#probably for her failure to show up for an entire week or more

[collaredkittyboy]

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[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 3/3)

Third and final part of my angsty Steddie “Bullshit” story where Steve changes himself to try to keep Eddie’s love. I swear the happy ending is finally here everyone! Please put the pitchforks and torches away!

I hope it lives up to expectations and thank you everyone for showing such a keen interest in my story. This final part is LONG and dialogue heavy but hey, at least you finally get the fluff.

Part 1 || Part 2

-

It had been two weeks.

Which, sure, wasn’t the longest they’d gone without seeing each other before due to their lives being hectic, but it had been the longest they’d gone without even so much as a quick goodnight phone call since they finally got together. Steve’s hand had hovered over the phone every night, wanting to call Eddie and apologize and promise to do better, but he was too much of a coward.

Because, you see, as long as they weren’t talking, Steve could still pretend that they were together. He knew though that the moment his resolve crumbled and he called Eddie, or Eddie finally had enough and called him, that it would be over. Eddie would officially break up with him and this time Steve didn’t know how he was going to pick up the pieces.

He loved too much, too quickly, too earnestly. But it was never enough. It was always just bullshit and he didn’t know how to stop it from being bullshit. The first time he hadn’t taken Nancy’s own needs into account, had been too caught up in his own trauma to realize that she needed more than just to pretend that nothing had happened and move on from what couldn’t be changed.

Neither had been in the wrong, of course, both dealing with trauma and guilt in their own way, but in the end they had simply been too incompatible. He hadn’t been what she needed and she hadn’t been what he needed. They couldn’t change that, not even back when that spark between them still burned in an ember. But who they were simply couldn’t change to be what the other needed, or deserved.

So then he tried to change, for Eddie. Once Eddie and he got together, it was obvious they were too different. Their friends had commented on it enough, and then when Steve changed to be worthy of Eddie, they commented on that too. But Steve was fine with changing. He loved Eddie enough to become what would make Eddie happy. He’d do anything to make Eddie happy.

Except he failed. He failed and now he had gone two weeks without speaking to his boyfriend who probably hated him now.

Their friends wouldn’t tell him anything either, not that he really wanted them to know of his failure. Only Robin knew because she had been the first person he had called when Eddie had ran away from him when it became obvious Steve wasn’t good enough.

Robin, who had threatened to make Eddie’s balls into earrings, had muttered about how she’d always known he was trouble, but Steve also remembered how happy Robin had been when she discovered she wasn’t alone. She and Eddie had gotten on like a house on fire, bickering like they’d been siblings all along, and it had been so nice to have both his soulmates so close to him and each other.

He couldn’t let Robin hate Eddie because of Steve’s own failings. So he talked to her, told her it was fine, told her not to hate Eddie just because Steve couldn’t be what he wanted, though that only seemed to make Robin worse.

Until a few days ago.

She had suddenly returned with a smile on her face, and though she seemed impatient at times, she had at least stopped threatening bodily harm towards Eddie. She stopped bringing Eddie up entirely, actually, though she looked like she wanted to say something more than once.

Normally, Steve would have pried it out of her. It would have been easy too. A flash of wide eyes, downturned lips, tilted head, a soft whine to her name, and she’d be spilling state secrets to him…though he already knew all the state secrets that she knew. But she couldn’t hide from her soulmate. Ever since that first bathroom confessional, they were never very good at keeping secrets from each other.

Steve was too tired for that now. He just wanted Eddie. But Eddie didn’t want him.

Because he was bullshit.

Steve was curled on his couch, Dio blasting from the music system, the fancy new CD player rotating the shiny disc over and over again on repeat. Eddie had said he preferred vinyls, so Steve tried to only listen to vinyls when he was around, but Steve enjoyed the way he could set the new CD technology on repeat without having to get up. It let him wallow for longer.

Robin had been by earlier, though she seemed jumpier than normal, constantly looking at her watch. She’d finally jumped out of Steve’s bed they were lounging in and said she had to go about an hour ago, stuttering excuses and refusing to meet his eyes.

He wondered if Robin was beginning to realize he was bullshit too.

He couldn’t blame her. They didn’t really have much in common either. It was only trauma bonding that tied them together, or at least that’s what she had called it a few nights after everything to do with Starcourt, when she’d biked all the way to Loch Nora and pounded on the door until a bewildered Steve had answered.

She’d thrown her arms around Steve then, and he’d realized she’d been crying, and she kept whispering over and over “you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe” as though she needed to reassure herself. Steve had at first thought she was talking about herself, but then he realized she was talking about him.

That particular realization had been electrifying. No one had ever really checked up on him before. But apparently Robin had been unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares of what the Russians had done to Steve, plagued by the what-if’s of Steve not making it out of the underground bunker. It was the first night they slept in the same bed together, but it wasn’t the last.

She’d told him that they were trauma bonded, them and the rest of the group, that no matter how different they were, they would always have each other’s back. That was also the first night she’d called him her soulmate though, making certain he knew she meant it Platonic with a capital ‘P’ and nothing else. Steve realized that it didn’t make it any less important.

But maybe that had been a lie too.

Maybe Robin was beginning to realize that they were too different. That Steve would never be good enough for anyone. Not good enough for his family, not good enough for Dustin, not good enough for Nancy, not good enough for Eddie, and not good enough for Robin. Always wanting, always worthless. Always bullshit.

It was during this spiral that a very polite, though loud, knocking came from the front door. He supposed they had to be loud to be heard over the sounds of Dio, which he had cranked up to try to drown out the thoughts in his head.

Steve rubbed at his eyes, which felt crusty from dried tears, sitting up from where he had collapsed after showing Robin out the door. He’d think that it was Robin returning for something she forgot, a regular occurrence, but she rarely knocked anymore. She typically just let herself in with the spare key he’d given her. He’d given one to Eddie too.

Pushing thoughts of his maybe-still-his-boyfriend away as he hit pause on the music, Steve shuffled towards the front door. He gave a brief tug of his Iron Maiden shirt, which was actually one of Eddie’s, to attempt to make his rumpled appearance look a little more presentable, and then he was swinging the door open to reveal…

Eddie???

Except…it wasn’t an Eddie he recognized. No, this Eddie was wearing an orchid pink polo and light khakis, and…were those Oxford shoes he was wearing?? With a matching belt??? His hair was smoothed fully back and clasped into a professional looking bun and not a single ring adorned his fingers, made obvious by the way Eddie held up a bouquet of roses. Even the ever present pick necklace from absent from Eddie’s neck.

Steve gaped.

“Hello, Steve,” Eddie said, even his voice seemed softer, less wild, and his smile was the sort Steve had seen his father’s business associates give to each other when a good deal had gone through. Happy, pleased, but restrained. Nothing like the manic grins he was used to from Eddie.

“E-Eddie?” he croaked out, absolutely in disbelief. Behind Eddie, Steve could see a station wagon parked where Eddie’s van should be. “What’s going on?”

Eddie held the flowers out towards Steve, who automatically took them. He couldn’t help but give a bemused smile even as he brought them up to smell. Eddie took a deep breath, indicating the foyer with a small motion of his hand.

“Sorry, but may we talk inside?”

This strangely polite version of Eddie was making Steve feel weirdly uncomfortable, so used to the exuberance that normally surrounded the other man. He took a step back, however, because it was Eddie. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest at seeing Eddie again, even if he looked different.

Steve closed the door behind Eddie after the other man stepped forward, though not before wiping his shoes off on the doormat, which Steve could not recall Eddie ever doing before. He felt like he had somehow fallen into an alternate dimension, and not of the Upside Down variety. Maybe that would have been better; he knew how to handle that kind.

“Um…let me put these in water?” Steve said, though it sounded more like a question, at a loss for what was happening right now.

“Of course, sweetheart. Do you mind if I put on the game?”

Sweetheart.

Steve felt a hopeful flutter in his chest and gut at the use of an endearment. Sure, Eddie was no stranger to using such terms in retaliation to bullies or anyone else he disliked, but that was not the tone Eddie used just now. No, he used the tone he always used with Steve, making Steve hopeful towards the idea that he hadn’t actually ruined everything yet.

He was so caught up with that fact that it took him a moment to process the second part of what Eddie said. “Uh…yeah, sure?” he answered with a question again, brows furrowing, as he wondered if he had somehow forgotten that he was supposed to host Eddie’s campaign night that night.

He hurried quickly to the kitchen to find something to put the flowers in, suddenly worried about how his home looked. He hadn’t been expecting to host Dungeons and Dragons, didn’t have the snacking station set up or anything. Did he have enough beverages? Who all was coming tonight? He felt his hosting anxiety start climbing at these questions, as well as the worry that this was a test.

If he failed tonight, would Eddie finally be done with him?

Steve was just settling the vase full of roses on the counter when he heard…was that…?

“Oh come on, Coach! Take him out!” Eddie’s voice filtered through to him as Steve slowly made his way towards the living room. “That asshole is making Gochnaur look like a capable shortstop!”

Was Eddie…watching baseball?

Did Eddie know about John Gochnaur?

What was happening right now?

Steve stood in the doorway leading into the living room, watching with a completely gobsmacked expression as, yes, Eddie was currently watching baseball and giving correct commentary. Steve hadn’t even known Eddie knew what a shortstop did.

Eddie glanced over at Steve and his annoyed expression smoothed into one of happiness. He pat the couch next to him invitingly and Steve could do nothing but walk forward and take his place at Eddie’s side. His furrowed brows shot up into his hairline when Eddie pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he started rattling off statistics of the players on screen like he did monsters during his DnD campaigns as he indicated the probability of home runs and errors.

“What the hell is going on right now?” he mumbled mostly to himself. This was…this was weird. He wasn’t sure he liked this. No, he knew he didn’t like this. Whatever this was, it felt wrong. He turned his head to frown at Eddie who still looked caught up in the game. In sports.

“Eddie, what…” Steve shook his head slightly, wetting his lips. “Why are you watching baseball? Why are you wearing those clothes? You just left the other days and now you look like a completely different person. What is going on?”

Eddie glanced over at Steve, his own brows high into his bangs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Steve. I’m wearing perfectly normal clothing. And sure, it’s only baseball, but it’s not like it’s basketball season yet.”

Eddie paused then, his expression settling into a neutral look for only a moment before slowly morphing to one of pained regret. He sight and hung his head for a moment before grabbing the remote and muting the screen. He then released Steve just enough to turn slightly on the couch to better face him.

“I’m sorry for leaving though, baby. There’s no excuse for just running out on you like that. I didn’t want to hurt you, I just…I had a lot on my mind and I needed to figure some things out. But don’t worry, Stevie. I have it all figured out now and now I can be an even better boyfriend to you,” he finished with a wide grin that looked nothing like his typical crazed charming smile. It looked more like the grins he used to make before he felt comfortable around Steve and the others.

Charming, yes, but not right. Not Eddie.

But Eddie was leaning forwards, brushing one of the limp pieces of his hair that he hadn’t even bothered to style these past two weeks—hell, had barely had the energy to even wash—back behind his ear. He then pressed forward to lightly kiss the tip of Steve’s nose with a smile, and Steve could only smile back. Eddie was here, with him, and that was all that mattered.

Except…

Except.

Eddie’s pink polo was still in his line of vision. It was Eddie, but it wasn’t Eddie at the same time. He looked nothing like the metalhead he loved. Not that there was anything wrong with what he wore now, of course, and honestly seeing Eddie in a polo was kind of hot, but…it wasn’t him.

Steve pulled back, his smile turning back into a small frown. His eyes tracked over Eddie’s outfit. Sure, Eddie looked nice in it, but it was incredibly wrong. The khakis even looked pressed. “But seriously, Eddie, what the hell are you wearing?”

Eddie looked down at his own clothing with a look of not understanding before looking back up at Steve. “I honestly don’t know what you mean. I’m wearing clothing. A shirt and pants I’ve even got underwear on underneath. Though I can wear a lot less of it if you prefer, baby,” he added in that sultry voice that never failed to get Steve going. He’d once accidentally slipped into it while DMing when he narrated a succubus type NPC and Steve had popped a boner right then and there at the table.

And Steve’s dick made a valiant effort to respond now actually, but everything was wrong and Steve didn’t like that. He continued frowning at Eddie.

“Why are you wearing a polo?” he asked more directly, because he knew from experience with Dustin and Robin and even Eddie himself that sometimes you just have to ask directly if you wanted a proper answer. And seriously. A polo?? “Where are your regular clothes. And why are you watching baseball?”

“I like baseball,” Eddie replied easily with a shrug. “It’s not as bad as I thought. I like that the players can have their little music intro. And I wear polos now, they’re surprisingly comfortable.” He gave Steve a gentle smile. “If you don’t want to watch baseball, we can do something else. You wanna put on some music? Have you heard Debbie Gibson’s new song? Truly heartbreaking. I bet it’s on the radio right now.”

Steve just gaped. It was like Eddie was speaking an alien language even though he knew that all that was English and he understood each word separately. All together though, coming from Eddie’s mouth? Yeah, nothing made sense.

“Eddie,” he breathed, slowly reaching out for Eddie’s left hand and feeling another swoop of wrongness at the lack of rings there. “When you said you wanted to put on the game, I thought you meant a campaign. And Debbie Gibson? Babe, you’re in a metal band. Debbie Gibson isn’t cool.”

“Hey! You treat Deb with respect. Girl’s got an excellent voice,” Eddie said with indignation. Steve could only roll his eyes because yeah, he knew that, but Eddie saying something like that? Unreal. It was Eddie’s next words that made him freeze solid, however.

“Besides, I quit the band. Dungeons and Dragons too. Figured I’m too old for that nerd shit. I’m thinking about getting a real job now anyways, so I don’t have time for all that anymore. Actually, do you want to go through the classifieds together with me later? Gareth said he’d try to get me an in with his dad’s company, but it’s better to be prepared.”

Eddie quit the band? Quit Dungeons and Dragons? Was talking about a corporate job? What. The. Fuck.

Steve scrambled up from the couch, his fingers moving up to squeeze the bridge of his nose before both hands settled on his hips as he stared at Eddie in disbelief. “You love Corroded Coffin. And Dungeons and Dragons! Why the hell would you stop doing something you love?”

Something flashed across Eddie’s expression then, something pleased like Steve had said exactly what Eddie had hoped he would, but it was gone the very next instant leaving Eddie simply staring up Steve with wide and imploring eyes.

“But Steve,” he said, and his tone was too earnest that it made Steve pause. “I love you more, and you don’t like those things. So I’ll change, for you.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown back in his face. He couldn’t move, couldn’t react. Couldn’t resist when Eddie reached out and grasped his hand to pull him back to the couch he’d just vacated, pulling him against his side once more.

“You changed for me, so now I’ll change for you,” Eddie said like the solution was obvious. Steve mutely shook his head, but Eddie’s smile was toothy and sharp and so much like the smile he was used to that he couldn’t speak. Which was just as well, since Eddie wasn’t done. “You changed who you were because you loved me so much and didn’t want to lose me. Is it so preposterous to imagine that I love you so much that I’m willing to do the same?”

Yes! Steve wanted to exclaim, wanted to shout and shake Eddie, because of course Eddie didn’t love Steve the same way that Steve loved Eddie; no one ever did.

Well, except maybe Robin. They were Platonic soulmates after all. He knew that he had started doubting her earlier, which made him a little nauseous to do actually, but she had been the only one so far who had never abandoned him. Who seemingly cared for him the same way he cared for her.

But to think he could possibly be blessed with someone who loved him, romantically, that same way? To think that he might be lucky enough to have that sort of fabled love twice? Impossible! Because…because he knew. He knew he wasn’t good enough. He wouldn’t ever be good enough. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t—

“Do you know why I love you, Stevie?” Eddie murmured, cutting off Steve’s thoughts and causing him to stiffen beside him. It wasn’t like he was unused to these declarations; Eddie never really shied away from telling Steve he loved him, though Steve had to fight back the inane temptation to make a bitchy little joke about it like he’d had before, teasingly crediting his ass or how pretty he looked on his knees. Eddie had given them as reasons enough for his love when they’d joked around before, just as Steven had teasingly cited his love as being because of how skilled Eddie’s fingers were, or the talent of his mouth.

He could sense, however, that trying to trivialize the moment would not go well this time. No, Eddie was looking at him earnestly once more, was reaching out again for Steve’s hand to hold and clutch between both of his against his chest. He thankfully did not seem like he was expecting an answer from Steve.

“It’s because you thought about my safety first, back then, at Skull Rock, even after I’d shoved a broken bottle at your neck. Even though we ran in two totally different circles, you immediately put me as a priority. It’s because you didn’t hesitate to jump into the water, not in belittlement of Wheeler and Buckley for being girls, or me for being…well, me…but simply because you were aware of your own qualifications and knew you were best for the job.

“It’s because, at the first real opportunity of being relatively alone with me, you immediately thanked me for coming to help you after you’d been pulled under, like there had been any other option. As if it wasn’t a given that you deserved to be made a priority too.”

Eddie paused then, thickly swallowed as his eyes closed momentarily. “Though you totally saved your own ass there, tearing that bitch apart with your bare hands. You’re a total badass, sweetheart,” he rumbled, the heat of hungry appreciation in his voice. “Wrapped up in soft yellow sweaters and ridiculously styled hair.”

Opening his eyes to look at Steve again, Steve could see some of that (still surprising) hunger lingering. Because yeah, he knew now that Eddie had near creamed his pants when he’d pulled an Ozzy with the demobat, and even though he questioned his boyfriend’s tastes at time, he was also always so gleeful to know that Eddie thought him sexy as hell.

But it was more than just that, and Steve felt his heart hammering away beneath his ribcage as Eddie kept going on, singing his praises as if Steve was truly something to be admired.

“It’s because,” Eddie continued saying, bringing Steve’s hand up to lightly nuzzle against his knuckles, “you always put everyone else first, even if you hide it behind your bitchy little snide words. Because you care about everyone else and would throw yourself directly into the path of danger to protect them. Protect us. And more than that, you take care of everyone around you, whether they show their gratitude or not. Dustin wasn’t wrong when he talked about how great you are.

“It’s because…” Eddie drew in another shuddering breath, his eyes wide and deep with emotion. “It’s because, when you look at me, you see me, not just another trailer trash failure who couldn’t even properly graduate high school. You see someone worth loving.”

“Eddie,” Steve broke in then with a cracked voice, his guilt unable to keep him quiet. “You were right about me, though. I was a douchebag. Even about you I was an asshole until everything went down. I called you a freak, and I didn’t try hard enough to stop Tommy from attacking you or the others, and I only cared about myself back then. I’m not the person you think I am.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “I won’t deny past dickishness, but I’m not so innocent either,” he pointed out. “I held my own prejudices, my own selfishness. I ostracized Lucas for daring to like sports, I nearly abandoned my bandmates the first time I thought I could make it solo, and I continually ran away when things got tough or hard, try as hard as I did to pretend otherwise.”

Eddie released Steve’s hand from one of his own so that he could snake it behind Steve’s neck to pull him in for a gentle kiss. Steve melted into it, terrified Eddie would eventually leave him still, while also taking great comfort in the kiss. It wasn’t a goodbye kiss, that much he was certain.

“You love with your whole heart, Stevie,” Eddie whispered when he finally pulled away. “I will never be able to apologize enough for taking advantage of that, for not realizing what was going on.” He dropped his gaze to the Iron Maiden shirt Steve was wearing, sliding his hand from Steve’s neck to his chest. “The fact that I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough exactly as you are will always haunt me.”

Steve didn’t want Eddie sad. He didn’t want Eddie to blame himself for Steve not being enough. He couldn’t get the words out though, not when Eddie looked so utterly heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, baby. And I’m so sorry for leaving. I just…I realized what I did to you and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

Steve was horrified by the tears that began flooding Eddie’s eyes, causing him to reach out with his own freed hand pull Eddie in by his polo for another kiss. He didn’t understand what was going on, but…but…

Was Eddie truly not upset with him?

“Christ, baby,” Eddie murmured against his lips. “I love you in your polos. I love you listening to your own music in the car, the way your hair flops about as you jam out to Queen and Wham! and even Cydni fucking Lauper. I love how passionate you get about sports, the way you fuss over Henderson and the others, the way you call out other people’s shit. I love all of you, not in spite of you.”

Eddie pulled back to look properly at Steve, and this time it was Steve with tears brimming in his eyes. Everything Eddie said was like a revelation because the tone of Eddie’s voice, the look in Eddie’s eyes…he meant them.

“But…we’re so different,” he protested, because how was he supposed to accept that when they were nothing alike? Certainly Eddie had to have some regrets, or wish for some changes.

“Steve,” Eddie said on a near whine. “Of course we’re different. We’re different people.” He shook his head suddenly, taking a deep breath. He then reached out and caught Steve’s chin to force him to look at him, catching his eyes with his own. “Do you love me any less for being different than you?”

“No!” Steve yelled aghast. How could Eddie ever think that?

“Then why do you think I would ever love you less for the same?”

Steve opened his mouth, ready to protest again, except…except he didn’t really have an answer to that. Not beyond the fact that he would always be less than. Less than Eddie, less than the kids, less than everyone else he ever cared about.

Except…

Except.

The way Eddie was staring at him now, the way Eddie’s own pain reflected in his dark brown eyes, didn’t make Steve feel like he was lesser. Eddie had never made him feel lesser, actually. Eddie had instead made him feel like…like he mattered. Like he was something worth cherishing. Like…like he was loved.

“I…I don’t know,” Steve admitted, voice cracking, and the tears he’d been keeping at bay slowly spilled over and slid down his cheeks.

Eddie cupped his jaw with both hands then, and though his tears didn’t fall, he sniffled in a way that revealed that it was a very near thing. “I love you so much, baby. I was so ecstatic that you loved me too, that you seemed to be willing to take interest in the things I loved, that I didn’t realize I never did the same. I thought you were trying to figure out who you were, I never noticed that you stopped being you.

“I don’t want you to be just another metalhead who likes everything I like. I want you to be your own person, to like the things you like even if I don’t like them. I want to meet you in the middle of who we are, not a compromise, but as a sign of our love. I’ll take you to metal concerts and you can take me to sports games, even the ones with laundry baskets,” he gently teased. “Any of them, I don’t care. As long as I’m with you doing things you love, I’ll be happy. Because you make me happy, sweetheart.”

Steve’s eyes darted away, eyes catching on the screen where one of the players just stole a base and made themselves that much closer to winning the game, before looking back at Eddie. He didn’t see anything false in his expression, only genuine, hopeful sincerity. Like he truly meant his words.

“I’m fine doing whatever you want,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to sacrifice anything.”

“Baby,” Eddie implored. “It’s not a sacrifice to be with you. You’re so perfect for me, just like you are. Like you truly are. I fell in love with you not because of what you can give me, but because of who you are. I never thought you were actually trying to change to be who you thought I wanted you to be. Because I just want you, baby. If you still want me.”

“Of course I want you,” Steve murmured immediately, his hands moving to claps at Eddie’s forearms. “I’ll always want you.”

Eddie grinned at him, though it was still emotional. He at least managed to keep his tears at bay, blinking rapidly until there wasn’t fear of them falling anymore. He leaned in then to press a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead, his thumbs lightly stroking over Steve’s cheeks. “And I’ll always want you. Hell, baby, I’d marry you right now if it were legal.”

That got Steve’s attention.

He pulled back again, pulling Eddie’s hands from his face to stare at his boyfriend with wide eyes. Again there was only sincerity in Eddie’s gaze, and patience, as he let Steve process and work through his words. To understand just how much Eddie meant it.

Eddie loved him. He knew this of course, but…hell, they hadn’t been dating all that long, all things considered, and he’d once heard Eddie denounce marriage as just another conformist expectation used to take your individuality away, but here was Eddie saying he would marry him if given the chance. He knew Eddie wouldn’t say something like that unless he truly meant it too. Eddie loved him.

“But…we’re so different, Eddie,” he repeated in barely more than a whisper. “A-and I don’t want you to quit your band or Dungeons and Dragons or anything like that for me. I don’t want you conforming for me.”

Eddie just grinned again, his expression so full of love for Steve that it made Steve almost physically ache. “And I don’t want you changing for me,” he simply said, and…and maybe Steve was starting to get that, but…

“But you were so happy when I started listening to metal, and not all of it is bad,” Steve admitted. “I actually liked some of it. More than I thought I would.”

“I was happy,” Eddie admitted right back, letting out a soft sigh. “I was happy to share something with you, happy to help you develop your interest since I thought it was something you wanted. I didn’t mean to push it on you. I was just…I thought that if we had a shared interest like that, you wouldn’t decide I was too much. When you started dressing like this…”

Eddie moved to lightly tug at the hem of Steve’s shirt. “I had been so terrified that you would realize you could do better than someone like me,” he whispered. “Having you not be put off by the way I dressed, by the music I liked, by anything I liked made me happy because it calmed my fears that I’d scare you off or something, that you’d move on to greener and better pastures.”

