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xpao-bearx · 1 year ago

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Guess who started being consumed by playing BG3??? 👁👄👁

In honour of this INCREDIBLE game, here's my Tav!

(Sorry that the photo quality isn't the best, these are not in-game screenshots! I just took pics with my phone, but I do wanna say that my Tav has a LOT of freckles on her body that the pics didn't do justice)

Her name is Mon'sun and SHE IS MAH FUCKING BABYYY 😭❤️❤️❤️

I plan on writing a fic with her and the star himself (AKA MY DARLING 🥰): ✨️Astarion✨️ I already have a SHITLOAD of ideas, I just wanna play some more first and see how Astarion's romance pans out before I begin! So if that's something you'd be interested in reading, thanks sooo much and deffo keep a lookout for any updates~ Also, their ship name is SunStar which is JUST THE CUTEST FUCKING THING ALSKDJSKLJ

And I just wanna give my deepest love and gratitude to my two queens @kuroosexuall and @matchamocchi 💕 They have been nothing but patient and supportive of all my SERIOUSLY unhealthy fangirling over the sassy vampy elfy as well as my OC 🥲

But for the meantime, while I still haven't written my fic, below are some (*cough* a LOT so buckle up *cough*) stuff I've thought up for Mon'sun! Just to give y'all a fun lil taste of how I imagine her as a character, though I'm sure as I continue to play I'll get even more ideas and I'll probably have to edit this or post more about her, in which all posts connected to her will be tagged as #Mon'sun and Mon'sun x Astarion being tagged as #SunStar so y'all can easily search for them if you're interested. BTW I purposely left out extra details regarding her childhood as well as her thoughts about the tadpole cuz those are stoofs I'd like to reveal and explore in my fic!

And sadly, I'm not an artist, but I'm planning on and SO excited to commission various artworks of Mon'sun and SunStar from some truly extraordinary artists when the time comes so just wait for thy eyes to be blessed! \(^o^)/ Speaking of, if y'all are ever curious about Mon'sun, please don't hesitate to send me asks and such cuz your interest in my baby would be the BIGGEST honour 🥹

Now, without further ado...

Get to know "The Scarred Bard" under the cut!

In the game, I chose Voice 8 for Mon'sun but I headcanon that her voiceclaim is annapantsu (YouTuber who does a lot of amazing song covers!! 🙌)

Her theme song is Love Runs Out by OneRepublic

She does have a last name that she took on in honour from the woman who adopted her in Baldur's Gate but she hasn't found the need to tell anyone what it is

A drow half-elf and a College of Lore bard 🎵

Tends to face a lot of discrimination due to being a "filthy half-breed" and possessing drow ancestry, not to mention her drow parent being Lolth-sworn; her blood red right eye a telltale sign and a deep, angry scar permanently carved across it a merciless reminder of what she resents about herself

Occasionally has dreams and thoughts of the goddess Lolth speaking to her, tempting her with sweet whispers of cruelty and darkness. Mon'sun tries her damndest to resist--to stay on the path of good--but violent impulses erupt when the thin string of her patience (and sanity) snaps and it feels so fucking good

Mon'sun aligns as a chaotic neutral character. While she does try to be good, she is quite an unorthodox heroine in her personal little tale and can be pushed to make extreme decisions should she feel that they are for the better...or just whichever's a more fun option 🤭

Survived a poor and bleak childhood, but full of love in her early years; certain circumstances impacted this happiness which drastically changed everything

One of the youngest in the party, only in her early to mid 20s. And though she's not sure when her actual birth date is, she does consider the day she was adopted--saved--as such

Very resilient and versatile even through the worst scenarios (likely due to her past), but would much rather avoid problems whenever possible. She may be seen as a bit of a coward because of this though she certainly doesn't mind (she'd like to keep her gorgeous head, thank you very much!). However, there are times where she exhibits great bravery, such as standing up for the weak and defending innocents regardless of the consequences. She can also be quite mischievous and defiant with her enemies, truly a bard through and through with her vicious mockery 😈

She tries to see the good in everyone, to be patient and understanding, giving them the same chance she hopes to receive if she ever finds herself in a similar situation. However, some fuckers don't deserve that kindness and a sick, exhilarating part of her deep down yearns for the bloodshed sure to stain her hands. After all... She would only be granting them a mercy by ending their repulsive, pathetic lives...right?

She is proficient with weapons though she prefers casting spells especially ones that can be utilized from a good distance (Fireball being one of her all-time favourites--efficient and hot, both in a sexy way and an "I will feed your barbecued corpses to my widdle baby owlbear" way). She's also a fantastic cheerleader; she will happily let the stronger people on the team handle the grittier scraps of battle while she does a jaw-dropping performance of ✨️Bardic Inspiration✨️ on the sidelines (Lae'zel STRONGLY disapproves)

Skilled in stealth and sleight of hand accompanied by a biting wit (seriously, she has the potential to have been a rogue instead). Tries her best to make an honest living as a wandering bard, but whenever money and options are tight then she's driven to petty thievery. Although, as much as she hates to admit it, there is something in her that utterly relishes in the intoxicating rush of crime

Lockpicking is more so a hobby rather than a necessity for her. Funnily enough, with how much she likes to explore, she probably came across and "collected" the key that opens that mysterious door advancing the party's adventure. However, the key seems to be merely decorative because Mon'sun already opened the door since the shiny lock caught her eye as soon as the party stepped into the room! She'll even lockpick a shabby chest filled with absolutely nothing simply because she finds it to be a fun game to pass the time while everyone else debates on the next course of action (like a child being given a toy to amuse themselves with while the adults discuss boring adult shit). Astarion will even join her sometimes, and they also constantly challenge each other on who gets to disarm a trap first while the rest of the party make bets on who will win

What she lacks in strength, she makes up for with her incredible dexterity

While she is a survivor in her own right, she can't deny that pure dumb luck has saved her more times than a bard has bedded a dragon...which is definitely saying a lot

After travelling around for so long, the vast world of Faerûn has fuelled her curious mind with quite an impressive amount of knowledge along with fascinating stories to tell. But while she basks in the freedom of it all, her heart aches for a true sense of belonging; a home

She loves--and I mean LOVES--looting dead bodies. While their demise is certainly unfortunate, their loss is her grateful gain as well as a much less criminal way to obtain some quick valuables (hey, she can sympathize and get rich. It's a win-win!)

A biiit of a hoarder (perhaps she was a dragon in a past life, she jokes). Her pack is nearly always full of various junk, good and bad. She gets attached easily to these items and keeps making the excuse that "they could be handy or fetch for a pretty penny one day" all while almost never actually trying to get rid of them (DEFINITELY not me projecting myself here 👀)

She is VERY charismatic, successfully deceiving or talking her way out of many toils and even persuading powerful creatures to side with her which makes her pretty powerful, too, in her own right. On the other (much darker) hand... This sweet, cheerful bard has convinced some enemies to literally kill themselves, saving her from aaall the tough work she really can't be bothered with of ridding them herself--and she'll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Work smarter, not harder as they say! 👏

Confident, outgoing, and playful with a flair for the theatrical; also rather perceptive to the people and things around her, but can be serious and empathetic when needed. Often tries to keep a positive (if not naive) outlook on life and continues to hold hope for a better future against all odds, yet is actually burying a devastating loneliness and pain within the depths of her soul

Can be a flirt and almost never hesitates to sleep with any man interested in her. For her, however, it's not about physical pleasure--it's about intimacy. Chasing after the high of being in someone's strong embrace, their warmth melting the icy melancholy her heart is trapped in; even if only for one, meaningless night

Despite everything, she has a big heart. She has a hard time saying no to anyone in need, her selflessness (or too much of it for that matter) sometimes leading to be a weakness. She particularly has a soft spot for children and animals, as well as being able to understand and communicate with the latter thanks to the "Speak with Animals" spell. And while she is a chaotic neutral, she instantly becomes chaotic good (emphasis on chaotic) when it comes down to animals, literally slaying everything in her path if it ensures the animal is safe from those that hurt it as well as adopting any stray back in camp if it's possible (Astarion hated it at first, until an ungodly swarm of adorable cats eventually started to appear 😹)

Besides her affinity for dramatics and the spotlight, she is usually a pretty relaxed person. That all changes, however, when a party is involved. Bring her to a lively tavern and pump some drinks into her system and she's more than ready to live it up the entire night! Good luck trying (and failing) to rein her back in... She's toootally not banned from a few taverns because of this 🙃

Talented in singing and playing many different instruments, but her main instrument of choice is the lyre. The lyre that she ventures everywhere with is from her childhood, a gift from someone near and dear to her heart. The "Spider's Lyre" as it's curiously called, in which her nimble fingers have nearly been sliced off countless times in her youth while practicing due to its dagger sharp strings, but she cherishes it like her own life

Although music is her passion--her blood--she indulges in other forms of creative art like writing and drawing when she has the time. She proudly showed off her skills this one instance when she doodled on Vlaakith's portrait in Crèche Y'llek. She believes she made it look so much better, but you could say that she and Lae'zel had...creative differences. But was it worth it even though she got chased around by Lae'zel afterwards as the gith maniacally swung her sword, Astarion giggling in the background while everyone else tried to stop Lae'zel? Oh, absolutely!

