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pricegouge · 2 months ago

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cw: fat femme reader. shitty tinder dates. alcohol mentioned but not consumed. that's it. written on my lunch break and unedited so mind the mess

divider by @/cafekitsune | taglist @pricegouged

You're on your second drink when you swear off dating apps altogether.

Dylan - fine, normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dylan - had exposed himself fairly early as too fine and normal, and therefore boring, which wouldn't have been too big a problem if he hadn't also been leaning further and further into the asshole category with each passing minute.

The snide little comment about your weight would be enough to send you packing early under any normal circumstances, except you'd been an idiot who'd let him pick you up so you needed a ride home, and why pay for an Uber when you can be mean right back?

It takes you a moment to arrive at that conclusion, though, stopping mid sip of your water to arch your eyebrows at this pathetic little thing before you with enough force to have him backpedaling. You watch him flounder for a moment, considering your options, not listening at all as he tries to clarify that he's 'into it, though - big girls, that is'.

You roll your eyes away from him, pretend to watch the highlight reel of last night's match from where it plays on the outdated CRT in the corner. It's not even a good place for a date, really, a self-serve popcorn machine in the corner offering pre-fingered snacks and a low liquor shelf behind the bar suggesting you'd best be thirsty for something with no more than three ingredients. You're not exactly the snooty type, but you suddenly realize you should maybe learn to know your worth better because you cannot ever sit across the table from someone who's read The Game ever again. One more time might kill you, funeral expenses legally billable to Neil Strauss and everything.

Except your new standards will have to be enacted in the morning because you suddenly refuse to spend a fucking dime on this terrible outing.

Dylan still looks slightly panicked when you turn back to him with a shy little affected smile and a demure batting of your eyelashes. You watch in real time as his expression shifts from pure panic at a gamble ventured and lost, to surprised delight when he thinks it's paying off. You let him keep thinking that, draw quiet and reserved the more dinner draws on though jokes on you there, because that just means you have to hear him talk more and it's a struggle to pretend you don't find the damn coasters more interesting than him at this point.

(They're cardboard and growing waterlogged from condensation, the local brewery's logo becoming easily peelable. It's become your mission to get a clean pull by the end of his long winded ramble, though he's so invested in hearing himself talk that you surpass your goal twice, peeling both the front and back off the coaster and sticking the limp paper to your glass, pressing out air bubbles with your fingers like you're carefully applying proper labeling. He doesn't stop talking until your glass is labeled front and back, real professional.)

When he asks if you're ready to go you perk up like a dog hearing its favorite word. You wanna go for a ride? Hm? You ready to go home, girl? Your nod is bobble-headed, eager. You let him misread it because you're an asshole and because you did say in your profile that you weren't looking for hookups so really it's his own fault if he blue balls himself.

The ride back is short, easy. You don't know if it's better or worse that he doesn't bother flirting with you here or test your expectations with a cheeky little hand on your thigh. Instead, his grip remains carefully at ten and two and you're grateful he's not touching you, really, but you know what he expects from you in a matter of mere moments, hours, whatever, and it pisses you off that he doesn't even bother warming you up to the idea by grabbing a feel of those 'big thighs' he's 'into.' So you let yourself stew, fuel for the fire, and you fiddle with his heat controls just because you can.

If he was so dead set on ending this night all hot and wet, you could help him with that at least.

Sweat beads at Dylan's temple when he pulls into the intricate webbing of drives which make up your apartment complex. It's a nice enough place, one you can only afford with the help of one too many roommates. The steep rent is worth it though for nights like tonight, when apprehension begins to pool in your belly as you try to steel yourself for the small confrontation you're about to initiate. Dylan may have been a little weasel but he wasn't exactly contentious so you're not expecting anything too major to come of this, but it's reassuring to see so many people still out and about enjoying the cool fall evening. It's still fairly early, mothers only just heading back from the park with their double wide buggies taking up half the drive. They shoot Dylan ugly looks as he passes, just a hair too fast for their unofficial neighborhood watch. At least you know they'll be on your side if he really starts to act up.

Dylan does not need reminding which specific branches lead to your building, rolling to a stop next to your own car which you try not to look at with any familiarity. You may have already made the mistake of giving him your address, but every morsel of information he might glean about you now feels like a theft, and even what you had for breakfast is suddenly a dark secret you'd like to keep from him for no real reason.

It's hard looking at Dylan now too, the shyness you'd been playing up before all of a sudden a very real obstacle as your eyes wander your building's facade, as if even you aren't certain which bay window is yours. Your lights are all off, you note with some annoyance, your roommates not home despite the fact they said they would be.

'Up all night waiting for you,' Carren had winked, her big cheeky smile something you've never had cause to mistrust before. You gotta work on your naivete.

Your eyes keep moving, resolved not to give away even your apartment number by being too obvious. They catch on the patio next door, however, when you spot your neighbor Kyle sitting on his Adirondack chair, smoking a cigarette as he watches this new car pointedly, doing nothing to hide his curiosity.

If you had been smart you would've told Dylan to pick you up a few buildings down so he wouldn't even have the proper section, but the relief you feel at seeing your sweet, hot, extremely fit neighbor outside playing guard dog more than makes up for your mistake. So much so that your fingers don't falter when they find the handle, emergency release ready to be disengaged. You turn back to Dylan with a too-sweet smile and thank him for dinner again, already leaning out the door when he stutters something about having a good time.

"Yeah, me too," you call over your shoulder, beelining it for Kyle's patio because you've had enough drinks in that vacant chair across from him to know you're always welcome, especially in a situation like this. Sure enough, Kyle perks up when he sees it's you climbing out of the strange car, and then furrows his brow over your shoulder when you hear Dylan climbing out after you. Some snivelly little creature you've been trying to kill since you turned eighteen holds the reins when you turn back to him despite your better instincts, your need to avoid a scene outweighing everything else in that moment.

Your date's facade is visibly crumbling now, his frustration obvious in the set of his jaw and the sweat at his temples. You wonder if perhaps the thermostat had been a bit much and then immediately decide you don't care when he stammers something about maybe coming in for a glass of something nicer than what the restaurant had to offer.

Presumptuous. "I don't," you blurt, only continuing when he blinks at you in confusion, "drink anything nice, that is." Across the lawn, you think you hear Kyle snort.

"Uh… coffee?" Dylan asks, just as stubborn as you.

"Gave up caffeine," you lie, trying not to think about the lovely mocha creation Kyle will likely offer you momentarily when you tell him you've got a splitting headache.

To his credit, Dylan doesn't quite pout. "Right. Well. Do this again sometime?"

And you're already on a roll with the lies so you just carry right on with them, chirping out a high, "Sure!" before trying to turn on your heel.

But you're out of niceties when a firm grip on your shoulder keeps you in place, Dylan's scraggly mustache looming into your space as you watch his lips pucker in horror.

"Oh I'm good, thanks!" you squeak, yanking yourself out of his grip. A laugh bubbles out of you afterward, uncomfortable but still amused by your own reaction. Your satisfaction only grows when Dylan begins to look genuinely pissy. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid but you're past the point of caring.

"Is that it, then?" Dylan huffs, taking a daring step forward.

You slide back, lock step. "'Fraid so."

"Even after I bought you dinner?"

"And made me feel bad about eating it?" You scoff. "Yeah."

"I drove all the way out from -."

"What's all this?"

You're not sure who jumps more at Kyle's sudden appearance. He hovers by your shoulder, a silent type of fury pulling at his pretty face. You forget sometimes he's military, his general geniality always setting you at ease. It makes this new version of him all the more frightening, a lethal force sitting pretty at your side.

This is what makes the rent worth it, honestly.

"Kyle, this is Dylan. My date for the night."

Kyle hums, clearly unconcerned with the specifics. "Well, night's over."

You smirk up at where the sun still lingers over the horizon, pale behind its cloudy cover but present all the same. "Indeed."

"Piss off, mate," Dylan tries, his voice sterner than you'd originally given him credit for.

You raise your brow at him but Kyle doesn't even bother. He turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners, much too tight to be natural. "Luvie, will you go get us some drinks? Sliding door's unlocked."

Part of you rankles at the dismissal, but a bigger part of you does indeed want to be done with this horrible man so you nod, wave a sarcastic two finger salute at Dylan and finally make your way back across the lawn, slipping into Kyle's warm and cozy apartment with a sigh of relief.

For all the friendly patio drinks you've had with him since moving in, you've never actually stepped foot in Kyle's place. You take a moment to admire it, noting the cleanliness and a tidiness which undeniably spoke of a military career. Still, small concessions to his personality dotted the walls and surfaces. A fresh laundry scented candle, a stack of blu-rays, framed pictures of people you've never met all grinning happily. You spot Kyle's same smile reflected back at you from all these different faces, his entire family evidently blessed with that thousand watt grin and you wonder how one camera could sustain all those lumens being beamed at it.

The layout matches yours, simply reflected. You find the kitchen easily, again noting the cleanliness with a nod of approval. Someday he'd retire and settle down, make someone extremely happy. You could only hope you would be long gone by then because the jealousy might truly drive you to desperate measures. Like taking Tinder back up again, for example. The notion draws you to the kitchen window, quest for beverages all but forgotten when you see Kyle leaning over Dylan's shoulder as the latter man flips through his phone. You frown in confusion, drawing closer to the window as Kyle reaches out and starts poking around your date's phone on his own. It's cracked open, crisp fall breeze whistling through. It drowns out the noise of the conversation but you try anyway, ears straining for any word whispered between the two. A moment passes, another. Dylan becomes increasingly agitated while Kyle stays the picture of controlled severity. You don't hear either of them at all until Kyle's eyes dart to the apartment, finding yours instantly. You gulp, feeling as if you've been caught despite not actually doing anything wrong anyway, and suddenly Kyle's veneer breaks like a thunder cloud. He claps Dylan on the shoulder heavily, turning his beaming smile on the smaller man and calling him a good lad.

Dylan mutters something indiscernible and turns back towards his car, resolutely ignoring as Kyle calls out overly friendly farewells. The engine rips to life, a low growl which suggests it's in dire need of an oil change. Still, it bravely fires up and carries Dylan away, Kyle turning back to you with a roll of his eyes which seemed to say 'this fuckin' guy.'

You grin at him, rolling your eyes right back before ducking your head, suddenly bashful under your neighbor's full attention. Drinks forgotten, you meet him at the door and thank him profusely, ignoring the way he tries to wave it off as if it was nothing,

"No, seriously, Kyle, that was very much appreciated. Probably not necessary but appreciated anyway. Please let me know if there's ever a way I can make it up to you."

And now Kyle's smirk is salacious. Great. "Well, you can join me for that drink I requested to start," he laughs, waving you back into his apartment. "Then you can tell me what you were doing on a date with a guy like that."

"Hm," you hum, already given in but thinking of how you can get what you want out of him first. Your scheming has already worked out so well for you tonight, after all. "Sure, but first you gotta tell me what you were doing on his phone."

He doesn't even miss a beat. "No can do. Top secret stuff."

"Oh," you scoff, allowing yourself to be corralled toward the couch. It's surprisingly soft, instantly cocooning you the moment you slump into it. A woven blanket hangs over the back of it which you wonder if Kyle would mind you using, if he'd get a kick out of returning from the kitchen to find you curled up like you owned the place. Probably, he wouldn't because he's much too nice to you always. "Potential terrorist threat was he?"

"He did fit the profile," Kyle calls back from the kitchen.

You laugh, decide if he's allowed to call your date a terrorist then you're definitely allowed to use his blanket. His fault for leaving the window open on such a cold day. As expected, Kyle seems completely unbothered when he returns moments later, your favorite mocha monstrosity in one hand and his standard plain, sweetened coffee in the other. He holds your drink out of your reach teasingly however until you admit you'd met Dylan on a dating app and he tuts, relenting your drink to you almost as an apology for what you've had to go through.

"Why are you even on those things?" he asks, slurping at his coffee noisily. It's a funny habit of his, one he somehow manages to make endearing.

Though, looking like that, you imagine he could probably make booger picking endearing.

"Well, Kyle, some of us aren't quite as naturally charming as you."

He smirks, doesn't bother to deny it. Cocky asshole. "Don't sell yourself short, I'm sure plenty of men would love to have their blankets stolen by you." He winks, hand reaching out to pluck at the weave which drapes over your shoulder. His hand lingers there, warm even through the layers, and your laugh dies in your throat, comes out as a strangled scoff.

"Well. Keep it a little warmer in here and your guests wouldn't have to make themselves at home uninvited."

Kyle's smile is softer this time, dangerously handsome. "You're always invited, pet."

And try as you might to be witty, you can't quite come up with a response to that. Kyle doesn't seem to need one, though, slurping at his coffee as he settles in, far too close. The hand which had been at your shoulder settles lower, palm warm where he kneads at your thick thigh experimentally. You'd laugh at the irony if your brain wasn't too busy turning somersaults trying to make sense of what's happening. Surely your neighbor Kyle - sexy, sharp, nice Kyle - isn't coming onto you.

Right?

But then he's leaning forward and placing his mug on the table, his thick fingers guiding your own mug to your mouth for a quick, stunned sip before pulling it away again and placing it next to his own. He's facing you now, full on, his big dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

"I was making him delete all your contact info. Earlier. And then I made him deactivate his account," Kyle laughs, an infectious thing which gets you giggling too.

"Not willing to subject other girls to him?"

"I don't take chances," Kyle confirms, voice solemn as a vow. "But what about you, pet? What do I gotta do to convince you to delete yours?"

Given you'd already planned on deleting it, you should really just tell him you've already learned your lesson and there's no need to do anything at all. But your scheming has only yielded a fifty percent success rate tonight and you'd rather go for broke than break even so you just smile, wondering if Kyle saw your no-hookups stipulation on your profile before making Dylan unmatch earlier.

You hope not.

"I don't know, it might take a lot of convincing."

#kyle x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #alcohol cw

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livelaughpeg · 3 months ago

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I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

#neil gaiman #jeff vandermeer #twitter

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theonewiththefanfics · 11 months ago

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Love Conquers All (one-shot)

Synopsys: The wedding is finally afoot. Astarion and his love have fought for it tooth and nail, but could there be more to life after happily-ever-after?

Set after the main events of BG3 This is a follow up to Homecoming (one-shot). Would probably advise reading it beforehand :)

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe a bit of angst, insecure Astarion, but just pure teeth-rotting fluff

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of SA

Word count: 8875

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Astarion knew ever since he met Y/N, she was the only one he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. They had gone through hells and back for one another, quite literally going head-to-head with a devil. They’d fought for their happily ever after tooth and nail, and now, the biggest day of their lives (yet) was here.

The vampire spawn woke up from his trance jittery and excited for what was to come. It had been ages since he’d felt this way, such joy while looking forward to what the day had installed for him because he was finally going to marry the love of his life.

Their day would be perfect, Astarion had done everything to ensure it. He’d taken to wedding planning like a cat to cream, making sure that once their day arrived, even the smallest detail would be flawless.

