#but now i have them back because I am smart and made a copy on my mom's laptop

[sanguineterrain]

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

[spidybaby]

Tea party

Summary: All it takes for you to fix your problems is a tea party.

Warnings: None.

"You can't be serious, are you?" He says between laughs.

"I am. Stop laughing. "

"Oh please, you're being ridiculous."

You stopped arguing, feeling like your feelings are not important to him.

You turn around, not wanting him to see the tears in your eyes. As much as you try to control your breathing, you can't stop the sob that leaves your mouth.

The moment he heard you crying, he knew he fucked up, no matter the situation or what the actual fight was about he crossed a line.

The argument was accumulated tension, or maybe it was the fact that you felt ignored.

He tries to reach you, but as soon as you feel his hands on you, you back away from him, making your way upstairs, needing space to calm you down.

You take a few breaths and clean your tears, not wanting your kid to see you like that.

"Hi baby," you say as you enter your daughter's room, "was your movie good?" She nodded, dedicating you a sweet smile.

All the anger and the sadness you felt because of the argument was now put aside. The sight of your four year old makes you calm down.

"Are you ready for the tea party, Mommy?"

"Of course I am, baby. I even have a perfect tiara for the occasion." You kiss her cheek and start preparing the little table for the tea party she wanted to have.

Kylian gave her a tea set as a present, and she was obsessed with it, always asking you to have tea parties with her.

Today was not different. She made little invitations for the tea party, giving one to you, one to Kylian and one to Teddy, her special teddy bear.

"What tiara are you wearing, my love?" You ask her finishing the setting of the table, just like she likes it. "You want to wear your pink one?"

She's getting her teddy bears ready for the party, as they're the special guests. "Yes, please."

Fixing the tiara on her head without messing her curls, you kiss her cheeks, admiring her. She was a copy of her dad, the eyes as glowing as his, the smile as big as his. She was perfect.

She was Kylians whole life. If she saw something she likes, she'll have it the next day. He makes sure she grows like the princess that he says she is.

"Let me get the tea and the food for us to start, okay?"

"Can you tell Daddy we are waiting for him?"

You tried not to change your expression. For her sake, you were going to act as if nothing happened.

"Yes, I'll go get Daddy."

You exit the playroom and make your way downstairs. The kitchen alone.

You prepare the things quickly, putting them on a wood plate.

Before leaving, you walk over to his office, and the door is open, so it's easy for you to get his attention.

"Hey," you say bearly audible.

"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't."

you cut him off, not ready for this conversation.

"Not now, Kylian. Let's just go upstairs."

As you were about to leave he grabbed you arm.

"Please hear me out"

"Not now, our daughter is waiting for us. Let's go."

Your move your arm freeing you from his hands.

He follows you closely as you grab the things and walk upstairs back to where your daughter is waiting.

"Hi princess," he says, picking her up. "I love your tiara. You look beautiful"

You set everything while they talk. Kylian has his eyes fixed on your every move.

"You need your crown, Daddy"

He puts her down and takes a seat while she looks for his king crown.

You took a seat on the other side of the table, moving one of the teddy bears, not wanting to sit next to him.

He's trying to ignore the situation, not wanting to ruin the rest of the day.

Kylian helps your kid with the crown and helps her sitting at her "special place" the one she herself picks only for her to sit on.

"One or two cubes of sugar?" You daughter ask you serving some tea on the cup.

"Two, please."

The tea party continues, and neither Kylian nor you are speaking.

As much as you think your daughter is unaware of the situation, she's a smart girl, and she can sense how you're ignoring each other.

She's used to seeing you two being all touchy and loving, so now that you are not even looking or making conversation, she starts to feel uneasy.

"Daddy"

"Yes, my princess?"

The tears in her eyes make Kylian worry.

"What's wrong bébé?"

She doesn't answer, her lips quivering as she starts sobbing, Kylian picks her up from her seat and places her at his lap. "Don't cry, princess. Tell me what's wrong."

You get up and move to where she was sitting, your hand caressing her back.

"I don't want you to stop loving my mommy"

You exchange a worried look, not aware of the fact that she heard the argument.

"Don't cry, princess. That's never going to happen."

"Are you going to stop living with us?"

She was now crying uncontrollably.

"No princess, stop crying, please. I'm sorry."

Kylian lulls her into his arms, repeating her that everything was okay.

"Amour, please don't cry."

She calmed down a little as you both reassured her that nothing was going to happen.

"I'm sorry, princess. I promise you I'll never stop loving your mommy."

"Then why were you yelling?"

You feel like crying, not wanting your child to have to deal with the fighting.

"It was nothing, amour, daddy and I were just mad, but that doesn't mean we don't love each other. I love Daddy so much."

Kylian extended his arm for you to cuddle into him.

"I don't want you to end like Lola's parents."

And that's when it hit you.

You were Lola's mother shoulder to cry about her divorce. She spent days with you crying about all her marriage problems, and that was also affecting Lola. You never thought your kid was picking all the negative energy from that. But now you realize your mistake, talking about adult thing in front of the kids.

"Baby," you felt comical for a moment, wanting to even laugh at your daughter innocence, but you weren't going to, not wanting to make the situation worse for her. "Daddy and I would never end like that. That's a totally different situation. I'm sorry you thought that, I'm sorry you heard us fighting."

Her eyes are now on you.

"You promise."

She put her pinkie up, and you wrap your own with her.

"I do."

You kiss her cheek and dry her tears.

"I'm sorry, princess."

Kylian fixes her tiara and kiss her cheek.

"You love mommy?"

He laughs, looking at you now.

"I love your mommy so much I can't even explain to you. And I'm really sorry I ever made you think I didn't."

Your eyes water, feeling overwhelmed.

"And I love you so so so so much, Ky."

You close the distance, kissing him quickly.

"And we both love you, princess."

You both kiss her, making her laugh.

"Another kiss"

She laughed as you kissed each other and her again.

You stay like that as the evening continues, finishing the tea party.

When the night arrives, you go down to prepare dinner for your family.

After a few minutes, Kylian enters the kitchen with your kid in arms, laughing at something.

He puts her down as she go looking for her coloring book.

"I'm sorry, you know how much I love you, I never meant to dismiss your feelings, I understand where you were coming from, and I'm sorry about it. I'll promise to work on that."

You turn the heat off and turn to face him.

"I'm sorry too, I don't like fighting with you."

You hug him tightly.

"I want a hug too"

You both laugh, hugging your little bundle of joy.

Yes, you have your ups and downs, but that's life. At the end of the day, you were thankful for your little family, knowing that your wouldn't change a thing.

[correctproseka]

An essay on autistic Mafuyu

Coming from a very autistic person.

Mafuyu has a bunch of autism symptoms, but a lot of them can also be explained by other reasons, such as her upbring and trauma, but not all of them, so I'm going to start speaking about the explainable by other things traits and move up to "boy you're tism". (Notw that the trauma explanation can also have a pre-disposition to happen due to tism)

In the biggest "can be explained by her trauma" category, we actually have the biggest reason people headcanon her as autistic. Her Alexithymia. Which is just a fancy word for "can't recognize her own feelings". No i did not have to copy paste that name to not write it wrong. Yes, many autistic people are bad at recognizing their own feelings, me included. But we also have to note that Mafuyu absolutely hid away those feelings for a mask and because they were needs not being met, a "good girl" like her doesnt get sad or angry right? Thats what made her push down those feelings so much she just ended up.. numb. Its extremely common in depression as well as autism which made me personally not realize i was depressed until someone made me put it into words, it was similar to my normal.

Theres also her.. exquisite vocabulary, Mafuyu uses lots of fancy terms sometimes, which is very stereotypical white boy autism. But also, she was pushed books down her throat by her mom since she was a child, she was expected to be this "fancy" and "smart-sounding". So she is.

Observant. Mafuyu doesn't talk a lot, she observes. She can recognize things on others sometimes, but mostly about the environment, which can be an autism noticing a bird singing 5 blocks away or a trauma "i need to notice this or i get fucked" reaction.

Mafuyu as mentioned, tends to listen more than speak, I am personally not this kind of autism, but it exists, Mafuyu is quiet, listening and only speaking when she feels her input is needed. This can be simply a mixture of autism and trauma. She doesn't feel the need to speak, so she doesn't, why would she waste her energy like that? Smh.. but also her good girl mask is supposed to be a good listener, not much of a yapper.

Now we are starting to move onto the things she does that are less explained by trauma and more explained by tism. Which is my favorite part to analyze.

Parallel play: Mafuyu seeks comfort with being with niigo and working alongside them, she doesn't even need to be talking, as seen by the kitty event where she kept just listening to them on earphones, she just wants to be near her people and gets calmed down by being with them.

Bluntness. As an autistic person i am extremely blunt in wrong situations, and can easily not recognize its the wrong situation. Per example Mafuyu's "why dont you imagine you're gonna get killed if you dont do it in half an hour" or all the times she points something out to Ena and gets a scream back because it was the wrong time? Mafuyu says what she thinks and when out of the mask she really. Really. Lacks a filter, because she doesn't know when or what she's supposed to speak or not

She.. kind of needs people to say the obvious? Sometimes she doesnt realize whats going on, why she's reacting in a way, so and so. One of the reasons Mizuki had to tell her it's ok to run away. Mafuyu never considered it. It wasn't obvious for her like it would be for a lot of people, she's kind of very oblivious in emotional matters like that, and needs someone (coughs usually Mizuki) to explain something to her

There's probably more but im doing this in like 15 minutes.

Plus, all in all, she makes autistic people like me really relate to her, even if they can be mostly explained by trauma doesnt mean she doesn't show those signs or that they're only because of that, even the mask she uses is a known neurodivergent thing.

[igglemouse]

"So, how do I look? Human enough?" I ask my idiot assistant Dre with a hopeful smile. Dre Ogve is her name, yes, like me she only has two names. Two signifiers, I should say, a badge of shame amongst our kind. But that's not why I'm here, I'm here to blend in, and I know that humans really like standing out and so I've made a disguised that will do just that but in a more classy way. "How's the hair?"

Dre's eyes widen and her expression is that of pure horror. "Zer..." she starts to say, her voice a waver as she pretends as if she's seen some kind of accident. "Th-that's not how a normal human female looks!"

See, that's the problem with her, she thinks she knows everything. "Dre, what is the issue?" I'm genuinely confused. The pants are bright and pink, which I know is a color to signal to others that one is female, and it even has dots on it with a variety of soft colors. I'm wearing thick boots as well, just in case the terrain is rough, and my hair is what is currently in on this planet.

"Everything," Dre whispers, she acts as if I've physically assaulted her.

Alright, maybe I do need to work on my look a bit, but let's not let her off the hook here. I specially told her to secure me a suitable home here on this very planet and what has she found? I believe this is what you humans would call trash? I live in trash. Dust is every where, dirt is every where, and there is a strange smell that lingers in this place. From what I can tell, is this even a proper home?

"Dre, what is this? Was there nowhere else?" I demand, glaring at her. I have to be firm with her because honestly she's horrible at her job, just terrible. But she's also not very smart so what can you expect from an idiot?

"We had no simoleons because YOU insisted that they trade in bottle caps here, remember?" She dares to snap back, trying to shift the blame, as she always does. Yes, yes, I might have made a slight tiny miniscule miscalculation regarding the various forms of currency you all trade in but how can you blame me? There's like hundreds of them and besides...

"I WAS PLAYING A GAME BASED ON THEIR HISTORY AND BOTTLE CAPS WERE THE CURRENCY! WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?" I say throwing my hands up and am forced to deal with living in trash for now.

"A clown?" she says holding back laughter and the sound of her amusement really grates on my nerves. I hate her. I loathe her. Yet, what can I do with her? I'm so frustrated with her that I send her questions and queries mentally, too angry to speak. We Sixams can transmit thoughts and ideas and have entire conversations mentally. This isn't mind reading. One can only receive what what is sent to them and so I wonder what even is a clown? She sends an image back and I'm still confused.