And that was just not right. Better than Eddie? Someone like that simply didn’t exist. And all because Eddie liked a certain kind of music, or dressed a certain way? Absolutely not.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, and this time it was him reaching out to cup Eddie’s cheek to make him look at him properly again. “You’re so amazing, Eddie. How in the world could someone better than you exist? You’re a fucking hero, man. And don’t say you’re not,” he said firmly when Eddie opened his mouth to say just that, like he always did when it got brought up. “You are. You’re brave and selfless and literally out your life in the line to protect others. You’re badass, baby. Just like me,” he grinned in tease.

Eddie softly snorted, placing his hand over Steve’s on his cheek so he could hold it as he turned his head slightly to kiss the palm. “You are a badass,” Eddie agreed. “And you’re sweet too, even though you deny that too. I love you so much, and I should have paid more attention to why you were suddenly into all the same things I was instead of just being happy to share them with you.”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand, placing another soft kiss to his palm before trailing his lips into gentle kisses against his fingertips. “And I should have done more to meet you halfway. I should have been doing this from the start,” he admitted, indicating the muted TV. “You were always willing to join my hobbies but I never even offered to join yours. I’m truly very sorry, baby.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Steve complained. “I forgive you, okay? It’s just…you’re…” Steve swallowed, making himself actually stop and consider Eddie’s words, their meaning, their truth. “I’d love you even if you always hated sports,” he said softly, a small light of understanding settling over him. Because if he could love Eddie without needing Eddie to like everything he liked…

“Then can’t I love you even if you hate the things I like?” Eddie murmured, as if finishing his thought for him. “I don’t need you to be a carbon copy of my interests, baby. I love you for you, Steve. I’ve missed your polos and your preppy look,” he grinned. “It’s hot.”

Steve flushed slightly at that, Eddie’s eyes telling him again just how truthful those words were. He hadn’t ever once considered that Eddie actually liked that part of him, not when Eddie always wore dark clothing and looked the way he did. They were so different…

His eyes moved once more over Eddie, taking in that ridiculously pink polo and khaki pants, so unlike the things Eddie would wear but so similar to something Steve would. And…yeah, okay, that was hot, but he didn’t want Eddie to wear it all the time because it just wasn’t him. If Eddie wanted to then of course he’d never say anything about it, but he would miss the way his metalhead usually looked. Like…the way Steve looked now, while Eddie…Eddie looked like how he would have normally dressed.

Because Eddie said he would change for Steve, would give up the things he loved, just to keep Steve happy. But Steve didn’t need that to be happy. He was happy just to have Eddie, exactly the way he was, without Eddie pretending to be something he wasn’t. He didn’t want Eddie to change for him, even though…yeah he would like to be able to share his own interests with Eddie sometimes. And maybe…

Maybe, if Eddie had started dressing like that gradually, started expressing interest in Steve’s hobbies slowly, he wouldn’t notice how much Eddie had been changing to try to fit in with him. Maybe he would have just assumed Eddie was genuinely branching out his own interests because he felt safe enough to do so without being ridiculed, like…like Steve had slowly done.

But Eddie had appeared so drastically changed that Steve couldn’t help but rebel against it, couldn’t help but clock it as wrong, could only see it for what it was:

Bullshit.

Steve grinned suddenly at that revelation. A bright happiness began filling him until he felt like he was full of fizzy soda and Pop Rocks. He realized that it was bullshit, but he wasn’t. What was bullshit wasn’t his love, or his inability to be exactly like Eddie, but the fact that he tried to be someone he wasn’t. Him trying to change who he was was bullshit. Because Eddie?

Eddie loved him anyways. Eddie loved him even if he was an ex-jock prep who cared about his appearance maybe a little too much, who cared about keeping his home and car clean, who listened to popular catchy music on the radio simply because it was fun. Eddie had fallen in love with Steve because of who he was, not who he could change himself into becoming.

Eddie loved him. And love like that could never be bullshit.

When Steve finally looked Eddie in the eyes again, truly looked and saw and heard everything Eddie had been trying to tell him, he felt tears escape down his cheeks again but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because he got it now. He understood. Eddie hadn’t wanted him to change, he had just been supporting Steve in what he thought Steve wanted.

“I’m such an idiot,” Steve wetly laughed, throwing his arms around Eddie to bury his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Hey now, don’t insult my husband like that,” Eddie admonished, but his words sounded wet too as his own arms moved to wrap around Steve’s back and hold him close.

“We’re not married yet, asshole. You didn’t even ask me,” he pointed out with a giddy roll of his eyes.

“Right, right, silly me,” Eddie said, and Steve could hear the grin in his voice. “Guess I better go buy a ring first. And ask Buckley for her blessing.” Eddie drew in a shaky breath before huffing it out in a laugh. “Maybe she’ll let me keep my balls now.”

Steve pulled back with a confused furrow to his brows. He hadn’t told Eddie that his balls were in any danger.

When Eddie caught his expression, Eddie rolled his eyes next. “After I left, I spent probably a week trying to process everything, trying to figure out where I went wrong and horrified with myself for unknowingly encouraging you into changing for me, going over every little thing I fucked up. Then Buckley showed up and read me the fucking riot act.” He shuddered. “She’s terrifying.”

“I told her not to do that,” Steve frowned, though his lips twitched at his boyfriend’s dramatics. Christ, he loved him so much. And Eddie, somehow, apparently loved him just as much.

“Well I’m glad she did,” Eddie said with a small chuckle and shake of his head. “We came up with all this together,” he added with an indication of his clothing and the TV. “She heard my side of things and realized that if there’s an idiot in our relationship, it’s me. And then we came up with this plan to show you why I’d never want you to be someone you weren’t. Figured if I showed up completely changed too, you’d realize why it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Anxiety hit Steve suddenly and he stared at Eddie with wide eyes. “Wait, you didn’t actually quit the band, did you? Eddie!”

“No, no, not really.” Eddie paused. “Mostly.” He gave a little wincing smile at Steve’s fierce glare. “I told them what I was going to do, as well as saying that I may end up actually quitting if that’s what you needed of me. Because I meant it, Stevie,” he added with his own fierceness. “I love you more than I love being in the band or anything else. You’re it for me, hot stuff.”

“You are an idiot,” Steve groaned, and he didn’t know if he should be upset with Eddie, relieved, or insanely happy. He somehow felt all three at once, giving Eddie’s arm a small slap. “But I am absolutely determined to have a hot and talented famous rockstar boyfriend, Munson, so you better not quit. Or I’m dumping your ass for Jeff,” he said with a wicked little grin.

“Betrayal!” Eddie gasped, his hand moving to clutch at his shirt over his heart, falling back against the couch cushions dramatically.

Steve merely rolled his eyes again, though he couldn’t keep the deliriously happy smile off his face because this was his boyfriend. This dramatic, goofy, absolute loser of a man. He was so fucking lucky.

“And that station wagon out front?” he asked, eyebrow arching.

“Borrowed,” Eddie grinned, propping himself up with an elbow to look at Steve. “Jeff’s mom’s. Really had to make it authentic, ya know?”

“And the baseball knowledge?”

Eddie laughed at that. “Wayne gave me some pointers. I think he was ecstatic to finally be able to talk to me about sports knowing I would listen. He also says we’re all watching the season finale together.”

Steve just rolled his eyes. “It’s called the World Series, asshole.”

“Kind of pretentious to call it that, don’tcha think, seeing as how it’s only America playing?”

Letting out a huff, Steve crawled over Eddie to look down at him, straddling a thigh as both his brows raised high over his forehead. “You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. But…” Steve’s expression softened into a small, almost shy smile. “Thank you. For loving me.”

Eddie smiled back up at Steve, settling back against the couch cushions and bringing his arms up to lightly hook over his shoulders and crossing them behind Steve’s neck. “Thank you for letting me,” he replied simply. “Now, will you please go back to my preppy sexy boyfriend who listens to ABBA and complains about bad hair days? I miss him dreadfully.”

Steve felt his happiness bubbling up inside him again, grinning down at Eddie before leaning in to take his lips in a giddy kiss. “Maybe you should take your Iron Maiden shirt back then, right now,” he murmured meaningfully against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie grinned beneath him. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed. “And get this pink monstrosity off too.”

Steve pulled back at that, planting his hand flat on Eddie’s chest to stop him from moving to do just that, causing Eddie to still beneath him. Steve slid his gaze over said pink monstrosity, wetting his lips with darkening eyes.

“No,” he murmured, voice roughened as he slid his gaze back up to Eddie’s widening eyes, a soft pink flush entering pale cheeks. “Keep it on.”

And he did.

At least until it was too ruined to be saved. But they could always buy Eddie another polo later.

Steve’s insecurities weren’t magically gone from one conversation, of course, but it proved to be a great start. There were still moments when Steve felt like he wasn’t good enough, but it helped to know that Eddie felt the same way at times too, that they were both so in love and would do anything for the other person.

After that day, the two worked together to find a new middle ground. Steve still supported Corroded Coffin at all their shows, wearing their shirts and other merch frequently, and even kept his studded leather bracelet that matched Eddie’s own. He went back to wearing his polos in his day-to-day life, however, and styling his hair with near ridiculous amounts of hairspray.

They talked about their hobbies, with Eddie making a mix tape of the metal songs that Steve actually ended up liking, and Eddie even found enjoyment in playing the occasional game of ball with Steve and even Lucas and the others sometimes joined in. (Sure, he mostly liked the way Steve looked all sweaty and flushed with exertion, but he had some genuine fun shooting balls into “laundry baskets” all the same too.)

They made compromises in the movies they watched, the foods they ate, and Steve took on a more passive role during DnD nights. His character decided to strike out on his own, in story, though he would occasionally rejoin the adventurers when their paths crossed, allowing Steve to play when he felt in the mood and sit out when he wasn’t. Steve had even cajoled Nancy into rejoining the game with him sometimes, much to the Party’s (especially Dustin’s) delight.

Eddie never really took to polos for regular wear, though he did wear the occasional Henley and Steve had convinced Eddie to take better care of his hair, helping his boyfriend set up a couple different routines based on the time frame he had to work with before events or daily life, earning numerous compliments on the healthy curls he now regularly sported. Steve loved the mornings where they got to primp together, and even Eddie flushed with happiness when they caught each other’s eyes in the mirror or helped each other fluff their hair.

Eddie also summoned the Party and acted like a drill sergeant as he commanded each of them to give Steve’s car a deep cleaning and detailing, shampooing and vacuuming and waxing the inside and outside until the BMW gleamed like practically new. He also helped enforce the rules about leaving no mess behind, either by forbidding open food containers or by picking up after themselves. Steve was so impressed by it that he couldn’t help dirtying the car a little again by taking Eddie into the backseat after everything.

They took down the posters and flyers and random crap that covered Steve’s walls, though Steve kept up the Black Sabbath and Dio posters, even if he made Eddie straighten them up. He also kept up the Corroded Coffin flag Eddie had made him, though he began adding his own decorations as well through encouragement from Eddie. Eddie even got him a banner for his favorite sports team, hanging it up right next to the Corroded Coffin flag. (Later, when Steve eventually moved out of his parents’ abandoned house, Eddie would cut a swatch of the wallpaper from the wall, framing the bit of plaid for Steve to carrying with them to their eventual shared home.)

Robin was a menace, of course, and continually made passing comments about needing earrings. The threat was not lost on Eddie and he always made certain he showered Steve in praise and confirmed his love for him whenever Robin gave him the stink eye. Steve may or may not sometimes signal when he wanted the threat made, especially around important dates like holidays and anniversaries.

And Eddie did make good on his comment about asking Robin’s permission for a certain question, though in his nervousness and excitement he fumbled actually asking Steve for forever and instead accidentally threw the ring at Steve one night after a dinner he’d tried to make but inevitably burned. They ordered take out and laughed about it, then Steve made certain Eddie never had to doubt his ‘yes’ right there in the kitchen. And living room. And bedroom. And then for good measure in the shower.

Steve always remained a prep, and Eddie always remained a metalhead, but over the years they slowly adopted and adapted bits and pieces of each other’s style, though Eddie couldn’t ever wear a polo to tease Steve without Steve immediately dragging him into bed. Or to the nearest flat surface.

There were days that the insecurities would crop up still, of course, for both of them. These days grew less over the years, the commitment Steve and Eddie felt for each other reflected in the matching rings they wore, exchanged during a small ceremony that, though not legal in the eyes of the law, was no less absolute in their hearts.

Because Steve knew now what those insecurities were, what the voice was that whispered that he would never be good enough for anyone, and he knew what to say when they tried to tear him down. And he would smile when he said it, safe, content, and secure in his and Eddie’s love.

“Bullshit.”

-

As I said before, I am tagging everyone who asked to be tagged, so if I’ve accidentally missed you or tagged the wrong person, I apologize. It’s a lot of people. Heh.

Tagged: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @petalsandpixels @coolgirldad @xxbottlecapx @yesdangerpls @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @miss-wright

@brainsteddielyrotted @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ohimamarigold @sofadofax @moss-g0blin @secretly-kait @blossomingblueberries @my-love-of-books @blounette @p0lybl4nkk

@sapphicsforsteve @wearespacedust @mae-liz @stripey82 @tinyplanet95 @0mochiia0 @sunnycycle @jaytriesstrangerthings @hotluncheddie @dragonmama76

@stevieschrodinger @townseleven @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @novacorpsrecruit @mugloversonly @imaginary-maggie-waggie @pointlessmosswitch @fatiguedclown @prazinos

@thedragonsaunt @bookworm0690 @brazenliar @samsoble @wrenisflying @queenie-ofthe-void @breealtair @highqueenhalalie @steddieassheg0es @theintrovertedintrovert

(rest of tags will be in a reblog, did not realize how many I had agreed to lol my bad)

[feathered-mushrooms]

Scott Summers ahead Cannons

he is my favorite loser boy

Due to growing up on it, Scott tends to throw himself into the danger room whenever he feels an emotion more than fine. He does not know a limit, which his led to “Scott patrol”. Oh Scott hasn’t left the danger room for five hours? Rouge it’s your turn, I pulled him out last time. 

Scott can’t handle to much down time, or being bored. He constantly feels like there is something he should be doing, and therefore will constantly find something to do. 

Charles has done a number on him. He is the reason Scott is so high strung, why failure isn’t just a lesson to learn from but an entire judgement of his character, why he can’t just breathe. He needs to be the leader and the man everyone can count on, he needs to be everything Charles wants him to be. 

This is not a healthy way of thinking. 

Scott has a special interest in planes. It started when he was young and then had a pause after the plane crash that killed his parents. However he picked it up again and now can tell you the difference between a commercial flight and a jet. He also knows how to pilot seven different types of aircraft and even got official license for each.

He is Bi.

It took him frighteningly long to figure this out. 

Scott has issues with social skills(projecting). He can speak sarcasm just fine and makes many jokes in that medium. However he has a hard time figuring out people are being sarcastic, especially if the joke is around him. 

He would wear a dress. Not in public, but if Jean offered he would try one of her dresses on in the safety of a bed room. He would like it. 

Game nights were originally hidden from Scott who(due to the professors absurdly high expectations) does not handle losing well. He loves to point out the rules and technicality’s, and will not play Uno with any variations. He’s not a sore loser par say, it just gets depressing for everyone watching. 

When he was young he kept only one pair of ruby glasses and one visor. As he has aged(and been influenced by Emma) he know has a collection of ruby glasses in all types and styles. 

Star Wars is his comfort show/movie/universe

Pretty equal on cats and dogs but leans towards dogs. 

His chances of being a toddler dad had been pretty ruined but he thinks it would be nice to raise a kid alongside a dog. Maybe a golden retriever. 

He does not mind cats though. 

He often feels weird in his place as a parent. Nathan is his kid but some much time has been lost that Scott can’t help but yearn for the mile stones that were missed and lost to time. He misses everything he was promised as a father. The same is true for Rachel although it is a little weirder. Yes she is his, but from a future that will never happen. He often feels guilty because in the end he has two great kids, but he wishes he could raise a kid in a normal sense. 

He just wants to be a father. 

When he was their step father, Scott showed the Cuckoos Star Wars. He keeps checking in on them, even after he and Emma are no longer together. 

Scott’s type is a person who will be mean to him, and could probably kill him, but have a soft spot.

Even if that soft spot is very hidden. 

He can make a really good grilled cheese. There was a week in his teens were there was low x-men activities and not a lot to do in the mansion so he dedicated his days to perfecting the grilled cheese. He makes it anytime he thinks someone needs some comfort. 

He’s eyes are brown under the visor. 

Never played DnD but very interested in it. Researched it a whole lot and has watched a lot of play throughs. Has even mentioned it to the rest of the squad and most were down to try. However it was forgotten due to the next world ending event. Scott still thinks about it and the character he made. 

He is doing his best but often over exerts himself which leads to sick days. On these days he is forced to cuddle up in a blanket and watches either the Star Wars orignal movies or one of the shows. Most times someone will be designated to sit with him so he doesn’t try and get up and do work. 

On these days Logan often takes the job. 

That all for now!

[steddieas-shegoes]

Chapter 4

Chapter 1  / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Steve arrived home to Robin anxiously pacing.

“Steve! Oh my God. I thought you died.”

“Robin, I literally talked to you an hour ago.”

“You could’ve died in the last hour!”

He smiled at her dramatics. She had his location the entire time, and she easily could have called him any time in the last hour if she was that worried.

She wrapped him in a hug, which was shocking enough on its own, but Steve couldn’t help his confusion when she also kissed the top of his head.

She held him for over a minute and Steve started to wonder if someone had died and she didn’t know how to tell him face to face.

“Robs?”

“Dingus?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Are you okay?”

Steve realized Eddie had probably told her everything. Oh for fuck sake.

“I am begging you to never bring anything of this up to me ever. Like, even if you think it’s okay to talk about it, assume it isn’t. I am never going to talk about this with you. Not ever. Not even on my deathbed. Not even when I’m drunk.”

“Eddie said you should.”

“I will. With Eddie. Not you.”

Steve turned to walk to his room and ignore Robin for the rest of the day, but he could hear her footsteps following him.

He sighed and turned around.

“I’m fine. Eddie took care of me. I’m going back there tonight so we can talk. I’ll keep my location on and you can check in with both of us, okay Mom?”

“Wait wait wait wait. You’re going back there tonight?” Then, she seemed to remember how he even ended up with Eddie. “WAIT! Your tattoo! Show me!”

Steve could do that much at least. He’d been talking about this tattoo for so long and he was really excited about how it turned out.

Eddie had unwrapped it and done the first round of cleaning and moisturizing, making sure Steve was paying attention so he could do it by himself today.

He hadn’t been able to look away from it for nearly ten minutes, the colors more beautiful after the redness of his irritated skin went away.

He held his wrist out to Robin, unable to keep the smile from his face as she looked at it and smiled up at him.

“He did great with this. Will is gonna flip.”

“I hope he likes it. He has an appointment with me tomorrow so I’ll be able to show him.”

Will was one of his best kids. He never had to actually worry about his future, Will knew exactly what he wanted, got good grades, had nearly perfect attendance, and worked towards his goals without any help from Steve. He’d been through a lot though as a child, and his mom had insisted that he regularly meet with Steve just to talk.

He came to appointments once a week, but him, along with his two best friends Dustin and Mike, would often spend their lunchtime in Steve’s office. They weren’t exactly popular, and bullies targeted them often for their size and their interest in more nerdy things. Steve let them, even though the principal had told him he was setting them up for failure in real life. Steve always said this was real life and feeling safe wasn’t a failure.

But this tattoo would really mean a lot to Will. He hoped so, at least.

“When are you going to Eddie’s?”

“7.”

“Bring protection.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.”

Robin just gave him a look and walked away.

Nothing was gonna happen. Eddie said so.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

When Steve got to Eddie’s place, he was already home, and…cooking?

“Something smells good.”

Steve made his way into the house, brushing past Eddie and looking around. He hadn’t spent much time noticing things earlier, but now he could.

There was a lot of art on the walls, but none of it looked like what was at the shop. This looked more abstract, with a few random watercolors sprinkled in. He noticed pictures frames along the shelves and bookcase that held more records than books. The coffee table looked cluttered, mostly books and sketches spread out along the top.

The couch was old, but looked comfy, and the armchair in the corner seemed mostly unused. A few hats hung from the corner it was placed in, none of them looking like anything Eddie would wear.

Did he have a roommate? Is that how he could afford a house?

“You can set your stuff in my room if you want. You remember where it is?”

Eddie’s voice being so close behind him startled him, but he immediately relaxed when he felt a hand on his hip.

“I remember.”

Eddie squeezed his hip once before letting him go, walking towards the kitchen instead of following Steve.

Steve took in the pictures hanging up in the hall, but didn’t get a close look at any, already rushing to get back to Eddie so they could talk. Robin had given him another look before he left that said there’d be more than talking happening tonight, but he really trusted Eddie when he said they’d be taking it easy.

He dropped his bag on Eddie’s bed, smiling to himself when he saw that the bed was made.

Eddie didn’t seem like the type of person to make his bed, so maybe he was trying to impress him?

Steve shook the thought away. Nothing is happening tonight. He may not even want you in his bed after you talk.

He made his way back out to the kitchen, where Eddie was closing the oven door and placing a casserole dish of something that smelled like heaven on the stove.

“What did you make?”

“Breakfast casserole.”

“Breakfast? For dinner?”

Eddie smirked. “No laws can hold me down.”

Steve resisted the smile he felt trying to creep onto his face.

Eddie really did a number on his whole “I don’t smile for anyone” exterior.

“What’s in it?”

“Well, normally I do a french toast one that has fruit and maple syrup, but you didn’t seem like the type to enjoy that.”

“Excuse me? That sounds amazing,” Steve crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Eddie.

“We can have that next time.”

Next time, next time, next time.

“This one is hashbrowns, cheese, eggs, and bacon with biscuits as the base.”

“That sounds…heavy.”

“We can eat heavy. We don’t have any physical activity to commit to later.”

Steve couldn’t help it, he started pouting.

A small part of him had hoped that maybe after they talked, something would happen. Not necessarily sex or even subspace, but some making out, maybe some handjobs? Yeah, he’d hoped.

But he recognized the boundaries Eddie was setting, and he respected him for sticking to them, even if he really wished he didn’t.

Eddie poked Steve’s bottom lip playfully.

“No need to pout. If our discussion goes well, maybe next time?”

“Promise?”

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”

“I dunno. Am I?”

“And a brat. Noted.”

Steve had never, not even at peak spoiled rich kid, been called a brat. Not even jokingly. He was a little offended, but he could see the hint of a smirk on Eddie’s face letting him know that would be part of their discussion.

“Are we gonna talk during dinner or after?”

“That’s up to you. I’m happy either way, sunshine.”

Steve felt warmth spreading in his chest at the nickname. He’d never been called sunshine either. Being terminally grumpy since your teenage years kind of eliminates that possibility.

“I have some questions so maybe we could start there during dinner?”

Eddie nodded and turned to grab plates and forks for dinner.

“Before you start though, I wanna make sure you know that I will always be honest and do my best to answer your questions, but there are some things I don’t know. I’m not a professional. I’m certainly experienced, but there may be things you want to know that I’ve never done. I don’t want to mislead you, so if there’s stuff you still need to know after this, I have contacts who can probably help.”

Steve felt so out of his depth here. Eddie had fucking contacts for this.

“Stevie? You okay?”

Steve shook himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t let himself feel nervous about this. Eddie was kind and wanted him to understand and wouldn’t expect anything of him. He could do this.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry. Just feels a little overwhelming.”

Eddie paused mid-scoop and glanced at Steve. He set the serving spoon in the dish and walked the few steps over to Steve, wrapping his arms around him gently and hugging him to his chest.

Steve quickly found his spot, nuzzling against his collarbone like he belonged there.

“That’s why we’re taking this slow, having discussions first. You can’t go into all of it the way you did last night. It’s dangerous.” Eddie rubbed his back slowly and Steve fought back the noises trying to escape from his chest. “I won’t feel comfortable doing anything at all with you until we’re both comfortable, okay?”

Steve nodded against his chest.

Eddie pulled back and tilted his chin up to look at him.

“You have to use your words, sunshine.”

“Okay.”

“You understand what I said?”

“I understand.”

“Good boy.”

Steve couldn’t contain the whine he let out. Jesus Christ, what was happening to him? He’d never been like this. He’d never made that noise before in his life.

“Alright, sunshine. Let’s eat.”

