#yeah I just like drawing safety gear

[highdramas]

you’re the only friend i need | s.h.

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader warnings: language word count: 4664 summary: having steve harrington as a fake boyfriend proves to have more pros than cons, all things considered. the biggest pro is one that you didn’t even realize until you were in the thick of your fake relationship. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this fic is a continuation off of this request, which is a to all the boy i’ve loved before based steve drabble, and will make a lot more sense if you’ve read that first! ty for reading and enjoying ily alllllll

having a boyfriend, even if steve was your fake boyfriend, was like a set of constantly evolving circumstances that you never quite knew how to get used to.

the strangest part of it all was the dates.

your one real relationship never even offered the option of dates. with ryan, he had wanted to keep things so secretive... the extent of your “dates” was him sneaking in through your bedroom window and making out on top of the covers. but steve...

steve hadn’t been lying when he told you that if you two were going to be in a fake relationship, he was going to make it worth your while.

within the first week of your arrangement, steve had come to you with a list and furrowed brows. you’d barely gotten into his car before he was examining the list one last time and passing it to you. “okay, these are the ideas i came up with. i know what telling you removes some of the magic, but--”

you both say at the same time, “not real.”

“yeah, so... figured you could take a look at the list, tell me what you’ve already done, and we can skip those. whatever you did with ryan, you know--”

skimming the list, you shrug your shoulders. “i don’t know if we did any of these,” you admit, looking up at steve. “i don’t think that ryan would’ve even been able to come up with a list like this if you put a gun to his head.”

steve scoffs. “well, yeah, ‘course not, because he’s not me. but, not even a fraction? i mean... did he take you to dinner?”

you shake your head.

“ice cream?”

another shake.

“what, the movies? i mean, i’m not even listing off any of the creative things--”

“no, steve!” you exclaim, tossing the list back over to him. “no, he didn’t buy me dinner, or dessert, or take me to the movies! he didn’t do anything, that’s kind of the point.”

a hush falls over the car, and you’ve never felt awkward around steve before-- well, not in the last week, not when you started to really get to know him-- but you feel a little awkward now in his bmw, rubbing your hands on your jeans and wishing that you could just disappear. if you disappeared, maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with this mortification that was settling in your chest. just how pathetic you feel having said everything out loud.

it’s as if steve can see the gears in your head turning, can see you turning in on yourself. “hey, hey...” he turns the key and the car turns off. he unbuckles his seatbelt-- one thing that had surprised you about steve was how safe of a driver he was and how much of a stickler he was when it came to seatbelts and general car safety-- and shifts his body towards you. “i didn’t mean to embarrass you, or make you feel bad.”

“you didn’t embarrass me.”

“regardless,” steve reaches out for your hand, and you think about it for a moment, how you might feel like you gain the upper hand by refusing his, but you eventually relent and take it. your pride isn’t worth more than the comfort that steve provides, even with a simple touch. “i’m sorry.” his hand squeezes yours and his thumb draws a pattern over the back of his hand. it’s these moments where things feel so damn confusing, where your brain knows that this is all fake, but your heart can’t seem to parse the difference. “and, for the record... i know i’ve said it before, but he’s the one who should be embarrassed. i didn’t feel one way or another about him before, but he’s a total dick.”

anyone else and you may believe that they were just telling you what you wanted to hear. but steve has always had this knack about him, and maybe it’s only with you, but you simply don’t believe that he would keep things from you. that he’d be anything but perfectly genuine. maybe that’s naive, maybe that framework of thought will get you hurt one day.

you’re willing to find out.

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steve creates a schedule for your dates. a schedule.

upon the reveal of how little you’d truly been treated in the past, he had quickly snatched the list back up, folded it up nice and neatly, and tucked it away into his pocket. he’d cited that now everything was going to be a surprise.

you go on a date with steve every tuesday and friday. and, at some point, that bled in to saturday’s and sunday’s, too.

(at some point, you end up realizing that you spend more time with steve than without him.)

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DATE IDEA 17: CAMPING

“you really thought that camping would be good for our first fake-date that’s not, like, dinner and a movie?”

steve closes the trunk and slings the tent bag over his shoulder. “i don’t know what you’re talking about. this is still a great idea.”

