#I didn’t really need to change much of anything in retrospect

[ifwebefriends]

Just got back from seeing Elio and AAAAAH IT WAS SO SWEET AND CUTE PLEASE GO SEE IT so I’m just gonna write down all the thoughts I can think of the movie with gradually decreasing coherence (spoilers below)

Honestly it’s so real that Elio in his time of grief got so deeply attached to something that brought him comfort in his darkest times, can relate

I was kinda expecting/dreading Glordon to turn on Elio due to a perceived betrayal due to the whole bargaining chip thing like “was I really your friend at all?” but I was really pleasantly surprised when they didn’t do that! They stayed friends the whole movie!

This is more of a me thing but despite the movie literally being in outer space, the scope of the movie felt smaller than I anticipated? I guess I kinda expected Elio and Glordon to like go on the run hopping from planet to planet and I would have liked to see that, but I’m not faulting the movie itself for it since the marketing wasn’t very good and the movie was really good for what it was

The horror bits! Oh my god. They were so weirdly good and just the right amount of scary for me. The scene where Olga follows clone Elio’s hair down the hall and into Elio’s room had my jaw ON THE FLOOR

LORD GRIGON!!!! - he is the one dad ever who went to therapy he was such a good character it took me COMPLETELY off guard when he ripped his armor off to hold his dying son like MY GASTS WERE FLABBBBEREDDDDDDD it felt the same as that one part in Bluey’s The Sign where Bandit ripped the sign out of the ground IT WAS SO SWEET IM DEAD

I LOVE how Olga wanted to be an astronaut and she did end up going to space in the end I love that for her

The movie kinda like gave me this weird existential feeling of like “are we alone in the universe” but like not in a bad way. I haven’t really thought much about like aliens before but I don’t know, I think this movie might have changed that for me

THE PART WHERE THE ALIENS MESSAGE WAS ON ALL THE SCREENS AAAAAAH I LOVED IT I DONT KNOW WHY BUT I LOVED IT SO MUCH

I really like the whole thing about like “needing” to go into the carapace to become bigger, stronger, scarier so you can participate in the adult’s world but in doing so you lose true connections with people because you can never show your vulnerable soft side again like it feels like an allegory for masking/unmasking it was kinda cool

ELIO AND GLORDON WERE FUCKING ADORABLE AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AND I JUST WANT TO LIKE GIVE THEM HOT CHOCOLATE AND BLANKETS IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO THEM I WOULD BLOW UP THE WHOLE COMMUNIVERSE AND THEN MYSELF

Speaking of the communiverse the ambassadors were cool but like damn when it really came down to it they were kinda useless fr 🤣 (this isn’t a complaint I’m just taking the piss lmao I’m tired)

Oh yeah the universal manual was SO ANNOYED that no one wanted to know the meaning of life and he like sighed every time OMG THIS DIVA I SEE YOU

THE CLONE BODY HORROR WAS ACTUALLY INSANE like clone Elio CUTTING HIS FINGER OFF AND PUTTING IT BACK ON and clone Glordon GETTING FUCKING SHOT and then clone Elio MELTING IN THE ARMS OF THE GUARD IT WAS CRAZY I KINDA LOVED IT

Also it was kinda cool how chill the clones were about everything like clone Glordon was just like “yeah I’m getting put in a murder machine idgaf :)” and clone Elio was like “chat this has been fire but I’m gonna turn into plant fertilizer now byeee 👋”

Oh lord grigon finally snapping during the negotiation bc Elio was insulting him as a parent AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M LIKE THAT WAS A COOL DETAIL IN RETROSPECT

Also mad respect to Olga for going off on the Academy ppl like “naw it’s fucked that you let this shit happen to my nephew” YES QUEEN SLAY

I like how Elio like Legend of Zelda’d his way out of the prison cell idk that was just cool to me

“Ok, bye, I love you” AAAAAAAAAH RIJRFNRNRFRB I CANT WITH THAT

Yeah so like, overall, while not Pixar’s best movie, Elio was still a really damn good movie that was just fun and sweet and cute and warmed my cold little heart if you’re like autistic or queer or just like space or like Pixar movies you should really go see it in theaters if you can, we need more original movies like this oh my god

The visuals were also REALLY GOOD it was so pretty to look at

So yeah Elio good movie I saw it and you should too okay bye I love you

[zombiejette]

Alright y’all, I caved. Meet Ursula, my Yellowjackets OC. She’s the resident goth girl on the team, and actual practicing witch. Basically, me as a teen but punched up to the max. Her favorite film is definitely the Craft, and she has many criticisms on 90’s Hollywood’s portrayals of magic (no, we’re not all Wiccans and Vegans 🙄). She’s also a talented artist who loves graphic novels and manga, and hopes to one day make her own series (which will become her downfall later). She only did soccer as punishment from her parents, who hoped it would “snap some sense into her” and make her “goth phase” a short-lived one. Joke’s on them though, because now she’s more angry bitter and disillusioned than ever, plus gained a healthy outlet for her rage as center forward. And now, after spending a year lost in the wilderness with her teammates, that rage has only honed itself into a finely-tuned feral machine.

She wasn’t always so aggressive tho- at least, not to the undeserving. She actually bonded with Nat first, way back when she started on JV. The two had an instant camaraderie as the outcasts of the team, and cool older girl Nat was sort of a role model for baby Ursula. When they snuck away from practice one day to go smoke behind the bleachers, that was when Nat actually discovered Ursula never liked to partake in drugs or drinking, and would always fake it to “seem cool” to the other edgy kids. Ursula had never confided that in anyone else before, and Nat actually had mad respect for the fake-smoking trick Ursula used to fool the onlookers. Nat promised never to tell anyone her secret, and from then on, the two were real friends as well as teammates. The rest of the girls took some time to wam up to her though, since Ursula definitely played up the “scary goth witch” mask when around them. Didn’t help that she was built like a tank too, and taller than most girls on the team, which added more to the “don’t fuck with me” attitude she already projects. This came in useful for their winning streak, but meant that most didn’t really know how to act around her off the field. Once stranded in the wilderness though, that all changed. She was one of the first to take to the gore as a necessity of survival. Once Misty chopped off Coach’s leg, the switch flipped inside to “emergency calm mode” and she used that tank-like strength to help get as many people off the plane and away from danger as possible. Maybe she even was the one who got Van out of that seat, just ripping the seatbelt off by the hinges and carrying her away to safety (listen- it’s my sapphic OC, let me have my one moment with Van pls 😅). Regardless, it was the first time the team wasn’t outright scared of her raw intensity, and saw that underneath all the rage and angst, was a genuinely caring person who would do anything for her team’s survival. But that doesn’t mean she’s without her flaws. And like Lottie, she already could see the value in the supernatural, and had a connection to the other forces at work even before they touched down in the forest. Her first instinct on finding the abandoned cabin would also be “fuck no, this place is deffo cursed, we can’t stay here”, and probably would’ve even had a standoff fight with them about finding some other type of shelter before being out-voted. Finding the skeleton in the attic wouldn’t help matters either, and I think she’d be the first to try to cleanse the space with some sort of smudging or spell work. She would’ve 10000% mediated that terrible seance of Jackie’s too, making it either better or worse because of the validity her witchcraft would’ve added to it. She wouldn’t have just followed Lottie’s cult, I think she would’ve added to it as a co-leader. Or some sort of magic consultant at least. I think the two would’ve bonded over the unseen that they could both feel, and maybe argued about the nature of it, but would’ve for sure still taken it seriously the same way. I know my girl wouldn’t have left home without bringing her candles, crystals, and tarot cards with her, so there would’ve been those lovely additions to the rituals as well. Maybe Nat tries to reason with Ursula more as a conduit to Lottie, begging her to talk some sense into her when things go too far, but by that point, the magical evidence would outweigh other logic for Ursula, and I could see it being one of their first major fights as friends. 😥

Pluuuuus… she would haaate Travis. Sorry y’all. The man is still exactly the type of toxic asshat that I personally hated as a teen, and the fact that he treats her bff Nat so bad for the whole first season would’ve made him #1 on her shit list. I think she definitely would’ve hexed him, and she probably would’ve encouraged his sacrifice during their doom-coming incident. Maybe would’ve even been the one with a knife to his throat instead of Shauna. However… I don’t think she would’ve blamed Jackie. I think she would be against the slut-shaming aspect of it, and also still see that as Travis’ mistake, since he had an obligation to Nat if he really loves her. Jackie as the other woman is just sort of a non-crime, especially since Nat even agreed it’s not Jackie’s fault, so I think she might’ve weighed in on her defense with that. (not that it would’ve changed much lol) There’s so many more parts to go through and add her into, but the most important one really is what happens way later, in their adult life. After being rescued, all the women go into a sort of hiding period, where they all integrate back into society and kind of lay low in their secrecy pact. At first, Ursula is 100% fine with that, wants nothing to do with them, even if it pains her to not talk to Natalie sometimes- but the way she’s gone down into her multiple binges and drug spirals makes it hard to contact her anyway. And Misty would’ve been ecstatic for the company, no doubt, but as much as she’s amused by that little freak, she’s too aware of what a close relationship with Misty Quigley would turn into (and she’s pretty sure Misty would only get close to her so she could crush on Nat by proxy). So. The only thing to try to do really is move on…. and channel everything into her art. At first it’s all abstracted and darker pieces- one off paintings or beginnings of comics that don’t go anywhere- not because she can’t finish them, but because it would be revealing too much of the truth on paper, something she still keeps her promises about. That is, until one day about a decade later, when she gets the idea for a fictional graphic novel that can disguise the truth by using another popular supernatural trope: Vampires. The same bloodshed, human feeding, and feral behavior can easily be translated into a vampire comic, while still using traits from her teammates in the other characters. She knows it’s risky, but dammit, it’s been about a decade now… and the weight of it all has been eating at her like it does all of them, to the point where she just /has/ to create something about it. If only to get it out of her own body. She even puts it under an alias just to be extra safe, but naturally, the comic becomes a big hit and the real author is uncovered, as well as all the speculations that come with it.

She publicly insists it’s just a fictional story, based on nothing but imagination, but fan-theories and deep dives circulate, the internet making comparisons to the hinted at clues, and pairing the characters with their irl counterparts a little too accurately. And honestly, she’d be lying if she said deep, deep, deeeep down she wasn’t a little bit hoping for them to put the pieces together. She sees this portrayal as sort of a lasting tribute to their fallen teammates- since the truth of their demise could never go public, at least in this way she could honor their memory. Of course this all reaches the attention of the survivors, and I feel it would be a nice additional drama to Tai’s career as a senator, or even as a replacement for that arc. Anyway if you’ve read this far, congrats and my many thanks. I’m still thinking up stuff for this girl- maybe enough to even write a fic, who knows? But I’m having fun for now.

[ceoofsammonroe]

Constellations - Sam Monroe

Summary: You move in next door to Sam and the two of you quickly become friends. It doesn’t take Sam long to realize that he’s falling love with you, but he would never risk losing the only friend he has by telling you.

Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, angst, public humiliation, oral sex (Sam receiving), handjob (Sam receiving), nipple play, soft sex, mention of past drug addiction, George lived, mention of cancer, reader lives with her brother, use of cringe nicknames (sorry i’m a sucker for a cheesy nickname), inexperienced!Sam, bullying, praise, crying, Sam is insecure.

A/N: this one is more of a short story than a one shot, so be warned it is veeeeery lengthy.

Masterlist

Sam felt like a fucking stalker.

He wasn’t, really. He swore. He was just…curious.

He’d been staring at the big moving truck parked next door for the past hour, trying to work up the courage to talk to the girl moving boxes in and out of the house that had recently gone off the market.

It was rare for Sam to see a new person that was around his age — one that didn’t know about his less than stellar past. He’d given up a long time ago on trying to change the people he went to high school with’s minds about him, but someone new…that could be exactly what he needed.

If he could work up the fucking courage to actually make a move instead of creepily watching from his bedroom window.

It would be fine. He’d just go downstairs, walk outside, introduce himself, and ask if he could do anything to help. He could be totally normal and definitely knew how to talk to pretty girls…right?

In reality, what did he truly have to lose? It wasn’t like he currently had any friends. If he got rejected, he’d just be right back to where he was now — hiding out in his room that, in retrospect, he maybe should’ve made a little bigger when helping build the damn house.

No, this would be good. He needed it to be good.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, feeling your shirt sticking to your skin as you grabbed another ridiculously heavy box out of the moving truck.

You’d spent the last hour distracting yourself by fantasizing about all of the different ways you could kill your brother when he got back for leaving you to do all of the, literal, heavy lifting by yourself. It felt like the boxes were never ending and you couldn’t fathom how you’d had this much stuff at your old apartment.

Your body groaned in protest as you set the box down inside before, begrudgingly, going back out to retrieve another. You glared at the traitorous truck — that was starting to feel more like an endless Mary Poppins bag than a moving van — and reached for the next box. As you pulled it loose, it caught on another box and sent it tumbling to the ground — scattering clothes all across the pavement.

“Shit,” you cursed, setting the other box down with a frustrated sigh.

You bent down, fighting against your burning muscles and grumbling under your breath as you began to gather the items that had fallen out.

“You need a hand?”

Startled by the sudden voice behind you, you quickly whirred around. You huffed out a breath, laughing sheepishly as you took in the sight of the stranger who’d offered his help.

He looked young, probably about your age, and he was cute. Really cute. His shy smile held a boyish charm and he had the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen, matching the tuft of vibrant blue hair on the top of his head. His labret piercing glinted in the sunlight as he seemed to nervously chew on his lip.

“That would be nice, thank you,” you said, a grateful smile pulling at your lips.

Sam felt his face warm at the sight of your smile, his stomach erupting with…whatever was manlier than butterflies.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged, extending his hand toward you. “Name’s Sam, by the way. Like ‘Sam I am’. The whole, ‘I am Sam, I am Sam, Sam I am.’ You know…Dr. Seuss…or whatever.”

Sam closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for whatever idiotic blabber had just fell from his mouth. He had one simple task. He just needed to introduce himself and he managed to bring up Dr. Seuss for fuck’s sake? It wasn’t even like Sam was a complicated name that needed explaining. He was pretty sure the name had been around for forever, like, even in the Bible.

He was about to turn around and retreat back to his room and pretend he’d never made this pathetically embarrassing attempt in the first place, but then he heard the soft sound of your laughter.

You took the hand of the awkwardly charming boy, shaking it as you said, “Nice to meet you, Sam I Am.”

You told him your name as well, save for the in depth explanation. He smiled and softly repeated it, blushing even deeper when he realized he’d been shaking your hand for far longer than socially acceptable. He pulled his hand away, brushing it on his cargo shorts as he looked at the mess of clothes scattered about.

He wordlessly started helping you pick everything up, stealing a few obvious glances at you as he did. You couldn’t help but watch him, feeling a warm endearment blooming in your chest. He was clumsy and awkward, but in a cute way.

“So, uh, did you just move here or something?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, I know you just moved to this house because of the moving truck and all, but…”

You giggled and nodded, cutting him off and saving him from another embarrassing ramble as you said, “Yeah, my brother and I just moved here from a few states away.” You glanced over at the house he’d walked over from, admiring it for a moment. “That one yours?”

Sam looked back at the house, as if having to doublecheck that it was indeed his house before nodding.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” he said, picking up the box after setting the last piece of clothing inside of it and handing it to you. “Well, it’s my family’s. I actually helped build it. My dad and I built it together. I guess my mom technically helped, but it was mostly me and my dad.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you whistled, lowly.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” you told him, grinning as he blushed and shrugged it off. “Really, I can’t even make a decent sandcastle. You built a whole house. So, are you going into architecture or something?”

Sam nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips as he said, “Yeah, it’s what I’m going for. I’m a student at the local community college. It’s lame, but I like building things.”

“It’s not lame,” you said, shaking your head. “I mean, how many of the other architecture students can say they’ve already built a house?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the ground as he laughed. “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, his sheepish smile growing. “Are you gonna be taking any classes?”

You nodded, hoisting the box you were holding onto your hip as you said, “I’ll be starting out there next week for Summer B.”

Sam’s face seemed to light up at the confirmation that you’d be going to school with him. He cleared his throat, trying to mask his excitement as he nodded.

“Well, if you need anyone to show you around or anything, just let me know,” he shrugged, trying his best to play it cool. “I know starting in a new place can be scary.”

You smirked at him, taking the box toward your front door as you said, “Don’t worry, Sam I Am. I don’t scare easy. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

Sam felt his heart race at the stupid nickname, enjoying it way more than he probably should.

“No problem, anytime,” he waved, watching you retreat into the house. He felt a tug in his chest at the idea of your interaction being over and couldn’t stop himself from calling out after you. “If you need any help with the other boxes, I’ve got nothing better to do!”

You stopped, biting your lip to suppress a grin as you turned back around to face him. He stood there, looking ridiculously eager and hopeful. You glanced toward the other boxes still piled high in the moving truck before looking back at him.

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded. “Make yourself useful.”

Sam’s face broke out in a beaming smile as he practically ran to the moving truck to grab a box. You giggled as he hurried to join you, looking far too happy about the prospect of carrying heavy loads back and forth.

As you worked, you both chatted and got to know each other. You told Sam about where you and your brother were moving from and how you’d ended up there. Sam told you about how his parents had gotten back together and how his dad was in remission for cancer.

Talking with Sam made the grueling task of unpacking seem easy and fun. Time was flying by without you even realizing it. You were naturally drawn to him, fitting into motion like you’d known him your whole life.

Sam was over the moon. He felt like he’d finally found a friend that he could be himself around. There was an unexpected sense of hope creeping into his chest and, for the first time, he didn’t feel repulsed by it.

“Well, I think that’s officially the last box,” you sighed, placing your hands on your hips. “I’ll save all of the hard shit for my brother to do when he gets home, since he left me to do all of the moving.”

Sam brushed his hands off on his shorts, glancing around at all of the boxes now piled high in the living room.

“Well, if you need any more help or just want to get out of the house, I’m right next door,” he offered, wanting to make himself available for you.

“I know where to find you,” you said, grinning at him. “Thanks for the help, again, really. I’ll see you around, Sam I Am.”

Sam bit back the giddy laugh that threatened to escape his throat and gave you a small wave as he all but skipped back to his house. He hadn’t felt this good in years — like something was finally going in his favor.

Your brother returned a bit after Sam left and, after an annoying amount of begging and pleading from him, you spent the rest of the evening unpacking together.

“I met one of our neighbors today,” you told him, brushing some dust off of a picture frame and setting it up on a table. “He was nice.”

“He?” your brother asked, giving you a pointed look.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, “Not like that. He just helped me with the boxes. I think he could be a friend.”

You smiled at the thought of Sam as you went up to your freshly unpacked bedroom. You walked over to the window, looking at the house next door. Your smile grew as you saw Sam’s window directly across from yours. You made eye contact and gave him a small wave before shutting your blinds and getting ready for bed.

As you laid there, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

At the start of the next week, you were getting ready to begin your first day of classes at the local community college. As you made your way outside, you noticed Sam leaving his house at the same time.

You skipped over toward him, leaning against his car with a cheeky grin.

"Howdy, neighbor," you chirped. "Think I could catch a ride to school?"

Sam's face broke out into a wide, beaming smile as he spotted you, wasting no time in opening the passenger door of his car for you.

"Hop on in," he told you, gesturing his head toward the car.

You happily climbed into the passenger seat as Sam walked around the car and got in from the driver's side. You bit back a giggle as he rushed to try and tidy up some of the trash strewn about, a light blush warming his cheeks. His car smelled faintly of smoke, but you didn't mind. As he turned the key and the car roared to life, the sound of a grungy rock song started blaring through the speakers. He sheepishly turned it down, muttering a soft apology.

As he started driving, he stole secret glances over at you. You were watching the scenery rolling by, still trying to familiarize yourself with the new area.

"So, first day, huh?" Sam said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Nervous or excited?"

You thought for a moment before you shrugged and answered, "Both? I like new beginnings. It's a fresh start."

Sam nodded, his voice sounding a bit distant as he said, "Yeah, I get that."

He seemed to disappear inside his head for a moment, but you didn’t feel like it was your place to pry. At least, not yet. Instead, you glanced toward his bag and asked, “Is that a sketchbook? Are you an artist?”

Sam blinked a few times, as if shaking himself out of it, before looking back at the black leather book sticking out from his backpack.

“Oh, uh…I wouldn’t really call myself an artist,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just like to draw sometimes.”

You looked over at him with a playful grin. “Can I see some?”

When Sam saw your hand reaching for the sketchbook, he blurted out a panicked, “No!” You retracted your hand and he paused, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “Sorry…I just, um…they aren’t any good.”

Settling back in your seat, you playfully shrugged and said, “Keep your secrets, Sam I Am.”

You navigated the first half of your day at the new school with relative ease. People had been eager to help you, fascinated by the rarity of a new person in the small area. You shared one class with Sam and got to grab lunch together, with him insisting on getting pizza down the street instead of eating whatever the campus cafe was offering.

When the day ended, you walked toward the parking lot with a group of students that had been talking your ear off. You laughed along with them as your eyes scanned the area, finally landing on Sam. He was leaning against his car, trying to act like he hadn’t been watching you.

You bid your goodbyes to the others and jogged over to Sam, smiling as you said, “Thanks for waiting on me.”

“No problem,” he shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way his heart was racing. “So, uh…any plans for tonight?”

He didn’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with him, but he also secretly hoped you would. He felt a sense of happiness around you that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He didn’t want that to end.

“I’ll probably just stay in for the night,” you sighed, feeling the effects of the day wearing on you. “I need the night to process all of the new. I could use the company, though, if you aren’t doing anything.”

Sam’s face broke out into a dazzling grin, relief and a thrill of excitement running through him. He tried to reel it back in, to lessen the visible excitement, but it was no use.

“I’d be down for that,” he nodded, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “If that’s what you want.”

Sam parked his car in his driveway and the two of you walked over to your house. When you opened the front door, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted beneath your noses.

Your brother, Andrew, was in the kitchen, pulling a tray out of the oven. You grinned, tossing your bag over your shoulder as you ran over and stole one off of the tray.

“Hey!” Andrew whined, reaching out to try and snatch the cookie back. His eyes locked over onto Sam, narrowing slightly. “Who’s this?”

“Andrew, this is my friend, Sam,” you said, gesturing between the two. “Sam, this is my brother, Andrew.”

Sam swallowed thickly and reached out his hand, a little unsure of himself. He didn’t often extend pleasantries with anyone, but he felt the need to in this case.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, forcing a nervous smile onto his face. “Thanks for having me over.”

Sam held his breath as Andrew stared him down for a long, tension-filled moment before shaking his hand with a grin.

“Nice to meet you, too, kid,” he nodded, stepping back to the tray of cookies. “Don’t let my sister give you a hard time.”

You batted your lashes innocently and said, “Me? Never.”

With a cheeky grin, you snatched as many cookies off of the tray as you could manage and bolted up the stairs. You heard Sam mumble an apology to your brother before following after you.

Up in your room, you shut the door behind you and handed Sam a cookie. He took a bite as he walked further in, glancing around at all of the decor.

Sam felt like he needed to drink up every little detail, knowing each small thing was giving him more information about your personality. He walked over to your bookshelf as you flopped onto your bed, taking a bite of your own cookie.

His fingers trailed over the spines of one of your collections, pulling a few out to look at the covers before placing them back.

“You have a lot of poetry,” he observed, holding a copy of Emily Dickinson publications. “You really into it or something?”

You nodded, smiling as you answered, “Yeah, I love poetry. I think it’s incredible how people can weave words and thoughts together to make such beautiful statements.”

Sam listened to you speak, happy for a furthered glimpse into your world. That’s how he found himself, an hour later, sitting beside you on your bed as you talked about anything and everything. He felt comfortable with you, like he could relax in your presence. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to.

“So, what’s your deal with this town, Sam I Am?” you asked, rolling over to prop your head in your hands as you looked at him. “I didn’t notice you talking to anyone other than me today. Are you going for the whole mysterious loner vibe?”

Your tone was lighthearted and joking, but you were genuinely curious. Sam had kept to himself the entire day, and you’d noticed people giving him odd looks. It was almost like they didn’t like him for some reason.

“Yeah, I guess I sorta keep to myself. Things haven’t been easy here, and I’ve had a bit of a rough past. I’m still dealing with the fallout, you know?” Sam replied, picking at the bottom of his jeans. He didn’t elaborate further, afraid of scaring you off and ruining his one shot at a real friend. “Things have been better lately. You’re helping with that, actually.”

You could tell there was more to it, but you didn’t press for details. Sam seemed like the kind of person who didn’t open up often and you didn’t want to ask for too much too quickly. Instead, you kept the conversation lighter, talking for a while longer.

Eventually, you ended up watching a movie. It was some shitty cable action film, but Sam seemed to be invested. The long day had caught up to you, and you started to doze off.

Sam tensed up as he felt your head rest on his shoulder, but he didn’t dare move. He released a shaky, slow breath as he tried to relax, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. All thoughts of the movie were forgotten as he focused on the feeling of you curled against him. He didn’t know how long he sat there after the credits rolled and the screen went dark, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and end this temporary moment of bliss.

As it got later, he knew he couldn’t stay. With great reluctance, he gently lifted your head and laid it against the pillows before easing off of the bed. He took one last look at you, smiling as he felt his heart constricting in an unusual way before he turned and walked out of the door.

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed with the vague memories of falling asleep mid-movie. Begrudgingly, you got up and ready for the day before bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. You hopped onto one of the stools in front of the island, greedily grabbing at the plate of breakfast that Andrew sat down in front of you.

“Care to tell me why the neighbor boy was leaving your room at nearly one in the morning?” Andrew asked, pretending to be stern.

You rolled your eyes, snorting as you stuffed a piece of toast into your mouth.

“We were watching a movie and I fell asleep,” you told him, jumping down and grabbing your bag. “He’s just a friend, Drew. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

You stuck your tongue out and him as you walked out the front door and he flicked you off in response. You jogged outside, making your way over to Sam’s house where he was waiting by his car.

“Morning, neighbor,” you said, cheerfully hopping into the passenger side. “Sorry I fell asleep last night. Did the movie have a good ending?”

Sam smiled at you, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway. You sniffed the air, noticing the smoke smell had been replaced by the scent of a new air freshener and the trash had been cleaned out.

“Yeah, it ended well. The hero got the girl and everyone lived happily ever after, blah blah blah,” he joked, giving you a playful look.

