#it’s okay to maybe do some crafts for the camera

[gothra]

If you’re making a video about tradwives, why is Nara Smith in the thumbnail? Is she an out and proud conservative who believes in the traditional definition of a Godly American marriage, thereby she is not a trad wife? No? Then, she is not a tradwife. Nara Smith is a thin, conventionally attractive woman who wears sophisticated outfits and has kids and cooks in her big fancy kitchen. She is not a tradwife, she is a professional, likely affluent model who runs the equivalent of an amateur TikTok cooking show. She is not attempting to manipulate you into becoming a submissive, dutiful housewife, she’s making money off of your engagement by maintaining a brand. She is polished and prim, not because she’s trying to portray some sort of natural ease in being a traditional mother, but because she doesn’t want to be clowned for a distracting dirty kitchen. She wears fancy clothes because she’s a model, who gets paid to wear fancy clothes, probably IN the videos. She has three kids because she wants three kids, or however many she has. She’s not perpetuating an unreality, or playing into some deeply insidious narrative about what it means to truly be a woman and a wife and mother, YOU are just poor, and SHE has money, so your lives look different, therefore making her reality inherently different to yours, which isn’t her problem. She doesn’t have to preface every video with an apology or an assurance that you don’t have to go through all of the trouble she does, and she shouldn’t have to. She is a BRAND because she is a BUSINESS. Her work, her videos, make her money! Of course the things she does seem staged and sterile, she is staging and sterilizing her work space to maintain an image online. It’s not her fault you don’t understand branding, and it’s not her fault you failed to learn the message the past decade and the most immediate technological “advancements” have been teaching us: sometimes things online aren’t real. Next are you going to tell me that you think that everyone in every advertisement is genuinely that happy to be wearing/eating/drinking/driving/using the product being advertised?

The elements of Nara Smith’s public persona do not add up to traditionalism, they add up to hyperfemininity at most, and at the very least, a minuscule injection of traditionalism from a Mormon upbringing. Tradwifery isn’t when women wear fancy clothes and cook, it’s when women DON’T work outside the house as successful models who wear crop tops to show off their pregnant bellies. It’s when women follow a traditional, Godly plan for marriage, birth control and childrearing. It when a man works outside of the home as something that isn’t “model”, and his wife (who also isn’t a model) stays home to raise and homeschool 2+ children, and cook and clean and maybe tend to a garden and read her Bible by candlelight and shut her mouth. It’s a woman who is jobless, uneducated, diminished according to “God’s” will. The tradwife isn’t just some lady you don’t like, she’s molded physically and mentally by her upbringing and shaped by the hands of the men around her. She is quiet, she is private, she follows her husband like a lost puppy. The pillars her identity rests upon are repression, conservatism and religious femininity, the kind that makes you wear skirts that go below the knees, and tops with collars to the neck. The most modern tradwife MAYBE has social media, and every video, every post is meant to perpetuate the myth that she is happy and that other women will be at their happiest if they follow her lead. The most important part of “trad” wifery, is the TRAD part, which stands for TRADITION. Miu miu is not traditional. Exposed belly bumps are not traditional. These “commentary” videos like the one I’m referring to do half of the work of investigating the perils of femininity and hyperfemininity, and traditionalism and only succeed in confusing themselves even more because it’s more important to them to pretend to be a journalist than sit with and analyze what they’re saying. This is coming from someone who has a finely tuned radar for subtly anti-feminist propaganda. I can and will scrutinize every aspect of a performance of femininity. I will squint and roll my eyes at every makeup tutorial and GRWM. I will question shaving and waxing and high heels and skirts and bras and porn. One thing I WON’T do, is use a term I KNOW doesn’t fit to make money on a YouTube video.

If Nara Smith bothers you, she just bothers you. If her inaccessible cooking style bothers you, it just bothers you. If the way she dresses bothers you, it just bothers you. That’s it. It JUST bothers you. You’are allowed to feel bothered, and annoyed, so what’s the point of lying? Are your personal feelings so under attack that you have to resort to making up a reason? That you have to resort to making yourself look stupid to justify a half-assed thinkpiece about her? If you want to discuss her potential plagiarism from smaller creators, discuss that. If you want to discuss her kitchen safety, discuss that. Don’t insult me by making shit up, because I’m on the same internet you are! I can watch her videos too! I can take notes too! And I can easily see that your problem with her is the fact that you are simply tired of being advertised to. You’re tired of seeing rich people, and you’re tired of seeing pretty people. Who cares? Be tired of it proudly, but be tired of it and do your research? Quit using areas of feminist study as a personal kiddy pool and get real!!!!!!!!!!

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 2

pairing: you x drew starkey

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden light across your shared bedroom. You stirred awake to the sound of Drew shuffling around the room, already half-dressed for his next press obligation. His movements were quick, almost practiced, as he buttoned his shirt and grabbed his watch from the nightstand.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Drew’s voice was soft, a gentle whisper as he leaned over to kiss your forehead. He was already in work mode, his hair still damp from the shower, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne. His presence should have been comforting, but today, it just felt distant.

“Morning,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and adjusting the blanket to wrap yourself tighter. You didn’t feel like facing the day. The night before had been difficult enough, and you didn’t know how to move forward from it. “What’s on the schedule today?”

“More interviews,” Drew said, running his hand through his damp hair. “Odessa and I are doing a segment for some morning show. Same old PR stuff.”

You nodded, your throat tightening, trying not to let your discomfort show. You had gotten used to this routine – being around Drew when the cameras were on, the endless interviews, the flashes, the constant attention. But this time, something about the way he said her name made it feel different. More real.

“You’ll do great,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Drew’s gaze softened, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, but it was too fast. You knew it didn’t sound convincing.

Drew nodded but didn’t press further. He bent down and kissed you on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

The day dragged on. You couldn’t focus, your thoughts a whirlwind of insecurity and doubt. You found yourself staring at your phone every few minutes, waiting for Drew to check in. But nothing. He was busy with the press tour, and every update you saw on social media made things worse.

Drew and Odessa. Odessa and Drew. Their names were all over the internet. You could almost feel the heat radiating from your phone screen as you scrolled through the clips from that morning’s interview.

In the clip, they looked so natural together, so comfortable. Drew’s easy laughter filled the air as Odessa leaned into him, her hand brushing his arm in what seemed like a casual, innocent gesture. But you knew better. This wasn’t just a movie press tour. This was a carefully crafted performance.

Still, it didn’t stop the pit in your stomach from growing.

“Working with Drew has been amazing,” Odessa said in the clip, her voice light, playful. “He’s so talented, and we just clicked instantly.”

Drew’s smile was warm, maybe too warm. “Yeah, Odessa makes it easy. She’s incredible,” he added, his eyes never leaving her face.

The host leaned forward with a teasing smile. “I can tell. You two have such great chemistry. Think the fans will start shipping you together?”

Odessa glanced at Drew, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe,” she said with a flirtatious tone. “But we’re just having fun. Giving the people what they want.”

The camera zoomed in on them, capturing the moment when Drew’s fingers brushed Odessa’s hand. You could feel your heart sinking, the jealousy and pain too raw to ignore.

The comments started flooding in within minutes:

@/user9819837: “I ship them SO hard! They’re adorable!”

@/lover987756: “Move over Y/N, #Dressa is the new endgame.”

@/user3012002039: “Their chemistry is off the charts.. bet it’s not just acting 😉”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the wetness on your cheek.

You tried to push the feelings away, focusing on something – anything – else. But the restlessness in your chest wouldn’t let up. Finally, you texted your best friend, Madelyn, desperate for someone who understood.

You: I don’t know what to do anymore. I saw the interview today. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. I feel like I’m invisible to him.

The reply came almost instantly.

Madelyn: I’m sorry you’re going through this. I get it, I really do. Maybe it’s just the PR stuff? They’re working, you know? But I know it’s tough. Have you talked to him about it?

You stared at the screen for a moment. How could you talk to Drew about this? Every time you tried, he dismissed your concerns as if they didn’t matter. As if this was just part of his job, and you needed to accept it.

You: I’ve tried, it’s like he doesn’t get how much it hurts to see him with her, even if it’s all fake. I don’t know if I can take it.

You stared at the text, hoping Madelyn would have something better to say. Instead, she was blunt, but kind.

Madelyn: I know you’re hurting, but you’ve got to be honest with him. He’s not going to change if he doesn’t know what you’re going through. You have to talk to him. For you.

By the time Drew came home, the tension between you was unbearable. You hadn’t spoken since the morning, and when Drew walked in, it was clear that something was off. But before you could say anything, he dropped his bag and ran his fingers through his hair, looking exhausted.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m gonna head out with the guys tonight. Some of the crew from Outer Banks are getting together. I’ve gotta keep up appearances.”

You stared at him, not sure what to say. He seemed so distant, like the space between you had grown too  large to bridge. You nodded, trying not to let your frustration show.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. You didn’t want to spend another night alone, so you texted the girls group chat.

You: “Hey want to come over tonight? I need some company.”

Madelyn: “Of course! I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Madison: “Count me and Carlacia in! She is riding with me <3”

You were relieved when your friends arrived – Madelyn, Madison and a few others. They could tell something was wrong. As soon as they stepped inside, Madelyn pulled you aside.

“What’s going on? You look like you’ve been through hell.”

You didn’t want to break down in front of them, but the words tumbled out before you could step them.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Maddie. The way Drew is with Odessa… it feels like he’s slipping away, and I’m powerless to stop it.”

Madelyn sat down beside you, rubbing your back comfortingly. “You’re not powerless, Y/N. He’s just – caught up in the PR stuff. But you have to talk to him about it.”

“I’ve tried,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

The night passed in a blur of laughter and distractions, but the moment your friends left, everything came rushing back. You grabbed your phone to check for messages, hoping for something from Drew, but instead you were met with the flashing headlines on your feed.

“Drew Starkey and Odessa A’Zion Together Again – The ‘Dresda’ Romance Heats Up!”

You clicked on the article, your heart sinking when you saw the photos. Drew and Odessa walking together in the city at night. Their hands were brushing, and there was an intimacy between them you hadn’t seen between you and Drew in weeks. The photos made it look effortless, like they were a couple – nothing about it screamed “PR stunt.”

You felt your world crumble around you as the images loaded, one after another. Drew’s smile was wide and genuine, a stark contrast to the forced, stiff smiles he’d been giving you lately. Odessa was laughing, her head tilted back, looking up at him with that same spark you’d seen in their interviews. They looked perfect together.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the last of the photos appeared on the screen – Drew and Odessa stopped at a café, sitting so close their legs brushed. You swiped through the photos again, then again, hoping at the next swipe would somehow make it stop. But it didn’t.

Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t put into words. Drew was supposed to be your person. But now? It felt like he had chosen someone else – someone who wasn’t you.

The room spun as you tried to steady your breath. You curled up into yourself, feeling the weight of everything press down on you.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog

[helloalycia]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you become friends with Skye Riley and watch her grow into the pop star she is, that unfortunately means you get a front row seat into her demise.

warning/s: mentions of substance abuse, injury and death.

author's note: okay so this took forever and i’m very sorry for the wait! i started writing it but it just kept getting longer so now it's 3 parts 😂

a few things to note - the smile demon thing doesn't exist, it's just a story about her bc why not. Also her friend Gemma (?) also doesn't exist bc i couldn't think of a way to include her in the story lol

okay that's it, enjoy!!

The thing with Skye Riley was she was always so full of hope and passion and optimism for her craft. From the very first day we met, I knew she would become something special to so many people out there. I just never intended for her to become something special to me.

She was just starting out, some rising star doing a performance for a local TV station in the city. I didn't even know who she was, never having heard of nor seen her before. The reason I was at the station was because it was another one of my odd behind-the-scenes photography jobs I'd landed, fresh out of university at twenty-two years old.

I was messing with my camera near the snacks table when I felt a presence and looked up to see her grabbing some grapes from the fruit bowl. She didn't notice me at first, but I definitely did a double take, not knowing she was the talent at first, but thinking how pretty this girl was. She must have felt my gaze as she looked up and flashed me a picture-perfect smile, almost making me melt there and then.

"Hey," she greeted.

I blinked before smiling. "Hi! Sorry, I was just daydreaming."

She chuckled before nodding to my camera. "You work here?"

I glanced down at my camera. "Yeah. Well, kind of. It's only temporary. I'm doing some stills for their website. You?"

She hummed, intrigued. "Nice. I'm performing, so it might be me you're shooting. Do get my good side, please."

It was then that I realised she was Skye Riley, the talent booked for the day. "Shit, you're the guest."

She began to laugh, in a sweet, reserved kind of way. "I am, yeah. I'm Skye."

"My apologies, Skye," I said sheepishly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," she repeated, before smiling softly. "It's all good." She picked at another grape before continuing, "Between you and me, this is my first ever TV appearance and I'm scared shitless."

I realised she wasn't kidding when she didn't smile. Clearing my throat, I tried to reassure her. "I'm sure you'll be great. Clearly you're here for a reason. Just... try not to overthink it. Be yourself."

She glanced out at the stage. "I suppose you're right." Her gaze returned to mine with a half smile. "Thanks."

"At least if the interview goes south, you know you'll get some good photos from it," I joked, lifting my camera in the air playfully.

She laughed wholeheartedly, thankfully not offended. "Gee, thanks. Can't wait to see 'em."

I couldn't help but smile as I said, "I'm kidding. I'm sure you'll be great, Skye."

Before she could respond, someone called her name and she looked out to them before giving me a nervous smile. "I guess that's me. Was nice meeting you, Y/N. Maybe I'll see you around."

"You too," I responded. "And yeah, maybe. Break a leg out there."

She gave me a final smile before leaving to join her manager – who I eventually discovered was her mum – by the stage. I wasn't expecting to see her again, though I was definitely blown away by her talent when she performed that night. And as far as TV appearances went, she nailed it.

I suppose that being the same age in a world of adults and both starting out in our careers at the same time made it easy to talk to her. Especially when I was covering another last-minute paying photography gig at some flashy charity event that she just happened to be at.

It was her who spotted me this time, as I got some shots of the guests dancing around on the dance floor. I felt a tap on my shoulder and straightened up, wondering who it could be.

"Y/N?" her voice called as I turned around, certainly surprised to see her. When she saw me, her smile widened. "Yes, I knew I recognised you. It's me, Skye! Not sure if you remember me from the TV thing last month."

I was surprised to see her, but equally thrilled, returning her smile. "Skye, yes, of course I remember you. I didn't expect to see you again if I'm being honest, let alone so soon."

She chuckled. "At least you're honest. I'm glad though. I really enjoyed our chat last time." Her eyes looked me up and down. "You look good."

I felt my cheeks grow warm, knowing she didn't mean it like that but still unable to accept compliments from pretty girls. "Thanks, so do you."

And I wasn't lying. She looked amazing in her glitzy purple dress, long, curled dark hair and smokey eye makeup. In just the month since we'd last seen each other, her music was already blowing up more and more, and she was really starting to come into herself as a star.

"Thanks," she said with a grin. "So, are you working this event too? That's so cool for you!"

"Yeah, it's definitely a great opportunity," I replied, glancing around. "Just trying to get the best gigs I can, y'know? Get my name out there."

"Well, I personally loved the stills you took of me," she complimented sincerely, dark eyes glittering under the lights. "I think you're really talented."

"I think you might be biased," I said, unable to take the compliment, "but thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before nodding behind her. "Do you wanna get a drink and chat or are you not allowed? You're actually the only person I know here."

I was surprised she wanted to talk more, but also felt the same way. "Erm...," I paused, checking my watch and glancing around. "I should really work or I might get told off. But I finish in an hour, before the event ends. I don't know if you're still around then?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," she said with a bright smile. "I'll be hanging around if you wanna find me? I'd love to know more about these photography gigs of yours."

I exhaled softly, nodding. "Sounds good. Only fair you tell me all about this becoming-a-celebrity gig of yours then." She laughed at this and it brought a smile to my lips. "I'll catch you later, Skye."

She nodded, satisfied. "See you in a bit."

And from there, it was safe to say we became friends. After getting to know each other better and exchanging numbers, it was easy enough to make a friend in the same boat as me, even if her boat was slightly different to mine. Of course, it was my mistake to be even mildly attracted to my new friend because that was not a good starting point for our friendship.

Because of how close we got, close enough for us to consider each other a best friend, she invited me to join her on tour as a documentary-style photographer. I was still building my experience and portfolio whilst she claimed she just really didn't want to be alone on her first ever international tour, so it was a win-win.

