That's for sure. Gareth and Inspectors Goodwin and Williams aren't exactly old, but they were a little uptight. 

When he's good and pruney, he gets out, and wraps a towel around his waist. When he opens the doors, Eddie is standing there, at the ready.

"You can sit down, you know?" Steve says, walking around the edge of the bed.

"I really can't, Your Majesty," Eddie says.

"Says who?" Steve hollers from the walk-in closet, where he's pulling up a pair of silk pajama bottoms. They're nice, and feel good against his skin. He likes them. He's definitely not wearing the matching long-sleeve shirt though. No way. He can't imagine how uncomfortable that'd be to sleep in.

"Royal protocol, sir."

"Aren't I in charge now? So, if I say you can sit, you can sit," Steve says, coming out of the closet, towel drying his hair.

"That's really not how it works, sir," Eddie says, looking away from him. Clearly trying to get Steve to drop it. 

He will, for now. But that man is sitting before this is over with. There's no reason for him to stand around all the time. Steve's worked retail. He knows how much that sucks, and he didn't even have to do it in dress shoes.

"Did you need help finding your top, sir?" Eddie asks, and Steve realizes that's why he's being so weird. Oh.

"Do I have to wear it?" Steve asks, pulling his towel over his chest. Maybe he's being weird, or creepy, right now. Is he sexually harassing his secretary? At home this is fine, normal. It's like a locker room, right? They're in his bedroom. But maybe that's not cool here, he has no idea.

"Well, no, sir," Eddie says, "but it would be proper. But you don't have to, I suppose."

Steve tries to slide in bed without flashing his hairy chest at Eddie again, pulling the sheets up to his neck.

"There, I'm in bed," Steve says.

"Very well, sir," Eddie says, pulling the drapes closed, nodding at Steve, and hitting the lights on the way out, "Goodnight."

"'Night," Steve says back, as the door closes, and then he's gone. 

And Steve's all alone.

These sheets are super soft, and so is the bed. Steve closes his eyes, and thinks he'll be asleep in no time.

He wakes up to the sun in his eyes, as Eddie is pulling open the heavy curtains.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Did you sleep alright?" Eddie asks, bowing his head at Steve, and Steve really needs him to stop doing that. It's unnecessary. Steve sits up in bed and scrubs his hand across his face. He did sleep well.

"Yeah, I think I did, thanks," Steve says, stretching, as Eddie goes into his closet and starts selecting clothes. 

"We'll have to get you fitted properly today, but these should do for now," he says, laying out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. A belt. 

"Okay," Steve answers. He can wear that. That's not so bad. "What's on today's schedule?"

And he wishes he hadn't asked, because the list Eddie rattles off is never-ending.

"All that today, huh?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Then steps out into the hallway so Steve can get dressed.

He stands in front of the mirror, trying to tame his hair. He shouldn't have gone to bed with it wet, now it really won't behave. He might need to wash it again. He looks around, and realizes there is no shower in his bathroom. He's gonna need a bathroom with a shower, the bath was fine, but not for everyday use. 

"Edward?" Steve says, opening the door, and Eddie follows him back in.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, standing at attention.

"Is there a bathroom with a shower around here that I'll be able to use? I don't need it this morning, because of the bath, but in the future?" Steve asks, looking at Eddie.

"Yes, of course, sir," Eddie says, "I'll show you where that's at this morning."

"Thanks, also? Can I request some specific hairspray?" Steve asks.

Eddie pulls a little notepad out of his pocket, ready to take notes, "Of course, sir."

"Faberge Organics, the Farrah Fawcett spray," Steve says, and watches as Eddie takes notes. He doesn't even laugh at him. Maybe Steve should tell him it was discontinued, like, a decade ago. But it'll be funny to see how much sway this position actually holds. Maybe he'll send some staff member to find a lone can of it, long forgotten on the dusty bottom shelf of a drugstore.

"Of course, sir," Eddie says, putting the notebook back in his jacket pocket.

Steve steps out inside the hall, and isn't sure what he's supposed to do. Eddie must pick up on that because he holds his arm out, motioning for Steve to walk ahead of him. 

"I thought I could give you a more in depth tour this morning, sir, if you're feeling up to that?" Eddie asks, trailing him. 

Steve pauses, waiting for him to catch up. They start walking again, and Eddie's behind him again. Steve slows his pace, and Eddie slows his own. He feels like he's having to crane his neck back to even see Eddie as he explains all the rooms, all the antiques. The paintings.

That goes on for the whole tour of this floor, and then Steve waits at the top of the long, winding staircase. Eddie waits behind him.

"You do realize I don't know where we're going, right?" Steve says, holding his arm out, inviting Eddie to lead the way.

"Sir, you are the sovereign, no one walks ahead of you. Especially not your staff," Eddie says, and Steve looks at him like he's crazy, because that's a crazy rule. Steve is only King on a huge technicality. He's just a person.

But when it's clear Eddie is not moving until he does, he walks down the stairs, wishing Eddie would just fall into step beside him, at least.

And Eddie gives him the rest of the tour, from two steps over his shoulder. It's kind of weird and uncomfortable.

After the tour, he's led directly into a room to be fitted for new clothes, and Eddie stands nearby.

"We've prepared a few questions to ascertain your knowledge of English history," Eddie says, as they're measuring Steve for a new suit. 

Having your inseam taken is a little distracting, even under regular circumstances. Having three different pairs of hands nudging under your balls, right after you've been declared King, is another level of distracting entirely.

"Okay," Steve says, uneasy. He knows he knows nothing about history, "but I can tell you it's almost zero, right up front."

Eddie looks at him and asks, "When Anne Boleyn failed to give him a son, Henry VIII had her…"

Steve thinks, tries to come up with a logical answer, and settles on, "Adopt?" 

Eddie looks exasperated, "No. Beheaded."

"Jesus, that's a bit much," Steve mutters, and he swears he sees Eddie tamp down the barest hint of a smile. 

"Please pick a fabric, sir," Goodwin says, draping some swatches over his arm and showing Steve.

They all look the same to Steve. Various shades of dark, most with pinstripes. 

"You pick, Edward. I trust your judgment," Steve says, because he does. Eddie is dressed nicely, so surely he can pick the right thing for Steve to not look like he's wearing the curtains.

Eddie nods, quick and sharp, and then hands the chosen swatches over to one of the tailors. Pointing at three of them.

After his fitting, Steve is in jeans and a polo, even if Eddie fought him on it. "Here's a few traditional English dishes, sir, some of which you'll be served tonight. The kitchen chose things they thought you might enjoy, and I thought it might be prudent to make sure you're familiar ahead of time."

Steve nods. Okay. He can do food. He likes food. 

"Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and of course, spotted dick." 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at the bowl full of dicks in front of him that he had assumed were sausages. 

He grabs the silver tongs, and picks one up, carefully inspecting it like it might be a bomb, before looking at Eddie. 

"Dick of what?" he asks, scared of the answer. 

Eddie chuckles, "You're holding a banger. A sausage," he clarifies, pointing to some other dish, "that's the spotted dick, sir. It's a dessert." 

Steve looks and can see the raisins. The spots of the spotted name, he assumes. That's more reassuring.

"Please, sir, try it," Eddie says, so Steve lets him serve him a plate, so he can try everything so there's not an embarrassing incident at tonight's dinner.

"Sit, eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie shakes his head.

"No, sir," Eddie says.

"Edward, live a little," Steve coaxes, kicking out a chair leg, an invitation, but Eddie doesn't budge. Just stands at attention, a few feet behind Steve while he eats. It's good. He likes it. Even the spotted dick, which he can't even think about without laughing. How is he going to be able to eat it, or say it, in a public setting? Impossible.

"This is all good, I was scared what you might bring me, to be real honest," Steve says.

Eddie smiles, "Well, we went easy on you. I didn't think you were ready for the black pudding or haggis."

"I don't know what that is," Steve admits.

"For the best," Eddie teases, and Steve smiles at him.

"Tell me about yourself, Edward," Steve says, using his fork and knife to cut into one of the bangers. 

"I'm here to serve you, sir," Eddie says, and Steve looks back over his shoulder at him and rolls his eyes.

"No, about you. Not about me in relation to you, just about you."

"Sir, I don't really…" Eddie trails off, like he doesn't know what to say.

Steve won't make him talk, but he sure wishes he would. He'd like to get to know him better.

"If you won't sit, would you at least come over here where I can see you?" Steve asks, and he's happy when Eddie concedes, and comes into his line of sight. 

"How long have you worked at the palace?" Steve asks.

"Nearly ten years, sir. I've been a secretary for about two years, though. After my uncle retired, I was chosen to fill his duties."

Steve nods, hoping Eddie will continue and elaborate further. He doesn't.

So, Steve eats while Eddie stands by, quietly.

And it's weeks of meetings, fittings, lessons. Eddie and the rest of the staff are working diligently to get him ready to face the press and public.

Steve's trying. He really is, but it's a lot to comprehend. He doesn't understand all the rules, all the protocols, and he is constantly on the wrong foot. Doing something stupid, saying something stupid. He's never gonna catch on to this.

He flops back on his bed. He's going to make a fool of himself, and the Crown. 

Eddie comes in later, and takes one look at him, and starts digging in Steve's walk-in closet. He comes out with an all-white outfit and instructs Steve to put it on. 

Steve does. He's stopped fighting. Stopped asking why, a long time ago. It doesn't matter why, none of them care. He's just a small cog, in a big wheel. He's in charge, but he isn't. Not at all. None of his choices are his own. He's not sitting on a throne barking orders. He's following, trying to please the people around him. Trying to please Eddie.

Once he's dressed, Eddie takes him out to the yard of the palace, and gets down and straps big pads to his shins. They look like oversized, shin guards for baseball catchers. But padded. He was a catcher for one season in high school and hated it. It's the hardest job on the field, he's pretty sure. Pitching was easier. He did that in little league for a while. 

He's standing there in his padded shin guards, looking at Eddie for guidance. Eddie hands him a paddle. Steve tries to hold it like a baseball bat, and Eddie laughs, while trying to help him correct his grip. 

"This is a cricket bat, not a baseball bat, sir," Eddie says with a smile. 

"Oh, so more like croquet?" Steve says, lowering the bat in front of him, and Eddie grins.

"You know how to play croquet?" Eddie asks, looking surprised.

"Sure," Steve says, "I might not be royalty, but I do come from a rich family. Back home. We definitely played croquet from time to time."

Eddie smiles, and nods, "It's not like croquet. You want to keep the ball away from your wicket, not aim it towards it," Eddie explains, helping him adjust his grip, again. His instinct is still to draw it up like a bat, twirl it around in his hand. Test its heft. But Eddie tells him to keep it down, in front of him, to protect his wicket, the three stumps and two bails balanced behind him.

Once Steve is in place, Eddie yells, "Bowler!"

And the guy downfield throws the ball at him in a goofy fashion, bouncing it in front of him, and Steve hits it. And it sails up and away. They do it over and over. This is something he's actually picked up on quickly for once, and it's fun. Steve hits the shit out of the next one, and declares it a home run.

Eddie laughs, "A maximum, sir, but yes, the same idea, I suppose. Six runs." 

If it bounces to the boundary, it's worth four Eddie declares, and eventually Eddie goes to the other side of the little dirt rectangle, and they teach Steve how to run back and forth to accumulate runs that way, if he doesn't hit it out of the park.

"You can lead with your bat, sir, get it over the crease ahead of you," Eddie says.

"The line? The baseline?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles. 

"Yes, sir, that," Eddie grins. 

And he runs past Eddie once more, passing in the middle, and he reaches up as they go past each other, offering him his hand, a high five.

Eddie clearly isn't sure about this, but still puts his hand up, and they touch as they run by each other, each headed to the opposite end from where they started. 

When they've finished, Steve leans over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. But he's happy right now.

Once he stands, he looks at Eddie, smiling, and asks, "Do you want to play croquet next?" 

And Eddie laughs, honest to god laughs, and it makes Steve smile, big and bright. It's a great sound, and he hopes to hear it more often.

"Sure, Your Majesty, we can play croquet," Eddie says, and sends the pages to go find the equipment.

Pads shucked to the side in the grass, Steve watches as Eddie lines up his shot.

"Don't do it, don't even think about it," Steve says, breathing down Eddie's neck, taunting him as he tries to line up his mallet with the croquet ball.