While she doesn't have much and has learned to make the most out of very little, she's quite vain and puts in the time and effort to take care of her appearance. As a bard, she lives to perform, but stands by the firm belief that her beauty needs to shine as brightly as her stage presence does lest she's hardly a bard at all

Easily makes friends almost everywhere she goes (even with more, um, questionable folks), but difficult for her to open up more and feel that she is genuinely close to someone (until she met the companions, that is)

Has a little habit where she fiddles with her eyebrow piercings whenever she's anxious or deep in thought

She's not a fan of dark spaces. She's not afraid of the dark, but being in any gloomy place for too long makes her feel uneasy and prone to panic attacks, desperate to feel the sun on her face again. One of the reasons why she's never visited the Underdark before, opting instead to learn about such dangerous beauty through books and other adventurers' experiences

When she's being idle...well, she's not very idle at all. She's always softly humming something to herself or slightly bouncing/dancing in place

Keeps the party entertained on their journey through singing and sharing tall tales. Well, "entertained" is a bit of a stretch, considering Lae'zel's always screaming at Mon'sun to shut up (spoiler alert: she won't) 🤐

Has nicknames for everyone in the party: Astarion is Astie (later on "my star" when romanced and Astarion calls her "my sun"), Gale is Big G, Lae'zel is Lae-Lae (*cough* more like Lae-Me-To-DEATH *cough*), Karlach is Spicy Mama, Shadowheart is Shady Girl, and Wyll is Bof (short for Blade of Frontiers). Can't say that everyone's too pleased with what they're so lovingly (and weirdly) bestowed with, but they just got used to it and allows only Mon'sun to refer to them as such

Can be deemed as the therapist of the group. While she absolutely has issues of her own (and plenty, might I add), she chooses instead to focus on everyone else and help them. She is super protective over them (although, one pale elf in particular has caught her favour out of all)

While she cares a lot about everyone in the party, she does consider Gale to be her bestfriend. They just get along really well together; Mon'sun proves to be an eager and like-minded listener/conversationalist to the wizard prodigy's ramblings while Gale is just thrilled that someone (and so pretty, too) is actually so kind and attentive to him as an individual, even helping him with his little--well, BIG--situation. Astarion, on the other hand... Well, let's just say that he's not as thrilled for Mon'sun to be so close to someone else, especially Gale of all weirdos 🙄

She's a pretty colourful person so it fits that her apparel is the same. She'll never be caught dead wearing something so woeful as plain ol' black or white. In fact, being so unbearably boring may just be the cause of her death!

Has complicated feelings about gods. They're interesting, for sure, and she respects anyone's beliefs in them though she wouldn't exactly put her faith in any of them let alone kneel (looking at you Vlaakith). She'd rather put her faith in herself--just like she always has--but that doesn't mean she won't take advantage of any "divine" blessings that may come her way. Such is the case when she obtained the Phalar Aluve sword from the Underdark, offering a tiny bit of her blood in exchange which pleased Eilistraee yet greatly pissed off Lolth (Mon'sun the chaos gremlin definitely got a kick out of that especially since she knows the big scary spider lady can't do anything to her...she thinks. She hopes)

While she certainly revels in having the upper hand in troublesome situations, she's not really a power-hungry person. Although, having power does have its perks. She won't lie, she has played around in her tadpole-infested mind the far-fetched but very possible idea of seizing the Absolute's followers under her own control (I mean, hey, if there's one thing she's learned during this unique little trip is that anything is possible). Not all cultists are actually evil; she likes to think that she could give them a fair shot at redemption, and it doesn't hurt that some of these cultists are powerful people that could potentially be used to "liberate the world of evil"... Blame (or rather thank) Astarion for unlocking (hehe subtle pun) this ambition of hers, though she doesn't think she could ever do this without Astarion ruling by her side--together

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 Tav #BG3 Tav #Baldur's Gate 3 My Tav #BG3 My Tav #Baldur's Gate 3 Original Character #BG3 Original Character #Baldur's Gate 3 My Original Character #BG3 My Original Character #Baldur's Gate 3 OC #BG3 OC #Baldur's Gate 3 My OC #BG3 My OC #Mon'sun

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myulalie · 1 year ago

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I am proud to say that this year, I noticed the deadline for the @alexriderbingo! I was able to cross 4 squares, although none of the completed works led to a proper bingo. Doesn't matter, I had a lot of fun writing these! Thank you so much for running this event and without further ado, here is the masterpost:

The Perfect Lover

Yalex, Teen, 11k1

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Bounty Hunters, Missions Gone Wrong, Adult Alex Rider, Older Man/Younger Man, Canon-Typical Violence, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Pining, Language of Flowers

Alex turned eighteen and, coincidentally, his vest on MI6. So of course, he picks up a job as a bounty hunter.

Square: Restraints

An Unexpected Passenger

Yalex, Teen, 5k4

Tags: Alternate Universe - Mutants, First Meetings, Sick Character, Dehydration, Captivity, Human Trafficking, Canon-Typical Violence, Boats and Ships, Bathing/Washing, Touch-Starved, Geographical Isolation, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Mermaid Alex Rider

Yassen glances at Alex then, wide blown eyes, dry lips and windswept blonde hair, their encounter a secret for the salt water to keep. For Alex, Yassen will risk it all.

Square: Sick fic

Emergency Gateway

Yalex, Teen, 4k2

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Veterinary Clinic, Hurt/Comfort, Painkillers, Alex Rider Needs a Hug, Protective Yassen Gregorovich, MI6 Bashing (Alex Rider), Angst with a Happy Ending

Alex notices a veterinary clinic not far from home and takes to sneaking in to patch himself up when his missions go wrong (which is to say, on a regular basis). It’s only a matter of time before someone catches him though… unless the mysterious vet with a scar on his cheek agrees not to report Alex to the local authorities.

Square: Drunken Confession

A Little Piece of Cornwall

Yalex, Teen, 4k6

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Adult Alex Rider, Yassen Gregorovich Lives, Older Man/Younger Man, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Helicopters, First Dates

Alex left the service in his twenties with only chronic pains and a shitload of trauma to his name, convinced that all the people he had known and come to care for were dead. Not quite retired, but definitely working somewhere unrelated to intelligence now, he struggles to put his life back on track. A ghost from his past shows up one day, threatening to destroy everything Alex built so far. So Alex keeps Yassen at arm’s length, not willing to get involved in whatever nefarious purpose that brought Yassen back from the dead. Everything is not as it seems though, and Yassen might simply be trying to build a normal life for himself as well…

Square: "Am I going to die?"

#alex rider #autopromo #yalex #yassen gregorovich #fandom event

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mswhich · 1 year ago

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Self-rec post

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💕💗

I was tagged by @whimsicalmeerkat for this.

It was hard to pick 5 for this, but here we go:

A Simple Proposition. Formula 1 RPF. Toto Wolff/Christian Horner/Max Verstappen. Just really, really pleased with how this one came out.

2. Crown of Neon Lights. Original Work. High-powered rich bachelor uncle/Orphaned niece who comes to live with him. One of my longer fics (around 30k) and if I ever decide to try to publish a novel, I think I might expand this into one. I completely fell in love with both main characters while I was writing it.

3. No Secrets. Teen Wolf, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski. This is an OTP pairing for me, but while I've read a metric shitload of fic for it, this is the only one I've written. (So far.)

4. Bondmate, Original Work, Alien with no concept of consent/His human neighbor. This is another one where I fell in love with both characters. Which is maybe a little weird or perhaps telling, because one of the characters is a consent-violating alien who cheerfully takes over his human's body, but anyway, I had a lot of fun writing it.

5. Stripped as You Are, Original Work, Young Male Servant/Closeted Male Lord. The first original work I ever posted on AO3, and one I'm still very proud of.

Tagging @calenlily and @ragingrainbow.