Steve didn’t want to separate from him, but Eddie didn’t go too far. He made sure Steve was right next to him as he grabbed their plates and walked to the table, setting them down next to each other instead of at the chairs across from each other.

“Don’t want you too far,” Eddie said with a fond smile.

Steve hated the way his heart skipped a beat. Eddie was going to send him into cardiac arrest if he kept this up.

But he did his best to ignore it, take a deep breath, and sit down in the chair.

His anxiety was high, and he was worried he may not be able to even eat, but Eddie took a bite and looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve picked up his fork and took a bite.

“Damn, this is good.”

“Thanks, sunshine. It’s hard to fuck this one up, but I’m glad you like it.”

Steve smiled at him and took another bite.

Where to begin?

He knew Eddie would let him lead, acting as more of a guide for the conversation than anything else, but Steve suddenly didn’t know where to begin.

“Um. I guess I kinda wanna start by saying something?”

Eddie nodded, smiling softly at him and showing him that he could be patient with whatever Steve needed to say, even if it took him some time.

“I’m not, like, a virgin. I mean I know when it comes to this stuff I kind of am, but I’ve had a lot of sex. With women and men. I mean, I almost got engaged once. I’m not new to that.” He ignored the amused look on Eddie’s face and continued, though his voice wavered. “And I’ve seen some stuff in porn or whatever. I’m not completely oblivious to how this works.”

“I don’t think you should go off of what you’ve seen in porn.” Eddie cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, I just didn’t want you to think that’s accurate at all. Most vanilla porn isn’t even accurate, let alone any type of BDSM stuff. I don’t want you to think I have a dungeon or something with whips and chains attached to the walls. That isn’t what this is about for me or most anyone, really.”

Steve felt himself flush.

He’d said he wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never talked so openly about sex with anyone. He reminded himself that Eddie was still very much a stranger to him, and this kind of talk is something that close friends or significant others might have.

“What is it about? For you, I mean?”

There. That was a good start. Learning more about what Eddie did might help Steve understand what he was trying to accomplish.

“I mean, for everyone it’s about power and control or submission. But everyone has different ways of accomplishing those things and things they’re comfortable with.” He took another bite and chewed while he seemed to think of his answer. “For me, it’s about being in charge of someone’s release, whether it be sexual or not. Making someone feel good in a way they can’t experience on their own or with someone else. Having the power to know exactly what they need and give it to them or hold back. Find what makes that person tick and use it to make them feel better than ever.”

“That’s what you like? Seeing someone else get off?”

Eddie let out a small chuckle.

“I guess in a simplified way, sure. But that doesn’t always happen. You didn’t get off last night did you?”

“No, but I was dropping apparently.”

“Before that though. You still got to subspace, and you stayed there a while, even though you never got sexual gratification from it. You just felt good. Sometimes feeling good just means a plateau, not a peak and then fall, ya know? I like to help someone maintain that plateau as long as possible.” He took another bite and nudged Steve to do the same. “I love helping someone peak, too. But that isn’t always on the table.”

“What if I want it to be?”

“Getting ahead of yourself, sunshine. How about you have a couple more bites while I talk?”

Steve nodded and took another bite, watching Eddie as he formed his thoughts.

“Sex is obviously a part of this. I won’t say it doesn’t end that way most of the time. But there are parts of this that aren’t sexual at all that are still just as good. Your tattoo wasn’t sexual at all, right?” Steve shook his head. “Exactly. But you got there. Sometimes, it’s more just giving up the control. Some subs don’t even like the sex parts, you know. They like someone to give them rules and tasks to follow and punishments for when they don’t. I have a friend who is a sub who doesn’t even take off his clothes during his sessions. It’s different for everyone and it’s usually trial and error. That’s why safety and trust is such a big part of it.”

Steve felt like his head was spinning.

“Is that why people use safewords?”

“Yeah or the stop light system, or in some cases, just physical signs. That has to be agreed on before you ever go into a scene, even if it's someone you’ve done scenes with before and trust. You may love being spanked until you bruise on Saturday, but end up hating it on Monday if you’re not in the right headspace for it. It’s not just the sub trusting the dom with everything, it’s the dom trusting that the sub will use their safeword if they can’t keep going. Sometimes that’s hard for people to understand. It goes both ways. Both parties have control, just in different ways.”

“You know a lot about this.”

“I’ve been in a few serious relationships with the dynamic and all my friends have been part of the scene for years. What I don’t know firsthand, I’ve heard plenty about.”

“Okay, but what if I do want the sex stuff to be part of it?”

“If you do, then you have to be open about hard limits before you start. You have to have a safeword and use it if things start to go bad. You have to let yourself test the waters, but not jump into them if that makes sense.”

Steve nodded. It did make sense. He was probably jumping the gun a bit, but he felt like maybe he could trust Eddie to find and test his limits.

“So you wouldn’t wanna do that with me?”

“I didn’t say that, Stevie.” Eddie turned to him and placed his hands on his knees, massaging them lightly. “I’m not a jump right into anything kind of guy, even with just plain vanilla sex. But I’m really careful about starting with sex stuff right off the bat. Oh, stop pouting, sunshine. I’m not saying no.”

“But you’re saying no now.”

Steve knew he was still pouting, and maybe being a bit unreasonable. He normally took things slow too, at least when it came to more than random handjobs or blowjobs at the club. It still made him feel like Eddie might not be interested in him the way he was interested in Eddie.

“I’m saying not yet. There’s a difference. I’d love to be able to do that with you. But you need to experience more first.”

“Like what?”

Eddie studied his face for a moment. Steve felt like he could see right through him, which would have alarmed him more if he wasn’t certain that Eddie was going to be able to make him float again.

“You like to be praised.”

It wasn’t a question, but Steve nodded. He’d figured that much out at least.

“That’s a good start. You can be praised for a lot of things. Sometimes just being told to sit still and being told you’re doing good can make a person float, you know.”

Steve didn’t think he could do that. He certainly believed some people could, but he figured it would take a lot more for him.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Do you want to try?”

“Now? I thought we weren’t doing anything tonight?”

Steve was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves again. Despite the fact that he’d wanted something to happen when he first got here, he was now wondering why the hell he thought that was a good idea.

“It doesn’t have to be now. But it would certainly be a good start when you’re ready. Simple, non-sexual, easy to safeword out of if you get uncomfortable, unlikely to drop from it. It’s just an idea. You can always say no.”

Steve didn’t want to say no. He was nervous, sure, but he wanted it. He wanted to try. He wanted to make Eddie proud.

“Could we try tonight?”

“If you finish your supper and we talk about a safeword, yes.”

Steve took three more bites and ignored Eddie’s laughter at his clear excitement.

“So, what can we use for a safeword?”

“Up to you, sunshine. Mine is Metallica.”

“Can I use yours?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment.

“For tonight, yes. But you should have your own in the future.”

“Don’t like sharing?”

Steve smirked at Eddie, who rolled his eyes but smiled fondly back at him.

“More like you may not want to keep doing scenes with me and having your own safeword is best.” He got up and brought their plates to the sink while Steve waited patiently in his chair. “You can go sit on the couch. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Steve sat on the couch with his hands folded in his lap, trying to push away any nerves he had over what they were about to do. If all went how he hoped, he’d maybe go to subspace again. Eddie sounded like he could get him there, but he didn’t know exactly what Eddie would have to do.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Eddie came into the room and sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his side.

“Alright. We’re gonna relax for a few minutes first. You’re tense and you won’t be able to just go right into it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sunshine. Just let me hold you for a few minutes, okay?”

Steve wanted nothing more than to never leave Eddie’s side, his arm wrapped just tight enough around him so he felt like he couldn’t escape, his body warming him up just enough for comfort.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, and he didn’t really care, all he knew was the next time Eddie moved, he had to open his eyes.

“Alright, sunshine. Gonna move you a little so your head is in my lap, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie adjusted him so he was laying with his head in his lap and his legs out along the length of the couch. He had a hand in Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp gently, while his other hand was tracing circles on his arm.

“Mmmm. ‘S good,” Steve mumbled against Eddie’s thigh as he let his eyes slip closed again.

“Good.” He felt a gentle tug on his hair and his eyes shot open. Eddie was smirking down at him, but went back to gently scratching at his scalp. “Just testing. You remember the safeword?”

“Metallica.”

“Good boy. You use it the second you feel like you have to.”

Steve ignored the flutters in his stomach at being called a good boy again.

It went on like this for a little while, nothing new happening. Steve started to wonder if Eddie understood what the purpose of this was, when he suddenly felt Eddie stop all movement.

He whimpered, then felt Eddie’s hand tug at his hair harder.

“You have to stay quiet, sunshine. Keep being a good boy for me.”

His tone was different. Not quite stern, but not as soft as before either. Steve didn’t have to know him better to know that he should listen to him.

“I’m going to watch a show. You just sit right there for me and look pretty.”

Oh. Jesus Christ.

Steve was already hard. From that? Really Steve?

He managed to stay quiet this time, but he knew the second Eddie touched him again he would moan.

But Eddie didn’t touch him again.

He turned on the tv and casually looked for a channel. When he found one, he watched with his hands by his sides, not even resting against Steve’s skin.

Steve knew this must be part of it or they wouldn’t be doing it, but he felt himself growing frustrated at not getting any attention.

Minutes passed like that. Steve wondered when Eddie would acknowledge him again, but didn’t want to risk saying something.

Then a hand was in his hair, playing with the ends as if Eddie had never stopped.

Steve let out a content sigh and closed his eyes again.

“Being so good for me, sunshine.”

Steve smiled to himself, keeping his eyes closed so he could relax fully against Eddie’s lap.

The noise from the tv turned distant, but the fingers in his hair felt like fire. Or maybe ice. Both? Could be both. They just felt nice.

Steve drifted, not realizing he was going until he was already gone.

Eddie knew the moment it happened’ Steve’s entire body relaxed entirely against him and the couch, and he let out a sigh that could’ve been held in for years with how loud it was. He didn’t open his eyes, but Eddie didn’t need to see them to know they’d be glazed over.

“So perfect, Stevie. Feeling good, huh?”

“Mmm.”

Eddie smiled down at him, even though he wouldn’t see it.

He wouldn’t let him stay down for long, just for the rest of the show.

Not that he was watching the show.

Not when he had Steve in his lap, floating away because of his gentle touches and words.

Chapter 5

TAG LIST:  @invisibleflame812 @inmoonywetrust @captain-daryn @carlyv @lillemilly @spectrum-spectre @raisedbylibrarians @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @mightbeasleep @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @bornonthesavage @loguine-linguine @bejeweledbaby @bisexualdisastersworld @eddiemunsonswife @sadcanadianwinter @messrs-weasley @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch @maya-custodios-dionach

[m1d-45]

Literally a lurker on your blog since ur early days but too shy to slide into ur ask box, hiii!!! I keep seeing cryo anon and teddy anon's brainrots and asks,,,, and like, regarding post impostor AU hehe

imagine after the hunt when your fave character/vessel begs you for forgiveness the most, practically turning their voice hoarse from their pleas to share just a bit of your mercy....

(you never showed your face to them, even when they were your most favored. how selfish of them, wanting more than they could ever deserve. but they can't help it. if you wanted them to die a thousand times over to repent, they would. just please, look at them again.)

post imposter au always tickles an itch in my brain I've never known existed. angry creator? boiling hot rage creator for their acolytes killing them when they've shown nothing but love and kindness for this world?? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP LORD

I wanna see guilt. And I mean GUILT. it's probably cause I'm petty asf and if I would be killed over and over and over again only for them to realize I'm not the fake I would literally lock myself up in whatever tower they built for me and never talk again. Creator's trust? Shattered, irreparable. Followers? Wallowing in the despair.

Thank u and goodbye heh. If it's not too much, can I be called Marcotte anon? Hehe fontaine reference hhhh,, anyways have a good day ily and ur fics <3

post-hunt can be incredibly good, entirely agree

the love you felt for the world is so strong already, and it only grows as you finally get to teyvat. being here, feeling the elemental energy, feeling the world greet you as you return after your rest.. what hate is more powerful than a love turned rotten?

you hid behind your veil, uncertain if you’re protecting yourself or them. it hurts to see their eyes tearing up as they plead, but what else are you to do? your hands shake when they draw close, and you can’t erase your own memory.

(you’d know. you asked nahida about it, but she’d only shaken her head. all she could do was clear the memories of teyvat, but not yours. it hurt, but was probably for the best.)

(despite it being a failure, that day was the calmest you’d felt in weeks. she was easy to talk to, and made lovely tea. perhaps you should visit again, if only to take a break from… everything.)

your solitude is comfortable, most of the time. a few of the hunters are a bit too comfortable with their sin, and are the ones tasked with bringing you food and other necessities. it’s not much better, though, since you can still see the guilt sinking in their eyes.

it’s a lose-lose all around. you want to see them, you want to see the world, but every leaf and branch is stained with the memories of the past, what used to be your favorite retreat now something else to hide from.

part of you is angry. furious at how easily they were tricked. it’s hard to stay mad at those you love, though, so you end up sitting in your window and watching the wind blow safely behind glass. your tea is from inazuma, this time, the faint edge of bitterness keeping you from sinking too far into much of anything.

leaves dance in the breeze. you won’t be seen again until they’ve long turned brown.

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House, pt. 14

Author's Note: Angst & misunderstandings

-----------------------------------

Somehow or the other she had been drawn to the Shrine of Azura. Before falling in with that group of former slaves in Zebabi, Sadara had looked into where the shrine was, and figuring Azura would have some answers, headed over that way.

The priests sold her some glow dust, and she made the offering as the sun was going down.

"Azura," she said, "I don't ask for you to do me any favors - I just want answers. With the prophecies, and all that - was I the Nerevarine? I mean clearly I'm not fulfilling them, so did I have ANY purpose here? What was it?"

There was a pause, a slight breeze, and then a voice in her mind.

"You have served the purpose I set out for you."

"What purpose?"

"You ensured Nerevar's bones were brought to Dagoth Ur." A pause. "There have been many Nerevarines, and you were meant to be the last. So many have failed, and you remain...the cycle repeated, in my vain hope one of you would follow the prophecies. But there have been too many failures - and so I have chosen a different path."

"What path?" Sadara felt her stomach drop. You have served your purpose.

"Nerevar will surely follow my will and destroy the Tribunal; he was ever faithful in life, and I see no reason that his loyalty should fail now. I am glad of your assistance, but your part in this is done."

She turned away without saying anything more.

Fuck Azura. Fuck everyone...except maybe Jiub.

Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change.

----------------------

Traveling about and killing cliffracers was okay for a week or so, but on using her name in Molag Mar, she'd drawn some attention. The healer had looked up, and gone, "Sadara? What're you doing here?"

"Working," she said, "Cliffracer plumes sell for a decent amount."

"You're working? Why?"

"For a living? Why does anyone work?" she shrugged.

"There are some people looking for you--"

The moment her wounds were closed she left, and bought a cloak to cover herself a bit better on the way out. Why would they be looking for her? They had the bones, the moon-and-star, the heirloom ring of Dagoth Ur's. What more could they want her for? Gilvoth had made pretty clear she wasn't wanted there. But then something else occurred to her--the Tribunal temple would probably want to see her gone still, despite her showing no inclination to fulfill the prophecies. She'd handed over Nerevar's bones, they might have linked her to the one who'd stolen the bones in the first place...b&e, theft, some sort of heresy charge, that'd put her away for a while. And that was if the ordinators didn't outright kill her.

Whatever goodwill she'd built with Vivec when she'd done that favor of getting the tattoo was surely burned away now...and Almalexia, she was another thing entirely.

She left Molag Mar, and thereon stopped using her name.

When she cleared the slavers' cave of Zebabi and freed the khajiit and argonians, they had asked her name. She'd thought for a moment, and said, "Nammu."

Finding out about Fyr's offer to pay for blood had come as a result of one of the argonians, Chalureel, who'd said the slavers had dragged him up to Fyr to give his blood. He was some rare type or the other, and seemed overwhelmed with the idea that the sum paid to the slavers would go to him now.

Sadara agreed to stay with them until they all figured out what they'd do with their newfound freedom. The presence of a Dunmer could handwave some things away, avoid some types of trouble...

The morning after she cleared the cave she asked Chalureel to go up to Tel Fyr with her.

"It's a city unto itself," he said, after giving a description of the route they'd need to take, "There's a lot of things there we could get ahold of, especially if your blood's a type they want."

Fyr was a reclusive sort, but those that worked for him obviously needed places to stay, and a tiny medical school of excellent reputation had popped up, and then there were all the services THEY needed--

The point being, there would be plenty of places to hawk what they didn't need of the slavers' things, and to buy what supplies they needed. She'd sold enough bandits' gear after coming to Morrowind to have a reasonably good discerning eye on the most common stuff. Daggers, leather armor, spell scrolls.

"Alright, so do we have enough water here? Not the salt kind," Sadara said, "How many bedrolls do we need to buy? You all deserve to sleep on more than just the ground like you've been doing."

A list was put together of the things they'd need, and while she and Chalureel were going to Tel Fyr, the rest would head to the shore to do some fishing and foraging.

"It rains fairly frequently here," Chalureel said, "So a rain barrel might be a good idea. The water in the cave...is not exactly clean, because of those slaughterfish the--slavers were keeping. We could boil it, but..."

"We can buy some bottled water at Tel Fyr and get a rain barrel, or something like it, and boil the water here if it's absolutely necessary. There's some cooking supplies here, so we've got a pot for it...we've got the list, so let's head out."

The blood donation didn't take all that long. It was mainly filling out the forms and negotiating for things other than money that took extra time.

In exchange for a reduced payment she managed to wrangle out getting a couple potions and to be taught Restore Health with the first donation of her own blood. Fireball she figured would be next - that would make the campfires a bit easier to start up. Then a frost spell, so they could have form up a crude refrigerator somewhere in the cave.

They were kept another hour and give some orange juice, and healed up just to be safe. Then they went shopping.

The rain barrel angle didn't pan out, but they got several jugs and bottles of water, as well as some dried fish, a couple kwama eggs, saltrice, and some shein. A box of rations from a surplus store. It felt like a wealth of food, what was in that box...

But the real treat came when she spent what she'd put aside for herself. It wasn't much, only twenty gold, but she got a new robe, the first bit of clothing she'd bought in ages that wasn't from a secondhand store.

And a green candle. There had been red ones. Smelling them had given a scent of cinnamon and memory of Jolene--Dagoth Ur, her mind corrected her. That look in the picture that had buoyed her for a little while, made her feel adored, what might have been the first stirrings of love, but which now--

Surely you understand it has always been Lord Nerevar that he wants?

The words reminding her that she was to stay in her place, that she was not to reach for anything better.

She put the red candle back and hurried along with Chalureel, whose own treat seemed to be four bags of cheese puffs. The remainder that they weren't saving went to a couple bottles of soda and some off-brand chocolate the others liked.

At last they headed back, and she thought that evening, on looking at what had been the slave pen and was now her room, that all things considered this was better than she'd had in a while, even if there wasn't any plumbing here.

It was a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and a safe place to sleep. That was all it used to take to keep her happy, and it would have to be enough now.

If she just kept believing it, maybe it would be true.

------------------------------------

When Jiub saw the golden-skinned mer approaching the Waffle House a week after the last sleeper, at first he wondered why an Altmer that clean was coming out here.

Then the door opened, and the new waiter dropped to his knees. "Saint Nerevar!"

"Rise," the mer, Nerevar apparently, replied, "I have--to speak to your cook."

"Of course, of course." The waiter moved in close and said, "Be on your best behavior."

"Right." Jiub shrugged, and the waiter headed off to clean the bathroom, or smoke, or something - he didn't really pay attention. Once the man was out of earshot he looked to Nerevar.

"Is Sadara not here? The Sleepers keep saying she doesn't work here any longer."

Jiub scoffed. "And their word wasn't good enough for you?"

"Where is she?"

"She doesn't live with me anymore, if that's what you mean. Do you want coffee? Eggs?"

"Where--where did she go?" Nerevar's voice was more insistent now.

"As if I'm going to tell you."

"Look--" Nerevar's tone went stern, in what Jiub supposed was his military-leader voice. "--you need to tell me where she is."

"Why should I do that?" Jiub turned, and kept one hand in his right front pocket, where he'd moved his box cutter to. "Huh? The volcano man not quite what you expected?"

"There has been a misunderstanding--"

"Misunderstanding!" Jiub laughed harshly. "Oh yes, Sadara didn't even come home afterwards, I'd say it was more than just a fucking--get out. Now."

"Who do you think you are?"

"The man who knows where she is. So I suggest you keep your hands to yourself. I fucked up your wife, I can fuck you up too."

"She's not my wife anymore, I don't--this isn't about her. I want to know where Sadara is, so I can bring her back to Red Mountain."

"What, to be mocked some more? Do you need a punching bag so you don't get bored?"

Nerevar glared in a way Jiub assumed was meant to intimidate him. It didn't work.

"That was never what was intended."

"Really, what was intended? Because whatever was said was bad enough she didn't even repeat it to me, and she tells me everything. Just said it was nothing we hadn't heard before." Jiub crossed his arms. "Why should I tell you fucking anything when you're the reason she's like this?"

"The person she talked to--did not--" Nerevar groaned, and buried his face in his hands before looking back up. "How do I convince you I don't mean her harm? I only want her to take the place that's rightfully hers now. I thought--we hadn't seen her, so we assumed she must not have been interested in being Lady Dagoth. Then one of the Sleepers let us know she DID show up, and we simply hadn't been told about it."

"Yeah, she delivered your bones," Jiub replied, "You'd think you'd be more grateful."

"I didn't KNOW! One of Voryn's brothers turned her away and--look, I just want to correct the situation. I want to make things right. Then you won't see me again."

"It's her seeing you I'm worried about. Why should I trust you, eh? Give me one good reason not to hurl your ass out like Jazz." Jiub thought for a few moments, then cracked his knuckles. "Tell you what...if you kick my ass well enough, I'll tell you where she is."

A pause.

"Are you game for it? Or are you a big golden chicken?"

-------------------------

The kagouti hunt was not going very well.

They had enough to eat, but Sadara had headed out into the blight storm since she was immune to the blight, saying it'd probably be a good idea to get some fresh meat anyway. The slaughterfish in Zebabi's water (Gish, oddly enough, seemed to think of them as children) were happy enough with scraps, but...leftovers surely weren't healthy for them

In reality she preferred not to while away her time in Zebabi. Even with the others around it was too quiet, and if things were too quiet she'd start thinking.

And if she started thinking, she'd just end up making herself miserable. No. Better to get outside and actually DO something, until she was tired enough she'd go right to sleep when she got back.

But the blight winds were thicker than usual--or at least, thicker than she was used to--and she found herself stumbling along the paths, groping along the rocky mountainside to keep a sense of which direction she was going in. She was almost afraid to pull out her phone. Suppose it blew away, in all this wind?

Sadara took another step, leaned harder when a gust of red ashy wind blew right in her face--and fell into darkness.

"FUCK!" she screamed, and thanked any gods who might be listening that she'd had the Fyr people teach her the Light spell last time she was up there.

It looked like she'd fallen into some kind of hallway...a long corridor, there were visible doors along it. She'd think it was a dwemer ruin if it wasn't for the tombish look about it, and the lack of brass accents.

She set her quiver down to mark the spot, and then headed down the hallway. The doors opened, and she saw ash pits, with offerings covered in dust. Clearly, no one had been here in ages and ages.

A ghost or two rose...but gave her only a look before meandering about the room.

Probably a really old Hlaalu tomb.

She'd been to one or two tombs and left small offerings, but had never actually seen the ghosts wandering around like people had reported. Here, though...they seemed to be everywhere here. Some of the older looking ones ignored her, while a young one or two followed her for a while. Most vanished when she looked at them directly.

Then she came to a larger room--and the ash pit here was much, much larger than any of the others she'd seen.

As with some of the others, a ghost rose from the ashes.

This one, rather than looking at her and then quickly away, fixed her with a keen gaze that didn't once break away.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Sadara," she said, "I'm sorry, I fell into the tomb from the outside. I don't mean any disrespect. ...though I assume you must all know that already, since no one's attacked me."

"You must have married into the house," the ghostly woman said. "There is no other explanation."

"This isn't a house Hlaalu tomb?"

A snort.

"Oblivion, no. This is a House Dagoth tomb."

Sadara immediately started to back out of the room. "Well, I guess...I guess I'm technically one of you, but the marriage...isn't going to last."

"Isn't going to last? When the one you married has been rude enough not to bring you here to introduce you to the family..."

"It wasn't the one I married, but one of his--brothers that told me." Sadara shrugged. "I married him drunk, his brother said it was a mistake, and with Nerevar there again--look, I'll get out of your hair."

