#which does not come together well into something that actually Goes Anywhere or god forbid Actually Ends

[cicada-circuitry]

#God tho this does make me want to pull back up that notebook fic snippet i had#of Margo confronting Molly about this too but like with science.#Margo would know. Just saying. She knows. ⃪ does this mean you have Molly/Margo fic?

Hi anon! sorry this is now several days late but boy do I. ( watched FAMK for the first time in February, wound up with Pages and pages of fic snippets (for a couple ships, margo x molly included) in chicken scratch on physical paper which is always a great sign that im being normal about a show, thought I'd cure myself if I just watched the whole thing a second time and absolutely only made it worse. )

I meant to answer this ask by just typing up the quick excerpt of the fic I was talking to myself in the tags about but...... started typing and did not stop. It lives over here now! Was not the one of the notebook fics I thought would see the light of day but you know? why not.

(I assume if you're here you, like me, have already read all the fics to be found but if you have Not read everything in that tag already, highly recommend. this fandom may be small but boy did it have good food on offer when I rolled in four years late fresh off a few episodes and absolutely screaming.)

Since I went ahead and dropped that one on ao3 at like 4am i'll throw in something a little more typical of the the notebook archives - how about this thing that exists entirely bc i noticed that used bookstore you can see beside the Outpost in season 1 and it gave me Ideas

Sometime post crossword-quiz / pre- run-in at the Jazz club.  

Margo walks fast past the Outpost on her way over to Bargain Books. When she can, she prefers to park down at the other end of the street and not have to go by that eyesore of a bar in the first place, but when you double the size of the astronaut program with twenty female ascans, you turn street parking into a blood sport. On her salary, no way is she playing chicken with the corvettes, not even to avoid mustering a polite smile for a coworker at his inebriated worst. 

Most days, that’s only an issue if she swings by after dark, the hour when everybody’s trickling out and stumbling home for the evening. Otherwise, the dingy whitewashed plywood keeps a nice impenetrable wall between book-seeking passers-by and drunken test pilots. Today, however, a spell of perfect weather is conspiring against her. Someone has the door propped open with a rusty paint can, letting the sound of laughter of clinking glass spill through it onto the sidewalk. 

A flash of green catches Margo’s eye before she can make it past. Despite herself, she recognizes that shade in an instant. It’s the flannel shirt she had to reprimand earlier that afternoon for bringing a lit cigarette into the sim. Molly Cobb, bent over a pool table, chin twisted up towards Patty Doyle, grinning like a woman about to win.  

Just Margo’s luck that this is the perfect time of day—indoor light matching outdoor light—for Molly to catch her eye straight through the open door as she makes her shot. 8-ball, dead in the pocket. 

For no reason she can think of, Margo feels heat rushing up into her cheeks. 

She stalks into Bargain Books in a hurry. 

The sweater-vested owner behind the front desk gives her the polite nod reserved for a good customer (and disinterested conversationalist) as she beelines for Paperback Fiction. She finished Matheson’s Ride the Nightmare last night— should have picked up two when she noticed how short it was in the first place, but nothing else tickled her fancy when she was in here a week ago, so here she is again, browsing spines. Maybe it's time to cave and finally grab a 10¢ copy of Rosemary's Baby from the stack on the end, seeing as it’s the one highly recommended title in her genre-of-choice the entire country seems to have read in the last couple years, but she already knows the ending (and the entire premise of demonic pregnancy does not appeal for tuning out after the work day). 

She’s dubiously eying the back-cover blurb on a Chandler detective thriller instead when a voice over her shoulder says, “Oh, Patty loves this shit.” 

To her great chagrin, Margo jumps, gasps, and drops her book. “Jesus, Molly.” 

“My bad.” 

Molly squats down to pick it up, slouchy brown corduroy flexing over her thighs. She fixes a bend in the cover before offering it back to her, but when Margo tries to take it away, Molly doesn’t let go. Instead, she adopts a playfully quirked brow and tugs it back towards herself inch-by-inch, bringing Margo, frowning, a step closer than she was before. “Came here to see if I could talk you into a drink.” 

Margo’s voice comes out approximately four steps too high as she looks around for some explanatory audience and says incredulously, “In there?” with a jerk of her thumb towards the Outpost’s adjoining wall. 

“Yeah. NASA central, shithole though it may be, but I never see you around.” 

“Well, I’m not an astronaut.” 

“Neither are the five white-shirts who monopolize the best booth in the back six nights a week. They don’t check for a pin at the door, Madison. That’d be no way to run a business. It’s a bar. Come have a drink with me.” 

“With… you.” She asks because she expects there to be an and. Me and the other ascans. Me and the rest of you white-shirt types in the back. Me and Patty Doyle. 

But Molly just raps the cover of The Lady in the Lake with her knuckles and says again, “With me.”

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

[growup-thatbeautiful]

drive is out now!! It’s a Post Season Harringrove Hurt/Comfort and I’m pretty proud of it. Read it on ao3 here or below the cut. Likes and comments are very very much appreciated :))

Billy doesn’t drive after starcourt. Something about being behind the wheel makes him sick with memories that he can’t understand. They’re abstract and totally unreliable.

But it’s kind of always been like that for him. He's used to having gaps in his memories, except most of the time it’s because of trauma. Or that’s what Joyce tells him and the rest of them whenever they have nightmares about things they don’t remember happening.

He's been living with the Byers and El. He tries to be useful around the house, doing whatever he can because he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard, though. It seems like everything he does, he does wrong. He never had to learn how to fold sheets or clean dishes. Not only was neil hargrove terribly homophobic, but also misogynistic, which is a word joyce taught him because she teaches all her kids that stuff. And he’s one of her kids now. So, yeah. Neil never had Billy do the chores because “he’s not a true man, but he sure as shit isn’t a woman.”

It's alarming how quickly this odd family replaces his old one. Neil seems miles away. Neil doesn’t try to look for Billy, and that’s fine as far as Billy's concerned. He's got scars to cover up the ones Neil made. no need to dwell on that when he has so much other trauma to process., right? Kind of.

He does check up on max. Asks her if neils pulling any of the shit he used to get from his dad. double checks for bruises hidden under makeup or long sleeves, and never finds any. Good.

Joyce is good. great, even. She doesn’t blame him when he breaks a dish because he heard a noise. She listens when he says he needs some alone time, and she knows when he’s just saying that. She gives good hugs and has no problem giving him Jonathan's old room to stay in while he’s off at college. leaving Hawkins behind him, calling every night anxiously awaiting the return of It. Nothing happens, and eventually they relax. Or they try to. That part of billy’s been broken for a long time, though.

So Joyce starts fading into memories of his mom, and he tries not to blame her.

Again. He's never had a great memory anyway. He does remember his mom telling him that boys don’t marry other boys when he was five and told her he wanted to marry his best friend. Then she told him never to tell his dad. It's strange, because he can’t remember her saying that she loved him, even though he’s sure she did. Did she? Huh.

At least the painful memories he gets to keep. Neil beating’s. Beating up on Harrington that night he didn’t know what was going on. The car crash before his mind was taken from him. Max’s terrible scream of “Billy” mixed in with the ear-ringing pain. Waking up in a hospital with starburst scars across his body. Skin that isn’t his. They remind him not to get to comfortable, remind him that the kindness he’s being shown isn’t well earned.

Because Billy knows he wasn’t worth those hospital bills and sleepless nights. All he’s done to the people here is hurt and scar and he’s seen them with the deepest kind of fear in their eyes. Fear because of him.

Everytime he goes down a path like this, he tries to stay clear of everyone. Because. They all tried to hide how much hurt he’s caused. They don’t blame him like they should.

He didn’t know any of them well before. But he knows El didn’t always carry around that police badge or look up at every siren, praying for a familiar face only to be disappointed and try not to show it. Because if Billy survived, couldn’t the more-deserving Hopper? Apparently not.

He knows Joyce didn’t always search for Will in every setting and have those folded up pictures of the two men that died because of all the shitty things that happened. Because she can’t stand to forget their faces or not carry that burden for just a second.

Will didn’t always get quiet every time a draft went through the room or refuse to go out that front door first. Because so many things have been ruined for him.

The rest of the kids didn’t always jump at every noise or bunch together for every corner, carrying lucky momentous and items. Because God forbid they have a break.

He doesn’t see them a lot, but Nancy and Jonathan definitely didn’t carry around an emergency kit everywhere they went, packed with medical supplies and Nancy’s choice gun. Because they’re going to be there to help if anything tries to take another person they loves away.

Some part of Billy reasons that it’s not all his fault. He wasn’t one of those scientists or government agents that started the whole thing.

But he did enough. Enough to warrant all the shit that he’s going through. It’s not the healthiest way of thinking, he’s aware of that, but it helps him get by.

No matter how hard he tries, though, there’s always someone at the house that finds him. Curled up into a ball, dry hitching sobs and no tears because “Hargrove men don’t cry.” Billy gets damn close sometimes, but the fear that Neil’s going to come out from the cracks in the wall and kick him where he lays is too real.

There are usually soft words.

“We don’t blame your here, honey. That wasn’t you, that did all that stuff. And I’m not going to let anything else bad happen to the people under this roof.” Joyce’s strong and sure voice, only breaking at the edges.

“I know what it’s like to have him control you like that. I know better than anyone else, and I know how scary it is. Mom says it’s over now, though, and I can’t feel It anymore. I would tell you first if It came back.” Will never says anything more than that, which is comforting in itself. It’s nice to have someone else.

“They lost. You’re here. I’m here. Will’s here. It is safe.” El’s statement is simple, but she makes it easy to believe.

He believes them until he gets another new memory of what he did. The Mayors blood on the floor. Heather’s petrified screams. Standing before that thing and feeling nothing but a perverse sense of but awe and, buried beneath that, a screaming sense of horror and the constant feeling of slipping in the sand.

There are times, like right now, when he doesn’t want someone to make him feel better. He wants someone who can drive him away from here and sit in an empty parking lot and smoke away the thoughts. Someone like Steve.

He would do it himself. He would. But he can’t. Can’t get over that fucking gas pedal. So he calls Steve.

They’ve done this enough times for it to make sense for Billy to have Steve’s number memorized. And his work schedule. And to know when he with Dustin or Robin or any of the others on one of those group outings Billy can’t bring himself to go to. There are too many sad faces, too many broken homes.

It doesn’t matter what he wears. It’s just Steve, and they’ve gotten past the point of caring about things like that.

Which. Is obvious to anyone who looks at Billy, not that he sees anyone. He’s lost a lot of weight. Muscles that used to be defined are gone, replaced by scars. He can’t get them back yet, because he’s not strong enough to lift any of them. And because muscles like that can hurt and hit. His eyes are surrounded by heavy bags, bloodshot and tired. The new callouses on his hands are mostly scars from anxiety ridden breakages, and the pained nails are because El wanted to try the new dark blue out. His hair is greasy and flat, nowhere near what it used to be. It hangs around his shoulders in curled waves, so far from where he used to be.

He doesn’t even try to smile to the sad reflection in the mirror.

Steve doesn’t honk when he arrives. The first time he did that and the noise sent Billy spiraling, and Steve had felt terrible, cussing up a storm that actually helped Billy out of it. Luckily, it was just Billy home and no one else was there to witness they’re collective train wreck.

Before he leaves, Billy grabs something from the bathroom and stuffs it in with the rest of the random shit he brings.

Billy slides into the passenger seat, leans his head back against the headrest, and says, “So, Harrington, how you been?”

Steve, mercifully, looks the same as always. He looks good, the asshole. It’s a relief that he’s still able to feel that fire Steve lights up. Different than all the other King’s from California. A few more scars, but they all have that. His shades are pushed through his hair, brown strands flopping over lazily.

“Same as usual, so fairly shitty and on the brink of breakdown. You?” It would be a normal conversation if Steve wasn’t completely serious, corners of his mouth only ticking up when Billy reaches over and bats at the band-aid charm hanging from the mirror. A joke from Billy to say sorry for, you know, almost beating him to death for no real reason.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t need to say more for Steve to get the idea. It’s the same way they’ve been feeling for months now.

“Yeah.” The car ride over isn’t far from the Byers’ house, and they spend it in almost silence. Some pop station is playing low on the radio.

“This the shit you listen to, pretty boy? I expected more than this.” It’s an attempt at normalcy, something that they’ve slowly been working up to.

“At least I don’t blast out my eardrums every time I want to listen to music,” replies Steve quickly, smile evident in his tone.

And it’s normal. It’s them. The way they were before it all got so messy. For that brief moment, there’s no winter night or july 4th. For a brief moment Billy can entertain a reality where he went to the find Steve instead of a fight. A world where Steve, with those pretty eyes and snap remarks, could hold his hand and stop him from doing all the bad things in the future.

But the moment passes. Steve clears his throat and looks forward at the road.

They arrive to the quarry, water at the bottom glinting, tossing, teasing. The car doors slam shut, and they slide up on to the front of the car. Billy pulls his last minute grab out of the bag and hands it to Steve.

“I want you to cut my hair.” Steve takes the scissors and towel in his hand, looking at Billy.

He doesn’t ask if Billy’s sure. Billy figures that Steve knows at this point he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real. If Billy wasn’t sure. Steve cards a hand through Billy’s hair. It feels. Good. Real good.

Steve starts cutting, and Billy winces at the sound of the scissors closing around his hair. His past.

“I like to think it isn’t just part of me.” The comment comes out of nowhere, surprising Billy more than it surprises Steve.

“What?” Steve’s voice is calm, the sniping of the scissors is methodical.

“The anger. The aggression. The tendency to hurt. I like to think it’s not in my nature, but my nurture.”

“I don’t think you’re violent.” It’s a laughable statement.

“You’re joking. Did you forget most of last year? I’m the one with the bad memory here, Harrington.” Billy can practically hear Steve’s disapproving mother’s frown behind him.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Right, sure, whatever, bullshit. But what about…you know. Last winter.”

“What happened before that?” asks Steve patiently.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Joyce. My dad sent me after Max. Found her at Byers’ place with you. Hurt you a whole fucking lot.”

“Is that all he did? He just told you to go after her?” Billy ignores the way his stomach does flips when Steve runs a hand through Billy’s hair, straightening it out.

“So you’re my fuckin’ therapist now? What do you want me to say? He kissed my head and sent my on my merry way? That’s now how he works. I’ll admit, I was saved by his new wifey. He can’t use me as a punching bag when she’s standing right there, not like he did with mom. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me. And the insults weren’t too bad either. He forgot to call me a fag.”

“Oh. Shit, Billy, I-“

“It’s fine,” cuts in Billy, hating the pity in Steve’s voice. He’s not the one who should have it.

“You didn’t deserve that.” This time it does make Billy laugh. It’s a hollow and haunting sound, an echo of his charming boyish laugh.

“Sure I did, dipshit. You’re probably one of the people who knows best why I did, in fact, deserve it.”

“So then I’m the best person. to tell you that you aren’t that person. You haven’t been that person since you left him and all of that shit. Let me ask you something. Do you want to hurt people now?”

“No!” Billy startles himself with his sudden enthusiasm, and Steve jumps a little behind him. Steve is quicker to recover, though, and he runs a hand through the hair he hasn’t cut yet. It’s soothing. Billy barely resists the urge to lean into it. Ask for more.

“Did you ever want to hurt people? Like really, truly want to see them hurt?” Billy has to think about the question. Steve deserves an real answer.

Flashes fly through his mind, bringing on too familiar emotions. Anger, a need to make someone, anyone, feel the way that he’s feeling. Fear that not having this power over people would make him weak. Horror at what he’s about to do. Detachment, painful as he grinned and laughed.

“I just wanted to have control. Take some of the hurt I was feeling and give it to other people. It was a rush that I was addicted to. The thrill of the fight, the feel of flesh against my fist, the look of blood on my knuckles. I liked fighting, still do. I didn’t like hurting people.” Steve puts the scissors down on the car hood, fluffing Billy’s hair and sliding down next to him.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the fists of two people I’m now okay with,” admits Steve. “Believe me, I know now to take a beating. I’ve been heartbroken by two other people I’m close friends with. I forgive too easily.”

“So you’re a compulsive truster and I’m a compulsive fighter. What a pair we make, huh Harrington?”

“Yeah.” agrees Steve, bumping his shoulder against Billy. “What a pair.”

Maybe it’s the haircut. Maybe it’s the sunlight confessions. Maybe it’s how carefree and happy Steve looks. But Billy feels lighter. Like there was this unspoken weight he had been carrying around that no one knew about. Or everyone knew about, but couldn’t help.

The thing is, Steve didn’t even say anything. He didn’t promise a better future, he didn’t say that he was safe. He shared some of the personal pain they all carry around.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry. I am sorry, you know. I. I didn’t-“

<i>Mean to hurt you. Want to hurt you. Mean to let you see how much I hurt. Want to need you.</i>

“I know. I’m sorry too. Someone should’ve known. About you.” Steve leans closer, and Billy chalks it up to the night chill as the sun settles below the glistening rocks.

“I was good at hiding things I didn’t want people to see.”

“Yeah, well you’re not alone there either.”

“You good at hiding, pretty boy?” Billy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, and, is Billy imagining it or is Steve looking at him the same way?

“Apparently not good enough,” jokes Steve. His smile falls off of his lips, and he leans minutely closer. If Billy wasn’t paying attention to all of Steve…

The way his hair glows white and gold in the sunset. That wrinkle between his brows. The way one of his eyes is a little darker than the other. How he smells like cigarette smoke and that fancy hairspray, even when his hair is blown from the wind.

The way he looked that night. Cool and collected, then terrified and fighting for his life. So beautiful in the harsh starlight and then so abstract in the broken kitchen light.

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is filling that gap. Kissing Billy like he’s trying to sooth the pain from their past. Maybe he is. Billy wouldn’t put it past him.

His hand finds a way to Steve’s hair, the same way Steve’s been running his through Billy’s now shorter hair. He curls it into the strands, holding on tightly. Soft.

The way Steve sighs his name takes Billy away from it all. The pain. The memories. The lack of memories.