It was during the tour that I realised how much I actually liked her, in a dangerously non-platonic kind of way. And any little thing she did that was slightly touchy had me stumbling over my words – which was almost all the time because she was the touchiest friend I'd ever had.

It could be something as simple as braiding my hair for me and I'd forget how to breathe, or one time I was sat in her dressing room, listening to her mum talk about the show when she decided she wanted sit on my lap. Such casual friend things and yet I was malfunctioning every time.

Naturally, I forced myself to get over it.

—

Spending our 20s together meant I got a front row seat to her eventual decline into substance abuse. She was already an anxious person, though did well to disguise it, but her quick rise to fame and the constant pressures of her team did her no favours.

The first time I truly witnessed just how much she dealt with was about a year later, when she lost her voice in the midst of preparing for another tour. I was hanging around the side of the stage as they did a rehearsal a few nights prior to her first show, simply showing my support, when everybody noticed the croak in her throat as she attempted to sing a verse. After realising she couldn't, she was taken to a doctor.

"She's been under too much stress and her vocal cords are worn," the doctor explained to her mum in her dressing room, Skye sat opposite her. "She needs vocal rest."

Her mum seemed uncertain. "How long will that take?"

The doctor began to pack her things away as she spoke, "I'd advise a minimum of a few days, but she probably needs a week."

"She doesn't have a week," her mum snapped. "Her first show is in a couple of days. Thousands of fans are expecting to hear her sing."

I glanced at Skye, noticing the guilty expression she wore as she looked down to her hands. Her mum was always putting pressure on her like this and it was never nice to see her. I settled for resting my hand on hers, earning her attention, and squeezing it gently to let her know I was there for her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley, but your daughter is in a lot of pain and if she keeps going like this, she won't even have a tour," the doctor said impatiently. "Give her the rest she needs and she'll be okay."

Her mum sighed. "Fine. Thank you, doctor."

The doctor nodded before giving Skye a reassuring smile and leaving the four of us alone – including Skye's mum's assistant.

"Sorry, mum," Skye muttered, and I nudged her gently in warning.

"You just heard the doctor," I reminded her. "No talking."

Her mum merely massaged the bridge of her nose with frustration, as if working out what to do next. It was harsh, insensitive even, but it wasn't my place to intervene.

"Okay, it's okay," she decided, before looking to her daughter. "You can still rehearse everything else. No vocals until the first show."

Skye nodded, standing up, but I quirked a brow as I looked to her mum.

"Shouldn't she rest?" I said, holding back my critique as much as I could. "If anything, it'll help her recover quicker. The doctor said she's already under stress."

"Dancing won't kill her," her mum said dismissively, before nodding to Skye. "I'll see you back out there, okay?"

Skye nodded as I raised my brows with disbelief, watching her mum and mum's assistant leave. Only when they were gone did I scoff and look to Skye.

"Are you serious? You need to rest, Skye," I told her. "You don't have to listen to her, you know."

Skye closed her eyes, frowning as she shook her head. I then realised my complaining wasn't helping and relaxed slightly.

"Sorry," I said quietly. "But it's not right. And if you were hurting, you should've said."

She swallowed thickly before opening her eyes and forcing a smile that didn't reach them.

"Skye...," I started, but didn't want to upset her anymore than she clearly already was. Instead, I gave her a hug, hoping it would mean something.

She wrapped her arms around me and didn't let go, not until I did, and I only did because we were hugging way too long and I didn't want to piss her mum off even more.

"Take it easy," I said to her when we pulled apart, searching her gaze. "Stop if it's too much, alright?"

She nodded, squeezing my hands gently, but I knew deep down that she was only saying what I wanted to hear, or rather doing what I wanted to see. She was too obedient to her mum and didn't want to let everyone down, even if it meant working herself to death.

It was all of these little things adding up that inevitably pushed her to seek out an escape where I just couldn't help her anymore.

The first time I realised it might be an issue was that same tour, about halfway through, when I was photographing some of the crew the day before a concert to eventually use in the tour documentary they were making of Skye. It was a fun day for me since I loved hanging out with the people who made the magic happen, and I was excited to show my photos to Skye back at the hotel like I always did. Only, this time, when she let me into her room, I realised she was drunk.

If it wasn't the acrid scent of alcohol that clung to her clothes that gave it away, or her giddy nature as she flopped on her bed, it was the countless mini bar bottles and cocktail glasses littered around her room.

"Did you... have a party with yourself or something?" I asked with confusion, sitting at the edge of her bed.

She laughed like I'd said the funniest thing ever smacking my hand gently as she stared at the ceiling. "Something like that."

I watched her, mildly concerned. "Are you gonna be okay for sound check tomorrow? Your mum might actually kill you if you show up with a hangover."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's not that bad. It's a one-off, honest. I just wanted some fun."

Stupidly, I believed her. "Okay, well... maybe we should attempt to sober you up. C'mon."

She groaned, rolling over to stick her head under her pillow. "Later."

"Skye, please," I tried to reason. "Have you eaten anything?"

She ignored me and I took that as a no.

"I'll order some room service, yeah? Get some food in you," I said, talking to air as she continued to ignore me.

I had it easy enough that evening, looking after her. And even though she did wake up with a hangover the next morning, she promised she'd never act so irresponsibly again. I didn't care, I just didn't want her to struggle.

Of course, that was only the start. Whereas we'd usually hang out together after her shows, she began to leave to hang out with some of the crew and their friends. I wouldn't have minded since she was her own person, but it meant she'd come back absolutely hammered and it only worried me. It kept happening, to the point that it was a regular thing. Even after the tour ended, it was almost impossible to see her without a drink in her hand.

We fought about it at first, but I didn't want to push her away even more, especially into the arms of her shitty Hollywood friends. She was once open but now she'd hide things from me, making it difficult to know exactly what she was up to. I couldn't control her and I didn't want to, but she didn't seem to understand the severity of her actions.

It kept getting worse as the years went on, especially when she got a new boyfriend. They were awful for one another, terrible influences. Skye became more irritable to everyone around her, including me. It was like being friends with a completely new girl. Between the drinking and the partying and the drugs, I couldn't keep up. And as much as I cared about her, I wasn't important enough in her life for her to even consider listening to.

The final straw was when the paparazzi released some photos of her having a breakdown, screaming at some poor makeup artist for no reason at all. A joint was in her hand, she looked a mess, and it was enough to send her mum in a livid spiral. I wanted to stay out of it, but when her mum practically forced me to go to her and try to knock some sense into her, I had no choice.

When I knocked on the door of Skye's apartment, she saw it was me and rolled her eyes but let me in.

"She send you to fix me, did she?" she asked, walking to the kitchen.

I tried not to get offended as I stepped in and closed the door behind me. "It's bad, Skye. You look insane."

She faked a laugh. "Wow, way to fuckin' sugarcoat it."

I sighed, leaning on her kitchen island and looking over at her. "Are you gonna act childish with me right now or are we gonna have an actual conversation?"

She raised her brows, surprised and irritated. "Seriously?"

Maybe it was the years of putting up with her on-again off-again mood swings, or maybe it was just her complete disregard to listen to anyone who cared about her, but I'd had enough in that moment.

"Skye, you're embarrassing yourself," I said sternly, meeting her red-rimmed gaze. Of course she was high. "It's concerning and these pictures should be a wake up call."

She narrowed her eyes. "Good job I didn't ask your opinion."

I rubbed my face, fed up of her anger. "Skye, I'm not trying to argue."

"Then stay out of my fucking business, Y/N! You're always on my back about this shit and it's getting old."

Ignoring her tantrum, I said, "I'm worried about you."

Suddenly, she began to laugh slowly, quietly, mockingly. "I bet."

Confused, I watched her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head as she nodded at me, arms crossed over her chest condescendingly. "It's written all over your face. You're in love with me."

I couldn't really comprehend what she'd said, not at first, but then my face felt hot and I felt like I'd been caught out.

"God, you're so obvious!" she whined loudly, approaching me. "You've been obvious with it. All these fucking years."

How did she know? How could she?

"You- you don't even know what you're saying," I finally spoke, cursing inwardly when I stumbled. "You probably won't even remember this in the morning, you're that fucking high."

"Oh, I'll remember," she assured me with a smile so cruel that it looked nothing like my best friend. "Because it's written all over your face."

She poked me in the cheek and I swatted her finger away instinctively, ashamedly, making her laugh.

"You're terrible at hiding it," she continued, eyes flickering between mine. "It's laughable."

Every part of me was screaming to leave, to run away and never come back. My skin was crawling and I wanted the earth to swallow me up, hot with shame. Tears pricked my eyes, embarrassed and hurt by how cruel she was being, how careless she was with my feelings.

"Did you think there was a shot?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is that why you stuck around all this time?"

I frowned, attempting to glare at her, but it was a foolish one. "I stuck around because I care. Because you're my friend."

"You're lying." She laughed again.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Forget it."

"It's forgotten."

I couldn't even look at her, turning around to leave. Never had she been so hurtful with her words.

"Oh, fine, fuck off like you want!" she shouted as I opened the front door.

I clenched my jaw as I glanced back at her. "You've become such a bitch."

She glared at me. "Better a bitch than a shitty admirer."

My heart crumbled, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. "Fuck you."

And with that, I slammed the door and left. Though, not without breaking down on the lift down to the lobby.

—

She never called to apologise. She never texted to check in. And I wasn't going to crawl back to her, not out of worry or friendship or anything. She'd made a fool of me, hurt me so much that I felt like an idiot. Because I was. I was the idiot who had my love for her practically tattooed all over my face. How could I have been so foolish?

An almost ten-year friendship gone, just like that.

Months passed and it was admittedly strange not to have her in my life. Even though our relationship had drastically changed for the worst, she'd been a consistent part of my life. And now she was just... gone.

The anger and embarrassment easily turned into hurt, which turned into sadness, and I found myself missing her greatly. But she made no effort to get in touch, so I knew I needed to move on.

It was those few months later when her car accident was all over the news. That was how I'd found out. She'd been on a drive with her boyfriend who unfortunately died, and she was in hospital. Or, at least, that was all the press knew.

As frustrated as I was with her, none of it mattered when I found out what had happened. Every part of me was concerned, wanting to know if she was okay. I was so close to calling her mum and asking to visit Skye in hospital, but I was too cowardly to do it. I'd convinced myself that she wouldn't want me there. Still, I missed her greatly.

A year passed soon enough and the only connection that I had with Skye Riley was the same as all of her fans – through a TV screen. Her story was in the headlines for ages – her public breakdown, her accident, her rise back to stardom. Interviews, the announcement of her new album, her new tour... I avoided it where I could, but she was a superstar and it wasn't always easy.

I'd gotten over her. I had. I never expected to hear from her again and that was okay.

Until I got a call out of the blue and it just so happened to be her.

"Hello?" I answered the unknown number with confusion.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you might still...," the girl on the other side mumbled, before clearing her throat. "It's Skye. Erm, Skye Riley."

I stopped what I was doing, surprised to hear her voice. "Oh."

"Sorry, I know this is really random," she said quickly, nervous, "but, erm, I... I wanted to– I'd like to see you." She paused, then added, "If that's possible."

My brain was still playing catch up from the fact that she'd even called, let alone that she wanted to see me. I didn't know what to think.

"Why?" I finally asked, not trying to be hostile, but genuinely surprised.

She paused, and then spoke, "I miss you. A lot."

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking down. "Skye, it's been a year."

She chuckled nervously. "Well, I've been in rehab for half of it..." When I didn't laugh, she continued, "Sorry. I just– I want to apologise. To explain. Ideally in person."

It didn't make sense. Why now?

"Please," she said quietly, noticing my silence.

I sighed, closing my eyes. As easy (and satisfying) as it would've been to tell her no and hang up, a part of me still cared. And annoyingly enough, I'd never gotten closure which had haunted me for a while. Maybe this could be it.

"Okay," I breathed out.

"Really?" She was as surprised as I sounded when I'd answered.

"Yeah," I said before I could change my mind. "Maybe this–?"

"Tomorrow?" she cut me off without meaning to.

"Oh," I started, but she spoke again.

"Sorry, never mind," she said nervously. "When did you want to meet?"

"No, tomorrow should be fine," I agreed.

I heard her exhale with relief. "Great. Good. Is around three okay? Maybe we can get a coffee or something."

"Sure."

"Great, thanks," she said quietly. "I'll text you."

"I'll save your number," I said without thinking.

She laughed awkwardly, making me cringe at my own discomfort. "Yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

After saying my goodbyes and ending on an awkward note, I took a moment to acknowledge what just happened. Getting a call from her was genuinely the last thing I'd expected, but I was willing to hear her out. If not for her sake, then for my own.

—

I couldn't stop spinning the ring on my finger, a nervous habit of mine, as I walked into the bistro downstairs to Skye's dance studio. We'd agreed to meet there after her rehearsals since it was usually only staff that frequented it so it wouldn't draw attention from her fans.

When I walked in, I glanced around, seeing it was empty for the most part, save for one or two patrons. And then I finally spotted her sat at a booth on the side, looking a lot different to how I'd last seen her, though still very similar to the girl I once knew.

When she saw me, she perked up, looking as nervous as I felt, and I had no choice but to walk over to her. She stood up, blinking, unsure whether to speak first.

"Hi," I said, when she didn't, meeting her flittering eyes.

"Hi," she responded, before swallowing thickly and glancing at the table and then me again. "Erm..." She leaned in to give me a hug, which I had no choice but to return, but it was awkward on both sides. When we pulled apart, she smiled uncomfortably. "I– sorry, I–"

"It's fine," I said quickly, before nodding awkwardly.

She slid into her side of the booth so I did the same, hoping she couldn't hear my irregular heartbeat. I looked over at her, noticing her new look. She'd cut off the long, dark hair she'd had as long as I knew her, donning a pixie cut that was now dyed blonde. I'd seen it in the press, but it still took some getting used to. Suited her though. Annoyingly, she was still as beautiful as she was the day I'd met her.

"The new look is nice," I spoke, breaking the silence and nodding to her.

A nervous smile crept on her lips. "Thanks." A pause and then: "You look good, Y/N."

"Thanks," I mumbled, smiling just as nervously.

She pushed an iced coffee towards me, saying, "I ordered for you, but I'm now realising your favourite order could've changed since we last... yeah. I can get you something different if you want."

I looked at the drink, reading the label, surprised she'd even remembered. "No, no, this is still my favourite. Thanks, Skye. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do," she replied with a shrug, playing with the lid of her own coffee. "I... thanks for meeting with me."

I glanced up at her. "I thought I'd never hear from you again to be honest."

She frowned, looking down. "I know. I debated calling sooner. I... I owe you a huge apology." Her eyes met mine with the utmost sincerity. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For the way I took advantage of your kindness, your friendship. The way I ignored your warnings and support. And–"

She stopped, eyes flickering to her drink guiltily, and she didn't even need to say it for me to know what she was remembering next. Everything she'd said to me before I left for good. How horrible it was, how embarrassing it was. Even now, I couldn't look at her, my face growing warm. After all this time, it was still so humiliating.

"It was awful, I know," she said quietly.

I didn't know what else to say other than, "It was."

At this, she sighed. "I know it's unforgivable and that this isn't an excuse, but I wasn't in the right head space then. I just– I miss you. After the accident..."

When she was quiet for a second longer than usual, I looked up at her, seeing a faraway look in her expression.

"Skye?" I prompted, a hint of concern in my voice.

She shook her head, glancing at the table before meeting my gaze. "Sorry. I just– I miss you and I wanted to see you."

"You keep saying that you miss me, but you had a phone," I pointed out gently, not trying to argue but unsure how to believe her. "You could've called. Especially after the accident."

I wanted you to call, I so badly wanted to add, but it was embarrassing to admit.

"I tried to," she said with a frown. "I didn't think you'd want to see me again after what I said."

I searched her gaze, saddened to hear that. "You thought I wouldn't have wanted to make sure you were okay? Just because of one argument? That I wouldn't have put all of that bullshit aside to make sure you were actually alive?"

She didn't meet my eyes, but she shook her head weakly, and I realised I was a being a little unfair despite it all.

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat, drawing shapes in the condensation of my cup mindlessly. "It's not fair of me to say you should've called. It was a lot, I can imagine. And I had a phone too, I know. I just... I didn't think you cared  anymore. After everything, I thought the last person you'd want to see in hospital was me."