It had taken them two years to settle on a time of the year, let alone a date, but that had given him enough time to grow the flowers for the arrangements that now decorated their house, fussing with them like one would with a child (and sometimes threatening a certain rose if it didn’t grow the way he wanted it to). He even invertedly created a couple of new variates in the process, but those were specifically relegated as the flowers Y/N would weave in her hair for the ceremony.

He had even meticulously studied cookery books, having his parents along with his love be his taste testers, seeing he couldn’t really enjoy eating human food, but he’d be damned if something disgusting would be served in his house, no less on his wedding day. Unless it had a ten out of ten approval from everyone involved, Astarion scrapped the recipe and started over. He was fairly certain the caterers hated him because he’d made them prepare the food before and until they got it absolutely right, he was on their asses day and night.

But if he had to pick a favourite process throughout all the planning, it was when Y/N had come to him late one night as he burrowed himself in his sowing room and requested, that he design and make her wedding dress. Astarion almost got down on his knees in reverence as she looked at him with such tender eyes. And, well, let’s just say – during fittings, his hands might’ve skimmed the inside of her thighs on more than one occasion, and his head might’ve slipped below the skirt to taste between her legs, wholly unprofessional.

Oh, and that dream of a house with a grand library, where shelves of books stretched from one corner to the other, and a large ballroom to host parties until daylight broke – no longer was it a simple dream, but rather his reality. Not only that, he could hear people fussing all across the house as hired staff prepared final details and decorations for the ceremony.

The new house, or let’s be honest, the manor, Astarion and Y/N lived in, had not come easy though. He’d pretty much brought his lover to the end of her wits when they’d gone on the search for their dream home. In the end, it boiled down to her threatening to make them live in the forest like Halsin, sleeping on the hard ground, if he didn’t come to a decision.

Astarion was aghast at the suggestion, crossing his arms and pouting hard. “Why are you so upset about this?” He couldn’t understand what the big issue was with him being so picky. “We’re looking for the place to start our new lives in! It has to be no less than absolute excellence! Do you not want that?”

“Of course, I do!” Y/N rolled her eyes, putting her half-drunk wine glass on the bedside table and shifting her body to completely face him. “But nothing is perfect in this world, Star.”

When he narrowed his scarlet gaze at her, she huffed and shifted to sit on her knees, cupping his face between her palms. “Nothing in life is without its flaws, but that’s the beauty of it all. It gives us a chance to grow and change. And it’s the same with a house. Floors are fixable. Sofas and divans can be reupholstered. Walls can be repainted, those dilapidated wallpapers ripped off, hells we can knock the wall down if we want to… but we will never find our perfect home if we don’t put the work in and make it ourselves.”

Y/N’s soft thumb ventured up to smooth out the grumpy lines that had appeared on Astarion’s forehead. “If you want perfect, you have to do the work to make it so. Because that last house we saw, the one you said could be ours, if it didn’t have those stains on the table or that feeling wallpaper or the hole in the roof that needs fixing – that was someone else’s perfect home because they made it that way.”

Astarion scrunched his nose. “Did a shitty job, that’s for sure.”

If Y/N could roll her eyes any harder, he was sure they’d get stuck in the back of the skull like that. “My point is, we have to make it that way. Yes, the whole process will be long and tedious and I’m fairly certain, there will be moments where we want to kill each other, because, gods forbid, I want the blackout curtains to be emerald not burgundy. But none of that will matter because it will be ours… what can be more perfect than that?”

The vampire always had a comment on the tip of his tongue, he always had a sarcastic remark or some sort of critique to offer, but to this, he had nothing to reply, as he pondered the words.

Y/N tilted her head, a smile blooming on her lovely mouth. “I know you want everything to be exactly how you see it in your head, right from the very start. I know you don’t want to fight anymore, and gods, my love, you don’t deserve to fight for anything, but this isn’t it… this is change. And I think you’re more scared than annoyed at all the little things that might need mending.”

Astarion averted his gaze, looking past Y/N and to the window, the bright light of the moon illuminating the woods beyond. From the corner of the eye, he could see her engagement ring, the ruby glinting like a star in the sky. A finger brushed over his brow, soothing him. “I think you’re nervous to go after what you want, so you’re trying to find any possible reason as to why every house we’ve viewed has had something unfixable to it.”

Closing his eyes, Astarion leaned into her touch. “I hate it when you can see through me like that.” He hated to admit it. It felt like some sort of weakness to be seen so clearly, but he also knew Y/N would never judge him for his fears. But it was still hard to voice them. “I just – I’m scared it will be different.”

“It will be.” She shrugged. “But different doesn’t mean it’ll be bad.”

He didn’t seem convinced though as his mind and attention drifted off, and she had to tilt his chin towards her, a kiss to his forehead bringing him back into the moment. “My Star, we can always stay right where we are. I love this house. And as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we make our home.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, my love,” Astarion let out an undignified scoff. “As darling as this place is, I still want that library. And, well, maybe a tailoring room would be lovely. And I can’t say I would be opposed to a walk-in closet, instead of that little dresser we have now.”

More and more his lips turned into a smile and his gaze lightened as they went on until the morning dawned, talking and mapping out what their perfect abode would be like. They talked about the colours of the walls, where they’d like to hang paintings and how many mattresses their bed should have. Astarion insisted on at least three, so it would feel like resting on a cloud. Y/N thought it was a bit ridiculous, but if that was what he wanted, it’s what he would get. As long as he promised her to have separate duvets, the cover hog that he was.

They settled on a manor near the city, but far enough from the crowds to still keep some sort of privacy. She had been right about the restorations being long and mind-numbingly taxing and took them over a year and a half to return the manor to its former glory. All of their funds sank into it, and as Y/N had also warned – there came a moment where it seemed like they would rip one another’s heads off, having to spend a night in separate rooms. But now they got to relish in the fruits of their labour as the ballroom Astarion had manifested was being transformed into their wedding chapel.

He lazily stretched out his limbs, curling around his still-sleeping love. If he’d had a tail, the cat that he was, he would weave it over Y/N’s middle and curl it, trying to pull her closer if possible.

The woman grumbled something unintelligible, tightening the hold she had on one of the four pillows she had.

“Good morning, my wife. Our big day is here. Time to get up.” Gently, he brushed strands of wild hair from her face, placing them behind her ear, to which he leaned down and gave a playful nibble. To Astarion’s delight, he felt a shiver run down her spine, her toes curling against where she’d pressed them to his calf.

“Not your wife yet,” Y/N grumped, turning so that she could hide her face in the crook of his neck, tickling the sensitive skin there with warm puffs of breath. “And your bride needs her beauty sleep unless you wish for her to look like a troll at the altar. Didn’t give me much of it last night.”

A wicked grin formed on his mouth, one incisor lightly biting on her earlobe. “I didn’t hear you complaining though. In fact, I didn’t hear you say anything but my name.”

Teasing fingers brushed against her ribs and the underside of her breasts, a breath hitching in Y/N’s chest. When he splayed his hand against her stomach, she hummed in pleasure, the sound reverberating through his chest and seeping into his bones.

Her own palms moved from hugging Astarion’s side to his back, nails softly scratching up and down the skin there – so very tenderly over the scars, but with a bit of a bite right above his rear. If he could purr, he would be, but alas, he just moaned and melted like an icicle in the sun.

It was almost tempting to just stay in the bed like that, twining together and just relishing in one another’s touch.

“When are your parents getting here?” Y/N yawned and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Your mother promised to help me with the dress and hair.”

“Right as the sun goes down. We should have plenty of time before the moon is high.”

They had decided on a night-time wedding, so the following celebrations could be moved outside into the lavish gardens Astarion had so lovingly created. He may not be able to walk in the sun anymore, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy at least the moonlight. Besides, daytime weddings were so casual, and he was anything but.

He rested his palm in between Y/N’s breasts, but he just kept it there, didn’t try and stray any further. He simply wanted to feel how her heart beat against his palm, the rhythm a steadying and grounding feeling, and it somewhat calmed his fluttery nerves.

“Then we have a few more hours to sleep,” came Y/N’s slurred response as she hitched a leg over his naked hip, but she didn’t try to go any further either. “And you are not getting out of this bed, my personal pillow.”

Astarion smiled at her words and kissed her forehead. He’d been smiling an awful lot since he met her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

And even though he itched to go downstairs and supervise every single thing, he allowed the peace that came with being next to Y/N to settle over him as well. It was their day. His day. And starting it off with his little human sweetheart wrapped around him like a vine, keeping him close to her, was nothing short of wonderful.

At some point, she did fall asleep again, Astarion’s movements as his deft fingers massaged the back of her head, lulling her to dreamland. His mind drifted a bit but remained more alert than when he tranced, wandering to how exactly he’d gotten to a moment where in just a few little hours he’d become someone’s husband.

Not only did he have Y/N, but he had his parents to relish in the moment with. He had friends, something that was competently out of the question for two hundred years, and all of them would be arriving to witness the most joyous day of his life. Him! With friends! He even had a true sister, something that’d surprised even him.

That had come about when Astarion had ventured into the Underdark once and reconnected with Darylia. At first, he’d thought there would be too much bad blood between them, no pun intended. It’s why he’d strayed away from the region after he’d freed the rest of the seven thousand spawn from Cazador. Too many painful memories bound them, but instead of admonishments, he found comfort.

He’d bumped into Dalyria at a tavern as he was tracking down an artefact. Astarion was nothing short of astonished when she invited him to a tavern for a drink. The conversation was awkward at first, but as they talked more and more, she seemed to be actually happy for him as he confirmed he was still with Y/N, had a little house by the forest to call their own and spent his days keeping in touch with the party that’d formed during the tadpole adventure while trying to get a sowing business off the ground. She was even more ecstatic to hear when Astarion announced he was engaged.

Dal had a wistful smile on her face. “I would be a liar if I said I didn’t envy you, but… you deserve it. All that happiness… after what Cazador put you through, you deserve all that’s good.”

He didn’t want to, but a ball formed in his throat at her words. “Cazador wasn’t kind to any of us.”

“No,” she mussed. “But you did free us from him. And when you had the chance to take his power for yourself, to become the most powerful vampire in existence, you didn’t. You allowed us to go out there and regain the years we lost under his control. To make our own lives. For that, you deserve only the best.”

A snort escaped him as he swirled the remains of his wine. “Y/N would say not committing mass murder is quite a low bar, if that’s why I’m worthy of happiness.”

“Maybe, but no one would fault you had you gone for it.”

“Maybe…” Astarion pondered. “But I would not have been worthy of Y/N, then. That is for sure.”

Dalyria clinked her glass of blood against his before emptying it, and he was glad he had not been drinking himself as he sure would have choked on the drink. “Will you teach me how to find love? I – I think I’d like to find what you two have. Become… worthy of having it.”

Astarion didn’t know how to respond, but ultimately said he could only try, yet unless the change came from within, there wasn’t much he could do. And the hardest part wouldn’t be learning how to find love, but learning how to love oneself. Only then you could learn how to love others.

“Seems awfully tedious,” Dalyria’s brow had furrowed.

He chuckled and nodded. “It is. But I’ve learned, as much as it can be boring, it’s worth it in the end.”

It had taken time for the vampire to start the process of self-acceptance and processing the trauma, but Astarion was right there by her side, and now, she would be by his, a partner of her own next to her, a human at that, as he tied the knot.

Y/N’s nose scrunched in her sleep as their blissful moment was interrupted by a bell chiming through the house. She grabbed a pillow and smushed it over her head hitting him in the face in the process. “We should’ve eloped.”

“My love, you know as well as I do, our dear friends would’ve hunted us down like prey and dragged us before an altar by the ears. And honestly – I would help them with that.”

When they had rolled out the announcement of their engagement, Astarion’s mother helping them write beautiful little cards to send to their party most had actually shown up to congratulate them in person.

Karlach had been the first one to arrive, banging on the door to let her in, seemingly bursting with excitement. “If my engine wasn’t fixed, I think I would have levelled a whole block when I got the card!” She jumped up and down as she smothered them in a hug.

The second the Tiefling reluctantly released Y/N and Astarion from her grasp, Shadowheart appeared, a bit more subdued in the way she showed her happiness, but still very much so thrilled. She’d even brought along a bottle of wine, as such an event had to be celebrated.

Gale along with Tara teleported right into the living from straight from Waterdeep, a chest of tomes with him, a gift for the library Astarion wanted.

“I even cancelled today’s lectures, and my students were so delighted, they also got you something.” He extended a smaller box, a gorgeous set of feather pens inside. “A thanks for the day off and congratulations on the engagement.”

Wyll, now Grand Duke, joined the festivities right as the sun started its descent.

“I would’ve come sooner, but duties call.”

“Ever the honourable man.” Astarion hugged the once Blade of Frontiers. “I’m lucky Y/N doesn’t care much for honour, otherwise I would be fighting a losing battle.”

“It’s all the blood loss,” she chimed in, hugging Wyll as he congratulated her. “Questionable decisions are not uncommon when oxygen is depleted in the blood.”

Her vampiric love pointed a finger at her. “Well, there are no takebacks, so deal with it.”

Oh, how far he’d come such jokes didn’t sting, and instead he could laugh at them because he knew she wouldn’t leave him. It was certainly not something he ever had to fear.

Halsin and Lae’Zel were last to join Dalyria accompanying them as the night settled, completing their little group.

They spent hours drinking and laughing, enjoying red drinks, some wine, and some other ethically sourced, of course, substances as they lounged by the fireplace.

“So, when will the actual wedding be?” Gale asked as he stretched over a loveseat, Tara having claimed his lap as a napping spot, her purrs echoing through the room. “I would be more than happy, and well, my students most definitely, to cancel the exams for it. Such an affair cannot be missed. Two heroes of Baldur’s Gate wedding each other.”

Wyll pointed a finger at the wizard. “You know, you are onto something. I might just have to make it a day of celebration in the city!”

“Actually…” Y/N shifted next to Astarion. “We were thinking of just going to a magistrate and signing the papers as soon as possible. Nothing grand really.”

A stunned silence settled before Dalyria snapped her gaze toward her brother. “You must be joking,” she deadpanned. “Astarion, I think you might need to lay off feeding from her for a while.”

“Y/N was thinking that,” he rolled his eyes at the outburst. “I disagree.” Turning on his best pout, the vampire glanced at the woman pressed to his side. “You would so willingly deprive me of seeing you in a wedding dress like it isn’t the most important day of our lives. I, for one, wish for this to be my only wedding, yet you break my heart into pieces with your words.”

Lae’Zel let out her signature “t’chk” of disapproval at Y/N’s amused huff. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but the spawns are right. A ceremony must be held. None of this magistrate nonsense, but a real, proper ceremony.”

“You all just want a party.” The Y/H/C-haired woman crossed her arms over her chest.

Halsin boomed a chuckle. “Well, we will not say no to the one a wedding comes with. But if you do not wish to have your dearest companions, people who love you most in the world, to be next to you on such an important day, that is completely dine. It is your wedding after all.”

“Oh, come on!” Y/N threw her hands up with a laugh. “That is so unfair! I mean, I just don’t care for the pageantry of it all.”