In all honesty, he couldn’t really tell you how it ended. He’d been too focused on you to pay any attention to the rest of the movie. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that, though.

When lunch time rolled around, you both sat together at the table under the oak tree that you’d liked the day before. You’d insisted on getting lunch from the cafe, claiming that you needed to try the campus food at least once. Now, though, you understood why Sam had protested against it.

“Any plans for tonight?” Sam asked, giving you some of his fries as he took your pickle spear.

“No, I don’t think I have any—”

“Hey, new girl!”

You turned, your words being cut off by a group of students sitting at another table. You recognized them from yesterday. They beckoned you over, giggling and whispering to themselves as one of them said, “Come here for a sec!”

You glanced back at Sam, giving him an apologetic look as you said, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Sam nodded, giving you a brief smile that fell the moment you walked way. He kept his head down, forcing himself to keep eating his lunch as a pit of jealousy began to form in his stomach. He tried not to worry, knowing he had no right to your time.

When you finally came back to the table, he tried to be casual as he asked, “So, did they just wanna say hi or something?”

“They actually invited me out with them, tonight,” you said, grinning happily. “They’re going out to the pier and wanted me to tag along. That’s exciting, right?”

Sam saw the excitement in your eyes, but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment and dread.

“Cool. That does sound fun. I’m happy for you,” he replied, forcing a smile onto his face.

He wanted you to be happy, but he also wanted to keep spending time with you. You were the first real friend he’d had in a long time. He knew he couldn’t be possessive over you, but he hoped you wouldn’t be pushed apart by this new social circle opening up for you.

“We’ll catch up later,” I told him, nudging his shoulder softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Sam I Am.”

The evening had been fun. You’d gotten along well with the group you went out with. They filled you in on the ins and outs of the town and everyone in it — including Sam.

You hadn’t really listened much to what they’d had to say about him, brushing their words off. Other than that, the night had gone by without any problems. When you finally made it back to your house, you said goodnight to your brother and went upstairs to your room.

When you walked by your window, you noticed Sam through the window of his own room. You grinned, opening it up and climbing out to sit on the roof as you waved at him.

Sam hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you all afternoon. His mind had been a whirlwind of fears and doubts and self ridicule for missing you so much when he’d only just met you. When he spotted your figure out on the roof, his heart had skipped a beat.

He quickly got out of bed, opening up his window and climbing out. “Hey,” he called out, waving back at you.

The edges of your roofs were close enough that he could jump over onto yours with little effort. He sat down beside you, feeling the cool evening breeze against his skin.

“Did you have fun?” Sam asked, wanting to hear about your night even though a part of him was still nursing jealousy about your time with the popular crowd.

“Yeah, I had a lot of fun,” you said, smiling at him as you tucked your knees up to your chest and gazed up at the stars. “It’s so beautiful out here; isn’t it? I never saws the stars like this back home.”

Sam nodded in agreement, looking up at the night sky as well as he said, “It really is. I love nights like this, when it’s quiet and all you can hear are the waves.”

He tried, he really did, not to bring up the subject again, but he just couldn’t help himself. His self-sabotaging curiosity was getting the better of him, and he asked, “So, are you going to hang out with them more often now?”

You shrugged, picking at the roof as you said, “Maybe. They want me to.” You looked back over at him, leaning closer to nudge his side. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll always make time for you.”

Sam smiled and ducked his head to hide the soft blush warming his cheeks. Your gentle reassurance sent a flicker of relief through him.

“I wouldn’t want you to stop hanging out with me,” he said, softly, “but you don’t have to choose. I just want you to know that you have a friend in me, no matter what.”

He’d been guarded for so long, and this was the first time he’d felt like someone could break through his barriers. The more time you spent together, the more he realized he never wanted to go back to the way things were before he met you.

“You see that group of stars right over there?” you asked, pointing to a small cluster. “Do you know what constellation that is?”

Sam leaned over, squinting as he tried to follow your line of sight. He stared at the spot, but eventually shook his head.

You laughed quietly and said, “That’s ‘cause it’s not one. It should be, though, right? It makes the perfect image of a bundle of flowers. So, I decided to make it one myself. I call it Wildflower. It’s my favorite constellation.”

Sam looked up where you indicated, admiring the cluster of stars you’d dubbed Wildflower. “It’s beautiful,” he said, impressed by your creativity. “It makes sense. It really does look like a bundle of flowers.”

You both sat in silence for a while, staring up at the stars and listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. You thought back to the evening you’d had, hesitating to even bring it up at all. Ultimately, you decided it would be best to talk about it.

“Hey, when I was out with that group tonight, they…mentioned some things about you,” you said, softly. “Like, drugs and other things… I didn’t entertain them or anything and I shut them down immediately, but I just wanted to know if you knew what they’d been referring to.”

Sam’s heart sank, hearing that the group had spoken about his past. He knew all too well the rumors and whispers that followed him, some completely ridiculous and some…much too true. His jaw clenched as he felt the familiar dread of isolation creeping back up on him.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he said, his voice low. “I’m clean now, though,” he added, finally meeting your gaze. “I turned my life around and I plan to keep it that way.”

You took a moment, processing his words. You could see the sadness in his eyes, the pain and regret. You hated that he was still so plagued by his past.

“The way I see it,” you started, giving him a small smile, “the past is the past for a reason. All that matters to me is who you are now, and that guy seems pretty cool.”

Sam let out a soft breath, blinking quickly as the sting of tears threatened his eyes. He felt a small weight fall off of his shoulders as he smiled at you.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “That means more to me than you know.”

Over the next few weeks, your friendship with Sam continued to grow. He still took you to campus every morning and you ate lunch together every day — unless the other group drug you away. Sam spent most afternoons at your house, even bonding with your brother. Andrew had started making an extra plate of breakfast for him every morning and expecting him at dinner every night.

One Friday night, you’d been getting ready to go out with the other group that had brought you into their circle. When you heard a knock at the door, you’d thought it was one of them. Your face fell with immediate concern as you opened the door to see Sam, tears streaming down his face.

“Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?” you asked, immediately stepping aside to let him into the house.

He stumbled through the door, gasping for air through the sobs as he tried to steady himself. “I don’t know what to do,” he cried, his voice breaking.

He explained that his father, who you knew had been in remission from cancer, had taken a turn for the worst. He felt helpless, like he was having to face the thought of losing him all over again after finally feeling like they were on solid ground.

“My mom’s freaking out and I need someone to help me keep it together,” he continued, looking at you with desperate, pleading eyes. “Please.”

Sam felt utterly raw and vulnerable, but he knew he could trust you. He needed you. He needed your light to wash away the darkness that was creeping up on him again.

“Oh, Sammy,” you sighed, feeling your heart break as you reached out to him. “Come here.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam’s body trembled as you embraced him, his arms immediately snaking around your waist as he buried his face in your hair. His tears soaked through to your skin, but you didn’t mind.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, hiccuping slightly as he gripped you tighter.

“He could still be okay, Sam,” you reassured him, rubbing his back. “People with health issues have backslides all the time and still get better. It’s good that the doctors caught it in time. I can’t promise that it will work out, but I can promise to be here every step of the way. You won’t go through it alone.”

Sam pulled away, despite his longing to stay in your arms forever, and wiped at his eyes. He was too overwhelmed to be embarrassed by the thought of crying in front of you.

“Thank you,” he said, letting out a shaky breath. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“You’ve been a good friend, too, Sam I Am,” you smiled, reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks. “The best friend.”

You gently grabbed his arm, leading him over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you looked around until you spotted the plate wrapped in foil.

“Andrew isn’t here to cook,” you told him, “but I can heat up some left overs, yeah? You need to eat.”

Sam smiled at the use of his nickname, a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil. “Best friend, huh?” he echoed, a hint of shyness creeping into his tone.

He watched with appreciation as you warmed up the food, finally taking the time to realize how hungry he was. He ate dinner with you, grateful for the small sense of familiarity after a day of such uncertainty.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want to,” you offered, washing the dishes after you’d both eaten. “You can borrow some of Andrew’s clothes to sleep in.”

Sam thought about denying the offer, insisting that he’d be fine, but he couldn’t. He needed the support and there was no use in trying to act tough.

“I’d like that,” he said, softly. “Thank you.”

He changed into the clothes you’d given him as you went up to your room and pulled back the covers. You got in the bed as he lingered in the doorway, unsure of what his next move should be.

“You can sleep in here,” you told him, patting the space next to you. “I don’t mind and I’ll punch Andrew in the stomach if he has anything to say about it.”

Sam hesitated, glancing between you and the vacant space on the bed. Cautiously, he slowly walked toward you as if he was waiting for you to change your mind. He climbed onto the bed, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you.

His body tensed as you pulled him into your arms, holding him close. He rested his head on your chest, relaxing as he listened to the steady thrum of your heartbeat. You ran your fingers through his hair and his eyes fluttered shut.

The only thing he was certain about in the current maelstrom of uncertainty was that he never wanted to be anywhere else.

Over the next month, Sam’s dad made a recovery. You’d stayed by Sam’s side throughout the entire process. You’d gone with him to visit his dad in the hospital and got to know his mother. Sam had blushed furiously as they told you stories of Sam as a child and how he’d called his pajamas his Sammy Jammies. You’d let him stay at your house on nights when he didn’t want to be alone, and Andrew hadn’t even tried to protest it.

Things were better now, more lighthearted. You were sitting at your usual table under the oak tree for lunch and you were curiously watching Sam as he doodled in his sketchbook.

“What are these grand secrets you keep in that book of yours?” you asked, tossing a fry at him with a laugh. “It doesn’t matter how many times I ask, you never let me see what you’ve been drawing.”

Sam grinned, dodging the flying fry, and closed his sketchbook as he slid it under his seat.

“They’re personal, nosy,” he teased, shaking his head.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you sighed, huffing dramatically.

The group that you hung out with occasionally walked past your table, waving at you and glaring at Sam. One of the guys, Nathan, lingered back. He smiled at you, giving you a flirtatious wink before sauntering off after them. A warm blush tinged your cheeks as you looked down at your food.

Sam observed the interaction, keeping his expression neutral despite the familiar twinge of jealousy he always seemed to feel when it came to you. He knew he had no right to feel that way, given the nature of your relationship, but the instinct was there nonetheless.

“So, any plans for the weekend?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Uh…I’m not sure, actually,” you said, awkwardly picking at the food on your plate. Noticing Sam’s confused expression, you added, “Nathan sort of asked me to go on a date with him, is all. I don’t know if I’m gonna go, though.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to process the information. “Oh,” he said, trying to keep his tone even.

His emotions were a whirlwind. Surprise, concern, and — he couldn’t deny it — a hint of disappointment. He reminded himself that you were free to date whoever you chose, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of possessiveness.

He didn’t know how to respond, unsure of whether or not he should voice any opinion on the matter. Instead, he focused on his food. Deep down, he hoped you would choose him over Nathan, but he knew it was a pipe dream.

The tension hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable, as you both sat in silence.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I might go,” you said, quietly. You glanced up at Sam, feeling a sudden sense of vulnerability. “Do you think I should?”

Sam debated whether to offer his opinion, but ultimately decided against it. “It’s up to you. If you think you’ll enjoy it, then go,” he replied, noncommittally.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” you said, a bit dejected by his answer. “I guess I’ll go, then.” You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You got up and grabbed your bag, starting to walk toward your next class. “I’ll see you after school, Sam I Am.”

Sam watched as you left, your response weighing heavily on him. His thoughts were consumed by the prospect of your date for the rest of the day. The idea of you with someone else bothered him more than he cared to admit. The green-eyed monster of jealousy was rearing its head once more.

Despite his conflicting thoughts, he knew he’d have to put on a brave face. You meant too much to him to jeopardize what you had. He was grateful for your friendship and, while part of him harbored deeper feelings, he knew that it was too late to cross that line.

On Saturday night, you sat in the car with Nathan as he drove you home. The date hadn’t been horrible, but it hadn’t been what you expected either.

He pulled up to your house, parking the car as he turned toward you. A half-smirk pulled at his lips before his face resembled that of a dead fish as he leaned toward you. Your eyes widened as you realized he wanted to kiss you.

“I had a great time tonight,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours.

There was no spark, no butterflies, no magic.

You pulled back, smiling politely at him and thanking him for the date before getting out of the car.

You climbed the stairs to your room, opening the window and crawling out onto the roof. You threw tiny stones toward Sam’s bedroom, trying to get his attention.

Sam had been lying on his bed, wallowing in self-pity as thoughts of your date ate him alive. When he heard the thud of the rocks, his heart leapt into his throat. He opened his window, smiling before climbing over to join you.

“I just had the weirdest date of my life,” you laughed, rubbing your face with your hands. “He took me to this restaurant and literally just stared at me the entire time. It was like he didn’t know how to have a conversation. I tried talking to him about all sorts of things and he just…looked at me. Then, I suggested we go for a walk on the beach and he said he didn’t like sand. Sand! We live in a beach town and he doesn’t like sand. Not to mention he kissed me when he dropped me off and there was just…nothing.”

Sam listened intently as you recounted the evening, his heart swelling with relief as you described the lackluster nature of the date.

“Sounds like it was a bit of a dud,” he commented, his tone sympathetic.

He wanted to tell you how he felt, to share the depth of his emotion and how he saw the magic in you, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to make such a move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, draping his arm over your shoulder as you leaned into him.

Sam felt a surge of gratitude for the moment, for being the one you chose to confide in. He realized he would always gladly take the role of your friend, even if it meant sacrificing the chance of something more.

“No,” you huffed, resting against him as you looked up at the sky. “Anyone who wouldn’t watch the stars with me isn’t worth ranting about.”

A few weeks later, you and Sam were sitting in your room as you were pleading with him to come with you to a party.

“C’mon, please, Sam?” you begged, pulling at his arm. “They want me to go, but I’ll be so bored without you.”

The group you were friends with had invited you to a party at Nathan’s beach house, but you didn’t want to ditch Sam to go to it.

“It’ll be good for you to get out and socialize for once,” you told him. “Plus, it’s right down the road so we could leave anytime we wanted to.”

Sam hesitated, a mix of anxiety and curiosity warring within him. “I don’t know. I’m not really into parties,” he replied, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

He was used to keeping to himself. The only person he hung out with was you. The thought of entering a crowd of people that he barely knew was daunting, especially when they seemed to have some sort of vendetta against him.

He didn’t want to ruin the evening for you, but the thought of facing Nathan and the others made him hesitate. However, in the end, his loyalty and desire to make you happy won out.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go with you,” he conceded, offering you a small smile, “but if things get bad, I want out. Deal?”

“Deal!” you squealed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, thank you!”

You buzzed around your room, continuing to get ready. You liked socializing and enjoyed going to parties, but you didn’t like sacrificing your time with Sam to do so. This would be the best of both worlds.

Sam took a moment to admire you, the way you moved and smiled with such infectious energy. He felt a surge of pride in knowing you valued his company above all else.

As you left for the party, Sam’s apprehension lingered. It was tempered a bit by the knowledge that you’d be by his side. When you approached Nathan’s beach house, Sam prepared himself for whatever was in store.

The house was already loud and crowded as you walked in, the music blaring over the chatter of people. You grabbed Sam’s arm, dragging him into the kitchen and handing him a cup of soda. You poured yourself one of whatever liquor was on the table and downed it in one go.

Sam chuckled, touched by the fact that you’d remembered he was sober. He smiled in appreciation, grateful for the small gesture.

As you mingled, Sam found himself slipping into the background and observing the party around you. He spotted Nathan across the room, whose gaze was lingering on you before snapping over to Sam with disdain. Sam could feel the animosity and tension simmering between them, an unspoken tangible weight in the air.

You, however, seemed to be enjoying yourself. You were laughing and conversing with everyone, making Sam smile. Your happiness was his priority.

Making your way back over to Sam, you grinned and said, “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

As you said that, two of Nathan’s friends ran into us. They both apologized, one of them placing his hand on Sam’s backpack.

“Don’t mind them, they’re just drunk,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

“No, not so bad,” he said, trying to believe his own words.

He couldn’t help but feel uneasy, like something was off, but he didn’t want to take away from your fun. Instead, he decided to grin and bear it. If it made you happy, that’s all that mattered.

You were about to make Sam go dance with you when Nathan got the attention of the crowd, standing up on his couch. Everyone gathered around as he made an announcement.

“Attention, folks, I’ve got your entertainment for the evening,” he said, a sadistic smirk on his face.

You felt your blood run cold as he pulled out Sam’s sketchbook. His friends must have snatched it when they ran into him. Sam immediately moved forward, but the two guys grabbed him to hold him still.

“Nathan, what the hell are you doing?” you yelled. “Stop and give that back!”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Nathan chided, wagging his finger. “Don’t you want to see what your little lover boy has been keeping from you?”

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion as Nathan grinned.

“Exhibit A, the brilliant works of the freakish stalker,” he said, beginning to flip through the sketchbook.

Your eyes widened as a soft gasp escaped your lips. They were all drawings of you. From times spent on the roof, watching the stars, to sitting at your lunch table, to watching movies together. He’d even drawn you from the first day you met.

“Looks like you’ve got a not-so-secret admirer,” Nathan joked, making the crowd laugh.

Sam’s heart plummeted, a mix of anger and embarrassment welling within him. He fought against Nathan’s friends, but their grip was firm.

As the crowd gathered, Sam could feel the weight of their scrutiny. The words freakish stalker hit him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the humiliation churning in his chest.

The laughter of the crowd stung like salt to an open wound, leaving Sam to wonder if you’d see him differently now that his feelings were laid bare. He clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to snatch the sketchbook back and leave.

“Wait, we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” Nathan cheered, flipping to the final page.

There was another drawing of you with the Wildflower constellation. On the page, Sam had written some words.

“The freak thinks he’s a poet now. How romantic,” Nathan taunted, turning the book around to read the words out loud.

“If I am the stars, you are the sky. I can only shine in the vastness of your presence. If I am the moon, you are the sun. Your light reflects upon what was once barren. If I am the earth, you are the wildflowers. I bloom when graced by you.”

Your heart stopped as Nathan read the poem Sam had written. The laughter from the crowd was overpowering. You felt like you couldn’t move. Everything was happening to him in a blur and you felt powerless to stop the cruelty.

“I guess little lover boy wears his heart on his page, huh?” Nathan joked, smirking at Sam. “Might as well run away while you can, freak. She’s never gonna reciprocate your little crush.”

Nathan’s friends let Sam go, shoving him back with a laugh.

Sam’s ears filled with a ringing, the crowd’s laughter a cacophony that left him feeling dazed and hollow. His face burned, his chest tight as he fell to the floor.

The denial of a possibility for a mutual connection felt like a dagger to the heart. Sam’s mouth worked soundlessly, unable to form the words that begged you to see past the humiliating spectacle.

In that moment, he couldn’t fathom how to navigate the murky waters of your relationship. The fallout of the night left him unsure of where you stood. He got up on shaky limbs, feeling unsteady as he pushed through the crowd and bolted out of the front door.

You watched Sam storm out, your heart shattering as he did. Your eyes scanned the crowd, rage burning within you as you glared at Nathan. You rushed up to him and grabbed Sam’s sketchbook from his hands.

“Fuck you!” you yelled, chest heaving as you looked at all of them. “Fuck all of you! You’re all sick and pathetic and cruel.” Your gaze zeroed back in on Nathan as you seethed, “You will never be even half the man that Sam is.”

You turned on your heel and ran out of the house, trying to find Sam. You spotted him down on the beach, rushing toward his house as he furiously wiped at his face.

You hurried after him and called out, “Sam! Sam, wait! Please!”

Sam felt the sting of rejection and humiliation trailing in his wake, the knowledge that he’d exposed his heart to the scorn of others weigh heavily on his shoulders.

As he trudged along, his fingers tightened around the hem of his shirt. The fabric smelled like you and he wanted nothing more than to find comfort in your embrace, but he knew he couldn’t. Not anymore.

Sam walked until he couldn’t escape the call of your voice anymore. He paused, torn between the desire to confront the situation and the urge to escape the cruelty and mortification that had fallen on him.

With teary eyes, he turned to face you as his heart pounded in his chest. He searched for the words to convey his feelings, to explain the torrent of emotions that had laid waste to the tender, private world he had crafted for you.

You caught up to him, breathless from running, and felt your heart ache at the sight of him. He looked utterly devastated and you hated that you couldn’t save him.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” you breathed, the guilt washing over you like the ocean waves. “I had no idea they would do that. I had no idea they were capable of such cruelty. I never would’ve hung out with them if I’d known.”

You held out his sketchbook for him, looking down. You were afraid that he’d hate you for putting him in this position.

“I got this back for you,” you said, quietly.

Sam excepted the sketchbook, cradling it to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, too scared that it would be the last time he’d get to.

“Those drawings…the poem…” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. “They’re really good. Incredible, even. You’re very talented…but, are they…do they mean…?”

Sam nodded, a stray tear dripping from his cheek as he lowered his head and whispered, “Yes.” He shook his head, sniffling and wiping his face. “I never meant for you to see them. I’ll stop if you want me to, I won’t…”

“Stop?” you asked, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “Sam, nobody has ever seen me the way you do. Those drawings are beautiful. You drew my constellation. You wrote me a poem.”

You walked closer to him, gently cupping his face in your hands and wiping away the teardrops on his cheeks.

“I knew from that first day I met you that you were different, Sam,” you told him, gazing up into his eyes. “You had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen…and, now, I know you have the prettiest heart. It would be an honor to get to hold it in my hands.”

Sam froze, your touch a balm to his wounds. He felt strength return to his limbs, your words like a soothing salve. He searched your eyes for any sign of dishonesty, hardly daring to hope that what he was hearing was true.

“Do you…mean that?” he stammered, unsure if he deserved such acceptance.

“I wanted you to tell me not to go,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. “When Nathan asked me on that date, I wanted you to tell me not to go because…I wanted to be with you.”

Sam gasped softly, his eyes flickering with disbelief. You stepped closer to him, pressing your body against his as you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him.

Sam froze in shock for a moment before melting into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

Kissing Sam was like nothing you’d ever felt before. His lips left you breathless. When Nathan had tried to kiss you, you’d felt nothing. With Sam, you felt everything.

Sparks, butterflies, magic.

Your eyes fluttered open to gaze at him, a grin growing on your face as you bit your lip and grabbed his hand. You pulled him through your yard and to your front door, opening it as quietly as possible. You held a finger up to his lips, giggling softly.

“My brother’s asleep,” you whispered, quietly pulling him up the stairs.

Sam followed you like a giddy puppy. He still couldn’t believe the turn of fate that had been dealt to him. His heart swelled with joy and an inexplicable rightness.

As soon as your bedroom door was shut, your lips found his again. Sam’s head was spinning as you kissed him, a yearning hunger bubbling to the surface inside of him. Your fingers ran through his hair, a feeling that was so familiar yet so new. He didn’t want to come up for air, didn’t want to spend a second apart from you.

You pulled back for a moment, gently guiding him toward your bed. You gazed at him with desire-filled eyes, softly pushing him to lie back. Slowly, you climbed on top of him to straddle his hips.

“Let me make it all go away, Sammy,” you whispered, kissing the corners of his mouth. “Let me help you forget.”

Sam felt a shudder run through him — the weight of his past, the lingering shadows of regret, and the ghosts of addiction, pressed into submission by the warmth of your presence.

He parted his lips, his chest heaving with anticipation as you leaned over him. Your words were a siren call, luring him to the safe harbor he’d sought out for so long.

Sam let out a soft, shaky breath as he nodded his head. He gently grabbed your face, pulling you back in for a slow, sensual kiss.

Your tongues danced with each other as your mouths moved in tandem. You tugged at the silky strands of his hair, slowly rocking your hips against his.

Sam moaned into the kiss, his hands tightening in the fabric of your shirt. Your kisses were now laced in a fiery desperation, his hips arching to seek more. You kissed across his jaw, brushing your lips against his ear as you breathlessly asked, “Is this okay?”

His hands gripped your hips as his head fell back, exposing his neck for your attention. His breaths were strained, his hips shifting beneath you as he nodded, “Yes. More than okay. Please, keep going.”

You grinned, taking the hint and kissing a slow trail down the side of his neck. Every time your lips brushed a sensitive spot that made him shiver, you took the time to suck a deep purple mark into the pale skin. You soothed the areas with your tongue before continuing your descent.

Sam shivered and mewled, unable to control the soft noises leaving his lips. His skin felt like it was on fire, in the best way possible. His stomach tightened with the arousing thrill of being claimed by you, his neck now a tapestry of your affection.

His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers working the fabric upward as his eyes met yours in a silent question of permission.

You pulled back and tugged your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side before discarding your bra as well. You leaned back over him, grinning at the way his eyes locked onto your chest with boyish excitement.

“Have you ever done this before?” you asked, making his eyes snap back up to yours.

“No,” he answered, his cheeks tinging a soft pink. “At least, not like this. Not when it’s mattered.”

A flicker of his haunted past flashed through his eyes, but quickly melted away when you kissed his forehead.

“We can take it slow,” you reassured him. “I’ll guide you through it. You can tell me what you like and don’t like, okay?”

Sam nodded, feeling the anxiety dissipating as he gazed up at you. He lifted his arms, letting you pull off his shirt. You grinned at the sight of the hickeys marking his skin, tracing your finger over them. He squirmed beneath you, a soft whimper sounding in his throat.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” you murmured, kissing his chest. “You’ll get what you want. We’ve got all night. There’s no need to rush.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut, the reassurance that this wasn’t fleeting sedating his restlessness. His heart pounded beneath your wandering lips, his muscles tensing as you played with the button on his jeans.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice a needy whisper. “Take them off.”

You didn’t hesitate to comply, hooking your fingers beneath the waistbands of his jeans and boxers before pulling them down his legs. You gasped softly as his erection sprang free, licking your lips as you admired him.

“You’re so pretty, Sammy,” you praised, wrapping your hand around his length to slowly stroke him. “So, so pretty.”

His face warmed with a deep blush at your praise, a bead of pearly white leaking from his rosy tip. He let out a shaky moan, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck.”

You smiled and cooed, “That’s it, Sammy. Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You leaned down to press your lips against his tip, flicking your tongue around it to taste his arousal. Sam gasped, arching his back as his stomach clenched.

“A-ah,” Sam whimpered, gripping the sheets beneath him. “Please…”

You took him into your mouth as far as you could, feeling him brush against the back of your throat as you bobbed your head. Pretty mewls sounded from him as his legs moved restlessly. His chest heaved with exertion, his skin flushed a debauched red.