"No, no, stay. Stay, tell me what happened. The man you married, was it one of Voryn's brothers?"

"It was Voryn himself, and one of his brothers to--why am I telling you? It's probably getting annulled soon, I won't be part of the House for much longer."

"You shouldn't let yourself be shoved out so easily. Any Lady Dagoth should be strong enough to form herself a place. Voryn's brothers have ever been overprotective of the family honor and nobility--they tried to push off Nerevar, and now they are trying to push off you. With the same tricks, I imagine. But just like Nerevar, you--"

Sadara turned and bolted out the door, back down the hallway, ignoring every attempt by the ghosts she passed to call her back.

Just like Nerevar.

Just like Nerevar.

All she wanted was to escape that name, to escape his shadow, but every attempt seemed to deepen the trap she was in.

How long do I have to live in his shadow?

-----------------------------

The blight storm hadn't let up in the least by the time she returned to the cave--and with her arm raised to protect her eyes she didn't nothing the ordinator standing just inside the cave. He stood straight and pointed his spear at her when she approached.

"Who are you?"

"S--Nammu, I live here!" Sadara corrected herself, "Don't tell me it's been seized!"

"Not seized. ...temporarily commandeered," the ordinator said, "Go inside...but there are more of us in there, and if you step out of line you'll be dealt with."

Great, she thought, just great. As if I needed more problems right now.

She went on inside, noting there weren't that many extra ordinators inside, or rather, not as many as she expected. Nuralg was the first to see her, and shook her head on being told the hunt hadn't gone well.

"This one could have told you it was a bad idea to hunt in blight winds. The only thing one can catch out there right now is a blight disease. Dinner will be ready in a bit...but there is someone occupying your room. You'll have to have a chat with her."

The her in question was entirely a surprise. No sooner did she open the little door (which was flanked by two more ordinators) than she laid eyes on--

"Queen Barenziah?"

"Sadara!"

Both were equally surprised to see one another. Sadara walked forward, trying to think of how to not explain the situation to her.

"What are you doing out here?" was the queen's first question.

"The job didn't pan out. What're you--this doesn't seem the kind of place you'd frequent." Sadara gave a faint smile.

"I was making a trip to Tel Fyr for an injection...I've got something called rheumatoid arthritis, and I would far rather have the doctors do it than trust the job to a maid or to my shaking hands. The blight storm grew stronger while we were trying to sail by, and...well, we took shelter here, not knowing anyone had already made it a home."

"It's not too bad here, provided you fluff your pillow up well enough. And have a good bedroll. Maybe it's a bit too quiet, that's my only complaint."

"Besides not having running water?" Barenziah laughed slightly. "It reminds me of the old days, but...I prefer not to go back unless necessary."

There was a pause, and for that silence Sadara thought that no more would be said.

But of course, she would later think, she could not be so lucky.

"Hunting cliffracers?" she asked, "I expected you could find another job waiting tables up in the north, with your experience."

"I wanted to get away from the region," Sadara replied quietly. She shrugged a moment later. "Lot of drama went on...Almalexia turned up, and there was...a time I got very drunk, and...it's all behind me now."

Barenziah fixed her with a Look.

"What?" she asked, "I think I actually prefer living here over that shithole I was living in. It's by the ocean, it rains more often, and..."

No response.

"I do pay attention to the online discourses, you know," the queen mother started again, "And I can put two and two together."

"I don't want to talk about it," Sadara replied quickly. "Please, let's just talk about something else."

Literally anything else. She simply wanted to keep her mind off the Situation. Eventually that ache would peter out and everything would be as it was before. Everything went down the drain anyway, eventually this would too.

"Answer a few questions, and then I will speak no more of it. I already know about this infamous marriage of yours, and I simply want to know--"

"Do I have a choice?" Sadara slumped slightly.

A few questions and then this'd be over. Barenziah would leave, and she'd get on making the best of this place.

"Did you get thrown out?"

"Not out of my apartment, no, I just didn't go back. There wasn't much to go back for."

"And Dagoth Ur?"

"I haven't seen him since the night the wedding happened. When I visited the--that palace he lives in, all I saw was his brother. If I hadn't left he'd have put me out."

"You poor thing," Barenziah's tone was sympathetic, "This is what I was trying to warn you about. These men will use you and cast you aside the moment you are no longer useful to them."

"I...I brought him Nerevar's bones. Thought we'd have to talk anyway. But...I guess he didn't want to talk..."

You have served the purpose I set out for you.

She gulped slightly. "Anyway...I suppose you'll be staying overnight. We can feed the lot of you, but it'll be a bit tight...not what you're used to, I'm sure."

"We've got some stores of our own to add, if you're inclined to make a stew. Or if you're not, I like my entourage to be well prepared." There was a pause. "I apologize for pressing, but...if you'd like the marriage annulled, I'm sure--"

"No, let him live with the stain." The venom in her tone surprised even Sadara, and she shook her head. "The only revenge I can have right now is that my name is still linked with House Dagoth. He has Nerevar now, and he'll want to marry him soon, which'll mean he'll want my signature on the divorce papers."

She'd seen how easy it could be to get a divorce in Morrowind. Thirty days apart--and they were fast closing in on that number--no matter how short a time it had been since the wedding--with papers signed, and that would be that.

It could be as if it had never been.

"Maybe I can get a bribe out of it. They want to call me a gold-digger, maybe I should just quit trying, and...and give them what they're--"

She took in a sharp breath.

Barenziah's open arms was all it took.

Sadara sank into them, sobbing, and wasn't aware of very much else for a long while afterward.

Just this time. I will let myself be sad just this time. But no one else will get to see it. No one else.

[almightyellie]

baby, i'm yours

in which you and bradley are in the same major and you're completely unaware of how much he adores you.

pairing is frat!bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

word count is 5.5k

author says stem major rooster supremacy <3

you should watch out for drinking, college au, language, party settings, mention of puking

title song is baby i'm yours // arctic monkey

bradley has never been the type to pine.

he had never been one for coveting from a distance, and why would he? bradley had grown up fighting for what he wanted. he had grown with an admirable, if not appalling, amount of confidence. bradley bradshaw had walked with a swagger that simply couldn’t be learned, and for the most part, it had gotten him what he wanted. sure, every once in a while he had to fight a little harder to get the girl, but he always got them in the end. until you.

you aren’t his type, that’s for sure, but something about you is impossible to shake. he’s spent at least three semesters staring at you from opposite ends of lecture halls, and maybe he likes you because you’re not his type. you seem conscientious, dedicated, and entirely uninterested.

it hurts the ego, sure, but bradley isn’t one to give up so easily. after all, you’ve only spoken once and he really hadn’t put his best foot forward. he should have known better, really, because you might be the only one in a nine am lecture who seems genuinely eager to understand enzyme kinetics. the idea of a frat party wouldn’t have interested you, and the offhanded invitation in the campus bookstore was met with a predictably tight smile and a, “yeah, maybe. thanks for the invite.” it’s the most polite blow-off he’s ever received.

that was august. now, spinning into the end of october, he’s been so embarrassed by his complete failure to accurately gauge your interests that he hasn’t even bothered to try again. he’s losing his nerve; more importantly, jake is convinced that bradley’s losing his masculinity. not that bradley has ever given a second thought to what jake thinks; he’s pretty sure that he could count all of jake’s iq points on his fingers, so he rarely gives weight to his opinion. 

and yet, he can’t let it go. he can’t stop watching you from across the room, wondering what you would do if he sat next to you. wondering if you ever watched him, too. wondering if you realized how, with one measly conversation under your belt, you’ve entirely captivated bradley bradshaw.

the virtue of having such a large student group in your major is that group projects aren’t a concern. it was one of the things you had so looked forward to when you were working through your generals, the idea of doing your own work on your own time, without the opinions of anyone else. and it’s a little isolating, somehow, that you can sit in two lectures a day, five days a week, with a hundred people each, and not say a word to anyone but callie. 

next to you, she pays little attention to the lecture, doodling in her notebook and scrolling through her phone. where you had been tirelessly devoted to your academics, callie had found a way to succeed without even trying. you take notes out of necessity, but it seemed like she picked up the information just as well by only half-listening to the lecture. as you scribble notes down in your notebook, your best friend nudges your elbow and tilts her phone toward you to show you a text. 

nat: halloween party @ pike on friday

nat: bob said the door’s open to everyone

you frown, spinning your pencil between your fingers and shaking your head. callie groans quietly, leaning in to whisper. “come on, it won’t be that bad.”

and no, it probably wouldn’t be. you had never been to the parties they were always pushing, but they couldn’t be terrible if nat and callie were there; further, anywhere nat was, so was bob, who you entirely adored. it wasn’t that you had no interest in the parties; you, more than any of your friends, needed to let loose. but even after three years, you couldn’t stand the idea of having to market yourself to your peers; why would you meet new people when you had already found your family?

“pike is full of dorks and nerds,” callie continues. “it probably won’t even be that busy.”

you shrug, and callie grins. the text that she sends into the group chat rings in on your laptop.

cal: we’re there!

your heart leaps into your throat when nat pushes you forward gently. both callie and natasha had assured you that the party likely wouldn’t have been too crowded. bob is just as surprised as you, whispering to nat, “have you ever seen it this packed?”

the four of you can barely move through the living room and you look over bob’s shoulder, ignoring the unhappy way your stomach churns. from the way callie had talked about it, you hadn’t thought it would be like this. heat hits you like a wall every time you walk into a new room and you’re already overwhelmed, between the endless stream of conversations and the pounding music pumping through the walls. 

bob spots reuben in the kitchen, and, already drunk, he greets all of you eagerly. it’s overfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. you’ll take any little bit of comfort you can get right now, and though you’ve only met reuben a few times, the hug he pulls you into is enough to calm you, even if just barely. 

“where is everyone?” bob asks over the music, clapping his friend on the back, and reuben blinks hard. 

“i think seresin and mickey are in the basement.”

a cheer rises through the crowd as someone pushes through the doorway into the kitchen and reuben’s attention is entirely lost. he’s vaguely familiar, somehow, with the kind of honey brunet hair that makes you wonder if it’s entirely natural and a smile that’s contagious. he drops two cases of beer, stacked on top of one another, onto the already crowded island, and callie leans into you and nat. 

“who is that?”

bob laughs and nat raises a brow. you’re glad that she asked because you know him, you think. a little more selfishly, something about him naturally draws you in; he has the same undeniable charisma that you think all frat boys must possess to a certain extent. it rarely works on you, and maybe it wouldn’t work if he turned it on you, but watching him greet everyone around him, passing out beers with compliments and laughter makes you a little giddy the same way all blooming attractions do, with a turn of the stomach at the end of the realization.

“that’s brad,” bob answers. you snort, because of course, his name was brad. “bradshaw!” 

brad spins his head in your direction with a wide grin, a smile that only grows when he catches sight of bob, brows raising at the sight of him surrounded by the three of you. “hey, bobby!”

bob’s cheeks flush and for a moment, you watch him for any sign of discomfort, but he only laughs and pushes all of you toward the island. 

“y’all want a drink?” brad asks, eyes lingering on yours, and without a second thought, you nod along with your friends. 

you listen as well as you can to the conversation between the two men as brad hands bob a beer and asks callie whether she’d prefer a beer or a seltzer. she preens, asking for a beer, and he hands her one back with a polite smile. you watch him ask nat the same question, wracking your brain to figure out where you had seen him. maybe you had served him at work. it wasn’t out of the question that you might have been in a gen ed class together in your first year, but you don’t think it’s either of those. when he trains his eyes on you, you're more confused than ever because you’re sure you would have remembered someone like this.

“and for you?” he asks, voice soft despite the oppressive noise around you.

“seltzer, please,” you respond quickly. he grins at you and you hate the nervous flip of your stomach, thrilled and terrified to have his attention, to be on the receiving end of that smile. 

news of the fresh cases has spread around the house and guests are crushing into the kitchen to get their hands on a new drink before they’re gone. at first, you hadn’t minded the crowd as much as you thought you would, but now you’re overwhelmed, so you pat callie’s hand and lean in close. “i think m’gonna step outside, okay?”

she pulls back, brow creased in worry, and says, “are you okay? do you want me to come?”

and you know she will, which you appreciate, but you also know that she just caught sight of the blond that has sauntered into the kitchen—exactly her type—and you don’t want her to miss her shot. “i’m okay! i’ll be right back.”

as you force your way through the crowd, cold can in hand, you wonder why you showed up in the first place. it’s not your scene, not even a little, and you had spent the last three years avoiding places exactly like this. foolishly, you hope that maybe the crowd will thin out the later it gets, but you know that’s not really how these kinds of things work. 

the door from the kitchen to the backyard opens inward, which is a struggle when the couple behind the door only glares at you for attempting to open it. frustrated, you open your mouth to ask them to move, but a large hand from behind you reaches for the doorknob, and the man’s face softens at the sight of whoever’s behind you. 

you glance over your shoulder and there’s brad, his chest brushing against your shoulder. he smiles genially at the couple, nodding at them. “hey, man, how are you?”

you don’t listen to the response because brad twists the doorknob for you, opening the door just enough for you to slip out. you aren’t sure he does it for you, exactly, but you’re grateful either way. the october night, especially compared to the sweaty, booming house, is a welcome and refreshing change, one that nearly forces you to take a deep breath. it’s considerably less crowded outside, and you lean against the vibrating siding of the house, glancing sideways when brad slips out of the door and closes it behind him.

for a moment, he looks across the backyard like he’s looking for something, but you interrupt him when you breathe out sharply, tugging your jacket closer. finally, he turns to look at you, and his face melts into the easiest smile you’ve ever seen. you’re not conscious of the way you smile back, pleased to see him pleased, and he leans against the wall beside you.

“hi.”

you look at him, half appalled and half intrigued, because brad is handsome. even if he wasn’t, he has the kind of inherent charm that makes up for physical deficiency, and you would think that someone so handsome might have a better way to flirt than saying ‘hi.’

it occurs to you suddenly that he’s flirting. he’s flirting with you. you feel a sudden warmth creeping from the pit of your stomach, rising to your skin and making you feel a little flushed. “hi.”

he holds out a hand in a formal handshake and you can’t help yourself. you chuckle a little, allowing him to take your hand. “i’m brad.”

you purse your lips and shake his hand. “...brad.”

he tilts his head knowingly, eyes mirthful. “yes?”

with a grin at him, you pull your hand back, rocking on your heels. “that’s just such a frat boy name.”

and he laughs, so loud and warm that suddenly it feels like august, pressing his hand to his abdomen. you watch him appreciatively, endeared to the way his cheeks flush, the way his shoulders shake. his eyes are still crinkled with delight when his laughter slows and he says, “then you can call me bradley.”

your grin shines stronger. “i like bradley.” you offer your name, and he sticks a hand into his pocket. he’s cute, undeniably, and every once in a while, someone will pass by and clap him on the shoulder, greeting him with a ‘hey, man!’ or an excited call of his name. for some reason, seeing how liked he is makes you like him even more. he greets everyone back—remembers their names and everything—and the smile on his face is so genuine that it takes you aback.

bradley is easier to talk to than you had expected, not that you had expected much. he briefly talks about his mother when you ask, answers a couple of questions about what he does outside of academics, but he seems more invested in asking you any questions than offering information. you’re right in the middle of a tangent about one of your classes when you ask, “what’s your major, again?”

he thumbs the tab of his can. “biochem,” he nods, and you grin.

“me, too!” you respond eagerly, and he laughs, seeming a little bashful.

“yeah, i know,” he responds easily. “we’re in a lot of classes together, i think.” he doesn’t think, he knows, but the last thing bradley wants to do now that you’re warming up to him is come off as some weirdo who spends all his time watching you instead of his lectures. your face brightens with recognition, and he smiles softly. “i also tried—and failed—to flirt with you in the bookstore at the beginning of the semester, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. that was supposed to be the silent part, but part of him hopes that you might remember him, no matter how poorly he had done then. he thinks he’s doing pretty well now.

you blanch, covering your mouth with your hand, and bradley could kick himself. “oh, my god. bradley, i’m so sorry! i can’t believe i forgot about that,” you lament, and he laughs with a tinge of self-deprecation.

“i really think it’s better that you did,” he soothes, and then you giggle and all is restored. he’s back in good standing, his washout from the bookstore entirely balanced. he’s all too aware of the tiny step you take in his direction, one that he’s not sure you’ve even noticed yourself. it comforts him, lets him know that right now, you’re closer to the same page than you’ve ever been, and that alone makes his heart begin to pound.

“well, i still feel bad,” you admit, and he shrugs. 

“rejection is healthy for the ego,” he excuses.

it seems like it’s something he actually believes, which makes your chest sticky with unbridled affection. “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who experiences a lot of rejection.”

he flushes and you know you’re right, but it doesn’t annoy you. he’s nothing you would have assumed him to be; he isn’t arrogant or lewd, doesn’t push you to drink and hasn’t asked you to his room. the surprise is almost sweeter than the realization that bradley is the kind of guy you could like, silly name aside.

bradley can’t believe his luck; he hadn’t gotten you here, but someone had, and he’s thrilled. he’s grateful. he reaches for you, fingers hesitating, but he folds down the collar of your jean jacket, and he can’t contain himself when you smile at him. you’re vulnerable, open with him, and bradley can read the signs. he’s giddy, because you’re finally looking at him, laughing with him, and bradley thinks that this—you are better than any way he had ever imagined you. 

“bradley bradshaw,” you murmur, rolling your eyes playfully. “you aren’t entirely insufferable.”

he guffaws, fingers tightening around his empty beer can. he’s been out of his drink for nearly half an hour, but he can’t pull himself from you. “wow, i’m honored.”

you play it up, turning away from him to look out across the backyard. the two of you are so close that your shoulder brushes his chest, and warmth races through his body at the contact. a large hand settles in the dip of the small of your back, and you pretend that it doesn’t make you want to shiver. “you should be. i’m very hard to please.”

and bradley’s stomach flips, fingers tightening around his empty can once again. “i’m sure i could figure it out.”

a surprised laugh forces its way out of you and he snorts. “dude.”

he grins, tapping his empty can against yours. this is going well, better than he thought it would. “you want another drink?”

you look at him, a pleased smile pushing at your cheeks. “yes, please.”

he’ll give you a moment alone, in part because he really does need another drink, but mostly because if there ever were a time to work up the courage to ask you out, it would be right now. he grabs your can, flashing you a sweet smile before he slips inside. 

the second his back is turned, you can’t tamp down your smile, your ears burning. at this point, you don’t even care if he’s stringing you along. you like him. he makes you laugh, and he had been willing to admit that he had his foot in his mouth when he had approached you at the beginning of the semester. then, you had assumed the same of him that you had when you’d met again: that he was cocky, that he was a stereotypical frat boy. but now, he’s laughing at himself the same way you are, humbled and sweet.

the kitchen door opens, and you turn to greet him, but it’s nat. you smile warmly, leaning against the wall. “hey.”

“hey,” she breathes. “you’ve been out here the whole time?”

you shrug, sticking your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “yeah. you guys having fun?”

nat rolls her eyes with a huff. “yeah, about that. we gotta get callie home.”

worry washes over you, forcing out the lovesick warmth that had overtaken you and leaving you with a bitter chill. “what happened?”

she shakes her head, the toe of her boot rubbing out a cigarette butt someone has thrown on the back porch. “she got into a pissing contest with that guy she was flirting with,” nat grunts. “you know how she is. anyway, she’s in the backseat.”

and you shouldn’t be surprised, because yeah, you know callie. she can’t let a challenge go, and you’re amazed it hasn’t given her alcohol poisoning yet. taking care of her while drunk is like second nature after so many years of friendship, and you had figured that the night would end like this, anyway. but you hadn’t anticipated bradley. you want to take care of your best friend, but you don’t want to leave behind the lovely flush that bradley has given you.

nat notices your pause and frowns. “you okay?” you step to the side and peek into the window. bradley stands, pretty and flushed in the kitchen, his beer in one hand and a different flavor of your seltzer in another. god, you don’t want to leave him behind. you want to stay, soaking up his warmth, his attention, and you want to kiss him, and maybe you want to spend the night with him. you watch him laugh in the kitchen, goading one of the other party guests, his charisma radiating even through the window. everyone around him laughs, smiles up at him, falls into his encouragement to keep drinking, keep having fun, and you recognize the look on their faces. it’s the look that you’ve been wearing for the last hour talking to him.

you sigh and turn back to nat. “yeah, m’good. let’s get her home.”

your friend hesitates, but you smile and nod. bradley charms everyone around him; you’re sure that you’re no different. he has everyone falling at his feet. he makes people feel special; it’s the kind of guy he is, and you like that about him, but that’s all it is. 

you let nat drag you through the side yard and around the front to bob’s car, and you try not to let yourself think about bradley on the ride home.

bradley, still laughing at javy’s insistence on body shots, slips out the backdoor, can in each hand. the crowd pushes the door closed behind him, and his belly is still flipping when he turns to where you should be. where you were. he frowns, confused, and he hates the way his stomach swoops when he looks across the yard and can’t see you. tucking his beer in the crook of his elbow, he shoves his way back into the kitchen.

“reub!” he calls over the noise, and his friend beams at him. “where’s bob?”

reuben, drunk and thrilled, responds, “man, he just left!”

a sinking realization makes bradley wilt, his shoulders dropping, and bradley knows that you’re gone, too.

callie glares unhappily at the glass bob has set before her. “i’m literally going to puke.”

he gives her a look, unimpressed with her dramatics. “it goes down smoother than you’d think.”

“does it come up smooth, too?”

you don’t blame her, really. you had never tasted bob’s hangover cure, but it looks exactly like what you cleaned out of his backseat last night. no, you wouldn’t want any part of it, either, but he swore by it. nat drops a straw in the thick mixture, and callie groans but begins drinking it obediently.

“so,” nat starts, sitting across from you at the table. “how was your night?”

you feel your cheeks warm but you shrug casually, resting your chin on your water bottle. “fine. how was yours?”

“you disappeared,” she responds, ignoring your question, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“i did not ‘disappear.’ i was exactly where i said i was all night.”

nat narrows her eyes at you, and when you look at bob, you see his lips quirked in the tiniest smile. “brad followed you out,” he notes, and you stare back at him, trying to keep your face blank.

you don’t want to feel giddy about bradley, not when you know he was just being nice. the last thing you want to do is give bob any indication that bradley has gotten under your skin; you know bob. you love bob, but he’s observant, and though he would never tell a secret on purpose, you know better than anyone that sometimes the truth just slips out of him. “he did.”

callie perks up a little, straw still in her mouth when she asks, “you and brad?”

“no,” you insist. “we just talked for a few minutes.”

nat smirks, leaning onto her elbows. “did you like him?”

“he was nice.”

“that’s not what i asked,” she pushes, and you huff.

you want to hold it close to your chest. it’s embarrassing to admit that you had allowed bradley to make you feel so special, that he had wooed you without even trying. but the idea of lying to your best friends makes you sweat a little. natasha would find out anyway, and then you’d be in for it. “i mean…yeah, i guess.”

“that’s a yes,” bob celebrates, and you frown. 

your best friends share a pleased look and you harrumph. “what does it matter, anyway? he’s just some…random frat guy. probably would end up being an asshole, anyway.”

bob shakes his head, filling one of your mugs with coffee for himself. “nah, brad’s cool. he’s nice.”

you level a glare at bob. “regardless. the last thing i need right now is to develop feelings for some guy that everyone else is already in love with.” and bob doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny the fact that bradley has everyone falling at his feet. you shrug, taking a sip of your water. “he’s cool, i guess. but i don’t have time for that.”

callie wrinkles her nose in your direction, clearly a little annoyed. “but you like him.”

you purse your lips. “so?”

she sighs, holding her cup of sludge with both hands as she leans back into her seat. “tell him.” it’s such a callie thing to say. she had never second-guessed herself. she had never needed to. but you weren’t callie. you weren’t perfect, reliable callie. such confidence had never come to you the way it has to her. if you were callie, the kind of person that people were drawn to—the same way they were drawn to bradley—you might tell him. but you weren’t. you were just you.

you lean back into your chair, avoiding your friends’ eyes, and for a minute, you pretend that you are like callie, and it’s a comforting thought.

similarly, bradley and mickey look at each other across the kitchen island. “so…you didn’t kiss her.”

“no,” bradley says, tired.

“and you didn’t ask her out?”

“no.”

mickey looks at him, head tilted curiously. “but why?”

“because she left, you idiot,” javy rolls his eyes. “you aren’t even listening.”