“Sweetheart, you are marrying the most pompous man to walk this earth. No offense, Astarion.” Shadowheart looked at the elf, but he simply shrugged, as it was true. “And you mean to tell me there will be no grand display of love?”

Her lover nodded at the cleric’s words, batting his lashes at Y/N. “Besides, would you truly be so cruel, that you’d deny my parents such a day? After everything they’ve gone through.”

“Alright, now you’re just blatantly blackmailing me.” She gave him a humour-filled look.

Astarion put a hand on his chest in mock outrage. “Blackmail my darling intended? I would never! However, if I were, I would also mention that the ring on your finger did belong to my mother, who so lovingly passed it onto you, saying she wished for you to wear it when she saw you next. You know, just a little information, to tug on your heartstrings.”

And tug at her heartstrings it did, as Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes widened, no doubt mind whirling from the statement.

“This is your mother’s ring?” She looked down at the piece of jewellery like it was the most precious thing in the world. “You didn’t tell me that.”

He didn’t intend for her to cry, but he wiped at her cheeks as a couple of tears rolled down her face. “She gave it to me the night we went to see my parents for the first time. I was already preparing to do it, but it just gave me the final push I needed to actually ask you. Even though I technically never did ask.” Astarion nudged her side, and Y/N snorted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“Wait, hold on.” Dal leaned forward, a scrutinous gaze turned towards the elf. “What do you mean he never asked the bloody question? First no wedding, now no proper proposal?”

Karlach though seemed to have other more pressing thoughts in her head. “Holy shit, Fangs, you robbed your mother’s grave!? I mean that is messed up even for you!”

“Rewind.” Gale swirled a finger in the air. “You have a mother?”

All these questions and statements were said one over the other as the room exploded into a full-blown interrogation, everyone flinging queries their way. It took Astarion and Y/N about an hour to respond and tell the full story, but not before they stopped laughing.

At that moment though, Astarion clad in his silk pyjama set, the face greeting him was so full of delight, Karalch shone brighter than the set sun.

“I feel like I could just burst!” The tiefling hugged him, and he responded in kind. It’d become one of his favourite physical ways to show and receive affection. “But where is the wife-to-be herself?”

“Still in bed. You know Y/N and mornings, well, nights I guess, do not mix.”

“Ah, yes,” a male voice agreed and Karlach stepped aside to allow Wyll to enter. “You know, there were moments during our adventure when I genuinely thought our fearless leader would be the one to end us. Remember that time Gale woke her up before dawn because he needed an artefact to consume? His poor eyebrows.” The Grand Duke shook his head. “Honestly thought it might’ve very well have been the last moments of our dear wizard.”

“And yet, it wasn’t!” As if summoned, the Wizard of Waterdeep himself poofed into existence in the foyer. “I live to see yet another day where I can bless my friends with my presence. Eyebrows intact this time.”

Astarion couldn’t control the eye roll as it was almost reflexive when it came to Professor Gale Dekarios, but he couldn’t deny the happiness rushing through his veins seeing the man. If he ever saw Mystra in the mortal plane, she’d better start praying to a god herself, for what he put his friend through.

“It was… quite the look, I have to say,” Lae’Zel commented as she entered the house, joining their group. It seemed like they had a tendency to appear in the same places at the same time even without scheduling such a thing. “But do not attempt to upstage the bride, Gale. Astarion will already be doing his best. Though if these are your chosen clothes,” she gave him a onceover. “I believe Y/N has absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”

Astarion scoffed. “This is handwoven silk.”

“That is poor excuse for wedding attire.” Shadowheart appeared behind them all. “For once we agree, Lae’Zel, so enough with the chitchatting. A wedding needs to happen, and you need to get dressed.”

The only reason he’d decided to put on some clothes was because the thought of his parents walking in on him naked, was enough to pull out all the stashed winter attire and cover himself up so much nothing but his nose would be showing. Now though, Astarion almost wanted to rip them off just to spite the gathered crowd but abstained.

Before he did scamper off, he showed where they could go and mingle while he checked on the final details, especially how the ballroom was looking, and he had to admit, the drow in charge of decorations had turned it into something from a fairy tale.

The room had high windows, all the shutters open to let in the pale light of the moon garlands hanging from the ceiling and walls, the many mirrors on the sides, giving an effect that the room was larger than it truly was, creating an illiusion of a forest inside their home. At the very end between two columns of chairs was the altar where Shadowheart would officiate, two golden cups already placed on a velvet pillow.

There was hired staff in the gardens where food and drinks were being handed out.

Astarion took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. Everything was going to be just fine. He had promised as much to Y/N. This nervousness had been one of the reasons he’d wanted to take on the whole wedding affair onto himself.

“I don’t want you to lift a single finger.” Astarion had brushed his nose against Y/N’s cheek after it was settled a full-blown wedding was happening and their friends had dispersed, leaving the two lovebirds on their own. “Just leave it all to me.”

“I mean, I can’t do that,” she exasperated. “It’s our day. We both should be involved. I won’t put such an event all on your shoulders.”

“But I want you to! Listen to me – me getting to order others around as they have to bend our every wish and whim, while all you have to do is nod for yes, and shake your head for no – sounds like a great time to me.”

“Sounds very unfair to you.” Y/N was still sceptical frowning hard at Astarion’s proposition.

“Look,” he sighed, taking her hand in his. “Let me do this for you. For us. You saved me back when I thought I was beyond it. I fully believed I was relegated to nothing but a life of pain and darkness and then… you showed up. You helped me through so many horrors, held me when it felt like the walls were pressing in… I would not have been able to do so without you. So please… let me make this day something you can enjoy and not have to worry about. I am very convincing when I set my eyes on something I want.”

And when he pulled his puppy dog eyes on her, Astairon knew he had her right where he wanted. Y/N could never resist him when his eyes got all soft and round. He could practically see her resolve melting then and there like fresh-fallen snow.

“Alright,” she conceded, and with a passionate kiss against her lips, he pulled her to sit in his lap. “But if it becomes too much, you have to promise to ask me for help.”

“I swear it.” Astarion pecked her lips once more, and though he had no intentions of letting her lift a finger, he was truthful when making such a vow. With Y/N, he’d learned it wasn’t a crime or sign of weakness to request aid.

He left the door open, surely more guests would be arriving, but before he could disappear, two more frames rushed up the steps, his mother and father practically beaming with pride as they saw him.

“I think your druid friend is also on the way,” his mother said, pressing a light kiss to Astarion’s cheek and pulling him in for a hug. “But he stopped to pet a flock of sheep along the way.”

The vampire snorted. “Well, we can only hope Halsin actually arrives for the ceremony on time. Or doesn’t bring the lambs as guests… appetizers though.”

She gave him an amused smile, before squeezing his hand. “I’ll just go and say hello to that wizard of yours. I think I saw him walking somewhere in the gardens and then I’ll be right up with Y/N. Has the sleeping beauty awoken yet?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, frowning. It was a well-known fact his love was a notorious sleepyhead, but that was not his reason for watching with a grimace how his mother practically skipped to the terrace in search of Gale.

“How does she know him?” he directed the question at the male elf standing beside him.

His father sighed, looking at his wife as she disappeared behind the corner, but not before she made sure she looked good, fluffing up her hair in the mirror before the grand entrance to their house. “She’s been quite obsessed with his cookbook. Just be glad she didn’t bring it along for an autograph. But enough of that. You need to get dressed, my Star. The moon is almost nigh.”

All other thoughts vanished from Astarion’s head as he noted how the white orb was pretty much at its peak, and the notion of getting married suddenly became a tangible thing. In just a few hours, under the pale light, he would vow to protect and cherish Y/N, they’d fill one another’s cups and drink, before tying strands of magical gold around one another’s fingers as a symbol of their unity in the ancient elven traditions. Astarion was about to become a husband with Y/N as his wife. If his heart had still beaten, it would’ve been jumping out of his chest.

“Did you feel like this as well when you married Mother?” the vampire’s hand shook as he entered the sowing room he’d claimed as his dressing room for the day. A naked mannequin stood at the corner. It’d born Y/N’s dress which was now surely being slid onto her frame, perfectly fitting against her body, and it was just another reminder of what was to come.

His father closed the door, going over to a suit that was hanging on another mannequin and slipped it off, laying it gently onto a settee. “Like what, Star?”

“Like unless in twenty seconds this whole thing is over, you’ll pass out.”

The deep chuckle the older elf let out was like a reassuring hug, somewhat calming Astarion. “Yes. Very much so. Add onto that wanting to throw up and black spots across my vision, I was pretty much hopeless. But then I was by the altar waiting for your mother, and when she appeared… nothing else mattered. It’s just the waiting that’s horrible.”

“Gods, maybe Y/N was right,” Astarion breathed out, sitting down by his tailoring table, head in his hands. “We should have definitely eloped. I mean it’s not normal to feel this way, is it?”

“Dear Star, it might have taken us two hundred years to find you, and we’ve only been lucky enough to have you back for two, but make no mistake,” his father deadpanned. “Your mother is not above murder and physical restraint if needed.”

“Yes, I know, you kidnapped my bride,” Astarion said. “But, I mean, what if it’s not perfect?” He looked at the elf. Blue reassuring eyes stared back, but even the conviction he saw in them couldn’t quench the lingering fear. “What if she isn’t there? What if I’m left a fool standing by the altar and she does not come?”

Those last words were barely a whisper, shame running through his veins as he said them, but it had been something plaguing his nightmares for weeks on end – Y/N finally realising she deserved so much better and leaving him heartbroken.

When he awoke in a cold sweat and she asked what was wrong, Astarion wrote it off as having a bad dream about Cazador. In truth, he hadn’t dreamt of his master in a long time, his only fear being Y/N tossing him to the side for something better.

“Astarion,” his father said sternly, but not unkindly. “That woman has walked through literal hells for you. And taken on a devil, as you yourself have told us. I highly doubt now would be the moment she gets cold feet.”

Deep down in his heart, he knew the words rang true. Astarion remembered after having killed Cazador, how strongly the urge to Ascend took over. Such power right at the tips of his fingers, yet at the cost of seven thousand souls. But at that moment, he was willing to pay it. He’d never have to be afraid of anything anymore if he finished the ritual. All he needed was for someone to copy the runes on his back. He’d turned to Y/N, someone who he knew supported him, but to his shock, she refused.

Fury took him over. He’d thrown insults so vile it made bile rise in his throat nowadays when thinking back on it. Words wishing her a painful and slow demise, telling her he hoped she died screaming. Astarion had expected her to leave, yet as his mind had cleared, processing the grief and agony he was going through, she was there by his side.

Even though he didn’t deserve it, Y/N held him as he cried, and whispered comforting words when he could do nothing but slump over himself in physical and emotional exhaustion. She was there for him like an unmovable rock, that not even time or tide could erode.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion had begged that night for her forgiveness while she cradled him in her arms. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was – I was blinded by the power. By what I could be, what I could do… I – reality was no longer visible to me. And I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Y/N’s kiss was a balm to his wounds, especially those that no one else but her could see or soothe. “And I forgive you.”

Astarion’s father put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of the reminiscing. “She will be there because if there is one thing in this world I don’t doubt, it’s her love for you.”

He wrapped that thought around his heart. She would be there. Y/N would always be there for him. But first, he had to be the one to await her, so with his father’s help, he stood up and got ready.

After a year of getting reacquainted with his parents, he’d told them some of what Cazador had done. With Y/N holding his hand through it, he even felt brave enough to show his scars. There were a lot of tears and hugging, and much to his surprise, talks of resurrecting the vampire lord by his mother, just so she could drive a stake through his heart. And Y/N was very eager to agree.

His love had a vicious glint in her eye, and Astarion had to swallow his arousal as she leaned closer over the table where they’d been drinking afternoon tea and said, “I know how to skin a man and keep him alive the whole time.”

“Yes!” His mother accepted the idea immediately. “Let’s do that! My Star, how do we contact that Withers friend of yours?”

Honestly, the fact that Astarion was the one trying to quench their bloodlust and be the peacekeeper, for a moment, made him think he’d been thrown into some different universe. That was not how he expected the conversation over some tea and biscuits to go.

His father smoothed down the back of the white linen shirt and Astarion tucked it into the white trousers while the older elf helped with the cuffs, onyx squares glinting in the warm light of the candelabras. Looking down, he surveyed the intricate frock he’d slaved over days and nights.

It was matching a ivory to that of Y/N’s dress, the chest decorated with weavings of golden threads, much like what he’d sown across the bodice and through the hemlines of her gown. Astarion smiled, a gentle finger skimming over his work, knowing what the scribbles meant.

To the unknowing, it looked nothing more than a pattern of leaves and flowers, but to those who could read ancient elvish, the truth was laid bare. The idea had struck him late one night as he’d sketched Y/N’s dress. With the help of his parents, as his memory of what once used to be his mother tongue was not so good, he stitched into the fabric little love confessions.

Throughout her wedding attire, he’d sown the words of his undying love, of what she meant to him, and on his own jacket, he’d sown the promises he intended to keep as a husband, to always make sure she was safe and loved.

By the time he was tying the cravat, Astarion’s knees were shaking, and his father had to take over, tucking in the piece of cloth by his chest.

The vampire ran a quivering hand through his white hair. “So?” Gods, even his voice was trembling. How was he supposed to say his vows and not sound like a growing youth whose voice was on the verge of breaking? “How do I look?”

For a moment, his father didn’t say anything, just smoothed down the fabric over his shoulders. “Like a man ready to start the best chapter of his life.”

“Good.” Astarion nodded. “Because now I’m feeling that nausea you talked about.”

The older elf let out a warm laugh before nudging his chin towards the open window and when he looked over, he saw the moon shining bright in the sky, a smattering of millions of stars behind it. “It’s time, Star.”

With a shaky breath, Astarion nodded. He was ready. As long as he remembered how to move his mouth and say words, nothing could go wrong.

As he walked back towards the foyer, gentle music greeted him, meaning the string quartet of bards had arrived and their family and friends were filtering into the ballroom.

It was as if he was floating, barely being able to acknowledge the gathered people. Some patted him on the back, some asked if he was excited, and all of his responses were like through a haze, especially as he took his place by the altar.

Shadowheart was already there, giving him an encouraging smile.

“Don’t you clean up nice.”

Astarion wanted to give some sort of a sarcastic quip, but all he could manage was a hum of acknowledgement. He was really truly, nervous. The breath entering his lungs was shaky and came out the same way. He didn’t even need to breathe, but if he didn’t, he might just pass out.

“If it’s any consolation, Y/N is calm as a cucumber,” the cleric said. “Or maybe she’s just a better actress than you.”

The vampire’s pale brows scrunched, as he looked at the woman. She just shrugged.

“She said she knows you’ll be here. What more is there for her to want or be afraid of?”

And that trust, the belief Y/N had in Astarion, settled something in his heart, and when his parents entered, taking their seats in the front row, both elves beaming, all that fear disappeared like mist in the morning.