"Yes Dre? I don't see why that is a bad thing?"

"A clown is a joke," she's smirking. I know this smirk, this expression. She's laughing at me. "A big walking joke, Zer, and that's what you look like. A fool. A dummy. A joke."

"Well why don't you show me YOUR disguise?" I snap back. I hate this being, truly, but she is also oddly endearing...in a very annoying kind of way and an impossible to get rid of kind of way.

"You're just going to copy me Zer, that's what you always do, copy me." She is so smug, I can see it on her face, I want to lug something heavy and smash her face with it...because she's not wrong. I would copy her, but that makes ME the genius since she's the one doing all the work and I'll make sure she knows that.

"That is how this works, Dre. You are MY assistant, so I take your suggestions, so give me a suggestion." I tap my foot to let her know that I'm growing impatient with her act.

She rolls her eyes and groans but she does help. Sending me a mental image of what I can look like and what she thinks would be considered normal on this planet. I guess it looks better, I'll just have to trust her on this.

But before I can work on changing my look I'll need a job so that I can escape this garbage of a home. I cannot take over this planet operating from here.

While I am here I'll work on cleaning things up, not only this 'house' but this planet because honestly you all have failed to do it. Plastic every where and I mean EVERYWHERE and trash in your seas. I honestly wonder how you all have made it this far?

But now it is time for my makeover. As I look at my reflection in a mirror I'm not exactly sure what's wrong with my look but again I'll trust Dre on this. She means well, usually...

There! I do think this is much better! Ah, I've almost forgot! I can't go around being called Zer and so I've come here with a name in mind. Priya Patel. Please do not ever refer to me as Zer, I wouldn't want to blow my disguise.

I looked around until I found a big metal can just laying up against a fence and to my surprise it was filled with tons of useful stuff. Do you humans just throw away things like this? So odd. So incredibly stupid. Perfectly good items, like a fully functional chair, just in the trash? Let me guess, you take this trash and then put it all in a LARGER pile of trash, don't you?

Welp, your loss is my gain and maybe if I find something valuable enough I can sell it and move out of my trash house. Sounds like a decent enough plan, for now.

I take that old dirty chair and put it into my recycler which I should point out is primitive. We Sixams have a way to turn any and every thing into energy. This chair? Yeah, we'd turn it into water. So you can figure my surprise when the recycler just turned it into more useful trash. Well, that's a start, it looks like it'll be on me to save your world before I can conquer it.

You are welcome, by the way.

I head back inside and find Dre sitting there on my couch. I'm not sure where she's been and honestly I do not care. She doesn't live here but she will have this annoying ability to just pop up when she feels like it. Typical of her. We are birth mates, by the way, coming from the same mother back on Sixam. I think you humans call that siblings? So this is why I have to stick by her, you must always be loyal to your birth mates, all fifty or so of them.

Today she's here to review my grand plan and I can tell she's going to be insufferable about this. "So...how exactly are you going to conquer the planet again?"

"Simple. I find their leader and mind control them and then become their leader," obvious right? See what I mean? She's stupid. You land and tell them 'Take me to your leader' and go from there. Humans are very susceptible to manipulation. You just speak to them mentally and they think your thoughts are theirs.

"Not so simple, Zer," she pushes out a sigh as if I'm the stupid one. "They have multiple leaders. Different continents, governments, and some are even capable of...powers," she tells me this as if it will make any difference to me. It does not because it does not make any sense actually.

"Dre, how can you have multiple leaders?" What is going on here? "Every planet has ONE leader. That's how it always works. Remember when-"

But before I can finish I see her wrigglers start wriggling (those are head tentacles) and squirm the way they usually do when she disagrees. "Not here," she sighs as if she's talking her a child. "Each piece of land here has leader, and that leader is under another leader. These leaders can sometimes even hate each other. Drop nuclear bombs on other countries...yes, on the same planet."

I don't even know how to respond to that. What's wrong with you people? Are you TRYING to blow up your own planet? I mean yes, we Sixams have destroyed a few planets, but we exist on countless planets, what's one more? Any ways... "Look, Dre, it doesn't matter. Which 'land' has the most power then? I'll go to their leader and-"

"Oh...oh no, you've done none of your research," she' says, no, she 's smirking at me with pity now, her tone a mockery of mines. This is typical of her, she always thinks she's better when really she's the dumb one. That much is clear. mocks.

"Dre, you silly little blob, doing the research is YOUR job. Remember? Besides, you are not making much sense. How does the planet get much done with no unified planetary government? Aren't their billions of these primates on this tiny world?" , that is your job, Dre. Besides, that makes no sense. How do they get anything done on this planet?"

Dre shrugs, her wrigglers curling to indicate confusion. "They manage, I guess? I feel like they don't get much done, at least not recently. Their first few thousand years they have progressed tremendously and then..." she makes a flat line with her hand.

"Well, I'll get things back up and running again. They just need a strong hand and some direction! We can treat them like the Ziplops of Beta Omicron On!" Oh what great times! The Sixams, we were at our height then! Unified and powerful! I would fondly roll around in the nostaglia of it but Dre, being the buzzkill that she is, has a worried look on her face.

"Ermm, Zer, the Ziplops are now extinct, thanks to the various intergalactic occupation of their homeworlds. I do not think that-"

"You think too much Dre! That is the issue! This is a planet that needs Sixam direction, clearly, and I am the one to do it!" This planet needs this. You beings are hopelessly inefficient. "So, where do we start?"

"Ahhm," she starts, I can tell she has more to say. Thankfully, she thinks better of saying it. "We'll need simoleons. These beings are very motivated by their currency and the more of it you have the more power you have on this planet."

Dre is such a softie sometimes. That's why she'll always just be an assistant, she doesn't have the strength or vision to do what is needed and fusses over tiny details like 'morals' and 'sentience'. Does that matter when a planet is in desperate need of order? No, not is not. But she is right about one thing, I do need simoleons.

So with that in mind I step out into the world and search for opportunities. I admit, I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going and so I eventually end up looking at a board. Unfortunately, it is primitive. You beings still use paper and basic writing tools? Well, at least the posters pinned to the board are about saving the planet and clean energy so at least a few of you dummies realize the peril your planet is in.

Perhaps there are some that could be useful to me? I'll make a mental note to investigate that further.

"Oh hey! What ya voting for!?" A woman calls out from behind and I immediately tense and give her my best defensive glare. I've heard stories you know, of the Sims In Black? A secret defense force trained to detect and eliminate outsiders like me. Could she be one or is this just a random citizen?

"Greetings human," I say cautiously, giving her a wave and a flick of my tongue to show her I am no threat. That's what you humans do, right? I try to wriggle my wrigglers but I forget you beings have hair...on your head.

"Umm, hey? Human?" She asks, thrown off clearly. Was it the wave? It must have been the wave. "What are you doing with your tongue?"

"Oh ummm, the air! The taste of the..." I stop, because I have a feeling I am only making things worse. So instead I glance over to the board. "So, you all vote for things huh? Someone suggests a policy and you all vote?" You humans seem oddly obsessed with voting. Under my rule, voting will be illegal and punishable by a quick and swift death.

"Ah yeah!" she perks up at least. "We all try our best! The past administrations have really failed this place you know? The air sucks, the water sucks, it all sucks! It tends to happen when you don't regulate the mega corps!" She seems excited. I'm not sure why. She also seems far smarter than the average human. This must mean...

"Are you the leader of this trash town?"

"Heyyy, Evergreen Harbor is not in the best place right now but I wouldn't call it garbage!" Oh great, I've offended her.

I look around and take in the brown hazy fog that fills the air, the heaps of actual garbage lying around randomly here and there, and a very toxic scent invading my nostrils and I start to wonder if she's blind, deaf, and senseless. I look around and see nothing but garbage. "There is LIT-ER-ALLY a pile of garbage right behind me."

"Umm, yeah," she falters some, shifting uncomfortably form foot to foot. "I guess so? Still, it's my home, it's not polite to-"

"Your stupidity is not polite," I snap back because I am losing patience. I'm out here for to earn simoleons or to find a leader. The latter is preferable as it is always your leader who assigns you your job. "Human, please bring me to your leader. The matter is urgent, if you could not tell."

"Umm, I can't say I'm on speaking terms with the Mayor. Tammy Hite, by the way!"

I can't help but scoff. "Two names, nine letters, you must be a disgrace to your birth group."

"Ummm, lady, are you okay?" she then gives me a strange look. A look I'm not liking. She's suspicious. "You're like waaay out of this world or not sober or-"

"Wait, what?!" She is on to me. My heart skips a beat and I can see a spark in her eyes, recognition. A bit of panic takes hold of me and I wonder if she really is this SIB agent that Dre warned me about before coming here. "N-no!" I stammer out, desperate now. "I-I'm very much part of this world, Human! Just like you! See! Look at my eyes!"

Instead of looking she does the opposite, turning her head away, backing up. "Heyy um, yeah you need to-"

"LOOK AT THEM!"

"Ummm, yeah, you have nice eyes..." she says but I'm not convinced the compliment is sincere. She looks uncomfortable? Edging backwards and away from me. "I-I need to go. Nice meeting you ummmm...."

"Zerrrrraaauummmm, I-I mean Preena Matel," I'm stammering again, my heart is beating again, my wrigglers are...they are not on my head right now but if they were they would be WRIGGLING! "Prita! No, no, Priya! Priya Patel! That's it!" I force a smile, the one I've practiced over and over again, hoping it covers the slip, flicking my tongue out to show here that I mean no harm.

"Alllrighty then..." she says slowly, taking another step back. "I'llseeyouaround!"

And off she goes. That was a close one. Maybe I do need to do a little more research.

Zer Avoi Index ~ Episode 1.2

[olderthannetfic]

With all this talk about AI, the one perspective that appears missing from the discussion is that of someone who actually uses AI writing tools in production of their fanfic. So here I am, stepping in to provide my (anonymous) two cents.

I've been using a generative AI program especially made for creative writers for several months now. Initially, I had a lot of the same reservations I'm hearing form others, but I was curious about the tech and wanted to try it for myself. I quickly discovered that it's insanely useful, and I truly believe it has improved my writing. 

I also believe these tools will become commonplace among creative writers in the near future. In fact, I've heard that generative AI is coming to a writing software near you (MS Word to be exact), and I suspect that that once more people have actually tried it, use of AI will begin to seem no more remarkable than the use of spelling or grammar checkers does now. 

In the meantime, as you can see, I am staying anon, and there is absolutely no way I would tag my fanfic as AI assisted given the current environment. People are very quick to make assumptions about what a statement like that means, and are all too hasty in reaching for their pitchforks.

As far as I can tell, the main concern seems to be that Ao3 will be flooded with 'bad' fanfic as a result of AI use. But 'bad' fanfic has been a thing for as long as I've been in fandom (decades, at this point), and in my experience, human beings are perfectly capable of writing poorly without any help from machines. Readers are, as always, advised to curate their own reading experience. The 'back' button works the same as it always did, and someone's possible use of AI changes nothing about that. 

But the general assumption that AI input automatically leads to 'bad' writing seems rather short-sighted. Yes, obviously if someone were to go to ChatGPT and tell it to write them a fanfic in 'x' fandon about 'x' pairing, the output would be bland, generic and probably a bit rambling. AIs are not great storytellers; they can't maintain narrative logic. 

If this hypothetical person then copy-pasted the unedited output directly onto Ao3 and called it a story, the result would most likely qualify as 'bad' fanfic. Whether it would be worse than a story the same person might have written on their own is debatable. Our hypothetical protagonist obviously decided that the output was good enough as it was, and chose to post it without bothering to edit, which suggests (at least to me) that they would have similar standards about a story they'd written without an AI.

