#this is meant to take place just post ruin and rising

[plasticbattleaxe]

sankta

[olenvasynyt]

Feyre is a shitty friend to Lucien if she’s ever been a friend to him at all

This is going to be a long post and yeah I have made two tiktoks about this already and yes people got very mad at me but I’m going to post in on here anyways!!

In Chapter 3 of ACOWAR, Lucien says, “You are a better friend to me, Feyre, than I ever was to you.”

And I couldn't disagree more. This is just so so wrong.  I think Feyre has been such a shitty friend to Lucien if she’s even been a friend to him at all.

If you can’t handle criticism towards Feyre then just scroll past!  And I have so many things to say but Feyre being a shitty friend definitely starts in ACOWAR.  She’s constantly lying to him, making wrong assumptions about him, she uses him.

And I understand that is all for her plan to take down Spring; she can’t really tell anyone the truth because it’ll ruin her cover but a lot of the things she does concerning Lucien and how she’s his friend, are kind of fucked up.

Constantly lying to him and using him in Spring

Now I thought the nightmare scene with Feyre and Lucien was excellent and very entertaining to read but when you think about how Feyre is using Lucien, her “friend”, in a sexual way to get back at Tamlin and turning them against each other…it makes her a shitty friend.

Chapter 5 of ACOWAR: I waited the five minutes it took Tamlin to decide not to kill Lucien, and then smiled. I wondered if Lucien had pieced it together…  A nightmare, I had told Tamlin. I was the nightmare. Preying on what Tamlin had feared from my very first days here… I had no doubt Tamlin was now running through every look and conversation since then.  Every time Lucien had intervened on my behalf…weighing how much that new mating bond with Alain held sway over his friend…

And she continuously gets Lucien to touch her to goad Tamlin’s jealousy and also Ianthe’s jealousy.  She does it very often while they’re in Spring: an example is when they sleep in the tent together.  They basically end up cuddling each other and Jurian sees.  And though it wasn’t on purpose, Feyre thinks about how it would be perfect if that got to Tamlin.  

Chapter 6: I’d rolled onto Lucien’s bedroll at some point, any schemes indeed second to my most pressing demand—warmth.  But I had no doubt Jurian would tuck away the information to throw in Tamlin’s face when we returned: we’d shared a tent, and had been very cozy upon awakening.

She is using him.  She admits it when we get to the scene with Ianthe SAing Lucien.

Why she saved Lucien from Ianthe

And getting to this point soon:  

So in an earlier conversation they have, Lucien talks about how he did the rite in Tamlin’s place and he completed it with Ianthe.  Feyre can see that lines were blurred.  Ianthe had continuously sought Lucien and she got what she wanted.  And Feyre says she should have been there to stop it.

Chapter 3 of ACOWAR: He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn’t enjoyed it.  Some line had been blurred—badly… The weight of that jeweled knife and belt seemed to grow.  “I wish I had been there to stop it.  I should have been there to stop it.”  I meant every word. Lucien squeezed our linked arms as we rounded a head, the house rising up before us.  “You are a better friend to me, Feyre,” he said quietly, “than I ever was to you.”

And this brings in the quote I brought up in the beginning. ANd I will make a whole separate post on Lucien’s inaction in ACOMAF but what he says just tells me that he feels guilty for not doing enough to help Feyre with Tamlin locking her up.

Feyre said she should have been there to stop it.  Alright well, when the time came and she was given an opportunity to stop Ianthe, Feyre was thinking about how she could keep going and just leave Ianthe to SA Lucien and let it happen.  She is going against her word.  and that makes her a hypocrite and terrible friend.  

Chapter 9: Keep going.  They were distracted, horrible as it was. Keep going, keep going, keep going. “I thought you’d seek me out after the Rite,” Ianthe purred.  They couldn’t be more than thirty feet through the trees.  Far enough away not to hear my presence, if I was quiet enough.

And Feyre realizes that her using Lucien was a bad move, so Feyre’s guilt encourages her to save Lucien not out of any genuine friendship. 

“You don’t act that way with Feyre.” A silk-wrapped threat. “You’re mistaken.” “Am I?” Twigs and leaves crunched, as if she was circling him.  “You put your hands all over her.” I had done my job too well, provoked her jealousy too much with every instance I’d found ways to get Lucien to touch me in her presence, in Tamlin’s presence.

But another thing that causes her to save him is because this moment reminds her of when Ianthe assaulted Rhys.

I made it about a hundred yards into the cover of the trees before I halted. I heard Lucien first. “Back off” A low female laugh. Everything in me went still and cold at that sound.  I’d heard it once before—in Rhysand’s memory.

and Lucien saying “do not touch me” is exactly what Rhys says and this is what pulls Feyre out of her plans to keep going and save him instead.  

Chapter 21 of ACOMAF: Rhys learned close to breathe in her ear, “don’t you ever touch me.  Don’t ever touch another male in my court.”

Chapter 9 of ACOWAR: “Do not touch me,” he growled. And then I was moving.

This moment is echoing Ianthe going after Rhys, from the way Ianthe acts to the hand-breaking situation because Feyre was replicating what Rhys did to Ianthe’s hand.  And in my opinion, Feyre breaking her hand was not only revenge for Lucien but also revenge for Rhys.  And that’s not inherently bad but Feyre is not saving Lucien because she’s a good friend and she cares for his well-being.  If that were true, she would have never thought of leaving him to get SAed by her in the first place.

Not trusting him, questioning his priorities 

When they’re traveling through Autumn she continues to not trust him, she continues to make assumptions about him and assume the worst.  She questions his priorities when it comes to Elain and assumes that he’s only coming along to get what he’s owed.  But then she wants him to have sympathy for her and Rhys as mates.  It’s just very one-sided.

Chapter 12: “You kissed Under the Mountain.” “I had little choice in that as I did with the dancing.” “And yet this is the male you now love.” “He didn’t know—he had no inkling of the personal history, the secrets, that had opened my heart to the High Lord of the Night Court.  They were not my stories to tell. “One would think, Lucien, that you’d be glad I fell in love with my mate, given that you’re in the same situation Rhys was in six months ago.”

Compare this to Chapter 11:

“And that’s why you’re here.  Not because it’s right and he’s always been wrong, but just so you can get what you think you’re owed.” “She is my mate and in my enemy’s hands—“

So Rhys and Lucien were in the same situation: both had their mates in their enemy’s hands and want to keep them safe.  Was Rhys only getting what he thought he was owed as well?  No.  So why can’t Feyre offer the same courtesy?

Again, ready to abandon him in Spring

And there’s literally a part when they're running in Autumn where Lucien basically asks “are you actually my friend?” and Feyre doesn’t answer.  

Chapter 11: “You have the gall to question my priorities regarding Elain—yet what was your motive where I was concerned?  Did you plan to spare me from your path of destruction because of any genuine friendship, or simply of fear of what it might do to [Elain]?” I didn’t answer.  “Well?  What was your grand plan for me before Ianthe interfered?” I pulled at a stray thread in the bedroll.  “You would have been fine,” was all I said.

To actually answer your question, Lucien: she wasn’t planning on sparing you.  She used you and was ready to leave you.

Lucien is a bigger man than me because I would have probably yelled in her face.

Again, uses him to get revenge against Tamlin

Also when he asks her where he’ll fit in in the NC,she thinks about how she would only offer him the position to keep Elain from Spring and to get back at Tamlin.

Chapter 12: “And where, exactly, do you believe I will fit in?  The Night Court? I didn’t answer.  I didn’t have one, honestly.  As High Lady I could likely offer him a position, if we survived long enough to make it home.  I’d do it mostly to keep Elain from ever going to the Spring Court, but I had little doubt Lucien would be able to hold his own against my friends.  And some small, horrible part of me enjoyed the thought of taking one more thing away from Tamlin, something vital, something essential. “We should leave at down,” was my only reply.

Lucien is vital, but not because of his talents as an emissary and how he would benefit the Night Court.  It’s because Tamlin wouldn’t have an emissary.

Feyre just lies to him and assumes stuff and uses him…overall, she’s just such a selfish friend and I’m fairly sure that she doesn’t even consider Lucien her friend at this part, despite several things that would go against that.  Lucien seems to consider or had considered her a friend.  

And then I got a part two because there’s just more things.

Being unwelcome when they get to Night

And now we are getting to one of my biggest gripes with Feyre.  When they get back to the Night Court she has the reunion with Rhys.  They almost immediately go off and have sex and sure, I get it: they’re mates, they haven’t seen each other in a while, they didn’t know if they would ever see each other again.  It’s very emotional.  But when they are done having sex, Feyre goes down and sees Lucien in the sitting room, still in his dirty clothes.  Feyre thinks about how she should offer him something…but then the thought vanishes as soon as Rhys steps to her side.

Chapter 15: “Lucien was waiting in the sitting room when Rhus and I came downstairs at last… I fought my cringe as I halted at the threshold.  Lucien was still in his travel-worn, filthy clothes.  His face and hands, at least, were clean, but…I should have gotten him something else.  Remembered to offer him— The thought rippled away into nothing as Rhys appeared at my side.

FEYRE.  You literally just finished fucking him and putting on your wedding rings, stop thinking of Rhys and offer your “friend” some clean clothes, a bath, SOMETHING!!!!  He has his face and hands washed probably because he washed them in the fucking kitchen sink because he doesn’t know where the bathroom is because no one has given him a tour and they still don’t give him a tour after this…

This is infuriating to me.  So infuriating.  It’s not only being a shitty friend but also a shitty hostess.

And then they have their talk where they explain everything to him, Lucien finally understands what has been going on, he knows that Rhys has been wearing a mask the whole time and that the NC is good…and then he is finally offered clothes and a bath.  By fucking Rhys too not by Feyre.