He whispered your name, his hips bucking involuntarily as he gasped, “I think…I’m getting close. Fuck.”

You pulled your mouth off of him, giving his tip one last soft kiss before trailing your lips back up his body. He let out a whine of protest, lifting his hips to try and chase your mouth.

You sat back and undid the button on your pants, removing the last bit of clothing that separated you before straddling him again. Sam’s eyes trailed over your body, his cock twitching at the mere sight of you.

“I wanted us to finish together, with you inside of me,” you told him, feeling the arousal dripping on your thighs. “Is that what you want?”

Sam nodded eagerly, moaning at the thought of being inside of you. “Yes, please,” he panted. “That’s what I want more than anything.”

His hands wandered over the curves of your body as you lined him up with your entrance. You slowly sank down onto him until you sat flesh against his hips. A sigh of pleasure left your lips as you felt him stretch you out, the delicious burn making you clench around him.

Your lips found Sam’s again as you began to ride him, lifting your hips to drop them back down. You both moaned into each other’s mouths, the scant space between you a mix of heat and desperation. You grabbed Sam’s hands, guiding them up to your chest.

“Touch me, Sam,” you breathed. “It’s okay. I want you to.”

Sam didn’t waste a second of the permission. His hands palmed your breasts, softly kneading them as he groaned. They felt perfect in his hands, his thumbs teasing the stiff peaks of your nipples.

You bit down on your lip, letting out a soft whimper as you moved your hips. Heat pooled low in your belly with each stroke of his cock inside of you.

As you both neared your peaks, Sam sat up and held you close to him. He thrusted his hips up in time with your movements, gazing up at you with pure adoration.

“Tell me you want me,” Sam whispered through shaky breaths, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want you,” you breathed, feeling that knot beginning to unravel. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Sam. Your pretty eyes, and your sweet smile, and your adorable laugh, and…and…Sam!”

With a cry of his name, you came undone above him. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you as you squeezed around his cock. Sam followed immediately after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he moaned out your name.

You rode out your highs together, clinging to one another through the haze of pleasure. When you both came down, your skin was glistening with sweat as your hearts pounded in time.

Sam gazed up at you with a disbelieving, blissed out grin. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Thank you for giving me a chance to prove it to you.”

You shook your head, resting your forehead against his. “You don’t have to prove a thing, Sam I Am. My heart is already yours.”

Later that night, as Sam slept in your arms, you couldn’t help but admire him. Your fingers traced the delicate lines of his face before trailing down to his chest.

You noticed a few freckles above his heart, seemingly making out the shape of a star. You connected each dot with your finger, smiling softly.

That was your new favorite constellation.

[poemtoken]

So much of coach’s narrative comes down to agency and his continual loss of it and I find that devastating. His struggle to be autonomous is wrapped up in his rocky relationship to his identity which is why he chose nationals over Paul despite maybe knowing in the back of his mind that making the terrifying decision could change his life for the better, and assuming he is guaranteed return. He values what he perceives to be safety over happiness because it’s all he knows, only to be wrong, and ends up regretting it in retrospect. The crash puts him in a position where despite being able bodied his entire life, he suddenly has to rely on a group of teenagers, his students whom he’s expected to care for himself and feels a responsibility to, are now the ones taking care of him, and overseeing other survival tasks that despite his practical know-how, he finds himself unable to do.

As they spend more time in the wilderness it becomes apparent to him that the team doesn’t really want nor need his help or advice anymore and feeling, too, that he might be useless, he resigns himself to inaction and fails the team he was supposed to protect and support without meaning to because his control over them is fickle and dwindling anyway. He tries to intervene both times but is met with disagreement from the collective as two of his students die preventable deaths because what does he have aside from his words, and would they listen anyway? He falls into despair imagining what his life might have looked life if he had chosen himself, if he had exercised any agency, but hypotheticals are useless. He checks out entirely as Shauna is giving birth in the other room.

He takes his life into his own hands for possibly the first time by deciding to end it and is interrupted. He realizes what witnessing an event like that would do to Misty and chooses his responsibility to her instead.

He finally makes an autonomous choice again in leaving; wanting not to hurt them but to save himself and so he stays far away. He leaves behind the only person he can trust because she has made it clear to him that she isn’t so different from the rest of them, and not for the first time, he is left completely alone. He regains his will to live but not even necessarily because that’s what he wants and more because he’s afraid, and in his head, the alternative is dying and being eaten. He is hyper aware of the way his leg is a disadvantage to him in a survival situation. So he leaves.

He scavenges and starves but makes do on his own. He adapts. He kidnaps Mari and feeds her and fixes her knee because even after the fear that prompts his departure, she’s scared and she’s hurt and she’s his to take care of. He knows that even if it means he pays for it with his life, he has to let her go. He probably figures she will talk, what other choice does she have? Upon being found, he saves Shauna and Van and Akilah, only to be captured. He knows going into the trial that it won’t be fair. He has no other options. He has no agency.

He is sentenced to death for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s placed in an animal pen, his only means of mobility withheld from him. He’s dragged to a tree to be shot by his former team and isn’t even afforded the dignity of a look in the eye as they do it. He can’t do anything about it. An eleventh hour prophetic vision spares his life, but the severing of his Achilles as the newly settled upon punishment violently strips him of what mobility he had left, and he hadn’t been afforded agency since he was off on his own. He’s left immobile and he’s in pain and he isn’t even allowed to die of his own accord despite his begging and pleading. Even if he knows it’s selfish or horrible or irrational to ask Nat to help him do it, he keeps begging because he has nothing left. Not even choice.

To be allowed to die is the one thing he wants and in granting him his final wish, She gives him back his agency. It’s not what she wants for him and she will feel that guilt for the rest of her life. She knows it will get her in trouble with the rest of the group, but it’s what he wants. That means something to her.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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divider credit here

[breathlesswinds]

(Devlog) What We Learned Making A Trans Dating Game

Hello, Amelia here, the writer for Breathless Winds. It's been 250,000+ words, countless revisions, and three years since this game entered development, and I wanted to talk about what I've learned leading up to release.

The concept for Breathless Winds was actually sort of a joke between friends. I was talking with Doris about how there should be a dating game where you play as a trans woman and your dating options revolve around certain ‘tropes’ we’d both seen in trans fiction-- the totally accepting cishet guy who falls in love with the trans heroine before she even knows she’s a woman, the cool trans woman who the heroine doesn’t know if she wants to date or wants to be, and so on.

Doris wound up suggesting we make this game ourselves. We both like visual novels and want to tell LGBT stories. Still half-jokingly and half-seriously, we started fleshing out what the romance options would be and coming up with a setting-- and soon, we were fully committed to making this game real.

I was a fan of visual novels but had only ever written prose. I knew which visual novels I liked and which scenes stood out, but I didn’t know why they did or how to make my own. 

I read some great advice from visual novel developers, but a good amount of my knowledge came from just working on Breathless Winds. As our first project, this game has grown a lot with us and we’ve learned a lot while making it.

Learning How to Write Visual Novels

A bad habit I had to break out of was only using the ‘novel’ part of the game and not the ‘visual’ part. I would sometimes write “He smiled” or lines like that, and Doris informed me that we can convey this much more simply with a sprite change.

It sounds obvious in retrospect, but lines like that are often pretty invisible when you’re reading a non-visual novel. These lines change the sprite of the character inside your head (if that makes sense, haha). I realized that I’m so used to them being ‘invisible’ that I didn’t notice their absence in visual novels I liked, so I would accidentally include them while writing. 

I was also writing these routes in a word processor, so I didn’t have the visual portion to reference, myself. I wound up making a lot of ‘tone’ notes like, “Lantana should be smug here” so that the meaning would carry when revising and implementing these into Ren’py. 

So, while visual novels share a lot with prose, they’re an entirely different medium. On the subject of representing things visually, I’ve struggled trying to figure out how much can be visually represented and how much should be written. 

Every asset in the game has to be drawn by Doris, so if I want the characters to go to a new location for a scene, I have to keep in mind that’s another background that Doris has to draw. If I want a new character to show up, that’s another sprite she has to draw. I don’t want to overload her, but if I’m trying to avoid this entirely, characters sometimes wind up standing in one room talking for ages without anything significant changing on-screen.

I’ve learned that it’s recommended for something to almost always be changing on-screen, though, so sometimes I just have to ask Doris to make a new asset for a certain scene. I still try to stick to locations/characters that already exist more often than not.

Every single thing in a visual novel is deliberate. Another thing I’ve had to learn that I never even considered before is how to write each line so it fits in the text box. It sounds obvious, but when I’m playing a visual novel, I don’t usually think about how each line has to be carefully constructed so it doesn’t need to be split up into two or more text boxes. In my mind, if a visual novel is well-created, there’s not much that breaks a reader’s immersion.

Planning & Outlining

The previous section might sound really weird to some people, so let me elaborate.  I’m a lifelong ‘write by the seat of your pants’-er, so the biggest trial-and-error of creating Breathless Winds for me was planning out the game.

Initially, I created outlines for each of the four routes, and we agreed ahead of time on which CGs each route would have. That way, Doris could draw the necessary backgrounds and CGs while I was in the long process of drafting this game.  My original outlines weren’t great. I know a lot of people have different experiences with writing, but for me personally, a story is always shaping itself in my mind. When I started making the outlines for Breathless Winds, I knew the concepts we wanted to convey, but I didn’t know what each route (and the game as a whole) was really about yet. This might sound weird and unprofessional, but sometimes, I don’t know what a story is about until I finish the first draft.

So while I was writing, I would look at my outlines and I would think, “this doesn’t actually make sense, he wouldn’t say that” or “this plot point would work better if moved to this other section” or “there’s a plot hole here I didn’t notice”. The story wound up changing a lot in this way as I learned what it’s really ‘about’. 

And even after I finished the first draft, I’d get feedback from Doris and/or my editor and they would suggest fixes to problems that even I hadn’t noticed, and then I would revise the route some more, and later on I’d come back and need to redo part of the route to comply with something I wrote in a later route-- I haven’t really felt ‘finished’ with Breathless Winds at any point, and I think I’ll still feel this way after the game is released.

This means that sometimes, a background was created but would go unused because there was no space for the scene that would use it, or we’d need a new CG last-minute, or so on. 

When I’m figuring things out as I go while writing a non-VN, the only person that I can adversely affect is my own self… so I’m eternally grateful for all of Doris’s patience with me on this matter. I think Breathless Winds has come out a much better game for all the re-plotting and revision. 

I redid the outlines several times as I went. I think I’ve understood how to create outlines that personally work for me-- ‘living’ outlines that hit all the main points, but leave wiggle room for moments when a character does something unexpected, work the best for me.

Scope Creep

So, originally, each route was meant to be 40,000 words. “With four routes, that’s only 160,000 words!” I thought. “And some of my favorite visual novels are about that long, so I can write that much, too!” ← clueless

This is the most infamous mistake that new creators make, and I walked right into it. I should have known better since I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with past non-VN writing projects before, but I was starry-eyed and didn’t realize how much work it is to make a VN. Some of those favorite visual novels I referenced were made by much larger teams, writers whose full-time job was writing (I wrote all of these routes on the side while working at a day job). 

If I could have done it again, I would have asked Doris to start out with a really short VN. But, I don’t regret making Breathless Winds at all. It’s brought Doris and I a lot closer, for one. Every time I thought I wanted to give up on this, Doris would motivate me to continue. Without the two of us both and our strong friendship, Breathless Winds wouldn’t exist, and I think that’s beautiful. 

No matter what, we’re going to see it through to the end. (I hope people like it, though…)

Anyway, here I am talking about how much 40,000 words is. Each route now is about 60k to 70k words. The problem with having evolving outlines is that they can often evolve into double their original size.

We came up with the idea of the poachers really early in development, and then not addressing the poachers felt like a failing, but by that point it was too late to remove the poachers entirely… and so the game wound up a lot longer dealing with the poachers. 

I think that if we had an editor sooner on in the game’s development, then we might have had someone to tell us, “do you really need all of this in the game? Does this plot point really need to be there? Will you be able to write all of this in a reasonable amount of time?”, haha. But Doris and I were really excited about the possibilities of this game when we started creating it, and without anyone to reel us back in, we wound up coming up with more and more things we wanted to put in the game.

Did you know there was going to be an island full of talking rats who say things like “the big cheese” and stuff all the time in Breathless Winds? Yeah. 

The Core Design Philosophy of Breathless Winds

So, for anyone who’s read this far but doesn’t know yet-- the premise of Breathless Winds is that you play as a trans woman who doesn’t know she’s trans yet, and she finds love with one of four love interests as she discovers her gender identity. 

In real life, it can be a lot messier for a person to date when discovering their gender identity. To put it briefly and mildly, a trans person’s life and sense of personal identity can rapidly change during a gender crisis and the early stages of transition. 

However, we wanted to make this game a ‘wish-fulfillment’ type story-- a trans fantasy about acceptance, community, and love. During a gender crisis, it can be easy to feel as if one has lost touch with themselves and become isolated from others. A sincere wish shared by many trans people is to be accepted, loved, and even celebrated as their true gender, not just tolerated. 

Since many trans people don’t get love and acceptance in real life, especially with the ongoing transphobic moral panic, we wanted to create a game that would bring this feeling of trans joy and celebration to trans audiences. 

We also hope that cis players will still enjoy the story and characters, and maybe come away from the game with a new understanding about being transgender and other aspects of LGBT identity (although we never intended this game to be ‘educational’).

Making Characters that Celebrate Trans Identity

Although we went through several revisions, the core identities of each character stayed the same since the game was first ‘jokingly’ pitched. In another post, I discussed how each character is themed around a change in seasons. (I also wound up theming them around the four humors when I was initially concepting them-- I really wanted to avoid too much ‘overlap’ in the LI’s personalities, haha). 

Ultimately, characters are created to serve a role. The LIs in Breathless Winds were designed to be love interests, of course-- characters who would appeal to the hypothetical trans femme audience. As mentioned earlier, we modeled them after other trans fiction tropes because these types of characters have a certain tried-and-true appeal, but this left plenty of flexibility to put our own spin on it. 

A trans woman being loved as a woman by a cishet guy can feel like a high form of ‘passing’, ‘fitting in’ to the female gender role, and being validated by his orientation. He only likes women, and he likes you, so you’re undoubtedly a woman. As a cishet guy, he represents a sort of acceptance into a societal norm that trans women can desire to live to. (Lantana, as a cis lesbian, represents the sapphic counterpoint to this-- although there is of course a big gap between the ‘normalcy’ of a cishet man and a cis lesbian woman, and I don’t mean to say those two are equivalent.) 

But not all trans women want to live to that (cis) societal norm. Rue and Valerian, as a trans woman and a trans man respectively, are the t4t options. 

Rue’s route represents that trans/sapphic ‘envy’ (“do I want her or do I want to be her?”) as well as finding power in community aside from what society considers ‘normal’. We’ve always been pretty clear about what we wanted to do with Rue’s route.

We went back and forth a lot more on Valerian’s route. Initially, we were unsure if he should be trans. He and Rue are the two less-friendly love interests (at least initially), so I was afraid it would come across that t4t is a more hostile option, which is not true at all. But it also felt like a mistake to not have a trans man in the game-- but making Gallardia trans would have required a big overhaul of what we had in mind for him and his route. (Although, childhood friends t4t is a really good idea...)

Beyond that, Valerian takes a villainous role in any route that isn't his own. We were worried that it would be wrong to have a trans antagonist who represents unjust power. However, Breathless Winds is a queer game with other positive trans characters, and we've always approached Valerian as a hot anti-villain man that you can't help but like.

In the end, Valerian’s route is about breaking generational cycles and what it is that makes you a man, and I also managed to sneak in a scene where they dance at a ball in the royal palace, so in the end I think it all worked out great.

Wish Fulfillment and Catharsis

Doris and I both agreed that we wouldn’t depict on-screen transphobia in Breathless Winds. Poppy worries about not being accepted, but fear of acceptance can come with any change in identity. Rue was rejected by her family for being trans, but this doesn’t take place ‘on screen’ in the game. There exist certain metaphorical parallels for transness and transphobia, but every route has a happy ending. 

Following up on this-- it can be difficult to write about discovery of gender identity without writing about transphobia, considering how many trans people suffer from internalized transphobia during their period of repression.

Sometimes, repressed/closeted transgender people ‘hyper-perform’ their assigned gender as a form of denial. A trans woman might grow out a beard and join a gym, while a trans man might become very interested in makeup and feminine clothing. 

In Breathless Winds, Poppy often struggles with ‘strength’ and what it means to be a man. In several routes, she tries to prove her strength under the assumption that being stronger would make her happy. Afraid the world would reject her if she became who she really is, she preemptively rejects herself.

Not every trans person suffers from prolonged denial, internalized transphobia, or even gender dysphoria. I don’t think it’s impossible to tell a purely-positive story about trans joy. 

While Poppy never gets rejected for being trans, faces transphobia, gets called a slur, etc, she faces both internal and external (metaphorical) obstacles to realizing and accepting her identity. 

Gallardia represents a societal norm that Poppy can’t live up to herself as a man.

Lantana suffers from certain aspects of her identity as a woman, which makes Poppy feel guilt for wanting to be a girl.

Rue is isolated from town at the start of her route, a ‘punishment’ for breaking this societal norm.

Valerian has to hyper-conform to his masculine gender role at first in toxic ways before finding acceptance from within and from his loved ones.

These struggles are real to a lot of people, but instead of pretending they don’t exist, I hoped to tell a story about catharsis. Poppy is able to live up to her truth as a woman and finds love with Gallardia, Poppy and Lantana redefine what being a woman should and does mean to them, Rue and Poppy find community in others who don’t fit the norm, Poppy and Valerian stop seeking gender validation from a society that was never made to serve them. 

Although these powerful forces of oppression exist, loving yourself as a trans person- and loving those around you, protecting the natural world, and standing up for what you believe in- can save the day. That’s the kind of story we wanted to tell.

Wrap-up

There’s a lot more I could write, but this has already gotten really long (sorry!) so I’ll wrap it up here. 

Learning how to write a visual novel in terms of technical skill (how to depict events on-screen, how long each line should be) as well as in terms of writing skill (how to outline the game, how to plan visual assets) has been a massive undertaking for me. 

Writing Breathless Winds has been a big challenge but also deeply rewarding, and all of your support has made the experience even more wonderful. Thank you for reading and thank you for supporting the game!

[five-rivers]

archetypical changes

@echoghost1 @ghostfox_fuyu

It started out small.  Small enough that, in retrospect, Danny was surprised he noticed at all.  But he did.  At least, he noticed enough to dismiss it as nothing important. 

It was just hair, after all.  Just hair, growing a bit too fast.  He knew that people did have different rates of hair growth naturally.  Like, beards especially could grow fast.  That’s why five o’clock shadow was a thing.  

Just hair.  

He wound a curl around finger, where it peeked out from under his left ear.  This fast…  He could probably brush it off.  Maybe it was an extension of his healing powers.  He’d just need to cut it more often, so he didn’t go to the barber too often.  Would that even be something people would notice?  

He’d noticed.  It was his body.  His hair.  

Would anyone else?

He ran a hand through it, sweeping it back, and went on with his life.  

“Hey, Jazz,” he said, a week later.  “Will you give me a haircut?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jazz.  She turned from her desk and looked him over.  “It is getting long, but didn’t you just get a haircut?”

Danny shrugged.  “Does it matter?”

Jazz walked over to him and looked up and down the hallway.  “Is it a ghost thing?” she whispered.  

“No idea,” Danny said.  

Jazz sighed, as if it was his fault he was a freak of nature.  

Well.  It kind of was.  Still.  She didn't need to act like it.

“Come on, we'll do it in the bathroom. I'll get the broom, you find the scissors.”

They regrouped in the bathroom a few minutes later.  Jazz had picked up a chair as well. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” she said as she pulled a comb from a drawer.  She ran the comb through his hair.  

“I did brush my hair before,” said Danny, leaning back slightly and closing his eyes.  

“Sure,” said Jazz.  “Just checking.  How do you want this?”

“However it was before.  Just shorter than it is now.”

“Well… I’ll do my best.  But you know I’ve not done this before, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t ask Mom or Dad, and I’m broke, so.  This is about it.  Unless I want to ask Sam, and I’m not ready to go goth.”

“Going ghost is enough for you, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay,” said Jazz with a sigh.  “Let’s do this.”

The scissors snipped cleanly through his hair, over and over, ticklish strands falling around his ears and shoulders.  Jazz didn’t get fancy.  She kept things relatively even and didn’t attempt fades or different lengths or anything like that.  The result was somewhat strange, but it was workable.  No one would think he had some kind of weird hair-growing… thing.  

Yeah.  He was totally killing this secret identity thing.  

Jazz ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few more cut strands.  “Your hair is really fluffy, you know that?”

“Thanks, Jazz,” said Danny.  

“Thank me by helping clean up.  Your hair got everywhere.”

“Guess that’s why barber shops use those weird little capes.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  

They cleaned up relatively quickly, and Danny spent the rest of the afternoon working on homework, secure in the knowledge that he had, once again, protected himself from discovery via stupid means, like supernaturally fast-growing hair.  He didn’t have the time for it to distract him from what was really important.  In this case, transformations of functions.  

Math.  What would he do without it?

Then, of course, he went to bed and fell asleep.  No one disturbed him that night, ghost or human, which only happened about half the time, even if it felt like he was being woken up every night, sometimes.  

He woke up and ran his hands through his hair.  It felt longer than it had yesterday when he went to bed, but not by a huge amount.  He might have to get Jazz to cut his hair once a week or more.  Maybe he’d just have to learn how to do it himself.  Ugh…

He went about his usual morning routine in his normal somnambulant state.  Clothing, shoes, on to the bathroom…  

His reflection blinked sleepily at him.  Yeah, his hair was a bit longer, but only by a few millimeters.  It wasn’t growing fast enough that anyone would notice over the course of a few days.

Dismissing the problem as one that wouldn’t truly become problematic for a few more days, he picked up his toothbrush and made a face at himself in the mirror.  

Then he froze.  

He leaned forward, over the sink, baring his teeth.  He poked at his canines with one finger.  Yep.  Yep, that was real.  That wasn’t a hallucination, even if it seemed like it should be.  

His upper canines had grown long and sharp overnight.  Their points descended until they almost touched his bottom gums.  He opened his mouth and discovered that it wasn’t just his upper canines, but his lower canines, too.  

His fingers roved over the rest of his teeth, searching for other changes.  He couldn’t find any.  That didn’t mean they weren’t there.  

He pulled off his shirt, then his pants.  He hadn’t noticed anything else while he was getting dressed, but he was so out of it in the mornings that his lack of noticing also didn’t mean anything.  

His skin… still pasty white, still lightly freckled.  His muscles seemed to move normally, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.  However…  He raised his hand to his side and slotted his fingers into the gaps between his ribs.  It hadn’t been like this before, had it?  He slid his fingers back and forth, thinking.  It felt… oddly satisfying, but also very wrong.  His hips also seemed slimmer, bonier.  

He’d never had all that much fat, he took after his mother in that way, but he was pretty sure this was over and above that.  Something strange was happening to him.  

He put his shirt and pants back on and walked through the wall into Jazz’s room.  

“Holy– Knock first,” said Jazz, throwing the first thing she could grab at him.  Which was her pajama pants.  Ew.  “What’s wrong?”

“I have fangs now,” said Danny.  

“What?”

Danny opened his mouth as wide as he could to show her. 

 “What are you doing, I don’t want to see your uvula, that’s– Oh.”

Danny let his mouth close with a click.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m–”  Jazz looked lost.  “I don’t know.  You can probably hide, um, teeth for school.  It’s not as if people are going to be looking in your mouth…  Are there any other changes?  Other than that and your hair?”

“Um,” said Danny.  “I– Maybe?”

“If it’s important enough that you broke into my room–”

“I didn’t break anything.”

“--then you’d better tell me.”

Danny felt himself blushing. “It’s– I think that I’ve lost a lot of weight.  Like, overnight.  I can see my ribs now.”

Jazz hissed through her teeth.  “That’s serious, Danny.  That’s a serious health thing.”

“More than the fangs?”

“Way more than the fangs.  I’ll call us out sick, and we can go visit your doctor friend.  What was his name?  Frostfight?”

“Frostbite,” corrected Danny.  “You’re really going to help me skip school?”

“For a health thing?” asked Jazz.  “Yeah.  You basically are sick.  Or, at least, there’s something strange going on with your body that we need to figure out sooner rather than later.  Now get out of here so I can get dressed.  Is it cold where Frostbite lives?”

“Freezing,” said Danny.  “Wear long underwear and layers.  Lots of layers.”

“Ugh.  I might as well wear my hazmat.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Danny.  “We are going into the Ghost Zone.”

Jazz sighed.  “Great, now, seriously, get out and get ready to go.  I’ll get you when I’m ready.”

Danny fled back through the walls and dropped himself onto his bed.  He waited, thoughts whirling.  What could possibly be making his hair grow faster, his weight drop, and his teeth turn into fangs?  Was this some kind of ghost disease?  Ghost puberty?  Some kind of weird curse?

Jazz knocked on his door not long after, and Danny leaped up, eager to get answers.  

“I called us out,” she said, then did a double take.  “Danny, your hair.”

He reached up and ran his hand over his head.  “It’s longer,” he said.  

“A lot longer,” said Jazz.  “Visibly longer.  I was only gone a few minutes.  It’s getting faster.  A lot faster.”

Danny forced a smile.  “Well, good thing we were already going to see Frostbite.”

Jazz hesitated, then nodded.  “I got Mom and Dad to run off to Elmerton.  Told them there was a ghost sighting over there.”

“So they won’t notice us being gone.  Smart.”

“I know I am,” said Jazz.  She smirked down at Danny, then winked.  “Come on, let’s go.”

Danny went ghost and floated next to her as she made her way down the stairs.  “How are you on piloting the Specter Speeder?”

“I’m, well,” she made a face.  “I haven’t gotten much of a chance.  I’ve gotten up to level three on the simulator.”

“You should be fine to fly it, then,” said Danny.  “It’s not like there’s a lot of stuff to run into– you’ll just go through it.  And there’s no time to learn like the present.”

“Don’t use my words against me,” said Jazz, scowling slightly.  Danny stuck his tongue out at her.  

They went down into the lab, and started going through the flight checks for the Specter Speeder.  