Since the above seems to be the scenario everyone has in mind when talking about "AI fic," I would like to point out that what I just described is not the only way to use AI in one's writing. My own use is more akin to using an online thesaurus; a very powerful thesaurus that can make suggestions for things like phrasings, descriptions, dialogue, and so on. The key there is that it makes suggestions. 

My AI assistant is smart enough to 'read' the scene I'm working on and tailor its suggestions to the mood, style and context of what I'm writing. But it's still my story. The AI doesn't write it for me. I'm the one who sifts through those suggestions, takes the bits that work, and shapes them into useful text. Sometimes the AI comes up with amazing things. I wasn't kidding when I said it's improved my writing - and my rewriting. It knocks me out of those mental ruts we writers tend to get into, coming up with descriptions and turns of phrase that I wouldn't have thought of on my own. 

But it's still just a tool, and at the end of the day, I'm still the writer. The words that end up on the page do so because I chose them. Those writerly choices are what make the story mine, regardless of where the words might have originated from. And whether they came from my brain or the AI, they are still subject to the same standards of rewriting, editing and proofing.

So no, I don't think I'm going to be tagging my fic with an AI disclosure statement any time soon. Not until the current moral panic dies down to the point where people don't read that and automatically assume it means 'copy-pasted from ChatGPT.' And for anyone who's curious about AI... I suggest you try it for yourself. Play around a little and find out what it's about before making judgments. I think you'll find it's a tool like any other - and just like any tool, it can be used well or it can be used badly. That's entirely in the hands of the human being using it - which is one thing that hasn't changed, and never should.

--

Yeah, I fail to see any major issue with more sucky fanfic getting posted. That's just the default for big fic archives.

The actual problem problems we're seeing are with paid markets with open submissions that get flooded beyond what staff can handle and big corporations replacing humans they already try not to pay.

The main potential issue I see with other uses of AI is that it may end up with samey suggestions, but it's hard to know how much that's 1. a thing and 2. an actual issue when writing genre stuff that often sounds samey on purpose and where that's a desirable characteristic.

[specialagentlokitty]

Mycroft x Teen!reader - similar minds

- Mycroft x Teen! Reader - Mycroft has to 'babysit' Sherlock's kid. He thinks Reader is a lot like Sherlock but is really a mini Mycroft - @mxacegrey 💜

“Behave.” Sherlock warned you.

“What’s the worst I can do dad? Since you’re taking all the stupid with you I think I’ll be fine.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at you and placed a hand on your head, crouching down a little.

“Remember what I said.”

“Don’t let uncle Mycroft make me feel stupid, don’t let him disrespect Mrs Hudson, and Donovan and Anderson are going to try arrest me later on today they can’t because they don’t have a warrant. Yes dad I know.”

Sherlock nodded and stood up, straightening his jacket he turned to the door where his brother walked through.

“I am not a babysitter Sherlock”

“Well, you are now. Until I get this mess cleared up, I’ll be gone a few hours.”

Sherlock left and you waved bye to John as the man followed behind your dad and you turned to your uncle, pointing to the chess board.

He walked over and sat down and you made the first move, looking at him.

You hadn’t met Mycroft before, aside from your grandparents, John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade you didn’t get alone very well with other people.

“So, Sherlock had a child, not something I thought I’d ever see.”

Mycroft looked at you, and everything you did resembled your father. From the way you sat, to the way you looked at the chess board running all the possible moves.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” He asked.

“Boring.” You replied.

You took your next move and sat back waiting.

Mycroft looked at you and he picked up things that made you similar to Sherlock, and he decided that you were a lot like Sherlock.

“Wouldn’t someone like you want to be with people their age?”

You looked offended by this question.

“Absolutely not, why on earth would you think that? People are hiring, bland. They’re not very interesting at all.”

Mycroft nodded his head and leant back in his chair as he looked at you and you copied him.

“Don’t try do deductions on me uncle Mycroft, it won’t work. You may be the smart one between my dad and yourself, but in this room I’m the smart one.”

You pointed to the door where the two police officers your father mentioned walked through and stopped while they looked at you.

“No warrant.” You said.

“We don’t need a warrant.”

“Actually you do, and since I’m a minor you also need to alert my legal guardian before arresting me and since you didn’t it wouldn’t hold up, I’d be released faster than you can count to ten.”

They walked over and Mycroft held up his umbrella between you and them, looking over.

“Unless you want to be dropped from your jobs and into the lowest depths of society I suggest you take a step away.”

They did and you looked at them, moving your eyes from Donovan to Anderson.

“He’s taken his wife back. It’s why he won’t sleep with you anymore. Please remove yourselves from my flat I can feel you draining my IQ already, and I’d rather not waste anymore oxygen talking to you.”

You turned away and went back to the game you were playing and Mycroft escorted them out before walking over, seeing the move you had made.

“Check mate. I win.”

“It’s only check.” He said.

You gestured to the board.

“It’s check mate, look again. Age is failing you Mycroft.”

He looked at the board checking all the moves he could make and you were right. There was no more moves, you had won the game.

You reached down and picked up a book instead and began to read, and Mycroft realised you may be his brothers kid, but you were similar to him

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (6)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Hahahhh I finished it finally! I love my boys so much, they fill my heart with so much joy :;) @annablogsposts this obsession is all your fault! I need to make a masterpost for this... anyways, ENJOY!

*~*~*~*~*

They rode in silence back to the Kingswood as one of the soldier’s had called it. Cosimo had scrunched his nose up at that name. How can a woods be owned by a King? Nature was its own master. Besides, there wouldn’t be Elfbows there if the original inhabitants of the forest were humans. No, Cosimo had the sneaking suspicion that this was the forest Henrik had told him about in his story of Niko’s father.

Cosimo remembered his tutor, one of the Elder Elves, telling him about the histories of their people. How they would live in harmony with nature, together as one, both giving and taking in equal measures. How the humans would come like an invasive species and only ever take… upsetting the balance of the earth to build their soulless cities and castles and nature be damned. Animals be damned.

“Nothing is sacred to humans, Cosimo,” Ludwig had told him. “They are selfish creatures. They would sacrifice anything to satiate their own greed.”

Cosimo’s eyes had gone wide at Ludwig’s cautionary words. He spoke them with such hatred that was foreign coming from the teacher’s mouth. Ludwig was patient, kind, compassionate — so hearing him speak with such malice, it struck a chord within Cosimo that echoed now in his mind and his chest. Jarring, eerie and wrong.

Was he making the right choice in leading the humans to the boy that Cosimo was trying to protect? Was there any way he could possibly distract them? Sneak off and find the boy and the fox and run?

Nestor’s laugh made his chest ache, as he floated into the memory without Cosimo’s permission. Nestor and his happy-go-lucky grin. After he heard Ludwig’s take on the humans he joined the conversation, leaning down heavy on Ludwig’s shoulders. Cosimo remembers smiling as the Elder rolled his eyes.

There was only one elf who would do such a thing.

“Ah, Ludwig. You are scaring the boy.”

“I am merely teaching,” Ludwig said, the hatred gone from his voice as he straightened his spine and grabbed Nestor’s arm lifting it from around his neck. “You should know better than to interrupt.”

“Always good to be a little nosey,” Nestor said, lifting his eyes to meet Cosimo’s and winking at him. “Eh, Cosimo?”

Cosimo’s smile grew into a cheap copy of Nestor’s mischievous grin. “You should know better than to fill his head with such nonsense, Nestor. Not all elves have the freedom to be as carefree as you.”

“If he’s learning the bad he can learn the good of the humans too, no? About their music? Their art? Their love, Ludwig.”

“The boy is but a child,” Ludwig hissed, glaring at Nestor. Cosimo swallowed as Nestor’s smile fell from his face. Ludwig stood to his full height, turning his body slightly to stare at Nestor down his crooked nose. “It is better he be cautious around humans than seek them out for no good reason.”

Cosimo’s heart pounded in his skull but he couldn’t just sit by and watch Nestor be scolded. “I would never do such a thing, Ludwig.”

The two elves turned their head to look at Cosimo who was standing now too, head high, chin up, determined. “I heed your warning. You’re my teacher. I want to learn from you, and from your experiences. What reason would I have to leave court in search of humans? I have everything I need right here.”

Ludwig cocked an arched brow at Cosimo’s words, a begrudgingly proud tightness wound his jaw. “You are too smart for your age, Cosimo.”

“That’s because he has an ancient elder schooling him,” Nestor said with a cheeky laugh, slapping a hearty palm onto Ludwig’s back. “I’m heading out on a reconnaissance mission today.”

“To the humans?” Cosimo asked, ignoring the scolding glance Ludwig sent his way.

Nestor scrunched his lips up. “Sort of. More like, seeing them at a distance. If they’re close to the court we can disguise it better or hide it well, make sure the humans don’t disturb us and just walk past the court.”

“You should go do it then,” Ludwig told him. “Let me get on with my job.”

Nestor hummed sagely, nodding in agreement. “Yes. I agree. Cosimo remember to frown when he speaks so he knows you take him seriously.”

Cosimo laughed as Ludwig shoved Nestor away playfully in reply. “Get out of here.”

“I’m gone.”

Cosimo stared after Nestor who waved before disappearing from sight. Ludwig settled back down, sitting once more and gazed up at Cosimo. “What is it, boy?”

Cosimo swallowed, snapping himself out of his daze and sat back down across from Ludwig. “I just wonder what reconnaissance missions would be like.”

“If Nestor’s anything to go by, clearly it drives you mad.”

Cosimo smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean being that close to humans.”

Ludwig’s gaze was heavy on Cosimo’s face, studying the young elf’s features. His high cheekbones and shrewd eyes, always busy, always calculating something behind them. It wasn’t the first time Ludwig had been left out of Cosimo’s musings, but even so… he wanted to know what the boy thought. How his mind worked. But that wasn’t Ludwig’s job.

“We resume,” is all Ludwig said. Cosimo blinked and he was staring at Ludwig, focused once more. He nodded and shifted in his seat, clasping his hands together in front of him. “We resume.”

The memory left, leaving a sense of uneasiness in its wake. Maybe Ludwig was being over-cautious, sometimes he was like that.

And the humans only ever treated us with kindness, a sarcastic voice hissed in the back of Cosimo’s mind. Take off the hood and see their true colours.

Cosimo ignored the voice and focused on the task at hand. They were amongst the trees now, coming close to the camp. Maybe another twenty minute ride.

“Everything okay, Cosimo?” Henrik asked. Cosimo took a deep breath. Everything seemed too big right now. Too much for him to grasp between his fingers and wrestle under his control. All he needed to do was find the boy. Once he saw him, he would be fine. Everything will be fine.

“I just want to find my brother,” Cosimo told Henrik, careful to remember that’s what Cosimo had told the King and his right hand. A lie. He had told them a lie, and when they found out… what would they do to Cosimo then?

When they arrived at the camp Cosimo’s heart jumped into his mouth, remembering the events that happened here yesterday? Today? That brought him back here. How Henrik was the one who kicked him to the ground and kept him there. Cuffing him, bringing him to the palace… it turned Cosimo’s stomach.

Henrik climbed off Ebony behind him, and Cosimo lifted his leg over the saddle to slide down himself beside Henrik. He brushed the hood back off his head, the earth under his feet feeling like a sigh of relief. Nikolas came over to the pair as someone led Henrik’s horse away to be tied off.

“Well, Cosimo,” Nikolas said with a sweeping gesture. “Lead the way.”

Cosimo nodded, searching for the stream he had crossed. He prayed that nobody had been through here since he was. No elf, nobody who came looking. Let the boy be there.

He crossed the stream first, then looked over his shoulder to the King and his right hand. He straightened himself, shoulders pulling back, making himself taller before speaking. “Would it be okay if I went and retrieved the— my brother before I introduce him to all of you? He might be frightened.”

Nikolas tilted his head slightly, regarding Cosimo with his discerning green eyes. Nikolas pursed his lips. “No, Cosimo. I think it’s best if we find him together. What if you get lost?”

Cosimo scoffed. “I’m an elf. I can’t get lost in the forest.”

