#so you did. and oh. it was so much worse to think you could have it. that you had it together. and then finding he knew it was never a

[amoebab22]

I completely agree with this. I feel like this is one of the worst parts about Veilguard. My Inky is in the South, and while I firmly believe Orlais is the devil, it's very weird that Tevinter is just super chill about my elf Rook when my elf Inky had constant micro-aggressions as well as just out and out slurs hurled at her. Also I'm going on a rant about Mythal.

SPOILERS BELOW

Bellara also seems to just...kind of ignore that I'm an elf? Davrin makes more sense. He left his clan and joined the Wardens because he just didn't really vibe with the Dalish. He'd think of himself as a Warden first, I think. Wardens don't seem to give much of a shit about your race or religion or sexuality or whatever. In The Calling, they canonically don't give a fuck about the gay couple in their little group, or that Fiona is a mage and an elf. Absolutely irrelevant. So Davrin could start to fall into that mindset because frankly, it's a nice way to live. It's just not real outside the Wardens.

So when Bellara is like oh my god our gods are evil and Davrin is like eh, fuck 'em, that's actually about the most realistic reaction we've got re: elves. Davrin is just out here like yo I'm a little busy saving the world fuck them gods. Love Davrin.

Also, in Inquisition, there's concern that knowing Corypheus's artifact is Elvhen will cause violence against elves. So knowing it's the Elvhen gods causing all of this? The consequences of that, even if an elf Rook saves the world, should be looming for a Shadow Dragon in particular. Clearly Inquisitor Ameridan's race did nothing for the elves of Orlais. It was covered up over time. His sacrifice meant nothing to the humans. This should make Solas's plans to restore the elves much, much more tempting.

The way the Crows were presented REALLY bothered me as well as someone who romanced Zev. The Crows *tortured* him, sexually assaulted him, made him feel worthless, because it was seen as necessary. Sure, Lucanis being blood family might give him a very different perspective and experience, but Jacobus is just allowed to be a Crow and start his own house when he wouldn't kill? I mean, I totally agree that prolonged, public shaming and imprisonment is worse for this individual, but like.... That's not how the Crows work. They kill stuff for money. Sure, they run Antiva and would be pretty pissed off about the Antaam taking their territory I'm sure, and they might work with Rook since Rook helped Lucanis and he's a big deal to the First Talon. But like... It should be a hard choice to work with them for Shadow Dragon Rook, because SLAVERY.

I feel like the pullback on slavery is to make Solas's actions seem more ambiguous, and to make it seem like there was some equal power between him and Mythal. But I have a very hard time believing he was never Mythal's slave. Also, a spirit of BENEVOLENCE? Get ABSOLUTELY fucked. She was fine with SLAVERY. Thought she could just slowly phase it out, maybe. Yeah, no .

Because here's the thing: slavery is evil. Whatever you have to do to stop slavery, short of participating or killing slaves, is pretty easy to justify. Maybe I'm just John Brown-pilled from living in Kansas a good chunk of my life, but killing slavers and slave owners and freeing slaves is MORALLY CORRECT. FULL STOP. A "kind" master is still a master. Sure, you can give them a chance to free their slaves and make reparations first, but waiting to vote slavery out didn't work. The US had to go to war. Haiti had to rebel (and give basically all its GDP to France for like two hundred years. Fuck Orlais AND France).

The only reason my Inky was able to befriend Dorian, at first, was their shared trauma in going to the future. That changes people (that whole quest fucked me up the first time I did it) and I think my elf Inky was looking for reasons to trust Dorian and ignore the system he participated in. She didn't have to see it so it seemed less real. He's an altus so he doesn't own the estate. He seems open to other opinions! And some part of him knows it's wrong, or he wouldn't be so awkward upon talking to Inky the first time.

But Solas's inherent and never fully overcome distrust of Dorian isn't wrong. Solas needs to see action; words aren't enough. I don't blame him.

This is the same softening we saw of the Templars in DA2 and Inquisition, but if you read The Stolen Throne and The Calling and play DAO, it's very clear that mages are oppressed by the Chantry and live in horrible conditions. The ones in Lake Calenhad are described as pale and kinda sickly looking (or something like that) because they don't get any fucking sunlight. Fiona is happy to go to the circle at first because she was a SLAVE in Orlais (Honestly Loghain's hatred of Orlais is justified even though his actions aren't). If you decide to allow the right of annulment or whatever in DAO, Zevran calls it genocide. Zevran isn't one to mince words. He doesn't pretend he isn't a killer or that he wasn't tortured.

My Inky and my Rook are both 'no gods no masters' types, which is why I think clan Lavellan sent their First on a risky mission supposedly by herself (got real sick of her shit lol). As a result, she heavily sympathizes with Solas's cause, and would have happily joined him in bringing down the Veil if he'd just agreed to spend time making sure as few people died as possible, particularly after she meets the Avvar and sees how spirits really are. She knows Solas better than anyone, and even without a full explanation, she'd know that his reasons for doing this were morally right. He freed her people. He never meant to hurt them. He can't live with his guilt. Inky (who in my game was more like 30 because I don't think she could have made decisions or led on her own at 20, nor would she have been a studied enough mage) wants freedom for everyone. She's chaotic good.

Rook is a Shadow Dragon who killed slavers a little too hard for an organization dedicated to killing slavers (based Rook). They're also chaotic good, and a bit of an idiot, bless them, who kinda sees everything as a nail because they have a hammer. They see slavery, they fight it. Fuck the consequences. Solas did the same.

So why is Rook not bringing up slavery a lot? Why is Rook only finding out that Solas freed slaves on the regular at the beginning of the game? Did Varric just decide that wasn't worth bringing up to a person whose entire life revolves around ending slavery? Why is Rook not having an existential crisis after talking to Solas and finding out the truth of his past in his memories?

Look, all I'm saying is that I don't understand why more people aren't angry with Mythal and why no one is talking about slavery and racism. The whole point of fantasy and sci-fi, and the point of Dragon Age, is to critique modern society through thinly veiled references. That's why people get so passionate about Star Trek. And yeah, yes, it's necessarily going to make a piece of media more niche, or people are going to bitch about it (especially gamer bros my dude calm down, sorry something is very briefly not about you), but it makes a game *good* and lasting

BG3 did a good job of exploring the themes of trauma and power imbalance, and while some characters I think needed more fleshing out (Wyll my beloved, I owe you a lengthy fanfic for the injustice done to you), it was particularly powerful in Astarion. The people are ready for real exploration of real issues. We always have been. Backing off was a mistake.

ANYWAY I have feelings and none of my friends share my special interest. Here you go.

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.

[sweetpupii]

oh, she does both and gets so mean with it too </3

thank god cait's uniform has pockets to hide the pink vibrator remote because she's planning on using it during the whole ceremony. yeah, yeah, guard the stage, look out for any suspicious people and whatever… she's far too focused on the way you fidget with the fabric of your uniform as you look around, squirming a little in a way that makes her look down to hold back a small giggle. not wanting to draw attention to herself.

sneaky little shit, got as far away from you as possible to not hear any complaints.

she just wasn't having it today. no amount of whining and puppy dog eyes you give could get her to back down. hopefully that'll teach you to stop getting on her last nerve at the most inopportune times.

keeping her in bed for longer than necessary because 'you were cold’ on a sunny and nowhere near cold morning, the little touches under her nightgown with those coy eyes that hid your true intentions ( or so you thought because she can read you like an open book by now. ), the gentle kisses and bites on her neck that quickly turned heated and ended up with a couple hickeys that were a pain to cover before arriving at the gala. late.

we're you dumb or did you really think she'd be nice enough to wait until you guys got to her bedroom to turn on the vibrator?

either way, you might regret agreeing to her little idea.

more people are starting to arrive but her duty is to be there and intervene only if something bad happens so she can keep having fun while you pat down people to let them in with a forced, polite smile. you shift on your feet, pretending to adjust the holster at your thigh. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching, but caitlyn knows better.

her thumb grazes the remote in her pocket, toggling the setting up one notch higher. a quick glance in your direction tells her all she needs to know: the way your head dips slightly, teeth pressing into your bottom lip as your hand briefly grips the table for balance. you recover quickly, but not before her eyes catch the faint tremble in your legs.

perfect.

when she finally makes her way over to you, the calm authority in her tone betrays none of her mischief. “I’ll be taking her to assist with another entrance.” she tells the nearby guard, who barely spares a glance before nodding in approval.

her hand is warm and steady on your lower back as she leads you away, her grip firm enough to keep you from protesting. not that you could form a coherent argument right now, not with your mind clouded by the relentless buzzing and caitlyn’s touch.

she is not taking you to the other entrance, she's obviously taking you backstage to an empty room.

immediately closing the door, leaning her body weight against it just in case, pulling out the remote from her pocket to turn it up. the buzzing in between your legs now louder and definitely more overwhelming.

“fuck, cait, I'm sorry—” the quiver in your voice, the way you had to lean onto the desk behind you to hold yourself up while your knees trembled and threatened to give up made something flutter in caitlyn's belly, damn.

“sorry?” she repeats, her tone silky but laced with mockery. she holds up the remote in one hand, her thumb hovering over the button as if she was hesitating. “darling, you’re always sorry. but somehow, you never learn.”

she presses the button, and the buzzing between your legs ramps up another level, sharp and insistent. your breath catches, and your knees almost buckle at the sensation. “cait—caitlyn, please,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, clear desperation.

“you had so much to say earlier this morning,” the enforcer pointed out with a soft laugh, taking a step closer. her free hand reaches out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes. “is my name all you can manage to say now? how funny.”

your thighs clench together in a futile attempt to dull the vibration, but it only makes it worse. heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, as you bite your lip to muffle the whimper threatening to escape. she notices—of course, she does—and leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a rather sloppy kiss.

she wasn't supposed to kiss you, she never does when trying to teach a lesson but she couldn't resist this time... sigh.

“no need to hold back,” she murmurs against your lips, “we’re alone here.”

“i can't...” you manage, your voice breaking. tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure inside you.

“yes, you can,” she says firmly, one hand brushes along your side, a grounding touch that only makes the intensity more acute. “you always can.”

she watches you intently, taking in every shudder, every gasp, every tremble of your legs as you struggle to stay upright. her chest swells with satisfaction at the sight of you, undone and helpless under her control.

when your legs finally give out, she catches you effortlessly; pulling you close, stroking your back to let you pant against her shoulder, trailing soft kisses down your jaw as she presses the button to turn the vibrator off…only to start it back at the lowest setting.

“don't look at me like that,” caitlyn whispers, a tiny ( cruel. ) smile playing at her lips as she guides you down to the chair. “you already had your fun in the morning, am I not allowed to do the same?”

[beanarie]

of course 3/3

1/3

2/3

entire fic on ao3

in which tommy finally admits he should maybe see a therapist.

thanks again to @mooshkat for the original concept

(tw: heart problems, hospitalization, self loathing)

~

Bobby is the next to show up.

"Hi," he says, disconcertingly tall as he stands over Tommy's bed with a small tupperware. "I figured you can't have anything we would normally bring for someone stuck here, but there's this recipe I liked after my heart attack. It's just chickpeas tossed with olive oil and a bit of curry powder."

"That's very thoughtful," Tommy says, touched and confused. He starts tucking in immediately. The food here could be worse, but he never has much appetite when he's unwell. Maybe eating something will make the nurses frown less often. They're very frowny in this unit. Makes sense, as they probably have the highest proportion of deaths in the building, but it's shit for patient morale.

Bobby's still standing, so Tommy tilts his head at the chair and continues eating.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, once Tommy has left the now half-empty container on his tray table.

"Fine? Tired, mostly." Which is probably for the best when the only change of scenery he gets is the regular trips to imaging. All the napping doesn't leave time to develop cabin fever. "You?"

"I'm good. A little concerned."

Shit. So he's just jumping right in. Tommy works on his breathing. "Oh?"

Bobby nods. "Buck is getting released in the next few hours. He'll probably be up here as soon as they hand over the discharge summary."

Tommy doesn't eye the monitors, but he has a brief fantasy about ripping the leads out and smashing everything on the ground. It's been a long time since he's felt this exposed for this long. "That's good."

Bobby puts his hands on the armrests of the chair. "Hen seems to think you don't want to see him, which is interesting since Buck is behaving like you're pretty much back together."

Keep him away. Do it so I don't have to see his face. "I- I'm-"

Bobby looks at him like he's a spooked horse. "I'm not just here for him, okay? I wanna help you get clarity on what you're actually looking for before it blows up in both your faces again."

It's such a brazen offer Tommy can't help but laugh. "You're welcome to try?"

Bobby smiles a little. "Kid's got a heart the size of Alaska, but--or maybe because of it--he's like the La Brea tar pits. Once you're in, that's all she wrote. It's fine, though, great even. If that's your choice."

Tommy tilts his head, reconciling this man with the friendly, new in town captain who had a veil behind his eyes. In the last eight years, everyone at the 118 figured out how to open a vein for each other, and here's Tommy. Out, flying, and only able to meet his own eyes in the mirror half the time. "What if I'm a bomb," he asks. "Or... whatever destroys tar."

"Is that how you want it to be?" Bobby presses gently.

Tommy rubs at the side of his neck. "I'd be a monster and an idiot if I said yes, wouldn't I?"

Bobby spreads his hands. "There's no relationship jail, Tommy. Doesn't matter to me if you're either or both those things. All I ask is that you keep it away from people I care about."

"No. It's-" Tommy shifts his gaze, his vision blurring. "It's not- That's not what I want. But it's not that easy, Bobby."

"Didn't say easy. Didn't even imply it." Bobby moves a box of tissues from the nightstand to the tray table. "You're no stranger to tackling something hard because you thought it would be worth the effort. Maybe give yourself a little credit."

There are oval-shaped bruises in a roughly circular pattern on Evan's forearm, resembling a school of fish. Those weren't there after the crash. Tommy flexes his right hand, which has been stiff and sore for no apparent reason. "I did that," he says.