Chapter 16: “I assume you’ll need clothes,” Rhys went on, nodding toward Lucien’s filthy jacket and pants—which he’d worn for the past week while we scrambled through territories.  Indeed, that was…blood splattered in several spots.

Not communicating, having no important talks as friends or allies

And then the entire time Lucien is in Night, she does not try to have any meaningful talks besides the one where she and Rhys explain everything to him.  She often says it’s for another time.  But they never have any sort of conversation, even if it would just be beneficial as allies, if not friends.

There is a weird sort of mistrust for him. They not only don’t trust Lucien with Elain but also just information in general and this mistrust takes way too long to fade.  From a political standpoint, I get it: he is / was a close friend and courtier to Tamlin, they did ally with Hybern.    But Feyre acknowledges he was remorseful.  And when they’re in Spring he speaks up and tells Tamlin his mistrust and dislike towards allying with Hybern.  But Feyre just speaks over that.  

And I just don’t understand this mistrust with Elain and assuming he’ll steal her away, which is what Rhys implies.  

Chapter 19: “If he got Elain away, back to Spring or wherever…do you believe, deep down, that he wouldn’t sell what he knows?  Either for gain, or to ensure she stays safe?” I considered his question: Did I trust Lucien?  “I don’t know, either,” I admitted, and sighed.  “I don’t like that Elain is a pawn in this.” “Did he discuss what he feels regarding Tamlin?” “Non.  I didn’t want to push on that.  He was…remorseful about what happened with me, and Hybern, and Elain.  Would he have felt that way without Elain in the mix?  I don’t know—maybe.  I don’t think he would have left, though.”

But Lucien explained to Feyre that he hated how Elain was in an enemy’s hands and wanted to make sure she was okay and he knows now that the IC is good and she’s safe, but you still mistrust him?  You are just completely ignoring everything and thinking the worst of him, and as I said before, not offering him the same courtesy you want him to have for Rhys.

Also Elain is a pawn because you are making her a pawn.

Lucien has good intentions.  He wants to do good.    With Hybern, he has not only explains his dislike for allying with them before to her but he sneaks off and sent stuff to Nuan for research to find a preventative against faebane.   He goes to find Vassa to basically redeem himself, he says it was “about time he did something”.  

And about Elain: Lucien is not demanding to see her.  He literally just sits around on his ass and waits and is courteous.  There’s no malicious intent.  He is so kind and respectful.  And if you are so mistrustful towards him that you set up rules for him to follow, maybe just ask him.  Ask permission to look in his mind maybe?  

Feyre and Rhys and the IC have a set of morals that they follow sometimes but then choose not to follow when it conveniences them.  That is a whole other discussion in itself but literally so many things that went wrong with their friendship could have been solved if they actually talked and Feyre wanted to listen to him.  

When Lucien and Elain finally talk one-on-one and Feyre goes into his mind (again, out of mistrust), Feyre discovers that Lucien has no ill intentions.  Lucien didn’t even mean to find Elain there in the library.  He just wanted a walk and to get a book, he didn’t realize she was there, he did not intentionally seek her out and break Feyre’s rule, despite what Rhys says.

Chapter 24 of ACOWAR: He hadn’t expected her to be here.  The other sister—the viper—was a possibility, but one he was willing to risk…he’s been cooped up in this wind-blasted House for two days. He just wanted a walk—and a few books.  It had been an age since he’d ever had free time to read, let alone do so for pleasure. But there she was. His mate.

Getting jealous he has friends / the entire fight they have in ACOFAS

Feyre seemed to have redeveloped her affection for Lucien by the end of ACOWAR but it took way too long and she is still an ass even after everything he’s done for her and for the good of Prythian.  

In Frost and Starlight with their fight that causes him to leave before the Solstice…by fucking god.  I truly hate everything about this conversation.  Feyre is just so wildly frustrating.  I discussed it before so I feel like I don’t need to go a whole lot into it because I already ripped this scene apart word for word.

Chapter 18 of ACOFAS: I rose as well.  ‘But Jurian and Vassa’s is fine?’ ‘You’d be surprised to see how well the three of us get along.’ Friends, I realized.  They had somehow become his friends.  ‘So you would rather stay with them?’ ‘I’m not staying with them.  The manor is ours.’” ‘Interesting.’ His golden eye whirred.  ‘What is.’ Not feeling very festive at all, I said sharply, ‘That you now feel more comfortable with humans than with the High Fae.  If you ask me—‘ ‘I’m not.’ ‘It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without their homes of their own as well.’”

Lucien talks about how he and Vassa and Jurian have been getting closer and Feyre gets almost jealous that he has found friends and a life outside of the Night Court and the Inner Circle.

Of course he wanted to find other friends besides you, Feyre.  It’s not like you have welcomed him with open arms.

And then this quote: “It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without homes of their own as well.”

So you’re admitting that the Night Court isn’t his home?  That he’s not welcome here, he has no friends here?

And then she realizes she fucked up she tries to correct herself:

Chapter 18 of ACOFAS: “Lucien stared at me, long and hard.  ‘Happy Solstice to you, Feyre.’” He turned toward the foyer, but I grabbed his arm to halt him.  The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of the sapphire jacket, but he made no move to shake me off.  ‘I didn’t mean that.  You have a home here.  If you want it.’”

He doesn’t want it.  He talks about how he can’t go to Spring anymore not just to Tamlin but to the court outside of the manor because of how Feyre ripped down Spring.  Feyre shows no remorse for that.  And he also talks about how he can’t stand to be in Night around Elain.  He doesn’t feel welcome here for all of those reasons and from the fact that you are just the worst friend ever.  

And then she proceeds to make fun of the Band of Exiles and mock him despite the work they are doing for the land she used to live in as a human.  The Band of Exiles is a stupid name but Feyre doesn’t have a right to call it bullshit.

They have not had any meaningful conversations about their friendship.  They could sit down and actually talk about what happened like civil people, I think they both have to still fully admit where they were wrong and apologize for the mistakes they’ve made.  But Lucien seems to have already apologized more than Feyre ever will.  He apologizes, he says Feyre was a better friend than he was, he feels guilty, he says he needs to actually do something and he looks for redemption.  In ACOWAR when he is still in the Night Court, he has better manners than Feyre does, he apologizes and says thank you so many times.

And their fight in ACOFAS is basically the last thing we got of their friendship because he does come to the solstice party in Silver Flames which I am amazed by actually.  I feel like he is still holding on to Elain and his allyship (I’m going to call it allyship) with Feyre and the Inner Circle.  After everything she’s done to him, he’s still pushing through it.  And I think that makes him a better person than Feyre.  Strong opinion but.  Jesus.

I could go for even longer but I’ll stop and I’ll end by saying Lucien deserves better.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 

“I can’t stand you either.” 

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 

Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 

Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 

“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 

Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 

It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.

…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 

Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 

Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared.  “What?”

“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.” 

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 

Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.  He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 

His heart stopped.  Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 

“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 

“Blue.  Sky blue.” 

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 

God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you.  Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

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[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 10

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,180

A/N: Know it's been a while and appreciate everyone's patience!

It takes a little over an hour for Dean to finish up the two cars. Having been taught your lesson, you handed Dean the correct tools he requested, though he did remember to say “please” each time he asked. 

From time to time he would explain what he was working on, not that it meant much to you, but you were starting to pick up on a few things, which you were hoping to take home with you so you wouldn’t feel so helpless the next time you went to get an oil change.

“So how did you even meet Rick?” You lean against a pillar as Dean rolls out from the Stingray, shutting off his head lamp as he stands. He lets out a chuckle at your question. 

“I’ve actually known him most of my life.” Dean gently rests against the hood, crossing his arms. 

You just raise your eyebrows, hoping he’ll elaborate. 

“My dad used to come here all the time growing up, and so did Rick.” He continues. “They were around the same age and they kept in touch as they got older. My dad used to bring us up here when we were kids. I loved it, but Sam and my mom would spend our visits up here swimming at the lake, but my dad and I would be sitting in those bleachers.” He points out the windowed garage door to the grand stands.

“It would be July and it could be 120 degrees between the heat and the cars, but there was nowhere else we’d rather be.” He reminisces with a smile but he keeps his eyes on his oil-stained boots. 

“Rick is cut from the same cloth. He stopped coming around as I got older, got busy with his fancy life in the city, but when he ended up buying this place, he reached out to my dad and I, would get us in the ‘VIP’ suite, which were just his seats. He was excited when he found out I started working in Bobby’s shop, and then a couple years later he called me up to take a look at a vintage car he was going to buy. Said he had hired a guy but didn’t trust his report, so needed someone he could count on. I was just twenty-one, but he trusted every word I said, and I’ve been working for him ever since.”

You smile across at Dean, not that he sees it. Whether intentionally or not, Dean was opening up to you, more of him becoming unraveled. And there’s one question you’ve been wanting to ask him for weeks now, and you finally felt comfortable enough with him to post it.

“And what’s the deal with you and Nick?” You ask quietly, nervous that you may be overstepping, but hell, he brought you to a weekend away at his mom’s house. You were well past acquaintance status. 

You think back to that night at Max’s, your first week here, when you had gotten cozy with the blonde-haired beau before Dean had stepped in. Before Dean gave a shit about you, he did that night. And you always wondered why.

Dean takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“It started back in high school. It was just teenage stuff; he was the football star, I played basketball. We were both really competitive and it was just a lot of stupid ego stuff. But when Sammy started high school my senior year, Nick took an interest in him, and decided to make Sam’s life hell because of me. He bullied the poor kid almost every day. So I took it upon myself to make sure he never bothered Sam again.” A smirk slowly begins to rise. “Got suspended for a week because of it and almost wasn’t allowed to walk graduation, but it was worth it.”

“And what exactly did you do?” His eyes flash up to you, a devilish gleam in them. 

“I may or may not have rigged his airbags to go off when he turned the radio on one day after school.”