“isn’t part of the point of all of this is for people to, you know, see us?” you make a dramatic show of looking around, using your hand as a temporary visor, searching high and low for any soul who may feast their eyes upon you with steve harrington. “i don’t see anyone.”

taking a step closer to you, nearly chest to chest, steve peers down at you. “no one’s gonna believe us as a couple if we don’t seem comfortable around each other,” he turns around and trudges towards the plot of land that the camp host had directed you to. “what better way to become comfortable than to share a tent in the middle of nowhere?”

you roll your eyes but follow behind him. he guides you towards the little picnic bench and encourages you to sit on it. “what are you doing?”

“what do you mean?” steve shrugs and grabs a coke from the cooler and hands it to you. “i’m having you sit down while i unpack the car and get the tent set up.”

“but...” your head tilts to the side like there’s a thought bubble forming over your head, trying to understand him. “don’t you want me to help?”

“nope.”

“you don’t want me to help at all?”

“no. not even a little bit.” there’s a cheeky smile on his face. “i want you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the view. maybe if you’re lucky i’ll get a little sweaty.”

you scoff and huff and make to stand up, but steve’s hands go firmly to your shoulders. “i’m serious. let me take care of it. can you do that?” he touches your chin, just the faintest brush of his index finger against it, but it’s practically a lightning strike. when you nod your head, he smiles. there’s something proud there. “good.”

for the record, he does sweat a little bit. and you don’t know what it means that you kinda... like it.

by the time that tent is up, the sleeping bags are rolled out, and the pillows are fluffed, it’s already dusk. steve has built a decent sized fire and has dragged a large log to it, patting his thigh. “c’mon.”

walking up to him, you open your mouth, trying to decide if he’s implying what you think he is. he takes you by the hand and guides you to perch on his thigh, maneuvers your arm to drape across his shoulders. “comfortable?” you nod your head and he pats your leg, the motion far too easy and affectionate for you to brush off. “fuckin’ pretty out here, isn’t it?”

looking around, you can’t help but nod. “it is really pretty. have you been here before?”

“we used to come here every summer. me and my folks, and a few other neighborhood families. it was my favorite part of the summer, every summer. i always wanted to bring someone here.” he squeezes you a little bit. “you should feel honored.”

“i do, actually,” you say to him, and you mean it, deeply from the bottom of your heart. “thanks for bringing me here. and for getting all of this set up, it’s...” you look around, but despite the beauty around, your eyes want nothing more than to settle on steve’s face and stay there. “magical.”

“thanks for letting your fake boyfriend take you out into the woods. with no showers.”

your jaw drops. “you didn’t say--”

his laughter drowns out anything else, his forehead falling to the side of your arm.

you stay out at the fire together until the bugs force you into the tent. slightly chilled from that summer evening cold that serves as a nice break from the heat, you rub your hands over your arms. “cold?” steve asks. before you can even fully nod your head he’s unzipping his duffel and tossing his sweatshirt in your direction. “here.”

looking down at it, your thumb runs along the worn material. you’ve seen him wear it a million times since you’ve known him.

his favorite sweatshirt.

you tug it on over your shirt, and before you can think to open your own bag, there’s a pair of sweatpants in front of you. “steve,” you begin slowly. “you realize i brought my own clothes, right? is this you saying you hate the way i dress? even my pajamas?”

“what? no.” steve shakes his head and begins to shuffle into his own pajamas, and your eye gets caught on the strong chest with the beautiful smattering of dark chest hair. he catches your gaze and smirks a little but doesn’t comment on it, tugging a clean shirt on. “i just...” he shrugs and starts to get into his sleeping bag. “i dunno, you in my clothes is definitely not the worst thing in the world.”

there’s nothing you have to say to that which won’t end in you being a stammering, blushing mess, so you opt for saying nothing. you get into your own sleeping bag and you’ve just clicked off the solar powered light when steve says, “comfortable? warm? need anything?”

“steve,” you place your hand on his chest. “you know that you’re supposed to enjoy our dates too, right? you can’t enjoy them if you’re constantly making sure that i’m enjoying them.”

it’s as if he hadn’t even considered this. as if his entire focus was on you and your happiness. “sorry. i’m not trying to be weird, or make you feel weird.” he rolls over onto his side, nearly nose to nose. “it just pisses me off.”

“what does?”

“that no one ever thought that maybe you would want to do these things. it’s just ridiculous to me.” he licks his lips and his hand flexes. “i won’t keep bringing it up, because i’m sure that’s just as annoying, i just... i want you to feel special. really.”

something melts inside you. “you make me feel very special. really.”

the two of you fall asleep like that, alongside the hum of the bugs and the sound of a lake lapping against the shore.

at some point in the night, steve has taken your hand between his own. fingers laced, the back of it is brought right up to his mouth, as though he fell asleep just after pressing a kiss to it. when you wake up to a screaming baby four campsites down, you don’t make any effort to move it.