Beautiful music swirled around them, and all of the guests stood.

The whole world stopped turning the second he laid his eyes on Y/N.

Her body was clad in the white gown he’d poured all his love and care into, the gold thread shimmering in the candle and moonlight. Her hair was free as she always preferred, but small, intricate braids inlaid with diamonds as if rain had settled atop her head, a flower crown gracing the top of it. Y/N’s skin was also covered in a shimmery powder, that made her absolutely glow, as if from within, and the Y/E/C eyes he loved to get lost in, were lined with kohl giving her gaze an intense look. Had it not been for her rounded ears, Y/N would be the epitome of a true elven queen.

Astarion released a breath that’d gotten stuck in his chest and tears welled in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

He’d been lucky, especially in these past few years where he’d been able to witness a lot of beautiful things. But nothing was as beautiful as her walking toward him.

Y/N’s head was high, as her gaze bore into his – his scarlet not looking away from her Y/E/C ones – her lips pulled in the widest smile he’d ever seen on her face.

Gods, she was beautiful, and his ego also revelled in how that grin was directed at him. At only him. It seemed like it took her ages, but at the same time not even a couple of seconds to be standing before him, handing off her bouquet of lilies of the valley to his mother and placing her palms in Astarion’s awaiting ones.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N, but she couldn’t take hers off him. Vaguely he heard Shadowheart offer blessings and words of wisdom for the new couple as they started their joined lives. Astarion only snapped back to reality when it was time for him to take the golden thread and tie it around her finger, an ancient elven tradition – instead of simply exchanging rings, one would take a twine of gold and imbue it with the power of their words, before the vows were sealed.

No longer did his hands shake, and his voice didn’t crack once as he said his vows, as he gently twisted the twine and looped it back around where it moulded together by magic on their own, creating a gorgeous ring.

Then it was Y/N’s turn.

“I vow to protect your life as my own,” her voice was soft and steady as she spoke. “I vow to walk the dark paths and lead you to the light when needed. I promise to be your reassurance when doubts come, and I promise to love you until the stars no longer shine.”

Astarion didn’t care as more tears slid down his cheeks and wetted the neckline of his frock when finally, the golden thread connected and solidified itself on his ringfinger.

He was married. He didn’t care that Shadowheart hadn’t said yet he could kiss his new wife, that they needed to drink the blessed wine from the cups, as he surged forward, taking Y/N by the wrist and smashing their lips together. From somewhere afar he heard whoops and cheers, and a “you could’ve waited for just a second more,” but it was all background noise with no meaning as his love’s palm slid to cup his jaw and pull him in for a deeper kiss.

All the nerves had been worth it. All the pain and suffering he’d gone through – it was all worth it just for that moment alone, when Y/N had to press him back a bit, a breathless laugh escaping her lips as she took in greedy gulps of air, but put her forehead against his, not straying far from his touch.

“I love you, husband.”

His cheeks hurt from so much smiling. “I love you, wife.”

They didn’t get to stay in the small bubble for long as people were stepping up, congratulating them, and pulling them in embraces from left to right.

The revelry slowly moved outside where drinks and food flowed without stopping. Slow melodies turned into fast foot-stomping beats, as people twirled and danced, celebrating the union between two of Baldur’s Gate’s heroes.

It was during a moment of reprieve when Y/N was chugging down glass after glass of water and champagne, Astarion following suit with some blood, when his parents came up to them, a small, yet intricate box in their hands.

The frame was of old oak, no doubt, scuffed at the edges and corners, while the top of it was engraved with a whole flora and fauna piece, but that didn’t matter. He’d said them being at the ceremony would be enough of a gift and that him and Y/N didn’t need anything, yet here the two elves were.

“Don’t even start, my Star,” his mother interrupted Astarion’s rant before he could even go on one. “There was no way we would’ve come empty-handed to your wedding. Besides, we think this might be of great interest to you two. And of use”

Gently, as if the box might crumble if touched any harder, the older elf opened it. Inside, laid on green velvet sat two golden bracelets, their visage moulded like wreaths of leaves and budding flowers.

They were handmade, that was certain, and ancient if his eye for jewels and jewellery didn’t deceive him. And it rarely did. But the oddest bit was the sensation it radiated as if it was imbued by vibrating energy, barely contained in the circlets.

“Could it really be – but no. That is only a legend,” Halsin’s and Gale’s eyes were wide as they beheld what lay in the box as the two had snuck up on the group and shadowed behind them. The druid gave Astarion’s parents a bewildered gaze. “How in the worlds did you come by this?”

“Let’s just say, you are not the only ones with connections.” His father threw Halsin a mischievous smile, but Astarion didn’t like that.

“And the cost for such a thing?”

His mother smiled. “My dear, you talk like your skill of words and stealing didn’t come from somewhere. We might be old, but that doesn’t mean we cannot have adventures of our own.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting this moment,” Gale said, “but can we get back to the fact you have the True Love’s Curse sitting in that box.”

“The what?” Y/N’s brows furrowed, but no one bothered to answer as Gale went on.

“I can feel the magic.” The wizard laid a reverent palm above the bracelets but didn’t touch them. “The Weave… I’ve never felt something so strong. As if it could change the matter of the cosmos around us at any second.”

Astarion lifted a finger, just as confused as his love, pointing at the bracelets. “What exactly is this curse? And, I do apologise, mother, as we appreciate everything you've done for us, but why in the worlds did you think a curse would be a great gift?”

“True Love’s Curse is simply the name,” Halsin said. “It’s an old elven legend of two lovers – one forever meant to walk the dark, the other meant for light. In the myth, they are so convinced they are soulmates and meant to be, they create two bracelets, symbols for their loves, imbued with a mirroring spell, but not just any average enchantment. It gives the nightwalker the ability to walk in the sun, but there is a cost – if the other person is no true love, no soulmate, the nightwalker will succumb to the rays and perish forever.”

Y/N grimaced. “Seems quite harsh. And unfair.”

Astarion’s father closed the box. “It’s why it’s called True Love’s Curse. But if there is anything we all can learn from you two, is that love conquers all.”

Hope ignited in the vampire’s chest, as he accepted the box.

Could there really be a chance he would be able to live his life with Y/N by his side, and also live it in the sun?

He used to be scared of what the future held for him, especially what the future with Y/N would be like. He’d had his doubts – that she probably didn’t actually love him. How she was with him only for pity or to use his body like so many others had before – but those no longer existed. She’d meticulously shattered every single brick of the wall that was his mistrust and built a castle of love in his heart. If what Astarion’s parents said was true, he had nothing to worry about – Y/N had been ready to walk her life in darkness with him and not asked anything in return apart from his devotion.

But he pushed the thoughts of the bracelets, of the True Love’s Curse, to the side as he was pulled in a dance by Dalyria, then her girlfriend, and at some point, even Lae’Zel allowed him to lead her in a slow waltz before once again returning to Y/N’s side. His rightful place

His arms wove around her waist, while her cheek leaned to rest against his chest. She sighed, closing her eyes.

Astarion pressed a kiss to Y/N’s head. “I don’t know what I might have done in a previous life, but whatever it was, it had to be something exceedingly good for me to end up with you.”

She hummed in contentment. “You deserve all that is kind in this world, my love. I am the least of it.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her she was his whole world, but instead, he closed his eyes too and smiled, relishing in the love. He did deserve good. He deserved all that was kind. It was time Astarion finally embraced it, and if that was Y/N in his arms, he would hold on a bit tighter then.

Hours later they stood alone by the cliffside, a slight breeze ruffling their hair as they waited for the sun to fully rise, the gardens empty, their house as well, as the wedding party had ended, leaving people satiated and tipsy on their way home.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Astarion asked. “What if they were wrong?”

“Then I have the cloak right here, and all the shutters have already been closed at the house.” She took his hand in hers, the bracelet clicking against his.

She didn’t try to convince him, give him false hope of how it would work, because not everything in life did. Not everything was perfect and not everything was supposed to be perfect. Of course, he would be devastated, if the True Love’s Curse was not real. But Astarion also knew he’d never be alone in it. He’d have Y/N by his side, as he always had. She wasn’t going anywhere and that was enough.

As the sun rose, the sky turning from a deep blue to pink, then orange and red, Astarion took in a deep breath. Then – on the first day as a married man – the first rays of a new day touched him for the first time in four years.

A tear rolled down his face, scarlet eyes not daring to stray away from the stunning view that was the dawn and greeted the sun like a long-lost friend.

Y/N gave him the widest smile ever, a match to the one she’d sported when seeing him by the altar. “Where to first, my love? We have the whole world for the taking.”

He looked at her, cupping her face. “First, to home. And then – to the very edge of the universe.”

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: I've re-written this whole thing like 3 different times because I just couldn’t get it right, but now I feel like this is how it's meant to be :) I do have like extra 8k words of stuff I might release as smaller fics set around these two specific versions of the characters. Let me know if you'd like that or want to be tagged in future fics :)

I might edit this at some point a bit more. English is not my first language, so I need time to step away, before I can see additional mistakes.

Please don't repost on other platforms without specific written consent! That is called plagiarism

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deeppenguinstudent · 3 months ago

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I don't think we talk about kevjean in the banquets enough

Kevin is soft with Jean's name in his mouth. Jean had to smile at Kevin to taunt him at the bequest of Riko, probably to show faux hatred towards Kevin for leaving the Ravens so no one catches on what exactly he felt for Kevin. Happiness he left Riko and could finally prove he was better but bitterness because he left Jean there in the Nest, knowing damn well what Riko would have done to him.

The fact that both of them stared at each other with nothing to say. Kevin and Jean, who used to never have enough time to finish conversations and never sat in silence in the Nest when they were alone, turned into strangers overnight. They had to wait until Riko was away to actually indulge in meaningful conversation that was so rare yet grounding for both of them in the Nest.

Jean was probably forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Kevin as he spoke to Neil and let his eyes roam when Riko was distracted in antagonising the Foxes.

This was probably something he was forced to say. Do you think Riko made Jean do the talking first because he maybe knew that Kevin had a soft spot for him? The You won't stay might be referring to how Kevin wouldn't stay with the Foxes, but I like that it also implies that Jean maybe still has some hope that Kevin would come back to them, to him. It sounds like most of his words are straight from Riko, but you can see the underlying plea in Jean's words.

He antagonizes Andrew mainly because he doesn't understand why Kevin would leave him for Andrew. He doesn't understand their relationship, and it gnaws at him that maybe Kevin meant much more to him than he ever did to Kevin. He's reminded of how Kevin used French against him and wonders whether their little tryst was nothing but a closed off street at Kevin's end. Spiralling, Jean allows himself to unfold and spit out his venom and jealousy to the Foxes; particularly the one that stole Kevin away from him.

This is arguably my favourite scene in the second banquet. Although it's short, it really puts into perspective their entire relationship within like 2 paragraphs. (That's reaching but you get what I mean.)

First off, let's talk about how Jean doesn't register Riko's words at first. He doesn't respond to 'Take Kevin and leave us'. I believe this is because previously, Riko would rather tear his own hand off than allow Jean and Kevin to be in the same room alone without Riko. So this comes as a shock for him. It's a fleeting moment, and he thinks he probably just imagined Riko's words.

Seized is a strong word, and I believe it speaks a lot at how desperate Jean was to even converse with Kevin in the banquet at all. Perhaps he gave a wide berth because he half expected Riko to strike him down for even attempting to seize Kevin and take him away. Seized literally means he forcibly pulled Kevin's arm towards him, and Kevin did not budge. He didn't complain, grunt out, or even do anything as he let Jean grab his arm. (I can just imagine Jean with his chest pressed against Kevin's arm speedwalking away, and I find it so adorably heartbreaking)

Jean also moves as fast as he can, showing that he wants to get away as soon as possible with Riko far, far behind them. He wants alone time with Kevin. He just wants to talk to him without the Ravens or Foxes breathing down his neck.

I genuinely wonder what Kevin would be thinking at this moment. What would he feel as the boy he left behind the Nest is taking him by the arm and pulling away from his abuser; this time, when he leaves, Jean was with him. Does he think about how easy it is to just leave with Jean beside him? Does he also want to grab onto Jean and not let go of fear of what Riko would do to him when Kevin is not there? Can he feel Jean's body heat as a stupid reminder that he's still alive and not bleeding out from Riko's scars?

Jean, going still at Dan and Matt's approach, could also signify that he fully expected to be punished for even latching himself onto Kevin, like Kevin was a sin he was foolish enough to be addicted to. I just want to know Dan and Matt's expression as they see Jean grasping onto Kevin so tightly, like, what do they see? Do they see Riko's dog doing it's masters bidding, or do they see Jean for who he is; a boy irrevocably in love with someone he can never ever have. A boy so desperate that even few seconds in the banquet keeps him going for a few days after.

Jean grasping onto Kevin could honestly mean a multitude of things, but I like to see it as Jean finally understanding that Kevin is not meant to be in evermore, isn't meant to be a comforting solace patching up his wounds when his thumbs were broken and unable to stitch himself up. But Jean still wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be in Kevin's life. He wanted Kevin to see him as Jean Moreau, a hopeless boy in love with the only person that ever gave him care. Not Jean Moreau of Perfect Court, number 3 the country's greatest backliner because Kevin only saw him on the court after he left evermore. So he stubbornly clung onto Kevin as his past as his future, aka the Foxes, came to collect his due from Jean; essentially handing over the one thing that kept him going throughout the Nest.

And I find it cute that Matt and Dan didn't shoo Jean off. They let him stay with Kevin. Maybe because they could see the tragedy in his eyes or the way Kevin was calm and placcid beside him, which was weird because Kevin gets anxious literally around EVERY Raven.

#aftg #jean moreau #kevin day #kevjean #fuck gcses this is how i practice my writer's effect

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s-exy-sapphillean · 1 month ago

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I'm losing my fucking mind at this fandom constantly trying to minimize aaron's complexity and woobify him

I can't stand anyone who looks at a chapter of aaron getting to confront andrew's hypocrisy but also getting confronted with his own shitty behavior and the main thing u take away is "omg he said he doesnt hate gay people anymore! Confirmation he's not homophobic!" or "andrew is a horrible person and aaron has done nothing wrong (or the reverse)"

Aaron is literally doing a "i'm not transphobic, i only misgender those trans people who are bad people" but about nicky's sexuality. Him justifying them with nicky's own shitty behavior does not make the remarks he's made any less homophobic. The entire chapter, the way bee questions him and the way he realizes he actually has to explain to andrew that he doesn't have a problem with him being gay shows how much these remarks have not existed in a vacuum, have never only affected nicky, have always, in effect, been homophobic.

This is not me wanting aaron to be homophobic, this is me being pissed about people wanting to rob aaron & his relationships to his family of layers of complexity. About people trying to make a person unlearning bigotry he's aware of and has admitted to into something simple and easy and quick. About people viewing bigoted actions and remarks as only defined by their intentions and not their effect.