“i am!” he insists, glaring at javy. “i just don’t understand. brad, you’re the clincher.” 

bradley has been running over the events of the night before until he can’t hold it in anymore. he had hoped his roommates would be helpful, but javy is disinterested, mickey is entirely unhelpful, and jake had shuffled away five minutes into the conversation to fall asleep on the couch. “i don’t know, man, i thought it was going great. she seemed like she was interested, you know? 

mickey shrugs. “whatever, dude. you said you have some classes together? just catch her on campus and ask her out.”

“mickey, did it ever occur to you that she left because she didn’t like me?” bradley stresses, and his roommate rolls his eyes. 

“bradley, have you ever considered that you only like this girl because she's the first one who doesn’t like you?”

bradley sits with this for a moment. he had an ego, that was for sure, and he had chased a lot of girls who didn’t want him just to change their minds. the thrill was always in the chase. at least, it had been, because the longer bradley thinks about it, the more he thinks that he had found just as much thrill watching you across lecture halls as he ever had chasing other girls. he had been just as eager to get you a drink and make you laugh as he had to take other girls to bed. everything is heightened with you. no, the thrill wasn’t in chasing you. this had gone on so much longer than that. long before he ever found out that you had no interest in him.

“no,” bradley decides. “no, man, it’s not like that. i really like her.”

mickey shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “okay, then tell her. what’s the worst that can happen?”

you avoid looking at bradley throughout class. right as it had begun, you had made the mistake of searching for him, and the second that you laid eyes on him, it felt like a burn. over the weekend, you had come to terms with the fact that yeah, you did like bradley. that didn’t mean you had to like it. you would put your head down, get through the semester, and pray that you didn’t have any classes together next semester. and that’s fine. it’s fine. 

your notes, like your thoughts, are scrambled. they barely make sense to you, and when callie glances in your direction, her face twists at the sight of your notebook. “dude, what the fuck?”

“stop,” you insist, trying to hide the way your shoulders shake in a laugh. “it’s functional.”

“bro, it’s incomprehensible.”

“fuck off,” you laugh, elbowing her. 

she giggles, pressing a hand to her chest. you’re grateful when your professor releases class early, because callie’s jeering is getting a little too close to heckling for your taste. she can’t control her volume, this you know, and usually it’s fine, but more than usual, you’re trying to fly under the radar today.

you both shrug on your coats, pack your bags, and slip from the lecture hall. you think you’re in the clear, that you’ve successfully avoided bradley, who exited on the opposite side of the lecture hall, not that you were looking. but you hear your name from only a few feet behind just as you and callie reach the external doors. it’s far enough away, crowded enough in the rush of your classmates that you might be able to pretend you didn’t hear it, but he calls you again and you know that the guilt will haunt you if you don’t at least say hi.

your best friend grins when you turn and offer bradley a tight smile. “hey, bradley.”

“hey,” he breathes, and you hate him because he’s so much cuter in daylight than he ever was under the porch light of the frat house. it makes you sick. “i’m glad i caught up to you. can we talk?”

your inner monologue screeches to a halt and starts shrieking, but you nod and turn to callie. “i’ll catch up?”

she smirks at the two of you. “i won’t hold my breath.”

“callie,” you hiss, but bradley laughs and you feel—despite your embarrassment—that her comment is hopeful, not teasing. 

she waves goodbye and heads on her way. you and bradley, standing against the late autumn chill, stand in silence for only a beat before he says, “i lost you at the party.”

your lips twist in a way that’s unbearably endearing to him and you hook your thumb over your shoulder. “callie got sick, we had to take her home.”

bradley grins, looking after her. “oh, that callie.” you look at him, half-suspicious, but you have an almost knowing smile growing on your face. “my roommate hasn’t stopped talking about her since friday.”

“jake?” you hazard a guess, and bradley nods. a contemplative sigh fills the space between you before you say, “yeah, trust me. we’ve heard a lot about him, too.”

you expect some banter, at least, about his roommate. from what callie has told you, you’re certain that bradley has some stories to share about him, or at least a funny quip, but he’s got a one track mind. “um…right. well, i would have liked to…say bye.”

for a long moment, the two of you look at one another in silence. you get the sense that bradley doesn’t spend a great deal of time being vulnerable like this, even if he’s just giving you the barest hint of what happens underneath, and you have to wonder: why is he sharing this with you? what is he doing? 

“no, yeah. you just looked like you were having fun inside, i didn’t think you’d really notice.” and god, you hate how pathetic that sounds, and you hate the way his shoulders deflate, and you hate the way you’re butchering this right now. “i just didn’t want to bother you, was all.” 

“you wouldn’t have bothered me,” he responds immediately. 

he’s so cute that looking at him hurts, and you feel that pressure build up in your chest, packed so tightly that you have to say something. “bradley—”

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice sweet and a little scratchy. he holds eye contact so firmly that it almost makes you shiver, both of you ignoring the other students around you. “i’m sorry if i was too pushy, or if i made you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t,” you assure. “you weren’t. not at all.” he nods once.

bradley feels like the earth could swallow him right now and it could only help the situation. he’s embarrassed, but he tries not to show it. after mickey’s rare moment of mental clarity, bradley knows that now is the moment. he’d missed his chance before. fumbled his opportunity already. he didn’t want to do that again. “listen…i’ve been watching you across classrooms for like, four semesters. i think you’re really pretty,” he admits, voice steady despite the increasing flush on his cheeks. “and you’re funny and interesting and smart and i want to get to know you, because i really like you.” you blanch, mouth parted in the cutest little o he’s ever seen. “if you aren’t interested, i get it. we can just be friends.”

you pause, taking a moment to process his words when he cuts in again.

“or if you don’t want to be friends, you can totally tell me to fuck off and i will literally never bother you again,” he rambles, nodding decisively.

and it happens at the worst time, really. this is not the time to start giggling, but you can’t help yourself. you’re a little giddy and a little entertained, but mostly you’re caught up in him. caught up in the way this boy you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last three days has, apparently, spent the last two years admiring you. this sweet boy, who makes you laugh and makes you think, who makes you feel special and interesting and wanted. 

“bradley, you don’t get rejected a lot, do you?”

bradley’s lips pucker, trying to hide his nerves from you. whatever you had to say, he wanted to hear it. no matter what. “no, i don't.”

you take a step toward him, grateful for the heat that rolls off his body, and you smile at him softly. “well, best not to break your record, then.”

bradley bradshaw isn’t the type to pine. until he is. 

and it’s worth every second.

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 2: A Small Continent

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Rosalind has a poor showing in battle and the mission is a complete failure. Will Wyll change his mind about accompanying the party now?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up.  “For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point.

AN: This chapter was born out of the fact that I am playing on Balanced mode (and am Not Good at the game, even though I enjoy it immensely) and a glitch in my Investigate Kagha quest. I'm hoping to update this fic every 2 weeks, alternating with Weave & Woods. Also big thank you to @druizard for the banner!

Dying the second day of their adventure wasn’t part of Rosalind’s plan, but as she woke up gasping for air with her three party companions standing around her, it was clear that was exactly what happened. She groaned as she sat up, her now pounding head in her hands as her elbows were balanced on her knees. 

“What happened?” She asked the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Gale, Astarion, or especially Wyll out of sheer embarrassment.

“Wood Woads,” said Gale. “Nasty buggers, they got us all pretty good.”

“Speak for yourself, wizard. I am perfectly fine, thank you very much,” said Astarion, a hint of amusement in his voice. Rosalind glanced up. Gale and Wyll looked way more beat up than Astarion. She assumed he used his sneaking abilities to get around the majority of the fight. She had been friends with plenty of rogues growing up in the Lower City, she knew how they operated. 

“As I was about to say,” Gale said as he leveled a look at Astarion who was no longer paying attention, having moved on to look around the small island for chests that may have loot in them. “Luckily, we had taken down most of the mud mephits and the other Wood Woad before you went down. Wyll here got the final blast in right after you…well right after you died.” 

She looked at Wyll, who was staring off into the distance, not making eye contact with her. While she had to admit he looked extremely handsome as the sun shone on his face, this had clearly not been a good first impression on her part. He was probably rethinking their deal right at this moment and was plotting how to leave their camp and capture Karlach on his own, leaving her in the dust. She thought about resurrecting the Wood Woad to take her out again or crawling into a large tree trunk and never coming out. Maybe she could get Gale to cast an invisibility spell on her so she could slink off for good. All three sounded like good and valid options at this point. 

“Weren’t we supposed to find some sort of clue here about Kagha?” Astarion yelled from behind the large tree trunk. The whole reason they came to this area was to see what shady deal Kagha was getting into based on the letter they found in her quarters and hopefully try to talk her out of performing the ritual that would seal the Emerald Grove and set the tiefling refugees out on a road far too dangerous for anyone who wasn’t trained to fight. “There’s nothing here!”

Rosalind took Gale’s now outstretched hand and he smiled at her as he helped her up from the ground. What a good, kind man. She was glad she pulled him out of that rock. She walked stiffly to Astarion, groaning and rubbing her back as she did. “What do you mean, there’s nothing here? There has to be!” She was desperate for something to go right today. 

“Darling, I’ve looked in every chest, under each rock, and in every nook in this tree. There’s nothing. Either someone else got to it first, or we were duped and there never was anything here.”

She sighed. This was not her day at all. “Alright, let’s head back, I guess.”

As they walked the path through the swamp back to the grove, she found herself falling in step with Gale while Wyll and Astarion led the way. Gale was easy to talk to - partially because he loved to talk, and partially because wizards had always been so interesting to her. The way they practiced magic was so studied, so precise. Sometimes watching a wizard cast felt cold, calculated, formulaic - less about artistry, more about precision. Gale was on a different level - the way he moved his hands was faster than any wizard she had ever seen, and the spells he chose had a certain flair to them, either in the type of spell he chose or when he chose to cast them, which resulted in the most dramatic effect. An artist can always spot another artist, and Rosalind felt a kindred spirit in Gale. 

“You know,” he said softly as he slowed down, putting more distance between the two groups, “I think Wyll was angrier when you went down than he was during the goblin fight yesterday. An instant after you fell, the Wood Woad who caused your demise was nothing but ash. He was also the one to revive you. Astarion and I didn’t even have time to attempt to dig our scrolls of revivify out of our packs before he was already chanting the verbal components at your side.” He smiled, a knowing tone in his voice. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Rosalind stopped in her tracks, her mind racing. Wyll revived her? Instantly, she was giddy as she pictured him pushing everyone away to rescue the downed, fair maiden. She giggled internally at the thought and caught herself starting to blush. On the other, more practical hand, it made complete sense. He’s a hero - of course he’d rush to her rescue out of a sense of duty. Part of the job. Just another day. She knew that. And the anger Gale described? Well, that was definitely because she was a failure and put them all in danger. Any thoughts she had of him potentially fancying her disappeared as quickly as they came, replaced by deep embarrassment again at being unable to hold her own on the battlefield that day. Living in a large tree trunk for the rest of her days now seemed like the most appealing option again. 

Maybe a family of raccoons would take her and her tadpole in. 

******

The mood at camp that evening was subdued. Wyll noticed everyone seemed to take their cues from Rosalind, effectively the party leader at this point, and Rosalind was not in the best of moods. She sat away from the rest of the group, using her fork to stab at the remnants of whatever vegetables remained in her bowl of stew Gale had prepared and muttering to herself.

He recognized that mood.

He grabbed two cups and a bottle of wine and walked over, sitting next to her on the ground. He saw her freeze for a second before looking up at him. She had the biggest blue eyes with flecks of gold. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate them fully the other day, but he was sure he’d notice their beauty all the time now. He filled one cup and handed it to her before filling his own. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up. 

“For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point. 

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me. I have a scroll I can give you to replace the one you wasted on me.”

He placed a hand on her arm, the contact making her look at him. “It wasn’t a waste, Rosalind. It would never be a waste to revive a valued member of a party.” 

She sighed. “I’m not sure exactly how valued I am. I am sure everyone here thinks I’m awful and would leave me on the side of the road in a heartbeat. Well, maybe not Gale. I’m just…new to this. Fighting, traveling, roughing it. All of it. I’ve only been outside of Baldur’s Gate just a few times, and one of those times led to me being kidnapped by mindflayers. Once this is over I don’t think I’ll be venturing outside the city again for a good long while,” she said and laughed nervously, finishing her wine. 

Wyll took a drink, observing the rest of the party. Lae’zel kept to herself mostly, sharpening her blades each night. He had heard her admonish Rosalind for dying, ordering her to train with her during any free time from now on. Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart sat together, laughing quietly at something. Gale looked over at them a couple of times as Wyll watched. He thought he saw a smile, a nod directed at Rosalind. Wonder what that is about? He turned to look at her and caught her staring at him, her chin resting on her hands. She quickly tried to look away, but he noticed the blush rising up her neck. He smiled to himself. 

“Refill?” he asked, holding up the bottle of wine, now half gone. 

“Please,” she replied, holding out her cup. 

“So you’re from Baldur’s Gate?” He asked, wanting to confirm that his suspicions on her identity were correct. 

“Oh! I guess we didn’t really get a chance to talk much. Eventful day yesterday, what with the kidnapping, the crash, and the battle with the goblins. I think I fell asleep 10 minutes after setting up my tent. Anyway…” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m from Baldur’s Gate, born and raised, in a manner of speaking. You’ve already figured out that I’m a bard. Hmmm, what else? I mainly perform in coffee shops and taverns in the Lower City, sometimes the Upper City - but those are few and far between. I’ve been asked to perform at private events and bigger venues but I turn them down every time. One must keep their reputation intact, you know.” She rotated her cup in her hands as she spoke. “Do…do you ever stop in Baldur’s Gate on any Blade of Frontiers missions?” She asked. 

He shook his head. “I was raised there, but left seven years ago. I was seventeen with an eye for adventure and haven’t been back since. I did enjoy seeing bards perform in the Lower City Plaza when I was a teenager though.”

“I used to perform at that plaza! My first paying gig was there. I was so nervous!” She smiled, her face lighting up as she reminisced. “It was such a big place, and it was the weekend so of course it was busy with people not even pretending to pay attention to me. I remember it so vividly! I wanted it to feel intimate so I cast dancing lights but instead of the cool blue they normally are when I cast, I changed them to be warm yellow, like candlelight. I thought I was so creative,” she laughed. “I think maybe twenty people listened to me that night, but I’ll never forget it.” 

Wyll couldn’t believe it. It was her - The Sunlark. What a small continent it was. 

“I wonder if our paths ever crossed before this. It’s such a huge city, it feels unlikely. But I got that gig when I was seventeen, and if I’m doing the math correctly, that would have been when you were sixteen, so there’s a chance,” she said, looking at him again and catching him smiling at her. “What are you smiling about?” She asked, taking a sip.

“I remember you. I saw that performance.” He finished his wine, the bottle now empty. 

He heard her choke on her wine and had to hold back his own laughter. “You did? And you remember it after all these years? It was either really good or really bad to be that memorable,” she laughed nervously. “Hopefully good, though,” she added.

The fire cast a diffused warm glow onto her, reminding him of that night. “Good enough for a sixteen year old boy to skip drinking with his friends at the Elfsong. And good enough to remember a pretty bard’s beautiful singing after seven years,” he said softly as he looked over and saw her shy smile, the faint blush returning to her cheeks. His gaze traveled over her face, taking in the faded bird tattoos, the scar above her eyebrow, her freckles, the scar cutting through her full lips. They looked soft. He saw her beautiful blue eyes do the same, pausing when they got to his lips. He realized suddenly that he had been leaning toward her, their bodies closer now than they were when he sat next to her. All it would take was him leaning in just a little more…

No, there wasn’t time for that. He cleared his throat and stood up quickly.

“It’s getting late, I should get to my tent. Tomorrow we hunt down Karlach and we’ll need all of our strength to capture that infernal devil. Goodnight, Rosalind, thank you for the conversation.” He bowed to her before turning and walking across camp.

******

Rosalind smiled to herself as she finished the last of her wine. He had seen her perform. He remembered her. He called her pretty . Gone was the embarrassment of the day. Gone was the desire to run away. Gone were the feelings of doubt and insecurity - at least for now. She was positive she’d make more mistakes, most likely tomorrow. But none of that mattered because the Blade of Frontiers complimented her singing voice. She would float on the cloud she was now on as long as possible.

Not quite ready to end the day, she went across the campsite to sit between Gale and Astarion, laughing at jokes they were telling at each other’s expense. Her favorites were the ones about Shadowheart’s permanent scowl - even Shadowheart managed to crack a smile at a couple of them. As the wine flowed between the four of them, however, the attention turned to her. 

“So, Rosalind,” Astarion crooned. “You and Wyll looked rather…cozy over there.” 

Oh, no.

She felt her cheeks get hot, sure they were turning bright red. “We were just talking,” she said, taking a long drink. 

“Please, the two of you looked like you were two seconds away from -”

“Now, Astarion,” Gale interrupted. “Rosalind and Wyll are young. Surely you remember what it was like to be so young after the heat of a battle? I could hardly blame them for their…closeness.” Rosalind choked on her wine again. Somehow it sounded even worse coming from Gale. 

“No, no. He was just cheering me up! It was a hard day, what with dying and the mission being a complete failure. That’s all. We both grew up in Baldur’s Gate, so we were reminiscing.” Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart all exchanged a look that implied they didn’t believe her for a second. 

She looked up at the sky, squinting at the moon, now high overhead. Does that even mean anything for nighttime? She thought, suddenly wishing she had taken the time to learn just a little about life in the wilds and not focus her entire childhood on just surviving in the city. “Well! Look at the time! We should probably wrap this up - big day tomorrow, capturing a devil and all! I’m just…I’m just going to go to my tent now.” She turned on her heel and raised her hand to give an awkward wave. “Good night! See you in the morning!” She heard the sound of muffled laughter as she entered her tent. 

She took two deep breaths, thinking again about her conversation with Wyll. She smiled as she climbed into her bedroll, grabbing her small notebook she kept for jotting down notes, potential lyrics. She wrote “fire, wine, soft lips, almost kiss” on a page and closed it, holding it to her chest. 

“Sorry family of raccoons, I think my tadpole and I are going to be sticking around here,” she laughed to herself.

[bengiyo]

Last Twilight: The Gay Angst of Low Expectations

Others are going to say much better things about the romantic stuff going on in Last Twilight this week, but I want to focus on how Day seems himself relative to August. The biggest thing that stood out to me this episode is that Day sees himself in a way that reads unworthy of August.

When we saw their flashback to their time as teammates, August is annoyed with Day a lot, and Day is always apologizing for any of their failures. He then spends an entire night exhausting himself to practice more. August recognizes Day's determination and begins to treat him seriously. They begin to win. When they stumble into each other, August is understandably hurt that Day didn't tell him directly what was going on. I enjoyed the Bond Between Men that they had formed as teammates and how earnestly August insisted that he wouldn't partner with anyone else but Day. It was also clear to me by all the hand holding that August feels something for Day.

However, when August doesn't show up for their dinner, Day was willing to wait more than seven hours for August to show up. He said that August is always like this, and blames himself for thinking August would actually want to see him. He describes their partnership as an arranged marriage to win championships, one where he struggles to befriend August and regularly works to appease August's temper for them to win championships. He admits he actually did like August, but regrets not saying anything when he could still see his face.

Then, August walks up and sees Mhok about to confess something to Day, noticing the flower and running his eyes over Mhok repeatedly. He hears Day's comment about liking August, shakes his head no, and walks away.

What stands out for me here is that August knew Day would be waiting for him. What he wasn't counting on what Mhok being there and clearly being some sort of rival. It was clear to me in the locker room scene that August also feels something for Day as well. I am going to be thinking about the fact that these two were unable to tell each other how they felt all this time. I'm thinking about how August probably felt hurt that Day didn't believe in him enough to tell him directly. I think about how Day always prioritized August over himself, and didn't feel like he could stand up to August.

It brings me back to the dynamic between Andi and Jonah in Andi Mack, my favorite Disney original tv show. For the other millennials out there who watched Disney Channel growing up, Andi Mack is a show by Terri Minsky (creator of Lizzie Maguire) with similar themes as her original show. Andi, who is like Lizzie, has a thing for Jonah Beck, who is like Ethan Craft. She has been hanging around him all season and joined the Frisbee club for him. In episode 9, Andi and the girls at school stage a protest about the school's dress code for picture day by wearing prison outfits. Jonah doesn't know what's going on and insists that Andi wear the team shirt for the picture. Andi, frustrated, demands Jonah tell her what her protest is about and then she'll wear the shirt. Jonah doesn't know, and Andi is hurt by this, but steels herself for the girl issues they're trying to solve.

Later, we get this apology scene.

Please watch this in full. This is one of my favorite romantic/platonic breakups in history. I love that Andi recognizes the power she gave Jonah over her. Jonah never asked for this power, but Andi still let him use it. This scene is important because she firmly takes that power back.

What I want more than anything from Day and August is for Day to take the power he gave August back from him. August may have a huge personality and a temper, but they can't be good to each other if Day is always going to be afraid of him.

So, while I am frustrated with August for standing Day up for hours without explanation, I am going to glare at him for knowing Day would still be there waiting. I want to see them unpack this expectation that Day will always WAIT for August. If August likes Day and also knows this, it's something the both of them need to face.

I'm all about the gay angst of knowing you like him but not being sure if he likes you. I'm here for the gay angst of being unsure about changing the relationship in your Warrior's Bond forged in the fires of competition. I'm all for the gay angst of thinking you'd lost him and wanting to take the chance that presented itself again. However, I don't want Day to always put himself second behind August, especially because August, like Jonah, never asked Day to do that for him.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: ~1K Summary: “What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system. He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means.

Got a short one-shot for y'all today! This was a quick lil' guy I whipped up within the past week to boost my Camp NaNoWriMo word count in between working on other projects.

It's a canon-compliant fic set during the SU movie.

Enjoy!

____

“What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system as he watches the diamond at his core outright flicker.

He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means. But even more urgently… his gaze snaps up to all the gemstones littering the grass like it’s a damned battlefield… he has no idea how he’s supposed to de-escalate this situation if he can’t successfully bubble this rogue Gem. The others will reform in no time, of that he’s sure— but so will she. And when she does, what’s stopping her from pulling out another weapon and attacking them all over again? 

Steven shakes the grim thought out of his head, exerting a surprising sum of energy in dragging himself back to his feet. (Stars, he’s so out of breath…) But no— no. He can’t allow himself to get so caught up in the brambles of such nebulous what-ifs. Come on, Universe. Stay resilient. Stay positive. There’s only one mission that matters at the moment, and that’s gathering up that weapon and all these gemstones and moving them somewhere safe. He’s capable of that much, at least.

Still… that anxious, always hyper-vigilant part of himself he tries hard to keep buried can’t help but dread the worst as he shoves that heart-shaped gem and the pink scythe into the deepest depths of his jacket pocket and drags his spent, trembling body up the hill to retrieve all his loved ones.

_

Steven collapses face-first upon the couch the second all the Gems are safely deposited on the living room coffee table, heaving what has to be the single most exaggerated groan of exhaustion any one soul has ever produced. 

Ugh.

Good golly.

Amethyst is usually back by now. That sure doesn’t shine any optimism on this situation, now does it? What on Earth did that scythe do to them?

And what the heck did it do to me, he thinks, the mere act of baseline existence leaving him as wiped as a marathon runner even though he’s literally lying as flat as a board. It’s a kind of total body exhaustion he rarely experiences, far more intense than a hard day’s workout or multiple nights of poor sleep. 

In fact, now that he ponders his predicament, he hasn’t felt as drained as this since—

He pales, his heart pounding at a somewhat uneven tempo. With much effort, he pushes himself upright again… yanks up the bottom hem of his shirt to splay his opposing hand across the familiar planes of his own gemstone, tracing their edges until his pulse calms down and he stops feeling so itchy and paranoid. No. Stop. it’s not like The Incident at all. He’s whole. They’re together, not split in half, not disconnected from one another.

Or at least… (he swallows. Hard.) Not physically.

Flashing a frustrated grimace, Steven gathers the gem of their attacker in his palms and attempts to form a bubble around it again. And again. And again. No dice, alas. The result is the same no matter how hard he tries. Even if he manages to fashion one large enough, it bursts only a few heartbeats later, leaving him breathless and haggard and with nothing to show for it. He wipes away the sweat that’s started to bead upon his forehead, and— rather defeated by this failure— dumps that damned gem back on the table a tad rougher than he probably ought to. 

Okay. So no bubble. Great. Just great. Absolutely peachy. What else about him is broken right now?

He throws out his arm, envisioning his shield bursting to life in front of it. And to his credit this hard-light weapon does briefly appear, but only as a glitchy flicker. Ugh. All right, so his shield’s a complete dud, too. With this in mind he sees no real point in testing any of his other powers. It seems his gem’s simply on the fritz now, no thanks to her. (He shoots a dirty glare at those pink, ever-taunting facets.) Plus, he figures an attempt and failure to float might prove disastrous. Best not to test fate today with how his luck’s been so far.