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hellfiredemon · 1 year ago

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15 people, 15 questions

tagged by @cuoredimuschio 💞

are you named after anyone? My English name comes from a Diana Wynne Jones’ character, like a straight up kid's book. My Chinese name is really embarrassing. It comes from a historical figure. My dad came to the US for his education and his father was resentful that he wanted to immigrate here and would not be able to spend as much time with his family in Hong Kong, so when my grandfather chose my name, he named me after a historical figure who was given away to* barbaric foreigners.* I want to change my name to something else but haven’t and only my relatives in HK call me this but I haven’t been back in so long so it doesn’t matter as much.

when was the last time you cried? About a month and a half ago, my friends put down their dog and Facetimed me so I could say goodbye to him.

do you have kids? Nope and can honestly say I’ve never wanted to have them. I understand from an aging standpoint that it makes sense to spawn a caretaker but I don’t think I’d be able to care for another human being like that, I can barely take care of myself and my dog as it is.

what sports do you play/have played? I dance a lot now, but I don’t compete so I don’t think it qualifies as a sport. In school, I did track and field, volleyball, and tennis.

do you use sarcasm? Frequently, but I’m also embarrassingly earnest about many things as well.

what's the first thing you notice about people? Probably how they dress, groom, and carry themselves and whether they seem comfortable to be in public or not.

what's your eye color? Brown

scary movies or happy endings? I don’t really watch horror, but maybe I do prefer scary movies because I like a lot of movies that are a little uncomfortable to watch, where you don’t know what will happen in the end. When it comes to movies, I think I’m ok with having a bittersweet or even unhappy ending, probably because movies tend to be shorter and less immersive for me. I guess I don't need a happy ending for me to enjoy something but the story's gotta be compelling.

any talents? I can whistle through my teeth, am an adept conversationalist IRL, and am good at interviews and general corporate bullshittery, which I think is how I’ve managed to stay employed but do very little work 🤐

where were you born? The US Midwest! But my parents moved a few months after I was born, so I never really lived there.

what are your hobbies? Reading, dancing, calisthenics, drawing, strategy games, playing with my dog, hiking, and admiring art, zoning out, floortime

do you have any pets? Yes, the love of my life and warmer of my cold feet, a 3.5 yr old muppet-ass looking border collie-poodle mix named Charlie. I couldn't figure out how to put a picture between the numbered list so his pic's at the end.

how tall are you? 164 cm 🥞 my mom's side is short 😔

favorite subject in school? English or history. I loved reading books and stories and talking about them, and still do.

dream job? I don't want to work, and don't dream of labor. The closest thing I can think of working for the US govt's Digital Service, which probably sounds crazy but I think at least that way I'd get to use my skills for something useful. I’d be perfectly content to pursue hobbies the rest of my life. I fantasize about moving to a country with universal benefits and not having to worry about the numbers on my paycheck and do something I actually think is good for the world or just work on art or dance full time. I wanted to be a mail carrier for a long while, walk around the city all day and listen to books or music and deliver people’s letters and meds and stuff, but you also have to deliver shitloads of stupid ads and bills as well. I think if I ever save enough money from my dumb corporate jobs that I still might try to work for the USPS. I don't know 15 people, tag yourself if you want to do it!!! And here's my lovely boy!!

#tag game #my life

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brainmaniaman · 2 years ago

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what do you have for cory/trevor :3

I saw that you added you wanted a male reader for Cory and Trevor. I want to give you the forewarning that while Cory and Trevor aren't my cup of tea, I'm happy to give you some general headcannons I have! If you have any specific prompts, feel free to send them in. I know what it's like to love characters that have like, 0 shit written for them, so here you go! (I'm sorry if this is lackluster, feel free to send more requests.)

I am so sorry but I just can't see Cory existing without Trevor. I think the two have to have a polyamorous relationship to function. I know that Cory/Sarah/Trevor were kind of played off as a joke but it just made sense. So being in a relationship with Cory means being in a relationship with Trevor and vice versa. It's just kind of one little polycule.

I actually think that Cory and Trevor are pansexual, given that they hooked up with two transgender women. I know that was supposed to be a joke but I think that's super transphobic and I'm choosing to actively believe they didn't give a fuck, they just thought those ladies were hot, because Cory and Trevor just give me pansexual vibes and I love it.

Cory and Trevor literally do nothing but play videogames, smoke, and go clubbing. I don't think they know what a fucking library is. That's why I love the idea of Cory and Trevor having a significant other who works in a fucking library.

I think they meet you because they were tagging along with Ricky while he was signing up for a library card, something small like that, and you were the librarian that helped them out. I think they both kind of have a thing for you so they get a library card even though they probably barely know how to fucking read

I just think it'd be really sweet if they just kept coming into the public library with random ass stupid ass fucking questions while Ricky was trying to study. Ricky would tell you "don't mind those two idiots, they're so fucking dumb they can't tell left from right, just ignore them." but honestly? you find it endearing. Maybe you just have a thing for golden retriever gamer boy idiots. Though you do wish they had a little more drive.

I like to believe that you read your favorite books to them. I don't know, I think there's something insanely intimate and endearing about one of them laying their head on your lap and the other on your shoulder while you read your favorite book to them. They probably ask a million questions but that doesn't bother you. To you, it shows you that they're engaged in what you're having to say.

They've definitely picked dandelions, like those yellow weed ones, to give to you because they don't have money for actual flowers but it's just as sweet as it is weird.

I think they're the people who introduce you to weed. You're not a big smoker, and probably won't ever be, but smoking with them is fun and honestly they provide a safe space. I also think that they're very affectionate stoners. There's something nice about having someone rub your back and stroke your hair while you're absolutely fucking blown. You can appreciate the touch more, since your senses are heightened.

I think they take care of you during bad highs, too. (God knows I've had some really shitty highs, smoking a bad strand is ass. It's probably a strand they picked off of a dealer they weren't so familiar with.) They'll take care of you, give you water, rub your back, shit like that.

Make no mistake, you pay for most of the date nights. That's just what it's like being with Cory and Trevor. They're not exactly driven and they don't exactly make shitloads of money.

I like to think that you push back against Ricky, Julian, and Bubbles when they give Cory and Trevor shit. I think for that reason Ricky doesn't really like you, because you stand up for Cory and Trevor. Also you don't sell their time like Sarah does?

I think when they both get really happy they kiss you on the cheek at the same time.

These guys are so free-spirited I mean they had such a great time at a gay bar, I don't think they'd have any problem holding your hand at the same time in public.

You definitely get a lot of shit because it's 1999 and the general public doesn't understand it, but within the park . . . to be honest, nobody gives a fuck. Nobody cared when Sarah was seeing both of them at the same time. Honestly, the park is somewhat progressive for the time. Probably because they've seen stranger things.

I think it's important to note that you're probably the only person who hasn't called them stupid and really believes in their ability to change and like them as a person. This is really important because they're constantly put down by most people around them. They are kind of losers who think too highly of Ricky and Julian, but I think it's wonderful that in a relationship with you they can be themselves and really feel confident in themselves.

You probably get into a lot of fights about cleanliness, though.

I think it's kind of funny that you get them on a chore schedule LOL

You probably have to teach them how to read.

I mean . . . I don't know I think they're a bit out there. I like to think that they show up to your work (the library) and hang out for too long. You try to get them to leave and go do literally anything else because you're working, but they convince you that they can make their visit worth their time if you just give them a few minutes alone with you in a secluded section of the library . . . if you catch my drift ;')

I mean they don't do much other than work for Julian and Ricky, so they like to spend almost every waking moment with you.

Sleeping in the same bed means being stuck between both of them in a sandwich. It's hot and sweaty and sometimes uncomfortable because of that, but you wouldn't have it any other way. After all, two is better than one.

#cory and trevor #tpb cory #tpb trevor #trailer park boys #trailer park boys x reader #cory and trevor x reader tpb

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liesmyth · 2 years ago

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okay here's MY tlt hot take. im saying this on anon cuz i need to be put in witness protection for this.

i think harrow's overrated.

or, better put: i think harrow's fans are annoying and make me like the character less.

like the POINT of harrow is that she occupies this privileged role and does horrible things with her power BUT is sympathetic in that she undergoes her own hardships. that's fair - textually, harrow is very interesting!

but harrow fans act like the whole solar system revolves around her. like ntn makes it pretty clear that muir is doing something with the butch martyr trope (i think kiriona's life and resentment is commentary), but fans are like 'no literally all gideon was good for is dying for harrow. harrow is the saddest most special girl in the world. she's literally the single most important character who has ever existed she has done nothing wrong she is flawless and immune to criticism' and when the fandom takes the OTHER Māori characters (namely john and wake) and flattens them to 'true evil' it's annoying to see harrow get woobified! like idk harrow stans are just a specific breed of 'the world revolves around the most special girl ever'

I THINK I KNOW WHO SENT THIS. I am honoured though that you chose MY askbox to be a receptacle of such salt, I'm not worthy etc.

Ok I actually HAVE seen this opinion before. I kinda see where woobie Harrow is coming from — Harrow is sad! So many characters in-universe think she's cool and special and love her! She has a shitload of Issues that make her relatable! — but it's also just the nature of fandom things that fandom loves to pick one scrappy character to be the most specialest meow meow etc. and it sucks when you're a fan of a character who's just as much of a special woobie and gets flattened and overlooked. "Fans of X made me hate X" is a tale as old as time and 100% valid... who hasn't been there.

That said, I think it's gotten better post-Nona? Maybe? IDK, I think NtN does a good job showing us glimpses of the wider 'verse and cast of characters (many of whom are also sad in fandom-appealing way) and then there's Kiriona who's THE saddest girl in the universe, so I feel like the narrative is sort of lampshading that hey! this other girl is also sad. Though it might also be that I'm not seeing any bad takes bc my dash is great and I barely venture into the main tags

Anyway MY hot take on this is that I need Gideon to be happy a tad more than I need Harrow to be happy and I think Gideon is the biggest woobie meow meow. I love Harrow to bits but also the other day I was reading a fic set before the beginning of GtN and I was like, wait maybe Harrow lobotomising herself for Gideon is the least she could do. Maybe she was right to feel so guilty that she cut into her own brain :3

They're both fucked up! They're sad! They were dealt a shitty hand in life! But Gideon hits my sad buttons more. And I think Harrow would agree with me tbh.