Aaron is a damn complex character. He was raised with shitty worldviews and shitty behavior. He literally did used to hate and be disgusted by nicky for being gay. He's unlearning that shit. He's still grossed out by nicky for being a creep. And now he's confronted by the fact that his history of actual bigotry and his displays of disgust at nicky's remarks about others simply do not exist separately from eachother and that that has affected his relationship with andrew. And he gets to sit there and has to actually convince his brother that he doesn't hate him for being gay. Stop trying to minimize the importance aaron's past homophobia and homophobic remarks play in the twinyard's relationship.

Also i'm pissed off how little people are talking about aaron finally FINALLY getting a dig in at andrew's hypocrisy. About how andrew's actions also aren't only defined by his intent to protect but have cause a lot of hurt. About how unfair he's been to others, to katelyn, because he himself hasn't even tried to reflect on his own presumptions and prejudice against the people aaron wants in his life and how they might be wrong.

This bonus chapter is so important to me because it's practically everything i've always imagined their shared therapy sessions would be like. And because andrew getting pushback and aaron getting a chance to voice his stance and perspective and andrew actually having to listen is so important to me. Most of the canon material is so dominated by perspectives sympathetic to and/or protective of andrew and it's so good to get a chapter that isnt that. And obv Aaron's perspective isnt unbiased either, but it balances out somewhat against neil's perspective dominating the narrative. And while bee ofc isnt a perfectly impartial party, therapy with her is the perfect setting to provide this perspective.

I love the TKM bonus chapter and i hate how a lot of people are choosing to talk about it

#aaron minyard #andrew minyard #twinyards #i care about the twinyards so much #and i'm so tired of seeing people trying to simplify their relationship #trying to make excuses for one or the other's bad actions #they love eachother so much but they've hurt eachother so much and that part is IMPORTANT #aftg #all for the game #aftg spoilers #all for the game spoilers #tkm #the kings men #aftg bonus chapters #aftg bonus chapters spoiler #tkm bonus chapter #tkm bonus chapter spoilers

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intothedysphoria · 6 days ago

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Billy crawls out of the Upside Down in the end. In theory it isn’t hell but that doesn’t explain why some prick kept playing Agadoo.

He feels stronger now. It’s not like he’s been able to work out in a nightmare dimension but killing monsters must have made a fine substitute. His hearing, eyesight, smell. Everything is elevated.

The thirst for human blood is new.

Neil is the first to die. Bummer. He was hiding out in Texas somewhere, but Billy knew it was him.

Billy doesn’t fully remember but he’s pretty sure he kills Karen too. Maybe a cop.

It makes him feel shockingly revitalised. Like the Sunday roasts that would wait for him after Church on a Sunday, before the move to America.

That whole damned thing is bullshit though. Billy can wear his pendant just fine.

Seeing the state of his Camaro is the first time in over a year where he actually cries. The state it’s in. Undrivable.

The twenty pack he hid in the glovebox is still intact. Smoking doesn’t give him the same buzz anymore annoyingly. He just does it out of habit.

A hum of conversation makes Billy’s ears perk up. He chases the route of the conversation to it’s source and sees him. Steve.

He’s dragging a carcass of one of those hell monsters over his back, talking to Buckley and Munson. They all have their heads buried together and snippets of conversation drift over to Billy’s hiding spot.

“Neil Hargrove…………throat torn out……..”

“No it definitely wasn’t a demodog”

“Who in the fuck could have done this?”

Steve’s still beautiful. He always will be. Being covered in blood isn’t a dealbreaker for Billy, far from it. His big, brown eyes are darting around, staring down corners and alleyways. He’s got hair on his chest now which is intriguing. And he’s wearing a jacket with patches on, which is more so.

Billy remembers the last time they talked. The night before the thing got him. Steve had been on his lap, playing with his jacket lapels and they’d been talking about college.

Steve had kissed Billy and told him they would never be brought apart. Ironic.

He waves away Buckley and Munson and walks back down the street, whistling a grim little tune to himself. Billy’s a madman so he follows.

The logistics of climbing up into Steve’s bedroom are shockingly easy. It’s a matter of seconds before Billy’s climbing through the window and Steve’s staring at him with a baseball bat clutched in his hands.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Yeah, holy shit works.

Steve creeps closer to him, cautious but curious. Billy permits himself to be inspected, Steve looking this way and that until he’s convinced he’s not hallucinating.

“Is it…………..I mean, is it really you Billy?”

Billy makes an attempt at smiling, which is really quite hard with a set of fangs that don’t want to retract yet.

They also make it pretty hard to talk, so Billy just gestures to his pendant.

Steve’s still suspicious. Billy doesn’t blame him. He smells scared and two years ago Billy didn’t even know that fear had a smell.

When he does answer, it feels clumsy. Billy’s voice is raw and hoarse and unused to communicating with humans, rather than bats.

“Harrington”

That seems to seal the deal for Steve.

He practically leaps into Billy’s arms, kissing all over his face and Billy can hear his elevated heart rate. Blood rushing.

If it had been anyone else, bar Max and the weird kid that had saved him, Steve probably would have been dinner. As it was, Billy just pulled Steve down onto the bed, soothed by the familiarity.

Steve lies there, in his arms and finally stills, asleep. Billy doesn’t know how this is going to work, this relationship, finding Max, how he was going to feed.

Those were tomorrow’s problem. For now, Billy had the love of his life back and he was happy once again.

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @harringroveobsessed @thatgirlwithasquid

(The person playing Agadoo on repeat was totally Steve in s4)

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #billy centric #cw death #tw neil hargrove #tw karen wheeler #but they die immediately #vampire billy hargrove

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 5.2k (including intro)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only), enemies to lovers, sub!neil/dom!reader, slightly dubious consent?, orgasm control/denial, praise and degradation, oral sex m receiving, come eating, riding, a touch of breeding kink, semi public sex

do NOT read this until you have read the FIRST PART or it won't make any damn sense!!

"So, whaddya say, Mr. Lewis?"

"I say… suck my dick," he returned with a smug smile.

You just laughed. "Maybe I would if I thought you could last more than thirty seconds."

His face got a little redder as he glanced away. "Seriously? You think I'm that helpless?"

You shrugged. "I think I'm that good."

He looked at your face for a moment, a certain look in his eyes— a look that made it seem like he wanted to take you up on the challenge. “Of course you do,” he smirked, “guys probably tell you you’re funny, too.”

“Sometimes,” you agreed, “but I’m not joking now.”

He stiffened up a bit. “I don’t have a stamina problem,” he assured.

"If you're so confident, let's bet on it," you offered. "I’ll blow you, and if you last thirty seconds or less, I'm buying the place. More than that, you'll never have to see me again."

“Jesus,” he sighed, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “Is that really how you make a deal?”

“It’s one way we could make this deal,” you returned, “and it sounds like a lot more fun than all the other ways.”

“You have an unfortunate habit of overestimating yourself,” he noticed.

“Then this should be easy for you.”

He hesitated, laughing nervously, but you stared forward so he knew you were serious. After a tense pause, in which he opened and shut his mouth a few times as if nearly saying several different things, he sighed a bit. “O-okay, yeah,” he relented, and you had to fight back a smile— not because you were actually that excited to suck some random video store owner’s dick… but because you were pretty confident that you just bought yourself some prime real estate and that promotion you’d been gunning for. “S-so, um, how do we—?”

You cut him off by pushing him back into his chair with a grin, already loving the slight look of desperation on his face as he looked up at you. "Let me get a little more comfortable first," you explained as you slipped your blazer off and tossed it aside.

Then the shirt— one button at a time, not too slowly but without any sense of urgency. “Y-you don’t have to do all that,” he promised thinly.

“Be patient,” you encouraged with a wink, “I just can’t afford for you to… stain any of this. I have to go back to the office today, you know.”

He nodded a little in understanding, his chest filling and sinking a little more with each breath as he watched you strip. For something you’d managed to spin as practical, you were doing it with a bit of… flair, slowly pulling the shirt off your shoulders and dropping it to the floor as his eyes were glued to your chest. Of course, it helped that this bra wasn’t exactly ‘practical’ either… you only let your eyes drop for a second to the growing bulge in his jeans.

You started to push your skirt down, watching his eyes follow the fabric as more skin was revealed, only to tug it back up just before you got anywhere too exciting. "Or maybe I should leave this on," you decided, making him whine and look up at your face pleadingly.

"C-c'mon," he panted.

"Maybe if you ask nicely…"

He hissed in a breath through his teeth. "Please…" he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Please take it off," he sighed, and you smirked at the way his hips jumped up a bit as you pushed it down to reveal your matching panties. “Fuck,” he choked, “you dressed up like that just to come here?”

You shook your head. “I had other plans today,” you offered cryptically, and if he was going to ask more questions about that, he forgot them when you stepped out of the skirt and right up to where he was sitting. “Should I leave these on?” you asked as you ran a finger along the top of your thigh-high stockings, seeing him struggle to form a thought as he looked at them and then back up at you.

“Y-yeah, maybe… maybe leave those on,” he breathed, “the floor might be cold.”

“Oh,” you cooed, “you’re such a gentleman.”

You knelt down in front of him, rubbing your hands up his thighs through the jeans as he swallowed thickly. Each time you slid your hands over his legs, you moved a little higher, until you were just barely brushing over the bulge under his fly. You bit your lip and looked up at him, savoring the nervous expression he was wearing.

You opened the button of his jeans, and took your time with the zipper; you giggled a bit when you felt his cock flex, even through all the layers of clothing.

“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” you teased in a soft voice.

“N-no,” he denied.

“Really? You never wanted me on my knees in front of you?” you pressed.

“Well, that’s sort of a different question,” he breathed, whining slightly under his breath when you got his fly open and reached in to rub him through his boxers. “Oh, t-take it out,” he instructed, but you just laughed.

“Let me do this my way,” you replied, and he seemed to realize then that you were teasing him on purpose, to make his side of the bet all that more difficult. It would’ve been reasonable for him to call you out on your cheating, but he was too busy reaching forward to feel your tits through the bra; he groaned a little, squeezing them eagerly.

You did take it out, of course, after barely a minute of teaching him through the fabric, and you bit your lip as you wrapped your fingers around his warm, firm length. It was a little bigger than you bargained for, but you weren’t exactly worried— after all, you were going to make sure you didn’t have to do this for very long.

Licking your lips as you stroked it— and trying to make it look like an instinctive move rather than a deliberate choice— you watched him as he stared down at your face and then your hand, a drip of clear precum already leaking from the slit. You hummed as you picked up your pace a little, still mostly just exploring him, but squeezing him in your palm too just to watch him squirm a bit.

You leaned in and gave it one long lick, with just the tip of your tongue, all the way from the base to the head, and he hissed a little with his next breath as he stared down at you. You hummed at the slightly salty taste as you lapped up the thin arousal, and his chest sank with a long breath.

"Okay," you smiled, "you can start counting now."

"O-one," he choked out, voice getting thinner as you wrapped your lips around him and bobbed your head. After all that teasing, you had to be efficient for the next thirty seconds: you sucked hard and stroked with one hand while the other slowly rubbed his balls, hoping to give him the full treatment and make this quick. "Two, three—"

You pulled back but kept stroking him. "Not so fast," you scolded, "look at your watch."

"Sorry, fuck, um," he groaned, glancing at his watch to try to keep the correct time. "Two… three… four…"

Your spit was running down to smooth your hand's movements, and he groaned as he started to buck up into your mouth. His hands held your head, fingers tangling into your hair as you kept going.

"Five, six— oh god," he moaned, head tilting back for a second… but when he looked at you again, you looked up and met his gaze. He bit his lip, already breathing heavily as he watched you.

He never forced your head down, really, but you could feel him trying to guide you, trying to make you move a little faster and take him a little deeper. You could do that— you moaned around him as you pretended to let him take the lead, figuring that was what he needed to feel in control right now. But as soon as you did, he tightened his grip on your hair and tried to slow you down… and you wondered if he was already realizing this bet might have been a little out of his pay grade.

“Ten,” he choked out, groaning as you flattened your tongue more to rub along the underside of his cock. “Ele—oh, fuck— e-eleven…”

You moaned again, one of his hands slipping down from your hair to the back of your neck, even running over your shoulder and lingering on the strap of your bra.

Speeding up slightly, you tried to subtly twist your hand while you stroked and just keep a steady pace— once you found the right thing, you just needed to stick with it, and something about the hoarseness of his voice as he moaned for you seemed like a sign you’d found the right thing. “Baby,” he mumbled under his breath, and you had to try not to smile since it would just get in the way of things. You would definitely not be letting him get away with calling you ‘baby’ if your mouth wasn’t full…

Even you weren’t focused on the numbers anymore, putting all your energy into this as you bobbed your head on him.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” he yelped when his tip brushed the back of your throat. “Twenty— oh god…”

Home stretch, just ten more seconds, you thought to yourself, if that… he sounds pretty fucked up. And it’s not that you hated this so much, it was actually turning you on more than anything to hear him sound so desperate— but you already had your eye on the prize, and you could’ve probably attributed the wetness gathering in your panties to the mental image of telling your boss tomorrow that you finally bought out Gumshoe Video, just as much as what you were actually doing right now.

"Twenty-t-two, twenty-three," he kept going, voice getting a little deeper now, and you wondered with a hint of nervousness if he could really make it— he was flexing in your mouth already, but maybe he could hold it back.

You moved faster, pretty much as fast as you could, and shut your eyes tight as you hoped this would work— you didn’t quite realize it at the time, but you were more motivated to make him come for the sake of it, than for the consequence of owning his store as a result.

“Twenty-eight,” he gasped, and you sucked even harder as desperation started to kick in— but then he choked on a moan, and flexed in your mouth again. "Stop, stop!" he begged suddenly, and you stilled before pulling away with a smile.

"Can't take it, huh?"

"I just need a second—"

"No, you don't get a second. I already gave you thirty," you reminded him. “I win.”

“N-no, wait,” he panted, only to open his eyes wide when you stood up and slid into the chair with him, straddling his lap. He looked up at you in the most adorably pathetic way, his hands shakily coming to rest on your waist.

“It won’t be so bad,” you promised, “we have fabulous benefits, you know.”

He was clearly not paying attention, whimpering as you moved forward and rubbed yourself against him through the thin lace. “F-fuck, please,” he whispered, and you smirked.

“You wanna fuck me?” you asked, acting totally surprised by it. “I thought you hated me.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “and yes.”

Grinning, you sat up enough to pull the panties aside and guide him to your entrance, watching him choke on nothing as you teased his head with your slick lips.

“F-fuck, you’re wet,” he noticed, sounding more proud of himself than you intended him to be.

“I get that way when I’m about to get what I want,” you shrugged, just a moment before sinking down and taking him all in one relatively-quick motion. He moaned loudly and held on tighter to you, but you gave him no time to rest at all as you moved right away, riding him with a contented sigh and struggling not to openly laugh at his almost-pained expression.

Obviously, he wasn’t actually in pain, it was just a look of conflict as he realized how badly he wanted to come and how bad it would be if he came right away— but you’d brought him right to the edge, after all, and you watched physical instinct and fleeting logical reasoning battle in his eyes as his eyes watched you bouncing on top of him.