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DATE IDEA 5: DRIVE IN MOVIE

when steve came to your front door to pick you up for a saturday night date, confusion instantly rattled you. “where’s the beemer?”

“oh, that thing? yeah, that thing simply wouldn’t do for what i have planned for us tonight.”

you look at him with a slightly puzzled expression. “but it worked just fine for camping? do you forget the part where we got stuck coming back--”

“yeah, well,” he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “we didn’t get stuck on the way there did we?” you shake your head. “and i figured that i’d learn from my mistakes.”

sticking his opposite arm out, he gestures to the pickup truck before you. “boom. i basically had to beg my dad to drive it, and i told him i’d clean the garage until it’s spotless, but... we’ve got ourselves a truck.”

“what the hell do we need a truck for? are we going mudding?”

“i think the country folk call it muddin’. but, no.” he turns to you and runs his hand through your hair, saying, “double feature. ferris bueller and back to the future. i made sure we went on a night where they weren’t playing anything scary.” the fondness in your chest opens up and threatens to swallow both you and steve whole with the sheer magnitude of it. “sound good?”

“sounds perfect, stevie.”

steve makes sure you leave early enough to get a good spot and to have enough time to go to concessions. practically all of the hawkins class of 1985 seemed to have the same idea as he did. and all of their eyes are on the two of you. they watch as steve sets up the bed of his dad’s truck, filled with big cozy blankets and fluffy pillows. you catch steve’s gaze and he raises his brows at you, as if to say-- see? knew this would work.

maybe you should’ve trusted him, because, yes-- ryan is here with his new girlfriend, and their eyes have scarcely left you or steve since you arrived two rows ahead of them.

guiding you towards the concessions, steve bends down to press a kiss against your head. with his lips against your ear, he adds, “don’t worry about them, alright? it’s just you and me.”

once in line, steve looks around and spots ryan a few people behind you two in line. you follow his gaze and you swallow but he’s already caught the movement, already caught your chin and tipped it up to look at him. “hey. what’d i say? just you and me.” your mouth falls open as his thumb rubs against your chin and then he’s bending down, once again at your ear. “can i kiss you?”

it’s all an act, it’s all an act, it’s all an act-- your brain can’t stop screaming this clarification but your heart is hammering in your chest anyway, like a running wild horse that’s never been contained by anything, least of all a ribcage, a body. you nod your head but he tuts. “words. i wanna hear it.”

“yes--”

that’s all he needed. he sweeps your hair back with a hand, the other one a steadying point on your face. he brings his lips to yours and you don’t know how he’s so good at this. so good at pretending.

because it isn’t fake when you grip at his shirt, when you lean up onto your toes to get closer to him. the way that you sigh into the kiss, an involuntary comfort at your lips on his, isn’t fake at all. the warmth that spreads all over your face when he nips at your bottom lip, that is the least fake of all of it.

it is all so painfully real to you, and it’s scary. but not scary enough to get you to stop, not now and maybe not ever. maybe you’ll be okay being steve harrington’s fake girlfriend until he gets sick of you, if it feels this good, this real.

“hey, lovebirds-- you’re gonna lose your spot in line.”

at least five people have already gotten their sodas and candy while you two have been lost in each other. you half expect steve to wear some sort of cocky grin, be proud of himself, a smirk at the fact that he just claimed you as his in front of all these people. but that machismo doesn’t exist in him. all he does is touch your cheek, tuck you into his side, and move the several paces in line.

“was that alright?” he asks you, hushed enough to know that the words are just for you. “too much?”

looking over your shoulder, you see ryan with his hands in his pockets, eyes immediately darting away from yours when your gaze settles on him. but it doesn’t fill you with the sensation of pleasure that you expected it too. in fact, you don’t feel much at all. your head is too busy reeling from steve’s kiss.

“i think it was just enough,” you murmur. you settle your cheek against his chest and his hand goes to your head, massaging at your scalp. “you’re spoiling me. i’m gonna get way too used to this, and then be disappointed when i’m not always getting scalp massages.”

steve scoffs. “nah. this should just be a way to rule out duds.” as if to prove his point, his finger tips lower to the base of your neck, working the muscles just right. “any guy who doesn’t do this can be chucked in the trash.”

“you’ve done this for all the girls you’ve dated? for nancy?”

shrugging, he pauses, as if thinking about it. “not always. i mean, i was kinda a dick in high school. i may be capable of being a good boyfriend now, but i wasn’t always, i guess.”

