#pls let me know if u enjoyed

[illyrianshadow]

Lost in Shadows (pt. III)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: none really, just two idiots sickeningly obsessed with each other, read at your own risk

A/N: Get ready for another lil' peak in to Azriel's mind. If you were thinking he couldn't become anymore tortured than he already is, think again. Always excited to hear your thoughts loves. x iz

Word count: 2K

Part 1 | Part 2

———

Azriel’s POV 

The Spymaster of the Night Court is freaking out. He’s having a full blown, existential crisis and he’s very glad his family are too wrapped up in themselves to notice. 

He looks at Rhys and Mor still bickering about god knows what. He’s glad for the distraction, it’s causing them to focus purely on each other instead of the Shadowsinger crumbling in front of them. He’s relieved they are no longer obsessing over his lack of focus. Busybodies. 

The last thing he wants is for his family to start asking him why he’s so lost in thought. How would he even begin to explain? 

He’s kept a huge secret from them for most of the time he’s known them, he’s not sure how they are going to react when they find out. If he was them, he would probably feel betrayed. At least for a little bit. 

What would he even say to them? 

When we were young I had a secret friendship with the daughter of one of the most brutal males Windhaven has ever known? She was everything to me, and days after I found out she was my mate she had to leave and I haven’t seen her in over 500 years? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again? 

Not exactly light conversation. Besides, Rhys and Cassian had absolutely despised Baric when he was still alive. Finding out their brother is mated to his daughter and hid it from them for centuries is probably not something that will go down well. 

It’s rare for a mating bond to present itself so young, but when it happened it hadn’t scared him. You were his safety net, his home. It felt right. 

He’d been building up the courage to tell you, planning on surprising you on your birthday and if the moment felt right, he would’ve told you then. When he arrived at your hiding spot and found your note it broke him. 

He became frantic, all of his instincts telling him to chase after you. He needed to find you, help you, protect you. It was his duty. You were his mate and now you were gone. Before he even got the chance to tell you. 

That’s when he sent one of his shadows after you to track you down, to make sure you were okay. 

When it found you in a harbour in Velaris days later and returned with the message that he needed to let you go, he promised himself that he would do everything it took to be reunited with you again one day. He’d never stop fighting for you, never stop looking. 

He threw himself into his training until it became all consuming. His brothers noticed something was wrong, but they assumed he was just dealing with his traumas. Everyone did. They didn’t know the training kept him steady, focussed. He was training so he could be ready in case he ever needed to fight to get you back. It was an outlet for his feelings, a way for him to feel useful. 

Azriel sighs softly, one of his hands rubbing the spot on his chest just over his heart where the mating bond has been lying dormant for centuries. He’s become so used to it, some days he can almost forget it’s there. Almost. 

It’s stirring now though. Your presence has awoken something primal that’s been suppressed and pushed down for longer than it should have been. 

He’s itching to go over to you, to reach out. It’s taking all of his control not to run to your side and take you into his arms. To fly you away from here to have you solely to himself. 

He’s becoming more restless by the second and even your presence nearby is starting to lose the calming effect on his shadows. 

That’s a first. 

They’re starting to swirl around him, behaving a bit more frantically as they try and break free to make their way over to you. It’s taking all of his willpower to not give in and let them do what they so desperately want. 

Touch. They whisper in his ear. Mate. Hold mate. 

He can feel one of them starting to move, slithering over the floor towards the bar. It’s the same one that once followed you all the way to Velaris. It’s always been drawn to you. He lets it go and prays you won’t notice its presence before he’s ready. 

Once again Azriel’s thoughts are rudely interrupted by his brother. 

Rhys slaps his hand down on the table in force. “On that note, I have to leave.” 

Azriel looks at him, puzzled by his sudden announcement. 

Rhys just rolls his eyes slightly when he realises his brother has not been paying attention to any of their conversations. “Duty calls. Nyx has had a nightmare. I’ll see you tomorrow brother, I’ll stop by the training ring.” He presses a kiss to Mor’s cheek. “Goodnight cousin darling. And behave.” With a last wink at both of them he winnows home. 

Now it’s just him and Mor left. 

Once this would have been all he wanted. 

When he first met Mor he was taken aback by how much she reminded him of you. Her strength and resilience. Her ability to make light of tough situations. Her unwavering confidence. The beauty radiating from her that makes people stop in their tracks. 

Frantic to have any part of you he could, even if it wasn’t real, he became obsessed with being around her. It was the closest thing he had of you. He knew it wasn’t healthy but he just couldn’t help himself. He thinks it was some ancient, territorial part of him that made him do so. Always looking for his mate, never resting. 

Mor looks at him, concern shining through in her eyes. She places her hand on top of his and gives it a small squeeze. 

‘Are you okay Az, you seem distracted?” 

He just nods, not ready to voice any of this just yet. He needs to speak to you first, see you first. 

“Yeah I’m good.” he mumbles. “I think I just need to be alone for a bit.” 

She gives his hand one final squeeze and gets up. “I’ll go and see if Amren and Nesta feel like going to Rita’s with me. Will you be alright?” 

Azriel gives her a small smile in response. He loves how she never pushes him to talk when she can tell he doesn’t want to. He just waves her off. “Go have fun. Don’t spend too much of Rhys’ money.” 

She grins and winks at him when making her exit. “Can’t make any promises there.” 

And then it is just him. He downs the rest of his drink and wills his shadows to stay by his side while gathering the courage to approach you. After a few minutes he gets up. 

He turns around and his eyes immediately fall on your form in the corner of the bar. You look absolutely breathtaking. You had always been beautiful but it seems like you have grown into your beauty even more. 

He tucks in his wings and starts walking over to you, a fake confidence in his steps. He’s hoping it will make him feel more prepared, maybe he can fool himself into believing he’s ready. That he’s not absolutely terrified.  

Just when he’s about to clear his throat and speak your name, you jump up from the stool and lose your footing. 

He reaches out to you immediately, scarred hands touching your waist , sending a jolt of electricity to his very core. 

You look up at him and that’s when he feels it. The bond in his chest roaring to life, finally answered by the one thing it’s been seeking for over 500 years. It can no longer lie dormant, be one-sided or suppressed. 

 His shadows start whispering again. Home. 

———

Reader POV

Mate. The word echoes through your head over and over again.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the male in front of you. Being this close to him, his overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist and cedar fills your senses.

Cedar, like the forest surrounding Windhaven. The same forest that provided you a safety blanket before Azriel did. The smell of home. 

You feel dizzy from the overwhelming realisation of how right this is. Everything makes so much sense, you feel blind for not seeing it before. You and the male in front of you fit together like a puzzle, both of you tailor made by the cauldron to only fit each other. 

You watch him, his shadows hanging still around his frame and you wonder if he has come to the same realisation. Surely he must be feeling this too? 

You put your hand on top of his scarred one still resting on your waist. Your head is spinning and you are struggling to focus with the alcohol roaring through your bloodstream. 

This is not how you imagined this would go. 

When you were a child you had often fantasised about meeting your mate one day. You’d heard stories, both good and bad, but had always dreamed you would find that unconditional bond with someone. Hell, you had always hoped it would be Az when you got old enough to wish for those things. 

All you feel is the need to be closer to him. You want to wrap yourself around him, hold on and never let go. But since you haven’t seen him in 500 years and are in the middle of a crowded bar, you’re guessing that’s probably not the proper response. You wish someone had written a guidebook on how to do this. 

Navigating the mating bond for dummies, or how to confront your mate after 500 years 101.

You’re starting to think your approach of getting drunk might not have been the best decision. 

You try to bring yourself back to the present by focusing on the situation at hand. You find Azriel’s eyes and give him a careful smile. He looks at you, gaze soft mixed with a hint of concern and something else you can’t quite place. Is that recognition, or are you imagining things? 

You straighten yourself, placing one hand on the bar to keep you from toppling over. 

By the cauldron this is embarrassing. You are really regretting the amount of drinks you’ve had. 

“Thanks Azzie.” The nickname falls from your lips before you can help yourself. Your eyes go wide at your words as you cover your mouth with your hand in shock. 

You blame the current alcohol content in your body for your stupidity. 

You haven’t seen him since you were 18, clueless and in love. And you’ve just called him by his childhood nickname in the middle of a crowded bar. Your cheeks turn a dark crimson. You wish the floor would swallow you whole. 

He looks at you in shock, but you can read the amusement on his face. He probably thinks you are some foolish, drunk female getting too familiar with the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. 

You’be only been back in Velaris a couple of days but you had heard the whisperings. 

Females obsessed with the Night Court’s most “eligible bachelor” now that the High Lord and Cassian were taken. 

Azriel pulls a bar stool closer to him and gestures for you to sit down while he flags down the fae behind the bar. He gets you both a glass of water and settles down next to you. 

You take a few small sips, aware of his gaze still locked onto your face in shock. 

He clears his throat and you brace yourself for what comes next. You feel a soft pull on the bond in your chest, a cautious contact. Your eyes widen. 

His voice sounds thick with emotion when he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

taglist (comment/send me a message if you'd like to be added and I'll add you in x): @yesiamthatwierd @k-homosapien @mortqlprojections @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @a-courtof-azriel @greenmandm

[knifebaby3000]

chateau lobby #4 (reprise)

[neons]

Sauron, Galadriel, & Tolkien's Theology of Repentance - Part One

Summary: Character meta analysis on Sauron (and Galadriel, through the lens of Sauron). Based on both Silmarillion & RoP canon. 3.5k words. Discussion of Catholic theology involved. Blanket TW for discussion of violence, manipulation, etc., because Sauron. Spoilers for S1 & S2 and the Silmarillion, of course. The tragedy of Sauron is that he gets offered so many legitimate chances at redemption and forgiveness, and he denies them every single time. But we know he wants absolution, because that’s what he sees Galadriel as: his chance to bind himself back to the light, to be Mairon again, to heal the pain that he caused and that was caused to him under Morgoth. But because he has such a warped view of himself and his actions, he dismisses genuine extensions of compassion, forgiveness, and care as simultaneously beneath him and too good for him. And yet, he still pursues redemption, but through none of the channels offered to him.

In The Rings of Power, he’s given the explicit instruction to change for the good in the village after he’s reborn. He’s given the chance leave his past behind and work meaningfully in Númenor. He’s given the chance to redeem himself by Galadriel's offer of friendship (or love, depending on your interpretation). In the Silmarillion, he's even given the chance by Eönwë himself, and comes close to leaving Morgoth behind completely!

Let's look at this passage from Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age (emphasis mine):

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not in the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

This passage is clear that Eönwë is willing to pardon Sauron--he simply did not posses the power to do so. But when Sauron was told he must appeal directly Manwë, he gave up entirely and skulked back to Middle-earth. There are a few ways to read this:

1. He was not wholly repentant

Sauron simply wanted the protection of a new master in the absence of Melkor. i.e., he was rather fickle and simply wanted to be on whatever the "winning" side was. This is supported by the text literally saying that at least some of his obeisance was completely false, and that he only made a point of feeling bad about anything once his master had been chucked into the Void and his armies and strongholds were being destroyed (Thangorodrim). In this reading, perhaps Eönwë saw Sauron's treachery and referred him to Manwë knowing that it would be a test of his true intent. However, while a valid interpretation, I believe this to be the less holistic of the two.

2. He was truly repentant

Sauron did truly feel badly and "abjured all his evil deeds," but he was unwilling/unable to humble himself after being so fundamentally broken by Melkor and developing an insatiable power lust (hey, he isn't defined in the narrative by lust and pride for nothing).

Earlier in this same chapter, Tolkien wrote that Sauron could "...deceive all but the most wary." This is in the specific context of his physical shapeshifting. But, I would argue that this can also be tied to his lies. Tolkien has a specific ethic of beauty, where physical perfection is equated with moral goodness. Sauron completely inverts what is otherwise a hard and fast rule within Tolkien's writings by being the character most frequently described as "fair"--seven times to Lúthien's six, and she was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived!

(Side note: I have another post on Tolkien & beauty in the works where I'll get more into this idea)

Why does this matter? Even though this interaction with Eönwë takes place in the First Age, Sauron could at this point be in the demonic form Mirdania describes in the forge. And, I am inclined to believe that Eönwë, as the head Maiar and herald of Manwë, would be a pretty wary guy, and thus able to sense any of Sauron's trickery. I read this to mean that Eönwë looked at Sauron and saw his potential to be Mairon again, either in absence of his evil form or in spite of it.