They lay out under the stars for a few minutes, but Billy knows Joyce will freak out if she can’t find him. Not because she doesn’t trust him, he has to remind himself, but because she doesn’t trust others.

On the drive home Steve plays that pop stuff again, and Billy gives him the appropriate shit for it, a smile on his face the whole time. His fingers laced through Steve’s.

They arrive at the house, and Steve declines to come in. Gives the excuse that his parents will be waiting up when they both know it’s not true. Billy can’t blame him. Billy understands needing to be alone, needing to get away.

Billy leans through Steve’s window and wished that he could kiss him goodbye. Well. The teasing will have to do.

“Night, King Steve.”

“Goodnight, Asshole.”

If Joyce gives him a knowing smile at the door, Billy doesn’t smile back. Probably.

He definitely does. Maybe he deserves the smile. If Steve thinks he does.

[aetherwytch]

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself.  Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

[sinnhelmingr]

tell me about heldolin possible reconcilliation? // @usedhearts​

rubs my filthy little gay hands together. oh yeah baby talk complicated wlw to me--

So, the groundwork for this hypothetical: Our little AU for 3, where Gwyndolin is saved from her canonical fate by a daring rescue on the part of her ex-wife. The two have been distant for some decades, ranging from cool hostility to open disregard, but with that underlying air of disappointment lacing every interaction. There’s nothing to salvage, but Hel’s not the kind of person that can leave anyone to what was planned, regardless of their interpersonal issues. One fraught road trip through enemy territory until they reach safety later...

Well there’s a lot to work through. First being Lin’s lingering trauma surrounding her captivity. Her we get the first hints of reconciliation in Hel’s refusal to let her deal with it alone. Yes, Gwynevere can help, and yes, her realm is safe and offers whatever support the wayward queen requires, but no one here saw it. No one here understood what the Valley had become. Even if they have lingering disagreements, Hel is the one sleeping on the floor of Lin’s chamber rather than in her own bed, because she can’t stand to think of someone she once cared for dealing with all of this alone. It helps, in some way, because Lin does need someone there and is going through it trying to cope.

Every possible reconciliation attempt proceeds from there. Hel has gone through, well, hell and back to save Lin and is still devoted to making sure she’s safe, but it’s not romantic. It’s honestly just Hel doing what she perceives as the right thing. Whether it helps or not, or her role could be filled by anyone else Lin cared for, it doesn’t matter because she’s the one there. And like it or not, she’s not going anywhere. From this, we have a variety of options but the two I personally see working out are these: 

Lin coming to rely on that, sort of clinging to Hel even if not literally. When not dealing with any official business regarding the ongoing political nightmare, she might drift towards Hel, wherever she is within the palace. 

Alternatively, given the mood of most of their interactions post-divorce, there’s a chance it starts as resentment. That Lin can’t stand to be in her shadow, clinging to her in the daylight when her struggles are easier to bear. 

Either way, the two are at least within physical proximity to one another, given Lin’s mental health and coping skills. Which is, inevitably, going to lead to a lot more run ins with her nephew.

Hel in a lot of ways has come to care for Lothric as if he were her own, because my God someone has to love that kid beyond his brother. Someone has to care about his wellbeing. He’s irreverent and he’s anxious and he’s struggling but determined to keep going, hardly the pious saint of the royal family’s propaganda. His wit is sharp and at times cruel, and he’s unsure about a lot of things but trying to hide that fact. Lin’s going to have to, through watching Hel interact with him, accept that her nephew is in fact more than a sacrifice -- for now. I think it’s Lin showing initiative to defrost ice queen around Lothric is going to start changing Hel’s demeanor towards her as well.

Like that’s not to say Lin changing overnight to team ‘hey yeah let’s not roast a living person with autonomy who never had a chance to live!’ is what it would take. That’d be unrealistic and OOC. I think it’s just. Hel being able to see that Lin can set aside her pride or stubbornness just long enough to get to know her sacrificial lamb as a person, as something more than what the rest of the world makes him by hers and Nev’s design. Lin defrosts to Lothric, Hel defrosts to Lin. It’s equivalent.

I think that would be the tipping point to sort of lessen the feeling of obligation between them. Maybe they can finally start talking again like people who are on at least civil terms, if not outright friendly. In my head it plays a little like their initial childhood interactions where Lin is reticent but observant and Hel is the more daring of them. She leads, and for a time, to a certain degree, Lin follows. And during the course of the narrative, as the latter grows stronger, as she acclimates herself to life outside of a cage, Hel starts to back off more and more. 

Maybe Lin won’t need her so much now, maybe things will go back to normal. And instead, Lin still leaves the door open between them, as it were. Just because she’s no longer so reliant on Hel doesn’t mean she wants her gone. 

Or maybe she tries to keep her distance if she’s still fighting against certain imminent realizations. Maybe she tries to shut the door but finds, as always, Hel has a key and she just. Accepts it over time. It’s her choice whether to come and go, just as she can choose to tell her to leave. 

Another vital step in their potential reconciliation is that it not be built upon reliance or obligation -- now they can see each other as relative equals.

By this point Hel’s been doing everything short of actually saying the words to convey she’s not stopped loving Lin. Even if she doesn’t realize it, there’s no other way people can take her actions. For Lin, I don’t know if it’s that simple but we can talk it out next time you’re online because Christ I’ve been typing this so long the weekend is over and you are back at work. The vibe I get from your Lin is that even if she cares she’s daddy’s girl and stubborn as hell once she’s been hurt. She’s either unsure or unwilling to convey that she’d like to patch things up. Which is valid, she’s been through a lot, there’s so much to work through before she even thinks of romance ever again. She’s especially been through the loss of her daughter, and that bond comes before anything else.

(Sidenote for those who are not privy to our discord lore: Let’s put a pin in the fact that at present Lothric has decided his salvation lies in overriding his mother’s decision to just lock him in the kiln once he’s ‘ready.’ He’s seen how Hel can influence his aunt and said ‘Yes, of course, I have to Parent Trap them into a reconciliation and then Hel will convince Aunt Gwyndolin I deserve to live and Mother won’t have any allies left!’ All the while his primary lackey is just questioning what version of the Parent Trap he saw because that’s not the plot at all-- /j. Anyway there’s three idiots -- two princes and a physician -- out here trying to play matchmaker despite the fact none of them have any romantic experience. This can only end well.)

I feel like the real test is going to be whether distance makes the heart grow fonder. Hel’s got other responsibilities out there, and once assured Lin is in a more stable place, that others will be there for her in a way that helps, she has to take care of them. She has to be with her own people, has to make sure they are safe, keep an eye on the world beyond. She’s gone like a thief in the night, and Lin has to learn how to navigate the world without her, furthering the balancing act between them returning to normal. Hel rode off on her big black horse and no one cna say for sure when she’ll be back. She comes and goes through the kingdom like a storm, staying just long enough to cause problems but gone with the slightest shift in atmosphere. The horse comes back only weeks later. Its rider does not. Instead, perched upon that black stallion is a familiar crossbreed, tattered but hanging in there.

Hel saved her, at the cost of her own freedom. What can Lin possibly think about that?

So it’s a flurry of Lin campaigning for her sister to send a party to save Hel, Nev saying that she can’t do it yet, possibly as she is is too busy with the fracturing of her own kingdom to lend the men. All the same, she forbids Lin from going off and doing something drastic. Tells her younger sister to stay with her daughter and help Yorshka heal. She needs it. Which works bc we have that big dramatic Hel returning to the castle drenched in blood and falling cinematically into Lin’s arms. It’s the drama these wlw deserve. 

And as we know, Lin insists on being Hel’s own caretaker while she recovers. To the point she scrutinizes every move Lothric’s physician makes in checking that the newly returned Death isn’t badly injured. Lothric thinks he stays winning because now Lin’s doing the same ‘demonstrate love but don’t speak it’ bullshit that Hel is so adept at. He’s buying his physician drinks after this despite her protests that alcohol does not sit well with her--

Hel eventually recovers enough from the strenuous battle and escape to start moving around the castle more. She confesses that, despite gossip saying this was some act of passion to show her devotion, she didn’t do this for Lin. She did it because it was the right thing to do, because Yorshka was in danger, and it had nothing to do with her mother. Something that breaks Lin’s shell completely because it proves Hel is still the woman she fell in love with. She didn’t risk her life and return the one Lin loves the most as a hollow token meant to win her heart again, she did it because her conscience has never steered her wrong. 

Now try this one on for size: One day it dawns on Hel that something is missing. She tears up her room seeking it only for Lin to finally be That Bitch and hold out her exes wedding pendant -- one she found that Hel never stopped wearing, if the fact it was still around her throat when Lin stripped her of her bloody dress is any indication. Hel’s been found out. Lin’s about to start asking some serious questions.

And if one of them can finally confess at this point that whether the love stopped or never did they feel it now just as they did before, that’s not the end. That’s not reconciliation. Because the fact remains that they broke up over an act that Hel considered pure evil, when Lin helped decide the ultimate fate of Lothric. Reconciliation is going to depend wholly on how AU we want to go, if Hel and the revived Artorias are able to convince Lin that this is heinous and even if it is what her father would have wanted, it isn’t right, it makes her just as terrible as he was. If Lin can finally see to reason or at least sentiment over legacy and duty, then I can see the pair moving towards actual reconciliation and spending at least the last days of a dying world together and at peace with their ultimate fates. If not... Oof. There might be other ways to make it work once Lothric goes rogue and says he won’t be kindling, if Lin can admit that yes, that means all the cruelty was for nothing and she was wrong (like her sister does), then maybe some slowburn reconciliation could take place.

But ultimately it’s going to depend on both character development on Lin’s part, whether by choice or in spite of resistance, and Hel proving that all the things Lin has accused her of (changing, being untrue, being corrupted by heresies) are untrue. Changing and steadfast characterization in tandem. Barely even friends (after the divorce) then somebody bends unexpectedly--

[letsyesnomaybe]

Never Gonna Wanna Let Me Go | Part 5

Zayn Malik is one of the highest paid escorts in London. He’s good at his job, he knows this. But it’s not his chosen field, it’s easy money so he can have a chance to pursue his chosen field without becoming homeless. His employer Caroline has many rules to keep him safe but Zayn only has one ‘Don’t Get Attached’. Of course, there was always going to be one, the guy who would come in to the picture and make Zayn’s easy job almost impossible.

Liam Payne. Twenty Six. Made his money by inheriting his father’s music business after he passed away. Quite well known so expect publicity. Wants a pretty face on his arm to cover the events he has to attend while in town on business. Make sure he knows if he wants extra he has to pay. You’ve got your usual expenses on your card, don’t go overboard like last time. I mean it, Malik! Your share for the weekend will go in your account on Monday when you’ve done your job.

Love you babes, stay safe, C x

Part 1, 2 ,3 & 4  (also on ao3)

Liam’s father’s cabin is a literal cabin, which Zayn wasn’t expecting. He also wasn’t expecting it to be in the middle of nowhere, they have to take a plane, helicopter and car to get there. He actually starts to worry a bit as the driver pulls away from them that he’s suddenly trapped in a remote part of Scotland with a guy he’s only known for three days. 

But then Liam announces he wants to fuck on the deck out back and he offers Zayn the biggest goofiest smile imaginable and he thinks if this is how he dies then it’s not that bad of a way to go. 

After they get done being exhibitionist they split to shower in two of the five bathrooms inside the cabin. 

Zayn’s washing both his and Liam’s come off what feels like is every inch of his body and singing ‘Can’t help falling in love with you’ loudly to combat against the water pounding down when Liam enters the bathroom he’s in. 

He doesn’t notice straight away because the glass of the shower is quite steamed up so he doesn’t halt his singing but the moment he opens the shower door to find the other lad leaning on the sink, he instantly clamps his mouth shut. 

“Your voice is beautiful.” Liam compliments with wide curious eyes. 

Zayn offers him a smile as he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. 

“You shouldn’t let a voice like that go to waste, Zayn.” Liam tells him. 

“I don’t sing in front of other people,” Zayn informs him and steps closer so he can cup Liam’s cheek, gently stroking his thumb across the younger lad’s freshly shaved cheek. “You’re one of the very lucky few.” 

“I know but you could,” Liam argues and he looks suddenly very serious. “I could set it up for you.” 

“I don’t want another contract from you, Liam.” Zayn snaps and drops his hand, it’s harsh but he hopes it gets his point across. 

Liam doesn’t look hurt like he expects and Zayn realises it’s because he’s not even listening when Zayn speaks, he’s suddenly got his business hat on. 

“This could change your life.” Liam decides. 

Zayn decides he’s obviously not going to get anywhere with whatever train of thought Liam is on so instead he decides to leave the bathroom, thinking if he walks away from the conversation then Liam might finally realise he doesn’t want to take part in it. 

“You won’t take money from me because you said you pay your own way in this life,“ Liam continues as he follows him out, obviously not getting the hint. “This could be an honest way to make your money.” 

Zayn feels like that’s a punch to the gut, even if it wasn’t supposed to be and he only has to spin around to look at Liam, for him to quickly retract the words and have guilt consume his face instead. 

"I’m sorry,” Liam says quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, Z, it wasn’t supposed to come out that way.” 

Zayn gets a little smile on his lips from the nickname he wasn’t expecting and the moment he does, one appears on Liam’s lips too. 

“It could change your life, Z.” Liam states again, picked up on the fact the nickname was what made Zayn smile. 

“It doesn’t always change it for the better.” Zayn argues. 

Liam looks curious. 

“Harry’s mate was a busker in London, got picked up by some big record company.” Zayn explains. “It changed his life but in my opinion, it wasn’t for the better.” 

Liam looks curious. “What’s his name?” 

"What?” Zayn asks confused. 

“The busker,” Liam pushes. “What’s his name?” 

“Ed.” Zayn replies but doesn’t expand because he knows that’s all Liam will need. 

“As in Ed Sheeran?!” Liam expresses. 

Zayn nods his head. "It didn’t change Ed, he’ll pop in to Harry’s bakery for a chat now and then and he’s still the best person to have a quiet pint with. But god forbid if you wanted to go for more than one, he isn’t left alone, his face is so well known now that even walking down the street is a task. 

“Surely, people look at you when you walk down the street anyway?” Liam scoffs. 

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees because he’s not oblivious to how he looks, he knows it’s why he’s so good at what he does. “But having people glance at you as you pass them on the street is very different to attention artists like Ed get when they go out in public.” 

“There’s way to combat though,” Liam tries. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.” 

“I’m not a performer, Liam.” Zayn says finally. “I don’t want to be one either so will you drop it, please?” 

“You don’t think what you do is a performance?” Liam asks. “You don’t put on a show with every bloke Caroline sets you up with?” 

Zayn steps closer so he can reach out to slip his hands over Liam’s hips and offers him a sweet smile. 

“Not every bloke.” He points out. 

“This isn’t a show?” Liam checks. 

Zayn drops his hands and takes a physical step back. “You think that it is?” 

“No, no.” Liam says quickly and drags his fingers through his hair, it gives Zayn a perfect view of his bicep and the nail marks Zayn had dug in to not an hour ago. “Fuck, I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?” 

“Liam?” Zayn asks. 

Liam drops his hand and looks at him expectantly. 

“I wanted you to stop talking.” Zayn decides. 

Liam face goes through many emotions before it finally settles on humour. “You dick! I thought you were really pissed at me!” 

“I will be if you don’t come over here and fuck me again.” Zayn decides with a loose grin. 

Liam doesn’t need anymore instruction as he stalks across the room and kisses Zayn with so much passion, it makes him wish he’d never have to stop. 

***

They manage three peaceful days at the cabin before it all turns to shit. 

Zayn truly believes they didn’t have to fly all the way to Scotland to spend three days fucking each other raw, watching every marvel movie known to man and eating so much shitty food that Zayn’s sure Liam’s perfect body is slowly turning in to a dad bod. 

They’ve moved on to a Harry Potter marathon because they’d had an argument over which house they should both to belong to while showering together that morning. 

They’ve got ‘Goblet Of Fire’ ready and set to go when Liam’s phone buzzes with a name unfamiliar to Zayn. 

Liam picks up and frowns. “I’ll be right back.” 

“I’ll make more popcorn.” Zayn decides. 

Liam leans over and steals a quick kiss and when he pulls back, he smiles so hard his eyes disappear which he had started doing on their second day there and it hadn’t taken long for Zayn decide it was his favourite Liam smile. 

“I won’t be long.” Liam promises 

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Liam.” Zayn says with his own cheeky grin that he thinks Liam loves himself because he usually gets his favourite Liam smile in return to it. 

Liam grasps him by the chin this time and Zayn’s worried he’s done something wrong before Liam presses a more demanding kiss to his lips. 

“Your phone.” Zayn mumbles against 

“I’ll ring them back.” Liam decides and throws the phone aside so he can continue with what he’d started. 

They don’t let it go too far, only far enough that when they both pull apart, they have to adjust themselves before heading off to do their separate tasks. 

Though Zayn only manages a few minutes in the kitchen before he remembers he has no idea how to work the microwave so goes on the search for Liam to demand he be shown how to do it again. It’s not his fault, each time Liam has shown him how do it, he’d got distracted by how adorable he is while being instructive. 

He only makes it to the sliding door that leads out to the balcony Liam had taken his call on, when the other lad’s voice stops him. 

“--to myself,” Liam says to whoever is on the phone. “I wanted to relax, that’s all. I’ll be going to LA in a few days, I need to or Simmons will use it as his chance to turn the board completely against him.” 

The person on the other end must not be happy with that response because he sighs. 

“I wanted to show him I’m not a fucking coward,” He argues. “I won’t hide who I am just because he doesn’t approve.” 

Zayn feels a little proud that the boy he’s sure he’s slowly falling in love with is so sure of who he is and is happy to make sure other people know that too. 

“No, he was just someone I paid to attend with me.” Liam continues. “I know, yeah, he was worth the money for sure.” 