"Yeah?" Evan frowns in confusion. "You were suffocating. It wasn't on purpose."

It can be an omen if Tommy lets it.

"Tommy?" Evan says.

Omens are stupid. "Hm?"

Evan fidgets with his free hand, pulling at the edge of his sling. "You said of course you love me, like it was easy. Like it was a given. People don't- haven't said it like that."

"How did they say it?"

"Like they were surprised. Like it was the last thing they could've expected."

"I knew it was a possibility the first time I kissed you," Tommy says, tired of choosing between truths.

He looks up. "You did?"

"Evan," Tommy sighs, "you're the fucking sun."

His beautiful eyes widen and get wet at the corners. "I didn't want the first time I said it to be when- when you were dying in my arms." A shadow passes over his features and Tommy's fingers curl, gathering a handful of his blanket. "I wanted- needed to believe that I'd get another chance. I love you, too, Tommy."

Tommy is so grateful this conversation is taking place today, when he's recovered enough to not cause an international incident every time he does anything more stressful than looking at the color green. The specter of the alarm still looms, but he's done okay so far. "I might not have heard you, if you had said it then." Tommy gestures at his chest. "The wheezing, it was very loud."

"You heard some things, though? It felt like you- you were reacting."

"Yes, Evan. You kept me going."

Evan beams. Tommy aches from the inside like someone sprinkled salt in his IV bag.

"I need," he warns, "so much therapy."

Evan shifts forward in his seat, grunting softly in pain. "I can get you some recommendations."

"Of course you can." Tommy smiles.

Evan is inches away, practically falling out of the chair. "Can I touch you?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how many medications I'm on right now?"

He ducks his head and laughs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, well, show me what you m-"

Evan lays his free hand lightly, ever so lightly, over Tommy's battered heart before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "I asked you not to run, and you stayed."

Right after the alarm goes off, Tommy pulls away just far enough to capture Evan's mouth with his own.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Could you do the Diamond sisters spilling Cater’s embarrassing childhood stories to his friends (either the other Heartslabyuls or the Pop Music Club)? I like to imagine the first thing they would do is wreak havoc on Cater’s carefully crafted persona, intentional or not.

Decided to combine these all and do headcanons instead of an interaction due to the high number of characters (Heartslabyul + Lilia and Kalim, Cater's clubmates)!

Please note that we don't know exactly how old Cater's sisters are, but here I'm headcanoning them as being only a few years older than Cater.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Oh, the Diamond sisters LOVE Riddle. They hang all over him and squeal about how cute he is, much to his dismay. He’s not used to this much… open affection. It makes him feel weird!

He clears his throat several times and tries to remind them that he is not a boy, he is a young man, and he would appreciate it if they treated him as such. It’s a useless effort anyway—his words fall on deaf ears.

The Diamond sisters love it even more when he gets all red in the face. “Aw, he’s like a little strawberry,” they gush, not realizing that Riddle is this close to snapping and flying into a rage-filled frenzy. (His dorm members marvel at him actually exercising his limited patience; they placed bets with one another to see how long Riddle's temper can hold out for.)

He doesn’t much care for hearing stories from the Diamonds, finding them very frivolous. What’s with this family’s obsession with aesthetics? Riddle wonders. Why don’t they dedicate their time to more worthwhile pursuits like academics? And yet… why does his chest thud with a dull pain when he thinks about Cater in a large, empty house, packing up his life away into cardboard boxes?

The Diamond sisters are all over Trey too—but for completely different reasons than they were with Riddle. They drone on and on about how Trey is “husband material” and needlessly feel up his (beefy) arms, cooing and fluttering their lashes at him.

Trey awkwardly laughs off their jokes and shies away from their touch as politely as he can, making it clear he isn’t interested. He tries to deflect by changing the subject or offering tea and cakes and, if worse comes to worse, asks Cater for a save. (… Unfortunately, this makes the Diamond sisters think he’s playing “hard to get”.)

Trey actually likes hearing stories about Cater’s childhood; clearly, Cater won’t be this open with others himself, so getting this lore from his sisters is Trey’s second best option. Back then, Cater seemed so real and so vulnerable. Mask entirely off. Trey only wishes that Cater could be this unguarded with him in present day.

He has to admit, it’s amusing how flustered Cater gets trying to act unfazed or to play off his most embarrassing moments. Little by little, Trey feels as though the Diamond sisters are whittling away at his peer’s facade. He can’t help but be a little mean about it, taking this opportunity to join the Diamond sisters in teasing Cater. “So that’s what you were like, huh…”

He thinks he’s hot stuff, he could toootally bag Cater’s sisters—just watch him! … And so Ace slicks back his hair and tries his darndest to flirt with them, but to no avail. (The mob students make fun of him for having no rizz, but he defends himself by going, “L-Like you guys could do any better!!”) Man, he’s so jealous of Trey! How come he’s such a chick magnet even though he’s not even actively trying?!

The Diamond sisters wrinkle their noses at him and whisper to one another about how Ace is sooo annoying and cringefail. Think like… mean girls gossiping about you to your face. Real blow to Ace’s ego here.

Though the flirting doesn’t work out, Ace did initially manage to dazzle the girls with a few of his card tricks. The Diamond sisters clap their hands and demand that he “do it again” or tell them how the trick is done. He’d just cheekily wink and say, “Sorry, ladies! I never give away my secrets.”

There’s tea about Cater-senpai’s childhood? Ace is one of the first in line to hear about it!! He’ll memorize the stories and reenact them (including a falsetto voice for young Cater) for the entire dorm later, earning him Cater’s ire. “Ne, Ace-chan~ Don’t you think you’re bullying poor old Cay-kun too hard?”

As the man of the household, Deuce is usually helping out his mom or the other older ladies in the neighborhood, so he thinks it’s only appropriate to maintain that formal, upright behavior when addressing Cater’s sisters! This leads to Deuce calling both of them “ma’am” very loudly, which attracts stares from everyone 💀

The Diamond sisters wail about the whole “ma’am” thing. Like, just what is Deuce insinuating about their ages?! Do they look that old to him?! Is he saying he think they’re hags?! He hurriedly assures them he doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s meant to be respectful (but in the process, he accidentally calls them “ma’am” again and reignites their shrieking).

Appalled by Ace's attempts to flirt with the Diamond sisters, insisting that Ace should "be more of a gentleman, like Clover-senpai!" (He's dense and not fully aware of how uncomfortable Trey is with the circumstances.)

Deuce profusely apologizes to Cater for “hearing something he shouldn’t have” (ie his embarrassing childhood stories). He promises that he’ll act like he didn’t hear anything at all! He wears it on his life!! (This doesn't reassure Cater in the slightest. "Eeeeh, the more Deuce-chan says it, the more concerned I get!")

If there's one thing the Diamond sisters love as much as cute things, it's clout! They fawn over Kalim--well, more specifically, his family's wealth and status. (Some might even call it ass kissing.) Kalim's pretty oblivious to it, though. He thinks Cater's sisters are just being friendly with him, so he's friendly right back to them!

The Diamond sisters start to chatter about all these luxurious items they've been ogling. Designer shoes, haute couture dresses, jewelry heavy with gemstones... Kalim very nearly indulges the Diamond sisters by offering to buy those things for them (as "gifts to commemorate their new friendship"), but Cater cuts in to stop him!! "K-Kalim-kun, put away your wallet! The last thing I need right now is Jamil-kun after my neck!"

Kalim's just as bad as the Diamond sisters when it comes to spilling the beans on Cater. While the Diamond sisters yammer on about little baby Cater's missteps, Kalim tells them about the dumb stuff he and Cater get up to in club! They take turns trading stories and dunking on the poor guy...

But the difference between the Diamond sisters and Kalim? Kalim actually puts a positive spin on many of his tales. No matter how bad a show goes or how big the screw up... "All that matters is that we were in it together and had fun doing it. Cater's great at coming up with creative ideas. It makes me really happy to be able to call him my friend and band mate!"

The complete opposite of Riddle. Lilia adores being told he's cute. In fact, he encourages the Diamond sisters to "keep the compliments coming", because adorable things should be seen and adored! (Riddle huffs; Lilia is so shameless about all of this, especially as an upperclassman!)

He gets super into talking with the Diamond sisters about fashion, hair, and even nail polish colors. Lilia mentions some of his favorite and goes on a long spiel about how fashion trends have evolved over the years, and even gets into giving tips and tricks to the Diamonds. Cater's impressed with how smoothly Lilia's handling his sisters!

Lilia listens attentively as the Diamond sisters share their best (worst) stories about little Cater. He coos and chuckles at how cute Cater was "as a wee lad" and pitches in with stories about his own child, phrasing it as though Silver was someone he babysat frequently rather than his own son to avoid confusing the sisters. They murmur approvingly--not only is Lilia inventive and fashion-forward, but he's also great with children!

The Diamond sisters decide that Lilia is their new bestie and exchange numbers with him. He later lets his online buddy, Gloomurai, know about how he got the numbers of two hot women, which Gloomurai pops off about. "gg man ur rizz is INSANE." (Idia can't believe that a single father like Crimson Muscle still has mad game like this!)

BONUS: Some of the Diamond sisters' stories!

(P.S. If you like Cater + Cinderella stuff, you should check out this Cinderella retelling featuring Twst characters ;9)

Apparently, Cater used to talk to the rats and birds before he got a phone (not that he understood them at that age). After moving around so much as a kid, it became difficult for him to make friends with the local children so he'd practice his personas on the vermin in the community.

Once, they were playing dress-up together using their mother's wardrobe and makeup drawer... but they started fighting over some things that Cater was wearing, and his sisters ended up tearing the dress they wanted into rags, as well as snapping many pieces of jewelry. Everyone got scolded and punished that day, even little Cater, who hadn't done anything wrong.

He didn't like lentils as a kid so he'd pretend to trip and fall, spilling them into the ashes in the fireplace. Cater would have to pick all of them out by hand, but the chore was honestly preferable to eating them.

They used to play a game where they'd try to balance various stuff on their heads while walking. Normally it was various numbers of books--seeing who could stack the most--but once Cater tried a tray with a teapot and cups on it. That... didn't go so well.

Cater liked to pretend he was a celebrity! He'd bounce around singing with his hairbrush as a microphone or act like he was MCing for a ball. He would sing a lot as he scrubbed the floors too, popping soap bubbles as he did so.

[toutallyahoe]

━ hebrews 9:22 ,, mouthwashing

requested by: –

pairing(s): curly x male reader

word count: 1856

warnings: canon spoilers, cursing, character death(s), attempted murder, murder, deaths oh my god so many deaths help, j*mmy (ew 🤮)

a/n: yeah, im surprised it aint porn too

"Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood..."

Pained laboured breaths left what was once a hopeful man's lips. Well, hopeful was far from what he had become over the years, crippled by the trials and tribulations of what life had put onto him— yet he persevered despite the doubts that ate him whole. Curly persevered despite it all...

But does he still want that?

Laying in the Medical Room's bed without any control of his own body— burnt body— without feeling any sort of pain that he wished he would just die was difficult. Even breathing was difficult but he was forced to do so. Forced to endure. But Curly wanted to die. More than he had wished in the past... but he can't. Forced to lay in bed, feeling helpless as he watched his crew... his friends... descend into madness.

If he could cry, Curly would. The pain of his entire body doesn't hurt as much as the pain and guilt in his chest. Well, Curly thinks so. He doesn't know if the pain in his chest is the guilt of eating him or just the normal pain of being burnt alive to the point his skin is gone. But Curly still felt sick and hopeless. So despaired by it all. Because despite being forced to lay in bed and watch helplessly as everyone descended into madness, Curly knew it was his fault. And it eats him up.

Anya had already said her good bye after she locked herself in the Medical Room with him. Saying how despite everything he had done (or lack there of), she forgave him. Curly tried to talk, to reach out but all it came was garbled mess of croaks and pained wheezes as his throat hurts from the pain. Curly had to watch helplessly as she finally decided to escape the nightmare that came to the Tuplar crew of the Pony Express... to them.

The pain in his chest worsened as Curly could hear a pained screaming echoing throughout the room and it took a second for him to realize who the screamer was. But once Curly realized, his heart dropped as he wanted to cry more. Daisuke showed up in his peripheral vision, looking worse for wear since he had last seen the younger man. Curly wants to cry harder seeing Daisuke all bloodied and hurt, with so many cuts and gashes as Curly realized that in order for Daisuke to come inside the Medical Room despite Anya locking it, it was through the vents that were connected to the Utility Room. The same vents Curly knew was dangerous... fuck.

Curly had believed in the past he was a good captain. The crew in Tuplar sang his praises after all to the point Jimmy always mentions how annoying it was. Curly would have brushed it off like all the times but he knew deep inside he did feel a sense of fulfillment to be called that. A good captain. Because it made him feel like he was actually doing something worthwhile with his life.

But he doesn't believe that anymore.

How can he? Failing Anya despite the trust she placed on him to confess what his friend— what Jimmy had done to her? Where did she have to take things in her own hands? Failing Daisuke from Jimmy's manipulation that the poor young man is now crying from the pain of his injuries as well as he was screaming at Anya to wake up? Failing Swansea where he had to watch the older man lose himself to the little bits of alcohol in the Dragon's Breath mouthwash they were delivering? And worst yet... failing you as he watches the happy man descend into despair along with the crew.

Curly felt useless as he laid there motionless and despaired in bed. He can hear Swansea cursing out as he and Jimmy dragging out Daisuke who was moaning and groaning in pain. He didn't hear Anya anymore... will never hear her voice ever again.

It all was a blur. Time passed by so quickly... not that Curly knows how long it had been. The pain made it hard to focus on his surroundings but he saw someone standing in front of the medical bed. Curly let out a pained croak when he saw it was you. The one who used to be a picture image of a calm and collected crew member of his who had bright eyes that looked at him with love and respect looked frantic yet oh so tired as your dull eyes are red and puffy from crying, tear stains on your sunken cheeks. Lips quivering as you looked down at Curly. There was panic and mania in your eyes. Curly dreaded it.