#Anonymous #unpopular opinion asks

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atrophiedmetaphor · 9 months ago

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LET'S BEGIN.

atrohpiedMetaphor: It's not even my birthday I don't know what we're doing here. atrohpiedMetaphor: Or maybe it's the birthday of this blog? Yeah let's go with that, it's cute. atrohpiedMetaphor: Thanks for coming :]

_____________________________________________

Hello all, this is henceforth the homestuck-centric blog for @iamthe-redgiant - Follows come from there. Check out the "redcanon" page to see all of the little quirks and headcanons I generally function off of in regards to homestuck [ mostly abt the trolls. I'm obsessed w/ the trolls.] Here I shall be dumping essentially all of my homestuck oc content [ so. so many trolls ], a shitload of reblogs and otherwise rambling about the story bc I Can. A little intro of me - The Me Me - Name's Rel, but you can call me Meta [ I'll explain all that shit later hehe ] And I am simply filled w/ Autism. Gestures vaguely to the rest of this blog. Under this fancy little divider you will find a tags directory, trigger warnings list [ for posterity ], a little doodle of my homestuck splinters, and Me! I'll show up as a guardian :]. Stick around for awhile, this wayward space rock isn't going anywhere.

First: The Content Warnings

General warnings for Homestuck content apply - bullying, death, suicide, the works. Homestuck gets dark, Alternia and Trolls get darker, so if you don't wanna see it, I'll have the taglist at the bottom, or maybe reconsider following bc I am a bitch who loves horror and dark themes! [ tl;dr: content warning for death, abuse, bullying, suicide, general global oppression, gore, trauma, and generally just. the shit Trolls get up to. oh and sometimes sexual nsfw content. Rarely. just in case. ]

TRANSPHOBIA, ACEPHOBIA, QUEERPHOBIA AND RACISM OF ANY KIND WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. Terfs fuck off.

____________________________________

second: the splinters

[ thanks tumblr for the shit quality ]

Going through the list: Metasprite is jus. Me. Functionally, if I doodle myself, I will be doodling myself as Metasprite, got it? Got it.

Russ Velvett is my fankid! they operate as an oc, but also sometimes can be used to represent me - for the purposes of this though, they'll be mostly an oc.

Relres Novvah and Relles Novvah are my two main trolls; Cosmically they could just sorta be Dancestors, though whoever came first is up to interpretation :] . Relres is actually a character in a story I'm fiddling with on my own, content of which will most certainly be put here - Relles as it stands doesn't really have a story, but they're gonna be featured a lot in art anyway. Relres and Relles are both Vantas mutants; though only Relles has wack shit goin on, Relres is generally pretty sane.

Recros is less me and more a representation of a life experience, so they're an honorable and beloved mention to this list.

____________________________________________

third: the taglist

pesterlog:: text posts

Meta's fantrolls:: my fantroll art

dialoglog:: reblogs

doodles:: art the grim road to godtier:: content warning [ trigger tags follow ] paradigm shift:: original story content Bloodloss:: original story content ^2

pedantic pondering:: specifically theory or headcanon posts

whitespace scenes:: noncanon or otherwise crack interactions between characters

ough homestuck:: posts in specific regard to the contents of homestuck itself bc i cannot fucking cope w/ this story hard enough

[ list subject to updates!]

#intro post #pesterlog #text post #pinned

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freuleinanna · 9 days ago

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Oh heyyy! I'm sorry for barging in, but I saw it today and I just couldn't unthink that! I hope you maybe like it <3 gif just for the vibes

Actors AU | Agatha and Rio are exes who have had a child together, lost a child together, and are now forced to work together again.

Word count: approx. 3000

Grief and trauma are a big theme, so is healing. Namedrops of the characters are irrelevant and are for fun. It's not a TV series meta, I just thought it would be hehe fonny. Social handle's made up too.

AO3 link

*********************************************

‘So, what can we expect in terms of, uh, in terms of the dynamics between the two of you?’

‘Ohhhhhhh, you know…’

‘I know, I do know! It’s too early in the stages and whatnot, but is there anything you can say? Are there any premises, any arcs for your characters already?’

A sly smile slithers across Rio’s lips. Agatha’s looking at her over her shoulder, unsure of what to say. The new project is all hushed up for now, of course.

‘I’m sensing some… hesitation here, ladies?’

Rio’s hand on her back, wrapping her hair around her finger in little curls. Eye contact, way too long. Fan-video-worth long. There’s a shitload of them all over the Internet, dubbed with the sappiest music and in-love-rose filter. Happy, happy.

‘Some insane shit, my guy,’ Rio finally chuckles.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Oh, I mean, full on. It’s, like, plot-wise it’s demon hoards, and religion, and bloody sacrifices…’

‘What?!’

There she goes.

‘…but really it’s a commentary on acceptance, on the grief of living in this insane world, and like, unreal amount of trauma dumping. Yeah.’

Deadpan. No expression, just making shit up. Agatha’s nodding along.

‘Right, hon?’

‘Oh, yeah!’

Something clicks, and she’s game. Rio’s fingers in her hair, and the feeling is so light, so generous, it bursts out of her with laughter.

‘So much trauma! Uh-huh, ‘cause I’ll be playing the sacrificial lamb, and you’re…’

‘I’m gonna be the demonic priest. So, there you have it.’

‘A wild ride, for sure.’

The audience is riled up. Applause come. They laugh. Cameras are rolling, forever imprinting happiness onto the lenses, every last bit of it. It is one of the last bits, actually. It’s going to spill her guts on the floor when @agatharioreallove tags her on a clip a year later (before the news comes out), showing their happy, loving faces from exactly that interview.

And then, a billion of sad, my-heart-is-breaking-for-them tags.

FUCK, she’ll be hollering in the emptiness of the living room, FUCK! Can’t you leave us the hell alone?! Fucking…

For cunt’s sake.

Our child is dead.

Fuck.

******

1 year later.

‘Thank you so much for showing up. I know it’s…’

The journalist is trying mad hard to be respectful, but also to still get a chewy piece.

‘How do you… How does one even do something like that?’

‘There’s a thing called contract, sweet cheeks.’

‘I mean, sure, but I’m… Wow, that was a raw thing to say.’

‘Things are raw.’

Awkward silence. There’s a glance over at the security guy, an unnerved tug at the collar.

‘What, do you expect us to murder each other live?’

‘Ha-ha.’

Nothing fucking funny about that.

‘I mean, everyone expected the project to get dropped, and… here you are, preparing to shoot. How was that? How was that decision made?’

Agatha’s hair in a tight bun, and she’s stroking a loose lock away from her face. Rio’s eyes are daggers. Agatha doesn’t need to look to know it.

How was it made?

Through cursing and screaming, that’s how. Kicking chairs across rooms. Throwing lamps at her agent, God bless her. Lilia’s a fucking saint draped in Sicilian shawl.

‘Aight.’

Rio fidgets, Agatha can hear it. Here’s the part she winces at, uncontrollably. Be a doll and think for a second, because you’re only not charged the lost potential value fee if you deliver the film by those scripts. What’s not clicking? And she wanted to tell that story. They both did, a love letter from parents to children. Who could’ve thought.

How was it made?

Rio’s hand perches to her shoulder, staying there like an all-too-familiar ghost. Spine tingles with rage.

‘It was hard. You can imagine…’

‘Sure… ’

‘…if you’re not an asshole. Are you?’

‘Oh, I’m—I’m not! I-- really--’

‘Good, then.’

Agatha’s dry chuckle is Oscar-worthy. She had bid a fortune on the script rights to buy them out, so she’s bound. And Rio? Rio’s completely went off the rails. Her brain train doesn’t even remember there were rails once. She’s lashed out so much she’s become a liability to everyone who has the displeasure of working with her. A bare-foot beggar in the woods is what she is without this film. So is Agatha, unfortunately. Two beggars clapping their naked ass-cheeks on the wind.

Unless they go through fucking hell.

With everybody watching.

Twenty minutes and gallons of constant internal vomit later, the interviewer stops the cameras, says goodbye, and leaves. Rio’s hand disappears. Agatha leans back and closes her eyes, waiting for another press-junket-junkie, back as straight as she’s never been.

Phone’s keyboard is spitting out quick, audible taps. Why, why does she always need to keep the sound on?

‘Fuck you.’

Agatha knows well that her voice has cracks in it. A decent amount of disdain too, she hopes. Taps are avalanching even quicker.

‘Aw, your first words to me. You haven’t been developing functional communication mechanisms, have you?’

Tap-tap-tap.

‘Go stand in the corner and die, Rio.’

‘Fuck you too.’

It’s so cold, she might have gotten frostbites. From their voices alone.

*********************

Table-reading / Rehearsals.

‘Okay, don’t be mad, but?..’

‘You don’t have to say it.’

‘It sucks balls. I’m sorry, but you just suck balls.’

‘I do no such thing, ever.’

Teen’s face wrinkles with worry. Billy, Bobby, Tommy, Toby? Whatever. He’s a teen, so, he’s Teen. A plucky assistant, and a huge pain in her moral ass.

‘Could you maybe… Cunty filter off, okay?’

‘Ugh, Teen.’