Zayn feels suddenly sick because those words hurt. Of course, he’s been called worse and to his face. But for some reason hearing Liam say it made him feel far dirtier and far more 

“I’m no hiding anything,” Liam argues. “I’m here alone, I told you, I needed a break but I’ll fly out in a few days.” 

Zayn doesn’t wait for the conversation to continue and for have himself hurt by more words. 

Instead, he drops the bowl of popcorn kernels on to the table by the door, making sure it makes a loud of noise to catch Liam’s attention. 

Though he doesn’t wait for Liam to come back inside, instead he rushes through the house to what they had claimed as ‘their’ bedroom to pack his bags to get away from what’s causing him pain as soon as possible. 

Liam’s worried call of his name follows him upstairs and Zayn waits in the centre of the bedroom for him to enter. 

“What am I?” He asks, the moment the other lad walks through the door. 

“I didn’t mean it like you heard it.” Liam tries. 

“What am I?” Zayn demands again. “Because you’re not paying me anymore but you made damn sure whoever was on that call knew you were alone so what the fuck am I, Liam? Why the fuck did you bring me here?” 

Liam looks lost on how he’s supposed to reply, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What am I?!” Zayn ask a little louder but he doesn’t give Liam a chance to answer.

‘You’re a warm body to fuck,’ Louis’ voice echoes in his memory. ‘That’s all you ever were to me, babe’. 

Zayn starts walking around room, collecting things that are his to shove back in his suitcase so he can leave.

“Stop.” Liam pleads, reaching for his arm after he’s dumped a load of clothes in to the suitcase.

Zayn does stop but his chest is heaving as he stands now toe to toe with Liam. “I can’t do this again.”

“What do you mean again?” Liam worries.

Zayn moves away from him to collect his shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“Zayn, stop.” Liam pleads. 

Zayn feels frantic and he must look it because the moment he stops in the middle of the room, he can feel how fast his heart is racing 

“Can we talk about this, please?” Liam requests. “More rationally than we currently are.”

‘We can talk about it,’ Louis says. ‘If you want to, if it will help.’ 

“Fuck off.” Zee screams at the memories. 

Liam’s eyes go wide and he takes a slight step back from Zayn. 

“I want to go.” Zayn decides. 

“Zayn,” Liam pleads. 

“I want to go, Liam.” Zayn states more demanding. 

Liam lets out a haggard breath and he’s almost pulling his hair out now. “Can’t you stay and talk to me for a little bit longer?” 

“I’ll let Caroline know you ned to be charged for four extra days and three nights.” Zayn replies because he wants Liam to hurt as much as him. 

“Z, please.” He says this time. 

Zayn snaps his eyes in Liam’s direction and he’s now even more furious because how dare he try to use what’s supposed to be an attentive nickname to make Zayn submit. 

“Book me a fucking car, Liam.” He barks. 

Liam nods obediently and walks back out of the bedroom. 

Zayn turns back around and zips up his suitcase before dragging it off the bed. He’d managed to pull on a hoodie over his bare torso and slipped on the trainers Liam had bought him at the airport on the way over, before the younger boy returns to the room. 

“Your cars on it’s way,” Liam says and he’s got his wallet in his hand. “Five hundred a night, right? Three hundred for the days? That’s almost three grand.” 

“Two thousand seven hundred.” Zayn tells him quietly because his plan had backfired and now his chest is physically aching with how much it hurts to return to being treated like a prostitute when he’s spent almost four days feeling like a boyfriend. 

“I’ve only got one grand on me,” Liam explains, as he holds out the cash. “I’ll send the rest to Caroline.” 

Zayn looks from the cash and up to meet Liam’s eyes but the soft boy he’d had for the past four days has somehow disappeared (like he’d been some dream Zayn had made up) and the arsehole he’d met almost a week ago now had returned. 

“You need the money, Zayn.” Liam tells him as he shakes the hand that’s holding it, to intrigue Zayn to take it. “Take it.” 

Zayn puffs his chest out, determined to hold his own, at least until he’s safely in the back of the car and on his way back to London where he will soon be reunited with the one in his man in his life he’s sure loves him for nothing more than simply existing. 

“Take it.” Liam says more demanding. 

“Fuck you.” Zayn spits at him. 

Liam at least looks taken back by Zayn’s outburst and Zayn uses that shock to his advantage as he picks up his suitcase and makes sure to barge his shoulders in to Liam's as he storms past him to get out of the room. 

Liam doesn’t follow him and Zayn is slightly glad that he doesn’t because he doesn’t last until he’s in the safety of the car. Instead the moment he’s outside the cabin, the door slamming closed behind him, he’s crying so hard it feels like he’s never going to be able to breathe again. 

The car turns up ten minutes later and he’d managed to calm himself down enough that he can coherently tell the driver where he wants to go. 

***

One he’s back in London Zayn heads straight to the pub that Caroline and her husband own (and she runs her side business out of) to get the inevitable bollocking over with. 

“Alright, man.” John greets as he enters. “She’s out back, cursing your name I reckon.” 

Zayn nods thankfully and offers John a sultry smile as he passes to get to where Caroline’s office is at the back of the pub. 

“Not a chance,” John shouts after him. “She’d have my balls if I went anywhere near your right now.” 

Zayn laughs and blows the older man a kiss before heading to the back room where Caroline conducts her business. 

Caroline doesn’t look with her usual bright smile when he enters and that’s all he needs to know she’s well and truly pissed. 

“I have six main rules, Zayn.” Caroline starts gently. “What are they?”

Zayn sighs. “I know.”

“What are they?!” She demands, finally looking up and she looks more upset than angry.

“Text you if plans change, never go out of the country, don’t go near Styles, don’t smoke, always use protection and don’t let feelings get in the way of business.” Zayn lists off.

“And how many of those rules did you break with Liam?” Caroline asks.

“All of them.” Zayn mumbles.

“How many?” She insists.

“All of them.” He says louder. “But technically Scotland is still in the same country or same nation, at least.”

“City,” Caroline corrects. “You’re not supposed to leave the city unless I’ve given the okay.”

“Sorry.” Zayn says simply.

Caroline sighs and sinks back in to her desk chair. “Do you think I do these things because I don’t care?”

“I know you care, Lin.” Zayn tells her.

“Then why would you put yourself in situations that could get you hurt?” Caroline cries. 

“You know why,” He says and shakes his head. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out he got our number through Louis?”

“So?” Caroline replies. “I thought we were over the Louis drama?”

Zayn sighs. “We are.”

“Is Liam our new Louis?” Caroline wonders.

“He’s not anything,” Zayn assures her. “I think,”

Caroline raises her eyebrows when he pauses.

“Yeah.” He says to himself as he makes the final decision. “I quit.”

Caroline nods like that’s what she was expecting.

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of it?” Zayn asks.

Caroline shakes her head and gets up from her chair. “It’s been a long time coming, right?”

Zayn nods. “Think I needed the push, you know.”

“Yeah,” Caroline agrees and walks around the desk. “You’ve always been too good for this line of work, babe. It’s about time you got out there to show the world what you’ve really got to offer.”

“Didn’t have you down for soppy goodbyes.” Zayn teases.

“It’s not goodbye,” Caroline scolds. “Livy’s birthday is next week and Styles promised he’d make cupcakes.”

“He’s gonna burn down our kitchen again.” Zayn complains.

Caroline smiles and gestures for him to get up so she can pull him in to a hug. 

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” She requests. “Money or somewhere to hold one those like art gallery things.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees. “Thanks, Lin. For everything.”

“It’s always been you, babe.” Lin argues. “You’ve been the brains and beauty.”

Zayn squeezes her when he hears her sniffle.

“Right, I’ll see you next week for Livy’s birthday.” She says as she lets him go and ushers him out. “Tell Styles if those cupcakes are burnt he better not show his face.”

“I’ll make sure to.” Zayn promises and walks towards the door.

“Zayn?”

Zayn turns around with his hand holding open the door.

“You deserve the world,” Caroline tells him. “Don’t ever let some dickhead have you believe you don’t. If he’s not willing to give you it then he’s not worth your time.”

“You should write hallmark cards.” Zayn teases.

“Bugger off already.” Caroline retorts but she’s smiling.

Zayn blows her a kiss and finally leaves, walking away from the only reason he’d managed keep food on the table and clothes on his back, for the past seven years. 

[incorrectsanders]

Omg if he was BOTH that would be absolutely fucking wild

You know what the best part is? He’d make a totally believable college professor. Fits right in with this one professor I had

Her: When I die, burn me up, put my ashes in a coffee can, and throw me off a fucking cliff.

Class:

Her:

Me: Do you want us to take the ashes out of-

Her: IT HAS TO BE FOLGERS.

I know this is a little ooc for Remus too, but I like the idea that Remus and Roman actually get along. If you have a sibling, you know how you talk constant shit about them but the second someone else does, you’d kill that person? Yeah, like that.

***

Virgil was done. He was in over his head with his professor, the man was insane. A newly hired PhD that was taking on his first three students to sponsor: Micheal, Nikki, and Virgil.

It was almost a year into the program. By now they were used to the man bounding into rooms, screaming about ass. It didn’t bother them anymore. They were sitting in the office working on the research project that was due in three more weeks, and their professor looked up from his desk.

“Hey guys, what flavor deodorant should I try next?”

“Flavor?” Nikki asked, looking up from her screen.

“Deodorants don’t have flavors, you don’t eat deodorant.” Virgil said, glancing up from his as well. He stopped when his eyes fell on Doctor Duke, who was mid chew, holding up a fresh stick of deodorant with a bite taken out of it.

Micheal looked up as well, and all three students stared at him out of pure shock.

“Maybe you don’t.” He said.

They were all silent.

“Oh my god, we have three years left with this man.” Micheal said.

Duke only threw his head back and laughed.

***

“He ate a stick of deodorant, guys, he ate a stick of deodorant!” Virgil shrieked as he stomped into the apartment and dropped his bag.

Logan and Roman looked up from where they were cooking dinner. Well, where Logan was cooking dinner and Roman was sitting on the counter and keeping him company.

“... What?” Logan asked, turning the heat down on the stove. He moved over and sat Virgil in a chair, then started massaging his shoulders to try and calm him down. Virgil just groaned and rested his head in his hands.

“Doctor Duke. Today, he asked me, Nikki, and Micheal what flavor deodorant he should try next, and then he ate a stick of deodorant!” Virgil shrieked.

Logan and Roman shared a look.

“Okay, he has to be fucking with you guys.” Roman said decisively.

“Why?!”

“He’s a psychology professor. Probably a social experiment, he wants to see which one of you goes insane first.” Logan shrugged.

“Babe, not helping.” Virgil whined.

Logan chuckled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Virgil’s lips before going back to cooking.

“What’s this guys name, anyways? Let’s look him up.” Roman hummed. He wanted to find something weird, something that might make Virgil feel better.... or maybe something normal?

“Remus Duke.”

Roman rose an eyebrow at the first name, but shrugged it off and googled it. He froze when the picture of the man came up, though.

“What?” Virgil asked. “Something horrible pop up? Show me. You can’t phase me anymore.”

“ViVi... this is my brother.” Roman said slowly.

His brother?

They all knew Roman had a brother once upon a time. He was ten years older than Roman and they had adored each other. Despite Remus’ dark humor and their usual sibling spats- including the one where Remus locked Roman into a closet for almost an entire day- they got along quite well.

But when Roman was eight, Remus ‘moved out’. He came to the family functions less and less and eventually just stopped. After that, Roman’s parents forbid him from making contact with him.

They tried a few months after Roman was kicked out. Joan and Logan tried for days to find him anywhere on the web, but couldn’t. There was no trace of a Remus Prince anywhere.

“He must have changed his name.” Roman whispered.

“To Duke?” Logan asked, glancing over. Virgil shot him a look and he raised his hands in defeat, then went back to cooking.

“I... When we used to play games, he used to pretend to be a duke. I said I was the prince and he couldn’t be one too.” Roman said softly, placing a hand over his mouth and trying to quell the tears.

Virgil had to bring them together. He knew he did, sometimes Roman would tell them fond stories of his older brother and how insane he’d been, the crazy things he would do. How it only made Roman laugh while it disgusted their parents. He knew just how much his best friend missed his family, and if he could give him his brother, at least...

“Princey, come here...” Virgil whispered, pulling him into hug. Roman easily leaned into it.

Remus changing his name to Duke showed that he still thought about Roman and still loved Roman. Of course Roman needed to see him again...

Logan kneeled down next to them, a hand resting on Roman’s back. “This is a good thing, Ro baby. You can see him now.”

“I know...”

***

Roman didn’t want to wait. The next day, Virgil led him into his office after class holding his hand. The others fingers were twitching and his palm was sweaty and he was visibily shaking.

He might not recognize you. He’d said. You said he hasn’t seen you since you were ten, right?

When they got in, Remus was sitting at his desk with a baby alligator next to him. Virgil didn’t question it and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was used to Remus’ antics at this point or if he was focused on Roman.

“Hey Professor Duke?”

“Ah! Virgil! I wanted your opinion on the name for my new-“ Remus looked up, and his speech broke off as his eyes fell on Roman. He cleared his throat, and Virgil could see exactly what he was thinking. No, surely not. “Who’s... this?”

“Um... This is my best friend...” Virgil said, glancing at Roman. His grip was crushing Virgil’s hand and his eyes were already filling with tears. “Roman-“

“Prince.” Remus finished. Roman let out a small squeak and Remus jumped up and over his desk so fast that Virgil actually let go of Roman’s hand and grabbed the baby alligator on the desk to keep it from getting crushed.

“Honestly, you’re going to drag this poor baby into an office and then almost kill him.” Virgil mumbled under his breath, petting the top of it’s head.

He couldn’t help but smile at the brothers before him, though, hugging tightly with their noses buried into each other’s shoulders. Maybe Remus wasn’t completely insane after all.

A little while later, after they calmed down and pulled away, Remus gave a little laugh. “That’s why I was so fond of Virgil.” He said, rubbing at his eyes and smiling over at him. “He reminded me of you.”

“You... do and say the things you do in front of people you’re fond of?” Virgil asked slowly.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

Virgil just let it go.

“Remus, I’ve missed you so much!” Roman cried. “You were my best friend, I...”

“Mom and Dad kicked me out.” Remus said. “They didn’t like the whole... liking butthole’s thing mixed with the no filter thing.”

Virgil sighed, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding the alligator up to rub his temple. “Gay. You could just say you’re gay.”

“I know.” Roman sighed. “I kind of figured. They kicked me out when I came out too. Virgil and his dad let me stay with them until I could get on my feet.”

Remus smiled, looking over at him. “Thank you, Virgil. For taking care of him.”

Maybe Remus wasn’t so bad after all.

[punkscowardschampions]