"Let's rest now," You said, your tone shaky and raspy. You bite your bottom lip to stop your lips from quivering until you tasted blood that grounded you a little bit. "We can rest now, right?" You asked as tears brimmed your vision on what you were about to do. You looked at Curly and gave a smile. A smile that Curly knew was far from genuine. It didn't reach your eyes. Not the same sweet smile you would send him when you two would wake up early in the morning, in bed together. Far from the one Curly is used too. It looks despaired, haunting...

Curly tried to talk, to reach out. But just like Anya, he failed. Like he always does.

"!!!"

Curly wanted to cry when he felt your hands wrapped around his throat. He wheezes in pain as his body thrashes automatically when you squeezed. It hurts! It hurts— but let him die! There were salty tears falling down his bandaged cheek, stinging him as he could see you finally breakdown. Losing it all.

"We can go together! Everyone is gone so let's go together like you said!" You said as a deranged laugh left your lips. "Aren't we in this together, captain? We can rest!" You put more pressure down Curly's throat.

"Please, just stop suffering already!" You wailed as your entire body was shaking. You desperately tried to tune out Curly's pained noises and thrashing as you sobbed. You didn't want to do this— but you had too. No one else was going to put Curly out of his misery. No one is giving your poor captain mercy.

Anya already died, her rotting corpse was beside you, slumped over the floor. Daisuke had his head split open by an axe by Swansea. You were there to witness Swansea put down the young man. You already knew Swansea was dead somewhere around the ship. Especially when you had heard two loud gun shots rang out eerily inside the Tulpar— Jimmy was fucking insane! You knew that oh too well as you watched that monster descend to madness.

You knew you only had so little time to do what you needed to do. To finally put Curly out of his misery because you knew Jimmy wouldn't. You can accept whatever responsibility is left when Curly is gone. Whether Jimmy kills you with a gun or you having time to get the axe and kill Jimmy yourself... it'll be fine as long as you take Curly out of his misery first. Because Curly deserves it.

"Please wait for me," You cried as you looked at Curly through your tears. "I'll be close behind, okay?" You say as you smiled. The blood from your bruised bottom lip stuck to your teeth as you smiled. You look deranged but Curly could only admire you. He wanted this. He wanted to die— to have the suffering end already. Curly just wished it didn't have to be you to put him down knowing how much you loved him.

"I love you," Curly heard you sobbed as black spots formed in his vision. Curly already had trouble breathing after the crash but he can barely gasp for air, not with your hands on his throat, trying so hard to kill him. Slowly, Curly's body stopped thrashing, too weak as the black spots continued on to fill his vision. He can barely see your broken face now.

He was going to die. Curly was going to die... and that's fine.

Curly just hoped you won't suffer painfully before you both are reunited once again in the after life. Hah, when did he even believe in an after life? Curly lost hope of a god existing so many years ago. But if there was a god, Curly hoped they would be kind enough to let him see you again after this. To see the others too. But mostly... Curly just wants to see you—

Bang

Thud

Curly let out a painful gasp as his lungs burned while greedily took a lot of air to fill it back up. His throat hurts so much. If he could tear up, Curly knows he would with his one singular eye left from the pain. Everything hurts. Fuck. It hurts...

Wait.

Pain... was pain part of death? Living was painful and Curly thought death would be more welcoming. Curly would have thought it would be peaceful like when the air was deprived from his lungs as you strangled him. When Curly knew he was dying as his vision darkened. You— where were you? Why was Curly's head ringing so loudly? Was... was he still alive?

Why... why was he still alive?

Why?

Why?

Why?!?

Didn't you promise to take him out of his misery? Was it all a lie? But the pain— the pain in his throat was real! Curly swore it! Where were you? Where were you?!? What happened?!?

Curly found his answer when he saw a shadowy figure where you once stood. Where you should be. And seeing the face of the figure, Curly wanted to cry and scream. Wanted to yell until his throat was raw and burned. Curly wanted to thrash his burnt body and cry.

But he can't. Curly can't...

"It's okay, I saved you," Curly heard Jimmy say. Curly wanted to bitterly laugh at his words. Jimmy didn't save him. Far from it. Jimmy depraved him from his peace! What more can Jimmy take away from him?!? Where were you?!?

Curly could only let the man whom he used to call a friend carry him without much of a fight as he was tired and still processing what everything just happened, wondering where you should have been. Did you chicken out on killing him? Was your love for him too much to kill him? Then where were you then?

Curly looked at Jimmy with dull eyes as he was carried away from the Medical Room. You were nowhere in sight— until Curly saw you... dead on the ground with a puddle of blood around your head... no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO—

"Don't worry, Curly. I'll fix this..."

"And without the shedding of blood... there is no forgiveness of sin..."

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[astronicht]

I love the very subtle but important presences of bez and pecco in tavullia radio!! and also everything else about it obviously. would love to know if you had any more thoughts about like what they're doing thinking seeing feeling! the image of pecco running into freshly fucked and sucked marc at the espresso machine he can't use and making him a tiny coffee enchants and delights me. in my mind he is suffering horrors. thank you for such a perfect fic!!

thank you Leah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 So in my head etc Pecco and Marc are already technically or already have been teammates. I was thinking as I wrote it "is this next month? or is this december after the 2025 season?" haha. Either way Pecco is like. In a phase of life where he has decided that he is professionally obligated to have some form of rapport with Marc. And if they've been working together for a bit, they awkwardly kind of already DO, just not. NOT in this setting. Always on neutral Ducati ground. THIS scenario (freshly fucked and sucked marc at vale's ranch, in pecco's friendly ranch kitchen, where he was NOT expecting visitors) is NOT part of this carefully polite professional rapport. Unlike the rest of the guys Pecco can't just grunt and shuffle past (he totally could have; Marc did not want to talk to anyone). He's forcing himself to try to be normal and thus extending everyone's suffering lol. They don't even dislike each other. This somehow makes it all worse.

Pecco made Marc a Turkish coffee instead of just getting out one of the 3-5 mokas kicking around because he has gotten into foodie youtube and Turkish coffee came up, and he carefully bought the correct little cup to boil it in and the correct finely ground coffee and he has like, watched videos on how to get the foam right. Very much your friend who gets really into foodie youtube and is suddenly making what you think of as simple staple dishes with all the right utensils and the correct dipping sauce that no one in ur family ever bothered with. He actually had come in to make a coffee for himself before practice (i think he's considering doing a little mentoring? which never interested him much. Marc appears in moments of Pecco identity or professional crisis, in this universe) so you have to picture Pecco out there somewhere with a little cup of Turkish coffee and haunted eyes, wondering if he can drink it.

Marc actually wanted tea, or to have the balls to wander around the ranch in boxer briefs and a t-shirt smelling violently like sex, but he saw the giant fuck-off luxury espresso machine and was like. the look of it annoyed him so he was definitely going to force it to work or just break it. a little bit his instinct to push at vale a little, to try to figure out where the lines are, or to know for sure that vale isn't going to snap over something normal again.

So that was the mood and then pecco came in and was like oh god. oh god he's going to touch the espresso machine and we'll have to have it repaired again. oh god we won't be able to tell vale that marc did it and we'll have to blame celestino again. Just polite Pecco voice being sooo normal like Hi Marc Would You Like A Coffee :) [intense suffering]. He is overcompensating and being as normal as possible bc marc looks fucked ouuuuut and also is doing the terrifying dead fish eyes and slight grin he does when in extreme physical pain and forced to converse, bc he's dissasociating and also does not care enough to make nice expressions for pecco. (Vale used to fuck himself to sleep despite insomnia -- like he just did -- all the time when Marc was 22 and the memory is a bit much.)

Bez meanwhile is having a total gay... crisis isn't the right word. ring of keys dot mp3. the particular egg-cracking feeling of seeing something you didn't know you desperately wanted until you want it violently and think you're gonna cry for no reason. seeing it is both horrifying (for the same reasons pecco is horrified; marc is fucking motorcycle dad) and makes him want so much it fills his mouth with spit, and that scale of desire is weird and confusing and almost a high. but also he LIKES having a grudge against Marc. It's comforting. It's so awful to be jealous of him, while also realizing he's not jealous that Marc is fucking Vale, because in the end Bez is also being forced to realize that he doesn't exactly want to fuck Vale (well, it's complex, but he doesn't want to fuck Vale like Marc wants to fuck Vale and thus Marc even managed to get a win over Bez by being gay in the way Bez would've liked to have been gay).

Anyway!! Bez got wronged in this fic, I don't want to assign him "italian son with sisters who never learned to make coffee". But i did do that. Also he feels twitchy and guilty about the falsely attributed coffee thing for days. Probably vents to Celestino, who is like "why are you talking about coffee bez i am at the club. did i break the espresso machine again bez?? i can't hear u maybe there's better signal on the roof [call dropped as cele's phone dies and isnt' charged for 3 days]"

[oriley42]

Serious question but no need to answer if you don’t want to

I see a lot of talk about Amber’s portrayal being sexist in the show, but I’m not quite sure why? To me her motives always seemed really well-defined (high pressure = “I’m only worthy when I’m successful”) so she puts on this sharky mask with a feminine facade so she is feminine enough to get a certain amount of approval but never shows how much she cares (which could be used against her but also could be used to undermine her “oh you’re too soft”). I thought the show did an excellent job of showing a mask for her

But a lot of people talk about 00s sexism and how it impacts her characterization. The sexism… Is it that she gets called a cutthroat bitch? Or how her story revolves around a man after she leaves House’s team? Is it the fridging?

Any of those could be it I guess but it just sounds like you and others are talking about something a little more fundamental to her personhood so I thought I’d ask if I’m missing anything.

Very interesting question! I think you're getting at exactly the trickiness of the issue, which is that sexism always operates systemically. It's not that any key aspect of Amber's character "is" misogynist, it's that every aspect of her character is automatically filtered through a lens of sexism.

In today's world where "bitch" has been very de-clawed, turned into a more casual and way less gendered insult that's used without cruel intention in queer slang, I think it's hard to understand just how violent the term was--and was meant to be--in the aughts. House in canon is not calling Amber a bitch in a cute, almost self-deprecating, friendly way (though I think it's valid to re-write it that way in fic to defuse the term!). He is calling her a bitch to contain and belittle and dehumanize her. We see the term mobilized this way against Cuddy in 5 to 9 as well: calling a woman a bitch was an extremely powerful rhetorical tool to turn any dangerously competent, brilliant, threateningly accomplished woman back into a harmless, debased, controllable object. So, "CB" reflects how easily the fact that Amber is the "female House" gets turned against her--it doesn't mean she's an eccentric genius like him, it means she's an evil copycat who needs to be put down. And this kind of structural logic applies to her whole characterization--it doesn't matter that House does it all more frequently and worse, if she does it, it's unacceptable because she's a woman. (There are parallels here with how racism means that when Foreman acts like House, he also gets the axe instead of the narrative bending over backwards to make what he did alright.) That's why she was fired, after all!

And her death. Woof. Classic case of killing a woman for man-pain. Everything supposedly about her death is actually about how her violent destruction can be used to fuel Wilson and House's character arcs. The narrative is occasionally conscious of this, for example, Wilson saying "none of you even liked Amber" is an almost metatextual reminder of how cruelly she was disenfranchised in every way (including the sexism of her trying to "defect" to the men's team early on, having no female friends, because unlike House who has so many people orbiting him, she is truly alone). Comparing her death to Kutner's is instructive: Kutner gets a whole episode that's about characters desperately trying to know him better. They trace their relationships towards him. Amber, on the other hand, is nearly absent from her own death. The characters trace away from her and towards the way male characters feel (Wilson's loss, House's guilt). Amber becomes just an imagined figure of House's guilt. Even her ghost is not her own. (Though I think many fans do a more feminist read and reclaim the way she haunts the narrative--but imho that would be a negotiated if not fully oppositional reading, to use Stuart Hall's decoding/encoding terms.)

One easy way to see that gendered difference is in how the show refers to these characters after death. Kutner is always "Kutner," never just "House's dead fellow" or rarely "our dead colleague." Amber is often referred to as "Wilson's dead girlfriend." Kutner is his own person, Amber rhetorically gets reduced to an object belonging to a man.

In conclusion: sexism operates structurally, which can make it hard to identify! And one of the funny effects of contemporary fandom doing so much good work to un-fridge women and give marginalized female characters richer personalities and more chances to grow is that canon's intended message of sexism gets obscured. Which, is awesome? Keep up the good work! Let's make misogyny unintelligible 🎉

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[whosscruffylooking]

steve harrington x fem! reader Open Arms Masterlist word count: 6.3k ~1984~

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Later that evening, Steve finds himself pacing the length of his living room, running a hand through his hair for what feels like the hundredth time. The silence of the house is unbearable, filled with his swirling thoughts and unanswered questions. He doesn’t know what to do, and the frustration of it all is starting to feel like too much.

Finally, he grabs his keys and heads out the door. He doesn’t have a plan, but somehow, his feet lead him to Dustin’s house. If there’s anyone who might have an answer—or at least say something that could make sense of this mess—it’s the kid who seems to know way too much about life for his age.

When Dustin opens the door, he’s holding a partially dismantled walkie-talkie and wearing a look of mild confusion. “Steve? What are you doing here? And…why didn’t you drive your car?”

“I need to talk to you,” Steve blurts out, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He sinks into the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands. “It’s about Y/N.”

Dustin’s eyes widen, and he immediately shuts the door, tossing the walkie onto a nearby table. “Oh man, this is gonna be good. Spill.”

Steve hesitates, unsure how to even start. “I don’t know what to do. Last night, things… things got intense, and I thought we had this moment, you know? Like, we finally said what we’ve been too scared to say for years. But now she’s pulling back, and I don’t know if I should—” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I should keep pushing or just… leave it alone.”

Dustin crosses his arms, tilting his head as he considers Steve’s words. “Okay, first of all, what exactly did you say? Because if you half-assed it, that’s on you.”

Steve groans, leaning back against the chair. “I didn’t half-ass it. I told her she’s my whole world. That I couldn’t survive if something happened to her. I meant every word.”