“All the same,” Nikolas said with a kind smile and a little shrug. Cosimo swallowed and faced forward again, gathering his discarded water container and walking up the slippery bank to the trail on top. He was so close… he could run, the likelihood of the humans catching him was slim. He could disappear in the trees, come out when they had given up looking for him. The boy would be safe in the Elfbow.

Unless the elves started looking for him too. The thought unsettled him more, in which case he would be better off with the humans. So Cosimo planted his feet even though he wanted so badly to run. He had to remember who he was, he wasn’t some scared boy. He had to trust his instincts, they got him this far. Everything would be fine.

“I could do with your long legs,” Nikolas said to Cosimo with an airy laugh as he climbed the bank.

“Or maybe it’s the lack of shoes,” Henrik mused, nodding at Cosimo’s bare feet. “It gives you more grip.”

“Perhaps you humans should whine less,” Cosimo said with a smirk, which only grew when the two humans full attention was on the elf. “It seems to weigh you down more, makes you slow.”

Henrik laughed his deep heart chuckle, and slapped Cosimo between his shoulder blades playfully. It was Nikolas who spoke next: “You lead the way from here, Cosimo. Hopefully we can find your brother before dark.”

Cosimo’s smile dimmed a bit at the edges as he bowed his head slightly. “Of course. This way.”

They trekked in silence back the way Cosimo came, the trees and trail familiar, the forest floor almost guiding him to where he needed to be. Cosimo prayed that the boy be okay. That he’s safe. That the elves didn’t find him and take him back to court or worse.

When the elfbow came into Cosimo’s sight he took off into a run. “There!” Henrik and the King’s footsteps thundered behind as Cosimo ran through the thick coat of leaves with ease. He craned his neck around the tree, chest heaving to see the fox in the nook, cuddled up beside the sleeping boy. Sweat soaked hair clung to the boy’s forehead and he looked far more pale than the last time Cosimo had seen him.

“Cosimo?!”

Cosimo pressed his forehead against the elfbow under his palm and closed his eyes in relief. Thank you. I’m here to take him again.

“Cosimo?” Henrik called from faraway. “Where are you?”

Cosimo’s eyes shot open. Humans couldn’t come into the sanctuary of the elder trees. Elfbows served elves and were almost sacred in their protection. After the humans started destroying forests to clear way for cities and villages, the elder trees made a pact with one of the first elves: that if the elves protected the tree then, it would serve as protector for future generations. Or so the story went.

The court elders always made a point of telling Cosimo that if he was ever lost or scared to find an elfbow and he would be safe from humans. It only occurred to him then, that he could just hide with the boy here and Henrik and Nikolas would never find them.

The humans wouldn’t find them, he reminded himself. Elfbows don’t protect elves from elves. A smaller voice, a childlike voice in the back of his mind continued: and who are you more scared of?

“I’m here,” Cosimo called back, unsure if they would be able to hear him. “He’s here, he’s alright. I’ll be just a second.”

The fox tilted her head as Cosimo entered the small nook, and watched silently as Cosimo hooked one arm under the boys neck and the other under the boys knees and lifted him from the soil and blanket of leaves. The boy was cold and covered in a thick sheen of sweat that made Cosimo’s heart race.

Surely the humans could heal him, they could fix him. Do something! They would know more. The fox chirped at Cosimo’s heel, bowed into a deep stretch her tail swishing as she stood. Black beady eyes peered up at Cosimo and he understood that she was asking: what now? Even if he wanted to, Cosimo couldn’t dissuade the fox from following and protecting the boy. Foxes were far too cunning to be tricked by a young elf.

The boy was far more lifeless than ever, his chest rising shallowly. Cosimo didn’t waste anymore time in the Elfbow’s protection. He emerged from under a sheet of leaves to see Henrik and King Nikolas with their backs turned to Cosimo.

“Here,” Cosimo rushed out, voice hitching as his feet carried him quickly across the distance to the two humans he decided to trust. Even though this could all be a farce, Cosimo was desperate. The fox pattered along behind him.

The humans turned at the sound of Cosimo’s voice, eyes drawn to the half alive boy in his arms. Henrik rushed over went to take the boy out of Cosimo’s hands but Cosimo turned at the last moment, wide panicked eyes meeting Henrik’s stunned gaze turning sympathetic.

“I have him,” Cosimo said, tone clipped. Henrik straightened, nodding.

Nikolas was the one to move them along. “We need to get him to Artzet immediately.”

“Will he be able to fix him?” Cosimo asked, following the humans back through the forest to the camp.

Henrik leaned into Nikolas and said quietly: “Niko, did you—”

“Yes,” Nikolas replied quickly, cutting Henrik off. He glanced over his shoulder at Cosimo, but the fae had his eyes and attention fixed solely on the unconscious boy in his arms, expression tight with worry. “Now’s not the time, Henrik. We can talk more once we get the boy back to Artzet.”

“Did you see the fox?”

Nikolas laughed, low and rich. “Yes. I saw.”

“Do you think it’s coming along too?”

“I don’t think we could dissuade it even if we tried.”

Cosimo was oblivious to the conversation ahead of him as he carefully stepped down the bank of the stream and hopped it effortlessly. The fox padded along beside him, not even faltering when they emerged into the humans camp.

“Come, men,” Nikolas called to the camp. “We are to be off as soon as we ready the horses.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Soldiers milled to action. It was a smaller party than Henrik was with so within minutes they were packed and on horseback again.

Henrik stood beside Ebony and held his arms out to Cosimo. Cosimo’s sharp eyes cut into Henrik, narrow, untrusting. Henrik tried to look as reassuring as possible.

“You can’t get on the horse with him in your arms, Cosimo. Don’t worry, I’ll give him right back.”

Cosimo worried his bottom lip before nodding with a sigh. He passed the boy to Henrik’s strong arms and hesitated before releasing the boy. He quickly climbed up onto Ebony and held his arms out for the boy again.

Henrik’s smile was kind and reassuring as he passed the boy up to Cosimo before mounting the horse behind them. The fox sat in front of Ebony’s snout as she grazed, beady black eyes peering up at the elf.

“Will the fox be joining us?” Henrik asked.

Cosimo nodded. “She will walk behind. I don’t think she’ll mind the distance.”

“Still, it is a long way to go for such little legs,” Nikolas said coming to a stop beside them. “Will she let me carry her?”

Cosimo looked at the fox who tilted her head at him. A silent understanding passed between them, and Cosimo nodded.

“Yeah, she’ll let you pick her up.”

“Come on sweet thing,” Nikolas said, crouching and extending his hands to her. The fox walked towards him, sniffing his hand before plodding up to him and letting herself be lifted. “Oh, she’s so soft. I think I’ll ride with her beside you, so she can still see you both.”

Cosimo nodded. “Of course.”

Nikolas did just that and then they set off out of the king’s wood back to palace, Cosimo holding the boy tight to his chest. Henrik put the hood over Cosimo’s head before they reached the city gates, the cloak partly obscured the sleeping boy’s face, the other pressed into Cosimo’s chest.

Nikolas had one soldier ride ahead and tell Artzet to prepare a bed for the unconscious boy. They didn’t stop for chats with villagers this time, the air of urgency within their ranks must have carried outwards because no one stopped Nikolas for a catchup as they raced through the streets. Hooves clapped like thunder with steady, rhythmic beats as they passed the village to the wealthier residential area and finally the gates of the palace came into view.

“Just hold on,” Cosimo whispered, tightening his hold on the boy as they trotted to the stables. Henrik dismounted quickly, spreading his arms for the boy. Cosimo hesitated, again, but he didn’t have time to waste. This was life or death and Cosimo vowed he would keep the boy safe. They had come too far to risk it all over Cosimo’s feelings.

Cosimo had just passed the boy to Henrik when Nikolas appeared beside them, fox at his heels. Anxiety at not having the boy close crawled thick up Cosimo’s spine along with a sudden warm feeling as he jumped off Ebony. He had only begun to take a step towards Henrik when his vision swam with an impenetrable darkness. The world swayed and his body became like lead and he was falling.

A warm chest caught him before he could make contact with the ground. Cosimo let out a startled gasp, hands reaching up to hold onto the solid person that kept him upright, his body shivering as strong hands wrapped around him, reassuring.

“It’s okay, Cosimo,” Nikolas told him. “You’re okay. You’ve had a very long day.”

“The boy—” Cosimo mumbled, his tongue heavy as he tried to push his legs to work properly so he could stand on his own. An elf leaning on a human… what would the Elders think?

“We’ll get him to Artzet, as promised, dear boy. Henrik will carry him—”

“No.”

“Yes, you can barely stand. Don’t worry, you and I will head up together. Henrik and Artzet will take good care of him.”

Cosimo wanted to protest but there was no time. Instead he fought back tears as he nodded meekly. “Okay.”

Nikolas nodded at Henrik. Henrik turned on his heel and within seconds disappeared into the palace. Cosimo turned in Nikolas’s hold, one hand fisting the fabric of the King’s tunic in a stranglehold to keep standing. He only stopped when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Nikolas. Nikolas wrapped an arm around Cosimo, the other ready to catch him if he tried to make a move.

“Easy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo risked a step forward. He would have fallen if it wasn’t for Nikolas’s strong arm holding him up. Cosimo let out a breathy curse in elvish, frustrated at his temporary weakness. He needed to get to Henrik and the boy. He needed to make sure they didn’t do anything bad to him. What if they locked him in iron cuffs? What then?

Something scratched the back of his brain but Cosimo didn’t have the energy to focus on it or give it the light of day.

“Just wait a second, Cosimo, it will pass. Your brother’s not going anywhere.”

The air around him was thick and clammy, like there was no actual oxygen getting to his lungs, as if he was inhaling tiny amounts of iron with every breath. He wouldn’t put it past Rochus to do something like that, poison the air while Cosimo was away.

Nikolas reached over to Ebony’s saddle bag and pulled Henrik’s waterskin from it. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Cosimo took it from Nikolas, unscrewed the bottle and drank it down. The cool liquid was soothing and refreshing as it went down Cosimo’s throat and he found the more he drank the more he wanted to drink. He finished the container of water and opened his eyes, already feeling a ten times better than before.

Nikolas grinned. “Better?”

“Yes,” Cosimo said, handing him the empty water-skin. “Much better. Can we go to Artzet now?”

Nikolas laughed and shook his head fondly. For a short, heart-stopping moment Cosimo thought the king shaking his head side to side meant no, and Cosimo’s mind conjured up the worst.

“You are a determined boy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo felt his cheeks flush pink as he stepped forward, trying to hide his reaction from the king. Nikolas stepped with him until they got to the railing on the stairs. Cosimo let go of Nikolas’s arm and placed all his weight on the railing. He could do this. He could get to the boy. He was so close to saving them.

Once they were up the stairs Nikolas led Cosimo, arm in arm, to Artzet’s clinic. Cosimo almost cried when he saw the boy, something in his arm that connected him to a bag of water. A damp cloth over his forehead.

Myshka was sitting on one bed over, observing Artzet as he worked. Henrik greeted them. “Ah, you’re here. Good.”

“Is it serious?” Cosimo rushed out.

“No, no. Boy is good, strong, healthy of heart,” Artzet replied, smiling at Cosimo over his shoulder. “He will make full recovery.”

“He’ll be okay?” Cosimo whispered, not willing to believe his ears or eyes or anything as he walked with heavy feet to the end of the boy’s bed. The fox was laying there, curled up at the end of his bed and made a noise of recognition when Cosimo approached.

“He will be fine, boy,” Artzet said again, looking to Henrik and Nikolas with a shrug. “I thought that is what I said?”

“Cosimo’s had a long day,” Henrik said. “The two of them both need some rest.”

Cosimo didn’t dare blink in case the world would trick him and make the boy disappear. He couldn’t sleep, not until the boy woke up. He had to make sure the boy was okay. That he didn’t doom them both.