Eddie laughs, and nudges him backwards with his elbow, and then freezes, like he's realized what he's done. Steve just shoves him back a little, hopefully assuring him that it's fine, that he likes this. That this feels normal, at least almost, and that's fucking priceless. To his sanity, to his heart. 

He's homesick for Robin, for America, honestly.

He wants to watch baseball or basketball on TV. He wants to drive his car. He wants a pizza, a burger, or some fried chicken. Anything. He can ask for anything he'd like to eat, and they'll bring it, but it's always a fancy version. They seem to have an aversion to actually just going out and getting him the junk food he's missing.

This has been a huge responsibility to take on, one he doesn't fully understand, with a very steep learning curve. But right now, they are just two guys playing a sport together, for fun.

That he understands, fully.

"This is the most fun I've had since I've gotten here," Steve says, standing next to Eddie as he whacks the ball through the hoop.

"I'm glad to hear that, sir."

Once the game is over, Steve stands there in the grass, happy. He looks at Eddie, "What sport can you teach me next?"

Eddie just laughs, "Polo, I suppose. How do you feel about horses?"

And then it's back to the unfun parts. Steve showers, and throws on the clothes Eddie has laid out for him. And he attends meetings. He has his weekly Audience with the Prime Minister, one-on-one, without Eddie present. They always make him feel nervous that he's going to fuck up.

But it's only twenty minutes. He can do anything for twenty minutes.

Eddie works sports into his tight schedule, and Steve appreciates it. It's not everyday, but it's as often as they can fit it in, and they play and Steve pushes himself. To get better. To have fun. 

To impress Eddie, a little, with the one thing he's been good at here.

 

Steve's having a bad day, and he's had enough, so he pulls a baseball hat over his head, and walks out of the front door. Nobody stops him, but he's pretty sure that's just because they've never had to deal with a Monarch that was trying to escape the way he is. But he's had all of this he can take today.

He doesn't get far down the road, before he realizes he is being followed. He turns and looks, and there's Eddie. So, Steve slows down, stalls, waiting for him to catch up.

"You coming with me, or are you going back to tattle?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Where are we going, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, falling in step behind him.

"I'm hungry. I want some food, some American food. Something I'm familiar with. No spotted dick, or whatever the fuck that was. Is there something around here that I'll recognize?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, and then he waits for Steve to start walking again, keeping two paces behind him.

Steve glances back at him, "How did you end up working for the royal family?"

"My family. It's just what we've always done," Eddie says. "My uncle had this position before I did. When he retired, the last King asked for me to step in, to keep with some sort of continuity, I suppose. He'd known me for a long time, since my childhood."

"I'm sorry you lost your friend," Steve says.

Eddie pauses, like nobody has ever said that to him before, "Thank you, sir."

Steve nods, "Well, what would you like to do instead?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him, like he hadn't expected the question.

"Working for the royal family is the highest honor," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Okay, that's bullshit. You don't want to serve people. You don't want to serve me. That's not your dream. What do you want to do? What would make you happy?" Steve presses.

Eddie looks at him, like this might be a trap, even if it really isn't. Steve genuinely wants to know what Eddie likes to do. He wants to know anything Eddie will tell him. Which really, really hasn't been much. He's definitely not very forthcoming about anything personal.

"I like to play music," Eddie finally says. 

"That's cool," Steve says, meaning it, "are you any good?"

"Not bad, I don't think. I play with my friends in a little four piece, when I have the time. The palace requires a lot of my time," Eddie says, and then looks embarrassed. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to be at your service, sir."

"Steve," Steve says, "please, just call me Steve."

"King Steve," Eddie says, and smiles at him, just a little. Steve realizes Eddie's teasing him, and it makes Steve happy. Like they might be friends. Or could be, in time. He definitely needs a friend here.

"Well, that's not the first time I've been called that, so it's an improvement. For sure. But try to work it down to just Steve, in the future. At least while we're alone."

Eddie nods, but he doesn't look like that's going to be something he'll ever do.

They walk a little further, and Eddie stops in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Perfect. 

Eddie ushers him inside, and into a hidden corner booth, before going up to order. When he comes back, he gently puts down the tray, and acts like he's going to start setting everything up, like this is a state dinner. It's definitely not.

"Just sit. Eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie looks uncomfortable.

"That's really not…"

"Does it look like I care, Eddie? Please?" Steve asks, and he pushes a styrofoam plate in his direction, and starts loading it up.

"Are you a breast, leg or thigh man?" Steve asks, and Eddie blushes a pretty pink.

Steve's pretty sure he's not a breast man, and that's more than okay with him. Maybe he can use that in his favor, someday, hopefully.

"Anything is fine, si-"

"Steve," Steve corrects.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, like he might be caught and reprimanded. 

Steve smiles, and puts a couple different pieces on Eddie's plate, then some mashed potatoes. Gravy. A couple biscuits, and looks at Eddie as he pushes it his way.

Eddie is just looking down at it. 

Steve reaches down and picks up his thigh with his hands, and takes a bite.

"Finger lickin' good," he says, and Eddie giggles, as he picks up a piece himself, and takes a bite. It looks awkward, and a little dainty, but it thrills Steve that he's playing along. Getting a little more comfortable with him.

He wants to get to know him, Eddie, the man under the suit. Maybe the man, out of the suit.

On the walk back, Steve looks back at Eddie. 

"Eddie?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him.

"Yes?"

"Was there really nobody else? Is it me…or nothing?" Steve asks, because he's pretty sure he can't do this. Doesn't want to. At least not long-term. Not for his entire life. He's given it a good go, but he's not feeling it, at all.

"Well," Eddie says, drawing out the word, seemingly unsure if he should keep talking. 

"Well, what?" Steve asks, pausing, and pulling Eddie off the sidewalk and into a little hedgerow. They stand there looking at each other.

"There was one other option, but he didn't want to do it, so I kept my mouth shut," Eddie says, looking at the ground.

"So, that guy could say no, but I'm just the schmuck who had to accept this thing? This weight on my shoulders?" Steve asks.

"I didn't know you then. You were just a name, a profile, on paper," Eddie explains, still looking down.

"And you knew the other guy?"

Eddie nods.

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

Eddie looks up, quietly asking Steve if he'll keep this secret, and Steve reluctantly nods.

"My Uncle Wayne," Eddie says, "he's retired, and already he did his duty to the Crown, and didn't want that kind of spotlight trained on him. He just wanted to go on, living his normal life. He didn't ask for it any more than you did."

Steve nods, he understands, even if it doesn't make him feel much better.

"Oh," Steve says, "I understand. I just wish, well, that I'd have been given more of a choice, too. If I said no, they'd have found him, eventually, right?"

Eddie nods, "I'm sorry, sir."

Steve gets it. Unless he wants to make that old, retired man sit on the throne, he's stuck.

"It's okay, Eddie. But I feel alone here, most of the time, so I'd like Robin to move here. Can that happen?"

Eddie shakes his head, looking sad.

"Sir, they're never going to allow you to marry your American girlfriend. It's been a hard enough sell for you."

Steve laughs, pushing his bangs back off of his forehead, "Girlfriend? No way. She's my best friend. Platonic with a capital P, only."

"Oh, well, then, yes. I'm sure we could arrange for that to happen, assuming she'd like to come."

Steve grins, wide. That's the best news he's gotten in weeks.

They start walking again, "Do you live at the palace?" Steve asks.

Eddie chuckles, and shakes his head, "No, sir, I don't live at the palace. It just seems like it."

He's teasing, and it makes Steve smile.

"Where do you live, then?" Steve asks.

"Right around the corner, actually," Eddie says, and Steve stops walking.

"Can we go see it?" Steve asks.

"You want to go to my flat, sir?" Eddie questions.

Steve realizes that was probably rude to invite himself over, "Only if you want me to. You're not obligated, of course."

"I didn't think I was obligated, Steve," Eddie says, "but it might not exactly be tidy. I wasn't expecting a royal to want to visit me at home."

"Do I look like I'm gonna care about that?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles, and redirects them, but still keeps just behind his shoulder. 

Eddie's apartment is nice, and not as messy as he'd sold it as. Steve looks around, at the pictures on the walls. At his guitar on a stand by the couch. Eddie is digging in the fridge and brings him a beer, which Steve takes with enthusiasm. He's been offered wine, and liquor, at the palace, but this is just a regular beer. That he'll be allowed to drink out of the bottle, no glass in sight.

It feels like home, and he twists off the cap, sliding it into his shirt pocket.

Eddie sits next to him on the couch, and they drink, and just make small talk. It feels normal. Cozy. Like he's in someone's home, instead of a museum, and he longs for a place like this to call his own again. He took it for granted back home, and now he misses those days. Misses Robin.

They don't stay long, and just walk back to the palace after they've finished their beers, but it's the best night Steve's had since he's gotten to this country.

"I can't move to London," Robin says across the ocean through the phone, and Steve slumps at his desk. 

"But, I miss you," Steve says, twisting the cord around his fingers.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you packed your shit and ran away to play King," Robin snarks.

She's teasing, but it's true.

"Will you at least come to visit?" he asks, hoping. Begging.

"Of course," she says, "if you're paying."

"I'm paying. I'm the King, you know. Just be aware you'll have to curtsy to me," he teases.

"Yeah, never gonna happen, dingus."

But she agrees, so he puts Eddie on the case to set it all up through his office.

"I want to go to the movies," Steve declares suddenly, and Eddie looks over at him. They're sitting across from each other at a desk, as Steve's going over paperwork from his red box. Signing what he needs to sign, asking Eddie about what he still doesn't understand.

"The movies?" Eddie questions. 

"Yeah, you know, a movie theater?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," Eddie says, with a smile.

 

That night, Eddie guides him to a secluded room. And it's a private theater. Right in the palace.

"This has been here all along?" Steve asks.

"Well, yes, sir, but it's really for the staff. But I cleared it tonight, for you."

Steve doesn't even care what they watch, he just wants to have some fun.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, settling into one of the chairs. Patting the one beside him for Eddie to sit, and after Eddie's collected a bucket of already prepared popcorn from a table, he does sit, and hands it over to Steve.

They sit side-by-side, watching a movie, sharing the bucket of popcorn, and it feels normal for a couple hours. He could have been on a date, a regular date back home, tonight. 

But it's Eddie, and he can't kiss him at the end of the night, even if he'd like to. This gift from him was more than enough.

Eddie follows him back to his bedroom, and turns down the bed, and Steve stands there, watching him.

"Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I had a lot of fun," Steve says.

"Me too, sir," Eddie answers, "goodnight."

Steve is standing out on the step, bouncing on his feet, nervous. Excited. Robin is on the way, and when they finally pull up with her, she leaps out of the car and runs straight into his arms. Not a curtsy in sight. He catches her and spins her, hugging her tight. He didn't realize it until this very moment, that one of the things he's been missing the most is human touch. None of these people touch him. No friendly hands on a shoulder, or arm.

No reassurance. No checking on his emotional needs. No comforting him. No checking in, at all. He's just supposed to function, as is, all on his own, he supposes.

He's been needing a hug, he realizes, and he buries his face in her neck, and if it's weird, she's going with it.

"I'm so glad you're here. Welcome to my new home," he says, and she grabs his hand, and he lets her pull him into the palace and up the staircase, at a near run. Dodging staffers, who bow to him as he is dragged past them. They clearly disapprove, but he doesn't give a shit. This is the most normal thing he's experienced in weeks.

She pauses at the top of the staircase, but only because she doesn't know where she's going.

He nods to the left, and he's being pulled along again, giving her directions to his bedroom, and once they're inside, she launches herself onto his bed, bouncing.

He smiles, and hops up next to her.

"Holy shit, Steve, look at this place!" she shouts, eyes wide as she looks around.

"I know, right?" he asks, but he's only looking at her. She's the only thing in this whole room that he cares about, that he loves.

That night he wraps his arm over her side, crowding up behind her, and she lets him hold her, "I'm so happy to see you."

"You better not be that kind of happy to see me," she says, contorting to get away from his crotch.

He laughs, laying his head on his pillow, "I'll try to keep it in check."

"You better, dingus."

And dingus sounds like a better, more fitting, title than King ever has, a thousand times over.

He wants to be her dingus, he doesn't want to be the King.

Steve is startled awake in the morning, by Eddie at the foot of his bed.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I do apologize," Eddie says, starting to back away from the bed, "I didn't realize you had company."