You blanch.

“You can do that?” Dean nods.

“But how did they know that was you? Even if he suspected you, there would have been no way to prove it.”

“Because I was waiting for him in the parking lot and after they went off, I pulled him out of the car and told him if he ever bothered Sammy again I would cut his brakes and make it look like an accident.” Dean doesn’t flinch at the threat, and neither do you. You had two younger siblings, both brothers. You understood. Being the older sibling also meant being the protector, and you had stepped in from time to time when your brothers needed it. 

Dean looks back to you.

“That was the end of it though. Never bothered me or Sam again.” He wipes his hands against each other before shoving them in the pockets of his coveralls. 

“Well I guess I really do owe you for saving me from ‘the town’s biggest asshole’ then.” You smile at him, using his own words from that night. Words you had thrown back at him in rash rage. 

“I would say so.” He agrees, pushing off the car and closing the gap between you. Your eyes stalk the movement, not missing a step until he stops an arm’s length from you. His eyes have that devilish sparkle that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” You challenge, standing up straighter even though your knees feel weak. 

“How about dinner?” His voice is low, shared only between the two of you even though there’s no one else around. 

Your eyes widen.

“You’re asking me out?” You gawk, practically breathless. His lips slowly curve up and he doesn’t break your gaze.

“I’m saying you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.” Your face and stomach drop, irritation rising like bile up your throat.

“Are you serious?” You cross your arm and drop your hip. 

“Sure am, sweetheart.” He purrs. You respond with a heavy breath out of your nose.

“I literally just bought you lunch the other day.” You snap. “Explain to me why it’s my responsibility to keep feeding you?” You bite, ignoring the fact that you had bought him lunch the other day as a thank you for taking you hiking. But he didn’t need to be reminded of that. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, you side step from him and walk towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls from behind you. You turn on your heel and stare him down.

“Aren’t you done?” You huff, crossing your arms again. “I was headed back to the car.” You throw your thumb over your shoulder.

Dean just annoyingly smiles back at you.

“We’re not taking the truck.” You raise your eyebrows.

“What are we going to walk back?” You retort. 

Dean turns on his heel in response and walks further into the garage.

You wait a second, then two, to see if he’s going to turn around, but he doesn’t. You tap your foot, but Dean still doesn’t turn back.

You drop your arms with a heavy breath and start after him, following him a few stalls down until you see him leaning into the open door of a shining black car, the body sleek and clearly not from this century.

“Is this another one of Rick’s?” You step up to the hood, tempted to reach out and run your fingers down the polished onyx. 

“Nope,” Dean’s voice is muffled through the windshield as he rummages around inside.

“Can you answer a question that doesn’t require me to continue asking you questions?” You scowl, starting to have enough of this little game of his. 

His laugh just echoes as he pushes out of the car and rests on the open door.

“Remember I told you about my baby?” You squint your eyes, the conversation ringing a vague bell. 

You suck in a breath. 

“Your car.” You snap your finger then point it at him and it comes back to you, remembering how absurd you thought it was when Dean shared he called his prized car “baby.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows with a smile, opening his arms wide.

“Y/N, meet Baby. Baby, meet Y/N.” You frown at his exaggerated antics.

“Please don’t make me say “hi” to the car.” You groan, wondering exactly how much Dean loves this car. 

Dean pats the hood and leans in.

“Don’t worry, Baby. She can be nice when she wants to be.” He coos. Your eyes bulge and mouth gapes. 

“Should I be concerned about you? Is this what happens when you spend your life around car fumes?” You cross your arms, half kidding. 

Dean just looks back at you with a grin. 

“Get in the car will ya?” He orders before he dips down and plops into the driver’s seat and closes his car.

You stare at him for a moment through the windshield as he fiddles with something. 

Aunt Rose, help me. You say up a silent prayer before you walk around the car and take a seat onto the white leather bench. 

The inside is immaculate; conditioned, tan upholstery, a shining steering wheel, and a dashboard expertly restored to its former glory.

You run a hand along the felt ceiling, the fibers tickling your fingertips. 

“You really built this car?” You ask in awe as you continue to take in the refurbished wonder. 

Dean presses a button on a clicker attached to his visor, and the garage door in front of you begins to rise, sun chasing in through the windshield. 

“Sure did,” Dean turns the key in the engine, the car roaring to life before Dean flicks down the gear shift into drive. “Got her in a scrap yard for a couple hundred bucks, then would use my paychecks from the shop to buy her new parts. Took me over three years. Which is why I keep her here.” Dean slowly pulls out of the garage, waiting for the car to clear before he hits the clicker again, shutting the door behind us.  

You smile out the window as you slowly make your way down the empty race track towards the exit.

“If you love her that much why not just drive her all the time?” You play with the leather armrest that connects to the door. “Seems like a waste to just leave it in a garage all the time.” You muse.

You don't have many mantras in life, but one you strongly believed in not waiting to enjoy something. Your parents had saved an expensive bottle of champagne for you as a graduation present. They had won it in an auction years before and never had a good reason to open it and figured celebrating your matriculation would be the right time to finally pop it open. By the time they did, it had gone bad and your dad shook his head as he poured it down the drain. 

“Cause I ain’t risking a dent or scratch in her after all the time I put into fixing her up.” Dean waves at the gate agent as you pass through the exit, and you give him a smile as well.

“I’m just saying. What’s the point of having a beautiful car like this if you’re just going to keep her hidden away? You’re like an overprotective father.” You chuckle as you look back out the window at the passing scenery of bare trees and dead grass. March truly was an ugly month. 

You look over to Dean, catching his gaze for a moment before it returns to the road, a smirk his only answer. 

Without a word, Dean leans his foot heavily onto the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer quickly climbing as the outdoor world begins to blur by.  

His heart jumps into his throat and his smile grows as the car continues to pick up speed. He wants to glance at Y/N, see her reaction, but he’s not reckless, not enough to take his eyes off the straightaway as the Impala ticks past 80 MPH.

He hears you take in a breath, but it’s not a gasp, doesn't sound scared or shocked, and he’s hoping you’re feeling the same excitement that he is as he shoots down the street, the engine rumbling through the front seat as he darts down his own personal racetrack that he’s driven down more times than he can count. 

Which is why he takes his foot off the gas, letting the needle fall before they come up to the bend that takes them back into town. 

It was only a few seconds, mere heartbeats, but it always makes Dean feel alive. 

Once the car is at a manageable speed, he peeks over to you – your hand is braced against the door, but your smile is wide in a silent laugh. He swallows at the sight, a lump growing in his throat before he looks back to the road, taking the turn at an easy speed.

“I know it doesn’t quite compare after Rick took you through the racetrack today, but every time I take Baby out of the garage, I’ve gotta run her.” He beams, triumph heavy in his chest as he shows off his pride and joy, feeling a pure sense of excitement that he truly hasn’t felt in years. 

Dean looks back over to you, your hair swishing as you shake your head. 

“No,” you breathe out with a smile. “That was great.” 

Dean releases a deep breath through his nose he didn’t realize he was holding. Almost like he was worried about your answer.

“Still think you should take her out more.” 

Dean just smirks, revving the engine again and letting the car fly. 

After Dean brings them to a roadside burger stand for lunch, they’re back at Mary’s house. Y/N had excused herself for a shower, and Mary and Dean lounge in the living room, the sun setting behind the windows, while Dean scrolls through social media on his phone. 

“Nice day out?” Mary asks from the couch across from him, a book in her lap.

Dean takes a breath and puts his phone down, hearing her tone. The same tone she had in the kitchen this morning when she was inquiring more about the woman he brought home.

Not taking the bait, he simply replies, “Good. Managed to get all of Rick’s cars done in just about two hours. He’s all ready for tomorrow.” Mary just rolls her chartreuse eyes. 

“And Y/N?” She asks bluntly. “How was your day with her?” 

He knows what his mother is fishing for. Outside of the odd high school fling, Lisa was the only woman he had ever brought home. And here he was, with Y/N, some random girl he met only a few weeks ago, brought here by his ex, showering just upstairs.

The thought lights something in his eyes as his gaze leaves the living room, thinking of the blue and white bathroom he was so familiar with, the lengthy standup shower, enough room for two, where Y/N was probably lathering soap all over —-

“Dean.” Mary chirps, almost like she can see her son’s thoughts on his face. 

“What?” He snaps, heat flushing his neck and cheeks, feeling like a caught child. 

Mary just sighs and moves her book aside, leaning forward and resting her arms on her jean-clad knees. 

“Don’t even start, mom.” He can see the conversation she wants to have. 

“You’re the one who brought her here.” She counters. He rubs a hand down his face and leans back against the cushion.

“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly. She and I started off on a really bad foot, and I’m stuck with her for the month. Also, when I invited her, I never thought she’d actually say yes. I was more being polite.” Which was true, but doesn’t change the fact that when he got her text that she was going to join him for the weekend, his stomach flipped. 

“She just quit her job and lost her aunt.” He continues on thoughtlessly. “She’s spending a month in a place where she knows no one. I’m just trying to be nice.” He sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. 

A soft, but sad smile graces Mary’s lips, and she leans back.

“Well then, I’m very proud of you.” Dean starts to smile, but it doesn’t fully form. He looks across at his mother. “What?” She offers him back a similar smile.

“Just sounds like the two of you may have come together at the right time is all.” Dean frowns as he hears the telltale creak of pipes as the water upstairs shuts off.  

“What does that mean?” He huffs. 

“Well it sounds like she’s going through some big life changes, and so are you.” She offers gently. 

“Oh here we go.” Dean rolls his eyes, his fists tightening.

“Huff and pout all you want, Dean.” Mary chastises her oldest son, who was always the most stubborn of her two boys. “But I think it’s nice that you two found each other when you're both going through a difficult time.” Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes again, knowing if he does, it will draw another chide from his mother. 