Fearghal & Kaitlin

Fearghal: [So the setup is sending her a postcard pretending to be a mate visiting in England for whatever reason (could be fam you get the vibe, nothing suspect given the time this is) but giving enough info that she 1. Knows it is him 2. has the number of at least a phonebox nearby if not a phone in his care home 3. a time when he plans to first call the phonebox nearest their home in Ireland, assumedly this is some sneaky twin shit they've pulled similar enough before that she can catch on without any of the rest of the fam also doing so; only question is how long do we want it to be since he left?] Kaitlin: [3 months ish later then and they've turned 15 but only just for our ref how do we think the situation is with his dad etc like would he just be acting like he's dead cos is to him?] Fearghal: [basically my vibe was they wanted to weaponize Tabby killing herself for their gain, like make it something political even though literally not about that bar the fact her family and his family and co didn't want them together and she was a dramatic teenage girl in love (no offense but like) and so when he wouldn't go along with that there was a massive fight, actual, between him and his dad and then Fearghal left 'cos there's never any option but to do as your told with this fam and he can't lose face with all the other people etc etc and the story the dad is telling the fam etc is that Fearghal deserted them which not untrue but yeah, good enough for all the olders to disown him too so it'd be like we don't talk about him and if someone else bring him up you denounce him] Kaitlin: [let's say there's a crying baby in the background cos like in my OG post she can use her youngest sister needing fresh air as an excuse so casually left her outside the phonebox but might be able to hear her if she's going for it] Kaitlin: How ya Fearghal: K? Fuck's sake, you've not had a bastard, have ya? 's'not been that long, like Kaitlin: Catch yourself on! mind how ya ma was fit to drop, you eejit? well we're all lurred she had another girl who I'm hauling about as my cover, so I am Fearghal: [Laughs] Still easy to windup then [slight pause to take in that it's a girl and is here, like not the biggest shock but also literally no way of knowing at this time so] And go on, don't leave me in suspense, what name they burden the poor fucker with Kaitlin: [makes an unimpressed noise like fuck off] full of that good craic you are, bet the brits are buzzing to hear it. You ready? Niamh Roisin, it's a cracker, like [sighs] Fearghal: [laughs some more] Yeah, catch me on that most wanted list, obviously [makes a wincing noise like no] Christ, actually lost it fully then, has she? Made it longer than some but dunno if mentals get to heaven, haveta ask Father Quigley, like Kaitlin: [laughs herself] yeah yeah [makes like a idk noise] can you lose what you've never had? A good catholic'll find a way, to be sure, and she is that, our ma [makes a scornful noise at the mention of the priest as is standard for her] Fearghal: [makes a mm noise to agree] Suppose so, don't reckon much was said 'bout being good to 'em once you had 'em, so be alright [sighs] What have you been up to, then...How's it been Kaitlin: if it was she'd recite between the lines to keep us anyone's problem but hers, poor critter [sarcastic laugh because mum's getting no real sympathy] it could've been 3 days from when you went off for what's changed and not- [a long pause because everything's shit and we know it is] Fearghal: What's God if not top babysitter, eh? Cheaper than telly and who's giving money to the BBC [scoffs but cuts it short 'cos yep] And I'm fine too, you rude cow Kaitlin: and stand him next to our earthly da and he comes out lookin' class [chefs kiss noise] Hey now! [makes a fake noise of shock like she's appalled at the mention of the bbc] watch your profanity around me, dicko! [really long exaggerated sigh as a pisstake] a'course you are, land well anywhere, but hit me with your bars, it's no bother to hear how right I am Fearghal: If you can get him stand still long enough, like and you ain't a lad so no chance, babe [does pisstake wistful sigh] Forgot you needed protecting from the evils of this world, my apologies [coughs awkwardly then, stalling for time, fiddling with the phone in ways she can probably hear] Taking a bow as we speak, can't fit in here with me but the adoring fans are aplenty over this way, well more than there so fuck it, life's grand so it is Kaitlin: Wise up, boy, he only sways slightly of an evening on these ones lately so he does [but her voice is MAD because fuck being a girl in this fam] Did you now? Thank fuck my new lad has his uses then, like [takes a deep breath to try and calm down but exaggerates it for the pisstake because have to, god forbid they are serious rn] I went and saw your former biggest fan under that rock they've carved with protestant shite, no word on if life's grander for her now it's ended or if she's regretting she didn't send her prayers up saying she wanted another bite of the cherry, one that wasn't yours- [stops like I've probably gone a bit far here and shouldn't mention his dead ex anymore] Fearghal: Good for him [through gritted teeth like let's never talk about him thank you] Like you need a replacement protector, got how many ready and willing at home, just DYING to beat the shit out of some 15 year old kid for your honour and just for the craic of it [does it back, like and then is silent until the pips are going but he's still there 'cos they stop when he puts more money in] You'll be under some rock with Catholic shite if they catch you in their graveyard [says it much more quietly than he's said the rest] Kaitlin: [makes a noise of disgust that doesn't need to be exaggerated for the pisstake cos genuinely horrified at this fam thanks] what honour? Shame you brought down on us with what they caught you at [but her voice is softer too because didn't mean to go off and also doesn't mean any of that we know] supposed to scare me, is it? [said like I wouldn't be here to give them a chance to do it just like you weren't] Fearghal: Why you need to ask one of the others, ain't it; can't be the best looking of the bunch and the best behaved, got to leave something for 'em to do and impressing n pleasing him 's'never been high on my to-do so have at it, lads [does meh noise like this is all so casual] Called the fear of God for a reason, aye Kaitlin: [does the meh noise back and it's her turn to awkwardly fiddle with the phone/cough while she works up to saying what she does next, more quietly than she has anything else] how's it truly then? Away and everything. Free and clear Fearghal: It's, like- just shit because you realize that everything that happens in that fucking town, all the stuff that rules our lives and is all they give a shit about, no other cunt does, you know, Kait? Sure, its on the news when another bomb goes off or don't and that; but the English don't even have to think about it, their day to day ain't affected at all, no fucker but our lot cares and what's the point, honestly? Everything we were forced to at least think was important, if not fecking stupid, ain't and now I don't- [Stops to do some actual breathing to calm down] Not to mention I'm thick as shite, thanks for that and all- 'cos frees a bloody joke [laughs bitterly] I get by, now, got a place to stay so, don't haveta worry but don't be hopping the next ferry yourself, girl Kaitlin: [when you're just silent for ages because as much as you think it's bullshit you're basically in a cult rn with no chance of getting out so what can you say like] not that thick, warning me off coming to keep an eye on all these english girls with theirs on ya but no bother 'cause mind I get sea sick and class as boking on brits sounds I'd get fairly covered myself before I made any casualties of 'em Fearghal: Know enough about girls and enough about you to know the two don't need mixing, that's just school of life, that [moving away a bit and telling someone who's impatiently waiting to fuck off] Stay put [when you say it firmly like serious voice] That wain and the rest needs someone VAGUELY sane about to stand any chance, fuck me, Aislinn's already been corrupted and she's barely in double digits [kicks the box] Kaitlin: [laughs because yeah don't let her around any girls you like babe] you should know enough about me to know what giving me your orders'll do fer ya and what it'll make me do [but there's no actual real threat in it we all know she's staying for the bubs] Sane as you by that count, ain't I? [can't help genuinely sighing] Mammy's girl is Aislinn been like it since she was old enough to play house [grimaces at the thought cos never that bitch] got the rest under MY apron strings, grand they are and it goes for the stories I tell 'em every night after prayers, rest easy yourself knowing that, yeah? Fearghal: Alright, alright [hear the 🙄😏] But if you wanna be the next to bring shame on 'em, you can do better than a cheeky abortion, surely? [shakes his head] Yeah. [Pause] Yeah [Coughs again] I'm doing my bit, swear, it's gonna take a while 'til I can send you anything and I've got to work out how when I do- it ain't for them, just you lot but like I said, not cheap Kaitlin: [an outraged noise like who do you think you're talking to, of course I can do better than that etc] Yeah. [Pauses herself because again what to say, there's so much it's too much] I've got faith in the right shite, Gally [nickname ftw because feels] it'll work out. We'll work it out, like we did this Fearghal: 'Course we will, K. No other choice, is there [definitely not a question] Kaitlin: not a real question, is it? [she knows its not] Fearghal: you want me to ask you one? Kaitlin: do English girls fall for that? Fearghal: Enough of 'em, yeah Kaitlin: [makes a ugh noise] how you've got a bed, is it? Fearghal: Theirs top where mine is Kaitlin: I deeply feel that Fearghal: [makes the kinda sad 'ha' sound like 'I know'] Not all bad though, some class drugs about and you don't get kneecapped for taking a casual interest Kaitlin: [does a little hooray down the phone] Fearghal: Send you some but your phones probably tapped so I definitely won't Kaitlin: thanks or no thanks, depending who'll be listening Fearghal: Cover those bases and the baby's ears Kaitlin: nothing to be heard over her crying Fearghal: don't lie, you miss me that much [laughs] Kaitlin: fuck off [but laughs too] Fearghal: Will do Fearghal: so many English girls Kaitlin: [exaggerated being sick noise] nowhere close to a ferry and sick as a dog, don't start me any further Fearghal: You think I escaped to pray every day and fight the good fight, like Kaitlin: if you still pray you ain't escaped fuck all Fearghal: Not living on my knees for no cunt, sis Fearghal: am being haunted, for my sins, though Kaitlin: Be on track to commit more, you'll have enough ghosts for all manner of shite to get done Fearghal: No rest for the wicked on the one hand, but on the other, idle hands and idle minds [breathes out like so conflicted and confused] Kaitlin: [a change in tone because serious] She's gone, so are you. Leave it here. Leave it in this fucking town Fearghal: Not a choice Kaitlin: Can be Fearghal: Nah, s'not, boths already happened Kaitlin: Happened to you, gives you a say in how you deal with it Fearghal: Yeah Kaitlin: You've lived in one haunted house as things stand, ain't you? Miss home that much, is it? Fearghal: How could I not? Live for these lectures, like Kaitlin: [an unamused noise because you're basically calling her a nagging girl which ain't a mood] Fearghal: [the pips again] Oh shit, should robably let you go, yeah? Kaitlin: Yeah probably [but she obvs doesn't wanna that'd be clear] Fearghal: Tell the kids I miss 'em, won't ya Kaitlin: I'll even include her out there Fearghal: Try and send a picture some time, alright Kaitlin: 'Course Fearghal: You too, kid Kaitlin: [laughs but in a more genuine way] You're my twin brother, calling me kid is calling yourself a wain, you eejit Fearghal: That's alright by me, like Kaitlin: I'll not baby you, got enough noses and arses to wipe here while you're hand holding these brits Fearghal: No handholding, on me life, just good old-fashioned- [will cut him off before he can be gross] Kaitlin: [we can say she cuts him off with a very unamused noise as per like no thank you] Fearghal: G'wan then, piss off before that kid freezes to death Kaitlin: [doesn't wanna be the first one to hang up obvs] Watch yourself then Fearghal: You too Fearghal: When can we do this again then Kaitlin: When can you? It's no bother for me to slip out with this ginger whinger, needs fresh air so she does Fearghal: [laughs then is pondering like umm] Try next Sunday, after church, if I don't answer then I'll send another postcard or whatever, yeah Kaitlin: Tryin' to get a free sermon told to ya, respect that hustle if not the message Fearghal: Obviously, how am I getting to heaven from England? Kaitlin: [laughs] no angels in England is there not? You'll have been thinking on your feet for fresh pick up lines all these months, no wonder you ain't had time for me, like Fearghal: Something like that... [Trails off 'cos don't wanna tell her what's really been going on but also does 'cos not its like that and its been a lot to just deal with on his own] Kaitlin: But it's something else like what? [cos sees through you boyyy] Fearghal: It's alright now, like Fearghal: but it ain't as if the old man sent me on me way with anywhere to go, is it Kaitlin: He didn't put a bullet in your head as a send off, that's what gets me to sleep of a night, but- [trails off because she was gonna say she knows it hasn't been easy but she doesn't know how hard it's been and she's not trying to guess like let's compare struggles] Kaitlin: Yeah [another pause] Fearghal: Should've put one in his [so under his breath it's like did you mean that to be heard or] Kaitlin: You'd have to take ma out an' all, I don't reckon the broken heart myth is anything other than another story, and probably a few of us would make the cut for cute little orphans but you and me'd have to catch ourselves on quick and wise up Fearghal: Make Tara look after you all as well as Diarmaid's kids, see how committed to the family she really is [sniffs 'cos we been knew] Kaitlin: [makes an identical sound cos twinning] I'll take her out if she was bothered to try and get near 'em Fearghal: Least Owie is old enough to help out, young enough to give a clout, yeah? [genuine concern] Kaitlin: [scoffs because we know he's a bit of a knob but it's still affectionate because] Fearghal: He'll be alright [but doesn't sound as reassuring as that's meant to be 'cos like unlikely at this point] Kaitlin: He's got me, my will's stronger than god's so father Q likes to say [laughs] under his breath, a'course Fearghal: [laughs back but its less 'cos sad] He doesn't always chat shite Kaitlin: Reckon he's a soft spot for me Fearghal: [makes noise like 'hopefully not too soft' but is joking, doesn't need to be that kind of priest] Kaitlin: I don't wish you were here Fearghal: How could he not, with the charm [but just jk like] Is it better, in some ways Kaitlin: It's...[trails off cos we all know even if there's less hassle it's not better as far as she's concerned and the loneliness is a real mood] I'm buzzing you got out [genuine but her voice is sad] Fearghal: Your turn next, I mean it Kaitlin: After we get a few birthday's under Niamh's belt [pauses because it's sinking in how stuck she is for now] and the rest, give 'em a fighting chance Fearghal: Yeah Fearghal: I'll make it easier, any which way I can Kaitlin: Me too, for you, I mean Fearghal: I'm grand, honest but cheers [more pips] I am outta shrapnel though so- Kaitlin: Don't be putting honest on a lie [frustrated sigh because nobody wants this to end but she wouldn't have money] speak Sunday and like I said, watch yourself Fearghal: Love ya, K ['cos no time to take the piss for it or protest] Kaitlin: [let's say she gets cut off before she can say it back for the pain]

[guu]

it’s really. disgusting that he continuously guilts me for past failed attempts to escape him and still says we’re good together but [ as long as i stop trying to ‘this’ and ‘that’]

when even the little things in daily life between our fights (which Have indeed not happened in quite awhile now, partly due to my increased ability to give up) those little things he does (or doesn’t do) slowly drive me insane

leaving dirty dishes on the counter or table, leaving beer bottles out, leaving stuff like that and his xbox controller (his oh so precious expensive elite controller) out so when i wake up at 7am with leon i have to scramble to put it all in the trash or out of their reach

the groans of dreading having to god forbid go anywhere on a day off, made worse if he has to “oh my god!!’ go somewhere on a day he Does work

the fact that he thinks he’s been doing good when i turn to him with tears in my eyes and voice shaking saying “honey, i, i’ve been. doing very bad lately, and i just need some kindness and support from you” followed by nothing of the sort.

the way he’s just fucking grumpy a good chunk of the morning and i have to read his mood to as certain questions

“is it alright if xander goes over to his nana’s this weekend?”

“i don’t care...” ok kool you could just say yeah. that works too.

the. fact that he still barely ever washes any dishes so xander and i do them all. the ‘i’ll take the trash out before work’ *leaves and the trash is still there*

“dont worry about that sweety i’ll do it” but he gets pissed if i want him to do something soon after saying it because i planned to do it right then is why, and i dare not ask him if he’s gonna do it. ‘Yes Honey I’ll Remember”

spoiler alert he does not remember. and he does not appreciate it when i tell him my lack of trust comes from a long running record of this happening again  and again and again and most of the reason i feel like i’m narrowly avoiding drowning lately is things like this.

sure he takes care of leon with me but i still feel like i’m doing the bulk of it on a day-to-day and what he does should be met with a song of praise or somethin idk.

this got long but yeah i’m. i’ve been. still getting. worse and. hopeful for the future. cant wait to have money saved up.

we had a talk abt me getting on T and how he assured me that even if he cant love me as a man (cause god knows he makes it vocal how sexxxyyyy i am and how men are disgusting but he loves and worships women)

that i’d still get to stay with him because “we work well together”

which i speak charles, it translates to “you’re the best option to help take care of our kids and let me have free claim over ur money than having to date someone new who i actually will find attractive”

uhhh yeah but i guess i’ll stop there

[spriggan-tiggy]

Tell me all about Wynn!

O GOSH, if you are ready for the wall of text, I shall tell you all XD Short version: Abandoned kid, who mixed with a wrong bandit gang, caused him a lot of issues and trauma, but he’s recently been trying to recover and move forward. VERY VEEERY LONG AND WINDED version under the cut (a lil gruesome too) No, really, it is very long, you have been warned:

Wynn is a child of two Scarlet Crusaders, (neither originally was one, but dad met a girl and she got mixed up and mind filled with nonsense, and he dumbly followed her because love and rest is history), he also has an aunt and cousin (Elyonn) through his dad with whom he only recently rekindled, as they fell out of touch as soon as father became a crusader. Mother was a zealous fanatic, always pushing Wynn to learn and study, as soon as he was able to grasp what letters are, something he really had no interest in, or really much talent, he preferred to run around and play with animals. He also befriended every single cat in the monastery, much to his mother’s annoyance. His dad, while also pretty zealous, at least from parent perspective, was a decent guy and understood that Wynn was his own human being and let him run off and play, cover up for him when he did that, help his study so it wasn’t as tedious and one of the fondest memories Wynn has of his dad, was sneaking out the monastery to go to Darkmoon Faire, and he still enjoys the event as it reminds of simpler times. Scar on Wynn’s cheek is actually from his mother, when she was disciplining him, and he has very little memory of the woman. His dad, per mother’s insistence, took Wynn on one of the crusades, in the attempt to expand, only to perish to the undead, Wynn being the only survivor. Wynn was temporarily placed in the orphanage, and letters were sent to the mother (which she ignored, in a blind zealousy of ‘Light will bring my son back to me’ sort of thing), and after many fruitless attempts, and zero replies from either the Crusade or the mother, Wynn was placed for adoption, under the presumption, his mother was dead. Wynn had no idea what his aunt’s name was, otherwise he would’ve mentioned her. (mother dies years later in Northrend, killed by some adventures for a bounty, while part of the Scarlet Enclave. Wynn saw the poster and had zero emotion on the matter, even when he found out the bounty was fulfilled)

There was a noble High Elf couple. Not a loving marriage, girl got married of to the guy from status/money, and he completely ignores her for his studies. He ignores her so hard she can't even get him to do 'husband duties' of having kids, so she eventually manages to convince him to at least adopt for now, so when they do have kids, they have a sibling. He waves her off as 'yeah whatever go for it' so of to the orphanage she goes, and meets Wynn. She find kindred spirit in his situation, and they bond, and after several visits, she signs the papers and formally adopts him. Husband doesn't even realize she adopted a human boy, he was glad he could focus on his studies and she was out of his hair, but when he did notice he just '???? why a human?' she explained that she bonded with this guy the most and he needed a loving home. He just shrugs and even tries to teach Wynn to be a warlock like him, 'cept turns out Wynn had zero magical affinity, in that direction at least and his magic was more nature based. His new mom signed up with one of local hunters and that's where he learned to be a hunter, and eventually got his first pet, a wolf named Timber. Fast forward a few years ahead, Wynn is 14-ish, his parents finally got a kid of their own ( a girl, Wynn gets a long with her wonderfully) but husband starts dabbling in magic more hardcore, to the point of borderline fel corruption (he also becomes a blood elf). Before anything bad happens, mom scoops up the kids, moves to Dalaran, and sends the dad divorce papers in the mail, through her family. 

Dalaran is city of magic, his mom goes to become a teacher and an archmage eventually, as she's a mage herself, sister also becomes a mage and Wynn just...can't put himself anywhere and he feels a bit left out but he does eventually manage to get a job, as turns out with a gang. He doesn't mind because they, seemingly, just bunch of smugglers, which is what Wynn does at least, stealing and smuggling. As it later turns out they go much deeper, murders, kidnapping you name it. Wynn stick to his little branch and keeps his head low, but when he finds out about their darker dealings, he becomes afraid for his family, so he decides to leave and go to Stormwind branch, to keep them safe, in case he fucks up, god forbid. (Never happens, I will bring it up later) He witnessed guys hands cut off because they upset the leader or people be thrown to the dogs for worse etc that sorta brutal, like fallout raider level brutal. They're an average crime gang tho as long as you don't piss anyone off. Dating someone on the outside of the gang wasn't forbidden but you know, you gotta be careful like I imagine one would have to if they are in a gang and their SO isn't. Wynn briefly had a bf in the gang it didn't work out, dude got salty tried to get Wynn killed 'cept he got looked on like an idiot and got killed instead, for 'abusing power'. Wynn did get a girlfriend outside the gang later on. Cute girl, simple farmer's daughter on one of the many farms in Elwyn Forest. He told her he's in a gang, didn't tell which, but he wanted to be honest. She was fine with it, and they made plans to run away eventually and start a new life. All was well until the gang got a whiff of them wanting to run away. Long story short, this guy named Fist, slits the girl's throat in front of Wynn, saying no one leaves, and now that he has no reason to leave, he shouldn't want to, "And if this, didn't convince you...' as he shoots Timber as well, and if he is still thinking about it, they'll come for his mother and sister too. I honestly have no idea how Wynn didn't fucking snap completely in that moment, but he gained a lot of anxiety and commitment issues, it take a while for him to even establish something with Fred, who is thankfully patient, and loves Wynn and is willing to do whatever as long as he is comfortable.