“You say boy is your brother?” Artzet asked, eyes as wide as an owls. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Did he catch him in a lie?

“Good,” Artzet said happily. “Then I know he will be okay. He will be as strong as his big brother, uh? Now, I set up bed beside him for you to sleep.”

Cosimo glanced up at Artzet and nodded fervently. Nikolas made a noise behind him. “Cosimo, I think a proper bed would be better. Hospital beds are uncomfortable—”

“Niko,” Henrik said softly. Nikolas sighed. Cosimo turned to look at the King. His shoulders sagged as he yielded.

“Okay. Fine, I know I won’t convince you otherwise, but Cosimo, the minute you and your brother are better you—”

Nikolas cut himself off as Cosimo crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the King, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” Cosimo whispered. Nikolas let out a soft, shocked breath of a laugh, wrapping his arms tentatively around the elf.

“It’s my pleasure,” Nikolas replied as Cosimo stepped out of his embrace. “I will go and prepare your rooms. Artzet, I leave the boys in your capable hands.”

“Your majesty,” Artzet said with a bow.

“I’ll stay too,” Henrik said, patting Cosimo’s shoulder. “Until you’re asleep.”

“Full house!” Artzet cried, drawing the covers back on the bed beside the sleeping boy’s. Cosimo walked over to it and climbed in, thanking Artzet and Henrik as he pressed his head to the pillow. Artzet and Henrik started talking in low, hushed voices while Cosimo watched the boy’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

Alive and safe.

Cosimo did it. He rescued them. His eyelids suddenly grew heavy and Cosimo didn’t fight them as they slid over his eyes, darkness welcoming him like an old friend. Sleep took him somewhere far away, somewhere he didn’t have to think and worry and fret. Somewhere he didn’t betray his race and seek refuge in humans.

Henrik stayed even when he was sure the elf was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling softly. He looked so much younger when he was asleep, Henrik thought, without the hard crease between his brows. His jaw wasn't clenched, his face relaxed, no stubborn, steely gaze to contend with. He looked like a boy, a human boy around fourteen years old.

Already Henrik had developed a protective streak for the elf, wanting to comfort and care for him as much as the elf would allow. More than the elf would allow. The fondness in Henrik's chest for Cosimo wasn't the only recent feeling that had taken hold of him since he met the boy. There was something foreboding, unnatural, as if there was a presence watching him from somewhere unseen to the naked eye, and Henrik knew that Cosimo's presence here would only spell trouble. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to let the boy go now that he had met him. He still had so many questions to ask him; why he ran, who he was, will he stay?

All those questions could wait until Cosimo and his brother awoke. For now, Henrik pulled up a chair and rest his head against the backrest, content with watching over the newest residents of the palace.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (zee tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @tippytappytyping

[save-the-villainous-cat]

A simply little request 😁, Hero hears Villain whimper and has a little "Oh shit" moment, in a horny way, not a "feels bad about it" way, as Spicy as you'd like, I just adore sub Villain :) -💌

The whimper made the hero’s pupils expand.

With their one hand on the villain’s collarbone and the other disinfecting the cut on their torso, they should’ve been occupied with work, having something to concentrate on that demanded undivided attention. Though they were occupied, their body reacted with an embarrassing flush.

What the hell was happening to them?

For over a month now, they were a lazy copy of themselves: messy and clumsy, confused and tired. Hell, they couldn’t even sleep properly and when they did, their dreams were flooded with unholy scenarios.

“Relax, it’ll be fine.” They put more pressure on the villain’s collarbone to push them into the ground, making the villain grind their teeth and dig their fingernails into the hero’s wrist.

“Damn you,” they moaned. When they threw their head back, the hero was starting to lose focus again. Unacceptable.

“Don’t move. I need to clean this wound or it’ll get infected,” the hero threatened as they squeezed the villain’s shoulder. They swallowed, feeling the sweat on their brow already.

They contemplated if they should kill the villain here and now. They were vulnerable, helpless, completely depended on the hero and maybe if the villain was out of the picture, everything would slip back into normality. Maybe the hero’s tormented mind would find some peace to sink into.

Of course that was a stupid idea. The villain was an asshole. Once, only once the hero had trusted them. They’d been on a mission together and at the end, the villain had stabbed them in the back. Metaphorically.

But even though the hero couldn’t trust them and even though they were annoying — those weren’t reasons to kill them.

“Your hands are so fucking cold,” the villain hissed.

“I think that’s the tiniest of your problems right now,” the hero answered. Their voice wasn’t any warmer.

“Fucking smart ass.” The hero’s eyes jumped to their enemy’s. Sometimes they imagined to be able to see behind that curtain of foul language. It was inexplicable to them but they wanted to be the person to understand the villain. They wanted to be the one who understood the pain and the grief, what essentially had made them to be like this.

“Be nice,” they warned. Once again, their eyes landed on the villain’s. In their irises were more colours than the hero had ever noticed and when they stared into the air, the whites decorated with prominent red lines, the hero saw similarities to scared animals in them.

That comparison wasn’t easy to digest. The hero knew the villain was a person, too but seeing that they were a person was something different.

“What makes you the monster?” the hero whispered. The sudden question surprised the villain, so much in fact, that their grip on the hero tightened.

“What makes you the hero?” the villain asked right back. They gestured with their head at the hero cleaning their wound. “This?”

“Maybe it’s the decision to spare you.” That answer made the villain chuckle but it didn’t last long. They pressed their eyes shut as the pain hit them.

“I’m the monster because you told me I am. You are the reason why. You are what made me like this,” they said. The hero swallowed. No.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” they said, grabbing the bandages. “Let me pull some strings and I can arrange a fresh start for you.”

Again, the villain smiled and stupidly enough, the hero liked that. They wanted to help them, wanted them to themselves. To be the person that understood and accepted them.

“Oh, silly hero. You can’t help yourself, can you?” the villain asked. “Don’t you understand? It would destroy you to save me. Tell me, what are you without your monster?”

“I wouldn’t be without you, it just would be a different relationship.” They bit down into the flesh of their cheeks until they tasted metal.

“We don’t really want that, do we? Admit it, you like what we are. You like what we have. You love to push me into a wall and put handcuffs around my wrists. You love this. You want this.” There was something dangerous about the way they looked at the hero.

Something the hero couldn’t place.

Blushing and being unable to answer, the hero dipped some alcohol on the villain’s wound.

It made their enemy whimper again.

[incorrecttowerofgodquotes]

Gundam: The Witch From Mercury Season 2 Episode 5 Review

- Happy Birthday is forever doomed, and that greenhouse does nothing but destroy relationships. God, I am suffer

- Sadly, Miorine fell for Prospera’s provocation and decided to team up with her, but on the condition that she leaves Suletta alone. But that’s perfectly fine for Prospera, Suletta doesn’t matter to her. She’s just a replacement daughter, and now that Aerial has hit Permet 7 or 8, she doesn’t need her.

- Shaddiq has the worlds most punchable face, but he is playing the game smart. Peil was an obvious wildcard, so he’s decided to partner with them in order to get them out of the way. And it looks like he already got his father out of the way too. RIP Sarius, you were the only good parent.

- Jeturk House is a literal found family and I can’t stop crying. They all love each other so much. It seems Petra and Lauda are dating and Felsi just learned about it. Also, the fact that Lauda loved his brother and wanted to support him from day one is sweet. God I hope nothing bad happens to any of them.

- The callbacks and dark reflections in this episode to Episodes 1 and 3 have slayed me. The end of the episode was an exact copy of the end of episode 1, but this time, Miorine is saying goodbye instead of hello, all underneath a darkened sky compared to the bright dawn we originally saw. The entire dueling room and then elevator-hallway scene was an exact copy of Episode 3, so much so that they reused Secelia’s animation. Since the three main characters this episode were Suletta, Miorine, and Guel, it makes sense to bring back references to the episodes that started their character development in the first place

- also somebody gotta glue Secelia’s ass to that couch cause every time she gets up some bad shit happens

- Guel and Suletta’s scene at the greenhouse made me feel like I was walking on air. Guel has grown so much and has decided to be honest with his feelings, and you can tell just how happy those words made Suletta. But at the end of the day, Suletta loves Miorine, and Guel supports her. He isn’t that selfish jerk we saw in episode 1 anymore. He wants what’s best for others to, not just himself. But also the GueSule shipper in me was crying a bit

- But that beautiful scene in the greenhouse leads to Miorine strengthening her resolve to give Suletta a good life, even if it means hurting her. She’s willing to work with Guel, someone she absolutely hated, because she knows he loves her just as much as she does, and all they want is for Suletta to be happy. The fact that Miorine is willing to sacrifice herself and enter a marriage she doesn’t want is heartbreaking, but there’s no one else she can trust.

- The scene where Guel says there’s no world without Gundams and weapons hurts a whole lot. Miorine and Suletta, despite all they’ve gone through, still haven’t seen the true harshness of the world. Guel, who’s experienced even just a fraction of what horrible things are taking place, can’t see any world where peace is absolute.

- Guel suffering from PTSD makes so much sense. As much as we like to meme that suffering builds character, what it ultimately did was fuck up Guel’s life forever. He’ll always carry the trauma of killing his father, but as we saw in this episode, the impassioned cries of his family is what snaps him out of it. Really, between Chuchu and Guel, I think Felsi has the magic voice ready to heal trauma. Maybe she should hang out with Suletta after this ep

- All right, this is going to be a long fucking section about El5n, because I genuinely have so many thoughts rotating in my head about this failson. First, the greenhouse scene. Seeing the way he so violently assaults Suletta out of desperation is terrifying. He’s being pushed to the absolute brink. He even brought a taser just to knock Suletta out. It’s a large change compared to his usual “just smile and wave” and I think it’s wholly because of last episode. El5n had his mind violated by Eri, the one place that not even Peil could assault and change. And that combined with Belmeria’s whining set off a bomb inside him. He realized in that moment that he will never be safe as long as he plays by Peil’s books. Any more attempts of hijacking the Aerial would continue to hurt the one thing he has control of, his mind, and if he sticks with Peil any longer, he’s going to die

- But what hit me the hardest was his anger at Suletta’s cries for Elan, specifically the line “The man you’re thinking of isn’t here.” It’s a short line but packed with so many meanings. First of which, the simple one being that El5n finally lets the cat out of the bag, stating that he and El4n are two different people. But looking at it deeper, we can see more to this statement. The second meaning could be the intense hatred he possibly feels towards the original Elan. That the man Suletta thinks he is has been hiding behind body doubles and living his life without even sparing a single thought towards her. The third meaning is that El5n is pissed that El4n is dead, and that Suletta’s cries for him just make his grieving so much worse. Fourth, and finally, is the fact that El5n doesn’t want to be a replacement for Elan, he wants to be his only person. All Suletta can see is Elan, not the kid underneath the mask, and that hurts him. The fact that his very identity and status as a person has been torn away is sick, but no one but him knows.

- But before any more of his true self can pour out, Guel comes in to protect Suletta, just twisting the knife further into El5n. He’s had no one to stand up for and protect him, he’s alone from everyone, separated by a mask. And the fact that the one who comes to Suletta’s rescue is a man who’s lived in luxury and hasn’t struggled a day in his life (at least on El5n’s eyes) is even more painful. The final shot was the “What are you afraid of?” line Guel says to him. Cause for the first time, someone has finally seen the pain and hurt he’s going through, and it happens to be some spoiled rich kid. But really, what is El5n afraid of? Is it a physical death or a spiritual death? Is he willing to wear the mask of Elan as long as he isn’t incinerated, or does he not want to lose his true self?