“Fine,” he concedes. “It’s nice.” He placates his mother, hoping to end the conversation.

He’s not a charity case. He’s going through a divorce, just like 50% of married people. He’s not the first and he’s certainly not the last. He doesn’t need her pity. Or yours. Not that you’ve offered it. 

Soft footsteps echo overhead, Y/N likely padding down the hallway back to her room. Probably in nothing but a towel. 

“It’s just nice to see you happy again, Dean. Been a while since I’ve seen it.” Dean unfurls at her words, his body slumping with a sigh. 

He’s being a dick. To his mother. 

What an asshole.

He runs his hand down his face again. 

Mary stands and steps around the coffee table, stopping in front of her sullen son. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t fight something nice just because you don’t think you deserve it.” She gives him a squeeze. After a moment, she steps away with a pat to his shoulder before she goes.

“I’m going to run to the store and pick up dinner. Any requests?” Dean opens his mouth. “Besides pie.” Mary beats him to it. 

“All good.” Mary nods her head.

“I’ll be back in a little bit.” This time, Dean nods, quietly listening as Mary grabs her keys from the kitchen before stepping out the front door. 

He hears Y/N move about upstairs again as Mary’s car comes to life in the driveway.

But Dean just relaxes on the couch, rests his head back, and closes his eyes.

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[sicksadgames]

As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words (if you don't have a Tumblr account, you won't get to the end before it starts bugging you to register one, so go read this on Medium instead.) It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over. 

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken. 

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it. 

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hug those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

[that-starry-freak]

Another solarnexus wip! This takes place after the other one i posted, and this is the "rest" (its defiently not the full chapter, but its the rest of what I wrote) of the snippet I posted around the time of writing this.

This was supposed to be the start of chapter 3 while the first one was supposed to be chapter 1. Stuff was supposed to be in between but I never wrote it/havnt written it yet

Enjoy! (Warning this isn't edited i don't think so I apologize for any awful grammar and/or typos)

If you asked Solar, he would say that he didn't believe in stupid fairy tale things like true love. That everything- even magic -had an explanation, and there just wasn't one for something like that. It was preposterous. And yes.. well…

Solar hadn't meant for it to actually work.

He had been panicking, stress clouding his mind. His decision had been rash and uncalculated, grabbing Nexus but the suspenders and kissing him.

It was a last-chance attempt at bringing his best friend back. He didn't expect it to work, it wasn't supposed to. He just.. he didn't know what he had been thinking. He hadn't been, really.

Yet as his lips pressed hard against the lunar model's, he felt him kissing back… it startled him for just a moment, before kissing him with more fever. His arms slid down to wrap around Nexus's waist holding him close. He could feel the other's hands holding onto his shoulders.

They just stayed like that for a moment, lips pressed together. Thousands of unspoken words burned through it, passion and desperation, fear and love.

Eventually, however, Solar's hard drive caught up to him and he remembered what was happening. That he wasn't just kissing his best friend, he was Nexus now.

He pulled away quickly, cheeks heating up in shame. Fuck, he had gotten too caught up in it. Hell! He shouldn't have kissed Nexus in the first place. He was the villain and he was aroace! He was probably going to kill him-

Yet when he looked into those eyes, they weren't the piercing red full of hatred he had been forced to come to know.

No.

They were wide, soft purple optics gleaming at him in shock and something that looked almost like fear.

".. solar-?" There was his voice. So much softer and higher than his older counterpart. This was the Nexus he knew…

Orange and black arms quickly wrapped around the dazed animatronic, pulling him into an endo-crushing hug. He squeaked, hands scrambling to Solar's back, razor-sharp claws tangling in the back of his shirt. "Wha-?? What is going on?!" 

"Your back- thank fucking god.." Solar pressed his face against Nexus's neck, holding him tight and close by his waist. It was protective, almost possessive. He didn't ever want to let go of him again. He didn't think he was ever going to get to hug him again.

"Back?? What are you talking about, I'm-" the words quickly died in Nexus's voice box, trailing off. Oh.

Oh God.

Oh god.

Solar could sense the rising panic in his friend. He knew him better than anyone, after all. The way his simulated breaths raised in pace just a tad. The way he let out a barely choked sound, and went completely still. The way his fans seemed to skip a second.

He held him tighter, face pressing farther into his neck "It's going to be okay…"

"I really did all that, didn't I?" His voice cracked near the end, choking up. Oily tears collected in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spread and fall.

He was a monster.

He had threatened Earth. He'd almost killed someone! What had he even been thinking?? He hadn't been.. his mind had felt so foggy, it had felt like the right thing to do. The only way to save Solar.

But… Solar was right in front of him. And he knew Ruin wasn't dead, and Bloodmoon hadn't been used to bring him back.

Had he.. had he ruined his relationship with his family for nothing? Was he truly a monster? An insane, disgusting excuse for sentience? He had hurt the people he had swore to protect. He.. God Moon must be so disappointed in him. Sun must be-

Before he could fall too far into his spiraling, a gentle voice attempted to ground him to the present "Nexus-?" Solar murmured. God that voice.. that sweet, sweet voice. It sounded so close to someone he hated, but still so unique. So soft and gentle and smooth as honey. He loved that voice.

A voice that was back and so alive once more… God Nexus was an idiot. His eyes shut tight, tears falling as the silicone of his eyelid and under eye pressed together.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could make out, leaning forwards against the solar animatronic's chest. Grease and oil filled his olfactory sensors. So, so familiar.

That was the final straw, a sob ripping itself from his chest. He gripped tighter to the back of Solar's shirt, pressing him against the more sarcastic robot. Stupid.. stupidstupidstupid

Solar pulled him in close as he began to break down. They both slid to the floor, the smaller of the two settling in the other's lap. He cradled the poor animatronic in his arms, letting him cry to out against his chest.

Now he was up close like this, Solar could finally get a good look at him. 

He had seen before when he was looking at him that the red that had previously been under his eye was gone. He was also wearing Solar's goggles on the top of his head, an accessory that Solar was sowerfully missing, but he wasn't going to make him part from them. Just let at least. He could also see some worrying cracks on the side of his faceplate, seemingly from some sort of blunt force damage. 

He also looked a lot different from before. From the coloring down to the wiring on the back of his head. Hell, he was even shorter than before. That fact stuck out to Solar. Why was he shorter if he wanted to intimidate the rest of the celestial family? He'd have to ask about that later. If he could.

.. he'd better be able to ask about that later

Solar sighed, petting the back of the dozing bot's head. Nexus had cried himself to sleep against him while Solar had been caught up in his thoughts. 

The solar animatronic shook his head, scooping him up into his arms in a princess carry as he stood up, cradling him against his chest. He looked around parts and services, where they currently were. Well.. there was no harm in staying here for a bit to fix Nexus up after he woke up. They..

They could talk to the rest of the family after.

[gatitties]

I can ask for two scenarios? one is when YN, who loves cats, suddenly appears with one or more cats on the ship, sometimes hidden, the other is a little sad, where YN is rescued after one of Whitebeard's (young) visits, who even trying to defend the island, a good part of it is decimated by the navy (whitebeard liked to visit the island several times because of YN, who loved Whitebeard and his crew)

─Whitebeard Pirates x reader

─Summary: your home island seems to be in complete chaos, you can see no hope in the end of this war but at least they manage to rescue you at the last moment

─Warnings: none

For the first scenario I will make a separate post bc I have some related to that idea, I'll tag you when I write it soon!!

The fire spread through some of the houses in the central square of the small town, what used to be a peaceful village with a few visitors, turned into a field of war between villagers and marines for control of the area.

A pang of guilt tightened in your chest because you thought that all this disturbance was your fault, a couple of years ago Whitebeard's crew embarked, the thing is that you established a good relationship with them, just as they loved the tranquility of the place, it was relaxing to spend a few days hanging out with you without them having to worry about a thing. All the villagers also enjoyed their presence since it meant party, as well as indirect protection against other thugs or pirates.

The problem was when the marines found out that that island was under the protection of Whitebeard, it was the trigger for the attacks to begin, unfortunately your village did not have enough military power to withstand so many consecutive attacks, you managed to maintain a low profile for a few months to be able to contact the crew and luckily you made it, although help didn't come fast enough as you hoped.

You hid behind some ruins, holding back the urge to run and hit one of the marines who was arresting a family, you weren't strong enough to face all those soldiers on your own, so you chose to stay hidden until, one, help arrives or two, they hold you and probably send you to jail for being 'accomplice' with pirates.

Your breathing became increasingly heavy, your chest began to rise and fall rapidly, the sound of footsteps approaching your position made you hold your breath, covering your mouth with both hands, you saw the shadow of a man holding a shotgun at your side.

"General, it doesn't seem that there are more people in the area, let's move towards the east of the village."

Maybe you let out your sigh of relief before you should or that soldier turned to double check that there were no people there, but the fact is that you met eyes in an awkward second of silence, immediately started a small fight, you had a chance to win against a couple of soldiers on your own, but more started arriving.

The ashes and smoke made it difficult for you to get oxygen, at this point you could barely hit properly, you just dodged, hoping that your effort and fighting would buy enough time for some of the villagers to escape.

A bad move caused you to receive a blow to the chest, adding more problems to your breathing, you coughed wildly, you didn't even try to resist, not even their victorious smiles bothered you, you decided to close your eyes and accept your destiny, hoping to have could help someone.

You expected to feel the handcuffs on your wrists, however some claws caught your arms before anyone could touch you, when you opened your eyes you found a plumage in the form of a vibrant blue flame, you opened your eyes to see Marco take you to the whale-shaped ship that was laid on the north shore.

"Are you alright? wounds? Pain?"

You nodded slowly once you landed, being bombarded by a concerned medic, you didn't have any injuries that you knew of, but knowing Marco he'll give you a checkup later just in case.