"I don't blame you for thinking that," she muttered, picking at her coffee cup lid again. "It's far from the truth though."

A quiet fell between us as neither of knew what to say nor where to go. It was a lot to digest, knowing she regretted how things had ended up. Selfishly, it was all I'd wanted all this time – an apology and some closure.

"I want to make things right," she said, eyes flickering up to mine.

I met her halfway, exhaling gently. "I forgive you, Skye. I appreciate your apology."

The tension in her shoulders seemed to relax, as did her expression, and she nodded slightly. "I'd like to try again. If you would."

"I figured that's where this was going," I admitted, before nodding slowly. "I'd like that too."

She breathed out with relief, containing it behind a simple nod, and it meant a lot to me that this meant a lot to her, more than I thought it would.

"I really missed you," I said, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

Her eyes were glassy as she gave me a small smile. "I really missed you too, Y/N."

I stood up, as did she, and hugged her properly. It was unlike the previous one and she returned it with just as much relief, the two of us clinging tightly to one another like it was the last.

It was still a mystery to me as to whether rebuilding a friendship with Skye would be for the better, but my heart was saying to do it and I couldn't help myself. She was so easy to give into, so easy to fall back into place with.

[boltedfruit]

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Steve's attempt at a record-breaking gangbang ends up with him flying back to Hawkins to track down number one-ninety-eight. The mystery man who left an impression. - A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings. Steve hopes he drew blood. “I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

Thank you to @cowboythighs for giving me permission to write this fic based on their super fun prompt, which you can read here~

Read the full fic below:

What’s in his fridge?

There’s at least one bag of broccoli, half a container left of that nice parmesan he splurged on…maybe the chicken wings in his freezer are still okay. Hopefully? He still has some of that decadent hickory barbeque sauce. There’s no reason he can’t cover a bit of freezer burn with a healthy dousing of the stuff. He didn’t do the dishes last night, but that’s fine. Has time to run the dishwasher before–

Something vibrates. Loudly.

Someone’s phone is going off in the middle of the shoot.

Steve lifts his head, annoyed that the director hasn’t called cut yet. The man on top of him is dripping sweat, a bead of which narrowly misses landing in his eye. Steve casts a look sideways, hoping to catch the director raising his walkie.

Nope. Still posted up behind his wall of cameras. Stoic as ever, the man watches Steve work.

Steve lets the moment drag, his expectant silence punctuated only by the grunting and groaning of the muscled man pumping away between his spread legs.

More loud vibrations.

He cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder, sees the clock over the huddled producers and decides himself it’s time for a break.

Steve presses a hand against the massive chest above him and pushes lightly. The man’s movement falters, stops. Steve meets his eyes with an easy air of I’m the star, get off me, and it does the trick. The behemoth withdraws from Steve’s body with a mutter and wipes the sweat from his red brow as Steve swings his legs over the platform and sits up. He tests his weight, but finds he can still place pressure where he needs to without any pain.

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Calls back, “Somebody’s phone is going off! It’s ruining the vibe.”

“What phone? I don’t hear a phone,” the director says in his heavy German accent, shrugging in a way that rankles Steve. “We’re almost at two-hundred, surely it can—”

“No, it can’t wait. I need five anyway.” His own assistant appears by his side with a robe.

Steve shrugs it on and heads toward the source of the vibrations. Around him, production comes to a standstill while fluffers and PAs run around tending to the talent.

Steve tracks the phone down in a bag near craft services, but a producer beats him to it. She sheepishly digs out her phone and shuts it off, muttering an apology.

Steve sighs, grabs another cracker and decides to take a much needed bathroom break. On his way, he grabs his own phone and sees a text from Robin.

still good for eight?

I’m only at 197, might be closer to 9 or 10.

big ew, but congrats. should I pick up dessert?

Coffee double dutch choco cake pls?

obvi, my very spoiled friend. have fun you little award winning superslut!

Thx, lov u!

Robin sends back a string of emojis. He finishes up in the bathroom, thinking of all the times he’s been nominated for an AVN but never won. And it’s not like it’s terribly hard. He chooses interesting projects. He works with skilled teams. He stays clear of scandals and keeps his nose figuratively and literally clean of all the seedy underground bullshit that comes with the job.

But best actor still eludes him.

It grinds his gears, or at least the ones he used to have back in high school. The ones driving him to be a better player than everyone else at basketball practice, the ones that pushed him to state championship games three of his four years at Hawkins High. The ones that crowned him prom king and made him a bullshit name for a bullshit time in his life.

It’s his inner machinery, and even though he’s grown up a lot in the last five years, he’s still yet to replace some old rusted parts.

As he returns to set, Steve runs his hands through his hair, pinches both cheeks a little to bring a fresh blush back to the surface. His assistant applies lip gloss as he situates himself back on the black and white platform where he’s been fucked for the last three hours by one-hundred-and-ninety-six men.

He’s aiming for three hundred before dinner. Three-fifty if more than a good chunk of the men left are two-pump chumps. It’s about scheduling.

Steve shifts his weight from one asscheek to another, feels a brief twinge in his lower back. He flips over, stomach pressing against the slim pleather cushion.

It’s almost five.

The director claps his hands, and once Steve is in position, everyone resumes their roles. He gets comfortable on his elbows, cock limp between his legs and showing for the camera. He hears the next guy shuffle up behind him, can hear the shaky breath leave him.

Everyone knows their part to play in this circus, and Steve knows his best of all. He’s front and center, surrounded by a seemingly endless line of men of all ages, shapes and sizes. He’s taken more dick and strap today alone than he probably has in the last few years combined.

He’s going to win best actor, and he’s going to win best gangbang.

The thing about sex work is that it’s like any other job, really. There are good days, long days, fun days, days that drive him up the fucking wall. There are times he’s excited, nervous, bored out of his skull. Most shoots he books last a day or two, and hardly ever does one last more than a week, tops. This isn’t his first gangbang scene, but it is a record breaker for him, and several others in the industry as far as he’s researched.

But so far it’s been a lot of the same. Almost two hundred men and he hasn’t held a steady erection since an hour in and now he’s been daydreaming while giving tried and true sultry looks to the camera, fake moans of practiced pleasure leaving his throat.

Steve’s good at his job.

He’s been doing it since his parents cut him off and kicked him out at eighteen. He moved to LA and lived in his car until Robin graduated and followed him to the big city. It was exhilarating at first, fun. These days, at twenty-three, he’s mostly just bored.

And he knows better than to ignore an ache. If he holds one position for too long, he’ll be wrecked for a week. He’s big enough of a name now he can negotiate a lot of his contracts, and so he always gets control over how he’s positioned. The cameras can figure it out from there.

“And…action!”

Steve pouts for the camera in front of him, parts his freshly glossed lips and crosses his eyes a little. He never got the cross-eyed thing, but it’s apparently a huge kink for some.

Fingertips tickle over his ass, lead to palms lightly petting his hips. Steve wiggles for the man he can’t see, encouraging and coaxing as he goes to his knees and leans back. Wants to be grabbed, manhandled. Add the potential for a little healthy bruising and the audience eats it up.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears a breathy sigh from behind him, and then the sound of spit a second before he feels it hitting his hole. It drips down slowly, painting him wet, and Steve keens for the lens trained on his face.

The thing about this shoot is that it’s been a nightmare to plan. A year to put together a schedule, another six months to find the talent. There’s been cancellations, reschedules, a few deaths even, more casting, issues with health insurance and testing dates. Steve’s been along for it all, because this is his project. His idea, his brainchild.

All for one day.

One day to break some records. Prove to himself he can do this. That what he does can win awards and not only nominations.

After that he can take a very, very long break.

The hand rubs up and down his spine, firm and sure. Applies a little pressure at the lumbar and Steve actually lets out a small moan. It’s nice. He might set up a massage for tomorrow.

The camera swings wide, leaves Steve’s face and gives him some breathing room. The hand on his back remains while the other presses two fingers to his hole. He’s stretched, lubed beyond the meaning of the word even before the spit. There’s no need to finger him open.

But he receives a gentle probing with two fingers, a few deep, slow strokes that press in search with what seems to be a practiced touch. Steve rolls his hips back. Takes a few tries, but when the extra finds his prostate, he gasps, drives back to meet that zing of electricity again and again.

“God, just look at you,” the extra whispers. “Can’t wait to feel you. I’m so lucky.”

Steve moans. Not so fake this time. He drops his head, catches sight of lightly haired thighs covered in scribbly tattoos. He doesn’t even take into account the size of the man behind him, too focused on his own swiftly filling erection.

Huh.

It’s not like it’s a requirement or anything, by contract or personal preference of his scene partners. A lot of the time the bottom isn’t hard. Not exactly fair, but a limp bottom does not a film break, or whatever. More than a few of the men who have been inside him today have paid him plenty of attention, even tried for longer than Steve felt necessary. But they were all here to do a job, and that was to film a gangbang scene with Steve as the gangbangee. Hard or limp, he just wanted them to finish in him so they could get the shot and all go home to a nice hot shower.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

Though dirty talk was common, it wasn’t in the script for this shoot. And it wasn’t the usual lead-in of fuck yeah, look at your puffy hole, you take it so well, you’re like a bitch in heat, take that shit, take it like a whore.

“That’s it, baby, relax for me.”

It’s sweet…it’s kind. Things a lover would say.

Another strike of lightning burns him from the inside out, and Steve lets out a breath he’d been holding.

The hand at his back glides down, calloused fingers smoothing over his skin, until the director calls for penetration.

Steve wants to snap at him to shut the hell up. This is fine. More than fine, even. His prostate hasn’t exactly been the star of the show today, and a little pleasure makes his job that more enjoyable.

The fingers leave, and in their place frustration grows. That is, until the blunt head of another cock is pressing against him–no, dragging. The man is rubbing himself over Steve’s hole. Isn’t shoving in and taking like all the others.

More spit hits his rim , makes him startle. The hand on his back draws circles to settle him like a spooked horse.

This isn’t lovemaking. This is a scene. Steve huffs at himself, thinks just stick it in already, dude.

The extra’s hands slide from his back to his hip, his other hand joining in and pulling Steve’s weight, using Steve’s own body to slide inside. Steve groans. The guy’s big, thick. Should have paid better attention while he had his head down.

“Knew you could take it, Harrington,” he says softly, and Steve almost misses it when the man whines as he bottoms out. Fingers dig into his sides, tight but not bruising. “Pictured it a little different, but a guy can’t complain.”

So the guy’s got a fantasy, that’s fine. A lot of the talent cast for this production expressed a desire to work with Steve. Came with the territory, and the long filmography.

But something about this man hits him a little different. His words have him melting enough to feel warmth build, begin to spread.

His legs are tingling, insides burning with the stretch and latent pleasure. He wants more.

He grinds his hips back, trying to put his weight into it. The man moans low and finally, finally, starts moving his hips. Drags Steve back on every thrust.

“Jesus, you’re so–so–” Another drawn-out moan and the man collapses along Steve’s back. He’s slim, but his arms are strong as they wind around Steve’s waist. More tattoos. Bats in flight, stretched faces with sharp teeth. Long hair tickles over his shoulder as the man noses along the back of his neck “You feel like a dream.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough Steve knows the cameras won’t pick it up. It’s just for Steve, and that sends his blood rushing, dick kicking as tension builds in his belly.

“Shit,” he grinds out, feels drool slip from his open mouth to pool on the black pleather underneath. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it. Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Come on. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s so hard he’s aching. Feels the weight of himself slap his stomach on each ever harder, deeper thrust.

Steve’s going to come. He’s actually going to come.

“Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you. Wanted you forever. And look what you’ve accomplished,” he babbles, Steve’s heart growing three sizes, “You’ve changed the industry. You showed LA who’s king.” A particularly deep thrust has his elbows giving out. The man effortlessly braces his abrupt fall, a calloused hand snaking up to pillow his jaw. Steve is vaguely aware of the camera in front of them both, but he couldn’t care less if he tried right now. It feels too good. Feels better than anything all day, all month, all year. To the cameras, it must look like Steve’s being choked, but it’s the farthest thing from it. He’s being held, kept safe. “Always knew you’d go places. Get everything you wanted and more. I was actually jealous, and look at us now. Can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Steve’s cursing, praying, something as he’s pressed into the pleather. Now, his cock is trapped, facing backward so every time the man draws out and pushes back in, their cocks drag for a brief moment of bliss. The cherry on top. Neat trick.

“Never thought I–never even dreamed–”

A gasp, a flash of teeth in skin and Steve is coming with a shout, flexing his ass to get more, more.

He feels warmth spread hot and wet inside him and knows this will only last another moment or two. He needs to turn around. To see the man that just took him apart without touching his cock. Needs to–

A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings.

Steve hopes he drew blood.

“I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Can’t comprehend past the pleasant hum buzzing inside him.

But then the weight on his back is gone, the cock inside him slips free and with it a spurt of come. Cameras circle back around to catch the aftermath, hears a muttered nice from some crewmember when they see the twin puddle beneath himself.

He rolls his eyes, safe to do with no coverage on his face.

He feels so empty. Cold begins to creep in.

Steve blinks quickly. Why is his throat suddenly so tight?

Then another man approaches, is lifting his hips up, is pushing in with absolutely zero patience or attention paid to Steve at all. And that’s fine. It is.

They’re on a schedule, after all.

-

“Yippee!” Steve claps when Robin sets the plate of cake before him.

She joins him on the couch, a forkful of her own piece of cake already in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’re even sitting right now.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Look who’s literally talking.”

Robin pulls her own fork free and sticks her tongue out. “Seriously though, you sure you don’t need anything? A heating pad? Ointment? Therapy?”

“Ha ha. I already took care of what I needed to–stop making that face, oh my God. I’m just dandy, Robs, don’t worry. I want to veg out and watch tv for the next six months and gain like twenty pounds.”

“You are too skinny.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, still like. Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three-hundred sixty-eight guys. Whole ass men were inside you today. That has to be a health issue for the community or something, right? How are your insides not melting out of you right now? I should have laid down a towel to protect your precious piece of shit couch.”

“You’re so funny, and it’s our precious piece of shit couch.” But even so, Steve preens a little. He did it. He broke his goal and then some. “I’m gonna win that goddamn award if it kills me.”

He looks over when she doesn’t answer. Robin is looking down at her plate.

They’ve had this argument before.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, reaching for her hand. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. “Promise.”

Robin nods. “So,” she says, shaking herself from the momentary tension, “you mentioned one guy was unique. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I mean, was he like eighty or something? Was he dressed all in latex with one of those gas masks? Did he have two dicks or what?”

Steve laughs, drops her hand to grab a pillow, and throws it at her instead.

Then he tells her.

In as much detail as she can handle, anyway.

“Did you get his number?” Robin asks, and frowns when Steve shakes his head no. “What about a name?”

“It was kind of a rush, an in the moment kind of thing. Wasn’t really time for a lot of talking.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

And then, his best friend in the entire world has an absolutely batshit idea.

-

He gets the call sheet from his favorite producer, an easy going older man with decades of experience in the industry. He doesn’t ask questions.

Three days later, Steve's got a list of three-hundred-and-sixty-eight names, including himself and the crew. Beneath the call sheet is a packet of numbers and addresses.

It might be a crazy idea…but Steve’s one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars. He can afford to be a little crazy.

So when his sabbatical officially begins, Steve starts calling.

-

The first thing he tries is going down to number one-ninety-eight. That makes sense, and even Robin had agreed.

But the man who answered was a fifty with a slightly higher voice than he remembers. He quickly thanked Steve for the experience, and the paycheck, but explained he didn’t have any tattoos. He was afraid of needles.

Steve huffs, crossing the name and number off.

His guy was definitely younger than that, had a deep, smooth voice. Had ink that looked homemade from a glance.

The list he has is in no discernible order. It’s neither numerical nor alphabetical. He checks the first few addresses and finds it has nothing to do with location, either.

So he calls each and every single person. Actually blocks out time to do it around breaks and lunch, time spent with Robin which they both agree is long overdue.

After a week and a half of calls, Robin drags him to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and people watching.

“I don’t know, Robin. I already crossed off the guys I know, the ones I’ve seen in other projects. But I’ve still got over a hundred people left.”

“Says the guy who wanted to bang over three hundred guys. This is your own fault.”