“I’ll fly ahead,” said Danny, clipping on a Fenton Fone.  “Check for danger and all.”

“Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” said Danny.  “Just… weird.”  He licked his teeth.  “Really weird.”

“Okay, go ahead.  I’ll finish up here in just a couple of minutes.”

Danny flew through the portal and did a few laps of the portal.  “Everything looks clear for you over here.”

“Okay,” said Jazz through the Fone.  “Check your Fenton Fone.  It’s skipping a lot of what you say.”

Danny grumbled but checked it.  It seemed fine.  He popped it back in.  “I think we’ll just have to deal with it,” said Danny.  

“Great,” said Jazz.  “Stand clear.”

The Specter Speeder slowly slid through the portal.  Once it was all the way through, Danny tapped his Fone again and waved at Jazz.  “Follow me,” he said.  “It’s a long way there.”

.

The Far Frozen was as cold as ever.  Danny landed in the snow, his hair falling down to the curve of his jaw, and sighed at the pleasant sensation.  Flying wasn’t difficult, per se.  It wasn’t like walking or running, it didn’t really use muscles, but it was tiring, and the Far Frozen was far.  

However… was he more tired than he normally would have been?  Or was this another symptom?

“Great One!” greeted Frostbite, jarring Danny from his spiraling introspection.  “What brings you here today?”

“Well,” said Danny, trying to get his thoughts together.  

“Health things,” said Jazz, climbing out of the Speeder.  “Oh, gosh, it really is cold out here.”

“I see,” said Frostbite, leaning closer to Danny.  “You do not appear injured.”

“It’s more like… body… changes,” explained Danny awkwardly.  He glanced sideways at the other yetis walking through the public space.  “Can we go in?”

“Of course,” said Frostbite.  He gestured Danny and Jazz onward and towards a well-lit cave.  “Medical is this way, as you might remember.”

“I… guess I don’t, really,” said Danny, following Frostbite.  “It’s sort of a blur.”

“Understandable.  You were quite unwell.”

Danny could feel Jazz glaring at the back of his head.  He decided to ignore that.  Problem for later, if she remembered.  The hair and teeth and weight loss were the problems now.

They reached the medical wing in short order, and Frostbite ushered him and Jazz into a smaller private room.  There was a counter and an examination bench and a few cabinets.  “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked.  

Danny, with Jazz’s ‘help,’ explained.  

“Hm,” said Frostbite.  “There are a few things that could cause that, but I need to make some measurements before I could say which one is happening here.  Could you sit up here and take off your shirt?”

Danny flew up - it was a bit too high to just jump up - and pulled off his shirt.  Frostbite produced a stethoscope, and asked Danny to cough and hum.  He listened intently.  Danny listened, too.  Humming felt… odd, as if his chest were more hollow, as if the sound was brushing the very edge of his ghostly wail.

“And all this happened recently?” asked Frostbite, after a few minutes.

“Yeah.  I noticed the hair thing about a week ago?  Everything else seemed to just show up today.”

“I think I may know what is happening.”

“Is it a ghost puberty thing?” asked Danny, unsure if he should hope for that or not.  

“I suppose it could be considered analogous to puberty,” said Frostbite, bemused, “although puberty isn't something that typically happens to ghosts.  We don't age.  It's more along the lines of adapting to a role after a period of malleability.”

Jazz let out a little sigh.  “It's not something that will hurt Danny, then?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say that for certain.  There are a great deal of potential complications, which may be made greater by your half-human status, and the archetype you seem to be settling into…”  

“What is it?” asked Danny.  

“The role you have taken upon yourself is that of a tutelary, a protective spirit.  You are developing a very thin, almost gaunt appearance, and your hair is growing rapidly.  Fangs tend to be nonspecific, common to many types of ghost, the same with minor changes to your nails and skin tone.  Your wail on the other hand…”

“I sort of felt it when I was humming, earlier,” volunteered Danny.  “That hasn't happened before.”

“There is only one group I know of that matches all those traits,” said Frostbite gravely.  “Here, in the Realms, they are called the Keeners, or the Mourners, or, on occasion, Those Who Mourn Before, for their predictive abilities.  In the human world, I believe the more famous of them became known as banshees.”

“I thought banshees were all women,” said Danny, feeling a little blank. 

“The famous ones are,” said Frostbite.

Danny wanted to know more about that, but shook his head and returned to the question at hand.  “What's dangerous about that, though?”  he certainly thought it sounded unpleasant and inconvenient to the whole ‘secret identity’ thing, but he could admit there was a difference between that and actively dangerous. 

“A banshee’s wail is supposed to kill people, isn't it?” interjected Jazz.  

“They do, on occasion,” said Frostbite.  “Especially when they are younger and have less control.”

“I've had my wail under control for ages, though,” protested Danny, shooting a glare at Jazz.  She gave him an apologetic shrug.  

“When I asked you to hum, earlier, didn’t you feel something different?  Something unusual?” asked Frostbite, kindly.  

Danny shrugged.  “Maybe.”

“This is a change,” said Frostbite.  “One that affects more than your physical appearance.  The powers associated with your archetype will change as well, including your wail, and those changes generally come with a loss of control, however temporary.  The typical precaution in these cases is to, ah, use a gag, until a community of banshees willing to train the new one can be contacted.”

“I, um.  I don’t suppose that’s something that I can do, like, overnight?”

“Not generally,” said Frostbite.  “There’s some overlap between banshees and ice-cored ghosts, more than there is for fire-cored ghosts, but it isn’t a great enough number for us to have regular contact.”

“That’s… I can’t… Great.  That’s.  What am I supposed to do with that?  I’ve got my whole town–  The ghosts– I can’t just up and leave.”

“Danny, you can’t go back if your wail could just randomly go off and, you know, ki–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny, dropping his head into his hands.  He rubbed his face vigorously. 

“You may not have that particular addition to your wail,” said Frostbite.  “In fact, I would be rather surprised if you did.  You are, like I said, primarily a tutelary.  A protector.  Banshees from such backgrounds more typically have predictive or clairvoyant abilities.  They do not cause the deaths that follow their cry, they only are aware of them.”

“Well, I guess that’d just suck for me rather than everyone else.”  He could already feel his mental health taking a hit.  “But I’ll be good, I’ll stay here and do whatever precautions you want.  Play the silent game, sit in the middle of nowhere in the Zone, the gag thing, whatever.  You’d better come up with a good excuse for me, though.  I think Mom and Dad’ll get suspicious if they don’t see me for days or whatever.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Jazz.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” asked Danny.  “Like, am I going to spontaneously combust or grow a tail or what?”

Frostbite chuckled.  “Probably not.  But we should take some fittings for the sound-dampening gag…”

Danny sighed.  “I really don’t want to wear a gag.”

“It will be temporary,” said Frostbite, “to prevent accidents before you can have proper training.”

Danny wrinkled his nose.  “That sounds wrong.”

“How so?” asked Frostbite.  

“Don’t want to talk about it.”  He fell back to lay down on the examination table.  

Frostbite patted his shoulder.  “It will be fine, Great One,” he said.  “Almost everyone goes through this eventually.  And while you’re here, I can give you more details about what other kinds of changes you can expect going forward.  I have simplified a good deal, after all.”

“Oh my gosh, it is just like puberty,” said Danny.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” asked Jazz.  

“I’m more worried about you flying back.”

“We can give your sister an escort,” said Frostbite.  “If Miss Jasmine is alright with that.”

Danny removed his hands from his face to stare Jazz into taking the escort. 

“Alright,” said Jazz.  “If it won’t put you out.”  She walked over to Danny.  “And if you are sure you don’t need me.”

“I’m sure.  We can’t both be gone for who knows how long.”

She sighed and patted his shoulder.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I’m just going to complain about it the whole time.”

“As is your right.  I know I wasn’t too happy when it started happening to me.  I wasn’t always as handsome as I am now, you know.”Danny sat up.  “Okay, now, I’ve got to hear that story.”

[awhdeee]

Hi! This isn’t my usual form of media, but it’s a fan account no less so!! I will post anything and everything that is hxh!! I wrote a very quick, retrospective fanfic about Gon. It can be read through a romantic or platonic lens, but it’s arguably more platonic in my opinion. I might post it to ao3 for funsies, but I’m doing it here first! (I have no idea how to format this on tumblr…) Excuse typos or missed italics, I’m too lazy to double check.

“Eurydice”

No matter how fast Killua runs, he’s always one step behind Gon—until one day, he isn’t there at all.

Gon could never know Killua was behind him. He knew Killua would be, because—it’s Killua. Killua always followed him.

But belief isn’t proof. And technically, there was no way to be sure. Not without turning around. Killua’s footsteps were too soft for certainty—quieter than wind, lighter than breath, stealthy even when there was no need to hide. So quiet, Gon’s trained ear sometimes mistook him for a ghost.

He never asked about that. It was a strange habit of Killua’s, one he didn’t quite understand: always walking behind, never beside. He’d wondered why—but never asked. Killua was skittish, flighty; that was the kind of question he’d either dodge or lie about.

Still, it gave Gon a strange sense of pride. Or something close to it. Maybe that’s not the right word, not the right emotion—but he’s never been good with those, anyway. Still, yes: pride.

If he walked through the pits of hell—through fire, through ice—he didn’t need to look behind him to know Killua would be there. He had no anxieties, no doubts, no qualms. Because Killua was loyal like that. Too loyal. It had always taken so little for Killua to give so much of himself.

But looking back, all those years ago, maybe he should’ve turned around anyways.

He doesn’t remember the last thing Killua said to him. Not even the things he said in their last goodbye—because the World Tree was right there, and Ging was right there. Their final moment slipped by without being marked. No grand goodbye. No dramatic slam of the door. Just…

Gone.

He finds himself nineteen now, sprawled across his childhood bed. Legs tan and long and useless, toes grazing the floor, eyes chasing the constellations cracked into the ceiling paint. Wondering what happened.

It wasn’t always like that. They used to talk in a language only they understood—half-sentences, quiet snickers, stolen glances, sharp exhales. Gon used to think that kind of understanding was permanent. Like breathing. Like blood.

But maybe Killua was always a little out of reach. Maybe he couldn't see that, back then. Even now, he tells himself it must’ve been something else that pulled Killua away. Some trick of fate. Some external thing he couldn’t control.

Because the alternative is worse. If that wasn’t it, then Killua must’ve left because of him.

So he rewrites it, just a little. Tells himself stories in his head—little ones, harmless ones. Killua was always stubborn. And sensitive. Always took things too personally. Always ran when things got hard.

And Gon… Gon was just trying to stay focused. Stay strong. He didn’t have the luxury of falling apart when Kite died. Someone had to keep moving. Someone had to fight.

He remembers thinking Killua didn’t understand that. He said something, too. Something sharp, ugly. But not that bad.

Gon tries to picture the moment, the way Killua’s face fell. But the memory’s hazy, or maybe he’s making it up all on his own. He wants to believe Killua didn’t cry—not in front of him, at least. If Killua had needed him, really needed him, he would’ve said something.

(But maybe he did. Maybe Gon just didn’t hear it. Or didn’t want to.)

The thing is, Gon knows that’s where it all started to rot—right there in the heat and blood of the Chimera Ants. When Killua stayed, and stayed, and stayed, Gon kept slipping further away. He’s positive that’s where it must’ve changed. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But soft and subtle. Like footsteps fading behind him.

Still, what was he supposed to do? Kite died. Kite died. Gon couldn’t prioritize their friendship in the frenzy of the war. He had to beat Knuckle, find Pitou, and save Kite. But then the throne room happened.

That moment—fixed in amber in his mind—Pitou kneeling over Komugi, whispering things Gon didn’t care to hear. He remembers the sick heat in his blood, the way it roared in his ears. Everything else—Killua’s voice, the warnings, the silence—was muffled by the pulse pounding in his skull.

He hadn’t even looked at Killua.

Because this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about them. It was about Kite. About holding someone accountable before the guilt swallowed him whole. He needed something to crush, something to hate, something to hurt.

Pitou had bowed their head. Asked for time. Begged for patience.

Gon had none left.

He was shaking. Not from fear, but from fury. It had no name, but it crackled through his bones like lightning. He remembers staring at Pitou’s hands and thinking they were too gentle. Too careful. How dare they be gentle. How dare they touch someone like that, like they understood care, like they could save anything after what they’d taken.

Komugi’s breathing had been shallow. He remembers that now, maybe. Or perhaps he’s adding that in—he doesn’t know anymore. All he knew then was that Pitou wanted him to wait a whole hour and Gon was half a second away from crushing the girl’s skull in.

And Killua—

He was right there behind him, like always. Killua had said something. He can’t remember at all what his best friend said, but the cadence of his voice was quick, panicked, and desperate.

Gon didn’t listen.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because it didn’t matter. Nothing could’ve mattered in that moment except what he felt. The fury, the betrayal, the hole inside his chest he needed to fill with revenge.

He remembers thinking, Why can’t Killua see that? Why is he trying to stop me?

He can’t recall what exactly he said in response. Only that whatever it was made Killua go quiet.

Gon can pinpoint this as one of those times. A moment when Gon thought Killua was still there. Like always. Silent, trailing just behind. Maybe hurt. Maybe angry. But there.

Killua’s footsteps were maddeningly soft. Softer than a whisper, softer than the space between syllables. There had been times Gon had turned around, expecting him, and found nothing. A surprise. And then—like magic, Killua would appear, having trailed him the whole time, popping around a corner or appearing beside him with a grin.

That was loyalty, right? That was devotion. That was Killua.

So he didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to.

Even when Killua went quiet, even when he didn’t hear him move, Gon believed with all his heart that Killua was still there. Behind him. Waiting. Watching. Following. He had no reason to doubt it. Because Killua always stayed, even when he shouldn’t have. Through pain, through fear, through every impossible, selfish choice Gon made—Killua was there.

So Gon hadn’t noticed his absence. Not right away. Not when the room felt like it was collapsing under the weight of his grief, not when Pitou was kneeling and pleading and lying, not when he was burning with something so dangerous it felt like it might split him in two. He had no room for noticing anything but himself in that moment.

Not the quiver in Killua’s voice, nor the raw, desperate way he had said Gon’s name, as if it was the last time he’d ever speak it. Nor the quiet way he disappeared.

Gon had a goal. He had something important to do. Something that mattered more than feelings, more than consequences, more than the people trying to hold him back.

So he tells himself Killua was there.

That he stayed, like always. Waiting. Watching. Following.

That Gon didn’t turn around because he didn’t have to.

There are many days Gon thinks about “turning around.”

Not literally, of course. It’s not like Killua’s behind him now, just waiting to be seen. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s not a myth. There’s no trick of the gods, no cosmic riddle he can outsmart. Just time, and distance, and everything Gon refused to face when it would’ve mattered. But the urge is there.

To reach out. And apologize.

I’m sorry Killua, he would say, and he would mean it. I was so angry, I shouldn’t have pushed you away when we needed each other the most.

But then what? What if Killua says he doesn’t want to hear it? What if he says Gon’s too late? What if he says nothing at all?

It’s easier to live inside the story where Killua already forgave him. Where he understood that Gon was hurting, too. Gon had to make those choices. The pain justified the damage, or at least explained it.

Sometimes Gon imagines Killua walking just a little behind him even now—still quiet, still gentle, still loyal in his own strange, stubborn way. He imagines him there in the corner of his vision, just out of reach, and tells himself he doesn’t turn around because he doesn’t need to. Because Killua will catch up, like he always did.

But sometimes, late at night, when Gon’s too tired to lie to himself, he wonders if he didn’t turn around that day because deep down, he knew.

When he did, Killua wouldn’t be there. And that would be worse than anything else. Worse than any type of guilt or regret.

Because it would be final. It would mean that when he needed Killua most, he didn’t ask. And when Killua needed him, he didn’t listen.

And finally, when the time came to prove he saw him—not just as a shadow trailing after him, but as a person, as a boy, as Killua—he looked the other way.

So maybe he keeps walking forward, chin up, heart heavy, not because he’s brave—

Because if he doesn’t look back, if he keeps his eyes forward, towards his next adventure, next goal, next dream, Killua is still there behind him; waiting, watching, and following.

🤪🤪😋😋😝😝😝😁😁😁😁 the end!!! if u made it this far thank u for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[bumbled-bees]

Not necessarily something abusive on Lily's part, but something that I think causes a lot of problems for Lily.

One of the things that strikes me about Lily's content is just how...old it feels. The references Lily STILL uses to this day being WoW and MLP, two franchises that are basically as dead to the internet as possible. The way that she's so abrasive and hostile to her fans. You can even look at her recent not understanding why people would want her avatar on her streams to emote like a Vtuber or her Pokemon "retrospective" where not only does she really seem to care about the first 3 gens, but she's also talking about how the Psychic type isn't actually overpowered actually, when, like...it's not anymore, that's an argument that's been settled for 20 years at this point and is not relevant to modern Pokemon.

Looking at Lily's content is like stepping back in time, to a much older period of Youtube. There was a time when someone could just get a mic and yell angrily into it and get millions of views, there was a time when creators weren't just commonly, but almost expected to be angry and abrasive and talk down to their fans, there was a time when you could just make content on very, very niche media like MLP and still be successful. But, those times are long, long gone and Lily has refused to adapt or change. The most she can be bothered to do it begrudgingly watch the things that her audience are actually interested in and she makes it like pulling teeth their entire way.

I think a lot of people forget that Lily really got her start as a Youtuber in My Little Pony at the height of Brony fever, but what's shocking to be is just how much she has not moved on from that time. You really get this sense that she just really has not enjoyed ANYTHING after MLP lost its cultural relevance and she's so wrapped up in nostalgia that she both can't risk enjoying anything for fear that it will tarnish her impression of her childhood hyperfixations and refuses to engage with anything that can't make her love it as much as she loves the stuff she was obsessed with as a child.

Lily feels like a relic of an older age to me, like the last member of a long-extinct species just shambling along while everyone waits for the moment it finally expires so they can finally declare it extinct once and for all. It still boogles my mind that she's managed to hang on this long, but you also have to wonder just how long she can still cling on until she's finally left behind once and for all.

Modern audiences expect something different. Successful creators have adapted, recognizing that engagement, relatability, and a sense of community are far more appealing than relentless negativity. The abrasive, dismissive attitude that used to be the norm has fallen out of favor, yet Lily has dug in her heels. Her hostility toward her own fans—her refusal to answer repeat questions, her disdain for audience recommendations, her constant need to talk down to people—is a relic of a time when YouTubers could afford to treat their viewers like idiots and still succeed.

Her audience, however, is shrinking. The kids who once listened to her with wide eyes have grown up. They’ve realized how exhausting her persona is, how her critiques never evolve, how little respect she has for the people watching her. She didn’t grow with them—she stayed in the past, while they moved on. Now, when she’s exposed to newer trends—like Vtuber models that can emote on-stream—she doesn’t understand them. Instead of embracing new ideas, she pushes back, sneering at them.

This all ties back to something even deeper: Lily doesn’t seem to enjoy anything anymore. When MLP was at its height, she at least pretended to be invested. Now? She seems resentful of everything she covers. It’s not just that she dislikes modern media—it’s that she refuses to connect with it, refuses to approach it with anything other than an entitled expectation that it should cater to her exact sensibilities. She doesn’t want to engage with media that could challenge her nostalgia because deep down, she knows nothing will ever measure up.

The irony is that Lily could have survived this shift. Plenty of creators from the 2010s have reinvented themselves—Doug Walker evolved from just “angry reviews” to more laid-back retrospectives, AVGN focuses more on passion projects than pure rage content, even some MLP analysts have found success in discussing broader topics or moving into different fandoms. But Lily? Lily doubled down. She refuses to change, refuses to adapt, and as a result, she is fading into irrelevance.

Her rebranding attempt with CD-Call was a desperate grasp at survival, but it was doomed from the start. Changing your name doesn’t matter if you don’t change your behavior. And Lily hasn’t. She’s still bitter, still condescending, still stuck in the past. At this point, she isn’t just running on borrowed time—she’s a relic waiting to be forgotten.

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, mention of the word ‘daddy,’ kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Chapter 7 - Gonna Be Okay | ‘Ours’

You and Trent were just in the Maldives splitting banana gelato, clinking spoons as the sun set down the western horizon on a perfect night. Okay, you were eating it all but besides the point. You were sitting yapping with pride about how you never really fought. No couple had ever been so compatible. How perfectly suited you were and retrospectively how perfectly naive. Fast forward and you were in huff in the kitchen because he had promised to refill the dogs water bowls and hadn’t. He left for training completely oblivious that he had forgotten. You were slamming cabinet doors frustrated in a rage. This had become a daily occurrence. Not specifically filling water bowls but just small things had you almost in tears. What had happened. Teddy was a little over a month old. You wouldn’t say things had calmed down with her but there was definitely more of a routine. Although that routine consisted of you and Trent suppressing a lot of issues you were having. It was all about Teddy. All the time. Becoming parents had put a strain on your relationship you weren’t expecting and definitely we’re ignoring. Part of the problem was that you both were exhausted. You had so much less time with each other and much less time for other people after she arrived. Everyday felt like a broken record and broken it was. It was so unusual for you two to work around each other like this as opposed to working together. You always had such good communication, such empathy and understanding but right now… you weren’t sure you'd had a real conversation in about 2 days. You’d never gone this long. The awkwardness was palpable but your schedules made it so you didn’t really even have the space let alone the energy to deal with it.

“T… I’m not just going to stay home and wait for you to be done.” You quipped turning to the refrigerator to grab a water to hand to him. That was the other problem that made this all so easy to ignore. You still so obviously cared for each other. The love never went anywhere so you were still doing a lot of the same things just with a ton of resentment.

“Baby, this is such a bad time for this. I’m literally walking out the house right now.” He calmly said back but you knew what that meant. It was the politest way he could say ‘shut up, I don’t want to talk about this’ Next thing you knew he was gone, out the front door for another away game. You stood cradling Teddy with tears threatening to spill over. God, you were so fucking tired. You prayed things would just sort themselves on their own. When Trent came back things didn’t snap back to normal like you had hoped. It had been days since he returned and you’d both been busy. There was minimal communication outside of ‘can you feed her’ or ‘can you change her’ One more thing that definitely was causing issues was your sleeping arrangement. You couldn’t remember the last time you even cuddled.

“We need to sit down and talk about this, Trent. We can’t fall apart now.” You nervously spoke up coming round the couch to stand in front of him blocking the tv.

“Baby…” he sighed with a puppy dog face. His lips falling into the perfect pout he knew would get his way. He was never good with confrontation and boy did he have the face to get out of it but you had had enough.

“No. No. This is not how this is going to go.” You wiped away tears of frustration that started to build. You were mad you felt so emotional while he sat stoic as ever. “We need a real discussion. Like real adults, Trent. We’re fucking parents, now. We can’t just pretend nothing is going on.” You snapped a little. You had just put Teddy down for a nap so despite the heat of your words your voice was low and soft not wanting to wake her. Whether or not he wanted to admit it or talk about it, Trent felt sidelined while you concentrated mainly on Teddy. Just the same as he felt ignored, sitting on the bench, you felt you had completely disappeared. Everyone focused solely on your baby. Your life had dwindled down to only care and feed for Teddy rather than be a partner or person in your own right.

“I’m really fucking tired Trent… you go and you work out or whatever, let out all your stress out, see your friends and I’m here! I’m here all the fucking time. I can’t leave the house.” You yelled in the quietest way possible. Inside you were fuming as the words came out. It hit you that you couldn’t remember the last time you had left the house without Teddy or not for Teddy. He hated that you were using his first name. He gave you this confused look as to why you thought he wasn’t living this experience of being a new parent with you.

“Why are you trying to keep score?” He flicked his eyes up to you as you stood there in the living room with your hands on your hips. You felt like your knees were going to give out from either exhaustion or desperation but you gave off the appearance of being incredibly strong in the moment.

“Trent! “ you yelped, feeling defeated already by his response. He threw his head to the side, annoyed you kept calling him that and it definitely wasn’t being said in a good way. “When you have a match… ugh! We’re not even sleeping together in the same bed anymore because I have to wake up to feed her and I can’t mess up your schedule for games!” You cried.

“Yeah, go on Y/N. Just keep piling it on. I know, I know I’m not home a lot. I know” He said it with such a harsh tone. You’d give it to him Trent had some drama and sass to him. A bit of a bite you rarely were on this end of. Usually his smart mouth brought humor but this… this was not funny.

“That’s not fair!” You whimpered out. Rubbing your hands over your face beginning to rock back and forth filled with nerves unsure where this conversation was even going.

“It’s so I can provide for you, Y/N. Why don’t you realize that?” He threw the first name seriousness back at you. His eyes widened in disbelief, shocked you couldn’t see what he did for you, sacrificed for you. He gave up so much of his time away from his new born baby to give you the comfortable life you lived but just the same he couldn’t see what you had been sacrificing. “You wanted to have this baby too, Y/N.” He lashed out sitting forward more towards the edge of the couch. His puppy dog face had completely vanished a long time ago. He looked at you like he hated you. You knew he didn’t but right now you weren’t in the frame of mind to have that clear of thinking.

“Stop… do not go there. That’s fucked up and a line you can’t cross.” You were more upset now and rightfully so. Bringing the topic of having Teddy into this was unfair and uncalled for. The second he said it Trent felt a pit in his stomach. You stormed out of the room holding back tears till you were alone and far away enough for him not to hear. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to chase after you and hug you until you forgave him and made up. He wanted to go back to when you could just fuck this out and physically turn a lot of anger into a lot of love. That wasn’t going to happen. This was a battle of words. He knew things were bad, he knew what he said wasn’t great but he didn’t know hot to get to you without messing things up further so he kept his distance. After that squabble it was just days of awkward kitchen run ins. The only time you really spoke were in cutesy voices to Teddy who thankfully you assumed was oblivious to it all. She was maybe 40 days old. It wasn't like she could really pick up on the tension when you asked Trent if he had run the dishwasher but you didn’t want her around this negative vibe for long. You’d never experienced this type of long term strain with him. You never pinned either of you to be the type to hold a grudge but you both felt you had respective points to be made and wouldn’t let go. Once again, Trent had an away game and you murmured a feisty sarcastic ‘of course’ when he told you he was leaving the house. It was unnecessary so he ignored it and told you he loved you anyway. He still meant it, he just didn’t exactly love how cold you’d been towards him lately. It was before he was boarding his flight to come back home when you FaceTimed him. You were putting Teddy to bed. It was routine and just because you weren’t getting along didn’t mean you were going to deprive Teddy of seeing her dad before sleep. Your eyes were practically shutting from lack of sleep while Trent babbled to her.