You immediately went to the seat where Whitebeard rested, he received you with a smile, although it quickly disappeared.

"We're sorry for being so late, I've sent Izo and Thatch to reconnoiter the area but… it's too late to save the village."

"But what will happen to-!"

"We freed the largest number of people and helped them escape in small ships, they will be fine, it was thanks to your distraction while you were fighting."

Your discomfort slightly decreased when you heard him, however that did not take away the feeling of sadness when you saw how the smoke from the fire receded into the distance once you left there, all the memories of that place… would stay there forever.

Izo comforted you after that, Ace thought of celebrate a party in your name because you were part of the crew permanently, although they had to delay the celebration because you just weren't in the mood, luckily Thatch made you a bit happier by making your favorite dish that night.

You wouldn't be in the same place where you grew up and lived all these years, but at least now you had a great family by your side that you could count on.

[goodfish-bowl]

Lone Wulf

DP Side Hoes Week 2024 Master Post

Day 1: Wulf - missed memories

Summary: Wulf goes into hiding in the time between “Public Enemies” and “Claw of the Wild”

Word Count: 677

A03 Link

Wulf had been to a lot of places, it was nature as a wanderer that lead him to do as such, making small discoveries as he explored the lesser known parts of the Infinte Realms. Of course, there were places he visited regularly, his wandering wasn’t random after all, and there were people he wanted to visit, both for their sake and his own. He wanted to make sure his newest friend, Phantom, was alright, bound to that human city as he was. He couldn’t fathom what that was like, he could never willingly stay in a place for too long, let alone settle into one. Wulf thinks that Phantom, too would enjoy going on a good, long trip, but he couldn’t go, just as Wulf couldn’t stay.

Wuf had spent far too long in Walker’s prison, Phantom had done him a great service by freeing him. Who knows what he had missed since he had last visited his regular stops. After thanking, and departing from Phantom, Wulf went into hiding, Walker was still pursuing him, after all, but he knew places even the Warden couldn’t follow. Places where only a lone, wandering wolf ever traveled.

These places were dark and deep within the Realms. They held new and forgotten things to the rest, but he didn’t have any particular interests in these things. Odd creatures left him alone, and he knew better than to investigate any ruins too closely. The lands themselves gazed upon him as he tread past and through them, but rarely did they act. Wulf knew better than to earn their ire in particular. But upon occasion, he collected small things. Things he could easily carry, gifts for others, but rarely anything for himself, all from these forgotten and hidden places. He could only take what he could carry, but small gifts for others were only a temporary burden, and a welcome one. Wulf had no idea how long he spent within the hidden corners of the Realms, but it had been too long since he had completed his full loop, visiting old friends as he moved through his normal route. Thus Wulf emerged from hiding, and went to his first destination.

The Yeti’s welcomed him as an old friend, and they traded stories. Wulf told the story of his time in Walker’s prison and Phantom’s heroics, along with his newest discoveries from the depths, trading new things for supplies. He was surprised to learn that Phantom had also been through the Far Frozen, and was told the tale of how Phantom had defeated the Ghost King, Pariah Dark, and his visit to the Far Frozen on multiple occasions, concerning both a treasure the yetis guarded, and his own developing powers.

The yeti were excellent story tellers, but a different kind of tension filled Wulf as the tales were regaled. His friend, one he undoubtedly owed a debt to, had been though much while Wulf had been in hiding, missing even the rise of the old King, lurking in an untouched place. He felt guilty for leaving his friend to fend for himself. He hadn’t meant to miss so much, especially something so important. Wulf had grabbed a small gift for Danny from within the depths, he would bring it to him. With how fast the small, young ghost was growing, Wulf would have to make sure to visit him multiple times along his trips.

Wulf left the Far Frozen with a hearty farewell, and sped off in the direction of the artificial portal to Phantom’s home. He should’ve known better in retrospect, than to get so close to Walker’s territory, and end up captured for a second time, escaping though a portal to the Living Realm and encountering just the person he wanted to see in a place he hadn’t expected him to be. Of course, all’s well that ends well, Wulf just regretted he had lost those gifts he had meant to give, losing them somewhere in his pursuit by Walker during the battle in the forest of the living world.

[searenbound]

Like I said here I’m going to start posting the occasional darker content posts so fair warning ahead of time this one will involve somnophilia and non-con

I’ve been thinking about the brothers Grimm telling of sleeping beauty, the one where the prince gave her twin before she ever woke up and it’s given some thoughts about prince Shouto.

Prince Shouto who on one of his many “trips” (read as attempts to run from his father) discovered an old castle in ruins and covered in a thick overgrowth of thorny vines that sparks curiosity.

Prince Shouto who cuts and forces his way into the old place hoping to find whatever valuables were left behind so he could keep on the run with whatever wealth he stumbles upon.

Prince Shouto who can’t believe his eyes when he discovers the perfectly preserved body of a beautiful young princess who had to be his age when she was put to rest.

When he gets closer he can see her chest rising and falling, feel the warmth of her skin when he touches her face. He knows it’s insane, her clothes are dusty and the room around clearly aged decades, maybe centuries, but she’s alive just asleep.

He quickly decides it must’ve been a curse, one he was obviously destined to break. And he soon becomes obsessed.

Convinced that his research on her long gone kingdom entitled him to the remains of it, that reading the old faded ink of what was likely her diaries meant he knew her deeply and personally.

And the dreams he’s been having, the ones where he disrobes her and deflowers her, was obviously the key to waking her.

He shudders at the warmth of her pussy wrapped tightly around his cock, convinced that the sighs and whines he pulls from her sleep stricken body, the first sounds he’s ever heard her make, was evidence that he was right.

He just needs to fuck her until she wakes, but once he’s finished inside her and she still sleeps peacefully he’s perplexed. Maybe he should keep trying, maybe he just, just had to keep fucking her for however long he pleased until it takes?

And of course when he returns one day to a new mother, drowsily looking around confused and dazed, he doesn’t think it all weird for him to take their son and kiss her lips. Paying no mind to her shocked who are you?

“Father of your children and your husband, isn’t that obvious?” The prince replies.

*EDIT*

Forgot to mention that the prince didn’t wake sleeping beauty in this version, one of their twins did when trying to nurse from their sleeping mother and instead sucked the spindle needle out her finger thus removing the curse.

[mournivaldisco]

A master post of all my Warhammer fic.

Spot the post-rock titles.

Silly - crack/outside of canon, no smut:

Assorted Yarns from the Warp – random cracky one-shots about various characters

An Average Monday on Prospero – Primarch bodyswaps

The Primarchs Read Mean Tweets – self-explanatory

Never Have I Ever – primarch drinking games

Documentary Evidence – Dorn reviews Mersadie’s memory coils during her imprisonment

Sanguinala Silliness – in the 41st Millennium, Guilliman and the Lion try out Sanguinala customs. Works up to shipping, no smut.

Fluff or silly, but could technically take place in canon:

The Bear – Tarik tells his favourite joke to the Mournival

Mountain Heart – The Lion inhales sleepy cuddles pollen. Set on Sotha during the Unremembered Empire

Dreamtime – sleepy Sanguinius

Serious - missing scenes/reinterpretations close to canon, no shipping that would be unimaginable in canon (take with a pinch of salt if you are not a Loken/Mersadie shipper):

These are my favourite to write. Just taking the canon and pushing it a teeny bit.

And So I Watch You From Afar - Erda writes to her sons.

When the Sky is Burning, When the World is Falling Down – missing scene from The Solar War. Loken and Mersadie

These Depths Were Always Meant for Both of Us – written before EatD vols 2 and 3 released, set in upcoming books. Loken and Mersadie

The Death – written after finishing EatD 2, set in upcoming book 3. Loken, the Emperor and Horus, mentioned Sanguinius

Dynasty – written after finishing EatD 3, set some time immediately before the Siege. Horus and Fulgrim

After the Fall – written after finishing EatD 3, set at climax of that book. Loken and Mersadie

Serious/smut – doesn’t conform to established canon, heavier shipping:

Reconnect (WIP) – divergence at the point of The Solar War. Mersadie/Loken fluff in epistolary form. No smut

A Day Dark with Night (WIP) – Set immediately after Curze’s attack on Azkaellon. Sanguinius/Azkaellon. Will contain smut in future chapter

A Steamy Meeting – Guilliman, the Lion and Sanguinius in the bathhouse on Macragge during the Unremembered Empire era. Smut

Inconsequential – Set during Unremembered Empire era. Established Guilliman/Lion/Sanguinius. NB Sang coming out. No smut.

Vampires will Never Hurt You – Guilliman’s POV on the 41st Millennium, mourning Sanguinius, with flashbacks to Unremembered Empire era with G/L/S (smut). This is my favourite single thing I’ve written.

That Intimate Knowledge – written after finishing EatD 2, looking back at Horus/Sanguinius’ relationship. Little bit of smut

Scenes from a Reunion – written after reading The Lion: Son of the Forest. Technically not aligning with canon re Launciel and Galad because in canon it was just subtext

Experiments – Set in the 41st Millennium when Guilliman decides to remove the Armour of Fate. Smut starring Yvraine.

Sudatoria – Sanguinius and Guilliman in the bathhouse in Unremembered Empire era. Smut.

Quality Time – the Mournival discover porn. Smut

Closer – Sanguinius/Jaghatai set during the Siege. Smut

Nowhere, Still Somewhere - Loken/Abaddon angsty smut post EatD3

A Horus Heresy (WIP):

Series which became an AU Heresy. Everyone is bonking each other.

Heresy of the Free Spirit – Horus/Sanguinius first getting together, set after Melchior. The first Warhammer smut I ever wrote.

We’re Falling Through Space, You and Me – Loken and Mersadie getting together, set during Horus Rising. Smut (There’s a line in this which makes me giggle to re-read because it’s so abrupt, like Mersadie, slow down girl.)