Still, Agatha’s looking this twig of a kid over, feeling worry build in the ruins of her insides.

‘What else are they saying?’ She smirks with venom. ‘Besides our chemistry being off?’

‘Basically, that it’s a Mariana Trench of flaming shit, but that it still has to be done.’

She nods, un-amused. Yeah, otherwise it’s another pile of fees, liabilities, script ownership debates, the whole petty army of Hollywood law-humpers on her back. Teen is slurping on his… blue-colored god-knows-what. Then stops, under her glare.

Rio’s afar, in the distance. Like she’s always been since… Well. Since Nicky.

‘I can’t,’ Agatha whispers before she can stop it, and clutches at her coat nervously, realizing she’s said it aloud. There’s something strangely calming in a way Teen avoids touching her, but remains just behind her shoulder, listening softly. ‘I can’t, I—I can’t.’

‘Can’t what?’

She shakes her head. Rio’s there. So is anger, so is hurt, so is everything scorching, manifesting in her oh-so-loved-once face. So is missing her fingers curling up her hair. But more, still anger.

‘I can’t say those things. The script. Not in a meaningful way. Not when--’

‘How else are you supposed to say it?’

‘Huh?’

Her comforting assistant steps from one foot to another, then lowers himself to the level of her chair. His voice crackles with nerves. His shadow supports hers. He’s saying things Agatha never wants to hear, because Nicky died, but the script brings her and Rio into a nightmare of a centuries-old witch and Death incarnate battle over a child’s soul.

‘You’ve lived them. How else are you supposed to say those things? You’ve lived them.’

Happy videos of their faces, laced fingers, loving gazes during the interview. Sad montages and thousands of close-ups of them visibly drawing away from each other at the hint of a touch. Hurting like the sun, spilling red while falling to the doom. Fuck.

‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself with a straw, huh?’

‘Sure. Okay.’

*******************************

Shooting: Day whatever, because at this point, everyone’s frustrated.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Is she drunk?’

‘Fucking impossible— Somebody get Vidal in her trailer!’

‘Do we keep a setup?’

‘For fuck’s-- ’

‘That’s a PR nightmare.’

‘She’s not gonna sober up, is she?’

‘Not before she vomits half her stomach down the sewers, she’s not. Un-fucking-believable. Can somebody get Harkness?’

‘She’s gonna kill her.’

‘Maybe don’t tell her, smartass?’

‘She’s gonna know, and then she’s gonna kill her.’

‘What a mess.’

‘Leave it, just… everything, leave it. And get Alice to Jen for make-up. We’re gonna reschedule her scenes for today.’

‘What an A-list crap-pile on meth.’

****************

When Rio sobers up, it’s not entirely clear whether she’s dead or not, but she thinks, well. Either way there are hook-bladed daggers buried in her body, tugging in all directions at once. Hangover or hell, not much difference.

The hardest of daggers, the sharpest and most resilient one, turns out to be a scythe. And it’s in Agatha’s eyes.

‘Alive?’

A familiar voice makes the bells toll. Deep tonality of disappointment, the one which roots in hurt and blooms with blame, is a homesick sound.

‘Unfortunately so.’

‘Good. I need you alive for being skinned by the crew tomorrow.’

‘Gee,’ she croaks. ‘Sounds hot.’

Managing to pull herself into a sitting position, Rio wipes her mouth.

‘I kinda hoped I’ll just black out for the rest of the shooting. No luck, then.’

All signs are there: Agatha’s trembling hands, the way she keeps gesticulating with her whole palms in frustration. Her hateful stare, of course. There’s a storm coming. Hurricane Harkness, ready to pour molten steel. Rio sneers, taking it.

‘Come on, I know you have words.’

‘God, you’re a bitch.’ That, Agatha says with her whole chest without missing a beat, as though grateful for a convenient way of spitting some of the pain out. Those words unlock her frustrated lips. ‘Why. Seriously, why now? Neither of us wanted to do it. We’ve gone through a minefield, got fucked in the ass by every interviewer ever with a hot poker and a sympathy lube. Why not just… Do it and be gone, huh? Rio? Just one fucking movie. Why the fuck do you need to act up now?’

‘Because now, it hurts.’

And Agatha’s eyes dart away in a habit so shivery and familiar, it burns Rio’s chest worse than years of mutual blame. The woman who’s never been her wife, the woman who’s shared a son with her; now the woman who’s been so enraged, so devastated, so focused on her own irreplaceable loss that she couldn’t bring herself to look at Rio’s. Because, what if she recognizes the same pain?

People are fucking nutjobs.

‘It hurts, Agatha,’ Rio repeats quietly, with careful weight placed on each word. ‘Because I lost him too, and I didn’t get to live through my pain. I was handling yours.’

‘Oh, please.’

‘Guess it’s catching up on me.’

Hangovers don’t gently break your ribs, Rio knows. So it must be something else, like truth. Agatha’s disbelieving fury is war-like.

‘What, you got a different story?’ Rio teases, despite desperately wanting not to. Don’t tip the scale, thoughts echo, why are you like that? Why are you doing this? Why now?

Because. It. Hurts.

‘You left, Rio. When I needed you the most, you left.’

‘Needed me?’

‘And now you’re strutting back to, what exactly? Give your feelings a performance?’

‘You’ve shut me out.’

Heavy breathing. Some metallic croaking in the voice.

‘I’ve?--’

‘You’ve scolded me out. You’ve frozen me out, Agatha. You needed a space to grieve and you locked the fucking door beh--’

She stops abruptly. Draws air to say the only thing that mattered.

‘I was alone.’ I was grieving, and you couldn’t look at my face. I was grieving, and your own grief was just too big to notice mine. ‘Suppose I’d stayed. With all the time in the world, would you have hated me less?’

She sees locks of Agatha’s hair swing, heartbreakingly beautiful. Always the little things that destroy you.

‘I didn’t hate you.’

‘No?’ It’s cruel to smile. The alternative is weeping.

‘No.’

‘You sure hid it well, then.’

‘Rio, I--’

It’s a muscle memory, alright. Bodies remembering how to intertwine, how to save each other from loneliness. Hands reaching out. Breath aching to get mixed. It almost, almost happens. The warmth of it flees just before a newer, colder habit kicks in, which isn’t completely unlike cutting through arteries of hope drying in the air.

The woman Rio’s engraved into her lungs yanks them out with her need to blame someone, anyone, and walks away, still holding them.

‘I can’t, I—Don’t do that to me.’

‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I know.’

A beat of silence.

‘I’m done, Agatha.’ Rio smirks, broken. ‘You win. From now on, I’ll be on my best behavior.’

Agatha Harkness, an unbearable load-mouth and a genius pervert with cussing, bites her tongue and leaves. Rio feels like Death.

***************************************

Shooting: Pivotal day.

The day everyone remembers, but nobody talks about.

And then—Life.

Not at once, and not beautiful. Life isn’t a fragile flower blossoming out of nowhere. Life is actually someone’s gooey remains, definitely someone’s shit at some point, and there’s nothing fragile about it. It fights and claws, but given time, it overcomes people and buildings alike. It grows. It grows.

Given time, it stops running from the dirt whence it came, and starts reaching down with roots to accept the unthinkable.

Flowers fallen out of Agatha’s hair are white. Her hands are covered in fresh soil. Streaming down her face, tears bitter and gentle.

‘Please, my love!’

Death stops before a weeping mother. Cameras are rolling, Rio’s mind has completely switched off. Everything’s blank. Pulsating sounds in her ears are ringing with the remnants of please, my love – and Agatha’s horrifying expression. Something bruised and raw from familiarity, with which it comes.

Death – or Rio – shouldn’t rage against her helplessness. Death takes children, after all, it’s a known fact. Sometimes, it’s just… It’s just unfair. And sometimes, even Death – and Rio – can’t take being the reason for such heartbreak.

‘I can offer--’ she starts. Then, ‘No.’

Some muttering, well-earned, is heard from behind.

‘I can offer only time,’ someone whispers, reminding her of the line.

‘I know,’ she says. Then again, ‘No.’

Agatha’s face is shaded with concern.

‘What are you?--’

‘I can’t offer time.’

Taking up the skirts of her dress, Rio steps forward, toward her. Agatha draws back. Agatha the actor is wrecking her nails against stone, trying to fight Agatha… Rio’s Agatha.

‘Boys die.’

Rio nearly chokes on those words, and still it isn’t as bad as Agatha’s reaction. Invisible to anyone who’s not close enough, anger, bitterness, and grief birth real tears, instantly hot over the camera ones. But Rio is close, isn’t she? She is. For the first time in what feels like centuries of roaming wild, she’s actually there.

‘Boys die,’ she whispers, ‘and it’s never fair, but they do. And there isn’t time enough to heal that pain.’

‘Stop this.’

‘I can’t bring him back…’

‘I’m serious, Rio, stop this!’

‘…because I haven’t taken anything.’

She burns her fingers on Agatha’s face, yet it’s still worth touching it.

‘It’s not your fault, it’s not mine either.’

‘We loved him.’

Thousands of clips all over the Internet, of them showing off their happiness.

Aww, they’re the best parents <3

I NEED them to be my parents!!!

Sweet music.