“Fuck,” you moaned softly, humming when his head rubbed right against that spot inside you— you guided your movements to hit it every time, a nice little shiver running over you. “Fuck, Neil, it’s good…”

He was obviously affected by the praise, and you rocked your hips faster as you watched him struggle even more to hold himself together as his head tilted back against the chair.

"You'd better not come inside me, Neil," you warned sternly. "If you do… well, let's just say as your new employer, we're proud to offer a rather generous paternity leave."

"Oh god, oh god," he choked, yet holding on tighter to your hips while you moved.

"Not gonna knock up your boss on your first day, are you?" you laughed, reveling in his panic.

"You're not my boss," he panted, "not 'til I sign the paperwork."

"Oh, honey," you purred, "I already own you."

He whined and bit his lip, shutting his eyes tight— but you couldn’t let him run away that easily, you couldn’t let him hide from what was happening to stop himself from coming too fast: so, you took his hands off your hips and guided them up to your chest, all but forcing him to feel your tits again as he moaned louder and obeyed. “God,” he breathed, “I— I don’t know if I can take much more of this—”

You hummed with a little pout, leaning in and lifting his chin with your fingers. “Poor thing,” you cooed just before you pressed your lips to his, kissing him hungrily while riding him even faster.

He moaned into the kiss, clearly overwhelmed but still trying to kiss you back. When his hands moved to your hips again, trying to slow you down, you grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them down to the arms of the chair, making him groan and buck up into you.

“Just let me use you, baby,” you breathed against his lips, making him whimper and nod. “Y’wanna feel me come, don’t you? You wanna make me come?”

“Yes,” he groaned, “fuck— yes, please—”

“You can take it, right?”

“God,” he winced, speaking through his teeth as you moved your kiss down to his neck. “God, fuck— I think I can—”

“I think you can,” you agreed, “you’re gonna be good for me—”

“O-oh, fuck,” he moaned, his cock flexing inside you again when you bit playfully on his neck. You hoped to leave a mark, thinking it would be funny to make sure he couldn’t hide what had happened— but then again, it might not be the smartest idea… not that any of your decisions in the last five minutes were based on smartness.

Your hips rocked on instinct now, pressure building and twisting inside you until you couldn’t help but drop your head back with a long sigh of pleasure.

“Please come, please come,” he begged in a weak and high-pitched whine, and as much as you were amused by his desperate attempts to get you to finish before he did, you were also pretty into it… as in, it was working. You’d only been doing this for a few minutes, but you’d had quite a bit of fun sucking him off and, well, he looked so cute begging.

You moaned and moved a little faster, holding on tighter to his wrists. “Fuck, I’m close,” you promised.

“Oh god, oh god,” he whined, hands tightening into fists as you held them down. “Baby, please,” he choked, and you smiled as it hit you. You wondered if watching you come would be enough to send him over the edge.

“Oh fuck, Neil, yes!” you shouted, hoping to give him a show so he wouldn’t be able to help himself. “Oh my god— so good, baby, you feel so fucking good—”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he chanted under his breath, shutting his eyes tight— but then opening one a second later and groaning at the sight of you.

The feeling began to pass as your thighs quivered, your whole body exhausted by the motions just as much as the draining power of your orgasm. Stilling on top of him, you let go of his wrists and sighed with relief, resting your hands on his chest. He shuddered, and you pretended to remember that he was waiting to come. “Oh— do you want me to—?”

“P-please,” he choked.

You pulled yourself up until he slipped out of you, both sighing for slightly different reasons. You reached down and wrapped your hand around him, laughing softly at how swollen and reddened his tip was— it almost looked painful, and the way he winced when you gingerly stroked him almost sounded painful.

Your free hand stroked his hair as he leaned his head forward against your chest, panting with exhaustion. “Please, please,” he whispered between breaths, over and over.

“You did good, baby,” you promised him, “you can come now—”

He groaned and did it pretty much instantly, you could feel it running down over your fingers and even getting on his shirt and pants. You clicked your tongue pityingly as he bucked up into your hand, his face fallen slack in pleasure and weak moans falling from his full lips.

“Poor thing,” you said again, watching him go totally limp under you— and his exhausted cock starting to follow suit— as the last little drip of come ran down over your fingers. You brought your hand up to your mouth and licked up what had gotten on you, which his sleepy eyes watched in awe. Before you swallowed, though, you pulled him by the jaw into another kiss— slow and sloppy, feeling him shudder as he tasted his own spend.

When you figured he’d had enough, you suddenly pulled away and slipped off of his lap, putting your panties back in place and starting to pick up the clothes that had scattered on the floor. You wondered if he would say something, though you couldn’t imagine what, but found yourself a little surprised to be dressing in silence. Then again, when you looked over at him, he was staring forward blankly and looking absolutely drained— in every sense of the word.

After getting fully dressed— though you figured you still probably looked less composed than when you got here— you slipped back on your heels and wondered if there really was nothing else to say. “The paperwork will come in the mail,” you informed him simply as you turned to leave, and only then did he reach out and grab your wrist.

“W-wait,” he stammered, “I— I need to know when I’ll see you again.”

You considered that for a second, eventually shrugging. “I don’t know, I work in acquisitions— once you’re acquired, you’re not really my concern anymore.”

“Really?” he breathed, smiling but seeming sort of frustrated. “None of what just happened seems… concerning to you?”

You laughed a little, stepping closer to him again as he finally got himself in order— and groaned a little as he realized how bad the stain was on his shirt. “Neil, my job is pretty simple: I need to make this place profitable. Or, I need to make you make this place profitable… that’s going to take up all of our spare time.”

“So, if we’re losing money,” he posited, raising an eyebrow, “would you need to come here and… discipline me?”

“Don’t get too excited,” you scoffed.

“Why not? Shirt’s already ruined.”

“Listen, I know that was… great,” you sighed, “but we should still establish boundar—”

He stood up and cut you off with a kiss, sudden and needy as you sighed against him. He reached up and held your face, before dropping his hands down your waist and pulling you closer. You were just about to melt into it when you (mostly) came to your senses and gently pushed him back.

He was looking right into your eyes, a pleading sort of look in them, as you broke away from the kiss. “Boundaries,” you finished in a whisper.

“Yeah— okay,” he nodded, “I can do boundaries.”

He kissed you again, both of you getting a little more desperate as your arms draped around his shoulders. It went on for quite some time, your breathing getting heavy again and the softest moans getting muffled by his lips as his body pressed against yours.

You looked up at him expectantly when he pulled back this time, and you bit your lip a little when you realized you were down almost as bad as he was. “I think I’m gonna like working here,” he announced with a wide smile.

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half-dead-writer · 2 months ago

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you wouldn't guess when I got the idea for the headcanons

SPTO cast painting your nails headcanons

characters: Scott Pilgrim, Wallace Wells, Young Neil, Matthew Patel, Gideon Graves, Ramona Flowers, Kim Pine, Roxie Richter

words: 1295

reader: gender neutral

warnings: none

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Scott Pilgrim

oh boy

don't let your hands anywhere near him /j

has like, no experience at all

has no idea how to hold your hand so it's the easiest to paint it, in the end would probably just tell you to lay it on some flat surface, leaning over and squinting while smearing the polish anywhere but your nails

his hands are not used to being so carefully maneuvered (aside from playing games, that is)

he'd insist on finishing at least one of your hand even if you decided to stop in the middle just to prove he can do it

"Hey, it doesn't look... that bad...?"

if you offered to paint his nails, he'd be pretty hesitant, but eventually gave in

if anyone asked him about it, he could always ramble about his partner doing it for him and how he's such an awesome boyfriend that it doesn't bother him!

2 out of 10

Wallace Wells

not to be stereotypical but

babe. he's gay

even if he's inexperienced, he has the patience to do it

would carefully hold your hand while focusing on the task

don't talk to him if you want him to do it well though, he has to have no distractions or else he'll go over the line

in the end he's pretty chill about it tho

"Maybe I should look for a job as a manicurist sometime, eh?"

has no troubles letting you paint his nails if you want, staring at you with a calm smirk as you're focused on your job (he thinks it's cute)

10 out of 10

Neil Nordegraf

he didn't expect his hand to be so coordinated (well, as much as it can be, given he never tried anything like it before)

very focused on not going over the line

he thought it was a pretty fun experience

staring intently at your hand, then his own ... "You think you can do mine now?"

you're excited to show him all the colors he can choose from (unless you don't have that many, in which case he'll take anything)

he's not ashamed of having his nails painted but they'll probably disappear after like few days

he'll simply scratch them off when he's bored and looking for stimulation

but hey, you can paint them again!

5 out of 10

Matthew Patel

probably already tried painting his nails before so he has some experience, but don't count on miracles

tries his hardest

gently holds your hand, has this intensely focused stare on his face

almost shushes you if you try to make some conversation in the middle of it (he must concentrate so he can make it as good as can be!)

"Hold still! ... ugh, now it's on your finger-" quickly wipes it off "Just let me-- AGAIN?!"

you reassure him it's fine

he's adamant that they will be perfect, that his work will be perfect (it isn't)

but he tried

would die if you held his hand and painted his nails though

if he noticed your nails wore off, he'd offer his services again (he asked his girls for help getting better at it!)

5 out of 10

Gideon Graves

doll (/gender-neutral), he doesn't have time for that

if you convince him it's gravely important for you, he might budge

you're lucky he loves you

the end result might even make him proud, who knows?

it doesn't

it really doesn't

you make it look so easy, why is it so damn hard for him!?

probably gets pissed off and curses after the 3rd time of going over the line

now it's personal, he will finish his work, he doesn't give up

his determination would amuse you if he didn't look so serious

will shush you if you try to tell him it's not a big deal

IT IS A BIG DEAL TO HIM!

you start to regret you even asked after spending wayyy too much time with Gideon aggressively scrubbing off the nail polish of your nail each time it doesn't look right

finally, after at least 30 minutes of him getting frustrated, he's done

and... it's... something??

he calmly raises his glasses that fell on his nose during the ordeal, pretending as if he didn't just waste 30 minutes of his life on this task "You're welcome."

won't do it again, don't ask

okay, maybe if you challenge plead him enough, he will

as for you painting his nails... forget it! he's too busy for that (he probably has trauma from his experience)

but maybe, if you ask again in a few days, telling him how it's your way of expressing your love, how no one would even see them and he might just scrub them off later, he might entertain himself with the possibility of it happening

you paint his nails black, the only color he allows you to pick (he's too manly for anything else)

he looks at his hands, both painted to the best of your abilities...

alright, maybe it doesn't look as bad as he expected

might even dig it a little??

you won't see it on him the next day though, he can't let anyone but you see them

4 out of 10

Ramona Flowers

I think out of all the people, she would do your nails the best

she paints her nails pretty often herself, so she's got some skill in it

pick any color! she probably has a lot of them, to match with her ever changing hair

she'd make you both tea beforehand

her cup would probably remain almost untouched, she'd be too focused on making sure that the nail polish doesn't go anywhere other than your nails

when she's painting her nails alone, she'd usually put on some radio so it wouldn't be so quiet

but with you, it's rare for the room to be silent

it's easy for you to get invested in any topic with her, no matter if it's just trivial gossip or complaining about some people she met during her work

you make sure to compliment her great work

she smiled warmly, "...It's not a big deal."

feel free to paint her nails! even if you're not as skilled as her, she'll appreciate it regardless

10 out of 10

Kim Pine

she has the patience for it, probably some experience as well

pretty calm approach, you're free to talk to her or listen to some music in the background while she's working on your nails

might have some really old nail polish somewhere in her house, but I wouldn't count on it still being usable

she'll just steal one from her roommate

her skill might use some adjustment, but overall, they look real nice! the errors are barely noticeable

would love to see you struggle while trying to paint hers if you aren't as good

probably would throw in some smartass quips here and there, but it's all in good fun

"You went over the line like 10 times... But I still like it." she says, observing her freshly done nails

8 out of 10

Roxie Richter

(not) surprisingly she rarely paints her nails (she's too busy being a ninja!)

which makes it a bit hard for her to keep in line

but she's got the spirit

even if there's a lot of distractions, like some song playing in the background and her rambling your ear off, she'll try her best

what counts is for you both to have a good time!

and she will not disappoint

the painting session probably takes longer than usual due to your giggles filling the room every few minutes

"Hey, do mine now!" she reaches out her hands excitedly as soon as yours dry off

hopefully you're not too distracted by your girlfriend's gushing about how she's gonna love the end result

4 out of 10 (10 out of 10 in the fun scale!)

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unknownperson246 · 1 month ago

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a/n: hii, can i request a Vince Neil x reader where they have a one night stand and never intend to see each other again but she accidentally gets pregnant and has to see him again? Kinda fluffy tho if you can make it that way 😭🙏 I'll LOVE you so damn much if you write this hdhshs ❤️

hiiiiii I didn’t write the smut part of it but it’s definitely mentioned 😉❤️

Back Again:

Words: 466

warnings: *fluff*

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You woke up feeling sick and dizzy. You soon realized you were going to heave up all the food from yesterday night. You were sick and not feeling well. You suspected that you could be pregnant. You didn’t want to be one of those women in denial. You had to accept the results of the pregnancy test. It wasn’t going to be easy but you had to make a smart decision. 17 minutes after pissing on the stick it showed up positive. You knew who the father was.

It was a one-night stand in Chicago. Vince Neil was the father. 3 months ago Mötley Crüe was on tour. Vince was known to be a sex addict and everyone knew he went fooling around with 5 different women in a night. With you it was different. You didn’t go straight to having sex. You met him in a phone booth and you thought he was cute. You didn’t know who he was until he showed you his band. After dinner you both made love. You liked Vince.

To many people, he was a douchebag and an animal who bites. He was sweet and kind to you. Even though it was a one-night stand you had to go see him for the sake of the baby. You knew where he was. You went over to him. He was at a restaurant eating dinner by himself.

“Hi, Vince!” You yelled.

At first, he thought it was just some fan who saw him and wanted an autograph. He looked over and he remembered you. You went up to him all the way and sat in the chair in front of him.

“Hi Vince,” you said with a smile.

“Hi y/n,” Vince said smiling. He looked sad and lonely.

“Vince, I'm pregnant and it’s yours,” You said quickly.

“I’m not surprised,” he said while sipping his water bottle.

You were bewildered that he did not react.

“What are we going to do?” You asked Vince.

“I guess we are just going to have to keep it,” Vince said, looking at you.

“When did you find out?” Vince asked you.

“Just this morning,” You said trying to hold your emotions back.

“Wow, you wanted to get it off your chest quickly huh?” Vince asked.

“Yeah, something like that,” you said.

“Do you want to go home after this?” Vince asked you.

“Yes I’d love to,” you said.

“Make sure to take care of yourself for the kid,” Vince said as he got his car keys.

“You want to drive? I don’t know where your house is” Vince asked.

“Sure,” You said, grabbing the keys. You soon arrived home and Vince sat in your chair in the living room. He wanted to make sure you were okay while you took a nap.