“You know who’s just as perfect as you, baby bear? Your mummy.” You heard it and furrowed your brow. Were you crazy? Did he not know you had been fighting? You rolled your eyes. “C’mon, baby we gotta get through this.” He tried to get you to loosen your grip on the whole thing but you weren’t having it. Trent just wanted to brush over this, move and put a plaster over it. He wanted you back in his arms desperately. After you hung up you definitely felt a little bit guilty. You knew he was trying his best. It was just Trent’s way. All he wanted to do was love you but you needed something different than that right now. In a fun twist, it was Trent’s birthday this week. You couldn’t have felt more awkward about it. Truthfully and deep down you knew this fighting was temporary and you loved him so you didn’t want to taint a day you had the opportunity to really show him how much you did love him but you were stubborn. You didn’t want to be the one to say sorry first and you certainly were not going to go the rest of your life as a mother like this, you needed a conversation. Per usual as of late, you awkwardly both got ready in your wardrobe together. He asked what you wanted him to wear. Normally the task would excite you. You loved dressing him. He didn’t really mind either way even though he looked significantly better when you did. You could tell this was some sort of olive branch but it wasn’t enough. You just dragged your hand over the closet full of his tops lazily pulling out a Rhude t-shirt to hand to him. He gave a half assed smile disappointed his effort didn’t do anything. You put on a tanish grey linen off the shoulder mini dress. You actually liked it and felt okay in it. The dress was doing a lot considering you jusstttt had Teddy. He zipped your dress. His hands on your cold skin made you shiver. It was strange that his touch made you feel that way. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. You selected a pair of heels you hadn’t been able to wear since before you were pregnant. They just ran narrow and your swollen feet weren’t having it. You picked out a purse you bought in a pregnant haze. It was insanely kitschy and looked like a takeout box but it happened to be almost £2,000 from YSL. Trent probably gave into cravings in a different way than most people. You had bought some ridiculous things while pregnant but it was still cute. You stood in the mirror inspecting the full outfit.

“You look good.” Trent muttered out seeing you as he sat on the bed waiting for you. He meant it. He never said stuff like that if he didn’t. Dianne was coming over to take care of Teddy. You were not thrilled about leaving her but you wouldn’t be out long. It’s not like you and Trent were exactly eager to spend alone time together despite it being much needed. You had made a reservation at a Sushi place you went to when you celebrated his birthday on your first visit. It was sweet in theory but now it just rubbed it in how much things had changed.

“Tuna roll?” He asked you, inspecting the menu even though you both knew exactly what you were getting. You could recite his sushi order backwards. You were excited to finally have sushi again so as much as this was for Trent it was a little for you too. You ate your meal talking about basic things you might talk to a neighbor about, fairly generic for two people that lived together, that loved each other. You had ordered a special roll Trent was too scared to try but you made him have a piece anyway. He liked it and a while later he plucked another piece off your plate with his chopsticks. You widened your eyes at him, your jaw slacked. He gave you a cheeky grin with his cheeks full as he chewed. You kept eating until he did it again. You had now given him half of your order.

“T! Stop!” You giggled. He was so annoying and you hated how cute he was every time he was being a pest.

“I’ll buy you more, beautiful.” He cooed, taking a fourth of your six piece roll. You laughed at him shaking your head. It kind of felt like you were just beginning to date again. He was flirting with you and it made your heart flutter. You looked at him and watched in what felt like slow motion his big hand reach across the table to wipe a bit of soy sauce that had rested atop your lips. The feeling of his fingers on your lips, near your mouth, had your heart racing. Images of times he pushed his fingers in your mouth while he fucked you flashed in your mind. There was something about Trent in a white t-shirt. He just looked so fresh and clean. Sexy. It made you think of the first time you gave him head you remember watching his back muscles dance as he pulled the white t-shirt over his golden brown skin. You had hummed at the image.

“At a white t-shirt?” He questioned what you were possibly so enamored with.

“No, you in a clean white t-shirt after I just had your cock in my mouth” You corrected him. He couldn’t hold the grin back. He walked back over to you holding the pair of camouflage pants he was going to wear.

“It’s so good. I like this one. You always know the hits.” His voice cut off your moment of reverie. He was really fucking handsome. As messy and tense as things had been you’d never not be attracted to him and that only made it that much annoying when he did stupid shit. As you drove towards home it was like the mood lowered with every passing mile. It wasn’t like you weren’t excited to get back to Teddy. You actually felt like you could burst with the need to get her back in your arms. It just was that this dinner was some sort of escape from the reality of things. There weren’t dog’s water bowls he could forget to fill at the restaurant.

It had been almost two months post birth and you really didn’t want to nor have any desire to have sex. You thought about his body that way for sure, but the idea of him touching your body was hard to imagine. Previously, sex was what birthdays between you and Trent consisted of and you loved it. It was fun and hot. A time to try things out, spend all day in bed but you were so exhausted and frankly sore. Your body felt anything but sexy… it felt gross like it wasn’t actually yours anymore. You often felt touched out at the end of the day. You had a baby on you practically 24/7. Sex was the last thing on your mind leaving Trent feeling fairly neglected and rejected. It was the perfect storm. You barely were sleeping together so the second you were he wanted to be all over you and the second he was you just wanted to be alone. You went to bed that night, backs facing one another with your arms slightly outstretched towards the middle of the bed linking pinkies not okay with being completely out of reach from the other. It was strange but gave you a tinge of hope. You laid in bed the next day and got to sleep in. Trent handled morning duties with Teddy. He even took her for a walk in her pram just to get her outside.

“She’s down for her nap.” He came back into your bedroom a while later. You just hummed.

“I’ll feed her when she wakes up again.” You practically scoffed at him for no reason. It was uncalled for but you just felt so annoyed. What were you two doing… it felt so unnecessary and yet you couldn’t get over the hurdle. Trent stared at you in bed. He didn’t like what he saw. He knew you, he knew your body so well and yet you almost looked foreign. You were limp, crashed into the bed, face first into the pillows, barely under the covers. It made him terribly sad. As hard headed as Trent could be, he wasn’t dumb. He was a really empathetic person; he just needed a minute to sort out his own emotions. He needed to really get a good look at you again. Like right now, it was like something changed. Like he finally understood what was going on.

“Y/N…” he cooed softly sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. He very cautiously reached his hand out to stroke your arm. You felt cold. He shut his eyes, hating how things had been. You had just become a family, welcomed your baby girl together and yet you had never felt less like one. He kissed the back of your arm. You shivered feeling the lips you absolutely adored for the first time in a while. You missed him. “I want to make things better. I’m really sorry. Can we talk?” He nervously murmured out. A barely there subtle soft smile pulled on your face. You knew you would get to the point of having a calm discussion about what’s been going on. You didn’t think it would take so long and honestly you didn’t think it’d be him to initiate it but it didn’t matter. You sat back against the headboard of your bed and pulled your knees to your chest. You looked at him closely inspecting his face to see if it had changed any since you last had a proper look. It hadn’t. His eyes still had a warm honey hue in the light, lips still perfectly plump, his skin annoyingly smooth despite minimal effort. His amber smell wafted towards you.

“I’m sorry too, baby.” You looked at him with obvious pain in your eyes. When he heard the pet name he knew you had to just make it through this conversation and everything would be a lot better.

“I know I should know and understand without having to do this but can you explain to me what you’ve been feeling? I want to hear you out so I can be better. Just tell me what I need to do to get things back on track. How do I do more than I’m doing? I feel exhausted.” He babled a little feeling just as nervous as you. His words kind of broke your heart. He really was trying his best. He didn’t know how to do anything different yet.

“T… I know you do a lot for me, for her, for us but as much as it is work for you… you do get to leave here everyday. You get the escape. I know you think about us when you’re not here” he nodded, confirming he definitely did think about you but he didn’t want to interrupt you so he stayed silent. “Just consider for even the 90 minutes when you are fully focused on a match. As you should be, I’m not saying otherwise. That's 90 minutes I’m alone, with her, at home, and unfortunately still dealing with a lot of the physical aftermath as well. Like my body is in so much discomfort and pain and I have her on me constantly. I don’t mean to sound patronizing but you could never understand how I feel in my own body right now… and that’s just the some odd 90 minutes we’re talking about not all the days you’re away for” your eyes started to welle. “I need you to support me a little here.” Your voice was shaky. Trent reached out and grabbed your hands.

“I want to support you, baby I’m so sorry.” He quivered, upset you had been feeling this way. “I hate that I wasn’t thinking about things that way. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, what you went through to give us our family. I think I pull out this card that I am providing for you because it’s one of the only things I can give back to you. Only thing I know I can control and contribute. You give me so much, you gave me her. It’s hard because I know the way you provide for me is something I’ll never be able to reciprocate.” He stared at your intertwined hands unable to look you in the eyes. “I do think about you 24/7. I feel like I’m gonna cry when I pull out of the driveway and it’s not just about leaving Teddy, it's leaving you. It’s different now, leaving. I feel like I’m letting you down when I go. It was easier for me lately just to shut it out and not tell you that because I feel so guilty. Everytime I’m on the pitch laughing I just hope you’re at home laughing with her.” He tried to explain his rational and you understood.

“T, that’s the problem though. I don't want to be at home all the time. I don’t want you to feel guilty, baby, either but we really need to find a way to help the other person with what they’re going through. We’re both doing this for the first time and it’s really fucking hard” your voice was shaking realizing just how difficult things had been.

“We work a lot better together. I’m not keen on the whole opposing sides thing. How do we figure this out?” You knew Trent was very action oriented so you thought for a moment how to explain things.

“Okay…erm like I need to go get my hair done. Can you please actually tell me you’re taking her. Not go to your mums… like you, baby. Take her, don’t offer. She’s your baby too. And honestly, not even just going to do my hair, even showers at home, T. During the day if you’re here. She’s like glue… constantly stuck to me.” You giggled a little bit thinking about your baby girl’s clinginess.

“She’s cute glue to be fair” he laughed and it shattered your heart in the best way. He hadn’t laughed with you since dinner. You shook your head with a smile knowing that was half the issue here. Teddy was so cute, everything had just been glossed over every time she batted her eyes. “But I understand, baby.”

“How can I help you, T?” you asked, moving your hand to his thigh. Your touch sent electricity coursing through his body. He was staring at your hand on him before his eyes flickered up to lock with yours he gave you the most beautiful smile you loved. Childish, full.

“You know, maybe you can drive me AXA or come see me. I don’t mean to make it about footie but it’s where I have to be for almost 7 days a week. I want to see her. I want to see you.” He looked scared to even bring up football at the moment but he was right it was his whole life.

“I got it. We can do that. Would be nice. Little carpool… drop daddy off.” You cooed with a giggle bobbing back and forth on the bed thinking about it. You could feel the air lifting and lightening as you continued breaking down how to be more supportive. You talked for ages outlining things you both needed help with. “We can do this, hmm? “ you said apprehensively. He winked at you and your heart skipped a beat. You much preferred when you were on good terms. You gave him a childish smile. Both shy and confident about being able to figure this out with him.

“There she is.” He cooed, stroking his thumb over your full cheek. “My beautiful girl. I love you so so much. I’m sorry, baby. Honest. C’mere.” He pulled you into him and you felt your whole body relax. Relax more than it had in months. “We’re gonna be okay.” He kissed you. You felt a shiver run up your spine in the best way. You felt relief.

“And on cue… she’s nothing but persistent” you giggled hearing Teddy coo over the baby monitor. Trent kissed you again. He started to stand up from his seat on the bed.

“You want to shower? I’ll go get her.” He asked you genuinely serious.

“Funny…” you quipped back not amused with the joke you thought he was making.

“I’m serious! If we’re gonna do this you have to at least let me help you!” He laughed at you. He pulled you by your hands up from the bed. He placed his own hands on your shoulders and walked you into the en-suite.

“Okay, okay, I can do it.” You wiggled out of his hold and began to pull off your clothes. Laughing as your dragged your top over your head.

“So difficult” he teased with a similar laugh squeezing your now bare sides. He began to walk out of the bathroom.

“Hey T…” you stared in the mirror back at him. He turned around with a hum. “I love you, baby.” You said sheepishly but still very sure of it. He nodded with a soft sympathetic smile. “Could we maybe do a birthday redo today with Ted?”

“I love you more than anything in the world, beautiful. Absolutely, you girls going to to take me out?” He thought he was so so funny all the time. The corniness was half the charm. He just was cute and simultaneously sexy.

“Just so annoying all the time.”you joked as he walked a little closer to you before he smushed another wet kiss onto your cheek that you loved. When he came back in with Teddy already dressed, ready to go, you knew things were going to be fine. You both were just new at this whole parenting thing. Trent drove down into the city center and you felt so incredibly domestic going on a family outing. You decided on something low key and normal so you went out to get coffees and walk the docks.

“I haven’t been down here for ages.” He spoke into the crisp fall air. He pushed Teddy’s Dior pram back and forth as you sat outside at a little coffee place you loved.

“You’ve been missing out on a very good croissant” you mumbled with your mouth full.

“Clearly.” He laughed at you before pulling a hearty piece from your croissant to pop in his mouth.

“Me and Marce used to come here all the time, you know?” You kept talking. You weren’t even sure he knew that. So it made you smile to connect again. Talk about things and open up.

“You two do so much shit without me” Trent feigned jealousy but as much as he joked you knew he actually did feel a little envious of all the relaxed down time you and his brothers shared together.

“We’ll start being bad at your job and maybe you wouldn’t have to play in Europe all the time, you could hang with us.” You teased leaning over to check on Teddy.

“You know you maybe should’ve been a comedian, baby. Just hilarious all the time. So funny. I’m dying of laughter.” He said with a completely straight face. You could tell though he was making a big effort not to crack a smile at you. “What do you think, Ted? Is mummy funny?” Trent cocked his head to look at her. She just wiggled in her seat excited she was getting attention from him. She loved anytime Trent even walked into a room let alone paid her mind. You grabbed her tiny hand gently folding it into a thumbs up and showed it to him. He rolled his eyes at you.

“You said that on our first date too and I think I proved you wrong. I am funny. You do think I am whether you want to admit it.” You teased referring to when you met outside your apartment for the first time telling him you would have to take the subway to dinner.

“You’re not as funny as you think” he quipped. You walked next to him up to the corner of your block towards the restaurant.

A lot of memories came up lately just because of the massive change you were experiencing. A part of you felt like you were mourning the loss of the juvenile versions of yourselves who didn’t have a care in the world. Your only concern was being each other's arms and the painstaking moments between kisses. Now… now you had a life you had to support, a human to raise. You reached across the table and grabbed Trent’s hand. You ran your fingers back and forth over his knuckles. He smiled at you and picked his hand up with yours. He pressed his lips lightly to your skin. You picked your head up to look at the water, as a boat further out in the river coasted by. You clocked a man taking a photo of Trent as you sat at the table outside the cafe.

“Seriously, if only you were bad at your job.” You nodded subtly towards the man. Trent turned to see him after your gesture. He looked back at you with an apologetic look. He was just trying to spend time with you and Teddy so when the man came over it was a little awkward but he was still really kind and patient. Trent really didn’t want a photo of Teddy out yet though so he politely declined the photo.

“Sorry, mate, I’d love to but I’m with my family right now. It was lovely to meet you though. Thank you for all your support.” Trent spoke low, not trying to draw more attention to himself in downtown Liverpool.

“You can.” You whispered with a nod of approval not minding if he took a photo.

“Ahhh yeah alright lad, you know what we’ll take one quick. Face this way.” Trent turned so the city was behind them in the photo, not you and Teddy. He winked at you. You picked up Teddy from her pram and kept her tight to your chest, rocking her gently.

You went home and ate dinner at your dinning room table with your family. You couldn’t believe you had a family now but you were just happy that you and Trent were back to the place you were in before. You made the cake you previously had planned to with the help of some grubby fingers taste tasting and they weren’t Teddy’s. You had given Trent his presents on his actually birthday but this felt more important, more special. You wanted to make Trent something from scratch. You grew up with the luxury of learning how to bake and cook, not needing to. Your mum brought you with her to France to take some classes for your 16th birthday once and you found you had a knack for it. It was a good cake to be honest, a take on funfetti. You had shown Trent funfetti when you were on a trip back in the US once and he just loved it so that was that. Birthday cake decision made. You placed birthday candles in the cake and dimmed the lights in your dining room and sang happy birthday to him swaying with your baby girl. When you finished and he blew out his candles he pulled you into his lap. You sat down nuzzling your face into his neck.

“Happy Birthday Daddy, we love you so much, T.” You kissed his neck again and again. Teddy attempted a giggle and a smile fascinated with the noise of your lips peeling on and off his skin. “Say happy birthday dada” you cooed squishing Teddy’s cheeks together with one hand gently. She squealed. You both laughed at her excitement.

“Thank you my beautiful girls. You’re my whole world. I love you both so much.” He gave Teddy a big kiss and you pouted at him as you waited for yours. Teddy wasn’t sleeping through the night but her naps were getting longer you guessed. You and Trent laid her down for what Trent was hoping to be an especially long one.

“Did I tell you how sexy you looked today?” He whispered in your ear with a cheeky nibble to your earlobe as you walked down the hallway. His arms hung around your frame heavily. You rolled your eyes swatting at his arm.

“C’mon, baby. How often do I tell you you’re sexy? I need you to know how sexy you are.” He cooed as you entered your bedroom. He plopped onto the edge of the bed and you went to follow him for a cuddle. You wanted to be close to him. Finally back in each others good graces you wanted to feel connected. Trent did too just in a different way. He held his hand out to stop you from coming closer. You cocked your head confused. You backed up a few steps and stared at him waiting for him to tell you some sort of direction.

“Lemme see. I know you. Lemme see what you have on today.” He spoke with a tone that sent the most excited shiver running down your spine, your pussy throbbed. You gradually began to pull your clothes off, layer by layer. You stripped for him. You giggled at the way it made you feel. Trent had a way of making you feel sexy without even touching you. The way his jaw slacked. You turned away from him to slide off the trousers you had on, bending over. He groaned throwing his head back as you spun around for him. He shook his head in disbelief of your figure. “Still my birthday?” You nodded with a shy smile. “Lay down for me…” so you followed instructions. He watched you lay back on the bed. To be fair you hadn’t really thought of doing this tonight but regardless you always liked to get undressed in front of Trent revealing little lingerie sets and he knew you did it for him. You wouldn’t even turn to acknowledge him as you’d lean over the bathroom sink counter in different colored lace every day just for show. He climbed over you and looped his finger under the middle of the sheer black Gucci bralette you’d chosen for today. Your breath hitched. Okay, now you were definitely thinking about it. You were praying he’d be gentle with you since this would be your first time after Teddy but also funnily with the lingerie too; you liked it and it was expensive. You’d lost too many pairs of panties over your relationship with him to tears. He looked down at you with a look you forgot made your heart race. He kissed your ankle. “I love these legs, I love these thighs.” He worked kisses all over and up your whole body. “I love this hip, this stomach..” he kissed every bit of you. You couldn’t get enough of falling back into the swing of things with him.

“Baby, be gentle with me, okay?” You said to him with fear in your eyes. You sighed a little embarrassed. He just looked at you in adoration.

“I’ll take care of you, yeah? I always do. Make you remember just how beautiful I think you are.” He whispered into your ear. The vibration alone made goosebumps raise on your skin. You had the biggest fucking smile on your face after he said that. You knew you were in for a treat. Sex with Trent was something you hoped you would never struggle with. His hand lightly grabbed your jaw pulling you into a kiss. His plump soft lips feeling as perfect as ever. He dragged his hand down your throat and you moaned missing this feeling. This feeling of Trent in total control of you. He kept his hands on you and over you before he cheekily pitched your nipples.

“Oh, fuckkk” you yelped out incredibly sensitive and incredibly turned on.

“Open your mouth f’me, beautiful.” He cooed and without needing to think you did. Your eyes widened in awe of how sexy he looked above you. His other hand beginning to work his length. You sucked around his fingers licking the underside like you would his cock. He abruptly pulled them out and guided them down to your pussy. He ran his fingers through your folds before he began to slowly pump two thick digits inside of you. “Fuck, baby. I missed this pussy. Feel so good already” his voice rumbled in the quiet room as his thumb stretched up to roll over your clit.

“C’mere baby. You’re so fucking soaked I bet I could just…” he dragged his tip through your wet pussy. You weren’t expecting to be as wet as you were but it was Trent you shouldn’t have been all that surprised. “You’re so beautiful and all mine” he paused perfectly, lining up his cock with your entrance and suddenly all of the air slipped out of your lungs. He was on his knees in front of you holding your one leg up as you laid back into the mattress. His firm grip around you doing most of the work.

“Oh my fucking god, T…” Oh my god was right. You could never forget how good the sex was but this. This felt really fucking good. Your eyes fluttered closed as he slowly pushed deeper, sticking to his promise to be gentle. You gasped feeling his length. You cupped his scruffy cheeks. You blew out short breaths as you tried to adjust to his size.

“I love you so much, you know that right?” He whispered again. He felt good but also slightly uncomfortable and strangely new again. He sank his body weight down on top of you so that he became your entire focus trying to not let your mind spiral into anxiety about what he thought you felt like after your baby. You could only nod. You breathed heavily. Your legs wrapped around his arm curling to hook around it, shutting your eyes in pleasure.

“I love you, T.” You whined as you felt your legs tremble already. He nuzzled impossibly deeper. You blinked your eyes open. You locked with his deep brown eyes, soft and sensitive filled with sincerity. You tried to makeout with him needing to feel those lips on yours but you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think let alone multitask as he began to thrust into you slowly. You were anxious to do this but frankly, Trent felt unbelievable and if possible maybe somehow better than that. Being back inside you had his head spinning. His heart faltered a little seeing your beautiful face scrunch up. His body weight further pressed onto you while he scooped his arm under your other leg holding it up closer to your chest Your nails dug into his biceps leaving crescent marks. You whined a sound that was music to his ears. You found a rhythm that worked for you. A rhythm that made your slightly enlarged boobs bounce more for him.

“God, I love your tits, baby.” He said it with a smile eliciting a giggle from you at the compliment. Sex had never felt better emotionally. Your eyes started to water. You felt so in love with him. “You okay, baby? Tell me you’re okay. Tell me you want this?." You really did appreciate his concern; it was just hard to talk at the moment. He leaned closer to your neck licking over your most sensitive spots waiting for a response. “Hmm?”

“I want you, T. You just feel really good.” You whimpered. Tears filled your lash line so he slowed. “Please, T… more.” His eyes widened. He was nervous his current pace was already too much so it was a surprise to hear.

“I'm right here. You have me.” His face was hovering over yours. He managed to give you the kisses you so desperately wanted all over your face, your neck, your shoulders underneath him. You clenched around him. He felt it and almost giggled. He was excited to have this power back. “You wanna be a good girl and cum for me, baby?”

“I’m gonna cum. Please. Please, T. Make me cum.” You moaned as he pushed a little deeper inside with every thrust. A familiar but distant feeling crashed over you. Your brain turning to mush. His cock throbbed inside you. He grunted overwhelmed seeing you cum under him once again. He could imagine it all he wanted but he missed seeing it in real time. “T… cum inside me again, okay? Make me take all of it. I want it. Cum for me.” You whined more. He let out a strained breath. That was it for him. Knowing you missed this. That you wanted this. Wanted him. He tipped over the edge, pumping you full of his cum. With one more final deep thrust he ran his hands through your hair grabbing it pulling your head forward into the most passionate kiss you might’ve ever shared. The tension you had felt the past few weeks evaporated. You stayed tight to his body as you breathed heavily. You both were panting as he leaned his forehead on yours before he as tender as possible pulled out. He sat back for a moment and admired you. Stroking up your thigh gingerly, he breathed out a sigh of appreciation.

“Can you be a good girl f’me and spread your legs.” He asked so kindly you did it almost instinctively. “Fucking unreal. Every day since I met you.” He kissed from your stomach up to your neck nuzzling his face in his hands trailing behind his tongue the whole way. You thought you’d cuddle till Teddy woke up but you were wrong. You spread your legs the best you could. Trent cursed. His fingers traced through your folds gathering up the cum. He swiftly and slowly dipped two of his fingers inside of you. The sensation was so overwhelming and overstimulating. He pumped them methodically, deep, curling inside you.

“Wait.. wait baby. Ah!” You whined. Your hips bucking up into him.

“Gimme one more, baby.” He asked as he nibbled on your neck. You couldn’t handle the feeling. It was too much and you had poor control. You came hard and fast, squirting a little.

“Fuck… T” You panted so heavily. Completely out of breath. You just laid there eyes closed as your chest heaved up and down. You needed a moment. He laughed and frantically laid down next to you pretty proud of his work. You were tangled up in bed until you heard the little coo and whine you loved so much.

“Lemme go check on her, you stay put. I bet you’re tired.” Trent winked at you and as annoying as his playful comment was, it was very true. He pulled on his boxers and sweats and walked down the hallway into Teddy’s nursery.

“Baby bear, you okay?” Trent cooed, scooping Teddy up gently as her cries lulled. He hummed, swaying back and forth. “Wish you could tell me what you’d need. I’d do it right away, you know that?” He pressed his lips to her identical ones. “‘My little Ted. You’re so beautiful. You look like me, but I can’t tell you’re perfect just like mummy, baby girl” he whispered softly to her. It was a while later and you still laid in bed expecting to have fallen right to sleep after all that with Trent but you couldn’t knowing your two favorite people in the world were still awake just down the hall. You got up and put on a little gray sleep set. It was comfortable and that’s just what your body needed right now because you definitely were sore.

“I felt left out.” You pouted in the doorway of Teddy’s room looking at Trent reading her a book. He picked his head up with a soft smile and beckoned you over to sit on the couch with them. Teddy’s face lit up.

“Oh wow… you excited to see mummy, huh teddy girl? Weren’t that excited to see me.” Trent teased. You slapped at his bare chest before grabbing her. She hiccuped overly excited. Her head fell onto you. You hummed kissing her chubby cheek . “I like this.” He pulled on the fabric of the tiny shorts you were in. You shrugged.

“You can continue. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” You giggled a little. You smushed your face into Trent’s arm ruining your view of the colorful book but making a better one for her. You pushed your lips to kiss Trent as he read. The sound of his voice was perfect, calm and steady. It lulled you into an incredibly sleepy state. Trent plucked Teddy out of your tired arms to hold her more securely. He wrapped his free arm around you and pulled you into him. Your head fell onto his shoulder. You hugged his waist tightly.