Robin looks at him, giving him the once over, "Well, not that kind of company, Jeeves. Let's get that straight."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Definitely not that kind of company, Eddie."

"We're best friends," Robin says.

"Platonic with a capital P," Eddie repeats, "as Your Majesty has said."

"Your Majesty," Robin says with a cackle, rolling towards him, and he slaps her on the arm, and it just makes her laugh harder. "King Dingus."

"He hasn't picked a regnal name yet, so perhaps that could be an option?" Eddie says, and Steve can't believe it. It's the funniest thing Eddie's ever said in Steve's presence, by far.

Steve laughs, throwing his head back, melting into the bed again.

Eddie just looks confused, and a little alarmed. But he still draws back the curtains, and brings Steve and Robin in a wheeled cart full of breakfast and coffee.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says.

"Sir, madam," Eddie says, and he bows his head at the neck, and then he's gone.

As soon as the door closes, Robin slugs Steve in the arm, "You have a crush on Jeeves!"

Steve doesn't even try to deny it, just smiles, "Yeah, that's Eddie."

Robin stays two weeks, and then she goes back home to their real life. And Steve's agitated. He misses her. He should have gone home with her. 

Eddie comes in carrying a large, heavy by the look of it, cardboard box. Great, now what?

"What's that?" Steve asks, standing to go take a look as Eddie places it down on the table.

"Your hairspray, Your Majesty," Eddie says, opening the flaps, "I'm sorry it took so long. I had to convince Unilever to engage in a short, private production run, just for you, sir."

"No fucking way," Steve says, reaching in to pick up a can, and it's really it. 

He grabs Eddie and hugs him, shaking him around, and Eddie is just a ragdoll in his arms, but Steve could kiss him, he's so happy.

"Thank you, Eddie, you're now my favorite person. Robin, who?" he teases, immediately taking a can to the bathroom.

Eddie follows, and watches him as he sprays it on his hair and tries to style it, even though it's not wet. 

"Just wait until tomorrow, I'll look so damn good," Steve says, and he meets Eddie's eyes in the mirror, and Eddie's blushing.

"I'm sure you will, sir," Eddie says, and Steve can feel it between them. The sexual tension. The attraction. He's not sure how to do anything about it, if he even can.

But he wants to, and it's nice to have that feeling again. About anyone. And he's happy it's Eddie that's making him feel like this, because he really likes him a lot.

"Can we go swimming today?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at the schedule, and nods. 

"I think we can fit that in this evening, if you'd like, sir," Eddie answers.

"Yes, please," Steve says. 

That evening, they walk down to the private pool and Eddie stands there while Steve strips off his shirt.

"Aren't you coming in?" Steve asks. He's assumed Eddie would. It's a sport, and that's one of the few things they do together, as almost equals.

"Sir?" Eddie questions.

"C'mon, get in!" Steve shouts, laughing, splashing water towards Eddie, which Eddie dodges easily. But Eddie nods. Disappearing into one of the locker rooms.

Steve's taking bets with himself, if Eddie will be in one of those silly old-fashioned, striped swim costumes with shoulder straps when he comes back.

He's not.

He's just wearing a pair of basic black trunks, and Steve can't help it as his eyes rake over Eddie's pale, exposed skin.

Steve's not sure he's even seen Eddie's forearms, let alone is his bare chest. He has a tattoo. More than one, it looks like, and Steve grins. Fully enjoying the view. Maybe he's not as buttoned-up as he appears on the surface.

Eddie comes down the steps and pushes off, and swims towards Steve.

"What now, sir?" Eddie asks, treading water. 

"I was thinking about laps, but anything would be good with me," Steve says. As long as he's with Eddie, he's in.

And they fall into lane lines, and Steve breathes to his left so he can see Eddie, and for once, they are side-by-side, equals. They both do a flip-turn and push off, resurfacing together. Steve smiles, and keeps kicking.

He feels normal, here, now. Swimming. His teammate beside him. And Eddie is his teammate, maybe the only one he has in this place. He's surrounded by people, but he feels like Eddie is the only one that ever actually sees him.

And he's happy as they swim, together, until they are both struggling to breathe, clinging to the side of the pool. Steve rests his head on his arms, and feels good. Really, really good.

His happiness doesn't last long. 

The next morning, Gareth comes into his office, with four or five other staffers trailing behind him.

"Your Majesty, we'd like to discuss taking the first steps towards the wedding," Gareth says.

"Whose wedding?" Steve asks.

"Yours, sir," Gareth says, and Steve sees red. He knew they were scheming to set him up on dates with various available women, but this is too far. He'll be the King, but marrying a stranger isn't happening.

"I'm not getting married!" Steve snaps as he storms out, turning to hold his hand up, giving the universal motion to stop, demanding that they not follow.

Steve only wants to find Eddie.

Eddie is walking down the hallway, and Steve accosts him. 

"This is too far, you can't tell me who to marry, Eddie!" Steve yells, and Eddie quickly grabs him by the arm, and pulls him into Steve's bedroom, and shuts the door behind them. Locking them inside.

"Your Majesty, please, it's for the good of the country. To protect your bloodline, your birthright. You're the last. You need to marry, and produce heirs. That's just how it's done."

"I'm not the last and you know it!" Steve screams.

"Please," Eddie says softly, like he's trying to tame Steve, "please consider doing this. It's the right thing to do."

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, "Absolutely not."

"Sir, please," Eddie says.

"Stop calling me sir, if you're gonna fuck me over, at least use my name, for god's sake."

"Steve," Eddie says, "we aren't doing this to hurt you."

"Well, it sure feels like you are. What about love? What about who I love?" Steve asks, his voice softer.

"Love must be subordinated for the good of the monarchy, Steve," Eddie says, his voice softer now, too.

Eddie has called him Steve, here, and Steve can't even be happy about it.

"No. No way. No, no, no."

"Princess Caroline is a perfectly acceptable choice. You need to do this."

"You're serious?" Steve snaps.

"Yes!" Eddie snaps back.

"I won't, I'm not marrying someone I don't love!" Steve assures loudly, and he means that. They can't make him. "This place is terrible, this job, it's bullshit! It's all bullshit! I'd rather be selling hot dogs, or ice cream, than to be locked up here in this gilded cage! At least at home my choices were my own and I could fuck up my life any damn way I saw fit!" Steve screams. 

"Steve," Eddie says, scrubbing his hands over his face and Steve's never seen him this undone, "Why? Why are you fighting this? This is just how things are done."

"You know why," Steve says, crossing the room and closing the space between them.

"I don't…that's not…" Eddie mutters, looking anywhere but at Steve.

"Eddie," Steve says, taking him by the shoulders, "look at me."

Eddie does, reluctantly.

"I can't marry Princess Caroline, because I love you."

Eddie's face falls, like he's just been given terrible news, and Steve's stomach drops. He's miscalculated this, all of this, and immediately lets go of him. They haven't been flirting, they haven't been anything to each other. Steve has misinterpreted their whole thing.

He feels sick.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Steve says, taking a step back, "I shouldn't have said that to you. Please, don't-"

But his words are cut off, when Eddie is suddenly moving towards him, and finally, finally presses his lips to Steve's.

Steve reaches his hand up, and cups the back of Eddie's head. It's better than he'd even fantasized about. He kisses him, over and over, holding him. Finally touching him in all the ways he's longed to, for months.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, once they've separated, and Eddie just smiles at him and takes him by the hand, leading him towards the truly outlandish bed. He hadn't dreamed this is where the day would end up, even if he'd dared to hope. 

Eddie pushes Steve onto his back on the bed, and the dynamic has shifted in a way that Steve loves. Yes, please. More of this. He watches as Eddie pulls off his jacket, his tie, and unbuttons his dress shirt.

It's the best strip tease Steve's witnessed in his whole life.

And when Eddie crawls on top of him, in just his underwear, Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him close. Pressing kisses to his shoulder, his chest, anywhere he can reach.

After, Steve brushes his hand through Eddie's hair, holding him, as they lay together. Eddie's legs are tangled with his, and they're comfortable here, together. 

"I need to quit," Steve says, softly.

"I know you do," Eddie answers, pressing his lips to Steve's chest.

"Will your uncle take over? If I do?" Steve asks.

"I'll talk to him," Eddie assures.

"Will you go with me when I leave? Or will you need to stay with him?" Steve asks.

"At first, I'll feel I'm obligated to stay," Eddie says, "he's my uncle. He raised me. But after he gets settled, perhaps."

Perhaps isn't a no, so Steve takes that as good news, and just pulls him closer while he has the chance.

"Maybe, you'd like to settle in with me here at my flat, for a stretch. Before you go home," Eddie suggests and Steve nods. Absolutely. Yes, to that. Please.

Eddie and his speechwriters help him perfect his abdication speech, and write his Instrument of Abdication letter. Wayne Munson, at his side. Stoic and quiet, but willing now, to accept this responsibility. 

Steve signs it, and Eddie, Gareth, Goodwin and Williams all sign as witnesses to his signature. 

And it's done, basically.

"You boys do realize I have no children, so this might come right back to you, after I'm gone," Wayne says softly.

And Steve and Eddie both nod. They know. But they appreciate this time Wayne's given them, to live and love. It's a gift, because he loves Eddie and wants him to be happy. Steve knows that, and he won't take it for granted. Not ever.

In a few days time, he's standing before Parliament, something he's never had to do, before now.

"My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I know it is unusual for a King to address you in this manner, but I have some things I'd like to say, that I'd like for you to hear them in person, from me," he starts, before going on to apologize for being too set in his ways, too American for this duty. But he explains that there is another heir, an English one, also born into the House of Wyndam-Pryce. He tells them that it was discovered after Steve had assumed the throne, but now that he knows, he feels it only right to step down. He introduces Wayne, and turns over the Crown, happily.

As soon as he steps back from the podium, he feels like the weight of the world has left his shoulders. He walks out into the sunshine and smiles, closing his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky. 

He's a free man, once again. 

Eddie is waiting, and takes his hand, and finally, for once, Eddie steps out ahead of him, leading the way.

There are lots of people standing around watching him pack, and Steve looks around, "Are they scared I'm going to steal something?"

Eddie laughs, "Well, maybe. You can't take anything that belongs to the Crown."

"I only want to take one thing with me," Steve says, smiling.

Eddie grins, lowering his voice, "Me?"

"Okay, well, two things," Steve teases, and Eddie cocks his head, curious.

Steve walks down the staircase, carrying the giant cardboard box of hairspray. Eddie holds the door open for him, and then helps him put it in the trunk. Technically, it belongs to the Crown, but Steve is sure they'll never miss it. If Wayne wants him beheaded for taking it, bring it on. The man hardly has any hair at all left, so he definitely doesn't have a pressing need for hairspray.

"So, how was it to be King?" Eddie asks, settling into the back of the town car beside him.

"Well, I met you and I got a lifetime supply of my favorite hairspray, so pretty good, overall," Steve teases, and reaches over and takes Eddie's hand, looking at the window as the palace grows smaller in the distance behind them.

He's not the King, not anymore. 

But he's Eddie's boyfriend, his partner, and he's pretty sure that's a way more important role for him to try and fill.

Notes: This originally started for Steddie Holiday Drabbles, but the length got away from me. And then really got away from me. I couldn't condense this into 1000 words, it seems. So, I did something different for that Royalty AU and used this one here.

Royalty isn't really in my wheelhouse, but King Ralph popped into my head, and made me cackle. Sure, I'll make American Steve an unlikely King. No problem.

I'm sure Eddie had the job of about a dozen men, here. Go with it.

Also? John Goodman is a damn delight. Nobody could deliver the "dick of what?" line better than that, though I had Steve try.

Wienerlicious was from the show Chuck.

House of Wyndam-Pryce is a Buffy joke. That's Wesley's last name, and Wyndham was the fictional name in King Ralph. So it seemed fitting.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

[o-sn4pple]

after reader and furina get involved in a messy altercation, the chief justice begins to question the archon's safety under the reader and temporarily suspends reader. reader later finds out or listens in on furina defending them and saying they're the only one she wants guarding her

- 🫡

Furina x gn!Reader, I guess technically a follow-up to this?

i guess i'm exposing my love for master/guard dog dynamics with this one. it got a bit more horny than i meant it to be 😭

Somehow, despite being outnumbered thirty to one, Furina sits in Neuvillette's office completely unharmed. You, on the other hand, are laying in the infirmary a building over, more gauze than skin and expression downcast.

