#and also it was VASTLY different now like the whole first floor was just a huge starbucks? it had like 5 or 6 counters each with employees

[gudakko]

wait right i did have another dream

[jinxthequeergirl]

omg yay!! so glad i can request you some billy cuz i love him sooo much… yeah, and also: if you don't want to write this it’s okay, but then please reply to this post somehow because damn otherwise i end up waiting like a hachiko😔

how about bill and reader had a deal but eventually their interactions developed into some kind of relationship (?). i don't know, in short bill became very attached to the reader but something happened and they had a fight which cancelled the deal.

time passed and bill still couldn't forget reader. and now, already being in a mental hospital, bill is sitting in general therapy in a circle with everyone else, with an empty look at the floor "i don't want to be here, they made me" in his eyes, and then suddenly one of the therapists says: "so, i want to introduce you to a new patient: y/n!"

bill, hearing this name, is shocked because how did this even happen, and the reader just smiled

ps english is not my first language i'm writing this by translation sorry for mistakes, i love you💘

The Multi-Dimensional break up

Bill chiper x Interdemensinal being!reader

Here, take this while i work on Part 8!

Picture bill however you want to in this I left him vague for a reason (I personally go for the unconventional twink cipher)

Warning: none, it's short

~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~

Sure, Ford was interesting enough, but YOU were far more interesting. He remembered helping Ford with the portal, watching him fo test runs only to pull you out.

Ford was instantly fascinated with you, running tests interagating you, you happily answered, glad to talk to someone new, and you gladly accepted when offered to help with the portal reaserch.

That's when he'd introduce you to Bill, his other interdimensinal friend helping him. You two bonded quickly, and you shared how similar your dimensions were as well as how vastly different they were.

What he liked most of all about you was how he could talk to you about things others usually didn't get, not his parents in his home dimension, not ford...no one.

"You were only a child... That must've been hard." You admit to him after he opened up to you on a whim about his past, about seeing past his dimensions, about what he did...who he lost.

"It...it's was! But look at me now! Look at all the power I have because of it!" You gave him a sideways look.

"But are you happy?..." He stared at you.

No one's ever asked him that before.

"I understand what you did...I was given a similar chance to yours...but before I made my choice I stopped to think about everyone I held dear to me, I thought about everyone else and who they held dear to themselves...and most of all I thought about myself...would this really make me happy in the long run? If I lost everything, would I care if it was replaced with what I'm being offered?"

Bill stared at you once again. A strange sinking feeling he'd only ever felt once before in his life. "What did you do?"

"Well...to put it simply my home dimension is thriving! They all lived and still lived happily...in the end, I knew if I was willing to do something like that, I could risk it all just like that, then I was the one who needed to leave."

You weren't exactly the type of being he surrounded himself with. You were....well adjusted, to say the least. He kept you around.

He grew attached to you, basically at the hip. He liked that for some reason in a sea of crazy, horrific, and terrifying things you were very calm and collected. Though you did end up sharing his affinity for all those things, giving him a good evil idea in the most calm manner he'd ever seen.

But like before in his home dimension, he began to crave more. Working with you and Ford to get the portal up and running only made him desire it tenfold. He had a vision and with you in it.

So, who better to ask for help bleed into Fords reality and take over then you. Though he didn't tell you the whole plan or truth as to what the plan held in store for everyone.

"Would it make you happy?" He felt his eye twitch. Not a question he thought you'd ask.

"If it does?" You finally looked up at him from what you were fiddling with. "If you came to me right now asking me to do this and you were a million percent positive, it would make you happy... I would say ok."

"Really? Why?"

"You should have some happiness to if I could help achieve that I would love nothing more."

"Then it's a deal."

You shook his hand.

He beamed at you, worried a moment that you would give him a long speech about doing the right thing. True that you enjoyed the bits of chaos he would sprinkle about and even partake in them. But you also had a bit of a moral Compass. It never seemed to stop you from having fun with him, and to him it didn't seem like it stopped him from his fun when you thought other wise.

But it did. You not partaking with him felt wrong. You'd become his right hand in everything. Usually, if you rode a high horse, suddenly he was too.

However, you were hell-bent on helping him with this, that was until you realized what he was doing and trying to do to Ford.

You stopped helping him immediately.

"You lied to me! You didn't tell me this was your plan! Another dimension you can treat, like your home dimension?" Bill was taken aback for a moment. And hurt that you would compare what he was doing now to what he did in the past.

"Are you seriously going to do this? To Ford!?"

"Hey! We had a deal remember!"

"You purposely left information out you tricked me!"

Bill realized he'd never seen you angry in the years he'd gotten to know you. Seeing you now almost made him hesitate, almost.

"The deal is off! And I'm going to tell Ford about your plan."

"Not so fast!" You froze in place your whole body feeling over and turning to gold. "Bill wait! Wait! Don't do this! We can talk this out!"

"I don't think so...you and no one else in any dimension is going to stop me!"

"Bill Cipher, I swear I will -"

He winced, waiting for the rest of your sentence that never came, your face permanently frozen in distorted anger. This is what he wanted, right? He wanted out of the nightmare dimension. He wanted complete and utter chaos in the real world. He was sure of it only a moment ago.

Then why did he feel so bad.

He stared at your face solid gold and gleaming now.

"Are you happy?"

He shook your voice from his head.

"You'll see y/n! I'm going to Rule this dimension and you'll regret not joining me!" He said trying to gain back his confidence.

He could.

Not when you where looking at him like that.

So he possessed Fords body, tossed you threw the still finicky portal and forgot about you.

Tried to forget about you.

Every day, something new would come up, and he would still be ready to tell you, still wake up, ready to spend his time with you.

Who knew how lonely he really was until Ford dragged you out of that portal all those years ago.

He thought about you now most of all, staring up at the ceiling in his interdemensinal cell.

He wondered if he would have beaten the Pines family if you were by his side. He wandered if he would have even gone through with weirdmagedon if you were by his side.

He truly just missed you. He regretted throwing you away like you weren't everything to him. He hoped you would eventually forgive him if you ever crossed paths or if you were even unfrozen.

He avoided bringing you up now that he was in mandatory therapy. Anytime he felt he might mention you, he paused and steered the conversation away as best he could.

"Welcome, everyone. Let's settle down."

Bill sighed, slumping into his chair. Bracing himself for yet another group therapy session.

"Before we get started, I'd like to welcome a new member to the group." He rolled his eye while the other members erupted in chatter.

"Settle down, everyone, please welcome y/n."

Bill felt his heart stop, and the air leave his lungs.

Low and behold you scanned the room looking for an open seat, you sat across from him locking eyes with him for a moment.

"I like your scar" You mouthed.

He stared at you jaw on the floor.

"How?" He asked all you did was smile before the mediators spoke up again.

"Alright, everyone, let's begin."

[curiositydooropened]

Hell Hound • Part One

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 10, 712

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

—

“I think I’ll buy all the ones left,” Munson quipped with a lazy arm tugging you back into his chest. 

You snorted, and shook your head. “Then no one else will be able to buy them, which is kind of the point of a gallery.” You gestured around at the carefully placed frames on carefully designed walls. 

“Well, good. Maybe I want you all to myself.” 

Steve’s eyes ached to roll. He collected plastic flutes and discarded trays of half-eaten vegetables and tossed them into large, black garbage sacks. 

“Are you coming over tonight?” 

“I just had my gallery opening,” you barked a laugh, pulling away to help Steve with the table you were leaning on. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to celebrate,” Eddie rationed, tugging you back into him. You yelped, your thumb going into a rogue slice of cake. With waggled brows, Eddie pulled your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

Steve thought he might be sick. He turned his back and held open the bag in front of him, just in case. Unfortunately, he could still make out your reflection in the windows out front. Your meticulously picked-out slacks hugged your curves, and Munson’s ringed fingers slipped over the breadth of your backside to squeeze you closer to him. 

“Anything else you need help with?” Steve’s voice tasted awkward, a little too loud, too scratchy. 

You separated from Eddie and dumped your haul into Steve’s bag. “I think that’s it. Thank you for everything, Steve. Really. And I’m serious about paying you.” 

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He said, twisting the bag closed with a knot. 

You shot him another look and said, “Eddie, tell Steve to let me pay him.” 

“You don’t take money from her, you don’t take money from me, pal.” 

Steve did roll his eyes this time, and glared over your shoulder at the rockstar zipping and unzipping his leather jacket. “Yeah, we have a contract, dumb ass.” 

“I’ll have my lawyer sue your lawyer.” 

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.” 

Eddie grinned. “He’s got me there, Sug.” 

You scoffed and snatched the bag from Steve’s hand. “Fine, I’ll have to come up with some other way to repay you.” 

Steve was thankful for mood lighting and the late hour. His face heated another twenty or so degrees, and he scratched at the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Eds, you need me to call you a car?” 

“Would you mind, Stevie-dearest? Sugar, I gotta take a piss. Care to show me the can in this place?” Eddie stood up and adjusted the crotch of his tight jeans for show. 

“You’re a class act, Eddie Munson. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You gripped the hefty garbage bag in one hand and took Eddie’s hand in your other as you led him back into the office space of the warehouse. Before the heavy door closed, both of you made eyes at Steve, one friendly, the other randy.

Steve’s stomach churned, and he pulled out his phone to call a car. 

Working with Eddie had been tedious, but simple. Call him a car, shield him from paparazzi and groping fans alike, bring him his hangover cure breakfast, ask beautiful women to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before his plethora of one-night stands. 

You were the toughest pill to swallow, a beautiful girl at a hometown gig. 

Hometown gigs meant rowdy afterparties, venue-catered alcohol and executive-catered drugs. It meant too-lax security checkpoints and easily-bribed security detail, and after months on the road, Steve wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bullshit. So he posted himself at the Green Room door, one eye on the metal detector, one eye on the front man who’d hired him, and prayed the ache between his shoulders would go away soon. Eight more hours and he’d be at home in bed for a long awaited and much needed vacation.

Eddie was two water bottles in, and his hand still trembled when he introduced himself to some recording mogul.

Steve snapped his fingers at some kid and told him quickly to hand Munson another bottle of water and get him a towel. 

When the items had been delivered to a thankful rockstar, Steve turned back to the collection of items being tossed into plastic trays on the outside of the metal detector: a cell phone, keys with a neon carabiner, a leather wallet, a DSLR.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stopped the attendant from picking up the camera. “There’s no press on the guest list.” 

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

You narrowed your eyes for a moment before stepping back over the threshold and against the current of waiting party-goers to fiddle with the camera.

“Here,” you cupped something in an outstretched hand, waiting patiently for Steve to accept whatever gift you had to offer.

With caution, he accepted the tiniest of SD cards, bright blue.

“Call it insurance?” You smiled, tongue behind your canine in a way that made him itch under the collar. “Find me before I leave and give it back?”

Munson had found you first, dragging Steve with clammy hands to meet his “dream girl”. He gave the signal for Steve to start pulling up the contract on his phone as he made his way down a long, concrete hallway.

You hadn’t flinched, just cocked a brow and signed your name on the dotted line with a, “Thanks, Steve. Have a great night.”

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day. 

He assumed he’d never see you again, but Munson had grown a fondness for you, and soon you were a regular part of Chicago meet-ups. Every hometown gig became a room full of you. 

Steve heard giggling from the office, that soft melodic bounce of your laugh against the bass of Eddie’s voice. This was the worst of it, catching you two in compromising positions around parties or Eddie’s ornate penthouse, and pretending like it didn’t kill him inside that it wasn’t him with his hands on you, making you laugh, smelling the warmth of your throat.

His phone buzzed in his hand. 

Robin: How was the gallery opening? Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet? We on for our FaceTime date tonight?

Steve: Eddie showed up. Yup. See you in 10 hours.

Robin: Shit. I just sent you money. Buy yourself a fifth and we’ll drink it together.

A car rolled up outside, blinding him with strong headlights.

“Munson, car’s here!” He called, praying you could both hear him.

There was the shuffle of a few things in the back, and with the clack of Eddie’s boots, you both returned. You looked a little more windswept than before, and Eddie’s sunglasses has been pulled back over his eyes, despite it being nearly midnight. 

“Steve,” you breathed, approaching him with arms outstretched for a friendly embrace. “Thanks again for all of your help tonight. You have no idea how much it means to me.” 

He gave the tightest squeeze he could under supervision and let your hand fall into his to give you one more gentle squeeze. “Anytime. It was really no problem. Do you need a ride home?” 

You shook your head, smile wedged between your teeth. “I guess Eddie wore me down.” 

“Yeah I will.” He snorted, and you shushed him. 

Steve nodded and started for the door. “Cool. Well, have fun, you two. Be safe.” 

“Thanks, man,” Eddie knocked knuckles with his friend, rings sharp against Steve’s scarred fists. “I’ll call tomorrow.” 

Steve swallowed and glanced over his shoulder to bid you one last, weak smile. 

You waggled you fingers, and he stepped out into the cool night air. 

—

“You are the most embarrassing person I know in real life.” Even Robin in lag was brutal. 

Steve sipped his coffee and rubbed at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much. Mostly, he scrolled and wondered exactly what you and Eddie were getting up to, wondered why it wasn’t him. 

“You asked if she needed a ride home?” 

“I was being polite,” he grumbled. He took a banana off its tree and began to peel. They had all begun to brown. 

“You’re so sweet, Stevie. Like a little lost puppy dog.” 

“Oh fuck off, Robin. Remember you and that girl in Buchapest?” 

“Bucharest,” she corrected his pronunciation. “And she was merely a fleeting crush.” 

“You cried over her for like three weeks.” He shot his best friend a look over the screen. 

The lighting was horrible in her Istanbul flat, internet connection worse. Steve told her he’d pay for anything better, but she argued that he needed to quit babying her and let her live the nomadic experienced she’d always dreamed of. 

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.” 

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana. 

He nearly choked when his phone began to ring in his hand, your name and photo popping up on the display screen. “Robin, it’s her.” 

“What?” 

“She’s calling me.” He held his phone to the camera on his laptop to prove a point. 

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked. 

With a sigh, he answered, phone pressed to his ear to respect your privacy. Robin glared. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” The worry in your voice had his heart kicking up in his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Robin echoed his sentiments until he snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips to quiet her.

“Nothing, it’s um… could you… are you busy?” 

“Nope. Not busy at all,” he said. Robin threw a silent fit on her end. “What’s going on?”

“Could you just… come down to the gallery? I need your help with something.”

“Yeah,” he frowned, walked the rest of his banana to the garbage can. “Like, later today?”

“Or right now. Could you come right now? As soon as possible?”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Yes. Yes, I will be right there. Keep the door locked until I get there.”

“Okay. Thank you.” 

He hung up and rushed to the door to get his shoes on. His keys and wallet were in his pocket before he heard another voice echo throughout his kitchen. 

“Harrington!? Hello!? Earth to Dingus!”

“Shit,” he sidled up to his laptop. “Robin, I am so sorry.” 

She managed a knowing smirk and a laggy nod. “Yeah, you owe me, big time Harrington. Text me everything that happens.”

“I love you,” he agreed. 

“See you next week!” 

“In real life!” He hung up before she had a chance to blabber on, and he was out the door.

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating. 

Steve yearned to wrap you into his arms and promise he’d protect you, to kiss the frown lines from between your brows, to tickle at your ribs until you smiled again. 

Instead, he stood three feet away, inspecting a bouquet of three dozen red roses that had been delivered to the gallery that morning with a note attached.

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

A printed photograph was pinned to the card, a pap photo from a gala you and Eddie had attended together a few weeks ago. Eddie’s shoulders were squeezed into a rhinestoned blazer, flash reflecting off his sunglasses. Devil horns and a tale had been crudely drawn over his features in red ball point pen. You stood beside him, hand-in-hand, curves standing out in a black silk dress. One small strap was dangling off your shoulder. The same pen was used to etch slash marks through your exposed throat, so hard it had ripped through the page.

“Is this… like Eddie wouldn’t do this, right?” Your voice shook, hand trembling against your cheekbone. You balled a tissue into your fist.

“No! God no,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Jesus, I hope not.” He muttered under his breath. “Have you called him?”

You shrugged, nodded. “I tried, and texted. He was still asleep when I left.”

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, remembering you’d gone home with the rockstar. You probably slipped out of black silk sheets and into the black and grey marbled shower. You probably toed around in front of the massive high-rise window, searching for various garments that had been removed on every inch of the house. Maybe you’d made yourself a latte, with a splash of lavender like you like it, wearing an oversized black hoodie that smelled of weed and cigarettes and some cologne Steve couldn’t afford.

“I can try again,” you fished your phone from your back pocket and dialed.

Steve plucked the card from the roses for any indication of a delivery service or floral company, but the card was blank, ivory, high-quality. “Who delivered these?”

“Old guy, balding, green vest,” you shrugged. 

Steve nodded.

“Hey, Sugar,” Eddie’s voice rasped over speaker. “S’matter. Did you leave something here, or d’you just miss me?”

“No, um…” You changed your balance from one foot to the other. “Eds, did you send me roses?”