“My girls. Hmm?” He cooed, pressing a kiss to you and Teddy. You fell asleep listening to him. He let you and Teddy sleep on him for a while. He just relaxed, closing his eyes, happy with the affection, rubbing his hands up your back. Some time later Teddy woke up and was restless. Her little grunts and whines woke you up. “You wanna feed Ted then you and me can go try to get in bed?” Trent cooed with a sympathetic smile knowing you were exhausted. You nodded still half asleep but you understood. Sticking to your schedule was important for all of you. It took longer than expected to get her fed and down again but you did it. You draped your arms around Trent’s shoulders just staring up at him tired in her room. He pressed his nose to yours. His hands cheekily sliding over your ass. He kneaded it, raising up the material of your shorts. He pulled you closer into his embrace. He cupped your ass and picked you up from under your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist.

“We’re actually going to bed… like sleep, right?” You cooed as Trent walked you back to your room in his arms. He laughed a little. You were nervous with the way his hands were on you if he was trying to have sex again and you were sure you could handle that yet.

“Yeah. We need to sleep. I have to go in tomorrow at 10 too.” He cooed as you stroked your thumb over his cheek. You pushed your face into the nape of his neck until he placed you on your bed. “Baby, we’re gonna be okay. I promise we’ll work on this together. I won’t let us get that way again. I know we’ll have our dips but we’re just learning to grow together.”

“I agree. Just have to talk more I think. I’m sorry I didn’t express how I felt. It’s unfair to assume you should know how I feel without me verbalizing it, that you know what is going on when we’re both doing this for the first time.” He shook his head dismissing your apology. “We might have dips like you said but T, I want this. I want us. I want this to work. God, I need this to work. I don’t think I could survive without you.”

“You could but you’ll never have to. Never even give you the chance to find out.” He cut you off. You squeezed his arm.

“I don’t want to find out. T… what do you think will happen next for us?” You tucked in closer to him cuddling up in your bed. He didn’t respond right away so you felt a little taken aback. Awkward almost. Ironic considering the things that were just said. “Like in the next five years, you know?” You tried to clarify.

“No, I know what you meant. I was just thinking of how I wanted to phrase it. I know this sounds cheesy so don’t make fun cause I’m serious.” He spoke slow. You hung onto every word of his.

“Serious” you mocked his accent and he gave you glare. You just smiled back.

“Next five years for me… just loving you. I’ve told you a million times I want to get married. I know we’re not too far into this one but I’d want another another baby… you know whenever you’re ready.” He tried to unnecessarily explain there was no pressure.

“Really?!” You would’ve squealed with excitement if Teddy weren’t finally asleep. You had jumped at the word marriage. “What ring are you gonna get meeee?” You giddily teased and moved even closer to him, laying your head and hand on his chest. “I think if I were to like make my perfect ring from scratch..” you began talking at the speed of light. You were off in dream land now. “I want a tou et moi because that’s what my parents did.” He nodded with a smile lovingly the way you spoke, the way you looked when you got excited. “I like the two-stone setting too. It’s just so beautiful to look down and see like a real representation of two people together and I kinda like the idea of the three ring deal.” You were referring to the concept of having one ring for engagement, one for marriage, and one for eternal love, usually anniversaries. Trent listened intently watching your animations. He’d asked you before nonchalantly what you wanted but you didn’t think much of it. You knew he talked about marrying you but you didn’t know when or even if that would happen.

“Oh yeah?” He picked up your left hand and kissed your knuckles. He felt pretty good about himself imagining what he has had hidden downstairs in a safe for about a year now.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter … 🤍

Next part - Chapter 8 xx

[taxideermied]

Is there anything you experience with nonhumanity that you don't see others talk about often?

Mmm good question Sonar! :>

First thing that comes to mind is really how much my framework for understanding my own nonhumanity has changed. I feel like this is a little stigmatized community-wide, honestly, so I think it would be good to talk about.

When I first found out about the “therian world” (for lack of a better term, “alterhuman” didn’t exist yet, and I was very much in therian spaces as opposed to otherkin ones. There wasn’t always overlap if memory serves) spiritual nonhumanity was almost exclusively what was discussed. There was some lip service paid to psychological nonhumanity but I never actually saw anyone talk about their personal experiences with it. And being, like, 12 at the time I wanted to fit in. I assumed my own experiences were spiritual in a “I have the soul of a deer in a human body” sort of way.

And that worked for a while but it also caused a lot of problems. I also had a strong connection to canids and, well…I didn’t have more than one soul, did I? Sure some people said they had the souls (or “soul shards” if I remember correctly) of multiple creatures but somehow that never sat right for me personally.

Around this time I was also trying to meditate a LOT because there was really a huge emphasis on meditation as a way to, I guess, subconsciously grill one’s self? It was sort of like a way to confirm your kintype with your psyche. I really don’t see any of this anymore but it was huge in whatever YouTube and Instagram therian sphere I was in at the time. But I was a super anxious kid and I could never meditate, or at least I never had this precious moment of astral clarity like everyone else seemed to get where your one and only one kintype walked out of the mists of your mind to speak to you, so it really gave me a lot of grief. I felt like something was wrong with me and I ended up with a lot of shame for maybe having more than one kintype (ridiculous in retrospect, there were plenty of very visible therians with more than one kintype, but you know that’s where I was at at the time).

Eventually I moved towards some kind of looser quasi-psychological understanding of my nonhumanity after time away from the community. I was in regular therapy for my social anxiety, and understanding myself as a “person with a deer brain” was useful for treating myself with kindness. But there was still a lot of lingering weirdness about the other kin connections I had, and I couldn’t square those away. Eventually, I resorted to just ignoring the feelings, basically, and trying to shove them down. Surprise surprise, that didn’t work.

It wasn’t really until the last few years that I have recognized just how physical my experience is. I mean, my anxiety was always super somatic, and then my chronic illnesses started to be symptomatic, and all of a sudden my “wrongness” became impossible to ignore. I started having really vivid hallucinations of transformations upon waking and falling asleep, and I also “discovered” (in quotes because it’s probably not the best descriptor for the experience but it will work) our plurality, which started to make a whole lot of things click together.

In all the online spaces I’d been in, physical nonhumanity was basically an off-limits topic. If you were physically nonhuman you were a p-shifter, and if you were a p-shifter you were a dangerous cultist who wanted to manipulate children. That sentiment kept me from making the connections I needed. I spent years doing “well I mean I know I’m human I just don’t feel it or think it or trust it” thought processes because I didn’t want anyone to think I was dangerous or untrustworthy. I got older and I could unpack a lot of the sanism that had been (and still is in some ways) standard fare for the community, and I realized how much of the fear surrounding physical nonhumanity was just that: sanism with a helping of respectability politics.

Finally letting myself realize and think without any cognitive dissonance “I’m actually not human at all, physically or otherwise” was one of the biggest weight-off-your-shoulders experiences of my self-discovery and has been much better for me mentally.

Now we’re sort of in a place where the answer is “all of the above.” Trying to fit experiences into specific boxes didn’t work, like, at all. “Physically nonhuman” is the most accurate for now, but I’d still say I think of myself as spiritually and psychologically nonhuman too.

Those big paradigm shifts were really nerve wracking! I hated feeling like I was wrong about myself, or like I’d been lying to people around me. It was destabilizing, and I wondered if I’d ever actually know myself or fit in anywhere. Looking back I can at least say they were all for the best, and down the line I might have to go through more. I see others talk about how it’s okay to be wrong about your kintypes and that is super true, but I think it’s also okay to have no clue what the fuck is going on or why you feel the way you do. It’s okay to think you’ve got it all figured out and then realize, nope actually you didn’t, or maybe things just changed! You don’t owe it to anyone to have it all straight :>

[lesbicosmos-writes]

again very very late but i wrote a fic for the day 6 prompt of @paynelandpromptfest !!

prompt: star / "make a wish"

summary: charles and edwin are in love and they stargaze on the roof on christmas thats it thats the fic <3

notes: very late for the prompt day but in time for christmas so that's all that matters <3

also on ao3!!

in a sky full of stars, i think i see you

Christmas had always been both Edwin and Charles’s favourite holiday, even when they were alive. Edwin because he loved the traditions, the decorations, the general joy of it all, and Charles because he loved giving gifts to people. Even if he didn’t receive anything in return, he loved seeing people’s reactions to things he got for them. Also, Christmas was about one of the only times where he felt like he could relax in his own house. They always had family over for a few days, so his dad was less rough. For just a few days, he could pretend like they were a normal family.

But nothing compared to Christmas with Edwin.

He hadn’t expected Edwin to love the holiday as much as he did, but it was amazing being able to show him the way traditions had changed since he was alive. They celebrated in their own special way every year, picking up little routines and rituals constantly.

Their Christmas was always a mixture of things Edwin loved when he was alive, things Charles loved when he was alive, and more modern things. Their office was decorated with both the holly and paperchains of Edwin’s childhood, and the brightly coloured lights and baubles that brought nostalgia for Charles. They’d play both classic carols and more modern hits on their record player. It was strange and a little all over the place but it was perfect and it was them.

Then, Crystal and Niko came into their afterlives and suddenly there were more people to celebrate with. Crystal raised an eyebrow at their strange little rituals at first, but eventually realised that they were just so true to the boys. Of course this would be how they celebrate.

This year specifically, since the relationship between the two of them had developed another layer if intimacy, yet another tradition had manifested itself in Charles and Edwin’s festive routine – mistletoe. There was a sprig hung from every doorway in the office, and the two took every possible opportunity to kiss beneath it. Edwin had always thought the idea a little silly when he was alive, but he hadn’t considered it in the context of himself having someone he could openly love in that way to kiss under the shining white berries. He’d always just been forced to sit there and cringe while his extended family members pretended that they hadn’t noticed the plant before despite having already kissed beneath it several times in the past two hours. It was quite ironic, in retrospect, that he was now the one in their place seizing every opportunity to get his lips on Charles’s, despite the fact he didn’t really need an excuse to at all.

The girls had gone out to do their own celebrations on Christmas Eve, then crashed at the office for the night so they could all open gifts together at the crack of dawn – much to the insistence of Charles and Niko.

A case came up in the middle of the day that they all had to run out and solve, but for the most part, their Christmas was a fairly chilled one, the four of them all just playing games together in the office. Edwin scoffed at the terrible jokes in the crackers, and Charles once again got very sad he couldn’t eat when Niko and Crystal brought in practically their entire kitchen cupboard’s worth of savoury snacks. Edwin vowed to find some spell that would allow ghosts to eat.

Eventually the girls fell asleep on the sofa, leaving Charles and Edwin practically alone in the office.

“It’s a surprisingly clear night,” Edwin noted, gazing out of the office window above the streets of London.

Brightly coloured lights shone in the surrounding streets, and they could quietly hear the music and chatter of the party going on in one of the blocks of flats across the road. Edwin looked up, away from the lights, and had an idea.

“I think this would be a perfect night for stargazing. Would you care to join me on the roof, Charles?”

“Course, mate,” Charles replied.

Language was one of Edwin’s passions, and he would constantly correct people if they used a word incorrectly or at the wrong time. And yet, he never corrected Charles calling him mate despite their growing romance. Somehow he had managed to take a common moniker used between friends and turn it into the most romantic petname Edwin could imagine. It was the way he said it; so naturally, so proudly, so full of love and feeling. Besides, there was nothing to correct about it in the first place. They were mates – best mates – and always would be. No matter the changes their relationship went through, no matter the colour or shape of the feelings between them; at their core they would always be two best friends. Two boys who found each other in their worst moments, a light in the other’s darkness, and felt nothing but love. Love – not just attraction - for the other person, just because of who they were. Edwin had always thought it was beautiful.

So when Charles called him mate, with that soft glint in his eyes and that smitten smile on his face, Edwin didn’t question or correct. He just smiled back.

“I’ll be out in a sec though, yeah? I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea?” Edwin asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, and it’s a surprise idea so you go sit up on the roof and I’ll meet you there.”

Charles pressed a soft kiss to Edwin’s cheek before ushering him out of the office.

Edwin took an unnecessary breath as he stepped out onto the roof of the abandoned building their office resided in, as though acclimatising to the cold December air despite being unable to feel its effects on his skin.

He looked up at the sky. From several storeys up, the light pollution wasn’t quite as bad - although it was still central London, so that didn’t really make much difference. Only a few constellations were visible directly above. He’d always thought it was a shame, really, the fact that advancements in technology meant they were no longer able to observe the natural universe around them to quite the same degree.

Edwin had always loved stargazing. When he was alive, his family had bought him books about the stars for Christmas every year since he was a small child, and he was obsessed. He never really understood the astrological beliefs surrounding them – although he had become more intrigued after reading the book Monty gave him in Port Townsend. No, he was always more captivated by the science behind them; those huge spheres of energy roaring away lightyears away from Earth. It made him feel insignificant at times, but he’d become used to that. It was easier to accept his insignificance on a cosmic scale than to accept it on a much closer one.

Then he met Charles, and gradually his thoughts about the cosmos became much less about insignificance and more about how lucky they were that they existed. Knowing that there was so much out there, and yet here was the only place that life had been found, that a new kind of life could somehow begin even after death; it felt special.

He never felt insignificant when Charles was by his side.

As though aware Edwin was thinking about him – which he probably was, considering there’s rarely a time Edwin isn’t - Charles stepped onto the roof behind him. Edwin turned around to find him standing there with a pile of blankets and pillows in his arms.

“Charles,” Edwin chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he walked towards him.

“What?”

“We do not feel the cold!”

“I know but, like, it’s the vibe innit? Snuggling up together under blankets and watching the stars.”

“You’re quite the hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Charles grinned, stepping towards Edwin and handing him a few pillows from the pile.

They set their little spot up – one blanket on the ground to sit on with pillows against the wall – and sat beside one another, the other two blankets covering them both.

Edwin swore he felt a rush of warmth as he relaxed into the soft knitted material, but he was quite sure that was less to do with the blankets themselves and more to do with Charles’s presence, leaning his head on his shoulder and cuddling up close. They were facing each other just a little, their hands clasped together in between them covered by the thick blanket.

“This is nice,” Charles said, gently brushing his thumb over Edwin’s hand in the way he knew drove him a little insane with affection.

“Hmm,” Edwin hummed in agreement.

They sat together in silence for a while, snuggled up to one another, until Charles turned his head just enough to whisper in Edwin’s ear.

“Make a wish,” he said.

“Charles, there aren’t any comets,” Edwin smiled.

“Make one anyway. There's always a shooting star somewhere.”

He had a point.

“The greatest wish I never even thought I was allowed to have has already come true. I don’t know what else there is,” he said, looking down at the top of Charles’s head on his shoulder.

“Well, I wish that every Christmas is as brills as this one.”

“You know if you say it aloud it won’t come true?” Edwin moved his head away from Charles momentarily, questioning.

“Nah. That doesn’t count when it’s you.” Charles looked up into his eyes. “Telling you doesn’t feel like revealing it to someone. It’s like you already know anyway.”

Edwin just smiled.

“Go on then, what’s yours?”

“Hmm. I suppose...” Edwin thought for a moment. “I wish for an infinite bookshelf.”

“Oh.” Charles laughed, taken aback.

“What?”

“Sorry, I guess I was expecting it to be something about us.”

“I told you, I already have everything I could possibly wish for in that department,” Edwin said proudly.

“You flirt,” Charles grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Infinite bookshelf would be pretty brills, though. It’d be like my backpack, only way more organised.”

“We could have several libraries worth of books and yet never run out of space in the office.”

“That’d definitely make case research easier.”

“Precisely. Which would leave us with more time for... other things.”

Charles moved out of the embrace but kept one arm around Edwin’s waist, his eyebrow raising with his smirk.

“Oh yeah?” he teased. “What other things you thinking of?”

“You know what things I’m thinking of.”

“Damn, who would’ve taken Edwin Payne for an insatiable horny teenager?” Charles said, he amusement evident in his voice.

Edwin laughed, a real open from-the-heart laugh that Charles had never heard around anyone but himself and the girls. “It’s you. You corrupted me,” he half-joked.

“Can’t exactly say I’m complaining.” Charles pulled him closer so that he could press light kisses to Edwin’s neck.

“Besides, I didn’t only mean... that,” Edwin argued, his voice shaking slightly at the contact. “I also meant we would have more time for things like this,” he Charles’s hand a light squeeze under the blanket.

“This is definitely good, love,” Charles replied, squeezing back and shuffling somehow even closer, nuzzling his head into his neck.

They couldn’t fall asleep, not really, but they got as close as they could; snuggled up against each other on the rooftop as the 25th of December ticked away into the 26th.

They’d stargazed on Christmas a few times before, the first time being December of 1990, back when they’d barely known each other a year and had just set up the agency, operating out of a treehouse in an old woman’s back garden. They’d climbed on top of the wooden structure, and Edwin pointed out all the constellations they could see above the horizon. That night, there had been a shooting star passing overhead, and Edwin had wished on it. He’d wished that Charles would stay with him for the rest of their afterlives. At the time, he’d thought it foolish and naïve. Surely Charles would eventually move on, perhaps Edwin would – they couldn’t spend the rest of eternity playing detective together, could they?

Well, thirty-four years on, Edwin was starting to believe that maybe that wish had come true, but it wasn’t entirely down to the star.

Sure, their little Christmas routine changed over the years; but so had their existences, their relationship, the people around them. And no matter what changed, the holidays always brought the same warmth to the still hearts of two boys who may not have been given as many Christmases to live as they should have been, but more than made up for it in their afterlives, and would continue to do so for as long as there were stars in the sky to wish upon.  

[azaharinflames]

Yeah BuckTommy’s ending made me not want to bother anymore. I had originally stopped in Season 5, came back in Season 7 (didn’t miss anything SL wise because it’s all the same) and yeah no point at this point to trying anymore cause all we are going to get is more of the exact same stuff we have been seeing season after season. Nothing will change. People just need to move along to new shows. Only thing 911 season 7 and Season 8 did was reintroduce the world back to Lou Ferrigno Jr and now people are starting to look for him in other shows. He deserves it.

Hi, Nonnie! Thanks for the ask

I feel you. To be quite honest, I started to feel disappointed back in Season 6. Buck's post-lighting strike theory had a lot of potential, and 612 definitely made me curious and like I needed to watch what happened next immediately. And then we got the superpowers (which I liked, actually. 613 was fun), and then... nothing, really. Buck meets Natalia and, as much as I tried to like her... it just felt lazy, half-cooked, and extremely forced. Which in retrospect makes sense, as they thought it was the end and they wanted to give Buck a HEA, but... yeah, it disappointed me a lot.

But then Season 7 managed to capture me with the initial emergency, and then Tommy graced our screens, and... here we are. Disappointed once more, but now to a point where I just know to not give them more chances - for now, at least. And as much as I would love to be proven wrong, for the foreseeable future I'm afraid.

One thing is true: I'm glad so many people discovered Lou. I first watched him in one ep of HIMYM, fell in love with him, didn't find out his name then and eventually forgot by the time I was watching 704, fell in love with him in 911, and then when I saw someone recognize him post 704... things made a lot of sense in my mind lmao.

But yes - I'm very happy he at the very least can take a lot more fans from this. I love his acting and the way he emotes, and he just seems like a true sweetheart. Hopefully, we get to see him in more stuff soon, he's definitely shown he can make an audience fall in love with him.

My inbox is always open for ranting, venting, discussing (911 or whatever), and for opinions (popular or unpopular, hit me with it)

Take care <3

[bubbipond]

OK but why am I seeing on Twitter and Tumblr people saying that Tonkla did not love Korn as much as Korn loved him?? Did we watch the same show? Let’s not act like Korn was boyfriend of the year. Tonkla didn’t just wake up one morning and decided to be a murderer. He also didn’t force Korn to also cheat on him??? Korn was choosing his family and the life he lived his whole life over love the entire time. You can argue that love wasn’t more important than revenge to Kla but you can’t argue that he didn’t love and care about Korn or vice versa.

He literally took a bullet for him. He did not have to do that. He knew his time was running out. You don’t do things that Tonkla did in this show and expect to live happily ever after. In my opinion, they had the most realistic end to a dark series. You can love someone and want to be with them, but fate not be in your corner. They were both in retrospect too deep into their individual lives to not die and I find that extremely heartbreaking. To be honest if two people deserve a happy ending it was probably them because their issues were not entirely made by them. Their situations were directly influenced by other people (technically so was Greats but he ended up happy so).

But I feel like deducing everything between Korn and Kla to just a revenge plot is a lack of critical thinking. I know that’s a buzz word and I’m not just saying that because throughout the airing of the series I have been like, “I support Kla’s wrongs and his rights”. But instead, I am saying this because he and Korn are not their actions. They are who they are because of other peoples actions. Kla couldn’t move on with his life after his brother died because there was no justice. He definitely needed therapy and he should not have been going around murdering people or attempting to. But that was a direct Issue stemming from his brother’s death. Korn didn’t want to be the head of the family. He didn’t want to be a crappy brother or a crappy boyfriend. He didn’t want to marry that girl whose name escapes me.

And at the end of it, they were both willing to look at each other and be like you know what!? We are Thelma and Louise, we are Bonnie and Clyde. In the most tragic ways possible. I think that’s the reason they kind of stole the last episode. All of their shit was out there. Neither one of them were cowards and neither one of them were good people. Maybe they were at one time but life and the choices they made changed that. I think their end was perfect because they both succeeded and failed at their motives at the end of the day. Neither one was where they were in the beginning at the end of it all.

Marrying that woman wasn’t going to miraculously make Korns life easier. In the end, she cut her losses anyway. The marriage didn’t help her at that point. So where did he have to go? The revelation that Kla was the one to shoot Great and that Great was part of his brother’s murder didn’t diminish how they felt about each other. It just complicated everything. Attempting to murder the people responsible for his brother’s death didn’t bring Kla solace. It didn’t bring his brother back and if anything it just made life shittier. At the end of the day, there was no out for either of them. They would both still have to pay for things they did and did not do. So even though their story ended, they still had a better ending. They still love each other despite the tough situation they were in.

My favorite part of that last scene is Bas’ facial expressions when he hears everything from Kla. He’s not heartbroken, or angry, he’s not bewildered, Or jealous. He’s all of the above and you can see it written on his face so perfectly. Bas really knows how to show emotion on his face and I love him for that; especially the mix of feelings between the revelation and him pointing that gun. He wasn’t questioning whether or not Kla loved him because what did Kla have to gain from keeping him around at the point of him running? This man was exhausted. He was tired of everything and everyone he was tired of the cards that they all have been dealt up until that point. He knew pointing that gun was a bad idea. But their backs were against the wall and there was nothing left to lose. Until there was. He had to watch the love of his life take a bullet for him. So I will not sit here and let people act like Kla was this master manipulator who only wanted revenge.

Because the saddest part about all of this is, it was just a very unfortunate circumstance that intertwined Great and Dome.

[yeowangies]

dangerous - chapter IV

❧

Chapter I I Chapter II I Chapter III | Chapter IV: New Routine

PAIRING: Vegeta/Reader RATING: Explicit CONTENTS: Explicit sexual content, Canon typical violence WORDCOUNT: 4327

Summary:

You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions.

Notes: Hello! It's been a while since I updated this fic, but it's been on my mind for a while. I have the outline of it written down, so I hope I can release a new chapter fairly often? And since this is a work in progress, I hope you can bear with me if there are any inconsistencies 😭 This story has a point, and I know where I wanna go, so please be patient!

I'm surprised of how popular this fic is among all my fics, and it remained the one with the most hits on AO3 until recently, so I hope yall stay with me until the end 💕

Vegeta was not the same man he was years back. Having destroyed planet after planet without actually meeting someone who could match him in strength had led him to a certain feeling of boredom and numbness that had engraved into his soul. 

For all purposes, he was still the same, however. He was still working under Frieza, with a silly plot in mind to overthrow him someday, but at the same time knowing he wasn’t nearly strong enough to do it. His bloodlust had decreased along with his interest in purging planets, but it changed nothing because that was still his job in the Frieza Force. He trained whenever he was staying on-planet, in between missions, like he always did. 

That loop he was trapped in made him wonder over the years if the time when he could overthrow Frieza would ever come. Vegeta had calculated how much stronger he needed to be to defeat him, but it seemed unreachable. Especially if his sparring partners were Nappa and Raditz, who were still incredibly inferior to him. 

At least, you showing up in his life had been a pleasant surprise. 

Your presence hardly changed anything. It’s not like you had some hidden power that would prove to challenge his own strength. You didn’t have any information regarding the legend of the Super Saiyan; you weren’t even a Saiyan, though your species resembled them physically, but only physically. Every time Vegeta touched you, he got the feeling you might bruise. 

And you did bruise, especially the first few times he had lay with you. Vegeta was restraining himself whenever he shared a bed with you, but in retrospect, he probably wasn’t doing that much the first couple of times. He had a lot of pent up energy, anger and lust for things he couldn’t have, and it didn’t help the way you enticed him. It was a strange feeling that invaded him when he noticed the marks he’d left on you, almost like he felt bad. Almost. In any case, you seemed to like whenever he hurt you, though. 

What would such a feeble being mean to him, though?

Vegeta didn’t really understand the feeling that invaded him as he got to spend more and more time alone with you. It was pleasant, that much he could tell, even the words he exchanged with you before and after sex. He had never entertained himself with any feeling that made him feel ‘warm’ like then. Violence and battle had never awoken something like this in him. 

He felt vulnerable. 

Which was stupid, because who could hurt him? You? Certainly not. Your power level was puny, even when you claimed not to be as weak as you looked. He could kill you with a finger if he so desired. 

That was what was scary, though. He didn’t want to kill you. 

Maybe not yet. Vegeta told himself that he didn’t want to kill you yet. You were a good lay and a nice distraction from the stress and ire he had whenever he was alone, or surrounded by his subordinates. He had spent over thirty years under Frieza’s wings and he was nowhere near as strong as he was, and your presence made everything else fade to nothing. 

Even through all that, he sometimes still didn’t understand you. 

“Vegeta, how old are you?” You asked him, as you lied beside him.

It had been a few minutes since you both had reached your peaks (you had gotten there twice, and he was proud that he knew your body so well, he could make you orgasm with simply his fingers), and you were still trying to catch your breath when you turned your face to look at him. You stared at him too often, and he felt bothered by it at times.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m curious?” Vegeta quirked an eyebrow in your direction, and you rolled your eyes. “I just want to know if I’m sleeping with a 100 year old man, or if it’s someone younger. Am I not allowed to know?”