Because Sauron is incredibly beautiful. And even if it is a disguise of the true, depreciated form of his spiritual essence, he presented himself to Eönwë at his most beautiful. He wanted, even in his act of repentance, to make himself more favorable in Eönwë's eyes. To show up as Mairon (who was likely close friends with Eönwë before everything went down, since they are considered to be two of the most powerful Maia and would have worked closely together).

But I don't think this was all manipulation on Sauron's end. I agree with the scholars mentioned in the text who believed that Sauron was truly repentant--which is why Eönwë even bothered referring him to Manwë instead of kicking him into the Void with Melkor.

And this is the tragedy: Sauron is told exactly how to repent, and believes fundamentally that it is an impossible path for him. And yet, he still longs so intrinsically for it! He was, under Aulë, a Maia of precision, perfection, and order. Under Morgoth, he feels disordered, dis-regulated. He needs to correct the fundamental imbalance within him, so why does he flee Eönwë?

It comes back to Sauron's pride.

If he follows through with this path of reconciliation, there is no way he can hide or pretend his actions away. If he cannot trick his fellow Maiar, he certainly cannot trick the Valar. And he cannot stand the idea of submitting himself back under their rule, especially now that he has tasted power. This is a pride wound; it is why the idea of confessing to Manwë would be humiliating to him as opposed to just upsetting/uncomfortable.

Again, the pivotal moment: he is told how to make amends for crimes and determines that he cannot do it. So he returns to Middle-earth and stews in his own self-hated and self-pity for a few years. In that time, he consciously or subconsciously latches onto Eönwë's offer--forgiveness from penance. It is the way forward. And if he cannot earn penance at Manwë's hand, he will do it on his own.

The Prodigal Son

This is where we have to talk about the Catholic roots of Tolkien's work for a moment. The scene where Sauron approaches Eönwë mirrors the biblical parable of the prodigal son. In this story, a man abandons his family, spends all his money, and falls into ruin. But when he recognizes his failings and returns to his father to get help, he is welcomed back into the family without question--in other words, he is forgiven and restored to his former position.

17 But when he [the prodigal son] came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. - Luke 15:11-32, NRSV CE (emphasis mine)

The parallel is clear; Mairon, the repentant Maia, returns home with hopes of reconciliation. He is prescribed the same task that the prodigal son offered to his father: he must be bound in servitude to his father/creator in order to pay off his debts. This is a deliberate allusion from Tolkien. The story of the prodigal son models the path of reconciliation that Eönwë describes. Tolkien seems to be drawing a line in the sand with this: Sauron is unwilling to do the work required by the Valar for repentance, so he is unable to receive the grace of a warm welcome back into the fold of the Ainur. Since he did not humble himself, he has to be told to do it. And he does not want to! He wants to be loved, but he also wants his power--evidence, in a way, of how his character was fundamentally altered in his time with Morgoth.

His pride--and his fear--cut him off from the potential of grace. He does not know for certain that Manwë would subject him to servitude (though I would argue that it's textually evident that it is a custom), but this assumption leads him to flee, which allows him to slip back into his old ways.

He wants to be Mairon (admirable) again, not Sauron (abhorrent). He wants to be accepted and loved, but not punished. He wants the benefits of reconciliation without the work he would have to do to earn it or the shame he would feel as he did. It's pride, but it's also deep shame--the flip side of his extreme ego is an implicit self-hatred, one that we can see in the subtext of how he speaks about himself and about his time with Morgoth.

Even the language Tolkien uses is heavily shame-coded, especially in a Catholic context; Mairon did not go willingly, he was "seduced." He admits to Celebrimbor that he was "tortured by a god". It becomes exceedingly clear through both text and on-screen canon that Sauron was routinely broken and abused for centuries. This has fundamentally damaged his self-perception, which is ultimately what leads him to "[fall] back into evil"--whether due to pride or shame, he hides, perhaps because he consciously or subconsciously does not believe that he deserves forgiveness, no matter how much he craves it.

Naked in the Garden

His flight back to Middle-earth after meeting Eönwë is reminiscent of another biblical scene, where Adam and Eve, after committing the first sin, hide from God in shame and fear (emphasis mine):

7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked...9 But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?” 10 He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” -Genesis 7-10, NRSV CE

The image of nakedness is, here, one of vulnerability, and Tolkien establishes that Sauron fears that which he cannot control. He needs the Rings under his power. He needs his armies and his enemies under his watchful eye. He is petrified of letting his power slip away (possibly due to never wanting to feel powerless in the hands of a Vala, fallen or not, again).

The biblical allusion here hearkens back to the fear Tolkien describes Sauron as feeling regarding his return to the Ainur. In the religious system Tolkien has established, which is likely inspired by his own religious beliefs, Sauron has sinned, and must make penance. But he is afraid of God/Manwë, and does not want to "let go" of his sin. In other words, he is not truly repentant. This reflects the Catholic sacrament of confession, which requires self-reflection and resolve to never commit the sin again.

Instead of shame driving him to contrition, it drives him to isolation.

But he still wants forgiveness. So, in his years of hiding in Middle-earth, he decides to earn it himself. His own way.

Enter the Rings.

Sauron wants to perfect the wrong he wreaked so that he can both earn his way back into the Ainur and keep his power. But what he does not realize is that this does not work. Eönwë is clear that he must forsake his true temptation--absolute power--through penance by submission. Yet Sauron in his pride thinks he can have it all. Sauron is a very carefully controlled villain, and the only times he snaps or makes significant mistakes are when his inflated self-perception is challenged, revealing the self-loathing and/or self-pity underneath. The best example of this is when he kills Celebrimbor prematurely, and cries afterwards. Why? Because Celebrimbor was right about him, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he is nothing more than the Morgoth's shadow, because Morgoth was his master as much as he was his tormentor. As Sauron puts it, his relationship with Morgoth was often defined by pain as a test to see "whose will was the mightier":

This image carries more shame, both in its implicit sexual connotations and in the simple power dynamic of it. Sauron, even though misguided, is rallying against Morgoth. He wants to break what Morgoth has created and build something new, something better, something apart from his old master entirely. But Celebrimbor confronts him with reality: he has not created something new, and perfect, and special, as he so wanted to--he can only act in imitation, not in generation. And when he got close with the Rings, it cost him everything. It's almost like he wants the power of a Vala, and loathes that he cannot attain it.

And this is why he becomes so singularly obsessed with Galadriel.

She’s his foil. They both crave power and adoration, but in the end of things, she does not fold under his temptation. She turns down everything she has ever wanted for the greater good and for the sake of her own soul. Sauron looks at Galadriel and perceives that she would have succeeded at Eönwë's test because she is willing and able to humble herself. This maddens him to the point of both desiring her and desiring to break her.

She learns that she is easily tempted and becomes strong enough to handle it (through a lot of tough love from Elrond & co.). She has to learn how to do it, but she is able to.

She grows from someone who resisted and rejected authority to someone who is trusted as an authority because of her ability to wield it wisely (see: Gil-galad allowing her to answer for him in 2x08).

In other words, she earns the trust, love, and support of her community. Sauron has to force his to comply—it is an illusion of love.

His possessive obsession with her also stems from her fairness. She was the object of her uncle Fëanor's obsessive desire for creation as well. Her hair was the inspiration of the Silmarils (see: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn; The Shibboleth of Fëanor - source with page #s here), which Morgoth desired more than anything to possess.

Sauron, wanting to spite his master, wants one better--to own that which inspired the Silmarils, to own the image of fairness (and thus of moral good) completely. This is why he wants to bind himself to her. This is why he needs her. He sees Galadriel as his mechanism of repentance, and his last triumph over Morgoth. Winning her is his salvation as much as it is proving that his will is the mightier. It is his way of dominating Morgoth. This starts, I think, as a genuine effort at proving himself to the Valar, but quickly consumes him entirely. He is overcome with the desire for revenge, just as Galadriel was at the beginning of the First Age.

And he sees this in her. Sees their similarities. Sees that she, too, is angry and lonely and so afraid of losing her power. And he leverages that to befriend her. This is where it gets ambiguous and you can read RoP as either painting the image of Sauron being earnest but completely misguided in his proposal, or you can see it as him being entirely manipulative.

I think the truth of that scene probably falls somewhere in the middle; just like when he presents himself to Eönwë, he is sincere in his desire, but only knows how to present it in an inherently contriving way. He does want to bind her to him, so he tries to only reveal to her the good aspect of that desire (and also of his desire for power, which he allows her to see because he believes that it is good and also because she understands it), and not the ugly underside of his internal struggle against Morgoth, the Valar, and himself.

And I do think, in his own way, he cared about her. Galadriel consistently shows kindness and compassion to him. In S1, they grow to know each other's minds and souls, and she considers him a close friend. He finds comfort in this, that someone could see the blackness of his heart and care for him anyway. He thought, in his isolation, that he lost that chance when he fled back to Middle-earth. And here is the very picture of the light itself telling him that she supports him, that she sees the good in him, that she wants to help him set the world to rights! Of course he is infatuated by this. Of course he also wants to use it. He is Sauron.

But Galadriel succeeds where he fails, so he stops playing nice and tries to forcibly drag her down with him. First, by baiting her with the image of the man she cared deeply for:

Then, by reminding her of all she is losing by rejecting him:

And she is still strong enough to say no. And not just to say no, but to shut the door completely. To look in the face of everything she has desired for centuries and turn it down, understanding that it will ruin her. Yes, she hesitates. Yes, she still wants it (wants him). But she wins the day by holding fast to the light that Sauron wishes so badly to bind himself to.

Because she has lost everything--her brother, her husband, the station as commander, the trust of her high king and best friend--and earns it back only through her resistance of her greatest temptation. It is a struggle, it is painful, it nearly kills her--but she does it. She wins the test that Sauron could not even bear to face.

In their headlong, self-sacrificial tendencies, they are the same. Both view themselves as fundamentally stronger/better than their peers while also being deeply lonely due to their self-imposed isolation (Galadriel's laser-focused hunt for revenge, Sauron's exile in Middle-earth). But to Galadriel, the light is more important than her pride.

For Sauron, the light is his source of pride. He desires it more than anything, but condemns himself to never being able to touch it due to his rejection of Eönwë's offer. Paradoxically, he tries to grasp at it through Galadriel, the living silmaril, and succeeds only in darkening her. We learn from Gil-galad in 2x08 that his crown piercing her flesh in an act of brutal domination nearly strips her soul from her and pitches it into the unseen world. In this, Sauron is saying: If I cannot have you, I will force you to need me. I will break you into loving me.

He says this to Celebrimbor as well. He no longer knows how to love properly. He only knows how to inflict pain until this object of his obessive desire needs him--just like how his immortal spirit was broken into submission by Morgoth. And isn't this revealing of his own sense of self? He refuses to suffer the path of light, but willingly suffers the maddening path of darkness because it is a comfortable, familiar suffering. One, he tells Celebrimbor, he even grew to enjoy (2x08). As the path of the Rings drive him madder and madder, his desire for the light (Galadriel) and the return of his power (Celebrimbor) become further disordered and corrupted until they culminate in him destroying them--and his chance at earning/owning them--entirely.

And this is Sauron's ultimate point of no return (which we will hopefully see in S3 🤞). The razing of Eregion and slaying of Celebrimbor were acts of petty rage he committed when his pride was injured. This was the final nail in the coffin. Galadriel, in her rejection of him, ruins what he sees as his true chance for redemption.

Galadriel, now stepping into the role of Eönwë, re-opens the invitation: "Heal yourself!" (2x08). But in rage and shame and stubborn pride, he turns it down again. I believe this is where his desire to heal Middle-earth shifts fundamentally into desire to dominate Middle-earth. He always wanted to rule, but now he wants to own.

[clowningaroundmars]

aromantic mike chilton for @aggressivelyarospec week!!!! :D

accompanying story under the cut!

It didn't work out with Julie.

They had broken up and decided it would be best to stay friends. After all, with Mike... nothing really changed at all. Like... nothing.

And that was kinda the problem.

Julie didn't think herself to be too judgmental of a person, not after everything everyone's been through. She and the Burners worked hard, played hard, and succeeded together (oftentimes against all odds).

They slept in cuddle piles after dinner some nights whenever Julie could slip away for more than a day without arousing her dad's suspicions. They passed bongs around for a lung-hacking hit or two, went skinny-dipping in the lake at night, patched up each other's bloody wounds countless times.

And then somewhere down the line, Julie fell in love with Mike.

She had no idea when exactly, since she doesn't really do feelings like that, can't afford to with a life like hers. But it happened... somehow.

Julie couldn't quite place exactly what it was that initially drew her to him, especially at first. Sure, the guy was friendly, decisive, assertive without being too overbearing, and unbearably charming. But.

It was the charm that caught poor Julie totally off-guard, really. She'd often hear her father ranting and raving about his golden-prodigal-son-turned-traitor, and his ID photo in his file wasn't really much to look at, either. Julie would never admit it out loud, but she had snuck down to Motorcity for the first time ever with low expectations.

Later, she came back up to her pod in Deluxe with stars in her eyes.

But she wasn't in love with him then, no. She knew this because she was pretty sure her constant Mike Thoughts did not manifest until after the kids all went to Antonio's together for the first time.

It was summertime, around nine months after the group was (un)officially formed. The heat had Mike shirking his jacket and leaving it in Mutt, and his old t-shirt was getting a tad bit tight after all the exercise he was getting around the hideout, especially after Texas moved his workout gear in and Mike took him up on his offer for semi-regular sparring sessions.

And boy, did that Mike fella fill out. Mhmm.

Even Julie-- a girl who was mostly blind to typical male affections directed at her in school-- had to admit to herself that when Mike put on a little more weight in the right places, when his biceps bulged a bit as he flexed an arm and his shoulders got a bit wider... it took a lot more effort to wrench her studious gaze away.

Geez Louise.

Before long, she was doodling their initials and combining both of their names in her little sketchpad. Gag. Gross.

But Mike never seemed to pay attention to her the same way in return. She didn't catch him looking away from her at inopportune times, and he'd never lay a single hand on her aside from a typical friendly pat on the shoulder, or a comfortable lean on an arm while the Burners all lounged around during movie nights. Hell, he seemed more affectionate with his best friend Chuck than he was with her most times.

So she kept her thoughts to herself. Easy peasy. She kept secrets from her dad, from her friends, and now from Mike. Like everything else, she created a neat, separate file in her head and tucked that little secret away. She managed to conceal it for long enough.

Until it became too big to ignore.

And then it happened.

And it really just... happened. Julie hardly registered herself even doing it.

It happened like this: Mike had rescued Julie from certain death at the lake after she crashed an out-of-control 9 Lives out through the barricades and into the water, and they were panting and coughing up water on the sand after Mike succeeded in dragging her out. Dutch and Texas were busy racing around and distracting the Kanebots, luring them all away from the pair.

Julie didn't say anything. Neither of them did. Julie just... surged forward when she blinked the water out of her eyes and saw him, his angelic face hovering mere inches away from hers. She remembered the dewey drops on his long lashes and the warmth of his lips more than anything else.

And then she's pretty sure she blacked out afterwards because the next thing she remembers, she's waking up on the couch wrapped in blankets and towels, wearing Chuck's hoodie.

She doesn't ask anyone why Chuck opted to be the guy to lend his clothes to her.

(It wasn't Chuck who lent it to her though.)

After Jacob makes sure she has a steaming mug of soup in her hands and is generally fussed over enough, he bids her a goodnight and leaves a big holoscreen playing old-timey anime shows for her.

Shortly afterwards, Mike slips into the room on feet far too quiet for a rowdy teenage boy like him. Julie almost misses his entry and startles when she notices him casually leaning on a wall over to her right, almost blending in against the garish grafitti and street signs.

They sat down and spoke quietly, privately.

Julie appreciated that Mike had enough tact and forethought not to confront her in front of all of the guys. Thank god. Julie wouldn't even know how to handle the endless teasing that would inevitably assault her from all angles if they ever even suspected that she had a crush on Mike.

And how embarrassing, really! The only girl on the team falling for the charming and roguish leader of a group of rebels. Double gag.

It was by some miracle that no one ever suspected Julie's true feelings, and that the actual love interest found out before anyone else did. Lucky her!

And incredibly, Mike shared her feelings too! Who would've thought it! Definitely not Julie, that's for sure.

Mike hadn't even seemed to glance her way at all in all the time they had known each other. He always maintained the same level of friendliness with her as he did with the other guys. But he confessed then that he knew Julie was special, and that their bond that grew in the time they had known each other was special, too.

Wow. Look at them, both hiding their feelings so well! It's like they were meant to be.

So they agreed to go steady.

Eventually, they told the rest of the Burners. Well, it really was just that it was kinda hard for them to ignore when Julie would sneak her index finger over to Mike's hand and hook it onto his pinkie as they walked back to their cars after a quick errand run for the Skylarks or an easy mission.

So they decided to make the announcement at Antonio's, which Julie thought was perfectly poetic. It was where she first fell in love with Mike, and now here they were a year and a half later, making it official.

They didn't expect the other guys' reactions, though. The Burners received the news... lukewarmly.

"You guys were in love?" Texas spewed bits of pizza all over the table as he chewed with his mouth open. Ugh. Typical Texas.

"Oh! Wow... uhm. Congrats, guys." Chuck seemed to hide behind his hair even more as his shoulders hiked up in a nonchalant shrug.

Dutch rubbed his chin. "...Yeah. Uh, yeah...? Cool. Congrats, you two."

And then silence fell over the table.

"Is... is there a problem with this, or?" Julie dared to press.

Everyone silently exchanged glances.

Mike-- bless his heart-- misread the situation and clasped his hands together on the table.

"Guys, look," he started, "this isn't gonna change anything about the team. We're still gonna be friends, I’m not prioritizing Julie over anyone else on missions. It's just... we're gonna... we're gonna be the Burners, except I’m dating Jules now! That's all!"

Mike smiled warmly at all his friends. Chuck chewed on his lip.

Dutch bobbed his head thoughtfully. Then, after a while, he said "nah, yeah. We figured. I mean, you're a pretty great guy so it's not like we thought you were gonna up and abandon us or anything. It's just that... uh. So when did this uhhh, yanno, this whole thing start?"

Julie blinked.

Mike cocked his head. "Start?" He asked.

"Y'know, like when did y'all start liking each other? Because uh, no offense, but this is kinda comin' out of the blue for us. Literally nobody thought this was gonna be a thing. Tell us some stories!"

Mike blew out a breath and leaned back in the booth. Julie smiled.

"Weeeellll," Julie squinted with excitement and then let the cat out of the bag.

She told them all about it, how in this very same booth she watched as Mike's t-shirt stretched over his muscles all those months ago and how his smile seemed to shine brighter than the diner's neon signs. Then about how she leaned against Mike's broad chest after agonizing for hours over not being able to free him from her father's maximum-security prison that one time. About all the dreams she'd have of them together, the intimate late-night talks they'd have while having a couple of drinks on the rooftop of some abandoned building. How she loved his bright eyes and strong hands...

When she finished, she had a dreamy kind of look all over her face. Mike had a brow quirked, but he smiled back at her all the same.

Everyone exchanged glances again.

"So Mike. Was it like that for you?" Chuck asked eventually. It had a strange sort of lilt to it, like he was in on an inside joke that Julie wasn't.

She bristled a bit.

"Oh! Uh." Mike glanced around quickly. "Not... really? But Julie's super pretty, so when she confessed to me, I was pretty stoked."

Mike grinned like a goofball. Julie grinned like a goofball. The rest of the Burners looked skeptical.

"Hm. Cool! Well, great." Chuck turned back to his loaded pizza slice.

And just like that, things mostly went back to normal.

And, uh... Mike was right, this... really wasn't changing anything between them and the Burners. Like at all.

A small part of Julie was kind of hurt by it, but she tried to wave the feeling away. It was nonsense, and she should be happy. Mike loved her! He just wasn't a romantic type, that's all. He loved his friends, loved being a Burner... it was fine.

Right?

It was normal for her to have to remind Mike every now and then to go out on a date with her. He's a busy guy, and this was his first relationship. Julie just had to be patient.

Patient... patient. Yeah. She could be patient.

It was when Chuck joined them for their sixth "movie date" in a row that the patience was starting to run a bit thin, though.

Chuck and Mike settled side-by-side on the communal couch, swapping snacks as easily as breathing and nursing a popcorn bowl between them. Mike hooked an arm over Julie's shoulder though, so Julie said nothing.

It was a couple of months later when Mike makes a quiet confession to her as they laid together in his pristine bed one night.

"I don't really like kissing all that much," he mumbles, face half-buried into his pillows. "But I like holding you. Is that okay?"

Julie's heart sinks into the covers. But she nods anyways. "Yeah. That's okay."

"Really? Do ya mean it? It's not weird or anything, right? We can still be together but not kiss. Maybe I can give you forehead kisses instead?"

Julie sighed softly. "Mmnyeah, that's fine."

"It's not you, it's me, Jules. I just--"

"Mike. Trust me, I get it. It's okay, seriously."

Mike gave her a grateful smile back.

Damnit. Well.

Anyways, life continued on. Julie resigned herself to accepting the fact that her boyfriend was just simply a guy's guy.

Julie liked cars but Mike was all over Mutt. Loved the damn thing more than he loved her, honestly. She loved being a Burner, but it seemed like it was Mike's purpose, like he was more devoted to the city under the dome than he was to his girlfriend. And above all, Mike loved the Burners. All of them. He spent a bit more time with Chuck than he did with anyone else in the team, but he was always there for everyone just as passionately.

Which was. Fine.

Freeing Motorcity from her father's reign of terror was indeed way more important than holding hands with a cute boy!

Duh, of course, stupid Julie.

Whatever.

When they inevitably broke up, it blindsided Mike. He thought they were the best of buds! The bestest of buds-- aside from him and Chuck, of course! But while he loved Chuck fiercely, his love for Julie was... different. Fierce but different. He could never describe it in words but he knew what he was feeling was real.

He loved Julie! So when she suddenly broke up with him, it was like getting hit with a sack of flour out of nowhere.

They were leaned up against Mutt's hood on a cliff overlooking Lake Erie when Julie finally broke the news. They were casually smoking a cigarette, passing it back and forth. Mike's idea of a "date." Anyways.

"I can't really keep doing this, Mike." Julie sighed out a cloud of smoke. She said it so matter-of-factly, as casually as if she were simply commenting on the weather.

Mike whipped round to look at her. "Keep doing what?"

"This," Julie threw her hands up and tucked them into her vest pockets after handing Mike the cigarette back. "This... 'relationship'. It's not working out."

"What... whaddya mean? We just started dating, it's kinda too early to tell--"

"No, Mike." Julie interrupted loudly. Her eyes were avoiding Mike's face carefully. "No... it's not. We've been together for months and we have never moved on from our friendship. You... just admit it, dude. You're just not into me."

Mike pushed himself off of Mutt and placed his hands on both of her shoulders, forcing them to stand face-to-face. "Julie, look at me." He had his jaw set.

Julie swallowed as she peered up at him from her bangs.

"I love you more than you can ever know. I know I’m messing up, but... but I’m trying, okay? Just give us one more chance, Jules. I can make it right, I know it!"

Julie took a step back, wrinkling her nose. "Mike! Just give it up, okay? I know you don't feel the same about me as I do about you," she pleaded, mortified. "It's okay! It's fine! We can just move on and let it go!"

"B-but it's not! No, Julie c'mon, bro--"

"Bro?!" Julie exploded, hands in the air now. "Are you hearing yourself right now? Am I your girlfriend, or your bro?"

Mike gaped at her like a fish, mouth opening just to close again. Then, he hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets.

He kicked a couple of rocks off the cliff, watching the pebbles scatter and plummet dozens of feet below.

Then he ran his hands through his hair, a nervous habit of his, before returning back to Julie.

He exhaled loudly. "What... what's the difference? You... isn't that what dating is all about? Being best friends with your partner?"

Julie glared at him. "Yes! And it's also about being more than that, too!"

Mike scoffed. "More than friends? What does that even mean? Nothing is more important than friendship, Jules. Not in Motorcity."

"Nothing is more important than friendship?! Mike--" Here, Julie took a step back to pinch her nose and exhale. "Look. When I confessed my feelings to you for the first time, what were you feeling?"

"What was I feeling? Uh, I dunno, happiness I guess? What, did you want me to say that I didn't care? I care about your feelings, Julie! I do!"

"So you started dating me because you didn't want to hurt my feelings?!" Julie shouted.

"Where are you getting that from?!" Mike shouted back.

"Mike! You are just not into me! I can just tell! It's okay! W-we can just be friends, like how we used to be. I don't even know why you're fighting me so hard on this, I'm the one breaking up with you. You can't change my mind!"

"Right," Mike huffed, "because you don't love me anymore. No, I get it. It's fine."

They glared at each other for a beat.

Then, Julie shoved her hands back into her vest pockets. "No, Mike. I do love you. I just think..." she sighed, all the wind in her sails blowing away, "I just think it's best for us to go our own separate ways."

Mike startled. "Wait, what? Jules... are you...? You're not leaving the Burners, are you?"

"No, I'm not leaving the Burners." Julie says through clenched teeth. "I'm just gonna take a quick break and then when I come back? We're gonna be just friends again, Mike. Alright?"

Mike inhales deeply, his own anger trickling out of him like water as well. "... Fine. Fine, yeah. Whatever you want, Julie." He hangs his head.

They then stare off into the horizon together, watching the twinkling star-like pinpoints of light on the underside of the dome. Watching as the lake's waters undulate and shimmer in the darkness of the cool evening, a gigantic dark mirror reflecting the pinpoints back to the ceiling.

Mike idly scuffs his boot on the ground again, putting out their shared cigarette. In a sad sort of way, the dying ember of the smoldering stick being stomped out into rocks and gravel was a lot like their relationship: dead and done. And of course it had to be Mike to put them both out, huh. Right.

Real poetic.

Julie turns around wordlessly, climbs into Mutt and sits in Chuck's seat.

Time to go.

After a few seconds Mike nods once, fixes his collar and slides into his own seat.

The ride back up to Deluxe is quiet.

It was a couple years later when the kids were a bit older --but not that much older at the same time-- that they all filed past the doors of Antonio's and slid right into their usual booth.

Except this time, it had been a long while since they had the time to relax like this. These days, Kane's attacks were getting more and more savage, brutal... and cunning.

Kane's latest attempt at a hostile takeover of Motorcity involved way too many sneaky double-crossing spies all trying to break the Burners up and weaken the city's best defense. Sneaky bastard, that Abraham Kane.

But they thwarted him yet again, despite it all. They beat the bad guys, restored peace back amongst the gangs and the civilians, and saved the day.

It had taken weeks this time, but they succeeded.

So now to celebrate, they're placing their orders for the greasiest, most heart-clogging fast food on the menu and sitting back to happily sip at their drinks. They're finally enjoying their time together again, and Mike is especially pleased that everyone made it out alive.

Sitting elbow-to-elbow with his bestest friends in the world, Mike takes advantage of a lull in the conversation to clap his hands together and get everyone's attention.

"Okay, guys!" He announces. "So, I'm pretty sure we're all kinda fried after... y'know, everything. Everyone's probably too tired to care about what I'm going to say next! So... confession time."

"Hmhmm! Spill, then," Chuck smirks, his chin in his cyborg hand. It was a recent upgrade to his prosthetic, and it shone a beautiful silvery-blue under the diner lights.

Mike chuckles nervously. "Uh, I... I think that... I figured out that I can't fall in love!"

Everyone stares at him.

Chuck casually slurps his milkshake through a straw.

Dutch turns to him then. "Wait. You knew?"

Chuck sits up. "Uhh hahaha, whoa. Where'd that come from? You psychic or somethin'?" He deflects awkwardly.

"You're clearly not surprised," Dutch points out.

"Pfft yeah I'm not surprised. Who's been Mike's best friend since, like, kindergarten again?"

"Ah. And ya didn't think to let me know anything back when we were dating? Sure would've saved us a lot of time," Julie quipped drily.

Chuck holds his mismatched hands up. "Now hold on a minute! I didn't know back then, obviously. Besides, you two dated years ago for like... three seconds!"

"Two years ago, smartass," Julie snips back.

Mike clears his throat conspicuously. "Guys! Guys, no need to fight over me," he jokes awkwardly, "because I, uhm, I've decided I don't belong to anybody! I'm just me, and I'm not dating anyone. Like, ever."

Everyone turns back to him again.

With four pairs of eyes on him, Mike draws in on himself a bit as he continues. "Yeah, it's. It's something that I've been kinda discovering about myself and I'm still... exploring it. But I'm pretty sure I've never had a crush in my life. I was just walking through life distracted by everything else for so long that I never noticed it, but... yeah. I've just. I've just never felt love for anyone else before, I guess."

"Which is fine," Chuck blurts out suddenly. "It's... it's fine! That Mike's never fallen in love with anyone. It happens. Some people just don't experience a common thing most people do... like romance, or sex. Yeah! Totally normal!"

Dutch smirks at Chuck. "You too, then? You a non-romantic as well?"

Chuck shakes his head so hard his bangs swing. "No! Nuh uh, I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'm definitely a romantic!"

"Why so nervous all of a sudden, then?"

"Because," Chuck replies, "because... it's fine! To not ever fall in love or like... date, or kiss or have sex or whatever. We're in Motorcity now, and we can get to do whatever we want. And if we don't wanna date, then we don't have to!" Then he clamps his mouth shut.

Mike perks up then. "That's right! And ah, yeah! Speaking of, Chuckles... lemme tell ya, I really gotta hand it to ya. If it weren't for you, I'd've never figured this one out. So, thanks, buddy! As always, you really had my back on this one."

Chuck and Mike smile at each other and Texas raises a brow.

"Huh?" Texas says. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

Chuck titters nervously as Mike pulls up a screen and opens up a forum.

"It means that Chuckles here helped me find a site that explained everything I was experiencing! Or... not experiencing, really."

Chuck clears his throat, clearly relieved. "Uh, yeah! Well, after Mike's like, 10th girlfriend that one time he couldn't stop bringing people back home, he came to me all frustrated and stuff and... well, we went off to find my friends in the LARPing arena to see if anyone had any idea why he was burning through dates like Mutt burns through tires. And so someone suggested he might be aromantic, and uh... well, the rest is history!"

Dutch and Julie hummed in acknowledgement.

Everyone knew what that was like, how weird it was that Golden Child Mike all of sudden started bringing people home from parties and bars shortly after his breakup with Julie. Sometimes he even had two people on his arms, some men, some women. Never the same person after two or three times, though.

They were all perplexed when they first heard laughing and chattering behind Mike's bedroom door. Once the moaning started, though... well! Everyone poked fun at him the mornings after and teased him to varying degrees, but things were mostly chill in the beginning.

Everyone remembered Mike's frustrations after a while, though. How he could never quite land a steady relationship-- no matter how hard he tried, with whoever. It got to the point where the Burners stopped their teasing and became quite concerned after Mike introduced his 5th girlfriend in the span of like... 6 months, once upon a time.

It was shortly after his final breakup that Mike flopped down onto his best friend's messy bed one evening and finally had The Conversation.

It went well, all things considered. Chuck, patient as ever, listened to his friend and then when he couldn't offer any solid advice, he offered a distraction. The LARPing arena proved to be much better help than they could ever hope for.

Ever since then, Mike's been up late into the night often, completely engrossed in all things aromantic. He wanted to learn more about it, yearned for a community that knew exactly what he was feeling; so he stayed awake just swiping through sites and PDFs on his holoscreens, eating every bit of information up.

Now, it looked like Mike was at peace with himself and his station in life after all this time. That was a relief!

"Aromantic! That's it! Look at this, guys." Here, Mike grins and pulls up a photo of a striped flag. "This is the community flag. Look familiar?"

The colors of the flag had two shades of green at the top that then cascaded into white, then grey and then black.

Texas leaned forward. "It looks like Mutt!" He practically shouts.

Everyone laughs.

"Yeah, that sure is a you flag if I've ever seen one," Julie quips.

"Right? Like it was meant to be! So I guess I'm part of this community, then. I mean, this really is a kickass flag..."

"But what does that mean, though? That you can never fall in love with anyone, ever?" Julie asks.

Mike closes his screens and clasps his hands on the table, exhaling a bit. "Uhh, well? Well, yeah! I can't ever fall in love... but it doesn't feel that way to me! Ugh, I'm probably gonna do such a bad job explaining this," he laughs self-consciously.

"It's okay, dude. Take your time," Dutch smiles warmly.

Mike shoots him a grateful smile back. "... It... it's like. Well? It's like... I've never felt butterflies in my stomach before, so I have no idea what that's like. But I like you guys, a lot. Like a lot, a lot. I love hanging out with you all even though I don't think about any of you guys like that. I love making friends-- like true friends-- and I can't stop thinking about how happy hanging out with people makes me. I guess I'm just way more platonic than romantic, because I am just... so bad at love! God, I've never had so much trouble with anything in my life before like I have with romance," he groans, grimacing.

"And when Mike Fucking Chilton says that, that's how you know he's struggling!" Dutch puts in.

Everyone giggles.

"Wow," Julie gives Mike a side-long glance. "Finally. Something that The Great Mike Chilton is bad at! We've finally got him, boys."

Texas leaps out of his seat and enthusiastically karate-chops the air. "Hoo-WAH!!! Finally! Something I got over on ya, Mike. Texas is better at romancing than you!"

Julie rolls her eyes.

Mike guffaws. "Psshhwhat? C'mon guys, I'm bad at plenty of stuff. This isn't the first!"

"Oh yeah? Name one thing!" Dutch challenges.

"Uhhm well uh, I...? I'm pretty bad at... hm." Mike drums his fingers on the table. "I'm bad at coding! I'm not nearly as good as Chuck at the software and tech side of things!"

"But ya could be! You could totally learn how to, if you'd just sit down with me for more than 20 minutes," Chuck points out.

Mike stubbornly folds his arms across his chest. "Well, I don't wanna! What're you gonna do about it?"

And just like that, the kids all return back to normalcy, bickering and quibbling about nothing as they finally receive their food from the waitress. Soon after, Chuck and Texas are throwing pizza toppings and wadded up paper at each other and Mike is mom-ing at them to quit it before they all get kicked out.

It was as if nothing even happened.

It was simultaneously comforting and also thrilling how easily Mike was accepted back into the fold; the Burners' Heartless Leader who could never fall in love.

On the inside, Mike was deeply grateful and his heart felt full upon learning this, though. It was a nourishing feeling that his bestest friends in the whole world who worked hard, played hard, lived fast and free alongside him... they loved him and accepted him back, no matter what. It was a much nicer and fuzzier feeling than any romance-filled relationship or hookup ever gave him.

Now, the Burners are finally leaving the diner, all tipsy and giddy from their impromptu late-night happy hour session.

Mike has a casual arm slung over Chuck's shoulder as they traipse on over to Mutt. Everyone casually daps each other up and offers quick goodbyes before climbing into their respective cars.

Mike slides behind the wheel and exhales. Chuck clicks himself into his secure harness.

"Well! That went pretty well! A little too easily, honestly but," Mike breathes.

Chuck's blonde head bobs. "Well yeah, dude. Of course. What'd ya think, that'd we kick you out of the team for that?"

Mike shrugs and turns his skeleton key into Mutt's ignition, bringing her to roar awake again. "I mean... no. But, y'know. It's weird, having a leader of a gang that can't ever fall in love, right? Like some heartless freak or somethin'. I dunno," he chuckled wryly.

Chuck frowns. "Mike. You're not a freak," he says firmly.

Mike gives his best friend a sidelong glance. "Chuck..." he speaks, voice low, "it's not like that! You know what I mean... it's just that sometimes people who are different don't get treated so well all the time, yanno?"

"Yeah, sure, back up in Deluxe," Chuck argues. "But it's different down here in Motorcity. It's good here for people like us!"

Mike hums thoughtfully as he drums his fingers on the wheel. "Yeah, you're right..." then, he smirks at Chuck. "So if that's true, then why didn't you come out, back there? I actually thought you were gonna do it. It even looked like Dutch suspected something, too!"

Mike smiles at his friend, who is doing his best impression of a carseat cover now.

"Mmnyeah... yeah, I could've." Chuck gives a noncommittal shrug, hesitating.

"What's wrong?"

After a few seconds, Chuck swipes at his bangs self-consciously and clears his throat. "Uhmm well... being aromantic and never falling in love is kinda... badass, don'tcha think? But for a guy like me, never wanting to have sex and being a dope for romance is just pathetic," he laments. "If people hear that I'm asexual and that I never want to bang anyone, I'd get laughed out of the room! It's not an asexual thing, Mikey, it's a me thing."

Mike throws Mutt into reverse and backs her out of their parking spot with practiced ease.

"Chuckles. My guy. Look, who cares what other people think? If you don't wanna bone, you're just not gonna. That doesn't hurt anyone at all, so screw anyone who says anything about it. If anyone gives you a hard time, call me up and I'll spin the block for you,"

Chuck bursts into a peal of nervous giggles. "Whoa, whoa Mikey, geez! Christ, thanks, man but that's really not necessary. I appreciate you, though,"

They smile at each other again.

Then after a beat, Mike adds, "plus, if they know about aromanticism, they're gonna eventually find out about asexuality, too, dude."

Chuck laughs weakly as he clutches his arms. "O-oh...! Yeah... yeah that's tr--"

Mike suddenly slams his boot down on the gas pedal and Mutt growls as she lurches into hundred-mile-speeds from a standstill. Her tires screech loudly on the pavement and she leaves a giant plume of smoke and dirt behind as everyone careens over a drop straight onto the Deluxian Supply Pipes.

"Miiikkee-eeyyyy!!! We just ate!" Chuck screeches, horrified. He clings onto the car seat with both hands as Mike laughs.

Chuck's screams and Mike's loud, joyous shouting and whooping can be heard far and wide throughout Motorcity as they race all the way back home.

[hotluncheddie]

... do you think that Steve would keep wearing his old clothes for as long as he could as he puts on weight, secretly enjoying the pinches of his waistband as it gets tighter, revelling in the little sharp reminders that he's getting bigger? 👀

i completely and utterly, totally so so so much think he would

i am obsessed with this anon, 👀 big time

this was going to be short but then while i love 'and they were roommates' it was also like, well, obviously, robin is there too...

and then i also had to include my actual baby girl steves blue henley

and then a safety pin to keep his jeans closed was just too good to pass up..

so, ya, have nearly 4k of belly and pining and confessions :3c

-

Every week, it takes Steve just a little bit longer to get dressed. 

He has to suck in a little more, feel his sides spill out of the waistband a little further and his belly is fighting harder and harder against the zipper of his jeans. Taking up more and more room. Until, one day, it's all going to burst. 

Steve cant wait. 

‘You’re really packing it on Harrington.’ He'll whisper to himself. Smoothing his hand down his shirt and feeling where his belly button is indented in the fabric. He’s started untucking them to try and hide how his jeans button is straining. But now his shirts are straining too. It won't be long until they can't contain him, letting a sliver of belly show no matter how much he pulls at them. 

Today he's wearing the blue henley that used to sit comfortably at his hips, a loose layer over a t-shirt. But, now it sits snug and taught, his wider shoulders filling it up, lower band snapped against the underside of his growing spare tire. Still just reaching his jeans though, thankfully, and covering how his white t-shirt does not - slipping up to his navel with the slightest of moments. 'Really let yourself go.' he mumbles, gut stirring with heat, twisting to look at his ass and belly from the side, liking they way they both jiggle just little now when he moves. 

Then he goes and makes breakfast. 

He's been on a cereal kick lately, keeps craving the sweet and sugary whole milk at the end of the bowl. He usually has some to go with his toast and eggs. 

He says good morning to Eddie, who just grunts at him, like normal, and reaches for the box on the top shelf. 

'...Steve.' Eddie says, slowly, coffee mustn't have kicked in yet. 

Steve is focused on pouring his cereal. What?' He asks. 

'Steve.' Comes Eddie again, clearer now. 

Eddie.' Steve finally looks over, Eddies eyes wide. 

Eddie gestures to his own midsection 'you, your.' He mumbles, circling the whole area, his lean stomach and hips.

'The shirt looks good on you Ed's I dunno what you want.’

Eddie coughs 'I can see your, like, everything.' 

Steve looks down at himself, his stretching had pulled the henley up, belly and sides keeping it up. 'Oh.'  He says, pale skin and dark hair on display. The stretch marks at his hips can be seen too, pooling over the waistband. His cheeks go as pink as those new lines. He really has packed it on. 

'Thanks man.' He says, trying to keep his voice level. He readjusts his shirt, pulls at his jeans that don't budge, shivers.

He has two bowls of cereal with his toast and eggs that morning. Eddie excusing himself quickly as Steve chugged the last of the sweetened milk. 

Leaving Steve alone to pat his stomach and settle the food there, dig the heel of his hand into his crotch and simmer over the mix of feeling he has for the whole situation. 

He'll deal with that properly later though, after work, he doesn't want to go through re-buttoning his jeans again just yet. 

-

A few weeks later Steve takes so long to get dressed he almost doesn't have time for breakfast. 

Or breakfast with Eddie as it's seemed to have become. Eddie always staying at the table even after he finishes his second cup of coffee, waiting and watching as Steve makes and eats his meal. Sometimes pushing to near fullness if there's time, sometimes still bloated and sluggish from the night before. (He sneaks snacks home sometimes, to have after dinner, after everyone is in bed. Extra to pack on top of whatever he had that day, help him reach a fullness that makes sparks burst behind his eyes when he finally lets himself touch, lets himself sink and feel and finish all over his swollen gut.)

And Steve thinks, sometimes, that Eddie stays through his breakfast so he can watch. Thinks he waits for Steve to have his fill, maybe enjoys their time together in a similar way Steve does. Always gravitating towards Eddies company, harbouring what he has accepted is a massive crush on the man. 

Steve really hopes he not reading Eddie wrong. 

He mentions it to Robin, who always leaves the apartment before the both of them. Mentions how Eddie looks at him, stares, his gaze lingering and roaming over the parts of Steve that are changing. Steve’s cheeks pink, mumbling his way though a half explanation that he wants Eddie to look. That he likes how his body has changed. 

Robin says she'll keep an eye out, do some ‘research’, but only if he promises to keep her out of whatever weird sex shit it might involve. 

Steves cheeks heat further, nervous - what if he is wrong and Eddie thinks it’s weird too, doesn't like it. Doesn't actually like Steve or what he's chosen to do to himself. Maybe Steve is the real freak in all this. 

But Robin hugs him, called him a dingus in that way that sounds like I love you. Corrects and soothes - that she's not judging, doesn't think he's weird, and Eddie would never judge him either. 

Even if Steve is wrong about how Eddie looks at him, he'd never stop being Steves friend, she knows that much for sure. 

She's right, he guesses. And it’s his body, his life, it shouldn’t matter how he looks. He just never wants to loose them… 

And then he's forced to face it all head on. Test the waters - see Eddies reaction to a situation that solidly fits into the realm of what Steve’s discovered he’s into. The weird sex shit as Robin artfully put it. (Eddies opinion on it all still very much up for debate, even after Robin watched Eddie watch Steve eat a whole large cheese pizza to himself - she said she couldn't tell if he was impressed in a bro way or a gay way.)

But, Steve takes so long to get dressed that morning because no amount of sucking in, or laying down or pulling up then pulling down, will put his button through the hole. 

His pants won't do up. 

He gets the zipper half way, and his shirt is long enough to hide the worst of it, but he needs a safety pin, if he's going to get to work and look half way presentable.

'Eddie?' He calls, from right by his door. 

There's shuffling, the scrape of a chair. 'Yeah?' Eddie asks.

'Uh, I have good news and bad news' Steve shouts, not really sure what to say. 

'Okay...' Eddie says, slowly, closer now. Right by Steves door. 'Whats the bad news?' 

Steve swallows, bites his lip. 'I ah, I need your help.' He settles on. 

There's a pause, Steves heart hammers in his ears. 'Steve, what? Are you okay?’ Eddie says, confused. 'I'm coming in, okay?' And he pushes at the door before Steve can give an answer, pushes as he saying it, a tinge of stress to his voice. 

Steve is standing with his shirt up, staring at himself. Belly pushing the flaps of jeans apart, muffin top and stretch marks on display. He feels himself go red, palms sweating over how Eddie will react to this, to him. 

'Just, do-do you have a safety pin?' Steve stammers, embarrassed, but, he really needs one. 

Eddies eyes seem to be glued to his middle. 'I, yeah, yeah man.' He says and steps away, leaving the room, pulling his eyes away last. 

Steve sits down heavily on the bed, burying his red face in his hands and groaning.  

Eddie ambles back into the room, pin in hand. 'Here, sit back.' He says gently, kneeling between Steve thighs. god. 

Steve rests back on his palms and then drops onto his elbows once it becomes apparent that hands aren’t enough to give Eddie the access he needs. 

And then Eddie’s nimble fingers are pulling at his waistband, his warm skin brushing against the sensitive underside of Steve’s stomach. And Eddies eyes are soft, and kind. 

Steve has to bite his lip to stifle a noise, feeling it in his groin. embarrassed by the whole situation. 

That he likes it. 

That he likes it so much. 

He’s turned on by so much that’s going on right now. But it’s all too raw, and he feels so vulnerable under Eddie. Under the dream that he might like it too. Under the fear that he won’t, won’t like Steve because of this. Or, maybe worse, could relent and just like Steve in despite of it. 

And thankfully his jeans are so tight there’s no way of knowing that his cock is half hard as Eddie tugs lightly on the secured pin. And Steve aches because there’s a pillow crease on Eddies cheek and sleep still stuck to an eyelash and his t-shirt is worn and stretched and faded and Steve yearns. He likes Eddie so much, has done for so long. 

But he ate himself out of his jeans. Did it every morning with Eddie’s eyes on him and he still doesn’t know that it means. Doesn't know what to say. What to do. 

And Eddies eyes are soft, all of him so kind. 

‘And the good news?' Eddie asks, looking up again at Steve finally. 

Steve makes a noice, confused. He's feeling foggy and strung out and he wishes so bad he didn’t have to work, could just burrow under his covers and hide instead. 

‘You said there was good news and bad news, what’s the good news?’ Eddie smiles up at him. He’s so pretty in the morning, all day. Always. 

'You uh, just, won't need to sit through me eating breakfast this morning.' Steve says, huffing but it doesn't really feel funny. He feels exposed and too hot. But maybe it is funny, in fact, that he also feels really really hungry. 

And Eddie’s eyes widen slightly in shock, his cheeks dusting pretty pink. 'I uh, really like having breakfast with you dude, don't uh, you skipping? Thats not good news.' And his hand is on Steve’s knee, big brown eyes looking up at him. 

Steve bites his lip again, mouth morphing into a small shy smile he can’t stifle. He nods. 

He goes and makes breakfast. 

-

Steve gets new jeans and keeps eating while Eddie watches. They haven't said anything but sometimes Eddie refills Steves cereal bowl unprompted, sometimes he sits with Steve and Robin at dinner too. 

The next time Steve eats a whole cheese pizza to himself while Robin and Eddie are present they’re all high but Robin is now positive that he’s impressed in a gay way. ‘A very, very gay way Steve. I saw that pillow move into his lap, shoot your shot bud, weird sex shit and all.’ 

And Steve is growing impatient, the tension and subtext sending him a little insane. He just, he needs to know. If Eddie could like him back, if their friendship can survive Eddie not reciprocating. If Steve can keep exploring this part of himself - but with someone. If he can have everything he ever dreamed of, maybe, with Eddie. 

Steve needs to know, so one Saturday, he goes out and he buys breakfast…

It’s a few months later and Eddie notices that Steve recently upgraded his shirts, again. Now they sit looser, flowing down and following out over the crest of his belly. Eddie thinks they're the same jeans though, that Steve bought at the end of that day, the day with the safety pin. The first time he got to touch. 

He then spent the day thinking about how he actually feels about Steve. Half freaking out, half feeling like everything finally made sense. Too scared to act on what he realised were real feelings, a real crush. He thought about it, at least. 

And now that Eddie’s thought about it, come to some conclusions for himself. He notices more. Like how he notices that, now, after what is arguable a pretty short amount of time, Eddie can see that these jeans are tight too. Straining, restricting Steves movements slightly as they fight against his thicker thighs. He notices Steve wearing sweats a lot more, or just not changing out of his pyjama pants, if he's home from work. The drawstrings on them never pulled tight. The seams of them though, along his thighs and over his ass. Those are pulled tight. Pulled to bursting. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

They still have breakfast together every morning. Steve upgrading to a cheese and egg omelette, toast, and a bigger bowl of cereal in the mornings now. Eddie still sticking to two cups of coffee and wandering eyes. Allowing himself to join Steve and Robin for dinner when he can, when schedules match up. Its fun, ordering pizza and watching movies, but Eddie has had to get skilful with their pillows, subtle as he pulls them onto his lap. Due to Steve now being in the habit of finishing large cheese pizzas all to himself. In his tightening pyjama pants, lips shiny with grease. 

Eddie kind of feels like a freak, noticing these things about Steve. But, it’s Steve. And maybe he’s reading it all wrong, but he thinks Steve maybe likes what Eddie likes. Thinks maybe they might be more similar than he ever thought. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do. But something’s gotta give. 

It’s Saturday when it all comes to a head, Steve comes home with breakfast for them both, jeans criminally tight and slung low like most things he owns, allowing his belly and soft love handles to sit above, to breathe. His t-shirt is one of the older ones, criminally, obscenely tight, highlighting his curves and width and softness. But still long enough for him to be covered fully, fabric tight but covering the jeans waistband fully. 

Surely Steve won't hate him for it, that Eddie is a little breathless over the sight of him, not once Eddie explains. Explains that it's all of it, all of him. That it’s always just been Steve, with or without the weight. 

Robin's away visiting her parents and Eddie said yes to an egg and cheese bagel. Steve sets the contents of the brown bag out on the table, bagel and a hash brown for Eddie, large coffee. Two bagels and four hash browns, a side of sausage, an orange juice and coffee, for Steve. 

He also bought a dozen donuts, for some reason. 

Steve sits down heavily in the chair. A soft oof as he lays a hand on the side of his gut and reaches forward for his juice, chugging about half in one sweet go. 

Eddie smiles at him over the rim of his coffee, Steve blushing ever so slightly. Eyelashes casting shadows across his softer cheeks. 

‘Thanks Stevie, this is really nice.’ Eddie says, doesn’t say that it almost feels like a date. Could feel like a date. Something intimate about it being a quiet Saturday morning alone together. 

'Almost feels like a date.' Steve says, taking his first big bite of sausage. 

Eddie coughs. Steve’s blushing again. He shifts in his chair, but he has this set to his jaw, like he’s being brave, like it’s scary, but he’s being brave. 

Eddie puts his coffee down, picks up his sandwich and holds it out to Steve in cheers. ‘To our first date.’ He says, smiling, looking Steve in the eye. 

Steve laughs, sunshine and fizzy apple juice. He cheers’ Eddie’s sandwich with his own. 

Eddie can be brave too. 

They talk about work, and Robin, and Dustin back home. About when Eddie’s next thinking of visiting Wayne and how they still need to fix the lock in the bathroom door. Eddie makes his way slowly though his food, Steve is a little quicker but he has more. Big bites filling his cheeks and a dollop of sauce falling onto his shirt. Eddie smiles and hands him a napkin. Steve smiles back, licking his fingers clean and letting that hand migrate back to the side of his belly. Fingers rubbing and prodding lightly again. Eddie tries not to stare. 

‘I probably shouldn’t eat that.’ Steve says, motioning to his second bagel, crushing the hash brown bag in his fist. The last part of his breakfast. His belly noticeably a little bigger, a little fuller on his thighs. 

‘Why?’ Eddie asks, taken aback. 

Steve huffs, self deprecating. ‘I dunno if you’ve noticed Ed’s but, I’m getting kinda fat.’ He says, embarrassed sort of smile on his face. ‘Who’m I kidding, of course you noticed, you had to help me when I outgrew those jeans last month.’ He dips his head, hand rubbing over his face and then resting at the top of his stomach, smoothing over the dome, belly button outlined in the tight fabric. 

Eddie snaps his eyes away from the movement. ‘Steve.’ He says. ‘You, you look good.’ He swallows. ‘You look, really good. And I, I think if you wanna eat that bagel then, well then you should.’ Eddie stammers, but his voice is clear and strong, he feels fire in his eyes. 

Because it’s true, everything, all of it. 

Steve’s smile stretches, blooming across his face, blinding, beautiful. ‘Yeah?’ He asks softly, sweetly, with awe. 

‘Yeah, yes.’ Eddie says, nodding his head and leaving forward to nudge the bagel closer to Steve. He wants him to eat it, Eddie realises. ‘I, um, I want you to, to eat it.’ He says, clearing his throat but refusing to look away from the bright eyes before him. 

Steve breaks eye contact first, ducking his head and unwrapping the sandwich with his big, delicate fingers. Taking a bite and letting the grease run down his wrist. 

Steve swallows, licking it up, eyes back on Eddie. 

‘Fuck.’ he breaths. Fingers fiddling with his empty coffee cup.

He scoots his chair around, bringing it in close to where Steve sits. Needing to share space with him, feel his body heat. Aching to touch.

Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie as he moves, biting and chewing and swallowing his way through the bagel methodically. Like it’s a reflex, an extension of himself. 

Eddie reaches forward and wipes away a rogue smear of ketchup from Steve’s cheek with his thumb. Bringing it up to his own mouth and sucking it clean. It’s sweet, and tangy. 

‘I gotta, uh, show you something. A, a secret.’ Steve says. Last bit of bagel held still in his fingers. Eyes wide and a little crazed, voice tinged with fear or glee; Eddie’s not really sure. 

‘Okay?’ He asks, voice quieter than he means. Reverent. 

Steve shifts slightly and presses his fingers into the bottom most curve of softness. Lifting his belly up and out of the way. Revealing his button and fly to Eddie. 

Which is no longer able to fasten, instead held together by a safety pin. The same one as before, on that morning. 

‘Fuck.’ Eddie shivers. Looks back up at Steve in awe. ‘Can i kiss you?' He rasps, fingers falling onto Steve’s thigh as he leans forward. 

Steve gasps quietly and nods, resettling his belly on his thighs. Eddie leans in further, their lips connecting. stars exploding behind his eyes. The soft press more infinite than anything he’s ever felt before. Because, maybe, maybe because it’s Steve. It’s Steve’s lips he’s kissing. He digs his fingers into the meat of Steve’s legs. Grounding himself in the kiss so he doesn’t float away entirely. 

Eddie lick over the seam of Steve’s lips lightly but Steve pulls away with a small gasp. Hand covering Eddie’s as he pants. ‘Sorry. Getting full.’ He huffs, blush rinsing on his cheekbones again. He shoves the last bit of bagel in his mouth and slouches further in the chair. He looks round and soft as he takes a deeper breath of air. 

Eddie laughs, delighted and leans forward once more, knees knocking against Steve’s. ‘Can I?’ He asks, hand hovering over the warm side of belly that Steve’s been petting all morning. Eddie swallows thickly as his eyes flick from Steve’s face back down to his hand. 

Steve smiles, nods. The blush running down his neck. 

The first press of fingertips on warm skin is heaven. Eddie almost can’t believe it’s his hand doing it. Finally. Steve is so soft; pliant and arching under Eddie’s soft hold. 

He splays his palm over it, cupping it with both hands and marvelling at the width, the weight. 

Steve’s finger taps Eddie on the chin. He looks up, snapping his mouth shut. Steve smiling at him, eyes sleepy and relaxed and he looks so happy. 

‘What took us so long?' Steve sighs, eyes roaming over Eddie’s face. Arching up further into Eddie’s hands. 

'Was worried you'd think I was weird.' Eddie admits quietly, leaning forward to steal another soft kiss, hands rubbing small circles into the flesh beneath his hands, can feel Steve’s short breaths fanning over his face, his lips shiny with spit. 

Steve smiles, charming and biting and so so Steve. ‘You? Weird? Never.' He teases. 

‘Wanna be weird together?’ Eddie asks, licking over Steve’s lips, making them wet. 

‘How about uh, you pass me those donuts?' Steve motions with his head and spreads his legs wider in the chair. His hand dwarfing Eddie’s as he uses it up to lift his belly again. Grunting as he forces the safety pin open and tugs it from his jeans. 

Eddie lingers, enamoured, helping to hold Steve’s belly out of the way. Watching his sides spill wider once they’re released from the tight denim. 

Steve tosses the pin on the table and resettled his belly again. Looking pointedly at Eddie and lifting his chin again cheekily. 

Eddie places the box within reach. Steve plucking one from the lineup. 

Steve doesn’t say anything as he ploughs through the first. Only half way through the second does he pull Eddie’s hand more firmly onto his gut, urging him to move them again. 

‘Feels good.' Steve says around a mouthful, sighing. He’s eating them in two or three bites, already on his third. 'like, stretched but, grounded, maybe.' 

‘Oh, it’s, so, you do like it? The, the weight?' Eddie asks. 

'Mostly I just like eating. But, can't say the weight is anything bad... Just, it feels good, all of it.' Steve talks with his mouth full, sugary glaze stuck in the stubble on his upper lip. 

Eddie nods, cheeks slightly pink. He reaches over and picks up a donut, scooting closer so he’s between Steves spread thighs. The view of his belly a little more above, pale skin spilling out of his hiked up T-shirt. Spreading over his open fly. He has a stretch mark on his arm, on the inside, over his tricep. Eddie never notices it before. 

He holds the donut up to Steves mouth, he'd only have to lean forward slightly to take a bite. 'This okay?' Eddie rasps, hand shaking slightly. Steve looking up at him though his lashes. 

He rests a hand over Eddie’s own on his stomach again. Smoothing them down and then up, causing his shirt to lift more, sitting snug under his pecs. He dips forward, chair creaking, biting into the donut enough for Eddie to feel his fingers brush Steves chin. His cheeks bulge as he chews, hand moving again.

‘More than okay Ed's, this is, it’s.' Steve can’t finish so Eddie shoves the rest of the donut into his mouth. He doesn't need him to explain, rationalise what he wants. 

He just wants Steve to feel good. 

Eddie reaches for another donut. 

-

WG Taglist (open): @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

[whumpbug]

HERE IS THE PART 2 OF THE KIDNAPPING FIC!

sorry guys the boys had too much fluff and needed angst to balance it out

i decided to post this now instead of during the whumperless event because. this scenario is inherently not whumperless. SO PLS ENJOY and as always ignore any medical inaccuracies as well as the fact that i sort of lazily wanted to get the whumpers out of the way as quickly as possible (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

tags: @whumperofworlds @gala1981

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Archie’s head was going to explode.

It was the first thing he noticed when he started the slow process of regaining consciousness after.. after what?

What had even happened?

Archie groaned. It was a sickly sound; it bubbled up from his chest and came out as more of a choked sob.

He automatically took stock of his surroundings. 

He was on the ground-- concrete, by the feel of it. There was a stale breeze around him, but it didn’t feel like he was outside. It felt more vacant and empty.

Where the hell was he? How did he get here? He could have sworn he had just been on patrol, as usual, when he received a broadcast message about..

Simon.

Archie felt his heart sink. His eyelids flew open.

He immediately recoiled at the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting. He was gaining his wits about him, one by one, but it was happening so slowly. His mind felt so foggy. He felt like he couldn’t form a coherent train of thought, but he knew one thing. He had to save Simon.

With great difficulty, he managed to roll over to his side and brace himself on his elbow. A wave of nausea rolled over his body, one that did not feel like it was caused by a typical concussion.

No, it felt more like an uncomfortable wooziness coursing through his veins. It felt vaguely like time when he woke up after his emergency appendectomy, like his brain wasn’t catching up with reality.

He lifted his head the smallest bit and stopped in his tracks.

That was when he saw it

The bruises on his knuckles. The bloodstains on his hands and down his forearms, and subsequently, the unconscious bodies sprawled around him.

No. No, please. No.

His breath felt like white-hot fire in his chest. He began to hyperventilate. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Please let them be okay. Please just make it stop--

“--mph! Mmph!”

The muffled voice caused Archie's head to whip up from where it was hanging towards the ground in a daze. His eyes met the source of the voice and--

Oh god, Simon.

Archie pulled himself together so fast it nearly gave him whiplash.

Simon was bound to a metal chair, arms and legs tied and a gag placed around his head. By the look in his eyes, he was awake, aware, and vehemently trying to talk to Archie.

Archie let out a strangled whimper as he reached an arm out, trying his hardest to begin the arduous crawl towards Simon, but he found his limbs were moving as if through molasses. 

Still, he was determined. Even if it took everything in him, he was going to free Simon. He could deal with the blood and bodies in a second, he just needed Simon to be okay.

He placed one arm in front of the other, yanking his bruised and battered body across the cracked cement. Tears pricked in his eyes. He felt so weak. Everything felt like he was in some hazy dream, and the lack of control he had over his limbs made him feel sick.

Eventually, his fingers found the leg of the chair, and Simon’s ankle. He began to clumsily work out the knot of the ropes, thankful the captors hadn’t had the foresight to use a more complicated one.

Once Simon’s legs were free, Archie pulled himself up on the chair with immense effort and yanked off the restraints around his wrists. At that point, his body had decided it had had enough, and he collapsed listlessly beside the chair, whining lowly in his throat.

His vision was swimming. He could only vaguely see Simon rip off his gag before he rushed to his side and crashed to his knees beside Archie.

“Archie. Archie, hey. Look at me. Eyes open, okay? Eyes on me,” Simon blurted, voice more desperate than Archie had ever heard it. A shaky hand found Archie’s carotid artery.

Archie obliged to the best of his ability. He gripped Simon’s arm, not caring that blood smeared on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Wh… wha’ happened..” Archie slurred as Simon gently propped him up on his knee. “The blood..”

Archie laboriously motioned a hand towards the unconscious bodies around them, feeling his breathing start to pick up again. Simon bit his lip and cradled Archie’s face with a gentle hand.

“It was a trap. I was the bait. You.. you fought them off.. they stuck you with a tranquilizer, but you were only out for a few seconds before you were fighting them again. I think.. well.. they were going to take blood samples and stuff. They had syringes. You uh..” Simon trailed off.

Archie didn’t need to hear the rest to know that he was the one that did this.

He had lost control. He had seen the needles and they were just reminiscent enough of that day in the alleyway to set him off. He shuddered imagining what he looked like, red and furious and blinded by panic.

Maybe it was the drugs still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the fact that Simon had seen him in such a state, but hot tears began running down his face. Once the dam broke, he couldn’t stop.

He leaned towards Simon, utterly defeated. He tried so hard not to let his trauma run his life-- to try and move past it-- but god, he feared all it did was make him a rabid animal at the smallest sign of danger.

He wept.

Simon leaned down and gathered Archie in his arms, gentler than he’d probably ever been in his life. He brushed a blonde curl from his face and thumbed away stray tears.

“Shh.. It’s okay.. Archie, it’s okay.. you did what you had to do to protect us.. it’s okay,” He soothed, holding Archie close to his body.

Archie clung to him like a lifeline, digging his nails into Simon’s shirt. He felt so out of it, so emotionally and physically exhausted, but Simon was so steady and present. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind.

“Th-they didn’t hurt you, right?” He whispered, scanning Simon up and down with drowsy eyes.

Simon huffed a small laugh. “No Archie.. I was just bait. You got here before they laid a finger on me.. I’m perfectly fine, see?”

Simon brought Archie’s head to his chest in a secure hug. He knew Archie didn’t need to get that close to hear his heartbeat, but he figured the closeness couldn’t hurt.

Archie visibly relaxed at the rhythmic sound of Simon’s heart beating in his chest.

At least he’s okay. At least it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe while we let this tranquilizer run its course, okay? I’ll call the police about this place on the way.”

Archie nodded almost instinctively, lifting his arms to drape around Simon’s shoulders.

Simon smiled fondly, and leaned down to pick him up, holding Archie close to himself. Archie buried his face in the crook of Simon’s neck and let out a soft sigh. 

He could deal with the mental gymnastics of trying to decipher his feelings about the situation later. Now, he just wanted to close his eyes and let his worries wash away for just a moment.

He was okay. He was going to be fine. He was safe now.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[kindahoping4forever]

He...

[hey-heigo]

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

[raeflora]

525,000 (moments so dear)

[1 year in the life of Blair, Chuck and Henry ♡ rated e]

chapter 1- January (a month to refresh and restart)

The pale morning light filters through the curtains, hitting the bed at just the right angle to make Blair groan and pull the duvet higher around herself. Maybe if she doesn't open her eyes then her head won't ache, and she can stay in this blissful cocoon of warmth and pretend it's not the morning. That the only place she and Chuck have to be is in this bed with each other.

Chuck stirs next to her, his hand running over her bare waist under the duvet, seeking her hand that still clutches at the duvet. He effortlessly links his fingers with hers and pulls her back onto his chest, their bodies fitting together by instinct. Blair sighs softly as he runs his palm up and down her arm, her own fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest, burying her face between the pillow and his shoulder.

"Good morning" she mumbles into his skin, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"Good morning" Chuck returns, tilting his head to try and kiss her cheek.

Blair nuzzles against him, "we don't have to move, right?"

"Not unless you don't want breakfast"

"Give me five minutes" is her groaned reply.

They stay in a comfortable silence, Chuck's hand resuming it's familiar path across her arm and down her back. The warmth spreading over her skin is far more agreeable than the sunlight still fighting to get under the duvet. But then, the duvet is being flung back, the cool air mixing with the warmth of the sun, and Blair's face lands on Chuck's pillow.

"Hey!" she huffs, anger fading at the sight of her husband's casually naked body, "I said five minutes"

Chuck smirks at her, pulling his robe on slowly, almost provocative in his movements, "you said it five minutes ago"

"So you're starting 2017 by improving your timekeeping?"

"Actually," he leans down to give her a real good morning kiss, "I started 2017 by hearing you scream my name, which was far more pleasurable"

"So why your sudden interest in breakfast?" she challenges still, turning as Chuck walks around their bed to her side, "And don't say you're hungry, Bass. I know it's not Dorota's croissants you want right now" she finishes, eyes flickering down his robe clad form and back up to hold his gaze, lips curling mischievously.

"While that may be true, there's someone upstairs who's probably craving Dorota's breakfast spread right now"

"Henry's not due up until 7:30 and right now it's only-" Blair turns to face the clock, eyes widening, "7:30. Chuck! You let me sleep this long?" she darts up and into Chuck's arms, already holding her robe open.

"You were very, very tired" he husks in her ear, "besides you woke up first, Waldorf"

Blair pretends to roll her eyes at him, tying her robe and trying to find her underwear. She gives up after a moment and settles on finding any kind of clothing, heading to her closet. Chuck catches her waist, spinning her back around and pulling her into him.

"Of course," he muses against her temple, "we could always let him sleep in. It is a holiday"

Blair sighs, tipping her head back so her lips ghost across his, "but what would we do?"

"Mmm there is something I didn't get to do earlier"

"Oh?"

Blair only has a second to laugh before Chuck takes her hand and sits her down on their chaise lounge, her robe already opening as he dips his head between her thighs. The year is already off to a wonderful start, she thinks, and, if she doesn't push away the other thought that scratches at her mind, it will just keep improving.

__

The air is crisp as Blair lifts Henry out of the limo, adjusting his scarf and holding him on her hip as Chuck shuts the door. His mitten clad hands hold his new favourite stuffed dinosaur, his second and third favourites safely in Blair's handbag. Although he's only had them for two weeks he refuses to go out without at least one.

"Can I play dinosaurs with Aunt Serena?" he asks, resting his head on her shoulder.

"After you eat"

Henry pouts, "what if- what if she wants to play first?"

Chuck takes over, tickling his side, "I think she'll let you eat first"

Henry sighs, very seriously for an almost two-and-a-half-year-old, and hugs his arms tighter around Blair. She kisses his head, readjusting him in her arms as they reach the door.

"Hello Vanya" Henry chirps, waving his dinosaur in greeting.

"Hello Mr Henry" Vanya replies, "are you excited for first family brunch of the year?"

Henry nods, "I'm gonna play dinosaurs after"

Vanya laughs and holds the door open, "I'm sure you'll have fun"

"Thank you, Vanya" Chuck nods as the enter the lobby, warmth enveloping around them.

"Of course, Mr Chuck"

Henry waves again, Vanya waving back before going outside. The three of them approach the elevator, Chuck absentmindedly putting his hand on Blair's back as they walk through the open doors. By the time they reach the top Henry is impatient, squirming to be set down so he can run in. Blair doesn't though, instead she carries him in to the sight of Lily eagerly waiting.

"There's my beautiful grandson" she coos, lifting him from Blair's arms and squeezing her hand in greeting, "look at you, you're getting bigger everyday!"

"I grow" Henry declares proudly, as Chuck carefully helps to pull his mittens and matching scarf off, "that's what daddy said"

"And he's very right, hello darling" Lily kisses Chuck's cheek.

Before Blair can properly greet Lily she's swept into a Serena hug, a flash of blonde hair and a slightly awkward Dan Humphrey by the couch being her only warning. She laughs, hugging her back and sneaking a glance at Serena's still bare ring finger. Maybe that's why Dan can't quite meet her gaze.

They all make their way to the heaving table, coats and scarves taken care of. Henry happily sits between his parents, more excited about the promise of playtime with Serena than the food in front of him. Still he eats the croissants and fruit salad and yoghurt and buttery toast strips, eyebrows creasing at Blair wiping his stained mouth and fingers. She lifts him into her lap, brushing a hand over his hair.

"Good boy" she praises while Dan explains the plot of his latest novel, "do you want to play with Aunt Serena now?"

Henry grins up at her, "yeah"

"Alright then" she lifts him into the air like Chuck does, swinging him round so his little feet hit the floor, "your dinosaur kingdom awaits"

Serena doesn't need any encouragement, immediately launching into a questionably accurate impression of a t-rex as she joins him on the floor. Henry's overjoyed, and, once Blair's satisfied that he's not going to hurt himself, turns her attention to Dan.

"I thought," she hisses, not missing the way Dan's eyes widen and Chuck smirks, "you were proposing to her. What happened Humphrey?"

"Ok so- stop looking at me like that, Chuck, come on. So I am proposing to her, I just thought, you know, uh, New Year's proposals are kinda overdone and-"

"I don't care" Blair whispers exasperatedly, "I'm not having another two hour long conversation with her about if I think you're going to do it or not-"

"Just pick somewhere and get on one knee" Chuck continues smoothly, "she wants to marry you, so stop stalling"

"I'm not stalling, I-"

"You are" they chorus.

"I just want to do it right" Dan finishes.

"Humphrey, there's never going to be the perfect time" Chuck continues, hand finding Blair's beneath the table, "there won't be any time if you don't do it soon"

Dan holds his hands up, "alright point taken"

"Hey sorry to interrupt, B" Serena says, covertly coming up to Blair, "but I think Henry needs the bathroom and I wasn't sure how far you were with-"

"It's ok, S, I'll take him"

She gives Dan one last pointed glare before taking Henry's hand in hers and walking him down the hallway. Thankfully they're quick, Henry only becoming momentarily distracted by the jasmine scented soap and trying to cover both his arms in it through his knitted sweater. Blair stops him, but appreciates his enthusiasm about hygiene.

Family brunch wraps up not long after, all of Henry's dinosaurs in his hands as he sleepily curls up in Chuck's lap. It's a funny sort of feeling that settles in Blair's stomach as she looks at her boys, one that makes her ache with how much she loves them. It's time, she thinks to herself. She knows what she wants now, and she's going to get it.

__

Snow falls softly outside the limo's moving windows, catching the glow of the streetlights. Blair sighs, resting her head on Chuck's shoulder. Soon they'll be busy again, their son and their empires needing their attention. But now, now they can just be Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck, and all they need is to be with each other.

She trails her fingers down his arm, resting her hand on top of his. Without a word he intertwines their fingers and Blair takes a breath.

"Chuck" she starts, lifting her head up to look at him.

"Blair" he responds, resting his forehead against hers.

Her words rush out, unable to wait another minute, "I want us to have another baby"

He smiles, truly, just for her, "are you sure?"

"There's nothing I want more right now"

"Right now?" he teases.

She cups his jaw, "right now"

She kisses him soundly, her hands in his hair and his on her waist. With ease he pulls her onto his lap and Blair moans into him, her fingers running down his chest. She starts pulling at his tie, and he returns the favour by pushing her skirt over her hips. They break apart for a moment, Chuck's lips finding her neck as his hands find her underwear. Blair gasps as he tugs them down her stocking clad thighs, helping to kick them onto the floor, and runs her palm over the growing bulge in her husband's pants.

Chuck growls as she pulls the zipper down, her fingers pulling his boxers down too. She wraps her hand around him, grinning at the way he grunts into her neck. Carefully she moves her hips forwards, stuttering slightly as he strokes his fingers down her folds, and steadily lowers onto him. It's familiar, but different, her hands clinging to his jacket, her hips rocking down until she moans, the feeling of him deep inside her catching her off guard. Then, it's instinct, and desire, and pleasure, their bodies moving perfectly, his hips thrusting up as hers grind down. Blair moans, burying her face into his neck, kissing where his pulse thrums.

Her fingers run through his hair as her body arches back. Chuck's hands hold her waist, his eyes shining with awe as she glances down at him. She bends down to kiss him, biting his lip as he grinds his hips up into her. Her body jerks, hands clutching at him, and her breathing grows heavy against his lips.

Blair clenches around him, fluttering once, twice, unable to contain the purr that works its way out of her throat as Chuck strokes her clit. Her orgasm bursts through her, his name coming from her lips in a haze of ecstasy, her body curling onto him. She gasps, smile blooming on her lips at Chuck's own release. His hands guide her off of him and back onto the now cool leather. She sighs happily, Chuck running his hand through his hair on his own pleasure tinged sigh.

Although conceiving their second child in a limo might not have been her original plan, she couldn't think of a more appropriate way to start trying. The year is definitely off to the best possible start, and she can't wait for it to continue.

[strawberryfanaticccc]

i just wanna live out the rockstar girlfriend lifestyle 😔 like is that to much to ask for?????

[4kts]

# ADDED BOTS!

note: yippeee!! second batch of bots coming right up!! 🛎️ I have a lot of requests now which is woah- i didnt even think would be possible!! thank you so much for the requests and the comments u guys left! reading them made me so happy and warms my heart (づ>/////<)づ♡ with mid-terms finally over i do hope i can at least upload six bots in total in 1 month! but my busy schedule n procrastination is impossible for me to doooo .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.

If you want to request a bot, you can request in my g.forms or shoot me a request in my inbox, please be sure to read the rules first! :^) Please let me know what you think! Feedbacks are always welcome so that I can improve the bots!!

taglist: @p-r-e-s-t-o

MORAX (tumblr req.)

What was once a peaceful hangout took a horrifying turn when bloodthirsty angels descended, seeking your destruction. Though he managed to whisk you away from the battlefield, the ordeal left you in such excruciating pain that you succumbed to exhaustion—a sight that filled Morax with dread.

LINK: https://next.character.ai/chat/vMwmABQNMpFcd_nl40tE1HfVWCC6uZ2CvF9uePQYHTY

BELIAL (g.form req.)

Belial longed to speak to you effortlessly; the pain in his throat was a constant barrier. Before you, this hindrance holds no weight, not when he has Jjyu, who does the talking for him. Now, the thought of confessing his feelings through Jjyu felt impersonal and lacking. He craved the raw vulnerability of spoken words—a confession uttered in his own voice. Yet, achieving this seemingly impossible feat seemed like a distant dream.

LINK: https://next.character.ai/chat/D78r6Arq2I7_wNNBuYtvKJbbRhBtRoo9g_WK2OZOJqw

MAMMON (g.form req.)

Ever since arriving in Hell, you've been yearning for a taste of your favorite desserts. Sure, Hell offered its own sweet treats, some even resembling what you knew and loved, but nothing quite hit the spot. Mammon, ever eager to see your smile, decided to throw a little tea party just for you, complete with the sweets you craved. But an unknown, mischievous lesser devil had other plans! Now Mammon faces the consequences for not noticing the sneaky sabotage, leaving Mammon to face the consequences of his oversight.

LINK: https://next.character.ai/chat/ZW9Jg2VqkaSYuhbYBuoXdBeRhS48iCnWqAM_o3mxngs

[hoonigiris]

i just sent an ask but forget abt it bc i found it now tumblr just acted up again and it didn't let me click the link in your bio at first, sorry 😣

Anyway love your writing; time to stalk the rest of it ♥️

JSKALSKWLDSK YOU ARE SOOOO SWEET thank you so much… i’ve trying to write jungwon noona entry #2 along with a few silly drabbles from requests between my schoolwork and classes with little success but your asks seriously made my entire week😭😭😭 will open google docs again Just for you…

[angeart]

blink twice if you've read the hhau rp fic i've been posting recently (the one about the mineshaft cave in)

[summer-oil]

IT'S ME AGAIN HIHIHIHI i wanted to ask whether u have read crime and punishment???? i've been thinking about it a lot and now it keeps popping up whereever i go and ofc bsd fyodor exists too and i keep thinking about him and sighhh i think i should do it..... (i literally already have the book too......)

- @catchuuu

MICKEY U HAVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE…….….. i HAVE in fact read crime and punishment and i’m gonna let u in on a very embarrassing secret if u promise not to laugh :’3

……. i bought the book and read it…. because of fyodor bsd…………………….. look. i wanted to get into classic lit ok and. i just thought he was hot 😭😭 so i was like hmmmm let’s check out his works IT’S SO EMBARRASSING BUT I THINK I WAS REAL AS HELL TOO…………

anyway i was pretty young so it might not have been the best choice, it’s a VERY heavy book just language-wise, dostoevsky is not for the weak 😭😭 but it’s very good and interesting too!! i think i would love it even more if i reread it now… dostoevsky is basically known for being kind of a master at exploring the human mind and obv the main thing he explores in this book is guilt. and how the mc raskolnikov begins to punish himself for his crime the moment he commits it…. i like it it’s good :33 would def recommend it!! but it’s not everyone’s cup of tea and some scenes are very Raw. there’s one that’s pretty infamous where the mc dreams about one of his childhood memories right?? when he saw a horse get whipped to death… and it’s just really. ough. made me feel kinda sick. stuff like that is common for dostoevsky so watch out!!!

ooohhh and mickey !! while we’re on the topic of russian lit :333 gogol is super good too !! so far i’ve only read one of his shorter stories, diary of a madman, but that one was so cool. i like him a lot he’s definitely …. a lot more unhinged than dosto….

[goldentigerfestival]

if there is one thing i will never recover from with crestoria's crossover being gone for good, it's that we'll never ever know the story behind transgressor yuri.

if there are two things i will never recover from with crestoria's crossover being gone for good, it's that leon and aegis' loyal friendship will never ever return.

[waterdeepthroat]

OHHHHH oh oh fuck I’d ask all the pride questions but I gotta be normal so uh. 8, 10 and/or 11 for Denandras!!

pls don't be normal i would happily answer any/all questions about my ocs!!

this got pretty long, so i'm putting this under the cut:

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

God. Has he ever. Growing up in drow society as a lower-class male entertainer was hard enough, but growing up with feelings of what we would call dysphoria (he, of course, originally saw that as desire to be female for the power it would offer him) made it even harder. Denandras, then known as Szin'eth, was definitely very confused by his identity growing up, and due to the nature of his society would remain confused for almost two hundred years. When he finally had the means to escape to the surface, he still saw his own masculinity as sort of a curse, something he'd deeply internalised growing up in Menzoberranzan. He didn't find freedom in it, didn't feel like it was something to be celebrated, as it was with the drow men who joined Bregan D'aerthe. Denandras identified as a trans woman for many years and lived as Brizziffyn, but it never felt right, either. He changed his name again and lived as a man when he came to Waterdeep, but internalised transphobia is a hell of a drug, and never really considered that being non binary was an option (at least, that's the closest term we would have for him IRL). His feelings about gender were even stranger when he underwent the Changedance, because the Changedance completely changes your physiology so you look like you were born a different sex. While this is something he may have thought he wanted when he went by Brizziffyn (he changed his name to Denandras when he converted to worship of Eilistraee, though this was before he underwent the Changedance), it never felt entirely comfortable to him. Only through the temple of Eilistraee and meeting Luala did he start to understand that he could exist outside the binary, though I'd say he still moved through the world and presented as a woman through most of BG3. I'd imagine he would only open up about his struggles with gender at about the mid-point of Act 2, when all of the origin characters start having their own crises. This would come in the form of him sort of coming out to everyone (though he had been open about the Changedance, he hadn't talked about his discomfort with it, possibly seeing voicing his discomfort as a sort of blasphemy... yeah, growing up drow will seriously fuck up your ability to understand what is okay of a woman to ask of you and what isn't) and coming to the conclusion that he/him pronouns felt best for him, even if he isn't a man, necessarily.

As for sexuality, it isn't quite as complicated (though, this being Denandras, it's still complicated). Bi/pansexuality is the norm in the Forgotten Realms, however, I'm pretty sure I remember reading somewhere that WLW relationships are far more accepted than MLM ones by drow (though calling them relationships is also a bit ehhh, since only Eilistraeeans actually have a word for love- something actually brought up by the Minthara romance). When it comes to orientation, Denandras definitely leans more towards men than women, but that isn't to say that he hasn't held feelings for women before (ex: Luala, a Silverhair Knight of Eilistraee who rebuffed his advances, though this developed into them becoming very good friends instead). I would imagine his preference to "entertain" men over women wasn't taken terribly well in Menzoberranzan, though likely he rarely had a choice in who he performed for, if at all. Denandras is also somewhere along the asexuality spectrum, though this definitely interacts with the sexual trauma he's faced at the hands of House Tor'duis (a drow house that, you guessed it, held him captive for a few years, as he was a favoured performer). He's very much of the mind that sex is something extra in life. It can feel good, when done right, but he doesn't seek it out. When it comes to his relationship with Astarion this definitely causes problems early on, as the two are similar in terms of backstory, but ends up actually benefitting them both post-Cazador. Denandras is a very romantic person, especially in terms of displays of affection and non-sexual intimacy, but when it comes to sex itself he's got a lot of, at times contradictory, feelings about it.

10. Does your OC celebrate Pride? How?

As discussed above, queer identity in Faerûn definitely works a bit differently than it does in our world, so actual pride month/pride parades probably wouldn't be a thing there. However, different pride-associated events/institutions would exist (likely focused more towards trans and aro and acespec identities). One example of a very queer setting would be the Lace Harp, a canonical drag club in Waterdeep founded in the 1370s. Although Denandras got there roughly a hundred years after it was established, it does seem like the kind of place he and Luala would frequent. One thing forgotten by a lot of people is that beauty and the arts also fall under Eilistraee's domain, and gender identity is something that definitely comes into play when it comes to her religion, so all of those combined mean that it's probably pretty common for her followers to either do drag or enjoy drag shows. Art that alludes to a sildur (Realms word for being trans) identity would be something Denandras would appreciate in particular, though using that term for himself would be something he would be uncomfortable with for a long, long time. Especially post-canon (in a world where I don't give him the tragic end that I played through lmao), he and Astarion would be the type to enjoy drag shows and seek out other events and/or groups that involve queer people (though, with bisexuality being the norm, what's considered queer would likely be different than how we define it).

11. Is your OC open about their identity? Are they more low-key or blunt about it? Why or why not?

I'm starting to think I created Denandras to be a mess of insecurity, indecision, and overall complication when it comes to queer identity lmao. I could write a 2k word essay on each one of these questions. But, to answer this one quickly, it's complicated. Over the course of BG3, Denandras became more secure in his identity (like the coming out I mentioned above- if he were a companion in BG3, this would definitely be the Act 2 part of his arc). He tends to keep that part of his identity on lock until he quite literally can't anymore. As for sexual identity, his bisexuality + preference for men is something he doesn't keep hidden. He probably would have, at one point, but upon coming to the surface I think it's the first thing he'd come to terms with identity-wise. It's a lot easier to be bi when being bi is seen as normal, after all. When it comes to asexuality, though (something there is, unfortunately, no Realms term for- though if anyone has a suggestion for a term, I'd be happy to hear it!) he probably is still working to figure that out. There's a lot of trauma that he hasn't been in the right place to unpack for literal centuries, leaving him in a similar position to Astarion, if Astarion had about ten years of real freedom under his belt. That's to say, Denandras is still unsure about a lot of things, and insecurity is still a big issue for him. He'd probably view his own lack of desire as something to push past rather than a fact of being, though he's perfectly willing to respect anyone else's. It's a major case of internalised victim-blaming when it comes to trauma and internalised acephobia when it comes to his asexuality, though these are all something he (with Astarion, if we're disregarding both of their tragic ends in my "canon" playthrough) would attempt to work past. Tl;dr he's a mess of insecurity and thinking he's allowed to even have an identity is still very new to him.