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essence-inked · 4 months ago

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Alright fuck it, maybe my two cents on this will be helpful to someone.

Content warning: this is about the Neil Gaiman thing.

I'm a victim of sexual harassment and assault, and I feel like my experiences would help explain my thoughts. And also, this is mostly stream-of-consciousness, so I guess y'all are getting some personal backstory on this one regardless, because I don't have the emotional bandwidth to polish this.

The first time, when I was harassed, I came forward. The guy who'd harassed me (and from what I learned later, I was damn lucky I happened to have the confidence to keep saying no despite repeated attempts at coercion) had assaulted other people, and this ended with his victims banding together to try to bring him to justice. We had an overwhelming pile of evidence, but the administration of our college kept dragging their feet, ignored their own policies, and eventually, after a grueling fight for justice that lasted long enough for him to assault another person who joined us, he finally got suspended. Conveniently, this was right when he was graduating and it wouldn't matter anyways, but we figured that at least we wouldn't have to deal with him at graduation - that is, until the school let him walk, and he used his chance to give a speech to misrepresent what had happened. I say all this to point out that the people with the power to actually convict someone of assault are often negligent, and as much as I want to say that I'll just wait and see what the investigation turns up, just because nothing comes of this doesn't mean it didn't happen.

BUT - and this is equally as important - that also doesn't mean it did. To my understanding, "always believe victims" means "don't presume someone is lying just because you think the person they're accusing isn't capable of causing harm." It means believing victims could be telling the truth when they come forward about trusted authority figures, or loved ones, or someone who's otherwise seemed perfectly nice. It means believing that assault CAN happen. This is where my second story comes in. A couple years ago, I was assaulted by a friend. I was too shaken to come forward, and scared enough that I just wanted to move on from the whole thing. A couple months later, though, I decided to tell a mutual friend what had happened, because I was worried if I didn't, she'd have the same thing happen to her. The important bit is that she didn't dismiss me just because this was a friend we were talking about, and she sat and listened and believed that they could be capable of hurting me. The point I’m trying to make here is that it is possible for someone to seem perfectly nice and not be, and doubly so with celebrities whose public persona is the only part of them we see. And when victims come forward, it’s not about necessarily accepting their claim as fact - it’s about understanding that you shouldn’t dismiss them on the grounds that the person they’re accusing would never do that, because you could be wrong.

The unfortunate fact of the matter is that you can't just wrap everything up with an easy conclusion. Anyone can lie - Neil Gaiman can lie, the two women who accused him of assault can lie, and hell, all three of them can lie to some degree at the same time. Is it eyebrow-raising that the source of the accusations is anti-BDSM (topically relevant since a lot of this centers around kinky sex, and whether Gaiman actually got consent to be that rough), and also affiliated with TERFs (who aren't exactly fans of Gaiman these days)? Yes. Would it be fucked up to just dismiss the claims because of that? Also yes. Then there's the bit where it's more likely for people to make false accusations against celebrities, but also, celebrities live in the weird ego-boosting microcosm that would make someone more prone to be a shitty person.

The bottom line is that we don't know anything for sure, and that is something we are going to have to live with and factor into how we make our decisions. Personally, I think I'll be able to appreciate collaborative stuff like Good Omens just on the basis that it's also Pratchett's work, and some of Gaiman's books hold a special place in my heart regardless of any personal feelings about him. But also, that may be subject to change, so who knows? Right now, I'm going to take a step back, and probably poke my head back in after a few months once the dust has settled and there's a bit more to go on (but as said, a lack of an official guilty verdict doesn't necessarily mean a definitive lack of assault, and we probably won’t get a clear answer here).

I'm seeing a lot of people either say that Gaiman for sure did commit assault, or for sure did not commit assault, and not back up either statement with any solid evidence, and quite frankly I think that's stupid and irresponsible. Uncertainty happens sometimes, and it sucks, and pretending like you can reach a definitive conclusion will not actually make the situation better. Instead, you just have to do the best you can with the information that you have, and try to make the most reasonable choices you can.

Edit: just to be clear, I'm not trying to express any particular stance on Gaiman himself - the most I've got there is it sounds like when I do delve down the rabbit hole more later on, I'll probably be disappointed in him. What I care about is that I'm seeing people reaffirm their stances with claims that someone quite literally couldn't lie (both in reference to Gaiman and the women who came forward), or citing the podcast's TERF affiliations as proof that nothing happened, or saying that Gaiman just gave off bad vibes, and that's proof he did do it. And like. That sort of rhetoric is what people point to when they want to discredit victims. That sort of rhetoric is how you wind up stumbling into having a bad take at some point and not being able to think critically about it. I'm more concerned about poking my head in here and seeing an absolute dumpster fire of shitty logic in every single stance than I am about whether or not an author whose stuff I've liked turns out to be a horrible person.

Also, re: the commenter who said he admitted coersion, that'd be super useful to know, but every source I've found in my short "okay what the fuck is going on" search says he's going full denial, so I'm gonna need a quote on that one. And to that end, that's exactly why I'm holding off on going down the rabbit hole, because I want to wait til there's a bit more coverage so I can get the story in one fell swoop rather than piecemeal. And also to that end, y'all are more than welcome to toss sources on here for me to check out at a later date, or for anyone else who might want them.

#ink posts #neil gaiman #fandom posting

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tranquilstudy · 30 days ago

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October 15 /24

We’re halfway through October. That’s damn crazy.

Recently, a habit I’ve wanted to get into is to really enjoy what I’ve been reading. I feel like life is so bustling around and so much constant work that it’s tough to truly savour anything. So, I’ve been setting aside some time, maybe once a week or a couple times a week, to give myself a couple hours and really sink into a book. The last book I read, “A Swim in a Pond in the Rain” by George Saunders, was fantastic. Absolutely devoured it, his voice is so passionate and yet so critical. I loved every second, and it made it very easy to get back into this habit.

QOTD: what is one event or experience that has changed your perspective of life?

🎧 : comedown — parcels

📖: “the ocean at the end of the lane” — Neil Gaiman

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melbatron5000 · 6 months ago

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More crap about story rules

I dunno if this is helpful, but I read somewhere that Tumblr is just talking to yourself until someone goes, "Oh, I like this," so here goes. It helps me to get this sort of stuff out and be able to reference back to it.

I'm a novelist. I write speculative fiction, primarily urban fantasy with a dollop of mythopoeia (wanting to lean more towards the mythopoeia, but anyway). Neil is definitely a role model of mine, and has been since I was 19. Terry came a little later for me, in my mid-twenties. I'd read Good Omens by then, but believed Neil had a heavier hand in it than Terry did (Ha!). Once I finally picked up some Discworld, I was hooked for life.

I also recently learned I have ADHD, so not only is traditional institutional academia not my thing, I also have trouble sussing out meaning and details from things unless I have specific instructions on where to look. Once I have that in hand, I often go on a tear and find things that I never imagined were there, and frequently surprise not only myself but others. But I absolutely have to have that first step laid out for me in order to make more of my own.

When I first started writing in the 80s (yes, I'm old), I started looking around for the elusive "story structure" I'd heard about vaguely from other writers. I really couldn't find anything written down about what constitutes the steps of a story, the journey a hero must take for a story to be told start to finish. The other writers I'd heard discuss it didn't have concrete ideas for me (lots of hand-waving and "oh, you know"s), so I figured I'd find it in a book somewhere.

I found a little something about structure from Greek philosophy, but that mainly boiled down to stories needing a "beginning, middle, and end," like, duh, and not a lot about what made those three parts up. As a very basic story-telling model, it is incredibly concrete and important, but it's something we've known for thousands of years by now so it doesn't exactly light up the night sky with insight anymore. It's become such common knowledge that it almost doesn't seem like knowledge. I found more from Joseph Campbell, but a lot of what I found written by him was very airy and sort of dream-like, and hard to follow. So I gave up and muddled along the best I could.

About ten years ago now, I decided to try again, and found a whole ton of stuff written about story structure, from Greek philosophy decoded to Shakespear's five-act structure to The Hero's Journey first talked about by Joseph Campbell to modern Hollywood 3-act structure. Around about 2010 there was an explosion of work done on story structure, and damn if it wasn't eye-opening.

My favorite book so far on structure is The Story Grid by Shawn Coyle, because he has broken down all the various types of structure into very concrete, easy-to-comprehend steps that make sense. He talks about exactly where there is wiggle room, exactly where there is not, the general shape of a story in comparison to the general shape of the five stages of grief, what precisely constitutes a scene and what the sequence of scenes has to be to tell a whole, complete story. (In case you're interested, my next favorite book on structure is Save the Cat! Writes a Novel. It fills in a few holes that The Story Grid misses, and together they make a beautifully complete map of how to tell a good story.)

My favorite, in particular, are the Five Commandments of Storytelling. Each scene, each act (however many you want, I like 4), and the story as a whole, all have to follow the Five Commandments. These are elements that have to be present for a scene to work, and for a story to reach its beginning, middle, and end satisfactorily.

Inciting incident. This is something that happens that forces the main character to change course, take action. It has to be either an Act of God, or another character acting on the main character.

Progressive complications. The main character forms a plan to put life back in order and tries it, but is blocked. They have to regroup and form a new plan. Threes in storytelling are always good, but the main character must be blocked until they reach the Turning Point Complication, where they realize that in order to move forward and have a hope of getting where they want, they must make a hard choice. Often the hard choice is that they must do The One Thing They Didn't Want to Do, though the introduction of new information will drive this decision as well. New information can come from another character, or be realized by the main character as a result of the action.

Crisis. They reach the decision point, where they must choose one thing over another. The decision must be between two irreconcilable good things, where they can't have both; or the lesser of two evils, where they can't escape both. The Crisis can also be boiled down to a "what will they do?" question. They're going to have to pick, but they're going to resist before they choose, and that creates tension which keeps the reader invested.

Climax. They make their choice. It's really that simple. They pick.

Resolution. The consequences of their choice are laid out. In a scene, this means the inciting incident of the next scene is introduced because of the character's choice; in an overall story, this leads to the end of the tale where our hero emerges, having learned whatever it was that the author deemed they needed to learn.

For example, Aziraphale is listening to music when a knock comes at the door. (Inciting incident) He forms and enacts a plan -- answer the door, probably hoping to get rid of whoever it is quickly. It's Gabriel. (Complication) He forms and enacts a new plan -- find out what Gabriel is doing here. Gabriel says he doesn't know. (Complication) Gabriel asks to come in. (Complication) Aziraphale forms and enacts a new plan -- tell Gabriel no. Gabriel says oh-kay and turns to the people on the street. (Turning point complication) Now Aziraphale has two bad choices -- bring Gabriel inside, or leave him to wander naked around Whickber street doing God only knows what. (Crisis) He chooses what he thinks is the lesser of two evils -- he tells Gabriel to get in. (Climax) Now Gabriel, possibly Aziraphale's worst enemy, is inside his home, the book shop. (Resolution) And because this is a scene, this Resolution is also the inciting incident of the next scene.

This can go different routes, as when the inciting incident rouses curiosity or creates a promise of something the character wants, instead of inflicting discomfort -- although if a character wants something bad enough, deciding to say no to pursuing it could inflict discomfort, so that counts, too. The inciting incident just means that something happens so that the main character can no longer keep living life as it was. Something has to change, and they have to change it. In the end, it all boils down to something outside the main character knocking them off course, them deciding how to try to get back on course and failing, and what happens as a result. (Beginning, middle, end!)

A good way to create a mystery is to hide the Inciting Incident from the readers/viewers. Or at least, the Inciting Incidents of certain character and scenes. In the above example, we see Aziraphale's Inciting Incident, but we don't see Gabriel's until episode six.

I believe we haven't seen the Inciting Incident of Crowley and Aziraphale's storyline for season 2. It seems like Gabriel showing up is the Inciting Incident for the entire season, but I believe his arrival is a Complication, not the Inciting Incident. As far as what the original Inciting Incident was, well, first and foremost, the Resolution of season 1 would naturally lead into the Inciting Incident of season 2, just as a scene would do for the scene following it. So there's one Clue. As for the answer -- we just have to keep looking where the furniture isn't.

I hope this story breakdown was interesting to someone. I find it completely fascinating, but I am a story nerd, so maybe what I like and find interesting isn't up everyone's alley.

Cheers!

#good omens #good omens 2 #story structure #scene breakdown #the five commandments of storytelling #the story grid #story nerd #looking where the furniture isn't

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 1 year ago

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The Gumshoe Is a Girl's Best Friend | Neil Lewis x Reader

Summary | Things have recently changed between them and the tension continues to grow after Neil's relationship with his current girlfriend, Megan, begins to sour. Opening night of Gumshoe Video's first commercial sets the stage for new romance.

Warnings | Arguing, Unhealthy domestic relationships, Cheating, and brief sexual language.

A World Without Love- Peter And Gordon 🎶

Silhouette- Pastel Ghost 🎵

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

word count: 3510k

Citation for quotes taken from original movie:

Watching the Detectives. Directed by Paul Soter, performances by Cillian Murphy and Lucy Liu, 2007.

Not proofread, sorry!

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

We were standing in his office in the back of Gumshoe Video, and like usual, we were arguing.

“There is no way that I’m wearing that!” He pointed menacingly at the blue suit I had bought from the downtown consignment shop.

“But it goes so well with your eyes!” I argued and thrusted the matching baby blue shirt back into his hands.

“Listen, listen- hey wait, listen to me!” He backed himself up into the corner of his office and I followed him, holding the pressed suit between my arms.

“It has ruffles! I’m not wearing ruffles on opening night, Y/N. This is a serious event!” He held out his hands in an effort to stop me but I wrapped the silk bow tie around his neck and poked a finger harshly into his chest. He pressed his back against the wall, his arms crossed protectively around himself.

“Wear. the. suit. Neil.” I threatened darkly and he gulped, his blue eyes jumping comically from the suit to my face.

“Fine, damn it! But I am NOT wearing the bowtie.” He snatched the contrasting dark blue suit jacket with its velvet lapel and sighed.

“Good boy,” I teased with the best doll eyes I could muster and swiped the silk bow tie from around his neck and into my pocket.

“Yeah, yeah alright.” He waved me off and started to unbutton his shirt, showing the white t-shirt beneath his light green button-down. He paused and looked at me expectantly.

“Aren’t you gonna leave? I need to change into this ridiculous suit!” He pointed to the door to his office, plated with textured glass. I backed away and shrugged.

“I wanted to make sure you actually put it on… and besides, it's nothing I haven’t seen before.” I said the latter part of the sentence beneath my breath but somehow Neil still heard it and whipped around.

“How many times are you going to bring that up before I live it down?” He covered his face and groaned dramatically.

“As long as I want.” I hurried out of his office and closed the door behind me. I could hear the satisfying sound of clothes as they moved off and on his body. It’s just a joke, I reminded myself, nothing more. It had been a little over two months since he’d called me so late it was almost early morning, to ask me to help him. I was still awake by some stroke of luck and followed his directions: Bring a towel or a blanket, anything, and Drive to Megan’s (400 Caste Ave). Have the headlights off and stop outside the side door. I’ll meet you there. From the tone of his voice, I knew something was wrong.