“Fuck, you want me to eat you out and send you roses?” The rockstar chuckled.

Steve swallowed and didn’t dare look at you directly. He felt the heat radiating off of you as you frantically turned off speaker-phone and held the device to your ear, covering your face with a hand.

“No, babe, Jesus. I got a delivery of roses today with a um…” Your voice trembled again.

Steve brushed delicate fingers to your arm and held out his hand to take the phone.

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed. 

“Harrington? What is going on? Am I still asleep?”

“No, dude, she called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you. Listen, there’s this big bouquet of roses here with a death threat attached. You didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not some kind of prank?”

“A death threat? What do you mean? A prank? Jesus, how shitty of a person do you think I am? Is she okay? I’m coming down there.”

Steve winced around the shuffle of bedsheets and the sound of Eddie clomping around his bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dude. Here, let me send you a picture.”

Steve took his own phone out to take and send a photo, rifling past a barrage of text messages from Robin. 

You’d propped yourself on the reception desk, eyes darting between the flowers and outside. The morning light poured in, hollowing your cheekbones and painting your walls pink. 

Steve reached for your elbow, running his thumb over the bit of skin there to pull your focus back.

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

“Oh what the fuck?” Eddie yelled through the phone, startling you both. 

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Steve agreed, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Is she okay? Let me talk to her. Wait, Harrington, do you think it’s Carver?”

Steve’s blood ran cold. 

Jason Carver was a religious zealot from a small town with a vendetta for Eddie Munson and “demons like him”. Two years ago, his army of his cronies marched to a Corroded Coffin show in Milwaukee and set the place on fire. They managed to get everyone out of the bar before the roof collapsed. More Molotovs were thrown before the cops arrived.

Since Carver wasn’t in attendance and denied any involvement in inciting the riot, he received a slap on the wrist and no jail time. The band did manage an airtight restraining order, but Steve doubted that looped in contact with Munson’s hook-ups.

He cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, fuck is right. Let me talk to her. Don’t let her leave your sight. I’ll pay you triple if I have to. Twenty-four hour surveillance. You hear me?”

“Don’t worry about the cash, man,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I’m going to call the delivery company and see if they can give me any more information on the purchase, and then I’ll call Joyce and see if she can’t get her written into the restraining order.” 

“Thank you, man. I want you to take her home to get her stuff and then bring her over here. If it is him, he can’t get to her here.”

Steve hated that he was right.

“Put her on for me. Thanks again, bro.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve slipped the phone back into your trembling hands.

He overheard Eddie’s tone slip into something softer, “Sugar, how’re you doing? Are you alright? I’m so so sorry this happened to you, my sweet girl.”

You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze before you wandered off across the gallery for some privacy in your phone call. 

Steve opened his browser to began searching for the delivery company’s number with a pit in his stomach and an unfillable ache in his chest.

—

Robin: OMFG that’s so scary. Is she ok? Are you ok? Is Eddie ok? I’m going to be there in a week, plz don’t get murdered.

—

Your keys clicked in the lock, and you toed open the door to your little apartment. Light poured in through large windows, casting warmth on the small space that the dark hallway hid. You stepped in first, and Steve followed with trepidation. 

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved. 

“How long um… how much should I pack?” You squinted, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “This is a lot, and I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Once again, he felt the ache to pull you into him, to whisper sweet words into your hair. Instead he gestured to a bar stool. “Take a seat. Take a breath. I’m going to check the house, if that’s alright.” 

He winced as your face flooded with realization, and fear. 

“It’s probably fine. I just want to be safe.” He tried to sound nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed, nodded, gestured for him to go ahead. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

He waved you off with a knowing smile and started down the hallway, relieved when he turned to see you sitting as instructed. You’d been on your feet all day, making arrangements with the gallery owners to have someone take your shift for the evening and tomorrow. When you weren’t on the phone or emailing buyers, you were staring out the windows, a far-off gaze in your eye. You held that now, looking down your living room windows at the busy downtown street below.

Steve took the first door to the left and found a small bathroom. Some tiles in the corner were cracked, and the sink was scattered with the remnants of a makeup bag, a toothbrush. The bathtub’s curtain was pulled back to reveal a loofah dangling from the faucet. 

Your bedroom waited at the end of the hall. His fingertips pushed the door open, breath shallow, face warm.

Sage green linens were crumpled on your bed with three overstuffed pillows. Dirty clothes littered your floor in piles leading to and from the closet. That black satin dress topped an armchair, the strap snapped.

Steve swallowed.

A hefty dresser sat to the right of the door, the top scattered with trinkets and photographs. He was surprised to find his own image scowling back at him, arms crossed, black t-shirt on, leaning against a concrete wall. The sun hit him just so, framing his eyes like a superhero mask, the rest of him cast in shadow. God, all of the world really was better through your lens.

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

He cleared his throat, cheeks warm, to find you at the doorway, hugging your arms to yourself. He smiled. “Clear. I’ll just wait in the front room.” He gestured to slip past you.

“Actually, do you mind hanging out? It’ll only take a second.” You gestured for him to sit on the bed before you scampered about your room, picking up the dirty clothes and depositing them into the hamper.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed like they were in the photo. “Get enough for a couple of days if you want, but we’re going to get this figured out.”

You wore your anxiety like a jacket, hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, a shell of the vibrant woman he knew. 

He took a few steps forward, halting your frantic shoving of clothes in a backpack.

You blinked back up at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You laughed then, a manically sound that didn’t meet your eyes. “Steve, am I just insane? Or stupid? Am I the dumbest person in the entire world?” 

“What?” He tried not to focus on the way your hair haloed around your face, light pouring in through gossamer curtains.

“I knew the novelty of sleeping with a rockstar would wear off eventually, but I was thinking like he’d cheat on me with a super model or maybe I’d get a curable STD, but not this.” It was the most you’d spoken all day, your old self sinking back into your voice.

Steve smiled, itched at the back of his neck, shrugged. “Eddie’s a very charming man.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, okay, Eddie’s good, but he’s not death-threats good.”

Steve felt a little surge of excitement at this knowledge, maybe a bit of competition sparking in him again. “Sure, but he’s a good guy. He really likes you.”

“I think he calls me ‘Sugar’ because he forgot my real name and got too embarrassed to ask.” 

Your confession had Steve’s jaw on the floor, and when you laughed, he felt light as air. This time your laugh met your eyes, met your mouth, your cheeks. You swatted at his chest.

“Steve, you were supposed to tell me that’s not true.” 

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You pushed past him and to the bathroom to start collecting your toiletries. The anxiety was temporarily snuffed and replaced with the ease of routine, of being in your space surrounded by your things, and Steve felt himself relax a bit knowing you were comfortable.

—

Joyce: Got it taken care of, sweetheart. Hop says he’ll file a report and to let him know if you need an extra hand. Dinner next weekend? Steak and potatoes? Take care of yourself.

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—

Munson pulled his ragged hair up into a bun with a hair tie he kept around his wrist. Steve often wondered if it was yours, or if the rockstar pulled it from the locks of some groupie on the road, long nights spent in truck stops and blues houses. The tie had lost some elasticity over the years, and tendrils managed to fall into the man’s eyes, and even still, he looked cool, casual, calm.

He was anything but calm. His knee bounced as he took a glass of water from Steve filled for him. “What did I do wrong, man?” 

Steve sighed and sat across from him, back to massive windows overlooking the city lights. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this tiff you were having. 

“I mean, I just want to keep her safe. I’m the one that got her in this mess in the first place.” Eddie extended an inked arm toward his bedroom door. You’d been in there for over an hour now, having excused yourself to bed for the night. 

You’d made a point that you were going to bed alone.

“Should I not have told her how I feel?”

Steve pinched at this bridge of his nose, eyes tired and struggling to focus in a room of black velour upholstery and gold trim. 

The spat started when Eddie informed you he’d booked your ticket to join him in England for the next few months while Corroded Coffin records their next album. It ended when Eddie, on bended knees, hands gripping your ribcage, told you he loved you.

Steve watched the entire exchange awkwardly from the kitchen, trying to blend in with white marble countertops.

Apparently, today was a day for firsts. He’d never seen you as nervous as he had in the gallery that morning, and he’d never seen you as angry. You were the silent type, but he felt the rage radiating off of your frame, the clench of your jaw, the subtle brush of Eddie’s hands from your waist.

He caught your gaze when you exited the room, and your demeanor shifted to apologetic, embarrassed maybe. He managed a tight-lipped smile and a wave. 

“Harrington,” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Come on, you’re good with women, right? Help me out.” 

Steve snorted. He’d been good with women, sure, but not since you waltzed into his life with your SD card and that smirk.

“How do we make up?” Munson’s shoulders were hunched, face fraught with worry.

With another drawn out sigh, Steve shrugged. “Give her space, man. She had a really scary day. You remember your first death threat, right? She needs time to process and not for you to demand she be shipped off to another country for two months.” 

Eddie nodded, too much, too exuberantly. “Okay, okay. You’re right. That makes sense. I just…” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want to lose her.” 

That emotion, Steve understood. It was a fear that prickled at the base of his neck anytime Eddie winked at another girl in the front row, anytime he had his arms looped over two women backstage, anytime his phone sat on the coffee table between them with Sugar blowing up the notifications, neglected. Didn’t Eddie know what he had in you?

“We won’t.” He shook his head. 

Eddie nodded. “You’re a good man, Steve Harrington. I’m sure going to miss you.” 

Steve frowned at that, arms crossed over his chest. “Miss me? The hell are you talking about?” 

“When I’m in England,” Eddie explained, reaching forward for the tin lunch box he kept tucked under the coffee table. The lid hid the glass with a clang, and he reached in for rolling papers, a lighter, and a ziplock bag full of weed.

“Are you firing me?” Steve wasn’t following.

Munson snorted, rolled a neat joint, licked it closed. “Harrington, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

Steve warmed, as he often did when someone complimented him, and frowned. “Cut the crap. What’re you talking about?”

“You’re going to stay here, with her.” He nodded your direction and lit up, flame glowing in big, brown eyes while he took a drag. He held onto it for a minute, shoulders going slack, knee stopping its bounce. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and released a large billow of smoke skyward, casting the room in a sickly sweet haze.

“She’s right, man,” he continued. “It’s not fair of me to take her from her gallery. She worked too hard for this.”

He sat up, offered the joint to his friend. Steve declined, head already starting to spin.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit. “I need you to protect her.” 

Steve nodded. That was the easiest thing his friend had ever asked him to do.

“While I’m away, think you could do me another favor?

More smoke billowed from the man’s pink lips, that familiar Munson charm tugging at the corners of his mouth until his teeth were bared in that irresistible grin he was so famous for. He leaned forward then, gesturing for Steve to meet him at the center of the coffee table.

Steve leaned forward, and then a little more when the gesturing didn’t stop, rolling his eyes. “What now?”

Eddie’s smile fell to something far more serious, concern etched in his features, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes big like a baby deer in the headlights. Steve had only seen him this scared a handful of times. “I need you to use those killer wingman skills of yours to make her fall in love with me.” 

Steve’s mouth almost fell open. He had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so, blinking across the six-inch gap at his friend. He could taste the weed on the other boy’s lips, the sweat off his brow. 

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.” 

—

Robin: You said yes!? How much do you actually hate yourself, Harrington?

Steve: You don’t want me to answer that, do you?

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

Steve thanked Becky at the front desk with a wink, desperate the ego stroke he got every time she smiled at him like he hung the moon on a string. 

Mood boosted, he balanced the coffee order in one hand and his phone in the other and ducked into the nearest elevator that would take him to the penthouse. 

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this. 

Sufficiently deflated by his wise best friend, Steve keyed in the code to Eddie’s penthouse and let himself back in. Your sneakers remained on the entry rug, camera bag discarded on a nearby table. 

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty. 

Steve frowned. He hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

He pressed forward down the hall and into the open living space, setting the cardboard coffee carrier on the kitchen island before turning to find you pressed against the glass, silhouetted in pink morning sunlight. Eddie’s face was buried into your neck, hands unseen, and your eyelids were heavy, pink lips bowed in ecstasy.

Steve froze. He knew he should look away, leave the room, make a noise, but his gaze lingered on the soft skin of your thigh hitched up Eddie’s leg, the curve of your calf, the point of your toe. 

He could hear his heartbeat thundering, breath held, desperate not to make a sound or to scream and run. 

Eddie dipped to his knees, mouth finding purchase lower on your chest.

Steve caught your gaze. Your eyes widened, and you shoved Eddie away from you and scrambled to cover bare skin with an oversized black hoodie. 

“Steve,” you breathed, and Jesus it was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I thought you left.” You pulled the hoodie down in a vain attempt at covering your thighs, looking everywhere but at the bodyguard in the kitchen.

He felt his own face warm, tapping fingertips to the countertops. His throat felt tight, a loss for words. His pants felt tighter.

“I ordered us coffee, Sugar,” Munson recovered the quickest, taking your hand to help himself off the floor and lead you into the kitchen.

You resisted his pull, taking a few steps back to say, “I’m going to get ready.”

“Need help?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a dog. Steve tried to ignore how wet the man’s lips looked.

You shook your head, venturing a glance Steve’s direction and looking immediately away when you were caught. Then you slunk off back to the bedroom from whence you came.

When he finally heard the click of the door, Steve frowned at his employer. “Guess I should’ve knocked.” 

Eddie waggled his brows at Steve, too, taking his cup from the carrier and managing a sip. 

Steve was ready with an ice water to cool the man’s burned tongue. “Does this mean you made up?”

Eddie shook his head fervently, tonguing at his water like a dog. “Hell no. She told me she’s going to the gallery today because, and I quote, she ‘can’t be held hostage in this velvet prison forever’.”

Steve grinned over his own steaming coffee and shrugged in commiseration to his friend.

Eddie nodded, took a gentler sip of his own coffee this time. “Had to shut her up when she started telling me to ‘have fun in the UK’ and maybe I should look up some old friends while I’m there.” 

Steve swallowed and nodded. “I mean, Lizzie.” 

“Don’t make me pin you to that window, Harrington,” the rockstar warned, inked finger extended with a scowl. 

Steve followed his point to the window, wherein he could just make out the smudges of four distinct handprints, two much smaller than the others. There was also the faintest of smudges where your ass had been pressed against the glass. Steve coughed at the saliva gathering in his mouth.

“Eds?” You called upon reentry, voice echoing off concrete floors. “I’m leaving. I’ll… call you or something.” You were dressed and you had a tube of lipgloss in your hand, uncorked. 

Eddie scrambled for you, scooping you up in his arms. 

You stiffened, glancing up at the bodyguard keeping watch in the corner. 

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy. 

“Sugar, Steve’s going to keep an eye on you, just until we figure this death threat thing out, okay?” Eddie cleared the hair from your face.

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Steve.” You held a hand up to him. 

“He’s not a babysitter,” Eddie snapped, “and he’s going to keep you safe. I can’t lose you. You hear me?” He pulled your gaze back to him, cupping your small jaw in large hands. “I love you.” 

“Eddie,” you winced, tugging at his wrists.

The rockstar dropped his hands, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned to give Steve a pleading look before he turned back to you. “Alright, Sug. I’ll see you in two months. I’ll call as often as I can.” 

“Okay,” you nodded and allowed him to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

—

Your lipstick stained the lid of your lavender latte, peachy pink. Your nails were freshly manicured for the gallery opening, and you always wore that delicate gold ring on your middle finger. 

You set your cup on the countertop and didn’t look up from your laptop to say, “If you’re bored, you don’t have to stay here. I promise I’ll tell Eddie I never left your sight.” 

Steve smiled over his own cup. “I’m not bored.” To appear occupied, he settled onto the desk behind yours and pulled out his phone.

The first image on his feed was yours, something you’d managed to snap of the old woman and her husband from the opening. They stared at the portrait of their apartment building, hand-in-hand, and you’d taken it at just the right instant, when the husband was smiling down at his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

The gallery opening was everything I’d ever hoped for. Thank you to all sponsors and patrons who attended and to everyone who helped pull this together. If you’d like to check out my work, please drop by the gallery and say hello.

Steve hummed to himself, double-tapping, and typed a comment.

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

“Steve,” you scolded, “quit commenting on my shit. I’m standing right here.” It was the first smile he’d seen since yesterday. 

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest again to say, “Yours was the best gallery opening I’ve been to.”

That beautiful smile tugged even higher on your cheeks, despite your eye roll. “It was the only gallery opening you’ve been to.”

“You don’t know that,” he feigned offense.

You cocked a brow, bursting his facade until you were both snickering a laugh.

“Okay, but come on,” he pushed himself off the desk and strolled out into the open gallery. Egg shell white walls were naturally lit by skylights and the fourth glass wall of the small space. “This place was packed with people obsessed with your work, myself included.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, but remained behind the shelter of your desk. “Which one’s your favorite?”

A bubble of giddy excitement kicked in his chest, and he turned to face your artwork. The sunlight reflecting off the lake was good, the streak of streetlights in the rain, a collection of big, red brick buildings: all of these were his favorite. You’d managed to capture his city in unique and beautiful ways.

