#Maybe he wants to mail himself because he's tired of people

[serenefountain]

Do not make him leave the box.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

[misty--nights]

So I'm watching the show yet again (usually I struggle watching shows, I don't know how I've managed to watch it twice already and still want to watch it a third time), and here are some things that I've noticed in episode 1, after the read more because it got longer than expected.

Charles calls himself the brawn and the protector of the two, but it's Edwin who goes all serious and says "I would not let that happen" when Charles asks what they'd do if Death came for them. I'm sure/concerned that he'd try to fight her if she ever came to take them...

Edwin knits!! When they are wearing their disgusses to get the demon out of Crystal he knitts while Charles reads the newspaper. Granted, you can only see him doing for a short moment, so I don't know if he's doing it properly, but I like to think he is. I have many thoughts about this, but it would take over the whole post. I'm still willing to make a whole post for it if anyone is interested but yeah. Bottom line is, Edwin can knitt!

The tone of voice that Crystal uses when she first wakes up in the Agency and in her walk with Charles is really different to the tone she uses the rest of the season. In hindsight, it's pretty obvious that is her mean girl tone, but still, I just think it's a nice detail.

Edwin takes Crystal's coffee cup when she takes the mail? We've just stablished he's not going to drink it, so is he just being petty? Is he going to throw it away or hide it just to be a nuisance? Is he investigating what she got? This boy, I swear...

I know people have pointed out all the Clue boards in the closet, but there's also a ouija board there? Hilarious. Maybe some ghosts prefer communicating with that instead of speaking? Or Charles got it because he thought it was funny and then never got rid of it?

I like that the thing that convinces Edwin to take the Becky Aspen case is Charles asking if he's going to let a little girl die. But more importantly, the title card right after that says "three flights". I've had this question for a bit, but what do they do during those flights? Do the boys spend those just standing in the hallway next to Crystal's seat? Do they sit in the cockpit? Do they hide in the bathroom until someone comes to use it? Do they hope for empty seats they can use? I don't know, every possible version of their trip is so funny to me. I know ghosts don't get tired like alive people, but the idea of them just standing awkwardly off to the side for more than 10 hours is hilarious.

No big detail here, I just love Crystal's purple coat thing she wears in this episode. Never really noticed that it has like flowers embroidered at the bottom, and the color of the whole thing is so nice.

"Maybe he's our fucking demon now." Crystal I love you, that is one of the funniest lines in the episode. I also really like that she gets to be angry and scared. Even if later Jenny talks her down from the worst it, it's not her anger that she points out, it's the fact that people are just like that and how the boys act is nothing personal. Her anger is not directly attacked (except by Edwin, but that's just him being petty), because she gets to be angry about all that's happening to her.

The flashback to Edwin's life at St. Hilarion's changes the video aspect (is that the proper term for that? It makes the screen square like in older films is what I mean.) Also he card for that flasback specifies "Edwardian England" even while having the date at the bottom. I don't know, it made me chuckle that they felt the need to clarify the era even while having the date there. They don't put "modern day England" for Crystal's flashback.

With the way the cat reacted to the sardine, I'm willing to bet he would have told Edwin everything without the binding spell if Edwin had a few more fish for him.

When they're talking behind the shop and Crystal says she gets angry, Charles looks down and takes a bit to respond. I think this is the first time he relates to her. The first time he can call that pull twards her something more than mere attraction. He has this very vulnerable look when she says it and then immediately shows her his parents and tells her something he's never told anyone before? This boy saw his anger in someone else and thought maybe it's fine for him to be angry too.

Is it a trick of the light in the scene where she meets Niko, or does Crystal have a septum piercing?

"If you're sticking around, you gotta let us in." Charles, I love you, but you are the last person who should be saying this. Specially after that sad look he gets when Crystal says it must be hard not being able to talk or hug his parents. You just agreed to what she said, as if that were the truth of why you check on them, what do you mean "you gotta let us in"? (I do get that they haven't known each other for long so he's not going to open up about all his trauma, but precisely because of that, it's wild for him to expect her to do it.)

I never noticed Charles quickly returning the mirror to normal when Edwin comes. I'd noticed the audio cue for the mirror changing back, but I never noticed Charles moving to do it and he looks so panicked about it.

Considering how Edwin is about touch, the fact that he lets Crystal take his hand when she tells the that the case matters is huge.

Why are they planning down at the shop when they have Crystal's room all to themselves? Besides the ambiance, of course. I think Jenny's reaction is completely justified.

Esther leaves her turntable on when she goes to the post office. Is it for Monty? The atmosphere? Did she just forget?

Not a new discovery, just a reminder of something I really like. There's this very specific editing thing (like the quick cuts between the instruments and then the opened lock, I don't know what to call it) that they do pretty much every time Charles picks a lock / opens a door, and it makes me very happy each time. The sound they use for it is perfection.

Edwin's attention to detail is insane. The fact that he can recall one cupboard is further forward than it was in the plans is really impressive.

Charles sounds so done when he throws the magic backpack. "Put her in the bag-of-tricks backpack." Man, I can hear the eye roll in that sentence. Good to know Edwin isn't the only bitchy one in this relationship.

And that's it for episode 1. I think I might do this for the others as well as I watch them. It was really fun to do, and it forces me to pay attention to the details, so I think it's worthwhile.

[bradshawsbitch]

"were you ever going to tell me?" ft. our sweet hangy and maybe a secret pregnancy/baby? 👀

oh, spicy! I like it👀 I hope I did it justice 🫣

warnings: mentions of piv sex, minors dni, pregnancy, wanting to be a mother, afab!reader, mentions of doctors

description: Hangman had a spicy night with his fwb before a long employment, and he left them with a little gift.

It hadn’t been meant to happen this way. You and Jake had been friends with benefits for quite some time now, and you’d had the most delicious encounter just before he was deployed for 6 months. It had been a drunken hookup, but Hangman had seemed more frenzied than previous times, more passionate, more… sweet, too.

It had almost thrown you off, until he’d hoisted your leg high on his shoulder and driven himself harder and deeper into you, making you lose all semblance of stringent thoughts.

Looking back on that night made your face heat up, not only because it was so fucking hot - but because you’d practically whimpered, begged and whined for him to cum in you. He’d been so into it, almost growling as he fucked you harder to chase his relief, wanting to empty himself in you. ‘Leave you with a little something to remember him by until next time’ he’d said. Well, fuck, the man was good. Too good. Leave you with something to remember him by, he certainly did.

It had been weeks since you’d stared at that little plus sign for the first time, and you had no idea what you were supposed to do. You had always dreamt of becoming a mother, ever since you could remember. You had always been the maternal type, the one to take care of people. You sometimes wondered if that’s why Jake liked you. You took care of him even when he insisted he didn’t need it - funny thing was you thought that perhaps Jake needed it the very most. Someone who cared for him through it all, someone who saw through that cocky, self-assured persona he put on. You knew he could be a sweetheart, when he wanted to. When he was cradled in your arms after your encounters, practically purring as you played with his hair - letting him fall asleep on your chest.

Chewing on your bottom lip as you laid on your back, staring at the sterile fluorescents at the doctors office at your second check in on the baby. There had really not been a choice at all for you, that baby was yours whether Jake wanted it or not - which may be a selfish thought. Even though you saw a sweet side to Hangman, he didn’t exactly seem the type to settle down with kids anytime soon. You grumbled to yourself, closing your eyes as you tried to remember what he’d murmured that night before he’d left. It had sounded so tender, as he’d stroked your hair - but you had been so drunk, so tired, so fucked out that you couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.

Contacting Jake at this point was close to impossible - you didn’t know his mail address (who used email as a form of communication to anything non work related?), you knew from previous deployments that he seldom ever checked his phone - probably something along the lines of needing to be focused on being the top 1% type good or something as his reason not to check it. So that’s why you were by yourself, checking up on your baby. You subconsciously let your hand rest on you bump to soothe yourself. You couldn’t kid yourself, you wanted nothing more than for Jake to want this kid as much as you did. You wanted him to want you both.

So that’s how it went. You made it through countless morning sicknesses by yourself, you cried to Notting Hill on your own, and tried to socialise as you normally would - never answering any prying questions. Jake was due to be home any day now, which meant that your belly was too big to hide, 6 months to be exact. You’d sent him a text, telling him that it was important you guys meet. You’d told him to meet you at your apartment at his earliest convenience. His winky smile emoji back almost made you roll your eyes. God, the poor boy had no idea.

You nerves were shot to hell, feeling nauseous at the thought of how Jake would react. How were you supposed to tell him? Should you try hiding behind the biggest damn hoodie you had? Should you sit with a blanket covering you? Or should you just answer the door belly first and watch him run to the hills? God, why hadn’t you even tried calling him? Pushing this stuff on future you wasn’t fair.

Closing your eyes, you took a shaky breath as you tried to steady yourself. You could feel your heart beat erratically in your chest, and soon after felt a flutter from your little baby - which made happy tears brim your eyes. At least you had your little sprog with you. As you were soothing the baby by brushing your hand over your swollen stomach, the door cracked shut and you heard Jake’s upbeat tone say “Honey, I’m home! You better be undressed for me,” god, your breath stuttered in your throat as he appeared in your living room.

He must’ve noticed that you looked stricken with anxiety, because he furrowed his brows, walking quickly over to you to kneel in front of you.

“Princess, what’s wrong?” He sounded so concerned, the tears that brimmed your eyes fell down your cheeks. “Hey, baby, it’s okay, Jakey’s here” he smiled at you. God, you were about to ruin his trust for you completely.

“I-I…” you started, but the words wouldn’t come - your breathing was becoming more shallow, coming in quick bursts, terrified of how he would react. Jake tried to calm you down, but you just shook your head as more tears fell. You felt as Jake took hold of your hands, wanting to hug you properly, and you kept your gaze locked on the floor as you let him help you up to a standing position - where there was no hiding how your top strained against your belly. You didn’t see Hangman’s eyes flowing wide open, but you did hear his gasp as he let go of your hands in shock.

“Princess…” he whispered, you couldn’t look at him, “is… is it mine?” He knew it was, but the question slipped past his lips before he could stop himself. Your nod and sniffle had his heart aching in his chest.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he almost let out a breathless laughter. He’d been gone six months. Radio silence. You were crying in earnest now, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Jake, I’m so sorry. I know I should’ve tried to contact you, but I was so scared. I want her so much, and I was afraid you wouldn’t want her - or me, and- and I was so frightened. And I will do this on my own if- if you don’t want to. I understand” you were holding your belly, as if to protect yourself.

“H-her?” Jake sucked in a deep breath “I need to sit down” he confessed, plopping down on your couch. He hadn’t taken into consideration that he’d be face to face with your stomach as he sat down. Face to face with his daughter. You were still standing, tears streaming down your eyes as you apologised again. Jake shook his head slowly as he looked up at you, you held your breath - you could tell that the verdict was about to fall.

His large palm slowly rose, and he looked at you expectantly as it hovered over the centre of your bump. You nodded nervously, and his warm hand splayed across your belly - the sensation overwhelming. As soon as Hangman’s hand came in contact with your body, your little baby decided to say hello to her dad - kicking right where his hand was. Jakes eyes widened again, looking up at you with the most precious look on his face.

“She likes you,” you smiled through your tears, and Jake groaned, bringing you closer to him, his face buried in your stomach as his arms embraced you tight.

“And I love her,” he replied, kissing your stomach over and over again. “And I’ve already told you this, but I love her mommy too,” he looked up at you, his beautiful green eyes brimmed with tears. And he looked enamoured, happy, elated - even. You were sobbing now, and Jake stood up.

“My sweet, sweet Princess - I’m sorry you had to do this all by yourself,” his voice held remorse, and he found that he’d wanted to be here all the way through. Had wanted to help you when things got rough. You sobbed into his shoulders, body shaking with relief.

“Y-you want her? You want us?” You blubbered in disbelief.

“My sweet girl, do you not remember what I said before I left?” Jake murmured, stroking your face and placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I said that I was planning on taking you on a proper date when I got home, because I was pretty sure I’d fallen in love with you,” he confessed with a grin. You grinned back, leaning up to kiss him again.

His hands never left your stomach, stroking your belly lovingly as you talked. “God, I’m going to be a dad,” he spoke suddenly, his voice filled with pride and love. But suddenly his brows furrowed slightly.

“Princess, as hot as you are pregnant - from now on you can’t call me daddy in bed.”

[undertheopensky]

Forging Tired

Whumptober Day 26: Working To Exhaustion

Characters: Four, Blue, Sky

Trigger warnings: None

Read on Ao3!

---

Sky doesn’t realise it until after dinner, but Four hasn’t banked the forge fires.

“I’m not done yet,” Four waves at the admittedly intimidating pile of repair work yet to be done. A couple of plates from Time’s armour probably need to be replaced entirely, they have such large holes in them.

“It’s getting real late. Don’t stay up too much longer, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Body’s not tired.” Four flexes one arm and gives him a grin that looks so much like Wind Sky’s eyes cross.

“Maybe not,” they sure hadn’t done much physical stuff today, just run around the village resupplying and gathering information, “but your brain still needs rest.”

This time Four snorts. “The brain is fast asleep, but that’s okay, we don’t need it for this.”

No one asks any more why Four sometimes refers to himself in the third person or plural. At best, he’ll pretend you didn’t say anything, and at worst, he’ll look at you like you’re the strange one. The closest they’ve gotten to an explanation is an offhanded, sympathetic “Yeah, we get it,” when Time first told them to stop asking about his timekeeping, because it was a holdover from a quest too traumatic to describe.

So, slightly weird, probably a Quest Thing, doesn’t seem to affect him day-to-day.

That said Sky’s a little concerned about him working with hot metal with his brain asleep.

“Are you sure? We can wait another day or two before setting out, I’m sure Time won’t mind. We don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Four makes a rude noise, which is out of character enough Sky blinks. “I think I know my limits well enough, featherhead. Besides, forging’s not that hard. I wanna take advantage of actually having all my damn equipment for once, and goddess knows we probably won’t be here long. Our shit needs a lot of maintenance done. Don’t worry about the noise. The forge’s been soundproofed since we were little. Go away and sleep, featherhead, you need it more than us.”

He shoos Sky from the forge, polite but implacably firm.

Sky can’t exactly argue. Four is the smith here, and he knows himself best. If he says it’s fine, Sky will just have to believe him.

And as promised, as soon as the heavy door swings closed, the sounds of the forge muffle to almost nothing.

---

With Sky finally gone, Blue feels the tension ease out of him. Finally, some peace and quiet. He loves his brothers, and he supposes the heroes they’re travelling with aren’t TOO bad, but sometimes he just needs time alone in the quiet with his own thoughts and his own projects. There’s not a lot of privacy on the open road, or in a head crammed full of four distinct people.

Vio struggles with it, too, Blue knows, as he sets up the next few pieces of metal to heat and shovels fresh coke into the fire. But unlike Blue, the nerd is soothed by late nights spent reading or taking the darkest hours of watch, where Blue needs to do things to calm the itch in his brain. Armour and weapons maintenance is great for that - but it’s not always quiet. And waking everyone up with his activities would very much defeat the point.

Then, once he’s got things set up, Blue sits down at the bench with pliers and wire.

The worst thing about Sky’s mail is that the links are an eighth of an inch larger than standard - than literally everyone else’s. Blue had had to make a winding rod specifically for his damn mail, and has to double check every time before starting repairs to make sure he’s pulling from the right patch of spares.

If he had more time, he’d just make him a mail shirt from normal links. Standardise them across the board, and improve Sky’s resistance to piercing claws. But he doesn’t - they don’t - and besides that when this is all over Sky will be going back to his home in the clouds with its stupid mail measurements and its barely-there monster attacks and he’ll have no use for the close-set rings of modern mail and they’ll never see him again -

The forge fires burn hot enough that Blue can pretend it’s the air making his eyes sting.

Mending mail is busywork, stuff to keep his hands occupied while he waits for things to heat. It needs doing, and if he does it here then he can rivet the rings shut properly instead of the temporary road fixes (shit he needs to check Twilight’s mail he knows he put in a patch at one point but doesn’t remember riveting it in, need to do that before they leave) but some things can only be done at the forge. Like the plates of steel he’s got resting to the side, waiting to be turned into a new piece of Time’s armour.

He should probably get started on that actually so Blue puts aside the mail and reaches for his tongs. A lot of this is just shaping, forming the metal to the exact dimensions and curvature of Time’s body, and then adding buckle straps and point anchors so it can actually be attached. This is the loud part, metal-on-metal ringing and echoing in the enclosed stone room and making his vision swim just a little. He has to pause to blink it away. Does his head actually hurt, or is it just more echoes from the hammer?

Doesn’t matter; he’s got work to do. Blue checks the first piece for fit and moves on to the second; best to get this heavy work done before he gets tired. Working the steel cold takes more effort, but makes it less brittle in the end. Kind of important, that the metal sheets guarding someone’s body don’t shatter under a stiff blow, turning them from a defense into a hazard. You can get away with working horseshoes and stuff like metal fittings hot and then quenching them down, but it’s not worth it with plate armour.

Once he’s got the base curve in place, he checks the lines he drew earlier before his vision started to wobble, then hunts down the blunted chisel he needs. This is the fiddly bit. Blue sets the metal down on the wooden block with the groove specifically for this task, lining it up with the drawn lines, and starts hammering out the ridges.

It’s time-consuming, but the raised metal redirects weapons to less vulnerable points. Blue’s seen a sword swing into an arm then slide off into empty air, instead of an armpit or elbow, because of these ridges. They’re useful.

Time didn’t have any, originally. And while he can’t say for sure - Blue suspects that if he’d had them on his armour that first time a moblin got the jump on him, its spear wouldn’t have slid past the plates into his side quite so easily.

Four’s been quietly upgrading it piece by piece ever since.

The vambrace is harder, more of a curve to force the steel into, but he’s long practised at getting stubborn materials to cooperate. Once it’s done, and added to the pile he’s making of Time’s shit, he pulls the pattern steel Red had spent all day folding and forge welding from the fire. Already the basic shape of it is there: the tapered tip, the length of the blade, the narrow throat and tang. Once it’s finished, it’ll be a dagger for Hyrule. His current one has been sharpened so many times it’s thin enough to use as a lockpick, and they want him to have something good-quality to replace it, something that will last him.

(Will last him beyond this time of portals and black blood, because getting new equipment in his time is so, so difficult and they never want him to go without ever again, and one knife isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but it’s something they can do, and they’ll do their goddess-damn best work on it for him.)

It still needs some more shaping before it’s ready to go under the whetstone, though, so Blue tucks it back in the fire and picks up Wind’s knife, the one with the loose hilt. How the sailor expects to get anything done when he has to hold his entire hand at right angles to keep the thing straight Blue doesn’t know. Apparently he’d been stuffing it with fabric scraps to stabilise it, which, great, now Blue has to dig them all out before he can decide if the hilt is at all salvageable.

It doesn’t help that his fingers are a little shaky. Shit. Maybe he needs a water break.

He sets the dubiously-fixable knife aside while he drinks. He doesn’t feel thirsty. Dry-eyed, maybe, and his throat aches from the forge air, but the water doesn’t really help. Still, hydration’s important.

A sudden clank makes Blue drop his cup, water scattering on the floor as he spins. The fire flares - oh. A coal had - split, or settled, and the still-dull blade of Hyrule’s dagger had shifted and struck the edge. It looks about ready to go again anyway, so Blue grabs it - with tongs! He’s not an idiot! - and starts hammering an edge into it.

As the blade flattens out and becomes more knife than bar of metal Blue takes care to bevel off both edges neatly. He flips it, to make sure he gets both sides, then flips it again to even it out. He wants the balance on this thing perfect, and if it takes a bit of fiddling, all the better. That way he knows it’s good. Blue holds it up, eyeing the straightness of the blade from the side, and then down the length of it, and nods to himself, moving to set it. Good. He’ll let it cool a little before heating it again, and -

Blue stumbles. The blade clangs down on the bench he’d meant to set it on gently, spinning away from the tongs and fortunately not hitting any part of him with the still red-hot metal. Fuck, he’d forgotten to pick up his cup. It’s a good thing it’s so hot in here that all the water evaporated off or he might have slipped. Fuck.

He checks the blade - fuck, he dinged it - puts it back in the fire, then picks up his cup to set it back beside the water barrel. The metal handle is painfully hot under his fingers. Although - he could do with more water. His eyes are stinging again.

Blue drinks, long and slow. The water tastes metallic, or maybe that’s just the forge air coating his tongue. It settles uneasily. Doesn’t matter - his stomach will get over it.

He fixes the dent made when he dropped the half-made dagger, hammering until metal fills the gap and then hammering it out even again to repair the edge. He also spends more time carefully squinting at it to make sure it’s still straight, so long that the metal goes dark and cold.

Then back in the fire it goes.

Blue gets back to mail repairs, working rings into place, then riveting them shut with scraps from broken links. He considers, as he works, if the long-handled riveting pliers could be made to fit into their tool pouch. They can’t bring along the whole forge, that would be silly, but this one thing? They already carry the cutting pliers to make links with so it’s not like they need anything else for the rivets, and it doesn’t need heat treatment -

He pinches a fingertip with the pliers and swears loudly, shaking it and resisting the urge to shove it in his mouth - his hands are covered in oil and coal dust. Squinting at it - no real damage - he shakes it one more time and picks up the mail patch he dropped. It stings a little, to apply enough pressure to hold the metal fabric. Actually -

Checking the dagger, he pulls it from the fire and rests it on the anvil to cool. This is always time consuming, heating and cooling the steel to normalise it before the final edge can be put on. Heat it, then cool it, then heat it again; all part of ensuring the blade isn’t brittle and will hold its shape and its edge for as long as possible. It’s familiar in a way so ingrained he can almost touch it, watching the metal change colour. Fading from yellow, through red, down to the still blisteringly-hot but normal appearance of steel.

Blue blinks, and finds himself sitting on his preferred stool, metal still cooling in his tongs. Shit. When did he sit down? He’s wasting time, here. Back in the fire, back to work, fingertip still throbbing faintly.

Half the plates on Time’s tassets got ripped off during the fight with the iron knuckle, which are fiddly and annoying but not hard to replace. Once he’s got them shaped and punched Blue is tempted to just hand the lot off to Time for the old man to stitch them in place. Teach him to get distracted watching Twilight’s sword form. Shit, there’s so many of them, too. Time’s lucky his leg was in few enough pieces that Hyrule and Warriors could put it back together.

Blue hammers out scale after scale. Get the curve right; adjust the tongs, hammer out the part they’d hidden; set the edge, set the ridge, set it aside, and grab the next one. He piles them up on the metal workbench; they’d be less annoying to work with if he could just pile them in a coal shovel and dunk them in the fire to soften them, but even if they’re small they’re still armour and he needs to keep them as supple as possible.

And speaking of it’s time to pull the dagger again. The tongs grab it, fumble it, dump it back in the coals, then grab it agin. Blue is very careful as he sets it on the bench. He has no desire to set his own boots alight. This is the last cooling phase, though, so he can let the forge fire die down. Finally. His eyes itch and ache in the hot, dry air. He’d rub them if he wasn’t - still - covered in forge leavings.

Punch the holes for Time’s tasset scales; set them in his pile to deal with in the morning. Finally get the hilt off Wind’s knife and decide it is salvageable, actually, if he glues in a wedge of cedar to fill in the split that was letting it get loose in the first place. How did Wind even do that? Rewrap it in leather strips and it’ll be done; another job for the morning. When his hands aren’t so shaky. He’s getting glue everywhere, ugh.

…does he need to pull the dagger again? No, wait, it’s already on the bench. Does it need to go back in the fire? …no, he already decided it was done. He reaches to grab it, half-intending to measure it up for the hilt and crossguard, but hesitates at the heat radiating off it. Right. Fresh from the forge. Doesn’t look hot, but definitely is. He’ll leave it for an hour or so.

Blue shakes himself, hard, feeling the pull of it in his neck and his forehead. His head aches, behind his eyes. There’s a fine grey fuzz at the edges of his vision. Right, with the forge fire dying, he needs a bit more light. Where’s Vio’s lantern…?

By the too-pale magical light, Blue works, and works, until there’s nothing left to do but wind more wire into chainmail rings and weave them into the cuts and gashes left by enemy claws and weapons, tamp down rivets and move to the next section until he needs to wind out more rings -

It’s endless and monotonous and he can feel the screaming under his skin finally starting to cool, as the fire burns itself out.

Something they do need, he thinks as he pulls out the temporary patch he’d put in Twilight’s mail tunic, is a store of fully-finished rings. Hammering out their linking points and punching rivet holes is best done on an anvil. Then, as long as they have a stock of scrap wire for rivets (inevitable, they’re constantly damaging mail), the cutters and the riveting pliers, they can do repairs that are just as strong as the original work itself. Once they run out of wire, well, that’s more of an issue. The drawing plate is much too heavy to bring along with them.

Blue seals up the last ring in Twilight’s mail and sets it aside, then hops off the stool to go in search of the metal rods he needs to make wire. He knows they left a whole stack of them somewhere.

In truth, most forging doesn’t require a lot of raw strength. The weight of the hammer and the drag of gravity does a lot of the work, and all you need to do is direct it. Blue’s got more muscle from wielding a warhammer, honestly. The exception, he thinks distastefully, is wire drawing. That does need some force, since you’re dragging a piece of metal through smaller and smaller holes, not stretching it so much as drawing it out longer and longer and thinner and thinner, and of course it’s metal, it doesn’t want to do that.

Blue finally finds the basket of rods on a low shelf behind a huge box of half-finished nails - Red’s doing, surely - and carries it to the draw plate. There’s certainly no moving the thing to anywhere else. It weighs more than he does at least twice over, solid iron plate set into a heavy stone base.

Choosing a rod, Blue hammers out a quick point, feeds it through a hole that’s just a little smaller than its current size, clamps it, and starts to pull.

His eyes burn. His head aches. His fingers sting, all the little places where slips and cuts and burns have piled up over long hours. Without his mind keeping track of eight timers at once, it’s free to focus on the physical, and oh, he feels so heavy -

Blue breathes deep, metal and coal dust and ash, and feeds the wire into the next hole.

---

Sky is unhappy but unsurprised to find the patch of floor allocated to Four empty.

Weak morning light streams through the curtains. It’s just enough to see by as Sky checks that Legend’s unmoving form on the bed is just due to stiffness and exhaustion, not something more worrying, and tiptoes around scattered bedrolls. Twilight cracks an eye as he’s stepped over.

“A’right there?” he checks, voice low.

Sky smiles. “Just seein’ who’s up.”

Twilight grunts and to all appearances goes straight back to sleep. For all he wakes with the dawn on the ranch, he does enjoy his sleep, when he can get it.

Sky empathises but he’s got a mission.

Through the shop windows he spots Wild outside, running through the carefully prescribed stretches that kept his scars limber. Once he was done with those, he’d be all up in Four’s kitchen, eager to make food more complex than could be managed over a simple campfire. Four even had an oven, which Wild had been very excited about.

Still, breakfast will come later. The forge door still stands closed, just as it had last night after Four kicked him out. Moving slow, Sky eases the heavy door open, hoping to find him passed out in a corner somewhere.

Instead Four is sitting upright at the workbench. The winding rod in his hands is familiar, though he’s moving far slower than usual, and his hands shake when he reaches for the pliers.

“Four, have you slept at all?” Sky asks, disappointed.

“Huh?” Four turns to look at him, and there’s a distinct pause before recognition flickers. “Oh, Sky. I’m nearly done with your mail. Or…” He squints at the links on the table. “No, mail’s finished. Spare rings. We’re always running out.”

“Sleep, Four,” Sky stresses. “Goddess - have you been working all night?” He eyes up the frankly ludicrous pile of mending that now sits on the other side of the bench from where it started, separated into neat piles by owner. And Four is still going - slowly cutting rings off the spiral, one by one.

“‘M fine.”

He changes tacks. “Four, c’mon. It’s time for breakfast. Wild will sulk if it gets cold, you know he will.”

Four blinks at him, visibly hazy with exhaustion, and finally, slowly, drags himself to his feet. He looks worse, upright. He’s pale and a little haggard, swaying slightly just standing in place. Goddess. He’s going to be an utter wreck today, and they’re supposed to head out for the Castor Wilds later. Maybe Sky can convince Time to wait until after lunch and Four will revive some after a nap -

The smith’s feet tangle. Sky lunges to catch him -

Four catches himself with a quick shake of the head. “Phew, close one,” he mutters. He brushes past Sky into the rest of the house, steps suddenly quick and sure. “C’mon, Sky,” he calls over his shoulder, “help me keep Wild from dirtying every pan I own, I do not want to do dishes today.”

He still looks distinctly unwell over breakfast, but the shake in his hands, the sway in his step, the dull slowness of his eyes and responses - all that is gone like it was never there. He even smiles and keeps up with the conversation. Sky doesn’t know what to make of it.

(In the back of his mind, though, he wonders.)

[psxchxxx]

✮⋆ ˚。𖦹 deep breaths and breaking tides 𖦹⋆。°✩

summary: in which the anemo archon’s feelings are worn on his sleeve, billowing in the wind for everyone to see, yet the subject of his desire is a dumb fuck.  notes: 800 words, hurt/comfort (??), venti overthinks things

The sky is overcast as Venti rushes down the street to your apartment, dodging people who are similarly in a hurry to escape the rain. Tucked under an arm is a bouquet, a white-and-green arrangement of freshly cut flowers and foliage. He shifts the flowers to his other arm, worried that he’s going to crush the lilies-of-the-valley spilling over the edges of the brown paper.

He’s finally reached your run down apartment building, but instead of heading toward the old elevators at the front, he nods at the bored landlord at the desk and shoulders his way into the dusty mail room.

There’s a small desk in the corner with some cheap stationary. He writes a short note to you:

Hey. How are you doing? I know you might not be feeling up to it, but I brought you a little something! Please call me once you see this. I miss you.

He hesitates. How should he sign off? Love, Venti was what he usually ended with, but for some reason it didn’t seem right in this case.

He sighs to himself and quickly scrawls a simple hyphen before his name, and then tucks the note into the bouquet before dropping it into the cubby labeled with your last name.

He lingers, his fingers tracing the cold metal lettering. Venti tries to think back to when he first met you.

Ever since you first entered his life, he’d forgotten what it had been like before. The countless high school projects, late-night calls to work on assignments (but more often, for prolonged gossip sessions), sleepovers, prom, and graduation. You’d been by his side the entire time, at arms length.

And now you weren’t.

He’d probably never tell you how he felt about you, but mainly because he didn’t want to change any part of the relationship he had with you. He’s completely content with just being your friend.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, when he sits through your spiels about college crushes. But recently, doubts have been brewing in his mind.

The feeling of yearning wasn’t all together familiar, but not quite foreign either. He supposes he’s always felt something for you. He couldn’t define it- something more than a friendship, but also something more than a romantic relationship?

Venti shakes his head quickly, as if that will clear his head of the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for oh so long.

It’s been a week since you’d broken up with your most recent boyfriend. And considering it had been a relationship of nearly 7 months, which that prick had very graciously ended by cheating on you, it made sense that you were devastated.

Venti was sure you’d get out of it eventually. But he also understood just how hard it was to love someone who didn’t reciprocate it. You needed time to process everything, and he’d wait for you.

He’s about to walk to the door, when it creaks open and you walk into the mail room.

Venti’s eyes widen, the shock mirrored on your face.

He’s suddenly very embarrassed of the bouquet and note. Maybe it’s too much? Too sudden? He notices how tired you look, eyes smudged with redness and concerningly-prominent dark circles.

He opens his mouth to start explaining himself.

But then you crack a weary smile, and nudge him with your toe.

“Couldn’t keep yourself away from me for a week, huh?”

Venti forgets about the anxiety he had about seeing you just a minute ago, and flicks your forehead. And then the lecture starts.

“You weren’t answering any of my calls or texts! You had me so worried. You look like you haven’t eaten in days and don’t even get me started on the bags under your eyes. You-“

You chuckle apologetically and hold up your hands in surrender.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I swear! There’s no one I wanted to talk to more this last week than you. You’re my best friend, Venti, but I was too embarrassed to have you see me-“

You gesture down at your faded tank top and sweatpants.

“-like this.”

You’re about to say more but you’re interrupted by Venti pulling you into a hug.

“You don’t need to apologize, I just wanted to know if you were okay,” he whispers.

He can feel your gentle smile against his shoulder.

“Will you stop being clingy for a second so I can check my mail?”

Venti shakes his head, refusing to let go, like a child.

And then he remembers the flowers he left in your cubby and abruptly releasees you out of embarrassment.

He raises a hand to the back of his neck, red and fidgety as you open your mail box.

He watches your expression melt into a soft smile, and can’t help but smile himself.

You’ll be okay, and that’s all that matters to him.

[turlord]

> Finished watching Dungeon Menshi, so I needed to post…

Chilchuck x Gender!Neutral OC/Reader?

> Idk what I am doing so eh lest go

Be aware English it’s my second language, spelling mistakes are to be expected.

The life of a librarian isn’t as quiet as everyone will though, not at all even! Especially if you live on an island and your bookshop turned into an “all your need and desire” type of shop. Nothing sketchy though! Like, if an adventurer wanted a map, there it is, a notebook. In stocks, this specific spell book? Sure, why not? Maybe it will need a few weeks to be shipped here! That weirdly specific ingredient? All eyes are closed for the right price. By that time, this place had become more than it was supposed to be. That’s how the bookshop grew enough to merge with the post office.

Mail was a huge part of the island, especially for travelers and other adventurers who needed to send or get money for research, to send their studies off or just keep in contact with their families.

Most people would minimize the importance of a well-maintained post office but a special group of adventurers knew what it meant.

Strangely enough, as if thinking about them is a way to summon them, the group so freshly mentioned enters the shop. As always, they couldn't do it quietly, as if it was part of their DNA to be as noticeable as possible.

“- What a fuss…” The thought of dealing with them was already draining all energy from the poor shopkeeper's soul. “Kids, can you behave? Isn't a toy shop here...”

Was the owner old? It was hard to tell, the dark circle around their eyes and their carved cheeks could be proof, or just an unpleasing sign of them not taking care of themself. Taller than most people of their species for sure, wish doesn't help to get an age straight away, and being tired seeing the Touden’s party wasn't a sign of old age either, just being a normal being with common sense.

At least, that was what Chilchuck thought. He never paid too much attention, the shop owner was doing their job quite well, and the half-foot never had to complain so why should he bother? They never ask him questions too. There was this silent agreement between them to never be too intimate. Just enough to be good pale, who can go take a drink together.

The shop owner knew about Chilchuck’s family and his divorce since they played the role of the mailman, and Chilchuck knew the owner had been married before but didn't ask for more details about that.

Seeing the face of his friend's thought, made Chilchuck chuckle a bit, the poor librarian seemed to have lost any will to live when Laois commented on a “Monster cooking book”. The gaze he got from the taller being made him smirk, walking toward the counter.

“- Aren't they cute at this age? Uh?” the ginger snorts at the owner taking place on the high chair in front of the counter.

“- Ah yes, very cute…” The tired faces had a smile slowly blooming at the corner of their lips at the view of Chilchuck. “What can I do for y’a Chilchuck? ‘Asnt more place on my wall for a poster of your little worker thing.” The seller held their head with a hand showing the said poster on a wall with the other hand.

“- First, it's a union worker…-” he cut himself seeing his interlocutor rolling their eyes amused, they were just teasing him like always. “Second, the usual. ‘Got sixty gold to send pleas.” he dropped a pouch of gold on the counter.

Back in the day, sending gold would most likely result in losing it, thievery was common. The only solution was to travel to your home town and give it in person or recruit transporters, resulting in spending half of the money you gain.

Because of this, a lot of people would contract assurance to protect themselves from thievery, assurance that they will soon be throwing lawyers at the post office to pay for the damage made.

The post office needed to solve these issues or they would be a memory of the past, the stolen package wasn't something great for the reputation, but stolen money was even worse and with these assurances contracted by most of the clients, the situations became critical.

With a lot of trial and error, they thought of a solution by recruiting mages, who are specialized in Transfiguration. With this, they found a way to turn the gold into a simple piece of paper, easy to send and complicated enough to prevent any idiot with little magic knowledge from turning it back into gold and stealing it.

This is how being a mailman, turned into being a “mailmage” and becoming one of the most important jobs in a city.

The shopkeeper took out all the gold coins Chilchuck gave them and started to count. Of course, they trusted the half-foot about the actual amount of gold but it was a simple procedure, for the spell and paperwork.

For the halfling, something was fascinating, seeing the librarian counting each coin by hand. Witnessing these spiderly fingers making their way through the pile of gold, one by one. Chilchuck would constantly stay still, even holding his breaths during those moments, something was hypnotizing and somewhat calming. The light metallic sound of the coin, like little bells, the song the mailmage would hum, their little quirk of making piles of ten coins, aligning them perfectly. The way they count in a language Chilchuck had only heard here. One, two… at this point, he knew how each number was pronounced.

It wasn't his favorite part yet and still, the father of three was mesmerized.

“- There is four gold too many…” They put the coins aside waiting for any comments.

" Isn't four gold the price of the shipment ?" Chilchuck tried to hide his embarrassment, he wasn't the kind to like making mistakes, especially when it came to money.

"- Actually, it's three… Forgot how to count ?" The tail of the individual waved behind them, in amusement.

"-Is it? Are you sure you aren't killing your business with these prices?" He snarked back.

"- Uh, it's the standard price, but I will take your advice and raise my price then.." They click their tongue delighted by the exchange.

"- Yeah, in the meantime take it as a tip, for your service." The ginger tries to hide his smile with a faint superiority flare, waving his hand toward the bookseller.

The owner paused at Chilchuck's manners and the half-foot glanced back at them with one eye open... Suddenly, both of them started to laugh, at the behavior behavior. This student outburst attracted the attention of Mister Tim's party. Glancing at the duo, curious of the sudden laughter. Marcille started to whisper at Fallen who put her hand on her mouth, Laois glanced at Senshi who was petting his beard.

"- For real now! do I keep it or not ?" The tail of the shop owner was wagling with excitement.

"- Sure fine, it's a tip. Who would I be if I came back on my word anyway?" he shrugs even though a part of him was kind of upset about a lost gold coin for a stupid error.

"- Don't even know if I have to add it to my taxes or not..." Thinking of the incoming tax day made the shop owner sigh, in the meantime, they were tracing some magic symbols on a piece of paper.

"- Technically speaking, yes, you should… but you know…" The ginger waves his hand as if a fly was nearby, holding his head with the other taking support in the counter.

Chilchuck finds himself looking back at the owner’s hands, captivated by it. This was his favorite part, watching how all the signs intertwined all finely calligraphed on the paper. Each movement was slow, precise, demonstrating hours of practice. In a way, it makes the halfling though of Marcille, of course Chilchuck was looking at her when she had to trace a magic circle, but never would he admit doing so, that would be a free ego boost for the blond that the old man preferred to avoid. Normally he would share a similar thought with Senshi about magic use, but when it’s something as harmless as changing gold in a contract, nothing was holding him back from appreciating this practice.

Fast enough, the second he took in his mind was rapidly shattered by the voice of the shopkeeper.

"- Are you telling me to...?" They feign an offended look from Chilchuck insinuation but playfulness was readable in their eyes.

As a response, Chilchuck shushed his interlocutor, finger on his lips. He looked left then right before leaning toward the other whispering to their ears.

“- Don’t say that out loud or the IRS may hear you…” The Halfling was holding back a laugh.

“- Oh no… not them” The librarian shivered in fear putting their free hand on their forehead, dramatically posing for the shorter man in front of them. “What would I do if they come? Would you protect me Chilchuck ?” they looked back at the half-foot crocodile tears in their eyes.

A snort escapes from Chilchuck and his interlocutor laughs at the sound, embarrassing the locksmiths. Damn, could he not snort like an old man? He’s only twenty-nine… well okay he is an old man, but not like his brother who is an old man… Still, that noise was ugly, gosh. To get his composure back, the ginger rube his face with a hand, hoping it would erase his redness.

On the other side of the shop, the party gathered to watch together this strange display. Marcille was already imagining that Chilchuck had a crush on the librarian, Senshi simply responded it was some kind of “puppy love” since he still viewed Chilchuck as a young child. Both were debating on the subject, letting Laois be perfectly clueless about the situation, Falin wasn’t seeing what the two non-tall-men were talking about and Izustumi wasn’t having any of that, who cared about Chilchuck's love life anyway?

_____________

Hope y’all liked it and that it was readable. I admit I didn't know where to stop but I think its a good place to? Eh, if people want to following then you know what to do.

I'm open to all the critics, but pleas be nice…

[trivialovehandles]

i haven't even finished the 21 days fics but i keep thinking about a future scenario of the minimoni one where jimin DOES find his limit like he mentions near the end (maybe he's getting winded too easily or he's tired of buying new clothes all the time or he's just really into his current size) and starts maintaining rather than actively gaining. and now that he's not so focused on the feeding aspect all the time, he gets to focus more on what it's really like to live in this new, fat body.

he goes to the gym and instead of taking it easy on a too-full stomach, he remembers the musclepig videos he used to watch and admires how now his own bulging stomach squashes against his thick thighs on the leg press.

he goes out dancing with his friends and rather than making sure he keeps himself supplied with the most caloric drinks all night, he takes to the dance floor almost immediately to bounce and shake and feel his ass jiggle to the beat, along with his belly that's hanging perfectly out of his crop top (because why should he have to change how he dresses for the club just because he's fat now? he likes crop tops, he's gonna wear a crop top!).

he shops for new outfits in specialty stores more often than not, because standard sizes in korea only size up to slightly chubby at best. most of the time, he has to buy clothes online, and when they arrive in the mail, he strips down right in the living room to give namjoon a fashion show. if the clothes fit, then great! if they don't, then it's still exciting to marvel at the way jimin's fatter body bulges out of places it never used to: sleeves that are too tight and squeeze the little wings of flab on his biceps, inner thigh seams that stretch and crackle when he tries to pull them up. that old, overgrown company t-shirt is practically a crop top by now, difficult to pull down to cover his pudgy overhang even with the cotton stretched to its limits.

at work, there are people now who never knew him skinny. to them, he's always been pear-shaped, chubby jimin. new hires and transfers are always surprised when they see the wedding photo washi-taped to the cabinet above his desk, taken just a few years ago, rail-thin jimin absolutely tiny in comparison to namjoon, who he's outweighed for a while now. they don't say anything, but he notices how their gazes fall to his thighs that take up the entirety of his desk chair and his belly that bulges over his waistbands to rest on top of them.

namjoon is just as affectionate as ever. jimin hadn't been sure how to approach him with the initial decision to start to maintain rather than continue to gain, but it was met with immediate enthusiasm and love. their nights are still spent cooking together, but jimin doesn't end the day out of breath from stuffing. in bed, he takes time to notice and admire how far namjoon's arms reach out now to pull him closer, and that when he lays on his side, his belly lays on the stretch of sheets in front of him.

jimin just takes up so much more space now than he used to, and it's exciting. the tight fit in his desk chair at work. the wide fit pants he has to special order because he's still short but he's got fat hips and a round ass. the way that he doesn't quite take up two seats on the bus but definitely can't fit anyone next to him (and okay, he feels a little bad for that one sometimes; he'll offer up his seat to expectant parents or elders or kids and stand instead if he has to). the fact that he and namjoon haven't been able lay side-by-side on the couch for a while and if they want to cuddle on it, one has to be on top of the other (and how that's usually namjoon anymore unless he particularly feels like being crushed because jimin has 80 pounds on him now).

jimin looks back at the version of himself who had just realized he'd accidentally put on weight, who thought he'd have to lose it to feel good until he realized he didn't have to lose it, and then he looks at himself now, the happiest he's been and also the fattest he's been. when he'd first talked about hitting limits, he thought that day would be met with dread and discomfort, but he likes this limit. his body feels good like this, thick and heavy and fat and his.

[wowbright]

Fic: Authority

Fandom: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: december klaine fanworks challenge 2023

Words: ~ 900 words                                           

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: In 2015, the Lima bishop tries to ruin the Hummels’ Christmas. Kurt won’t let him.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. Should you read this if you’re waiting to see what happens in Out of Eden? IDK. But what I can say is this might be part of Kurt and Blaine’s in-verse “canon” future, or it might just be one of many possible futures. Fanfic of fanfic, if you will.

*

Kurt didn't want to be fatalistic. He didn't want to assume the worst of people. He was trying to learn at least that much from Blaine.

But he wasn't naive. And the signs pointed toward a confrontation: The new, uninspired policy, of course. Elder Nelson declaring that it was a revelation from God—the same Elder Nelson who believed that God was incapable of loving unconditionally, and therefore could not be trusted to tell God or God’s revelations from the inane clamorings of his own ego. The bishop’s questions to Kurt’s dad after the wedding invitations went out. Kurt’s membership records still being held up in Lima, even though his new bishop in L.A. had put a request in several times to get them transferred to the new ward and was just as frustrated as Kurt over the delay.

Still, he had hoped the Lima bishop believed enough in the sacredness of family that he wouldn't inject himself into Kurt’s visit home for Christmas.

He had hoped, but he hadn't assumed. So when he went out for the mail on Christmas Eve and saw the ward secretary’s car parked across the street, he knew what was happening. He headed straight for the driver side window and knocked. “You do realize you two look like stalkers, don't you?”

The ward secretary smiled as he got out of the car. He held a business-size envelope in his hand. “Sorry to startle you. We just got here and were taking a moment to pray first.” On the other side, the bishop’s second counselor emerged.

“So, did it work?” Kurt said.

“I’m sorry?” the ward secretary said.

“Did the prayer work? Did you convince God that you’re doing the right thing? Or at least convince your own conscience?”

“Kurt,” the ward secretary frowned. “This brings me no joy. You've been called to a disciplinary council.” He held the letter out for Kurt.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Kurt said. “But you can keep that.”

“I’m required to give it to you.”

“I’m not required to take it.”

The ward secretary stepped forward. He put a hand on Kurt’s front coat pocket and made to shove the envelope in it.

Kurt stepped back. “Watch it. That's assault.”

“Kurt—” The second counselor chimed in. “We want to help you. The church has clarified that those who enter into same-sex marriage are in apostasy. But you haven’t done it yet. The disciplinary council is an opportunity for you to change course. You've been such an important member of our ward. I've always been inspired by your faith and your commitment to the truth. But this is a blind spot for you. And maybe it is for me, too—the natural man in me keeps questioning it and wondering why it has to be this way. But that’s why we have prophets and apostles—because we can’t trust our own feelings. And they have spoken. Elder Nelson said it was a revelation—”

“Elder Nelson is in apostasy,” Kurt said.

The two brothers looked as if they'd just been bitten by a snake.

But they hadn’t. Kurt was the one who had been bitten, over and over again, and now these two representatives of the priesthood were here to bite him once more in the name of God. And he was tired of it. “Elder Nelson usurped the prophet. Did President Monson tell us this policy change was a revelation? Have any of the other apostles confirmed it? No. It’s unclear if they were all even there to vote on it. And if it is revelation? True revelation? Then he would bring it to the next general conference for a vote of common consent, because our scriptures themselves tell us that a revelation is only true for the whole church and can only bind the whole membership of the church if we have a chance to vote on it. But we haven't had that chance, and there's no sign that he's planning to give us that chance. He thinks he can just say a thing is a revelation and we're all supposed to fall in line? What is that, if it's not apostasy?”

They continued to stare at Kurt. Then, the ward secretary spoke up. “Kurt, don’t make this worse.”

Kurt laughed. “How could something I do possibly make this worse? The bishop sends you out as his goons on Christmas Eve, away from your families, to come to my father’s home and threaten me with excommunication—which, if you actually believe everything Elder Nelson says, will separate me from dad and my mother and Carole and Finn and the rest of my family for all of eternity. Is that the Christmas present you wanted to deliver to my father? Is that your idea of Christlike love? Because it's not what I was taught in Sunday school, and it's not what the scriptures say. And you can keep that letter. I'm not going to come to a disciplinary council held by a bishop in a ward where I don't even live anymore and plead for forgiveness because I refuse to forsake the best gifts that this church has given me: love and grace, charity and forgiveness. Even of this bishop who is trying so hard to make himself my enemy. I feel sorry for him, that this is what he thinks God wants him to do. That he thinks God's love is conditional. That he thinks the love I have for Blaine, one of the greatest gifts God has ever given me, is depraved. That he thinks he has the power to separate me from my family and the people I love in the eternities. It’s so sad, and I pray for him every day that he will stop living in fear. I pray for him, and I love him. But I don’t recognize his authority over me.”

[hairstevington]

songs that voices never share (2)

Deaf!Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve receives a letter from El and goes on a quest to fulfill her wishes. Along the way, he runs into Nancy as well as the intriguing metalhead that Steve can't stop thinking about, for better or for worse. (part 1 found here)

Warnings: Lots of angst, good babysitter Steve Harrington, use of ASL, appearances from a bunch of the kids, Steve and El are penpals and it's very cute

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: I am going to move this story over exclusively on Ao3, so please follow along there if you're interested!

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

Chapter 2 - I'm getting further away

Steve wanted to go directly to Robin’s after dropping the boys off at home, but he forced himself to wait until they worked together the next day. It was after dark, and Mrs. Buckley wasn’t the biggest fan of teenage boys showing up at the house unannounced and distracting her daughter from studying.

Pssh. As if Robin didn’t distract herself most of the time. 

Steve had pulled his typical Harrington move a few times and snuck up to her window, which Mrs. Buckley didn’t love, but she accepted, as long as he didn’t step on any of the flowers in the garden when he did so - he learned that lesson the hard way. Anyway, Robin’s mom tolerated Steve’s excessive presence in Robin’s life because she was happy that Robin had a “handsome boyfriend.” While Steve was a year older and not in college, he still had a decent reputation in the town (somehow), and Mrs. Buckley approved of him, more or less.

He would have called her, but his hearing over the phone was hit or miss, and besides - he wanted to see her face when she found out. 

So, Steve went home. He went up to his bedroom (which Robin often called the torture chamber due to how poorly it was decorated and also the general vibes of Steve’s house being off), and he thought about Eddie.

Seriously. Eddie. Steve Harrington was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Eddie Munson. A total freak. The bane of Steve’s existence due to the fact that Eddie was actively replacing Steve in Dustin’s life. That Eddie. And all because of Tommy and Jonathan and Billy and the Russians all treating Steve like a punching bag until he started losing his hearing, and now that guy, Eddie Munson, was one of the only people Steve would be able to communicate with. 

Okay. So apparently Steve had gone from being excited to being angry about it. Funny how that works. At least Steve understood anger better than he understood…whatever the hell he’d been feeling before.

Eddie seemed to be, like, fluent. Steve wasn’t. He’d been practicing pretty much nonstop for three months, but that didn’t mean much. He could carry a conversation as long as people talked about very specific topics. And even then, Steve wasn’t sure he was signing half the words correctly. Books about ASL were great but not exactly the best way to learn a 3-D, visual language. 

The impending migraine he’d felt approaching over the course of the day was getting worse. It was probably going to rain tomorrow or something. That was a thing, right? Feeling achy and sore before a storm hits? Or was that only an excuse for when his mom didn’t want to do chores? He could have looked it up at any point, but he didn’t feel like it. Robin or Dustin would probably already know the answer, anyway. Who knows? Maybe Eddie would, too.

Ugh. Steve was sick and tired of feeling like the stupidest person in his life.

-

The next day, Steve woke up and noticed an envelope had been slipped under his door. He rolled his eyes, consistently amazed at how his parents avoided trying to talk to their own son. Whatever. He walked over to grab the letter and noticed it was from El. 

It was kind of exciting, receiving a letter like that. The last time he’d gotten letters in the mail, they were rejections from colleges, so this was a lot more fun, even though he barely knew the girl. He opened the envelope and read it.

Dear Steve,

I do not know you very good well, but I want to practise writing. Will is helping me with grammer and spelling because I am not good at it. I am working on it and I think I will be good at writing soon. 

School is okay. It is nice to have friends, but the homework is hard. Joyce and Jonathan do not help me much. There is a woman at school who helps me. She is nice but she smells bad. Will told me it is something called perfume. I asked Joyce and she told me women wear perfume for dates. Why is Mrs. Vickers wearing it at school? Will says she likes Mr. Samson and that is why. But then I asked her and she said no and that he is married. 

I wrote Mike and Max letters too and they probably will get them at the same time you do. If you see them, can you make sure they have them?

I hope you are good. How are your ears? 

~ El Jane

PS: My name is Jane. Please call me that.

Steve smiled. There was something so endearing about it. El - er, Jane - was just a girl, and yet she’d saved a lot of people’s lives a bunch of times. She’d saved Steve’s life at that mall - that is, unless he dreamt that. It was right after he’d puked his guts from the truth serum shit so his memory was a bit faded. But he was pretty sure El threw a car across the room and then Jonathan sliced her leg open to get some wiggly thing out of her.

Jesus. That whole night was fucking wild. Why did nobody ever talk about it?

Anyway, it was Saturday, and the boys (Dustin, Lucas, and Mike) were hanging out in Nancy’s basement to do god knows what. Probably something nerdy. Although, Steve didn’t mind the nerdy shit as much now that he was friends with Dustin and Robin. Since Jane specifically asked Steve to check if Mike got his letter, and it’s not like Steve had anything else to do, he got in his car and headed to the Wheeler’s.

It struck him as he approached the driveway that Nancy could very well be in her own house on a Saturday afternoon, so he might see her. 

Idiot. 

Well, he couldn’t leave now, because Nancy’s Dad was totally paranoid and probably would have called the cops about a mysterious car pulling up and then driving away. Unless he was asleep on the couch or something, which he did pretty often. It was 50/50 with Ted Wheeler. Eh, more like 75/25.

Being at Nancy’s house was weird. He didn’t go there very often other than the occasional drop-off after Hellfire. He and Nancy were fine, in the technical sense, but still. She broke his heart and left him for Jonathan. They were exes.

Of course, she was the one who opened the door.

“Oh!” she said once she saw him. “Um, Steve! Hi! What are you doing here?”

Fair question.

“I’m looking for your brother.” Steve nonchalantly signed YOUR BROTHER as he spoke without even thinking about it. Nancy looked at his hands and pressed her lips into a thin line. She’d been acting extra weird around him ever since he’d told her about the hearing thing. She didn’t learn any ASL, she just stopped talking to him - which was fine, because it’s not like they had much to talk about unless the world was ending or something.

Which meant they probably still had at least a few months of silence between them before they were due for another apocalypse.

“I think so,” Nancy replied, looking behind her. “One second.”

Nancy walked ten feet closer to the basement door and yelled for Mike, who tumbled up the stairs and ran to the door so fast Steve wondered if Mike had considered joining the track team. Steve already supported Lucas joining the basketball team, and even helped him out before tryouts. Lucas didn’t need much training, though. He was a natural at basketball. 

Mike was huffing and puffing when he noticed it was Steve asking for him, and then his face fell. 

“DUSTIN!!!” Mike yelled behind him. “YOUR STEVE IS HERE!” Steve rolled his eyes. One good thing about talking to Mike was that he frequently yelled, which translated to a more normal volume for those who’d had ruptured eardrums. 

“I’m not here for Henderson,” Steve clarified. “I’m here because your girlfriend wants to know if you got your letter.”

“You - what?!” Mike exclaimed. “How did you know that - since when do you talk to El?”

The other good thing about talking to Mike was that he was relatively good at enunciating. This was especially helpful considering Mike signed BITCH instead of TALK. But hey, at least the kid was trying.

“Her name’s Jane, now, dude,” Steve corrected him. “And uhh - I dunno. She wrote me a letter too.”

Mike clearly did not like any of this. He crossed his arms and scoffed so dramatically Steve had to hold himself back from laughing.

“MOM!” Mike yelled. “DID I GET A LETTER?” There must have been a response in the background, because Mike looked like he heard one. He turned back to Steve and nodded. “Yup got it.”

“Great,” Steve replied. Unfortunately, only half his job was done. “Did Max get hers?” Mike shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he answered. Steve sighed.

“Okay,” he said. “Do you know where she lives?” Mike responded, but Steve couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he said. It looked like - “Frosties?” Mike shook his head and said it again.

“Forest Hills,” he clarified. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. 

“The trailer park?” he asked. Mike nodded. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Steve always had a headache after talking to people, because he had to concentrate super hard to get what they were saying. It was getting old. He turned to go back to his car, but was stopped when Mike grabbed him by the wrist. Steve spun around and tried not to laugh at how hard Mike attempted to look menacing.

“Don’t hurt her, understand?” Mike demanded. At least he had one sign down - UNDERSTAND. Steve nodded, regretting that he taught Mike anything. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve responded. Jane could still kick his ass probably, even without her powers. 

He left for Forest Hills after that, feeling somewhat sad for Max. He hadn’t really talked to her much, so he didn’t fully know her deal, but he knew she grew up with a psycho brother and was angsty enough to take down said brother. Steve was knocked out cold for it, but Dustin had told him her attack involved using Steve’s nail bat to threaten Billy’s junk. 

Needless to say, Steve was kind of terrified of Max. 

All that said, Forest Hills was known for being - uhh - not the best place to live. It was relatively close to Steve’s house, and his dad warned him all the time growing up not to go there. He told him it was filled with the worst kind of people.

Then Steve grew up, and he realized his dad was among the worst kind of people, not the folks at the trailer park. 

It was just sad there. Even though people lived in the trailers, something about it felt empty at all times. Hollow. Miserable.

Steve realized he hadn’t asked which trailer belonged to Max’s family (idiot), but thankfully she was outside feeding the dog when his car pulled into Forest Hills.

She didn’t seem at all surprised by his arrival, or maybe she just didn’t care. It was probably the second one. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked after Steve got out of the car. She looked around her, and Steve could have sworn she saw a crack in her tough exterior. He wondered how many people knew this was where she lived now. 

The sky was cloudy. It would probably rain any minute. Steve’s head was pounding. 

It was at that moment Steve realized how ridiculous this whole mission had been. This girl who he interacted with like three times in his life wrote him a letter and asked him to check in on two other kids, both who Steve also didn’t have much of a relationship with, and he just…did it? Because he had literally nothing better to do on a Saturday?

Oof. He had no idea when he got so pathetic. 

“Steve?” Max called. Steve was too lost in thought to even respond, but within moments she was standing a foot in front of him. Despite being a lot shorter than he was, she still seemed tall. She signed, WHAT’S UP? He took a deep breath. 

“God, this is -” he said. “This is so stupid. Did you get El’s letter? I mean - uh - Jane’s letter?” 

Max’s gaze softened. 

“Is she okay?” she asked, slight fear in her expression. Steve nodded. 

“Yeah,” he answered. “She just uh - she sent me one, too. Asked me to check that you and Mike got yours.” 

At the mention of Mike, Max rolled her eyes. At least she and Steve had that reaction in common. She walked to the mailbox, opened it, and shuffled through the (many) envelopes inside.

“Jesus,” Steve exclaimed. “Someone’s popular.” Max didn’t react.

“I always forget to check,” she said casually in response. Steve wondered why she would be the one who had to check the mail, but didn’t press it. Max took one of the envelopes and held it in the air. “Here. Got it,” she said. 

Max was acting differently. She was never the most bubbly person, but she seemed even more tense than usual.

“You okay?” Steve asked, signing OK. Max nodded and signed FINE. As much as Steve knew she was definitely for sure lying (seriously, Steve was the King of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t, he saw right through this shit), he also knew he wasn’t great at the whole emotions thing. 

“Be nice to El or I’ll kill you,” Max threatened. Steve shook his head. 

“Why is everyone saying that shit?” he complained. “Seriously, I just -”

Suddenly, there was a sound that Steve assumed was thunder. Max’s eyes focused on something in the distance behind Steve, then pointed at her ear and nodded towards the noise. When Steve turned around, he saw Eddie attempting to put a garbage bag in the metal dumpster and failing miserably. 

He turned back to Max, who looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Steve asked. She looked back at Eddie, then to Steve again. “You’re the one who lives here, you help him.” Max’s face crumpled with judgment. 

“I’m a child,” she explained, as if helping Eddie with his task was a preposterous thing for her to do. Steve rolled his eyes and turned back to the dumpster, which was now closed. Eddie was wiping his hands on his pants, triumphant. Then, he locked eyes with Steve.

Shit.

Usually, Steve could pretend he wasn’t able to hear someone if they were far away, and then he didn’t look like a dick when he didn’t talk to them. Unfortunately, Steve couldn’t use that excuse with Eddie. 

HERE WHY? Eddie signed from across the park. 

Steve wasn’t sure why he was so nervous all of a sudden. It sucked that every single time he ran into Eddie, he forgot all ASL he’d practiced and instead just looked like a total fool. Steve pressed his lips together and gestured to Max beside him. Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

Steve looked at Max panicked, and she looked back at him. 

“He knows ASL?” she asked, impressed. Steve nodded. “How?”

“Uhhh, his mom is deaf,” Steve explained. “Was deaf. She’s dead now.” Steve knew like three things about Eddie, and those were two of the things. Of course, those facts sounded incredibly tactless when repeated without context. 

“Steve, what the hell?” Max replied. “You’re being weird.”

“I know,” Steve replied in a hushed voice. He went to go back to his car, then noticed that Eddie was walking right toward them. Steve’s eyes widened. 

Okay, here goes nothing. 

“This guy bothering you, Red?” Eddie asked. He was using a sign Steve didn’t recognize, but he assumed it meant BOTHER. Steve crossed his hands in a similar way at his waist, as if doing it would sear the sign into his brain. 

“No,” Max said. “He’s fine.” She signed FINE once again. She was really getting her mileage with that one. 

Steve signed a question that was meant to ask if Eddie and Max had met already. Thank God he was actually able to express a coherent thought. He was pretty sure it was grammatically correct, too!

MEET, Eddie signed back. Steve cocked his head, so Eddie continued. “You signed DATE,” he explained. He closed his fists more and then repeated the motion. “This is how you sign MEET.” 

Okay, so Steve officially had to disappear forever. 

THANK YOU, he signed instead, resisting the urge to hop in the car. TWO-OF-YOU MEET HOW? This time, Eddie nodded in approval at Steve’s signing, which felt good. He was still humiliated, but at least he’d slightly redeemed himself.

Eddie signed a whole bunch of words Steve couldn’t really follow, but thankfully Eddie spoke anyway. 

“We’re neighbors,” he explained. “Also, her boyfriend is in my club.” Eddie was signing while he was speaking like it was nothing. Steve watched in awe. 

“Okay,” Max interrupted, unamused. “I’m gonna go inside before it starts pouring, but it was nice to talk to you both, I guess.”

With that, she was gone. That left Steve and Eddie alone. It was times like these when he really wished he could telepathically summon Robin.

“So,” Eddie said. Then, he signed something else Steve couldn’t understand. YOU, something, then ME? 

The missing word was extremely important. Thankfully, Eddie seemed to recognize that Steve didn’t understand. Eddie fingerspelled, S-T-A-L-K, then signed STALK again. 

YOU STALK ME?

Once Eddie’s initial question clicked, Steve shook his head aggressively.

“No, no,” he insisted. “I came here for Max, because her and I have a bunch of friends in common, and -”

“Steve,” Eddie said, cutting him off. JOKING.

Steve exhaled in relief. “Oh. Right,” he said. From then on, Eddie spoke as he signed. 

“How long have you been signing?” he asked. 

“Three months,” Steve answered. “Started losing my hearing in July.”

“Shit,” Eddie replied. “So it’s very new.” Steve nodded, noticing that instead of signing VERY NEW, Eddie signed NEW with a more dramatic motion and expression. Interesting.

“Yeah.”

Eddie looked up at the sky, which had gotten a lot darker over the last few minutes. 

“Well,” he said. “We should take refuge before the storm hits. But for the record, you’re pretty good at ASL considering it’s only been three months.” 

Steve smiled. REALLY?

Eddie nodded. REALLY. 

Steve didn’t think Eddie had any idea how much this brief conversation impacted him. Eddie just walked away after that to go inside, but Steve lingered outside the car for a few extra moments. 

Then he realized how fucking weird he looked and drove home as fast as he safely could.

-

Steve had a few hours before work, which was good because his headache was still going strong. He figured he’d pop a Tylenol and take a nap or something. 

When he got back to his room, he saw his letter on the desk and decided he’d write back before he slept.

Dear Jane,

Hi! I honestly didn’t expect you to actually write me. That’s pretty cool. I double checked for you and Max and Mike got their letters. And then they both gave me the shovel talk - wait, do you know what a shovel talk is? They basically told me that if you and I are gonna be penpals, I have to be nice to you. That’s kinda bullshit, right? I’m, like, really nice, now. Except to Dustin, but only when he deserves it.

That was a joke. I’m joking. 

Steve crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. What was he thinking, going on about shovel talks and how he sometimes bullies a literal child? 

He took a deep breath and tried again.

Hey,

I’m really glad you wrote to me. Things have been kinda hard, honestly. My ears are the same. Actually, they’ve gotten worse. Today they’re hurting me a lot. I’m starting to think I’m gonna go completely deaf and I don’t really know how I feel about it. I just feel like a total dumbass all the time.

Jesus Christ, was he seriously trauma dumping on a girl who’s formative experiences included being imprisoned and experimented on in a lab??? And now, she had even more shit to conquer. She didn’t need to hear about his problems. 

He thought about giving up, but decided to try one more time.

Jane -

It’s nice to hear from you. I always had a hard time in school, too. Nancy used to help me out with my papers because I’m a shit writer. So this is good practice for both of us 🙂

I just found out this guy named Eddie also knows sign language, so I want to try to get to know him better. He’s in Hellfire club with Dustin, Mike, and Lucas, so I’ll see him sometimes probably. It makes me feel less alone, I guess. I’ve been feeling alone a lot these days. Maybe that’s not a manly thing to say or whatever, but I’ve given up on trying to be cool. Cool is overrated, it’s lame-time for Steve. 

Shit. Robin told me to stop talking in third person like that. She’d probably be fine with it this time though since I was calling myself lame while doing it. 

Max and Mike both have their letters, so all is good on that end. All your friends here are doing well. I’ll keep an eye on them for you if you promise to look out for Will. Okay?

Until next time,

Steve

PS: Mrs. Vickers is totally trying to get with Mr. Samson. Keep me updated with this because now I’m invested.

Well. That was as good as it was gonna get. He sealed the envelope and climbed into bed.

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

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[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks but very Hawks focused, just xmas fluff bc I can’t help myself 🎁🙈💫

Keigo who LOVES getting people christmas presents!

Giving gifts to show care and affection is part of his natural instincts due to his quirk, and a holiday where he can go crazy with it is obviously his favorite.

When he was little, he would only know the seasons based on the weather and temperature of the shed he lived in, but once he saw a christmas commercial on the tv that presented the idea of giving gifts to people you love.

Well, little Keigo did not know much about christmas, or love, really, but he was willing to try!

So he ventured out in the cold and searched and searched, and finally, finally he found it; the perfect rock.

He held it close as he hurried home, and after some rustling around in their makeshift kitchen he found some paper towels to wrap the stone in, just like they had with the shiny paper on the tv.

When he, after a lot of nervous pacing, presented the gift to his mom, she did something Keigo had only seen a handful of times in his short life; she smiled.

Keigo never forgot the fluttering feeling of joy and pride in his chest that moment brought him.

When he started training with the Commission, he had a lot of different handlers, but only one was by his side all trough the years.

His name was Mera, and he had hair much like Keigo’s and looked sleepy a lot, but he was something none of the others ever were; kind.

So, every year, no matter how tired, sore, scared or tired he was, Keigo drew Mera a picture for christmas.

It was always the same theme; the two of them, and every year Keigo got the best response he could dream of; a smile.

Even now, many years after Keigo «graduated» from the Commission, and even after he broke ties with them all together, he always made sure Mera got a little drawing in the mail for christmas.

He truly deserved it after all, helping Keigo get to the files he needed when he was finally ready to show the world what the commission really did.

And now, Keigo has multiple people he can get presents for every christmas, which is beyond amazing to him.

His first addition to the list was Tokoyami, of course.

Keigo had straight up lied to him that first christmas, saying that it was totally normal to buy his colleagues gifts, as if he ever had even had a real conversation with most of his colleagues at that point.

But for his little intern, he could not help himself.

He tried not to go overboard, but when Keigo first cared about someone, it was a lost cause.

Tokoyami had once mentioned his secret fondness for the Sanrio character Badtz Maru, and Keigo loved to show that he paid attention to details like that.

Now, a few years and quite a few christmas and birthdays later, his poor intern had so much Badtz Maru merch he could probably start his own store, but he treasured every single piece as if it were worth millions.

The fact that Keigo had given them to him made them worth even more to him.

With Touya it was a little different.

As soon as Keigo’s brain had decided that Touya was indeed his mate, it got straight to work.

Every shiny thing he got his taloned hands on, anything in Touya’s favorite colors, every sort of candy and sweet that he knew Touya liked, was immeadiatly aqquired and present to Touya at the first possible opportunity.

Watching Touya’s normal stoic face crack into a small smile and a faint blush reach his cheeks every time he accepted one of Keigo’s gifts were the best part of any day, no doubt.

It did however create a bit of a problem when it came to christmas gifts, because because Keigo really wanted to make it special, and Touya really wasn’t much of a materialistic guy.

In the end, it’s always Keigo’s attention to detail that saves him.

A special book Touya had mentioned in an off hand comment was hunted down, preferably as a first edition and maybe even signed.

Touya barley likes touching it, terrified to cause any damage to the previous item.

A precious memory in an otherwise turbulent childhood was recreated to the best of Keigo’s ability, and if Touya had tears in his eyes that entire night, Keigo would never mention it.

In all honesty, getting to go on these deep dives on things his boyfriend loves is one of Keigo’s favorite thing in the while world.

Recently he even started doing good by the fib he told Tokoyami way back when.

Eraserhead got some Neko themed teacher supplies, Mic always made sure to tell Keigo how much he secretly adored it, Mic himself got fun accessories and stuff for his studio, which he always made sure to mention on air.

Mirko got a collection of the best recepies for vegetarian meals Keigo could collect, and Fatgum got a ton of vouchers for meals on Keigo for the two of them whenever Fatgum wanted to be adventurous and try new, fun food.

For Keigo, however, one of the best gifts came in an unexpected way.

For a little while now, Keigo had been aware of his mothers location in a facility where she was getting the help she had so sorely needed all those years ago.

While she had expressed the wish to see her son as soon as he wanted, Keigo had been unsure.

He was honestly terrified of setting her back when she saw him.

But after months of thinking, talking and waiting, he finally felt ready.

Touya was with him, of course, and when they entered the small apartment that was his mothers’, Keigo was just about to pass out from nerves and regret when he saw it;

A small, very familiar, perfectly round grey rock on the center of her mantle.

All these years, all that pain, all those people, all the tears, trauma, time and places, and yet… she had kept it.

The first gift.

That, with the fact that the love of his life was holding his hand at this moment, made it the best gift Keigo could ever wish for.

[senka-mesecine]

Girl gimme a ficlet about Bobby (Barnes 🩷) not being able to sleep after receiving a letter from a girl he left at home ages ago, finding him and checking up on him 💌 😩

love ya,✌🏻 thanks if you do this 😘

Bobby.

Robert Barnes x (Indirect) Reader.

@woman-with-no-name

-

Suck up O'Neill brought him a letter that morning with the words 'Heya, Bob. Thinkin’ this is for you.’ and twelve hours later, the envelope was still precisely where Barnes left it. That was the way of things.

Next to the poker stack.

In the company of Budweiser cans and emptied ashtrays.

People just didn’t have the habit of touching his things. Didn’t have the balls, more like. So, he could put stuff exactly where he wanted to put them and expect to find them there, not even an inch moved, however many hours or even days later. Was a little test he tended to conduct and the result was always the same. Things intended for him remained where he wanted them to remain and he supposed why he put off reading this particular bit of correspondence was precisely due to who and where it was coming from. Letters made Barnes comfortable, that was the truth of it. He could admit that to himself, couldn’t he? Nobody would hear him in his own head, now would they? Not that he’d ever say it or even talk about the subject but in these four years, the only mail he’d receive was the allotted provisional parcel every limpdick in this platoon got by default. Waterproof matches and cigarettes. Reminders that the outside world existed as such — it tended to give him a whiplash he’d rather cut down by the root so it would cease growing especially when the letters were from you. He recognized the address in an instant, just by throwing a careless glance at it. After all, a no-name hill hamlet former mining settlement not appearing on a map had only two houses. One he grew up in and another, the neighbor’s family down the dirt road. He thought how you’d have to find a way to travel out to Cottage Grove thirty two miles down the nearest highway just to send this fucker.

And now, ten thousand miles away on the other side of the world, he was putin’ off readin’ it. You sack of shit, he thinks, to himself, about himself, biting the bullet, tearing up the envelope, using a knife to cut the glued in paper open.

Read it and get it over with.

‘Bobby.’

The first introductory word hits him like a speeding train and something coils up inside of him.

When was the last time he was called that? Childhood?

Seemingly, in a time that bypassed memory or reason by now.

‘I know you don’t like letters much but I’m of the firm opinion everyone should receive nice words from home every once in a while and I know that approximately a few weeks from now, if everything goes well, you’ll be holding this in your hands and the thought makes me happy because it’ll be like a hug or a long overdue ‘hello’; touching across distances through a piece of paper I had in my hand and that you have in your hand right now seeing as how the biggest event this tiny neighborhood has had in years, maybe even decades, was the day you were deployed and the biggest event is the hope you’ll be tired of fighting and come back. Nothing’s happened since. Not much happens here ever. Life moves slowly. Except thoughts of you. We grew up together, fence against fence, roof against roof, so I’m allowed to say that. You’re missed out here, Robert. Do you know that?’

Barnes looks away, just about ready to crumple up the damn thing and stop reading, paused in his intent perhaps only by the passage about touch and the thought of your fingers holding the pen, the imaginary phantom of your presence lingering like a shadow and he envisions you there, squeezing your hand. Sap. You were always a sap. What were you doing, waitin’ around for him, not living your own damn life? He was tempted to take to the paper himself, feeling like some sort of snot nosed brat wasting time on civilian correspondence, just so he could write you a scathing reply that orders you to move on with yourself and quit deluding yourself. Find a man, he thinks only for the notion to immediately perish once he feels his jaw tighten and he concludes that no — no, the thought of that didn’t feel good at all. Not as effective of a retort as he felt it would've been. You were never a walkin’ back home like a couple, you were just the neighbor’s kid and not much else, but something about you being given away to someone felt like giving away his gun and the last bullet in it. Naked. Stripped. Disarmed. 

Jealousy.

Felt like jealousy. Cold and murderous.

He places his arm as a rest under his head instead of a pillow so it would tempt him away from grabbing a nearby bottle and chugging it dry. He keeps reading, fingers squeezing the paper so hard he leaves dents behind. Angry at you, both for waiting around and at the very idea you'd be with someone else. Why he didn't like letters. Precisely for this reason. Did something to his insides.

‘We heard you were wounded a couple of times in combat but as you never write us, we worry. We worry constantly. More so when you kept re-enlisting and extending your contract. I don’t begrudge the lack of letters. I can’t imagine it’s easy writing out there. Can’t imagine a person has the tremendous desire to. It’s a different world; different habits emerge. So I wrote you instead to let you know that I know. I know why pictures don’t ever arrive either. I want you to understand I don’t mind and it changes nothing for me. What kind of friend would I be if it bothered me? I care about you. I love you. I think I always have. Ever since we were kids. That’s so much easier to confess in written words than it is in person although I think I’ll be swallowed up by the floor while just holding the pen. Funny how that works. Getting second hand embarrassment like this. Everything feels so formal and grand in a letter, yet so far away and distant, like writing an imaginary someone. That’s how long I haven’t seen you. Seems a lifetime and a half.’

In a sudden flash of unease, Barnes touches his own face, the scarred part, feeling himself, somehow self conscious even though he was down in the foxhole all by himself, laying down on mattress away from sight, in the shade. In his mind's eye, though, your eyes are right there, so kind he could blind himself purely not to look at them looking at him. Yeah, so? You heard about how many times he was shot? Heard about this face? Heard about how many stitches they needed to pull him back together? What now? Want a medal for it too? He sits up from his bunk, angry, angry at everything and not even sure at what exactly out of the whole goddamn bunch, and then it hits him; he was angry at your acceptance because it was like a limp, soft thing that he could crush in his hand and not even blink. He remembers you as a child. You were sweet then too. The same now as well. The world hasn't changed you. Ruined you in any way. Which is precisely why you should never write here again if you knew what was good for you.

The final lines of the letter traced by his thumb get lost under his touch.

He loathes admitting he wishes there was more.

About anything. Any topic at all.

The weather, how it affected you and whether the crops were good this year.

How many inches you've grown since he's last seen you, if at all.

‘But, Robert — You don’t have to respond, even now. Toss this into a fire once you’re done. Tear it up. Step and spit on it. Just understand that there’s always a home to come back to. And someone who’d receive you with open arms once you do. That’s the point of all of this, ultimately. That you’re so very dear to me.’ With all the love in the world — your cherished friend.

Your words come to an end and all he's faced is a momentary blank, thinking about that concept, there always being a home to come back to, that he was, what'd you say, dear to you? Dear to you. Dear. Dear. He measures to word carefully, testing it, scrutinizing it, head falling back until he's looking up at the earthy ceiling held up by wooden pillars. He wasn't clueless. He knew there was a place to go back to in the technical sense. Walls. A roof. Windows. A patch of soil. But, the thought you were actually waiting? That you loved him? He wanted so badly to label you as stupid, a time-waster, idle and someone throwing away actual years and for what, finding he couldn't do it. Yeah, he loved you too. Just thought you'd wisen up and move on so he could be relieved for once. Relieved that you'd cease holding out and suffering. Unwittingly, perhaps for the first time in years, he imagines himself being there. He sits down at the same dining table as you and the world's suddenly worth a damn again. He folds up the letter, neatly, slowly, and tucks it into the first pocket he can feel up once he hears footsteps, turning eyes towards the root of the sound.

Red.

-"Hey there, Sargerooney? Letter, huh?"-

O'Neill bumbles, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth, seeming fidgety and nervous, like he was expecting praise for a job well done but Barnes almost finds he can't be profoundly pissed off at the guy. Not today. Maybe some other time, just not exactly now. Feeling, perhaps, internally grateful. For bringing him this. Bringing him you. Having the good sense not to touch you. Open you up. He says nothing in response, humming, at best, as a retort, deciding to give Red a good, hard stare instead. He felt that was more than sufficient, still pondering you and reaching out across that table where you'd write your letter to hold your hand. The hills of East Tennessee are frozen and as cold as a dog's bone in his mind, cooling off the searing humidity of the jungle; the war's over and he stays there with you in a snowfall that never ends, cutting off all roads to everywhere and anywhere. It's you and him. Nobody else in the mist. Barnes doesn't sleep that night by choice, hand pressed over the pocket containing your torn envelope. You're right there, sleepin' with him.

Tomorrow, he decides he'll go back to reality.

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #14

Prompt: “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Rating: G

Pairings: Camille/Richard

It happened about two months after Richard had come back from escorting the prisoner to London.

Foolishly, Camille had thought that this meant he’d at least stay another year, or that at the very least the Met would leave him alone, but of course they too must have noticed their clean-up rate. They would have been fools not to.

She had become very perceptive to Richard’s moods since (as she liked to think) they had been slowly but surely growing closer. Granted, when she dwelled on the possibility of him reciprocating her feelings for him, she quite as often found herself leaning towards No – mainly when he was busy being annoyed at all things Saint Marie again – but there had been moments, small, maybe insignificant, where she had assumed…

It might all not matter anyway, as she was about to find out.

Richard had been distracted the whole day – he had not even complained when his favourite stand at the market had run out of his usual banana sandwich – and when she drove him home, he began, “Camille, would you like to come in? I’d… there’s something I’d like to… talk about.”

Her heart picked up a pace until she studied his face and realized he was still preoccupied.

It didn’t take long for him to tell her. They had barely sat down with their drinks (beer for her, tea for him) when he said, “I’ve had an offer from London.”

She froze, then her training kicked in. “Yes?” she did her best to sound as calm as she could, even though her heart was hammering in her chest.

“I’d be promoted to DCI. It comes with a rather nice rise, too.”

She swallowed another sip of her beer.

“I have to send my answer within the week.”

“And… are you going back?” She’d almost asked when he was leaving – his choice seemed so obvious to her. Why should he stay at a place he had continuously been complaining about for two years (albeit much less so recently, now that she was thinking about it… but maybe he’d just grown tired of not really getting an answer because people tended not to agree with him that the weather in England was so much more pleasant to live with).

Richard, however, hesitated, then slowly said – "Yes.”

There it was, then. She told herself that she had expected this and was not going to be too disappointed. Why should she be? They may have grown closer, but that was no indication for –

“No.”

What?

“I don't know."

When he didn’t clarify she said, “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“I know!” he burst out, jumping from his chair and beginning to pace up and down his veranda. “And the worst part is I can’t even tell you why I don’t have a concrete answer! It should be easy! It’s a promotion! Back in – back home! I should already have said Yes! And yet – I got the e-mail and I just felt… nothing. I should be jumping for joy!”

She watched him as he continued to tell her the same thing over and over, which only showed how conflicted he was – normally, Richard would already have made a list with the pros and cons and gone through them three times. Then, she quietly interrupted him with, “Do you have any idea why you are hesitating?”

He stopped and looked at her. Swallowed. Looked away. Looked back. Cleared his throat. Picked up his tea and gulped it down. “Well, I – I’ve never felt more fulfilled in my professional life. This is the best time I have ever worked with, and there’s you –“

He stopped himself once more, but she had already seen the expression in his eyes. Yes, he had been talking about the team, but that last you… that had been about something else entirely. Someone else entirely.

She put her beer down and got up. “Richard, might there be a way in which I could… help you come to a decision?”

He made a rather strangled noise before clearing his throat again. “I – no, Camille, this is my problem, you don’t have to –“

She very deliberately reached out to take his hand. “And what if I want it to be my problem, too?”

Another strangled noise.

“Richard” she said simply, looking into his eyes, “I would like you to stay, and I think you know why.”

A moment of silence, then a shapr, quick nod, accompanied by something like hiope creeping into his expression.

She moved closer. “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen, of course. We both know that. But if you were… amenable to stay, we might see where this is going and –“

He surprised her by kissing her.

Much later he would admit that he had been as shocked by his own behaviour as she was.

For now, they had better things to do.

[janetbrown711]

Long Live the Queen: The Beginning

I rewrote the Angelina 1 Lives Au-- which if you don't know, is an au of Wakko's Wish based upon my headcanon of the warner's grandmother, Angelina the First.

Basically a lot a lot a lot of angst and shit and this chapter is how it all got started <;33

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Ao3 Link

Princess Angelina II was engaged to Sir William the Good, though it was in secret. After all, he was just a knight and she was the princess with a mother who, without any hesitation, would tear the two apart if she knew.

There was a brief moment where Lena perhaps thought luck might be on their side when her mother fell deathly ill, but by truly miraculous means, the queen survived, which meant they had to continue their little secret.

The trouble with secrets though was that people assumed they weren’t around and so proceeded as though she was still single and therefore her mother still attempted to introduce her to countless suitors which Lena obviously wasn’t too keen on. It was just one idiotic and snooty man after the other. Lena wished at the very least her mother would throw in a princess or something to keep it interesting, but of course her mother wasn’t about that and also didn’t know about that secret, and so it remained boring.

Needless to say, time was wearing on William and Lena as they waited and waited for the right time to come.

Little did they know, the Queen was also tired of waiting.

“Angelina, you have to at least accept one of the suitors. If you don’t they may start fighting in the streets for you,” Queen Angelina the First gave her daughter a quick glare as she looked over papers.

“I don’t know what to tell you, mother. Maybe if any of them had a brain cell or two in their heads then I could think about it,” Lena lied, looking out the window to the gardens where she saw William with his fellow knights marching onward to the stables.

“You know, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Angelina sighed, setting her quill down.

“Something I highly doubt,” Lena muttered to herself.

“Watch your tone,” Angelina warned, and Lena stepped down.

“As I was saying... I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but since your impertinence has given me no other option, I will be selecting the suitor for you,” She said with a glare that made Lena’s blood run cold.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” She asked, pulling at her gloves anxiously.

“You’ve only done this to yourself, Angelina, I’ve no other choice. You aren’t getting any younger here,” She eyed her daughter up and down.

“I- um- will you excuse me, mother? I need to go,” Lena asked. Her mother looked at her suspiciously before nodding. Not wanting to be in there for a moment longer, Lena bolted out of the room and ran across the palace, all the way down to the royal stables, where William was just arriving.

“Lena? What’s the matter?” He asked as he dismounted from his horse.

“My mother... she said...” Lena panted. “She said... she’s gonna... arrange...”

“Have you been running?” William raised an eyebrow. Lena rolled her eyes and paused to catch her breath.

“My mother said that because I didn’t pick a suitor, she’s choosing for me,” Lena explained.

“Oh– that’s… not gonna work out– What do you want to do?” He asked her. Lena thought a moment before snapping.

“We need to get married. Now,” She said, grabbing his hand and began leading him away.

“What- now now?” William was startled, but allowed himself to be moved.

“Well– yes-! I don’t know how long I’ll have. We need to do this, and we need to do this now,” Lena said, looking out and heading towards a servant building.

“So, um, where exactly are we going, Lena?” William asked.

“The underground mail tunnels. They go all over the kingdom to make sure any letters or important documents can go straight to the queen. If we go far enough we can find a town with a priest and be married there. Hopefully, they won’t mind the short notice,” She explained.

“Or the fact you’re the princess,” William pointed out.

“...Yeah, that too,” Lena realized. Would that count as treason? She really hoped it didn’t count as treason.

“So... um… I’ve never really left the castle grounds before so if you got any suggestions on where to go, now would be the best time,” She said, looking at the sign outside the building. William scanned over the list of towns and cities with deep thought, before snapping and grabbing his fiancee’s hand excitedly.

“I know a place where I know they can’t refuse us,” He winked, taking his fiancées hand.

“Oh? And where is such a place?” She laughed as he excitedly scanned the map and they headed down into the tunnels.

“Acme Falls, my home town. They love me there, I’m sure they’d love you too,” He gave her hand a squeeze and they excitedly began to run down the torch-lit and winding tunnels until they eventually opened the door that led to an empty mail room in Acme Falls.

They stepped out, surprised to find it empty but glad they could go unnoticed for at least five seconds, and walked out straight into the town center, which was bustling with business.

“So… what do we do now?” Lena asked, squeezing his hand, nervous about the unfamiliar surroundings.

William laughed soothingly, “I thought this was your plan.”

“I came up with it two hours ago, cut me some slack,” She punched his arm lightly.

“William? Is... is that you?” A female voice cut through the crowd.

“Helloise? Is that you?” William’s face lit up as he looked through the crowd for his childhood friend, absolutely ecstatic when she was visible and ran to him.

“William! What on earth are you doing here?” She hugged him. “And– oh my wishing star– are you the– the princess?” She blushed and quickly did a curtsey.

“Oh there’s no need for that right now, really,” Lena blushed too. “Besides, any friend of William is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Heloise chuckled, embarrassed. “If I may ask, what brings you two to town?”

“We’re here to be married,” William explained, taking Lena’s arm and patting it excitedly.

“You’re engaged to the princess???” Heloise gawked. “Aren’t you two supposed to have a giant wedding ceremony with the whole kingdom invited? Isn’t that how royal weddings are supposed to go? Holy shi- I didn’t even think a knight could marry a princess,” She laughed in almost disbelief.

“Actually, he can’t. Not with my mother knowing anyway,” Lena explained. “That’s why we came here- to be married in secret.”

“Oh that’s very romantic,” She nodded understandingly. “William knows where the church is. I can get the priest and a few townsfolk if you want,” she offered.

“That’d be great, thank you,” William smiled. Heloise nodded, and ran off.

“I guess you weren’t kidding about this place, huh?” Lena chuckled.

“Acme Falls is practically perfect, what can I say?” He snorted. “It also helps to be the town's darling who braved several dangers to become knight. Shall we?” he let go of Lena’s arm just to offer his again.

“We shall.”

And so Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Second and Sir William the Good were married in Acme Falls, with the whole town as their witnesses. Lena and William were the happiest they’d ever been their entire lives– which wasn’t saying much exactly, but still, they were euphoric.

They smiled and laughed and kissed a lot as they made their way back through the tunnels to the castle, but when they got to the final door, Lena froze.

“Are you ready?” William asked softly.

“I-i don’t know. I just– I’m already so happy, I know she’ll just–”

“Ruin it?” He caressed her cheek.

“...Yeah,” The princess sighed, staring at the door a long moment before whispering,

“I’m frightened, William.”

“It’ll be okay, Lena. I’m right here, and always will be– til death to we part, after all,” he kissed her forehead

“Right,” Lena smiled, kissing him back. She put her hand on the door before pausing again.

“Stay with me tonight?” She asked nervously.

“Of course, my love,” He said, and they shared another kiss.

“Good. Let’s go then,” She said, now ready as she turned the handle and entered the castle grounds once more.

And so Lena walked casually and calmly to her room all by herself, unlocking her bedside window and giving William the signal to climb in, which he did. The two embraced and kissed and hugged and did the sort of thing they had done many a time before, but now with the added joy of being husband and wife.

When the sun rose, William had to part for his training, and so kissed his fair princess adieu and climbed his way back down, leaving Lena to wave goodbye from the window and go back to acting like nothing had happened at all.

And thus is how their secret engagement turned into a secret marriage; a marriage that Lena realized she was going to have to tell her mother about sooner or later before it was too late and she was already in the middle of another wedding ceremony. However-However, out of a desire to preserve her nights of pure paradise with William, she kept her mouth shut and just hoped it could all last just a little bit longer. She didn’t want her mother to ruin this just as she ruined most everything else in her life.

She knew objectively her mother could never truly tear the two apart now, as divorce was strictly forbidden amongst royals, but if she knew her mother, she’d certainly find a way somehow, and thus she held onto her happiness as tight as possible.

The good/bad news was that William had been promoted to be a guard inside the castle, so Lena would see him much more often than she used to, but it was awkward because she couldn’t talk to him, much less flirt. It also didn’t help that her mother positioned him to often have shifts in the throne room which was “some of the most stressful situations I’ve ever been in” according to William.

But still, they were together in the night and that made all the difference.

If it could just last–

But of course, it couldn’t.

“Excuse me, Princess, the queen said she’d like a word with you,” A servant girl knocked on Lena’s door.

“What now?” Lena grumbled, setting down her book and opening the door. “Is she upset with me, or..?”

“No, your highness, in fact, she seems almost happy,” The girl said.

“My mother? Happy?” Lena blinked. “This can’t be good...” she said, dismissing the servant before quickly making her way down to the throne room.

“Lena, there you are,” Her mother smiled at her, “You’ve met King Salazar,” she gestured to the king standing by her throne.

Uh oh.

“Why, yes I have,” Lena nodded at him, sharing a quick glance with William in the corner.

“He’s the one you’ll be marrying,” She announced.

Shit.

“Mother, may I have a word with you- alone?” Lena asked with a nervous smile. Angelina frowned.

“This has already been decided, Angelina. You refused to pick and so I had to take matters into my own and teach you an important lesson and I-”

“I know. mother, but I really do need to talk with you,” Lena interrupted her mother before she could think to stop herself. The queen’s eye twitched.

“Fine.” She huffed. “King Salazar, you may wait in the grand hall,” she said. The king huffed and muttered something before taking his leave. Then, her mother’s focus went back to her.

“This better be good Angelina, or so help me,” The queen grit her teeth and pointed, making Lena a shiver crawl down her spine. She looked at William for support, and he gave her a weak smile. She took a deep breath.

“Mother, I can’t marry him,” She said.

Her mother starred dully. “...Is that all..?”

“I’m serious. I can’t,” Lena said again.

“Angelina, it has already been arranged for you,” Angelina rubbed her forehead.

“W-well I can’t because I’m already married,” Lena announced.

Her mother froze. “To whom?”

“Sir William the Good,” Lena admitted, pulling and twisting her gloves at a feverish pace. Angelina’s eyes went to William, and he remained still as a statue.

“Really now?” Angelina laughed darkly, standing up to examine him.

“It’s true. We eloped in Acme Falls three nights ago,” Lena explained.

“And you really expect me to believe that?” Angelina continued to laugh it off.

“Well- yes. We have certificates and everything- it was legally binding,” Lena didn’t know how else to explain such a simple fact to her mother.

The queen looked back at her daughter, then at William, then at Lena again, deep in thought, before shrugging to herself.

“Well, I suppose it’s a simple fix really, I could just have him executed–”

“A-and I’m pregnant!” Lena shouted over her mother, and the room fell utterly silent.

“Y-you are..?” William broke his composure.

“Haha– yep–!” She sweated at the lie.

Definitely no going back on that one…

The queen’s face was truly unreadable as she looked at her daughter. Silence filled the air, choking both William and Lena before Angelina raised her right hand and dismissed the guards with a single wave. William hesitated as she looked at Lena, but understood if he valued his life he needed to part, and so just smiled weakly before leaving with his fellow guard.

The silence didn’t dissipate for awhile until Angelina walked back to her throne and removed her gloves one by one, and slipped back on her wedding ring.

“You know, suitors are hard to come by. Many are wealthy, powerful men that inviting could risk wars and wrath unlike anything this kingdom has ever faced, but did I care? No. I prioritized the kingdom and your prosperity, and how do you repay me?” She turned and Lena could see the hatred in her eyes.

“My prosperity? When Salazar was here the first time he tried to kiss me five times without my consent and even hit me– you’ve never cared for my prosperity!” Lena argued.

Angelina growled. “You do not understand what it is to be lucky, child, nor do you understand the sacrifice it takes to run a kingdom as powerful as ours.”

“You call being married to that absolute dimwit luck?!” Lena laughed a little, before Angelina hit her backhanded, with her ring leaving a particularly strong bruise as it had many times in Lena’s life.

“You wretched child– you’ve no idea nor care for what you’ve done to me and to your kingdom. Years and years and years of sacrifice and you repay me by marrying a bastard from a no name town in the middle of nowhere,” Angelina growled.

“Don’t you dare talk about William like that,” Lena rubbed her cheek, but Angelina struck her again.

“You do not get to tell your queen what she can and cannot say,” She glared.

“I-if you hurt him, I’ll just hurt myself, and then you’ll be left with nothing– how’s that sound, hm?” Lena tried to hold onto her false courage, but tears were threatening to fall from the sting.

“Of all the impertinent, aggravating, abominable things you’ve done Angelina, I just cannot believe you’d marry absolute filth like this,” The queen was barely able to contain her anger anymore. “I just cannot believe my own flesh and blood would betray me like this.”

“Oh please, like you’ve ever treated me like ‘flesh and blood’,” Lena muttered, a tear escaping.

“I have done nothing but care for you. I’ve clothed you, given you a home and an education, and provided you with numerous options for your future and future suitors, and yet you discarded every single one without any care in the world,” She clenched her fist.

“But you’ve never loved me,” Lena said, tears now streaming hot and fast. “If you did, you’d be happy for me.”

Angelina scoffed. “Who could ever love a pebble in her shoe?”

“I hate you,” Lena glared, and Angelina hit her again, this time making her fall to the floor.

“You are going to pay for your actions, Angelina. The hard way,” She declared.

“W-wait, what are you–” but Lena wasn’t able to finish her question, as her mother grabbed her long black curls and immediately yanked on them, causing her to yelp in pain.

The queen then dragged her across the room and down the halls, where maids and servants gawked and stared as the queen dragged her kicking and screaming barely-not-teenaged daughter up to a secret room where she then dragged her up fifty feet of a spiraling staircase to single dusty cell where she tossed her in and locked the wooden door before Lena had the opportunity to stand and protest once more.

“You will not be leaving this room until you have understood a fraction of the pain and agony you have caused me and this kingdom,” Angelina spat and quickly stormed down the stairs before Lena could exclaim just how much she hated her goddamn mother.

So instead, she just whispered it over and over again, choking on sobs as she held her sides and rocked back and forth.

“I hate you, i hate you, i hate you, i hate you, i hate you,” She rocked back and forth, not noticing the broken glass surrounding her or the tears in her dress that was being caused because of that. Instead, she just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until she was sick in the stomach.

Things were supposed to get better. They couldn’t divorce– that was supposed to have made her untouchable. She and William were married now- it was supposed to be okay.

Instead, now she was locked away for who knows how long in a dark, cold room with a bare-bones bed, a broken mirror, a blanket as thin as paper, and a single window.

Lena cried a bit more before regarding the broken mirror shards by her and got a very impulsive thought she didn’t hesitate to see through, grabbing a large piece, then grabbing her hair and slowly but surely slicing it all off.

One less thing her mother could manipulate...

With that, her mind turned to her beloved William– what was going to happen to him?

Would she kill him? Could she? Could anyone? He’s a trained knight, one of the best across all the lands, surely she couldn’t kill him “the old fashioned way”. Surely that would mean he would be okay... right? He was strong, so much stronger than her, surely he would survive anything Angelina threw at him.

And… stars above, what if she was pregnant? Sure, she lied out there but it wasn’t like it was impossible with how many nights they laid together before– god, she really messed everything up, didn’t she? Her mother was right, not only did she ruin her own life, but William and maybe even a baby’s life too– lord, she really hoped that wasn’t true though…

She eventually moved from the floor to the rickety bed, holding herself and thinking about how much she ruined the lives of those who loved her and how she wished she had never been born, that way everyone could just be happy.

However, soon she heard grunts right outside the window and before she knew it, a familiar presence wrapped himself around her.

“William- w-what-? H-how-?”

“Shh, it’s okay Lena, I’m here, it’s okay,” he hushed her, snuggling into her shoulder, which she responded to by nuzzling into.

“B-but how?” She still had to ask.

“I climbed,” He said it so simply but Lena gasped.

“Th-that’s like- 50 feet, William, You could’ve died,” Lena broke the embrace and sat up to look at him.

“Lena, it’s okay. I made it, and I’m here, that’s all that matters,” he too sat up and placed a hand on her face, wiping away a few tears.

“B-but I-i– I messed everything up so badly– and now I’m locked in here and I’ve no clue how long she plans to keep me in here o-or if I’ll just rot and die and then you’ll be alone again a-and hating ever loving me a-a-and–”

“Hey, hey, hey…” William made her look at him in his soft brown eyes, “I will never regret loving you, Lena, I promise. You are my whole world, ever since I was sixteen, and you will be until the day I die.”

Lena sniffled. “That’s what I’m worried about…”

William sighed. “I know... I’m so sorry, my love,” he was crying now too, and he stroked her head of freshly cut hair.

“Did she do that?” He whispered. Lena shook her head.

“Mother grabbed my hair a-and dragged me up here so I cut it off,” she explained tiredly. William quickly hugged her.

“I’m so sorry, Lena...” He said.

“I’m sorry too,” she said. “You’ll probably b-be killed or fired or de-knighted o-or something.”

“I don’t care for my title, only for you, Lena. And I swear we will get through this together no matter what.” He pressed his forehead against hers.

“No matter what,” Lena repeated to herself and William kissed her forehead. Despite everything, it brought a little smile to her face.

“Your mother cannot live forever, Lena, and soon enough it will be our time to be safe and happy as a family, just you and me and our children,” He smiled so softly that it dissipated any cold in the room and replaced it with warmth.

“Our children…” she thought with a small smile. The thought that terrified her now made her feel hope for her future: her mother would die, and she would be the mother Angelina never had been to kids of her own.

It would be perfect.

“I love you, William,” Lena said, kissing him softly.

“I love you too, Lena,” He smiled and kissed her right back.

It wasn’t today, and it sure wouldn’t be tomorrow, but someday all this pain would go away and they would be free and happy. And while right now wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows, they had each other, and that made all the difference in the world.

[dalamusrex]

15. How do they feel about consorting with daedra? Do they collect their artifacts? Are there some they would never interact with vs. some they would consider calling upon?

Hahahahha

Dalamus is terrified of Daedra. But you would not know it from his behavior--his bravado flares up in confrontation with people or beings he is intimidated by. He can and has copped an attitude towards at least one Daedric Prince: Clavicus Vile. He figures a Daedra is powerful enough to kill him on a whim, so why bother appearing weak or frightened? Flawed and probably incorrect logic, but thankfully Vile found his irritation entertaining.

He would never make a deal with Daedra, because he would hate being beholden to their whims or indebted to them for whatever help they grant. He would also be wary of being backstabbed or tricked. Although not all Daedra are as dishonest and tricky as Clavicus Vile, Dalamus tends to view them in the same lens: dangerous and untrustworthy.

I like to think that most Daedric Artifacts have an inherent allure to them, like, supernaturally. That people are drawn to them by their otherworldly nature, in a way they cannot help. Some artifacts more than others, and how much they affect an individual varies according to the individual's nature and the nature of the artifact. For example, Hircine's artifacts would be more alluring to werebeasts, the Skeleton Key more alluring to those who are of a thief persuasion, Mehrune's Razor and the Mace of Molag Bal are alluring to those who have a bit of bloodlust in them, etc etc.

For Dalamus, the artifacts that have the most allure would be (in no particular order): The Ebony Blade, Ebony Mail, Mace of Molag Bal, Mehrune's Razor, The Skeleton Key, and maybe Volendrung. Dawnbreaker, however, being a Daedric Artifact made for destroying undead, would repel Dalamus--not physically, but he would get a strong sense of Danger from it and know by instinct not to touch it.

That said, Dalamus also has a strong fear of magic, and would put all of the Daedric Artifacts in the same group as Enchanted Items. With his flawed understanding of magic, he does not trust and does not use Enchanted Items for fear that the magic may "leak" out and affect or corrupt him somehow. This, perhaps, would give him some resistance to the allure that Daedric Artifacts have.

For the most part, Dalamus prefers to pretend that Daedra do not exist, aside from occasionally evoking one's name in moments of exasperation or blaming another for his misfortune. He would never willingly call upon them because, again, would not want to make a deal or be in the debt of a powerful being. He prefers all of his actions to be of his own free will, not out of some obligation to a "god".

Bonus: Every time I find Meridia's beacon, I think about what Dal might do if he found it. I mean, big, round, shiny object? Sure to fetch a fortune, right? Then, he touches it, and is blasted by "A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON!" and loses approximately 100 years off his life out of sheer fright. If he does not immediately toss the beacon, he would hear Meridia ask him to clear a place of some undead before realizing that Dalamus, himself, is undead and likely rescinding the plea for help.

I like to think that Dal would probably start "helping" her if only because it would be really funny to spite her in that way. Meanwhile, she is demanding he put the beacon down, to get his filthy vampire hands off it, and put it back where a real champion can find it. He would kill a few undead before he got tired of her yelling in his head and would eventually place the beacon back outside.

[alarrytale]

I can't decide if Harry is in a better or worse place now regarding his closet. Sure he is so flamboyant and interacts with gay culture much more confidently whereas back in 1D/his early so career he was more subtle and shy about it. But back then he talked more freely about his attraction to men and now every interview feels so scripted. There's the queerbaiting backlash, his stunts getting worse and the growing list of PR girlfriends. But he's got to do stuff like MP, Coachella (very camp), Vogue etc. So I guess it's taking the bad with the good? I understand why he is stunting now, because he is at his peak and wants to make the most of it while he can. He's had a hugely successful album and tour. He's not quite icon status yet. Another 1 or 2 will do it to prove he isn't a 'flash in the pan'. But having said that, I'm so sick of it. I hate that we can't enjoy his content because stunts come with it. I'm looking forward to HS4 but know it's going to be promoted to be about Olivia or Taylor. I'm looking forward to him joining a new fashion house (Loewe?) but Taylor is an ambassador? so more stunts. Other than when he's on tour, the only times we see him is when he is stunting... and sometimes even on tour he is stunting. I'm so tired and feel like I might need to take a step back because it is messing with my mental health. Which is sad because I love him. Part of me wonders if he is 'headline trading' with the British tabloids because they have stories on him and can 'out' him. I noticed that a lot of his stunt content is exclusive to the Daily Mail and they're one of the worst tabloids for outing celebrities. So maybe he is providing them content so they don't out him. I don't know. I'll just be really disappointed if he is still doing this in his mid 30s. I'm not saying he has to CO but at least have an image change. Maybe show there is more to him than just 'dating' women.

Hi anon,

I think most of us have really complicated feelings about Harry right now. Your feelings are valid, and if it's impacting your mental health negatively, it's important to prioritise yourself. If this means taking breaks from fandom or Harry, then do that. You can come back anytime when you're ready.

I think Harry is neither better or worse off with his closet, it's the same as it's always been. The difference is he's gone from being a little bit gay and a little bit straight to being very gay and very straight. For fandom the highs are higher and the lows are lower. As he's grown bigger he's got to deal with more critisism, from both sides. He's playing the Hollywood games more than ever, and now with a smile on his face. He's overexposed and everyone is tired. It's been a long time since we've got a glimpse of Harry the person, the human. He's not relatable anymore and he's distanced himself from his fandom. That has consequences. The ig banter with Joe Lycett was great, but we'd never know about if it weren't for Joe. I'd kill for a 'forgot to turn on the dishwasher' tweet from him. I think things like that would heal the rift and the distance people are feeling towards Harry. It's especially important when he's stunting and people are down about it.

I struggle with the choices he's making and his priorities. I don't understand his goals properly and i hate the means he's using to get there. There are still ways to justify (some of) his actions, so i'm giving him the benefit of the doubt for now. I'm not a solo harry fan, or a fan of his brand, just a fan of him as a person, so i think this all is perhaps different for me than you. I'm able to look past his image (even though he's not giving us much incentive to do so as of late), but i wish his image was different so i could be a fan and not be embarrased to call myself one.

I don't know how long he's going to keep this up for, but i think it's going to become harder for him to balance it all, when he's trying to please everyone like he currently is. It depends on his ambitions and how much of his soul he's willing to sell to get there.