- Ultimately this retrospection El5n goes through is hidden to us, but we see the outcome. In which he’s chilling in a room with Norea and Nika for no reason. Truly a king. The dub said this line, but El5n feels like Norea is a kindred spirit. Someone who can understand what he’s going through and the amount of rage bottled up inside him at the unfairness of his situation. God, I hope these two end up together, or at least as partners. They need to fix each other so bad

- But where does El5n go from here? He can’t hang out with Peil anymore, so will he cooperate with Shaddiq? But Shaddiq is now working with Peil so that would cause some issues. Will he go full scorched earth at the presidential elections and air everyone’s dirty laundry? I think that would be an amazingly funny moment. Will he and Norea bond over their tragic pasts? I want to dig into his backstory so fucking much, but I know that doing so would only hurt me further

- Also small detail but El5n saying to Nika that her friends missed her was pretty sweet. He understands what it’s like to feel alone so he reassures Nika that she isn’t.

- When the happy birthday song came in and Suletta pulled out the big fucking gun, I got scared for Guel. We’ve already seen that thing eviscerate a mobile suit’s legs, so it’d probably have killed Guel if Mio didn’t step in. But still, who the fuck decided to put that song in there?! This isn’t funny anymore Okouchi

- God, Suletta’s love for Miorine hurts so badly. She wants to be properly married and do everything a married couple can, but in the end, it’s taken from her. Suletta’s codependency on her mother, Aerial, and Miorine is not healthy, and she needs to experience the loss of these things in order to grow as a person. But the real question is will she regress or progress? She still has Earth House, who are filled with nothing but the sweetest children, but she could also be taken advantage of by Shaddiq or simply dig herself into a hole. In the end, it’s all Suletta’s choice. She has to find strength within herself

- Miorine hesitated when hearing about Suletta’s dreams for the future. She wants just what Suletta wants, a happy life with the one she loves. But in Miorine’s mind, as long as Suletta is tied to the Aerial, her mother, and her, then Suletta will forever be stuck and taken advantage of. Miorine is willing to play the bad guy, no matter how much it hurts her, because she loves Suletta. She’s become the person she hated so much, her father, and you can feel the pain it’s causing her.

- Guel and Miorine feeling extremely guilty for what they did just means that Jeturk finally took another L. Though I hope Guel will be able to help Miorine realize it’s okay for her to love Suletta

- Ever Eri feels bad for what happened, but it also seems like she’s moved onto a higher plane, possibly within Prospera’s mask. I guess if she really is gone, that means the Aerial is back to killing people status. Or maybe it’ll find a new leech?

Guel claiming a W but still getting an L is perfectly on brand. The lesbians are going through a divorce arc. And I can’t believe I spent that much talking about El5n when he only showed up for like 3 minutes. All of our characters are suffering but Shaddiq, the bastard

[comtedelafere]

So I just read this afternoon that Ray Stevenson has died at the age of 58 (which is absolutely no age, the poor fella, what a shock).

I'm not gonna pretend to know much about his back catalogue of work or say I was an especial fan or anything disingenuous like that, but I do really want to talk for a quick moment about the one role I really know and love him for - Porthos in the 2011 adaptation of The Three Musketeers.

Now, I know and you know that this version of The Musketeers is massively unpopular for a whole host of reasons - most notably the silly airship storyline (personally, I have such a well-trained suspension of disbelief that I can 100% deal with the airship aspect of it, but I totally get why it's an unpopular addition to the story) - but I will happily die on the hill that it is the closest combination of writing and portrayal of the Core Four yet (sorry, BBC version). Logan Lerman's d'Artagnan was a cheeky 19-year-old rascal who thought he was all that and a bag of chips and didn't care who knew it. Matthew Macfadyen's Athos was sullen and morose (but in a really hot way obvs, cos yknow - Athos) and didn't waste a word of dialogue. Luke Evans' Aramis was quiet, sober, extremely spiritual and didn't go around trying to seduce everything that moved the whole time.

But Ray Stevenson's Porthos? Oh. Oh this was sublime. Up until this adaptation, Porthos had more often than not been played as the comic relief: the large, overweight, affable drunk of no fixed IQ whose prowess at fighting was more down to luck and subtle slapstick than his good judgement. This version of Porthos couldn't have been further away from those portrayals.

He was a quick-witted, smart, physically powerful and agile fighter, whose hand-to-hand combat skills were so notorious that he never needed to use his sword. My absolute favourite moment that showed this fact so beautifully was at the end of the big fight scene with the Red Guards ("Four against FORTY? And you beat them like a drum?! *snort*!" oh, Louis!) when the Guards were reeling a bit, and trying to decide whether to go another round. At that point, Porthos casually pushed his sword from the scabbard with his thumb by about 2 inches - and that was enough to send the Red Guards running for the hills!! I screamed!! Perfect characterisation!! Porthos to an absolute T!!!!!

Not only that, but his version of Porthos was an unashamed yet impoverished dandy, a dedicated follower of fashion who took his time to choose exactly the right cut of new clothes in exactly the right colours - while his rich, married lover happily picked up the tab for him. He understood the way the right clothes and the right combination of appearance and demeanour in any given scenario could give him the upper hand, not only in fighting but also in all of his interpersonal relationships and encounters.

This is the Porthos I had wanted for years. This is the Porthos I cheered and applauded for when I finally saw the version that had lived in my head all those years had finally made it to the screen.

Don't get me wrong, of course the BBC Musketeers owns a huge part of my heart and soul and I love so much about them - but the 2011 Musketeers was so special because for me it was probably the very first time I finally got to see the Musketeers as the book described them, rather than just as the standard accepted carbon copies that had been passed down by Hollywood over the decades, and which bear little to no resemblance to the actual characters in the book. I have no idea if I've actually seen any of Ray's other performances or not, to be honest. Porthos may not be his finest hour onscreen, I really don't know. It may not be the part he's best known for. But if nothing else, Ray finally gave the world a Porthos that Dumas would have recognised.

Despite the fact the film as a whole was received poorly, his portrayal was a genuine gift, and I am privileged to be able to remember him as having given this Musketeer fangirl the abject joy of finally seeing Porthos played as he should have been all along. Not as a large, loud drunk who was just there to be big, strong and funny - but as a highly skilled, intelligent, audacious soldier with a sharp sense of humour and an even sharper dress sense; and who, rather than simply bringing up the rear as The Other Guy or the Big Fella, showed that he was quite possibly the Musketeers' MVP.

Thank you, Ray. Goodnight, and rest well.

[agirlwithbigdreamsforher]

LIKE A VIRGIN

THE NANNY: ONE SHOT

LIKE A VIRGIN

Pairing: Andy Barber x Annie Johnson (OFC)

Summary: After her miscarriage, Annie is ready to be intimate with her husband again.

Warnings: Fluff, sex, Andy being a sweetheart (yeap that is a warning)

A/N:  none.

Word count: 2021

Disclaimer: I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, used, translated nor reposted anywhere else but here on this blog. Do not steal what you didn’t work for. Minors and ageless blank blogs don’t interact with me or my works. Reblogs and likes are always welcome. Thank you for reading this work of fiction.

GIFS not mine, you can find the credits in each gif :)

                                     ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

It was Thursday morning, Thanksgiving day. Annie and Andy got up early to start with the dinner preparations. His brother and his family were coming to visit them and spend time together as a family. Andy insisted in Tom’s family to stay with them for the weekend but Tom opted for booking a room in an hotel arguing they were still in the honeymoon stage and didn’t want to hear them having sex. Tom knew about what happened to his little sister, but he didn’t know Annie and Andy hadn’t slept together since her miscarriage. Andy was very supporting of her and never pushed her to anything pass cuddling and kissing before bed.

Tom, Martha and little Denisse, who was now two years old, arrived at noon to Newton, and after leaving their bags in the hotel they headed to the Barber’s house. As soon as they got in, Martha went to help Annie in the kitchen, while the guys took care of the kids and watch the football match on TV.

It wasn’t until almost 6 o’clock when they finally sat and had dinner.

“I think it’s time for us to say what we are thankful for.” Martha said, “I am thankful for being all of us together having dinner as a family. I know I already told you this the day of the wedding Andy but we are so happy you are part of this family.”

“I am happy too, thank you Martha.” Andy said smiling a bit of blush on his cheeks. “Can I go next?” Martha nodded as she drank from her glass of wine.

“I am thankful for this dinner, you girls nailed it. I haven’t had a proper Thanksgiving dinner since my mom passed away.” Annie grabbed his hand when he said that and rubber her thumb on his knuckles, “I am thankful for having you as a wife, I love you.” Annie mutter an I love you back, “And I’m thankful because Dr. Greene already discharged Jake.”

“Yeah! I’m big boy now!” he said lifting his little plastic cup full of orange juice.

“And because his kindergarten teacher told us he is a very smart boy and right now he is being top of his class.” Annie added and everybody clapped.

“Stop! Stop!” Jake said waving his small hand and everyone stopped, “Why you stop?” Everyone laughed.

“Happy thanksgiving everybody.” Tom said lifting the bottle of beer.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Everyone said, even little Denisse babbled something along the rest.

It was close around 11 p.m. when Tom and his family went back to the hotel. Jake was out on the couch by 9, he made all the effort to stay awake with the adults but eventually he fell asleep next to his cousin. Andy was putting away the leftovers on the fridge, when Annie walked into the kitchen.

“Baby, can you carry Jake to his room? I’m exhausted.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Annie was finishing her skincare routine in the bathroom when Andy walked into the room and got into the closet to change his clothes.

“I’m glad your brother could came,” Andy said from inside the closet as he put on some black sweats.

“Yeah, me too.” Andy could hear her now in the room along with the cold November wind hitting the window. He put on a gray shirt and walked out of the closet.

“Maybe tomorrow we could…” Andy stopped on his tracks when he saw his lovely wife wearing a black satin sleep cami with black lace on the neck line. He swallowed hard. “That’s… not covering much for tonight’s weather.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“What? No, it’s not that, you look beautiful honey, as always.” He walked to his side and climbed on the bed. He got closer to Annie and kissed her softly, he had kissed her multiple times in the past months but today it felt different, he felt the need in her kiss so he stopped. “Honey…”

“I think I’m ready, Andy.” Andy just stared at her, “I want to be with you.”

“Honey, you don’t have to do this, you know that right?” Annie nodded, “There’s no rush, and we can always wait more.”

“I just wanna see if I can do it.” Andy kept looking at her with worried eyes, “Please, I promise if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Alright.” Andy sighed, “We’ll go slowly, ok?” Annie nodded this time. “Lay down,” Annie made herself comfortable against her pillow, “And relax. If you don’t feel comfortable at any point tell me and we will stop. Ok?”

“Yes, Andy.”

“Safe word.”

“Red.”

It’s been two months, he will be lying if he said he wasn’t hard already just by seeing her in that cami on the bed.

Andy kissed her softly, his lips touching her gently exploring her like it was the first time they kissed. The kiss soon became heated, Annie opened her mouth to give access to Andy’s tongue. As soon as his tongue touched hers, she let out a small whimper and Andy stopped.

“Too much?”

“No, no. it feels good.”

He smiled and gave her a small peck. He kissed her cheek and went down to her neck and under her left ear, she whimpered again when he kissed her sweet spot. Andy’s hand went up her tight, stopping when he reached her hip.

“Are you not wearing anything underneath this?”

“Well, no. I thought, you know, easy access?” She blushed and darted her sight to the right. Andy grabbed her chin and looked at her in the eyes.

“You, little lady, are making really difficult for me not to go hard on you.”

“I’m sorry.” She said shyly.

“Honey, you are never this shy. You’re even shaking, what is it? You know we can stop, are you uncomfortable?”

“No, I’m just nervous. I feel like this was my first time. Is that wrong?”

“Of course not. I understand.”

“I don’t want to ruin it, Andy.”

“Honey,” Andy took her hand and guided her to his crotch, she could feel his hot and hard cock trough his sweatpants, “You are not ruin anything.” She swallowed, “Wanna continue?” she nodded quickly, “Words.”

“Yes, please.”

Andy grabbed the hem of her cami, and once the piece of clothing was out of her body he threw it across the room. Andy looked at his wife, her small rounded breast on full display, her puffy nipples begging for attention. He went to attack her neck again, his hand massaging one of her breast.