The whole thing actually pushes Wynn to run away anyways, goes fuck knows where under a new name, tries to go clean, gets taken in a by a older widowed blacksmith and his two sons about his age. All goes well for like 6 months. Wynn finally feels he ran away and moved on, 'cept that when he comes home one day, to find blacksmith and his sons dead (along with 2 bandits) with clear signs of fight. Blacksmith has a note on his back stuck with a knife 'We told you: no one leaves'. Wynn runs away again, joins smaller scale gang near Lakeshire for protection, goes back to petty thievery, and that's when he gets caught by Fred who throws him in the Stormwind jail which is a no no. They keep doing this thing where Wynn runs away Fred puts him back for like 5 times before Fred asks why does he keep doing that to which Wynn just '...did you really just ask me why I don't wanna be in jail?' 'No I mean people usually welcome staying in jail for safety' 'well it ain't safe the for me'tldr he is basically just afraid to fall in love again in fear off that person getting killed again. Arguably, Fred is not a defenseless farm girl, he'd like to see them try and kill him, but still that is genuine fear, and he has a break down when he accidentally lets 'I love you' slip, they fucked that boy up pretty hard.

Wynn and Fred relationship is another filled rant, but to keep it short, they didn't really like each other at first, were together because Wynn was helping Fred clear out his former gang, as Fred is a mercenary and there were contracts for some of them. Along the way love blossomed, so Wynn almost left, and when Fred questioned why, Wynn said 'I am falling for you, and it would be better if I just forgot you were ever a thing, it's safer for you' 'Have you thought about how it'd make me feel if you left?' 'Relived I'm gonna presume' 'No, actually I'd be rather upset. I grew to like you a lot too' To which Wynn literally went 'Like??? ME??? are you nuts? You must've hit your head a lot as a warrior' Fred laughs at that but basically tells him he had a hard life too, and he is not telling Wynn how to mourn, but he doesn't just want to date him, he wants to be his friend too, and if he needs him, he is there for him. He smooches his cheek and walks off, saying choice is Wynn's he will be there for him either way. Wynn scoff, and turns around to climb on his drake but just....doesn't. He curses and calls out to Fred, as he runs up and hugs him saying 'That doesn't mean I like you' 'Yeah I know'

Wynn lets 'I love you' slip and has a break down, trying to leave again, finally explaining to Fred who blocked his path, everything. The girl, the wolf, his life story. Fred tries to reassure him it'll be fine, but Wynn is inconsolable, but he does manage to convince him to stay. When he wakes up in the morning, Wynn is gone. Obviously Fred is heartbroken, but knowing the situation, realizes Wynn is set in his ways although he obviously can't help but feel sad about it. Wynn didn't actually leave, he stuck around to get last look at Fred before he leaves and when he does, he sees how distraught he is, realizing he truly loves him, and he realizes he'd hurt Fred more if he left. He comes out of hiding, to surprise of Fred and Fred is about to say something but Wynn just 'Let me...speak, please' to which Fred nods slightly 'I...I was selfish. I only thought about myself while thinking I am looking out for you. I didn't think about how you might feel if I just up and left and I'm sorry. I might not always say this but...I do love you and...you have come to mean world to me and...it might take a while for me to get over this, and if that's fine with you I'll never leave again...' and he looks away. Fred just smiles and comes up to him and holds him close 'You never have to tell me anything. I know. And I will say it for the both of us.' Wynn just stands there for a second, but then buries his face in Fred's shoulder and cries, apologizing profusely.By the events of Legion, Wynn is a lot more lax and confident, he just straight up goes 'You know what?! I am tired of being afraid, they wanna get you to get to me, they're gonna have to go through me first' He is still not fully out of his shell but he's a lot different than when Fred first met him few years back for sure.

They helped during Dalaran evacuation in begining of legion, and after all said and done, Fred convinces Wynn to reunite with his mom and sister and Wynn just 'Okay buster just because I said I wanna be more open doesn't mean I wanna be this open!' 'But you do care for them too, why not make sure they're safe too? I am just suggesting if you don't wanna go-' 'No you're right...I'm just still...not out of the mentality yet' and they go and reunion goes incredibly well,  mom and sister really missed Wynn and glad he is alive and well. His mom tells the that they can stay in her house if they need a place while they're in Dalaran, so that's where they live during Legion. After they reunite with Wynn's mom, and Wynn learns gang been after her a few times, but his mother coldly remarks 'Oh those guys? Yeah their ice solid corpses kept the sewer waters cold' and Wynn just 'JFC mom you're metal!' 'Don't mess with my children and then come threaatening me. I will destroy you. I had one scumbag in my life doing that, never again' (referring to her ex) Wynn goes to Fred 'you know how through out our jobs we've been dispatching small groups here and there ye? 'Yeah?' 'I am in Dalaran, I'm tired. I am gonna stab the snake in the eye.' '...are you sure?' 'I am not a scared boy anymore I am tired of running. I need you to go with me though,but as a worgen, scarier that way.' Fred chuckles 'Whatever I do, don't stop me. I need this.' Fred nods.So off the go in the Underbelly, and Wynn, accompanied by an 8 foot black worgen in heavy armor sure makes people whisper. They go into one of the inns and just chill, eventually a thug comes up and says 'Fist wants to see you' so they go, Fred intimidatingly leans at the door they entered from, Wynn sits at the table with Fist. 'Look what the cat dragged back in, it's Wynnie! How is it going sweetie?' 'You got promoted from Stormwind huh?' 'Yeah, demon invasion and all, every one wants supplies. Look, Wynnie, I am gonna cut the bullshit. You cause a lot of damage and we got a score to settle' 'Oh yeah we do!' and with that, he swiftly  pierces Fist's hand to the table. Fist's guards obviously jump in as he's screaming, but Fred straightens out and they kinda stand there hesitating. Wynn then grabs Fist by the hair 'You see me? Look very closely because I am the last thing you will see' 'What do you want?! Money? I'll give you anything.' 'How pathetic you are when you realize I am not the little boy you can push around anymore. This is for the little boy, who's life you destroyed, and that little boy came back, and ended yours. And by the way? My name is Wynn.' and with that, he slams Fist's head into the dagger hilt, through the eye, killing him. One of the guards finally drops a pair and charges at Wynn only to be slammed into the wall by Fred. Rest back up, as Wynn incredibly unceremoniously removes Fist from his dagger and wipes it on Fist's clothes, 'Tell the Big Guy, Wynn is back, and if he sends anyone after me or my family, tell him what I did to Fist. I'll be waiting.' And with that, he grabs a bag of gold off the table, puts his dagger away and walks off, as the entire in whispers inn awe.They go to the park, and Wynn is just very silent, and Fred asks 'Better?' 'Actually, yes. Sorry I went so gruesome back there.' 'Not my style, but you needed it, and he had it coming for long time' 'Do you... mind if I have some time alone for myself? I'll stay safe, I promise' 'I know, and of course, I need to run some errands anyways' 'Thank you for coming with me' 'Anytime' Fred kisses his cheek and goes about his business, leaving Wynn alone, who cries with relief that he is somewhat free finally.

That’s basically all I got at the moment figured out, which a lot I am so sorry if you actually sat through the whole thing, bless your patience. Their BfA events are still WIP largely, but they do go to Kul Tiras and Fred goes back working for Grawymane, but that a smuch as I got so far.

[dubsdeedubs]

An Outreached Hand [3/?]

Summary:  On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

Notes:  A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that whatsoever to read.  I greatly underestimated how long this fic was going to be, because this is going to be A Long One.  Not exactly for Stanuary anymore, but started as something for it!

[AO3]

It started off the way this kind of story always does: a John Doe got brought in one day, no identification, nothing on him but the clothes on his back and a couple bills in his pocket. Had a bit too many holes in him to be anything other than dead.

His face didn't match that of any missing persons, not that anyone looked particularly hard. People who got shot up in these parts don't have family or friends looking for them.

This was an odd event, not because of the death or the anonymity - neither was particularly uncommon then and there, especially combined - but because this corpse was, as it was, not entirely dead.

There was no rigor mortis. No rot. But what really sealed the deal was when the coroner finally showed up, and quickly realized that the incisions he made wouldn't stay open long enough for him to do the autopsy.

There was no avoiding the fact then. Something terrifying was going on - or something truly miraculous.

(Then again, the only difference between the two had always been about who made it happen.)

This was the exact sort of discovery that got arrangements made and people interested, in the way that never led to anywhere good.

If the body had stayed lying under that sheet for just a few days more, this story would be told very differently indeed.

Because, before anything even gets the chance to happen, the body goes missing.

The security cameras don't catch anything but a stray cat or two before they go down - by chance, their wires bitten through several hours earlier by some rabid wild animal. Between that and the inconsistent time stamps of entry, it's embarrassment for everyone involved. The whole thing gets forgotten pretty quickly.

As far as people were concerned, the corpse might as well have stood up and walked right out of the morgue.

1982

Stanley looks up at the portal for one long, quiet moment. There's an intensity in his unblinking stare that made Ford feel more than a bit uncomfortable.

"I understand exactly nothing about this," he says at last, voice flat.

"It's a trans-universal -" Ford catches his brother's blank stare, "Ah, a sort of - door to other universes. A hole in the walls of our dimension, you could say."

"Huh. And what's this hole in the universe doing in your basement?"

Ford opens his mouth, and shuts it again. "I created it," he says at last.

Stan just looks at him, flat judgement in his eyes.

He colors slightly at that. "To unlock the secrets of the universe!" Ford defends himself, waving a frantic hand. "I assure you, there are plenty of valid reasons to construct a trans-universal gateway. Scientific innovation, yes, but also -"

"Huh," Stan grunts.

Ford falters a bit at that. "But, ah, it does have the potential for... terrible destruction. Possibly, the end of the known universe and everyone living in it. That's - that's actually why I called you up here," he says weakly, turning his lips up into a weak grin. "I needed someone who I can trust entirely, and - well, the decision was quite obvious, after that."

For the first time since they had left the cats in the living room, something like emotion flickers in his brother's eyes. "...Yeah?"

"I shut down the portal," Ford says, all in a rush, "and I have to be sure no one else can activate it again. All the instructions, the plans, are in my journals. And - God forbid - if someone with malicious intent got their hands on all of them, it could mean the end of everything." He swallows. "I've been hiding them the best I can, and I... just have one left."

He pauses, steeling himself to say what needed to be said. His fingers clench hard around his journal for one panicked moment before he succeeds in forcing himself to hold it out to Stan.

"I need you to take this book and go far, far away," He finishes breathlessly. "As far away from here as you can. Somewhere you will never see me -" and by transition, he thinks, never come into contact with Bill "- ever again."

His brother looks at him quietly.

"Please," Ford begs.

Stan glances down at the journal in Ford's trembling hands, and for a moment, his face is cast in shadow. He doesn't speak, or move, or even seem to breathe for a long and terrifying moment that seems to stretch towards infinity.

Ford can't predict at all what his brother will say or do, and that sudden realization hits him harder than it really should.

"Sure," Stan says easily. "I can do that."

And he plucks Ford's journal right out of his frozen hands and tucks it under his arm, as casually as anything.

Ford just stands there for a moment. He can't even begin to process the reason behind his own startled hesitation.

He... didn't expect this to be easy. He didn't expect this to go like that.

"Stanley, are you -" sure? Ford doesn't say, can't say because he needs his brother to do this for him. There is no one else who can. Still, there's something heavy in his gut and painful in his chest that makes him want to, more than anything else.

Maybe he's hoping Stan would change his mind.

His brother shrugs, slow and languorous. "I have time," he says, something deeply bitter in the tone of his voice.

Ford feels lost. This was exactly how things were supposed to go with Stanley, which meant it was also entirely unexpected. He lowers his hands and clasps them behind his back so he doesn't have to see them shake, and clears his throat.

"Do you," he tries, "do you need anything before you go? Food? Money? I... don't have much of either in the house, but if you need it, I can -"

"It's been a long trip up here," Stan interrupts, shifting ever so slightly. "The kids are tired, even if they didn't show it back there. We could do with a few days settled down. Some food and water for them, maybe. I can swing by the town grocery store and get it myself."

Despite himself, Ford recoils, his mind already conjuring up dozens of different consequences that would come from his brother staying that much longer here, the vast majority of them starring the demon that possessed his body whenever he slept.

"No," he blurts out without meaning it, his thoughts whirring incoherently in his head. Because Bill had hurt him as much as he could while keeping him functional, because he needed him like that.

Fiddleford had not been nearly as lucky.

He doesn't want to think what the demon would do to Stanley and his ki - cats if he had the opportunity. Without any knowledge of Bill and what he was, they would be easy prey. They had no idea who or what they were even up against.

He hadn't thought this through at all. And just like that, he makes the decision.

Stan blinks once. "I wasn't asking," he says bluntly.

"I - nevermind that," Ford whispers hurriedly. "There's one thing you need to know, now." He keeps his voice low and his words quick, even though he knows that would do nothing to stop Bill from listening in if he really wanted to. "You cannot trust anyone with yellow, slitted eyes."

His brother goes still.

"Check for them on everyone," Ford continues, and he doesn't even realize he has moved closer, that he is holding onto Stan's shoulders like their lives depended on it. "On everything you might encounter. Even - even if that person is me. Stanley, do you understand?"

Stan just looks at him. "This guy with yellow, slitted eyes," he says finally, voice unreadable. "He happens to laugh like a lunatic? Likes violence a bit too much?"

The ball drops. Ford lets go and scrambles backwards to a safe distance.

"You - know him?" He asks weakly. "You've met Bill?"

"So that's his name, huh?" There's a dangerous quality to Stan's voice as he takes a step forward. "You got a current address for him too?"

Already, Ford is fitting together the pieces he has into a picture he does not like at all. Bill had made some sort of contact with Stan, and while it was clear that the contact had been minimal - considering his brother hadn't even known the demon's name - it did not bode well for either his or Stan's chances at a future without Bill's manipulations.

There's a heaviness in his gut that might just be guilt. He never wanted his brother involved in this way. He never wanted to his brother in this kind of danger.

"Stanley, you can't go looking for him."

"Yeah, and why not?" Stan demands, baring his teeth. "Does it have anything to do with how you know this guy?"

Ford flinches. His brother is obviously angry, and he would have felt relieved at seeing the familiar way that emotion twisted Stan's face if it isn't so directed at him.

"I can't tell you anymore than I already have." He knows too well the dangers that came with forbidden knowledge. "You just need to get as far away from here as you can. This isn't your battle to fight. This - this has nothing to do with you."

Stan chokes out a disbelieving laugh. "This has nothing to do with me? Sixer, you have no idea."

He's moving closer, taking a confident step forwards for each and every one that Ford stumbles back. There's a glint in his eye, something about the way he looms, how it suddenly feels so much harder to keep stumbling backwards that terrifies Ford beyond logic.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about, Stanley," he stammers even as he tries to make sense of his brother's outburst. "You need to -"

"You don't know anything about me, Ford," his brother hisses.

The light in the basement flickers.

"You haven't known anything about me for the last t̷e͏n ye͠a̛rs."

Stan's close, too close. "Stanley," he tries, voice cracking. "I didn't... I'm -"

"Is it in this journal of yours?" Stan demands, brandishing the object in question.

Ford's heart sinks.

"Don't look so surprised, Sixer. That's what you've always done, right? You trust your books and your secrets more than anyone else." His tone is biting. "More than me."

"Don't open that," Ford pleads, voice hoarse. "Stanley, you don't understand, you can't read that!"

Because the moment he does, its contents will become a part of his brother's memories. And Bill didn't need the actual physical book, being the creature of the mind that he was. All he needed was access to someone who knew what was in it.

If his brother read that journal, he would be a target for the rest of existence.

"Make me," Stan growls, and flips the journal open.

Ford lunges forward before he's even thinking, driven by a heady mixture of adrenaline and terrified panic.

He collides hard with his brother's torso but he doesn't even feel the pain or shock of impact, he's too busy grabbing for the book, frenzied and manic, like a life - Stan's life - depended on it.

And just like that, they're brawling on the ground.

It's entirely undignified and certainly a ridiculous thing for two grown men to be doing, and while Ford knows he's landing some punches and definitely feeling a few punches as well, for about five whole minutes he has no idea what's actually happening on a higher level.

Maybe it's the element of surprise or the power of adrenaline, but at the end of it, he gets his hands back on his journal.

Ford clutches it to his chest protectively, his breath coming in with big ragged gasps, and watches Stan pick himself back up into a kneel.

His brother's teeth are bared as he stares Ford down. His eyes glint an eerie pale blue in the light of the portal's machinery lights.

"I didn't want to do this," Stan says, voice cold, and reaches forward.

And suddenly, Ford can't move at all.

He's practically pinned to the ground by some kind of invisible, oppressive force that's almost physical in its strength. It's the same feeling from the doorstep, and just like then, he doesn't know what it is or why it's happening.

(...But he does, doesn't he?

After all, there's just one common factor.)

Stanley's hands close on the journal.

There's only one thing that he can think to do.

"I'm sorry, Stanley," he says quietly, and his brother goes deathly still. "I shouldn't have let Dad kick you out."

Ford takes a breath. "I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind."

Stan's eyes go wide with disbelieving surprise. The pressure alleviates for a split second.

It's just enough time for Ford to kick Stan squarely in the chest and send him careening wildly backwards. He catches a glimpse of his brother's face, just enough for Stan's look of furious betrayal to sear itself completely into his memory.

His brother crashes heavily into the side of a piece of portal machinery, and -

- there's a sizzling sound.

That's his first clue that things had gone horribly wrong.