“I know,” he agrees, swirling his fingers through the sand. “I’m just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What if he thinks I’m a freak for tracking him down? What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

Robin snorts. He looks her way, sees her nose and cheeks are red from the sun despite her large sunhat. Her toes are dug into the sand, and the book she’d been reading lays forgotten on her stomach.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. From what you told me, it sounded like he had a little crush.”

“Yeah, but that could have been my filmography talking. Lot of guys say I’m on their shortlist of dream lays. It’s like a fantasy thing for them.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent,” she says easily. “But you said your guy was different. You think it was just an act?”

“I couldn’t tell. He seemed…sweet. If that makes sense?” Steve shrugs, hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “You need another layer. You’re turning into a tomato, birdie.”

She cups her hands, and he squeezes a dollop out. As she rubs the lotion into her skin, she seems to consider what he’s said.

“How sweet can an actor in a gangbang be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then you have to keep at it. You have to keep calling until you find him. You may strike out more often than not when it comes to dating, but you have, like, a good good people radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you naturally attract decent people,” Robin says, smiling. “Take me, for example! I’m the best person you know.”

Heat climbs his face, settling at the tips of his ears. He sinks further into the beach foldout, embarrassed for a reason he can’t name. Robin’s smile turns knowing before softening into something closer to friendly pity.

Robin drops her book in the sand and stands, grabs Steve’s hand and starts pulling him toward the water’s edge.

“Come on, sourpuss, let’s go swim!”

-

He’s down to five people.

The phone numbers they gave were either disconnected or, more likely, fake. So he has no choice, really.

He decides to fully embrace his apparent new level of creepy stalker and physically visits their listed address.

The first three people are surprised but happy to see him, and he ends up sharing beers with two of them, but all three are very clearly not the person he’s looking for. The fourth is nice enough, if wary, but is in his forties and is trans. Is all too happy to show Steve the strap he used on the day. So that rules him out.

There’s one address left, and honestly Steve had been hoping it was a fluke. A mistake.

Because the address is in Hawkins, Indiana. His hometown.

He never chose a stage name, a mistake that many a producer and actor used to lecture him on in the first couple of years he was in the business. But he made it his own. It worked. His parents haven’t contacted him since he was kicked out, so if they know about his career choice, Steve isn’t aware. He prefers it that way.

He always imagined he’d send them a photo of him smiling with his AVN award when he finally won. A final, brief fuck you and career announcement all in one.

Needless to say he hasn’t been back to Hawkins once since he moved to LA. And though he isn’t shy about his legal name, Steve has never discussed his past, his childhood. Nobody in the industry that is legally allowed to discuss his association with Hawkins never has, because they simply don’t know.

Steve’s honestly a bit surprised nobody he used to know has reached out in the last five years. He knows Tommy at least frequented the sites his agency posts to. Nowadays, gay and straight films can be found in the same tags, same pages. Even if someone didn’t go looking for gay porn, they still might have come across Steve in something. An ad, even.

But no, nothing.

He’s not ashamed of what he does. He hasn’t actively avoided his past or anything. If anything, he’s simply strived to not care about it. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen a Hawkins address in years.

Until now.

It’s weird. Could be some kind of underhanded prank. Maybe he should call his lawyer and tell him to expect some sort of blackmail soon.

The last four have led him to the neighboring cities around Los Angeles, but he’s not had to leave California yet. And being back in Indiana has him off his feet. Wrongfooted in some small way that leaves him feeling like a stranger. An impersonator.

He left small town life behind and made it big in a way that would have had every gossiping homebody’s heads turning if they knew.

Half expects to burst into flame the second he steps foot within city bounds.

But nothing happens. His rental car keeps driving. The turn off the highway is familiar, second nature.

He pulls into Hawkins and follows the directions parroted to him by his GPS. He notices several new fast-food places, the old mall has been redone, some houses seem bigger–but it’s still the same small, old town.

He comes to a crossroads. Left to Forest Hills Trailer Park where he’s never been, or right to what would eventually lead to Loch Nora and his childhood home.

He takes a left.

The trailer park isn’t huge, but each home has a small yard. He drives through a winding road that’s half gravel until he finds number fifty-three.

He parks, gets out and stands. Butterflies swarm his stomach, his palms sweating.

Steve gives himself a silent pep talk and walks up the short drive to the front door.

He knocks twice and waits.

It’s getting colder in Indiana. A few more weeks and there might be the first fall of snow. Back in California it was eighty-six degrees when he boarded the plane. He shivers.

Steve jumps a little when the door opens, the screen between him and an older man who frowns down at him.

“And who are you?”

“Hi! Hello. My name is Steve. I, um. Is there a Wayne Munson here by any chance?”

Steve steadies himself, tries to calm his rising nerves. He steps back to make room as the man opens the screen door and steps out into the early afternoon light.

“That would be me, son. Can I help you? You look a little lost.”

It’s not him.

Not his guy.

Steve’s stomach drops. Feels a little sick to his stomach.

The voice isn’t the same. It’s low, sure, but rougher with age. And Steve remembers the tickle of long hair along his skin. This man, Wayne Munson, is balding.

Unless he wore a wig…then, maybe…

He rechecks that this trailer is indeed number fifty-three.

“No, I uh. This is the place. This is going to sound strange, but I don’t suppose you have any tattoos?”

Wayne huffs. He pulls up his sleeve and shows Steve a faded old tattoo, a blue cross with blown out edges.

“Just the one.”

Steve nods, disheartened. “I see. Okay. I, uh, thanks for your time. I’ll just go–”

He turns, feeling foolish.

“Kid, wait a minute. Come on inside and warm up. You drink coffee?”

Steve debates. He’s cold, sure, but that’s an issue fixed by turning around and driving back to the airport to hop on a plane back to California.

Staying could turn out badly. Hawkins was never friendly to outsiders, and the rumor mill sprinted when it came to talk of things like sin and violating the good word of the Lord.

Steve’s pretty sure being a porn star is hidden somewhere in there.

And it was never a secret in backwoods like these people tended to dole out their own justice. Some kids were killed in Indy for being gay and working corners. Why not here, in the home of a man Steve doesn’t know?

He puts on his best smile. “That would be great, sir.”

The man drops his eyes to the ground, waves a hand at him. “Please, enough of that. I’m just Wayne. Always have been, always will be. Come on in, it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Steve shuffles inside, thanking him. “Looks ready to snow soon.”

“Ah, another week or two I think. You from around here?”

“Used to be,” Steve says as Wayne gestures for him to sit on a stool at the kitchen counter. “I moved to California a few years back.”

“Hm.” Wayne starts a fresh pot of coffee, old-fashioned kettle on the stove. Steve’s grown used to his Keurig. “Big place compared to here. How d’you like it?”

“It’s busy. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I imagine there’s always something for doing.”

Steve nods. “You’re right.”

“What d’you do for work out there? I’ve heard it’s all tech companies and wannabe actors.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I’m an actor.”

“Ah, geez. Don’t mind me, it’s the stereotype.”

“No offense taken,” Steve says. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I had this big, uh. Film. Scene. A big scene. It required a lot of background actors. Extras, you know?” Wayne nods. Steve is flubbing this big time, Christ. “I kind of hit it off with one of the–one of them. Fell a little in love if I’m being honest. My best friend, she had this crazy idea to get the call sheet and go down the list to see if I could find him.”

Wayne’s eyes go a little wide and it’s only when the kettle starts whistling that Steve realizes his slip up.

But Wayne beats him to it. He takes the kettle off the burner and starts fixing two cups of coffee. Says, “Young love’s hard to come by, kid. I’ve been telling my boy for years now, if ya find somebody worth chasing, you run. Doesn’t matter the obstacles, if they’re a boy or girl. Just run to em.”

“That’s…that’s really good advice,” Steve mutters, surprised and relieved when Wayne doesn’t seem to have a problem with him. “Means a lot, being from here.”

“Me, I’m from back south, but Hawkins is home. Strange as it is to hear, this town’s actually progressive compared to where I grew up. But there’s still work to do, that’s for damn sure.”

Wayne reaches into a cabinet and brings down a bottle of liquor Steve recognizes all too well. Good quality bourbon. Steve doesn’t miss the healthy pour that goes into each mug.

“Good for warmin’ up,” Wayne says as he passes one mug to Steve. He goes for the fridge next and pulls out a half eaten chocolate cake. “You fancy a piece? My boy whipped it up, but I told him like hell he expects me to finish it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time–”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Wayne cuts in, smiling in a way his parents never did. Kind, warm. Real.

Steve relaxes the rest of the way, the tension leaving him all at once. Wayne Munson’s a good guy.

“I’d love one.”

-

“...and I told my boy, I said, if music is what you wanna do, you go and do it. Convinced him to get his GED and get out of dodge. School was never much of a Munson family pastime, anyway.”

“God, yeah. I hated school. I barely graduated, and that was still a few months after I got kicked out.”

Wayne shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. They’re sitting on the front porch, watching the sun begin its slow descent. Steve almost forgot how pretty Indiana skies could be.

“I knew your folks, y’know. Back in high school. Forgive me for saying it, but your father was a real piece of work.”

Steve can’t help the bitter sound that leaves him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Can’t stand a parent dumping their kid on the world like that. More like dumping the world on their kid. Real life is tough shit. If you love your children, you don’t just abandon them to figure it out for themselves.”

Steve hums. Takes a chance. “It sounds like you’re talking from experience?”

Wayne scowls out into the distance. “It was just me and Al for a long time. Our parents weren’t around much, and when they were they weren’t the best. We all did what we could.” He shakes his head again, meets Steve’s eyes. “Just a shame Al turned out exactly like our old man. Couldn’t spot respectable if it bit him on the balls.”

Steve laughs again.

Wayne lifts his beer and points out to the gravel road. “‘Bout time!”

Steve looks out and watches an old beat-up van wind down the road, music getting louder the closer it gets.

“You’ve got company! You should have said. You’ve been so kind, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne tells him good-naturedly. “That’s just my boy. Owes me dinner since I’ve cooked the last few.” Adds when the van is parking behind Steve’s rental, “You should stick around for supper. He makes a mean lasagna.”

“I really should…”

Then Steve sees him.

Wayne’s boy, who he’d assumed at first was his son but learned was the nephew he took in after his brother fucked up somewhere along the way.

Steve’s throat goes dry.

The music cuts off as the van door opens and out hops a man with wild black curls tied up into a mess of a bun. He’s not even looking their way as he hip checks the door closed and walks back to the double doors. He swings them open, grabs a duffle, many bags of groceries baring the local Krogers logo, and a large glass casserole dish that looks far too fragile to be balancing the way it is. Before he closes the doors again, a large orange tabby hops out and winds around his legs, rubbing and trotting after its owner as he heads up the drive.

“Sorry I’m late, old man. Store was packed, and then Garfield here didn’t want to…Oh.”

He slows when he sees his uncle has company. Stops completely when his eyes land on Steve.

The guy’s young, could be a few years on either side of Steve’s age. He’s wearing all black denim, complete with chains and large belt buckle. His knuckles are tattooed and Steve wonders where else he has them.

And he’s familiar is the thing.

And isn’t that funny?

Because back in school. Steve would play reckless and brash. He’d skip school, get in plenty of fights he always lost. Made friends with the wrong crowd and got into enough trouble. And he would wonder, in the way only a closeted bisexual boy could in the Midwestern US, what it would be like to run away with someone a little older, a little rougher, a little more mean. Someone who knew more about the world. Who didn’t give a shit about kid stuff like Steve used to, like reputation and dating and getting into girls’ pants as much as possible. On being the best all-American athlete he could so others would think, wow, that Steve Harrington sure is going places.

He would wonder, in profound secrecy and silence and repression, what it would be like to kiss someone like the man stood before him under the shade of a tall tree in the woods behind his house. What it might be like to touch another boy and not have to be afraid to death of the idea.

The large cat, Garfield, rubs up along Steve’s legs then. Walks a figure eight between them and yowls to be paid attention to. Steve reaches down to pet between his ears, is vaguely aware of the two other men talking to one another, of Wayne explaining why Steve is here, who Steve even is.

And Steve knows this guy. He does.

He’s got long hair. Tattoos, maybe more hidden away. Has plush lips and flushed cheeks from standing in the cold with arms weighed down by too many things, and, and–

“You’re–”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, straightens back up and holds out his hand. “Steve Harrington.”

The other man gawks. A bag slips from his fingers and a tub of cream cheese goes rolling right back down the small incline.

“Jesus, boy,” Wayne’s muttering, walking down to help with the groceries. He grabs the serving dish first, then heads for the runaway cream cheese. “Where’d your manners go? Introduce yourself!”

Wayne grumbles as he heads after the thing.

Steve’s hand is grasped, shaken, held. Steve smiles. Wants to roll up the long sleeves to see if he’s covered in the bats he saw during filming.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, breathes really.

And oh wow. Wow.

Steve doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie.

“I heard you make a mean lasagna.”

A smile splits Eddie’s pretty mouth. “That so? I wonder who said that.”

“Somebody who loves his nephew a whole lot.”

“Huh, no idea. Could you clue me in?”

Steve steps closer. “Think a little harder? Maybe you forgot.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, and though it’s soft, it’s undeniable. “Always forgetting things, that’s me.”

It’s him.

Wayne passes them by again, taking another bag from Eddie’s hands. Eddie sets the rest down at their feet, sparkling, dark eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Steve here’s an actor. Eddie, weren’t you telling me you had a gig down in LA with the band a few weeks back? What a coincidence, that.” He keeps walking.

Steve watches him go inside, Garfield hopping happily after him.

When he turns back around, Eddie’s close enough he can feel his breath.

Steve glances at his lips. Sees them bend with amusement.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“King Steve, here in my uncle’s humble abode. What a surprise.”

King Steve is as close a moniker he’s ever received working in the industry. An irony that’s followed him from high school into adulthood, even though the two weren’t connected.

And something inside Steve breaks apart, blooms, shines.

It’s him.

Eddie reaches up, traces a thumb along his bottom lip.

“I think we’ve met.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Care to stay for some homemade cooking, your liege? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The thumb at his lip dips, goes inside his mouth, briefly makes contact with Steve’s tongue. He wants to suck on it, wants to do a whole lot more.

“We definitely do.”

Eddie’s hand falls away. He picks up a few bags and lets Steve take the others.

And as Steve follows Eddie Munson, his mystery guy, inside it hits him all at once. A punch to the solar plexus.

Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you.

He knows him.

You showed LA who’s king.

Not just from the shoot.

“Oh my God, I know you! We know each other!”

Eddie Munson, the guy who walked over lunch tables and caused a scene. The guy Tommy shoved into lockers. The guy who dealt at every party. The guy who wore denim and leather and was in a band. The guy Steve watched, who watched him right back.

Wanted you forever.

I was actually jealous, and look at us now.

Can’t believe how lucky I am.

I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.

And Steve hurries in after him as Eddie’s knowing, familiar laughter leads the way.

[darkpetal16]

Oh so gracious Petal, won’t you please feed us some Swap W.D. head canons? 🙏

Open wide, here comes the HCs!

He’s callous and generally unsympathetic. His past experience has left him cynical, pessimistic, and deeply mistrustful. Humans and monsters can and will lie / cheat / manipulate and go to any dirty lengths for their desires. He refuses to accept what they say or do at face value.

The only thing he trusts is their SOUL. The body can lie, but a SOUL? It only knows honesty.

And he knows every way to make it talk.

He enjoys studying biology, anatomy, SOULs, and chemistry. While he might peruse other subjects, those four are his main love. When he is in his lab conducting experiments or pondering a new thesis, he is truly in his element.

Loves his brothers to an arguably unhealthy extent. Their trauma left a deep scar on him and he developed an unhealthy codependent relationship with them. The three can’t be separated for long, so you can expect a package deal for the first few years you’re together.

This dependency also leads to bouts of anxiety and paranoia for their wellbeing. This will extend to you very shortly.

And this will, inevitably, lead to him spying on you as he does his brothers. GPS / trackers / creating obedient dolls using stitched up SOULS to guard you he’s just kidding don’t be mad unless maybe you’re open to the idea— / Asking Undyne to hack into nearby security camera / etc

He won’t forbid or restrict your movement. He just craves the instant reassurance that you’re okay. This will be a bigger issue early on in the relationship, and while he adjusts to being on the surface with so many humans. It’ll ease over time.

Speaking of humans. . . It will take him time to get used to being around them. All of his previous encounters with them ended in violence or death. He’s not sure he could ever trust another besides you, but he’ll. . . Try. In time.