He pointed at each one and glanced back to see you shaking your head, eyes brightening and mouth failing to hide that smile.

Finally, he found that photo of the L he was admiring that night and wrapped his knuckles near it. “This one. You managed to capture no plastic bags.”

You rolled your eyes, but let his gesture pull you from your desk. “You can’t see it, but there was one caught around my ankle when I took the shot.”

Steve laughed. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.” 

You sucked your cheeks in a pout and glanced down the row at all of your photos, your accomplishments on display. “Steve,” you muttered. “Can I… vent for a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to face you, giving you his undivided attention.

You turned your body toward him as well, hands tucked under your arms. “It’s about Eddie.”

Steve felt his brow raise, but he nodded, miming the zip of his lips and extending you the key.

You chewed around another smile and extended your hand for him to place the invisible key into and wrapped your beautiful fingers around it. Then, you looked back at your photograph and chewed on your words.

Steve leaned forward to catch your gaze, pull your focus back on him.

You sighed, shrugged. “It’s just… Eddie’s used to having women fall at his feet and do whatever he says, isn’t he?”

Steve tried to keep his expression stoic, but it was hard when he thought of all the bras he’d kicked off of a stage, all of the groupies Eddie fingered in the wings, all of the women he’d had to call a ride share for to ensure they got home safely, too wobbly on their legs to drive.

You barked a laugh. “I know he is because I’m one of them.” You didn’t seem amused.

Steve frowned, shook his head. You deserve more credit than that. You weren’t like the others, not by a long shot.

“He came to my opening, right? He saw how important this was to me. Hell, he told you to help me run it because he had faith in me that it was going to be big.” You gestured around wildly as you spoke, frustration building in your tone. “And yet, he expects me to just pack up everything and fly to England for two months?”

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

“I know, it’s because he’s worried about me, and I do appreciate that, but it’s also like… I feel like he didn’t know what he had in me until he saw me get spooked, and now he’s trying to lock me down.” You frowned. “I can’t be broken. I’m not a horse.”

Steve nodded.

You paused a moment longer before looking into his eyes again. “If I ask you something, you promise to be honest with me?”

He nodded again, slowly. He’d do anything for you.

“Do you think he’s really in love with me?”

Steve’s heart shattered at the hope that lingered in your voice. He swallowed, remembered his promise to Eddie, and nodded.

You let out another strained laugh, as though you couldn’t believe it, and centered yourself before asking another. “Do you think he’s going to sleep with other women while he’s away?”

Again, Steve steeled himself with a deep breath, and shook his head. Eddie wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him, and what was good for him was you.

You cocked a brow, unbelieving of this answer, and toyed with another question in your mind for a moment. “Do you think I should go with him to England?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gesturing around at your beautiful gallery. Two months with Eddie Munson wasn’t worth giving all of this up. If he was serious, and he really did love you, he’d prove it to you when he got back. 

Your lips ticked upwards at that answer. “Hey, this zipped-lip Steve thing is kind of fun. I should have made you shut up a long time ago.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

You reached your hands out to grab his, swinging them back and forth between the two of you. Your hands were warm and and small and soft. “Hey, Steve, is there something you really, really want to tell me, but can’t? Because you can, you know.” You smirked. “This is a safe space. We’re all friends here.”

Sunlight poured in through the windows, casting your face in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkled, cheeks round, lips that soft, peachy pink.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, he didn’t know where to start. So he caressed the backs of your hands with his thumbs and nudged you ever-closer.

The toes of your sneakers touched. Your eyelashes batted. You tilted your face skyward to look up at him. You licked your lips.

God, he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could taste the lavender of your latte and the length of your throat. He wished he could press you to the glass and let the world know you were his. He wished he could tell you every day for the rest of his life how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how perfect you are. 

The smile fell from your face. You released one of his hands to brush hair from his forehead. 

He held his breath. 

You searched his gaze for something, your own features filled with worry, and you nodded. “You’re really scared about this Jason Carver guy, huh?”

Steve blinked. He’d forgotten entirely about the roses, the death threat, the reason he’d been paid to spend time with you, to watch over you, to protect you. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A bell rang, putting a few feet between you. You adjusted your hair and straightened your top before shooting him a ‘wish me luck’ look and stepping away to greet your newest buyer.

—

Hopper: No leads on that delivery. I’ve got Callahan asking around. Powell’s looking into Carver. Keep me posted on other developments.

Steve tapped nervous fingers to the deli’s glass countertops, craning his neck for a vantage on your gallery windows. 

You’d practically forced him out, insisting this was your favorite sandwich place in town and nothing else would suffice. When he offered to pay for delivery, you reminded him how uncomfortable you felt with deliverers right now and promised you’d lock the door behind him. He wished he could have convinced you to join him.

“Dude, we’re going as fast as we can,” the sandwich artist snapped, cutting pastrami into thin slices. 

Steve frowned back at him, confused for a moment, before taking his hand from the glass and shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, sorry.” His foot tapped instead.

An 80s love ballad played over the speakers, and the whole place smelled of cold cuts. A small line had formed behind the counter of people going about their day-to-day. 

Steve looked at each one of them as a suspect. Though, he was pretty sure Babushka in the headscarf wasn’t eliciting death threats to beautiful girls via three dozen red roses. She felt more like the cast-a-spell type. 

He snorted and glanced back out the window just in time to see a black car pull up to the gallery. A man stepped out. 

“Forty-five?” The deli employee called out.

Steve took a few steps toward the window, squinting against the glare to see a tall man with white hair approach the glass. He wrapped two knuckles on the front door. You met him there.

“Dude, your sandwiches!” The guy behind the counter called, and Steve cursed, grabbing them with a thanks and a nod.

He glanced up just in time to see you unlocking and opening the gallery door, and he began to run your direction.

“Hey, man! You forgot your pickles! Asshole…” 

The wind whipped at his ears, and he nearly ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The driver honked and flipped him off, and Steve waited for him to pass before checking both ways and crossing to get to you again. 

He made a mental note of the black car’s license plate: GCCF and swung open the gallery door with a ring of the bell. 

The man stood beside you, tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a haircut that hadn’t changed since the early 70s. He wore a grey suit, and a black tie, and a smile as he admired your photos.

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

Relief warmed Steve’s spine, and he toed to the desktop to place the sandwich bag, careful not to make any noise so he could overhear bits of your conversation.

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you said, even-keeled, though Steve knew you were bursting inside. “I’m honored for the invitation.” 

“I’m glad you agree,” the man chuckled. “Your talent really is a gift to this city, and we’ll be proud to display your work in our halls.” 

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

“Now, our guests usually love to speak with the artists featured in the auction. Are you free Friday evening? Could I coax you to attend?” The man turned to face you now, reaching into his inside pocket for something.

Steve took two steps forward. 

The man extended you a small, white slip of paper. 

You read it over with a tight-lipped nod. Then you smiled. “I would love to go.” 

“Excellent,” the man nodded. “It is black tie. Could I give my assistant the name of a plus-one?” 

You swallowed before answering. “Sure, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve felt his face warm, and he nearly tripped over a power cord stepping back behind the desk. 

The man you were speaking to nodded with a knowing smile and glanced down at his watch. “Well, unfortunately I must be going. I have a lunch meeting to attend. Good timing too, it seems as if your lunch has arrived, and it smells delicious.” He ventured a glance Steve’s direction, and the bodyguard squared his shoulders. 

“Thank you so much for dropping by, and for your business. I look forward to the event.” You smiled, extending a hand for the stranger to shake.

He reciprocated your gesture. “Thank you for your work, my dear. It is breathtaking. Expect that deposit by end of day, and we’ll see you Friday evening. Have a great day.” 

“You too.” 

Steve watched you watch the man walk to the door and get into his car. Your chest was still, breath held until the black car was started and began to drive. 

Then, you began to jump up and down, screaming, like a teenaged girl who had just been asked to prom. 

Steve frowned, shaking his t-shirt to dry the sweat that clung to his back. “What’s going on?”

You grinned and did an adorable little skip and hop back to your desk, sliding two pieces of paper across for him to read. Then, you broke into the sandwich bag.

Steve peered down at a stark white business card with grey lettering, and a matching invitation. 

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

“So, this guy, Brenner or whatever,” you explained, peeling the parchment paper from your bread, “just came in and bought my entire playground collection. Can you believe it? All nine photos. He said he’s going to hang them in the halls of his school.” The sound that came from your lips exceeded dogs’ hearing in pitch.

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

You took a huge bite of your sandwich first, olive oil clinging to the corner of your lips and dripping down the back of your hand. 

Steve shook a napkin from the paper bag and handed it to you.

You thanked him, mouth full, and swallowed before mopping your face. “Then he says he wants to offer up another one of my pieces in their annual live auction.”

Steve snapped a photo of the two cards and sent them to his contacts in the police force for some background information, nodding to let you know he was listening.

“Do you own a tuxedo, by the way?” You asked, cheek chipmunked.

Steve frowned back at you. He’d been head of security for Corroded Coffin for upwards of six years. He’d been to more award shows than he could count. Of course he had a tuxedo. 

“What?” You feigned innocence, cracking into one of the sodas you’d pulled from the vending machine while you waited for Steve to return. “If you have to be my new bodyguard, I can’t go to this gala alone.”

He sighed and began to neatly unfold his own sandwich, lettuce falling every which way. “Yes, I have a tuxedo.” 

“Really?” You grinned. “I should bring my camera.” 

He shot you a look. “You going to tell me why you unlocked the door for a random stranger while I was picking up your lunch?” 

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

Steve maintained eye contact while he popped the tab on his own soda, shoulders squared. He felt like a dad every time he interrogated Eddie for late nights out with no correspondence. The stance didn’t translate well to Robin over text. 

“I figured I could take an old man,” you shrugged.

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, for now, Steve took a bite into his sandwich and stared back down at the business card on the tabletop, hoping this guy didn’t have any ties to Carver or whoever it was that sent you that note.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

—

1 Voicemail

Hey, kid. It’s Hopper. Brenner’s one of Chicago elites, but as far as we know he’s harmless. He runs that school for gifted kids. Real pillar of the community type. Could be mob ties, but who the hell in this city doesn’t have mob ties? 

Couldn’t find anything on the delivery company, and no florists in town filled orders that big. Something’s definitely off. Powell spoke to Carver’s assistant, but he was out of the office. Keep an eye out.

Joyce wanted me to invite you and the girl to dinner. Stay safe, kid. Let me know if anything else comes up.

Lucas: All safely on the plane and ready for take off. England won’t be the same without you, man. Take care.

Eddie: Ready for take off. Thanks for taking care of my girl, big man. See you in two months.

Robin: You’re sitting in your car watching her apartment? You’re a creep, Harrington. Please tell me you don’t know the color of her bra tonight.

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

He hated that he knew your bra was a soft, stone grey. He’d seen the strap slip down your arm. You’d caught it and pushed it back up, mid-conversation with a browser this afternoon. 

He glanced up from the glare of his phone at your open front window. He couldn’t see anything substantial from this vantage, just the shadows cast on dimly lit ceilings as you moved around your home. 

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should go home and rest. No more threats had been issued today, that he knew of. You seemed to be less afraid than you were the day before, and with Eddie gone, maybe you weren’t in as much harm as you had been. Still, something gnawed at him. 

Steve startled when his phone began vibrating in his hand. Your name, and a photo of you grinning back at him, filled his little car with light. He answered. “Hello?”

“I can see you.”

Steve gulped and shifted to look back up at your window. You stood there in an oversized sweatshirt, waggling your fingers.

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

“Bring your fedora and binoculars and come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

You met him at the door in baggy clothes with two glasses of wine in your hand. You waited for him to step out of his shoes and shrug off his jacket before handing him one glass, and then you led him to the little futon propped up into a sofa near a loved coffee table.

A few candles burned, casting everything in flickered shadows. The place smelled of lavender and honey and smoky amber. 

“So,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping from your glass. You pulled your legs up to be crossed and tilted yourself to face him. “Tell me about this Carver guy.” 

Steve frowned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch to appear comfortable.

“Well, if it’s serious enough that Eddie’s got you staking out my apartment, I need to know who I’m up against.” You frowned, taking another sip from your glass, the legs spilling from your sweet lips and back into the liquid. 

Charity events attracted a diverse crowd, metal bands and church groups converging for the greater cause, their own positive PR. Knocked elbows at the start of the night often led to knockouts once the open bar started flowing. The mob made connections and burned bridges and somehow, the world kept turning.

One such event, Steve had eyes on Munson from across the room. The rockstar was flirting with some senator-to-be or another, a good friend of the Obamas, if he remembered correctly. Sinclair had eyes on the other band members at other tables. They all seemed happy, buzzed, low-key despite studded tuxedos.

Steve clocked the approach before Eddie had. A blonde man in a white suit caught sight and B-lined from near the stage.

Steve crossed to intercept him, stopping the young man with two fingers to his chest before he could get around the final linen-covered table. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s face split in a menacing grin that sent chills down his spine. Never in his life had Steve felt something so cold. All his instincts went on high alert, fight or flight. One fist clenched at his side.

“I was just hoping for a little tête-á-tête with Mr. Munson,” the man gestured a hand out.

Steve dropped his hand, noticing the steel tie pin in the shape of a cross. “He’s busy at the moment, but let me take down your information, and we’ll see if we could find time for you at a later function.” 

“Are you his secretary or his babysitter?” Still with the grin, dead between the eyes.

“Why? You looking for a playdate?” Steve squared his shoulders, inches taller than the other man. 

“I’m just looking to ask one question.” 

“Shoot,” Eddie approached from behind Steve, shoulders squared in the same manner as his bodyguard. 

The other man tucked his hand into white jacket, and Steve stuck his hand in front of Eddie, just in case, until Carver retrieved his business card and handed it over. Sleek, white, with grey lettering.

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

“Do you, Mr. Munson, take responsibility for casting yourself and all of your followers to the very depths of Hell to burn for an eternity?” 

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Carver, but he could feel Eddie’s grin growing beside him. 

“You’re damn right I do.”

Carver seemed just as pleased with this answer as the rockstar had been. He nodded, an odd twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Munson. I hope you and your hell hound have a lovely evening.” 

That was the one and only time Steve had met the man, and he’ll never forget the weight of his presence. 

You’d set your wine glass on the coffee table beside his, and you were curled closer now, frown creasing your sweet brow. “And then he burned that place down in Milwaukee?” 

Steve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the futon, fingertips dangerously close to your shoulder. He wished he could sweep your hair back, kiss the crease from your forehead, reassure you he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“Well, first, he had all of the funding pulled from that almost-senator, set her up for public exposure, basically ruined her entire life. When asked to comment, he said ‘jezebels and harlots get what they deserve’. Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffed.

There was a far-off look in your eye, like you were considering the weight of those words when compared to you.

Without a second thought, Steve brushed his knuckles against your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. “Hey, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you, right?”

You surprised him by leaning into his touch, nodding. You released a shaky laugh, your voice caught in your throat. “I was really trying to be brave.”

Steve smiled, and opened his mouth to tell you you were, to tell you you were beautiful, to tell you he’s been in love with you from the moment he met you because you were all of those things.

Your phone began ringing, loud and incessant, a vibration from the coffee table that lit up the room with a photo of Eddie’s face. 

You ducked away from Steve’s touch and patted at warmed cheeks, reaching for your phone. “I should probably get this.”

Steve nodded, cleared his throat, reached forward to take a long swig of alcohol. It went down dry. 

“I actually think I’ll go to bed.” You silenced your phone and stood up, backing slowly from the living room. “You don’t mind the futon, right? Here are some extra blankets and a pillow.” You gestured toward a little wicker basket beside the sofa. “Use whatever you’d like in the bathroom.”

Steve stood to mirror you, hoping his smile seemed more reassuring than he felt. “Sleep tight. If you need anything…”

You nodded, smiled. “Thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.” 

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

[A/N: So yeah, this just kind of... came out of me. It's been cooking since February, but I've sat down like three times over the last week and spewed out 10k. And I got too excited to wait to post it, so here you are. Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. Is bodyguard!Steve my new favorite Steve? Is rockstar!Eddie my new favorite Eddie? Maybe so. xoxoxo]

[pseudophan]

how did we figure out phil’s room in the second london flat was a set beyond the fact that his shit was in dans room? and also how did we figure out the two flat situation i literally do not remember

oh boy, well, this story is vastly different depending on the phannie circles you were in at the time

me personally i saw their floor plans like, a week after they moved in. i always knew they had two flats, way before it even became a theory, but i was on here for two years like idk man! who's to say! because oh my god we were NOT supposed to know that shit. now, in my defence, it REALLY wasn't my fault. i didn't go looking for it nor did i ask to see it, however i did and to this day the whole thing was just very funny. weird! creepy! but funny. i'm not gonna say who found them in the first place, but in short the real estate listings stayed up for awhile after they moved in and bc of the location (near the first london flat, an address everyone had at that point) someone quite easily found them. said person emailed phil and phil got them taken down, but because phannies can't keep their mouths shut the contents of that listing did get spread around a fair bit

as for everyone who Wasn't being a creep like some of us, there were just clues that added up over time. firstly just like, the designs of the two flats are vastly different. you can tell which rooms belong to which flat just based on the look of them, and the difference in style combined with the fact that they had two kitchens made it so it just didn't make much sense for all of this to be one apartment. there was a whole thing about hardwood floors vs carpet, namely when phil tweeted about this centipede that got into "his room" and then dan happened to "walk past" at 2am. meanwhile the pics he posted of said centipede were on wooden floors (or laminate or whatever idk) and the amazingphil bedroom set very much had carpet. like, the centipede was in the moon room, i do believe the conclusion was

my personal favourite thing though was one of phil's sleepless night videos, because those of us who knew for a fact there were two flats were CRYYYINGGGG laughing at that shit bc the blatant lying was just so funny. this dude rly laid on top of his sheets fully clothed complaining at full volume about how he couldn't sleep. but then he went to get a charger from the living room (in the other flat, where dan was sleeping) and all of a sudden he's being all quiet. absolutely incredible content. 10/10 no notes.

anyway, kids... don't look at your favourite youtube gay people's floor plans. even if it's funny.

[sutaagaaru]

STAR BOY— BONUS #1: SHADES OF WINTER

౨ৎ synopsis: torugu guse is an author who has become a client under the Kaisen Literature Company, for their compilation of poems and short stories. it’s gojo satoru’s job to read it and come up with a design.

౨ৎ summary: gojo satoru reads the first poem in shades of winter.

author’s note: hi! so if you’ve been reading along with STAR BOY, i have created these short bonus chapters that break away from the actual story and are set in the past. it’s a prequel of sorts. you don’t have to read these to understand the main story, but it’s definitely a little insight into satoru’s life, and does tie into the main storyline from chapter 4 onwards. these bonus chapters will be every now and then, not regularly updated with STAR BOY. the reader from the main story is also not featured. it’s literally just about gojo. (and some others…) mwah, enjoy!

“our latest project needs to be read by everyone, by the end of the week. please relay this message to your staff, so we can begin the process of getting it out there next monday. thank you.” one of the board directors spoke, excusing himself from the room.

“what a drag. that whole meeting could have been summed up with an email. don’t you think, nanamin?” gojo satoru complained, as he usually did, to the stoic blond beside him.

“practically anything can be summed up into an email, gojo. but who wants to receive so many emails from their superior, especially if it’s out of work hours?” nanami kento mumbled dispassionately.

“whatever. what is this shades of winter, anyway?” i didn’t know poetry was trending these days.” satoru picked up one of the transcripts left in a pile on the boardroom table, quickly flicking through the pages.

“from what i’ve read, the author published one of their poems on a social media app and it picked up a lot of traction. jumbler, i think it was called.” nanami too picked up a copy of the transcript, immediately placing it in his briefcase.

“hah, you mean tumblr? keep up with the times nanamin. either way, i’m glad they’re all short. it makes them easier to read with my staff.”

“i’ve never understood why you read our projects that way. surely it’s much better and impactful to read it in the comforts of your home, alone.” nanami furrowed his brows.

“that’s only because you like being in your home alone. it’s boring doing it that way, that’s why we all read it together. besides, since these are all lame poems i can read them out loud, that way no one will fall asleep.” satoru took no notice of nanami’s incredulous expression.

“you may be surprised, they certainly aren’t ’lame.’ i managed to find one of torugu’s older works and they are truly beautiful. in any case, i suggest you head to your department. we all have work to do.” nanami exited the meeting room, while gojo stared at the transcript.

as if some stupid poems could surprise him.

shades of winter

ten years.

ten winters, all of different shades and full of pale faces.

i see a bed of snow,

and the twinkle of your eye,

and the shades and faces melt into the winter sky, ten years ago.

nine summers.

countless summer days, when the snow has long left the floor.

i see a burning sun,

and the warmth felt from your touch,

and then, i find, the cold emptiness has only just begun.

ten birthdays.

ten christmases.

ten rotations around the earth.

i feel myself slipping through the void, the endless, unlimited void, which has risen from your absence.

or my absence, i suppose.

when i close my sunken eyes,

i see a bluish hue,

it sort of looks like you.

ten years.

ten winters, all of vastly different shades.

the shades of winter, oh so intricate, yet dull.

duller than the summer days, than the void in my mind.

duller than that you-shaped hue flickering behind my sunken eyes.

will there be ten more years?

will i even remember the details of your face?

it’s too much to think. but the only thing i’m sure of

is i’ll see a bed of snow,

and i’ll begin to cry,

and i don’t know why

when it was a winter, ten years ago.

—torugu guse.

“the rhyme scheme is all over the place! is this really the project we’re working on this week? i mean, what does any of this even mean?” a member of the design staff commented.

“i think that’s kind of the point. the speaker is going through a heavy loss, and spiralling because of it, so they can’t even make sense of their words. that’s what i got from it.” another chimed into the debate.

“i agree, it’s like the speaker is stuck on this person, and even though it’s not clear if they died or just left, you can tell they’re still thinking about the day that person disappeared. what do you think, gojo-san?” someone asked.

but satoru could not speak. his eyes were glued to the page, bouncing back between the words.

“i think… i think we should read these in our own time.” satoru finally looked up, his voice uncharacteristically soft and solemn.

“what? we’ve never done that before, you always said it’s more fun to read together!”

“this is… nothing like i’ve ever read before. i- i’ll be right back, you guys can have a break. i’m just gonna- i’ll be back.” the man disappeared from the office, running to the bathroom.

satoru stared at his reflection in the mirror, his wide eyes and panicked expression looking unfamiliar to himself. that poem, for some reason, spoke to him in a way he couldn’t seem to accept. it was like a poignant reminder of the ache in his heart, a reminder of his worst days.

it was almost as if someone had scribbled down the inner workings of his brain, weaving in the hidden emotions that he kept locked away for his own good.

if the rest of the stories were like that… satoru was terrified to turn the page.

with urgency, satoru turned the water on and splashed his face.

who the fuck is torugu guse?

౨ৎ…!

author’s note: i feel like this could be really obvious or extremely confusing. either way, i hope this made some sense to you, and i sincerely hope you will enjoy this little bonus backstory while i continue to write STAR BOY.

by the way, yes i did write that poem myself… i am not claiming to be a poet but i kinda like how it turned out.

thanks for reading!

© SUTAAGAARU 2024. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works here or any other websites.

taglist: @higurumapet @opheliaas-stuff @diogodxlot @socialanxietyvictim @delirious-donna @zombriesworld @aomi04 @topiatwinss @doyouevenshipit @levin4nami @miguellover6969 @pennameyoruichiii

[terabyteturtle]

Fighter #14 - Bowser

- He’s jealous of how long Charizard can use Flamethrower. If Bowser uses Fire Breath for too long, he’ll gas out.

- Whenever he's super angry, his footsteps will shake the whole floor. There've been plenty of times in which the Koopalings get scared and think there’s an earthquake before realizing that dear ol’ dad just got beat by Mario again.

- Incineroar has become a good friend of his, and is also a great wrestling coach. The two of them often train and practice wrestling moves together.

- If the Koopa King ever needs some time to himself, he’ll find a secluded spot and tuck away inside his shell. He likes going behind bushes the most because the other fighters have a lesser chance of finding him there. No one has discovered his hiding spot…yet.

- If anyone messes with his kids, they're getting a giga knuckle sandwich straight to the face. He's very protective of them when they're in Smash, mainly because there's so many fighters who could easily hurt them.

- The villains tease and mess around with each other so much to the point where it’s borderline bullying. Once, Ridley wrapped his tail around Bowser’s leg and tugged it back as he walked past, causing the Koopa King to face-plant. It takes a lot to damage Bowser, but considering Ridley’s strength, that really hurt.

- Incineroar let him try some Poke Beans once, and he actually really likes them. Bowser’s not sure what that says about him, though. After tough matches, Incineroar always brings some to share. 

- During the summer, when the fighters have cookouts outside, Bowser is always in charge of the barbeque. Put him in front of the grill and he’ll come back with some of the best burgers, hot dogs, and ribs the fighters have ever tasted. Typically, he’s not good at cooking, so it’s a mystery as to how he can get it to be so good.

- Every Friday night, he’ll play Rummy and Poker with Wario, Meta Knight, and King Dedede. Wario always wants to play for money, but the other three know better and would rather play for fun. Every now and then, King K. Rool might join in as well.

- Bowser LOVES classic rock and hair metal, especially from the 80s. He usually has it playing in the background whenever he’s playing cards with the other villains.

- If the Koopalings’ clown cars are broken, he’ll not only fix them, but he’ll add new, cool weapons that he thinks they’ll like. 

- He’s still smitten with Peach and has a little notebook in which he writes down different ideas for asking her out. If he decides to stick with a plan, he’ll usually have Meta Knight and King Dedede help him out with it.

- More than anything, Bowser cares deeply about being a good father to the Koopalings and constantly worries that someone or something will affect how they view him. If he loses a match, will they think he’s too weak? If he sides with Mario, will they think he’s gone soft? If he does something too evil, will they get scared and turn on him? What do other fighters say about him when he’s not around? Do they tell them good things, bad things, or something in between? Or do they, perhaps, say nothing at all? Bowser’s children love him, and he knows that, but he still can’t help but worry.

- Every time someone complains about the Koopalings’ antics, Bowser can’t help but chuckle. If they think one silly prank is bad, then they don’t want to see how they behave back home.

- Various fighters have mistaken him for a turtle upon first meeting him, but his reactions were vastly different depending on who it was and how they were saying it. Fighters like Lucas and Pit innocently believed that he was a giant turtle, to which he politely explained to them that he was something much different. Fighters like Ridley and Sephiroth, on the other hand, practically mocked him about it, which sent the Koopa King into a fiery fit of rage.

- Despite his wedding plans having been foiled, he still really wants to marry Peach. The Koopalings know that she’s not their real mother, but they still refer to her as such, which breaks his heart even more. He gets really infuriated if a fighter tries reminding them that Peach isn’t actually related to them.

- Kazooie really has it out for him for some reason. Banjo’s fine, but Kazooie does not like Bowser at all, going so far as to leave him “presents” outside his bedroom door.

- When the Koopalings are playing with some of the other younger fighters, they’ll often rope Bowser into the fun as well. This has caused him to form some unlikely bonds with fighters like Ness, Lucas, Villager, and Toon Link.

- They didn’t like each other initially, but over time, Bowser and K. Rool have become as close as brothers. Sure, their egos cause them to fight sometimes, but they’ll always have each other’s backs.

- Bowser is fully aware that he has a short temper and has actually been trying to keep it in check more often. He's making progress, albeit not very much.

- Nowadays, Bowser can keep his Giga form under control, but back then, there were many times in which he lost control as Giga Bowser and nearly destroyed the entire stage. It'd get so bad that both Master Hand and Crazy Hand would have to step in.

- It took him a while to adjust to the fact that there was another Roy in the mansion who was also essentially a prince.

- Knowing how many retro characters there are both on the roster and working as Assist Trophies, he silently prays that his imposter “twin” doesn’t show up. Bowser doesn’t know who that guy is or where he came from, but for a while he falsely referred to himself as “Bowser’s brother” and “the Duke of the Koopas”. One day, he just disappeared, which freaked him out even more. Will he ever return again? Bowser hopes not.

- Because Wario has a monstrous appetite, Bowser is often caught up in schemes to sneak him some extra food (which he'll only agree to if he gets his fair share of the grub). They almost always fail, though.

- Despite all of their differences, Bowser has actually become good friends with the other villains. Well, most of them. Sephiroth and Kazuya haven’t warmed up to him yet, and Dark Samus just freaks him out.

- However, their friendship does not mean that they don’t fight. The villains are all pretty hot-headed and prideful, so arguments break out frequently among them. Out of all of them, Bowser finds himself arguing with K. Rool and Ganondorf the most.

- One time, there was a gopher infestation in the gardens, and of all fighters, Master Hand decided to send Bowser, Ness, and Ike to deal with it. They were a heavily dysfunctional trio, but after a lot of trial and error, they managed to get it done.

- Bowser has his own giant scratching post that he’ll take his anger out on. It’s a miracle that thing is still in one piece.

- As feeble as he thinks Toad is, Bowser can’t help but admire his courage. No matter what, he’s always willing to stick up for people, especially Princess Peach. Unlike most others, Toad doesn’t cower in fear or run away upon crossing Bowser’s path. In fact, he’ll step straight into it if it means protecting someone from harm. Despite the two being on opposing sides, Bowser can’t help but have a weird respect for him.

- Bowser thought that since he had so many spikes on his back that he couldn’t possibly be used as a stepping stool, but he was proven wrong when Yoshi needed something on the top shelf of the fridge and the Koopa King was the only one around to help him. Ever since then, Yoshi, Jigglypuff, and even Olimar have used him to give them a boost on several occasions.

- One time, as a prank, Lemmy painted his shell blue while he was sleeping. Unbeknownst to him, that paint was a special permanent type and wouldn’t come off no matter what Bowser tried to do. The only way they managed to take it off was to have Robin cast some spell on it.

- His favorite song from the Smash soundtrack is King Bowser - Super Mario Bros. 3. It's literally his theme, but made better with all of the sick metal riffs—how could he not love it?

[bruhstation]

I feel like I’m 14 and Know nothing about Ask the famous 8 again, I am not sleeping, I am not eating, I am gripping my phone waiting for notifications, you tapped into the perfect intersection of hyper fixation, human au’s, and GORGEOUS ART and I’m LIVING, I AM BREATHING, I AM SHAKING

Congrats, I salute you o7

----

WOAHHHH????!??!?!? WOAAHHHHHHHH. this whole analysis page is making my jaw drop to the floor like it’s truly award-worthy how you managed to catch some of my very VERY niche references here and there. I cannot applaud you enough!!!! good lird!!!!! truly amazing work, you!!!! I’d like to give some of my comments as well :]

1. captain zero is not beating the bitter ex husband allegations #actuallydivorced

2. zorran and zip take after captain zero but in vastly different ways. zorran has been around far longer than zip; he’s his first employee and right hand man, after all. he took after captain zero like his speech mannerisms and view on the world, but the strain of responsibility captain zero put on zorran weighs down on him. zip is a newbie, having joined just a few weeks ago. he sees captain zero as a father figure, which is not 100% reciprocated by him (literally the first adult figure in zip’s life to show him a semblance of human decency which is not going to end well for the z-stack youth). zorran took after something that is a thorough, long process (speech mannerism), while zip took after something that is at face value (coat). also reflects their emotional maturity (zorran is more cautious, while zip is easily impressionable and needs others to guide him despite their intentions)

why does captain zero name him “zip”? it was zebedee’s idea, partially. he joked that he got the epiphany when he ate a piece of marzipan, but captain zero thought it’s fitting. zip means “to close something”. zipline. zipper. ziplock. to zip. you say “zip it” when you want someone to shut up. (also remember how zorran said “shut it zip in the first episode)

"he sees a child” captain zero views zip as an employee when he expects zip to go through with his plans, while he views zip as a child when he’s talking down on him and giving commands. zip has no problem with this

3. “why is it not a war?” captain zero’s scared. ahaha

4. “stop talking” remember the first episode, sunshine, and his line, “I don’t expect you to think”? remember how I said in the previous posts that there’s hunting dog imagery within captain zero?

5. zip’s crossword puzzle!!! yes!!!!!! you noticed it!!!!! the words and the meanings I try so hard to convey!!!!!!! you nailed almost every single one of them

6. “cops? acab” this is hilarious and fitting considering what I have in store for captain star

7. “invasion” “something is coming” with how captain zero’s criminal history remains shrouded in darkness and the very tiny bits we got from johnny cuba’s words to zebedee...... I’ll just say that it’s going to come back to bite him

8. “camaraderie” “9 across doesn’t exist” these speak for themselves. especially with zipcents there (starts clawing on my face)

9. the fleets do work together, occasionally. they gotta set aside personal feelings for the contracts, and to an extent, their captains. and yeah something bigg is coming and it is Not Pretty! (see point 7)

10. zip’s suspenders has three black lines, while zebedee and the rest of the z-stacks have five!

that’s all I have to say for now!!! phew!!!! this was very fun to respond to and I’m really happy you noticed the stuff I’ve laid out for fortezza bigg city so far!!!! also I love the tiny doodles :3 zebedee is so cute!!! and your gal zaffre looks amazing! the suspenders are definitely fbc’s signature. her high hairdo is such a fantastic look on her, too :D once again, thank you very much!!!!

[twilightknight17]

On this round of P3R, we’re heading to the red-light district!

But first, I just want to say, Fuuka’s link requires MAX COURAGE to start? Omg. Now I’m assuming Mitsuru needs max academics. Good god. NG+ is absolutely gonna be needed for this.

So it’s now the third (technically fourth) full moon! And now that I’m thinking about the Magician and that whole mess, I think it’s a little funny that no one in SEES, in any of our downtime, has ever questioned, “Hey, what the fuck was that thing that ripped itself out of Orpheus and bodied the Magician in one shot? It might help with some of these slogging battles.” But no. It’s fine. We don’t need to know what that vastly powerful persona was. Whatever. Let’s rock.

Shirakawa Boulevard, despite Ikutsuki’s attempts to talk around it, is where the love hotels are!

I’m pressing X to doubt, sir!

So we’re off to the Champs de Fleurs hotel, and actually other than the weird curtained waiting area and sexy price list next to the front desk, it does look pretty normal? Like, it’s a hotel. It’s got hotel hallways and elevators and stuff.

And then we get to the third floor and the equivalent to the presidential suite.

This is labeled as the Hierophant’s Chamber, and… Lovers is supposed to be here? Did the P3 movies just straight-up skip the Hierophant Shadow and I never noticed? XDDD The Hierophant is very round and kind of looks like a really big guy with a lady with a head made of coral behind him.

Hierophant wasn’t bad, actually, and we get to explore the room afterwards before heading back downstairs. The kids clown on a lot of the décor, but like, the silly round bed would be cool for the novelty, and who DOESN’T want a tub that big???

But when we try to leave, we all get knocked out, and Minato wakes up in a different room, where Yukari is taking a shower.

This sounds very like Orpheus, but it’s definitely not Orpheus, because Orpheus would know that Yukari is not our soulmate!

Yes I will continue being biased. XDDDDD

If you say anything other than the correct answer, you get a “wait, that doesn’t seem right” thought bubble, and the dialogue just loops back to the start. You cannot fuck up the mission and game over on a night of brainwashed debauchery. XD

Minato comes to his senses, gets up from the bed, and Yukari comes out wrapped in a towel. She abruptly realizes where she is, screams, and slaps Minato before running back in the bathroom. And… Yukari? I was literally just standing here. Holy shit. Is this the pre-Kyoto warmup scene? God.

NONE OF THIS WAS MY FAULT???

Fuuka gets through to us, and we go back up to the second floor to meet up with Junpei and Akihiko.

I can only assume Junpei and Akihiko were put in the same room.

No one accused you of anything. Although now I’m giggling wondering what would have happened if I’d brought Mitsuru along instead.

We roam the hotel to find the mirrors we need to break to get back into the suite, and this is weirdly hilarious, all things considered.

But eventually we find our way back into the boss arena, and the Lovers has the perfect design, honestly.

GOD is it a bitch to fight, though. This fight took AGES because EVERY time it cast a spell with a charm effect, people got brainwashed. God forbid anyone other than Minato ever dodge an attack. Jesus fuck. I used every single one of my patra gems and dis-charms. Plus it cast diarama halfway through and of course when a boss does that it heals THOUSANDS of HP back to full health. Just give it salvation if you’re gonna do that.

As a brief side note, I love that when Minato casts the Jack Bros’ fusion spell, he just casually walks “offstage” afterwards and leaves them to it.

But finally, we’re out of here.

...Yukari volunteered so that I couldn’t take her out of the party and ruin my scripted undeserved slap. X’D

Gee, Yukari, I wonder if it’s because no one ever has anything nice to say to him? He just gets treated like the comic relief.

Also, we’re being watched by these dudes.

So when you say “we” do you mean you three, or like… humanity as a whole?

Back to the dorm to sleep this bullshit off, and then we move on with our week!

...christ, dude, I just came to see how you were doing. Can I please have a dialogue option so we can talk about this??? No???? Okay… God, this is Mona all over again. My god damn Magicians are always having problems.

...well, that’s nice. I wasn’t expecting that.

People at school are gossiping about how the school was rebuilt after an explosion ten years ago, and I’m getting texts from my attendant, who I apparently haven’t added to my phone? But at least she texts nicely.

It’s pre-exam week, so all my social links are busy. Instead, my academics are lagging, so I’m studying with the members of SEES who aren’t cranky with me. That means Yukari and Fuuka, and Mitsuru and Akihiko. Akihiko recommends doing a quick workout after every few problems, because then, you’ll power through the next set in anticipation of getting to your next workout!

Everyone I live with is insane. I love them. :’D

Ikutsuki calls a meeting to discuss something important, but before he can get to it, Yukari wants to speak. She’s had Fuuka looking into some stuff from the incident that happened ten years ago, and now she wants answers, because she thinks Mitsuru has been hiding things from us.

Other than the explosion, students were sent to the hospital, even though they were formally noted as just “absent”. It’s the same thing that happened to the girls bullying Fuuka; they fell unconscious and were unresponsive. Turns out, yeah, it was the same sort of thing. And it was Mitsuru’s grandfather, Koetsu Kirijo’s fault.

In greater Persona lore, knowing that he broke off from the Nanjo Group, he probably had access to tech that made his bullshit significantly easier to pull off. At the very least, we know he had the blueprints for a prototype anti-shadow suppression weapon, and the method to create artificial persona-users. But of course, he pushed too far.

(Sorry that these subtitles are kind of blurry. Basically, they gathered up a shitload of shadows and then lost control of them, because of course they did.)

Tartarus and the Dark Hour exist because of all of this. The lab explosion happened because they lost control, and because the lab was around/under Gekkoukan, it ended with the school needing to be rebuilt as well.

Yukari is not pleased with this development. She feels like we’re just being used to clean up other people’s mess. But as Ikutsuki puts it, we’re the only ones who can fix things. Normal people can’t fight shadows.

He also says that no one knows why the Arcana Shadows suddenly reappeared after ten years, but… Well.

No one is okay after this.

Junpei is angry because he feels like nothing he does is good enough, and that all he’s really good at is fighting, which won’t be necessary anymore if the Dark Hour vanishes.

Akihiko goes to see Shinji, who he apparently grew up with in an orphanage with someone named Miki, to tell him that they know how to stop the shadows now. But Shinji still won’t come back to SEES.

Me and Minato aren’t okay because I’ve finally started this guy’s social link, and he’s a dick.

Yukari’s dad was the lead researcher on the shadow stuff that led to the explosion, so I assume that he’s the one who got blamed for everything. Ikutsuki mentioned that the media picked one dude and demonized him.

I think this date is wrong, though. If it was ten years ago, that’d be 1999. Right? :/ It’s also just funnier if the lab exploded like 3 weeks after the Sumaru crisis ended.

But I saved the cat! So everything is not a complete wreck.

Pharos comes back to see me and implies some sketchy shit about my parents.

My parents (and my sister, shush, I’m pretending it’s canon) did not explode, though. So this isn’t their fault.

We’re absolutely friends.

After affirming that at least one person will stick by me to the end, even if that one person is a strange child who keeps waking me up at midnight, I come home from school the next day to find everyone sitting around experiencing the most awkward silence ever conceived.

Akihiko, no!

Thankfully, we manage to talk through what’s bothering the group as a whole (Junpei is still mad at me, I think), and Ikutsuki shows up to suggest that after exams, we all go on vacation to Mitsuru’s family’s summer home on the island of Yakushima. Her dad is going to be there, apparently!

Mitsuru reluctantly agrees, Yukari apologizes to her for being too gung-ho and accusatory the other night, and I think we’re all chill again. Which is good.

…….it’s my last night before exams and my option for study-buddy is Ikutsuki???

Nah. I’m out.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hey Pinnie, hope you're alright, it's wonderful and amazing with how you introduced Pebble and now, he's, my favorite. Also, he reminds me of a giant playful dog but that's made out stone. Btw, is it alright if you could do with how Pebble sees everybody, most significantly, Hellion since both of them reside in the garden and speaking of Hellion, I would actually want to know more of him if that's possible?

Also, if you have free time/days is it possible for you to draw like the whole Clergy in a more of a way like a floor/house plan since I would actually want to know who resides where and just generally how the Clergy looks like as a whole. (Also, because my imagination or view of the Clergy is completely different and messed up) I understand if you can't or you're too busy.

Anyway, have an amazing and wonderful day!!!😊😊

[I definitely don't have the time to make a plan like that. Yet. I would eventually like to make a sort of "inventory", but I currently lack the skill (gawd I wish) or free time necessary. It's a plan for the future definitely. Thank you though!]

Pebble's thoughts on others

I'll limit this to The Clergy cast, since it's unlikely Pebble would venture far enough to meet other characters outside of the establishment.

I can't not mention how the first people he knows, instinctively so, are you and Krulu. This is the same with Hellion and any other being who spawns from the garden. Since the living organism that is The Clergy operates directly under the siadar, it recognizes its master, and extends that recognition to all its entities. Pebble exhibits a respectful attitude towards you at all times, stuck between a mix of slight fear yet also trust. Interacting with Krulu directly terrifies the gargoyle, who would probably cry in fear. In an unexpected (or perhaps predictable) way, this actually saddens Krulu a great deal.

Pebble has an affinity for Clergy members such as Nebul and Belo, mostly because the two will make it a point to regularly check on garden anomalies and interact with him. Nebul knows how to deal with fearful people and Belo, as an angel, has no trouble attracting slightly more feral people to his side. Both are gentle and kind towards him, which makes Pebble trust or even seek them out from time to time.

Just like all other anomalies, Pebble has to deal with Sybastian more often than not, as the mimic prefers to stay in the garden when he's not being called for work indoors. Pebble enjoys being around Sybastian a lot and treats the mimic like a sort of "older mentor", who understands much more about The Clergy and garden than the gargoyle. Syb is kind and helpful towards Pebble, vastly due to the fact that the gargoyle mutant is genuinely sweet and prone to obedience, much more than Hellion- Who the mimic has a strained relationship with, due to his rambunctious nature. On a couple of occasions, Pebble was given the opportunity to babysit Syb's mimiclings, which implies there's a great deal of trust between the two mute monsters.

In his introductory post, I establish a link between Santi and Pebble. A mostly work-related one. But that doesn't mean the two haven't established a bond over time. Santi thinks the gargoyle is cute, and profitable, but cute nonetheless. And Pebble sees Santi as a sort of guide for how to behave inside The Clergy itself. Needless to say, his behavior pattern has become "bend over/show off for someone that's looking at you often and you might get fucked silly". Santi's real proud.

Morell despises gargoyles. With a passion. The fuckers are constantly trying to weasel into the establishment, specifically his floor, so they can steal food. He's had to yeet many outside on several occasions. The chef's first impression of Pebble was that he'd be an even bigger problem to deal with, but the gargoyle is apparently very polite and merely sits outside the kitchen doors, hopefully waiting for snacks. He even knocks before coming in. Now that deserves a reward. Pebble and Morell like each other, but they don't interact too much.

Grimbly, in turn, sees Pebble a lot when he's dashing in and out of the kitchen. Albeit initially creeped out by the bags over its head, he doesn't mind the gargoyle much. Pebble's hunting instincts tell him to snatch the little bat monster up everytime he zooms past, and even if his arms twitch with the urge to do so, he can control himself. He likes Grimbly's eyes.

Gallon has a tremulous relationship with Pebble, in the sense that the garden anomaly no longer trusts the slime after he tried to lift the paper bags off his face once. Pebble will snarl if Gallon gets too close and has yet to make amends with the oftentimes too curious bartender.

Fank-e scares Pebble. He's very loud and very bright and the gargoyle, who is already on the scaredy-cat side, does not find that pleasing at all. Needless to say, the robot is very sad about this. On the other hand, Pebble is a tad curious about the inorganic entity.

Patches and Pebble get along in the same way a kid and their dentist do. Pebble does not enjoy having to see him because it usually means he's sick and he's going to have to eat gross medicine or the dullahan needs some sort of sample for him that may or may not involve painful procedures. Patches does find him fascinating however.

Vinnel, dick that he is, enjoys occasionally scaring the gargoyle. It's just so easy, the guy jumps at the smallest touch! How can the jester resist?! In fact, him and Hellion often team up to torment the poor gargoyle. Pebble generally dislikes him, even more so when he learns Vinnel just likes to brutally hurt people for kicks.

Hellion is like a kind of shitty brother to Pebble. The long-necked flower has been around for longer than him and knows more, though he seldom ever offers help to the gargoyle. Quite the contrary, he's a power-hungry little bastard that immediately asserted himself and tried to coax Pebble into helping him "dethrone" the gargoyles so he could become top of the garden food chain. Pebble has not joined Hellion's cause and honestly limits himself to watching the flower monster getting his shit pushed in time and time again. The mutant has to admire that untamable spirit however. Hellion has all the bravery Pebble lacks, and he feels a tad jealous sometimes.

[raspberrybluejeans]

Okay I need to complain about TAZ Ethersea and I’m not putting the actual fandom tags on this because I don’t want to cause anyone going to the Ethersea tag for fun to see my hater content and feel sad lol.

I did really enjoy Ethersea and I love TAZ I just don’t really have anyone to complain about with and it’s been boiling inside of me so I have got 2 fire it out somewhere (warning this is a Long tangent lol)

Okay first I want to put the disclaimer that I have memory and attention details so I apologize if I did not remember something right.

So the thing is that i fucking LOVED the prequel episodes and got really hyped up from them and then the actual story felt like a letdown to me.

I think that the root of everything is that they decided to make this story take place 25 years after the prequel. If they wanted to have the same story they basically had, I think it should have been waaaaaaaay later than 25 years. That is way too soon. That society had too much good stuff & had their shit way too together for a group of random people that had literally just been shoved underwater only 25 years ago. I don't think there would be such established classes, levels, technologies, businesses, etc in such a short time. If the whole being a group of randos hired by a company for jobs was an integral part of the story, I think it should have taken place way later.

I think it would be really cool if it was actually 25 years later but a vastly different story. Doing somewhat similar stuff to A Quiet Year but on a more zoomed in role play way. They could have had similar adventures such as the Cambria thing, but just had them be a rag tag team of volunteers looking for supplies out in the ocean. The city could be far more ramshackle and the story could have been focused on repairing the city and adding things onto it and engineering new solutions. This story would probably not be able to have the "getting coins and buying items" aspect that most TAZ stories have, but I think it could still work. They could just find and make cool items instead.

Back to the actual story: I don't think Joshy should have been around in the main season; and if he was he should have been old as fuck. He was already being called "old uncle Joshy" in the prequel and he should not have been like. out and about doing shit 25 years later lol.

Also, even though it was funny, I don't think the Joshy's Knuckle part of the civilization made sense. To have a whole vast area dedicated to like. idk. sketchy people? Seems like a weird choice. I think it would make more sense if it was like one weird attachment to the city, almost looking like a tumor on the side or something. Having a whole floor and it not even being the very bottom or top doesn't make sense. That implies the community/government built Joshy's Knuckle with intent. Once again, if there was a bigger timeframe, I could see this level originally being like a general community level that fell into disrepair. But from all the context we got, it seems like it was designed to be a scummy level on purpose, which is kind of weird.

The bougie level and the swamplands roof level also don't make a whole lot of sense, but I have a vague idea about how society could want to make such places.

I thought the prequel idea of the city was interesting, where there is one main building and a bunch of little single family pods sticking to it like barnacles. I think that they should have worked with that a little more, and had different parts of the city be attached bubbles or domes instead of having almost all of it be like. one stacked tube. Like I said earlier I really like the idea of Joshy's Knuckle being an ugly eyesore attachment to the side of the main city building.

Now, I know Griffin said he liked just having a hands off approach to this story, but I have to say I really did not. I felt super detached to this story because of it. Griffin also said he did not want the PCs to make much backstory for their characters and I also really didn't like that.

Particularly with Amber, I just never really got to understand or like her? The most excited I got was that single memory flashback of her child(?)hood when her friend was high and smashing up the house. I was so excited to learn more about that but that was basically it. What happened to Amber's family? How did she come to be at this civilization? On a related note, I feel like her having actual powers of some kind cheapened the whole psychic shark school scam thing. But thats just me. I don't really understand what was going on with her Koda powers or whatever either.

And then Devo. We also came pretty close to knowing stuff about him, but we only got that one tiny taste of a memory with the Hand of Guidance abusing(?) him. He was so incredibly angry and I kept waiting to hear more about the scope of what happened to him and never really got it. Why exactly was he being cloistered? Why were there no others being cloistered beside him? I don't really understand the motivations. I also wonder about his accent. I understand the Doylist explanation that his accent was to show how separate/different he was from everyone else, but whats the Watsonian explanation? Hand of Guidance didn't have an accent. Orlean didn't have an accent. Someone taught him to talk like that. Is there another character that partook in raising him that we didn't know about? Potentially it could have been his mother, but I don't think he would still have that much of an accent left after ~15 years without her. No one else in Founder's Wake talks like that. Why? Also iirc he basically joins the church again at the end of the season? which made no fuckin sense to me. I think he wanted to help people or something but there was no reason for him to join the church to do that. He could have started some kind of secular organization.

And I also don't feel like I got answers about whatever was going on with Zoox. Or the dead coral people. Honestly the whole Brinarr situation was confusing and kind of a letdown for me but I don't know how to articulate why. I also don't understand what happened with Zoox at the end of the season.

I also don't really understand why they were all hanging out tbh. I know they were apparently just arbitrarily picked out as a team at that job agency or whatever? And once again, I know the Doylist explanation is that they needed those three PCs to be hanging out together. But what is the story reason that they keep hanging out? I can understand Zoox thinking they are friends and wanting to hang out with them because he is fairly new and naive. But Devo and Amber seemed to really genuinely hate each other after awhile. That one fight was almost uncomfortable to listen to, even if it was good story telling. But why would they continue to do shit together when they didn't like each other. There should have been some narrative threads forcing them to stick together more I think.

Amnesty also kind of had that problem of like "why are these people even hanging out lol" but not quite as bad. To be completely honest I think part of the problem is just that none of these seasons have been as long as Balance so the characters haven't had time to get to know each other and grow on each other. Even the very beginning of Balance kind of had that "why are they hanging out" feel.

Commitment and Dust, like Ethersea, had the team together because they were coworkers on a job together but since those shows never got too far we never had to answer "why are they hanging out [outside of work]" We only see the characters in those campaigns in the middle of job stuff. If they had continued much more maybe they would eventually have the same problem.

This may be controversial but I think Graduation did the best job with PCs. They started out as assigned roommates and I really felt like the characters became friends over the course of that story.

From what I've listened of Steeplechase so far I also think it has potential. The group already knew each other before the story and had a business together. I think they have potential for growing great chemistry together.

Anyways there's so many random unanswered questions about Ethersea that hopefully they'll get to in season 2 but IDK we'll see :/ I'm pretty sure they will be playing other people so we'll see how they answer like what happened to Devo's parents.

thank you for coming to my fucking ted talk. I'm so happy to get this all off my chest

[trishmishtree]

What’s this? Another Regency shift?

Is this a sign that Tricia is finally getting on with that Regency gown replica that she’s been talking about wanting to make all year? Or is she still hung up on being a perfectionist with the underpinnings and remaking every layer in an effort to procrastinate starting on the actual gown? 

I mean, she’s already made (and re-made) 2 pairs of stays (3 if you include the dud pair that she recently replaced) and 2 bodiced petticoats, all from the same circa 20-year span of historical underthings this year. Now that she has a new shift, she technically owns 2 entire different sets of Regency underwear, and we’re still nowhere closer to seeing an actual garment from the era that wouldn’t be shocking and scandalous for people to see her wearing out of the house!

In all seriousness, I just wanted something to do that didn’t require brainwork, so I spent this past weekend hand-stitching another shift. This time it’s made of linen and sewn with waxed cotton thread, done in almost 100% historically accurate original practice. It also came together a lot more smoothly than my first shift.

I was mostly motivated to make this shift because my first one (the pink cotton one you see me wearing under all my Regency things) is actually just a little tight in the bust. I guess you’re supposed to base the width of the front and back panels on your bust circumference and not on your shoulder span? I went with my shoulder span measurement when I made my first shift. There’s only a 1-2 inch difference between 2x my shoulder span and my bust circumference, but it was still just snug enough in the bust that I was worried the shift was flattening the silhouette I was getting in my new and vastly improved Bernhardt stays.

The new shift is way roomier because I decided to add extra width so that it can be pulled into gathers with the drawstring, so that effectively solved the problem. I tried it on under the new stays and petticoat and was very happy with the results. I’m wearing it over a modern (polyester) slip in this photo because the linen is still slightly translucent, but it will be worn directly against the skin when I’m doing my regency costuming stuff.

Anyway, stay tuned for next time, when I continue to procrastinate making the actual dress by making a pair of pantalettes inste--kidding! I’m not making pantalettes. They don’t do anything for the silhouette, and they’re just kind tubes of fabric suspended from a drawstring(?) at the waist, unlike drawers which are like pants with an open crotch? They wouldn’t even show anyway under the floor length gown I want to make, so there’s no point.

I actually made a decent amount of progress on the gown today. I’ve made my final bodice mockup which is now my lining, and I’ve worked out the length and pleats/darts of the skirt. Only hiccup now is that I still haven’t drafted the sleeves because I didn’t feel like doing it today. But I have to have the sleeve pattern finalized before I cut into my fashion fabric because I have very, very limited yardage. (I’m like 95% certain I have enough, and I think it’s possible to squeeze a regency gown out of 2.5-3 yards of fabric and still have the skirt hem circumference be full enough to walk in, but I wouldn’t recommend it.) And even once I have all my pieces cut out, I still need to hand-embroider the whole thing before I assemble it. So yeah, definitely not going to finish this one before year’s end. But this is a gown that’s been on my dream to-make list since I first saw it, and it’s one of those projects that you tell yourself you’re going to make “when I get good”, so I’m going to take my time with it.

[morethanonepage]

5 6 7 & 8 👀

5. Something you hate to see in smut.

Discussed here but also just to set up the answer to #6, I don't necessarily HATE it but. I do find it kind of boring when all sex ever between two characters is The Best Sex Ever Had by either of them/anyone ever in the universe. Like I understand that smut writing is about the fantasy and as much as we say we want more realism to it the actual reality of "bad" (meaning unsatisfying and/or just meh) sex is kind of a bummer to read. And I esp get that a lot of first time sex fic is about the like, JOY and excitement of finally consummating after a slow burn relationship so they kind of HAVE TO be momentously awesome. but when it's like, written as an established relationship and they fuck three times a day and each time is absolutely PERFECT i'm like. dang. all right then. not realistic stick to bondage like the rest of us etc.

Oh also I know it's a personal preference but I find a lot of dirty talk in fic to be. Too funny to take seriously. and i fully acknowledge that's a ME problem but anyway. there we are. i also think it's too funny to take seriously when i write it, fwiw

And ultimately, i can't ALWAYS tell when this is happening, but i hate the idea that some people write smut into their work bc they feel like they HAVE TO or something. but if it feels very derivative of other fic and/or just very perfunctory tab A into slot B thrusting, without any really purpose in the narrative and not as a one shot in itself making it THE WHOLE purpose of the narrative, that's what i assume is going on and it makes me sad. don't write smut if you don't want to/enjoy it! fade to black and keep it all PG if that's what you're more comfortable with. No one who matters/deserves fic from you will mind that.

6. Something you love to see in smut.

Aging userbase of tumblr dot com or whatever but I do just find it kind of charming when characters have sex that's just....ok. Like it's fine, it scratches the itch, but really it's more about the closeness that comes after or even just the intimacy in the moment (esp for characters who are NOT good at sharing feelings but ARE better at physical affection and so that's just how they let out those ~emotions). I just think that's more interesting. (like i get that doesn't really work for getting together/first time stories, but i vastly prefer established relationship fics anyway and that's where this stuff really has the chance to add a different layer to things).

in terms of things that will land me in horny jail iiiiii really like it when things get really intense and they do it people are so turned on/in the moment they don't get their clothes all the way off and/or don't get into the bedroom or on the bed in time. i don't know why, it's just hot.

(of course in line w/ what's above the aftermath of that -- aka the mess and/or bruises and/or rugburn from fucking on the floor or w/e is esp delightful to me.) 7. Something you hate to see in dialogue.

I complain about it all the time and now it's worse bc it's started to creep into pro fic too but GOD i hate it when characters sound more like their authors than what ACTUAL PEOPLE with their ACTUAL BACKGROUNDS and ESTABLISHED PERSONALITIES would sound like. The tumblr/twitter/tiktok twang will show up in the mouth of a fifty year old english sports reporter and i'll be like, fuck offfffffff, he would not sound like that.jpg

which isn't to say like. if a character is from a working class background or doesn't have a college education or isn't up to date on leftist politics and vocabulary that you have to write them as being close minded and cruel or w/e. there are WAYS to get your characters to express the "right" opinions you want them to have but also not sound like an instagram infographic. it's like anything else -- you just have to take the time to listen to the character/think through their background and imagine what they might've been through that might make them more sympathetic to XYZ or w/e, and also take the time to think about how they would express that, if they wanted/had to. It's a good exercise in characterization, even. Just -- make an effort.

8. Something you love to see in dialogue.

I like seeing characters use slang/figures of speech i'm not familiar with. That kind of really localization is great to me; I'm personally not very good at it, I always feel a little cringe writing characters saying things I would not say bc as an American from a mid-atlantic state I have literally the most basic accent & speech pattern imaginable. so I just genuinely love it when characters are written as not sounding Just Like Everybody Else. It makes them seem more real and grounded in their reality.

(also when they say sentences that aren't complete or lose their trains of thought or make grammar "mistakes" bc very few people speak perfectly at all times always. and then when they code switch bc of the situation they're put in, it's especially just *chef's kiss* for me)

[curiositydooropened]

Hell Hound • Teaser

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 824

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *See individual chapters for warnings.

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist • Fic Masterlist

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Moodboard • Chapter One [Coming Soon]

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

---

[A/N: Yeah, I love him. I wrote this ages ago and I thought I hated it, turns out I love it and wrote like 5k yesterday and it's still going. So this is going to be another long one. I couldn't resist writing it though. Oh! And quick disclaimer: I've never been to Chicago. I'll try to be as non-specific about the city as possible, as to not get on anyone's nerves. It's really just about vibes, you know? Anyway thanks love you bye. xoxo]

[andtheydontstopwriting]

𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙨 -【Rodrick Heffley x F!Reader】- One-Shot

rating: pg

word count: 6.2k

summary: [y/n], daughter from a wealthy family from New York City, has been keeping her relationship with rodrick heffley a secret from her parents, though what happens if it’s brought up and her parents want to meet the secret boyfriend?

author’s note: here it is! hope you guys all enjoy it!! though i did want to let you know that i wrote this originally as a piece of work for my original character, which is why it is in third person! if you want to request anything feel free to!! once again, thank you for reading it!

keys: [y/nn] - your nickname

“I didn’t mean to tell them, [Y/NN].” Caleb spoke in hushed tones, as he attempted to prevent any outburst that he doubted would come from his younger sister, but it was still something that he felt that needed to be stopped, “But I’m sure neither you or Rodrick would exactly be thrilled if you ended up going to homecoming with David or Chad, and you know how dad-.”

 “Listens to you, yes, I do know that, Caleb,” [Y/N] began, though her train of thought was shooting off in a million different directions, “And I do appreciate you trying to stick up for my happiness, but now we have to deal with what comes with doing that.”

 It did not take long for Caleb to know what [Y/N] meant, because their father did bring it up in the conversation that started this whole situation. 

 “Father and Mother want to meet him.”

 “And I don’t know if I can teach Rodrick to have the manners and social know-how that we and whoever Father believes would be more acceptable.”

 “Maybe it’s for the best that’s the case, [Y/NN],” Caleb pointed out, placing a gentle hand on his 

sister’s shoulder, “Give yourself the chance to step out of the spotlight for once, your happiness is what’s important.”

 [Y/N] merely just nodded, because she knew that the standards their father placed on both of them were vastly different. Caleb could afford some level of security in the notion of not being worried about what their father thinks, because he does not have to work so hard to make their father happy. 

 This was something the teenager always had to grapple with growing up. Eventually, coming to terms with since she was the youngest, her future compared to her older brother’s was uncertain, unclear, and too many factors were up in the air: where was she going to college? What would her major be? What would her future career be? What sort of family would she have? Who would she marry?

 Whereas Caleb had his future planned from the moment he was born: attend an ivy league for business then take over the family company, marry a family friend/one of the daughters of their father’s business associates or a family that would be useful to merge with and have a family. It was always clear and never questioned, even when they were kids. It took little effort on his part to make their father happy, because the expectations were clear as day and never took a moment of thought to figure out.

 It was her burden to bear, and never had the strength in her to expect anyone to understand the judging gaze always cast her way, as if waiting for her to mess up or make a mistake to remind her of her failures no matter how perfect she appeared to the public eye. To her own boyfriend, even.

 And part of her subconscious wished it would remain that way forever. But life has a funny way of working out in the end.

 Her parents at dinner the same night her and Caleb conferred, they brought up having this mystery boy their daughter had been seeing secret over for dinner so they could have a chance to finally meet. [Y/N] had little say in the matter and the Saturday before Homecoming was agreed upon.

 As soon as she returned to her bedroom for the night, [Y/N] knew she had to bring it up to Rodrick as soon as she could if they were to have any chance of staying together after that Saturday. The week they just about had was not going to be enough, but [Y/N] still felt she had to put the effort into trying to teach Rodrick at least table manners her parents would expect. But perhaps even that was pushing it.

:~+~:

“Your parents want to meet me?”

 “Well, they did say they want to meet you, but I don’t think it’s because they know it’s you, Rodrick.” 

 Perhaps on their near nightly phone call was not the ideal place to tell Rodrick about the dinner, but it was the first instance she could get it out without her anxiety getting the better of her about telling him in the first place. It saved her having to tell him in person and save herself from seeing how he reacted in real time. 

 “And dinner was the best place for that to happen?” Rodrick questioned after a brief moment of silence and a familiar squeak of some springs faintly resounded into the speaker on his end. He must have 

 “With my family, yes,” The blonde confirmed, “With all things considered, with the holidays too far away and Homecoming approaching sooner, and they specifically said they wanted to meet you before the dance, a dinner is the only way.” 

 “Okay…” Rodrick trailed off, going silent for a moment, “When is dinner anyway?”

 “Next Saturday,” [Y/N] replied, though quickly added before her boyfriend could speak, “We’re gonna have to have etiquette lessons, Rod, so I can teach you everything that you’re gonna need if you’re gonna make it through the night.”

 “What do you mean etiquette, babe?” 

 “Like how to sit at a table, which fork and spoon to use and when to use them, what you can and can’t say, that sort of stuff. The basics.” 

 “Do you think a week is enough time to teach me all that junk?”

 “Luckily for you, you have a great teacher and someone who has been taught this stuff her whole life, I think something will stick.”

 “Alright, whatever you say babe,”

 “I’ll even help you get ready,” [Y/N] promised, though had to amend it with, “I’ll try to, anyway, I'll at least come over to make sure you have an appropriate outfit because t-shirts won’t cut it.”

 There was a clear groan of annoyance on the other end of the line before the teenager spoke, “You know I hate wearing ties, [Y/N], and I’m already pushin’ wearing it for Homecoming and not to church.” 

 “I know, I know,” [Y/N] sighed as she brought a hand up to her face as she stood from her bed to start pacing her room, “But it’s just for one more night than normal, Rodrick, I promise.”

 “And what do I get in return, huh?”

 “A girlfriend?”

 “Okay, yeah, that’s a pretty solid deal.”

 “So lessons start tomorrow, okay?”

 “After the band practice,”

 “After the band practice then.” [Y/N] confirmed as she sat on her bed once more, “Good night, sweetheart.”

 “Night, babe.” 

:~+~:

Okay, so the lessons did not go great, but they went about as well as [Y/N] expected. Teaching Rodrick how to behave and act as closely to the way she and her brother had grown up being taught was like pulling teeth, and much like chemistry, it was looking like nothing was sticking. And if anything was sticking, it was gone by the next day and they had to start over.

Meaning, come that fateful Saturday, [Y/N] could only hope that her very quick rundown of the basics, the true basics of what Rodrick needed to know the night before when she went over the Heffley’s house the previous night to get possible outfit choices ready and wrinkle free knowing the state of his bedroom and how clothes could be just...existing on the floor and if it was a process for her to find clean t-shirts of his to steal, then she figured the dressier clothes he owned were living the same way.

“What’s troubling you, little bird?” Her mother asked her daughter, as she had noticed that [Y/N] had been a little distracted in chopping the vegetables up. Not only that, she had been on edge since had left her bedroom that morning.

 “I’m worried about dinner tonight, Mother,” [Y/N] answered, shaking her head a bit to refocus her attention on chopping the vegetables.

 “I’m sure your Father will be on his best behavior, there’s no reason to be worried.” Helena spoke softly, reassuring her daughter with the soothing tones and having set the spoon down beside the stove top to go over and gently brush [Y/N]’s hair back, “Everything will be fine, little bird.”

 As much as [Y/N] wanted to believe her mother was right, that things would be fine and everything would go smoothly,she also had to remind herself of her father’s constant attempts to control her life, and everything in her life. That included who she dates and there had been plenty of failed attempts in the past because of this meddling, and [Y/N], for once, just wanted to be free of the constant puppet strings attached to her that her father controlled. 

 “Father’s best behavior is turbulent, Mother, you know this,” [Y/N] pointed out with a sigh, “Rodrick isn’t exactly what Father believes to be best for me, and I’m afraid if Rodrick says one thing he doesn’t like, that's it, we’re through.” 

 “Your father’s opinion does not always matter, remember that his say is not final-”

 “It’s been final before.” [Y/N] interjected, “Remember he wouldn’t let me try out for the cheer team?”

 “He’s just looking out for what's best for you, that’s all.” 

 After that, the kitchen was silent save for the sounds of cooking, because once more [Y/N]’s anxiety took over and Helena simply did not know how to comfort her daughter anymore. It was easiest to just finish dinner and then go get ready for it, adn say nothing else on the matter for fear of making things worse.

 However, just as [Y/N] was finishing up getting ready when she heard the familiar sound of an engine rumbling up the driveway. And gazing out of one of her bedroom windows that overlooked the front of the house, she saw the familiar van park in front of the garage.

 So that is a good thing, Rodrick managed to remember to get there early as she insisted numerous times upon. Not that much earlier than the time she said dinner would start, but it was something, at least. 

 Next came the issue of watching Rodrick getting out of the van. While he did dress the part, the part was also distracting her that she kept her eyes trained on him before he disappeared under the roof that covered the front porch. It was indeed a rare instance for [Y/N] to see her boyfriend dressed up, considering she never exactly went with the Heffley family to church on Sundays. 

 So it was easy to understand as to why she had zoned out, nearly daydreaming and ogling over what she saw from a distance what her boyfriend was wearing. Though before she could fully dive into the daydream, the echoing sound of the ring of the doorbell echoed across the house and it was enough to snap [Y/N] out of her head and she was quick to stand from her vanity, hoping to make it to the front door before her parents or brother could open the door.

 However, her attempts were in vain because of the delay it took her to stand and began the mad dash to the front of the house and the size of the home itself, and by the time she had reached the top of the stairs, she saw her mother already at the front door and as [Y/N] made her descent down the staircase, she heard what was spoken.

 “Ah, so you must Rodrick,” Helena spoke, though [Y/N] could get a hint of confusion from the tone used, which [Y/N] assumed was because her mother had recognized Rodrick from the couple times she had seen him before when she first started to tutor the boy, but that was not brought up when Helen added, “Come in, come in.”

 “Uh, thank you, Mrs. Clemens.” [Y/N] heard Rodrick speak as she continued her descent down the staircase, smiling to herself because at least something else stuck: always use formalities, never call my parents by their actual names. 

 As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was met with a beat of silence and then Rodrick saying without much hesitation, “You look beautiful,” 

 A dust of pink appeared on her cheeks and she briefly looked towards her mother away from Rodrick, who looked between the teenagers before taking the steps towards the dining room, allowing the young couple a moment alone before the dinner began.

 “I have to admit, I know you hate getting all dressed up,” [Y/N] spoke as she neared Rodrick, reaching up to gently adjust the tie around his neck, “But I wouldn’t be opposed to you dressing up more often.”

 “There isn’t a chance of that happening, babe, you know that.” Rodrick pointed out, though a teasing smile graced his face, which [Y/N] mirrored.

 “A girl can dream, can’t she?” 

 Just as Rodrick was about to lean down to give [Y/N] a quick peck on the lips, he froze in his movements as he both heard a voice from down the hall echo around them and the fact he felt [Y/N] slightly tense up.

 “Ah, [Y/N], dinner is about to start, I expected you to be in the dining room already.”

 [Y/N] took a deep breath as she began to speak as she stepped to stand beside Rodrick instead, “Father, we were just heading there n-”

 “This must be the secret boyfriend, then, Rodrick, wasn’t it?” Charlie interrupted, which was something [Y/N] was used to by then, and held a hand out to Rodrick (another thing [Y/N] could see right through--the charm of a businessman), “Charles.”

 “Yeah, that’s me,” Rodrick said as he briefly glanced at his girlfriend to see what to do, before [Y/N] replied with a glance down to her father’s extended hand, which Rodrick took with a little too much fervor, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Clemens.”

 The energy behind Rodrick’s hand shake with her father was something that would not be much of an issue, but [Y/N] never had a how to shake a hand lesson herself, so it was overlooked when she was teaching her boyfriend what he would need to know. She was a girl, and the only thing she ever got on the subject matter was to be light and certain in the handshake, and that was all. So one look at her father’s face said all that she needed to know.

 It was already off to a bad start and they had not even sat down for dinner yet.

 Luckily her mother had called them into the dinning room before much more could already add to the poor outcome [Y/N] could start to sense coming already, no matter the words that echoed to counter the notion, hoping that things would look up from there forward.

 And for the first part of dinner, it was as her mind had hoped it would be, as everything went smoothly. Any questions her parents asked to Rodrick, it took a moment, but he was always to pull something out that also did not make him nor his family look bad. The looks shared between the Clemens siblings were a mix of relief and happiness as the dinner progressed, because the lessons and seemingly did in the end stick with Rodrick more than [Y/N] previously had suspected they did. 

 “So, what is it you want to do with your life after you finish up high school, Rodrick?”

 That was the question she was dreading, and one she was hoping for once her father would overlook and just accept that fact, move on that the future did not matter as much as the happiness of his children. 

 And the question must have also thrown Rodrick off for some reason, as he glanced once more at [Y/N] and in turn [Y/N] glanced at Caleb, a look of panic settling on her face.

 “I think the team has a good chance of winning the game next week.” Caleb brought up, “So Homecoming may be a celebration for that win, too.”

 “The football team has won every year the past several years, Caleb,” Charles pointed out, sighing as he set his fork down on the plate before him, “But that is not what we are talking about now, my boy.” 

 “The marching band is probably the best we’ve had in years, Father,” [Y/N] quickly added, clearly buying Rodrick enough time to try and find an answer to Charles’ question, “It’ll be worth going to the game for more than just the football team this year.”

 “[Y/N], I believed I asked Rodrick a question, so I would appreciate it if you would allow him to answer.” Charles said, his tone rising from calm coolness, to slight agitation as he took a deep breath to calm down once more, “Now, Rodrick, what do you want to do with your future?”

 “To be a musician.” 

 “Oh, a musician,” Helena tried to express some happiness in the discovery, “Are you in the school orchestra with [Y/N]?”

 “N-no, Mrs. Clemens,” Rodrick realized his mistake of bringing up the fact he wanted to be a musician, but at the same time, if he said he didn’t know, he was sure he and [Y/N] would be over then and there, “I’m in a band with some of my friends.”

 “What type of music do you play then?” Charles asked and [Y/N] and Caleb once more exchanged looks before [Y/N] looked to Rodrick once again. A look that said there was no point in lying about it now.

 “Heavy metal.”

 “Oh…” Charles began, glancing between [Y/N] and Rodrick, before his eyes landed once again on Rodrick, “That’s an interesting choice, have you not considered going to college or another career path?”

 “Charles,” Helena interjected, giving her husband a look from across the table, “Now is not the time.”

 “What?” Charles asked, clearly confused as to what his wife could mean, “What’s so wrong about getting to know the boy who my little princess is dating?”

 From there, Helena merely just shook her head and dinner continued in silence, The only sound was the clatter of utensils as they hit the plate. [Y/N] kept her gaze down at the plate in front of her, merely just pushing what food was left around on her plate. Though, at some point, under the table, she reached over to gently grab a hold of Rodrick’s hand. To which, Rodrick merely just briefly looked over to [Y/N] and the only thing he could really do in reaction to it, was to let go of the tension in his shoulders before attempting to finish the meal before him.

 As expected, her mother announced that she would go and get dessert not too long after, but it would be a few minutes to warm it up once again. So as [Y/N] stood to start clearing the table, her father also stood.

 “[Y/N], could I speak to you for a moment?” Was all he said before he started his way towards the office he had at home.

 [Y/N] knew what would come from this conversation, and she had to try to be strong this time. She knew that this conversation would be her dad trying to get [Y/N] to break things off with Rodrick--something she knew was going to happen as soon as her father brought up the question of what Rodrick wanted to do with the future. His dream was not to be anything her father expected the man [Y/N] to be with. And it was time for her to take her own life into her own hands after so long of being looked down upon and controlled by the plan her father had for her.

 “What is it you see in that boy, [Y/N]?” Charles questioned as soon as the door to the office was shut behind [Y/N].

 “I can assure you that Rodrick is someone with more than meets the eye, Father.” [Y/N] answered clearly as she rose to stand up a little straighter.

 “But you are aware that he is not ideal, don’t you?” Her father spoke as he folded his arms behind his back, taking the strides to stand in front of his daughter, “You should be with someone like Edward Vill or Chad Danford. Not someone who you met tutoring, and someone who believes his heavy metal band will take off.” 

 He waited a moment for [Y/N] to speak, but all she did instead was lower her head and folded her hands at her front, so Charles continued, “All you have to do is end things with Rodrick and your future already looks brighter, my princess.”

 “That’s your plan for my life, though,” [Y/N] pointed out, her tone quieter than she wanted it to come out, but she soon found her confidence once more as she added, “For once I want to do things my way, so with all due respect father, I don’t think I will break things off with Rodrick no matter what your standards are for me.”

 “The standards I hold for you are meant to ensure you have a future.” Charles began, using a variation of the same speech [Y/N] heard time and time again, “As you know, your brother will take over the company, so I just want to make sure your foundation is strong in whatever ways I can provide. You’re young, you know little of how the world works.”

 “Have you not realized that in trying to live up to your expectations, I’m putting my own happiness at stake?”

 “The real world knows nothing of individual happiness, [Y/N], success is the only thing that will cultivate any sense of the word.”

 “I’m doing my best as I am right now, and then some, trying to gain the success you wish from me,” [Y/N] finally lifted her gaze up, though the tears starting to well in her eyes as soon as she did, looking at the man she called father, but had not felt like one in years, “But even with all that I have accomplished and juggled since we moved, you still think I’m a failure, and nothing I ever do is right.”

 “There’s always more, you never have to stop working and aiming high.” Charles’s voice began to rise once again, “And being with that boy is going to prevent you from doing such.” 

 [Y/N] shook her head just as the tears started to fall from her eyes, “I’m done trying to be what you think I am, because I’ll never be good enough for you.”

 “Young lady, you listen-” Charles began, but [Y/N] was quick to interrupt for once.

 “No, I’m done listening and following whatever it is you say for me to do, I’m choosing my happiness for once, which means I am not breaking up with Rodrick just because you do not approve of him.”

 And while Charles attempted to persuade [Y/N] otherwise, he did try to get her to understand why he does what he does, but [Y/N] was not having it. And despite his efforts to also get her to stay, [Y/N] was quick to make her leave, knowing if she stayed any longer it would turn out uglier than it had already become. And they did not need that to happen.

 Instead, [Y/N] tried her best to compose herself, keep herself together, as she went back into the dining room to get Rodrick. She did not need her brother or her boyfriend doting on her immediately, and she had to stay strong as she left the family home because she could not afford any more signs of weakness. 

 Though the soft hand on Rodrick’s shoulder and her quiet yet slightly quivering voice as [Y/N] asked, “Can we leave now?” was all Rodrick needed to have to know things did not go well when she talked with her dad, but he didn’t know what was discussed. 

 “See you around, Caleb,” Rodrick said before he stood from the dining table and [Y/N] was quick to grab a hold of his hand to walk out of the house. 

 “Young lady, you stay in this house or you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life!” She heard her father call out as he was approaching the foyer, but Helena was quick to hold him back.

“Charles, let her go,” She tried to reason with her fuming husband, “You two need some space right now,”

 [Y/N] shot a quick apologetic look to her mother as she grabbed her purse hanging by the front door before opening the large wooden door and stepped outside.

 “Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Clemens, it was real good!” Rodrick felt like he needed to say something before he shut the door behind him, and that was what happened to come out. Perhaps it was nerves talking and not filtering his thoughts that were not filled with concern for his girlfriend. And when they cleared the steps of the front porch, the boy was quick to make the steps to walk side by side, gently squeezing [Y/N]’s hand as they got to the van.

 As soon as everything was unlocked, and both were in their respective spots, Rodrick turned the noisy van on, backed up, and began the drive down the long driveway and back onto the street. [Y/N], meanwhile, just leaned her head against the window, staring mindlessly out the side view mirror and watched as the house she had started to call home grew smaller and smaller as they moved away from it, and she could see two figures standing on the porch but soon as they turned the corner onto the street, they were out of sight. 

:~+~:

Rodrick did not know what [Y/N] wanted to do, and she had been silent since asking him to leave her house. So he assumed it best to play it safe and drive around town as she calmed down enough to tell him what she wanted to do, or at least, he felt like she could answer when asked what she wanted to do. He knew by then to not push [Y/N], let her do things at her own time, because of his experience during finals last year and how she got so stressed out she shut down for a few hours. 

 Though after an hour of driving, from the corner of his eye, Rodrick could see that [Y/N] made an effort to lift her head off of the window and that was the sign that she was calming down and he made the choice to ask a question.

 “Wanna hit up the convenience store since we bailed on dessert?”

 There was a moment of silence, then two, then three, before Rodrick heard the defeated voice of his girlfriend come from her mouth, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

 And with that guidance and direction on what to do next, Rodrick complied and drove to the nearest convenience store. 

 The next thirty minutes or so of the evening for the young couple were spent attempting to rid themselves of the pain and sorrow of the evening that had happened earlier. Trying to be young once more without any burdens or cares. And with this attempt to change how the night progressed, came the night chill and while Rodrick was fine, [Y/N] was not. Luckily, or unluckily, Rodrick had left one of his sweatshirts in the back of the van--which was the unlucky part, because it was found in the back of the van and who knows when it was last washed. But it was better than nothing, so [Y/N] accepted it and was grateful it at least smelled of him--the cologne he started to wear more frequently, that is. Once inside the shop, they moved through the snack and candy aisles with careful thought and consideration of what they wanted, with [Y/N] clinging onto Rodrick’s arm, her head resting upon his upper arm as they moved through the aisles and made their decisions of what felt appropriate for the evening--for Rodrick, a bag of chips and for [Y/N] a bag of sour gummy candy, as well as a bag of chocolate to share between them, and went to check out. 

 They chose to just sit and eat in the back of the van, still parked in the parking lot of the convenience store, as it was easier than finding somewhere else to go. They also sat in considerable silence once again, the only sounds this time were the bags crinkling and the sound of the crunch of the chip whenever Rodrick ate one, side by side as close as they could be and eat with ease at the same time. 

 “I’m tired of trying to be good enough,” [Y/N] suddenly spoke, breaking the silence that fell over them once she had decided she had finished with her candy for now. 

 Rodrick, who had been in the middle of eating a chip when [Y/N] decided to speak up, was grateful that he had something in his mouth as it allowed him the time to process what his girlfriend just said and figure out what he was going to say in return. In the meantime, he set aside his bag of chips and shifted enough to reach out and grab a hold of [Y/N]’s hand.

 “I’m tired of tryin’, too,” Was what he apparently settled with, having never exactly been good at the whole comforting thing, “So we can be tired of it together.”

 There was no verbal response from [Y/N], but she responded to this statement by gently rolling her head onto his shoulder, her other hand also came up to start playing with his fingers after setting the bag of candy down. So Rodrick took this that she was listening to what he was saying, but wasn’t sure in what way.

 “Buuuut, one of the smartest girls I know taught me once that having two negatives together ends up canceling out the other, so we can just be tired together, instead.”

 With this addition, a breathy laugh was heard in his ears and a proud little half smile appeared on his face as he heard her voice once again not being plagued by anxiety, but simply by sleepiness.

 “I don’t think you understood that full lesson, sweetheart, remember how you almost flopped that test because you didn’t?”

 With her statement being made, Rodrick’s smile grew into a full one before he tilted his head to place a gentle but loving kiss to the top of her head, before he murmured against her hair, “But I would have totally failed without you, babe.”

 “We can just be tired together, Rodrick,” [Y/N] confirmed after a moment of quiet enjoyment of the moment, “And deal with all the teenage bullshit together.”

“Wow, did you just swear, babe?” Rodrick said in joking disbelief as he leaned away to look at [Y/N] head on.

 “It’s been a long night, sweetheart.”

 “My place?”

 “I don’t think either of our parents would appreciate us sleeping in the back of your van, so yes, your place.”

:~+~:

“Where have you two been?” Was what they were greeted with as soon as they arrived at the Heffley family home, “We’ve been worried sick!”

 “Sorry, mom,” Rodrick began, stepping in front of [Y/N] as he added, “We just went on a drive and stopped to get snacks, that’s all.”

 “Your mother called, [Y/N], and she was worried when I said you weren’t here, but I’ll go call her to come get you, okay?”

 “N-no,” [Y/N] began, the stammer in her voice stopped Susan from going to the phone in the living room, and Frank just looked at her confused, “I, uh, don’t want to go back home tonight, can I please stay?”

 “What happened at the dinner that made you not want to go home?” Frank questioned.

 “Just some family stuff,” [Y/N] covered easily, though she took a step to stand closer to Rodrick as she continued, “...Didn’t leave on the best of terms.” 

 “Oh, then of course you can stay, and we can figure this all out tomorrow, but I am going to call your mom back and let her know you’re safe, okay?” Susan said with a gentle smile and [Y/N] reciprocated the smile with a quiet, thank you, before Mrs. Heffley added, “You can sleep on the couch, after I make the call I’ll go get you a blanket,”

 “Can she actually sleep in my room?” Rodrick brought up, his tone rushed, to which both his parents gave him a stern look but before his mom could even get the answer of no out, he added, “I don’t want her to be alone after what happened, is all.”

 Susan and Frank gave each other a look, before they looked at Rodrick and [Y/N], and they caught the young couple glancing at each other and they saw the softest expression on Rodrick’s face they have ever seen on their son and once more looked back at each other.

 “On an air mattress.” Frank said, pointing a finger at the both of them, to which the pair nodded before Mr. Heffley turned to go get the air mattress from the basement. 

:~+~:

So [Y/N] never ended up sleeping on the air mattress. 

 She started out there, trying to do right by Rodrick’s parents since they allowed her to sleep in their son’s bedroom, which she could not be in past 8:30 on a school night usually. But sleeping in some of Rodrick’s clothes and with him only feet away, she was crawling in right beside him not even five minutes in of trying to fall asleep.

 When she awoke the next morning, [Y/N] felt a weight on her chest, and not the emotional kind. No, it was almost the entire dead weight of her sound asleep boyfriend sleeping over top of her, his head resting on her shoulder, his wild bed hair tickling her neck. She did not move him off or attempt anything, instead choosing to bask in this moment they rarely got to have and enjoy a quiet Rodrick for once, a version of him totally at peace. Gently, she started to run her fingers along his back through the t-shirt he was wearing, before the fingers of her other hand started to gently card through his hair, which only settled the sleeping teenager deeper into her.

 When he settled a little deeper into rest, this was when she had a slight struggle with breathing, and [Y/N] knew that she had to do what was usually impossible: waking Rodrick up.

 But luckily for her, she knew a solid weak point that often got him up if he ended up falling asleep before one of their tutoring sessions: tickling his sides.

 The action did not shoot him straight awake, but it was enough to shock his brain into making him open his eyes, and groggily lift his head up. 

 At first, it was clear he was about to settle back into the sleep he just awoke from, but before his eyes fully shut, they opened once more as he processed he was not laying on his mattress, but instead his girlfriend and the sleepy grin that appeared as he lifted his head once more and gazed down at her with half-lidded eyes was a sight [Y/N] would never get used to no matter how much she saw it. 

 “Good mornin’ babe…” Rodrick mumbled as he began to lean down to give her a good morning kiss too, before he was promptly pushed away with a gentle hand.

 “Your morning breath is atrocious, sweetheart,” [Y/N] pointed out with a quiet laugh, “It could kill.”

 “C’mon, you know I would never kill you, babe.” Rodrick pouted, “Now c’mon and give me a good morning kiss.”

 Rodrick instead kissed all over her face as [Y/N] kept moving her head to avoid Rodrick meeting her lips, but their playfulness was cut short as they heard Susan’s voice from down the staircase calling up to them: 

 “Rodrick! [Y/N]! It’s time for breakfast!” 

 And fearing that Susan would come in to check on things, the pair moved--Rodrick faster than he ever had in the morning--to get [Y/N] into the air mattress. It was a bit of a scramble and [Y/N] nearly tripped getting off the twin bed, but she had slipped under the throw blanket on the air mattress just as Susan began her descent up the staircase, and the teenagers pretended to be asleep.

 Until they heard the sigh and Susan making her way back down the stairs, their eyes were shut but the moment she heard his mother’s voice away from the attic door, [Y/N] quietly slipped off the air mattress and made her way back to Rodrick’s bed, where she leaned down to give his a soft kiss on the lips.

 “We should probably go down stairs soon, sweetheart.”

 Rodrick opened his eyes at the feeling and smiled up at [Y/N], who smiled down at him in return. 

 “I hate it when you’re right, babe.”

 It was this moment they both realized something very important, very pivotal.

 They both loved the other, and it was a somewhat scary yet exciting thought.

[autisticandroids]

yknow those episodes where a character's whole personality gets split into 3-5 different distinct separate bodies? what bodies would cas have? I feel like it'd just be a mess tbh, imagine 5 different castiels all of them loving dean to a certain extent but showing it VASTLY differently. one cas would literally want to murder the others lmao

okay so i don’t actually think this trope would be an effective tool for analyzing cas? he’s not conflicted enough in himself. he’s too impulsive, too singleminded, too uninhibited. like, in the end, cas always ends up doing whatever he wants. there aren’t multiple discrete voices vying for control, really, or rather, if there are, one is always significantly stronger than the others. like in the end cas will always end up eating raw meat off the floor, you know? he’ll do what he wants. if i was going to do personality splitting i’d do it to someone intensely internally conflicted, like dean.

however, because i’m in an essay writing mood today, i’ll answer a question slightly to the left of the one you asked. cas may not be internally conflicted, but he is intensely changeable. these two things are related, actually; the same impulsivity and singlemindedness that mean he doesn’t have a ton of internal conflict at any given time mean that different ideas sound good to him at different times, because he isn’t really thinking about, say, what future-him will think of them. and he’s not really trying to maintain an image or identity. he’s just doing what feels right at the time, which is very different at different times and in different situations.

anyway, that in mind, i think a lot about ways to bring together many alternate versions of cas which sort of correspond to different times in the show.

i have a fic in my head about a bunch of cas-es pulled from alternate timelines by some kind of spell. so this would be set during the widower arc because the basic impulse here is to show dean a very bad time. just absolutely put him through hell. also, all the alternate timelines are different because different stuff happened, not because cas made different choices, because if we’re torturing dean it has to be like 5x04, the changes in cas can’t be cas’ fault. they have to be dean’s or just like, the universe’s (which makes them dean’s).

so dean is trying to bring cas back, and he finds some kind of spell that can bring someone “from another world.” and he tries it because hey. can’t hurt to try. anyway i’ve thought a long time about different versions of cas i would put in this and here is what i have. in order of when the timeline split off.

- a cas who never raised dean from hell. think 14x13 “lebanon.” this one i’m not too sure about, like, this could be fun, but i don’t know if it’s different enough from the next one. like this castiel would have lived through the averted apocalypse and subsequent general fuckery that happened as an angelic footsoldier, which would actually be pretty interesting now that i think about it, especially since all that stuff would have gone down soooooooo differently without cas specifically for your average angel footsoldier. like cas has PERSONALLY caused more upheaval in heaven in twelve years of spn than there seems to have been in millennia. so he would be the point of view of a normal footsoldier from a totally other world.

- a cas who died mid season four, and is pulled out of the empty in 2017 by this spell. i’m not sure when this cas died. my thoughts are (1) killed in on the head of a pin by alistair, (2) killed during his torture in the rapture, or (3) simply never resurrected after lucifer rising. (3) makes the most sense, but that cas has already thrown away everything for dean. i prefer the idea of a cas who loves dean, is already on the brink of disobedience for him, but has not yet taken the plunge. both on the head of a pin and the rapture are great places for this, and they both have strengths and weaknesses. if he died in the rapture, he was killed by heaven, which is fundamentally more fun, but he was also really very much over the edge already. if he died in on the head of a pin, he wasn’t killed by heaven, but he is perfectly teetering on the brink of falling for dean. regardless of when he died, the purpose of this cas is to be horrified at all the various and myriad ways he has destroyed and corrupted himself for dean in the other timelines.

- possibly endverse cas, who would have died in 2014, but like s4 cas, would have been pulled from the afterlife by the spell. i’m not so sure on this one. we as a society love endverse cas but i dunno what purpose he would serve. maybe endverse cas didn’t die in 2014, and instead was imprisoned by lucifer, because, you know. he’s the only brother lucifer has left. so he is very excited to see dean alive and well, since his dean is dead, and, not being an angel, cas can’t bring him back. the purpose of this cas would be to horrify dean that cas loves him and needs him so much, and to disgust the other cas-es with his neediness.

- a cas who was in some way on better terms with dean during s6. maybe dean and cas ride off into the sunset together after swan song instead of dean going to live with lisa, maybe dean prayed to cas while he was with lisa because he missed him, who knows. either way, cas has dean’s help with the angel revolution in season six from the start, and never goes to crowley. the plan cas and dean come up with to beat raphael includes breaking into the cage and stealing the grace of michael and lucifer, freeing sam and adam in the process. incidentally, it also involves cas possessing dean, because if cas is gonna eat archangel grace to become more powerful, he’s going to need a stronger vessel. so cas and dean have a whole like. midam situation happening. they’re a double archangel together, and godstiel never happened so none of the other terrible apocalypses that stemmed from that happened, and everything is pretty cool where they’re from, and also they’re obviously uhhhhhh SOME kind of together. the purpose of this cas is to upset dean because this cas shows how much better everything could have been and how much better his and cas’ relationship could have been if dean had simply been more considerate of cas in s6, and also freak dean out with how uh. close. this dean and cas are.

- a godstiel who managed to swallow purgatory without swallowing the leviathans and remained god. he’s probably soooomewhat less scary and murdery than canonverse godstiel because no leviathans, so you know, not as many angel purges or massacres on earth. and he probably went and fixed sam’s wall within about three days because cas is prideful but he does NOT like it when dean is mad at him. so they did kiss and make up, and so this cas would have had dean to act as his morality chain. but he’s still very scary and godstiel. and also he refers to dean as “The Beloved” you know. his purpose is to freak everyone out, because he’s scary, but also, for the past cas-es, because he is a terrifying abomination that they could never imagine becoming, for the future cas-es, because he is a reminder of their worst selves, and for dean, because he is a reminder of how dangerous cas is, but also because he uh. obviously has some feelings about his dean. unclear if they are consummated or not.

- a cas who naomi never rescued from purgatory, and who stayed there. hasn't spoken to another being in half a decade, has not recovered from his emotionally destroyed state in purgatory in s8. believes at first that the spell is his dean rescuing him, and is crushed when he realizes he was wrong. like endverse cas, his purpose is to show dean how much cas needs him and depends on him emotionally, and how he (dean) is capable of destroying cas, as well as his guilt for leaving him in purgatory and how lucky he is that his cas got out. this is especially noteworthy since the guilt for leaving cas in purgatory is part of the reason dean is trying to get cas back.

- a cas who stayed human after season nine, and has built himself a small human life over the next four years. he has a job and an apartment and friends outside the winchesters and yes, he still goes hunting after work sometimes, and he's still in contact with dean, but he is also independent in a way no other version of cas has ever been. he exists to freak out dean because dean has never seen cas independent of him. he is also fairly bitter at dean since dean did kind of stop spending time with him when he was no longer useful, and our dean feels guilty for that.

- a cas who showed up twenty minutes later in 10x03, finding sam dead and dean gone, and had to chase down demon dean, and has now spent three years following demon dean around as his tragically adoring stalker, because he hasn't found a way to resurrect sam yet and he doesn't want to put dean through the demon cure until he can save sam because he doesn't want dean to experience that guilt, but he also adores dean and wants to keep an eye on him and keep him safe and also keep him from doing anything too heinous, so he just covertly follows him around the country and watches from a distance as he commits various murders and fucks his way through every local bar scene. and occasionally cas finds dean something to kill, when the mark gets hungry, and drops it in his path. his purpose is to freak dean out with the lengths cas would go for him, and the depths cas would sink to.

anyway. lebanon cas and season four cas are horrified and perhaps disgusted (lebanon cas more than s4 cas) by ALL of the later cas-es, and how far they’re fallen, all of it for dean. godstiel and archangel cas being abominations, endverse cas and s9 cas being fallen, even purgatory cas and demon dean’s cas for their total dependence on dean.

purgatory cas and endverse cas are just happy to see a dean, even if it’s not their dean. demon dean’s cas, too, in a way. he’s happy to see a dean who is still human, who he can still have as a friend.

human cas is pissed to see that he was right, that dean would have stuck by him if he’d still had his powers, that this version of dean is doing spells to try and bring his cas, who is still an angel, back, whereas he and his dean only see each other once every couple months.

everyone is terrified and disgusted by godstiel, as i said before.

they’re mostly kind of thrown by archangel cas. a lot of them are jealous. godstiel is furious because how dare anyone, even an alternate version of himself, take dean as a vessel (even if dean likes it). godstiel isn’t really there, though, he resisted the summoning and just sort of popped his head through to see what was going on, and he goes back to his own reality pretty fast without murdering anyone.

also to be clear dean has not at this point examined or acknowledged any feelings he may have about his cas besides “friendship,” nor has he wondered what feelings his cas may have for him. given how many of the cas-es were clearly in some kind of relationship with their dean (endverse cas, archangel cas) or just openly in love with their dean (godstiel, purgatory cas, demon dean’s cas), dean is forced to reevaluate the nature of his and cas’ relationship.

[crystalas]

Instincts

Instincts

A one shot inspired by @purble-turble and @its-kall-the-clown Cos I love the two concepts and they need to be together. Secret relationship Pregnancy and the concept of nesting, this is also pure fluff.

 Red Son was feeling a conflict of many emotions at the moment and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it; on one hand he was elated that he was soon to be a parent and so happy to be going through this with the one person he has ever met that seemed to get him. He would often find himself day dreaming of what he and his little one could be doing as they grow up, hearing them say their first word, watch them take their first steps, the whole idea was exciting!

But he also felt a foreboding dread in his stomach when he thought about it too, there was the fact that he was indeed having a child with an enemy of the family. Even if his family doesn’t immediately kill his mate and child if they found out they would no doubt have plans for their grandchild given its heritage. Which is why they were hiding out till MK could safely defend himself and their baby from any harm without Red Son just in case his family tries anything.

The one thing however that had Red Son terrified whenever he thought about it was the child itself. The more research he did into pregnancy, birth and possible midwifery [there was a bloody good chance he was going to be the one delivering their child so he wanted that stuff memorised!] the more he realised how easily this pregnancy could go horribly wrong.

There was the factor of biology, MK was human and Red Son was a demon two beings that had vastly different life spans. Demon pregnancies lasted twelve to eighteen months while humans only lasted nine, would the child be born premature or be okay at nine months? Would the child be only ready at twelve and need caesarean to be born? Red Son balked at that idea it was scary enough at the idea of a home birth but he couldn’t imagine him purposely stabbing MK to get their child. Not to mention the difference in magic, the creation side of Monkey King’s powers and the destructive nature of his fire magic did not seem like a good mix, especially in a baby!

Red Son would wake up sweating after having nightmares of coming back home to find MK’s charred remains on the bed and their child innocently playing with the burnt remains of their parent’s entrails.

Although Red Son was feeling all these emotions and more, he planned on keeping them to himself. MK was going through enough as it is; seeing as he had to stay hidden from his family. MK wanted nothing more than to announce the news of their little bundle of joy but Red Son informed them that his parents had Bull Clones on constant surveillance of their hang out, there was no safe way for them to know without Demon Bull King finding them. He didn’t need Red Son telling him that he might have a flaming chest burster growing in his belly! So Red Son was going to be the best supporting partner and if that meant going on an ice cream run then so be it.

He came into the apartment and headed to the kitchen to put the ice cream away he froze when he saw the living room…

It looked like someone had tore up the sofas and then had been knocked over in a struggle. He couldn’t see MK anywhere so slammed the ice cream down on the table and searched the house. The airing cupboard had been opened and emptied out it looked like something had ransacked his house…Red Son’s heart started to pound and his throat was dry as he couldn’t bring himself to call out and was about to go into full panic mode when he heard something.

“Dang it!” MK groaned.

Red Son honed in and found himself bolting to the bedroom where he heard the voice and nearly tore the door off its hinges to find MK kneeling on the floor with what seemed every cushion, pillow, blanket and pile it up on the mattress that had also been pulled onto the bedroom floor. MK turned around to see Red Son staring at him.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for the mess…” he muttered, “I don’t know why but I really want to make a blanket fort but I can’t get it right which doesn’t make sense…and ugh this is so frustrating!”

Red Son stared at MK for a full minute before he burst out laughing both in relief and at the sheer absurdness at the situation.

“You’re nesting!” he chuckled once he got a hold of himself “I can’t believe it, you’re nesting!”

“What?!” MK cried “I’ve read that pregnancy scroll you showed me! That’s a demon thing, I’m not a demon!”

Red Son leant down and hugged MK from behind.

“Hate to break it to you Noodle Boy but you’ve got a lot of demon in you right now!” he laughed as he reached forward and put a hand on MK’s six-month belly. MK pulled a face as they recalled having an ungodly craving for wheat grass and charcoal during the early months, that had been embarrassing to be caught eating.

“So, want help me have another crack at this?” MK demanded as Red Son helped him up, the fire demon laughed again.

“Sure, but let’s try and minimise the use of material I would like to sleep in a bed tonight…”

After an hour of trail and error they finally created a nest that MK felt comfortable in, it was a sort of tent made from bedsheets, with the winter quilt as the floor with every spare cushion and pillow used to add for support. The edges of the nests were raised slightly by the cushions and pillows underneath as it was now sat on the floor in a corner of the bedroom.

“This is such a weird thing to feel compelled to do” MK muttered as they laid in their creation.

“Not really when you consider that most demons lived in caves or run-down buildings, I imagine wanted a safe soft place to have your young is a very practical instinct…” Red Son explained as he rolled over to face his partner. MK was looking thoughtful and rubbing his stomach gently.

“Does this mean I’m probably gonna give birth in this?”

“If you want, but if that is the case, I’m going to laid down some plastic sheets. No offence but I don’t want this stuff to get stained…”

MK took a spare pillow and smacked Red Son in the face with it.