And then his brother lets out a kind of pained wail, keening and desperate in a way that fit an injured alley cat more than a human being. He lurches forward, clutching at his shoulder with a single hand, and there's something strange about the unrestrained, unnatural way his limbs swing.

Ford can see now the vivid red brand on the pale skin of Stan's back. He gags at the combination of that sight and the moist, acrid smell of burnt human flesh-and-hair that had so quickly filled the air.

"You hurt me," his brother rasps as he stumbles towards him, his steps loose and helpless like he's losing control of his body entirely.

But when he catches the expression on his brother's face, he realizes with mounting horror that it isn't of anger or fear. Instead there is a kind of wonderment, and - a strange kind of joy.

Ford takes an involuntary step backwards. He's not sure what he's seeing, but something tells him that it's something he will be seeing in his nightmares for years to come.

Then, Stan goes still. He stands quietly, swaying slightly.

Maybe it's the light, but it looks as if his eyes are glowing - the same pale blue from earlier, the same pale blue of the activated portal.

"What did you do to me, Sixer?" His brother asks, voice hollow.

And then he slumps over, his frame crumpling like newspaper in the rain.

For one long moment, the basement laboratory is entirely quiet but for the click-clacking of machinery and the hitching gasps of Ford's breathing.

Only Ford's breathing.

"Stan?" He asks into the silence, voice trembling. "Stanley?"

There is no reply. The dark heap on the ground doesn't move at all.

The next few minutes are a blur. Ford remembers running forwards and kneeling down next to his brother. He remembers landing hard on his sore knees. Most of all, he remembers that he gets no response when he shakes his brother by the shoulders, and distantly registering that Stan's skin is cool - too cool - to the touch.

"No," he says out loud, voice trembling. There's no one to hear it, but he says it anyways, repeating it over and over to himself like some kind of a prayer. "No, no, no -"

It isn't possible. That couldn't have been enough to - not for someone like Stanley.

(he looked half-dead already, whispered a voice in his head, he must had been so tired.

and the human body could be so, so fragile -)

When he reaches out with a trembling hand and feels for a pulse with two fingers, there is nothing.

Ford doesn't know how long he stays there bent over his brother's body, even after his legs had lost feeling and the cold had penetrated through the thin layers of his wrinkled coat. He's too numbed by shock to even cry. There's just a stinging sourness in his mouth and a weight at the base of his gut that gets heavier by the moment.

And then, a lightbulb shatters without warning, its glass pieces sprinkling onto the ground like rain. It's entirely unexpected and impossible, but it's just enough to break Ford out of his trance.

They can't stay down here forever, he realizes.

Even if he wants to.

It takes effort to haul his brother's body up and over his back, but much less so than he expected. Stan is surprisingly light, and it makes his mouth go dry to realize that while his brother had always been so much bulkier than him when they were both children and then adolescents, it is no longer true.

If Ford doesn't know better, he would say that Stan still had the frame of a teenager.

He stands up, swaying only slightly, and tries not to think about the dead weight on his back.

"Let's go, Ley."

[childofthrenody]

January 7th, 2020.

8:09pm

Dear Dera,

I’m stuck in my head. 

I feel like there is so much pressure in my chest. Right in the center, and it is just there, all the time now. It’s a lot. I mean, it was a lot in middle school, and the beginning of freshman year. But, idk, it just feels like it’s all *really* fucking hitting me. All the revelations from dad, all the mess of college--applications, acceptances, denials, moving--combined with all the screaming and drinking and fighting and classes and events and this and that and whateverthehell. It’s so much. I feel like I’ve taken a thousand steps backward and I’m going to fall asleep one night and just wake up, back in middle school, back writing these letters and pouring my head and heart out and reading tumblr--making everything worse without knowing it yet--and not knowing what is going to hit me senior year. It should be terrifying, but it’s not nearly as bad as all of this right now. I won’t let myself talk to you anymore, or really anyone, actually. I feel like I let so much out in the past years that I can’t do that to anyone anymore, I can’t let anyone see that shit, have that shit. 

Except, for some reason, except for one of my teachers. You know who I’m talking about. It’s the internet, so I won’t name names, but. God, Dera, honestly, I’ve never met anyone who is more trustworthy. Kind. Caring. Compassionate. I still remember this moment. The important parts of it, at least. I walked into his room, I think. For class or commons or whatever. Probably commons. And, like always, he asked how I am. Calling me by name and everything. And, I was like, eh, I’ve been better, or something like that. And he was like “oh?” or “what’s up?” or something like that, y’know? but more how he would say it, if it makes sense. But- his eyes. It was his eyes. God, Dera Hope, they held so much compassion. So much trust I saw there. I guess eventually I’ll forget that look- but I just remember looking at him and just knowing I could trust him. So much compassion, like he really really really did/does care. I don’t really trust easily anymore, but I feel like he is one of those people you only meet a few times, or maybe only once, in a lifetime. He knows everything. And, I can just t e l l that he cares. And for that I am forever grateful, as Hazel Grace would say.

But, I didn’t come back to this old ass account to write about that. I came back because he suggested to let it all out by writing. Because he does that. Writing or something of the sort. Tbh, it’s kinda sad that I can’t really write on paper without constantly being worried about someone finding it, but the internet is the better option? isn’t the internet supposed to be more connected? Idek. Whatever. Anyway, well, here I am. This is supposed to be to mom. Well. Well, here goes, I guess. 

Mom. What the FUCK. “Can you even hear me? Sometimes I wonder.” That’s a lyric I just heard. I know everything I fucking say goes in one ear and out the other. Maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll hear it enough to TEXT ME a half assed apology that never comes through.

God, I’m not even really mad. Abs said it was more ‘exhausted’. Which I think is accurate. I’m just...sad. Numb. Hurt. Exhausted. Just, hit with all this shit and I don’t know what to do with it. The sad part is, I don’t even know if I want the drinking and screaming and shit to stop anymore. At least I know it’s coming, rather than guessing. All I want to do is get out. you keep doing the “you hate me, don’t you?” thing, followed by, “well, you’ll come back and love me again in your 20′s,” thing. Fuck that shit. God, I don’t hate you. Obviously I love you. But, god, you make me sad. Really sad. So hurt. Every time I’m around you it just hurts me. And I just, need to get out. To leave. Dad’s yelling and anger issues and shit around the little things is bad too, but somehow throwing salad at me in the middle of a restaurant and passing out drunk 1-2hours after arriving at christmas eve is a *little* worse to me. Just a thought!!! Sigh. It hurts to even go home, y’know? Today at school was even bad. As I told him, I just wanted to scream at everyone. To snap at everyone. I’m completely off my game. And midterms are coming. I”m so off, and I don’t know what to do. I’m talking it out, I’m writing right now. God, I did an english assignment today and I overthought it and it was so shitty. And my in-class midterm essay was so shitty. The only thing that might come out okay is my art still-life. But the written portion is tomorrow and I won’t be able to do it and jesus I just want to cry cry cry cry cry cry cry. CRY. I was so angry today, right? and I wanted to snap at everyone. Anything anyone did, I wanted to fucking SCREAM. Then, then, I talked it out a bit, and I was still so angry, but, but now I just wanted to cry. God, I wanted to cry. And I did. In the car on the way home, I was driving and something small happened or something and I just started sobbing. Not that much, but this sudden horrible thing just ripped out of me. Like I was holding it in all day. I remember wanting to cry sometime in the middle of some class, maybe english idk it seems like it could’ve been, and not being able to. Obviously. Fine, whatever, but that shit NEVER happens in school! that’s middle school level emotional crap! Jesus Christ! Sorry to take His name in vain, but I think He sees what I mean. How far back I’m going. I only random start crying at home when I just need a sob, or around you, mom, when I turn a corner and just need to let my real feelings surface for a second before the mask goes back on to trying not to piss you off. 

God, I try so hard not to piss you off. To be the perfect kid. To stop the little things. I thought I had it together, that I’d realized that I will never be perfectly enough for you. I will never, at least here and now, stop pissing you off and doing the wrong things. Like, yeah, that’s okay. But, god, it’s all going back. I’m stuttering more again. So badly. And of course you hate that! God forbid something different is okay, right? And my thoughts. My thoughts are getting so bad, with my mentality. I have midterms!!!! I have applications, and MAKING IT THROUGH THE YEAR! This isn’t the same as middle school, where I could coast more and it was okay because it didn’t really matter as much, if I remember right. God, I want to go away. So far away. Yes, from you. Okay? Yeah, I said it. I guess dad too, to really see a new place. And I don’t want to come back for holidays and breaks. I know I will have to, at least for some of them. But, ugh. SH asked me today something like, “if you could leave right now and just go to college, would you?” and I was like, 100% yes. Idk 100%, because the whole high school experience and everything, but, god, I want to get away. Half the year is already gone. I want to experience senior year, truly, but I also want prom to come, and graduation, and to have all my acceptances, and the supposedly legendary senior retreat, and all that shit! And to read the letter I wrote sophomore year that’s to my senior self that I’m supposed to forget exists or what it says or whatever. I didn’t, really. Oh well, I guess. I did try.

I think, most of all, I don’t want to lose him. Talking to him. I’ve only known him for like, 4ish months, even though I met him sortof freshman year amist charlie and greg, lol. I remember looking up at him between these two giant seniors and they introduced me and i felt so small and he looked so tall lol, and he was like “hi, I’m [name], I’ll see you senior year!” or “..in a few/four years!” or something like that. Idk, I think expressing it comes across as weird. I want to clarify, I’m NOT like a weird and creepy kid who’s like in love or even anywhere close to that at all. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT, please know that!!!! I’m not even NEAR the same time-zone as that notion. I’m like 5 times zones away from that. But, I just want to keep in touch with someone who really cares, like magistra or mrs c, and stuff. That’s it. Just one of those people it feels like you really want to keep in touch with. Like, I feel like I could visit my high school years from now and he would be totally welcoming. I saw it with past students who visited while I was there. Some a year or two out, some more. He offered to go for coffee with one! Totally rad, chill, normal adult things, y’know? Someone you know, and remember, and could probably invite to like your wedding or something. Idk. Not that I want to get married, but that’s the idea.

Please don’t think of it the wrong way- hence why I’ve never voiced it. I guess it’s the gender thing? Idk. But, all in all, I want to get out, momma. I”m so done with this shit. So done. And it isn’t helping me mentally, physically, or emotionally. I have to exercise ig. Lol. Sigh. You’ve also told me that. I get it, but it hurts. Also, stop fucking touching me. It’s not sexual, but god, leave me the fuck alone! I don’t like being touched! It doesn’t mean i was abused when I was younger or some shit, just leave me alone! Cut out all the“But you’re my kid!’ bullshit, god. I’m not the fucking dog. Sigh.

I’m really sad. I’m really hurt.

Exhausted, as Abs said. Definitely, without-a-doubt, one-hundred-percent exhausted.

Forever Yours,

Camber.

[hithelleth]

Salvation S1

Why do I keep getting into shows that are likely to be cancelled!? Oh, right, because I’m a masochist. So, I’ve finished Salvation and it was so good! I’ve been internally squeeing for days, so I’ll try to get things out of my system now so I can then maybe focus on other fannish (and non-fannish) things.

(This turned out long, so I put it under the cut and tried to make it more easily readable with some bolding. My apologies to those on mobile.) 

I’ve always had a thing for doomsday premises, so this was right up my alley with an impending extinction level event that must remain secret from the general populace to avoid panic while the big shots try to prevent it.

Except that unlike a number of cheesy movies where the world comes together to save humanity and/or help each other after the disaster, Salvation creators tackled it from the other end: the whole season is set before the disaster strikes and nobody is willing to cooperate.

I found the approach refreshing and really liked it. Probably because I’m what I call a pessimistic idealist. I mean, don’t get me wrong, obviously, if such a scenario happens in real life, I do hope (or want to) that humanity would come together to save itself/the Earth. But the pessimist in me thinks there is just as much chance for us to kill each other before the Earth/space/whatever gets to us.

Although, of course, with the current political atmosphere where the orange menace and the little dumpling (you know who I mean, they don’t deserve to be named) are throwing threats with nuclear war weapons around, the cold-war-era-like hostilities in the show gave me chills.

So, there’s political power play galore while the tech wiz and co. are trying to find the way to save the world while being obstructed on every step by politicians. I liked the suspense it all brought out, and how it made the show fast paced (but didn’t take anything from complexity). I also liked all the shadiness and there was a lot of it around, as basically everyone does at least something not quite right (even if with the best of intentions).

I liked that the focus of the show is sort-of evenly spread between science and politics as well as different age groups, as in the characters in their early to mid-twenties and those around/in their forties, which I’m more into the older I get (seriously, it’s one of the biggest reality checks as to age when I realise that the character/actor(ess) is only a few years older than me, or worse, younger!)

And while I’m at that… I have a new OT3!!!! Come on, you knew this was coming, I’m that weird person who can find more or less likely OT3s anywhere and I proudly own it.

But damn it, I wasn’t looking for it! Then again I never do, you know how it goes: I don’t choose my ships, they chose me. Those three fuckers! Why am I doing this to myself? Why? *high pitched pterodactyl screeching*

I’m talking about Harris/Grace/Darius (in all variations), just to be clear. Seriously, I have no idea how it happened, but around episode 5 or 6, I was like, “well maybe instead of squabbling and ‘slight’ signs of jealousy, you could, you know, work together?” and then one thought led to another and I was like, “yeah, I could ship it, provided Harris wasn’t evil…” (I mean, he was a very, very bad boy once or twice, but turned out not to be evil) and the rest is history. *insert more swearing* Yeah, episode 8 didn’t help at all. And then of course they did work together so well towards the end of the season. *sighs*

Anyway, look, I’m not asking for much, just a S2 where they can occasionally (well, the more often the better, but I’ll take what I get) share screen time and be the badass power world/country-saving trio they are. My imagination can do the rest. ;)

But of course, IAD was promoted to a regular on Hawaii 5-O, so I’m not sure what that would mean – although Salvation is a summer show, so I guess coordination could be possible – and the ratings seem to be shit and I don’t want to get my hopes up despite the articles floating around saying not all is lost for S2. *fingers crossed*

Which brings me to a bit of ranting about a plot hole or two and a few general observations and possible S2 speculations.

a) You want me to believe that the US Secretary of Defence can just simply drive around on his own, NBD, and nobody bats an eye? FFS, even in my itty bitty country where the cabinet members really aren’t in much danger of imminent assassination, they have drivers and security details, especially the Defence Minister. It did come very handy for the plot that Harris could just drive around like it’s nobody business, though.

b) How did they get the selected 160 on site so fast? Magic? Because they couldn’t have picked them solely from Tanz personnel, since that would be mostly scientists, and they did pick historians, artists, etc…  And those would be from all around the country, I’d say. (It’s shitty enough that they would be all only Americans, like the rest of the world has no smart people to offer. Also, for genetic diversity it would be better if people were from other countries, too.)

Unless they brought them into Tanz as they picked them, before the nuclear alarm. But didn’t they finish the selection process just a day or a couple before (my memory is a bit foggy, I’ll have to rewatch)?

And nobody seemed surprised at the sight of the space-ship, so I guess they were told the actual truth or at least the Mars colonisation version beforehand? I think the second is more likely.

But, never mind, that is not even my biggest problem with the 160 and I can easily let it pass, because time on TV can work in mysterious ways (plus, maybe they cut the scenes that were supposed to clear it up.)

c) No, my biggest problem is that if 160 people are the minimum viable population, I assume those people must be able to procreate (and have healthy and diverse enough genes.) 

And so there were mostly young people in their twenties (mostly women) and thirties in the Salvation bunker. So far so good.

Of course if we only look to the continuation of human species, choosing young people makes sense.

(I’m not going into the fact that if all those youth are the best and the brightest, there would be other issues with picking people who must have been child prodigies and could therefore lack the social skills that are just as important for humanity as science – but I guess the humanities studies part of the group can compensate for what others lack in that field.) 

It also makes perfect sense that some people would be chosen for qualities other than reproductive abilities, which is where Harris and Grace come in.

I mean, men don’t have that sort of a problem, but with Zoe about to start college, Grace must be at least in her early 40s (although Jennifer is younger) since she doesn’t strike me as a teen mom, and a woman of her age has a hard time having a healthy child even in the most optimal, peaceful conditions and with the best medical treatment available, so I think it’s safe to say Grace having any more kids, especially in a couple of years, is out of the question. But that’s okay.

My problem is with Darius being disqualified on grounds of carrying the Huntington’s gene. Sure, it served as a fantastic testimony of his character that he would work on the Mars project and then this saving the mankind thing knowing that he can’t go/save himself. That’s great, what a good person!

But since other people were picked for their leadership/wisdom/merit, then why not Darius?

Did the writers forget that contraception is a thing? You know, to prevent ‘accidentally’ spreading his bad genes around? And pre-natal screening also exists (okay, IDK if they can find out about the Huntington’s gene that way, but still) – and there are doctors (I assume a few actual MDs have been picked) around to do it and in case of a positive result an abortion is an option? (But god forbid we’d even think of the A-word on a national network in the US, of course.) Or you know, just have the guy have a vasectomy, the easiest sure-fire solution. (Yeah, now I’m being mean.)

My point in short: there is no logical reason (I know, looking for logic on TV; I never learn) for Darius not to be among the 160 apart from the writers’ need for characterisation through drama.

Anyway, I think that if we get S2, it might turn out the nukes were false alarm or something, because Santiago Cabrera is first-billed and I expect they wouldn’t kill him off, so this disqualification issue will be moot.

So, if we get S2:

d) The usurping VP (why TF does he have to be named Monroe Bennett? *wry smile* *cue reminiscing of a certain other show*) escaped and will be wreaking havoc, I assume.

e) I’d really like if Amanda somehow survived (I mean, it’s TV, anything is survivable on TV, a little chest/shoulder wound should be nothing), because I liked her.

f) I had to google the actor who played Grace’s dad (he was awesome!) because he looked familiar and look, he also played the substitute pressie who needed to be bullied into doing the right thing in TLS.

g) With the EM drive being magnetic (duh), I think Liam’s idea has something to do with trying to use the EM drive to pull the asteroid in off the impact course. I vote for partial success, because otherwise the show’s premise would go out of the window and they might as well just end it.