The only form of human content he’ll readily consume is their entertainment and food.

Enjoys watching dramas. The more ridiculous or outlandish the premise / twists, the better. The few times he takes a day off—and not to go on a date with you—he’ll sit on the couch and marathon soap operas. He’ll get into it, too. Expect thrown popcorn and tissues to litter the living room while he watches (don’t worry he will clean up once done!).

Big fan of spicy foods. The spicier the better. If it’s turning his face blue and orange, he’s a happy camper.

Like Stretch collected honey, Thread collects spicy chocolates. He can be bribed for a new kind of spicy chocolate he hasn’t had before.

And if you make him spicy chocolate? He’ll swoon.

Dates with him are meticulously planned out. He’ll have reservations, schedules, and back ups made if anything falls through. This makes them grander, but it also means it takes a while before the next date is ready.

You can expect literal fireworks as part of your dinner show. He’ll get a boating license to take you out for private midnight swims. He’ll work for days to craft an indoor garden complete with a zen waterfall in your basement.

Does not like spontaneity. Especially if it involves going to public, unsecured areas.

Does not get jealous, per se, but does get anxious about your wellbeing. His discomfort with anyone close to you stems from fear they’ll hurt you, rather than him thinking you’ll cheat on him.

That being said, he does feel that it’s disrespectful to knowingly court someone in a relationship. He expects you to express that boundary and if you need help keeping it—like someone ignores your rejection—he will readily step in.

He knows he’s a lot to deal with at first, but please be patient with him. If you stick with him through the rocky start, he’ll stand with you through anything.

PLAY HIS ROUTE IN IF - UNDERSWAP HERE

MASTERLIST

[snowdropluck204]

Join The Digital Age - Spencer Reid x Streamer! Fem! Reader - Pt 2

So... I haven't been doing these for a while... Been a bit rough recently, been struggling... I know a lot of people wanted to see Spencer reacting to TLAU, as much as I would love to, I've never actually played it! I'm gonna watch some playthroughs and see what I can do! Until then, I'm gonna do some games the I personally have played! Enjoy! Xxx

Pt 2 - Pumpkin Panic

(y/n) pov

Since that first time Spencer had walked in on my stream, he had been more and more interested in technology and video games. Spencer bought a laptop after watching me playing Stardew Valley, after a huge amount of research into the best laptops that could run Stardew, not that he was going to use the laptop for anything else...

I thought it was super cute, and it was nice having something the both of us could do together! After a long stream, you'd think that the last thing I'd want to do is play video games, but more recently, I found myself enjoying my gaming time with Spence, more than when I was playing games for a stream. It was so sweet, trying to teach him the mechanics, the secrets, seeing him reacting to the characters (and trying to profile them), one of his first questions about the game was what the engagement ring in the crafting menu was for. I told him it was so you could marry other players, he blushed bright red.

About a week later, I came home to find that he had been binging the game without me, collecting the materials to make the ring and surprise me. He had enjoyed the game so much, he was questioning taking his laptop to use on the jet, on the way home from cases, so I went and bought him a Nintendo Switch, so he could bring it with him to work, apparently his entire team was shocked.

More recently though, I had been playing smaller indie games that I had found on itch.io, games like Pumpkin Panic. I set up the camera, sitting myself down comfortably in my chair, waving to everyone watching, "Hi everyone! How are we all?" I asked, waiting for people to join the stream, getting a bunch of messages in chat, telling me about people's day, I spent a good forty minutes just talking to people, before mentioning the game I would be playing.

"So, I found a game on itch.io, I think a lot of people have been playing it recently, called Pumpkin Panic." I told the stream, getting a bunch of messages, telling me whether or not my viewers had heard of it, or even played the game. "I'm probably going to be pretty bad at it from the get go, but bare with me, maybe those of you who have played the game can help me out?" I asked, opening the game file.

I smiled at the title menu, "Oh, this is cute! So apparently, this is kind of similar to Stardew, but with a bit more of a horror aspect, it kind of reminds me of Sleepy Hollow..." I mentioned offhandedly. I began playing, giggling at my cute lil character running around. I panicked a little at the random events of the monsters in the game, before one of them killed me.

"Aw! I wasn't doing great but hey!" I whined, "Those clown things are hard!" I leaned back against my chair, I had lasted about ten minutes, the timer taunting me. As I sat talking to my viewers, writing down any helpful tips and tricks, Spencer came through the front door, sighing tired. I turned around to look at him, "Hey baby!" I greeted softly, smiling at him.

Spencer gave me a tired grin, before seeing that I was streaming, "Oh, I'm sorry angel, I didn't know you'd be streaming..." Spencer mumbled. I smiled shaking my head, "It's okay, I'm sure nobody would mind if I wrapped it up early tonight." I told him.

Spencer waved off the comment, "No, you're good," He told me, dragging over a stool from the kitchen to sit behind me, "So what are you playing?" He asked.

I smiled, turning back to my game and explaining, grinning when he said it was like scary Stardew. I finished up the stream, finally managing to beat the game after many failed attempts, Spencer being incredibly helpful throughout, but decided that this wasn't a game he would play for himself...

I hope this was okay, I just wanted to write about this game! If you guys are interested, it's free on Itch.io! Hope you liked this! Xxx

[thehollowwriter]

Warnings: Blood, child abuse, unintentional misgendering/deadnaming, bullying, implied sexual harassment (not to Timo tho) Word count: 3554

Summary: A story about Timo and his life and how he came to work for Silas

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ♥️)

Renege

Timo Byun hated empty promises. Words that were just there to fill the air, to provide a sense of comfort and hopefully, get you to leave and drop whatever topic brought up.

Empty words and fake sympathy were a constant in Timo's life. For as long as he could remember, he was given endless assurances and comforts, all of which meant absolutely nothing.

What would you do if you saw a child lost and alone in the streets, wandering aimlessly? Offer your sympathies, whisper your pities? Spare an uncomfortable glance and pretend you don't see him? Give him a glare and wonder what idiot parent lost their noise machine?

Timo was met with all of these in different forms and stages. The sight of a tiny cuttlefish swimming without direction, teary-eyed and hunger stricken, tugged at many a merfolk's heartstrings. But they never did anything, no, that would just be too much effort.

This wasn't a surpise to Timo. He'd been through this song and dance enough times. Most of his early memories were wandering the streets, digging through trashcans or trying to catch fish that swam by, and dealing with strangers ogling him.

"Are you lost?" Asked an elderly lady, her bright purple tail flicking back and forth in concern.

Timo spluttered something incomprehensible and cried harder.

"Oh, poor dear." The lady muttered, then swam away.

A merman talking on his phone drifted past. He locked eyes with Timo and quickly looked away with an uncomfortable expression

A family came swam past, whispering, glancing, sighing.

"Oh, isn't it sad what this city has come to? Children on the street... back in my day, this would never happen."

"Should we help? Give some money or something?"

"I wish we could, dear, but some horrible people send children out to get drug money. It's best we don't risk it."

A couple stared at Timo as he cowered in an alley, one with their phone camera pointed at him.

"Okay, seriously though, should we help her?" Asked one after laughing about how he looked like a scared animal.

"We don't have the time," said the other. "Don't worry, someone else will."

Nobody else did.

"Where's your mama?" A passing stranger asked before taking note of his dirty, hungry appearance and shuffling off before Timo could answer. It didn't really matter. Timo wouldn't know anyway.

It was always the same. Words, words, words, almost nothing done.

Sometimes, people would pity Timo enough to give him food, but it wasn't enough for him to live off of. When he was lucky, he could get his colour changing to work well enough to draw fish to him, but his sequence of flashing colours and lights was quick to fade, and the fish would swim off again.

Sometime bigger, older merfolk would steal his food, threatening Timo with a fate far worse than hunger if he didn't let them. How they kept finding him even when he tried to hide at night, he didn't know.

Neighbourhood kids would try to play with him and give him sweets, only to be dragged away by angry, worried parents giving him dirty looks.

The routine was the same. Wander, scrounge, rest, maybe eat, sleep, repeat.

That changed one day, when Timo woke up and he wasn't in the corner of an alley anymore. He was in a clamshell bed, blankets crafted from seaweed carefully wrapped around him.

"Oh, you're awake." Said a stranger, smiling at him with perfect teeth. "Don't worry, you're safe now. You'll be staying with us at Atlantica's Children's Sanctuary."

Timo was scrubbed clean, and his and dirty, knotted hair was cut short so it could start growing cleaner and healthier.

"It'll grow back," Timo was assured. "Don't worry."

"But I like it short," Timo wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

"What's your name?" A kind lady asked, and Timo couldn't give a true answer. What was his name? Someone called him Byun once, when he was rushing down the street with some food in hand.

"Byun." He said, and she shook her head.

"Oh, that just won't do." She said. "How about I call you Saira? Byun can be your last name. How's that?"

Timo didn't really like that name, but he nodded anyway. He didn't want to risk angering these strangers looking after him.

Once he was cleaned up, he was given a bowl of porridge, which seemed more like slop than anything, and some fish to eat.

The porridge tasted like carboad, and the fish had a tang of crude oil, but he kept quiet. He didn't want it taken away.

"One day, someone's going to adopt you." He was told. "That's what this place is for. You'll have a family."

Empty, useless words.

Timo was introduced to his roommates, the other little kids he would be sharing a tiny room with.

They all looked sad and tired, and muttered a short, disinterested greeting before going back to what they were doing before.

When Timo's hair finally grew long enough, they were done up in pigtails with big pink bows.

"You must catch our customer's attention," He was told. "We can't have you looking scrappy."

His claws were filed down once a month until they were nothing but short nails.

"Nobody wants a feral child," He was told. "If they wanted to be scratched up, they'd buy a pet."

The other children avoided him. They didn't like him because of his mouth. The squirming tentacles that shot out whenever he ate made them cry, made them say he gave them nightmares.

"Scary Saira was in my dreams again!"

"They'll get used to it." He was told. "They'll play with you."

They never did.

Timo's bed was crammed into the back corner of the dorm room, a little further away from the rest. He spent most of his time lying on it, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The others were usually either playing in the playroom or outside. Timo didn't join. He stopped trying a while ago.

"We don't let weirdos in," said Aria, the de facto leader of their dorm room. "Go away."

Possible parents came and went, arriving with happy smiles and high expectations Timo could never live up to.

Only once or twice did anyone express any form of interest in hi. When that happened, an employee would rush to do the usual song of dance of, for lack of a better word, advertising him.

"This is Saira Byun," They would say, smiling. "She's a lovely little girl with a big imagination."

'I'm not a girl,' Timo wanted to say because he was a boy and he was sure of it, but what would the point be? What would they say?

'I'm sure you are." They'll say, and then ignore him because nobody at that god forsaken place cared about what he had to say.

Timo hated that orphanage. He hated it with a passion that burned like the sun.

The building itself was old, very old, and used to house nobility. It was ill-suited for children or, well, anybody.

The stone chipped and cracked, and there was algae blooming in places it shouldn't. It was slowly detoriating, but it was never fixed up.

Due to the historical value of the building and the attention sad little orphans got online, volunteers were often influencers wanting to get some extra views.

They would come in, these people, recording Timo and the others and spouting their sympathies. They weren't so nice when they turned the camera off.

Many were mean, others were creepy. Looking at the Timo and the others weird, talking about how cute they were.

"You know you're very mature for your age," one of them said to a girl not much older than Timo. "It's admirable."

Timo wasn't sure why, but that sentence made his skin crawl.

The staff weren't much better. They seemed to hate the place as much as Timo did, though they also hated their tiny tenants.

"Stop crying." Timo once heard the dorm warden say to a young boy. The "slap" sound was loud and piercing. "If you're going to be a brat, you can leave."

And didn't that just sum up this place perfectly? Be quiet and obey, or you'll either be going to bed with bruises or you won't be enjoying a free bed and food for much longer.

Don't complain, even if the same meal every day for three meals a day is porridge that tasted like cardboard and fish that had clearly been exposed to oil spills. Don't complain, even if you're being recorded by random strangers. Don't complain, even if you think some of the staff are too handsy with you to be comfortable.

It was hell there. Sometimes, Timo even felt that maybe he would be better off on the streets before perishing the thought. He can at least eat food here.

Timo stayed on his behaviour, afraid to get hurt, to get tossed out. He listened and obeyed, did what asked of him, and put on a good show for people looking to adopt.

Timo tried so hard to listen to the staff in the hopes he got adopted. It never mattered, though. Pretty him up with big bows, seashell hairclips, and trendy hairstyles, it. Didn't. Matter.

The potential parent or parents, if they were interested in him at all, eventually lost that interest and moved on to another, better child.

It didn't take long for Timo to realise why. Claws, sharp teeth, creepy mouth tentacles... those weren't desirable. Those weren't cute or good or innocent. It was wrong. It was monstrous.

"What are those?" A person screeched at horror when they saw Timo eating a snack.

"Those are her tentacles. Saira needs them to eat. All cuttlefish merfolk have them."

Then the adults huddled together, whispering amongst themselves and underestimating the sharpness of Timo's hearing.

"Those are just sitting there in her mouth? Are they always so... obvious?"

"When she's eating, yes."

"...Can you not get rid of them? Like, cut them out? Some merfolk do that, you know. Remove unwanted parts."

"No, I don't think so."

Timo was, for once, very glad this couple didn't want him.

As Timo got older, the number of familiar faces dwindled, and new faces came in to replace them until, eventually, Timo was the only one of the original group still there.

"Nobody wants teenagers." An older kid once told him, drumming her fingers against her bedframe. "They want cute little boys and girls, all bright-eyed and easy to control. Teenagers are too old, too set in their ways. Once you hit thirteen, you might as well give up. Nobody will want you, and once you turn eighteen, they'll kick you to the streets because you aren't their problem anymore."

The idea of winding up back on the streets terrified Timo. He would be back at square one, but even worse off than before.

At eighteen, he would no longer have the small advantage of being a cute little kid people could take pity on. He was no longer helpless, no longer "abandoned" or "lost."

No, he would be old enough to be a druggie, a crackhead failure that couldn't get his shit right and ended up on the streets. He would be old enough to be a disappointment, a screw up.

"That's what will happen if you don't work hard and get good grades." They'll say.

"Some people don't realise there are consequences to their laziness." They'll say.

"That's why you shouldn't do drugs." They'll say.

And all Timo would be able to do iss ignore them and bedazzle some fish to get a few scraps of food, and then hope it wouldn't get stolen.

Timo began trying even harder to impress the adults who came to visit. He concentrated hard until his skintone was no longer pink and yellow but instead matching the more human-ish skintone of whoever was looking to adopt.

He couldn't hold it for long, though, and eventually, he would shift back to his original colour and hang his head in shame.

On the rare occasion he was considered, the nightmare that resided within his mouth convinced those people that yes, a normal child would be much easier to deal with.

Not to mention, this child partially mimicking their appearance probably made it worse.

"Aren't just an angel?" And adult cooed to him once. "I promise you'll be coming home with me."

Empty promises. Useless words. Timo found himself very much unadopted years after that conversation.

The staff would comfort him, mostly trying to get him to stop looking so sad and smile for the next volunteer with a camera.

"It's alright, Saira."

"You'll be fine, Saira."

"Someone will love you, I promise."

Talk talk talk.

"You'll need money." That older kid from before told him. "Do chores for pocket money, try get a job when you're old enough. Steal, if you have to."

Timo listened to her. He tried his best, tried to get some madol from the orphanage staff. Some humoured him, giving him the minimum possible amount they could, and others rolled their eyes and scoffed.

"What we give you isn't good enough, is that it?" One hissed. "If you're going to be greedy, you'll never get adopted."

When Timo turned fourteen, he began looking around for small jobs. He applied to as many as he could and was turned down by every single one.

"We'll get back to you."

"I just don't think you're suited for customer service."

"You're far too young. Do some chores for your parents or something."

"Sorry, you don't match our company values."

After yet another rejection, Timo curled up in bed and silently cried through the night, all the way until the faintest slivers of sunlight began streaming through the windows.

He peeled himself out of bed and drifted down to the front entrance, hoping that at least fetching the newspaper would earn him a madol or two.

Timo looked through the newspaper, flipping past advertisements and celebrity drama and political news and then-

And then something caught his eye. In a tiny column at the very back of the newspaper was an advertisement for a business currently hiring.