"What do you mean 'suspended'?" she snaps, voice a gunshot in the silence of the Palais Mermonia. "What point is there in suspending them when they're doing their job?"

"Are they?" Neuvillette asks. Even when he sits, he is still eye level to Furina. It only makes her feel even smaller than usual, especially when he frowns. "Need I remind you, Lady Furina, that their duties are to protect you from all harm, including yourself?"

"I-What?!" Furina sputters, face burning. "Are you implying that it was my fault that we were attacked by a bunch of lowly Treasure Hoarders?"

"Of course not, Lady Furina. What I mean is that they are not meant to indulge in your suggestions if they could bring harm, especially without my knowledge." Neuvillette's brows pinch, eyes a familiar blend of frustration and concern. "What were you two doing so far from the court at this hour?"

Furina can hear the unspoken follow-up question, but she already knows her answer. No, you did not tempt her into leaving the court for your own nefarious purposes. It had all been her idea: a chance for fresh air, away from the stifling pressure of her bedroom and the prophecy. She'd had a terrible trial to preside over, as well, listening to a Treasure Hoarder spit curses at her as he was dragged away. Still, she knew better than to brave the wilds alone, so she knocked on your door at three in the morning. She almost backed down when she saw your sleep-adled face, but you just told her to wait a few minutes upon hearing her order before coming back in full uniform and a basket of snacks.

"What kind of outing would it be without food?" you had said. The basket now lays in tatters in the water after you used it to wrangle a Hoarder away from her.

"Does..." Furina swallows the bubbling guilt in her throat and scowls. "Does it matter, Neuvillette? I don't recall hounding you for information every time you go on a stroll."

"Perhaps not, but it will make my decision on their current occupation easier."

Furina gawks, but Neuvillette does not yield. He really plans on suspending you for just doing your job. He's going to suspend you because Furina had been selfish and dragged you along. "Do you plan on replacing them, then?"

"If I must, yes. But-"

"Don't bother." Furina crosses her arms, almost surprised at her own bitter tone. "I doubt there will be anyone else that can match their caliber."

The silence makes her squirm, but she refuses to look up until the Chief Justice says, "I am...perplexed." He massages the bridge of his nose. "When I had first offered a bodyguard, you'd vehemently refused and claimed you did not need one. Now, I plan to offer a different course of action without one, and yet you refuse to let them go. Why is that?"

Why, indeed? After a hundred years of existence, Furina knows exactly why. It's the same reason why she sought you out earlier this morning, why she finds herself making excuses to require your presence on her days off. But how does she explain that to Neuvillette? He is as dense as a Gardemek thrown into the lake.

She can't, she decides. At least, not yet. Now, she needs to find some way to keep you as hers...her bodyguard. Right.

Neuvillette is still waiting for an answer, so she lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. "Existence is transient, like the waters that flow before the Opera Epiclese. Is it not normal that my opinions change as well?"

"Considering you threatened to fire me when I first introduced you to the guard, yes."

"I-That's because you just-just sprung them on me without warning! If you had just told me ahead of time and gotten my consent, I wouldn't have cared!" Furina throws her arms up for emphasis, but Neuvillette's low chuckle stuns her.

"I see." The Iudex nods to himself, apparently satisfied with her answer. "If that is the case, then what do you suggest we do?"

Furina swallows. She didn't think he would actually ask for her opinion. What could she do? She doubts he will allow you to remain her bodyguard. You're an excellent combatant. Perhaps she could appoint you as a Champion Duelist, but then you would be busy with the rest of the duelers and would have little time to answer her summons. Same would go for Marechausse Phantom-hood.

Ugh, it would be so much easier if you could just keep the-wait. Furina perks up as her thoughts begin to stir. "I have a suggestion."

-

It does hurt her heart when Furina finally visits you that evening. She'd made sure you received the best care they had in Fontaine, and the doctor reassured her that you would pull through after patching you up. Still, it took eighteen stitches for an axe wound in your shoulder and an extra two for a stab wound in your ribs. That and a blood transfusion.

You're sitting up and awake, though, and that's what matters. "Lady Furina?"

"Be at ease," Furina dismisses as she perches on the stool by your bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I am...well, my lady, but what about you?" You lean this way and that, like you're trying to check her for any injuries. It almost makes Furina's heart flutter, if not for you grimacing with every move. The doctor had said he would not use his Vision to heal you entirely, since non-Vision holders react differently to elemental energy. You must be in worse pain than you admit.

"Even if you were not around, I would have been fine," she says, "but not a hair on my head was touched, thanks to your efforts. A commendable feat, I might add. Standing thirty to one is no small task."

You let out a weak laugh. "A few of them ran away before I could even touch them, Lady Furina. I don't think that would count as thirty."

Yes, only four. Furina remembers it quite clearly because they had run past her hiding spot after you knocked someone unconscious with your fist. She just huffs. "Semantics. My point is, I have decided to reward your efforts!" She plants her hands on her hips, smile smug. "Rejoice, for you shall now become my personal equerry. Once you have fully recovered, you will report to me first thing in the morning."

And, oh, how clever! When you'd originally been hired, you had a set schedule to follow. As an equerry, not only would you maintain your usual duties of protecting Furina, but it would give her plenty of reason to have you at her side when she is not traveling around.

"W-Wait, wait," you say, brows pinched with confusion. "Are you...promoting me? Even after that fight?"

"Did you expect me to demote you?" Furina asks in surprise.

"Admittedly, I thought you would execute me." You rub at your neck sheepishly. "I should have known better than to take you away from the court after that trial. The Treasure Hoarders were probably waiting to strike, so-"

You stop. It takes Furina second to realize that she's holding up a hand to silence you. She can understand Neuvillette's concerns about you, but to hear that you are blaming yourself for her mistake? This won't do.

So she clears her throat and rises, schooling her expression until she feels her usual mask reserved for particularly cruel trials. You had called it her 'True Archon' face. Seems quite fitting considering what she's about to say.

"As the Archon of Justice, do you think it not fitting that I choose the punishment for my own people?" Furina pauses just long enough for you to start squirming. "All of this commotion has only proven one thing: your presence as a mere bodyguard is not enough. The fools that wish to harm me know you are only a hired hand. How am I supposed to feel protected if I know you are only here for a bi-weekly pay?"

The furrow in your brow only deepens. "But this is...a punishment?"

"Hmph. Let me speak plainly." To Furina's own surprise, her hand shoots out, fingers grazing the thick gauze padding your throat before pressing a finger under your chin. You lift your head obediently, wide-eyed stare flooding her veins with so much satisfaction and confidence that she can't help it. She leans in close and states, "You will be my attendant. You will serve me, dedicate your time to me, be willing to lay down your life for me. Only then will I feel safe. That is my decision as Archon."

False Archon. Something in Furina thinks she does not deserve this confidence. What right does she have to make this declaration, to decide your life for you? Really, it is selfish of her to decide this. Would it not have been better to follow Neuvillette's suggestion and let you go? If you continue to serve her, just how much more pain will you endure?

She feels your skin shift as you swallow, her own mouth running dry when you mutter, "I see." And you have the nerve to lean forward, forcing her hand to uncurl and cradle the full weight of your head in her palm, like a hound to its master. "Then I accept my punishment, Lady Furina. I shall serve however you see fit."

Furina doesn't fool herself into thinking she isn't turning pink at your tone. She can't let you have the last word! You're supposed to be her retainer. You're supposed to be beneath her!

N-Not...like that, but still!

Furina steels herself and smiles. "Good. Now!" She jerks her hand away, nearly apologizing when you almost tip over from the lack of support. "First order of business: heal up. Afterwards, we need to visit a boutique. I refuse to have my personal equerry look like a regular garde. You look best in white, but that would get far too dirty..." In the corner of her eyes, she sees your body sag with exhaustion and tuts. "Fine, fine. I'll let you rest first, but tomorrow-"

"I will meet you at the Palais Mermonia," you offer, a soft smile on your face. "I will bring breakfast as well to make up for this morning's attempt."

Furina's stomach twists as she returns the smile. It's because of the idea of a fresh breakfast, she hopes. "Wonderful. And make sure it is still warm!" She gives your shoulders a firm shove, easing you on your back. "Now, get some sleep."

"As you wish," you sleepily mumble before tensing. "Who is escorting you back to the Palais Mermonia?"

"Hah, I don't need an escort for such a short distance," Furina says. After all, she'd walked over to here from Neuvillette's office on her own. You don't seem convinced. You start pushing to sit up, like you plan on walking out of here. Furina just squeaks and forces you back down, her Archon persona splintering. "Don't you dare!"

"My lady, if my duty is to keep you safe-"

"You're already injured as is!" Furina pokes your gauze for emphasis, almost apologizing when you flinch. Instead, she huffs and plops back onto her seat. "Would you rather I wait here, then?"

"I would." And, as you sink back into the blankets, you cheekily add, "I can make space here, if you'd like."

Furina just scowls and mutters, "I should have just let Neuvillette demote you..."

To which you blink, grin, and say, "Ah, so my promotion was all your doing?"

"I-No-I-" Furina glares at you, face scalding hot. "As your Archon, my first order is for you to cease this nonsense at once!"

Your laughter does her no favors, but it gets you to settle. "My apologies, Lady Furina, but this expression suits you better than your frown."

...Furina is almost tempted to smack you, only to sigh in defeat. Next time, she thinks. At least you're starting to act like your usual self. "Just go to sleep," she orders, "before I reverse my decision."

You just smile and tug the blanket to your chin. "Of course, my lady. As you wish."

[yakuzacanons]

Please, more Majima content 😭 I want some age gap headcanons where the reader is 22 and he's 42, making people around them question why the young lady is with a man twice her age. Maybe they're walking together in public and Majima overhears some judgemental and nasty comments made about him and the reader comforts him through it because he gets uncomfortable and self-conscious 🥺

Ahhhh I love this, as someone in a similar age range in comparison to Majima and him being my absolute favorite, this idea makes my brain go brrrrr in the best way. Thank you sweet anon, headcanon is under the cut, hope you like it! It's a long one so I apologize in advance but I had so much fun making it hehe.

Majima will honestly never understand why you picked him. He'll always be asking himself how he got so lucky. At the same time he'll also wonder if he really deserves it. He will try not to let it bother him but it's always something in the back of his mind.

The most common comments are things like "Isn't he a little too old for her?" or "What's she doing with a man like that?". You get some weird glances from strangers. This makes Majima tighten his grip around your hand or around your waist, an obvious tell that he's trying not to let it get to him.

He will try to not engage in physical violence as a response because he knows that's not the solution and he doesn't want you to see him as just some violent beast. Instead, he'll spit out some retort before grabbing your hand and briskly walking away, clearly still upset.

He will try to not bring it up to you whenever he feels this way. Majima already feels that he's a bit of a burden in more ways than one: his age, his job, even the fact that he's missing an eye feels burdensome in his mind. How could someone ever love a man like this? Secretly, he worries that all these factors will drive you away one day so he doesn't want to add fuel to that fire by bringing you down with how he feels about the age gap.

Eventually, his feelings will boil over. You'll find him looking dejected, probably smoking out the window, unable to sleep. If you ask what's going on, he'll immediately know that you know and that's when he'll break.

Majima won't necessarily cry, but he'll sigh deeply and say something like "I just want ya to be happy. Sometimes I wonder if I can give ya the happiness ya deserve. Maybe I'm just bein' selfish... keeping ya all to myself." He'll turn to hide his face in embarrassment, ashamed of how he feels.

Once he feels your arms wrap around him, holding him tight with your face pressed against his back, his heart will just melt. It's true, he does think he's being selfish. Sometimes he wonders if everyone else is right and if you'd be better off with someone younger, someone your age. But damn if it didn't feel good to have you right there next to him. In that exact moment, his worries just wash away. He feels like he can do anything, be anyone. That's just the effect you have on him. Your presence alone makes him feel like a man reborn.

He'll close his eyes and exhale before putting out his cigarette and turning around to face you. Regardless of how you choose to console him, he'll still ask if you're sure this is what you want. Secretly, Majima yearns the most to be wanted and loved. Once reassured he'll just pull you in and hold you tightly, so close to him that it's almost suffocating.