“Okay, cool. So you laid it all out there,” Dustin says, nodding approvingly. “And now she’s avoiding you?”

“Pretty much.”

Dustin shrugs. “She’s probably just freaking out. I mean, think about it, Steve. Last night was crazy. People don’t just process stuff like that overnight. Plus, she’s probably wondering if you meant it or if it was, like, adrenaline talking.”

“I did mean it,” Steve says quickly, his voice firm.

“I know that, and you know that, but does she?” Dustin points out, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to prove it.”

“How?”

Dustin smirks. “By being the guy she already knows you are. You’ve been in love with her for years, right? So don’t stop now. Show her you meant what you said. Don’t let her run away just because she’s scared.”

Steve leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he takes in Dustin’s words. “And what if I push too hard and just end up making it worse?”

“Steve,” Dustin says, his tone surprisingly serious. “The only way you’re gonna make it worse is if you give up. She’s worth it, right?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. She’s worth it.”

“Then stop overthinking it and just… be there for her. Give her time, but don’t let her forget you meant every word.”

Steve nods slowly, Dustin’s advice sinking in. Maybe the kid’s right. Maybe it’s not about pushing or pulling back—it’s about being steady, being there, and letting her see that his feelings aren’t going anywhere.

“Don’t let her forget I meant every word,” Steve takes a mental note. “Thanks kid.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Dustin replies, grinning. “But, uh, maybe next time, bring snacks. We’ve got brainstorming to do and we’re doing it on an empty stomach.”

The kid pulls out a notebook and begins scribbling ideas into it. 

Steve leans back in Dustin’s chair, arms crossed as his mind drifts, until he blurts out, “I wrote her a note once.”

Dustin freezes mid-sentence. “A note?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Back in ninth grade. It was, like, this stupid thing where I wrote down all the stuff I… liked about her.”

Dustin’s pen drops onto the desk, and he swivels around in his chair to face Steve, his expression somewhere between shock and delight. “Hold up. You wrote an actual love note, and you’ve just been sitting on this information? What did it say?”

“I don’t remember,” Steve lies, avoiding Dustin’s eyes.

“Bull,” Dustin says, narrowing his gaze. “You remember every word, don’t you?”

Steve sighs, defeated. “Okay, fine. I remember some of it. But it doesn’t matter because I never gave it to her.”

“You still have it?” Dustin asks, leaning forward like he’s about to discover buried treasure.

“I think so,” Steve mutters. “It’s probably in some box in my closet or something.”

Dustin practically leaps out of his chair. “We’re going to your house. Right now.”

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Steve,” Dustin says, crossing his arms and giving him a look that’s far too confident for a 13-year-old. “This note could be the key to unlocking her heart. You’re always telling me to take risks and go after what I want, so why don’t you take your own advice for once?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but only if you agree to stop badgering me about it.”

Dustin smirks. “And?”

“And,” Steve adds, “I’ll help you prepare for the winter formal.”

“Sold!” Dustin says, already grabbing his coat.

They rummage through Steve’s closet for nearly half an hour, tossing aside old yearbooks, basketball trophies, and forgotten sneakers, until Dustin shouts, “Found it!”

He holds up a folded piece of paper, yellowed slightly with age, and waves it triumphantly.

Steve snatches it from him, his face already burning. “Give me that.”

“Absolutely not,” Dustin says, dodging out of reach. “This is a historical document. It belongs in a museum!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“Relax,” Dustin says, finally unfolding the note. He scans the page, his smirk slowly fading as he reads. “Dude,” he says quietly, glancing up at Steve. “This is… actually kind of sweet. ‘The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated.’”

Steve shrugs, avoiding Dustin’s gaze. “Yeah, well…”

“‘Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly,’” Dustin’s voice softens. “That’s… wow, man.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Dustin keeps reading. “‘The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard.’”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” Steve mutters, trying to grab the note again.

But then Dustin freezes, his eyes widening as he reads a particular line. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Steve asks, suddenly nervous.

“‘The dream I had about you in that red bathing suit….” his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What dream, Harrington?”

Steve’s face turns beet red. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Was it romantic? Or… did you have to wake up in the middle of the night to take a shower after?” Dustin teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Dustin, I swear, if you—”

“Does she know about this dream?!”

Steve grabs the note and crumples it in his fist. “Forget you ever read that.”

But Dustin is already cackling, doubling over with laughter. “Oh, this is too good. You had a secret ninth-grade fantasy about her, and now you’re still pining after her? Man, you’re pathetic!”

Steve groans, running a hand down his face. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m your only hope,” Dustin says, still laughing as he throws an arm over Steve’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go use this note to win her over. Minus the dream part, obviously. Unless you want to make things really interesting.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head but unable to keep the small smile off his face. “I’m so going to regret this.”

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Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white as Dustin leans over from the passenger seat with that insufferable grin plastered on his face.

“You realize the more you avoid it, the worse it sounds, right? Like, was this dream so scandalous it could ruin your life?”

Steve groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls up to a stoplight. “No, it wasn’t scandalous. It was… Look, it’s none of your business.”

Dustin leans closer, his grin widening, “Was it one of those superhero moments where she saved you from drowning?” He pauses dramatically, tapping his chin. “Actually, no—let me guess. You were the one saving her…chest compressions, mouth to mouth.”

Steve nearly chokes on his own breath, his hand slamming against the wheel. “Dustin, I swear—”

“Oh my God,” Dustin cuts him off, gasping in mock realization. “Was it one of those dreams? Like, she’s there in slow motion, water dripping off her, and you’re there rubbing tanning oil all over her body?”

“Cut it out, Henderson!” Steve snaps, his ears burning.

Dustin smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Man, you’re so red right now. It must’ve been some dream.”

“You seriously need a hobby.”

“This is my hobby,” Dustin says proudly. “Now, tell me about the dream, or I’ll tell her there’s a dream.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve says, eyes narrowing as the light turns green. He presses the gas a little harder than necessary.

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Dustin replies, grinning ear to ear. “She’d love to know how much you’ve been thinking about her—dream Steve and all.”

“Fine!” Steve shouts, throwing one hand in the air. “It wasn’t even that bad! It was just… we were at the pool at my house, and she was… laughing, okay? It wasn’t some weird thing. It was just her, and she was happy, and it stuck with me. End of story.���

Dustin blinks at him, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve says firmly.

Dustin leans back, letting the silence hang for a moment. “You’re the lamest romantic I’ve ever met.”

Steve sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“But I’m still going to tell her about it.”

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The next afternoon, you sit cross-legged on your bed, staring at your phone and chewing on your bottom lip. Inviting Nancy Wheeler over wasn’t exactly something you’d planned on doing in this lifetime. You’d always been friendly enough, sure, but hanging out one-on-one? Never happened. Still, if there’s anyone who might understand what you’re going through, it’s her.

When Nancy arrives, she hesitates in the doorway, tilting her head curiously. “Hey,” she says, giving you a small, cautious smile. “This is… unexpected.”

“I know,” you admit, stepping aside to let her in. “It’s weird, right? Me, asking you over. But I—well, I need some advice. About Steve.”

Her brows shoot up, and she gives a small laugh of surprise. “Steve?”

You nod quickly, leading her to your room. “Yeah, and before you say anything, I know it’s probably strange. I mean, he’s my best friend, so I should probably know how to handle this myself, but…” You flop onto the bed with a groan, running a hand through your hair. “I just—I feel like I need a different perspective. And you probably know him better than anyone else—aside from me, of course.”

Nancy sits at the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she listens. “Okay,” she says slowly, her tone thoughtful. “What’s going on?”

You exhale sharply, tugging at the hem of your sweater. “The other night, during all the chaos, Steve said some things. Big things. About… how he feels about me.”

Nancy blinks, her expression unreadable as she processes your words. “What kind of things?”

“Like… intense things. Like, ‘You’re my whole world,’ kind of things.” You let out a nervous laugh. “And now I don’t know what to do with it. What if it was just the adrenaline talking? What if he doesn’t really mean it?”

Nancy leans back slightly, tilting her head. “Why would you think he didn’t mean it?”

You shrug helplessly. “Because… it’s Steve. He’s been in love with you before. He’s dated other girls. What if I’m just… another phase? Or worse, what if this ruins everything between us?”

Nancy softens, a small smile forming on her lips. “Steve doesn’t really do phases. Sure, he’s dated other people, but he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You blink, her words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that even when we were together, it was obvious how much you meant to him. He talks about you like you hung the stars, Y/N. And I know you’ve been there for him in ways I never could be.” Nancy pauses, then adds gently, “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. What do you want to happen?”

You hesitate, your cheeks warming as memories of that night with Steve flash through your mind. You almost tell her—that one time, late at night, when things between you and Steve had finally boiled over. When you’d crossed a line that had been hovering between you for years. But instead of making things clearer, it had only complicated everything. And you’d been the one to say it: We should just stay friends.

You stop yourself before the words can escape and opt for something safer. “One time, we… broached the topic of maybe having feelings for each other. But I was the one who shut it down. I was scared of losing him, and I told him it’d be better if we stayed friends.”

Nancy nods slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “And do you still feel that way?”

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to find the words. “I just… I’ve always loved Steve. Not just as my best friend, but more than that. But I never thought he’d see me that way, you know? And now that he’s said this, I don’t know if I can let myself believe it.”

Nancy offers a small smile, her voice steady. “If Steve said it, he meant it. He doesn’t just throw those words around, especially not with you. But I get why you’re scared. It’s a big leap, and there’s a lot at stake. I guess the question is—do you trust him enough to take that leap?”

You sit in silence for a moment, her words sinking in. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I want to trust him. I just don’t want to lose him.”

Nancy stands up, grabbing her bag. “I don’t think you’re going to lose him. But you’re never going to know unless you talk to him. Steve’s stubborn, but he’s also patient. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You follow her to the door, her words echoing in your mind. “Thanks, Nancy,” you say quietly. “I needed that.”

She offers you a knowing smile. “Anytime. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not just his best friend. You’re his person. Don’t forget that.”

 Nancy’s words settle into the air, and a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You sit back on your bed, nervously picking at the frayed threads of your sweater.

“Nancy,” you start, your voice quieter than before. “Can I ask you something? And you can be honest, okay?”

She tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Of course.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Did I… ever make things harder for you and Steve? When you two were together?”

Nancy looks surprised for a moment, but she recovers quickly, shaking her head. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, guilt gnawing at you. “It’s just… he was my best friend, you know? And I guess I always worried that maybe—maybe I got in the way. Like, maybe my relationship with him made things weird or caused tension between you two. Every other girl broke up with him and blamed me.” 

Nancy’s expression softens, and she sits down beside you on the bed. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever issues Steve and I had, they weren’t because of you. It’s on Steve and I. It’s on me. And, honestly… I’ve felt bad about it for a long time.”

You glance at her, your brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Nancy exhales deeply, brushing a hand through her hair as she glances at you, her expression tinged with guilt. “I guess I should just say it,” she starts hesitantly. “Everything that happened at Murray’s last week… it wasn’t exactly planned. But it also wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing, either.”

You blink, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You mean… when you were with Jonathan?”

Nancy nods, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah. I feel awful about it, especially because—well, Steve and I weren’t officially broken up yet. We were in this weird place, like we both knew things were falling apart, but we hadn’t said it out loud. And then…” She pauses, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I said some things I can’t take back.”

You hesitate, “Steve…kind of hinted that you did.”

She sighs, dropping her gaze. “I told him I didn’t love him. Not really. And I was drunk, so I just blurted it out. And after that, I… I slept with Jonathan when we were at Murray’s.”

Her voice is heavy with regret, and for a moment, you’re unsure of how to respond. She looks at you again, her eyes searching yours. “I hate that I hurt Steve like that, but honestly? After everything with Barb and Will last year, I waited. For a whole month, I waited for Jonathan to make a move, to say something, to give me some kind of sign. But he didn’t. And when he didn’t… I went back to Steve.”

You frown slightly, the pieces of their complicated history falling into place. “So, you and Steve…”

Nancy nods. “We weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it felt safe. Familiar. Like maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make it work. But deep down, I think I always knew it wasn’t going to last.”

Her words leave you quiet, a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. “Do you think he… knows how you felt?”

“I think he does now,” she admits softly. “After everything that happened last week, I think we both finally faced the truth. We weren’t holding onto each other because we were in love. We were holding on because it was easier than letting go.”

Her honesty feels like a weight lifted, and yet it also leaves you with a strange pang of guilt. “Nancy, I never meant to… I don’t know, make things harder for you two.”

She shakes her head quickly. “You didn’t. Trust me, Y/N, you were never the problem. If anything, I think you were part of what kept Steve grounded when everything else was falling apart.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off, her tone firm. “Listen. Whatever happened between Steve and me, it was on us. You’ve always been his best friend. And honestly? You were what he needed—what he always needed. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

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Nancy pulls into the driveway of her house just as she spots Steve’s unmistakable car parked at the curb. She furrows her brow, stepping out of her car as Steve gets out of his.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms.

Steve jerks a thumb toward the passenger side of his car, where Dustin is already halfway out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Dropping off the little twerp,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Hey!” Dustin protests, shooting a glare at Steve before turning to Nancy. “Don’t let him fool you—he’s practically begging for my advice every time we hang out now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get inside, Henderson.”

Dustin smirks but doesn’t argue, heading toward the front door. As he disappears inside, Nancy tilts her head at Steve, her curiosity piqued.

“So,” she says, leaning casually against her car, “what’s really going on?”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “What makes you think anything’s going on?”

Nancy raises an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Because I just came from Y/N’s house.”

Steve stiffens, his expression guarded. “Yeah? And?”

“And,” Nancy says slowly, “she’s… confused. But in a good way. If that makes sense.”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “Confused. Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Nancy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s the one pulling away,” Steve says, frustration creeping into his voice. “And it’s not the first time, either. Every time things get close—too close—she just… runs. Like I don’t mean enough for her to stay.”