"Hunter?" Timo mumbled out loud as he read through it. "They accept fourteen and older..."

Timo wasn't much of a hunter. He could put sea creatures in a trance with his colours, sure, but his poor control rendered that ability useless.

He was also clumsy, skittish, and shy, lacking in confidence and prone to crying. That's what the dorm warden told him, at least.

Well, he'd give it a shot anyway. Better than accepting his fate.

Timo soon found himself hovering in front of the dense kelp forest at the edge of the city, feeling more afraid of being rejected than possibly being eaten, like he was warned.

"That man is dangerous, Saira." The warden told him when he told her where he was going. "Have you forgotten all you've learned about those those types? Go, if you really want, but don't act surprised when he clamps his teeth around your throat."

Timo tried not to think about how, besides that brief warning, nobody even bothered to stop him from leaving.

In the end, it didn't matter. Silas Clearcove did not, in fact, try to eat him. Instead, he subjected Timo to one of the strangest job interviews the cuttlefish had ever sat through.

Silas, a frankly terrifying looking man, briefly looked through Timo's CV but didn't seem to actually care about it all that much.

He barely spoke, spending most of their time together staring at Timo. It didn't feel like he was judging him exactly... more like... analysing. In some weird way.

Timo was only asked three or four questions in total. If he was old enough to be hired, how fast he could swim, if he had any knowledge about the butchery business, and if he could handle viscera.

There was no question about Timo's values, no prodding about his work ethic, and nothing at all about his desires for the future or the state of his health.

It was surreal, and yet it was also a breath of fresh air. Though there were still some issues Timo was concerned about.

"I dunno how to hunt, sir," He admitted after a long, awkward bout of silence. The intensity of Silas' gaze made him feel like he was confessing a murder. "Like, catching fish and stuff. And my colours are useless. I can't control 'em."

"I'll teach you." Said Silas after a brief pause, his quiet voice not betraying any emotion. "You don't have to know. You can learn. Come tomorrow if you can."

Timo left in an almost daze, snapping out of it briefly when he bumped into who he would later learn was Silas' husband, Morrigan.

"Aw, did he scare you?" He asked, patting Timo's head. "Silas does that. Don't worry, I'm trying to get him not to freak out his interviewees as much. He's really nice, I promise. Well, sort of."

Timo arrived at home, bewildered at the strange interactions. What an odd pair. But the main thing on his mind was Silas' words.

"I'll teach you." A bold statement. A promise. And for once, they weren't empty. It wasn't a lie.

Silas, Timo soon came to learn, was a man of action, not words. His silence was not some scare tactic to use against Timo, but rather just one of the many facets that made up who he was.

Timo almost couldn't believe it when he returned the next day to find Silas patiently waiting for him, ready to go.

He hadn't lied. He hadn't replaced Timo. He actually did what he said he would.

This was a constant when it came to Silas. He did not ever make false promises. If he said he'd do something, he would do it, no matter how difficult the task seemed to be.

Spending time with him made Timo feel like he was in a fever dream. Someone so scary looking, someone who seemed to have been dragged through hell and back, spoke in a soft but firm voice that gripped Timo's attention like vice, and instructed Timo in a way that oozed nothing but patience.

When Timo made a mistake, he would freeze and expect to be yelled at, to be hit, but Silas simply corrected him and let him try again.

Morrigan would join them from time to time, though he was mostly there to observe and giggle a bit when Timo screwed up.

"It's ok," He said, always more talkative than Silas ever was. "I did that too when I was first learning. You got this."

They were both so.... strange. Especially as a couple. From what Timo knew, romance was going on dates and bringing each other plants and chocolate and kissing.

They were very aggressive with each other. Timo was worried and nearly had a heart attack when he saw them wrestling across the sand one day.

"It's fine," said Silas, wiping blood from his mouth.

"We're not actually trying to kill each other," added Morrigan, sending Timo a bloody smile.

Everything Timo had been taught seemed to tell him to quit, to stay away from these odd people and try somewhere else. But he didn't. He stayed. He liked these two. He liked them a lot, even if he thought they were weird.

They were both good teachers. Silas taught him how to hunt and make traps, and Morrigan assisted him with controlling his colours.

It took a long while, but he eventually found himself able to control them. His body finally began to obey him, shifting to whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The fish were drawn to him like moths to a flame.

Timo would stay much longer than intended, preferring his time there over even a second in that orphanage.

Once, when it was lunchtime, Silas slid a huge plate of several crustaceans, fish and seaweed towards him, and stared at him with those large amethyst eyes.

"Uh..." Timo stared at it, then at Silas, and blinked. "Huh?"

"You're not eating enough." Silas said. "Eat."

Timo, wondering if maybe he'd gone insane, mumbled an "Okay," and started nervously nibbling on it, bit by bit. It was probably one of the best meals he'd ever had.

By the time he'd turned seventeen, Timo was a full-fledged hunter working for Silas, helping stun prey as well as prep it all.

He got far closer to the two of them than intended over those three years, becoming, as the other staff put it, "Silas' little protégé."

He supposed it wasn't all that incorrect, especially since he began helping Morrigan pick up on the hunting after they decided to have children.

The news came a bit out of nowhere, and Timo didn't ever think they would be parents... but he was happy for them.

He was allowed to stay with them when they learned he couldn't afford an apartment even with his pay. All they wanted was that he kept his space clean and helped them out.

When Timo told Silas and Morrigan that he was a boy and his name was, well, Timo, Silas seemed very confused but accepted it, and Morrigan gave him a thumbs up.

And... they listened. They called him Timo and didn't call him she. And aside from that, they treated him the exact same as before, with just as much compassion.

Timo never said it out loud, but to him, it felt like they were a little family. Silas and Morrigan taught him to hunt and look after himself, taught him important life skills, and how to control his colours. They showed careful care for him, too. They acted like... well, they acted like parents. It was nice to imagine they actually were.

Morrigan was wonderful, but it was Sillas that Timo utterly adored. Silas, who made a promise and kept it. Silas, who was careful and understanding and kind to Timo, even if it was in a bit of a weird way. Silas, who saved Timo from absolute hell.

Silas was the best, and Timo would do whatever he could to make sure he was happy. No matter what, he'd stick by Silas Clearcove.

...........................................

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this juicy bit of Timo lore! Please consider this a sort of PSA as well, as I did research on orphanages for this, and the situation is pretty dire. Orphanage tourism is a thing, along with many other issues. Most of my info came from here. Please check it out. I absolutely accept constructive criticism as, although it isn't the main focus here, Timo is the first trans character I've written a story for. I hope it's OK! Sorry if the ending seems lackluster, I wasn't sure how to end it 😭

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

[hauntedwizardmoment]

GOOD EVENING. STARBREAKER!! this is so silly because I can't stop thinking about jace influencer au, but I did just get hit with a Vision of, like, a world where that AU is true but also the Plan is still happening. so as he gets pulled more into it (knowingly or unknowingly) jace's online presence/instagram/youtube channels or w/e slowwwwwly starts to devolve from poppy pretty sponsored idealized glamorized aestheticized content into a straight-up found-footage horror story.

CHRISTTTTTT.

like okay bear with me. a shift away from regular influencer au. jace is one of those teacher influencers. his normal content is like, stuff like this. it's fairly harmless, kind of corny, mildly funny. and as he gets a bigger following he starts doing more intimate/personal content. outfit of the day/day in the life, weekend vlogs (shopping spree in bastion city! massive spell component haul!), and crucially. talking about his relationship! his partner is his coworker, they met at work! they teach a party cohesion elective together and they co-advise the wild magic barbarians! it's sooooo cute, right?

and then porter starts appearing on camera and at first it seems super sweet, he's very gruff and not very camera-trained but he seems to really care for jace. but something like... changes. sometime in between jace's annual traditions of "halloween crafts week/decorate my classroom with me" videos and his "moonar yulenear break daily vlogs" people notice that like. jace seems a little more tired. more brittle. like he's always been performing but now it seems like every single smile is forced and fake.

sometime in the summer jace does a video addressing the comments and passes it off as burnout, he's had a difficult year because of the whole kalvaxus situation on top of some... personal issues. and his audience is like oh okay that explains it. but the tone keeps getting darker. jace posts fewer and fewer videos, his schedule goes from 3-4x weekly uploads to maybe one video every couple of weeks. slowly goes silent on all his other accounts. when he does make a video it's almost always with porter, and the way porter always has his arm around jace seems less "proud boyfriend" and more "possessive creep that's trying to keep jace from saying the wrong thing and exposing... something"

there's a conspiracy that it's all an ARG because of a bunch of "clues" in the background of jace's videos - including a jar of devil's honey on a kitchen counter that when pointed out leads to jace deleting the video entirely. this only adds fuel to the fire because what could he be hiding??

jace starts slipping up sometimes, letting on that porter's maybe. making him do something that he doesnt want to be doing. this is interspersed with strange, quasi-religious, creepy shit from porter during their vlogs. these are quickly deleted/edited out. but his audience is Concerned.

at some point. jace posts one last video called "Goodbye!" and it's a farewell to content creation as a whole for him. it's recorded in his classroom, porter's absent, jace seems almost like his old self again, he's smiling, and the sky behind him is bright red. if you look closely there are wisps of smoke visible. the tone and words are so fucking off, he's talking about seeing everyone in the "next life, a better life" if "everything goes as expected"

cue ragenarok, and cue reports that "aguefort sorcery teacher and influencer jace stardiamond was linked to a plot to create a new god of war"

[tsunotarou]

     Urges, Nagi had… urges. At times he wishes he didn't have any urges, cause it's a hassle to search and find something to fulfill said fucking urge. He just finished streaming for twelve hours. What was he doing? Well… he played minecraft for an hour, then spent the rest on XIV doing his dailies, crafting, and weekly resets. In between that he had snacked on a few things; chips, candies, the bento box that Reo had personally made from one of his chefs. Shit like that. What's great about streaming is that nobody really knows what his personal life was. His chat did know that he lived with someone though they didn't know who that exact someone was.

      He'd get asked about Reo all the time. Didn't bother him, not one bit. Fans tend to stay with their idols until a controversial moment appears. Nagi made sure to keep any Reo-related things out of view from his camera. Including the damn toy that was proudly sitting on the nightstand, nearly in frame of said camera.  He'd earn a good portion today, too, promising his viewers that he'll do another subathon if soccer doesn't take all his time. He's still on hiatus. 

       He tripled checked to make sure everything was turned off on his screen; it wouldn't be appropriate if he just got up, stripped out of his clothes then changed into pajamas. He's doing his best to avoid being banned. Nagi perks up at the sound of the door being opened, twisting halfway in his chair to see Reo— walking into his ‘ man cave ‘. “Oh, welcome home, work was okay?” Ever since his boyfriend announced his pregnancy, Nagi's been more attentive? If that was one way to put it. It’s only been a week since that announcement… he was lingering his gaze on his stomach to see if anything would be different. Nope. Flat, toned, not even the smallest amount of chub around the heir’s perfect frame. When he’s bored he looks up things about pregnancy; how men can experience ‘ parental postpartum depression ‘, the birth giver can go through more hardships than the men can. It’s intriguing, he’ll give it that… but he doesn’t think Reo will do anything to risk their newborn child. Neither will he. He has no reason to do anything drastic, why would he? It’s a hassle to risk it all for something inevitable, right? He’s listening to Reo ramble about his day, brown hues fixated on the heir walk around the room that was decorated with their trophies from games, Nagi’s bookcase that was filled with manga and video games. There’s some pictures that were off to the far right side of the room; photos of them visiting England, Paris, others had their friends in it. 

               Reo’s talking about… some shit. His father? No, nobody wants to hear about how Mr. Mikage has his head constantly up his ass. When the day strikes that that old man kicked the bucket, he thinks he’ll propose to Reo right away. Fucked as ever, doing that is borderline psychotic. Maybe that’s too close to comfort. He didn’t care. The quicker the guy’s dead the faster he and Reo can live their lives normally. “ … Reo, “ he spoke up after the heir finished talking, finally taking a glance at him as he spun completely in his chair to face him. Nagi wanted him. Just for a little, he can be selfish without meaning to— it’s not his fault that he’s attracted to nothing else that wasn’t Reo. Reo’s his world, his life, his damn being. One hand lightly rubbed against his left thigh, over the bagged jeans he was wearing,  non-verbally signaling that he wanted the other to come closer.

  “... I want your mouth on me.” Vague. His expression stayed blank, fixated on the expression that would morph over the heir’s perfect face. Watching, waiting. Will he get it? The itch that had to be scratched? Possibly…. Reo’s in a good mood ( or so he thinks ), and he’ll be damned if he gets denied. That’ll be embarrassing. Where was he supposed to put all this pent up frustration? It would be less ‘ romantic ‘ if he outwardly told him that he wants his dick sucked, so…. Nagi takes the softer, ‘ pg-13 approach. ‘   " I'm frustrated. " Coded for: ' i want reo to take care of me. please. '

Being exhausted was such an understatement for the heir. Perhaps the cold, cloudy weather wasn't helping anyone, but Reo just felt downright exhausted after being at the bureau all day. It'd been like that the past few days. Exhausted, worn out --- all of the above. He didn't really remember being this tired after his day at the office, but now? It dragged, BAD. Reo was still just sitting in his car, even after pulling into the car port. Fingers turned the vehicle off yet the young male just continued to sit there for a bit, his arms slowly lowering into his lap. Violet eyes followed suit, looking down at his own hands silently. Soon enough, it's gonna get a bit difficult to see his lap. Let alone seeing where his feet land when walking. But, that was one of the ailments of carrying your child, right? A small smile graced Reo's face as he lazily rubbed his hand over his flat stomach for a moment ; as if he was about to gaslight himself about feeling his child move. " Let's go see what Daddy's been up to... "

After managing his way inside, after locking and arming everything outside, Reo took it upon himself to finally get comfortable. Bag down, coat off, scarf off, shoes off, slippers on, hair down --- all that was left was to shower and get into comfier clothes. But first, he had to check in on his boyfriend. He remembered the other mentioning something about streaming today, so it was only natural for Reo to pop in and see how that went.

" --- Naagi, I'm home. " Perhaps he should have knocked before just walking in on the other, but it was too late. Reo announced his arrival even before getting the door open. He wasn't met with any drastic measures to get him out of the room ; so it was safe to say that his boyfriend was done streaming. Instead, he was met with the other turning towards him --- welcoming him home and asking if work was alright. The gesture made him smile as the heir continued his way into Nagi's little streaming area.

" Yeah, it was alright. Just like any other day. " Reo walked deeper into the room, dragging his feet a bit. " Father had me consult with our multiple marketing agencies so we can plan for the press release at the end of the week. Then he pulled me in for another meeting about our finances, which I've told him multiple times that I have it handled, and--- " As soon as he heard Nagi speak his name, the heir turned his attention towards his boyfriend. Surely he can't blame him for not wanting to hear his rant about his father and work and business management.

" Hm? " He hummed, catching sight of Nagi fully turning towards him now. He had quite the blank expression on his face, which isnt too different from the usual Nagi expression that he wore. However, something about this one seemed... different. Reo cocked an eyebrow, and as soon as he did, Nagi continued. And when he did, violet eyes widened slightly.

I want your mouth on me. The way he said it sent a chill down his spine. Reo took a step forward, following another without realizing. What does he even mean by that? Did he want a kiss or something? No, apparently Nagi was frustrated. Why was he frustrated? Was he frustrated with Reo? Was it something he did or didn't do? Suddenly, Reo's exhaustion was washed away, and was now replaced with uncertainty as his brows knit together.

" --- Frustrated? " Reo frowned a bit, ending up right in front of Nagi's chair. Leaning down, the heir just cupped the other's face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Hopefully that would make him feel at least a little better? " I'm sorry you're frustrated... Did you have a bad stream or something? " Thumbs brushed over pale cheeks gently. Another kiss was pressed between those brows. Nagi did say he wanted his mouth on him --- so Reo figured he could just litter him with kisses. That's what he wanted, right? " After I shower, I can play a game with you, if you'd like? Or we can watch a movie or something? "

[jesteriajunovix]

Venom: The Last Dance Movie Thoughts (Spoilers)

Its very sad how this trilogy at the very end sort of detracts from the main focus of the romance to give time to this Van family I can just barely bring myself to care about outside of maybe the scene where Eddie talks to leaf. then theres these scientist that are bumbling around.