“Do I really look like an old man?” He chuckled.

“Well, no. But I mean, I know a lot of species that don’t age, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Saiyans don’t reach adulthood until they reach their fifties. I will still look like this for a couple of decades.”

“Oh…” You remained silent for a few seconds before repeating your original question. “So, how old?”

“I’m thirty two.” Vegeta said, at last. The wide smile on your face made him frown. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m twenty nine.”

“So?”

“So I’m glad I’m younger.”

Vegeta didn’t understand you at all, most of the time. 

When you carefully nuzzled closer, and trailed a hand down his abdomen, he did understand that. He kept his eyes on your face, staring at you with desire as you wrapped your hand around his erection. It had only taken him a minute for his cock to stir back to life after he had already spent his load; it was something that happened all the time when you were around. 

Vegeta kept his eyes open even when you leaned to chastely kiss his lips before trailing lower down his neck and chest, slowly moving your hand over his length. He tried to keep his gaze on you when you licked up the underside of his dick, staring right back at him as you kittenishly lapped at the head. When your lips wrapped around his cock, Vegeta couldn’t focus on anything else, except the sensation of your warm mouth as it engulfed him entirely, almost like it was easy, like it belonged there. 

He remembered the initial small fear the first time you put your lips on him. Not that you could ever really hurt him. But after he had given in that time, he couldn’t get enough. At least he never had to ask, or worse, beg, for you to use your mouth on him; you seemed more than eager and willing to pleasure him.

Shame on him. He had actually given you power over his body. 

But Vegeta couldn’t care less in that moment, when you were bobbing your head up and down, humming contently as the tip of his cock grazed the back of your throat. He groaned, hips jerking upwards, seeking more of that wet heat. You gazed at him through glossy eyes as you sped up your moves, trying to hold him inside for longer, as the muscles in his abdomen tensed.

The heat inside him unraveled, making him growl as he spilled cum down your throat, feeling the intense burn of release pulsing through his veins. You swallowed all of it, and he heard you gag around a mouthful of cum as you slowly pulled back, pumping his cock with your hand to help him ride out his orgasm. He opened his eyes to look at you then, sporting a playful smile as you licked your lips clean of every drop that might have been there as you crawled back over him. 

You let go of his length to wrap your arms around his neck as you kissed him, nice and slow. Vegeta returned the affection, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. He had gotten used to ‘kissing’ after the first few times he had sex with you, even when he had rarely done that with whoever he had fucked before. But you seemed eager to do it every time, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. 

Your heartbeat was going fast again, he could feel it when you pressed closer to him. You had told him it had nothing to do with fear, something he had associated with it before. Seemed like your heart was always beating that fast every time you were with him. He wondered why, what kind of emotion provoked that in you?

It must have been something good, as it did not slow down when he reached your entrance with his fingers. He was pleased to know that you were still wet, obviously from sucking him off, but also due to the previous load he had spilled inside you the first round, his cum and your slick mixing in and making it so much better for him to slide in again. 

Vegeta had not expected your brash and lewd attitude to be so attractive. 

If he had to be honest, he hadn’t had sex as often as his two henchmen probably had. He wasn’t as experienced, but it’s not like he knew nothing. However, he wondered how much he did not know when you were with him. You hadn’t mentioned his lack of experience at all, he tried his best to hide it and so far, you seemed unaware of it. But the things you did to him sometimes left him wondering how many things could be done in intimacy. 

The first time you gave him oral sex, it intrigued him, but when you had taught him something called sixty nine, it fascinated him. And apparently sex wasn’t exclusively reserved for the bedroom. He knew that, but doing it in the shower had been pleasant. 

Vegeta didn’t dwell on anything when he pushed his cock inside you, grunting against your lips as you started rocking your hips. He was overwhelmed, not only by how tight and warm and wet you were; your sweet scent invaded his nose, making him feel drowsy, and your moans were music to his ears, and even his name sounded so honeyed every time it spilled from your lips. It was like being in a haze, drowning in bliss, as he came inside you, holding tightly onto your hips, afraid you might disappear. 

You were exhausted afterwards, and fell asleep minutes later. 

Vegeta took that opportunity to leave. Most of the time he usually waited for you to fall into a deep slumber before taking off. He never spent the night. He already felt weak for having sex with a human more than a handful of times, but it was difficult sometimes to leave that warm bed of yours at times. 

He was getting softer. He was aware, and he had no one to blame but himself. You had given him a small sense of purpose, but it was frail. He only liked to fuck you, what good would that do to him? 

Grumbling in annoyance, Vegeta gathered his clothes, putting them on before leaving your bedroom.

*

You were used to waking up alone the morning after having sex with Vegeta. You were used to it, but it didn’t make you feel any less used. You could understand why he wouldn’t spend the night, but you were still human enough, and not sleeping together at least once made you feel disposable.

Whatever. Vegeta wasn’t your boyfriend. 

Running your hands through your hair, you took a shower, getting rids of the remains of your activities from the night before. 

It had already been almost two months since you got back to planet Frieza 80 (was it 80? 81? You weren’t sure). Over three months since you met Vegeta, Raditz and Nappa. Vegeta kept showing up at your door occasionally. More often than not, actually. It surprised you; it had been a shock the second time he knocked your door when you were on that spaceship months ago, it was still a surprise that he actively had been visiting you even after that mission was over. He didn’t show up every night, but he did it so often, he might as well have. The only time he didn’t were a few weeks in between when he had been on a mission God knows where along with Nappa.

You tried to keep a lot of your emotions in check frequently, but seeing Vegeta intimately so often made it difficult. You knew he wasn’t close to being emotionally invested in you, he showed it every time you interacted with him outside the bedroom; he treated you like he treated everyone else, like shit. But his ability to be somehow soft with you in private confused you. He obviously just wanted to get laid, as much as you did. 

You were just lonely. 

It had nothing to do with Vegeta or anyone else. You simply missed being in contact with someone who had the emotional depth of an actual sentient being, and not just slaves of Frieza’s army. You couldn’t blame anyone; being under a tyrannical reign would make you distrust your own shadow, it was only natural no one revealed anything about themselves to anyone else. It was a miracle the three remaining Saiyans even trusted each other. 

And if you were honest with yourself, as much as you liked Vegeta, you weren’t sure if you trusted him at all. Sex meant vulnerability, but you couldn’t show it with someone you knew was always on guard, even when you were being intimate. 

You felt like you were turning into one of those soldiers without emotional depth.

You tried not to tear up as you put on your clothes after your shower. You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions. 

The training rooms used by the Saiyans were reserved for only them, and other high ranking officers that might want to use it, but you knew Vegeta was the one who visited it the most (you had to repair it often because of him). You also knew he wasn’t going to be there so early after spending the night with you, so after grabbing something quick to eat, you headed to the training room. 

You didn’t expect to see Raditz there, however. 

“Hey, doll,” He greeted you with a grin, and you rolled your eyes. He kept calling you that and it just stuck. “What brought you here?”

You stared at him for a long minute; he had been training too, wearing only his trunks and boots as sweat ran down his body and settled in places that made you want to look at him for longer than what should be allowed. 

“I wanted to warm up a bit,” You averted your eyes quickly, focusing on the wall behind him. “But if you’re using the room, I’ll come back later.”

“Warm up, huh?” Raditz asked, obviously mocking you by the way he was smiling. “I want to see what you got.”

“You wanna spar with me?” You blinked, confused. 

“Yeah, or am I too much for you, human?”

He was provoking you, you knew it, but it was working. Your power wasn’t low, but you weren’t sure if you could actually match Raditz in a one on one battle. But this could be a good way to find out. His power was the lowest among the three Saiyans and he had been the nicest to you, so maybe he wouldn’t kill you if your power proved to be puny compared to his. 

“Alright, I’m game.” 

“Sweet!”

You took a step back to get rid of your armor, and you felt his eyes scanning your body as you adjusted your skin tight suit. He and Nappa never stopped leering at you any chance they got, and every time you had to remind yourself it had to do with the fact that you looked a lot like a Saiyan. They only seemed to like it more when you tell them to stop anyway. 

Raditz changed the gleam in his eyes when you faced him; he obviously didn’t see you as a threat, if anything he seemed to be mocking you by daring you to fight him. 

You launched at him, and he saw it coming easily, no matter how fast you were, grabbing your fist with one hand when you aimed it at his face, then grabbing your leg when you tried to kick him in the face again. And so on and so on with any physical attack you tried to pull off. 

Raditz didn’t even flinch with any attempt you made at connecting with him, and it was starting to piss you off. You were only just getting started, but he obviously wasn’t taking you seriously, remaining on his spot with a smirk as you tried to actually deck him. 

There was no point in holding back if that was how it was going to be. 

Taking a few steps back, you threw yourself at Raditz, aiming to hit him in the chest with your feet. You barely touched him when he grabbed your legs with both hands, a wide smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back as you got your hands up in his face, firing a ki blast in a split second that made him stumble back. He groaned loudly, the grip he had on you loosening, giving you the chance to actually kick him in the face this time, and swiftly wrapping your legs around his neck to throw him to the ground. 

A loud thud echoed in the room when his body hit the floor, and you stared down at him with amusement. 

“Fuck!” Raditz grunted, a few drops of blood dripping from his nose as he pulled his hands towards his face. 

“You could have easily avoided all those attacks if you had taken me seriously from the beginning.”

You took a step back as Raditz stood up again, smirking as he wiped the blood off his face. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again.”

And he didn’t. 

You supposed Raditz was going easy on you at first, but at least he took your attacks seriously, and once you had thrown him to the ground twice (being small and flexible in comparison was a great advantage against him), he’d seemed to have enough. He actually started to hit you back, throwing punches and kicks that left you breathless with the sheer force he was using. 

Fuck it. You started this a warm up or a spar, but he was fighting for real. 

Ki blasts flew from both sides until it basically looked like a firework show, and dodging them got even more difficult for the both of you. Raditz had more stamina, his body was built for that, but this confrontation had been dragging on for a while, you could tell he needed a break, and so did you; the places he had managed to connect with ached like a bitch, and you’d end up with bruises all over your body if you didn’t end this quick. 

Gathering what little energy you had left in the palm of your hand, you threw a ki blast right in his face, which he avoided easily, only to be met with your fist. He grabbed it swiftly like you expected, and you consequently held onto his arm with your other hand. Using it as leverage, you lifted yourself up to land a kick on his face with both of your feet, making him fall on his side. You barely had any strength left, so you let yourself fall beside him, groaning in pain when you hit the floor. 

“Time up…” You panted, struggling to even speak. “You win…”

“How the fuck is this my win? You knocked me down.” Raditz grunted, sitting up and glaring at you. 

“I don't have energy left, you could easily give me the final blow…”

“I’m not pleased to ‘win’ like this against a human.” He said, and you could feel in his tone he was genuinely frustrated. 

You remained quiet, unsure of what to say. Strength, battles and discipline was viewed differently in this world than it was in your planet, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t have to actively fight for survival when you lived on Earth. When Earth still existed. 

You jolted when the door suddenly opened, and Zarbon walked in, followed closely by Vegeta and Nappa. You sat up, staring wide eyed. You had only seen the guy a handful of times, but he was looking straight at you, and trepidation quickly bubbled up inside you. 

“You, human girl,” He addressed you with a loud, imposing voice. “You’re a mechanic, aren’t you?”

“Yes?”

“Not anymore. You’re similar to the Saiyans, you'll be joining them in your next mission.”

“What?!” You complained as you stood up on shaky legs. “Why?!”

“Quit your whining.” Vegeta said, glaring at you. “It’s been decided, so shut up.”

You faltered, his words settling in your brain. You didn't even whine that much. 

“I had no idea you had that kind of power.” Zarbon kept looking at you, scanning every inch of your body, and you felt the need to cover up, even though you were fully dressed. “Puny, compared to mine, but enough to make yourself useful.”

Your eye twitched but you said nothing until he finally left a second later. 

“What is going on?!” You asked, screamed, eyes flickering between Nappa and Vegeta.

“Your little fight caught the bastard’s attention.” Nappa grumbled, annoyed. “He saw the whole thing.”

You sighed, frustrated. All training rooms had two way mirrors, though you’ve rarely seen anyone actually using them. 

“You’re going to train with us starting tomorrow.” Vegeta said. You knew him enough to know how angry he was, though you weren’t sure why. 

“Fine.” You grumbled. 

Vegeta glared at you and Raditz before he turned to leave, followed closely by Nappa. You sat on the floor next to Raditz as he turned to look at you with curious eyes. 

“Pleased to make yourself useful?”

“I am useful even if I don’t fight.” You scoffed, stretching your arms. 

“The real fun starts now.” Raditz grinned at you. 

You wanted to return the smile, but you couldn’t. You weren’t looking forward to the torture that was going to be training with beings who were genetically designed to fight endlessly. You were just a human; you had trained enough to achieve a level to be on the par with Raditz, but you would probably never get to go that much higher. 

“I had fun training with you.” You said after a while, as you both got up. And this time, you did smile. “I think I needed it.”

“I enjoyed it, too.” Raditz replied, smiling faintly. “Let me know when you want to do it again, girl.”

You watched him walk out the room and down the corridor before you turned to leave in the opposite direction. You needed to get some painkillers and hopefully something that would make the bruises fade away quicker, if there even was such a thing, at the medical unit. 

After picking up food in the dining room, you took the rest of the day off. You showered and applied ointment on every visible bruise you could find on your body (and there were many) before settling down on your bed. Tiredness settled in quickly, but it would take a while for the painkillers to kick in; both of your sides ached with every move, so you could only lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you dozed off. 

After a couple of hours, Vegeta’s ki moving towards your room woke you up. You hoped to God he wasn’t thinking of actually fucking you that night; you didn’t know how much of your fight with Raditz did he see, but it must have been obvious that you weren’t capable of moving too much that night. Not to mention that it had pissed you off that he had told you to shut up the way he did. 

Vegeta stood outside your door, you could feel his ki flickering (nervously maybe?), but given that you were a little pissed at him, you waited; you wanted him to actually knock. And he took his damn time, only knocking once after a few minutes. 

“Open up.” His voice ordered from the other side, making your annoyance increase.

You opened the door just enough so he could see your face and part of your body in your sleeping clothes, visible contusions tainting your skin. His eyes scanned you quickly and when he tried to push the door so he could walk in, you stopped him. 

“What do you want?”

Vegeta raised his eyebrow at your tone, and you could see him struggling to find the right words to say. 

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He frowned, obviously irritated as well. 

“What's wrong with me? You really expect to just walk in here like every other day? Like you don’t see the bruises all over my body?!” You yelled, making Vegeta scoff.

“Humans are so fragile-”

“Well, too bad you’re sleeping with one.” You interrupted him, earning one of his most heated glares in return. He obviously hated being interrupted, but you were too annoyed to care. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to entertain yourself with.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Vegeta asked through gritted teeth. “You were begging me to fuck you the first time!”

“And now I’m saying ‘no’ because you’re a jackass. Who do you think you are?! You will never tell me to shut up like that again!” You seethed, pushing him with a hand on his chest. He did not move an inch, but he was staring at you with eyes wide open, evidently surprised about your reaction. “Goodbye, Vegeta.”

You closed the door swiftly in his face. His ki spiked briefly, and for a second you thought he might burst in. He never did, and some minutes later, you felt his presence get further away as he retreated. 

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 13: And They Were Roommates

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, references to past Astarion trauma, references to death and dying, lots of talking

WC: 8.4k words, 13/?? chapters

Summary: You and Astarion try to find a common ground between you. Things are awkward and tentative, and progress is anything but linear.

A/N: Prepare yourself for some big ol’ chapters going forward.

Ao3 | [Ch12][Ch14] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

After agreeing to stay with Astarion, you went from being veritable strangers to something closer to, well, roommates.

That first day, you had asked him where he’d like you to stay. After having overheard his distaste of you occupying your past-self’s room, you figured any other room would be preferable. However, he simply furrowed his brows, opened his mouth, closed his mouth. You saw him deliberating the various rooms in his mind before he ultimately said, “Stay in our old room for now. I suppose it makes the most sense.”

So you found yourself in the same familiar room, your bags back on the floor. You contemplated asking him for another room, considering the absolutely atrocious reverie you’d last had in this one, but decided to try once more before complaining.

It had been an awkward day already, and you weren't entirely sure what to do next. You'd arrived where you’d meant to be, but now what? 

You contemplated speaking to Astarion some more, but the weight of the words you'd already spoken were too heavy to take on much more. You were exhausted, down to your bones, from tension, from tears shed, from the whirlwind of emotions that had swept you through the day. No, there will be time for more conversation tomorrow. For now, you needed to spend the rest of the day recharging.

So you spent that first night refamiliarizing yourself with Dal, as you'd silently sworn you would. Besides, after recalling her gratitude toward you, Petras's lingering questions, there is clearly a history you’ll need to learn more about.

When you’d last brushed up on your dreams, it was with a heavy focus on Astarion. You’d been eager to recall every detail about him and your journal entries with him were so enthusiastic that you didn’t pay much mind to those without him. Now you focused on rereading the entries regarding the vampire spawn.

What you relearned surprised you, and a few journal entries in particular seemed important in retrospect.

Hero’s Life - Entry 5753: No Astarion tonight. I did dream of the Underdark and Astarion’s siblings. Two of them, I think Dal and Leon, were busy setting up some defenses. I was helping the large one (Petra or Petras?) and the tiefling (Aurelia I believe) move some spawn from one location to another in a hurry. I think the other two, the gnome (Usen?) and the other blonde elf were already in hiding. From what I gather, Astarion was scouting around the fortress.

It seemed like a regular occurrence, being under attack. The whole process was very well orchestrated. The spawn siblings thanked me for my help, and I could feel my past-self’s worry. They seem to care a lot about Astarion’s family.

Hero’s Life - Entry 9816: Last night I didn’t dream of Astarion. I was a bit disappointed, but my former self was too focused to note his absence. They spoke to Dal, I think, of a project they’re working on together. The conversation was confusing, I think it was spoken in some kind of code. All I could really tell was that we’re searching for something and that Astarion is not being very helpful.

We looked over a set of diagrams for a while, I took some notes. Toward the end of the reverie we changed topics to the colony, and I have to say, running a vampire colony seems like a lot of work. The fortress is so unsafe, so easy to invade from any side. They were discussing plans for new renovations for a while – I wonder what they will settle on.

Other entries detailed working together with the spawn, setting up structures within their new society, and new rules. It was all quite informative, if a bit out of your depth of expertise. But more than anything, you wanted to know what Dal and your past-self were working on. Tomorrow, you assured yourself, I will simply speak to Astarion to learn more of this. 

__

Here you are now, opening your eyes from an uneventful yet deeply unrestful reverie. You had sworn to speak to Astarion, but you weren’t aware at the time of how absolutely exhausted you would be come morning. Barely able to get up, you curse at the gods when you hear knocking on your door.

"Coming…" you say, voice echoing your weariness.

"Are you quite alright?" Astarion calls through the door. "Or were you lying about getting to know each other? Really, darling, there are better ways to get free lodging."

You give him an annoyed grunt as you open the door, and the gauntness of your face must be truly frightening given the way he looks at you.

"So you're not alright?" He asks, taking a small step back, as if your eyebags could be contagious.

"I'm just tired," you say, yawning. "I haven't managed to get a good reverie in three days. And I've barely made it by on rations, but I think I’ll need some real food soon." As if on cue, your stomach growls and you look down at it in betrayal.

After having gone without mortal food since your past-life's death, it's clear that the vampire’s mansion hasn't the means to feed you. Astarion waves a hand in the air in exasperation. "Can't you just, I don't know, conjure up some food?"

You give him an unbelieving stare. Surely this man, who's lived centuries more than you, can tell the differences between types of magic, right? When his face doesn't change, you clarify, "Er, no. That is exclusively holy magic. My magic is arcane. Has Gale never explained magic to you?"

He laughs, as if you've told a magnificent joke. When you don't reciprocate, he follows it with a snort, "Darling, surely you know the answer to that? If a Gale waxes poetically about magic and no one bothers to listen, did it ever really happen?"

What? I would love to listen to a great archmage like Gale speak about… oh. Many memories from your past-self click in that moment, and you realize that after decades of dreaming of him, you had started to see a lot of Astarion's behavior through the rose-colored glasses that were their affection. That perhaps your earlier memories, of his ridiculous, insane behavior, were not far off the mark. I see. It seems that I loved a man with nary a thought in his beautiful brain.

It makes sense. He's never once in your memories been the 'planner,' and in your time living together, your past-self had been the one at the desk, the one speaking with the spawn, the brains of the operation, so to speak.

It didn't bother you then, and it certainly doesn't bother you now, but it does change the way you approach this. "No matter. Just know that I can't conjure food. It seems like I'll need to go procure some.” You pause to consider your options. “Unless you have a means–”

“No,” he says, cutting you off before you can make a fool of yourself. "And I haven't the faintest where the nearest market might be at this point."

"I see," you say, breathing out a hearty sigh. "Would you happen to be able to help me find–"

"I'm afraid not, darling," he interjects again. "I don't have a sunlight ring currently, and even if I did, I'm not much interested in a field trip."

"Alright," you start, stifling another yawn. "But if that's the that case, how will you–"

"Get to know you? We have weeks. I'm in no rush so please feel free to tend to your bodily needs." He flashes you a wide, fanged smile.

Once was a coincidence, twice irks you, and three times? Well, you can't let three times go unacknowledged. "Why do you keep interrupting me?" you ask him, tone just shy of irritated.

"Oh, am I?" he asks, with a small little laugh. "I hadn't realized." The look he gives you then is full of actual chagrin, and you realize he may not have noticed.

"Yes, it's rather irritating," you say, resisting the urge to forgive him too easily. Between his laugh and his smile, you feel weak to his charms, wanting to slap yourself as much as you had your past-self.

"Well, I'll try to stop," he replies, a smile still somehow present on his face. That's when you notice it, tucked beneath the layers of carefully crafted morning cheer, a nigh imperceptible eye twitch. He's nervous. The thought of this hundreds-year-old vampire being nervous with you is rather… new.

So you find yourself averting your eyes, stowing the feeling away for later. For now, you accept his vow to stop with a mumbled, "Thank you."

You spend the rest of the day in search of a real, living person's food source. Fighting your exhaustion all the while, you stop by the nearby inn, grab a meal, get directions and stock up for the week at a distant market.

By the time you get back to the house, it's getting late and Astarion welcomes you back with an annoyed 'tch.'

"What a waste of a day, darling. I don't know how much longer you plan on staying up, but I'm quite tired by now." He gives a big, cat-like yawn and makes a show of stretching. 

It's barely even half past six, and you can tell he's exaggerating, so you only respond, "It makes sense that the older you get the more beauty sleep you need, but I always presumed vampires were the exception to the rule."

He scoffs at you, but a wicked little smirk betrays how much he enjoys the jab. "So you do have some bite to you. Good to know." 

"I don't think I could live through as much of my previous life as I did and not have some bite left over," you say with a small, satisfied smile. "After facing down horrors, otherworldly beings, literal devils– I’ve learned only from the best how to handle any situation.”

At the mention of your former life, Astarion's own smirk slips some. He clears his throat and responds, "Right. That makes… sense.” He bounces between his feet uncertainly before continuing, “Well, if you need anything else, within reason, you can find me in my room. Goodnight, darling." With that, he turns heel and practically runs away from you.

Well, you think to yourself. That wasn’t ideal. Maybe it was a bit too much? You make a mental note to be careful with your past, maybe not mention it so casually– at least not until he's ready.

You’d forgotten to mention that the room had been ruining your reveries, and he’s too long gone to ask for a replacement. Hopefully you’ll get used to the uncomfortable memories with time.

That night your meditation comes easier, your rest is less interrupted. You dream of a life where you had been a chef. Perhaps for the first time in your current lifetime, this life's dreams will matter for your survival.

__

The next day begins on a far better foot. 

Now that you have ingredients, a set of plates and silverware to use, even a pot and pan on which to cook, you happily follow Astarion to the kitchen for breakfast. You wonder briefly if he’d appreciate another offer of blood, but decide against it for now– your memories have warned you enough about this and you don’t want your new relationship tainted by how transactional blood drinking can be for vampires.

Instead, you settle into the kitchen to cook a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon while Astarion sits at his kitchen table, watching.

After a few minutes of a silence that doesn’t quite hit comfortable, Astarion speaks up. "How did you know where to find me the other day?" He asks genuinely. "In your past life, we hadn't built the tunnel to the Underdark yet."

"Oh," you say, recalling your adventures throughout his house as you stir your eggs. You contemplate lying, but decide that there's no use in starting off on that foot. The rough path of honesty it is. "I actually went, erm, looking about. I likely searched most of the house before stumbling upon the illusory wall."

"You're quite the investigator aren't you?" He asks, and there's a note of concern in his voice.

You wonder why that could be, but when you look up to see him genuinely curious for an answer, you can’t help but respond. "You could say that. I love a good puzzle." You shrug and take your eggs off the stove.

"I see." He says, a far off look glazing over his eyes. "How did you manage to find the fake wall?"

"Rhapsody gave it away," you say, recalling the dagger's dive onto the floor.

Astarion clicks his tongue, annoyed. "Ah yes, that old thing. I wish I could get rid of it, its odd shape makes it prone to falling. But I can't."

"You can't?" His firm stance on it tickles the back of your mind, as if a memory is begging to burst forth. Sitting down with your plate of eggs and bacon, you search his hard red eyes for answers before beginning your meal.

"Oh not for any sentimental reasons," he says. "Don't you mind that though. What shall we get up to today?”

The part of your brain that feels close to something– something important– wants to press, but you recall how he ran away from you yesterday. You know he likely isn’t any more prepared today than he was then, so you decide to tuck it aside for later. “Well, I was wondering when we might have a chance to speak to the spawn again?” You begin, listlessly moving your eggs about your plate as you speak. “I was rereading my dreams with Dal and–”

Astarion makes a show of rolling his eyes at you before interrupting. “I’m not interested in rehashing the past, as I’ve said. Your dreams are just that– the past. What should we do today?”

You pause your fork halfway to your mouth to respond. “But the spawn seem to be a big part of your life, are they not?”