Nancy crosses her arms, her expression softening. “Steve, that’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snaps, before immediately sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just… I don’t get it. I put myself out there, and she shuts down. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Nancy steps closer, her tone firm but gentle. “You’re supposed to remember that Y/N’s been through a lot. She’s not pulling away because you don’t mean enough—she’s pulling away because you mean too much, and it terrifies her. You know that.”

Steve leans back against his car, his jaw tightening. “I’m tired of being the one who’s always chasing, Nancy.”

“I get that,” she says softly. “But you’re not exactly easy for her, either. You think it’s been simple for her to figure out where she fits into your life? Especially with… everything that’s happened?”

Steve looks at her, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.

Nancy sighs, her voice softening. “Steve, she cares about you. So much. But she’s scared—of hurting you, of getting hurt, of all of it. You’re both trying to protect each other in the most backward ways possible.”

Steve looks down at the pavement, her words sinking in.

“You know her better than anyone,” Nancy continues. “If you really care about her—and I know you do—you’ll be patient. She needs that from you right now, even if she doesn’t know how to say it.”

Steve nods slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “And if she keeps running?”

Nancy smirks faintly. “Then you stop chasing her like some knight in shining armor and just be her friend. Show her you’re not going anywhere. That’s what she really needs.”

Steve exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “You really think I have a shot?”

Nancy nods firmly. “I do. But you’re going to have to stop letting your ego get in the way and start listening to her.”

Steve offers a small smile. “Thanks, Wheeler. You’re not half-bad at this advice thing.”

Nancy chuckles, stepping back toward her car. “Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington. Now, go figure it out.”

Steve watches her head inside before climbing back into his car, her words still echoing in his mind. For the first time in a while, he feels like maybe he has a chance.

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Steve stands on the porch, his hand hesitating over the doorbell, unsure if he’s doing the right thing. Every nerve in his body is telling him to turn around, to give you the space you’ve been demanding, but something in him refuses to walk away. Not this time.

He knocks. A soft, quiet sound that somehow feels louder than it should be. He waits, but when the door finally creaks open, he’s not sure what he’s expecting. There you are, your eyes red, face blotchy, but it’s the exhaustion in your expression that hits him hardest. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world, and he hasn’t been there to help you with it.

You stare at him for a long beat, silent. Then, your eyes flicker away, and you step aside, almost reluctantly, like you want to pull away but can’t quite make yourself do it.

Steve steps into the dim hallway, pausing for a moment before looking at you again, his voice shaky as he finally speaks. “We’re good,” he says, the words feeling foreign on his tongue now. He calls to mind what he told you the other night, the words that had earned him a response from you that felt so much more promising than this silence between you now.

You look away, a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He swallows hard, the rawness of what he’s saying clawing at him. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay?” he mutters, stepping closer, but careful not to push you. “I just need to be with you tonight. Like we used to. Listening to Queen, being there for each other. We’ve been through so much the past few days, so much we haven’t even—”

He cuts himself off, his voice trailing off in the heavy silence that fills the space between you. He wants to say more, wants to explain how terrified he is that he’s losing you, how much he’s been aching in this silence, but the words catch in his chest, too painful to speak aloud.

Your gaze softens for just a second, but it’s fleeting, and when you look at him again, there’s a distance that wasn’t there before. The ache in Steve’s chest grows sharper, but he doesn’t move. He’s here now. He’s not leaving.

With a sigh, you slowly nod, and it’s the smallest of gestures, but it feels like a concession, like you’re letting him in even though you’re not sure you should.

Steve steps past you, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He doesn’t know how this will play out, or what the next day will bring. But tonight, for a few hours, he wants to hold onto the part of you he still knows. Maybe tomorrow he’ll figure out what to do with the mess that’s left between you. But for now, he just wants to be there.

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You lay on the bed, your eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling as silent tears slip down your face. The weight of everything—the words, the feelings, the confusion—presses down on you in a way you can’t escape. You’re torn between wanting to stay close to Steve, to believe that there’s something real between you, and the fear that maybe all of this is just a result of the chaos surrounding you.

Steve lays next to you, the soft hum of the record player filling the room, but the silence between you is thick and suffocating. Neither of you speaks. Both of you are lost in your thoughts, drowning in the unspoken tension that’s become impossible to ignore.

After a long, painful silence, you reach out, your hand trembling as you pick up a crumpled-up note from the bed beside you. It’s a familiar weight, one that you’d hidden for years, and now it feels like the only thing you can offer him. You hand Steve the crumpled letter. Your fingers linger for a second before letting go, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Read it when you get home, okay?”

Steve hesitates, glancing between the letter and you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “Just… not here. Please.”

He doesn’t push, sensing the fragility of the moment. Instead, he tucks the letter carefully into his jacket pocket and lays back beside you, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air. For the rest of the night, neither of you speaks, the silence both comforting and charged.

When it’s time for him to leave, Steve rises quietly, his steps deliberate and slow. He pauses at the door, glancing back at you one last time, curled up under the covers, your face turned away. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper—the note he found with Dustin.

Without a word, he places it on your dresser, hidden just enough for you to find it later, and slips out of the room.

As the door clicks shut, you close your eyes, the heaviness of the night settling over you. Little do you know, the words Steve left behind are waiting to change everything.

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Steve steps into his darkened house, the familiar silence pressing in around him. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he pulls the crumpled letter from his pocket and unfolds it carefully, smoothing the creases as if the words might slip away if he isn’t gentle enough.

The handwriting is unmistakably yours—slightly slanted, the ink smudged in places. His chest tightens before he even reads the first word, the weight of what this letter might hold hitting him like a freight train.

Dear Steve,

I’m not sure I should even be writing this. Maybe I won’t even give it to you. Do you remember in the fifth grade when you asked me to marry you? I told you boys were gross and I’d never marry one. Later that night, you climbed the tree outside my window for the first time and knocked on the glass to propose again. You said your mom had told you about Romeo and Juliet, and how Romeo climbed up to her window because he loved her. You promised you’d never stop climbing my window until I said yes because you loved me.

As his eyes scan the page, memories flash through his mind like a reel of film. A small smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and nostalgic. He does remember. He remembers the way you rolled your eyes at him, how he’s never stopped climbing that tree outside your window and he never will.

A year later, when we were twelve, some kids in our class started talking about kissing, and everyone thought it was gross. So we tried it. We both liked it. A lot. I think that’s because we liked each other. 

His breath catches. He’s suddenly back in that moment—young, nervous, and exhilarated. He remembers the way your laughter had bubbled up after, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

Here’s where the problem is, Steve—I don’t think I ever stopped liking you.

Steve swallows hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the paper as his heart pounds in his chest. He reads the words again, slower this time, as if savoring them will make them feel less surreal.

I didn’t fully realize it at first. Sure, I’ve had crushes on other boys, but none of them made me feel the way you do. You’re the one I actually enjoy spending time with. When Mom and Dad fight, she always tells me that if I ever get married, I need to marry someone who’s my friend first. She says the key to a happy relationship is falling in love with your best friend. (I still think marriage is kind of gross, and boys are too. You’re just the least gross, I guess.) And, well… you’re my best friend.

Sometimes I think about being an adult with you—no school, just us. We could listen to music and watch movies all day long. We could kiss whenever we wanted to. (I’ve wanted to kiss you again for a while now, but you’ve been kissing Julie from science class, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m kissing her by kissing you.) Honestly, I’d love to just laugh with you for the rest of my life.

A soft, shaky laugh escapes him, but it’s lined with something deeper—regret, maybe, or longing. He presses a hand to his face, trying to process the flood of emotions washing over him.

The letter feels like a window into a version of you he never fully understood, a version that had been hiding in plain sight all along. You had felt this way for so long, and he had been so blind to it, too caught up in his own confusion and fears to notice.

You’re always telling me how much I annoy you because I can never pick a favorite anything. But the truth is, I do have a favorite—and it’s you.

You’re my favorite person. My favorite way to spend a late night at Lover’s Lake. My favorite pair of eyes to get lost in when we’re hiding under the covers, trying not to get caught after you’ve snuck in. My favorite arms to wrap around me. My favorite voice.

You’re all my favorites.

Okay, I’m grossing myself out now, so I’m going to stop writing. But I guess… I hope I fall in love with you. And maybe one day you’ll feel the same. I think I’d like that a lot.

Y/N

As he reads the final lines—You’re my favorite person… You’re all of my favorites—he feels something inside him crack open.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the empty room.

He sets the letter down on the counter, staring at it as if it might disappear. A lump rises in his throat, and he swipes at his eyes quickly, irritated at himself for being this emotional.

But he can’t help it. The words you wrote, the vulnerability you had poured into them—it’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear and everything he’s terrified of.

Grabbing the letter, he folds it carefully and tucks it back into his pocket, a newfound determination lighting his eyes.

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You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing out your dress for the winter ball. It feels strange dressing up for an event that’s not even about you—but the kids deserve this, and chaperoning is part of the deal. The fact that Steve might be there too only adds to the weight pressing on your chest.

As you reach for your jewelry box on the dresser, your hand grazes something unfamiliar. You glance down to find a folded piece of notebook paper, tucked just out of sight beneath your hairbrush.

Curious, you pick it up, noticing the boyish scrawl of handwriting on the front. You immediately recognize it. Steve’s.

Your heart stutters. You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers trembling slightly as you unfold the note. The edges are frayed, and the ink is faint in places, as if it’s been folded and tucked away for years.

You start to read:

Y/N,

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but if I don’t, I think I might lose my mind. I can’t say this to you out loud, and maybe I’ll never give this to you, but at least it’s out of my head.

You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I think about when I’m having a bad day, the one who makes me laugh so hard I forget about everything else. 

But it’s not just that. It’s so much more. So, I put in here a list I’ve made of all the reasons why you’re my favorite person.

The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated. It’s the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard. Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly, even though you know I’ll never stop doing it. It’s how everything feels easier when you’re around, like nothing can touch me. Don’t even get me started about the dream I had about you in that red bathing suit. You know the one…Yeah. I’m definitely never letting you read this.

Anyways, I think I like you, Y/N. Scratch that—I know I do. I like you in a way that feels way too big for me to handle. But I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you because what if it messes everything up? You’re my best friend, and I’d rather keep you in my life like this than risk losing you completely.

So, yeah. I like you. A lot. And if you ever find this somehow, just know that even if I never say it, it’s how I’ve always felt.

Steve

You lower the note slowly, your vision blurred by the tears pooling in your eyes. The boy Steve was back then—earnest, vulnerable, and so full of quiet, unspoken affection—is written all over these words. And now, looking back, you can see him in the man he is today.

He’s always felt this way.

Your chest tightens as the truth settles over you, undeniable and steady, like the weight of the letter in your hand. This wasn’t adrenaline, or chaos, or the heat of the moment making him say what he did at the Byers’ house. It’s always been there—this love he’s carried for you, just like the note. It was there the day you told him it was best to just stay friends. It was there on every night he’d sneak under your covers or you under his. And it was there in every knowing look from your friends, every teasing question about where you’d both disappeared to when no one else could find you.

Carefully, you fold it back up, your hands trembling as you slip it into your jewelry box like a secret you’re not ready to let go of but need to protect. You glance at the clock, realizing you’re running out of time, but the thought barely registers.

Taking a shaky breath, you brush away the stray tears threatening to streak your makeup. And for the first time in days, there’s no confusion, no doubt. Only the exhilarating, terrifying truth: Steve’s feelings weren’t born in a single moment—they’ve been there for years. Just like yours.

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[skzhocomments]

1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

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1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

Word count: 4k words

Wattpad | AO3

~

Writing Prompt 1437: “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know

~

This sucks. Minho thinks, letting out a large sigh and picking up some painkillers.

He hasn’t eaten much today, or the past few days, really, so it probably isn’t a good idea to take another ibuprofen on an empty stomach. He’s surely going to regret it, already feeling an impending stomach ache, but his head just hurts so badly. It won’t stop pounding.

He’s already tried drinking water, but oh, God, the white light coming from the ceiling is making everything worse. He really needs to take this pill.

The one thing he hasn’t tried is sleeping, but how could he sleep when there’s so much work to do?

A new file came in just today.

~

Kim Soo-ah, 25 years old. Picture attached.

Waitress: Mon-Fri 8:00-14:00 Endstreet 34, Cornerstone Diner

Maid: Mon-Sat 16:00-12:00 Client’s residence

Requirements: Eliminate target during Diner shift. Target wears a silver ring, has a small brown mole underneath. Send finger and ring as proof once you finish the job.

~

What did this girl do? Minho wonders. It’s the second request to finish off a maid he’s received from this client, but he was too busy for the first one, so he passed it over to one of his associates.

Although he dislikes working for this particular client, he always pays generously, so this time, he decides to accept it.

He’s a bit curious to know why his client keeps wanting to get rid of his maids. In case they heard something they shouldn’t have, it’d be much easier to silence them through other ways rather than killing them. Less of a hassle for Minho, at least. However, he can’t ask. That’s not his job.

His job is to simply follow these instructions to the best of his abilities and get paid. Nothing more, nothing less. Curiosity has no place in his line of business, and he’s better off not knowing any other details.

Before having enough time to flip the page and look at her photo, though, his door opens, making him raise his eyes from the papers.

“Boss, someone’s here to see you.” His assistant enters the room with haste, making Minho raise an eyebrow.

No one should know of this location, so he is taken aback for a few short moments, before clearing his throat and deciding that he must know who found him, and why.

“Show them in.” Minho instructs, and his assistant rushes outside.

Damn, this fucking white light. He groans again and decides to end his suffering and simply turn on the lamp on his desk, even though he forgot his glasses God knows where and he can barely see the papers in front of him.

Moments later, his assistant comes back with a woman small in stature. She has blonde, wavy hair reaching her shoulders, and her eyes are a deep shade of emerald green.

She is intimidated, Minho observes, as he sees the way this woman is trembling in front of him, anxiously playing with her fingers and looking left and right just to not look him in the eyes.

“Take a seat.” He orders, and the girl is quick to sit down in the chair he offered on the other side of his desk.