Its just a bunch of uninteresting sequences where people I don't know or care about keep talking and talking. sometimes it really does feel like the writers were doing madlibs across certain sections.

Also, venom animals are cool and all, but they had like seven symbiotes to play with that all just got merc'd in the end by some generic starcraft-looking alien things.......Okay maybe I'm being a little too harsh, because I actually think those aliens are really cool, but as a main reoccurring antagonist, it gets boring. You tellin me knull has hundreds upon hundreds of these bugs and couldn't just send even more, thus making Venom's sacrifice literally aimless. Also what the fuck even is this acid thing still left here from the start of the movie? This shit is just around and Venom knew it'd work?

Also venom dancing with Mrs.Chen was cute, but that being the pit for next conflict is just bad writing.

It just feels like everything got so PR'd up that the movie stopped having a vision for crafting actually interesting scenes.

Also why is Venom's body count for Hispanics so high? Like sure he killed a bunch of police and army grunts, but the scenes where non-feds are being framed as the bad guys feel very racialized. Also ya animal abuse is hell tier, but when the framing is "these dogs are more important than these POC's and the WHITE MAN is delivering justice upon them" it gets weird.

There's also an entire conversation to be had about how a black man is once again empathetically framed while actively sitting in the fed/military chair.

It's just such a disappointment. First Fuck Marvel of course for their support of the IDF

(I acquired venom the last dance through the void)

but, also I have to question what the process of making this movie looked like for the writers. To me, it just seems like a case of an incohesive group trying to appeal to communities they don't understand, but I could be wrong and it could be a pay thing as well.

I know the marketing for Venom previously has proved to be not financially smart for Marvel considering the fact the gay subtext has made it harder to get into certain countries, so maybe that somehow affected the attitude during the creative process?

There's also the note to be made about the Director and writer changes throughout the trilogy.

I'm just spitballing though. Don't listen to my dumbass theories that may be completely wrong.

I just can see these potentially being factors.............also to make something clear writers should be getting paid even if the movie literally just consists of a nigga pulling his pants down and hitting a goatsy

Cautionary Definition Goatse: For those unaware this is in reference to popular shock videos spread across the early 2000s of men spreading their assholes.

right into the camera.

.....that was a cruder way to put it, so to make my take clearer:

my opinion on the quality here isn't an attempt to say writers should get fucked out of their money for bad writing. That's not a fundamental issue here. I do hope all the sick fuck Zionists there do in fact suffer some form of retribution and repentance though.

......................................................................................................................On a different note It's interesting to think about how Venom is basically Transmasc and Fluid....Thats all. I just find that to be something very interesting that I wish I saw more people talking about actively.

[luc1ferian]

I'm thinking about Trillian.

[THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY SERIES SPOILERS AND INFODUMP WARNING]

I mean, at the beginning, when she met Zaphod and he wanted to take her to space, I imaged her being star-struck (somewhat literally) that she's not only meeting a real alien, but that he's offering to take her into the stars and explore the universe in ways unthinkable by mankind. To me she's so optimistic and curious when meeting Zaphod like a 5-year-old, constantly asking him questions before she eventually and quickly gets used to not only being in space, but gets used to things changing around her constantly, and I think she's not only very intelligent, but also a very adaptable person (a code-switcher or personality chameleon if you will *ahem* me-core) she can somewhat easily quickly understand and wrap her mind around a lot of impossible concepts, and trust me there's a lot of "out there" concepts in h2g2.

what really interests me right now is trillian vs tricia in mostly harmless. At some point Trillian clearly does separate from Zaphod (i don't know if its said if they broke up? but anyway Zarquon knows where he is now....) and starts forging her own life for herself as a news reporter. we see her reporting literally all across time where things are changing literally all the time. i like to think she gained more and more confidence being independent by herself, calmly handling different environments and people and clearly maturing from who she used to be on the tiny planet earth. i like to think she gained a lot more respect for herself and became proud of herself for how she's grown. and then she had random. i'll have to check again but i don't think trillian had random for any good reason besides the fact that she wanted a child. i really really like the idea that not only is Trill a social chameleon, but that after spending so much time around zaphod, she started to gain a liiiittle bit of vanity for herself like him. clearly not like zaphod of course, but that she, for example, didn't trust others to do the work she's done as she believes she does it best. she had random essentially because she felt like she wanted a daughter, but she never started to consider or plan how her daughter would be raised if she had her job, and how random would feel about being left behind. and she clearly didn't consider how arthur would feel about it and if he could handle taking care of random. trillian thought she didn't even have to; she's adaptable. she'll figure it out (not at all a bad thing in most cases, but in this case ehhh)

I also think she's obtained a sort of distance from the world after reporting and going nearly everywhere

and tricia. tricia mcmillian is, of course, what trill would be if she never went with zaphod, but also she lacks that self-confidence and slight vanity that trillian has gains from her time in the galaxy. she's a reporter who regrets all her life decisions and has no clue what to do going forward. when introduced to the world outside of earth through the aliens on Rupert, she still has that starry-eyed excitement and curiosity, but after so much time spent in the unrelenting world of the television news business, there's a slight deadness (akin to the deadness in main modern trill after working in news as well), an ounce of fear and confusion, and a nearly unhealthy lack of confidence glazed over her eyes. okay maybe there's less confidence in the entire interaction between the Grebulons and Tricia, they literally don't know who they are where they are from, which does not help her confusion and fear. anyway she hesitantly brings a camera so she thinks she could report on it (news reporter brain) and the footage is stupid and blurry and she starts breaking down and genuinely believes herself to be hallucinating, likely induced by high stress and helplessness with what she wants with her life, and then this fucking space craft descends from the sky, carrying an angry girl and a weird bird, so she has to pull herself the fuck together and arrive at the scene and interview the girl,... only for the girl to call her "mother"

and tricia mcmillian fucking loses it.

okay maybe loses it is a bit intense, but she breaks under the stress of everything right in front of the camera. right here she is supposed to be in the Zone. she's supposed to keep her cool under these especially unthinkable circumstances in this case as here she is, bursting into tears from stress and confusion

christ i had a point to this, i just started recapping tricia's pov of mostly harmless uhh, anyway that last scene with trilian and tricia is very important as they each look at what could have been, for better or worse, and i love the parallels and changes between

curious, starry-eyed early trillian

untrusting, confident modern trillian

and stressed, helpless tricia mcmillion

[valvesandthings]

FIRST TIME REQURSTING KINDA NERVOUS ☠️

can you make one of a servant bot with tfp soundwave, megatron, and other bots you have in mind? (Okay with GN mech or male mech)

Like on-duty the reader is mostly an emotionless servant, but when off-duty they like to hang out with the officers (platonic/romantic) they do arts & crafts, and maybe even go flower picking.

(IDK CUZ MY OC HAS PURE WHITE EYES AND HAS TERRIBLE VISION, SO MAYBE YOU

CAN INCLUDE SOME OF THAT, PLEASE🙏🙏)

IF YOU DO WRITE ABOUT THIS, TYSMSMSM🗣🗣🗣🗣

Soundwave: He is convinced that they are the love of his life. He watches their every move, if not in person than through Laserbeak and the security cameras littered around the Nemesis. He sits with them and curiously watches as they do their favorite arts and crafts. He doesn’t understand how their servos are so capable of creating beautiful things. 

Megatron: At first, he doesn’t like that they linger around him while they’re off duty. But when he gets used to their presence, he starts talking to them idly, asking how their day has been and simple little things. He dislikes when they don’t look at him, even though he knows their vision is poor, and is always gently grabbing their chin and tilting their head up so he can peer into their stunning white optics. He likes being close enough so that they can see him, even if it means constantly towering over them. He’s definitely a little obsessed and a lot possessive. 

Shockwave: It took him a while to stop asking them if he could run tests on their optics and just accept that they didn’t want him prodding around their eyes. After that, he worked tirelessly to create a datapad that reads the text out loud. When he gives it to them, he seems almost shy, his optic darting around and not meeting theirs. He’s a flustered mess when they kiss his palm in gratitude. 

Breakdown: His favorite thing in the world is to go flower picking with them when they’re both off duty. He’d never admit it, of course, but it made him happy to see them at peace and being their own delicate, precious bot instead of the emotionless servant they usually are. He likes holding up the flowers to their all white eyes and describing the flowers to them.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's remaster...

[Spoilers below cut]

Aha! I've expected as much, they usually release a regular episode or a Remaster. It's been a while since they've done one of these, I honestly thought we were going to get one during the Puzzle Park arc, which of course didn't happen.

Let's see, the OG "Return to Freddy's Spaghettria" episode was...

9 YEARS AGO?!?!?

...time isn't real, guys. I feel old old. Makes sense though, the OG has 44 million views, being one of the most popular videos on the channel. It's a no-brainer. also it was spooky month *does the dance* a few days ago.

Anyway, since it's a remaster, this post is going to be a lot shorter than usual.

(the following is my reaction:)

ah, of course, the updated graphics

and Mario going from his polygonal 64 model to his current one

but also peach's castle.... ahem, let's keep going

"no more saying cuss words guys" oh right, susan is watching over us

[*sigh*] i miss my wife, tails. i miss her a lot, I'll be back

gotta make the reference I'm sorry

go off Mario, show those dance moves

also can I just say, I love how expressive Mario is now. It's one of the things I love about the show

WIZARD ROCK IS BACK!!!! it's been so long

man, i'm old

omg the barney song (listen, I was a PBS Kid and I've indeed watched barney when I was a child soooo I still find it wild to hear that song again.)

"do you like popsicles?" oh hey a spongebob... oh...

....i'm overthinking this i'm overthinking this i'm overthinking this

uh, moving on!

and mario using mr. yeast to barricade the door... [*IGBP flashbacks*]

Welcome, everyone, to "Let's Remind Ink of the Show's Past Arcs and Current Mysteries" :)

"remember the locket :)" "YEAH I KNOW I KNOW"

that camera work tho

cocomelon... WHY AM I GETTING FLASHBACKS

pizza :D

[*claps in terror*]

well, that's new from the OG.... okay, look, I know this purple thing is from something else and not related to anything at all i get that BUT I just got reminded of meme rehab

happy halloween to me specifically ig, thanks Team

DAMN his coin count lowered from 24 coins in the OG to just 14 coins in the remaster

WII SPORTS, I love all the references to it in this episode

"who wants a muffin?" "no" "but I wanna die :D" /ref

the mickey mouse audio.... LEAVE ME ALONE *flachback* AAAH *flashback* AAAAAAHHHHH

SMG4 HIIII :D good to see blue Mario every now and then

and some voice acting wow

RAVE PARTY

hold up, i gonna pull out the crafting table for this one

mario can and will teleport behind you when he wants to

pizza :D

also congrats to ArrowDustt for your art being featured in the credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Another pleasant episode. It's really fun to see how much the Team has improved over the years while still being the show. It is a remaster so it's pretty much the same storyline, but the animation and editing and voice acting and so much more. Go show some appreciation for the Team!!

As much as I'm here for the loreeeeeeeee, I wouldn't mind if the rest of the year is just filled with silly episodes. it's the silly meme show after all... but Team, was it really necessary to remind me that these characters had trauma from previous episodes? well, guess what? it's day of the dead for me so your plan failed aha!!! /silly

Yeah, I do look too much into stuff sprinkled in the background or the episode in general, it's kinda my thing. Don't mind me overanalyzing the bingo numbers from the last episode. Anyway, it was nice of Ben (the thumbnail artist) to show some of the behind-the-scenes.

Stretchy boi :) Love when the Team does these kinds of things. By the way, if anyone was curious, the WOTFI website is still up. Interesting....

Well, my dear fellows, that's all for now. Curious to know what the next remaster will be, and as always, looking forward to what shenanigans the SMG4 Crew will be up to next week. Hmm, maybe I'll post another episode concept (angst or fluff, no in-between >:] hehehe). Take care, and I'll see you all next time!!! pizza :D

...

BUT ALSO GOOP!FOUR— *green screen explosion*

[danthediamondminecart]

RBBTOBER DAY 11-12: INFECTION

CW!! BODY HORROR + MILD FLASH

“I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had…”

Oh TMA!Poke, the man that you are. Drabble and individual images under the cut - be warned, this one’s a longer one.

(A camera flicks on, without its owner, Dylan ‘Hyper’ Plays, noticing a thing. He believes it’s run out of battery.) (He’s pacing around a room whose walls are falling apart due to the mushrooms and mould growing within, out the cracks and all over. He’s avoiding it at any means necessary.) (Heavy breathing, as Hyper holds a phone tightly to his ear, having just been talking to a friend, Kreek Craft, on it.) 

[???]

(Distant.) Oh, Hyper~! [HYPER]

(Whispered.) Oh god- Kreek, he’s nearby, what do I-

[KREEK]

(From over the phone) Hang on, we’re on our way! Remember, that thing- it’s not Poke anymore. It’s a monster wearing his skin, okay? Whatever it says to you, however it tries to get sympathy from you, it’s lying, don’t listen to anything-

(Hyper’s connection fizzles out as something enters the room he’s in.)

(The camera pans and shows what that ‘something is’ - one Zachary ‘Poke’ Diger, Hyper’s best friend and business partner. Or at least, what’s left of him. There’s mushrooms and mould coming out of his arms, legs, chest and skull, seemingly spreading and growing as he stands there, something green dripping out of every orifice, his skin having taken on a sickly undertone.)

[POKE]

(Upbeat as ever.) There you are! Geez, Hyper. Really made me look for you. 

[HYPER]

(Absolutely petrified.) You’re- you’re not Poke, are you?

[POKE]

Now what gave you that impression? It’s still me! Just made some…(Poke points to one of the mushrooms growing out of his arms.)...new friends, you know? 

[HYPER]

…Don’t lie. 

[POKE]

I’m not lying! I still remember when we met when we were little kids, those little playdates we had together, your parents deciding my parents weren’t safe, us starting our channel together, us promising to stick together for the rest of time…if it wasn’t still me, would I remember that? 

[HYPER]

(Semi convinced) …What do you want? 

[POKE]

I want you to join me! 

(Hyper sharply inhales.) 

I mean, we’ve stuck to that promise since then, haven’t we? And I get it, it’s a bit terrifying. Letting these little guys grow under your skin and take over. But…I wouldn’t have let them do it had they not helped me. They promised friendship, and…uh, well, you know me. 

It’s like…becoming what loves you, in a sense. It soothes you, and makes you feel more loved than you ever have before. 

(As Poke talks, Hyper starts to sneak around him, trying to get in front of the doorway so he can make an escape.) 

But you’re my best friend, Hyper. You’re the one person that I could rely on, the one person I still had in my corner, the one person I could trust. I don’t want to lose you. So you should join us! And we can stay friends for the rest of forever, just like you promised! 

You heard them singing too, didn’t you? Their singing of love and family and all of that? Don’t you want that? 

[HYPER]

Poke, I- 

(Hyper’s managed to position himself by the door, starting to back through.) 

I don’t know if I…

[POKE]

(Realising what Hyper’s trying to do.) 

Wait, where are you- don’t! 

(Poke reaches forward and grabs Hyper’s shoulders, but doesn’t do anything else yet.) 

I won’t make you- no, wait, I might- (He’s seemingly struggling against his own thought process.) I don’t want to force you to join us if you don’t want to, Hyper. But…I don’t want to lose you, you know? So, if you’re gonna try and leave, then…

[HYPER]

(Frozen still.) Y-you’re gonna fill me with fungi anyway, no matter what I pick.

[POKE]

… (Poke laughs a bit) Maybe? 

Please. Please don’t go. It’ll be safer if you just stay anyway, they might not like it if you try to leave. 

(Weakly) Best friends ‘till the end, remember? 

(Hyper’s silent. He wants to believe Kreek so badly, that this isn’t his best friend gone mad and he should just run for it, but he can’t ignore the fact that’s clearly Poke speaking. That it’s still his best friend, who chose to let the fungus take him.)

(Well, it’s not like fighting back did him much good. But he’s still got people in his corner - people he knows full well Poke didn’t have. So, despite hearing those mushrooms beg him to join them and his own guilt, Hyper makes his decision.) 

[HYPER] 

I’m…I’m gonna have to decline, man. We can still be friends! It’s just- I don’t think I can…

(Hyper trails off at seeing Poke’s trademark cheery smile drop. Before he can react, though, someone else manages to get in and throws a rock at Poke, knocking him to the ground.) (The camera turns as Hyper whips around to see Kreek and Bella, Kreek holding another rock in case it’s needed.) 