Steven clenches his fingers tight, painfully aware of how tense his whole body is right now. He outright can’t help it. This is the single most stressful thing that’s landed on his doorstep since the Diamonds crashed Garnet’s wedding. And not only that, but with all these muscle groups activated at once he can feel his pulse thrumming like a never-ending mantra within his wrist, its tempo frustratingly irregular. It reminds him a lot of how Dad describes his caffeine intolerance. Both keyed-up and jittery. Thrown to the brink of fight-or-flight but also exhausted to the point of collapse. It’s insufferable, and without the guidance and encouragement of the Gems he has no clue what he’s supposed to do about it.

Although… 

His breath quivering as he feels his gemstone glitch out within him yet again, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. (And boy, is he surprised the screen isn’t cracked after the mighty tumble he took up on the hill.) He taps into his messages and— his finger hovering over Connie’s picture for a moment longer than it ought to— (no, don’t worry her, just let her enjoy her space camp)— ultimately selects his dad’s contact.

Pls come quick as you can, he types furiously. Town in danger (???) from new Gem, everyone got poofed. At house.

Send.

The teen slumps back upon the couch, letting himself sink back into its plush, reassuring comfort. There. At least Dad might be able to help. And even if he can’t, well… 

(He wipes away that annoying stray tear pooling at the edge of one of his eyes. Childish, he chides himself. Stupid.)

At least it’s better than weathering this storm on his own.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] A Deal in Three Acts: Act III

Title: A Deal in Three Acts Summary: Weeks since Raphael took temporary residence at Sharess’ Caress, Haarlep is bored. Still waiting for Tav to take him up on his offer, Raphael is frustrated. Tav chooses an interesting evening to show up with a counter-offer. Characters: Raphael, Haarlep, Tav. Rating: Explicit Status: Complete

Act I here Also on AO3

*** Sometimes the best reason to take a throne is finding out what getting railed on it feels like. ***

When Raphael awoke some time before sunrise, he found himself briefly wondering if the little mouse had undergone ceremorphosis while they slept, as she seemed to be holding onto him with entirely too many limbs.

But the skin against him was dry, smelling vaguely of leather and beeswax. A relief, that. Of all the experiences he may be open to, being enveloped in the tentacles of a mindflayer who may or may not make a meal out of his brain was not among them. The drawbacks of that night’s highly unusual negotiations would give him enough of a headache as things were.

He could not simply take back what he’d agreed to; loath as he was to admit it, the Illithid was a viable enough backup plan and the little mouse was insane enough to resort to it. He’d have to see it through, put it all in writing. And then, once the Crown was in his hands and Baator was at his feet… then he could set to work convincing her to revise the contract.

He may have been out-bargained now, but he’d turn the tide soon enough. He always did; patience was all he needed. No mortal had ever scored more than a temporary victory against him, which only made them lose all caution. It made the defeat that followed all the more bitter. And perhaps she wouldn’t even mind being bested in the long run.

I won’t leave until I see you sit on Asmodeus’ throne, she’d said, but surely she could be convinced to remain after that. She could see him rule the Hells, and understand he could do more, aim for greater things yet. If she wanted those she cared for safe, she only had to say so. It would only be a matter of time, and oh, he had time in abundance.

Raphael held back a smile, opened his eyes, and lifted himself up on an elbow. The little mouse shifted, but did not wake up. Her eyes - the one truly beautiful thing about her and so delightfully infernal, red pupils against black sclera - stayed shut. Somewhere in the next room he could hear the sound of water splashing, Haarlep’s faint humming as they took their time washing up. They’d had absolutely no hesitation to set him up for failure last night, and he ought to flay him for that. He probably would, but later.

For now, he had some damage control to do. Not the kind of damage control he usually did, but not the most unpleasant either.

Raphael lifted a hand to brush back her hair, a rich black but very obviously chopped off with a sharp dagger while sitting at a campfire. Something equally sharp must have cut into her cheek at some point, leaving a raised pink scar on livid skin. He wondered if it had happened in battle, or if it had been the result of a burst of uncontrolled magic turning on her.

Of all the types of magic sorcerers wielded, wild magic had always seemed the most inconvenient. It was unpredictable, and chaotic; the opposite of everything he believed power should be. How it served her well enough to carry her and her companions that far was a mystery to him. But then again, it suited her. She was nothing if not annoyingly unpredictable.

Just as Raphael pulled away his hand there was a groan, and her eyelids fluttered. “Misza…?” she mumbled. Raphael had never heard that name, but made a mental note to try and find out more as her eyes blinked open and finally focused on him. “All right,” she muttered, and yawned. Rather than covering her mouth, she pressed it against his shoulder before pulling back again.  “Well. There are way worse sights to wake up to.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you flattery is not your strongest suit?”

“I’ve been told I’m shit at complimenting people. That’s what you’re saying, yes? Just more elegantly.”

“... It is indeed.”

A quirk of her lips, and pulled back the arm that had been looped around his side so that she could reach up and brush back his hair. “You’re not a vampire though, are you? I don’t see fangs,” she added. Raphael wondered, faintly, if the tadpole in her head may have started to feed on her brain matter after all.

“I am not certain I’m following your line of thought, little mouse.”

“You can use a mirror.” She still sounded sleepy, and her hand paused to cup his face. The thumb brushed over his cheekbone. “You don’t need me to tell you you’re handsome.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need mirrors either,” Haarlep’s voice sing-sang from the next room. “He spends half his time looking at me. Or at portraits of himself. They’re on eeeevery wall.”

Yes, he was absolutely going to flay them. Raphael scowled, and turned to the doorway. “You-- back to the House of Hope. Now,” he snapped.

“I’m not done bathing.”

“I said now, incubus, or I’ll feed you your own skin!”

A long sigh, with Haarlep not even trying to sound intimidated or chastised as they should be. “Ah, what a cruel master I found myself bound to. You may want to run, little mouse, while you still--”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh, the whooshing noise of flames flaring up, and then there was only the sound of water rushing to fill up a space left empty all of a sudden. Raphael kept glaring at the doorway for a few moments and likely would have glared a few more, if not for the hand on his cheek turning his head back to her. She pressed her lips on the bridge of his nose, at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you threaten to flay them often?” she asked, chuckling, and Raphael scoffed. 

“Nearly every day.”

“And do you ever do it?”

“... They should count themself very lucky that they’re good at what they do.”

“Yes, it did sound like they knew what they were doing,” Tav commented. Raphael was acutely aware he’d made a spectacle of himself on that bed, and the slightest hint of mockery in her voice may have been enough to turn mild annoyance into raging fury. But there was no mockery, and thus there was no fury. Only a meeting of lips, a hand tangling in his hair.

Right. Damage control. He couldn’t allow himself to be sidetracked by the very same impertinent incubus who’d landed him in that situation to begin with. A frustrating situation if to be fair - and he nothing if not fair - not the most unpleasant he’d ever been in by a long shot. The little mouse was no incubus, and didn’t seem inclined towards another bout of passion just yet. She just kissed him, slow and lazy and content, running a hand down his chest while leaning back on the pillow. 

That suited Raphael well enough. If he was being honest, at least in his own private thoughts, he could not recall the last time he’d slept with anyone other than Haarlep. Nor could he recall the act ever being meant for anyone’s pleasure but his own. Haarlep had their pleasure with him, sure enough, but it was taken, not given. 

… She could take pleasure from him too, and the thought stirred heat in his lower belly. But he was not as confident in his own ability to last without the aid of a ring and frankly, he had disgraced himself enough that night. He broke the kiss before his breathing quickened, and cleared his throat.

“The water in the pool is always warm,” he said. “If you’d like to join me, as we discuss the finer details of the deal,” he added. Much as he enjoyed the sensation in bed, he’d rather not discuss contracts with dried semen coating the back of his thighs. She probably felt the same about the come - his come, he thought, and some of that heat tried to make a comeback - between her own.

A nod. “That sounds good.” A pause. “... I’ll need to get a message to Elfsong Tavern before Astarion comes looking for me. I think you’ve had your fill of people walking in unannounced.”

“Ah, I see. He’d have come to seek you come morning, in case you ran afoul of me?” 

“Yes.”

Raphael tilted his head, and clicked his tongue. “That wounds me, little mouse.”

“That I wanted insurance, or that I thought myself and a vampire spawn could take you on?”

“Honestly, both.”

A quirk of her lips, that hand cupping his face, the thumb stroking his cheekbone again. He leaned into it without thinking as she spoke. “Apologies. Let me send him a message, and I’ll kiss it better. Do you have something I can write with?”

Raphael was never without a sizable supply of ink, quills and paper. The little mouse penned the message quickly, blew on the ink to dry it, and folded it before turning back to him. Raphael gestured for her to return to the bed, and pulled the sheets up to cover them both to an acceptable degree before snapping his fingers.

Korrilla materialized in the room mid-laugh, with her eyes squeezed shut and a mug of something in her hand. “Oh, come on! I don’t believe for a second that out of all the moments he could find to propo-” she trailed off, quite suddenly, and her eyes blinked open. They found the bed and the laugh faded, leaving behind something more akin to a rictus. Her eyes moved from Raphael to Tav, then back to Raphael. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tav wave, but Korrilla did not return the gesture. Instead she sighed, took a generous swig from the mug, and reached up to press her free hand over her eyes for a moment. “I did not need to see this,” she said, voice flat. Raphael scoffed. 

“You don’t need that tongue in your mouth either, yet I’m generous enough to let you keep it,” he informed her, his tone alone making it clear he could change that on a whim. He’d had quite enough of his underlings disrespecting him before his-- future kingdomcrowning glory-- ticket to the Crown of Karsus. “But an end to my generosity can be arranged,” he added, “if you don’t cease offering your input when it’s not required.”

Korrilla pressed her lips together, and was clever enough not to make other remarks. Raphael took the folded piece of paper from the little mouse’s hand, and held it out. “I need you to deliver this to Elfsong Tavern, for the attention of the vampire spawn--”

“It may be best not to call him a vampire spawn in front of the owner,” the little mouse cut him off. Raphael paused, and had to concede it was a fair point. 

“... Of course. To the attention of Astarion.”

“Right,” Korrilla said, just a little too mechanically, and took the note while standing as far from the bed as her arm’s length allowed her. It was not very far. “Anything else?”

“If you could stop by downstairs and let them know I’ll need their special herbal tea come morning,” the little mouse spoke up, “that would be really helpful.”

There was a sound that was almost a chortle. “Oh, definitely. I’ll do that.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Really,” she added, and was gone in a swirl of sparks and sulfur before either of them could say anything more. Raphael tilted his head.

“I was not aware this place had its own special tea.”

“You wouldn’t need it,” the little mouse said with a shrug, and pushed the covers off herself to stand. “And you wouldn’t want it, either. It tastes absolutely vile.”

“Then why request it?”

A laugh. “Our deal doesn’t involve a firstborn or anything like it, does it?”

Raphael blinked. “It does not.”

She shrugged and gestured to her thighs, where he could see the dried seed that had leaked out of her. “Then I really should be having those herbs in the morning.”

Right. That. Raphael cleared his throat with a nod. “Ah, I see. Of course,” he said, words uncharacteristically clumsy in his mouth. He was rather relieved when she turned to walk to the pool without another word on the subject, and all too eager to follow her into the water.

The finer details of the deal were few and far inbetween, and made for a short discussion. Near everything of relevance had been said earlier, after all, and taking back his word now was not an option. Raphael summoned the contract with a snap of his finger - double copy and in the common tongue as requested, inappropriate as that felt - and begrudgingly conceded that she could take both back for the vampire spawn to read through before she returned and finally, she promised, signed both.

“You’re dangerously close to giving me a headache, little mouse,” he muttered, watching her put both copies on the floor next to the pool before sinking back in. She’d grinned.

“Is it a headache so bad a crown cannot soothe it?”

“... I suppose not,” he conceded, and it wasn’t a lie. The Crown of Karsus and the rule of all Nine Hells of Baator would certainly soothe him a great deal. For a time.

The pool was a far cry from the restoration pool in the House of Hope, but hardly anything on that Plane could compare to his residence. It was adequate, if nothing else, with good quality soap and clean towels at hand, the perfume in the water not too cloying. It was definitely more than Tav had enjoyed in a long while, if ever, because she took her time washing up.

“If not for the Elder Brain to take care of,” she finally spoke, rinsing the last of the soap from her hair, “I’d never get out of here.”

Raphael chuckled, throwing some water on his face before he stood and looked around for another bar of soap. “My invite to come dine at the House of Hope has never been rescinded. If you’re inclined--” to join me in my boudoir, he’d meant to say, but he trailed off when he felt her tail wrap around his calf, soap-lathered hands stroking up his back. To his annoyance, he didn’t catch himself on time to stifle a sharp breath. “If you’re angling for more concessions--”

“Not at all,” the little mouse replied, voice light. Her hands lathered his back in long, slow strokes, and her tail went up his leg. “That deal is as good as done. I was thinking we may discuss my other proposal. Me coming to the Hells to help you fight this war.” Her hands slipped around his waist, her chest pressed against Raphael’s back. Her tail brushed the inside of his thigh. “I meant what I said. I’ll fight for you to conquer the Hells. If you’ll have me.”

At the moment Raphael felt he wanted to have her indeed, in several ways, few of them figurative and most of them extremely literal. The hands brushing across his stomach turned his voice rougher than he’d have liked. “... I imagine,” he said, “that for all the power I’ll wield, one can never have too many assets.”

“Then you’ll have me, and my magic. And my sword, my bow, an axe I will buy for the occasion.” A hand went up to his chest while the other dipped below the water, closed around his cock. Raphael let out a shuddering breath, shut his eyes. A nail traced a vein and, again, he began to harden, the heat back in his loins. He didn’t try to fight it.

“And what do you expect in exchange?” he asked, eyes shut. She hummed, leaning her cheek against the back of his shoulder. 

“Archdevil Zariel will never give up Avernus without a fight.”

“She will not, but it won’t matter at all. Once I have the Crown, and my legions are ready, the Flying Fortress will fall.”

“Zariel will fight to the end.”

“I expect that she will. And I expect that is how she dies.”

“I want to be the one to deal the killing blow.”

Whatever Raphael had expected her to say, that was not it. He blinked, taken aback, and forgot even the hand stroking his cock. He turned to look at Tav over his shoulder, and she met his gaze. “This is what I want in exchange,” she spoke, and he felt the heat of it now - anger, and hatred. He was familiar with both, but he’d rarely met anyone before who hated as beautifully as this unassuming scrap of a tiefling. “Zariel dead by my hand, her head to put on a pike. Give me this, and I will follow you to Malsheem to be the first to kneel when you sit on Asmodeus’ throne.”

I give her this, Raphael thought, and she may agree to revise the contract sooner rather than later, too. 

Raphael swallowed, and turned to face her. She let go of him and took only half a step back, still looking at him in the eyes. He licked his lips. “... I could find out nothing about your past,” he admitted, quietly. He reached to cup her face, brush some soap off her cheek with a thumb. “It aggravated me greatly, I must say. But I think I can guess now. You’re from Elturel.”

“I was.”

“I see.” Left alone in the world, out for revenge. An old tale, but Raphael would never grow tired of the timeless tragedy of it. Mortals out for revenge were always among his favorite clients. Not always the easiest, necessarily, but the most interesting. The little mouse had yet to disappoint in that regard. “... Who was Misza?”

She stilled, and spoke again with a voice as cold as the glaciers of Cania. “You said you could find out nothing--”

“I did not. You called that name, when you woke up.”

“Ah.” The coldness faded, and she drew in a long breath, turning her gaze away. “... A gentle soul. I don’t think she lasted long in Avernus.”

“Gentle souls seldom do,” Raphael conceded, and nodded. “Very well. Lead the charge for me, and Zariel’s head will be yours.”

He’d seen her smile before, but the smile she gave now was different. It was not for him, not really, and of that he could only be glad: it was a smile that would not be out of place on a pit fiend, rather than on a simple tiefling. If that was the last thing Zariel would see before she died, Raphael could almost find it in himself to feel pity for her. 

Then the little mouse grasped his head, pulled it down, and kissed him fiercely enough to make him forget an archdevil Zariel even existed. She pressed close, flush against him, and he hissed when his erection brushed against her hip. “I hope you’re aware,” he breathed against her lips, “that this was never necessary for me to agree.”

He felt her smile. “Ah,” she said, arms tight around his neck, “but I do want it.”

Well, far it be from him to disappoint his most interesting client yet. And while Haarep described him as disappointing more often than not - a gross exaggeration, no doubt - there was one skill he’d learned well enough. The Archduchess Raphael made sure he learned, and he’d been a good pupil if he said so himself. 

Fittingly for the moniker he’d bestowed upon her, the little mouse was indeed small, and light; easy to hoist up to sit by the side of the pool, legs dangling in the water while he knelt between them. She looked down, licking her lips, and ran a hand through his wet hair. 

“Could you change?” she asked, her voice rough. “I like your other face, too.”

A chuckle. “You won’t get to look at it all that much,” he said, but it was a request he could satisfy and so he did. Had she been anything but a tiefling, the flames which came with his transformation would have burned the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He stretched his wings a moment, splashing water, and smiled when he felt her hands grasping his horns. 

Haarlep did that often, too. They were, after all, excellent for leverage… and a strong grip on his horns, holding his head in place, never failed to send a jolt of arousal down his spine, straight to his cock. It wouldn’t help him last, but that wasn’t important now. All he needed was his tongue, and that had always served him well in any endeavor. 

Raphael did not look up again. He placed a hand on each of the little mouse’s thighs and spread them open, leaning forward to press his mouth against her folds. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her filling his nostrils, and ran his tongue across her in a long, hot swipe. He felt her shudder, and heard her moan; her legs hooked over his shoulders, trembling, giving him more access while she held onto his horns for dear life. 

With Haarlep in the form of the Archduchess, he never got to set the pace. With her, there was no respite, no comfort to be had. She’d straddle his face and not budge until she’d had her fill, grinding against his mouth, yanking his horns and pulling at his hair, ordering him to prove he wasn’t all that worthless after all, to use that mouth of his for something worthwhile least she cut off his useless tongue and show the world that it wasn’t made of silver after all. 

At that point he would already be-- pathetic-- bruised and battered, having been made to crawl and beg to be used, shame a tangible weight in his stomach only matched by his need for more. Learning to give the Archduchess the pleasure she demanded had been a long process, each lesson a welt or a cut or worse, ending quite literally in blood and tears… but he had learned. 

And a lesson learned, he knew, is a lesson earned.

His little mouse was so wet, it took several swipes of his tongue to get any real friction against her. When he did, her hips buckled violently and she almost wrenched his head away, only to immediately pull him against her again. But it was nothing compared to the way the Archduchess would jerk his head around, sometimes violently enough to fracture his neck if she deemed his performance lacking, so he barely missed a beat. He placed a kiss on her mound, grazed at sensitive skin with his teeth, and buried his face in her folds again.

“Gods,” she groaned. “Please please please don’t stop.”

For a moment Raphael did pause, smiling against her, half his face already wet with her juices. She sounded almost delirious with pleasure, and for a moment he regretted sending Haarlep away; he should have had them stay  and watch. He should have made them listen to this, to remember next time they tried to call him a disappointing lover again.

No matter. They can watch us next time, in the House of Hope. Only watch. I won’t let them touch her, or me. Won’t even let them touch themself. Will serve them right.

The thought made him shiver - Haarlep watching, the little mouse in his boudoir, the mental image of them both fucking him on Asmodeus’ throne, his throne; let all of Nessus see, let all of Baator see - and he almost spent himself right there and then. 

But he held back, and forced himself to ignore his aching cock to burrow his face against her cunt again, licking and kissing and sucking and letting himself forget everything else outside this, the scent and taste and touch, the voice crying out in pleasure under his ministrations, the grip on his horns, the heels digging against his back. Beneath his palms, her thighs quivered and tensed. Something changed about her shudders, something in the rhythm of them telling him she was close. She canted her hips against his mouth, leveraging on his horns, and he pushed his tongue in, all of it. He was rewarded with a near cry.

“Raphael,” she managed, the name nearly breaking up on her lips, and the next groan to ring out was his own. He’d heard his name many times over centuries - spoken with deference or loathing, in despair or with mockery, in anger and fear - but never, even with an incubus in his bed, had he heard it quite like that. Not with that want. Not with that need.

Was that why Haarlep wanted him to say their name, when in the throes of pleasure? Was this how they felt? Hells, it went to his head like gughalaki and he couldn’t get enough of it. Another moan above him, and Raphael stopped thinking. He closed his lips on her clit and sucked, all finesse gone, wanting nothing more than hearing, feeling her come undone. 

He got what he wanted. One of her hands let go of his horns, and the next moment there was a barely muffled cry. Her hips buckled one more time against his mouth and then she held still, shuddering, heels digging deeper into his back as though she feared he might pull away. 

Raphael didn’t think all the might of every devil in Baator could make him pull back an inch. He kept licking and sucking her folds while she rode it out and finally went limp with a near sob. She let go of his horns entirely and might have fallen back on the floor, had Raphael not reached out to catch her. He stood, still in the pool, gaze locked on the panting form in his grasp. He licked his lips.

There should be a portrait of her like this, he thought, to show Haarlep whenever they complained about his skill again. And also for his viewing pleasure, he supposed, but mostly for that. “Little mouse?” Raphael called out, his voice still rough, and she drew in a long breath before opening her eyes. Her gaze was still dazed with pleasure, and she spoke with a voice like sandpaper.

“How do I know,” she managed, “that Raphael hasn’t left and you’re not the incubus after all?”

Raphael let out a scoff that may pass as a somewhat breathless attempt at a laugh. “Am I to take it as a compliment?”

“You can bet your ass.”

“I only deal in souls, and you truly should work on your flattery. Still, consider the compliment graciously accepted.”

A few more panting breaths, and she sat up before glancing down. Raphael was still standing between her thighs and, he realized after a moment, still hard. It wasn’t all that rare for mortal to show a somewhat disconcerting interest in what a devil’s cock looked like. In a rare moment of talkativeness on the subject, Korrilla had admitted that since their arrival at Baldur’s Gate she’d had several queries about it from people who had a rather interesting - if incorrect - idea of what their strictly professional relationship entailed.

Whether or not the little mouse shared the curiosity, she now seemed to be considering the size of it, the girth, the ridges. She licked  her lips, and reached up to grasp his shoulders to pull him close. Her heart beat wildly against his chest.

“You’re not done,” she murmured against his throat, and leaned back on her elbows, legs hooking around his thighs. Her skin was flushed, and her eyes seemed to burn. “Come inside.”

Raphael seldom needed to be asked such things twice, and this was no exception; if anything, it was a small wonder he didn’t spend himself against her thigh on her words alone. He gripped her back and thrust forward blindly, in a near bestial lust that belied his every attempt to be civil up to that point. But she was so wet and open to him, he slid in like she was meant to take him; the shuddering gasp against his skin almost undid him.

He did not, as expected, last long. A few graceless, desperate thrusts and he came with a shuddering groan, dropping on top of her, panting against her hair. He had the presence of mind to change his form back to the human one so he wouldn’t weigh too heavily on her, but that was all he could do for a few long minutes. Frankly, for a while it was all he wanted to do: remain still, nestled within her, feeling nothing but her heartbeat against his chest and her hands down his neck, down his back. 

When he finally let out a long breath and lifted his head, the hands went to cup his face. His little mouse looked at him through half-lidded eyes, a sated smile on her lips. “Ah, there it is,” she said, brushing a lock of hair off his face. “I see it now.”

“See what?”

“The fox,” she replied, and Raphael chuckled.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t see it before?”

“I was still half thinking you might be the cat, but that fits Haarlep best.”

“Haarlep?”

“Cats never do a damn thing they’re told, and you still want to keep them around.”

Another chuckle. “That sounds like an accurate description,” he conceded. The thought he’d had earlier, both Haarlep and her fucking him on the throne of Nessus for all of Baator to see, nothing on him but the Crown, pushed its way back into his mind. He could almost feel Haarlep’s cock in him, as real as the taste of her in his mouth. Breath caught in his throat a moment, and something deep within him trembled.

“... Raphael? Are you--”

A well-timed knock on the door ended the question before it was even out. Mamzell Amira’s voice rang out, much too chipper for that time in the morning. Or what Raphael assumed was the time in the morning; keeping track of the time had not been among his priorities.

“I’ve brought the special tea, piping hot! And some breakfast, of course. I’ll leave it outside!”