“Thank you…” She says, her voice so small, it almost comes out in a whisper.

“Now, who might you be?” Minho asks confidently, his tone slightly bored, although he’s actually brimming with curiosity.

“Uhm… my name is Soo-ah. Kim Soo-ah.” She replies hesitantly, and Minho immediately looks at the papers on his desk and grabs her picture, and oh, what a pleasant surprise.

It’s not every day that the prey comes directly to your doorstep.

“Are you perhaps… Lee Know? And if not… could you please take me to him?” She asks, and Minho raises his eyebrow again.

He notices her clutching her bag tightly. She is quite literally trembling with fear, which makes him want to laugh. She is so painfully afraid of being in the same room as him, he can’t help but want to play with her.

“That would be me.” He replies with a cocky smirk. “Why did you want to see me, pretty?”

“I… uhm… if I understood your… profession… correctly, that must mean you are a… hitman of some sort?” She tries to thread carefully, and Minho can’t help himself anymore. He lets out a chuckle at this girl’s innocence.

“You are correct, doll. So, what brings you here?”

“I need your help. There’s someone I’d like you to… uhm… to k- to kill. I-I have money to pay you. Uhm…” She stutters and starts rummaging through her bag, pulling out a few stacks of rolled hundreds. “I’m not sure how much your services cost, but…”

“How much is in there?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The rolls are far too small, and too few. It can’t be more than a couple thousands, if that.

“Around $3000. It’s not much, but… it’s all I’ve managed to save up so far. If it costs more, I could get a loan, or-”

“$3000?” Minho cuts her off with a laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

The woman’s expression falls, her eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

“Pretty, that much isn’t enough for me to even cut off someone’s finger, let alone kill a whole person.”

“Oh… how much would it be, then?”

“That depends. Who’s the target?”

“My boss…” She clutches the bag tighter, telling him his name and address. Of course, he expected it to be his client, so this doesn’t really surprise him.

“Oh, love.” Minho chuckles again. “That man is one of the most powerful in the country, you must know since you’re working for him. Taking him out would cost millions. You wouldn’t afford it in this lifetime.”

Soo-ah looks away.

“Why don’t you tell me why you want this man dead?”

“I think he’s planning to get rid of me… Actually, I’m sure of it.”

“Why?” Minho inquires further.

“I… I saw something I shouldn’t have.” She replies, clenching her fists.

“Be more explicit, doll.” He says, and Soo-ah shifts in her seat uncomfortably. By her mannerisms, Minho can tell she finds this hard to talk about, or she doesn’t know if she should tell him at all.

She hesitates for a few more moments until she eventually starts speaking again.

“I am a live-in maid… I woke up to go to the bathroom and his room is on the way… the door was opened, and there were some very influential people and a large stack of cash on top of his desk. They saw me, so I ran away and hid. There was this other maid that told me about something she’s seen, and one day, she simply disappeared, so I was scared… I think that's what's going to happen to me too.”

“I see.” Minho nods. “Wrong place wrong time, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“So, how did you find me?”

“Much like last night, I went to the bathroom a few months ago and overheard a conversation-

“Damn, you should really stop going to the bathroom at night.” Minho jokes, cutting her off. She doesn’t seem too amused and resumes immediately.

“I overheard a conversation about hitmen, and my boss told someone a couple of names and addresses.”

“My name? What exactly did he say?”

“Yes. Your name and many others. Lee Know, Hwang, Yongbok…”

“Alright. And this address?”

“Yes. This is the only one I could remember… Considering this… topic… I didn’t really want to hear much else or risk him catching me overhear anything I shouldn’t, so I ran back to my room.” Soo-ah nods, and Minho leans back in his chair.

They found out where he is, which is bad news. Of course, he has many other secret hideouts throughout the city in case something like this would happen, but still. The fact that he didn’t know about it is dangerous. And apparently, this man also has some sort of information about his associates.

This is bad news.

The most relevant thing in his profession is secrecy. If anyone would know where to find him, he would’ve been dead long ago.

“Thank you, Soo-ah. That’s great information you offered me right there. However, just for future reference, information is not free. You just missed out on your chance to negotiate with me.” He chuckles menacingly, and her expression only falls more.

She doesn’t know what to say, but noticing Minho’s piercing gaze on hers, she decides to look him right in the eyes and do something she never thought she would.

She stands up and walks slowly around the desk, his eyes fixed on her, and she kneels in front of him, beginning to tear up.

“Please. I’m begging you. Please help me. I’ll do anything. I… I don’t want to die… I’m so scared, Mister Lee Know. Please.”

Minho is taken aback, and something in his heart stirs at the sight.

Memories he’s long-ago repressed start surfacing back, and instead of seeing her kneeling in front of him, he sees a young boy with bruises all over his body begging for his life.

~

“Mister, please. I’ll do anything. Please help me! I’m begging you, please! I want to live!” Minho was barely able to get out between his tears, his forehead pressing against the cold, bloodied tiles.

“And why would I help you, kid?” The man in front of him laughed. “You’re young and stupid. You’re good for nothing. What can you give me?”

“Anything! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” The man laughed one more. “Will you kill someone for me, then?”

“K-kill? Mister…”

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, kid. You’re better off dead.”

“N-no! I will! I will kill! Please teach me what to do, Mister! I will do it!”

“What an obedient child.” The man cackled. “You know what, kiddo? I admire your fighting spirit. Even though life dealt you shitty hands, you still want to live?”

“I do! I want to live, so please…”

“Get up. From now on, your name will be Lee Know. And Lee Know, your first lesson is to never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. That’s how we do things around here. Got it?”

~

“What can you give me, Soo-ah?” He asks, but this time, his voice doesn’t come off amused or menacing. It’s soft and filled with slight concern, and more than anything, with curiosity.

“Anything. I will do anything…” She cries.

“Anything?” Minho asks, and it’s such a contrast to how his former boss treated him. He is not being unnecessarily mean about it, and he is not forcing an answer out of her, although their circumstances are much the same.

He stands up and walks towards her, noticing how bad she’s still shaking.

He knows she’s desperate. However… how desperate is she, really? She’s been trembling ever since she came through the door. It’s clear to him that she doesn’t have it in her to ever be a killer. But still, would she give up her principles to stay alive, or will she stick to them?

He didn’t have the power to stick to his principles on that cursed day way too many years ago, and his whole life changed afterwards. He could never back down.

Would she do the same?

“Anything.” She replies determined, still looking at the floor.

“Will you kill someone for me, then?” Minho asks closing his eyes, his former boss’ words ringing in his head.

“K-kill?” Soo-ah shakes. It’s so difficult to see his past self in this trembling woman.

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, Soo-ah. You’re better off dead.”

The words are burning his tongue as he notices all the air disappear from the woman’s lungs.

She begins crying even louder, her hands moving on top of his shoes, holding tightly. Still, she is still not looking up at him.

“I… I can’t. I can’t… I can’t kill anyone. Please understand. I can’t…” She keeps repeating like a broken record, and Minho’s eyes widen.

She decided to stick to her principles, after all. She is better than him.

“Then-” He starts, but she immediately cuts him off.

“He will kill me. I’m so scared… I’m so scared of him, Mister. What can I do if you won’t help me? What if he’ll torture me to find out exactly how much I heard and if I told anyone else? Fuck, what do I do now? My life must be worth at least $3000. Please… please help me…” She speaks weakly, clutching his shoes tighter.

“Soo-ah, look at me.” He requests, but she just keeps shaking and crying.

Minho grabs her arms and helps her stand up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“Do you really want to live?” He asks, and she nods her head rapidly.

“I do. I want to live.” She cries.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live.”

“What?” She blinks, confused for a short moment, until it clicks. “Did… did my boss ask you to kill me?”

“He did. I received your file just this morning.” Minho smiles softly, his eyes filled with sadness.

“Then… I guess this is it for me. I was… I was a fool to come here. I thought… I thought I still had a chance…” She replies dejected. “Months ago, when I heard those names, I didn’t think much of it. However, today… I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I ended up coming here and hoped that maybe, just maybe… if I were to randomly pick one of those names...” She stops speaking, wiping away her tears from her cheeks.

“How did you remember my name and address, though? If it was months ago…”

“My memory is pretty good. Not that it matters anymore.” She smiles sadly and averts her gaze. “I came to the wrong person. It’s alright. It’s… If there’s no other way, will you at least make it quick, Mister? I don’t want it to hurt…”

“Soo-ah.” He places his hands on her shoulders, making her look at him again. “I said, I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live. We’re going to kill her tonight, do you understand?”

“I’m… not sure I do.” She tilts her head.

“From this moment forwards, Kim Soo-ah is dead. You will have to change your hair and your eye colour, and I will give you a new name… What about… Lee Saera?” He suggests after thinking for a few moments, his eyes rolling up.

“Lee… Saera?”

“Mhm. Isn’t it pretty?”

“I like it… but… why? Why are you helping me?” She asks, confusion lacing her tone. “Why are you helping me when you’ve been ordered to kill me?”

“Pretty, no one can order me to do anything.” He chuckles. “I was hired to kill you. But let’s just say… there’s something of me I found in you. Something long forgotten…” Minho replies, separating himself from her and putting his hands in his pockets. “I can’t kill your boss, but I can make sure he believes you’re dead, and in return… you will tell me everything you know about him, and everything he knows about us. You will stay here and help me.”

“Mister Lee Know, I can’t… I can’t kill people.” She whispers with a frown.

“And you won’t. You won’t walk down this path. I will do the killing, and you will do everything else I ask you to, in exchange for your life. How does that sound?”

He extends a hand towards her, and she doesn’t hesitate to grab it with both her hands and shake it.

“Thank you, Mister Lee Know. Thank you. Truly.” She looks him in the eyes, and Minho can tell she’s genuinely grateful. A small thought passed through his head that she could be a spy, but her feelings seem so genuine, he doesn’t doubt her one bit. She is just an unfortunate, young woman, who happened to work for the wrong people and heard and saw too much.

“Minho… Call me Minho, Soo-ah.”

“Minho?”

“Mhm. That’s my real name. Lee Minho. Use it only when we’re alone, and I will call you Kim Soo-ah. When anyone else is present, though, you are Saera and I am Lee Know, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She nods.

“Good girl.” He smiles and pats her head two times. “Now, the first lesson you must learn if you are to join me, is… never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. Not even me. Got it?”

“Okay... But Minho… how will you make my boss think I died?”

“Oh, right.” He sighs, grabbing her hand and dragging his fingers on top of her silver ring, taking it off and looking at the small mole underneath. “Soo-ah, your boss asked me to give him your finger as proof of killing you.”

“My… my finger?” She immediately snatches her hand back and looks at how closely Minho is examining her ring.

“Mhm. However…” Since she is now one of his people, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Not even a scratch. He doesn’t tell her that, though, because he doesn’t think he’ll have a choice.

How should he navigate this? Should he try and find a body with a matching mole? But what if they were to run any DNA tests?

“My ring… is a family heirloom. It’s extremely precious to me.” She speaks, interrupting his train of thoughts. “What if we would burn something and put the ring in the ashes as proof?”

“Oh?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “But what would we tell him to be convincing enough?”

“You found me hiding somewhere, and… I don’t know. You killed me, took my body to be incinerated to remove evidence, but almost got caught, so you burned it and brought back the ashes as proof?”

“I’m not sure that’ll fly with this guy, Soo-ah…”

“Then…” She raises her hand hesitantly in the air, and Minho sees how much she’s trembling. “Cut it… cut it off. It’s okay. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be alive, so…”

He shakes his head. He truly doesn’t want to hurt this woman for some reason. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not by him, not by anyone.

Still, there’s nothing he can do. Her former boss is a ruthless man, and he won’t believe him one bit if he were to just bring him her ring. He needs more proof than that.

“Soo-ah, will you forgive me if I hurt you deliberately?” He asks after a little while.

“Yes.” She answers without missing a beat. “You spared my life. You can cut it off, Minho. I will survive this.”

Despite her determined words, Minho knows she is just putting on a façade. She is scared, she is shaking, and he feels so bad. He’s never felt like this before, no matter who he had to kill. However, the prospect of causing this woman any sort of physical pain makes him feel terrible. He doesn’t want to do it, but if he is to prove he’s killed her, he must hurt her.

Minho grabs his phone from the desk and calls his assistant to bring in the doctor, and after ending the call, he grabs her hand and holds onto it tightly for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” He speaks softly as he pulls out a knife from his pocket.

Her whole body is shaking, and she shuts her eyes tight.

“I won’t cut off your whole finger. I’ll only cut off enough skin to use as proof, and I’ll take your ring. Alright?”

“... Yes.” She whispers, anticipating the impending pain.

Minho takes in a deep breath as he presses the blade into her skin, listening closely to Soo-ah’s sounds. She places her other hand on top of her mouth and tries to be as quiet as possible as the blade rips through her skin.

She fights the urge to jerk her hand back, not that it would be possible with Minho’s strong hold of her wrist and finger.

“There. We’re done.” He speaks hurriedly as he grabs a clean cloth and covers her hand, pressing tightly on the wound. “The doctor will be here soon. Are you alright?”

“It hurts so bad.” She cries out in pain and Minho pulls her closer, hugging her tightly.

“It hurts, I know. But you are alive, and that’s all that matters. You are alive.”

“I am alive.” She repeats and hugs him back, and she can’t believe that so much could happen to her in a span of a day.

She wishes she would’ve never applied to that job. She wishes she would’ve never worked for that terrible man, but she got blinded by the large sum of money he offered, and she took the offer without any further thoughts on the matter, and she truly regrets it now. She always seems to only make bad choices.

The doctor comes in and cleans the wound, informing both of them that thankfully, it’s not large enough to require a skin graft. He is able to stitch it shut, although he informs Soo-ah that it will inevitably scar.

A scar is a small price to pay for her life, she thinks.

Left alone once more with Minho, she doesn’t know what to do. She stays silent and tries her hardest to stop crying and observes as he begins clearing off his desk.