And I think that’s all I’ve got (for now).

I think I’ll go find some pretties to queue up for next week. Although, I’ve already been in the tags a little and as far as I could see, nobody ships my OT3 (I’m not surprised at all), so I might need to do some giffing myself. And maybe write fic. But after I finish my current fic exchange assignment, which I should be doing instead of writing this, but oh well. Maybe now I’ll be able to concentrate better.

Tagging @street-of-mercy, because you got me into this mess! ;) (You don’t have to respond or anything, but in case you’re interested in my thoughts and questionable shipping choices, here you go. :D) 

[wakraya]

Hiveswap Teaser #2 Analysis

So, first of all, HYPE. Although I never stopped being Hyped but. MORE HYPE. Before I start talking at all about the teaser trailer, I gotta say, I’m glad WP are taking their time refining and bug-fixing to make a great game for us to enjoy, and knowing how far along it is and how close the release date might be, we’ll wait to see how it comes out!

Okay so the teaser, first we start with what seems like Joey peeping into the attic of the house through a hole. That already makes me feel we’ll get the little tease of knowing where to go but forbidding us from seeing what’s behind the cool curtain until we find the key that opens the door there.

There are a LOT of guns, some sarcophagus, tons of horse imagery, statues in the background, mirrors, Jake sure loves tossing stuff he finds during his adventures around the house! The multitude of items frame the centerpiece of the portal quite well, and the eerie glow gives-

Wait.

Okay, wait, what the FUCK JAKE.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M SEEING?

WHERE THE HELL DID JAKE GET THE CLOCK?!

We start /well/ if this is the kind of shenanigans Hiveswap has prepared for us, oh my god. This means that by this point in the timeline, Jake had access to SBURB stuff, though, so that’s an interesting thing to have in mind.

The camera zooms on the portal, and then Joey appears, reaching over to expose it, before cutting to the title. Hiveswap.

Can I say, I’m really glad about the direction they took with the 2D stuff. Everything looks so good, Joey’s expressions and movement are so sweet. I love her already.

The next scene cuts to Jude using a flare gun (Which we see later in his inventory) likely to warn Joey or to use it as a distraction somewhere else? The pile of leaves right under the window makes me think he’ll have to hop right off the window and into it in the future. There’s also a fountain on the wall that looks like a Lich, further confirming Jake’s already gone hunting to the Medium by this point. Also, the sky, the clouds, the background, looks absolutely GORGEOUS.

Then the flare lands in front of the house, and here we can see a few things. First of all, the statue. Of course. And also, I bet Jude cut the bushes to look like Nessie because he’s a cryptid fan. However, there’s a thing I just realised. I don’t know if this was a detail in the prior trailer or not but...

Doesn’t the house look just... Not taken care of? The previews of the inside, all the stuff just thrown everywhere, I assumed Jake was just kinda like that, messy. But the look of the house on the outside, with the broken pillars and the vegetation growing everywhere. The broken glass is likely from the monsters, but otherwise...

Jake. How long have you left those two poor kids alone? Not to say, wherever ‘Hauntswich’ is, there doesn’t seem to be a soul ANYWHERE in the surrounding area except for their creepy neighbours.

Next, Joey is crawling through the vents, either to get in or escape from some monsters, and while happy, soon the vents shake and her expression shifts. The way her expression dynamically changes like that, I love it, makes me think a lot about some Homestuck panels. That being said, either the vent is shaky, there’s something BIG and lumbering down the halls of the manor, or the damage to the house is more extensive than it appears.

Then, oh boy the UI looks neat! Worried Joey wanders the halls of her basement, I presume. The X at the top-left might be to make the UI disappear, or perhaps a quick quit to the game? Options on the top-right, help... Then, the inventory seems managed with Captcha Cards, of course. Easy to access and drag around to combine with stuff. Then there’s her battle... Stances? Weapons? There’s what seems like a ‘stomp’, her normal shoes. Then ballerina shoes, and her flashlight.

This makes me wonder how the combat system is. Furthermore- Joey seems to have the shoe selected! What’s that for? Maybe to hint that’s what you want to do in a sneak attack? Or is it not the weapons, and just something more like her ‘stance’? But if it was her stance, wouldn’t the flashlight be the one chosen right now? We’ll see how that works.

Of course, more to the right, there’s the character... Selector? Right now we have Joey, and you can talk with your Jude with a Walkie-Talkie. Straight-forward enough.

Also Jake, please.

Jude’s side of things isn’t looking too hot. That mansion looks fucking MASSIVE. It looks more like a village, but everything’s too... Bunched up together for that to be the case. Lumbering shadows, just there. Staring. The view is amazing, but very, very eerie. Here we see he only has a flare gun- Which we see him using earlier. Again, straight-forward enough.

Now is when things start getting interesting.

First of all, the new design of the Cherub Key is amazing. Cherub Teeth are the fangs, with the Calliope-Caliborn spiral in the middle, and the snakes coiling up. But also-

IT’S ALIVE? JESUS THAT’S CREEPY.

Creepiness aside, I like this much, much more. The one preview we had when it was still 3D had Joey actually reaching in to turn it on herself, just out of pure curiosity. In this situation, however? She’s being /dragged/ by the key, forced to open the portal, not by her own volition. This makes much more sense narrative-wise, and also makes me wonder if the key itself is a Juju. The lollipop forced Jane to lick it after all, and Jake has the CLOCK, so a Juju key with a Juju teleporter? Yeah, that fits.

The cherub snake-beams activate and... Okay, while the glow of the energy is red on the Caliborn snake and green on the Calliope one, both the eyes AND the sparks around the energy are green on both sides. Maybe the teleporter uses First Guardian energy in some capacity?

Finally, we switch to the Trolls! Xefros is a cutie, and that’s some RADICAL VIOLET BLOOD riding a... Bronze grub. That sure’s a way to promote the drink. Anyone can decypher what the can says?

Then we have a first GOOD look at Xefros’ Hive! There’s a picture of the Sloth Lusus, Xefros and Dammek. Cute. Also there’s a tree going through the entire top, maybe his hive is like Terezi’s? It could be, his Lusus IS a Sloth, and Joey switches with Dammek, so it’d make sense Dammek is the one with the more urban hive.

We see an Alternian Phone, some videogame, with HEXAGONAL DISCS. I don’t care if it’s more bug-like, that’s so incredibly inconvenient and asinine, Hussie, What Pumpkin. >:V Then of course, theres Trizza broadcasting her memes permanently on the TV, and the first look at Xefros’ weapon of choice! Which seems to be a... Cricket bat? Cool.

Then Xefros slams the can of soda against his forehead to crush it. Nice.

This is a lovely look at the urban look of Alternia. It’s curious, Trolls are nocturnal so I expected to see more activity at night. Then again, Drones have been taking Trolls to cull, so it’d make sense if they’re all hiding.

ALSO DAMMEK’S LUSUS! They’re riding it around :D Likely going from Dammek’s place and towards Xefros’ if he does live in a tree-Hive. The background of the Alternian Landscape is absolutely haunting.

We have a VS Screen! Not only that, but Joey’s reaction to each enemy and situation seems to vary from one to the next. That’s a nice touch.

Joey, you’re being unnecessarily extra. That’s Jude’s pigeon though, and the bat monster seems surprised by Joey’s dramatic entrance!

Okay so, the thing at the bottom seems like it’s maybe the battle system? The right arrow points at Joey, so maybe it’s her turn and when it’s the monster’s it points left. Then the three spikes at the top might expand into something like. Abscond, Abjure, Aggrieve? Again, I have no idea how the system will work. Also, the bat seems confused and bouncing around. It’s hard to tell if this is RIGHT after the Vs Screen, and being surprised made it flip the fuck out, or if Joey did something that confused it and made it bounce around.

The state of the kitchen really drives home the fact Jake has been an absent father for a VERY LONG TIME. Have they just been ordering noodles to eat all this time? I can see some adorable pictures on the fridge.

There she goes. What do you wanna bet that in Hauntswitch Act 1 we get a scene exactly like this but with Dammek’s silhouette going down the red shaft?

Me too, Joey. Me too.

Finally, “The door is nearly open” seems like a reference to the little line on the Hiveswap page: “First thing's first. You need to open the door.”

Conclusion: I NEED THIS GAME NOW. Patiently waiting for it to come out, still very hype.

[anything-advice-blog]

Submission - relationship problems that are driving me insane and could hurt someone i care about

For the record, I’ll just have you know I’m a girl in high school who’s DEFINITELY somewhere on the spectrum of asexuality (I’m not aromantic and I’ve masturbated multiple times in the past and I’m pretty sure I’m bi but with a romantic preference for guys…but if I were to ever do something physical I’d probably prefer it with a girl tbh?? idk if that’s weird or if that information was neccessary but in case it helps)

So I’m kind of in a relationship with this guy, and trust me, he’s amazing. He’s extremely caring and compassionate and loves me very much. Of course, he wants to get physically intimate (nothing huge, just maybe hand holding or hugging or cuddling or whatever). We’re both fifteen and very socially awkward nerds, and openly aware of it. Neither of us have kissed anyone yet, like not at all, and he’s asked multiple times if he can kiss me, and every single time I’ve turned him down. We have many deep philosophical conversations, also some about science and politics (though he knows a lot more than I do), and he’s just truly profound and brilliant and emotional but rational. He’s very empathic, open minded and understanding, guided by a strong moral compass…not to mention he’s a huuuuge meat lover and I’m actually succeeding in turning him vegan (logic and ethics always get to him). Thing is, I’m not easily fooled by men and their lies. I’m fully conscious when someone is acting/lying or gold-digging, and when I’m being manipulated, and I’ve known this guy VERY WELL for like two years now. We were best friends before we decided to tell each other how we feel, and he is very honest and sincere. He doesn’t try to act like something he’s not and while he’s polite, he truly doesn’t care what others think of him. We’ve both had psychological problems in the past and have counselled each other and helped each other through it (although I think I’ve helped him a lot more than he’s helped me. He’s been in a constant depressive state for like three years and honestly probably would’ve still been really depressed and unhappy if I hadn’t come along…obviously a three-year depression can’t go away completely just like that but for the first time in forever he’s really, truly happy). I make him incredibly happy and I know how much he loves me. In fact, he knows I’m uncomfortable with physical affection and is literally willing to wait as long as it takes for me. I mean, dude. The guy is fucking amazing. He’s super clingy and mushy and lovey-dovey and he knows I hate that shit so he’s trying to cut down on it as much as possible and give me space to let me breathe, and he’s in it for the long term. Dude. He actually wants to spend the rest of his life with me and no other girl.

 But.

Here’s the big fat fucking problem. There’s two obstacles in the way of our happiness together. There’s me. There’s my fucked up mind. I’ve done this before with another guy, who actually happens to be one of his friends. See, this guy was (is) smart, and although he’s not as deep and philosophical as my current “boyfriend”, he was super chill and understanding. Truly amazing. He liked me for exactly who I was and constantly told me I was beautiful and smart, that I was worth it and enough and deserved the best. Kind of like my current boyfriend, he reassured me and reminded me to love myself and help me get over some fears of mine. 10/10 Tumblr’s dream boyfriend. And I eventually got bored of him somehow. My attraction began to fade until I had no romantic feelings for him whatsoever and I dumped him. The worst part is that I didn’t even dump him. I just ignored him until he got the hint. He picked up on it pretty quickly, too. After a few days of texting “I love you, I don’t want to lose you, I feel like you don’t like me anymore, what’s wrong, are you okay?” he finally just gave up. I avoided him like the plague until time made us strangers again, and now the two of us don’t acknowledge the past at all. It’s like it never happened. We just pretend it never existed and have never mentioned the giant elephant in the room, and now we just hang out regularly with our group of friends and joke like we used to.

First obstacle, like I said, is my fucked up mind. Here’s the thing about me. I’m what people call a heartbreaker, which honestly sounds cool and sexy and glamorous, the way strong empowered women who eat men for breakfast are glorified in edgy pop songs, but it’s honestly a psychological problem. And I’m not popular or slutty or anything, I’m just one of those girls, a tease who doesn’t know what the fuck she wants. And I don’t want to be one of those fantasy tough badass bitches that every heartbroken girl aspires to be, those who chew hearts up, spit them out and leave them in the dust. I don’t want to hurt good people. My current boyfriend doesn’t deserve me, but he also doesn’t deserve getting his heart broken. And I’m terrified because I can practically feel how crushed he’d be. He’d never get over it. If I dumped him, it would haunt him forever and I’d lose my best friend because we won’t be able to talk openly anymore. I’ll heal eventually (pretty soon actually), but he’d never be the same.

Another thing. I have really severe anxiety, multiple forms of it diagnosed by a professional, and avoidant personality disorder. I don’t confront my problems. Anything even slightly out of my comfort zone, I just can’t face directly. I can’t even present in front of a class. Today I cut class cause of a presentation I was totally ready for…I literally had like eleven lines of dialogue…but I skipped because the class was full of judgemental ass Enhanced students who already knew I was like four levels dumber than them. I just couldn’t deal with it. I avoid everything and then it just piles up until I just break down and have a serious twenty-minute panic attack. 

Not to mention I’m super weird with affection and don’t want to hug or cuddle or hold hands or god forbid kiss, let alone do anything even remotely sexual. I just don’t like other people touching me. Romantic physical gestures just make me tense up and I get super awkward. Now, I’m not sure if my asexual ass is just wired this way or if I’m just really young and inexperienced and will get used to it in time. Maybe it’s cause I’m fifteen and overthink everything and am always super uncomfortable, or maybe this condition is permanent. Either way, I also fear longterm commitment

Okay. Second obstacle.

Of course, there’s another guy.

This guy I’ve liked for almost five years. Literally, since the first day of middle school when I first laid eyes on him, I was completely infatuated. All my dreams and fantasies were of him. Like, in my mind, we have already been married for decades and had three children (okay not literally, my biggest fear is actually having kids…my worst nightmares are of pregnancy and labor and giving birth and raising human beings and paying rent/taxes/bills and public transit and adulting but you get what I’m saying).

And guess what? My current boyfriend and I officially started going out the day after Valentine’s Day, this year. Because on Valentine’s Day, I found out the love of my life had a girlfriend.

(Actually, he has multiple flings and one girl I think is serious, but she’s long distance and both of them are perfectly okay with each other hooking up with other people while they’re not in the same country. Every year he goes overseas for the summer and during the summer they’re an official couple, but every other day of the year they literally tell each other everything. Like about the different people in their life and who they’ve hooked up with, and they’re both perfectly fine with it for some reason?? I don’t get it. It’s not even a polyamorous relationship. The guy just has a bunch of side hoes who he feels no emotional attatchment to…and, he reassured me, it’s completely mutual…and he just sometimes gets physical with when he’s lonely. But all of them know they’re not the only girls in his life and are okay with it because he’s also not the only guy in their life and they don’t like each other, they just make out or whatever?? Honestly, I don’t understand how it works at all but whatever.)

 So my dilemma is that you can’t get over a crush…just like that. And the funny thing is, my current boyfriend is the only reason that middle school crush of mine even knows I exist now.

Okay, I think I should start using code names now;

X = current boyfriend, Y = middle school crush with a lot of side chicks

It’s hilarious because Y is the hot popular stereotypical fuckboy (or at least I thought he was…he’s not as shallow or superficial, and he’s aware of his ego and tries his best not to act as entitled/obnoxious as those douchebag friends of his that he doesn’t even like, and he’s actually really emotional but doesn’t show it and never lets himself be vulnerable) and he never once batted an eye in my direction, and NOW we are actually really good fucking friends.

All because of X.

See, X knew I liked Y, and although he liked me (a lot!), he pushed those feelings aside to help set me up with Y, because he considered my happiness more important than his own (and still does, which is why it’s so difficult to ever break his heart and I feel ridiculously guilty for even thinking like this). He got us talking, and now although Y is one of those hypersocial extroverts that adapts to their environment really easily and can fit in literally anywhere (the guy doesn’t have a specific clique, he can literally just hang out with anyone), he actually chooses to spend his lunches with my group of friends. And I’m not trying to make it sound like he’s gracing us with his superior presence and aura of popularity and coolness. He genuinely enjoys our company. I’ve noticed that although he’s ultracool and popular and everyone wants to hang out with him, he’s always just wandering alone with his earbuds in. Guy’s a loner by choice because he’s sick of his usual crowds…they’re either street thugs, drug lords and juvenile delinquents who are a really bad influence on him (I’m talking like the actual hood here, filled with criminals, gangfights and crystal meth), or the seriously dumb brain-fried stoners who do nothing but play video games and talk shit (these people are seriously stupid…they can barely form coherent sentences and have all dropped out of or failed school) OR the plastic popular crowd (who are all super fake, self centred and obsessed with their image).

He’s been making an effort to distance himself from these people. And it’s not that he’s one of us now. He’s not a meme-obsessed nerd who always cracks sick jokes about drugs and sex but has literally zero experience with any of it, because although we all have a dark, dry, fucked up sense of humor, we work hard, care about school and homework/chores and family duties, and get good grades, alwhile having our own geeky hobbies and quirks and pleasures, like computer programming or gaming or music or visual art and Photoshop. (X and my ex are both into computer programming, although X is a lot better and is basically kind of a genius when it comes to computer tech and programming. Y is a pitch perfect musical prodigy who composes amazing songs, can pick up on the chords to a new one in five minutes after listening to it for the first time, and can play the guitar and harmonica at the same time expertly. They’re both super talented and passionate about these things. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about their personalities, I don’t know what will.)