“Much obliged,” the little mouse called out, and Raphael took it as his cue to pull out of her. He allowed himself to dip underwater a few moments before he stood, rinsed his face again, and reached for a towel.

“Do rinse yourself. I’ll take the tray in.”

She chuckled, slipping in the water as he left the pool. “The archdevil supreme, offering to carry my tray?”

“The archdevil supreme was taught manners a lady ought to appreciate.”

“Alas, I’m just a rodent of small size.”

When she’d said the tea tasted vile, she probably was not exaggerating: it most certainly smelled vile, too, and he got some measure of admittedly childish entertainment out of watching her face as she forced it down. 

The breakfast of fresh pastries and oranges was much better received, but did not last long. Soon enough she was putting her armor back on, picking up the contract - both copies of it - and grabbing one last pastry. The one Raphael had been planning to eat next, to his annoyance. “I’ll have Astarion take a look at the contract first thing,” she said. “Unless he has something to object to, I’ll be back to sign it before noon.”

“He’ll find nothing to object to, as it meets all the requests you so convincingly outlined,” Raphael pointed out, settling for another orange. “But he’s welcome to waste time however he sees fit. Just remember you don’t have much of it, little mouse,” he added, and as though to agree with him, the ground shook. He looked over to see her press her lips together.

“... I’ll be back soon,” she finally said. And indeed, Indeed, she returned before noon. The contract was signed, the Orphic Hammer placed in her hands, and that should have been the last step for Raphael - the moment when he’d sit back to see if they could win after all, if his investment would pay off. 

He’d done all that he’d set out to do to make it so, he reasoned, watching her retreating back. Still… “Wait.”

She turned, already in the doorway, to see Raphael snap his fingers. Flames enveloped her and she gave a startled cry, but they died down just as fast. Once they did there she stood, clad in the Helldusk Armor. It would not hurt, he reasoned, to give her a little advantage. Prone as she and her companions were to surprise him, they were facing a fight the likes of which few mortals had ever seen.

“It’s my own armor, made by the forgemaster of Avemus,” Raphael explained as she looked down at it. “Superior to anything a mortal blacksmith may hope to achieve. It always fits its wearer, so you may borrow it for the upcoming battle. Return it along with the Crown once you’ve triumphed.”

The little mouse flexed a gloved hand for a moment, looking at the infernal metal, and nodded. “... Very well. Thank you.”

“You may keep your thanks. You know what the one thing I want from you is,” Raphael scoffed. “Now go, and give that Netherbrain a taste of the Hells.”

The little mouse laughed. “Very well. Just one more thing.”

“There is nothing more to discu--” Raphael began, only to trail off when she strode back in and grabbed his doublet to pull his head down. She planted her lips on his for a brief, forceful kiss. When she pulled back, she was grinning.

“For luck,” she said, and she was out of the door before Raphael’s mouth could formulate a reply, a spring in her step and the Orphic Hammer slung across her back. The door closed behind her, and Raphael found himself staring at it for a very long time.

***

“My word, I’d have never thought I’d live to see the day you’d turn into a philanthropist. Who’d have known you’d find you have  a kind soul after all, master?”

That last word, purposely thrown in after a pause like the afterthought it was, somehow annoyed Raphael more than any of the other nonsense Haarlep kept spouting. “Keep this up, and you’ll find soon enough how kind I am,” he bit without teeth, and drank another mouthful from the goblet of blood red wine he’d been glaring at for the past several minutes.

Lounging on the bed, a half-eaten apple in hand, Haarlep sighed. “And you’re modest, too!”

“Be quiet, incubus.”

“You’re still crownless, and yet you helped fix the tiefling’s infernal machine so she can live in the Material Plane, just as you promised! Giving something for nothing. How is that not kind?”

Raphael scoffed. “That the Crown of Karsus would come apart and be in need of reforging was not an outcome I’d planned for, and Zariel’s old guard dog was drawing her last. Had I let her burn herself out without intervening, I would have been in breach of the contract. I don’t expect you to understand such things. The crown will be mine. I have yet to take the Netherese Orb out of the wizard’s chest--”

“Couldn’t he do it himself, by keeping the Crown once he’s done reforging it? Or surely, Mystra could?”

Raphael scowled. “He’d doom the little mouse’s soul by refusing to give it back, and he knows it. Ambitious he may be, but he has the same fatal flaw as most other mortals - sentimentality. Gale of Waterdeep will not--”

“Actually, it’s Professor Dekarios now. Ready for orb removal at your earliest convenience.”

The little mouse’s voice rang out suddenly from the doorway, causing Raphael to turn with a start and Haarlep’s grin to become, if possible, even wider. “Ah, here’s our favorite little mouse!” the incubus crooned. Their tail whipped the air as they stood and approached her. “We were just talking about you. And your friends. And the Crown, of course.”

“Oh, this crown?”

Any and all questions Raphael may have had - how did you get here, when did you get here, how dare you come here - died in his throat when she held up the reforged Crown of Karsus. No longer massive as it had been on top of the Netherbrain, it still looked as foreboding. The three netherstones set amidst spikes of black metal glinted and Raphael could already feel it, the hum of power within each, waiting to be unleashed by someone worthy of wielding them.

Someone like him.

“Give it here,” he said, impatience winning out on civility. He stepped closer, mouth dry, wishing he’d changed into his devilish form so that he could truly tower over her as he should, as he deserved to tower over everyone. The little mouse met his gaze, and smiled. 

“And then what, you’ll put it on your own head? That’s not how crownings usually go.”

“I am not in the mood for games--”

“I went through an awful lot to get this crown. It seems only fitting I get to place it on your head myself,” she cut him off, and gestured to the floor with a sharp nod. “Kneel.”

It was spoken like an order, as she held the key to his near-unimaginable power, and by all rights it should have infuriated him beyond words. Instead, it made him stop in his tracks, something twisting in his stomach. He’d heard that order many, many times - in that boudoir, mostly, but sometimes outside of it too - and he’d always obeyed it in the end.

On the floor, pet. Kneel. 

“Oh, come now, little brat,” Haarlep purred, coming to stand next to her. Raphael’s eyes moved from them to the little mouse and back, his mouth still dry, unable to formulate words. “You always kneel so prettily for me. And you’ll do it again many, many times. Even with a crown on your head and the Nine Hells at your feet, you’ll always yearn to kneel.” A smile, sweet as rotten honey. “But not to worry, sweetling. We’ll always help you up, when we’re done with you.”

“The only throne you need,” Haarlep had said, pushing him down on their cock. “Is it not your proper place? The only thing you wish to be seated on?”

Raphael opened his mouth to speak, but he could utter no sound. His tongue was heavy, his voice lost. The little mouse was not speaking: she only held the crown, his crown, and kept that hungry look of hers fixed on him. Slowly, beyond thought, his head wrapped in silence, Raphael felt his knees bend. Her lips curled in a smile and she stepped forward, holding up the crown. So many years, decades, centuries of yearning, and there it was at last. Raphael smiled, and closed his eyes an instant before the Crown of Karsus was lowered on his head.

Down came the crown, he thought. And that, love, was that.

The metal felt warm against his forehead, thrumming, alive. Raphael drew in a sharp breath. It felt like a stroke of lighting, a surge of power humming and crackling into every fiber of his being, in his very blood and bone and sinew, in every nerve ending. Raw power, limitless potential kept inert too long, now aching to be used, unleashed. It would not be unleashed yet, though, not until he willed it; the Crown’s power strained against him, and for a brief moment flames flared up, bright, blinding even through his closed eyelids.

But it was only a moment’s lapse, and the flames died down. Raphael had power enough of his own to hold the Crown in check until it was time to use it, to bend all the Hells to his will and step on his father’s throat on his way to Asmodeus.

Soon. Very, very soon, but not just yet. Not until the entirety of his plan was ready to be set in motion; he hadn’t spent centuries in wait to rush it now. Another half a year at most and he’d strike out at Avernus first, with his little mouse leading the charge. She’d have her revenge, and he the first layer of the Hells. It would be perfect, and glorious, and just the beginning. 

Let all of the Hells know what I need, then. Let them all see. Who would dare mock me for it?

Raphael smiled, savoring the warm weight of the crown on his head, the power buzzing in his nerves and veins and bones, and opened his eyes. He did not stand: he only looked up to meet their gazes, to see the amused glint in Haarlep’s eyes and the almost predatory one in Tav’s. He licked his lips and lifted his hands, palms up. 

It was a plea, and it was an order.

Take me. Break me. Worship me. Make me whole.

He did not speak those words, but he may as well have. A moment later his little mouse had claimed his mouth with her own, a hand tangling in his hair; Haarlep’s own mouth was on the back of his neck, teeth grazing skin, their hands reaching around him to tear open his doublet. As he parted his lips and leaned into the touch Raphael had one last, clear thought. 

They dined on him both, the cat and the mouse.

*** [Back to Act I]

[Back to Act II]

[castleofcuntdracula]

So I've been watching The Great (shout-out to @just-a-silly-little-guy for dragging me into it!) And watching hoult playing a guy obsessed with his baby is making me really want postcanon Renbecca babies. Not to be comphet about this but I DO love fankids and babies ever after... and I think it would be something he'd genuinely want? There's happy families on his vision board, and we know how much he regrets his failure as a father. Ramblings under the cut.

I think it would be a big step forward in his recovery, too- being stable enough, financially and mentally, to even consider having another kid. And I think Rebecca has considered it before, but never seriously- she doesn't have a mom, so it would probably be difficult for her to picture being one.

Once they're committed and have their shit a bit more together, I think she'd agree to it- and then they'd be on WILDLY different pages for a hot sec, because "starting a family" for Rebecca means 2.5 kids and a dog, and for Robert it means "I sure do miss hanging out with my sister and her THREE BACK TO BACK SETS OF TWINS". It's hilarious to me. She'd ask how many he's thinking about and he's like "Well, I know birthrates have fallen significantly since I was last married 🤔 so probably not more than five?"

They agree to one-maybe-two. The first pregnancy absolutely blows his mind because the sheer amount of progress that's been made in prenatal care. He'd 100% cry his eyes out at the first sonogram because he's just awed that you can SEE into the womb. He'd be taking this blurry incomprehensible black and white picture everywhere, showing it to everyone he knows like "🥹 that's our baby..." and his friends are like "that's great man, it looks like a bean."

It would also basically give him another anxiety disorder. There's been a lot of advances in maternal health since the 1920s, and his ex wife probably smoked a pack a day and drank while pregnant, because nobody knew that you shouldn't do that yet! Rebecca has to confiscate his phone so he doesn't go on Instagram and get himself hysterical over her eating pepperoni on pizza or candies with food dye. On the plus side, she will DEFINITELY have prenatal vitamins just completely on. Lock. (He brings them to her on a little china plate). The fretfulness would definitely bother her- it's not like she's suddenly made of glass! But he'd make up for it by being equally indulgent of her the entire time.

I think he'd be incredibly happy to have kids in the modern world, too- there's so much less they have to worry about in terms of disease and dangers, and they'll get to go to school all the way to 18, no matter what! If they have another daughter, she'll be able to do anything- she could be a doctor or an astronaut or even the president! Can her nursery be space or medicine or government themed?

All of his ideas for baby names are horribly outdated and all of Rebecca's are from a list she made when she was 14 and daydreaming about marrying one of the boys from supernatural, so they're out of luck there for a while- she doesn't want to name her baby Agatha or Eustace, but she also doesn't want to explain why they can't name it "Castiel".

I also don't think Rebecca would like being pregnant much- she likes that you get a baby at the end, and it's an exciting time for anyone, but that's hard to keep in mind when the little snot is kickboxing your organs all night. And she really wouldn't enjoy the way it alters/reduces her mobility, especially in the second half- she's pretty much five foot nothing and the average newborn is a third of that, let alone Renny's NBA all stars "one week old in 3mo clothes" sproglets. At one of the scans, the ultrasound tech says their baby "looks like they're gonna be tall! :)" and Rebecca just GLARES at him because she has to haul the kid around for another few months still.

They have a little girl and are both instantly besotted. Never shut up about her, total first time (for Rebecca at least) parent madness where the baby blinks in a new way and they both burst into tears of joy and grab the cameras. Robert having been on the night shift for a century means he's very useful in the newborn phase- he's sleep deprived anyway, waking up every two hours for feeds is nothing compared to a week stalking the streets all night for victims.

He'd probably be the stay at home parent, given that he doesn't legally exist- he's the absolute talk of the town at daycare dropoff and has to go full wife guy to defend his honour. This means that everyone at baby sensory and what have you had a fantastic impression of Rebecca before they meet her, because he can't stop gushing about how cool she is after he's started.

Rebecca is more neurotic than she'd expected about babies, and it causes her a lot of stress at first- she's the youngest sibling, so she has very little experience with them, and her daughter is so tiny and fragile and squishy! She gets better about it once baby is a bit less wispy looking and newborn-lanky, which I think would happen by 2-3 months. Kiddo has a lot of growing to do, and consequently gets delightfully chubby before shooting up like a weed as a toddler. Neither of them want to put her down EVER, to the point where she takes a little longer than average to be crawling and walking because she can only make it a few feet before someone scoops her up and transports her expeditiously to her destination.

Baby two is a couple years after the first, once they're confident that they can get a kid to running-around age without completely fucking up. Her older sister, thanks to the accidental attachment parenting from the sheer amount of snuggling and carrying, would be confident to the point of being slightly feral. By the time baby 2 is old enough to play with her the dynamic is very much as so:

They're smart on their own, but get them both in a room at the same time and their collective IQ is halved and someone ends up with their arm jammed to the elbow in the VCR tape slot.

Despite this, Robert manages to beg and plead his way into one (1) more, just one, this is the last one he P R O M I S E S, three is lots!

They have twins.

[paper--moons]

Regressor!Shane Headcanons

(with cg!Marnie)

Sometimes we find coping mechanisms that work without really having to seek them out, though sometimes we stumble a bit before we do and maybe even have to purposely try to find them. And Shane definitely stumbled—more like he tripped, really—for quite some time. He hadn't even realized how bad his addiction and dependency on alcohol had gotten until the new farmer in town found him drunk at the cliff. Not that he remembers too much from that night, although he comes to the next day with a killer hangover and an appointment with a therapist in Zuzu City. He considers not going, believing that nothing they say or do will wind up helping—after all, nothing he's tried has worked and that's what got him to this point. But apparently Harvey had to pull some strings to get him the appointment so quickly, and his aunt practically forces him into her old pick-up truck to drive him there herself. So he humors them both, not wanting to seem ungrateful and too tired to fight it anymore. One appointment and he'll be done; one appointment and he can go back to the cliff to finish what he started. His last therapist couldn't help him much, and he expects the same song and dance here—only to be surprised, shocked even, when Harvey's old friend seems to get it, get him. She doesn't try to force him to talk, or blatantly analyze him and goad him into responses she thinks are the problem; this therapist actually treats him like a person and not a lost cause. By the end of the first session, he thinks it might be worth coming back.

And come back he does. It takes a few sessions before he feels comfortable enough talking about the situation—why he is here as an emergency case, according to Harvey—and what happened at the cliff. Shane recounts that night the best he can, repeating the same sentiment to his therapist that is one of the few things he remembers telling the farmer: "I'm too small and stupid to take control of my life". The way his therapist starts making a few notes goes passed his notice as he trails off, muttering that it probably won't happen again so he doesn't know why he's even here. When he's said his piece it seems his therapist has decided something, has latched on to the fact that he's expressed he thinks he's too small. Unsurprisingly, they explore those thoughts and feelings for the rest of his time, and by his next appointment she has a suggestion for him: age regression. Carefully explaining that it doesn't make him stupid or a failure, and that feeling small can actually be really good for him. And that she wants him to try leaning into being small instead of drinking the next time he starts feeling lost in his head. It's a lot to take in, but she gives Shane a few pamphlets and tells him that's his homework for the next two weeks. Just to try it at least once and see what happens. He's flipping through the pamphlets on the way back to the truck, catching sight of Marnie and Jas waiting for him; he tried telling her that he can catch the bus, but she insisted on taking him every time and even made excuses of them taking Jas to an ice-cream parlor while they were in Zuzu. When they have the family-sized sundae brought to the table he notices for the first time how his aunt not only tucks a napkin into Jas' shirt, but also reaches over to gently tuck one into his as well—something she's always done, but for once something that he realizes is her showing she cares about him.

The pamphlets sit in his back pocket heavily the entire way home, the same heaviness resting at the back of his mind. Would it help? His therapist seemed to think so. But it seemed so...stupid. As if drinking his troubles away wasn't. At least this wouldn't burn his wallet—he could try this. Over the next few days Shane finds himself getting lost in thought whenever he's picking up Jas' room (the cleaning routine being another suggestion that's part of his ongoing homework), dolls being held for far longer than necessary before he remembers to put them in her toybox. After one such time he finds himself crawling around Marnie's attic, knowing she hangs on to everything and, lo and behold, finds the toybox that used to belong to him. Because of course she kept it, covered in dust as it is. It opens with a creak, and a small part of him thinks he'll get caught—but that doesn't stop him from pulling out his childhood bear and hugging it close. The stuffing smells a little musty like the wood of the toybox it was stored in, but underlying that is the familiar smell that brings to mind safer nights when he was allowed to feel scared and tuck himself up to his aunt's side for comfort. Shane doesn't realize he's crying, only clutches the toy and doesn't try to box away his feelings for once. Telling his teddy that he's so sorry (and for what, he doesn't even know, in the moment he only knows that he is), that he won't do it again.

Shane doesn't get caught in the attic, and though that all-encompassing small feeling only lasted for about a half-hour he still takes Baby Bear (because that's his name, Shane remembers!) out of the toybox and down to his room where he rests on his bed, carefully hidden under his pillows until it's bedtime. Because by bedtime he lets himself take out the toy again and snuggle with it, finds that when the urge to cry comes back that he's soothing himself by pressing a thumb into his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not a habit he had given up by the time he was five (or maybe eight, if he was being honest). And by the time morning comes he feels okay. Lighter, even. And most notably there's no pounding in his head or pain behind his eyes. Maybe this whole regression thing could work after all. Although he had thought his...regression age? was that the term? would be older. When he brings all of this up with his therapist she seems genuinely happy and supportive, something that makes the small space being carved out in the back of his mind swell with something akin to a sweet softness. Like cotton candy. But she says the cotton candy is a good thing and not to worry about it, and to keep doing what he's doing whenever he finds it helpful. He winds up leaving the session teetering on the edge of regression, much more eager and excited to go get ice-cream than he usually would be. It's been a long time since he was excited over something so trivial. But the ice-cream is sweet, and Shane doesn't even get mad when his aunt wants to wipe away the sticky trail at the corner of his mouth.

Slowly but surely more of his childhood toys find their way out of the toybox and into his room until eventually the chest itself has to be brought down from the attic and tucked away safely in his closet instead. It's an interesting process of learning how to play again, but once he loses himself in it he starts to have a lot of fun. Finding joy in the simple act of playing starts to bleed over into his big time as well, when the little things gradually start to make him feel something close to happy again. Not to mention it provides him with some much needed routine—after his shift at JojaMart he comes home for dinner, and after helping with the washing up he retreats to his room for some small time. However after a particularly rough day that new routine is abandoned and he goes straight to his room, wanting nothing more than to forget things for awhile, to be little. Which inevitably leads to a concerned Marnie walking in on Shane, who is the middle of a tea party with some of his toys. It takes some time before he notices that she's there, and when he does he certainly doesn't expect the soft look on her face. For the first time in years he actually calls her mama, whines and hiccups that it isn't what it looks like...but all of that is pushed aside as she comes to sit on the bed next to him, and ask if Baby Bear needs his graham crackers and cheese for the tea party. Because of course his aunt remembers the snacks he always said were for his teddy. And all he can do is nod, blushing as she brushes away his embarrassed tears and kisses the crown of his head before leaving. Shane doesn't know why she played along, but he does find himself pushing the pamphlets about age regression that he did have shoved in the back of his dresser drawer underneath her door later that night.

Crumpled as they are, Marnie reads through the pamphlets. She had a general idea about what was going on, though she didn't have the correct terminology to put with it—in the moment all she knew was that her nephew was happy and smiling while he was playing so innocently, so it must be a good thing. And judging from the pamphlets, it's something his therapist recommended too. The fact that he had slipped up and called her mama—something he hadn't done since he was very, very young before someone had corrected him—only added to her pre-existing want to be there for him, just as she had been the first time. If he would allow it, of course. Shane knew a talk was coming even before he gave her the pamphlets; Marnie had always stressed the importance of talking things over, especially if feelings were involved. And Shane had shown plenty of feelings, way more than he has been since returning home a few months ago. The talk is about as awkward as anticipated, but Shane tries to remain open and not shut her out out of fear of rejection. Though he gets the exact opposite. Marnie tells him that if regression is something that helps him, then she will support him in any way that he's comfortable with—including acting as his cg. She's already done it once, and she's more than willing to do it again. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, if he needs to be her little butterbean for awhile then that's more than okay! And as the awkwardness and embarrassment fade from Shane's mind, he realizes that he would like that a lot, actually.

It's a whole lot easier to let Marnie in on his regression than he imagined it would be. The process of letting her in is gradual, as is building up the courage to leave his room when he's feeling small. But Marnie is patient and goes at the pace Shane sets, never forcing him out of his comfort zone but always providing encouragement wherever she can. Perhaps somewhat expectedly, once Shane gets accustomed to having someone around while he is regressed they both slot back into old habits. Habits like her teaching him about the farm animals and how to care for them, especially the sheep since they only had chickens and cows when he was a kid. Although they form a few new habits too! Like how she brings him a sippy cup of warm vanilla milk to take his antidepressants and insomnia medicine with at bedtime, or how (depending on the day of the week and if he's feeling small) she'll help him with his t-shot, carefully placing a band-aid patterned with farm animals over the spot where the needle pricked his thigh (his favorite, naturally, being the ones with little chickens on them). Some things might have changed, but for a little while at least Shane can take comfort in knowing that her care for him hasn't.