“Soo-ah, you can sit down until I’m done.” He informs her, so she nods and heads back to the chair she sat in previously.

“What are you doing?” She asks after a little while.

“We need to go. This place is no longer safe, since your boss knows about it. I will also need to call my associates and let them know they should relocate.”

“And then… what?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“What will happen to me?”

“I told you, haven’t I? We’ll get you a fake ID, change your appearance completely, and then… we’ll see. I still need to think about which tasks to give you, since you’re so…” Minho looks at her and stops, making her raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m so… what?” She tilts her head to the side.

“So… righteous and innocent. I don’t even know what to do with you. You seem like you’d tremble and cry at the slightest mention of a murder.” He replies, and as if on cue, a shiver runs down her spine at the thought of potentially seeing a dead body, and she shakes.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologise for being this way, Soo-ah. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He sighs. There really isn’t. Not everyone is made for this life, and he knows it. But unfortunately, some good people are forced into living like this, and she is one of them.

“I’ll do my best to not inconvenience you…”

“You can do some housework or… I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Or… as I told you, my memory is pretty good. If you’re stumped with work and have too many documents to check, or information about anyone… I can read all of them for you and just summarize. I will certainly remember everything.” She suggests, and Minho smiles softly.

“That's good to know. But for now, let’s just get out of here, hm? We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

“Alright.” She nods and smiles back. "Once we go to the new hideout... you should get some rest, Minho."

"Hm?"

"You seem tired... like you haven't slept in a while." She says, and Minho can't help but smile. She is observant.

"Alright. I'll make sure to sleep once we leave this place." He replies, and she smiles satisfied.

Soo-ah is glad that coming to him ended up being the good choice – the only good choice she’s ever made, she believes. She wonders how she could trust him so much in such a short amount of time.

Still, she trusts him, and he seems to trust her too, and she is alive. That’s all that matters.

~The End~

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 15

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

“Hey F, could I get some of that dip? Someone threw all of my cans of Snus away when he confiscated my stuff.”

“Sure thang, handsome. Oh- you sure you need that much Stan? You’ve cold-turkey’d nicotine for weeks now.”

“I’ll be fine, stretch. It’s not like I haven’t done worse for less.”

(...)

“Fiddleford, is there a particular reason Stanley is under the table in the recovery position?”

“He tried too much chew all at once, he’s got the nic-sick.”

“Stanley, I told you that you needed to quit that nasty habit! This is precisely why I threw your tobacco products away when you came here.”

“Y’know this headache was bad enough without you yelling at me.”

“I cannot believe you enabled him.”

“Stanford, he's a grown man, he’s allowed to use nicotine if he wants to.”

“He can still hear you. And you know what? I don’t think you ever need to bitch at me about it ever again, Doc. I’m not touching the stuff again for a long time…”

“It’s for your own good.”

“PhD, next time you think about saying that I want you to remember I’m not above hitting a guy with glasses.”

(...)

“Stan, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven going on twenty-eight.”

“Do you remember when your birthday is?”

“Not the date, no. I know it’s late spring or early summer.”

“And I know your memories are hazy, but did you ever… celebrate it?”

“I think the last time I did was before I was on the streets. After that? There wasn’t a point, I was alone. Why do ya need to know, F?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“Stanford, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“When is your birthday?”

“June 15th.”

“And if I remember correctly from BMU, you never celebrate it?”

“Last time I did I was seventeen.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I told you back then Fiddleford, I did not see a point, I was-...”

“Used to sharing it?”

“Why?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“So each of these is supposed to be your, what, doctors cert?”

“Doctoral degree, and yes.”

“So you have a dozen of them?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Twelve whole PhDs? That’s pretty cool.”

“...You really think so?”

“Yeah, most people don’t even got one -  but you got one for each finger huh?”

“That’s not why I-. Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Stanford! Stan! I’m back, come over to the kitchen!”

“Do ya know what he left for?”

“He did not say.”

“Why’d he turn out the ligh-.”

“Surprise!”

*Stan and Ford stop at the entryway to the kitchen. Fiddleford is standing next to the table, which has a sheet cake and twenty-eight lit candles*

“...”

“Fiddleford, what is this?”

“I know you said you don’t see a point to your birthday, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday?”

“...Stanley. It’s not just my birthday.”

“Are you okay Stan? You’re looking spooked. I apologize if I put you on the spot-”

“N-No. I’m fine. It’s uhh- I don’t even know when my birthday is.”

“It’s today. We’re twins.”

“...”

“You still don’t believe-.”

“Wouldn’t, you know, the other guy, be upset?”

“There is no ‘other guy’, it’s literally you.”

“I’m- I don’t… I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Stanley, I understand you’ve stubbornly held onto the belief that I’m insane and trying to replace something I’ve lost-”

“The cake’s getting covered in wax here, fellers.”

“But I haven’t celebrated my birthday in a long time, because I’m used to sharing it. I am not trying to force you to, but I’m requesting you let me share it with you; I want to share it with you.”

“...Fuck it, I said I’d play along with your delusions until you got over it. Okay, PhD, I accept your offer. But I’m taking all of the corner pieces of the cake.”

“I can accept those terms.”

“Okay you two, I don’t think we got enough time to sing the happy birthday song before the candles melt themselves outta their wicks. So just blow ‘em out and make your wishes.”

(...)

“Hello, Dr. Stanford Pines speaking.”

“Stanford?”

“Hey Ma.”

“Happy birthday hon.”

“Thanks Ma.”

“Please tell me you celebrated your birthday this year. I know your last one couldn’t have been easy after-”

“I was busy with research last year. This year, yes I celebrated, I have… Company, this time.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Listen hon, I know it hasn’t been easy without Stanley since… the accident.”

“I’ve had more than enough time to think about it. I am not going to lie to you and say I’m not upset at all, but it’s been long enough that I have other things to concern myself with.”

“I just want you to know if things get too hard, don’t be afraid to talk to your old Ma again.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I love you, Stanford.”

“I love you too, Ma.”

To be continued…

[qoldenskies]

Oh shiiiit I hadn't even thought about how different the movie would be through this timeline

The emotional turmoil that would come from Raph being able to fight the orange infection for Leo's sake but not the curse for Donnie's even if they all know they're fundamentally different things that function and affect you differently

😬

to be fair, raph did fight the whole way through, but he couldn't break out of it because it was magic. i think he finds that infinitely more upsetting because to an extent he KNEW something was off and he spent a long time resisting it, but not enough to stop. he was upset and he was trying to understand what was making him upset, so he found excuses and explanations for why donnie was angering him so much. it's why he pushed so much for things that he didn't even have an answer to, nothing would be good enough and he'd turn back on the things he asked for because they never appeased him.

but i think waking up from the kraang infection to his hand(? but not really) around leo's throat is going to gut him. he'll probably get his bearings for the rest of the fight just out of pure adrenaline alone, but he would have the worst panic attack in private afterwards. its already been mentioned by the showrunners iirc that he'd have ptsd from the whole thing, and ngl i think it would be just waaaaay worse for him here because it'd be effectively retraumatizing him.

i think by this point he'd know that there was actually little he could have done when he was cursed, and he'd curb a lot of that guilt, but i could see a serious backslide in his behavior.

he'd be most convinced that his brothers dont want him AROUND anymore, and that they're never going to be completely comfortable around him again-- they're always going to be aware of his strength when they didn't seem to notice it before. every little flinch from donnie or leo would genuinely send him into a panic, and i could see him avoiding them for quite a while. which of course would make donnie upset because he thinks raph's angry at him, and even though he'd have no logical reason to be, he's wired to be super paranoid about it. cue an absolute mess

[mythica0]

Ten-tickles

🎂: Epic the musical

🧁:Poseidon, Odysseus

🍫: Poseidon, Odysseus, Crew

Summary: Poseidon decides that instead of murdering an entire fleet, he’ll just humiliate the captain instead. It backfires.

A/N: thanks to the Anon who gave me the idea! I hope it’s what you pictured! Once again not super proud of the ending but whatevs. Some of the lines might be used in No More Suffering, we’ll… sea. Anyway, Enjoooooy! :3

Cw: swearing and intense tickles!

Ten-tickles

A loud, roaring voice echoed over the water.

“ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA!… do you know who I am?”

It was Poseidon, god of the seas, and he was pissed, his voice full of malice.

‘Oh no..’ Odysseus’ thoughts rang like bells in his head, trying to think of some way out of this.

Time passed, the god ranting angrily about a ‘lesson’ and how Odysseus needed to be ruthless and cruel.

“Come here, Odysseus.”

He paused, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’re… not going to kill me?”

Poseidon sighs. “Sadly, no. The fates have it in your future to get home safely. I cannot change that no matter how hard I try, so why bother.”

“Wait, really?” Odysseus grew so much hope at the words. He was going to get home. It was fate. But he was still confused. “Theeeeen… why?”

“You’ll see. I might not be killing you, but you do deserve a punishment, and I intend to deliver.”

Odysseus walks towards Poseidon, hesitant. But he doesn’t know what the god will do if he doesn’t obey, and how much worse it could be.

Once he’s in front of the god, he scoops up Odysseus, and taunts threateningly.

“I think a bit of public humiliation will be well suited~” Odysseus didn’t know why, but the tone he used sent shivers down his spine.

“what?”

With a sly, evil chuckle, Poseidon started to lightly scratch at Odysseus’ sides, forcing him to gasp and snap his mouth shut to prevent any more sounds from escaping. “Ah, I knew you’d fight~ makes it all the more embarrassing when you break, doesn’t it~?”

Odysseus was pursing his lips, struggling not to let the muffled giggles escape as he squirmed in place. Out of all the possibilities this was definitely not what he expected. He never would have thought Poseidon would resort to tickling of all things in a million years. And it made him feel a little more confident in what he could get away with. That’ll be important later.

In the meantime, Poseidon was still scratching gently against his side, getting faster and faster with each pass to increase how ticklish it felt. It was getting harder for Odysseus to hold back his giggles, muffled snickers and huffs of air that sounded more and more like laughter than breathing being released with every passing moment.

Then Poseidon worked his way under Odysseus’ arms- and he broke.

“Ppfft- fuhuhuhuck! Ehehahahahaha!”

Poseidon smirked, a smug expression dawned on his face as he spoke with a teasing lilt. “There we go~” he gave a sly chuckle before continuing, “I knew you’d break.”

“Shihihit- stohohop!” The unusual method of revenge was certain out working as intended, a blush dusting the captains face as he couldn’t do anything but laugh at the wiggling claws against his skin. His men looking on, confused and curious but also a little amused.

“Why should I? Seems to be working.”

Feeling a little emboldened by the lack of painful torture or murder, Odysseus decided to fight back. He started to move around and try to push Poseidon off, which wasn’t working. (At least not yet.)

The god let out another chuckle. “Oh? Trying to fight, are we?” After saying the words, Poseidon increased the intensity of the sensation, digging into Odysseus’ underarms with the exact pressure to make it extremely ticklish.

Odysseus twitched and let out a surprised bark of laughter before his giggles and laughs got much louder. “HOhoholy- gahahahah! Nohohohoho!”

“That’s what you get for trying to fight~”

Odysseus still felt that fire to fight however, and continued to do so, even though every time he did the tickles got more intense, making it harder for him to fight back.

“Ehahahahahaha fuhuhuck- ahahahahaha!”

“Stop trying to fight, stupid mortal. Every time you try I’m just going to make it worse.”

As Odysseus continued to struggle, Poseidon threw in some very corny jokes. “Seriously, Odysseus, you’d think you’d know better than to mess with a god, come on, water you thinking?”

If Odysseus wasn’t too occupied with being tickled, he would’ve blinked confusedly. “Whahahahat wahahas thahat? Thahat wahas hohohorrible!”

“I mean, you’re laughing. Can’t be that bad.”

“Thahahats Behehecause Yohoure tihihickling mehehehe!”

“Am I? I don’t know, sounds fishy.”

Odysseus groans through his laughs. “Uhuhugh, thahat wahahas wohohorse!”

Poseidon chuckled. What can he say? he loved a good ocean pun. “I mean, I like it, but that’s just how I Eel about it.”

Odysseus struggled even more, fueled by the amazing horrible puns. This led to Poseidon making the sensation stronger once again, forcing Odysseus into hysterics.

“Haha, I would stop struggling if I were you. You wouldn’t want to get yourself into even worse of a situation.”

But Odysseus continued to fight, and eventually going through the more intense feeling paid off, as he successfully got out of Poseidons hold and latched onto his side, quickly turning the tables.

“Whahahahat thehehe- hey!” Poseidon protested as Odysseus started to scribble and poke at his sides, flipping the situation to his favor.

“Haha, not so smug now, are ya?” He taunts with a chuckle, still scribbling his side. Odysseus turns to his crew. “Come help me with this, will ya?”

They immediately obey, a bunch of the men gathering around the now laughing, squirming god.

Poseidon could easily get out of this. Or at least he should be able to. He’s a god! But for some reason he finds that his strength is sapped from the tingling sensation, partially because.. he wasn’t sure he wanted them to stop.

“Hehahahaha dahahamn yohohou!”

Despite the protests, and despite the fact that he hasn’t really come to terms with the feelings himself, but Poseidon doesn’t entirely hate this. There are far too many men to count individually gathered around him and holding him there, scratching and scribbling on his whole torso, making him squirm and giggle endlessly.

But.. he found that he didn’t really want to make them stop. His angry mood from earlier was definitely fading, replaced by a giddy nervousness and happiness as the pleasant tingles zapped and sparked across his skin, sending him into fits of laughter.

Odysseus decided to use a bit of his own medicine, with a corny dad joke. “How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“Whahahahat-?”

“Ten-tickles”

Poseidon wasn’t going to lie, he did laugh a little harder at the pun. Which Odysseus picked up on, of course.

“No way you actually liked that.” The captain teased with a laugh, only making Poseidon blush a bit.

The men continued to scratch and scribble and tickle the god of the tides, as he squirmed around.

“Hehehahahahaha shihihit! Mohortahahals- stahahahap!”