The truth is Majima can't stand the thought of letting you go. The Mad Dog has been so independent by necessity for so long that he's terrified of letting that guard down, letting anyone in, needing anyone at all. You changed that and it feels so good that he's scared to lose it, scared to lose you. Your tender reassurance calms him, it puts the Mad Dog to sleep, and for once, Majima feels like he can breathe deeply and fully.

All those years ago, Majima swore he'd live his life for him, do things his way. When you came into his life, it was the first time since Makoto that he felt he really had something to lose. That's when the thoughts of other people started to get to him. Truthfully, you love his fearlessness the most. You admire his boldness, his loyalty, how he never stands down, the way he tries everything once and does anything for those he loves. You'll remind him of this, reminding him that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks. Age gap or no age gap, you're his and he's yours.

[griefabyss69]

Ample Fire Within

Hello everybody I hurt my feelings about Steve and so I've decided to inflict that on all of you as well <3

[AO3] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

Platonic Stobin - Rated: G - 1.7K

Angst with a happy ending It's short enough the full thing is under the cut!

"For all of the late night wishing on a star type of bullshit he does, when he's alone in the dark and doesn't even have to properly face himself, let alone anyone else, you'd think he'd be able to handle it when he finally gets what he wants."

You'd think that all of the near-death experiences and injuries and horrible secret knowledge they’d all had would make a group of people like, forthcoming about their feelings.

But when most of those people are hiding deeply under too many layers of irony, insecurity, and maybe an affected teenage distance, feelings come out in stupid little arguments and the decision to be as annoying as possible instead of like.

Talking about it.

The affection is just like that too – drenched in demands - and just like anything, Steve has to assume that being asked for shit means that someone somewhere cares about him.

If they need him, that means they'll think about him, remember him.

It means they won't leave and won't spit his feelings back in his face, drunk off of either expensive wine or spiked punch – he's since forgiven Nancy, and they're good friends, though she could never love him.

Forgiving his mom is something he thinks he'll get around to one day, if she ever gets around to deciding he exists again.

His dad is a lost cause, so he doesn't bother.

---

Robin's hand is tight around his, her nail polish alternating between a shimmery blue and a stark black. It works on her, makes her look cool in the way only she can be.

He studies the difference in their fingers, his nails are neatly trimmed out of habit, though the skin around them peels like he hasn't been taking care of the skin. Hers are doing pretty well, considering she's once again trying to fully kick the habit of biting them.

Despite how much smaller her hands are, he feels like the one who's protected, a bracing grip that keeps him grounded as some of his neighbors head out of the store, the sour feeling of being degraded by nothing but polite conversation about where he might go to school next year and “What are your parents up to these days?” sitting heavy in his guts.

"You want to pick the movie?" Robin asks, adding her other hand into the mix, squeezing his tightly.

He shakes his head, can't stomach the thought of having an opinion on anything right now, on being some kind of real boy who has to make a decision harder than breathe in – good – now breathe out.

She lets go of him to go wander around the shelves, and he misses the comfort deeply, but doesn't say anything about it because he needs to find a way to earn the next one, this one finished with it’s job even if it’s prematurely. He’ll find the next emotional punch he can take and will hope it makes someone notice he could use a hug or something.

He wants to think he's got people in his life now that notice him at least some of the time, really notice him, not like before when he'd sat concussed through his exams and managed to pass because the teachers didn't want to face down the wrath of Harrington Sr.

He tries not to mope, tries to shake everything off, and goes to poke fun at Robin for whatever movie she picked.

---

For all of the late night wishing on a star type of bullshit he does, when he's alone in the dark and doesn't even have to properly face himself, let alone anyone else, you'd think he'd be able to handle it when he finally gets what he wants.

But maybe it's the unexpected timing, or just the way he didn't think they'd ever be those people – but when Robin hugs him goodbye one night, the last one out of the house as Nancy waits up outside to take her home, she murmurs a quiet "Love you" into his shoulder and he only manages to hold himself together by a fucking hair until the door is shut behind her.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that it would make him crumple to the floor beside the neat rack of shoes he never wears, but he finds himself flat on his ass with his forehead on his knees like someone's packing him away in a box.

Ugly tears already brimming and spilling down his face as his throat closes up around what might just be a banshee's wail.

He knows he's supposed to be happy, and he knows there's a part of him that is, but the rest of him is just hurt – there’s an empty hole that had dug through him until it had grown into a deep well of loneliness, and every little offering of care and attention and love drowns in it.

About thirty minutes and a big pounding headache later, his phone rings, and his voice is rough when he picks up.

"Steve," Robin gasps, out of breath like she'd run to the phone. "What's wrong?"

He frowns, wondering if he sounds that bad.

"Nothing, why?"

"Oh, you just sound… And I'd thought – I just had a feeling in the car and then it got worse and I got worried and I'm sorry I'm sure you're so ready to go get your beauty sleep and I know we'll see each other at work tomorrow – but you sound terrible, Steve. Are you really okay?"

Robin's voice is as soothing as much as it picks at him, all the little threads he'd found on the floor to put himself back together get snatched back up by her soulmate premonition feelings or whatever, and he feels his sore eyes start to sting again.

"Rob, everything's fine," he says, heading to the sink, stretching the phone cord so he can get a cold glass of water. "Just took a little nap."

"Oh, that's good," She sighs, clearly relieved. "I guess… I'll let you go?"

Steve's heart feels full of something that aches, but maybe it's not really in a bad way. He can't tell right now, but he blinks and blinks and blinks until his eyes aren't threatening to un-convince Robin of his fine-ness.

"Yeah, I'll see you in the morning," he says, and pauses, digging his toes into the tile floor to brace himself. "Have good dreams, love you."

Robin's voice is warm and thready when she replies, the phone doing a bad job of replicating it but he can still imagine she's speaking into his shoulder again.

"Love you too, goodnight Steve."

---

He does more crying in the shower, though this time it’s more of a relieved thing.

The little worry in the background of his mind that Robin had said it accidentally earlier is gone – and the larger worry in the front of his mind that he'd somehow ruin their friendship by saying the same thing back at her is gone too.

He's almost excited to get to work tomorrow, though his self esteem hasn't been doing all that great lately, with summer vacation and everyone he went to high school with coming back home from college.

Logically he doesn't care about the judgmental questions and the superior airs they put on, as if surviving another year of schooling could hold a candle to the crazy shit he's survived, but it still like, hurts.

At least the store’s been too busy for them to be scheduled for solo shifts, so he's mostly just working his full day with Robin, and aside from the retail hell of it all, it's been kind of nice just getting to hang out together for hours and hours.

---

Robin's too good at reading him, and he regrets his excitement to see her so soon after his weird love induced meltdown on the welcome mat.

"Oh my God, you lied!" She hisses as he takes his place behind the counter, leaning beside her. "Clearly something was wrong last night."

He knows his eyes are slightly fucked up still, but he's had nights of bad sleep that had him looking worse, so he's truly confused for a moment, and lets her know that, his perplexed frown out in full force as she sets her hands on his shoulders.

"C'mon, the puppy dog eyes aren't going to work," she says, squeezing and shaking him a little bit. "You let me think I was an over-worrier! That I was thinking too much. Tell me, Steve."

He sighs, closes his eyes, and wishes desperately they weren't at work for this.

"Any chance of letting me talk about it in eight hours?"

Robin scoffs, and digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders.

It's probably meant to hurt, but it's a pleasant pressure, his muscles feeling a little sore from all of the tension he’s been carrying.

"No, tell me now before we have to flip the sign," she says, the little crack in her voice betraying her whole pissed off act.

"Fine just. Don't laugh," he says, wondering if it's more pathetic to ask her not to or more pathetic to experience it if she does.

She raises her eyebrows, eyes lasered in on his as he opens them, and she just looks sad.

"It hurt, you know, in the car. I just… I knew something wasn't okay but I had no idea what it was, but I was sure it was something to do with you," she says, subdued.

The soulmates thing gets pretty freaky sometimes, but Steve's heard of this happening to like, identical twins. So why not him and Robin, honestly?

"Sorry," he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Just uh, when you. Said you loved me."

Robin winces, loosens her grip on his shoulders.

"Not good?" She asks, and Steve frowns.

"No, it was good," he says quickly, doesn't want her to feel bad for saying it, or worse, take it back. "I'm…"

He thinks about it, the little bright spark in his chest that's been flickering, fighting against all of the heaviness and general stress he's been feeling. It grows a little stronger every time he sees her, and he hopes that one day it can be a proper flame.

"It's just been a while," he whispers, thinks that this isn't fair to even tell her. "Since someone's told me that."

It sounds depressing as hell, and truly, despite whatever his 3AM wallowing would have to say about it, he's been doing fine, has a full enough social calendar with his friends.

"Oh," Robin says, the way it hurts as plain as a clear day on her face. "Well, I love you."

Steve finds himself blinking back tears again, and the smile that sneaks up on him feels like the lightening of a burden, an unpacked suitcase.

"I love you too."

[halibellecter]

Is That You?

--

"Is that you in the picture?"

"Yeah. But I mean we're not supposed to talk about that stuff-- so what can I do for you?"

And she's not lying. It is her in the picture...

So far she's headed off every opportunity to ask, oh, is that your husband? is that your daughter in the middle? look at you, you look so happy!

She's in the picture. But she's in the middle, about nine and a half, long braid decorated with little dragonfly clips. Between her mom-- she's the spitting image-- and dad, one of the last pictures of all of them together. You can't see their faces too well, they're scrunched up with laughter. Both of them are tickling her and she's shrieking and wiggling all over the place; it's a wonder the picture isn't more blurry than it is already, her hands and feet smearing details that get dimmer every time she tries to remember what they were.

Her father's next deployment ended, just a few days early and already on the return trip, with her being handed a smartly folded flag that her mother was crying too hard to take. She was ten.

Mom had lasted for another four short years after Dad died. Four years where they barely spoke-- not angry, just busy. Mom was already a successful doctor, already more dedicated than most. Being the single income must have been a good excuse, because she threw herself into her work. Kay-- no, no, not Kayla, no, the person that would be Agent Oklahoma, eventually, proto-agent, not-yet-medic, freelancer-in-the-future, to be worth something later on-- she-- already barely saw her. Between a dad on active duty in the army, and a mom with such a demanding job, she was a career latchkey kid; but sometimes after he died, she could go for weeks without direct contact. It almost seemed like her mom liked it that way. Looking back on it, home must have hurt.

If she'd known she only had four years left with her...

Just like her father, she was on the way home when she died. So close to home-- familiar territory. Got tired and fell asleep at the wheel. Kayla-- no, no, no! that girl, had been on the phone with her. Trying to keep her awake. It's blurry now but she can remember her desperate, raw-throated screaming and the crunch of metal and... and her mother's voice, a little choking whisper. Baby I'm so sorry. I'm not going to make it, there's too much blood. Sweetheart I love you---

But she tries to remember how lucky she is: unlike with her father, at least she got to say goodbye.

They're so happy in the picture.

The challenge coin leaning against the frame was what finally trained her out of that bad habit she used to have where she got attached to other people. A close friend. Nearly a brother. A safe place after the accident, the one who scooped her up and held her as she cried herself out into his chest. He had been all she had left.

If she squeezes the coin hard enough, her pulse throbs in her fingers like his heart thumped under her ear that night. And a lot of nights afterward. They joined up together; they were practically fused at the hip. He was a medic like her, a brilliant fighter, a...

a credit to his unit, and to the UNSC.

The words echo when she remembers them, engraved on her bones on the day they laid him in the ground. The person who loved anyone enough to cry over them like that no longer exists.

Is that you?

Yeah. Well. Not anymore.

[gingersnap1620]

Make a Memory

Dean Winchester x F!Oc

Summary: Dean and Sam get their asses kicked by a witch whose big green eyes Dean can't get out of his head.

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Word Count: 1.1k

Songs:

(You Want To) Make A Memory

Evil Woman

A/N: This is my first fic! This is the first part, and I hope you guys enjoy! My sister @gingernut1314 beta read this for me. Go check her out!

Prologue

Lillian 

~Year is 1676 in Scotland~

“You can't just leave us here Lily!”

When I decided to join the coven I had no idea of their plans. If I did then I wouldn't have joined and I wouldn't be in this situation. Leaving Scotland and my siblings behind for America. I feel like my mother, leaving them behind like this. My mother, Rowena, is a very powerful witch, so I guess that gave her the right to leave her seven kids behind.