Sorry. I’m getting too into detail

Thing is, I don’t think I love either of them. Or I might love both of them in different ways. But the thing is, I don’t know what love is. I don’t know if I can love. And I want to be loyal and devoted to X and love him as much as he loves me but it’s so damn hard with Y around. I don’t think I love Y as much as I love the idea of Y. I just love the way Y makes me feel. He’s kind of unstable and unpredictable (exactly the kind of wild mad love affair you want in high school but won’t last a day after grad) and a life with him would be fun. I’d never be bored, and I’d constantly feel the same rush of adrenaline I’ve always felt around him. You know, the typical stomach butterflies and pounding/racing heart and blood rushing to your brain, making you act crazy and be bold and do daring things. I’m somewhat of a thrill seeker.

But here’s the thing.

A relationship with Y, any plain fool could see, will not last. Let’s say, hypothetically, he does feel something for me. (He probably doesn’t, although X and my best female friend have said they’ve noticed something different about his behavior around me.) What then? We flirt, he gets me to smoke a joint or two, then eventually he pushes for deeper physical intimacy and I’m super nervous around him and want to take it ridiculously slow (because, let’s face it…if I’m uncomfortable doing anything with X, I’ll be awkward and self conscious as hell with Y). After a while, he gets tired of my unwillingness to reciprocate his sexual needs and calls up one of the many girls waiitng in line.

 Now, I’m not saying he’d do this. He himself has told me today that he doesn’t want a romantic relationship at the moment, just light flings that everyone’s chill with, but if he were to meet a girl he was serious about spending the rest of his life with, he would immediately tell all of his Saturday night hookups that he has a girlfriend and he would be committed in the long term. But I have trust issues bordering on paranoia. I’m suspicious of everyone. Especially him.

 A relationship with X, however.

X isn’t as physically attractive as Y is. Y is tall and blond and toned and takes great care of his appearance. He works out at the gym and has a haircut that costs more than ten bucks and actually wears clothes that he knows make him look hot. X actually has a very handsome facial structure and in ten, twenty, thirty years, X is going to fill out his scrawny skin-and-bones build and look a lot better than Y will.

And I know he loves me and cares for me and will never leave me, no matter what, or try to push me out of my comfort zone or make me do anything I don’t want to do. He wants what’s best for me and just wants me to be happy and healthy, even if it means sacrificing his own best interests in the process. That I can be sure of. The guy has no ulterior motives. He’s genuine and open and tells me things even if it’s embarrassing (and honestly sometimes I wish he would know where to draw a line when sharing shit, if you know what I mean). And unlike hedonistic Y, who drinks and smokes, X cares way too much about his neurons and physical/mental health in general to do anything like that.

Now, you probably see no dilemma. You’re thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with this kid? Where the fuck was X when I was in high school? Is X even real? He’s literally every girl’s dream. Y is a self destructive brain damaged stereotypical misogynistic fuckboy and that will never change.”

Well, it’s the current way they make me feel.

X was the best best friend I could ask for, back when we were nothing but best friends. He was someone I shared a deep bond with, a very close personal connection that was definitely more than platonic. There was always this chemistry. We just clicked.

But right now, he’s starting to bum me out. And no. It’s definitely not him. It’s just me. I know everyone’s heard this a million times but it’s true. He’s not doing anything wrong or different. His presence is simply smothering. I feel like I can’t breathe. (Not in a romantic way. In a miserably suffocating way.)

I have no idea what’s wrong with me or why I feel this way. It’s entirely possible that I only feel like this because I’m not quite over Y yet, and if I just give it time and hang on for a few more months, I’ll forget about Y and learn to truly appreciate X.

But what if I don’t? What if we just grow so distant that in the end I push him away completely because I can’t having Y so close yet so far away?

(Okay, this is starting to sound really dramatic and edgy. But seriously.)

My dilemma is that if I dump X, he’ll be heartbroken and I won’t be able to live with myself (okay not literally but the guilt would drive me insane) and he’d be really depressed (which he doesn’t deserve and goddammit I love him, I don’t want him to be unhappy). But stay with X and not tell him anything, I’LL be unhappy. I’ll suffer because Y, the guy I’ve been hopelessly in love with since the beginning of time, the guy I’ve always dreamt was my soulmate and would be my forever, is standing right there just out of reach…not to mention it would be horribly unfair to X to hide and pretend and act like everything’s okay. I’d be living a lie.

(And the worst part, if I cheat on X with Y. Like, what the fuck am I thinking?? Who am I anymore??? Don’t worry, I’m definitely not actually planning on doing it. Ever. I’d hate myself forever.)

Either way this goes, I’m guilty. I’m either a cheater, a liar, or a heartbreaker. Whichever way this goes, I’m a horrible person.

Unless we go for the scariest but most morally right scenario. I tell X exactly what’s going on. We talk about it, then I decide if I should tell Y. The problem is, this road is so unpredictable, full of twists and turns. It’s ethical, but it’s terrifying and could result in tension all around.

My question is; seriously, is there ANY way to deal with this where EVERYONE is happy??

(I’ll take “moderately content” by this point.)

 It was extremely difficult to admit my feelings to myself. I know it’s wrong. That’s why I’m writing you. I’m so sorry about this long-ass novel. It probably sounds like the most dramatic clichè ever but human emotions are a lot more complicated than that and I want to know how to be happy without hurting anyone, because so far, every scenario I’ve played out in my head, no one really wins. I really need advice on this from someone older and more experienced. Insight from multiple sources with different opinions would be very much appreciated. Thank you so much for this blog, and for taking the time to actually read through all of this. Sorry it’s so long.

(P.S. I think I forgot to mention that X and I are kind of the unofficial school therapists. Everyone trusts X 100%, and he knows literally everyone’s deepest darkest secrets and has never uttered a word about them to anyone. Also, a lot of people seem to think I’m trustworthy and confide in me, although I see myself as somewhat of a mild gossip, and they seek help from me. Y is currently my only “patient”. He has a serious weed problem and has even considered mushrooms once but I talked him out of it, thankfully. He lives for new psychedelic/spiritual experiences and I’m helping him quit smoking and develop a more sensible, stable mindset. My “nurturing methods”, as he called them, are quite effective, according to him, and although I don’t see much progress, he claims I’ve helped him a lot since we met.

P.P.S. You know how I cut class today? I skipped with him and we had a very long and enlightening conversation and he told me a bunch of personal stuff and then I kind of told him about my problem with X and relationships in general. I said I wasn’t affectionate or romantic and didn’t like clingy partners and always pushed people away, but I didn’t tell him he was a big part of the reason my attraction to X was fading. Seriously. I’d rather die. And now Y and my mother are the only humans on earth who know X and I are drifting apart.

P.P.P.S. Y told me to keep X. He told me that he could see how much X loved me and how happy I made him, and that he didn’t deserve to be dumped like that, all of which I already knew and made me feel worse because he was right. Then he told me if I were to drop him…like, if the relationship was seriously making me unhappy…I had to do it in the gentlest way possible and be super careful not to hurt him. He also told me that I should tell X everything I told Y, because clear communication and mutual trust are the foundation upon which successful relationships are built upon. Funny enough, X said the same thing. I. Am. Freaking. Out. Please help me.)

I don’t want to do something I’ll regret. Any guidance you can offer would be very much appreciated.

hey, just another note on a past submission

You know how the asexual bicurious “heartbreaker” high school girl who sent you that submission about her current boyfriend X and the guy she’s liked forever Y? Yeah, just another note on it.

I JUST WANTED TO ADD THAT IT’S NOT URGENT, BUT IT IS VERY TIME SENSITIVE BECAUSE I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND CAN’T PREDICT MY OWN ACTIONS AT THIS POINT. 

Please tag your response with “stellaster” (don’t ask, it’s a unique personal thing that doesn’t have a tumblr tag)

                       =====================================

 Hey love, 

So first off, no. There is not a way that you can end things and everything can be happy, immediately. That’s the key word. We all find our ways to happiness sooner or later. We are all heartbroken and sad after a break and that’s completely normal so expecting for X to be happy even after breaking up is unrealistic. He’ll be unhappy and you can only hope that he’ll find his way and he’ll become happy again. But staying with him while you don’t love him or care for him in the way that he thinks you do, that would also make him unhappy as well. It’ll lead him to think that he’s making you unhappy and no one wants to do that to the ones they love. You also said that if you leave him and break his heart he’ll never be the same again. While this may be true, you don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing. No one bounces back after having their heart broken loving so fervently. However, he can become stronger. Will he be more cautious? Maybe, but we can hope that he’ll love again. You don’t know that someone else won’t come along and prove him that he deserves the best of everything.

I think the best thing you can do right now is to be honest with X about your relationship. Let him know that you don’t feel a strong emotion for him anymore. Let him know that while you realise it’s safe to be with him in the long run, you just don’t feel the rush of emotions that you want and you may not love him the same way he loves you. It’s important that you’re honest in all of your relationships because everyone deserves that. Everyone deserves an honest partner. I don’t know what else you want to do in regards to Y since he said he didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship and you don’t seem to feel that it’ll be more than a hot moment of adrenaline either. But it may be better for all three for you to take some time and discover yourselves. You’re still in high school. You’re all young and there’s still sooooo many years ahead of you. So explore. If you realise that you still love X or Y later, maybe you can reconnect. While you’re discovering yourself, you can remain friends.

As for love, no one really defines love in the same way as others. So I would advise that you start thinking about what it means for you personally. When you think about love, when you think about soulmates, what do you expect from it? Don’t base it on what others think. What do you think it should mean? For me, a soulmate means a home. It means someone who accepts you for all that you are. Someone who is willing to die for you but also is willing to live as passionately for you. Someone who makes you feel safe, not just physically but emotionally as well. But a soulmate is also someone who challenges you to become better. To be a better person, to make you want to take on tasks that fear you and overcome them. That’s what it means to me. So while my soulmate may not be a romantic partner, it can be a platonic partner as well. So figure out what it means to you. And you know what? You may not figure it out for a while. You may not know for a while, and that’s fine too.

I don’t think you’re strange for having an aversion to physical touch. Touch aversion is not uncommon for asexuals. I would adivse that you look up more on asexuality and touch aversion. It’s not an uncommon phenomenon. It’ll help you find soe peace with what you’re feeling rather than feeling out of sorts and weird. Explore your seuxailty and your romantic preferences. A lot of people have different preferences and the world is no longer black and white anymore. There’s a million shades of grey in between and we just have to learn to navigate ourselves based on our feelings. So you may find out later that you’re not as romantic as you had thought. You may be aromantic or demiromantic. You may only want a QPP instead of a lover in your life. Whatever it is, exploration of self is the best adventure to go on.

I hope this helps a little. I tried to tackle everything as best as I could. I hope everything works out.

Always by your side,

Kelly

[prosciuttoe]

Congrats on your milestoneeeee (and your book)! Prompt: Gilmore Girls AU with Clarke as Rory and Bellamy as Jess and all the 100 gang corresponding to some quirky character in stars hollow please :)

A|N: This ended up being a mix of bellarke being jess/rory and also luke/lorelai all at once because, well… I’m a mess. Sorry love, hope you like it! 

p.s: You guys don’t have to have watched gilmore girls to read this! Just think small-town bellarke being cute. The end.

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You see, the thing is, Bellamy doesn’t set out to be the town’s asshole. It just sort of happens.

It starts because it doesn’t occur to him that this arrangement he has with Kane is permanent. He figures that it’s only a matter of time before he and Octavia are allocated to another foster family, considering Kane is single and owns a diner and basically has a laundry list of traits that makes him a less-than-ideal foster parent. He fully expects to be gone by July; August latest. And in the meantime, he’ll just go on with his life without putting down roots. Simple.

Of course, this loosely translates to him being standoffish and rude to most, hence the label. Not that he minds, all that much, since it ensures that he’s left alone most of the time. He has his books and his job and Octavia. That’s all Bellamy needs, really.

Until Clarke Griffin comes into his life, and proceeds to fuck everything up.

The first time he meets her, she’s behind the counter of the diner, helping herself to the coffee pot.

“Hey!” he barks, crossing the room in three easy strides and herding her out into the open, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She blinks over at him, hands still clenched protectively over her cup. Then, suspiciously, “I’m— wait. Where’s Marcus?”

“Out.” He snaps, slinging a dish towel over his neck. “Look, I’m not sure what your deal is, Princess. But where I’m from, we pay for the stuff we get.”

She bristles at that, her gaze cold as she sizes him up. “I had every intention of paying. Ask your goddamn boss, he can vouch for me.”

“Well, luckily for you, he’s not available at the moment.” He shoots her a thin smile at that, extending his palm out. “That would be a dollar fifty.”

He’s expecting her to storm out after, or throw a tantrum, at the very least- so it definitely comes as a shock when she plops down by the counter instead, sipping at her coffee before she cracks open a book.

“You know,” he manages, once he’s composed himself. “That’s actually a to-go cup.”

That earns him a saccharine sweet smile on her part; practiced and distinctly condescending. “Well, I’m not planning on disrupting my morning routine on your account.”

“Glad to hear of it.” He deadpans, giving her a sarcastic half-bow of sorts before retreating back to the kitchen. (It doesn’t help that she’s reading Ender’s Game, which has been on his to-read list for months. He almost wished that she had bad taste so he could hate her for it.)

She comes back the next day, and the day after, too; always with a different book in hand but with the same breakfast order of black coffee and waffles. She always sits by the counter-  despite the numerous free tables available- and finds a way to get under his skin constantly. Whether it’s the incessant tapping of her nails against the countertop or folding the pages of her book or even, god forbid, writing in the margins. It drives him fucking crazy, to the point where it’s impossible to stay quiet about it.

Look, Bellamy is committed to his cause of self-isolation, okay? But not enough to idly look by as someone vandalizes a book.

“If you’re going to start defacing your book again, I’d prefer it if you didn’t sit here.” He points out, curt, the next time he spots her with a pencil clenched between her teeth. “It ruins my appetite for pop tarts.”

“How is writing in the margins considered a sacrilegious act?” Clarke points out, mild, tilting her chin over at him in challenge. “If anything, it enhances the reading experience. I get to look back at my notes and see if I think of the book any differently now.”

“You can reflect on it without actually writing it down in your book.”

She shakes her head at that, exasperated. Then, thrusting the book out at him, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, mister.”

“Fine.”

(Bellamy thinks he catches a glimpse of a smile, then, but it could just be a trick of light.)

His initial plan had mostly involved ignoring her notes in the margins so as to prove a point, but he fails miserably in the end anyway. Her words are magnetic; insightful and intriguing and wholly impossible to miss, and there are times where he finds himself enjoying her thoughts more than the text itself. He finds himself writing back most of the time and it’s almost easy to fall into a routine of sorts, after that; leaving pieces of themselves in between the pages and picking out the details found in the blank spaces.

They’re well through December when he realizes that he’s not going anywhere, and that he’s pretty much half in love with Clarke.

“You should probably tell her before the rest of the town does,” Miller tells him. They’re friends- despite his best attempts at resistance- and Miller likes to drop by for breakfast before heading to his job over at the inn. “It’s not like you’re subtle, or anything.”

Bellamy can’t help but scowl a little at that. “I thought it would be a non-issue considering how half this town hates me.” He points out grouchily. “I’m an asshole, remember?”

“Yeah, but, like,” he searches for the words, shrugging, “an endearing asshole. One with a love life that a lot of people are way too invested in.”

Groaning, he drops his head onto the counter with a solid thump. “Great. Just what I wanted.”

“Just tell her before Jasper does.” Miller sighs, patting at his shoulder in what he supposes is a comforting gesture. The intended effect is more awkward than it is soothing, but Bellamy lets it slide. “That guy is a major gossip.”

He mulls over it all through the lunch hour rush crowd, fucking up several orders in the process until Kane takes pity on him and shoves him behind the cashier instead. He doesn’t do any better in that regard either considering how it all goes out of the window the second Clarke walks through the door, toting a basket in hand.

“Do I want to know?” he asks, jerking his chin over at the garland of ribbons weaved over the basket handles.

“It’s a Stars Hollow tradition,” she frowns, dropping the basket onto the counter. “Well, an outdated and antiquated one, at least. Women make the baskets, and the guys bid on them for the food and the company.” She punctuates the statement with a exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I tried asking Jaha if the guys could provide the baskets this time, and he nearly bit my head off.”

Grabbing at the mug that he’s beginning to think of as Clarke’s, he fills it with coffee, sliding it into her grasp. “So why participate, then?”

She shrugs, picking at the ragged ends of the ribbon. “It’s tradition, you know? Far be it for me to break it. Besides, I have some intel that Finn Collins is planning on bidding on mine this year, and he’s not all that bad.”

“Finn Collins?” he gapes. “As in, boyband? As in, the guy who works over at the minimart?”

“Uh, I could do worse.”

“I don’t see how anyone is worse than Finn Collins,” he declares, hating the petulant note in his voice. “That guy barely has two brain cells to rub together.”

She fixes him with a look at that, inscrutable. “It’s not like I’m drowning in prospective bidders as of the moment.”

For some stupid reason, he flushes. “Right.”

There’s a tense, awkward beat, as if she’s expecting him to say something else in response.

“So, anyway,” she says, averting her gaze. “I should probably get going. The bidding is starting up in a bit and I don’t want to be late.”

He blinks, has to remind himself to wipe the flummoxed expression off his face. “See you?”

“Yup.” She says, shooting him a tight, almost pained, smile. He watches her go for half a second, still attempting to reorder his thoughts into something comprehensible—

It all falls into place then- coming into the diner, her disappointment at his apparent disinterest- and he finds himself scrambling through the drawers of the cash register, muttering out a hasty excuse before emptying it and charging out.

“Hey!” he calls out, before she can get any further. “Shit. Clarke.”

She stops in her tracks, her expression quizzical as he draws up next to her, panting.

“Sixty.” He says, in between breaths.

“What?”

Pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket, he presses it into her palm, his pulse thundering in his ears. “Sixty for your basket,” he says, swallowing. “And your company.”

She stares at him, the minutes dragging on—

Before she breaks out into a smile, bright and fucking delighted, pulling one from him as well. “Took you long enough,” she goes, beaming, before looping her arm around his. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, reaching over to lace their fingers together; planting him in place. “I have time.”