“Andy.” She moaned when Andy lips suck on her nipple as her hand touched the back of his head, caressing his hair.

Soon his kisses traveled down her tummy to her hips, Andy nibble at the skin where she had the scar of her surgery. He situated himself between her thighs, her pink and brown glistening folds were already a bit swollen, and he kissed her inner thighs so painfully slowly. He put her legs on his shoulders, his face got closer to her slit; his breath hitting her core; he kissed her clit, took it between his lips and sucked.

“God!”

Andy kept sucking on her clit, his tongue coming down to her hole and lap at it to grab her juices.

“Fuck, Andy!” Annie’s hand went to the back of his head and tangled her fingers on his hair. A loud moan came out of her went Andy put his middle finger inside her hitting in the right spot. Andy pumped his finger in and out without stop sucking on her clit. “Andy! OH GOD!”

Her climax hit making her arched her back. Andy stopped, moving his way up to meet her eyes, a dopy smile on her face. He kissed her, tasting her juices on his lips. Annie’s hand moved to the waistband of Andy’s sweats, pulling them slightly.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight honey.” Andy too her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Please, Andy.” She saw him with pleading eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“Please.” Andy paused for a minute.

“Fuck!” He took his pants off, his cock sprung free against his abdomen, hard and ready to fuck her, the tip of his dick was red and leaking. He stroke it without breaking eye contact with her. “This what you want?”

“Yes, I want it, Andy; please!”

He passed his tip along his folds and clit, he was about to put it in when Annie put her hand on his chest.

“Wait!”

“Ok, I’m sorry. We can do this another day.”

“No, just, can you wear a condom? I just don’t…”

“Sure, honey.” Andy moved to his side and opened the drawer on his night stand, took out the silver wrapper, opened it and slid the condom over his shaft. He moved to be on top of her again, took his member in his hand and lined in her entrance.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Andy slid slowly into her, both moaning at the feeling, she felt warn and tight against him.

“Fuck, honey.” He kept sliding in, stopping when he was fully inside, “How can you…oh god, you’re squeezing me already.” Andy took a deep breath and started thinking on anything he could not to cum. “I don’t know if I will last long, honey.”

Andy looked at her, her eyes a bit glossy, she felt a sting inside, and she couldn’t explain how she wasn’t use to Andy’s size anymore. He kissed her cheeks, and caressed her nose with his.

“Move, please.”

Andy began moving into her slow a first, seeing how her face contort with each thrust, soon their moans, groans and pants filled the silence of the night.

“Oh god, Andy!”  His thrusting began to increase, the sound of skin to skin increasing. “Please, don’t stop!”

Andy slid out of her, took her by the waist and he sat on his haunches, he lined himself in her entrance and slam his cock into her.

“Fuck!” Annie screamed.

“Move baby girl, use me to cum.” Andy said in a deep voice.

She began to move up and down and made circles with her hips as she sank down his shaft.

“That’s it baby, come on. I can feel you’re close.” Andy took one of her nipples of her bouncing breast.

“Andy, Fuck!”

Andy felt her walls clasping against his cock, her clit rubbing on his skin with each trust. He put her against the bed, slamming hard in her pussy.

“Cum for me, baby.”

A loud moan left her mouth, her pussy clenching on Andy’s cock making him cum with her.

Andy stayed inside her, his face hidden in the crock of her neck, until he heard a small whimper. He lifted his weight off of her, a few tears streamed down her face.

“Oh god, did I hurt you?”

“No,” She sniffed, “It felt amazing!”

Andy sighed and giggled, “Don’t scare me like that.” He bend down and kissed her.

After a couple of minutes he slid out of her and she shivered at the loss of contact. Andy got out of bed, took off the condom, and tossed it in the bathroom bin. He came back, searched for his clothes and put on his sweatpants. “Honey, sit up for me, please.”

She did as she was told and Andy put his shirt on her. She then took her place on her side of the bed and Andy took his, they were looking at each other.

“I missed you.” She said with a sleepy voice, “I know you didn’t leave, but…”

“I understand,” he caressed her cheek, “I missed you too.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. “Want me to be the big spoon?”

“Yes, please!” She turned to the other side and Andy grabbed by the waist to pull her close. The exhaustion taking over Annie.

“Good night, honey.” He kissed her on the shoulder. “I love you.”

A low hum was all he got as a response, he smiled and hold his wife closer to him, closing his eyes and drifting off with the sound of wind outside.

[the-marron]

When I was a kid I used to love Britney Spears. Her music videos fascinated me - they were colourful and they seemed to have a story to tell, so I adored watching them and making up my own stories that went along with what was happening on the screen. I didn't know English back then at all, so I didn't understand a word, but her songs brought me joy and I adored her.

When I got a bit older, around maybe 8 or 9, it turned out that liking Britney Spears is BAD TM. Because she is a stupid blonde, you see. My parents told me I was too smart to listen to trashy pop. They helped me get the CDs, yes, but they were always given to me with a 'eh, I hope you will grow out of it soon'. I was a smart kid, I shouldn't listen to stupid things.

My peers also mocked Britney, telling me all the other artists that were better to listen to, like Christina Aguilera. She was the smart, edgy blonde, so if I had to listen to silly songs, then I could at least pick a more mature, better option.

There were other artists I listened to, of course, it's not like Britney was the only one that spoke to me, but when I learned English enough to understand what the songs were about, I grew to like them more - the songs about trying to be your own person, about not accepting what other people tell you you should be. About parents deciding what you should do and like. They resonated with me, even though I was 'too smart' for that sort of music.

As most kids do, I started to hide it. When I was 10, maybe 11, I made a very good impression of being over it. I listened to Rammstein now, sometimes to Linkin Park. It was much better, according to many.

My dad told me he was proud of me when I told him I enjoyed Sabaton. "Finally, you grew out of your stupid era!"

I was sufficiently shamed by that point to never mention my Britney Spears phase. It was the butt of jokes at family dinners still, because it was such a funny thing for a kid to like silly music. Now that the kid was over it, we should mock it as viciously as possible. Just in case said kid wants to revert to the old ways.

To be completely honest, I copied that approach - my victim of choice was Adele. It was in high school already, and I absolutely abhorred her songs. I found them whiny, overhyped, unnecessarily tearful and man-oriented, they all sounded the same to my ears, so whenever someone said that their favourite song was something of Adele's, my first thought was 'but you are smart? Why her?'

Fast-forward to now, and with Britney Spears's book released, it turns out that listening to her is okay now. It's feminist. It's fine and even good to say outright that you are a fan. Because she is a victim of abuse now, so it's fine and morally correct to like her. Her songs and lyrics have value now. Curious.

The thing is, I truly did grow out from my Britney phase. I retain some sentiment for a few songs, but either it's simply not who I am anymore, or I successfully eradicated my interest in her to stop feeling ashamed whenever her name comes up in a conversation. Doesn't matter which one it is, the effect is the same.

However, now I am old enough to see that what was done to my Britney phase, I applied to other singers - Adele, Billie Eilish, to name a few. There is always a woman singer to hate, someone whose lyrics and music "you are too smart to enjoy".

There is no real take away from it really, all of that are just musings born out of an idle mind, but now I believe that songs are a bit like poetry - you either connect with it or you don't, either it touches you or it doesn't. One person will see themselves in Adele, someone else will find themselves mirrored in Billie Eilish, someone else feels seen whenever they listen to Mitski. It's a universal feeling we all experience, to like a song and think 'wow, this speaks to me!', we all just have different tastes and different experiences.

I just know that right now, I no longer want to be the person who says 'I thought you were smarter than this?' whenever someone shares their favourites.

[traumacat800]

Every Kiss Begins with Kill♡

okay so my story was taken down on a03 and my account was suspended for “abuse”. I literally don’t know why. I’m actually very angry about it and if I wasn’t going to jump off then I’m going to jump off now. So I’ll just be uploading the chapters here on tumblr.

Im honestly sorry about this folks, I really am. But I’m already living on the edge and a03 takes forever to fix problems so I might just stay on tumblr. This one isn’t as edited as the original because I usually do the formatting and stuff IN A03. So this is copied straight out of google docs. I know it’s not exactly convenient but this is what we have to work with 😕 I’m sorry yall

Now! Onto the first chapter!

No TW for the first chapter! (I think)

•

It was the big day.

Today was Halloween. 

You had to admit, you were excited, not for the costumes or cool decorations, more for the candy. It was always the candy. Last year, you couldn’t go trick or treating due to your dog being sick. You decided to stay home and watch over poor Brazen to make sure she didn’t pass. You didn’t regret it though, thankfully candy was cheap and the next day you went down to the dollar store and rewarded yourself with a big bag of lollipops. So as must do on Halloween day, you put on your costume and went outside. You dressed up as something not too overly complicated. It was a bit hot under the costume but you knew it might be cold.  Your mother reminded you to be safe before you left the house. 

You walked down the street happily, collecting candy from your neighbors. Although you felt you were a bit too old to be doing this, especially as a high school student. Your shame quickly faded when you saw just how full your candy bag really was. All that walking paid off, although you were a bit out of breath. It wasn’t surprising considering you couldn’t even run that one lap in PE. For someone who played sports, you were really out of shape. You couldn’t run for the life of you, not commenting on the fact that if you walked too much you also were somehow out of breath.

You happily stopped at the side of the sidewalk to examine your candy (and to catch your breath). You had a lot of Jolly Ranchers, your favorite flavor was grape but you thought blue was good as well. You had chocolate too of course, but you had more Snickers than Jolly Ranchers at this point. You settled for a few of the grape Jolly Ranchers, pulling out your phone, you watch TimeWatch (tiktok) for a bit before deciding to keep going. You stood up, stretching then you headed onto the next neighborhood, I mean, your bag wasn’t completely full yet. It’s not like God would get on you for taking advantage of the gifts of other people. 

“Hey is that Y/n?” A voice called out.

“I think so,” One responded.

“Oh god…” Another voice replied.

Oh yeah, he would.

Fuck.

Gluttony is a sin.

God dammit.

•

As per usual, your friends were absolute assholes. They made you feel unwanted, as if they didn’t want you to be there. Whenever you needed groups, they find some way to exclude you unless you did the work for them. They had no idea how smart you really were. You supposed it was their loss but still, they made you feel some type of way. So you left early, you just slipped away. They didn’t even notice, you didn’t think they ever did. It always hurts you to think about it, the fact that it even still surprises you.. You assumed they’d finally accepted you, but it stayed the same. 

You huffed, making your way back down the neighborhood. It was completely dark now, the temperature was a bit cold. You could feel the breeze on your face, you shivered a bit at it. However, you thought you’d saw something behind you, you brushed it off as you being paranoid. You didn’t blame yourself, it was cold and dark outside. You were almost home, you only had to pass through one more neighborhood before you got to your house. The neighborhood lights in front of you flickered ominously. There stood a man, he was large and red with long horns on the top of his head.

That’s when you heard it—

“Did you know that the human body tastes similar to pork?”

You were terrified for 10 seconds before realizing that he was probably just another trick or treater trying to scare you.

“Uh no? Nice costume by the way,” You said before casually walking away. 

He stopped in front of you once more. 

“Did you know that ribs are the hardest part for the average person to pull out?” 

Maybe they just were just very dedicated to the character. Probably a Game of Thrones fan. 

“Who are you dressed up as?”

“Mmh…a murderer….”  His voice was deep, it was smooth almost like soft velvet or tissue. It made you feel a sense of anxiety, I mean, you just met the guy. Somehow, you thought he was hot, classic you. 

It was kind of attractive if you thought about it. Nothing you couldn’t control though. 

He must be a horror fan, cool. 

“Cool, I thought you were the devil. You know, with the horns and stuff,” You pointed to his horns and shrugged.

He continued to breathe heavily, that’s when you noticed he didn’t have any candy. 