“I don't have a choice, Fergus. You know what they're trying to make me do! Leaving is the only way to keep all of you and the world safe.” At this point, I'm just throwing the things I need in the only travel bag we own. It's big and brown and basically fallen apart. 

“I knew you would end up being exactly like her,” Fergus says, turning his back on me and walking away. Let's get one thing straight, I am nothing like my mother. She's a cruel, selfish woman. If I have to blame anyone for this I would blame her. She's the reason I have these powers in the first place. 

After I got everything I needed in my bag, I went around and said goodbye to the rest of my siblings. 

I didn't exactly have a ticket to get on the boat, but that wasn't going to stop me. I need to get on that boat. So carrying my bag on my shoulder I snuck my way onto the boat and down to the storage rooms to hide. 

As the ship started sailing off I looked out a small circle-shaped window and saw my home get further and further away. Saying that I'm scared would be an understatement, I've never been farther than the city. 

I'm going to stop those witches. I won't let them go through with their plan even if it's the last thing I do.

Dean

~338 years later in America~

Sam and I thought that this would be an in-and-out kind of vamp job, and it was until we walked past this door. 

“What are they talking about?” I whispered to Sam as the girl in the room paced back and forth with her hand on her hip. She has curly red hair and big green eyes. “This chick kinda looks like Rowena,” I whispered to Sam. 

“I know I was just thinking that.” 

“Hopefully she's not a witch like her,” I said that as a joke, but of course right as I say it the door flings open and we get shoved which leads to us toppling onto the floor. Before I could get up the woman squats down right next to me yanking the back of my hair to make me look up at her. Her green eyes pierced into my soul. 

“Who do we have here, shall we find out?” She asked the man who hadn't moved from his spot behind his desk since we came in.

“How about not.” I spit out.

Wrong move. 

She pressed her fingers on my head. The last thing I remember seeing before I blacked out was her eyes glowed with green light. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn't Dean Winchester.” She leaves me lying on the floor as she stands up. 

What the hell just happened? How does she know my name?

“So, that must mean that you're Sam Winchester.” She said, pointing at Sam.

“What the hell did you just do to me bitch?” She walks to the man behind the desk giving Sam and I time to get up. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again I fucking hate witches. 

“Nothing, I just looked into your head, jeez stop being dramatic.” She said, with a dismissive hand.

Oh, I'm being dramatic now! I don't think so! 

I pulled my gun out and pulled the trigger, shooting her right in her stomach. She snapped her head down to find blood oozing from her shirt, a shocked look on her face. Her green eyes snapped back at me, rage burning in her eyes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I just got this shirt!” She flung my gun across the room as Sam pulled his gun out and shot her again, this time right in the middle of her chest. She looked down at the bullet hole, rolled her eyes, and flung Sam across the room. I watched him hit the wall and pass out.

“Sam!” 

“He’ll be fine.” The man behind the desk decides to pitch in. I forgot he was even in the room. Apparently, so did the red-haired witch because she looked surprised when he talked. 

“Oh! I thought I already took care of you, I guess not.” And with one sharp flick of her hand, the man's head fell off.  “Don’t worry he wasn't human.” She says as she walks around his desk to pick his head up and show me his fangs. 

“A vamp? What do you get out of killing a vamp?” 

“Oh nothing, he just wasn’t helping me out with my problem.”

“Problem?” I guess I asked too many questions because just as it left my lips she flung me into the wall, pinning me there. 

“I realize I haven’t fully introduced myself, my name is Lillian.” She was walking over to me. “I don't want to hurt you two, you're just giving me no choice” 

“You know it doesn’t really feel like that.” She stopped in front of me, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. Her eyes started to light up a dark green color. She must be pretty powerful. 

Great. 

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way.” Her hand started traveling down my chest, where her other hand joined beside it. 

I closed my eyes tight, prepping for what was about to come. 

I felt her hands leave my body suddenly. My eyes flew open and I found Sam slapping a pair of silver cuffs on her. 

“Fucking Winchesters.” She spit out as we put her in the back of the impala. 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to kill her Dean?” Sam asked after he shut the door on her. I walked around the back of the car to get to the driver's side.

“Something about her just makes me think that she's important. I don’t know man.” Sam glanced back down at her through the window and opened his door.

“Alright, I trust you, but let's go, my head is still throbbing.” He then sat down in the car and closed the door. I opened my door and did the same. 

I flipped the radio on and “Evil Women” by Electric Light Orchestra blasted through the speakers. A smirk pulled at my lips as I bobbed my head to the beat. As I turned to look at the witch I noticed Sam shaking his head at me. 

“I hope you have good taste in music” 

“I have exquisite taste in music, but this is utter garbage” I shrugged in return, placing my hands on the steering wheel and whipped out of that place.

[kopykunoichi]

Omega has lost so much over this last year.

She lost Nala Se...which was sort of glossed over in her excitement to be with her new bros, but still, that was the only "mother" she knew. And if anyone doubts how important that relationship was to her, just look at how fast she gravitates toward literally *any* female to fill that role.

She lost one brother right off. Yeah, sure, he was the surly, nasty one - but the way he initially was separated from them was not his choice.

She lost Kamino, the only home she had ever known, and as she made clear last week, she is *angry* about it.

Then, she lost Crosshair again, but in a very different way. This time, when they finally had a chance to be a whole family again with every member confirmed to be de-chipped, he chose to leave them. We heard her bitterly tell him "I was wrong about you", but she still felt terrible walking away from him.

And then the unthinkable happened. Echo also chose to leave. Echo, who is probably closer to her than any other brother except Hunter. Echo, who is the emotional anchor of the group, despite being the newest adult member. Echo, who always knows what to say to make her feel better. Echo, who is the most like her in personality - always ready to help someone in need, risk be damned. Like Crosshair, he chose to leave them...to leave her. And though his reasons are noble and selfless, it still hurts. It still feels like rejection.

And today she lost the Marauder, which isn't just a ship, it's a home. Lulu and her little trooper doll were on that ship. Gonky was on that ship. Her first bedroom with the little hanging rope lights that Wrecker decorated for her was on that ship. Echo's blanket that still smells like him was on that ship.

Every time she tries to steady herself, the rug is getting pulled out from under her. And when Tech asked her "what is your issue?" it made her feel like she was the only one struggling with it and it was wrong for her to feel that way. While I'm glad that they talked and that he admitted he still felt something about it, even though he can't express it very well...let's be honest, none of them are expressing their feelings well.

Hunter tells Tech to fix the mistake he made (in how he spoke to Omega), but I wonder if he was projecting a little. Echo left in the first place because Hunter wouldn't quit working for Cid - who clearly doesn't give a shit about them. And now their team is in shambles without him and I wonder if Hunter is questioning his choices. Echo stayed with Rex, but they could have too, it's not like Rex would have turned down the help. I know Hunter wants to keep Omega safe, but give me a break, she was safer in the Senate chamber spitting distance from Palpatine himself than she has been on any given mission they have taken for Cid, with all her sketchy jobs and spotty intel. Now with Cross *and* Echo gone, they are not nearly as formidable or effective. They're stretched thin, and that just makes their missions all the more dangerous.

Honestly, I don't want Echo to come back. I want them to go to *him*. Make some connections with Organa and Riyo, and Ahsoka as Fulcrum (when she comes back to fight). Go look for rebel base locations...on Hoth...whoever finds it first can name it. Go set up supply caches all over the galaxy and steal weapons and supplies from Imperial depots to stock them. Go recruit some new people, especially since Omega's enthusiasm and Echo's conviction is so contagious. Go help Cham and Hera with the Free Ryloth Movement by delivering supplies to them. Keep doing all the flavor of the week missions (I love those), but just do them for a reason that makes sense.

[pigeonwhumps]

Contract 3

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader

Princess (Bug) meets Shaniqua for the first time.

1.5k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, stress positions, gagged, dislocated shoulders, painful healing, manipulation, mentioned minor whump, mentioned drugging, mentioned abusive foster parents, starvation, dehydration, overstimulation

Princess breathes in deeply. They don't know how long they've been in here, how long they've been doing these breathing exercises to stave off the panic. They're still dripping wet, it can't be that long. Their shoulders are killing them, the pain making them want to shout and swear at the very least but the gag won't let them. Their jaw aches around it.

Everything aches. They're not sure they'll ever manage to move out of this position, even if they're untied. They've already had pins and needles and passed into the numb phase. It's going to hurt a lot if they ever get out of here.

There's at least one door, but they can't see it. It's outside their field of vision. Because they have blinkers on. Someone put fucking blinkers on their head, like they're a fucking horse.

It makes them twitchy. They have no idea what's happening beyond their limited vision, can't even turn their head to watch, anyone could do anything to them and they wouldn't know unless they were directly in front.

It's probably one-way glass in front of them, not a mirror, but they try not to pay too much attention anyway. They don't want to see how they look like this. One look at the bridle-like thing pressing down on their almost certainly broken nose is enough.

There's a quiet snick of a door opening and Princess hears footsteps, hairs prickling on the back of their arms as whoever it is passes behind them, running a hand over the top of one arm, brushing their neck, and then over the other. Caressing, almost, possessive. Like the man earlier was but... not the same person, Princess doesn't think. The hand feels softer.

As the person passes, there's a waft of something tasty. They close their nose, but that won't last long, not with their mouth partially obstructed.

The measured footsteps come around Princess' front and finally, they can see their visitor.

It's a woman, presumably a colleague of the man earlier (they both have the same willing-to-kidnap-and-legally-torture-people vibe), with dark skin and braids tied back in a ponytail. Princess barely stops themself from shrinking back at the gleam in her eye. It's the first time they've been grateful for not being able to move.

Still. If she expects them to be broken and ready to sign she's very much mistaken. They glare fiercely at her.

She carries a large plate of food and a jug of water in one hand, which she sets on the table. The food is a full roast dinner, waves of smell wafting from it, chicken and gravy and roast vegetables, and oh it smells so–

No. No, they're not going to think about that, even as their stomach rumbles, desperate, how long is it since they ate?

"Spent a decade in food service before finding a job I really enjoy," she says casually. "Once you learn, you never forget how. Oh, I see you're not ready to sign your contract yet. Here, let me do something for you."

Princess tenses further as the woman walks behind them again.

She touches their right shoulder, fingers pressing in, and before they can panic too much she twists their arm and pushes.

Princess' vision whites out. When they come back the woman hums and does the same to their other shoulder.

"Your shoulders needed resetting. They'll need it every so often if you continue to refuse to sign your contract. You will eventually, you should just give in now."

Princess works her teeth around the silicone gag, tasting saliva and metallic blood, wrenching them out just enough to spit in the woman's face when she comes back around their front.

The woman's eyes narrow and she wipes her face with a look of distaste. "You are going to regret that later, 134U." Princess shivers, and not just from the cold. "But first, I really need something to eat. Training's hungry work, you know?"

No, Princess doesn't know, and they don't want to. They growl around the gag as the woman picks up her plate and comes around, leaning against the table right near Princess' chair. Someone they couldn't see moved the chair, too, so it's still facing her.

"Doesn't that smell good? Mm, delicious. I'm sure you must be hungry."

Princess tenses, breathing shallowly, determined not to give too much away. They are, it smells delicious, especially the roast potatoes and gravy. But they're not signing that damn contract.

They'll be okay. They've missed meals as punishments before, or had to sit there while their whole family ate and they had nothing but bread and water if they were lucky, they'll be fine.

Apparently their stomach disagrees, and the woman grins, like she's just been given a particular juicy morsel of information.

"Yeah. Thought so. Why don't you just give in? Then you can have some. Well, not this exactly, but food at least." She winks and sets the plate down behind her, drinking the cool, clear water directly from the jug. "Ah. So refreshing. Fancy some? No? Right then. Your loss."

The woman sits down in the chair her colleague did earlier, continuing to eat and drink as she stares directly at Princess. Princess refuses to look away. She won't give in to this utter bastard of a woman.

"Most people who protest as much as you do have someone they care about, someone who loves and cares for them. As far as I can tell, you have none of that. Your form is sparse. No friends, barely any hobbies. Your parents turned you in, and we have reason to believe your brother knows. Did you know they've released the details on your supposed death now? Probable suicide, I think they said. You didn't even make a footnote in the news. Maybe you'll be a statistic at the end of the year, but that's all. Even if you did get out, you'd have nowhere to go. No-one to turn to. Nobody to care. Did my colleague tell you how much your parents sold you for?"

Princess stares, unseeing now. He didn't, but they looked it up. In the right corners of the internet, you can find it out. £5000 you get, give or take a bargain or two.

£5000. They'll spend it all on their house and a luxury holiday and maybe a small headstone to pretend they care about the person they took in for money, who was never their real daughter. Who they sold when they weren't going to bring in anything more.

£5000 isn't even a year of tuition fees. That's how little they care, how little Princess means to them, they're not even worth that.

"I see you do. £5000 isn't much for a life, is it? How little they care. How little anyone cares. I mean, they've definitely drugged you before and nobody noticed. Nobody cared. And nobody bothered to report you missing, either, even though hours passed between you being brought in and your 'body' being found. You'd think someone would've noticed your disappearance, if they cared enough to."

The woman's right. Their parents have drugged them before. Most notably when they tried to run away, just after they found out their parents' plan. It was a very open secret after that.

Princess forces back the memories with a great deal of effort. The woman continues.

"But then, you never were the real child, were you? Just the spare, the money tree. Entirely useless. Nobody cares about you outside of here. At least we want you. You have nowhere to go. No home, no friends, no future. You might as well give in now."

They already knew this. They've had all these insults and more thrown at them over the years, by everyone who claimed to care and those who didn't, and they were always able to just brush them off, knowing they were true but it just didn't matter, but it's harder, somehow, coming from this woman. Even if she is torturing them.

But they're not giving in. Not yet. They have plans, and even if they didn't, that doesn't mean they're just going to sit here and politely sign themself into slavery.

"Oh, well. Anyway. I'll leave the rest of this here, I'll be back for it later. I'm sure the smell will sate your appetite. And you know? I was only planning on keeping you in total silence, but after your antics, I think you need something more. Remember, you can stop this at any point."

The woman slides headphones over their head and turns them on. A discordant jumble of instruments comes through them at ear-splitting volume, slamming into their ears, like a physical thing. It just keeps coming and coming, and Princess bites into the silicon bit again to ground themself against the pain. They barely notice as the woman leaves the room.

They do, however, notice when the strobe lights turn on. They're more blinding than the straight fluorescent, flashing different colours, no coherent pattern or timing or anything, drilling into their skull.

They almost give in then, but no. No, they can't do that. They've been through far too much already to just give in now.

[luckynightdinosaur]

Predvember Day 3

Prompt: Phase

Word Count: 1k

Summary: A woman is captured by Weyland-Yutani, and discovers their plans for her.

Pairing: None

Tags: Human experimentation, corrupt corporations, forced pregnancy (future), dialogue-heavy

Warnings: None

Phase One. 

That's what the scientists are calling it. 

"The beginning of a new breed of soldier, one who can do that which regular men and women cannot. That's the goal here, you see?" 

One of them, a short, rotund ginger woman, tells Max as she is tightening the restraints on her wrists. 

"You're crazy," she spits out between gritted teeth, wishing that the force of her glare was enough to cause the woman to drop dead as she struggles on the metal table in a vain attempt to free herself. "You can't do this to me. I'm an American citizen. I have rights." 

The scientist, whose name tag reads "Fritz", clicks her tongue mockingly. "Don't be ridiculous. The moment you signed those papers, you gave up what rights you have. You belong to Weyland-Yutani." 

"You lied to me!" Max shoots back. "This was supposed to be a social study, not some- some crackpot science experiment! You lied." 

Fritz hesitates, but only for a moment, before she shrugs, her blue eyes narrowing. "It was necessary." 

"Necessary?" Max chokes out, a mixture of indignation, terror and fury making her voice crack. 

She can't believe it.

What these people are proposing is insane. For starters, aliens aren't even real, and yet here they are, claiming that they're going to use extraterrestrial…dna, to impregnate her? 

In the hopes that, what? She conceives a brand new organism, something humanity has never seen before? 

It's the most ridiculous thing that she's ever heard. What is this, a sci-fi movie? 

"You're not going to get away with this, you know," she tells Fritz, as she tests the restraints again, wincing at the way they bite into her skin.

Fritz has the audacity to roll her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. "Can you get any more cliché? Of course we're going to get away with it. We did our research. No one is even going to notice that you are gone."

The scientist chuckles, shaking her head. "Even if they do, it's doubtful that they will care too much. Anyone who does care about you….well, they aren't in any position to help you anyway, are they?"

"You don't know anything about me," Max retorts, stung at the implication that this woman is aware of her history, even as her stomach drops. 

Did they actually look into her background? Were they just out here targeting specific people for these supposed tests? Or did they just do it for her specifically? 

"I know a lot about you. I know that you only have one living relative, your grandmother. Though she's not long for this world, is she?"

Max grits her teeth. Her grandma Susan is the only reason she's here. 

She is very sick, and Max can't afford the treatments, only able to work part-time while she attends university. 

Finding the advertisement for the study had felt like a lifeline being thrown to her, like the universe had decided to stop shitting on her for once. 

Stupid. So stupid. 

She can't believe she had actually thought that things were looking up, that she'd actually be able to get her nana help. You know what they say. If it's too good to be true…..

"My job will notice if I don't come in, and-" She begins, trailing off as Fritz snorts, her smirk widening. 

"Your job? You mean that dead end ice cream place? Right. Your coworkers despise you. Besides, you'll be replaced in a few days. I doubt that it'll make much of a difference." 

Fritz turns, picking up various things around the room, continuing to speak. "You don't really have any friends that you contact regularly, either. No pets, and no significant other. It's quite sad, really." 

Max swallows hard, barely paying attention to the other woman's words as she struggles to think of a way out of this mess. 

"Why are you doing this? How could you be a part of something like this? It's….. it's wrong." 

Fritz tilts her head in her direction, setting down various unidentifiable tools on a tray next to the table that Max is restrained on. 

"That's subjective. This is for a good cause. Are you even aware what this means for humanity as a whole? Countless men and women die every year fighting for this country. This project will open doors to advancements the likes we've never seen before. This could save lives. And anything that does that, well. It's not bad in my book." 

She's crazy. She's fucking crazy. She actually thinks this is okay. 

"And what about me?" Max demands. "What if I die because of this? What then? Is that still for 'a good cause'??"

"The sacrifice of a few to benefit the many," Fritz replies with a shrug. "I don't know why you're so upset. Personally, I would be honored to be a part of something like this, but I…don't fit the requirements, sadly." 

Her eyes flick to Max's body, her expression undeniably jealous for the quickest of moments.

Max resists the urge to make a nasty comment, her jaw aching with how hard she's clenching her jaw. 

"Besides," Fritz continues. "You're still getting what you want, you know. Your grandmother will be looked after during this project, and will be as long as you prove useful. You have no reason to be upset."

No reason to-

"No reason to be upset!?" Max shouts, rage flaring through her as she strains herself against her restraints. "Are you delusional, or are you just stupid? How can you say-"

"The doctor will be with you soon," the scientist interrupts loudly. 

She gives her a fake, cheery smile. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. I'll be the intern recording your progress throughout this project. I look forward to assisting you through your journey." 

Before Max can respond, she turns sharply on her heel, and exits the room. 

Leaving her to stare at the door with nothing but dread for company, as she waits for the inevitable. 

[ladyhindsight]

I want to say it really ticks me off when this fandom (and Cassandra Clare to some extent) acts like TMI isn't for children. I've seen posts comparing Cassandra Clare's work to Colleen Hoover. As far as I know Colleen Hoover is an adult novelist who basically makes abuse fetish smut so like great comparison to a YA author guys in the fandom!

Clare's choosing to include things like normalizing abuse (Maia and Jordan) and incest are really terrible. Clare always hides behind the fact that the reason the incest existed in her story was "symbolic" for like how love can make us do evil things. But children can't understand something that complex and Clare does NOT do a good job at making this theme clear in the story and SHE DOES romanticize their incestuous relationship as so bad it's good (Clare fans go reread the scene in book 2 where clary has to kiss Jace in front of everyone and then go reread book 3 where they're constantly kissing and cuddling and sleeping in the same bed in a romantic way) and it's just really upsets me because I've witnessed first hand (I've been in this Fandom since 2013) child fans normalizing and becoming attracted to incest fetish because of these books. I've seen so many children normalizing incest because of Clare's continual refusal to JUST APOLOGIZE! She literally writes these LGBT books with incest fetish and rape fetish tied into it and eventually a conservative is gonna find these books and it's gonna be all over for Miss Clare and the LGBT community will probably be blamed for her bullshit because we're always blamed for gross books like these.

I also wanted to say (and you don't have to post this ask if it's divulging too much I don't want to offend anyone) but I'm an incest survivor. I read these books when I was thirteen years old (they were in my schools library listed for my age and up) and they really really hurt my recovery because at the time I thought what had happened to me was normal and when I read these books I thought it was totally okay and normal what happened to me. I won't go into any more detail than that but these books made it so hard to seperate the "love" from the "abuse". I've talked to others in this fandom and many other girls have said that these books normalized abuse to them because Jace is so controlling and abusive to Clary and she does nothing to stop him. The abuse is also normalized by the Fandom too I see posts all the time joking about how "Jace isn't a hero who helps people he's a hero who helps his girlfriend!!!" And "haha Jace doesn't let clary have her own tooth brush or space or any friends! Sooo kawaaaaiiii!!!!!" Or "if clary died Jace would be worse than sebastian lol so smexyyy!" Like as if that isn't disturbing and disgusting to normalize to MINORS!

I just wanted to take a moment to talk about the people who suffer the most from Cassandra Clare's continuous deflection of any wrong doing. You wrote these books about incest Clare, and children read these books and cannot understand your "complex" symbolism for how incest is bad but it's oh so good. It makes me want to burst into tears sometimes but instead I'll just send this ask and forget about it.

Oh,

P.S.

Fuck you Cassandra Clare for writing a Trump supporter female character who is against incest to try and say all the people who hate incest are Trump supporters or conservatives. I am a victim of a serious fucking trauma and I am not a fucking conservative because I want you to be held accountable for your fucked up books. You have spit in the face of rape victims time and time again and I genuinely hope some day you get torn to shreds by the public for everything you've perpetuated to CHILDREN.

Every once in a while I think about this interview Clare once gave that I saw on YouTube. She said that her readers often told her (at the time of the interview) that they are older than they consider the target audience of her books to be, and Clare commented something along the lines of, if you read her books, no matter the age, you are the target audience. Which is a nice thought, but the tonality is still very juvenile—even in her later works that are supposedly new adult genre. They differ in no way in style or tone from those works that are categorized in young adult fiction.

Colleen Hoover? Yuck. Perhaps it tells something about the mentality of those readers who liken Clare to Hoover.

Clare’s writing, tone, and capacity to handle serious and complex matters have always sucked. Each topic is handled with surface-level attention or used as a vehicle to ruminate and moan over the main couple and their obstacles in love. The writing has never went into any great length to realistically include themes such as incest (societal or personal level approach and attitudes) or abuse because the characters’ need to be liked and loved and be above the characters that are only used as a fodder for ridicule and betterment of the main characters in comparison. All while Clare tries to create a guise of them being “complex” because of the fact. It’s one of the reasons I have found comparing G.R.R. Martin’s style of implementation of different themes to Clare’s meaningful (as there have been convos about this some time back on the blog) because they are not nearly the same even though it is an easy comparison her readers like to make.

When it comes to idealizing abusive behavior, similar attitude within the readership can be seen in Isabelle’s character when she thinks Valentine is hot for being a villain. Young adult literature is littered with characters exactly like Jace who do not face responsibility for their abusive behavior because that is what the author chooses to prioritize and coddle, simultaneously failing to realize the impact that kind of behavior realistically has on others around them. Jace’s behavior isn’t acknowledged because others are meant to serve him and conform around his needs. Even Clary, who is the protagonist and heroine of the story. It’s never really about her—even her pain—it’s about Jace.

When I read TMI for the first time, I was incredibly conflicted with feeling the way I did (hateful and uncomfortable with many decisions and characters) because authors know better, right? This is how it is supposed to be, right? This isn’t supposed to be about anyone else than Clary and Jace, right? So why anything would be done different or better or given more attention to?

Fuck that. And also fuck Zara Dearborn because we know what Clare’s doing. And it’s embarrassing.

I am incredibly sorry that you had to live through such a horrible thing. I can’t even imagine the pain and confusion you’ve had to endure and work through. There isn’t much I can say but I hope you are faring better today and had good and trustworthy people around you to support you during the recovery (and still do). How could you offend anyone with your thoughts when you’ve survived it and know the destruction it causes? Never apologize for that. I wish you happiness and all the best in life.

[detectivetramp]

Theodore "Theo" Holms // Forty-One // Human // Detective

TW: Murder mention, alcohol & drug mention

Growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth was never the life Theo wanted for himself. He was just as quick to spit it out as it had been shoved in his mouth. He could have anything he wanted but all he wanted was freedom and not being used as his parents toy. He hated dinner parties, thought manners were stupid, and never took responsibility for his actions. For a while his parents played it off as being a child but as he got into his teen years the problems only worsened. He snuck out and went to parties, came home drunk far past curfew, and even had the police escort him home a few times.

His parents didn't know what to do with him. The three were always fighting and it always felt like his parents were against Theo. After a final straw and a screaming match Theo was kicked from his home. He was only sixteen at the time and this proved to him his parents never really did love him as a child, just as something to show off to their rich friends. As much as he acted like it didn't bother him, it sure did. He spent many sleepless nights on the street, often just wandering until sun rose. A bed became a rarity for him and food was scarce. He didn't have a penny to his name anymore and he was alone. Theo saw the bright side in many things though and though he struggled for a while, he finally felt free.

It was a lot of odd jobs here or there that Theo would often get fired from because he was still just a punk ass teenager. He didn't like the restrictions of shelters so he found himself a group he wandered with. For a few years they were here or there. Theo got himself into more trouble and the drinking began to get bad. He was angry when he was drunk and all repressed feelings were channeled into whatever surface his fist would collide with.

After a while Theo found himself in Evermore and it would change his life forever. His first day in town he met Layla and she was a sight to thank heaven for. It wasn't his beauty that drove Theo in though. She was from the same background as him, he would learn later on, and yet she wasn't like any of the girls he'd ever met before. She was kind and generous, caring in so many ways, and she wasn't a pretentious brat. He was intrigued by her right away.

They were inseparable from the moment they met and though he may have denied it at first it was love at first sight. Theo had never had anyone in his life that he would take a bullet for or jump in front of a train if it meant sacrificing his life for theirs. Layla quickly became that person. He fell for her hard but was so against a stuffy life again that he was scared to settle down with her. He was still a tramp from the streets that had yet to be tamed.

Theo showed Layla the fun side of life and she made him appreciate the things in life he had once had. He started to clean up his act, cut his hair, and did better for himself for Layla. He loved her so much and never in a million years did he expect to end up settling down and marrying someone he loves. Even three children and a steady career later he was still in awe at his life. There may be stuffy dinner parties again and rules to abide by, but he was truly happy.

There isn't anything Theo wouldn't do for his children. Sure, they're a little spoiled but he only ever wanted them to be shown the love he never had been given. He made sure they were close as a family and wanted nothing more than them to be safe and happy. He tried his best and even at times he was frustrated he loved them dearly. If anyone were to ever hurt his children they would regret the way they were born.

Theo is still very much in love with Layla after all these years. He showers her with his love and makes it known how special she is to him. There is no one he loves more than her, or their kids, and he's often writing her love letters or sending her flowers just because. He's a bit of a romantic deep down but only she's ever seen that side of him. It's reserved only for her.

There was a while, in the beginning of their relationship, when his drinking habits were still rough. He doesn't think he'd ever have gotten through them without her. He lightened up and really only reserves himself to a few drinks at events or some wine on date nights. There are times he's working a case that makes him stay at work a lot of extra hours so he'll occasionally have a drink to unwind when he gets home. Even if he does drink a bit too much now he's not that angry person he once was. He's let a lot go and grew a lot over the years so when he is drunk all he wants to do is kiss his wife and tell her how much he loves her.

He didn't have many hobbies growing up other than being a menace to his parents but as he found a stable life for himself he began to find things he enjoyed. Some cliché, but others he's found he just has a strange enjoyment for. He collects vinyls, reads fiction novels, and has a strange affinity for funny coffee mugs. He likes to go fishing in the summer and teach his kids but also enjoys staying up a bit too late to finish the latest show he is watching with Layla. He's also found he has a knack for cards and enjoys playing, sometimes for money and sometimes for the hell of it.

He's very content with the life he has now and wouldn't trade it for anything. He did a full 180 on himself and shaped up, found love, and made something of himself. He's proud of his progress, but tries not to let his cockiness let that out too much. He's pretty reserved about some of his emotions still, but Layla manages to get it out of him most of the time. He doesn't like talking about his childhood much and focuses that energy on making sure his children have a happy childhood of their own.

He's made quite the name for himself as a detective. It's never a profession he saw himself in but he's passionate and good at what he does. Most of his cases tend to be things like disappearances or murders and he works damn hard at figuring out the case.

He's not as arrogant as he once was but that part can still come out. He's still sarcastic and cracks jokes, but as he's tamed over the years he's become more serious and stern at times. He's still the same tramp he once was in many ways but so much more of him shines now.

Libra sun, Leo moon, Scorpio rising

[vvatchword]

Failure on Every Level: A Texas Story

Shouting Lady got on the bus today and we nearly had a full fucking fight. There was a security guard on the bus and idk what they taught this man but the very first thing he did was rare up and throw out a hand as the Shouter mounted the bus stairs. Guys that is called escalation. I know he meant well but I was like yikes is this your job? You suck.

Shouter was perhaps late fifties, big sunglasses, clearly homeless because she had a rolling suitcase and all her bags balanced on top of it. The homeless often have reusable bags donated by or acquired from a big local grocery store. I'm guessing that the local aid groups use them to donate supplies. You can pick them out of crowds.

What is with mental illness and the n-word? What the fuck is it? The world is full of slurs and all they have is that one. Okay, and fatass. They've got that one down. I never say or do anything to these folks but they tend to pick me out. They ain't wrong, this ass is fat. Again, doesn't bother me. It's the truth and they're stuck living one of the most miserable lives I can imagine. They can call me whatever they want. Won't change the fact I'm on top of the world, comparatively speaking, and if they can get an ounce of pleasure out of it, I'm actually glad to provide the service.

But again. The n-word. My friends. Why. I think because it's the most vile taboo word outside of, perhaps, "cunt." It always makes you cringe and sucks all the comfort out of the room. And there are always, always black folks on the bus when they employ it. Sometimes the slur-user is spitting full racist screeds and you turn to look at them and they are black themselves. And you're like wait. Wait what is going on. This is cursed

My supposition is that it's a way to stop being invisible. It's so awful that everyone becomes aware of it and the speaker becomes the most visible person on the bus. The other riders can't ignore it. It may also be a way of blowing off steam or attempting to wrest some kind of power back--claiming you're better than so-and-so because you're white and that's all you have left. Maybe several elements at once. I mean nobody gets on the bus screaming poetry, you know.

I take that back. There's one homeless guy who freestyle raps every time he gets on the bus. Annoying as fuck but preferable. Once I complimented him on his skills, but he flinched and stared at me like I was going to smack him. Poor guy, seriously. I haven't seen him since the winter. I hope he's okay.

anyway today's shouter was very white. She was screaming furiously into a phone. I'm not sure she was even talking to anyone. She was screaming about dying in the heat, and the implication was that someone had kicked her out. I vaguely remembered her from somewhere, which is a bad sign.

"MA'AM DON'T GET ON THIS BUS ANGRY PLEASE," shouted security guard. This always works, as does "calm down" and "have you tried yoga?"

"HAWRAnGANGaA" or something from the Shouting Lady. She was always talking, always in a stream of consciousness sort of way, with every word shouted and the same non-stop rhythm and volume and mood, like an unstoppable river current, so it was kinda hard to tell what she was saying. She never shut her mouth unless someone was talking to her, and the only reason other people talked to her was because they were telling her to shut up. At one point six unrelated people were yelling at once.

"Ah good," i thought. "Hell."

Security guard yelled about how he was a security guard and had been in the military. Big cringe moment friends. If you are, you are, you know? If you have to bring out your credentials your insecurity is showing. Also he's already twice her size and ten years younger, if she's not respectful now she's not going to start, ok

"I don't care if you were in the military!" Shouting Lady shouts.

for the record, he was trying to win by cowing this lady and this lady thrived on anxiety. Here's how you deescalate, for the record:

You smile. You speak softly. You hold eye contact. You ask their name. You use their name often while speaking to them. What has their day been like? What's wrong? Oh that's too bad. What do you think the solution is? Oh, I agree. Lots of nodding, smiling, gentleness. You make the conversation all about them, all open-ended questions. Their voice may not go down, but it can refocus them, make their tones more pleasant, and they don't have the urge to attack strangers. Half of the problem is that they feel like nobody sees them and nobody cares.

You don't go all full Tough Guy and threaten to pile-drive them like Security Guard literally did.

Everyone settles down somewhat while Shouting Lady shouts her interpretation of what had just happened ("i was attacked by that guy for no reason! You are going to lose your job!!!"). Bus driver asks her to calm down. Shouting Lady shouts about her civil rights and how bus driver is just supposed to drive.

Without warning, Shouting Lady gets up and lifts her phone and marches up the aisle to take a picture of Security Guard. Security Guard launches off like a furious doberman screaming "GET THAT CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE I WILL RIP IT OUT OF YOUR HAND" and Shouting Lady staggers backwards, clearly terrified. Won't lie, it was kinda gratifying to watch her nearly piss herself. A wise motherfucker ain't fucking with Security Guard. He exuded Do Not Mess with Me or You Have the Right to Stay Silent FOREVER. The guy was short, but stacked, and you had the sensation that he could flip that old lady and smash her flat like a coke can. I noticed she didn't use the n-word on him. She had that much sense, i guess.

Security Guard and Shouting Lady go back and forth a bit. I'm sorry, who taught this man shit? Fire them. Then fire him. As far as I'm concerned he was just making things worse. Made me think about shitty police work. Fight everybody, threaten them, if they don't stop, make them stop by force. Diplomacy? Wtf is that lol. Imma big man grrrr big cock grrr strong grrrrrrr

It also bothered me--i was listening to other passengers--how people attributed her behavior not to mental illness, but to her specifically. Like they couldn't see the reason for why she was acting like that. Do you not see the way she's speaking, do you not hear the way she strings words together, do you not realize that this isn't normal? So why are you trying to use reason on what is clearly emotional? The computer is borked, do not appeal to the computer. Find the root and dig it out. It's emotional and social need. And medicine and therapy. That too.

And then one of the other passengers, an older man in a page-boy cap--might've been the same one from two days ago--rose up and shouted, "Lady if you don't stop I'm going to call down Jesus into this bus right now. I'm going to rebuke that spirit in you. There is something wicked in you"

Me: (thinking) it's called mental illness and a shitty social safety net but go off I guess

Page-Boy Cap starts loudly praying and suddenly Security Guard stalks down there and slaps a hand on his shoulder, then bends his head in prayer. For those of you who don't understand, there's a belief in evangelical churches in the power of healing with the laying on of hands and "where two of you are, there I shall be also". Implication is that you can have miraculous powers if there are two of you or more. Long story short, little public exorcism right there on the bus.

Texas, my friends. Texas

Shouting Lady looks concerned for the second time. I almost never see shouting people of her ilk look concerned. I guess being told you're demon possessed is kinda startling no matter who you are. Also, she probably considered herself Christian too, i realized after some thought. Not uncommon for religion to be the subject of some shouting people. Everyone is trying to impose order on an unreasonable world and that's the crux of faith in general.

Bus driver finally slowed down and she's like, does anyone want to get on the bus behind me

Everyone gets up at once. I think that's when Shouting Lady realized nobody was on her side. She got off the bus in a huff and marched off toward a store to make everybody there sad.

Security Guard got off at the capitol stop.

Oh my god. You know what this means? He's probably one of the guards at the capitol building. That building is absolutely covered with guards fully kitted out in bullet-proof armor and automatic combat rifles. It's actually terrifying to walk in there. There is no reason to have a full platoon stationed there unless you are the most insecure and/or hypermasculine piece of shit imaginable. And guess what Texas' political top dogs are? All peacocking and grandstanding. We neeeeeeed 300 guys in bullet-proof armor and combat rifles here in order to show how very in control we are. We need to protect ourselves from (checks back of hand) high-school trans athletes!!!!

We're in their hands my fellow Texans. We're in these giant children's hands and I hate them