“Hmmm… I don’t think so.” Odysseus teased again, only increasing the intensity of his scratching. “You got me first.”

“Ahahahahahah shihit- nohohoho!”

Odysseus laughed with an overly dramatic scoff. “Um, yeah you did.”

“Yohou knohohow thahahats nohot whahat ihi meheheant- FUHUCK!” He was cut off by snort and louder laughter as someone started to lightly trace his gills.

“Haha, good job, Polites! Looks like you found a good spot.”

“SHiHIHIT NOHOT THEHERE- AHAHAHA!” The god’s laughter was much louder and more hysterical now, as one man, supposedly Polites, scratched around his gills and another traced his ear fins, some of his most ticklish spots.

And it wasn’t just those two spots either, there were also wiggling fingers on his ribs, stomach, sides, armpits, everywhere. It was so overwhelming, a strong sensory overload, but at the same time it felt… good. Poseidon found himself enjoying this, even though he was desperately laughing and struggling as he was tickled relentlessly by several men.

“IHIHIHI CAHAHANT- SHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP!”

“What’s wrong? The great god of the seas can’t handle a little tickling?”

The words made a blush spread on Poseidon’s face. “SHUHUHUT UHUP!”

Odysseus hummed and tapped his chin with one hand in mock thought, the other still teasing and tickling the soft flesh of the sea god. “Hmmm… let me think about it… no.”

“COHOHOME OHON! OHOHO MYHY- STAHAHAHAP! AAHAHAHAHAHA!” His laughter was loud and hysterical, tears starting to form in his eyes from the force of it. It tickled so much and they weren’t. Stopping. He was overcome with laughter and snorts, the electric, buzzing sensation never letting up around his gills or anywhere else.

He didn’t want to beg. That was so gods damn embarrassing, especially for a deity. But he was getting pretty damn close. It was so bad, yet so good at the same time, sending floods of happy chemicals through his systems from all the laughter. But despite that, it was still far too much for him to handle, so he eventually lost his grip over his words and self control, and… he started to beg.

“PLEHEHEHEASE- STAHAHAHAP! IHIHITS TOHOHOO MUHUHUCH PLEHEHEASE! IHIM SOHOHORRYYY!”

Odysseus smirked. “You’re gonna be nice? You’re gonna leave me and my men alone?”

“FUHUHUCK- YEHEHEHES! JUHUHUST STAHAHAP!”

Odysseus raises a hand to signal his men to stop, and they release Poseidon, who starts to breath heavily, giggles infesting every exhale.

“Hahahaha… hoholy fuhuhuck..you dehefinetly took my lesson in ruhuthlehessness..”

“I did, didn’t I?”

Poseidon eventually managed to cool his leftover giggles, and then perched himself on a pillar of water, holding his trident.

“Lesson fucking learned. I’ll leave you alone.” He chuckles a bit and then drops himself into the water, fading into the darkness of the ocean floor.

Odysseus chuckles as well, retaking his position at the wheel.

“That was certainly… an experience.”

“That it was.” Eurylochus confirmed. “It’s not every day you see a god begging and laughing hysterically.”

They continued on their way, sailing away towards a nearby island. Who knows what they’d face there.

———THE END————————————————

[one-annon]

PROTECTIVE ADAM DRABBLE

haha hi guys... so huge shout out to @quinngefail for trusting me enough to write out a bit for this idea they had! really not my best writing but its okay, i still had fun writing it <3 heavy tw! slight fatshaming and disability shame!! dont be like these guys

adam was never the protective type. he knew lawrence could hold himself up and he knew he could protect himself. he had no reason to be mean to others. of course, there were times where he would tell someone to fuck off. he hated it when people would stare at lawrence. not only was staring rude (funny from a voyeur huh?), but lawrence was his. the older man belonged to adam and he had a ring on his finger to prove it.

the two of them knew their limits with each other but others didn't. which, in adams opinion, it should be common fucking sense. who the fuck would comment on a guy's weight? thats like…asking if a woman is pregnant. well. he actually doesnt know if that translates right but…you get the point, don't you?

like that one time when they were at a restaurant. they were sitting across from each other, lawrence had ordered a nice glass of wine and adam had a dr pepper. really, they needed the rest. hard week for them both. they had been patiently waiting for their food and once it finally was in front of them, these fucking kids were seated across from their table.

both of them paid no mind. it didnt matter. truly, looking back at it, they shouldve left them alone. but in adams defense, they were looking at larry wrong. his larry.

"you really think hes gonna eat all that?" "course he is. look at him!"

adam had heard the whispers, he noticed the stares. he inhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool. he wouldnt ruin their date. not over this. taking a quick peek up at his stunning date, he took note of how unbothered lawrence seemed. maybe it bothered him more than it did the blond. or maybe not. he didnt even know of larry had heard those fuckers talking. he knew the man's hearing was getting just a little worse. he didnt mind. it worked. adam was loud anyway.

he let his hand move over toward lawrence's, locking their fingers together and watching him take a few bites of his meal. it wasnt a ton of food. he didn't get the issue. steak, a salad he had already finished, and a bowl of soup. of course, he also ordered fries that were mostly just something adam could steal off his plate, and they had shared mozzarella sticks and chips for an appetizer. but that wasnt too much. that was a good amount of food. they had no reason to make fun of him but adam had every reason to knock their fucking teeth in.

larry's gaze caught adams, a soft smile pairing with those beautiful blue eyes. he didn't seem bothered. not one bit.

"could you uh..go get me a drink, lar?" he asked, nodding over to the bar near the back of the restaurant. he wanted to have a small word with the very kind people next to him.

"oh, of course." lawrence lifted his hand, pressing a loving kiss to his knuckles. he always treated adam like a princess. would that make lawrence the princess' bride? haha. adam's never seen the princess bride and neither has the author. sorry.

the blonde took his cane in his hand, huffing out a tired breath as he stood up. "easy on your leg.." adam warned, watching him carefully and staying on high guard to make sure he didnt need to step up and assist his lover. he was fine. he could handle himself, adam. calm down. he heard the people across from them snicker. their eyes followed lawrence as he left for the bar and adam couldnt have been more pissed.

adam turned in his seat, eyes wide with the insane urge to set the building ablaze and a smile so sarcastically pissed off that he felt he could be the next big actor. he spread his legs just a little, letting his elbows rest on his knees. he clasped his hands together, staring directly at the table. "hey there!" he greeted, the gears in his head running on just enough cigarette smoke to keep the 'protect lawrence' and his 'destroy everything and everyone in your way' gears in overdrive and the 'think rationally' and 'work this out' gears held at a complete stop.

the table focused their attention onto adam, one of the members cocking an eyebrow and mimicking his positioning. of course, adam wasnt expecting them to take him seriously. how could they? he wasnt anything special. he was just an average looking loser with a boyfriend who owns a fucking bmw.

"hey there back!"

adam hated that fucking smile. little fucking demons is what they were. he lifted his head to check on lawrence. he was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and waiting ever so patiently for adams drink. he wasnt even sure what he was getting and truly he didnt care. he had bigger problems to handle at the moment. "is there a fuckin' problem here?" he tilted his head.

the person mocking him shrugged. "im not sure what youre talking about."

the shorter had to resist the urge to stand and slam his hands on the table. of course they didnt know. why would they know what they just fucking did? that makes so much sense that adam almost forgot why he was about to break their fucking teeth in! almost.

"yknow, youre not exactly quiet when it comes to shit talking people. though, i suppose you would really like it for someone to do the same to you, yeah?" he motions to the outfit of another member. "like how your shirt has a cute little logo for nirvana on it but i bet you cant name three songs by the damn band, huh?"

before they could defend themselves, adam continued. "or how you," he pointed to another member, "have that beautiful necklace on! oh my it looks so expensive! but yknow i saw the same thing at claires! and, really i would say your outfit makes up for it but green just is not your color. i would maybe go for a dumpster fire red next time! which i dunno, i think a nice bitch blue would go great for all of you!"

one of the members stood up, which caused adams confidence to falter just slightly. he straightened himself up, his brain suddenly racking through old memory files to find the fight tips that scott had given him. just in case.

"who the fuck do you think you are, dude?" they shouted. other tables turned to look at the pair. adam wasnt sure what to do, so he did what he did best. he imagined it was scott. truly, he did this for every fight. it was a lot easier yelling at that fucknut than some stranger.

adam vaguely pointed to the bar, "oh, so its okay for you to insult my fiance but i cant insult you? i mean, cmon, i just told you that you all had trash outfits! you fucks were making fun of his body! not so fuckin' fun when its you is it?"

he wouldve keep going. he shouldve kept going. if it wasnt for lawrence wobbling his way back with a beer bottle in hand, adam probably wouldve gotten physical. larry carefully slid his way back into the booth, setting the drink down. the doctor took note of how riled up adam and the other table seemed to be. now that the member of the group had sat and adam had his drink, they could continue their date.

"i heard you shouting." lawrence whispered in that all too calm voice of his. "you dont have to defend me, adam. people are going to make fun of me, i know it. but i can handle it. im an adult too."

adam scoffed as he took a sip of his beer, "i fuckin hate people, larry."

"i know you do, sweetheart."

the date ended soon after, a quick kiss and a hefty bill that adam was shocked lawrence was able to pay for in full cash concluding their time spent at the restaurant. adam gave the table a very nice fuck you flip off as they left, taking larry's - his larry's - hand in his own and leading them out to that fancy ass bmw.

______

how 2 write ending?

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer walked down an hour or so later with a warm bottle. He was thinking of letting Adam feed his daughter.

He could hear Adam speaking before opening the door. When he did, he looked at the scene in front of him.

Adam was leaning against the bedframe, his knees brought to his chest. Avery was lying on his knees, her arms waving as Adam spoke. She was making the sweetest noises.

He was talking about Eden. Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he listened, he hasn't been noticed yet.

Adam: There was every plant you could imagine. Some even looked a bit weird- but they were cool. I bet you would have loved liriope. Their flowers are funny looking.

Lucifer eyes softened when we heard his daughter babble and squirm. Arm was moving her little arms around, which she seemed to love.

She was definitely a kicker. If Adam was any closer, his chest or face would be in reach.

Adam: Mm, that's why my ribs hurt~. Yes it is~.

Lucifer: Adam.

Adam tensed at looked at Lucifer: What?

Lucifer lifted the bottle up and walked over to him.

Lucifer held it iut in front of him: Think you can handle it~?

Adam rolled his eyes and took the bottle: I've raised kids in worse places than this, bitch. Don't fucking patronize me.

Adam glared as Lucifer sat on the bed next to him and played his daughters foot. Adam wouldn't mind. But he does mine. Very much so.

Lucifer was shaking his leg, rapidly moving it up and down, shaking Adam's bed slightly.

Adam's eye twitched, but he didn't say anything.

And the fucker stick of fucking apples. Adam has no idea how that's possible, but he reeks, and it's giving Adam a headache.

With a sigh, he rests his daughter in his arms and starts feeding her.

Lucifer: ...does that look right?

Adam: Your face isn't going to look right, in a minute. So piss off. I know what I'm doing-.

Lucifer: I'm just worried that it's been a good nine thousand years since you had a kid, let alone a baby.

Adam: Sure, but I have nine hundred kids, Lucifer. You don't just forget that shit.

Lucifer: Alright. Fair enough. I'll trust you.

Adam: I'm not asking you to trust me, I'm asking you to fuck off and give me room to feed her- and stop shaking your damn leg!

Lucifer smirked at Adam before standing.

Lucifer: Someone's testy.

Adam: Oh gee, I wonder if it's because you broke my nose earlier. Hmm, is that the reason? Or is it because you've locked me in some- basement ass room. OR are you dealing with your own inadequacies because you're slowly realizing how much better a father I am than you?

Lucifer glared at Adam, his eye twitching. That only made Adam smile.

Adam: Or all of the above?

Lucifer: ...Just- hurry up and feed her so I can bring g her upstairs. It's hard to breath, with you polluting the air.

Adam rolled his eyes and looked back down at his daughter as she finished. He puts the bottle down and rests her on his collar bone, and pats her back. He glanced and saw the expression Lucifer had while watching them.

Adam: ...I'm burping her, of you want to know.

Lucifer: I know what you're doing... I'm allowed to watch.

Adam: If that's the case, could you do it without that stupid look on your face? It's scaring Avery. And me, for that matter.

Lucifer: Listen here, PIG. You will not speak-.

Hus daughter burped a couple of times before babbling and waving her arms around as best she could.

Adam: There you go, love. Ignore him. Just do your thing.

Lucifer: Ignore me? Really?

Adam: Really.

Adam kisses his daughter a few times before she yawns.

He smiles, but it drops as he softly hands her to Lucifer.

Adam: Be careful.

Lucifer: Don't tell me to be careful. She's my second daughter.

Adam: And she's my 514th daughter. What about it?

Lucifer: ...just get some sleep. Or whatever you do.

Adam glared as Lucifer walked back to the door. He didn't look back as he closed it. Adam sighed and decided to test how long this chain is. That, and he needed to move around.

Adam: Asshole...

What about an au where Adam goes to Hell for night trips, wher ehe just parties and fucks. He has a disguise (it's just a slightly different looking helmet).

Lucifer joins his daughter and her friends at a bar, where he sees "Adam". He instantly knows it's him, but he's curious as to what he's doing.

So Lucifer spends hours flitting with him and buying him drinks to get him drunk. But Lucifer actually finds himself having a great time.

Long story short- they fuck, Adam doesn't let Lucifer know he's Adam. He goes back to Heaven and after a few months, he finds out he's pregnant.

Which is fucking weird cause he's definitely a dude, and he's very dead. But Lucifer's the Devil 🤷.

He basically has to play it off as him getting fat. It's working until the next meeting with Lucifer happens during his ninth month, and he's goes into labor right in front of Lucifer.

Lucifer: Why didn't you tell me your were fucking pregnant!?

Adam: Because you didn't know it was me!!

Lucifer: Yes I did! You have the same face!

Adam: ..... Oh..