#blorbo from my fanfic

[systemic-dreams]

I made a playlist for Elliot Krangsdt! it's not perfect, but I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you enjoy :)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/74AkiNXEmX08a5NwEqQedm?si=MXJCo-P7Tj-arIF93s4XKw

I've been listening to this all day. what a jam. it's so different to what i usually listen to. like walking into a room with brightly coloured walls.

"sometimes the only road to take is the darkest" really hits. i think Evan only ever took that road and Elliot is still confused about having other options. like, there's a fork in the road now but the light side is unfamiliar, so he needs to be dragged in and told it's okay, it's not a trick

literally all of momento mori gets it. but it's so upbeat and almost playful in tone. i get an insomnia/insanity vibe. staying up way too long and going a little crazy. or a lot crazy.

hollow moon was very acoustic and folksy. i had to look up the lyrics because i was missing them with all the flourishes but damn. "if I made my bed, did I make the demons in it?" ummm. yes. I think as much as Evan had actual demons, Elliot is creating phantom demons to fill the holes the horrors have left in his psyche. and his decisions absolutely created the demons that plague him now. spot on.

lampshades' "fear makes us really really run around" is 100% Elliot but also Evan. whenever he was afraid or uncomfortable, Brennan would try to move him out of the scene or just leave the space. but the pilot program would follow instead of letting him go alone. which made the exits seem like transitions instead of escapes. Even Evan's exit from the school which the pilots stop in the series, is Evan removing himself from the area because he's afraid of what he will do to do people close to him. Elliot has a different problem, in that, dangerous things are happening to people he cares about and he runs around trying to fix them out of fear they will be hurt or killed.

"i'd give an arm and a leg, just to go, just to be on my own, but i need to stay and fend for myself." definitely an adult Elliot feeling. I think younger Elliot tried to leave the Krangsdts multiple times. just because of past experience with foster families either treating Evan poorly or getting eaten by monsters. and he doesn't remember, but the feeling of being in a house with people in it is not a comfortable one. I think he eventually learned he cant just go AWOL but he still couldnt live in a house with people in it. the excuse he made to himself would be: he needed somewhere to stash his vampire hunting gear and crash when he gets beat up so he doesnt look sus or worry anyone. but its more than that.

cicada days really got me with lines like "it just feels inhuman to lose this much" i mean, fr. I don't think Evan is human or considers himself human. no one can go through that much trauma and come out sane. it's a miracle or some form of magic that keeps a spark of naivety and hope and goodness alive in him. even if he's super broken. there's cynicism in his personality but it's more of a healthy scientific skepticism. it isn't despair. there's a lot of pain that comes from keeping that spark of good alive within incalculable darkness. and you get hit with "now it feels damn inhumane to get all i've dreamt of" which i think is more applicable to the later chapters i havent published. but there is massive guilt there. like, 'it's too good to be true', 'what's the catch?', why? how? waiting for it all to come crashing down because it couldnt all possibly be happening.

also, "cause when you leave you know you take more than your love" i feel hits more with K. because it's unsaid between them. there's not enough time to process feelings. they barely confess and suddenly it's time to part. and you cant say 'i love you' yet. but you want to. but it's just too much and its probably not true. and when Evan leaves, he does take that love with him and also their futures.

moonsickness is so raw with "I'm the worst mistake your god has ever made". it's too bad i don't like penelope scott's voice or tone. she might as well be ordering a pizza over the phone lol. great lyrics though. i would love to hear a cover that does them justice. i think early Elliot does feel like a mistake and that plagues him for a while. my plan was to have the pilot program flip the switch eventually and turn it into "I'm the worst mistake your god has ever made and I'm gonna make it your problem." but i don't know if i'll ever get there. writing hard hurr durr

this was so fun! thank you for sharing! I've never made a playlist for Elliot because in my mind he was always a caricature of every popular emo song i could think of. stuff that K and Cody Walsh would think is cool but in reality would be a nightmare. when i put them in a playlist, it became clear why he is my blorbo lol.

please find attached: my emo son - the playlist

[airlocksandaviaries]

2 genres of fanfiction:

1) put that guy into situations

2) take that guy OUT of situations for the love of GOD let them REST 

[umblrspectrum]

i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character

[i-will-write]

Me, asking for prompt for my newest blorbo:

[painedpen]

I need more future!Mondo fics about Mondo breaking free of the toxic environment and worldview that came from his time in the Crazy Diamonds. Give me a slow burn with Mondo gradually accepting that the accident truly was an accident. Give me Mondo realizing that he doesn’t have to choose between masculinity and femininity, and that enjoying pretty or stereotypically “feminine” things doesn’t make him any less of a man.

Give me Mondo reintroducing joy into his life. Mondo who gets into college (as “success is guaranteed after Hope’s Peak”) and studies carpentry and architecture because it makes him happy. Mondo dresses just as flashy as he did in high school, just in a different way, no matter how “effeminate” it looks to others.

Give me Mondo who doesn’t get better overnight. Who still feels waves of anger so intense he can’t breathe, and struggles to keep himself from snapping at the people who care about him. Mondo who takes forever to realize that his negative self-image is warped because of his trauma, and can’t quite let himself think he deserves good things.

Give me a Mondo who breaks down, who relapses, who recovers, who heals.

[poppitron360]

People shit on Shakespeare for being boring but my guy wrote real person fanfiction and tortured his ocs and told cringe jokes and had hidden gay subplots and played with gender too- he just did it in

a squiggly font

[powdermelonkeg]

You.

Take your favorite blorbo.

They're now a Tav in BG3.

Congration.

How are they faring?

[ganondoodle]

utterly random late night panic thoughts but

if you read my zelda comic and like it i love and appreciate you but i really do need to be upfront about it being very much a self indulgent enemies to lovers story with a villain at the center that has done bad but isnt bad at his core and is struggeling to come to terms with the fact that he doesnt actually want to be the evil beast he and almost everyone else believes he should be

yes im one of those people ... fake villain fans or something ... i think .. i dont know the rules to that ... q-q

[ricciardo133]

July 2018

maxiel, Daniel genderswap, pining, drunken hook-up alluded to

-

Max wakes up slowly, feeling a girl cling to his side in the hotel bed. He can't remember Daniel and him inviting girls over to their shared room to unwind after Silverstone, but they did drink an inadvisable amount. Daniel had drank some noxiously sweet wine that some fan had gifted him. Idiotic, Max had thought. Max stuck to gin, a drink that normally doesn't leave him feeling this discombobulated. He feels wrecked, sore, and achy. He doesn't even feel ready to open his eyes.

The woman beside him stretches and sighs. "Rough night, eh, Maxy?" she says in a familiar Australian lit.

They both freeze.

Max sits up, slapping around the hotel lamp until he finds the switch. He stares wide-eyed at the woman lying beside him, her mass of dark curls against tan skin. Her wide, familiar eyes with that distinctive nose set between. Her hands are flung over her mouth, but Max can still see the right tattoos in the right places, only against different curves.

He glances down at perky, bare tits and soft, wide hips, and then back up in embarrassed shock.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"You're a girl."

"So I've noticed."

Max gets up, starkly aware of his own nudity. He fumbles in the morning light for clothes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

He's still quite himself, but the hickeys are new. He didn't know his face could feel this hot. He mentally feels memories from last night brush against his psyche in frustratingly fleeting snippets. Biting down on soft thighs. Warmth and tightness. Hard nipples in his mouth. God, he thinks, we finally did it and I can't fucking remember shit.

He looks back, seeing Daniel is gone. He panics and hustles to the bathroom where not-Daniel-but-still-Daniel stands and assess his body.

"Wow, kinda thought girl-me would have a bigger rack."

"You're taking this well."

"Well, obviously, we're dreaming."

"Hm."

Daniel twists in his spot, watching his reflection as he gives his ass a smack. Max is immediately hard.

"Daniel."

"Max," he echoes with faux shock. "Relax, this is, like, a seriously vivid dream. A horny one at that. I think we boned last night."

Max can't utter a word. He just watches as Daniel feels up his own body, smaller hands drifting over smooth skin. His nails skate along his thigh's tattoos, upwards to drift along fine hair between his legs. Max squirms and feels anything but asleep.

"So real," Daniel whispers.

"Can you maybe put something on?" Max begs. Daniel cocks an eyebrow and smirks. Max feels unnerved seeing his expressions in a feminine font. Daniel's refreshing confidence always made Max feel... too much. Like if he wasn't careful, he could spill over with it all. Watching Daniel now fondle his chest, pressing the small mounds together as he assessed himself in the mirror, Max felt ready to burst.

And they fucked. He turns and heads out to the hotel room.

Life is cruel and this dream sucks and he wishes he could remember.

"Hey, Max, hey," Daniel soothes, coming up behind him and blessedly covered in a hotel towel. "I seriously think this can't be real. Just like...what's that DiCaprio film?"

"Huh? Inception?"

"Yeah, that one. Just a really, really good...weird dream."

"Okay, then hit me." Max walks up to Daniel. He's not used to being this much taller. He feels dizzy again with need, wanting nothing more than to pin the older Aussie down on the bed. To hike his soft yet strong legs over his shoulders. Maybe it'd be fine if they did it again, since it maybe is an impossible dream and Daniel's not a boy right now. Not that it mattered normally. Max didn't care, he just wanted to feel him all over again.

"What?" Daniel smiles, eyebrows knit in confusion.

"In dreams, that's how you wake up. Like, a kick to jolt you awake, right?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, we should wake up."

Max leans closer and turns his cheek.

"I'm not smacking you, Max. Here," Daniel takes Max's hand in his. All Max wants was to knit their fingers together, to feel the way his palm is finally bigger than Daniel's. "We'll do it to ourselves, okay?"

Daniel places Max's hand against his own cheek. He watches the gorgeous woman in front of him mirrors him, hand raised gently, fingertips against the curls that fall so, so long down to the middle of Daniel's back. He'd look so good with hair like that even as a boy. Max thinks to tell him this and stops himself.

"On three, yeah?"

"Okay."

Daniel counts down, in that singsong voice that's his but not his pitch. Max tries to commit it to memory as he gives himself a just-too-painful slap.

And nothing changes. The only thing that changes is now Daniel panics.

"Holy fucking shit, Max."

"Daniel-"

"This is real."

"We'll fix this," Max tries as Daniel starts tearing apart the hotel room. Max glances at the clock on the nightstand while Daniel goes on a heated search for something. "We don't have to leave for the flight for two hours."

Christ. He pictures telling their team anything. Daniel can still race, of course, Max thinks. He'll just need a new suit that fits better. And some adjustments to the car's seat fit. And a good PR statement that, yes, something impossible happened overnight but no worries we'll be set for Hockenheim so don't worry about how this happened.

"This!" Daniel says, leaping up to Max and putting a small card in his hand. "This is why! Read it. It came with the wine that hot girl gave me."

Max rolls his eyes and reads it. He narrows his gaze. "A change, temporary, good for two? What's that mean?"

"Beats me, but read it again. Temporary." He sighs, letting his head knock back. Max stares at the line of hickeys down Daniel's thinner neck, too faint. "I do kinda miss my dick."

"How does it feel?" Max asks despite himself. "To be a girl?"

"Good, I guess." Does Daniel press his thighs together reflexively, Max wonders. He feels pent up and horny again. "Like, I don't mind it, but it'll be hell to buy a whole new wardrobe," he attempts to joke through shaky laughs.

"Maybe that note meant 'two' like in two times," Max says, voice quiet.

All he can hear for a moment is the whirl of the hotel aircon. He watches Daniel's feminine frame, his big eyes and wet lips.

"Can you remember any of it?" Daniel asks, voice barely registering above the whirl.

"Not much."

"And it kinda doesn't count, right? Because I'm not really me right now, so its okay? And you don't mind?"

It can count, Max wants to beg. It can. It can be okay after, too. It can be okay all the time.

"I don't mind. You're hot as a girl." The last three words feel too final. Daniel's shoulders fall as he nods.

"Yeah, a stunner, huh? So, well, we'll take her for one last ride."

Finally, Daniel walks up and pushes Max onto the hotel bed. Max's mind reels as Daniel lets the towel drop. Two breasts in Max's face as he feels thighs straddle his waist. His hands fly up to trace eager lines up Daniel's spine and rake gentle tracks back down with his nails. They both shudder.

"Last time, right?" Daniel says between kisses down Max's neck. Max feels his eyes water. It doesn't have to be. But he doesn't say anything. He flips Daniel over on the bed, body tenting over the smaller frame. And this time, he focuses. He wants to make Daniel feel good. He wants to come inside. He wants to etch every moment deep in his mind, so he'll remember every gasp, every touch, every sigh.

[vultures-and-scavengers]

in this weird place where i do think its plausible cullen has worked through a lot in the 3-4 years between da2 and inquisition but i also think he's 100% not done fixing his shit.

he accuses the mages way too quickly in haven, and then when the templars are throwing their hissy fit (and remember, the inquisition has no idea what's happening) while the mages reach out he still wants to go talk to the templars instead.

he gives the templars the benefit of the doubt, continually, and like. idk, i just wish DAI gave us a moment to hammer down either

we had to save the order from red lyrium and we keep seeing templars refuse to question their orders and refuse to consider their own actions or

the order has glutted itself on poison and power and serves a blighted tevinter magister and not a single deserter from therinfal showed up at our doors. they followed their orders and marched into living death.

i need that confrontation where he has to finally stop giving them the benefit of the doubt. and without him saying, "i was wrong about [specific action]," like, i can't blame people who dislike him. there isn't really a satisfying confrontation in DAI regarding his past. i wish there was, but its kinda been left to fanfic writers at this point, lmao.

[nohomie]

I havent been this invested in making something in... like a while. Still going slower than a snails pace but im kinda getting there

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[artemis-pendragon]

Gently and lovingly picks my blorbos up and throws them directly through a wall

[bakedbakermom]

Sharing is Caring rated X // 33k // kinktober MFM threesome

Chapter 1: What Happens in Vegas... (ao3)

Scully meets Mulder and their “new friend.”

Her world shrinks to the size of her skin, to the grope and squeeze and pinch of their fingers slipping over—and sometimes beneath—her dress.

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @xffictober24

[zombie-bait]

I mean..... fighting in the car...... do I even have to say it?

[england-would-fall]

Happy Mother’s Day to all moms (self-identifying) spending the day with their children (blorbos from their shows) 💐