[KREEK]

Hyper, get behind me, now! 

(Hyper obliges, running behind Kreek and grabbing onto Bella for dear life.)

[BELLA]

(Comforting) Don’t worry, buddy, we’ve got you. (Poke slowly drags himself to his feet as Kreek uses his arm to push Hyper and Bella back, putting himself between them and him. Poke doesn’t pay attention to Kreek, instead holding direct eye contact with Hyper.)

(Before they can react, Poke pushes past and lunges for Hyper.) (Hyper screams, and the camera switches off with a click.)

~~~~~~

Don't worry, Hyper will be fine.

[deadbydangit]

This might be strange and you may not even know what I'm talking about, but could you write characters with an S/o who acts like Jinx from Arcane?

Maybe this with Ghostface and Leon? Feel free to add any and all people if you do take the request. Thank you ^^

I did a bit of research on this character. She sounds rather chaotic but intelligent. So I'm going to go with that. I hope that's okay if I add one more to it as well. I hope you enjoy it.

With a Reader who is chaotic and intelligent.

Ghostface, Leon, Legion (Frank)

Ghostface

Yeah, let's fuck some shit up.

You and Danny are like the same person.

Much to everyone else's dismay.

Your collective appetite for chaos knows no bounds.

You could both be asleep when Danny shakes you to wake you up.

"Hey I remember this fucked up joke and wanted to tell you."

And you're both just going to laugh.

And then go right back to sleep.

You're both inseparable.

If he could sneak you into every trial to help him, he so would.

"Like, babe, think of the ways we can kill survivors together."

The Entity, much to everyone's delight, refuses to let that happen.

So you both go terrorize whoever happens to be in the woods at that time.

Not as fun, but still entertaining.

Your intelligence has helped him numerous times when it comes to constricting any sort of trap he'd like.

And he won't have to worry if his precious camera ever gets damaged.

The pranks you pull in each other are great.

The pranks you both work on together are masterpieces.

You are the bain of everyone else's existence.

And you both wouldn't have it any other way.

Leon S Kennedy

He has his hands full with you.

He may have the intelligence to match.

But he's a hero, not... Whatever you are.

He'll often walk in on you building some crazy invention or trap.

He is highly concerned.

More about everyone else.

Because that does NOT look safe.

He does take interest in some of your inventions.

Watching you build and explain them, watching how passionate you are about your craft.

It's super cute to him.

Leon is absolutely going to do that stereotypical hero thing where he tries to make you 'see the light' and 'renounce your evil ways.'

Good luck with that buddy.

Leon is very agile, alert, and fairly smart.

So pulling a prank on him takes some work.

If you do manage, he'll applaud your determination and creativity.

Provided it isn't something dangerous.

If he wants you to hold still for a while, he'll challenge you to a boardgame or chess.

This is where his competitive nature shines.

But it's all in good fun.

He never goes easy on you though.

Just because you love him doesn't mean he's going to let you win.

You've already won his love.

Legion (Frank)

Anarchy! Anarchy!

Frank has no idea what that word means, but it sounded cool and he heard you say it once.

He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed.

But he loves you for the chaotic crazy you are.

He's so down to pull pranks too.

And he's always willing to help you whenever he can.

Need him to sneak into Caleb's workshop to grab supplies for your newest invention?

On it!

"Hey. Want to go put mentos and coke in one of Herman's test tubes?"

That's the closest thing to a science experiment you're going to get from this boy.

Just be honored he's making an effort for you.

You might even see him trying to make inventions of his own.

You inspire him.

His lack of regard for the safety of himself or the safety of others might be a concern to others.

But the both of you couldn't give less of a shit about it.

You only live once.

Well, technically not in the realm.

But it's the principal of the matter.

Frank doesn't know what you mean when you say that, but you're smart and it sounded cool so he's going to say it too.

And, he knows you're cool, so he'll say it.

[oatmealdaydreams]

Melissa the Butterfly Plushie

Let me know if you wanna be added on or taken off the taglist!

Pairing: Intruality

Warnings: none

Description: Patton isn’t having a great day. Remus makes him a special little gift to cheer him up.

Extra: Day 2 of @intrualityweek; prompts are Plushies & Butterflies. Melissa is based on a Melissa Blue butterfly.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[fic under the cut]

Remus doesn’t know what in the fuck made Pat-Pat so upset, but they’re determined to make his frown disappear. 

Aside from the fact that he’s Patton, and no one gets to fuck with Patton, Remus cares about him. ‘Remus?’, you may gasp, ‘Caring about the one Side who’s disgusted by everything they are?’ Yeah, yeah, fuck off, you don’t know shit. They all greatly exaggerate their reactions and parts of themselves for the videos to make them entertaining. So, yes, Patton was never as disturbed as you’ve probably seen on camera, but he also wasn’t too far off from wanting to push Remus’ ideas out of the forefront. They’ve worked on it. Patton’s worked on seeing that Remus is more than gore and innuendos and Unwanted Thoughts, and Remus got a taste of what it’s like to feel so much all the time with very little outlet to express it. It’s...turns out they have more in common than anyone would’ve guessed. Remus understands what it’s like to have a severe lack of a healthy outlet to be messy and express things without ridicule; Patton understands a little too well what it’s like to be viewed as nothing more than a punchline dummy and have your contributions dismissed as either unrealistic or Bad. They’ve...they’ve got their own shit. It’s nice knowing that now there’s supportive words and gentle touches where there used to be borderline hostility and fear. 

Remus digresses. 

Pat-Attack’s not doing so well today. There are grey eyes where there’s usually bright blue. A smile becomes painted. Cheery words sound forced and hard to say. Something’s fucked with him, and—as was mentioned—that’s not allowed to happen. Remus would love for whatever made Pat-Pat upset to meet its stupid face with their morning star; however, taking care of the sad little cub is far more important. So. Setting down their morning star and snapping into soft, comfy things, Remus slides open a special drawer in their craft desk. It’s filled to brim with ideas: the different kinds of soft fabrics, lists of things needed to make plushies or blankets or funky fidgets, sketches of homebrewed heating devices or coding for video games or little notes of praise when someone’s feeling too low to believe it from another’s mouth. It’s their comfort-projects drawer, a special thing they and Roman started doing long before they even realized they both did it. Okay, look, it’s a little embarrassing, but…well, it’s one of the first things they bonded over when they finally got to talk again outside of cameras or meetings with Thommy Salami. 

Remus, sappy? No, they’ve no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. Maybe they care. That doesn’t make them sappy, they have a reputation, afterall. 

Shut up.

Remus sifts through the papers and sketches and fabric samples, brows furrowed in concentration as they search for what they need. Pattie’s always been a big softy, everyone knows that. He’s the one with open arms for hugs, baking cookies or cooking breakfast in the kitchen, checking in on even the stubborn ones—Logan and Virgil and literally all of them—making sure they’re doing okay or if they need help. He’s even—okay, so, Pat-Pat’s not always known what help actually helps some of ‘em, but he’s learned and still learning and making good effort, and, well...he’s a lot better than he used to be. Patton helps them and supports where he can because he cares, so much, about everyone, even those who he doesn’t quite understand.

Patton cares for everyone, but who cares for Patton?

They all do, is the correct fucking answer, but it isn’t always obvious because brains will be mean and sometimes people don’t know how to communicate that well. Which is okay, both of it, brains will be mean and people will be confusing, that’s okay. Just untangling all those knots and ties and shit of whatever was lost in translation is hard fucking work. It’s not easy. Caring is effort. Maintaining relationships takes effort and work. 

Remus knows one way to be obvious about caring for Patton. 

Besides shouting ‘I care about you, you fucking dork!’ and bluntly stating so, because that can be hard and saying you care for someone isn’t always easy because your brain doesn’t make it easy with its mixed signals to your speech box thing. 

It’s called a ‘larynx’, Remus, they can almost hear Logan correcting them. 

Whatever, Lolo. 

Remus makes a triumphant noise when they pull out a sketch for a plushie design, along with a small reference photo. Its pattern needs some blues, oranges, browns, silvers…a lot of colours. It’s for Patton, it’s going to be colourful. Pat-Pat likes colourful things. And soft things. And plushies, especially those. They look through their drawer again, digging to find the soft and fluffy fabric samples. They’ll need to borrow some of that pixie shit from Roman’s Faery Forest. Not the dust, no, who the fuck do you think they are? They need some of a pixie’s wing sheddings. What do you mean, pixies don’t shed their wings? You don’t know shit, clearly, because how else do they keep their wings nice and shimmery and flimsy like that? Fucking amateur. 

Remus goes about getting enough fabric, pulling out their sewing kit and the fluffier stuffing to fill the plushie with. Ooh, what colour should they make the eyes? They’ve gotta be real eyes, move around and shit, otherwise it’d just be a plain thing. Remus doesn’t make boring creations. Especially not for Patton, no, that wouldn’t do. It’s gotta be fun and keep his laughter singing throughout the Mindscape. 

Where’s the proper needle for…oh! Here it went, stupid little needle. Trying to escape, are we?

As Remus begins going through the motions of sewing fabric together, careful not to prick themself—this time—they lapse into thought. Pattie likes to cuddle his plushies. They’ve caught him squeezing the inanimate frogs or bears or copies of the Sides when nights are hard and words are harder. When he’s hiding away in his room, trying so hard not to push away the scary feelings, but it all just comes bubbling up out of him in waves and waterfalls and snotty little babbles. He doesn’t think anyone knows, but Remus does, and Janus does—because he’s a sneaky bastard—and it...Patton tries, so much, so hard, to be who they need him to be when shit gets tough and morals turn out to be in various shades of grey. It’s not like unlearning bad habits is easy. They’ve all got shit to unlearn. They all try their damn hardest at being better and being patient. It’s getting better. But healing isn’t linear, nor is unlearning unhealthy habits, and so there will be days where the lure of what used to happen snatches one of ‘em up and drags them down down down into something akin to misery. There’s days where an angry shouting of ‘I don’t want to heal right now, I don’t want to, shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up!’ echoes in their minds. That’s okay, sometimes healing means not wanting to heal, and that’s okay. 

None of Pat-Attack’s plushies can hug him back. 

Remus seeks to remedy that. 

=====

Patton’s laying on his bed, curling around a greenish teddy bear with a mustache on it. He hugs it tight to his chest as hitching breaths force themselves out of him. His glasses press unkindly against his face as he smushes his nose into the belly of the teddy. 

A slow, eerie knock on his door catches his attention as his head turns sharply towards it. 

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, he waves his hand vaguely towards the door. It clicks as it opens, revealing a Duke wearing soft things. A hand hides behind their back. Patton peeks at them as they come in, bundled in his blankets. Something worrying makes him pause as he glances at Remus. They don’t usually knock on the door, nor do they come in quietly, hiding something, in soft things. So, yes, Patton’s a little worried. 

Are they okay? Did something happen? Is their brain being mean to them again? Patton tries his hardest to put on a smile, but it’s hardly a tug at his lips. 

“Ya don’t hafta do that, Pat-Pat,” Remus says before they plop down on the bed.

Patton’s smile stutters for a moment, “I, um...are you doing okay, Remus?”

“‘M fine, Pat-Attack. What’s up with you, huh? Looking a bit grey an’ shit.” 

It shows when Patton doesn’t even chide them teasingly for swearing. His smile stays stubborn. His face starts to ache uncomfortably from it. 

“Oh, I’m okay! Just cuddling my bear, no need to be worried, kiddo,” the cheery voice is so fake and forced that it makes the room flicker in small flashes of yellow like lightning from the wall-clouds. 

“Really? Then why’s your walls all silvery?”

This gives Patton pause, the smile dropping the tiniest bit as he blinks. His walls hold photographs and cork boards full of memories from when everyone was younger. Normally, the walls themselves would be bright blue with clouds moving across them like it’s the actual sky. Now, the walls are silvery instead of bright, and the clouds are storming with rain that drips down into the carpet. 

“C’mon, Pat-Pat,” Remus encourages. 

Patton huffs as his smile falls. He grips his teddy bear in his arms as he leans his back against his headboard. Remus makes a soft noise at the sniffling as Patton refuses to let the tears brimming in his eyes fall. 

“Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on? Brain being mean?” Remus asks, not unkindly, hiding something from Patton’s view. 

Patton sighs, mumbling, “I don’t know. Today’s just…it’s stupid—”

“It’s not stupid if it’s upsetting ya.”

“...It’s nothing.”

“Pat.”

“No—no, I mean there isn’t a thing bothering me! I just feel bad for no reason.”

Remus nods in sympathy, gently knocking their shoulder against Patton’s. Patton hums, absentmindedly rubbing his face against the teddy. Remus notices the mustache it has and can’t help it as something soft in them melts a little. They carefully take Patton’s glasses off when they see it pressing harshly against his face, frowning when they notice the reddish indents on the bridge of his nose. The moral Side still refuses to let his tears fall. 

“Ay, you can cry, Pat-Attack. Isn’t that you tell Lolo and Jannie when their brains are being stubborn?” they sneak what they’re holding onto their lap as they sit up fully, but Patton doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Y-yeah, but they have a reason. I don’t—I’m not—”

“Ay, nuh-uh, ya don’t need a reason, Pattie. C’mon, let it out, m’kay?”

“It’s hard.”

“I know, Pat-Pat, I know.”

Something blue and pretty flutters in Remus’ lap, and it catches Patton’s eye. He glances down to see a soft-looking plushie, its wings bright and colourful. It’s a butterfly, alive, and fluttering around in the Duke’s lap. He gasps lightly, momentarily forgetting his tears. 

“Is…is that…” Patton trails off as he looks back up at Remus. 

Remus smiles, “I made it for ya.”

The butterfly plushie flutters and flies over to Patton, sitting on his head. To him, it’s a little blurry due to the lack of glasses on his face, but it gets blurrier for an entirely different reason. 

“Oh, hey,” Remus’ voice dips into soothing, though naturally scratchy. “There ya go, little cub, just like that.”

Patton sniffles as he finally cries, breath stuttering slightly. He holds his teddy bear with one hand as he extends the free one towards Remus. The Duke glady scoops their companion up into their lap, bundled in blankets, holding a bear and becoming a perch for an affectionate butterfly. 

“It’s—it’s for me? Really?” Patton asks wetly. 

“Yeah, little cub. It’s for you,” Remus murmurs into his hair as they ease Patton into resting his cold nose in the crook of their neck. 

“Alive?”

“It’s gotta hug ya, somehow.”

“Hug—wait, what?”

“Yeah, hug ya. Wings get big and they hug you.”

As if waiting for a cue, the little butterfly’s wings enlarge to be big enough to wrap around Patton. It flutters and lands on the moral Side’s back, engulfing as much of him as it can with its wings. Soft and warm and slightly weighted to feel real. Patton lets slip a sob that Remus coos comfortingly at. 

“It’s good, R’mus, it’s—it’s—” Patton stumbles through words as he sniffles again. 

“I got it, cub, I know. Now, ya got another buddy to help ya not feel so sad, hm?” 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Pat-Pat. Anytime.”

Patton buries himself into Remus’ chest, breathing calmer with the butterfly hugging him. It’s like getting cuddled on both fronts, a reassuring weight that grounds him. 

It takes a few minutes before Patton stops crying, and even longer for him to sag against the Duke. 

“What’s, um...does it have a name?” he mumbles with heavy eyes. 

“Nah, ya name it. Couldn’t think of one,” Remus answers, resting a rest against Patton’s hair. 

“Mm…really? You didn’t think of anything?”

“Nope! Wanted you to have fun with it.”

“Oh…um, hm. Maybe Melissa? I like that name.”

“It’s a good name. Melissa the butterfly, it shall be known.”

Patton giggles at Remus’ dramatics. 

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I bet, Pattie.”

“Mm.”

“Just make sure Melissa doesn’t get water on it. It doesn’t like it, and it’ll spit acid at someone.”

“Remus!”

“What?”

Patton pouts as Remus snorts, but he can’t keep the pout on because the next moment, he chuckles. 

“Thanks for cheering me up, Remus.”

“Eh, someone’s gotta care for ya, yeah? We all do, but I called dibs.”

It makes Patton smile as Melissa gurgles a noise of contentment. 

“Why does it make that noise?”

“Haha, what noise—”

“Remus—”At the very least, Patton’s feeling better with his new plushie buddy, even if it does make weird noises.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling