#it's been a year but this will always be golden

[thinkinonsense]

VELVET ELVIS ❤︎

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: fluff! domesticity! soft!logan pregnancy

author's note: this was inspired by the kacey musgraves song! just wanted to write some fluff :)

divider credit: @/roseraris

within these cabin walls, time stood still. logan liked his life and the time machine he's built himself. you and him live in a 60's dream home.

during the weekdays, logan went to work at the lumberyard while you stayed at home and worked on your paintings. when the two of you moved in together years ago, logan got you to agree to quit your job and prioritize your talents since he was able to do triple the amount of work for a normal man, money would never an issue.

on saturday's, the two of you would go into town and you would bring your art pieces to a shop downtown for them to sell. whatever money you made, you put back towards the supplies you needed because logan covered everything else.

"well, don't 'cha look like a dream" logan compliments as he watches you get ready in the mirror.

"thank you, sugar." you smile as he leans down to kiss your temple then down to your cheek.

"prettiest fuckin' thing i've ever seen." he mutters against your skin. "is this new?"

both of your eyes fall down to the satin powder blue slip dress that adorned your frame. he loved the way it looked with your pretty white mary jane boots and the small bump blooming underneath the soft material of your dress.

"yeah, picked it up earlier this week." you reply, removing the curlers in your hair and teasing the pieces of hair up high.

"love it." logan says, nibbling at your earlobe.

"logan..." you giggle, lightly shoving him away. "go get dressed so we can leave."

"yes, ma'am."

reluctantly, logan gets up and grabs the nice outfit you put together for him earlier. a fresh pair of denim jeans, a white shirt and his brown leather jacket. as an anniversary present one year, you got logan a silver star shaped belt buckle that matched the necklace he got for your birthday when you two first met. in the mirror, you watched him put it on.

"whatcha thinkin' about over there, sweetheart?" he smirks, looking up to find your eyes.

"dippin' you in honey."

"dirty. i like it."

"not like that, perv." you giggle. "just wanna be stuck to you forever."

"that's sweet." he says, walking over, bending down, and gently grabbing your chin to kiss you.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

once the two of you make it inside the tiny shop, logan brings in your painting while you greet the older ladies who own the building. all of them fawn over logan and your round tummy; telling you how lucky you are. something you never let yourself forget.

"you'll never believe what we picked up the gala last weekend." one of the grey haired women tells you.

"what did you two find?" you asked, always curious to their treasures.

"the hell kinda painting is this?" logan asks, looking sideways at one of the paintings on the wall.

the sight makes you laugh. no matter how long you two have been together, logan still struggles to see some of the beauty that you do in certain art pieces.

"i think the handsome lumberjack found it." the other lady winked as they guide you over to where logan stood. hanging upon the wall sat a velvet elvis painting.

"oh my!" you gasp.

ever since you were a little girl, you adored the painting that some would call 'tacky'.

"you like that, sweets?" he questions but you ignore it, stepping closer, running a finger along the golden frame.

"my grandma used to have one in her living room, it was her most prized possession –well, next to my grandpa."

behind you, logan could see the couple smiling to each other. too busy amazed by the painting to notice anything else around you.

“what a lucky find!” you marvel, turning around to face them.

“which is why we want you to have it.” one of them says while the other takes it down from the wall.

in shock, you shake your head insisting that you couldn’t allow them to give it away. they insist on you two taking it home, telling you to hang it somewhere nice. logan wasn’t exactly thrilled to have the painting in the home but he knew you adored it so he would never say a word out loud.

on the way home that night, you raved about the piece. logan loved hearing you talk about the things you were passionate about. he could listen to you explain color theory for hours. his own personal, prettier version of bob ross. when he brought in the painting, you told him exactly where you wanted to hang it in the living room.

“right there, baby.” you instruct him. “be careful.”

the man couldn’t be hurt if he tried but he found your warning cute. once it was hung up, you both step back to admire it. the art work did at least match the aesthetic of the house, logan could admit.

“i mean, its no mona lisa but i don���t mind it.” logan says, pulling you in to kiss your forehead.

“you know, i don’t really care for the mona lisa.” you admit with a shrug.

“really?”

“mhm, don’t like that everyone fawns over it. i want character, creativity, and something unique."

"hm.." he hums, swaying you gently.

"this painting reminds me of you." your voice meek and muffled against his shirt.

"is that so?" he asks, looking down at you.

you nod. "i want something no one else has and something no one else will ever understand the way that i do. you're my favorite work of art, lo."

"i'm only a work of art because you carved and molded me with your beautiful mind." he says, trying to allow a tear to fall down his face.

logan couldn't believe the life he'd been gifted after all the shit he's dealt with in his lifetime. he didn't deserve this; he didn't deserve you. your kindness, your warmth, your talent, your body that carries the only other human he will ever love as much as you. he would never be able to repay you for this little life and slice of peace that you've gifted him.

[solxamber]

Knights and Oaths - Leona Kingscholar x reader

You come from a long line of knights that have served the rulers of the Savannah. But sometimes traditions are meant to change and the second prince is looking like someone worth changing them for.

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the Savannah in golden hues as you approach the ceremonial grounds. It’s been years leading up to this moment—years of training, discipline, and growing up side by side with royalty. Your mother serves Falena’s wife, and your father serves the king himself. By all accounts, it’s expected that you’ll follow suit and dedicate your knightly oath to Cheka, the five-year-old prince. That’s just how it’s always been—loyalty passed down through the generations, swearing fealty to the rightful heirs of the Sunset Savannah.

But you’ve never been one for following expectations.

Not when you’ve spent your childhood in the shadow of two princes, one of them your closest companion and sometimes, greatest annoyance. Leona Kingscholar—second prince of the Sunset Savannah, the man who always seemed just a step away from what he could have been. Too lazy to reach it. Too proud to admit it.

When you were kids, Leona’s idea of "training" usually involved you chasing him around, trying to get him to spar when he’d much rather nap beneath the acacia trees. "What’s the point?" he’d grumble, arms folded behind his head, the sun casting dappled shadows across his face. "No matter how hard I try, Falena's the one everyone cares about."

Yet somehow, despite his best efforts to seem indifferent, you always found yourself drawn into his orbit. There was something about Leona that you couldn’t ignore—a pull, a desire to prove himself despite his constant veneer of nonchalance. You saw him in a way others didn’t. And maybe, somewhere along the way, he saw you too.

That’s why today feels different. Your whole life, everyone assumed your path was already written. You’d swear your oath to Cheka, Falena’s son, just as your parents had sworn theirs to Falena and his wife. It was expected, anticipated. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know about you and Leona, the time spent laughing, bickering, and—more often than not—arguing over ridiculous things like who could run faster or who could climb the tallest tree.

Now here you are, stepping into the hunting grounds, your sword at your side, ready to make your choice.

The hunt is a time-honored tradition. Whoever brings back the most impressive game gets to make their dedication. You can almost hear the whispers as you prepare—"Cheka’s knight," they call you. It’s been assumed for years. But they don’t know what’s coming.

The ceremony itself is simple enough. Each knight pledges their loyalty by dedicating their game to the person they swear to serve. It’s a public declaration of fealty, one made before the entire royal court. But there’s more at stake than just loyalty. The knight who brings back the most impressive game is awarded a golden rose—a symbol of something far deeper than duty.

Love.

Hours later, when you emerge from the hunt with the largest bear the kingdom has seen in years, all eyes are on you. The whispers grow louder, anticipation thick in the air. Everyone knows you’ve won the rose, and with it, the right to swear your loyalty. They’re expecting you to kneel before Cheka, the adorable five-year-old prince bouncing with excitement. Even Leona’s lounging nearby, watching the whole affair with that bored, half-lidded gaze of his, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

But you? You have different plans.

With the golden rose in hand and your bear presented, you walk right past Cheka—past the gasps of the court, the murmurs of confusion, the stunned faces of your parents. And you kneel before Leona.

Leona’s eyes snap open, and for the first time in ages, he looks genuinely surprised. His eyebrows raise, just the barest fraction. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grin, because of course he’s trying to play it off like this doesn’t matter. "Swearing my fealty, obviously," you say, loud enough for the court to hear. "I dedicate this hunt and the rose to Prince Leona Kingscholar."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can practically feel the jaws dropping across the Savannah. Even little Cheka’s mouth forms a perfect little "o" of shock.

For the first time all day, Leona stirs, the mask of indifference slipping just enough for you to catch the flicker of something beneath it—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. His eyes meet yours, sharper and more intense than ever, and for a moment, the world falls away.

Leona’s eyes narrow, a mixture of suspicion and amusement flickering across his face. "I thought you’d be on your knees for someone else," he drawls, his lips quirking up at the corners.

You shrug. "Everyone else may have decided my fate, but I make my own choices."

“For you, Leona,” you repeat, your voice steady and loud despite the pounding in your chest. “I dedicate my loyalty to you, and this rose... to the one who has always held my heart.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s Leona, after all. He doesn’t do grand gestures, never needed to. But you notice the way his fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and take the rose immediately. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, a bit rough around the edges, but there’s an unmistakable thread of satisfaction laced through it.

“You really know how to cause a scene, huh?”

There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his gaze flicks down to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. “A bear and a rose... For me?”

The teasing tone doesn’t hide the way his chest seems to expand just a little bit, like someone had finally acknowledged him for the first time in years. He reaches out and takes the rose from your hand, his fingers brushing yours in the briefest of touches. It feels electric, like every unspoken word between you is packed into that fleeting moment.

He twirls the rose once between his fingers, his smirk growing. “Guess I should thank you,” he says casually, though there’s a weight to his words, something you’ve rarely heard from him—appreciation. Real and tangible.

Leona stands up slowly, stretching as though this whole event is just another inconvenience, though the pride in his stance is unmistakable. He knows exactly what this means, both for you and for him. No one can dismiss him as just the second prince anymore, not after this. Not when someone like you, bound by honor and tradition, chose him. Over everyone else. Over Cheka. Over the kingdom’s expectations

He leans down, close enough that his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks softly, for you alone to hear. “I never thought you’d choose me. But I can’t say I’m not... pleased.”

Your heart does a strange, fluttering thing in your chest at his words, and you dare to meet his gaze, only to find a look there that you’ve never seen before. Something softer. Something real.

Before you can react, he tugs you in close, his arm settling around your waist in a way that feels both possessive and protective. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of his body radiating through your armor. The smug grin he wears is softened by something deeper in his eyes—something that makes your heart skip a beat.

His hand lingers at your side, thumb brushing lightly against your hip, like he's claiming you just as much as you're dedicating yourself to him.

Before you can respond, he turns, still holding you close, and faces the crowd. The murmurs have turned to outright whispers of shock and disbelief, but Leona seems entirely unbothered by the spectacle you've made. In fact, he revels in it.

“This knight is mine,” he declares, his voice steady, ringing with finality. There’s no hesitation, no doubt—just that lazy confidence and a quiet triumph that says he’s more than pleased with your choice.

And in that moment, you know that, despite everything—his pride, his laziness, his gruff exterior—Leona Kingscholar is proud of you. Proud that you chose him, that you saw him, really saw him, when so many others didn’t. And as his arm tightens around you just a little, you can feel it too: the quiet, unspoken promise of what comes next.

A lifetime bound to the second prince—exactly the way you both want it.

Masterlist

he's so special to me :(((

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Gold Rush

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Teen. Summary: It's the day after your husband left you, Dieter still remains, is his presence and support the reason why you feel okay? Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, marijuana use, champagne, drunken feelings, confessions using a taylor swift song, pizza Words: 5,330

A/N: Golden Girl and Dieter have not left my mind since I wrote them. I couldn't believe how much @almostfoxglove's gorgeous moodboard (see above) that she created with my prompts of "Dieter x adoration x gold" matched my ideas for the follow-up sooo I wrote it out. I hope you enjoy.

Previous Chapter Masterlist

***

You’re awoken by a grumbling snore and a solid heat pressed against your cheek. Your tired eyes blink open and are greeted by a faded wine stained heather gray chest. Dieter.

For a split second, there is confusion, a moment of panic flickers through you. Then it all comes back to you–the heartbreak of yesterday. 

The flood of emotions, the tears, Warren’s cold, unblinking blue eyes as he told you he’d fallen in love with someone else. No remorse. Just the simple truth, delivered in his same steady voice he’d use for his clients, as if your marriage now meant nothing. And then he was gone, walking out of the door you’d painted his favorite color green. Then, your shaking hands calling the only person you knew who would be there for you. Dieter. 

You don’t know if it was the exhaustion of your marriage ending or Dieter’s body against yours, but you haven’t slept that deeply in years. 

Now, you gently pull away, your gaze lingering on him as he sleeps. Fluffy, tousled hair fans across the pillow, his parted plush lips gently percolate out snores. The lines of stress and mischief that crease his face are much gentler and relaxed in his slumber. The sunlight peeking through the curtain casts a golden strip across his face that turns his skin amber and his dark hair almost hazel. 

You usually don’t allow yourself to stare at him like this, constantly fighting the pull you’ve always felt towards him, like an invisible string that keeps getting tangled and knotted. That night in the dive bar–years ago–kissing his whiskey soaked lips, feeling the deep rumble of laughter left against your lips when you finally pulled away. You could have had him then. 

But you didn’t. You were too enamored by his handsome blue-eyed friend. Warren. 

Warren, who said all the right thing, who made you believe everything you wanted to hear, even if half of it was lies. You feel so idiotic.

Dieter’s breathing is steady, his broad chest rises and falls keeping time with the soft hum of his snores. The gold hoop of his earring catches the light. You’ve been enamored with it since that first night you met him all those years ago. A forbidden ring held within his ear, you always wondered how it felt, to be able to freely touch him. Sometimes your hand would reach for it, before your eye would catch the glint of your wedding band. Forbidden, off limits, you’re kept by someone else. 

Now, no longer answering to anyone, you let your shocking newfound independence make you happy for once. It’s just you and him, lying in the middle of the bed you bought from Pottery Barn with your ex-mother-in-law, and for the first time you don’t feel guilty for looking at him. 

Slowly, almost reverently, your hand hovers over his ear, feeling the soft brush of his hair as you softly pass your finger over the metal ring, a connection to the feelings you’ve always had for him. You pull your hand away, too scared to let the emotions long-held for him take place in your heart. 

“Dee,” you croak, your voice is rough from sleep and all of the tears shed from yesterday. 

His eyelids flutter open, chocolate brown eyes blinking open, soft and unfocused before crinkling at the edges as a yawn stretches across his face. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and groggy. The warm smile he gives you makes your broken heart begin mending itself right then and there. 

“It’s almost noon.”

He yawns again, his large hand brushing over his face as he props himself up. He slowly comes to life, a haze of sleep still lingering in his eyes. 

“Shit, almost noon huh?” his voice rasps deep from sleep. “You okay?”

A simple question, one that you’ve been asked so few times the past few years as your marriage has grown stagnant and lifeless. You nod, though not entirely sure of your answer. 

“I know it was a rough day,” he says, sympathy pouring out of his voice. “I-I’m glad you called me.” 

“I am too,” you whisper. 

Dieter shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze stays on you. “Warren’s an idiot,” the firmness of his voice surprises you. “He never deser–”

Right then the loud growl of your stomach interrupts. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, pulling away from you. 

“Uh, lunch yesterday?” It hadn’t even occurred that you’d gone that long without food.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to see if you were hun–“

“It’s okay Dee,” you quickly reassure, “I don’t think I could’ve even eaten anything yesterday.”

He studies you for a second, his gaze softens. “Well, I make a mean bowl of cereal or I can order us breakfast if you want something more serious.” 

“Cereal’s good.”

He stretches and sits up. “Coming right up,” he says, standing and moving to the door. 

“You don’t know where anything is!” you call after him.

He pauses, turning back. “That’s never stopped me before,” he winks, causing butterflies to plume in your stomach, the kind you haven’t felt in ages. 

The clattering of cupboards being rifled through finally makes you extract yourself from bed. 

“Dee!” you shout as you walk down the hall, “I’ll grab everything!” 

You send a quick glimpse into the bedroom you used to share with Warren as you tie your robe tighter and head downstairs. 

The sun is glaring through the open curtains, yours and Dieter’s phones lay silent on the coffee table. Nobody knows. Warren said it was your decision over who you want to tell. How chivalrous. 

“Hey,” Dieter greets you with a smile, as he puts the milk on the counter. “I found the milk and spoons.” 

You shake your head, moving around him to pull two bowls out of the cupboard. 

“You put the coffee on at least, that’s most important,” you say, grabbing the box of cereal from the pantry. “All I have are Corn Flakes.” 

—

The domesticity of it all is not lost on him. Dieter sits next to you at the breakfast bar happily munching on his corn flakes covered in three tablespoons of sugar. 

He’s had this dream so many times before. Bright sunlight shining through the kitchen window above the sink that overlooks the garden you take so much pride in, coffee in the light blue mugs with the little birds you were so proud to find at the antique store off of La Cienega, the sound of you eating and just quietly existing next to him. He never wants to wake up. 

The first thing he saw today was you, your voice was the first thing he heard. It’s not a dream, it’s really happening here, in this home you used to share with his best friend–or–who used to be his best friend. Warren probably doesn’t even know he’s here, that he was the one you chose to call and to be consoled by. Too oblivious and self obsessed to realize that all these years Dieter’s been secretly in love with his wife. How could he not fall for you? 

He glances towards you, wanting to tell you everything in his heart, only choosing the most obvious statement. “I’m here for you, you know that, right?”

“I know Dee, it means… a lot, but you don’t have to be here, I’m okay… really.”

“Trust me, I want to be here Sweets,” he knocks his shoulder against yours. It’s just about the only physical touch he can trust himself to make. He wants to hold you through all of this, keep your body as close to his as possible. Shield you, go to battle for you, be your soldier. All he can afford is a singular shoulder tap. 

“You’ve never given me reason to not,” you sigh. 

He never wants to let you down, never wants to make you feel like you’re less than deserving of the whole world. He just has to wait. Good things take time.

“What do you want to do today?” 

“Not sure. Definitely get out of this robe and into some actual clothes.”

He thanks his lucky stars, as much as he loves you in the fluffy robe, his heart can’t take the brief glimpses of your upper thigh or chest as the fabric swishes across your body. “Do you want me to grab your clothes for you?” 

“No, I-it’s gotta happen sooner than later… i-it’s weird, I know he just left me and everything, but–I don’t know Dee–it’s been not fun being me. Here, cooped up in this house just waiting for my husband to decide to like me and spend time with me. You know?” Your shoulders deflate, he gazes at your crestfallen side profile, still so beautiful even when you’re heartbroken.

You take a swig of coffee, he follows the lines of your delicate neck as you swallow the liquid down. Your skin is always so beautiful, but in this light, it transfixes him. “This is the fourth time he’s cheated on me.” 

He coughs at your confession. His brows rise in surprise, he never knew about the others. “I-I had no idea,” he murmurs. His heart drops, how fucking dare Warren.

“We didn’t let it be known, I couldn’t deal with–anybody knowing and them judging me. He’d come back, and swear he would change. Why do you think my wedding ring kept getting bigger and bigger? He’d get me something shinier every time he’d fuck someone else… like I’m some sort of crow wife.”

He snickers, you’re still the funniest girl he’s ever met, even when you’re talking about your piece of shit husband. 

“And now, NOW he's found the one. All those times I’d let him back, he told me I was the only one for him.” Tears sprout in your eyes. He thinks of all those years you’ve wasted, all those lies you believed, and now, you’re left just as empty as your cereal bowl. “I feel like a fool, he’s been cheating on me for almost a year with her. I just sat idly by, ignoring all of the cracks in the foundation, all of the same signs I had seen before, he’d call me crazy. I guess a person can only be gaslit for so long before they burn up. The house has been crumbling for the past few years, and I just kept thinking maybe it would change… and the cracks just got bigger until… he left. Now I’m left here trying to rebuild and trying to figure out what I did wrong.” 

“Nothing,” he says, his voice firmer than he intended. “You did nothing wrong. Warren’s always been the ‘take what I want when I want’ type. It’s him, not you.”

You solemnly nod, eyes staring unblinking at your spoon swirling in the milky white expanse of your empty cereal bowl. “And I just had to fall in love with him. I feel so foolish.” Your voice floats into his ears, flowing down to his heart squeezing the organ that pumps only for you. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “I’ve been best friends with him for almost thirty years. If you’re a fool, then I’m one too.” 

You look at him, his eyes meet yours. He offers you a small smile that you return with a nod. You’re sweeter than the cereal milk he just got done slurping out of his bowl.

“Well,” you sigh, tapping the counter and breaking the miniscule moment of understanding. “I can’t do any more of this sad stuff today. I can’t be miserable all day. II know what I want to do tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, raising a curious brow. 

“Yep. Drink,” you sigh. “Like, a lot.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I want to forget, just for tonight… and then tomorrow I’ll have to deal with all of the bullshit.”

He doesn’t mention to you that the last time only the two of you drank together, his marriage to Anika had just ended. Now it’s a tradition. “I can help with that. Do you need me to go grab some booze?”

“Nope,” you hop off the barstool and pad over to the wine fridge. You bend over, he strangles his napkin when he gets a glimpse of your upper thighs before he looks away. Not right now. 

You pull a fancy looking bottle out of the fridge. “We were supposed to have this for our tenth anniversary. Some dumb expensive bottle of champagne he bought while we were on vacation in France.”

He grabs it from the counter top, eyebrows rising at the fancy label.

“Wow. Thirty-five year old Bollinger, huh? That’s the stuff the queen drinks.” “Of course you’d know that,” you tease, rolling your eyes as you put the champagne in the fridge. “I’m gonna clean up, hop into the shower and change. I don’t know if you want to head to your place and grab some clothes?”

He looks down at his stained shirt and pajama pants he’s been wearing since he woke up yesterday afternoon. He wasted no time in changing when he got the call from you. He could certainly also use a shower. 

“If you’re okay with me leaving for a bit,” he hesitates. 

“I am, really Dee,” you assure. “I’m going to head upstairs. Come over around five?”

“Five works,” he smiles. Hating the rush of nerves he feels of spending another night only with you. 

“You’re the best Dee,” you smile. 

He doesn’t know whether to shake Warren for leaving someone like you or thank him as he deposits his bowl in the sink and grabs his keys and phone. 

—

The master bedroom is just as it was left yesterday, besides the empty side of Warren’s closet and vanity. How kind of him to move out while you’re left crying on the couch. You were his wife for eight years. Over three thousand days of marriage. A mortgage, two cars, three credit cards with unspent reward points, multiple bank accounts. God, there’s so much to do. 

Not today. 

Today you’re going to push down these terrible feelings, today you’re going to focus on the future of what can be once you trudge through all of this. Today you’re going to spend the day taking care of yourself and then tonight, you’re going to get drunk with your friend Dieter. 

The gold frame on your bedside table catches your eye. Ah, your Australia trip last year, a surprise excursion from Warren. You’re pretty sure he was talking to her while the two of you explored the outback. You thought that trip was the beginning of something new and better for the two of you. It only took a week after your return home for him to start working late and having meetings in other states again. 

You love the frame that holds the picture of better days with Warren, you found it at an antique store Dieter told you about. You’ve always loved vintage decor, Warren always preferred brand new, he never liked the idea of “other people’s trash littering his home.” You open the back of the frame, pull out the photo, and crumble it in your hands before setting the empty frame back on the table. One day, it’ll hold a picture of true happiness—one day, there will be someone else to smile with.

You shed your robe and drop it in the hamper before standing in front of your mirror. You look the same, really. Only thing that might give away your husband left you are your eyes that sit a little redder and puffier and your naked ring finger. 

A glance at your phone shows a couple of missed texts and calls. Nothing important. Still no word from Warren. You feel foolish for expecting anything more from him. 

All the tears you shed yesterday suddenly feel ridiculous. All those tears fell for a man who could barely be grown enough to check on how you’re doing today. You’ve read of slow burns in romance novels, but what about a slow snuff? Where your marriage just gradually dies, suffocated by indifference, until Warren’s selfishness finally snuffed it out. There’s a sense of freedom now, like you no longer have to lie to yourself. Now you just have to figure out how to move on. 

You scroll to the playlist Dieter sent you a few weeks ago, smiling to yourself at the realization that as your marriage fizzled, your’s and Dieter’s friendship grew warmer. You turn the tap on as the first song plays. 

'Round your city, 'round the clock Everybody needs you No, you can't make everybody equal Although you got beaucoup family You don't even got nobody bein' honest with you

Frank Ocean. Your’s and Dieter’s shared favorite. Warren can’t stand him, of course. When Dieter got tickets to a Frank Ocean concert, Warren spent the night rolling his eyes while you and Dieter screamed lyrics, danced under the strobe lights, and passed a joint back and forth. Anika and Warren stood behind you both, glued to their phones, ruining what should’ve been an unforgettable night with their sulking.

You laugh out loud to yourself at your stupidity. Why did you stay?

The shower feels good and refreshing. You scrub your skin with your favorite body scrub and use your favorite conditioner you buy from the boutique next to your favorite cafe. It’s now up to you to take care of yourself and to show yourself love. Lord knows it’s pretty much been that way for the past year. 

Dieter’s playlist plays on. Every song on it you like, he never lets you down.

“You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side to remind you How I still love you”

Your hands pause at the lyrics as you rub lotion across your skin. You wonder what Dieter’s thinking, what he’s thought this whole time, why he speaks to you the way he does. He’s always been such an open book, but ever since his divorce with Anika a few years ago, he’s been less readable. Your mind is crowded by the feelings you have for him, the way you liked waking up next to him this morning, the way you wish he’d never stop holding you. 

You remind yourself to go shopping for some new clothes, to fill the newly acquired empty space in your closet. You find the bright robe hanging in the back of your closet. A just-because-gift from Dieter because you mentioned it had all of your favorite colors. He texted you a photo of himself getting ready for an awards show, and you pointed out how much you loved it. He handed it to you the next time he saw you with a shy grin. You try to remember the last time Warren gave you a random gift as you wrap the soft cotton around your body. 

You admire yourself in the mirror remembering the way Dieter’s dark brown eyes lingered on you after you put it on. The small smile he blessed you with as he softly murmured “perfect.”

The clock reads 2:30. Just twenty-four hours ago Warren told you he’s no longer in love with you, that he had found someone else. You swallow the sadness, not today. 

For the first time in a long time, today you’re going to allow yourself to look forward to something–and somebody. Dieter will be here soon. 

—

He knocks on the side door three times before letting himself in. His usual Dieter entrance. 

“Sweets?” he calls out, his voice echoing through the house. 

“Hey!” you respond, quickly trudging down the steps. 

He almost drops the pizza box on the floor, along with his jaw when he sees you. 

“Great minds,” you smile looking down at his faded blue jeans–the same color as yours.

“Yeah,” he nods, “great minds.” He swears you’re his twin flame, except he burns even brighter for you. He hopes one day your heart will burn just as hot for him. 

“Prime Pizza?” you excitedly say spying the familiar box from your favorite pizza place. 

“Yep, also got you garlic knots,” he smiles, lifting a white takeout bag up. “And caesar salad. And vodka pasta.”

“Oh my gooooood,” you sing, grabbing the pre-rolled joint and lighter from the table. “You’re the best. Let’s eat outside.”

His heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest as he follows you through the french doors to your backyard. It’s a beautiful, warm evening. You’ve set the table already, the sun is just beginning to lower behind the mountains, bathing everything in golden and purple shades. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you as you light the joint and take a hit. He feels ridiculous relishing the fact that his lips will be where yours just were as you hand the joint to him. 

Music gently plays in the background and you hum along while opening the takeout boxes and filling your plate. 

“Oh my god, this looks so good,” you gush, smiling at him. “Thanks Dee.” 

Weed smoke, garlic, and laughter fill the air as the two of you share a meal.

He wishes to never wake from this dream. 

—

You always loved this neighborhood at night.  The winding hill overlooks downtown Los Angeles and all of its flickering traffic and brake light glory. Street lamps glow golden in the midnight haze. Dieter walks alongside you, keeping tempo with your steps growing clumsier the emptier your champagne bottle gets.

“God, it’s beautiful out,” you say, tilting your head back to gaze at the sky focusing on a singular star. You wonder what it sees as it looks down on you. Does it see the internal struggle within your heart? Your husband walked out on you yesterday, and you’ve already found solace in his best friend. Peace in the heart and mind of the best man at your wedding. 

“Ooh! Grass patch! Grass patch!” you suddenly shout, running over to the grassy area just off to the side of your neighbor’s home. “Come look at the stars with me!” 

Dieter follows, laying down beside you with a small huff. 

“I love doing this,” you say wistfully. “Like it’s so big, and we’re so small. You know?” 

“I do,” he says. “Someone in Antarctica has the same view we have. Isn’t that insane?”

“Yes!” you shout, knocking your knee against his and leaving it there. “Sometimes it’s so easy to get lost in the vastness of space.”

“It is…” he softly says.

You turn your head to find him not looking up at the stars, but right at you.

“Hi,” you giggle, a little nervous from the look in his eyes. 

“You’re– I think you’re–-” he grumbles and turns to look back at the sky shaking his head. “I wonder how many satellites are recording our conversation right now.” 

You follows his lead, turning back to the sky, wishing on a star that some day you’ll hear what Dieter really wanted to tell you.

—

He listens as you softly hum into the breezy night air. A pleasant smile is stretched across your face, your eyes sit a little hazier from the bottle of champagne that you’re holding by the neck. 

You stop, bobbling back and forth on your feet. He grabs your arms, steadying your wobbly form. You’re much drunker now thanks to your impromptu stargazing and drinking adventure in your neighbor’s yard. 

“You good?” he asks.

“Yes *hiccup* just–haven’t felt this free in awhile,” your body thuds against his chest. His heart goes into overdrive. “Like, GOD, it fucking sucks, but also like, fuck Warren, he didn’t deserve ME.”

He wants to tell you how much he agrees, he wants to pour his rapid beating heart out to you in the middle of this quiet neighborhood. He doesn’t, you’re going through enough, and he respects–nay–loves you far too much to divulge his years-long secret devotion to you. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Fuck Warren.” 

“Fuck Warren!” you giggle. “God that feels good.”

“FUCK WARREEEEENNNNN!” you shout, your voice echoing off the canyon walls. 

“Whoa, whoa, okay okay, it’s too late; let’s not wake up the neighbors, pretty girl.” 

His throat closes at the slip. Panic grips his body. 

You take a swig of your champagne. 

“Pretty?” you turn in his arms. “You think that— I”m pretty?” 

Your beautiful face and those eyes of yours, the same he thinks about waking up to, is lit by the full moon, glistening in the nighttime glow. You’re so gorgeous. 

“Always have, Golden Girl,” he sees the line drawn and he steps over it. He’s famous for not listening, for saying it fuck it to the plainly written out rules. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

Your throat lets out an unbelieving laugh. “D’awww, Dee thinks I’m pretttttyyyyyyyyy,” you sing-song, swaying in his arms. 

“Alright now, you’re pretty far gone. Let’s get you home, pretty.”

“Dieter Bravo finds me pretty. I’d say Warren’s going to be sooooo mad, but FUCK WARREN!” Another battle cry against your husband echoes across the neighborhood. 

“Shhhhh,” he wraps his arms around you tighter, turning you to walk back up the road to your home. 

His arms stay around you the whole walk up the hill back to your house. He can smell the sweet scent of your honey shampoo. Your back is molded to his front and yet, the lust for you doesn’t course through his veins like it normally does. There’s something else. Adoration, longing, yearning. His need for your heart overshadows his want for your body. Your footsteps commingle with his in the quiet Los Angeles night. 

Your house comes into view, the white picket fence surrounds the colonial two story that you fell in love with. “Dee! It’s a Jimmy Stewart house!” you excitedly shouted when he pulled into the driveway after you and Warren got the keys. He was so happy for you, and yet so jealous of Warren. Now he walks you up the walkway to your door. Now he punches the code in on the keypad and lets you in. Now he catches your arm as you almost trip over the rug. Now he holds you close as you giggle against his chest. Too drunk and bubbly, he wishes he could keep you this happy. 

“Dee?” you tilt your head up to look at him.

“Yeah?” his eyes meet your bleary eyes. 

“Is it okay that I’m this happy right now?” your voice drops, the shame in it slurs it even more. 

“Any emotion you have at this exact moment is okay,” he reassures with a smile. 

Your body jumps against his with a hiccup. “Oh my god, I’m so drunk!” you giggle.

“You are. You need some food and a glass of water.” 

He’s only allowed himself a couple sips tonight, not wanting to get plastered and not be there to take care of you in case you need him. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t say no to a drink. 

He settles you on the couch before heading to the kitchen to find you some sustenance to soak up your drunkenness. 

Saltines, you always have saltines. You swear that cheddar cheese on saltines is the greatest food ever, he loves how passionate you are about such a ridiculous opinion. He fills the biggest glass with water from the fridge before adding a couple cubes of ice, he knows how much you love your ice water. He likes taking care of you, he likes trying his damnedest to make you feel better. He wishes he could take care of you every single day and prove to you just how special you are. 

He almost drops the glass of water and sleeve of crackers when he walks into your living room. 

You’re perched on a small island of carpet surrounded by records strewn across the floor. He was gone for only three minutes and you’ve already emptied two entire shelves. 

—

You’re holding a single LP in your hands and staring down at it. Track three. The song that makes you think of Dieter. 

“Can I play you a song?” you look up, your bloodshot eyes gaze determinedly at him. 

The record player sizzles and crackles an ambient hum while awaiting his answer.

“Of course,” he says, walking over and lightly tapping a trail of records out of the way with his foot.

You tilt your head up and nod, before turning and putting the record on the turntable. Your hands tremble as you lower the needle into the groove for the track you want him to hear. 

“It makes me think of… you,” you whisper as the song begins. 

Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in

He settles across from you, cross legged, joining you on your island in the sea of scattered vinyl. Just you and Dee in the middle of your living room. It was only twenty-four hours ago he held you as you mourned the loss of your marriage. 

Now, he sits quietly, elbows resting on his knees with his chin resting on his thumbs, listening to the song. The song that makes you think of him. 

Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush

You’re too brave, the champagne has given you too much permission to bring up those long held desires for your husband’s best friend. If you had chosen him that night in that dive bar, would everything be different today? 

His eyes are closed, oblivious to the turmoil that storms within your heart. 

What must it be like To grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes My mind turns your life into folklore I can't dare to dream about you anymore

He slowly nods along to the beat, the golden earring in his ear catches your eye again. Your fingers pulsate, the bare ring finger on your left hand allows you the permission. He’ll feel it now, he’ll understand, he’ll know of your desires. 

You reach out, your shaky hand makes contact with his soft hair, and the earring. His eyes open wide and shocked at your touch. 

Gleaming Twinkling Eyes like sinking ships On waters so inviting I almost jump in

“Oh, Sweets,” he whispers as the record crackles in between songs. His hand captures yours, pressing it against his head. “I–it’s—you know–”

“I know,” tears well in your eyes, “but I’ve known.” 

He thickly gulps, swallowing down the words you long to hear him say. Instead, he moves your hand to rest against his heart.

“You are every–he never deserved you and I’m sorry I didn’t say it any sooner. I’m a coward–but–I’m going to do better for you. It’s— you have so much going on. I will be here for you, but I can’t do that to you… not now.”

“What if I want it? What if I’ve wanted it since… we met?” 

He smirks. “I want it too–but not like this–not so soon.”

Your head drops, suddenly you feel quite sober. Embarrassment will do that. 

“Sweets,” he whispers. “Look at me. You’re my Golden Girl. You have been. Always.”

Your eyes stare into his, his glassy brown eyes reflect yours, tears welling at the edge.

“That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Sweets. Full of life and warmth and delight.”

He gently pulls you closer, settling you on his lap, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Of course you’d use my favorite movie to make me feel better,” you say, settling your head against his broad chest.

“I’ll do anything to make you feel better, Golden Girl.”

He holds you, gently rocking back and forth to the music until the record ends. 

That night, you sleep in that same guest room bed, wrapped in Dieter’s strong arms, protected from the spiral of negativity you’ll soon wake up to. 

[hawkinsbnbg]

honeysuckle

prompts: breeding kink, slap, loud, vibration | @steddiesmuttyseptember

tags: established steddie, soft dom Eddie, good boy Steve, breeding kink, daddy kink, face slapping, cock cages, prostate milking, barebacking, creampie, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spit kink.

word count: 2k4 | rated: E | ao3

After they went through an almost apocalypse four times together, movie night at Harrington's residence had kind of become a tradition.

The kids were always a delight; loud and boisterous, filling up the previous big and empty house with their seemingly endless energy and excitement; while the older teens made sure to remind Steve that his friends weren't only the children he had been babysitting for years.

And by remind, it meant they would gather in Steve's living room the following night to drink cheap beers and smoke the stash of weeds Argyle brought over.

Normally, it was enough to brighten Steve's whole week. But tonight, though, he was distracted because his boyfriend had a different plan for him.

Steve gnawed his bottom lip as he tried not to squirm, or worse, moan out loud when the vibrator inside him was activated.

Steve exhaled harshly, feeling his cheeks burn with the amount of blood rushing south. He wanted to drag his hand up his thigh and give himself some relief, but he knew he wouldn't find anything except the cockcage Eddie had put on him hours ago.

It felt weird—the good kind of weird—to be so aroused with his dick still remaining placid. The measured, constant buzzing against his prostate made him drool in his briefs, wetting the soft fabric like he was peeing.

It was embarrassing. Reduced him to a sweating mess and filled his mouth with cotton.

Steve silently thanked his lucky star that everyone (except Eddie) was too busy chatting and smoking to notice his face. Because he must've looked quite fucked out right now.

Steve took another big gulp of his beer, his hands trembling minutely. The cold fluid followed his blush and traveled down his navel, spreading wildfire to the very tip of his fingers and toes.

Sitting beside him, Eddie was warm and solid, big hand stroking Steve's knee absently like most men did to their lovers. Like he wasn't driving Steve insane with the tiny controller in his pocket.

Eddie threw his head back in a carefree laugh when Jonathan said something, showing the column of pale throat that Steve wanted to sink his teeth in.

Tearing the delicate skin and sucking blood like a vampire. The ichor would turn honey on his tongue, streaming in his veins and melting his inside to molasses. Cloying and sweet. Red and golden.

Hot. Scorching. Feverish.

"D'you know that female octopuses will die shortly after giving birth?" Robin leaned over from his other side and whispered in his ear.

"What?" Steve turned to give her a ridiculous look, their noses nearly touching. "Really?"

"Yeah," Robin nodded sagely, voice raspy and eyes red due to the weeds. "They'd waste away and die by the time the eggs hatch."

"That's hardly fair," Steve frowned, pouting a little.

He fidgeted and shifted on his seat slightly as his hole pulsed around the vibe. The sedate thrumming made his head fuzzy. It was torturous to sit through it but Eddie instructed him to behave. And who was Steve to disobey his boyfriend?

"Life's never fair, babe," Robin patted his cheek.

Steve swallowed the moan that almost slipped out at the cool touch on his heated skin.

"What about their mates and children?"

"Male octopuses will be either killed and eaten by the females, or also dead months later," Robin poked at his jutted-out bottom lip. "As for the little ones, they do just fine on their own."

Steve mimed biting her finger, which got him shoved. He jolted and let out a yelp when the movements put more pressure on his prostate.

Robin cackled at his pleasure-induced dilemma.

"You okay, Steve?"

He blinked owlishly at Nancy.

Of course, she would be curious about his odd behavior. Besides Robin and Eddie, she was probably one of those who could read him like an open book.

Not so much anymore, a gleeful voice in his head whispered.

Because Steve realized that she hadn't figured out what was happening to him, yet.

Unlike Robin who was sniggering at him. She had been insufferable ever since she caught Eddie dry-humping him last week next to her right on this couch.

It wasn't Steve's fault that Eddie was an energizer bunny, okay? Nor was it Steve's fault when Eddie pulled him into his lap and temped him with that foul mouth, either.

And no matter how many times Robin griped about him being a slut, he still wanted to keep his dignity intact in front of people who weren't her and Eddie.

"Uhm, y– yeah," Steve cleared his throat, tongue heavy now the entire attention was suddenly on him. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Nancy squinted at him, looking as suspiciously as her current state managed. "Aren't you sweating too much?"

"Thanks, Nance, but I'm oka–"

Steve doubled over and choked out a wheeze, biting back his strangled moan when the vibrator's intensity abruptly kicked up.

Fuck. He could feel it in his fucking teeth.

And then it was cut off. Steve let out a whine. Frustrated and close to tears, he glared daggers at Eddie who only smirked at him.

"Whoa, you got a cramp, brochacho?" Argyle voiced his concern from where he was sitting by Robin's feet.

"He's not a girl, dude," Robin guffawed. She seemed always tickled by the simplest things every time she was high.

Steve wisely didn't remind her that guys could get cramps too, but not in the sense she was talking about.

Because the dull ache in his pelvis and his guts made Steve want to roll his eyes back. Made him want to mewl and spread his legs like a cat in heat. Present himself for Eddie without caring about what the others might think about him.

As Robin started telling a blissful Argyle that boys didn't go through periods, the vibrator was turned back on and Steve breathed in slowly. He couldn't lose his shit here. Especially when Nancy was looking at him thoughtfully. Her observation skill was still sharp even in her drunken state.

He stood up on his shaky legs, vision blurry slightly as his prostate was being abused mercilessly.

Eddie stood up as well and reached out to help him, but Steve slapped his hand away before he could think it through.

For a moment, they both stared at each other in stunned silence.

Eddie didn't look upset per se. He looked—

Amused. Like he knew exactly why Steve acted that way and was more than ready to make it worse.

Steve shivered as a slow smile stretched on those plump lips. His inside twisted in a sick thrill, knowing he would've been disciplined by now had they been alone.

Eddie raised his hand again and Steve knew he wouldn't get punished with their friends watching them, but his breath still hitched in anticipation out of habit.

When Eddie cradled the side of his face, gentle and kind, Steve found himself smiling softly.

"Still green, babydoll?"

Nothing mattered anymore. It was just the two of them against the world. And Steve would die in this warmth, in this fondness, in this incredible thing that was love.

"So green, Eddie," he leaned into the touch, needy and shaking. "So green."

"Good boy," Eddie smiled.

The vibration was turned to the max, and Steve stifled his moans with his forearm. Tears welled up in his eyes as they rolled back before squeezing shut.

All Steve could hear was the device's humming in his ears, reverberating throughout his nerves. It was so loud. And he wondered briefly if that was why Robin could tell he was playing Eddie's little game.

Steve felt like he just got sucker punched in his guts. There was too much stimulation and tension that his caged cock couldn't contain.

His knees gave out beneath him and he clung to Eddie with a whimper, sounding small and confused.

Eddie shushed him gently, two strong hands sliding under his thighs and lifting him up as if he weighed nothing. Steve wrapped his limbs around Eddie like an oversized koala, hiding his face in the crook of Eddie's neck and letting his mind drift.

"Guys, feel free to crash overnight. Steve's gotta head to bed now," he dimly heard Eddie announce with a voice that brooked no argument.

———

When Steve returned to reality again, he found himself lying on his bed. Naked and delirious.

He remembered Eddie taking out the vibe from him and dropping it on the bundle of their clothes on the floor.

Eddie kept kissing him, licking his tears and dotting his skin with ardent affection. And Steve held onto him, tilting his chin up to let Eddie deepen the kiss, feeling more inebriated and higher than he was supposed to be.

"Hit me," Steve mumbled, gazing up at Eddie with his big shiny eyes. "Pretty please? I was so bad–"

Eddie slapped him across the face.

Causing Steve's head to turn sideways as his cheek burned with the stinging pain. Eddie did it again to his other cheek and prompted another breathless gasp from him. He wished Eddie still kept those rings on.

"Don't talk about my baby like that," Eddie grabbed his jaw and shook it lightly. "Say: I'm a good boy."

Steve whined, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he sniffled.

"'M a good boy."

"That's right," Eddie smiled at him, tender and sweet, and pried his mouth open with a thumb. "You're a good boy. My good boy. Who deserves a reward for staying on his best behavior all night."

And then Eddie spat onto his tongue.

With a shudder, Steve swallowed it down because it was what good boys did.

"Daddy–"

"Yes, baby?"

"Fuck me."

Two rough taps landed on his red cheeks.

Steve rolled his eyes back with a loud moan. He couldn't tell if he had come or not when his mind slipped further and further down that cottony place.

Settled between his legs, Eddie slid a pillow under his lower back and poured too much lube on him.

"Look how wet you are," Eddie pressed two fingers inside him easily given how loose he already was. "So desperate to get knocked up, aren't you?"

Steve nodded dumbly. He wanted to carry Eddie's babies. Would give Eddie so many babies. Would even let Eddie name them all. As long as Eddie kept him.

"You're mine, pretty baby," Eddie pressed a fond smile on his mouth. Like it was old news and Steve just caught up to it. "Gonna be stuck with me for life whether you want it or not. Don't even think about leaving, sweet boy."

And Steve held the promise close to his heart. There was no place he would rather be than in Eddie's arms.

He heaved out a weak sob when Eddie added a fourth finger and kept stroking his prostate relentlessly.

A quick glance at his cock made him realize that the cage was still on.

He couldn't come like this. But he wanted to. Badly.

"Wanna come–"

"Then come," Eddie kissed him chastely. "Be a good boy and come for Daddy."

Steve listened.

Except, instead of shooting off like usual, he just kept dripping and dripping, forming a puddle on his tummy as his hole pulsed like a heartbeat.

It didn't stop, and if the fluid flowing out wasn't opalescent, Steve would start thinking he was wetting himself.

But no. He was coming without any end goal.

It was new and overwhelming and the best thing Eddie had ever done for him.

"Oh god– I can't–" He gripped his hair to ground himself and failed miserably. "Please–"

He didn't know what he was begging for anymore. Mercy or more.

But Eddie got it, somehow, and slammed home inside him, keeping him from drifting away by the scalding force.

Steve screamed and writhed under Eddie's weight. Too much. He was too sensitive for this. And yet, it still wasn't enough.

"M off my birth control this month," he babbled before Eddie could grow worried and pull out, not wanting the endless onslaught of pleasure to stop. "'My parents will let you have me if I get pregnant with your child–"

Eddie groaned against his neck and hiked his legs higher before setting up a bruising pace, fucking into him deep and brutal as if truly wanting to reach his nonexistent womb.

Steve could barely stay coherent, wailing and scratching his blunt nails on Eddie's back whenever he felt like passing out. Which was a lot.

"You sure your parents won't pull a gun on me, princess?" Eddie panted.

And Steve wanted to die when he pressed a hand on his tummy, holding it possessively.

"Nuh-uh," Steve hiccuped. "They– uh– they won't do that. Would make m– me sad."

"Then we shall get along just fine," Eddie kissed his brow and eyelids, tracing his cheekbones with a hot tongue. "You know why?"

Steve shook his head.

"'Cause we all love you so much, baby boy."

And he came again, or perhaps he had never stopped in the first place. The orgasm rolled over him incessantly, perpetually, hurting his crotch and balls. And Steve just lost it, clenching down on Eddie and moaning his throat hoarse.

Eddie groaned and gave a few stuttered thrusts before filling him up with hot cum, pumping him full to the seams.

"Don't wanna be an octopus," Steve mumbled incoherently, suddenly thinking about the semelparous animals and their one-time pregnancy fate. He wanted to be pregnant all the time however impossible it was.

"You won't be," Eddie brushed a thatch of hair behind his ear gently, reassuring him without questions. "I won't let it happen to you, sweetheart."

"Promise?" Steve rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Cross my heart, angel," Eddie kissed him softly.

———

When he blinked his eyes open again, Eddie was holding him and humming softly, counting his vertebrae with soothing fingers and caressing his body tenderly.

It seemed Eddie had cleaned them both up while Steve was out.

The cockcage was nowhere in sight and he silently mourned the loss of it. At this rate, he would get addicted to the prostate milking if he wasn't careful.

"Missed you, baby," Eddie kissed the tip of his nose.

Steve scrunched his nose in a drowsy smile.

"Missed you, too, Daddy."

He sipped the water Eddie got for him in a cerulean mug before sinking back into those loving arms.

"Wanna stay here for the rest of my life," Steve sighed softly, burying himself in the warmth of his boyfriend's chest.

"Your bed?"

"Your arms."

"They're already yours, darlin'," Eddie chuckled. "Eddie Munson is the freebie, though. Hope you're happy with him."

"Very much so," Steve closed his eyes and pressed his lips on Eddie's chest. "I'm really lucky to have him."

"We're both the lucky ones, sweet boy," Eddie kissed the top of his head.

And Steve wouldn't want it any other way.

[aftgficrec]

My Personal Favorite Fics EVER!! All Neil/Andrew

I hope I am doing this right! I just hit the share button on my bookmarked fics. Idk if any of these have been on here before (I have read a lot of fics and it gets confusing to know which ones I found on here bc there are so many good recommendations, or ones I found on my own. But these are 3 of my favorite fics that I feel like are the most well done!

• Everything's Alright by DarkD: This fic is unfinished but so worth the read!! It is a soulmates au, and in it Neil and Andrew are looking out for eachother since they are 6 and 7 years old. It completely changes their dynamic but manages to keep the characters realistic. I love the direction it was going, I hope the author finishes it, but even if they don’t what they have written so far is worth the read.

• If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger: This fic is soooo amazing!! It was posed pretty recently (starting January 2024 and finishing in May) and It shows a different direction with Aaron and Andrew’s bonding, and different reasons for them having problems with each other. It features writer/author Andrew and Law Student turned police officer Aaron. The writing is so high quality and it is a completely finished fic!! The writing to show the writing of the book Andrew has written alone is impressive enough to get you to read it. I love it so much, it also gives a more realistic approach to Neil’s life and trauma as well as gives you more of a perspective on the problems of Aaron’s life. (Even tho it’s an au and doesn’t show his life during AFTG)

• Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22: This fic is not finished but completely captivated my attention when I saw it. I was surprised I had not read it before (because I am obsessed with Raven Neil fics, and this is one of them) but then I realized it was posted within the last year or so. It’s completely underrated. It does have a lot of hits but the kudos count not being in the thousands is a crime against humanity. The realistic take on. Neil’s trauma and different things going on as he is still connected very heavily to the Moriyama’s is sooo interesting. And if you are looking for a fic where Neil is a victim of SA/Rape this fic is also a good one for you. (Though it does have a lot of trauma so mind the tags) I know a lot of people are looking for fics like that tho and it’s hard to find bc there is so much SA trauma in AFTG 😔

Thanks for the recs and for sharing your thoughts on the fics! Readers, all of these stories lean toward the darkest themes of AFTG. -A

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Previously recced here

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 43145 Words, Complete, 2024]

Previously featured in this long andreil + aaron angst ask, our staff recs writers post, and as a random rec

Neil is imprisoned at sixteen years old for being the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew obsesses, and Aaron obsesses because Andrew does, and everything goes wrong and raw and painful. Feat. the twinyards breaking each other’s hearts, and a decent amount of shade on the American justice system.

tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture

​​Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22 [Rated M, 163298 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2024]

After the horrific incident that happened in the nest and the sound of Kevin crying, Nathaneil made the hard call and bargained with his life to get Jean and Kevin out, having no slight idea about the storm that was heading his way And after being missing for two years, Jean and Kevin swallowed the hard truth that Nathaneil might be dead somewhere To their surprise one day he appears out of the blue looking so much like their brother but nothing like Nathaneil at all Or Nathniel went on the run with his mother when he was 9 years old but three years later Nathan caught up to them and threw Nathaneil in the nest So we can say some things went a bit different .

NB: playlist for this fic

tw: dark, tw: gang rape, tw: dubcon, tw: human trafficking, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: assault, tw: flashbacks, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: abuse and torture, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: medication addiction and withdrawal, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: homophobia, tw: canonical character death

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Hi, I have a request. I was hoping if you can do a one-shot or short story of Alastor x reader with telekinetic powers that's similar to Carrie White? It can be romantic or platonic, which ever fits better is up to you.

It can go something like this; the reader fell into hell because they did something really bad with their newborn powers, and it was during extermination day. When the exorcist angels were going to kill the reader, they use their TK powers to defend themselves against the angels and manage to kill one before getting away from them. This was caught on news and immediately caught the attention of all the sinners in hell to see the reader has telekinetic powers and manages to fight off the angels. This even caught the attention of all the overlords, including the three Vee's, the Hazbin Hotel crew and Alastor.

That was honestly all I got 😅, I'm sorry if it sounds confusing, but I was hoping you can do something like that, if that's OK with you, because your work is very amazing to read.

Welcome to Hell! - Alastor x reader

Helloo!! I’ve decided to keep this as a one-shot for now since I want to focus on finishing my ongoing stories. However, if inspiration strikes, I might dive deeper into this idea in the future! In the meantime, it was a wonderful request, and I hope you enjoy it! ❤️ A/N: I was supposed to post this tomorrow but I accidentaly clicked post instead of schedule so... here you have it. Warning: Not proofread!

Words: ~2300 TW: none.

Your hands were shaking.

What had you done?

Your heart was racing, your breathing erratic.

You’ve killed someone again.

You only wanted to protect yourself… you always had!

You're a monster.

The golden blood splattered all over you, all over the ground, awakening memories. It happened so fast, so quickly that you still believed it was all a dream. They attacked you, didn't they? It wasn't your fault. You just wanted to survive. Doesn't everyone?

What was this place? Why is everyone so panicked? Why are these beings attacking you?

The sound of a bell rang across the strange city you woke up in, the weird beings flying in the sky. The streets echoed in screams and cries, grunts of pain and suffering sending shivers down your spine.

Once the panic subsided, creatures surrounded you, whispering and watching with wide eyes.

"You... You killed an exorcist?" one of them asked.

"What?" you couldn't understand. What was happening? Was this a joke?

"We're gonna die!" another screamed.

"What? No, I-" You tried to protect yourself, but fear overwhelmed you. You noticed them approaching you, your eyes falling on a nearby wrecked car.

A loud noise echoed as the car blasted through the crowd, giving you a chance to escape. Corpses of these things surrounded you, and blood splattered all over the streets. What was this place? What happened here?

You felt threatened, like prey running from unknown hunters in unfamiliar territory. What was happening? Were you dreaming?

Am I dead?

"Welcome back to 666 News, the premiere station for all things Hell! I'm Katie Killjoy with today's top stories!" Katie's voice echoed through the TV in the hotel's lobby, mere moments after Extermination Day was over.

"Extermination day has just ended, and as usual, demon parts and blood litter the streets of Hell, as clean-up crews get to work."

Charlie watched the news, Vaggie's hand slowly caressing her shoulder. "You want me to change it?" she asked her.

"No... I need to know the damage..." Charlie said, sighing, clearly distressed about her people getting killed once again. Vaggie hugged her tightly, knowing how painful it must be. She'd erase that smile on Katie's face if she could - always so happy to announce the death of other Sinners every year.

"But the news doesn't end there! As it turns out, a newcomer has been reported for recently killing an Angel - using telekinesis, no less!"

They both watched with wide eyes, as Husker joined, his curiosity getting the best of him too. The images of you blasting a car through the car appeared on the screen, screams of people echoing through it.

"Holy shit!" Vaggie said, not quite believing what she was seeing. "They must be confused."

"And what a hell of a start..." Husker said, not phased by the events.

The doors of the hotel burst open, Angel frantically looked around as he tried to catch his breath. "We... We need- Oh, shit..." he tried to say, but running as fast as he could all the way there surely took a toll on him.

"Angel, what happened?" Charlie asked.

He took a deep breath, trying to let the words come out. "We need to take that sinner... I've heard Vox and Valentino talk... They want them!"

"No! If The Vees have them, especially with that power..." Charlie said, worry on her face. It would've been a catastrophe. Having someone like you, powerful and confused controlled by The Vees... It couldn't happen.

A laugh echoed in the room, as everyone's attention shifted. Alastor appeared in the room, shadows emerging everywhere, the smirk on his face wider than usual. He clearly heard what happened, lurking in silence for the perfect time to make his presence known.

"My, my... What an interesting little situation we've managed to find ourselves in! It seems our new arrival has made quite the impression." he said, excitement filling his tone.

"Alastor, you need to help us-" Charlie pleaded, only to be cut off by Vaggie.

"Hold on, Charlie... I don't think Alastor is the best to handle this situation."

"Let me disagree, my dear!" Alastor intervened quickly, stepping closer to them. "I think my skills in... persuasion must be of good help, don't you agree?"

"Manipulation, you mean," Vaggie said harshly, making his eye twitch a bit.

"Ah, that's such a negative word, my dear... I think my term is a little bit more friendly, hmm?" He pushed her aside, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulder. "Now my dearest Charlie, let's think about this for a moment, shall we?"

"Charlie, no!"

Charlie fiddled for a moment, thinking about it, but as much as she hated to disagree with Vaggie, Alastor was right... He always managed to convince people to do different things, and right now, having the newcomer come to the hotel was all that mattered. She sighed, turning to face Vaggie. "I think we should let Alastor try..."

A small chuckle escaped Alastor's lips, his smile growing even wider as he heard Charlie's words. "Excellent choice, my dear Charlie! I promise not to disappoint you!" He clasped his hands together, his eyes sparkling happily as he was clearly enjoying this.

"Ugh, fine..." Vaggie groaned. "But if you fuck up"

"No need for threats, my dear! I assure you there's no need for you to worry!" his eyes turned to Angel, a glim of mischief into them. "Now, where do I find this little dearie of ours?"

You walked the halls of the huge building that the demon took you, still shivering from the... unconventional way you were brought there.

"Ah, I truly apologize for my assistant's... way of bringing you here." The TV demon, who presented himself as Vox, said, resting his arm on the small of your back as he guided you from one corridor to another. "I specifically told them that shoving people in that... black van is surely not the best idea." he laughed a bit nervously.

Your heart was beating so fast, a knot in your stomach as you didn't know what to expect. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, confusion still washing over you.

"Am I in Hell?" you asked, things starting to make sense.

"Yes, you're unfortunately in Hell darlin'," he answered, his voice smooth and almost melodic. You weren't surprised to be here, not after what you've done. Not after how many people you've hurt. "But don't worry, you're safe here with me." He chuckled a bit, his clawed hand brushing slightly on your back. "Now, I don't want to pressure you into anything, but I do look forward to finding out more about you. I think we could really help each other."

"I guess..." you said, realising it was better than roaming around this strange city without knowing anything.

Your eyes fell on your reflection whenever you would pass the big windows. You didn't look much different from your human self, but you seemed to resemble a rabbit, rather than anything else. A reminder that you'll always be what you've been your whole life - a prey, something meant to run and hide, in order to survive.

Vox eyed you closely, humming to himself as a smirk slowly formed on his screen. "Looks like you've figured out what you are," he said, his arm still resting on your back. "A rabbit, huh? Cute."

You blushed at his words, trying to hide your face. You felt so cornered right now, so vulnerable to him, not knowing if he was really going to protect you or give you a much worse fate.

"No need to be so shy, doll," he teased lightly, his arm gently tightening his grip around you. "I promise you're safe here. You're under my protection now, after all."

You watched as he unlocked a door, keeping it open for you. You swirled inside, taking in the huge apartment, looking rather luxurious. Vox followed you, shutting the door behind him. The apartment was lavish and spacious, with large windows at the end of the room, and the city lights glowing underneath it.

"Welcome to your new home," he said, his voice slightly echoing through the empty space. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Is this all mine?" you asked, still not believing.

"Yes, darlin', everything in this apartment is yours," he answered, watching as you looked around in wonder. "Consider yourself lucky. Not everyone in Hell gets to have a place like this." He stepped a bit closer, pride lingering inside of him as he watched your reaction. "Velvette will take care of your attire while you're here, so really no need to worry about anything."

You turned to face him, a bit puzzled by this entire situation. "Why are you helping me?"

Vox’s smile widened as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "I'm a businessman, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost playful. "And I always have an eye out for potential investments. As for you..."

He walked toward you, striding over to you. He slowly trailed a finger along your chin, making you look up at him. "You're something... special. I couldn't let such a precious little thing get lost in this shithole of a city."

Your cheeks burned. You weren't used to being treated with such kindness, a warm feeling settling in your soul. He looked at the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "Ugh, have a meeting to attend to," he explained, moving away from you. "Settle in and think about my offer!"

"What about Valentino?" you asked, recalling the man you’d encountered upon your arrival, unbeknownst to Vox.

"What about Valentino?" He repeated, chuckling nervously.

"He said he has an offer for me too..."

You watched him sigh, his screen glitching slightly. "Just... don't. Ok?" You nodded, not sure if you should ask more questions or just keep quiet. Vox left, leaving you alone in your thoughts, a lingering sensation of loneliness filling your soul once again.

You walked around a bit, looking at how neat and beautiful everything seemed. You didn't expect to be like this and you surely didn't expect to be met with kindness, not here at least. With small steps, you took in the sight of the city. Was this how you were going to spend eternity? Was this all real?

"Impressive." a voice echoed behind you, making you jump. Your heartbeat quickened as you watched a demon that resembled a deer stand in front of you, his eyes fixed on your figure. "I have to admit, Vox really outdone himself with this one."

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice coming out more weak than you expected. Your ears flattened against your head, as you tried to distance yourself from the stranger, only to be met with the cold glass.

"Quite the frightened little bunny, aren't you?" he teased, a low chuckle echoing in your ears as static accompanied his voice. "My name is Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You just stood there frightened. In a moment, you made a lamp fly towards him, a frail attempt to protect yourself without making a big mess again. But just mere moments before hitting him, the lamp disappeared into a portal, nowhere to be seen anymore.

He chuckled, taking another step closer, almost towering over you. Alastor watched you from head to toe, clearly evaluating the situation and you. "Very interesting."

"I... Are you Vox's assistant?" you asked, feeling cornered by the deer demon.

He raised an eyebrow at your question, letting out a huff. "Well, of course not, my dear. I am actually here to make an offer." he crouched down to your level, his smile sending shivers down your spine. "You made quite a show for your first day... Those powers of yours..." he seemed almost lost in his thoughts, the possibilities you might offer pleasing him, but first, he had to make you leave Vox. "I know a place where you'll be safe, my dear. And perhaps..." he paused a bit, your ears perking up a bit in curiosity. "... perhaps even leave this place forever..."

Your face lit up for a moment. "Leave... Could I leave Hell?"

"Well, of course!" he said, getting up, his tone cheerful once again. "Is that something that you'd want?" You thought for a moment - you didn't think it was fair for you to end up in Hell... all you did was protect yourself, but... having the chance to go to Heaven? He smiled at your hesitation. "I take that you'd be interested, hmm?" he offered you his hand, helping you get back up.

"But... What about Vox?"

"Oh, don't worry about him. He just wants to use you to his advantage, dear. I can actually help you!" The static in his voice grew slightly when he spoke.

"How can I trust you?" you asked, making him sigh at the question, clearly frustrated by your questions.

"How about a deal, my dear, hm?"

"A deal?"

"Well, yes. I always respect my deals! You come with me and I guarantee you that one day, you will go to Heaven." he raised his hand, green flames engulfing it as you looked at it. "What would it be?"

"The fuck you mean she left?!" Vox asked, slamming the door to the apartment open.

"I told you, Vox! I came in, and she was gone!" Velvette protested. "I told you we can't trust the bitch!"

Vox walked around the apartment, his screen glitching from time to time. He was so angry, it felt like he was about to crash. "Ok, ok.... We can find her..." he tried to calm himself down, but his eyes fell on a little piece of paper on the counter. He quickly grabbed it and as soon as he read it, his screen almost overheated and froze.

"Maybe you should try harder than that, old pal."

"Um... Vox?" Velvette asked, a bit afraid he might have a short circuit again.

"I'm... gonna... kill... that fucker..."

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @xghostnuggsx @vxllys

@ustulia @n0tmentallystable @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog

@alastorthirsty @l3rittany @catticora

[aritsukemo]

I don’t know if your requests are open, but I simply love your writing! May I have a Zhongli/Venti/Xiao Prompt with a reader who’s secretly a god from another world?

Finding out you're secretly a god | Genshin Impact

( @scar8o )

Summary: After your powers are revealed in a heat of the moment decision, you and your partner have a much needed conversation..

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, and Venti

Warnings: Nothing much. Mentions of reader facing discrimination in Xiao's and slight tears towards the end of Xiao's as well.

A/N: AGHHHH this took months to finally write, but I'm glad I finally got the push I needed to finish this! I'm sorry you had to wait so long and I hope you enjoy this little collection of drabbles I put together! :D

A yellowish-orange shade was cast over Teyvat just like it would any other evening. Nothing had changed; the wind was still blowing, wildlife was as and as wild as ever, and the grass was still the same old greenish tinge.

Well, today, Xiao supposes that something has changed. For the first time in years, there was complete silence between you two. Being the chatterbox that you were, it was never like this since you're always rambling on about whatever popped into your head—whether that'd be how your day went, what you should do tommorow, or even the most trivial things like which colored cloth you should use to wipe off your weapons.

But that particular evening, you didn't utter a word. You simply sat there, knees to your chest as you gazed at the sun slowly setting upon the horizon. It felt odd for Xiao—awkward if he were to be so mundane. At the same time, he had no way of relieving this odd, awkward tension from the air. He had so many question stirring in his head that could at least fill the air with something of substance, and yet, he felt hesitant to voice any of them.

But he has to say something. If he doesn't, he fears that he'll never get his questions answered. So, without looking your way, he asks, "Who..are you really?"

You don't answer immediately and for a moment, Xiao thought you didn't hear him at all. Before he can repeat himself, however, he hears your voice, low and uncharacteristically sullen as you tell him, "Someone who doesn't belong here.."

He doesn't realize it, but upon hearing your response and looking over at you, his eyes softened—and just like the snow he used to munch down to prevent himself from starving to death, his golden hues glistened in the light of the setting sun. He didn't know what to say to that. Or rather, he couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting to your ears.

That's one the things about you that he's fond of, but is also envious of. You always knew the right thing to say even when he thought you didn't. It's one of his favorite things about you..

"Look, I'm sorry for lying to you for so long.." You said before heaving a long, tired sigh. One that sounded as if you've been holding it for ages, "In my own world, people despised me and this power so much so that they tried everything they could to make my life miserable.."

"Adults, kids, girls, boys, women, and men.. Even when they were more different than the glaxies above, the one thing that was always the same was the way they looked at me.. That deep swirl of hatred in their eyes as they stared at me..like I was some kind of monster.. No matter what I did for them, it never changed," Xiao chooses to ignore the way your voice cracks midway through your sentence—the signal that the glass dam inside you was beginning to crack..

"When I got here, I saw this as my brethren relieving me of that pain..like a fresh start. I was so happy..and so, so scared. I was terrified of the past happening again so I swore to do everything in my power to keep that part of me hidden for as long as I was able.."

At this point, he could see those crystal tears rolling down your face, the translucent trail they left glimmering in the sun's glow. He's never seen them before. You never allowed him to and now, he's grateful that you never did because the sight of you crying made his chest feel heavy and empty, causing it to ache. The sight was painful. It felt wrong associating this feeling with something so..human, but it's the only thing to describe this black hole forming where his heart's supposed to be..

And in attempt to fill that feeling, he finally asks, "Do you think this power of yours will bring harm to the people of Liyue?" You finally glance at him, confusion written all over that tear-stricken face of yours. He merely looks at you with expectancy, so you eventually croak out a small, "No.."

"Do you ever think that you'll try to take over Liyue and force it's people under your thumb?" He threw another question at you, and this time, you answered quickly, blurting out an offended sounding, "Of course not! Do you think I would?"

"No," He answered immediately, "But as the protector of this land, I had to make sure we were on the same page before I said anything else," And he gets up. Your crystalized eyes follow after him, confusion beginning to swirl along with a headache—the result caused by your near-breakdown just now.

"Wha.." You begin, but your voice dies in your throat as he offers you a hand and looks you in the eyes like he would any other day—as if everything was normal.

"You said before that after all of this was over, you'd drag me off somewhere to 'wind down', didn't you? Well, I'm allowing you this once to do so without having any resistance on my end," He clarifies, and that's when it finally clicks in your mind; nothing has changed. The world is still spinning, the once clear, orange sky has turned blue and starry. Xiao is still willing to reach out to you, still willing to stare at you with adoration and love, and be around you. He still sees you as simply Y/n.

And you find yourself brought to tears all over again. Yet this time, it's due to sheer relief instead of anxiety and agony. It's because of the happiness you feel as you reach out your hand and let yourself be helped up like some damsel..

..And it's all becase of Xiao, who's kind enough to see you as something other than a monster. Something lesser than a divine god or goddess, but as simply another person of the land who he should protect.

"So when did you figure it out?" You asked to the man who sat across from you at the table—although to others it seemed as though you were talking to your tea from how your eyes were trained on it the entire time you spoke, pupils following every ripple it made with every slight of your hand.

The man across from you—who you've called many endearments over the years of knowing him—simply hummed at your question, taking the time to grab his own tea cup before answering just as casually, "Some time ago. I've had some theories of my own for a while now, but..outside assistance helped to point me in the right direction."

"So the traveler told you," You stated, your tone leaving no room for him to lie or say otherwise—a silent testament that it was futile to try and deny something you already seen as a fact, but he attempted anyways.

"Not exactly," He said, "It was a slip of the tongue on Paimon's part, a small one at that, I barely noticed it myself." And this time, you hum, closing your eyes as you at last take a sip of your tea—which has long since gotten cold since it arrived at your table.

You take a long, slow sip, as if you were buying time, or maybe, simply trying to collect all the thoughts swirling in your head and condense them in a coherent, civil sentence. Whatever it is, Zhongli allows you that time and patiently waits for you to finally set your cup down again..

"So? What do you plan to do with me now that you know?" The question comes off blunt—slightly threatening to the unintelligent ears, but it doesn't phase Zhongli. After all, he knows that you weren't threatening him, but more rather felt threatened. Similar to a cornered bunny who's only defense weapons are its fluffy, dull nubs.

"Nothing at all," He says, and at last your eyes cross the table to look him in the eyes. He does the same, granting you the same favor.

There's a moment of silence between you two in that moment. You silently demand an answer to his previous answer and the light thrumming of your fingers against the smooth, expensive wood gave away your impatience, your growing anxiety, and most importantly your fear. It's a discomforting sight to see of his usually calm lover, and so, he's quicker to respond to you in hopes of relieving your tension.

"You hold me in such high regard, dear. And while I'm flatter, may I remind you that I'm simply a consultant. I have no power to do anything other than grant you a comfortable resting place to lay your head when you pass," He closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with you to bless you with a small, polite smile, "A question like that would be more fit for the Tianquan, would it not?"

"In my humble opinion, though, I think it best if you didn't stir a pot that has already settled. Going to Lady Ningguang over something she knows nothing about is not needed, don't you agree?"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, only having the luxury to catch the tail end of your reaction to him deciding to sweep this under the rug before your expression smoothens out and a smile eases onto your face and your fingers move to lace around your cup once again..

"I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything then."

"Who knew my windblume could be even more extraordinary than I once thought?" He told you under that massive oak tree—The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero—after sneaking away with you, who was just praised the entire evening for your heroic deeds.

"You flatter me," You said before letting out a chuckle. Venti chose not to comment on how it sounded drier than how the fruits up in Celestia look, "Really, I don't deserve such praise.."

"On the contrary! You were Mondstadt's savior today! Not to mention mines!" He said cheerily, "If it weren't for you, Mondstadt would've been robbed of this bard's melodious melodies!"

You found yourself huffing at the absurdity of his words before you can stop yourself. Making up for the slip-up with a half-hearted, agreeing hum.

"You're a fool.. Having a dangerous being such as myself leisurely lay on you like this.." You whisper into his thigh as you turn on your side, your voice muffling due to half of your face being smothered by the puff of his shorts. Your comment was heard nonetheless and earned a chuckle from the bard.

"Love makes one do foolish things," He simply replies, before you feel something cold and smooth against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open and out of the corner of your eyes you see the familar red hue that you would only see plastered on one of the delicious treats the Cuihua Trees so graciously gift Teyvat.

You take the apple from his grasp, once again laying flat on your back as you hold the apple above you as if to tantalize yourself.

"I'm serious. You shouldn't be this nice to me anymore, Barbatos," Another slip of the tongue—one promptly ignored and immediately pushed to back of both of your minds, "I'm nothing but a weapon of destruction."

"That you may have been in the past, but as of now, you're simply a bartender at Angel's Share who's fallen head over heels for a skillful bard; me," He replies after swallowing the chewed, sweet chunks in his mouth that came from his apple—which has already been half-eaten at this point.

And you find yourself huffing again. This time at the realization that he was right—at least the part about being hopelessly in love with him anyways..

"You had a long day, so why not you rest after you eat? I'll strum you a gentle tune that'll carry you away to pleasant dreams, ehehe~!" He suddenly suggest—an obvious attempt at deading the conversation where it stands before you say something too depressing to brush off easily. You pretend to not notice, deciding to accept your defeat for now, as you nod, finally bringing the apple down to your lips and taking a bite, being careful to chew the bite thoroughly before swallowing..

"That sounds nice.. Maybe resting my eyes wouldn't be so bad."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[hotvintagepoll]

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

Tony Randall (Lover Come Back, Pillow Talk)—he's SO TIRED he's three-wheeling ALL THE TIME on rock and doris's shenanigans and he is always SMALL. PATHETIC. INHERENTLY FILLED WITH ENNUI. i feel like all these 60s comedies are very Straight Laced and Heterosexual and yet somehow tony randall is always there having the worst day ever.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Peter Lorre

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

[editor's note on below link: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide.]

The poster boy for Scrungly. Everyone who wants to draw a scrungly guy draws Peter Lorre. Gomez Addams of The Addams Family was based on him

Tony Randall

"you had everything going for you! poverty!! squalor!!!!" "girls again!!! what's this obSESSion you have with giRLS???"

[adoresia]

Hello there (　＾▽＾)

I read you were taking requests for JJK. I'd like to request something w/ Choso... maybe something along the lines of Reader frequents a small local coffee shop, Choso just happens to be the owner & barista on shift.

• Reader is a coffee connoisseur

• Choso remembers the flavors she likes & dislikes

• Fluff/Angst

• fresh coffee kisses ○o。..。o○

— Flavors of Us

⋆.˚ Featuring : Choso x fem!reader

⋆.˚ Sia here! : HELLO ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HEHEHEHDHSHDHHEHSHSHEHS (I Love these Choso requests. I love my man. Just look at him. ISNT HE SOOO FINEEEE 😫😫) okay anyways really sorry I took so long write this I hope you like it!!,

The cozy warmth of *Kurobai Coffeehouse* enveloped you the moment you stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted beans and rich espresso curling around you like a comforting embrace. The quiet hum of the café settled in your bones, a welcome reprieve from the outside world. You weren’t a stranger here—this little corner shop had become a second home to you over the past year. But more importantly, your boyfriend Choso was here!

Behind the counter, Choso moved with his usual quiet precision. His tall, muscular frame was slightly hunched as he adjusted the grinder, his long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, the small parts of his bangs framing his pale, sharp features. Even from across the room, you could tell he was focused on his work, his sharp, pale features set in that familiar, pensive expression. Choso had always been a bit shy, and sometimes a little clueless when it came to people, but he had this way of paying attention to the things that mattered. Especially when it came to you.

He looked up as you approached the counter, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips—a subtle gesture, but it was one you’d come to recognize as reserved just for you. His eyes softened, though there was still that flicker of uncertainty behind them, like he was never entirely sure what to do with the feelings you stirred in him.

“You’re early today,” he mumbled, his voice low and quiet, as always.

“Thought I’d change things up,” you replied with a teasing smile, leaning casually against the counter. “But I’m guessing you already know what I’m going to order, right?”

Choso’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. You watched as he silently replayed your usual preferences in his mind, the way he always did when you teased him like this. Over the months, he’d learned exactly what you liked and disliked when it came to coffee. You weren’t just a casual drinker—you were a connoisseur, and Choso never let you down.

“Colombian beans,” he said after a pause, his tone thoughtful. “Medium-bodied, floral, no sugar… but maybe not too strong today?” He glanced up at you, his expression uncertain as if waiting for confirmation.

You smiled, genuinely impressed. “You know me too well.”

A faint blush crept up Choso’s neck, and he quickly turned back to the grinder, his hands moving a little faster than before. “I just… pay attention,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You bit back a laugh, charmed by his bashfulness. He was always like this, quietly remembering the details that mattered—what kind of beans you preferred, the strength of your coffee depending on your mood, and even the way you liked to linger at the counter just a little longer when the café wasn’t busy. He never made a big deal about it, but that was just who Choso was.

As he worked, you let your gaze drift around the café. The wooden floors creaked softly under your feet, the low jazz playing in the background adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. The shop was small, tucked between two towering bookstores, and the soft glow of amber light from the sconces bathed everything in a warm, golden hue. You loved the way it made the world outside seem far away, like you and Choso were the only two people in it.

Before long, Choso slid your cup across the counter. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled your senses, rich and floral with a hint of brightness. It was perfect—just like every other time he’d made it for you.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your fingers brushing his as you took the cup from him. You noticed the way his hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and your heart skipped a beat.

Choso glanced away quickly, his cheeks tinged with pink again. He was always so easily flustered, especially when your hands touched, even after all this time.

You took a sip, savoring the way the flavors bloomed on your tongue. “It’s perfect, as always,” you said softly, meeting his gaze over the rim of your cup.

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the compliment. “I— I’m glad,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was trying to play it cool, but you could tell your praise had gotten to him.

The café was quiet today, only a few other patrons scattered at tables, engrossed in their books or laptops. With the lull in activity, you leaned forward a little, resting your elbows on the counter. “You’ve really got this down, huh? I could never make coffee this good.”

Choso’s eyes flickered to yours, then back down to the counter. “It’s just… practice. I’m still learning.”

“You’ve mastered my order, though,” you teased, your voice low and playful. “That’s gotta count for something.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “I just… don’t want to get it wrong. Not for you.”

The sincerity in his words, paired with the soft, almost nervous look in his eyes, made your heart clench. For all his awkwardness, Choso always managed to say the things that mattered most without even realizing it.

You felt the warmth of the coffee in your hands, but there was a different kind of heat spreading through you now—the kind that came from being so close to him, from the way he looked at you like you were the only person that mattered.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gently curling around his wrist, tugging him just a little closer. “You never get it wrong, Choso,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyes widened, startled by the sudden closeness. “I—” He tried to speak, but the words died on his lips as your gaze lingered on his mouth.

Before either of you could second-guess it, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing softly against his. The kiss was gentle, tentative, as if testing the waters, and for a moment, Choso froze beneath your touch. But then, slowly—so slowly—he melted into it, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter as if steadying himself.

The taste of fresh coffee lingered on both your lips, bitter and warm, mixing with the softness of the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy—just slow and sensual, like savoring the perfect brew. His lips were slightly parted, unsure but responsive, and you could feel the slight tremble in his breath as your lips pressed a little more firmly against his.

When you finally pulled away, the café seemed quieter, the world smaller, as if time itself had slowed for just the two of you. Choso’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed a deep red that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh—” He tried to speak, but the words were jumbled, completely lost to the haze of what had just happened. “Was… that okay?

You couldn’t help but smile at how utterly flustered he was, his usual composure shattered in the most endearing way. “Yeah, Choso,” you whispered, your thumb brushing lightly over his wrist. “It was more than okay.”

He blinked, still dazed, but a small, shy smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “I’m glad.”

And just like the perfect cup of coffee, the moment lingered—warm, comforting, and undeniably sweet.

[alexjcrowley]

Yesterday night I felt sick with my stomach and stayed awake all night making audio recordings to my best friend about watching Quantum of Solace for the first time (I am still finishing it) and then I started randomly talking about 00q and accidentally opened up the Pandora Box of my memories but I instantly remembered everything I ever knew about 00q like when it got adopted by the BBC Sherlock fandom or the Paddington is the new Quartermaster stuff or when everybody was obsessed with the fucking Téméraire and it was EVERYWHERE and everybody made the joke "It's a ship!!!" and the age difference discourse between James and Q and Q being called Quentin and Mycroft and Sherlock being Q older brothers and disapproving of his relationship with James Bond and the fucking tea mugs and so many cats and everybody talking about Q's jumpers and making up OC minions for him and every fanfiction in which James retires to be with Q because he was the only one he ever loved aside from Vesper and Q feeling insecure because of her and all then Madeleine Sawnn came along and everybody was distraught even though the flirting was there in Spectre and we were all distraught because we could have had it all and so many fix it fics so many fics about James cosntantly loosing his gadgets and how hard it was for Q to watch him seduce other people and everybody was saying they were grumpy x sunshine/black cat x Golden retriver coded BUT THEY WERE NOT ACTUALLY in my humble opinion but they were easily flustered x flirting menace and Q had such salty one-liners and everybody believed he was a posh boy and do you remember when years later you had the same museum scene with Hannibal it was clearly a parallel and then there was No Time To Die and Q was officially queer oh my God oh my fucking God it was CANON he TOTALLY CANONICALLY MUST HAVE HAD A CRUSH ON BOND and we saw THE CATS and WHO WAS Q WAITING FOR?????? James must have been jealous but then the movie was what it was and a lot of people hated it and all of the fix it fics in which Bond said his last words to Q because it was always Q it will always be Q and also everybody making up names for him names were such a huge deal Q revealing his name to James in his last moments grieving fics in which James died but you also had silly ones and spicy ones uhhh a lot of those because sometimes you just need to ignore canon and see them happy and maybe both retiring or maybe they kept working flirting over the comms and annoying everyone at MI6 which wasn't exactly Avengers "Everybody Lives in The Tower" au but it was close they weren't a found family per se but some of them were very close there used to be edits on youtube yeah before TikTok came along youtube edits were A ThingTM with all those retrica-looking filters and pop songs or sad love songs and fake trailers who remembers those or like scenes edited to look like they were from a romcom and comments on the scenes written in small usually white text that were meant to reflect the character inner thoughts like "That's hot" or "He's so annoying I need to kiss him" or "BITCH" and fics in which Q was kidnapped and James went berserk and a few years ago Knives Out came out and we tried to to have Bond and Benoit Blanc related do you also remember that?

[mosquego359]

One Kiss and a Quidditch Match — Prologue

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 717 words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: Before the Quidditch Match of 1990-1991, you and Cedric never talked, never acknowledged each other's presence. But because of that loss, he hated you.

Notes: This is my first Cedric fanfic so please forgive me for any OOC moments. Also, I've changed a few things about Hogwarts like adding a couple extra holidays and new locations such as the all houses lobby on the first floor where everyone can hang out.

Content warning: There is nothing in this chapter but there is violence and cursing in the rest of the book. I may also write a few sexual scenes if people request it.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

Cedric hated you. And thus, you hated him.

It was like an endless circle of hatred; one cannot hate without the other, just as flowers cannot live without bees and vice versa. Every glare from his end was met by a cocky victory smirk from you whenever your team won a quidditch game, and every time he scored a point higher than you during a test, he would flaunt his success while you would grind your teeth in frustration.

It wasn’t always this competitive. In fact, before your 2nd year, he never talked to you and you barely knew he existed. In the past, you were ghosts, walking past one another without glare or snarky remarks.

That all changed when Slytherin was up against Hufflepuff in the 1990-1991 Hogwarts’ Quidditch Tournament. At the time, Cedric had been assigned as a backup whenever the Keeper got hurt, since the team was unaware of his flying talent.

Near three quarters through the game, the current Keeper, a 6th year called Richard Chiswick, was hit by a particularly violent Bludger (no doubt a Slytherin cast a spell on it) and was forced to sit out for the rest of the match, while Cedric replaced him.

He was by no means an excellent Keeper, but he wasn’t necessarily bad either — quick reactions and a keen eye were a superb advantage for him as a Quidditch player — but one Slytherin always managed to slip in a goal even when his concentration was at its highest.

You, the prodigy Slytherin Chaser. The one who had been scoring point after point for your team. You were incredible.

You would zoom in the air, dodging Hufflepuff after Hufflepuff, Quaffle tucked under your arm. Soaring across the field, you were beauty, you were grace, and you would “accidentally” kick players in the face.

Every time you had the Quaffle, ready to make a goal, Cedric would tense up, ready to block any and all of your attacks. You were, however, much too rapid for him, so whenever you would try and score a goal unless your aim was wack, you’d constantly grant your team those 10 glorious points. He was baffled at your capabilities, never expecting someone the same age as him to have so much raw talent. Or was it just that you already knew how to play?

An hour in, Slytherin were 150 points ahead of Hufflepuff, standing at almost 400 points and you had the Quaffle. The Hufflepuff Seeker had spotted the Snitch and was racing against time to snatch it out of the air and deprive you of the 10 points that would mark Slytherin’s victory.

The Seeker was mere inches away from ending the game but you were quicker — swiftly launching the Quaffle, the spherical object curving through the air. 

Cedric desperately raced to stop it, extending his arm to block it but either he was too late or miscalculated the trajectory — the ball whooshed past him and into the goal area. 

Not even a second later, the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the Golden Snitch.

It was over; the game was over. Slytherin won by 10 points and it was Cedric’s fault. All his fault, just because he couldn’t block that stupid Quaffle!

The Chasers on his team scored 230 points total and the seeker had caught the Snitch but despite all that effort, they still lost. Because of him…

The next few moments were a blur of reassurances from his teammates, booing from most of the crowd, and a booming echo of cheers from the winning house’s spectators. Cedric wasn’t focused on any of those distractions, though; all he could see was you.

A big, goofy grin was spread across your sweaty face, gums showing and teeth not touching. You were out of breath and surrounded by a sea of Slytherins — particularly younger students — laughing and hugging you, some jumping with joy and others slinging their arms around your shoulders or patting your back in congratulation.

A cold feeling enveloped Cedric’s typically good-natured heart. He hated you. He hated you for that win, for making him seem incapable, and for looking so happy about it. 

A fire in his soul ignited. He wanted to crush you, squash whatever pride you would ever have and wipe that annoying smile off your face.

...

Thank you for reading, please comment any suggestions you have or any issues I should fix.

[torusdove]

Hi hi mony!! Saw that you're taking requests of making photo collage of favs... If possible could you do Iwaizumi? (￣∇￣)

Hajime had always been the most reliable one out of the bunch—the strong, quiet presence that kept the team grounded when needed. Even after his days as a high-school volleyball player at Aoba Johsai, he hadn't lost that sense of steadiness. Throughout the years, he realised that the need to help people was within his nature, and his love for the sport itself had never died down.

Life had taken him far from the courts of Japan to the United States, where he honed his skills as a sports trainer, working with athletes from around the world. His days were filled with routines—training regimens, injury recovery plans, strength-building exercises. And though he enjoyed the structure of it all, there was a moment in his life when everything shifted, bringing something new: love.

Hajime would've never guessed he would fins someone who could balance his own measured approach to life until he stumbled upon you. In contrary to himself, you lit up the whole room upon entering it: mingling easily within a group of strangers, letting each person feel heard and seen. It was refreshing to see, a reminder that life can be lived in different ways. You brought a sense of ease into his otherwise rigorous schedule, showing him the importance of enjoying the moment, no matter how loud or quiet they were.

Nd now you're sat with him in the middle of your shared living room: watching through the pictures of your latest hike. You can remember so clearly how he had poured your hot mugs of coffee to keep you warm, overlooking the beautiful canyons from the very top.

Life with Hajime was quiet, but rich with meaning: a perfect reflection of himself.

It was the simplicity that Hajime found the greatest happiness in. A love so simple and kind that he never expected to ever experience it.

With the golden band wrapped around your ring finger and a little girl sat on his lap, her big eyes an exact copy of yours, he couldn't wish for anything more.

His love for you was constant, steady, like the way he approached everything in life—though you had managed to pull a more tender side out of him, something he hadn’t realized he needed.

For Haji, life after volleyball was no longer just about chasing victories—it was about cherishing the person who had made every victory a little sweeter.

[velieditss]

Peace before tragedy

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen (ft Jaehaera)

Summary: After the Blacks took King's Landing, Jace visits his old chambers only to find a curious surprise.

Cw: None other than a tender moment between Jace and Jahaera, and words that needed to be spoken between Jace and Helaena—meanwhile, I'm dying over this pairing.

Au: I'm not kidding, I literally just dreamed about this, woke up at three in the morning just to write it down 😆

At last, the conquest of King’s Landing had been declared in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Two dragons soared through the skies, rising above the clouds, visible to all the inhabitants of the capital. After months of anticipation and whispers of the queen’s resurgence alongside her loyalists, the gates, once sealed by the regent prince, swung open to welcome the rightful heir.

Among Rhaenyra’s followers, riding upon his dragon Vermax, was her firstborn, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. There was little the supporters of King Aegon could do now. The king had vanished, leaving behind his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, his wife and mother of his children, Queen Consort Helaena, and his only daughter, Princess Jaehaera, at the mercy of Rhaenyra.

The regent prince, Aemond, had departed for Harrenhal, leaving the capital defenceless, and with it, the throne.

There was no resistance. Not even the most fervent loyalists of Aegon raised their arms, and neither did Rhaenyra’s followers take advantage of their victory.

For Jacaerys, walking once again through the streets of King’s Landing was like stepping into an old dream, a dream woven with memories both sweet and bitter. Though much of his childhood had been spent here, the place now felt foreign, strange, as if the city itself had changed in his absence. Yet what truly weighed upon his heart was not the walls or the palaces, but the memories of his brother Lucerys, who for so many years had been his closest friend and companion, and whose absence now felt like a wound that would never heal.

As he wandered through the halls of the old chambers he had once shared with his brother, a strange curiosity compelled him to enter what had once been his own room. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a chamber that seemed much smaller than he remembered. The curtains swayed gently in the morning breeze, allowing the golden light of dawn to stream in.

What had once been his bed now seemed diminutive, and the sheets, a greenish hue with blue trimmings, felt unfamiliar. A bronze tapestry adorned the chamber, its embroidery exquisite, though for Jace, what stood out most was a small wooden dragon upon the table next to the bed, accompanied by two carved figures of a man and a woman. He took them in his hands, feeling the roughness of the wood beneath his fingers, and a melancholic smile crept across his face.

“Who are you?” a soft voice asked from behind him.

Jace looked up in surprise. In the dimness of the room, he had not noticed the presence of the child. She was small, no older than six, with a slight frame and hair as golden as the riches of Valyria, her eyes a deep purple—Targaryen eyes. He needed no confirmation to know who she was.

“You must be Jaehaera, right?” he asked gently.

The girl nodded faintly, showing no emotion. Jace, with a tender smile, knelt to her level, extending the wooden toys towards her.

“I am Jace, your cousin. These must be yours.”

The child gazed at the toys without expression. Jace had heard the rumours about Jaehaera, about how, unlike other children, she neither smiled nor cried, always distant and silent, like a lifeless doll. Though he had heard these tales, he had always deemed them unjust; he knew well how cruel gossip could be.

Jaehaera took the wooden toys into her hands and then placed them back where they had been.

“I have never seen you before,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“That’s because I lived far away,” Jace replied, his smile never faltering.

The little princess replaced the toys in the exact spot from which he had taken them. She seemed to wish to restore the balance of her small world, as though any change might disturb the fragile peace in which she lived.

“These toys once belonged to me,” Jace said, attempting to continue the conversation. “I did not think they would still be here. Do you play with them often?”

Jaehaera’s purple eyes regarded him with mild interest as she nodded once.

“My mother gave it to me,” she murmured. At the mention of her mother, Helaena, Jace could not help but smile. Jaehaera was the very image of her mother: innocent, serene, with a purity in her voice that conveyed a peculiar calm. She would grow into a most enchanting young lady, Jace thought, once she reached maturity.

“Would you like to know a secret?” Jace asked, still seated on the floor.

The child approached, driven by curiosity, and nodded. He held up the wooden dragon in his hands.

“If you look closely at the dragon’s feet, you will see a name,” he explained. The little girl turned the toy over carefully and read the letters, carved with care.

“Ver…max…” she whispered, frowning. “Who is that?”

“He is my dragon,” Jace answered, pointing to the carving. “When I was your age, I was told that if I carved a wish into oak wood, that wish would come true. I wished for my dragon to grow as large as Balerion, so I wrote his name here.”

For the first time, Jace saw a spark of surprise and fascination in Jaehaera’s eyes.

“Really?” she asked with innocence. “Did it come true?”

Jace shook his head slowly, somewhat uncertain.

“More or less,” he admitted. “Vermax is still small, but he’s growing. A wish takes time.”

A small smile appeared on Jaehaera’s lips, delicate, almost imperceptible, but to Jace, it was a glimmer of warmth amidst all the silence.

“I want Morghul to grow big too,” she confessed, her eyes now sparkling as she gazed at the wooden dragon once more.

“Would you like me to help you carve his name on the other foot?” Jace offered, extending his hand towards the toy.

“Yes,” she answered, handing him the wooden dragon with trust.

With a soft smile, Jace sought out a quill and ink but quickly realised there were no sharp objects in the room. Instead, he settled for a small stick he found in a dusty corner.

“Come, we shall carve it together,” he said warmly, inviting the little girl to join him.

He expected Jaehaera to sit beside him on the floor, but to his surprise, the child nestled herself into his lap, resting gently upon one of his legs. Tenderly, Jace guided her small hands, helping her hold the stick. Letter by letter, they carved together the name of Morghul into the other foot of the wooden dragon.

“Now Vermax and Morghul shall grow together,” Jaehaera said, her small smile widening, filled with delight. Jace was moved to see her so, her eyes shining with joy as she cradled her beloved wooden dragon.

“And they shall grow so big,” Jace added playfully, “that you will have to jump very high to mount them.” The child’s laughter rang through the room, crystal-clear, as she imagined the scene he had painted with his words.

But those merry giggles were interrupted when the door creaked once more. Jace looked up, and for the second time that day, his eyes met with another pair of violet eyes, as deep as Jaehaera’s.

“Look, Mama!” Jaehaera exclaimed, leaping excitedly from Jace’s lap to run towards the woman who had just entered, the toy held firmly in her hands. “Jace helped me carve Morghul’s name so he can grow big like his dragon!”

Helaena, the former queen consort, stood there. It was not entirely unexpected; after all, she had lived in these chambers her entire life, and not even the taking of King’s Landing had driven her to flee.

Jace rose calmly, standing before the child's mother. Despite the slightly uncertain expression on Helaena's face, the prince merely offered her a faint smile before bowing his head in a show of respect.

Helaena lingered at the doorway, her hands clenched over her skirt, as if unsure whether she should enter. Her timidity was palpable in her delicate frame, but her eyes—those same violet eyes Jahaera had inherited—watched her daughter with a mix of caution and relief. Jace, sensing her hesitation, softened his expression further and stepped forward, careful not to appear imposing.

“I shared a little secret with Jahaera,” he said gently, approaching her with the same tenderness he had shown the child. “When I was small, I wrote Vermax’s name on that toy dragon, hoping he would grow as large as Balerion. I helped her do the same with Morghul”

Helaena nodded shyly, her head slightly bowed, but her lips formed no words. There was a timid curiosity in her gaze, though she maintained her distance. Meanwhile, Jaehaera ran around the room, holding Morghul as though it were real, completely engrossed in her game.

As the child lost herself in her world of fantasy, Jace seized the moment to move closer to the former queen consort. In a low, nearly inaudible voice, he said:

“Princess, I want you to know that neither you nor Jaehaera will be harmed. You are under my protection and my mother’s. Even though... even though Aegon has fled and left you behind, that does not change what binds us. I will not allow you to suffer for his decisions.”

Helaena looked at him, her eyes widening slightly, surprised by the softness and firmness in his words. Surely, she had heard rumors about what happened when a city fell into enemy hands, and feared what fate awaited her. But at that moment, facing Jace, she seemed a little more at ease. When her voice finally came, it was a barely audible whisper.

“And… Aegon?”

Jace swallowed hard before replying. “Aegon fled, abandoning you and her to your fate. But do not worry about him now. I... will take care of you both.”

The tension in the room didn’t dissipate entirely, but there was a faint sense of relief in Helaena’s eyes. However, there was something else Jace needed to address, something he couldn’t continue to ignore. He stepped closer, lowering his gaze before speaking, with a solemnity that weighed heavily on his chest.

“There’s something else… something I can’t leave unsaid,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “Helaena… what happened with… with your son… with Jaehaerys… was monstrous. I know it was. And though I didn’t give the order, I can’t help but feel the weight of that guilt, as if it were mine too.”

Helaena didn’t react immediately. She seemed frozen, her hands clutching as Jace’s words slowly sank in. The name of her son, Jaehaerys, Jahaera’s twin, still echoed in the corridors of her mind, but the memory of his loss, of the cruelty with which he had been taken, was a pain she could barely face.

Jace stepped forward, his heart in his throat. “I’m sorry... I’m truly sorry. What was done to... him was an atrocity. My mother didn’t know either, and I… I would have done anything to prevent it. I can’t bring your son back, but I promise you that what happened won’t be forgotten. I swear that I will never allow something like that to happen again.”

Helaena’s eyes filled with tears, though none fell. She remained silent, unsure of what to say, but her hands stopped trembling. There was a deep pain, one that no apology could heal, but perhaps Jace’s words, his sincerity, might ease the immediate fear she felt.

Jaehaera, oblivious to the tension between the adults, continued to play with her wooden dragon in the corner. Her childish laughter filled the air, innocent and unbreakable, as though in her little world everything was still at peace.

“I lost my brother too,” Jace continued, his voice breaking slightly. “Lucerys... he meant everything to me. I understand the pain of loss. But, Helaena, I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure that you and your daughter have a safe place with us. You are not our enemies.”

Helaena looked at him for a long moment. Finally, with a slight nod, she accepted his apology. She said nothing, but the calm in her eyes was enough for Jace to know his words had been heard.

Jace let the silence stretch between them for another moment. He observed Helaena, the fragility of her figure, the way she kept her distance, as though contact with the world pained her. But he also saw the strength hidden beneath her shyness, the weight of loss she bore without complaint, and felt a deep respect for her.

Finally, breaking the stillness softly, Jace spoke again:

“Helaena… I would like for you and Jaehaera to accompany me to the throne room. It is an important moment, and I want you there.”

Helaena blinked, her eyes drifting around the room as though searching for an answer she couldn’t quite find. Her mind seemed distant, always caught elsewhere, and Jace noticed how her hands trembled slightly as she considered his proposal.

However, before she could decide, Jace took another step closer and, without breaking his respectful demeanor, extended his hand toward her. He knew she didn’t like physical contact—he had heard those rumors too—but still, he offered the gesture as an invitation, without demanding.

“I promise you there is nothing to fear. You’ll be with me.”

For a moment, he thought Helaena might refuse his hand. The hesitation in her eyes was clear, but then, to his surprise, she slowly raised her hand, with a fragility that moved him. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against his, but they finally rested in his palm. He didn’t grasp her hand tightly, nor sought a firm hold, only enough to feel her warmth and support. It was a small act, but for Helaena, it was an immense sign of trust.

Jace offered her a warm, tender smile, letting her set the pace.

“Thank you,” he whispered, glancing down at her hand before looking back at her. “It is an honor to have your trust.”

Helaena watched him for a moment, and then, almost in a murmur more to herself than to him, she said,

“The flowers… the flowers grow best under the shadow of dragons.”

Jace didn’t understand immediately what she meant, but the softness in her voice and the strange beauty of her words made him smile. It was the first time he had heard her speak so cryptically, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. Sometimes words didn’t need to be fully understood to make sense.

“Yes,” he responded just as softly, nodding while gently guiding her toward the door. “They will grow.”

Jahaera, now entertained with her wooden dragon, ran towards them upon noticing the movement. Jace bent slightly toward her, offering his hand as well. The little princess, her childish smile still brightening her face, took Jace’s hand without hesitation, happy to follow her cousin.

As the three of them made their way to the throne room, Jace couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be in front of Helaena once again after months—months during which many things had happened, many terrible things, yet none of it had changed his opinion of her. Helaena, with her fragility but with the silent strength of a mother who had lost everything and still remained standing. Jaehaera, innocent and radiant, a beam of light amidst so much darkness.

And he… he had come to reclaim the city, but now he felt responsible not only for them but also for the broken legacy of his family.

With a calm yet determined step, they walked through the halls, ready to face the destiny that awaited them.

Masterlist

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @lady-lostmind! lady_lostmind has 84 works in the Stranger Things fandom and 55 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@oh-stars recommends the following works by @lady-lostmind:

This Is The Coin I Had In My Pocket The First Time We Kissed, And I Always Have It.

Transfixed (under your spell)

Fuck

You know what to do, when it gets hold of you.

The Wall

"Mack is one of the best writers in this ship and I am so very lucky to read their work early on. Her Eddie voice is unmatched to me!! Every time I read a new fic of hers, I'm always shocked at how she can outdo herself with creating my next favorite fic. She's fearless in trying new tropes and genres, exploring super serious topics and she has some of the hottest scenes I've read. Every opportunity I have to read or reread her work is an absolute pleasure and I am so honored to get to see her flourish!" -- @oh-stars

Below the cut, @lady-lostmind answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I’ve been reading fanfic since I was a teenager but I never felt the urge to write my own until watching these two together. I think we can all agree there was some undeniable chemistry between the two on screen and they have such a fun dynamic to work with. I’ve always enjoyed creative writing in some shape or form whether it be for a class or writing lyrics for the band I was in, or the half abandoned novel I have in my docs. I decided to give fanfic a shot and then really loved getting to actually be a part of the community instead of lurking on the edges and leaving kudos anonymously like I had for years. But there is something so special about Steddie in particular and I’m especially drawn to writing Eddie in particular. His character has so many layers to explore and different directions to go and I love making him fall in love with his golden retriever of a man over and over again.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I am a sucker for a good slow burn, especially with some hurt/comfort thrown in. Please rip my heart out, stomp on it, pick it back up, and hand it back to me wrapped in a pretty little bow.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Honestly, the same as what I read. As much as I love a good fluffy one shot there’s nothing quite like the sweet torture of dragging your characters through hell before they get their happy ending. It’s so fun trying to navigate what they would do in difficult situations, and how that affects the story overall.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is such a hard question. There are so many good fics out there. We’re truly well fed in this community. I think some of my absolute favorites have to be You’re Divine by oonionchiver, and The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by greatunironic. Both of them inspired me to do a lot of fanart including a bind and cover art for You’re Divine, and drawing all the album covers in TMRTAYSITDITIY.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I never really know what I’m going to write next until it smacks me in the face. But I’m definitely open to whatever that might be. I will say I’ve never ventured into the omegaverse in my writing but it does seem like a fun one to play around with.

What is your writing process like?

Chaotic. I love writing but have a hard time actually sitting down and focusing on it. I either write a huge chunk all at once, or I write a sentence at a time while watching tv or something. I do really enjoy writing with other people though whether that’s in a sprint or word game.

Do you have any writing quirks?

If I have music on while writing it can’t have any lyrics in it or I get too distracted.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Oh, a schedule is generous, I’d say. But I do prefer posting chapter by chapter. I feel like people engage a little more as they read each one and I love getting the feedback as I go.

Which fic are you most proud of?

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. I think my writing grew a lot during that fic and I’m really proud of the work I put into it. AYMFYIABHWABW was also the first thing I ever wrote for an event and was a big step for me to actually put myself out there and talk with other authors and artists. I made some amazing connections through that event and am so glad I pushed through any self consciousness to ask for a beta reader because I found an amazing one in oh-stars and gained a great friendship through that. They introduced me to karadanverss when the two of them were looking for some help modding the Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang and I not only gained another friend, but got to dip my toe into being a mod, something I never would have even considered doing before, but have had so much fun being a part of as we set up other events together. So I think because of all that, AYMFYIABHWABW will always hold a special place in my heart.

How did you get the idea for This Is The Coin I Had In My Pocket The First Time We Kissed, And I Always Have It.?

During a rewatch of New Girl. Nick Miller is honestly such a mash up of Eddie and Steve, and I could not get the idea out of my head to Steddiefy the scene in the hall where Nick says “Not like this.” It screams hopeless romantic Steve to me, and the title is a line Nick says to Jess way later and it never fails to make me cry. So, I started with that. Just wanting to do a similar situation with Steddie, and it morphed into something much bigger than I intended.

When writing You know what to do, when it gets hold of you., what was something you didn’t expect?

I thought I would have a harder time with Steve’s POV in this one than I did. I really wanted to show a side of him that I feel gets overlooked a lot since he’s always throwing himself in front of everyone else when there’s danger. But what happens when that danger isn’t there anymore? What does he do with that? It’s a side I hadn’t explored much before and I was really happy with where that took me. I really liked getting to see where Steve’s mind would go when the group is seemingly safe.

What inspired Transfixed (under your spell)?

Transfixed was written for the Steddie Summer Exchange! So I actually had this prompt: ‘Popstar Steve and rockstar Eddie having a secret relationship whilst the public and their own band mates think they hate each other.’ to go off of for it. This prompt screamed angsty, hurt/comfort so I was really excited I snagged it in claims.

What was your favorite part to write from You know what to do, when it gets hold of you.?

I think it has to be the scene where Steve finally breaks down. When Eddie figures out what has been going on and Steve just lets it all out. If there is one thing Steve Harrington deserves, it’s a good fucking cry.

How do/did you feel writing The Wall?

The Wall was written for Steddie Love Month with the prompt: Love is letting yourself be loved and if that didn’t scream insecure Steve I don’t know what does. I remember feeling very bittersweet while writing The Wall because I know what it’s like to be afraid to let someone in again when you’ve been hurt, and how good it feels when you finally let that wall down and accept that risk because it’s worth it. I tried to capture that feeling as best as I could.

What was the most difficult part of writing Fuck?

Fuck was another Steddie Love Month prompt. The hardest part of writing this one was just trying not to cackle to myself about how ridiculous Eddie was being. This one was a lot of fun to write.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Oh my. I think it either has to be the first scene I wrote for AYMFYIABHWABW that sparked the entire thing: Steve is staring at him, eyes wide and rocking a little on his heels like he’s so nervous he can’t stay still. Eddie’s stomach drops, his mind spiraling through a million worst case scenarios all at once. “What’s wrong? Is Wayne– Are the kids okay? Is it–” Steve holds his hands out in front of him and shakes his head. “Fuck, no. Sorry. No. It’s not–” Steve sucks in a deep breath, his hands shooting up into his hair before dropping to hovering in the space between the two of them. “Eds. I fucked up. I so massively fucked up. I can’t even begin to–[...] This feels like a fucking fever dream. Like something he’s imagined a million times over. Awake and asleep, In every possible scenario and position. All the times he fucked men in bathroom stalls and or pressed them against a wall in a dirty alley, this is what he wanted. And he was right. None of it even comes close to being this. This is…it’s everything. Fuck– it’s everything." Or this scene from You know what to do, when it gets hold of you where Steve finally gets to breakdown: Steve shakes against him, his tears wetting the shoulder of Eddie’s shirt. “I’m sorry.” Eddie shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He rubs his hand up and down Steve’s back. “Hey, you’re okay. We’re going to figure this out, okay?” Steve sobs, his hands fisting into Eddie’s shirt a broken “Sorry” slipping out of him again. Eddie’s arms tighten around Steve, and he struggles to swallow the lump forming in his throat, tears welling in his eyes. Can’t help the way his heart breaks a little at the sorrow in Steve’s voice. How vulnerable he sounds. Because Steve Harrington isn’t vulnerable. Steve Harrington dives into lakes with portals to another world at the bottom without a second thought. Steve Harrington rips other dimensional beasts apart with his teeth. Steve Harrington marched into battle calmly, and confidently. Steve Harrington carried Eddie out of a hellscape on his fucking back. Steve Harrington is the rock. He is the one everyone leans on. And Eddie knew. He knew something was wrong. He knew something was going on. But it’s one thing to know it, and another to see your hero crack and crumble in your arms.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

The Eddie Munson Big Bang! Definitely keep an eye on our tumblr (@eddiemunsonbigbang) to see all the amazing fics and art that will be coming out. I’m one of the mods over there, and I’m working on a fic for it that I’m really excited about. If this is posed before the end of September…we’re still looking for artists!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I’d just really like to thank anyone who has ever taken the time to read my fics, or like any of the fanart I’ve made. I never expected anyone to really see any of it when I first started all this and have really loved finding a community to be a part of. I never had any friends who were really into fandoms or fanfiction, and up until I started engaging in Steddie content no one in my life even knew I read it. Getting to talk to, and make friends in this community gave me the confidence to talk more about what I’m interested in and connect more with the people in my life. So, thank you all for showing me how to be loud about the things I love and that I don’t have to hide parts of myself away!

Thank you to our author, @lady-lostmind, and our nominator, @oh-stars! See more of lady_lostmind's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[justaragdollysblog]

If I hadn’t Gone In

A new TADC fic that no one asked for! This actually uses an oc that I came up with a while ago. Her name is Marybelle, and she’s a wind up music box ballerina :))

TW: infidelity, suggestive, heavy angst

When Ragatha goes to collect her bunny for the feast, she notices he’s been acting strange.

———————————————————————-

Ragatha glanced nervously at the empty seat next to her. The feast simulated a warm and inviting scent, calling her to stop worrying and finally eat something.

Her and Jax had been together for about a year now. Ragatha was happy with him, but sometimes she found herself wishing they were closer. Affectionate, in the way she knew she wanted to be. Of course, she’d never ask for it herself.

It didn’t at ALL help that a new arrival had since happened. A porcelain wind up figure, with an ornate ballerina outfit and a golden winding mechanism out of her backside.

Her name was Marybelle, and she took a certain liking to Jax, and a certain disdain to the rag doll. It made her a bit worried and uneasy, to say the least. But she buried those feelings down and tried to offer the benefit of the doubt to the fellow doll. She knew she had to have been reeling when she first arrived.

Ragatha also had noticed that Jax was…acting different. Almost more distant. Ragatha felt the curiosity gnawing at her in the late hours of the night. She made sure to let her bunny know she’d always be there for him.

Ragatha suddenly stood up from the table. “Jax is taking a while, I’m gonna go check on him.” The dolly wrung her hands together. Pomni gave a small smile, looking up at her good friend. “Alright! I can get some food to you later if you need it.” She offered.

Ragatha couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, poms! I’ll be back.” She turned to leave, quickly making her way to the hallway that held their rooms. Jax said he needed to get ‘ready’ before the feast. It was strange, but Ragatha acquiesced and left him alone.

Ragatha wrung her hands nervously again. She didn’t know why, but a voice in the back of her mind told her to be on alert. She walked down the hallway and paused when she heard…voices. One of which was her bunny, and the other was another voice. Confident. Female.

She swallowed hard and approached the source of the sound, which happened to be Jax’s room. She softly pushed the door open.

“Bun? I didn’t see you at dinner-”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the sight before her. Jax and the ballerina were both pressed against each other on the wall of his room. His fur was messy, and his hands wrapped around Marybelle’s waist. She did the same.

He quickly stood at attention when he heard Ragatha, looking at her with wide eyes. “Rags- It’s not, this isn’t what you think!”

Ragatha had a look of utter heartbreak and despair on her face. “You…what are you…” She breathed out. The ballerina simply scoffed and walked out of the room, brushing past Ragatha. She barely noticed.

“Ragatha, this didn’t mean anything! Come on, dollface, you know me.” Jax pleaded with her. Ragatha felt herself starting to cry, hot tears running down her plush face.

“I thought I did.” She whimpered, trying to stop her breaths from becoming erratic and frantic. She felt so absolutely heartbroken and cornered. The way his fur stuck out in multiple places from her, the same way his did when Ragatha would pet him.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Horrible, soul crushing, bleak sense. She turned to leave, but Jax grabbed her arm. “Ragatha, please, we can talk about this!”

Ragatha whipped her head at breakneck speed for anyone who wasn’t made of cloth. “You can’t have much to say, with the taste of her in your mouth.” She pulled away from him and ran into her room, locking it. She held herself so tight she was sure she’d rip her dress. She sunk down to the floor, sobbing hard. The last time she felt this overwhelmed with sorrow was when she first arrived.

By now, the feast was over. Everyone was on their way to their respective rooms. Jax was outside his room, pacing nervously and swearing to himself. Pomni glanced nervously at Zooble and Gangle next to her. Kinger had absolutely no interest in the situation.

“Where’s Ragatha? I thought she went to go find you…” Gangle asked meekly. Jax met her eyes with his, and ran a hand down his furry face.

“She’s in her room. I messed up.” He groaned out, sounding more annoyed than anything. Pomni sighed heavily. “What did you mess up this time?”

Jax looked at the ground with no intention of meeting their eyes. “She caught me with the new girl.”

Pomni heard him, but soon after, her teeth sharpened into points. “You WHAT?!” Gangle made a soft sympathetic noise. Zooble looked furious. “Why would you do that?!” They shouted.

“Look, I know I messed up! She- I didn’t think dollface was gonna find us!” He shouted back, somehow defensive, even after all this. Jax sighed. “I’ll go talk to her.” He said, sounding reluctant to even approach her door.

Zooble grabbed him roughly by his ear with their clawed hand. “OW!” He yelped, stumbling a bit. “You aren’t getting near her. We’re gonna talk to her, and you’re gonna stay the F$&@K out of the way. You’ve done enough.”

They finally let him go, and he held his ear tenderly. The two girls and Zooble looked at him with such contempt. And, he knew deep down he deserved it.

He walked slowly to his room and flopped down on the bed. It kinda smelled like her. Vanilla and a hint of linen.

The sheets had never felt so cold without her.

———————————————————————

WOSOWOWO I’ll probably write more of this if you guys want!

i hope you liked ittttt

[positivelyruined]

*wanders out of the Tardis*…oh hi there. Time passed?! What year is it? I may have forgotten that the majority of the audience hasn’t read all seventeen chapters of this — oops. Welcome back to Prythian. An all new chapter of A Ballad of Thorns and Roses has been posted.

links: ao3 | subscribe to the story to receive email notifications for updates and subscribe to my user for notification of all my writing | you must now be a verified user of the archive to view and comment on this story; if you need an invitation, please don’t hesitate to ask.

As always, big thank you to all of my betas, who sometimes read four or forty different versions of these scenes before convincing me that it is good enough to move on. Bless them for joining a discord, dealing with my endless spam of questions, and continued fascination with this character and his haunting narrative. Betas: @ennawrite & @wingsdippedingold 👏👏👏

Big shoutout to both the besties who remain half the reason of why this story keeps going and one hundred percent the reason why I am brave enough to publish it. If I was writing this for only the two of you — it would be worth it. @shadowqueenjude - thank you for your equal enthusiasm and equal patience with making sure I take care of myself @sonics-atelier thank you for honestly being the biggest, best fan of this rewrite since day one.

dearest, gentle readers

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