Is everything ok, Neil? I whispered into the receiver.

Yeah, yeah. I just had a fight with Megan. Everything’s ok, I just couldn’t get a hold of Jonathan or Lucien. I’m sorry…” He sighed against the phone and I nodded, knowing that he couldn’t see me.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” I hung up.

When I got to 400 Caste Ave, I did as he said. I pulled up to the side of the house without my headlights on and opened the door. A grabbed the robe I had thrown into the passenger seat and jumped out, looking around in the dark for him. I was surprised how easy it was to see him, sitting on the side steps, completely naked. His pale skin stood out like an eerie glow in the dark.

“Could you throw me that?” He gestured to the robe with one arm, the other lying across his lap to cover himself. I stopped a few feet from him and tossed the robe into his arms. I turned away to give him some privacy until he cleared his throat and followed me back to the car.

I was 5”3 so the robe was too short on him and ended on his lower thigh. He fiddled with the hem self-consciously as he climbed into the passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel and looked over at him in the dim light of the automatic car light.

“Did she lock you out of the house? What the hell happened, Neil.” I asked finally and he closed his eyes, nearly smiling from discomfort and embarrassment.

“It’s not important.” He mumbled, his face bright pink.

“Not important? You were butt-ass naked! We have to leave your car here and everything.” I laughed in frustration, slapping the worn leather binding of the steering wheel.

“I’ll deal with everything tomorrow, I promise. I just want to go home. Could you drive me, Y/N?” He laid his head back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling.

“Ok, Neil.” I cut my eyes away from his face and put the car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road. We drove home listening to Billie Holiday, singing the lyrics to Lover Man quietly beneath our breath. When I pulled up to his house, he sighed and pushed the door open, leaning down to speak through the window.

“I’m sorry again, Y/N. I didn’t want to involve you but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It's ok, Neil.” I smiled softly and chuckled as he looked down at himself in the small red robe with white piping along the lapels.

“This robe is ridiculous by the way. You need a new one.” He picked limply at the short hem, laughing.

“I’ll consult you on my next purchase.” I rolled my eyes and waved goodbye as he turned back to his house. He retrieved a key from a plastic goose, laying in the front yard and opened the front door. I drove home in light-headed fury. I didn’t like Megan and Neil knew it. She was strange, and though we were all strange in our own ways, she was almost psychopathic. She pulled these stunts on Neil all the time to see he would react and judge how far she could push him the next time. He’d stayed with her through it all because he thought he loved her but she had only ever caused him emotional and physical distress in the moments they spent alone. He refused to leave her, and despite his own flaws, it made him a good man.

She still poked fun at Neil for that night, mainly for her own amusement, and because that night signified a shift in her. She’d never thought of Neil as anything more than a friend, someone she saw a few times a week and talked to occasionally but hadn’t even known his favorite color (green) or remembered his birthday (May 25). Until that night, they had barely been friends. And since then, they had grown closer with me never being able to get him out of my mind the night I saw him on the steps, his back hunched over his chest and his dark brown hair fluttering in the small gusts of wind. The freckles that dotted his shoulders like shadows from eyelet curtains stuck with me, I’d never been able to let it go.

But things returned to normal a week or so afterwards. Megan apologized, returning his clothes, keys, and car; and he stayed with her, laughing off whatever deeply-rooted hurt he’d felt from the whole experience. And though we never really talked about that night, we’d grown unspokenly closer in the weeks that followed.

The shop’s front doors were propped open with milk crates weighed down with old VHS. The air smelled heavy and sour with cheap weed that flooded in dense clouds around the inside of the store. I weaved through the small cliques of people arranged throughout the aisles, holding plastic red cups of liquor and bad wine. I found Megan by the front doors, sitting alone and sipping from her drink.

“Hi, Megan.” I waved briefly and continued on to Jonathan and Lucien who were perched together on the store’s window seat, entertaining guests. Megan shifted in her plastic seat, her heavy black eyeliner cast a shadow over her eyes, saying nothing.

“Ah, here she is! Y/N, stylist to the stars.” Jonathan opened his arms, nearly knocking Lucien’s glasses off his face. The circle cheered as I sat down amongst them.

“Speaking of stylist, I love your outfit!” One friend, Lauren, smiled kindly.

I looked down at what I was wearing: A black velvet mini dress and a tweed blazer. I had my short hair tied back with a black ribbon and heeled sandals that made me two inches taller at 5”5.

“Thank you.” I blushed and tucked my hands beneath my knees as the wave of conversation continued. I watched the office door for Neil to emerge, preparing myself for a boy dressed in baby blue, however, I wasn’t prepared when he made his grand entrance.

“Here he comes now.” Lucien sighed and turned to a woman who was sitting beside him to start another story.

“Oh my god, THAT is blue.” Jonathan laughed into his palm, his face turning red as he rocked back and forth on the window seat. Neil approached confidently, his hands stretched out to welcome appreciation and applause. I giggled to myself, taken aback by how good he looked even in the outdated prom costume. Megan rolled her eyes and slurped loudly from her drink.

“What do we think, huh?” Neil did a twirl and flicked the jacket back to show off his shirt.

“I can’t tell if I'm turned on or if I just really need to sneeze. It probably had decades of dust on that thing.” Lucien grumbled into a handkerchief and everyone laughed.

“Well, Lucien may be allergic to me but other than that, the reviews seem good.” He raised an eyebrow at me and I started to laugh again.

“Alright everyone! Thank you so much for being here tonight to see the premier of Gumshoe’s first ever commercial,” he paused for the applause, “I want to thank my closest friends and film crew Lucien, Jonathan, and Y/N for helping me make this wonderful film-er- commercial. Thank you to all of our loyal customers that are here tonight, keeping Gumshoe open. Um,” His voice quivered and he faked emotion, pitching the place between his eyebrows as if he was overcome with emotion, “‘I told myself that I wouldn’t cry. Um,’” he wiped an invisible tear from his eye before turning back to the audience, ‘“no seriously,’” he regained his composure, ‘“I know I can’t compete with the big guys, but as long as I have you guys, my small and loyal following of geeks and weirdos, I know I’ll be alright.’”

We all cooed and applauded, laughing at his performance.

“And of course, I need to thank my wonderful girlfriend, Megan, for being my rock through all of this. No one is more… stable and supportive than her.” He smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat after the scattering of applause from the people who knew Megan well. Luciene glanced at me and I returned his suggestive gaze. Megan responded with a small, annoyed smile and checked her flip-phone.

“Y/N?” He turned quickly with finger guns trained at my chest.

“Oh right!” I jumped up and retrieved the VHS from behind the counter. Neil switched on the large box tv and inserted the tape into the player. The VHS loaded into the dock and clicked into place, the tape beginning to wind forwards. I returned to my seat and joined in the rest of the room’s applause as the screen blinked. Neil hurried across the couches to Megan and dropped down into the plastic seat beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against the crook of his shoulder, smiling sweetly. I tore my eyes away and watched the screen as the image appeared.

It was a film noir and Neil was the disgruntled gangster, fixing his revolver at a man’s chest. His face was dark in the shadows but you could still see the slender cigarette wedged between his teeth like a toothpick. The man, holding a Gumshoe Video tape, ran away comically from Neil and received a clear shot to the back, taking a good few seconds to fall to the dark pavement. Neil restored the gun to the inside of his trench coat and walked around to the front of a dark storefront where I, playing the gangster’s lover, stood expectantly. I was turned away from the camera when he approached. When I turned around, my dark black sequined gown glittered across the screen. The dress was inspired by Marylin Monroe’s Ladies of the Chorus gown, hugging my curves and showing off my whitish-blonde hair. A few whistles escaped from the crowd and I laughed, blushing. Neil stubbed out his cigarette.

“‘Nice shot, lover. What was that for?’” I asked breathily in my best Monroe voice.

“‘This was due back last Thursday, and besides, he forgot to rewind.” Neil answered in a silly mock-mafia accent, holding the overdue tape in his hand.The storefront lit up, and the stacks of VHS stood far back in the picture, glowing in black and white. ‘Gumshoe Video’ was visible in large letters across the store’s window, gray instead of bubblegum pink.

“Say, what’s Gumshoe got for a girl like me?” I strutted over and fixed the popped collar on Neil’s trench coat and he chucked dramatically (the audience laughed).

“Why darling, Gumshoe’s a girl’s best friend!” He pulled out one more tap from his jacket pocket and gave it to me. Jonathan (the cameraman) zoomed in on the tape’s label Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. The camera zoomed out and I squealed and took the tape, clutching it to my chest.

“‘Gumshoe Video,’” the picture changed into color, “‘if we don’t have it, we’ll hit the pavement looking for it.’” Neil winked at the camera with a thumb’s up. I kissed him on the cheek with my Monroe-red lips and it was caught in the freezeframe at the end of the ad. Everyone applauded, some whistled as Neil jumped back up and acknowledged the crowd once again.

“Another round-of-applause to my camera man, Jonathan, and my lovely costar, Y/N!” He pointed us out and Jonathan and I took our bows.

“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. Have some cheap wine and beer and hang around because we have a very special midnight showing of the 1944 Arsenic and Old Lace.” He waggled his fingers and laughed awkwardly as people started to stand. I watched Megan start to frown deeper on her plastic chair, her arms tightly crossed against her chest. Neil noticed her reaction and started to go over but she bolted from the seat, heading into the back office. He followed her without a word.

“Do you think it was the kiss?” I asked Lucien and he shrugged.

“It was a pretty lousy kiss, I doubt it was that.” He fixed his thick glasses. Jonathan leaned over, smiling.

“I think she’s upset that he cast you at all.”

“Gee thanks, Jonathan.” I huffed, “it's not fair that she’s upset. He asked her first but she didn’t want to be in the ad. I was the second choice.” I hardened my voice and Jonathan nodded.

“And thank god she said no.” Lucien laughed dryly, watching as Neil tried to get into his own office in the back room.

“Filming would have been hell.” Jonathan added below his breath and I held in my laugh.

They were in Neil’s office for the better part of an hour, Megan yelling and throwing this around the entire time. Their shadows behind the door played out for everyone to see in the store like a puppet show. When midnight neared, Jonathan switched the tapes in the player and I handed out popcorn in large paper bags. Most of the guests stayed, going back to their seats around the tv for the movie. Lucien talked for what felt like fifteen minutes about the film while also smoking on his pipe. Jonathan and I rolled our eyes at most of what he had to say, asserting himself as the real film-expert at Gumshoe Video.

I heard the office door slam and looked up in time to see Megan leave out the back door. I didn’t see Neil leave his office though his door was wide open. I slipped away from the movie and made my way to Neil’s office with the smoky, textured glass, and knocked lightly on the doorframe. I heard a drawn out sigh before a quiet, “come in.”

He was sitting at his desk with his head cradled between his arms. I stood by the door, leaning against the inside of the doorframe and waited for him to look up. When he did, his blue eyes found mine, bloodshot and tired.

“The movie’s starting. Do you want a drink?” I asked.

“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded. I went to the drink cooler and took out two beers. I set them down on the desk in front of him and beckoned with my free hand.

“Come on.” I whispered below the movie’s dialogue in the front of the store.

We went out the backdoor and sat on the cinderblock wall beside the old basketball net. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his ruffled dress shirt and sighed, taking a long drink from his beer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Nah. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He looked over and smiled tiredly.

“She’s not mad?” I asked, shocked.

“No, no she’s mad but it's over something stupid.” He looked down at his beer.

“Is it me?”

He looked at me again and smiled. He chuckled softly before raising the beer to his lips, looking up at the distant sky.

“Yeah.” Was all he said and I didn’t ask further.

“The commercial was a big hit, Neil.” I smiled and recounted the compliments I had received from guests. “They think we should make more.”

“I don’t know if Jonathan would like that.” He laughed.

“Maybe, but we were good. That’s all that matters.” I smiled over at him and he smiled back, silence falling between us. He looked down at my lips and I exhaled a cloud of crystalized air. He kissed me quickly, catching me off guard. He pulled me closer with his lips and took my jaw with his fingers. I put my hand on his knee, pushing myself into him and taking in his tongue. He pulled away just as quickly as he had started and blushed deeply.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “I’m drunk.” He stood and stepped away from me, running a head through his hair.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” He took another step back and rubbed his forehead.

“It’s ok.” I whispered.

“No, no. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK, Neil.” I stood too and held out my hands like I was calming an animal. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wet from overwhelmed tears. Then he did it again. He rushed to me, dropping his beer bottle and taking my face in his hands. He kissed me deeply and I kissed him back, taking him in. He had the lovely warm scent of manhood that lingered in every corner of his skin. I sighed against his lips and he kissed me slower, more passionately.

He walked me backwards and held me gently against the cinder block wall. He put his hands around my hips and pushed his pelvis against mine, releasing his lips to rest his forehead against mine. I trailed my hands up his chest, helping them find their way through the patterns in the ruffles.

“Are you sorry now?” I asked against his lips and I felt him smile against mine.

“No.” He kissed me again, sucking gently on my tongue. He held my face and turned it as he kissed me, searching for every place of my lips that he hadn’t yet kissed. He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, putting most of my weight against the wall behind me. He rutted his hips against me again and I gasped softly, squirming against his body.

“Wait,” I whispered, “what about Megan?” He opened his eyes and looked down into mine. “What about Megan?” I repeated.

“We’re done.” His smile was strained as he remembered his last interaction with Megan. “I ended things. I should have done it before and I’m sorry.” He rubbed his nose against mine, breathing softly on my lips. “I-I think I love you, Y/N. I’ve been so confused lately but all I know is that things changed after that night when you saved me. I should have done something then but I didn’t. I think I’ve loved you this whole time.” He shook his head. I took his face in my hands and kissed him softly before pulling away.

“I think I love you too.” I whispered back.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x y/n #fluff #fanfic #cillian murphy #watching the detectives

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

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Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision.

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door.

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees.

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?”

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?”

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well.

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground.

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.”

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.”

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.”

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.”

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?”

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.”

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.”

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.”

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often.

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house.

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go.

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines?

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer.

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington.

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about.

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly.

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse.

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way.

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.”

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.”

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time.

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him.

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list.

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse.

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!”

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn.

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now.

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with.

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house.

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.”

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house.

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds.

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm.

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.”

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo

shoot rather than people actually living in it.

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement.

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement.

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories.

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?”

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.”

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.”

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!”

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture.

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.”

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.”

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame.

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.”

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.”

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.”

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one.

“A son.”

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain.

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.”

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory.

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth. After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were.

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose.

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track.

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?”

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.”

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.”

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises.

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.”

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?”

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering.

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.”

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?”

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?”

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand.

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives.

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner, two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon.

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it.

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming.

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone?

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you.

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.”

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead.

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.”

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby.

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,” blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question.

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.”

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting.

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat.

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees.

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