The Time of Perfect Virtue – AU from Horus Rising events. Loken or Mersadie’s POV until later chapters. Smut and drama and heresy.

A Gathering – Fulgrim/Horus/Sanguinius threesome. Smut

Milestones – an OC from this AU contemplating things. Gen.

Come Ruin and Rapture (WIP) – continues the cliffhanger from the Time of Perfect Virtue. Smut and drama.

[adventures-with-ana]

- Anticipation -

Bucky Barnes x OFC // 488 (Written in 1st person, no character name or description given.) 18+ only, minors dni; A nervous tick just might lead surprising places.

Author's Note: Inspired by this post: x

It shouldn’t be taking this long. Steve and Natasha were supposed to be in and out, a quick mission.

“Nothing could go wrong,” Steve had told me.

What a lying asshole, I thought.

In my nervous waiting I went from repeatedly clicking my pen, to tapping it on the table, to outright banging it on the table while I waited for something; anything. A white flag, a flurry of noise over the dead silent comms, anything at all to tell me that Steve and Nat were okay or needed help.

“Would you stop that?” Bucky snaps, grabbing the pen out of my hand. “How would you feel if I banged you on a table?” he questions.

My eyebrows rise. He didn’t mean that in the way I understood it, and his face proved that as his expression changes from annoyance to ghost white horror. He turns away from me, his cheeks flushing with what I assume to be embarrassment.

“So should I answer that, or…?” I ask with a slight snicker.

“You know what I meant,” Bucky mutters, still not looking at me.

“I mean, it would be one way to pass the time,” I tease.

Bucky’s head snaps towards me so fast I don’t know how he didn’t break his own neck. “Excuse me?”

“I have eyes, Barnes,” I tell him, looking him over to prove my point.

Ever since the day SHIELD recruited me I’d spent my time eyeing up the former Winter Soldier. His power, his strength, his dashing good looks, his gorgeous blue eyes, the way his ass looked perfectly firm in his tactical pants. It was no small wonder how I was ever able to focus on anything when he was around, and every training session I ever had with the man was revisited every night when I was alone in my room.

Bucky blinks at me and once again I found myself wishing I could read minds. I would love to know everything he was thinking. “So does that mean you have a preference of tables?” he asks, his features rearranging themselves into a wicked little smirk that made me feel like I was going to melt into a puddle.

“Yeah,” I reply. “The closest available one.”

Bucky’s eyes darken deliciously as he stands up and steps over to me. “Then get up,” he commands, his tone making my knees weak and my heart pound.

“Make me,” I challenge him.

He wraps his fingers around my biceps and pulls me to my feet. “You always were a brat.”

A smirks toys at the corners of my lips. “You always seemed like a man who could handle it.”

“Maybe I’ll just spank it out of you,” He replies.

He releases my arms, but the second his hands cup my cheeks and his lips are centimeters from mine… the comms crackle to life and Steve’s voice ruins my entire day.

“Asset acquired, heading out.”

[xiyouyanyi]

Interlude: We Need to Talk About LBD

Originally, I just HC her as a powerful Ghostly immortal——one of the Five Kinds of Immortals mentioned in JTTW, as well as the Zhonglv Daoist traditions, which I talked about in this post: On the Origin of the Five Kinds of Immortals

Then I had a big brain moment: what if LBD is Su Daji. The girl, not the fox who ate her soul.

Basically...in this AU, the fox only consumed portions of her soul, not all of it, and she was trapped in the Underworld as a ghost for the entirety of FSYY.

After Huang Feihu was deified as King of Mt. Tai, Judge King of the Dead, he looked up what happened to his old friend's daughter and found her stuck together with the nine-tailed fox in one of the Hells.

He wanted to send her back into the Wheel of Transmigration, but the incomplete nature of her soul meant that when the reincarnation happened, it would automatically result in a lower birth; instead of being reincarnated as another human, she might become an animal or a plant through no fault of her own.

So, out of pity, she was given the job of a minor ghostly attendant where she could, hopefully, gather enough merits to rise up in rank and get out of the Underworld to become a ghostly immortal working in the mortal realm: a goddess of the land/city.

And rose up in the ranks, she did. Despite the inner turmoils. If your own dad blaming you for a tyrant demanding you as his concubine and nearly killing you wasn't enough, getting stuck with your completely unrepentant murderer for years would certainly create some doubts in your worldview.

Like, the naive Su Daji thought if the fox didn't steal her identity, she could have stopped King Zhou from the series of bad decisions and murders that ensued by being a good, proper wife. The fox, who loved King Zhou because he was the most yaoguai-like human she had ever met, just hollered.

"Really, little girl? Really? You thought one wicked woman could ruin a truly upright man, with nary a thirst of power and desire to crush his inferiors in him? If that was true, I wouldn't have to make Bo Yikao into meat patties." "If I didn't take your place, he would have found you a total bore, just like his queen, and you'd spend the rest of your life in some isolated wing of the palace, alone and forgotten, unworthy of even being a pawn in the game between king and vassals!"

No. The fox was lying, like she always did. If she was in its place she wouldn't have done all these horrible things. She'd have made him a better king, and bring forth a virtuous reign.

In fact, she'd prove it, now that she was an Underworld official working her way up the ranks. She would become a proper goddess of the land, granting bountiful harvests and protection to the people, giving advice to one local leader at a time and using the power of their faith to do good...

...Long story short, she set out to prove the fox wrong by being the Good Wife and Good Minister, only to find out over the span of centuries that it didn't work, become disillusioned with the myth of "noble kings" in general, and believe the only way to fix a fundamentally broken world order is to raze it to the ground first. 

Also, her obsession with Fate and Destiny is en pointe for a FSYY character, to the point where even other veterans would get tired of her shit.

"Yeah, seen that, heard that, fought for that, now would you please shut up! No, seriously, if everything is Fated to Be, I guess we should've all just lied back and waited 28 years for King Zhou to drink himself into an early grave, huh?" ——Prince Bingling of the Three Mountains "Divination only shows you one endpoint, not how you get there, or what will happen after that. In fact, to take it as gospel is how fools absolve themselves of responsibilities when they absolutely could have done something on the way there." ——Ziwei, Great Emperor of the North Star "Oh darn! Haven't heard that in a thousand years. So very nostalgic. Still, I'll give you the same response I once gave to these Chan asshats: Go shove your Fate and Destiny up where the light doesn't shine, m'lady." ——Unidentified Thunder Bureau official

Appendix: The Bone Mech

The show gives no explanation whatsoever about why the assembly manual for a MMD(Mech of Mass Destruction) could be found in the Cloud, so I would over-explain it for fun.

With all the Oracle Bone scripts around its associated seals, I think it would be neat if it was actually a Shang dynasty creation, specifically, a weapon built during the War of Investiture.

At some point during the Shang-Zhou conflict, the losing Shang forces decided to create a vessel for one of the Kings of Ghosts and unleash the wrath of the ancestors on their enemies. However, its activation demanded both powerful treasures as cores, and the sacrifice of a sufficiently powerful being; either a captive immortal, or a full-blooded yaoguai.

The last one was out of question bc many of their Jie Sect allies were cultivated beasts, but none of the immortal acolytes they did manage to capture could power the weapon long enough for it to turn the tides of battle——it wasn't the body that was needed, but the souls, and the sort of souls powerful enough to keep it running were pretty much all destined for the Investiture upon death.

The brief moments they did get it working, however, still resulted in horrifying destruction. As a result, one of the first things the Chan/Zhou side did post-war was to melt the weapon down and execute its chief architects, leaving only a single schema, sealed inside a cave together with all the other TMDs (Treasures of Mass Destruction).

The problem is? They had done their job too well, and fast forward a few thousand years, not even the two divine generals who guarded The Cloud, Thousand-Mile-Eyes and Wind-following-Ears, remembered that the place had a hidden basement.

[tickle-minion]

Re-posting an extended version of a previous story!

Randy slowly pulled himself up from his bed where he’d passed out the night before, spread like a starfish on top of the blankets, completely dressed except for his shirt.  His head hurt like he’d had an elephant tap dancing on it all night.  It hadn’t just been a party... It was a rager.  He didn’t know everyone who turned up, but thankfully that didn’t end up being a problem.  Lots of hot girls, lots of even hotter guys, and since his apartment had no AC everyone was in various states of undress, so there was plenty of eye candy to enjoy.  Luckily there were no fights, no arguments, and no problems.  Good vibes only.  It had been an amazing night that Randy would remember for a long time.  Mostly.  The pounding in his head told him he’d maybe had a little too much to drink.

Walking into his living room, Randy could see that the place was trashed.  Bottles and garbage were on every single surface, but he more or less expected it.  After all, he’d trashed more than a few houses when going to other people’s parties.  It just seemed like kharma caught up with him.  He was relieved to see that it was just garbage though.  No puke anywhere, and all his furniture was all still in one piece.  He would easily be spending the rest of the day cleaning up.  Thinking back to last night though... it was all worth it.

There was still one party-goer in Randy’s apartment, though.  A guy about Randy’s age was passed out on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.  He wasn’t familiar, Randy didn’t think he knew him, which meant he was probably a friend of a friend.  Who knew?  Maybe he just walked in off the street when there was a party happening.  Sometimes it happened with his group of friends.  After all, the more the merrier!  Randy had no idea who this guy was, but he enjoyed the sight of a partially undressed boy on his couch first thing in the morning.  Randy’s eyes moved over the guy’s slim torso, down his crotch and legs, before settling on the guy’s bare feet.  They looked delicious.  