Heart emojis.

Wait, are they actually raising a kid together???????

Talking about Nicky.

Talking, talking, unable to contain that joy.

And on that, Agatha breaks. Her lips twitch with a sob. Rio’s on the ground beside her, holding her face in a way that urges to listen. And her Agatha, not the character or the actor, is crying into her open palm.

‘I wanted more time. I just wanted more time, that’s all, I--’

‘We loved him so much that it… broke something, when he died.’

‘How can…’ From under closed eyes, more grief. Then a gaze so piercingly blue, it staggers Rio with ferocity of color. ‘How can I live with that? How can you live with that? How does everything not remind you of him, huh? How are you not – so – angry? Why – were you not – angry?’

Nobody could have possibly thought they’re ad-libbing. Yet nobody intervened, bless the fools. In the shadow of Rio’s face, Agatha’s darkened eyes glint almost purple.

‘I needed you to be angry, along with me. I needed you to be fucking furious about his death, and you just…’

‘Accepted it.’

Rio nods, and feels her own tears, warm and heavy like August rain. Some of them drop of Agatha’s hands. Their hands and their tears come together.

‘Because, Agatha,’ she’s barely resisting the sobbing herself. Perhaps, that’s how Death feels. Rio nods with heartbreak and compassion, and inevitability they bring. ‘Because, Agatha, boys die.’

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that they do, and there’s nothing I could do about it, but I forgot that people die too, from suffering. We almost died, too, right next to each other.

Agatha’s chest is heaving with breath. She’s fighting against Rio’s hands, and then she’s holding them, and then her arms are pressing Rio closer with all their strength.

‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ For not listening. For being angry with you, because you weren’t ready to accept. For not fully understanding. For lashing out. For leaving.

‘I didn’t—I—I’m sorry,’ for not acknowledging your loss. For needing my fury so much, I thought I’d stopped needing you. For blaming you.

And suddenly flowers bloom.

Not literally, of course, but they bloom in how Agatha’s fully sobbing into the crook of Rio’s neck. They also bloom in how Rio’s holding her: gently, stroking her back all the while. Wrapping little curls of hair around her fingers. Most of them bloom on their lips as they touch skin. Blessing, apologizing, healing.

Desperation and trauma are flowing up, up, toward grief and by it, up again, to the bright-red rage, around the gigantic ill-intentioned walls, over broken pieces of good memories thrown against it, toward air. Toward breathing.

Toward love,

and having spent years half-severed only to find that each deconstructed piece still fits perfectly as you hold each other tight,

and even toward kissing the salt.

Toward, it seems, life.

Because it’s always the cycle, isn’t it?

Out of death, life.

Actor au where they are exes who had a kid together but never got married but then the kid died(because i hate happy people) then they are forced to work with each other and drama ensue

#I may not write trauma well but i wanted to bring some healing #these bitches make my rusty ass write ugh #agathario #agathario fic #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario au #agatha x rio #rio x agatha #actors au #agatha all along

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boffeeceans · 2 years ago

Text

Dreams of Dying Fill Your Head

Summary: “Steve?” Max’s voice sounds panicked and shaky on the other side of the line, breathing heavy. It makes his heart sting.

“Max, what happened? Are you okay?”

She takes a deep shuddering breath before she speaks, “I’m fine.” Another breath that sounds more like a gasp this time. “It- It’s Eddie.”

Or,

Eddie seems to be doing fine after the Upside Down, but is he? Is he really? I don't think so.

Tags/Warnings: Trauma, PTSD, Anxiety/Panic Attack, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Lives, POV Steve Harrington, Not intended to be pre-slash steddie but can be read as such if you so wish.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Max Mayfield (Mostly Eddie and Steve)

Word count: 5k

Notes: I looked up the difference between panic and anxiety attacks, it made me confused and gave me a headache. I'm pretty sure that where I'm from we use one word for both and it's panic attack so that's what I used in here. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Surprisingly, Eddie seems to be doing fine after almost getting mauled to death by a hoard of demobats. His name got cleared (which doesn’t mean that everyone thinks he’s innocent), he went back to school, graduated and got to flip Principal Higgings the bird. He’s still his usual loud and dramatic self, he still listens to his music way too loud at ungodly hours of the night to Max’s dismay, and he still hosts weekly DnD nights — technically Steve hosts since it’s at his house, but Eddie set it up.

He rarely leaves the trailer by himself, though, never going further than to the trash can and back. But that doesn’t mean he’s alone. Every morning Max comes over for tea or coffee, sometimes she’ll join him on the old couch outside of his trailer when he’s smoking, drinking or playing his guitar. They don’t always talk, more often than not they just sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company, basking in the knowledge that they’re not alone, that they’re not the only one that went through hell and back.

Whenever Eddie needs to be somewhere, be it the arcade, the store, anywhere really, Steve will drive him. Most of the time Steve has to offer and Eddie will reluctantly accept, but not before declining a bunch. This one time when Steve dropped him off at his trailer Eddie expressed that he feels guilty about how the other is always driving him — especially for the DnD meetings, for which Steve has to go from his house to the trailer and back twice. It took Steve a lot of reassuring and telling him that he really doesn’t mind for Eddie to stop refusing his rides and reluctantly accept right off the bat.

Nancy helped him study for his exams. Jonathan and Argyle — who is visiting for the summer — occasionally come over to get high. Robin will show up with a shitload of movies she wants to watch and pester Steve into picking Eddie up on his break so that they could spend some time together, he’ll complain but he’s more than happy to do it. The kids call all the time and visit for whatever reason they can think of, big or small.

Eddie isn’t alone and he seems to be doing fine.

However, the bags under his eyes are a stark contrast against his paler than usual skin, he covers almost every inch of his body with clothing ever since he got discharged from the hospital, even though it’s summer, and sometimes he’ll completely zone out and stare off into the distance. For the last few days Eddie hasn’t left his trailer at all, saying he has a cold. He still answers the phone and opens the door, and sure he looks and sounds a little worse for wear. He still smiles and laughs, and Steve can’t be one hundred percent sure on account of him not really knowing Eddie before, but it looks genuine.

But still, something doesn’t sit right with Steve. He doesn’t want to push him though, doesn’t want to force him to open up and talk to him.

Steve presses his palms into his eyes and slides further down the couch. Eddie’s smart, he’ll reach out if he needs to. Besides, Steve’s not his fucking mother.

Steve glances at the clock, 10:57. It’s going to be a long night, he can feel it, one filled with lying awake in the deafening silence of the empty house. With a sigh Steve pulls himself off the couch and paces around, there’s got to be something he can do.

11:09; Cleaning? No, the house is clean.

11:16; Reading? Fuck no.

11:27; Drinking? Yeah, Steve could use a drink.

Walking to the kitchen — less walking and more sliding across the floor — he takes a beer out of the fridge. He barely gets his nails under the tab when the phone rings. It’s tempting to just ignore it, but it could be one of the kids, waking up from a nightmare, or just needing someone to talk to, or maybe just to check in. To ask if he’s doing okay… Steve scoffs to himself, they call him mom for a reason. Mothers offer emotional support to their kids, they don’t ask for it.

Placing the can on the counter, Steve makes his way over to the phone and holds it to his ear.

“Harring-” He doesn’t get to finish.

“Steve?” Max’s voice sounds panicked and shaky on the other side of the line, breathing heavy. It makes his heart sting.

“Max, what happened? Are you okay?”

She takes a deep shuddering breath before she speaks, “I’m fine.” Another breath that sounds more like a gasp this time. “It- It’s Eddie.”

A pit opens up in Steve’s stomach. He knew something was wrong, he should’ve followed his gut and done something, anything. If he did Max wouldn’t have had to hear the sound of glass breaking and Eddie’s screaming and yelling. She wouldn’t have had to see him lying on the floor.

“I don’t think he’s moving.” The pit grows bigger and bigger with every word. “Steve, I… I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right there,” Steve says, “I just need you to try to stay calm, all right?” He’s telling her as much as he’s telling himself.

After an “okay” from Max he hangs up and dashes out the door, almost forgetting his shoes and keys.

The entire way Steve has to reassure himself that Eddie is probably fine. Maybe he just fell, it makes sense since he’s not as steady on his feet anymore after the Upside Down. He probably refused to use his cane and then his leg gave out, he cursed to himself and now he’s just laying on the floor contemplating all his life's decisions, which is a normal thing to do, Steve should know.

Eddie is fine.

When he pulls up to the Munson trailer the first thing he sees is Max sitting on the steps. She gets up as soon as she notices him and waits for him to park and get out of his car. There’s a panicked expression on her face; her eyes are blown wide, brows knit together, and she’s worrying her bottom lip.

Steve exits his car while the vehicle is still partly moving and speed walks to max on the porch. Before he even has a chance to ask if anything has changed she shakes her head. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, trying to comfort her even if it’s just a little and glances over to the window. The curtain is mostly closed but there’s a small gap that he can see through. And sure enough there’s Eddie, on the floor in the hall, seemingly unmoving.

But he’s breathing.

Steve tells Max as much and he can feel some tension leave her shoulder under his hand. He moves past Max and to the door, trying the handle.