[reneesbooks]

Damn I really feel you on that one Stephanie Meyer book with the parasitic aliens, like that premise was so interesting, why did she have to focus on the stupid love triangle?!

ok here’s the thing. i could fix her

edit: i'm putting this post under a cut bc it got SO LONG lmao. read at your own risk it's messy and obsessive and a bit unhinged

the movie got so close in some ways and fucking missed in so many others. on the one hand, ian in the movie was imo a lot more likeable than he was in the book. I’m attributing this to less dialogue written directly by stephanie meyer and the actor's face. on the other hand. jared was awful. movie did not fix him even a bit. only thing they fixed was the age gap but not even that was explicitly addressed in the movie. it was just assumed bc the actors looked similarly aged

I should mention at this point that I haven’t actually read the book in a few years but I read it so many times at age 13-14 that it was an intensely formative experience despite being a generally terrible book. I could still probably quote entire passages from memory. I’ve seen the movie definitely more than 50 times, including in theaters w my mom the week it came out. I watched it last week just for something to play in the background while I crocheted. I can and will 1000% quote along with the movie. fucking brain parasite book got me I guess

the book delves so deeply into the genuinely fascinating world building that tbh has influenced me to this day in terms of depth and creativity. that’s where the movie set itself up to fail bc the ONLY redeeming quality of the book was the world building. its perfect for a tv show so that there is time to explore what it’s like for Melanie to live among the souls instead of focusing exclusively on wanderers time among the humans.

ok the love triangle. here's the thing. it didn't have to be Like That. BUT. i remember my edition when i was younger (that has since disappeared but i have a new one on the way bc i miss my stupid parasite book) had a bonus chapter or smth from melanie's perspective after she wakes up without wanderer in her head for the first time and runs into ian and they both have this moment where they reach for each other and there is that moment of horror on ian's part when he realizes that she is not wanda and melanie being so used to wanda reaching for him that she doesn't realize that her body is doing it automatically. and it was just so interesting to think about how that duality affected them and i think the movie kind of tried to do that with the conversation that ian and wanda have on the cliffs but it just didn't make it happen in the right way. so like. having the love stories there are important for why wanda is even willing to learn to be human but the focus on them in the movie and its general failure to properly execute the most interesting parts of them are what kneecapped it imo.

anyway getting back to why despite that the love triangle is literally the least interesting part of this book. starting with the thing that drives me the most up the wall. the fact that the movie didn't include walt at all and glossed over wes's death makes me chew drywall bc that plotline made me SOB. wanda's time sitting at walt's bedside and comforting him through his illness is one of the things that really teaches her about the gentleness of humanity despite their perceived cruelty, and what makes much of the humans actually start to trust her. they see how she treats walt and realize that she has a huge heart and capacity for kindness. so when jared gets mad bc the seeker looking for her has caused problems, and she has the whole compound backing her up anyway, it actually has some weight to it. the movie flattened wanda and her relationships to the others so much it's so disappointing!! she feels grief in a way that's different from how she's ever experienced it before, despite knowing and understanding grief from her previous lives. she is devastated and forever changed by walt's death, and similarly by wes's. i don't remember exactly if he had a partner in the book but i think he did so wanda also had that experience of seeing his death devastate someone else so completely (and for her to be able to connect that to how jared feels about her being in melanie's body). so when she asks doc to let her die at the end, it's go so much more significance because she specifically asks to be buried WITH walt and wes!! she finds peace with death and understands it and wants to be with the people who taught her about grief and love and that just. i'm so unhinged about it. and it wasn't in the movie. chewing drywall.

this isn't like. a big thing. but it's forever a little disappointing to me that it wasn't in the movie either. bc the movie went a more "ethereal being made of light" direction for what the souls' actual bodies look like instead of the book's "segmented body with thin tendrils that attach to the brain of the host" description. this matters to me for a sad reason and a funny one. the sad reason is because when wanda sees the souls that the humans tried to cut out, she notes based on the vestigial feelers of one of the dead souls that it was a baby. horrible and sad detail that makes that scene 100 times worse. the funny reason is because since the humans know what the souls look like for the above sad reason, they refer to them as worms. which essentially leads to them calling ian a worm fucker and that's hilarious on a lot of levels the least of which being that it's true. like while melanie and jared and jamie go looking for a new body for wanda he literally doesn't care what it looks like and just sits holding her containment tank the entire time. worm fucker and proud of it good for him

i could write a whole other essay on the worldbuilding but i don't have my copy yet (and all the library copies are checked out who ARE y'all who else has read this book???) and i can't remember enough of it to really get into it. but wanderer's job was to be a teacher because she'd been to almost all the different planets (hence her name) so there were some glimpses of the fascinating universe of this world. the stories that she tells about the other planets?? unparalleled. wanderer tells this story about an ethical dilemma (among parasitic aliens lmao) because their host species on one planet burns another alive for its food source BUT they had recently discovered that the food source species was also sapient and intelligent so they were trying to figure out a way to handle the situation. that entire thing could be more interesting than the love triangle but instead it was like. a maximum of two pages about that planet and a one-off appearance from another soul that used to live there at the very end of the book. wanda tells the people at the compound about the underwater planet, and the one with the giant blind flying creatures that they call the Bats, and she mourns using the ritual from that species after the whole seeing the corpses incident. all of this gone completely to waste and for what!! for what stephanie!!!

another funny thing that i think might be better left in the book--when they take the seeker out in the book the human that was in there in the first place is so nasty and awful that everyone is lowkey mad at wanda for not just letting them kill her. top tier comedy ngl

ugh i also remember a scene where wanda is going on the long supply trips and sees a couple of souls with a human child who isn't occupied and is like. huh. that could be really indicative of a beautiful direction for humanity to go. could souls and humans live in peace in a real way? and then it's never really addressed again bc sexy feelings about two men oohhhh

so. is she fixable?

yes. i could fix her. a tv adaptation is what she needs. bc then there's actually time to delve into the thoughts and feelings of melanie and wanderer (and you could do that really well if you made a visualization of their shared mindspace--the book talks about how they put up walls against each other, and how they can block each other out or grab at control) as well as the worldbuilding and ethical questions. i have a whole three-season plan for fixing her so buckle up.

season one starts with wanderer waking up in melanie's body and the first half explores their time as a uni professor and the seeker's insistence on trying to find the human resistance through melanie's memories. this is where we really get a chance to see wanda's perspective--not because she's right, but because it's interesting. she is a huge pacifist and is horrified by violence, whereas melanie is used to using violence to get what she needs and tends to jump directly to it as a solution. so before they run off to the desert, when the seeker is still constantly checking up on her, as wanda gets more annoyed, melanie keeps suggesting that they kill her, and wanda has a harder and harder time holding her back. finally at the midpoint, wanda snaps and attacks the seeker, not because melanie made her do it, but because she's finally reaching that point in her journey towards humanity. and of course everybody blames it on melanie and they have to run because they're going to be separated.

then the second half of the season starts with the wandering through the desert. btw. book jeb my beloved. unhinged grandpa didn't get to be nearly as unhinged in the movie. the second half of the season is wanda acclimating to the human environment. i am of the opinion that romance should not happen until the second season at LEAST. obv melanie is pining for jared and wanda is dealing w that but it's not a romance. she doesn't love jared she's just comforting her dramatic roommate. maybe ian is starting to show interest in wanda but she hasn't noticed yet because she's still getting used to being human. season one ends with walt's death, since that's one of wanda's biggest turning points.

so season two opens with wanda understanding humanity a little better. and now she notices that ian likes her. melanie rightfully puts up a fuss about this (because it's her fucking body, steph meyer why did you almost make a convincing bodily autonomy argument and then fall short you almost had it--) and we can have that drama still while setting it up against the backdrop of wanda's journey to understanding humanity and ultimately becoming human herself. this is the first half of the season, and then there is the turning point--discovering that they've been trying to cut out the souls even as she lives among them. this is her major fracture with ian and is when she realizes that she can actually push melanie out of her head entirely and has to scramble to get her back. season midpoint cliffhanger is melanie being gone. and that finally brings jared around about her when he sees how hard she works to get melanie back and help jamie. so the second half of the season starts with healing jamie and how jared being ok with her changes the dynamic. now she's going out on raids, seeing how humanity and souls can live together, starting to come around to being in love with ian maybe, and generally settling into a comfortable existence. and this is when the seeker comes back into the picture at the end of season two, killing wes and being captured by the humans.

and season three. where it all comes together. the seeker represents the biggest obstacle to humanity and souls living in harmony--she is a mirror and a foil to wanda and melanie, two people too stubborn to let the other take over, unable to coexist. when she's captured by the humans, they want to kill her and her host, forcing wanda to come face-to-face with what she hasn't wanted to admit--she has to tell the humans how to remove a soul from a body. and in doing so she has to admit that she's been selfish and cruel by not telling them before. because by now they've more than proven that they can accept her kind under the right circumstances. so she's able to lay that out with the seeker and the first half of the season shows them starting to do it--to take souls out of humans and send them to different planets. the book does so many interesting things with this, showing how some people come back right away, some come back very slowly, some don't come back at all. there's a lot of material to work with (looking at you jodi and kyle and sunny) but eventually we get to the midpoint which is wanda asking doc to remove her and bury her with wes and walt. and then he does.

so the second half of the third season begins with melanie alone. and for the first time ever we don't hear from wanda at all. because she's in a cryotank and unable to have thoughts. so now we have what didn't get a chance to be really explored by the book--the aftermath of wanda's removal and the ethical debate of violating her wishes to put her in another body as well as the fact that when they do put her in one, it's one of the people who never woke up. it starts to get fuzzy here bc there's less original material to work with (and what is there is...not great the body they find for wanda is a 17 year old and ian is like 27 throwing up) and because there are so many directions to go after the book ends-- they find other human groups like they do in the book that also have a soul like her living among them, they try to work with the soul government to reach an agreement for peace, etc etc etc--and they're all so interesting! but the book ends because the love triangle has been resolved and it just doesn't address any of that. shaking steph by the shoulders and screaming

anyway the point of all of this is that this book and movie have been living rent free in my head for over a decade and i would simply like to make the good version of it that lives in my head real.

tldr i could fix her. steph meyer wya.

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … October 18

1663 – The French/Italian prince Prince Eugene of Savoy was born on this date (d.1736). Prince Eugene was one of the most successful military commanders in modern European history, rising to the highest offices of state at the Imperial court in Vienna.

Born in Paris to aristocratic Savoyard parents, Eugene grew up around the French court of King Louis XIV. Based on his poor physique and bearing, the Prince was initially prepared for a career in the church, but by the age of 19 he had determined on a military career. Rejected by Louis XIV for service in the French army, Eugene moved to Austria and transferred his loyalty to the Hapsburg Monarchy.

Little is known about Eugene's life before 1683. In his early boyhood Eugene belonged to what historians call a "small, effeminate set." Hostile anecdotal evidence of this period is supplied by the Duchess of Orléans who accused him of "homosexual antics" with lackeys and pages, calling him 'a slut' and declaring that 'he often played the woman with young people'. But her remarks about Eugene were made years later, and only then after he had severely mauled the armies of her brother-in-law, Louis XIV.

Eugene's childhood behaviour may have been a result his mother's lax household and her own failure to show any affection towards him.

Of related interest are a popular soldier's song of the period which that alluded to Eugene's voyage on the Rhine River with his friend, the Marquis de la Moussaye. When a storm broke out, the general dreaded the worst, but the Marquis consoled him with the words: "Our lives are safe/ For we are sodomites/ Destined to perish only by fire/ We shall land."

A comment made by Schulenberg in 1709 should probably read that the prince enjoyed "la petite debauche et des p[énis] au dela de tout," which means that he derived his sexual gratification from the virile members of others - that is, he was a botttom or a cocksucker. He was known as 'Madam l' Ancienne' (The Old Lady) to his contemporaries, and 'Mars without Venus' to his men.

1753 – Jean-Jacques-Régis de Cambacérès, 1st Duke of Parma (d.1824) was a French lawyer and statesman during the French Revolution and the First Empire, best remembered as the author of the Napoleonic code, which still forms the basis of French civil law.

Throughout his career, his chief interest was in developing the principles of revolutionary jurisprudence. Although it is generally believed that he was solely responsible for legalizing in France same-sex relations between consenting adults in private, that is an oversimplification based on the irony that he himself was homosexual.

Before the French Revolution, sodomy had been a capital crime under royal legislation. The penalty was burning at the stake. Very few men, however, were ever actually prosecuted and executed for consensual sodomy (no more than five in the entire eighteenth century). Sodomites arrested by the police were more usually released with a warning or held in prison for (at most) a few weeks or months.

Cambacérès was one of the principal framers of the Napoléonic Code, which not only decriminalized sodomy in France but in every one of its colonies (and subsequently post-colonial freed countries).

Cambacérés sexuality was well known, and he was commonly called "Tante Urlurette," The triumverate of Napoleon, Cambacérés and Lebrun, in fact, was known as Hic, Haec and Hoc, Latin for "this one" in male, female and neuter genders, respectively.

Cambacérés, so it is told, was once late for an appointment with Napoleon and offered the excuse of having "been with a woman" to the annoyed emperor.

"Been with a woman?" Napoleon sniffed, "Next time tell her this: `Take your hat and cane and leave me.'"

1884 – Became Kabaka (king): Danieri Basammula-Ekkere Mwanga II Mukasa (1868-1903). He was Kabaka from 1884 until 1888 and from 1889 until 1897. He was the thirty-first (31st) Kabaka of Buganda (modern day Uganda), and a homosexual.

Mwanga II saw the greatest threat to his rule coming from the Christian missionaries who had gradually penetrated Buganda. His father had played-off the three religions; Catholics, Protestants and Muslims against each other. Mwanga II took a much more aggressive approach, expelling missionaries and insisting that Christian converts abandon their faith or face death.

On October 29, 1885, he had the incoming archbishop James Hannington murdered. Then between 1885 and 1887, over forty-five of the king's pages were put to death on the orders of Mwanga. The crime was failure to renounce their newly-found Christian beliefs and their refusal of the king's sexual demands. Twenty-two of the men, who had converted to Catholicism, were burned alive at Namugongo in 1886 and later became known as the Uganda Martyrs.

These murders and Mwanga's continued resistance alarmed the British, who backed a rebellion by Mwanga's half brother and defeated Mwanga at Mengo in 1888. However, Mwanga escaped and negotiated with the British. In exchange for handing over some of his sovereignty to the British East Africa Company, the British changed their backing to Mwanga, who swiftly removed his brother from the throne in 1889.

On August 27, 1894, Mwanga accepted for Buganda to become a Protectorate. However, on July 6, 1897, he declared War on the British and launched an attack, but was defeated. He fled into German East Africa (today it is the Republic of Tanzania), where he was arrested and interned.

Tenacious as he was, he escaped and returned to Buganda with a rebel army, but was again defeated. He was captured and in April 1899 was exiled to the Seychelles. While in exile, he was received into the Anglican Church, was baptized with the name of Danieri (Daniel). He spent the rest of his life in exile. He died in 1903, aged 35 years. In 1910 his remains were repatriated and buried at Kasubi.

1956 – Martina Navratilova, born in Prague, is a Czech American tennis player and a former World No. 1. Billie Jean King said about Navratilova in 2006, "She's the greatest singles, doubles and mixed doubles player who's ever lived."

Navratilova won 18 Grand Slam singles titles, 31 Grand Slam women's doubles titles (an all-time record), and 10 Grand Slam mixed doubles titles. She reached the Wimbledon singles final 12 times, including 9 consecutive years from 1982 through 1990, and won the women's singles title at Wimbledon a record 9 times. She and King each won 20 Wimbledon titles, an all-time record. Navratilova is one of just three women to have accomplished a career Grand Slam in singles, women's doubles, and mixed doubles (called the Grand Slam "boxed set") a record she shares with Margaret Court and Doris Hart. She holds the open era record for most singles titles (167) and doubles titles (177). She recorded the longest winning streak in the open era (74 consecutive matches) and three of the six longest winning streaks in the women's open era. Navratilova, Margaret Court, and Maureen Connolly share the record for the most consecutive Grand Slam singles titles (six). Navratilova reached 11 consecutive Grand Slam singles finals, second all-time to Steffi Graf's 13. In women's doubles, Navratilova and Pam Shriver won 109 consecutive matches and won all four Grand Slam titles in 1984. Also the pair set an all time record of 79 titles together and tied Louise Brough Clapp's and Margaret Osborne duPont's record of 20 Grand Slam women's doubles titles as a team. In addition she won the season ending WTA Tour Championships a record 8 times and made the finals a record 14 times and won the doubles title a record 11 times. Navratilova is the only man or woman to have won 8 different tournaments at least 7 times.

Originally from Czechoslovakia, she was stripped of her citizenship when, in 1975 at the age of 18, she asked the United States for political asylum and was granted temporary residency. At the time, Navratilova was told by the Czechoslovakian Sports Federation that she was becoming too Americanized and that she should go back to school and make tennis secondary. Navratilova became a US citizen in 1981, but on January 9, 2008, she had her Czech citizenship restored. She stated she has not renounced her American citizenship nor does she plan to do so and that the restoration of her Czech citizenship was not politically motivated.

In 1981, shortly after becoming a United States citizen, Navratilova came out publicly about her sexual orientation. During the early 1980s, she was involved with author Rita Mae Brown. From 1984 to 1991, Navratilova had a long-term relationship with partner Judy Nelson. Their split in 1991 included a much-publicized legal wrangle. Navratilova was featured in a WITA (Women's International Tennis Association) calendar, shot by Jean Renard with her Wimbledon trophies and Nelson's children in the background.

In 1985, Navratilova released an autobiography, co-written with New York Times sports columnist George Vecsey, entitled Martina in the U.S. and Being Myself in the rest of the world. She had earlier co-written a tennis instruction book with Mary Carillo in 1982 entitled Tennis My Way. She later wrote three mystery novels with Liz Nickles: The Total Zone (1994), Breaking Point (1996), and Killer Instinct (1997).

Navratilova also made a humorous guest appearance on the NBC sitcom Will & Grace in a 2000 episode in which a flashback revealed that she had been a heterosexual until a 1985 relationship with character Karen Walker "turned her Lesbian." Navratilova's most recent literary effort was a health and fitness book entitled Shape Your Self (2006).

On April 7, 2010, Navratilova announced that she was being treated for breast cancer. A routine mammography in January 2010 had revealed that she had a ductal carcinoma in situ in her left breast, which she was informed of in February, and in March she had the tumour surgically removed.

1980 – Richard John Sawka II, better known as Colby Keller, is an American visual artist and former pornographic film actor. His career in porn film started in 2004 at Sean Cody and subsequently expanded to include such studios as Cocksure Men, Randy Blue, Titan Men, Falcon, CockyBoys and Men.com. Keller has also appeared in the short, Zolushka, a queer retelling of Cinderella, and in the popular series Capitol Hill, both by the cult filmmaker Wes Hurley.

Born in Michigan, Colby Keller was raised in Texas where he graduated from the University of Houston with a bachelor's degree in anthropology. In addition, he is a graduate of The Maryland Institute College of Art, with a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in visual and performing arts.

During his time performing in gay porn, Keller continued to work as an artist. His two most notable art projects are Pieces of Eight and Everything But Lenin, both collaborative performance pieces. Pieces of Eight involved multiple projects and multiple collaborations while Everything But Lenin involved giving away all of his earthly possessions with the exception a large metal plaque of Lenin and was precipitated by an eviction notice presented to residents of his Baltimore apartment complex in March 2014. Those who took part received a signed certificate as project participants.

In addition to his porn performances and art projects, Keller appeared in a series of sex advice videos (titled In Bed With Colby Keller) for Manhunt. The series ran from 2012 until 2014 and resulted in 62 videos.

In 2012, Keller appeared in a masquerade-themed music video for the song "After Dark", by dance artists Undercover. And, in his 2013 music video for "Cannibal", Natti Vogel enlisted Keller to play a hooded witch to his tempted Hansel in a recreation of Hansel and Gretel.

In 2013, Keller collaborated with artist Cameron Stalheim on a project called Myth as Object, which resulted in a 2014 exhibit as Stalheim's MFA graduating thesis at the Maryland Institute College of Art. Keller's body was cast in silicone to create a thirty-foot long merman sculpture in his likeness.

In 2014, Keller sold his belongings and began a project Colby Does America, composed of porn scenes filmed across every state in the United States.

In 2017, he appeared in two episodes of the third season of EastSiders.Keller is a communist who credits his communist beliefs to a strict Christian upbringing with the Assemblies of God. Keller voted for Donald Trump in the 2016 United States presidential election, stating, "I’m going to vote for Trump! I think he’s a destabilizing force…I don’t support or endorse any of Trump’s policies. I just think it’ll escalate the problem, which is the best we can hope for."

1991 – Tyler Posey is an American actor and musician who is known for his role as Scott McCall on the MTV series Teen Wolf (2011–2017).

Posey was born in Santa Monica, California, to actor and writer John Posey and Cyndi Terese Posey (née Garcia). He grew up in Santa Clarita, California. Posey has two brothers.

His mother, who was of Mexican descent, died of breast cancer in December 2014. Season 5 of Teen Wolf was dedicated to her memory.

Posey has worked steadily in film and television. In February 2002, he appeared in the film Collateral Damage; in December of that year, he played the main character's son in the romantic comedy Maid in Manhattan. He auditioned for the role of Jacob Black in the Twilight film series in 2007 but lost the role to his friend Taylor Lautner. The two regularly auditioned for the same roles as child actors.

In 2011, Posey was cast in his breakout role as the lead in the MTV television series Teen Wolf, which is based on the 1985 film. Posey plays high school student Scott McCall, who is bitten by a werewolf and must keep this fact secret while protecting his loved ones from a host of supernatural threats and beings. In 2015, he also became a co-producer for the fifth season of Teen Wolf.

As a musician, Posey played guitar and contributed vocals in the pop punk band PVMNTS along with guitarist/bassist/vocalist Freddy Ramirez and drummer Nick Guzman. The trio released the song "Standing (On My Own Two Feet)" on June 14, 2018, on which Posey wrote about the passing of his mother in 2014. The band self-released their six-track EP Better Days on August 17, 2018. In April 2019, it was announced that Posey had left the band and was pursuing another music venture, which became the band Five North.

Five North is a pop-punk rock band formed by childhood best friends Posey and Kyle Murphy. Posey and Murphy originate from just off "The 5" (Interstate 5 in California) in Santa Clarita, California, hence the origin of the band's name Five North. The two recruited Makeout drummer Scott Eckel after being introduced by music producer and close friend John Feldmann. Five North's debut single "This Mess" was released on October 4, 2019, and their debut eight-track EP Scumbag was released on March 6, 2020, via Big Noise Music Group.

Posey became engaged to his childhood sweetheart, Seana Gorlick, in 2013. The couple broke off the engagement that same year, after a ten-year relationship.In October 2020, Posey revealed that he has been with men previously but does not like to label his sexuality. In an interview on Sirius XM, Posey said "I was hit with wanting to come out myself and be honest about it. I know a lot of kids look up to me and I want to get rid of that stigma."

"I'm confident in my sexuality," Posey said in an Instagram Story. An OnlyFans fan asked to see his bulge and he happily obliged with the shot below:

1991 – Admiral Frank B Kelso, chief of naval operations, announced that the explosion of the USS Iowa which killed forty-seven men had been proven not to have been caused by a wrongful intentional act and apologized to the family of Clayton Hartwig. Hartwig had been accused of intentionally causing the blast as an act of suicide following the break up of a homosexual affair.

2010 – The home of a gay couple in Little Pond, Prince Edward Island is firebombed. Both men escaped the fire unharmed, but their home was destroyed. In late October and November, a series of rallies and fundraising concerts is held in both Little Pond and Charlottetown to support the couple and to oppose homophobic violence.

[plague-karm]

Right since I’m beginning to settle down on my Digital Circus hyperfixation, it’s time to talk about another one! It surprises me that I haven’t talked about the Fnaf movie that much on here so don’t expect this to be concise, it’s gonna be all over the place so let’s go!

First off, I still can’t process that the movie is coming out in almost a week! As a self proclaimed Fnaf veteran (I’ve been a fan since the second games release) i thought this movie was doomed to be stuck in development hell but no! It’s real, fnaf is real, ye.

Anyway enough rambling, time to go feral over minor details.

Yes I watched the unlisted video in full and yes this has been on my mind for the past 7 hours or so. It captured the ambience of Fnaf 1 PERFECTLY and I couldn’t be happier about it. So I’m gonna talk about some cool stuff I saw during the video.

WHAT THE FUCK? SHADOW FREDDY? That was not on my bingo card, look at him, he’s glorious.

I also saw this small pill bottle, it’s likely that it’s Mike’s but I’m not sure why he’d have it, maybe it’s a Walten Files situation? He could’ve went through something so traumatic that he had to take normal pills to forgor? And if Mike IS William’s son here then that would explain why he didn’t know who he was during the job interview, so the event that happened that made him become prescribed to them was likely The Bite Of 83 if that’s the case. Or they’re completely unrelated since the movies timeline is completely separate from the games.

Enough speculating, time to talk about funnie murder man now.

They absolutely NAILED this design, I love how you can see hints of Afton’s clothes and those eyes, holy shit those eyes, I don’t know what it is but they’re so unsettling (loving the hints of purple in those peepers). I don’t know when the suit’s showing up in the movie (probably the third act) but its probably going to be my favourite part. And if the Spring Bonnie design makes me feel genuinely unsettled, I can’t WAIT to see what they’re going to do with Springtrap.

I know some people have said that this is going to be his design for the movie but I don’t think that’s the case, look at the small hints of Afton we see in the suit, there’s no blood, no hints of bodily harm, he clearly hasn’t been springlocked yet, and the suit looks worse for wear because it’s the suit from Fredbear’s, it’s old, it hasn’t been in use for almost 2 decades (it’s been confirmed by Emma Tammi that the movie takes place in the year 2000), and speaking of springlocks…

BBFC RATING HELLO?? UNDETAILED DECAPITATION?? HUH??

At first I thought it was referring to a possible springlock scene, but then I remembered something that would make a lot more sense

Maybe it’s referring to this? I’ve seen a lot of theories stating that Golden Freddy might actually be Mike after something happens (hence why Abby’s so chill with a golden bear that has Sans Undertale going into his eyes).

But it could refer to quite a few things maybe that’s how the five children were killed and stuffed? Possibly, but either way, I really hope they don’t cut out the springlock failure entirely, it’s really important to the timeline and I’m genuinely curious to see what they could get away with with the rating in mind.

ALSO THIS. Okay, so there’s obviously a few contenders here and I can immediately debunk one of them

It’s not Balloon Boy, we see him in a drawing during this scene in the teaser trailer, and I think it would be out of place for him to show up anyway (even if I’d find it fucking hilarious)

I think it’s either Henry or The Puppet, I don’t see it being anyone else (maybe there’s someone I forgot? Idk man Fnaf canon nowadays is ridiculous). Maybe if the Mike saw trap theory actually happens The Puppet will show up to do her thing and place his soul in the Golden Freddy suit? Maybe, it’s either that or a post credits scene. And with Henry I only see him having a VERY minor role, I’m not sure what he could be doing though, we’ll have to wait and see if he shows up or not.

Anyway I’m very excited for this movie and if it’s not at least a 7/10 I’m going to cry.