Randy had always liked feet, and after an unfortunate incident with someone using his computer, his whole friend circle knew.  No one was grossed out by it, thankfully, but they did enjoy teasing him.  A lot of his guy friends wore flip flops around him, taking them off when they were inside and purposefully wiggling their toes at Randy.  He would try and play it cool, but he still looked.  He was only human after all, and lots of his friends had really hot feet.  Sometimes he got extra lucky and some of his closer friends would ask him to rub or tickle their feet when they all got very drunk or high.  No one really talked about it afterwards, but when it was happening?  Yeah, they were into it.

“Hey Buddy, time to go.”

The guy didn’t move a single muscle.  He just lay there as Randy shuffled closer.  The guy really was kind of cute, and just Randy’s type.  He was slim and trim, mostly hairless, with messy shaggy hair.  Randy kicked the couch, making it jostle, but the guy didn’t wake up.  All he did was let out a sigh, move his hand to cover his crotch, and settle deeper into the couch.

“Hey, rise and shine, cutie.  Time to get the fuck out.”

Randy had the urge to slap the guy awake, but settled instead of shaking his shoulder gently.  The guy still didn’t move…  his eyes stayed closed and his chest continued to steadily rise and fall with a slight snore.

This guy had to go.  Randy’s eyes slithered back down to those bare feet.  Reaching out with his right hand, Randy used his finger tips to lightly tickle the sole of the closest foot.  It was warm and smooth to the touch, and luckily for Randy the guy’s sole appeared to be clean.  For Randy, nothing ruined a sexy pair of feet more than dirt.

“Wakey wakey, common, time to go, dude”.

The guy’s toes twitched, his sole curled, but otherwise he didn’t move.  Randy would have been frustrated... but those feet.  The light tickle, making this foot squirm, had been hot.  He got down on the ground in front of the couch and took a closer look at those feet.  Just like Randy could tell from the touch, they were soft and smooth.  Randy leaned forward to sniff the guy’s sleeping toes (not too long and skinny, not too short and plump) and was pleasantly surprised to find they smelled clean, too.  Sometimes after an all night party, especially when everyone got as hot and sweaty as they did last night, he found that guy’s feet sometimes got kind of ripe.  Not in this case.  Still, Randy needed a little more.  After all, it was his apartment and this guy was an uninvited guest.  Slowly taking one of the feet into his hands, Randy propped the guy’s leg up on his shoulder and nuzzled his face into the arch.  It was warm and inviting.  Randy rubbed his cheek into the arch before softly burying his nose between the guy’s toes.  

Wanting to push just how far he could go, Randy closed his eyes and reached out with his tongue to slowly lick the man’s arch from heel up to his toes.  The sole tasted amazing.  Randy continued to lap at the sleeping sole, rubbing his face against the sleeping foot.  It was amazing, but the guy still wasn’t moving.

Getting into a slightly more comfortable position, Randi turned on his knees, grabbed the ankle of the foot he was enjoying, and licked the centre of the sole.  Just one quick stripe up.  The foot flexed.  So the guy was a little bit ticklish.  This would be fun.

Randi spent the next several minutes giving the sole quick little licks with the tip of his tongue.  Each time time he did the foot would bolt and shake.  Toes would curl and splay.  Soles would wrinkle and squirm.  The whole thing was fun, sexy, and honestly probably pretty silly.  

The small licks were fun, but Randy just had to go all the way.  Using his whole tongue he started painting up and down the sole.  When he got to the top he would wiggle his tongue between the toes, enjoying how they seemed to spread for him each time.  Every time he was down near the heel he would wrap his whole mouth around it and give it a little suck.

“So, I got to go soon…”

The sound of the voice spooked Randy out of his foot induced daze.  Quickly standing, Randy blushed and took a step back.

“I just woke you up, huh?”

“Naw,” the guy said, “I’ve been awake for a while now, but I was enjoying it so I’ve just been laying here.”

Randy hadn’t really considered what would have happened if the guy woke up while he was having his feet played, but he wouldn’t have ever considered this.  Really a best care scenario.

“Oh.  Well, good I guess”

“Like I said, I got to bounce, but this was fun.  Any chance you’d be able to do that to my feet again?”

Randi grinned and nodded.  This really was an amazing party. 

[the-suicidal-lizard]

So...

Is Night at the Museum 4: Kahmunrah Rises Again being classed as cannon by people, or...?

Besides the insulting lack of Jedtavius, (and lack of the ongoing gag of “small men do something that’s horrifying to them, yet nothing to us (i.e. the car tire, the squirrel, and the vent), this isn’t what the post is about... it’s about the inconsistencies.

Like, yeah sure there were a few in the original three, but they weren’t show stopping, or ruining the magic, or even confusing things, such as; Cecil Fredrick’s implying that he only found out about the magic of the tablet when he took the job as a Night Guard, and then enjoyed the magic. But, in the third movie it’s as if he knew ALL ALONG. No mention of Rebecca in the second movie, none of the “Amelia Earhart Look-Alike” in the third. Or,  Kahmunrah being wax rather than being a mummy. But, I can overlook that...

HOWEVER!

I will not overlook the magnitude in NATM 4.

Let’s talk inconsistencies.

There was no Joan of Arc in the original 3. Yes, I understand WHY they did this, but still, it was never even mentioned there was an exhibit dedicated to her. (Did they get a section for her between films?)

There was a severe lack of Teddy/Sacagawea, as if it was forgotten. (As there was of Jedtavius, but I can see why they cut that out.)

Larry has meant to have moved on, went to college, got a degree, and gone into teaching, yet he’s back at the museum??? Working as a night guard??? NATM 3 is about moving on, and letting go, but... now he’s back...

Where was Don??? Y’know? Erica’s boyfriend??? Don is never really brought up again in the next two films after the first, but they were dating, enough that Nicky sorta looked up to him and Erica trusted him to pick up Nicky. Did they break up, and it was never mentioned???? Ever...

And that’s another thing, Nicky’s meant to be in college at this point. To reiterate, that was the point of the third film, moving on and becoming better. Remember, one of the conflicts was Nicky had no idea what he wanted to do, he wanted to go DJ and Larry wanted him to go to college. He should not in High School. Not to mention, Nicky was flirting with that girl in the third movie at the very beginning, and didn’t appear to have a girlfriend, and the way NATM 4 implies that he’s TOTALLY gone for Mia, it would seem that they would be a “power couple”.

ANOTHER THING! Dr. McPhee is let on in the secret at the end of NATM 3. He is made aware that everything in the museum comes to life at night, and he sees it, and he’s amazed, he even finds it rather funny. Yet in NATM 4, he has no idea they come to life, and Nicky is trying to usher him out the door. And, McPhee seems to hate Nicky and Larry, despite in the end rather liking Larry and being thankful to him for taking the fall for the entire situation with the exhibits attacking.

ALSO, where is Ahkmenrah??? Did he just... vanish? Does he no longer exist??? Did he go back to England???

Which is also ANOTHER point. The reason at the end of NATM 3 everything came to life, was because it is a moving exhibit and was visiting New York. It doesn’t stay in one place for a long time, so it seems to have moved on from The Museum of Natural History, so... why does The Museum of Natural History STILL have the tablet? It should have gone with Ahkmenrah and the English Exhibit, and if it didn’t, Dr. McPhee would have probably been arrested. And, that’s what the exhibits wanted in NATM 3, for Ahkmenrah to have the tablet, and to be with his family.

Maybe the moving exhibit is still there? If so, what about Tilly??? She should still be there too, and I don’t think she would leave Laa, nor would Laa leave Tilly again. And if they did stay, Tilly would have been a good Night Guard rather than Nicky. And if they’re still there, where is Lancelot??? Where is Merenkahre and Shepseheret??? Where is Trixie??? (Therefore, it’s my belief that the moving exhibit is no longer there.)

Not finished yet! Another thing to note is... Kahmunrah is meant to be dead. Remember, he was pushed into the Afterlife through the Gate to the Underworld, right? Well, why and how is he back? “But OP, it’s another wax figure” I can hear some of you yelling; then why does he know what happened? If it’s a different wax figure, he shouldn’t know. Remember in NATM 2, when Larry found a bust of Teddy and Teddy had no idea who Larry was??? I do! So... it’s CLEARLY meant to be the same Kahmunrah.

Maybe it takes place between NATM 2 and 3??? But, it can’t! Because, Laa is there, and Laa was only introduced at the beginning of NATM 3. If Laa wasn’t there, I would have rather easily been able to say “it takes place between NATM 2 and 3″, but because he is, it means it’s MEANT to be after 4.

Maybe it takes place DAYS after the end of NATM 3??? Again, Larry and Nicky shouldn’t be there, the English Exhibits and Tilly should still be there, McPhee should know what’s going on, and Kahmunrah still shouldn’t remember/should not be alive and Akhmenrah should have been there.

There’s probably more, such as posters and pictures shouldn’t be moving in the Museum of Natural History, which is why Larry found the Smithsonian so cool, because the pictures moved unlike theirs, and they shouldn’t be used as portals as it was NEVER referenced before.

Also, the fact Joan had powers and Seth was a real God which should be impossible, given the fact everything else in the museum’s don’t work like that. Like sure, things like volcanoes blowing up is a thing, but like... besides things directly tied to the Tablet, things so as magic, permanent damage and stuff isn’t real.

Joan had hallucinations and more than likely a mental illness, so to see it used like THAT was just so not good. (A way with words I know) Yes, she had visions and later they came true, but the way it was used was wrong. As if what Joan saw was fact, rather than Joan having a mental illness, and trying to fulfill it. (There is nothing wrong with having mental health issues, or anything like that. I just believe the way they used her mental health and her hallucinations was wrong.)

And Seth... while I can see something like this being done, it was the fact it was done with laser eyes, like... THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN! The tablet doesn’t seem to let that sort of thing happen. (But, then again actually; given that Seth is more tied to the tablet I think it could. I think my main issue with that is; the laser eyes. I think it angered me more than I thought it did.)