“I told you it’s locked,” Max says, her voice just a bit more steady than it was over the phone. “We could break a window.”

Steve glances over his shoulder, seeing Max already looking for something solid. “No need,” he says and takes a key out of his pocket. Thank whatever higher power there is or isn’t for Wayne Munson.

As he pushes the key through the keyhole, Steve realizes how much he’s shaking, how scared he is. Realizes that he’s grown to care for Eddie a whole fucking lot, just as much as he cares for Robin, and he really needs him to be okay.

He takes a deep breath before twisting the key and walking inside, Max following close behind him. Now, without a wall separating them, Steve can hear just how hard Eddie’s breathing — breathing isn’t the right word, he’s hyperventilating — and Steve is honestly surprised that they couldn’t hear him outside.

Eddie has his back turned to Steve and Max, he’s curled in on himself, shaking as sobs wreck through his body, nothing but a towel hanging on for dear life around his hips.

Steve slowly takes a few steps towards him. “Eddie? It’s Steve,” he says to let his presence known. Eddie doesn’t respond. “Eddie?” Steve tries again. Nothing. Taking a few more steps he keeps trying to get Eddie’s attention, every attempt is fruitless and it’s really stressing Steve out. One quick look at Max shows that she, too, is getting more and more anxious by the second.

As careful as he can, Steve steps over Eddie and crouches down. For the first time Steve gets a look at the damage that the Demobats have left behind and it’s not pretty. He didn’t exactly get a good look in the Upside Down and thought that their scars would be more similar with the exception of the ones on Eddie’s face.

But it’s so much worse than he thought it was. They’re everywhere; on his legs, arms, all the way from his waist to his chest, and from his neck to his face — though he can’t see much of Eddie’s face at the moment because of that mop that he calls hair covering most of it.

Steve feels stupid for thinking that it wasn’t that bad, especially because of those weeks Eddie spent in the hospital recovering and for the fact that he can’t walk more than ten minutes without a cane.

But he can feel stupid later. Right now Steve has to help Eddie through what he’s assuming is a panic attack, and a bad one at that.

Eddie’s clawing at his throat and chest, gasping for air and so very much not fucking fine .

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve reaches out and moves some of Eddie’s damp hair from his face. Even at the contact Eddie doesn’t acknowledge Steve’s presence, he just stares into nothingness, eyes somehow even wider than usual, frantic. “Eddie, I need you to look at me.” Sill noting which is really fucking unfortunate because Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest and the corners of his eyes are starting to sting and before long he might be gasping for air right along with Eddie and he needs to pull it the fuck together, because if he doesn’t where will that leave Max?

Max who moved out of sight, probably not being able to watch because they’ve only seen Eddie close to this vulnerable once and he nearly died then.

Steve takes a short moment to breathe and think. He needs Eddie to look at him, and that’s not going to happen with him lying on the floor like that. He places his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie, I don’t know if you can even hear me right now, but I… I’m gonna move you, okay?” He’s not expecting an answer and doesn’t get one. With one hand under Eddie’s armpit and the other under his elbow Steve pulls him into a sitting position.

And that gets a reaction out of him. Eddie’s tear filled eyes shoot up to Steve’s and one of his hands grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “Hey, it’s me, it’s Steve,” Steve says and God does this situation feel familiar, it almost makes him laugh. Almost.

Eddie’s eyes wander, acknowledging Steve’s presence but not really looking at him. Miraculously his breathing becomes more erratic and tears spill like an avalanche as more sobs crawl and fight their way out of his throat. “Can’t- I-” Eddie chokes out, he moves his hand from Steve's collar and back to his throat. It’s covered in blood and still bleeding and Seve feels even more stupid for not noticing before.

“I know, I know,” Steve says and brings his hands to cup Eddie’s face, fingers brushing over the scar on his cheek. Eddie jerks his head away from the touch, desperately trying to get more distance between them. Steve doesn’t relent though, he tightens his grip and forces Eddie to face him.

There’s this terrified look in his eyes as he glances to the side like… like he’s hearing something, but as far as Steve knows the only sound is Eddie’s own breathing. And God if that doesn’t scare Steve. it can’t be him . He’s dead. Steve saw him die.

“Eddie.” Steve leans into his line of sight. “Eddie, I need you to look at me, all right?”

Eddie’s eyes dart between Steve and the distance before landing on the floor between them. He squeezes his eyes shut and curls his fingers around his neck, nails digging into skin.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve says, his voice much less steady than he wishes it to be. “You’re safe, okay? You’re safe.”

Eddie doesn’t show any signs of calming down but he does look at Steve, actually looks at him not through him.

“I just- I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” Steve says. Eddie scrunches his face but nods either way. Grabbing Eddie’s hand, Steve moves it from his throat to his chest. “Focus on your chest, the rising and falling,” Steve says, “and take a deep breath in.”

Steve demonstrates, taking in a deep breath through his nose and Eddie mimics him. Or tries to. Halfway through Eddie chokes, slumping forward, hacking up cough after cough and all Steve can think is shit. Shit, shit, shit . He runs his hand over Eddie’s back, whispering what he hopes are soothing words.

Eddie's spine is way too prominent under his palm. Steve shakes off the thought, he can give Eddie a lecture about reaching out later — give himself one, too, for being so Goddamn blind, — and thinks of anything that could possibly calm Eddie down.

There is one thing. It could be counterproductive, could make Eddie feel trapped, caged in, but that’s a risk Steve’s willing to take because he’s running out of options.

When Eddie’s coughing slows down Steve moves from a hunching to a sitting position and slides across the floor, maneuvering himself behind Eddie. He presses his chest flush against Eddie’s back and crosses his arms in front of the other man, placing his hands on his shoulders. He squeezes, hard, and Eddie gasps. He brings his hand up to Steve’s forearms and sure his nails are digging into Steve’s skin, and sure it hurts, but Steve really doesn’t give a shit because Eddie’s getting air.

He’s still breathing heavily, he’s still shaking and crying, but through his sobs he manages to say, “I don’t wanna die.”

And fuck that breaks Steve’s heart. “You’re not gonna die, Eds,” he says, his own words coming out slurred and he sighs a sigh that turns into a strangled sob. And another one. And another one, the dam that the little beavers worked so hard on, now broken by an angry and scared river flows down his cheeks, onto Eddie’s shoulder, into his hair. He’s shaking and he hiccups but he doesn’t stop talking. “You’re safe,” he says, “I’m here, you’re okay.”

Eddie manages to catch his breath and they sit there, two slobbering messes holding on to each other. After a little while Max approaches them, she places something on the floor and a third slobbering mess gets added to the mix.

Under any other circumstances Steve would find this really fucking weird; if a year ago somone would’ve have told that he’d be in this situation — ending up in a pile of tears with Eddie Munson and Max Mayfield — he would’ve called them delusional. But right now Steve’s just glad that Max called him and that he could be there for Eddie.

Eddie taps Steve on his arm and when Steve lets him go he shuffles over to the other side of the hall, leaning his head against the wall. He wipes at his face and sniffs a few times, Steve does the same, so does Max.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks.

Eddie chuckles dryly. “Other than completely and utterly humiliated? Peachy.”

Max grabs a glass of water from the floor — which must be what she placed down in the first place — and moves over to Eddie. “You scared the shit out of me,” she says and playfully punches him in the shoulder before handing him the water.

Ruffling her hair he says, “I’m sorry, Red.” He takes the water from her, downs the drink in a few quick gulps, and hands the empty glass back to her. “Thanks.”

A silence falls over them like a crushing weight. They should talk about it and Steve knows that Eddie knows that Steve thinks that they should talk about it. But his eyes drift from Steve to Max and to Steve. Not right now is what they’re saying, Steve nods — and if you blinked you would’ve missed it — but they are going to talk about it, as soon as Steve can get Eddie alone.

Eddie clears his throat before he speaks again, “I uh, should probably get dressed.” And yeah, he should. The towel around his waist might be one hell of a determined one but it’s still just a towel. He moves to get up, falls back on his ass, winces, and mumbles a curse under his breath. Steve is at his side in a matter of seconds and helps Eddie off the floor. It doesn’t go unnoticed to Steve how easy it is, how light Eddie is compared to when he had to carry him out of the Upside Down.

Steve shoves the thought to the back of his head with all the other concerts he has for Eddie and helps him to his bedroom. Eddie sits on the edge of his bed while Steve retrieves some clothes for him from his dresser; underwear, a pair of sweats, and a long sleeved and short sleeved shirt. Steve hopes Eddie will choose the short sleeved one since it’s way too warm for anything with long sleeves, but he knows Eddie probably won’t.

He holds the clothes out for Eddie and in a last minute decision he adds, “For your modesty, dude.”

He takes the items from Steve’s hand and the sides of Eddie’s mouth quirk up, just for a second, but the amusement doesn’t leave his eyes. Steve leaves it at that and exits Eddie’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

In front of him is Max, looking into the bathroom. It’s not a pretty sight. The mirror above the sink is shattered, broken shards in the sink, and it’s all covered in blood. Steve sighs and walks in, he opens the sink cabinet and takes out a first-aid kit. Handing it to Max, he says, “Can you take care of his hand when he comes out?”