“Of course they are, but they’re only a part of it.” He folds his hands together in front of him on the table and stares you down. “If I knew you’d be so interested in them and not me, I wouldn’t have suggested this.”

Gulping down a bite of food, you take a moment to process his words. As much as Dal’s remarks burn in your mind and your memories with her seem to taunt you from the bag at your hip, you know that that’s not really why you’re here. It’s just another puzzle that’s tantalizing you, one you deeply wish to uncover, but also one that seems to run contrary to everything Astarion hopes for.

That bothers you. After all, he was nothing but a helpful brother down in the Underdark. But clearly a line between him and the spawn has been drawn somewhere– you’ll have to toe it until you get more concrete answers. “Sorry, curiosity got the better of me,” you finally reply, smiling at him apologetically. “In that case, I’m really quite amenable to anything you’d like to do. Any hobbies we would be able to do together?”

Astarion seems to visibly calm when you drop the subject of the spawn. “Ah yes, that should be a good place to start. I quite like reading, embroidery, I even do the odd whittling after that damned druid taught us. I have also found myself to be fairly adept at crafting scents.”

You nod as he lists, familiar with many of these hobbies from your memories. Chewing on a piece of bacon, you motion for him to continue with a hand wave. 

He looks at you appraisingly for a second before saying, “Well if you insist on hearing more about me and my hobbies, who am I to refuse.” You’d always thought he seemed relieved to finally open up to your past-self, and the way he speaks seems to confirm your suspicions. “When I have the chance to enjoy the sun, I tend to make a day of it, go to Baldur’s Gate, enjoy the sights, ‘acquire’ myself some materials– sometimes I even find myself a meal in the form of some ruffian.”

“How often do you get to enjoy the sun?” you ask, voice a bit cautious as you’re certain this must be a sore spot for him. 

Surprisingly, Astarion seems unperturbed by this particular line of investigation. “About once a month. Maybe once every couple– it really depends on how pressing any of my business is in Baldur’s Gate.” Then, likely noticing the sad tilt of your eyebrows, he shakes a finger at you. “Don’t be so… needlessly sympathetic. There are a lot of spawn and, while I may get priority for a sunlight ring on account of my previous heroics, 6000 spawn sharing a limited number of rings means I can’t afford to be selfish.”

You chew another bite of bacon as you contemplate his words. He says he doesn’t believe in love anymore, that he’s not the same man, but from that statement alone, you know your past-self has left a considerable mark. You decide not to point this fact out to him and instead ask another question, “In that case, how many rings do you have among you?”

“I’d say we’re somewhere around a hundred?” he answers, placing a finger on his chin as he thinks. “Dal would know best. But Gale sends us one every once in a while, sometimes they get lost, so the number changes. They’re not impossible to make, but they take time and a highly skilled archmage.”

“Is that why you’ve stayed friends with Gale all these years?” you ask, a teasing tone in your voice that you find comes naturally.

Astarion laughs, and it’s one of his now rare, real laughs. You can recognize the sound from your memories. “Was I that obvious?”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, an odd happiness bubbling in your chest alongside the laughter. Is this our first real, shared laugh? you think. Externally, you reply, “I’d say so. Though you do keep him quite busy,” you pause, gesturing back toward his room with a piece of bacon. “Were those illusions all his work as well?”

The vampire in front of you looks at you thoughtfully again, and more than anything you wish you could read his mind. He responds with, “Of course. He’s a master of illusions. Taught it for at least a century.” Then, abruptly, he adds, “I don't remember you being this intelligent. It’s quite irksome.”

The way he says it isn’t meant to be insulting, but you can’t help but feel a bit defensive at the statement. He states it as if being smarter is some kind of crime. “I wasn’t, to my recollection,” you start, all of your previous amusement dropping from your expression. “I’m afraid I can't help it though. If it’s an issue, you’ll have to take it up with my parents.”

“Parents?” he asks, somewhat incredulously. “You have… those?”

It’s almost as if it’s a foreign concept to the man. You suppose it must be, considering that he hasn’t had his own in centuries, and your previous self had long since lost their parents when they met. “Yes, Astarion,” you say, adopting a patient tone. “Parents, as in those who raised me, cared for me. They know all about you, you know.”

Astarion doesn’t seem to enjoy that particular fact. “Oh, do they?” The man scoots out a bit from his chair. “That’s quite interesting. And are they expecting you back anytime soon?”

You shrug, honestly not sure what your parents expect. “No, but I was going to cast a quick Sending spell to them before too long. It’s my first big trip, so I’m sure they’d like an update.”

Again, you’ve said something that’s made Astarion uncomfortable, reminded him that you’re both worlds away from each other in a way that may be impossible to surmount. You can practically see the excuses lining up behind his lips as he scoots another inch back. “You don’t say? Well, it would hardly do to keep them waiting, would it?” Before you can respond, he stands up in a single movement. “I shall leave you to it then? Of course, you know where to find me.”

He’s gone before you can contest him, and you’re left alone with the last remnants of your breakfast. “Great. So no past-life memories, no mentions of the spawn, and no mentions of my own life,” you speak down to the eggs on your plate. “What can I talk to him about without him running away?”

Once you finish breakfast, you do end up sending a message to your parents. It’s a short message, well within your 25-word limit, “I’m safe at Astarion’s. Will be here until the end of the month. Love you.”

You receive a message back a moment later from your mother, “Thank the gods. Keep us updated, and don’t forget that it’s not illegal to cast in self-defense. Love you too.”

Afterward, you seek Astarion out again, only to find that he’s sequestered himself in the bath. He stays there until dark and leaves as soon as he gets out with the excuse, “I need to find something to feed on. I shall see you tomorrow.”

You watch him leave with an annoyed expression on your face. You can’t very well force him to interact with you, but it feels like he’s not even trying to confront the pain he’d claimed to be so willing to face.

That night you dream of a life in which you were a warrior. This life’s reveries were always a bit dull for you, but tonight you welcome their training and discipline. You maintain the dream and feel a full night’s rest for the first time in days.

__

The following day, the fourth day that you’re spending in his house since your agreement, you decide to forgo breakfast. You wake up energetic and rested so you decide to confront Astarion right as he leaves his room. 

“Morning,” you say, a bright and casual smile plastered on your face. Doing your best to hide the fear you feel, the nerves that stand on edge, you begin your new strategy: figuring out what you can about Dal and the spawn before he up and leaves. 

“Oh hello,” he says, eyebrows furrowed a bit in concern. While he does seem to believe you are his reincarnated love, he continues to be incredibly wary of you, defenses raised high after more than a century alone. It shows in his crossed arms, the way he took a single step back before continuing, “What brings you to my door so eagerly this morning?”

“I was just getting an early start after entering my reverie early yesterday,” you say, continuing the cheer that you did not remotely feel. “I was also hoping to start the day by asking you some questions.”

“Again?” he asks, and his entire body wavers in the doorway of his room. 

You’re worried he’s about to step back into the room so you hold out a hand: a silent invitation to take it. “Perhaps we can go on a walk about the house as we talk?”

Astarion declines without as much of a second glance at it, simply leaning into the doorway. “Ask your questions then, be quick about it.”

You take a second to take stock of him, to see if his pallor has improved after feeding. He seems exactly the same as the day before, only dressed in a different immaculate, silken garment. You wonder if he lied about where he went, but decide against wasting your questions on that– perhaps your dreams simply haven’t gotten you used to the nuances of vampires. Instead you start bluntly, “Your siblings acted quite strangely toward me. Why was that?”

His expression betrays nothing, his face implacable as he responds, “I’m afraid I’m not Dal or Petras, so I can’t provide you with a satisfying answer.” 

It’s not much to go off of, but you’re ready with your next question already. “It seems that I was rather closer to the spawn than I had previously thought. What was my relationship with them in my past-life?”

Now his facade cracks a bit, eyes narrowing with something you can’t quite place. “You were close,” is all that he provides.

“Close doesn’t seem to describe it all,” you say, stepping closer, growing bold with the fracture in his mask. “Dal was thankful for my return. What was she thankful for?”

He seems to want to step back, to retreat into his room, and you know you’re dangerously close to losing him again. His next words are more than a bit dodgy. “Likely for your wonderful presence back in her life. Though she likely wouldn’t have said that if she knew how forward you are in the mornings.”

You take his dig as an opening. “I’m only forward because I know how excited they were to see me. Petras said I would be able to help. I can't help until I know what they need help with.”

Astarion sighs, relenting infinitesimally to your badgering as he says, “Their minds are filled with delusions of… well, nothing of importance.”

“Delusions of what?”

“Nothing,” he says through gritted teeth. “And if you continue to bother me, consider this conversation over.”

You want to push more, follow with a chiding ‘Astarion’, like your past-self may have done. But you’re finding yourself wary, the tenuous bond you’re building is as brittle as an old piece of parchment. So you yield for now. “Alright. My apologies for prying. What would you like to do today then?”

The vampire noticeably regains his composure, and offers you a simple exercise for the day, “Shall we share some books we like?”

It’s no hard hitting truths or delving into secrets of the past, but you spend a better part of the day in the library with Astarion. He points out some of his favorites, which you note for your own reading leisure, and you share some of your own. While some of his interests are a bit out of your particular purview, your tastes are not dissimilar. You read more history than he does, he reads more thrillers, you both enjoy a good adventure book. 

Overall, the day doesn’t end with him running away from you, so you chalk it up as a win. 

That night, you dream of a past life where you were an innkeeper in a remote village. It came with plenty of downtime, and you spend the reverie reading a riveting tale of dragons and conquests. You try to recall every detail you can so that you can relay the story to Astarion come morning.

__

The next day, you decide to take the same approach: Start out strong, and see where that takes you for the rest of the day.

Again, he seems surprised to find you right outside his doorway. “My, aren’t you an impatient one. An early rise once again?”

You nod, smiling another winning smile. “I have more questions for you.”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly, leaning on the door frame once more. “What are you plaguing me with today?”

After yesterday’s somewhat success, you decide to push a bit more on your past-self today. “So, the Hero’s Life is quite fascinating to me…”

“The what?” he all but chokes out. A laugh resembling a cough comes out next and Astarion continues with, “They wouldn’t have liked it being called that.”

“Sorry, it’s something of a shorthand for me,” you say, sheepishly. You realize that you’ve slipped up, but all the same you feel the need to find clarity, “But they were recognized as a hero, weren't they?”

Astarion seems loath to agree with that statement. Rather than answering you directly, he says, “They were a leader.” He shakes his head, thinking better of his statement. “No. They were… something special.”

The far-off tone to his voice indicates that you might be losing him. You hadn’t intended the conversation to go this way. Truth be told, you’d wanted his help to fill out some of the gaps of your knowledge. It seems like you won’t get much further with this line of thought today though, so you decide to move on for the day, “That they were. What should we do today?”

Almost startled out of his thoughts, the vampire turns to you, seeing you again as the mist clears. “Ah, yes, today. I do have some business to attend to. The colony simply can’t run on its own.” You nod, recalling some of the planning from his conversation with Dal and your own memories. “Would you– well, perhaps it’s too dull. Then again…” He gives you a quick once over. “Considering what you find interesting, you may even find it entertaining. Would you care to join me?”

That’s how you spend the rest of the day next to Astarion’s desk, pouring over papers and familiarizing yourself with the logistics of the colony. You learn about their shipping schedules, their attempts to get blood in the underground markets of Baldur’s Gate, their repair and maintenance plans. For anyone else, it may very well have been boring, but you find yourself enraptured, sharing suggestions with Astarion easily. 

In the evening, you hear knocking on the front doors. You can tell by his expression that Astarion knows immediately who it might be. “Ignore them,” he says. “I’ve already fed this week and the spawn are in a decent state. Better that they think no one is home.”

You decide not to mention the fact that the lights are clearly on in his house and nod in agreement. As you both get back to work, you wonder how often he rejects visitors– or perhaps if he’s rejecting them because he’s enjoying spending time with you. You decide not to let your pathetic little heart get ahead of your brain and settle on asking him next time someone comes calling.

By the end of the day, you almost feel like business partners, and, considering all of the sensitive information he’s shared with you, you certainly feel like he trusts you. It warms you so entirely that you’re surprised to find yourself crawling into bed with a smile. You can’t remember the last time that happened.

That night you dream of the Hero’s Life once more. Perhaps it was spending so much time in close quarters with Astarion, but the reverie is spent almost entirely in his arms. You talk of an upcoming adventure, make plans to pack the necessary supplies, unfurl a map of the Underdark as you discuss. The whole time his arms are wrapped around you, he’s placing delicate kisses along your neck, he nips at your sensitive pointed ears–it’s not long before all of the planning is pushed aside and he’s pressing you into the desk, his hands quick at work to undress you. 

The night is restful, but you wake up a bit embarrassed now that you’ve gotten to know the man. 

__

For your sixth day at the mansion, you try once more to press about the Hero’s Life. This time, you prepare your words a bit more carefully, hoping to avoid the pitfalls of the day before.

“Hello and good morning Astarion!” you say, walking up to his waiting form. He’s clearly caught on to your game, because this time he’s standing outside the door, arms crossed, leaning on the frame.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” he responds, a tight smile on his lips. “What do you plan on asking about today?”

No beating around the bush, not that you mind. After some consideration on what words might not trigger an immediate flight response, you offer him your carefully worded question. “Would you please tell me a bit more about my past-self?”

Astarion seems to take the question in stride, offering no immediate reaction. In the end, his response is short and stern, “No, I don’t particularly care to.”

You had expected such a response, and, more than anything, you’re just glad he hasn’t up and left yet. So you move on to your next question. “What about reading the journals of my past dreams? I could use some assistance on fleshing out the details.” 

Again, he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “No.” Then as an afterthought he adds, “Thank you for the offer, though.”

You’ve tried being kind and patient, and, while you understand he doesn’t wish to rehash centuries of past pain, you refuse to accept two days with no real progress. As a result, you decide it’s alright to be the impatient young elf you truly are, even if just for a moment, “Then why did you invite me here? You seem uninterested in my memories, uninterested in discussing my past-self or their relationships, mentions of my life in Neverwinter bother you too. What are you interested in?”

Astarion sighs, likely having expected this line of questioning sooner or later– also likely annoyed that it came sooner. “Forget the past, it’s dead and buried now,” he says, pushing himself off the doorframe and beginning to walk toward the kitchen. “I’m rather enjoying getting to know someone new for the first time in… however many years. Let’s just keep doing that.”

You want to argue with him, explain to him that there’s no way of actually moving on until he confronts the hurt that’s settled around his heart like an impenetrable armor. But you’d already been so afraid of causing more pain, how can you justify reopening those old wounds? So you follow him to the kitchen, resigned to another day without genuine progress.

Turning back for a moment he does offer you a lifeline. “If you have something specific you’d like to ask about, I may be willing to entertain it. But I expect you to take no for an answer when you inevitably ruin my day.”

With the way he’s turned toward you, you can’t see most of his face and his voice remains placid throughout it all. You think he’s being genuine though, so you respond, “Okay, then. One question at a time. Thank you, Astarion.”

He gives you a noncommittal hum at that, and waves you along. “Come on, if you don’t have breakfast again, you’ll be cranky by midday.”

You want to be offended at the statement, but with two days without breakfast behind you, you decide against it. As you walk in silence, you consider a few burning questions that have been jostling around your brain for the past few days. Each will surely lead to a poor reception from Astarion, so you land on the question that’s been most bothering you in the past few weeks.

When you’re finally settled over a quick breakfast of oats, you look him straight in his deep ruby eyes and fire it off, “How did I die?”

Despite his relative composure with the previous questions, this one throws him off-balance. His red eyes widen, his mouth opens a bit, and you can all but see the unwelcome memories bursting to the forefront of his mind. You half-expect him to get up and leave without saying anything, but instead he takes a deep breath, drops his gaze, clenches and unclenches his fists on the table. Finally, he exhales through his nose and mutters, “I… I'm not ready to talk about that yet, if that’s alright.”

His voice comes out soft, almost a whisper you have to strain to hear. But he’s made an effort, one that you find easy to respect. “That’s perfectly alright,” you say, reaching a hand out, just shy of his own on the table. You’re afraid of touching him, yet thousands of dreams compel you to comfort him with a soft touch, a gentle caress. So you still offer. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready to listen.”

Astarion doesn’t meet your eyes now, though he notes your hand on the table. With a single finger he reaches out, tracing the line of one of your fingernails. “Thank you. You’re so… different. And yet. Similar.” He lifts his eyes back to yours and you see the struggle behind them clear as day. He’s made so much of these past few days look easy, his pain shoved away like a mere nuisance, but it’s been taking a toll on him all the same. “I should think I’d like to rest today, if that’s alright as well?”

What can you really do in the face of his struggles, if not care for him? So you agree. “Very well. I shall see you tomorrow?”

He nods, getting up from the table. “Yes, I shouldn’t need more rest than that.”

That’s how you spend your sixth day in the house alone again.

You don’t want to see this as a wasted day though– you know how little time you truly have with him. So you spend the day sending some messages. You have enough energy for about five messages, so you plan them out ahead of time. Two for Dalyria, one for Petras, one for Halsin, and one last one for your parents.

Your first message is to Dalyria, “Hello, it’s the reincarnated hero. Would you like to meet before I leave? I’m here until the end of the month.”

Her response is quick and efficient, clearly used to Sending spells. “Yes, let’s. Astarion shouldn’t know. He’s been difficult. Let me know when. Give me an hour to prepare. I’ll go to you.”

Having already prepared to use a second spell, you shoot the second off, “Will do. Thank you. For this and for believing me.”

You don’t expect her to respond, but she does a second later anyway. “Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the look in your eyes. Astarion can be a fool.”

Alone in your room, you laugh a little. You don’t have siblings, but you imagine that their relationship has truly changed into something resembling a sibling relationship after all this time. In order for their vampire society to work, they must have had to put aside a lot of past grievances, things said under the harsh rule of Cazador, all for the betterment of the rest of the spawn. 

It warms your heart a little to think that he wasn’t alone after losing your past-self, and you wish you could tell your soul as much. Alas, if it were that simple to settle the unease your previous life left behind, you would have done so by now. 

Instead, here you are, sending off a message to another one of Astarion’s siblings, Petras. “Hello Petras, it’s the reincarnated hero. I am meeting with Dal soon, but wanted to ask you what you wanted help with?”

It’s been abundantly apparent in a lot of your memories that Petras has never been the brains of the operation. While Astarion was willing to learn some basics of managing the colony, Petras has always been more of the odds and ends kind of contributor. It becomes even more apparent when he responds, and it’s obvious he’s not used to being a recipient of these messages. 

“Oh hello! It was good to meet you the other day, I’m glad you made it out alright. I was hoping that you could pick–” The message cuts off at the word limit, and you contemplate sending another or just waiting for your chance to speak with Dal. You figure you’ll speak with her next time Astarion goes to feed which should be in a few days at most.

So, in the end, you decide that your other messages take precedence. Your next one is to Halsin, “Hello Halsin, it’s the reincarnated hero. I’m with Astarion. He says hi. Do you know any details about my previous life’s death?”

Hasin’s responding message comes back a second later, warm, welcoming, and thought out. “Hello, my friend. Astarion didn’t provide much detail. All I know is they were on an adventure together. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

You write down what you’ve learned from your messages and move on to your last one: your parents. “Hello, all is well. I have a question. Is there a way to recall a past reverie? Love you.”

This time you messaged your father, your usual go-to on the nature of reveries. He responds a moment later, “Hello, glad you’re well. Not in particular. You could maybe try with a Detect Thoughts spell? But you’d need another wizard. Love you too.”

You nod to no one in particular, having thought as much before messaging him. There would be time for that later then.

Now that your messages are done, you decide to spend the rest of the night studying your magic. After all, if you continue a life with Astarion, danger would be around every corner.

That night your reverie comes easily, your mind seems used to the surroundings of the past now. You dream of a life where you were a mage– one of your favorites of your other lives for all of the knowledge they could impart. They were an enchanter and often created marvelous trinkets and items for the small town they lived in. Tonight you make a variety of enchanted items, and you note the spells you cast on each.

__

Astarion must have lied about only needing a day to recharge. You’re almost mad at yourself for not knowing better, but you believed what you wanted to believe. When he doesn’t appear at his door the next morning, you knock. No one responds.

He hadn’t gone off to the Underdark or Dal surely would have said something in her message. He didn’t seem to be hiding in the bathroom or the library. You’re honestly not sure how much more you’re willing to play these games of hide and seek when you find him sitting in the kitchen, exactly where you last saw him.

“Hello,” he says, once you appear in the kitchen entryway. “I was up a bit early today.”

“I can see that,” you say, heading to the pantry. You’re running on the last of your supplies now that the week is coming to an end. You’ll need to get some more food tomorrow, but at least you know how to make it less of a journey this time. “Are you feeling better today?”

“Much,” Astartion replies, though the smile he gives you isn’t quite convincing. Something about the way he’s sitting, too straight, the way he’s breathing, too shallow, the way he watches you, too cautious– it all tells you that something’s not quite right still. 

More than nervous, it feels like he’s on edge. But he’s trying his best, so you decide to try your best too. “That’s good. Are you ready for another question?”

“Yes,” he says, tone pure practiced confidence. “Regale me with it.”

You sit in front of him with a prepared plate of dried fruit and nuts. You’d prepared what you thought would be an easier question. “What happened to some of your other companions?”

“Let’s start with one,” he says, wincing a bit at the question. Painful, but not as bad as yesterday’s question, clearly.

After chewing a bit of fruit thoughtfully, you reach a hand forward, available for comfort. Then you pick, “How about Karlach?”

“Well, she died before your past life did,” he says, as if you should know this already.

“I know,” you say between bites. “But I didn’t see it or learn about it. Only felt the sadness, I remember talking through it with you, but we didn’t speak of any details.”

While you’d told him you’d had gaps in your memories, he apparently had either not believed you or not realized the extent of the gaps. Because he looks at you now like you may as well be a fraud. “What?”

“A lot of my reveries were, well… focused on you. And our time together,” you say, suddenly finding the statement embarrassing. You’d told him so in the dungeons, but something about saying it in the middle of the day in the man’s kitchen makes you feel a bit awkward about it. “I’m not sure why that’s the case, but it does mean that I didn’t get to see much of what happened with the others.”

He looks at you, his already pale face somehow losing more of its pallor. “I see.” 

A few seconds of silence pass between you, both of you lost in your respective thoughts. It’s not until you’re biting down on an almond that Astarion speaks again.

“When you said I was your every dream and thought– you weren’t exaggerating were you?” You shake your head in response and he continues. “So how much would you say is ‘a lot’ of your reveries?”

Once again, you’re a bit embarrassed to respond, but you know you must so that he understands. “I think the current count is somewhere around 11,000 reveries.”

The magnitude of your statement sits between you again. The idea that you had lived years worth of reveries with him while he’d only known you for a week is clearly affecting him. You’re not sure what to say to make him feel better– really you’re glad he’s finally facing the truth of it. So you continue to eat your breakfast, waiting for him to process.

After some time he speaks up again. “Karlach died doing what she did best. It was a fight, of course– did you know she kept fighting until each of her bones ached from age? We told her she should stop eventually, settle down somewhere, live a calmer life. But no, that would never suit her, would it?”

You shake your head in agreement, smiling at the thought of the elderly tiefling wielding a massive ax as if it weighed no more than a feather. “That makes sense, she would rather die than stop moving.”

He smiles back at you, calmer now that you’ve gotten past some of the awkwardness. “She really would.”

“I guess you all would,” you say, recalling some of the adventures your past-self had had with Astarion. “I wonder if my own soul is so restless as a result.”

You had been trying to make a lighthearted observation, especially considering how the call of the Underdark was so strong for you, but Astarion doesn’t seem to appreciate the statement. Eyes wide, a bit of panic in them, he says, “Then we ought to find a way to quiet that restlessness.”

You tilt your head at him, confused. “Aren’t you going out and about, defending the spawn and fighting still?”

“Yes,” he says, carefully. “But I don’t expect you to– in fact, don’t you have something protective you can cast on yourself? A Mage Armour or some other warding spell?”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t exactly expect to encounter any danger while I’m–”

“Prepare it tomorrow,” he demands. “Prepare it every day. You’re far too– too soft to go without.”

You bristle at that insult. It’s like being called pampered again, and you are getting tired of being treated like some child. “I am not soft. I’ve lived through enough lives to understand how to take care of myself. I don’t need you of all people coddling me.” He opens his mouth to speak, and you impulsively grab his hand on the table to stop him. “No. You know better than anyone that I have the memories of your past love. They faced dangers unlike those of any other and made it through. I shall do the same.”

He snaps at that, ripping his hand out of your grasp. “You shouldn’t speak of things you don’t know about.” His nostrils flare, and he may as well be breathing fire with the burning in his eyes. “Don’t you… dare speak as if you lived their life. You are soft and until you understand that, we won’t be getting anywhere.”

In a single spinning motion, he leaves you at the kitchen table once more. The familiar feeling of being left here is starting to wear on you, and you hang your head over your breakfast plate in defeat.

You’d been too rash, taken the words too personally. But he’d been too harsh, too set on seeing you as a babbling babe. So you sit at the table, finishing your breakfast in silence as you replay the conversation back in your head, over and over again. And somehow, despite all that transpired between you, your mind keeps pulling back to the feel of his hand in yours. How cool it had been, how right it had felt. You wonder if you’ll be able to hold it once more, perhaps under better circumstances.

You spend the rest of the day in a stupor. You try to read one of the books Astarion recommended, but find that the words swim before your eyes. You try to practice magic, but find none of your spells taking form. Eventually you decide to lay in bed and write down your thoughts in a personal journal entry– something you haven’t attempted in years.

I’ve spent almost seven days in Astarion’s house, learning to live with him. It’s been an odd time, but I think I understand who he is a bit better now. He gets upset whenever I ask about the past. I don’t know whether sating my curiosity is worth it anymore, but I also know that I can’t build a new relationship with him until we face the past. Or at least he does. I’m hoping that next week proves more productive, because time is running out. Maybe I should use magic to get through to him. Maybe I should try holding his hand again, that was nice that may be helpful. Whatever I do, I hope he doesn’t run away again. I’m starting to feel like a bloodhound.

As you lay down for your seventh reverie since you brokered your deal with Astarion, the ups and downs of your new, temporary life settle in. You realize that, while you know more about him, you haven’t made nearly as much progress as you were hoping for. The entire time you kept reminding yourself that these things take time– now that a quarter of your time was up, you were beginning to wonder if you would even have enough time to tackle it all.