So, yeah take this rant... I clearly didn’t like NATM 4... oops

[overseermartin]

as someone who rotates martin inside their head all day, i for one would Love to hear your thoughts on his traumatic backstory

Ah, a fellow Martin rotator 😌

I'm 99% sure I've posted about this before but I'm too lazy to find it so I'll summarise my thoughts as briefly as I can. Also, a lot of these ideas surface in my fic, through the dark, but most just exist in my brain (though I do plan to write a few oneshots on this).

So, here's my version of Martin's backstory:

Martin was born in a small fishing village near Arran in 1797 as the youngest of three children. His father was a fisherman and spent most of his time out on the sea. He had a difficult birth that left his mother sickly and unable to do much else to earn money other than mending nets and making crab traps etc.

During the Insurrection, his father served in the Morleyan navy but was injured and returned home before the war was lost. His father was once a quiet but stern man, and the war turned him short-tempered and prone to fits of rage. He's left unable to walk unaided and struggles to find work to support his family in a country that doesn't want him.

In those terrible years following the war, famine strikes Morley and Martin's mother doesn't survive it. Martin and his two older siblings, Aoife and Niall, take up small jobs to keep them afloat, neglecting their education.

Martin's father is a wrecked and foul man after the loss of his wife and he spirals into drinking himself into oblivion, throwing blame at the easiest target: young Martin. He berates his youngest son for weakening his wife, for draining what little coin they have to afford medicine for Martin's fickle health and frequent seizures. His father believes him to be a curse on their family.

Morley, post-insurrection, simmers with brewing tension as the Empire stakes their claim. Taxes rise, new restrictions limit the movement and gathering of the working class, and naturally, pockets of resistance begin forming. Martin's father becomes the centre of one such resistance. Angry men who's livelihoods have been ruined by the war gather and plan to strike back at the Imperial soldiers occupying their towns and cities.

Martin is only thirteen when the Imperial soldiers raid their small home, bursting through the door with men shouting and guns pointed. Aoife puts herself between him and a soldier, and as he wriggles through a window and runs, he hears the gunshot.

He doesn't turn back.

Alone, Martin travels to the nearby city of Alba where he sleeps huddled up in alleys and doorways, scrounging and stealing for food. He hears of the Imperial Army recruiting boys from the street, providing the starving and desperate with food and shelter in return for their loyalty, and at age fourteen, he enlists.

He learns a lot from his time in the military. He learns how to fire a gun, how to plan attacks, how to lure out the nationalists hiding in small towns and camps spread out over the southern Morley coast. He's part of a force meant to pick out the rebels and secure the Empire's rule over Morley, betraying his father's beliefs, and turning against his own countrymen. He doesn't believe in what he does, but he finds he doesn't care as long as he is fed and housed and trained.

Martin is a survivor. He's loyal to no one.

At twenty-one, he's offered a large sum of coin to turncoat and kill a commanding officer of the Imperial army by stopping his carriage on a quiet road. He does it, for no other reason than the opportunities that amount of money will afford him. There's no progression for someone of such low social standing as him.

Unfortunately, the carriage carried more than just the officer. He had been travelling with his young family. Martin can't bring himself to hurt his young son and leaves him alive, instead fleeing.

With a price on his head, Martin keeps moving, never staying in one place for long. He makes his money robbing those travelling on the roads, being careful to only take from those who can afford it.

He crosses paths with Daud at this stage of his life and the two engage in a mutually beneficial relationship, taking jobs and splitting the prize. When Daud moves on, Martin meets a gang of smugglers led by a woman named Resa, and knowing how valuable a good partnership can be, he joins them.

He travels with the gang for years, slipping into an on and off relationship with Resa. Their focus begins to drift from smuggling contraband and illegal goods to heretical items and slowly, Resa becomes obsessed. She becomes fixated on acquiring an artefact she believes can bind the Outsider, but requires a sacrifice to do so. She turns on Martin, wounding him, but he gets away and flees.

Feeling that the only safe place he can go to protect himself against Resa's wrath, Martin turns to the Abbey. He slips into their ranks with the intention of it being temporary, but eventually warms to it. He finds sense in the strictures, comfort in the regulated structure of life as an Overseer, and most importantly, recognises a route to power.

Sorry this was so long! I swear I tried to make this brief 😅 I breezed over all the detail, so there's a lot more nuance to these situations than I can go into here, but that's essentially it!

[twiceasfrustrating]

Hello I hope it's okay by you but could you write something with Helvetica and his S/O who used to not care about their looks at all, but once they got with him they started being anxious and obsessed with always looking their best?

Rating: Teen and Up Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: GN/M Fandom: Bustafellows Relationships: Helvetica Olsted/MC Characters: Helvetica Olsted, MC/Reader Additional Tags: Kind of angst with some fluff, the ending just sort of happens and isn’t really satisfying though. MC is femme coded in their appearance but they aren’t called a man or women, plastic surgery mentioned A/N: Helvetica! My love! Love when the rare Bustafellows fan pops up and let’s me write for him~ Did this take me waaaaay too long to get to? Yes. Yes it did. I never claimed to be an efficient writer. Word Count: 1,072

Concealer. Lipstick. Blush. Mascara. Stockings. 

Concealer to hide the miscellaneous blemishes and scars that ruined your complexion. Lipstick to fill out and plump up your lips. Blush to give your cheeks a youthful glow. Eyeliner to subtly draw attention to the focus of your face. Mascara to define your eyelashes and make them look elegant and long. Stockings to shape your legs in a way to show them off while also hiding them from view. A long knit sweater that was cute, flattering, and just baggy enough to hide the curves of your body that you didn’t like.

That was your ensemble of choice today and you ensured that everything about it  – and you – was perfect. After all, Helvetica himself had been the one to teach you what it meant to present your best self in front of others, and he never advocated for anything less than the absolute best.

That's also why, when he suggested which shoes you could wear to elevate your score even more, you hadn't hesitated to put them on. It was his distinguishing eye that knew you better than even yourself, and you wanted to be everything he made of you. Even if standing became painful and blisters formed on the back of your heel, that was a sign that you were beautiful. After all, beauty was pain.

It was a casual get together for him, but he had invited you along. That's why you had to be better than even your best self. Because you were not only representing yourself but him as well.

That’s why you stood back and nursed your glass of champagne while listening to them converse.

"Sounds like your business is booming!" An older gentleman dressed in a polo and khakis laughed as he slapped his knee.

They were friendly, but not friends. A relationship of convenience and happenstance, as Helvetica had told you. However, that did not make it any less of an important relationship.  It was, apparently, a sound business decision to work on maintaining it.

"Demand is on the rise, but I am not seeing any more patients than I was previously." Helvetica held his ice-filled drink on his knees as he spoke, letting the condensation roll smoothly down the side and create faint wet patches in the fabric of his pants. "Increasing my caseload would mean reducing the quality of my work and the care of my patients."

"Said like the doctor everyone loves."

"Retaining a good report with my clientele and maintaining their trust is as important as my precision. A lack of trust and understanding means they're more likely to neglect their post surgery care, which negates my work and is detrimental to their health."

"Like I said, they love you for it."

You sat and listened to the conversation passively rather than attempting to contribute to a topic you only understood on some approximate level from hearing Helvetica talk about it previously.

The man sitting with Helvetica looked at you but clearly wasn’t speaking to you. “So how long until this one goes under the knife?” He pointed at you with a jovial laugh, like he’d just said something funny. “They’re cute, but they could use your touch in a few places.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly before you pushed them back again.

It was distressing to hear that all the effort you’d put into looking presentable had been for naught. You wondered if it was your cheeks? Or maybe your chin? You supposed your nose was a little off. Or maybe he could see the exact lumps and curves you’d been trying to hide beneath your sweater.

Your eyes darted over to Helvetica, whose eyes were now on you as well. 

You didn’t expect to be a topic of conversation between them. You were supposed to be an accessory; falling into the background of their conversation and simply looking appealing. But… he clearly didn’t think that about you.

You smiled modestly without showing your teeth for fear they weren’t white enough. “I’ve considered it, but Helvetica hasn’t agreed to-”

“And I won’t,” Helvetica said as he sipped at his own glass.

“Come now, Helvetica.” He laughed again and it felt like his voice was scraping at your eardrums. “Isn’t it cruel to deny your partner?”

“It’s bad practice to mix business and pleasure. Once you are on decent terms with someone, you can no longer be their doctor in good conscience.”

The man seemed to be looking through you somehow. “Too bad for you. You managed to land the best guy around, but he won’t help touch you up. If you want, I might know a few other doctors who would love to show him up and bring you to his level.”

You nodded politely. “Thank you. I will consider it.”

Helvetica looked across the room, focusing on nothing in particular before grabbing your hand. “Excuse me, but I believe I see someone else I should really say hello to.”

He began to pull you away before getting a proper response.

With his hand wrapped around yours, it was clear just how much more perfect he was compared to you. His skin was smooth, his finger long and slender, and there wasn’t a scar or blemish in sight.

When you were both far enough away from the man, Helvetica finally spoke to you. “If you want surgery, I’ll introduce you to someone trustworthy. It would be best to find a reputable doctor to make sure you like your results.”

He was, after all, a believer in the philosophy that people should be allowed to choose the body they lived in. He would never dissuade you from doing that for yourself. However, he also wouldn’t support the decision if it was a result of someone else’s decision. After all, that person wouldn’t be the one living with your new face, so their opinion was irrelevant. All of his suggestions and advice were temporary. If you decided you didn’t like how it looked, you could wash it away or take it off.

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure.”

It wasn’t a yes or a no.

“Then I won’t inform my contacts yet. Let me know when you make a decision.”

For now, though, you just wanted to look the best you could in your current skin. “I think I need to touch up…”

He paused for a moment before changing directions. “The restrooms are over here.”