She nods with a little “Sure” and makes her way to the living room. Steve takes in the sight again and it almost looks like something you’d see at an art show. He can see the anger, fear and grief in the shards. Anger at what happened. Fear of it happening again. Grief for the person Eddie once was, the person he’ll never be again.

Steve walks to the kitchen and comes back with the trash can. Maybe not as careful as he should be, picks the shards up and throws them in the can. Halfway through he hears Eddie’s bedroom door open and click of his cane hitting the floor as he walks. Eddie hesitates for a second as he passes Steve, throws him an apologetic look, and keeps going.

Not right now Steve tells himself and continues with the cleanup , listening to the conversation in the living room.

“Sit,” Max says.

“Right away, ma’am.”

He can hear Eddie plop down on the couch and Max open the kit, he can hear some shuffling, Eddie wincing and an “Ow!”

“God, you’re more of a baby than Lucas.”

“Hey, I’m not a baby.”

“Then stop whining like one.”

“Keep treating me like that and I won’t play Kate Bush for you ever again.”

Max scoffs, “It’s not like you’ll be playing much of anything for awhile, you sprained your wrist.”

After a beat of silence comes a defeated “Fuck” from Eddie.

Steve finishes up and by the time he returns Eddie’s hand and wrist are bandaged, he’s standing by the open door, his hair almost covering his neck and face like a scarf, wearing both shirts Steve picked out for him, and smoking a joint. Eddie looks over to him and holds out the joint, And why the hell not, Steve thinks, he could certainly use it. After putting the trash can back in its place Steve joins him.

Eddie passes the joint to Steve and says, “You know you don’t have to stay, right?”

“Like hell I’m leaving,” Steve says at the same time Max says, “We’re staying.”

Eddie throws his hands up. “All right, Jesus.”

They pass the joint back and forth until it’s burned out. A silence falls over them again, not as heavy as the one in the hall but still very present. That is until Eddie’s stomach growls. Steve looks at him, Eddie looks away, He looks at Max and asks, “Pizza?”

“Yes, Please.”

So, Steve orders pizza, Eddie gets two beers and a Coke out of the fridge and rummages through VHS tapes.

“The Breakfast Club or Footloose?”

Max chooses The Breakfast Club, Steve chooses Footloose, Eddie puts on Footloose surprising them both — the fact that he even has that movie was surprising enough. They settle in on the couch, Eddie in the middle with his feet kicked up onto the coffee table, they eat, they watch the movie, Steve and Max make a silent agreement to pretend not to notice when Eddie mouths along with the songs and even some of the dialogue. And before long they all fall asleep.

~*~

Steve’s the first one to wake up, his head resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and even though his back and neck ache, Steve hasn’t slept this well in a while. Not one nightmare, no waking up in the middle of the night just because his body told him to, and god did he miss that.

Max is curled up on her side, her head resting on Eddie’s lap, his hand on her head, his other arm’s laid out on the backrest behind Steve. Eddie looks peaceful, smiling in his sleep and Steve can’t help the tug at the corner of his mouth at the sight.

Trying not to wake them up, Steve gets off the couch and heads for the kitchen to make coffee. And not because he needs it to wake up, no, because he wants it.

When the coffee’s almost done brewing Max wakes up and in turn tiring Eddie.

“How’d you two sleep?” Steve asks.

“Good,” Max says with a smile and takes a seat at one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

Eddie follows behind her, stretching, and takes the seat next to her. “I can’t feel my ass,” he says, “But that was the best sleep I’ve had… Ever.” There’s a flash of a smile before it falls again.

Steve pours them the coffee while Max and Eddie have a back and forth argument about his numb butt — Eddie blamed it on Max because her head is too heavy and cut off circulation, Max countered with what else she could cut off and Steve zoned out after that.

It’s nice, Steve thinks, they way they all look well rested, the banter, and if he could stay in this moment forever, pretending that last night never happened, he would.

But he can’t.

After a while Max jumps up. “Shit,” she says, “I’m gonna be late”

“Where could you possibly have to be this early?” Eddie asks. Not that it’s that early, it’s past 10 AM.

“Lucas said he has a “surprise” for me.”

Max goes for the door and Eddie quirks a brow. “Be careful.”

“I don’t need your protection talk again, Eddie,” Max says over her shoulder.

“It’s important!” he yells after her as she slams the door behind her.

“Protection talk, huh?” Steve says and takes a sip of his coffee, “Very dad of you.”

Eddie scoffs, “Yeah, All right, mom ,” he says and Steve rolls his eyes. “Lucas is a 15 year old boy, don’t you remember being 15?”

He does, he remembers all too well and Eddie has a point.

“Besides, Dustin told me about the 100 out of 10 on the disgusting scale thing Erica found under Lucas’ bed.” They both make a face, knowing exactly what that thing is. “So yeah, protection talk…”

Steve doesn’t want to think about how the kids are teens now, about how teens have things and do things and is he going to have to have talks with them and- and he needs to change the subject. Eddie might not like it and it’ll ruin the light hearted mood, but Max is gone and it’s time.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Eddie doesn’t look at him at first, instead opting on staring into his empty mug, biting his lip. But he does look, eventually, a smile on his face. “Don’t worry you pretty little head about me, Stevie. I’ll be fine.”

And, fuck, because no, his smile is so fake and his lies are so clear . “Maybe, eventually, but right now you’re not and it’s becoming clearer and clearer that you haven’t been for a while, Eddie.” His words come out harsher than intended and Eddie tears his eyes away from him.

“You got enough people to worry about.” Eddie gets off the stool and goes back to the living room, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. “I don’t need to be one of them, Steve,” he says and sits back down on the couch, lighting one from the pack.

“Eddie-”

“I think you should go.” he says and lights his cigarette, biting back a hush at the uncomfortable angle of his wrist.

“Ed-” Steve moves away from the counter, taking a seat on the table, opposite of Eddie.

“I’m actually still pretty-”

“ Eddie! ” Steve snaps.

“What!” Eddie snaps back. “Huh? What do you want me to say?” he says, eyes flashing up to Steve. Fear, anger, grief. “Do you want me to tell you about how I’m too scared to sleep because everytime I do I can feel those goddamn bats holding me down, choking me, ripping away my flesh?” Tears start flowing down his face. “Do you want to hear that even when I’m awake I can still hear them so clearly and it feels like I’m turning into my mother; paranoid, hearing and believing things that aren’t real?” He’s shaking. “And how I don’t want to end up in Pennhurst just like her, pumped full of drugs, wasting away and eventually die of an aneurysm, all alone.”

Steve places a hand on Eddie's knee. He jerks away from him, rapidly tapping his foot on the floor and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“Maybe you wanna hear about my visit to my dad in prison, that I told him I almost died, and you know what he said? He said, “They didn’t try hard enough” and what scared me the most is what I thought… “He’s right, they didn’t.” ”

It’s… a lot to take in and Steve bets that there’s a lot more Eddie hasn’t been telling him, any of them. And he almost regrets making Eddie open up, because the weight of the knowledge is crushing him, he doesn’t though. What he does regret is not trying to get Eddie to talk sooner. Steve moves to sit next to him and places a hand on his shoulder, expecting Eddie to shrug it off. He doesn’t.

“Jesus, Eddie,” is all he manages to say.

Eddie shakes his head with a humorless chuckle. “Don’t pity me, Steve.”

“I’m not.” He is, but admitting that will likely just make things worse. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m always only one phone call away.”

“Christ,” Eddie says, he rests his elbows on his knees, hangs his head low and covers his face with his hands. For a second Steve thinks he’s laughing, but it sounds too wet. Steve rubs circles on his back, hoping it’ll bring some comfort.

“You’ve been through something traumatic, Eddie, You’ll break if you just bottle it all up.”

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie says, voice breaking. “When was the last time you had a nightmare? couldn't breathe? had to turn on every damn light in your house because you've become so damn afraid of the dark?” He turns his head to look at Steve. “When was the last time you reached out to someone because you weren’t okay?”

Eddie’s too observant for Steve’s good. He sees right through him, knows that Steve’s always letting the others talk to him about their troubles and giving them advice that he himself should follow but doesn’t.

“If I reach out,” Eddie says, “promise me you will, too."

Steve nods. He has been carrying weights on his shoulders for so long, the last three years only adding more and he’s breaking. “I promise.”

“Good.” Eddie stumps out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Remember that thunderstorm last week?”

They talk for hours. About the things that scare them, the things that make getting through the day just a little bit easier, but also day to day life. After Wayne comes home and they explain to him why the bathroom mirror is broken they move outside and talk some more. They talk well into the night until Steve has to go home because of an early shift the next morning.

Before Steve can walk off the porch and to his car Eddie grabs him by the arm and pulls him into a hug. His arms wrap tight around Steve, one over his shoulder and the other under his arm. Though Steve is surprised by the sudden gesture he does return it.

“Thank you, I uh…” Eddie mumbles, he pulls back but doesn’t let go. “I needed that.”

Steve smiles, “Yeah, me too,” he says.

And only now does Steve know what it looks like when Eddie is genuinely smiling. In time Eddie will be fine and so will Steve.

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