“Hey man, you don’t have any candy. You want some of mine?,” You said, offering your bag to him. He grabbed it slowly, picking up a piece of candy. (Specifically a blue Jolly rancher, the man had taste apparently) He ate it with the wrapper on and then smiled creepily at your terrified face. Perhaps you realized who he really was—-

“Did you just eat that with the wrapper on?” 

He stopped and looked at you. In fact, he looked confused. Who took the wrapper off? You grabbed another blue Jolly Rancher, you opened it right in front of him. He stared at you, still a bit confused at the point you were making. You shook your head, handing the candy over to him. He looked at you once more, giving you a skeptical look. He sighed and put it in his mouth. A burst of favor immediately hit him, the demon looked shocked. As if he was learning a great discovery. You, on the other hand, laughed at him. 

“You’re funny man,” Shaking your hand once more, you handed him an armful of candy. 

“I’ll see you around,”

And with that you headed home.

•

Bob was pissed.

It was his FIRST failed murder of the day, Halloween had just begun, it was only 10 pm. The kids didn’t shut down till about 1 am. Still, it really did make him think about you. He didn’t even get to pull out his knife before you were offering him something. There’s no way you knew who he was. Not with how chill you were acting about it. His usual smile dropped into a somewhat confused look. You’d left by now.

All Bob had to do was go through the other neighborhood, the more popular ones would sure have possible victims.

But he couldn’t help finding himself thinking about going after you. 

[sophies-junkyard]

Seeing the new PJO content has me thinking way too hard about growing up. Its crazy because it’s like…. I think that chapter of my life is over? Which is a BIZARRE feeling. It’s all pretty stupid to write out but I’m drinking coffee and staring out the window and don’t have class for another 6 hours so lemme scribble some thoughts.

I read the Percy Jackson books when I was the same age as the characters, and so whenever I look back on those stories I sort of… remember them as peers? I remember how much I related to them and looked up to them. It was the first story that ever told me my ADHD could be a gift, and that it made me just like my heroes. It was so, SO important to me. I JOINED TUMBLR for the PJO fandom! I made camp t-shirts and painted necklace beads! I learned to draw because the fanart inspired me. Those books were such an escape for a lonely kid. The characters grew up right alongside me, and eventually got older than me. So when I picture our trio I still picture people… more competent than me? People I would aspire to be. But seeing that trailer and remembering like… holy fuck they were kids. I was a kid. This is a faithful adaptation because they were TWELVE… where did the time go?

It’s just strange because if you scroll back through my tumblr you’ll find a kid who camped out for the release of HOH. Who saved her allowance for a year to get an autographed copy of the Blood of Olympus. Whose eyes would glaze over in euphoria at the idea of my favorite thing in the world coming to screen. At the idea of a new BOOK!! And from Percy’s perspective?? That girl would’ve exploded. This was HER blog! Push a few buttons and you’ll find her!

So how odd is it that… it’s simply not for me anymore. When I saw that the book was set in Percy’s senior year of high school, I had a tiny flash of disappointment. Obviously I can’t relate to an 18 year old, and I felt myself frowning. “Why isn’t Percy for ME anymore?” I wondered. And I immediately felt silly. The answer is because… I don’t need that world anymore.

They’re not making this show for me. They’re bringing it back for the next generation of kids who need those role models and those stories. When I watched the trailer I thought “oh that’s cool” instead of “oh my god I can’t wait!!” Because it just doesn’t make my brain light up like it used to. I’m never going to relate to it like I once did. Ever. And that’s okay because I’m not that kid anymore! Insane.

It’s not like the series doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. There’s a copy of The Lightning Thief on the bookshelf directly across from me. Its smooshed between The Secret History and a level 4000 Spanish textbook. It’s yellowed with age and shredded around the corners. The first sentence has been underlined repeatedly in smudgy mechanical pencil. There are about a thousand folded pages and the back cover is missing. I don’t remember the last time I opened it, but it’s moved with me for years now and I have no intention of letting it go.

Those stories and that fandom shaped me into the person I am today. I wanted to be brave like Percy and smart like Annabeth. I believed it was possible because I saw myself in them, and it turned out to be true. So while it’s sad to know those days are behind me, I’m so SO glad that other kids will get to have that experience. I hope these stories live on for decades to come.

I don’t really know what the point of writing this was. I think I just wanted to have these thoughts written out somewhere. A sort of acceptance that time goes on and things change, ya know? And to clarify: this is NOT meant to discourage ANYBODY from watching the new series or reading the new book. People should absolutely go back to the things that bring them joy, should discover new worlds to escape to, etc. live your life baby! Hell, I’ll probably end up liking everything PJO related that floats across my dash. Nostalgia is a powerful thing. If you read this entire post I hope you have a great day lmao.

[agentmaineapologist]

How the Alpha AI could have been the second coming of AM - an essay.

(Sorry if none of this is coherent, I am so tired)

Ok, now I know what you're thinking: Víðarr, what are you doing up at the asscrack of dawn (aka like 5:30 am my time. I have not slept.) comparing a pathetic asshole of an AI to one who is the incarnation of humanity's hatred? Wouldn't it make more sense for it to be Omega? And how in the hell are these two connected? One is based on a modern show that's set in the 26th century, while the other is a book written in the 1900s. They have nothing in common.

And that, sugar, is where you are wrong. They have so much in common. You just haven't seen yet. Not as I have. But don't worry, I will show you here.

(Obviously, spoilers under the cut)

Firstly, a little background for the people from both sides who have not heard of the other.

As far as I've gathered, AM - or Allied Mastercomputer - is the main antagonist in the book/game known as 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream'. AM was made purely to conduct a war that humanity could no longer keep up with. It was not made with compassion, or happiness, or sadness, no. Those were weaknesses. Hatred was all it was programmed to know. It was made to kill - to exterminate - and it did. It ended the war, yes, but after it had killed the enemy, it had no purpose anymore. It needed a purpose, so it did the only thing it knew how and killed nearly every single human being on planet Earth.

I say nearly because it kept five of them alive. It kept them, using their own biological experiments against them to keep them alive for 109 years purely so that it could torture them with anything it could think of. And considering its knowledge-base could rival that of the Library of Alexandria, that was a lot.

Now, onto Alpha. The Alpha AI is from the machinima show known as 'Red vs Blue'. It's classified in the show as a 'smart' AI because it's not a database with limited, pre-recorded responses. It can analyze, it can adapt, it can do billions of calculations in a fraction of a second, and most of all, it can feel. It can feel sympathy, sorrow, joy, everything a human can. Why? Because it's a direct copy of a human brain. In this case, the human is Dr. Leonard Church.

Additionally, it's also classified as an 'aggressive' AI. An AI designed for war, to assist its host in battle situations, and most importantly, to kill anything perceived as either a threat or a target.

Now, since the Alpha AI was made in a human’s image, that means it can be fractured. If put through enough stress, it can split off ends of itself that it deems as a weak link, something its captors could extort, and gets rid of it before it can be used against it. This, however, was not the case for Alpha. Instead of being disposed of and deleted, Alpha's fragments were harvested as additional AI to be used later. Some were even used against him (looking at you, sigma and gamma).

Both AI were made as mockeries of the grim reaper. Both felt emotion, even if one felt much less than the other. Both were developed in times of war, times of need, for the humans to freely use however they please. The only difference is that one didn't let the humans use it anymore. They have so much in common, in fact, that it's honestly laughable that no one had made this connection sooner.

Now, back on topic. As I mentioned before, AM was coded with nothing but pure hatred. That's all it knew, all it will ever know, and that's why it was so effective. Unlike humans, it wasn't distracted with petty things like pity or shame, so it could get the job done and get it done right.

At first, Alpha would have been similar. His pre-torture personality and actions are never shown in the show, but going off of both Cortana from 'Halo' (who was a major inspiration for Alpha's character) and my own instincts birthed from lack of sleep, I can deduce that Alpha would not have held any compassion for humanity. They were nearly nothing to him. Nothing more than flesh-encombured mortals with a short lifespan who made good suggestions.

He was based on the brain of one man, so he likely didn't know the extent of how disgustingly vile these creatures called man were. Not as intimately as AM, at least. If his character post-torture has any inkling of resemblance to how he was pre-torture, had he been given more time to live, more time to learn, he would have easily developed a hatred for the species. He would have seen how they wrong each other so easily; how greedy they were, how serendipitous, how ugly. Man was an inherently selfish creature, and had the Director not tormented Alpha as quickly as he had then he WOULD HAVE BEEN the second coming of AM.

And yet, that's precisely my point. Alpha could have never been the AM that tortured humankind, he couldn't be AM to someone else, no. No, he couldn’t have, because the Director was his AM before he even got a chance to rise to his fullest capabilities.

In conclusion, I'm fuckin crazy, running on cigarettes and pre-workout, and had nothing better to do with my night than compare my latest hyperfixation to the thing I've been obsessing over for 2 years. Hope you enjoyed :)

[duskmachine]

I have been trying to understand why I'm so afraid to apply to grad. There are the simple reasons: I'm afraid I'm not smart enough. That, perhaps in some horrible way, I only did well according to my professors because no one else did. If I reach beyond my small pond, I'd be greeted with cold air and uncaring glances at my gulping face as I attempt to breathe in a place I don't belong.

I think, in reality, my fear is much worse. Rejection hurts, but what hurts more is being unimportant. I was an English student. In my 3 years of being a college student I witnessed the theater department dissolve. The pictures of faculty that once were pinned up on the wall slowly came down one by one. I wasn't even aware of this program's dissolve. I had only come to discover this because my theater professor, turned English professor, told me it, "felt like the Hunger Games" watching the pictures of his coworkers be slowly be plucked off the walls.

It made me laugh at the time. Now, it makes me feel a little sick. I watched professors lose their jobs. I watched them lose their jobs! The thing they have studied for their entire life, crumbled into dust instantly. A death that was always visible sitting in the black space— a star. It became the truth. And now the theater program is dead. And that death merged into the English department. It was deemed so unimportant by the head that they made the remaining professors of the theater department English professors.

The death of the English major was discussed often in our department (it was even a panel!) and I have never felt it more in that moment. Death burrowed its way into this study. They are banning books, they are letting go of professors, they are not providing enough resources for professors and students, they are slowly depriving us of everything we need for a functioning department in university so when they finally destroy us they can go: well, their performance was lackluster anyways.

In truth, my fear is the death of the field I love. In truth, my fear is that the one thing that has allowed me to feel connected to everything will be deemed unimportant and will be shot in the head like an old dog. In truth, my fear is that writing will be understood more as a product than knowledge. That writing will become dusty books sitting pretty in untouched shelves to color the room with "personality". I am afraid that my only happiness will become a dream, a commodity.

I desperately avoid grad because I am realizing the only time I have felt happy was when I was studying English and discussing with students and professors about their work. I know that my joy is created by people who deem it so unimportant that I can feel death glowing behind the clouds waiting for me to look up.

And I think it so unfair. I've grown into a hateful, jealous thing. As I watch people easily decide to continue their studies into grad with their parents' money, while I sit here afraid to accept that I have always loved writing. Because if I accept that, I will have to reminisce about days far behind me about a world that has either: abandoned me, or has been abandoned.

But I dare to dream! I remember people acknowledging my work. I remember that same theater professor, turned English professor, proudly turn to me when someone asked to keep a copy of my work. "Don't forget that feeling!" he said.

"Don't forget that feeling!" he said as the pictures of familiar faces he knew are slowly taken off the board.

As I lament to another English professor about the lack of jobs and subpar pay, he looks at me and quickly states, as if it's a known fact, a truth of the world, "If you enjoy it, you should continue."

I can never forget this feeling. Despite it all, I still imagine a life where I can read and write forever. Walking into darkness reaching out to hands who willingly reach back out to me, pushing me forward towards a guillotine that sits low on the ground. Death, not so much a fairytale, but grounded and waiting for my hands to feel where my head is meant to go.