“dicks don’t give their girlfriends head massages?”

“definitely not.” steve smirks a little and kisses your forehead. “i like to think that i’ve matured. that i’ve grown into the kind of man who gives head massages.”

rubbing your hand up and down his back, you nod your head. “i think any girl is lucky to have you, stevie. head massages and all.”

by the time that you get back with your popcorn, your diet coke and your nerds, the sun has fallen below the horizon. fireflies flicker off in the distance, the chatter of everyone around you the backdrop to your evening. steve, getting beneath the blankets, opens it up to offer you a spot. with a grin wider than it ought to be you climb in beside him. settling against him, your cheek once again resting against that strong chest, shouldn’t be so simple. so easy, but it is.

you like the feeling of steve’s laughter against your cheek, the rumble of his chest. it makes you laugh even more. you like how he twitches beneath you when your hand rests on his stomach, your pinky finger slipping under the material of his shirt. you like the way that his fingers continue to card through your hair, sometimes switching to rub your back, your arm. you like how no one can see you in the confines of the truck bed, but he doesn’t seem to care. he treats you just the same, dotes on you just the same as if a thousand sets of eyes were on you.

you realize then that you need to come to terms with the fact that you like a lot about steve. most things, even.

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DATE IDEA 20

you. me. pick you up from work.

when you had finally finished your opening tasks for the book shop, that was when you noticed the note that had been left in your bag for you to find. and even though you had no idea what steve had planned, you knew this-- you’d done everything from go camping to stargazed at lovers lake, from a picnic in the park to going to the arcade. and everything you did together, you enjoyed. thoroughly.

all day while you check out people’s books and offer your own recommendations, all you can envision is hopping into steve’s car and driving off into the sunset and whatever it is that he has planned for the two of you.

you’re so lost in this thought process, in fact, that you hardly notice who exactly it is dropping the pile of bodice rippers onto the counter. prepared to see a horny mom of one of your classmates, imagine your surprise at who you really see.

“i kinda get the appeal,” steve says, examining the cover of a lisa kleypas novel. “i mean, this guy... he has awesome hair.”

he shakes the novel at you slightly and you snatch it from him with a tentative smile on your face. “you just like him because he looks like you.”

“who said that? not me. you said that.” he cocks his head to the side. “well, hopefully you like how he looks, because all of these are for you.” he pats the stack with pride. “i went through your collection and made sure that i didn’t grab any duplicates. i also asked the librarian for a copy of what you’ve checked out recently. so everything should be fresh.” he pauses. “why are you looking at me like that? anyway-- and don’t use your employee discount, i’m not cheap.”

slowly you start to punch in the prices, watching him all the while. “steve--” you slow yourself for a moment and look him in the eye. “you went to the librarian?”

“uh, yeah. i mean, what kind of loser would i look like buying you books you’ve already read?” steve grins. “c’mon-- you ready to get out of here?”

one hand in steve’s and the other clutching the stack of books, you slide into steve’s car, thank him for opening the door for you. “i don’t get it,” you say once he’s slid in next to you. “this is a date?”

“yeah,” he nods his head. “you’re gonna read one of your new books. i’m gonna watch the game tonight. and we’re just going to... you know, spend time with one another. cook dinner. be normal.” he pauses. “i picked up moose tracks ice cream, too. sounds like a date to me.” he glances out the window. “i know it’s not super flashy or anything, but, you know-- i dunno, a date can just be coexisting around the person that you like. maybe that’s stupid.”

“no! steve... no. that’s not stupid at all.” you tap his hand that rests on the steering wheel, coaxing him to look at you. “i think that’s actually... really sweet. you’re giving me a taste of what a real relationship is like.”

something fractures inside of him and you can see it as it happens, but you’re not quite sure how to decipher it. “’course. that’s what i’m here for.” he reaches across and ruffles your hair which makes you giggle and settle back against the seat.

since you and steve began your ruse, you’d only been to the harrington home a handful of times. almost every time you spent time together, if you weren’t out doing something, you were at your house. your parents doted upon and adored steve, and made it very clear to both him and you that they approved of this union. you silently wished that you didn’t have to bring your families into all of this. it would make everything much more confusing and difficult when it inevitably ended at the end of the summer, once both you and steve have gotten what you wanted out of your endeavor. but it’s the harrington house that comes into view now, and steve seems to sense your surprise. “parents are out of town. another conference.”

“oh.” he puts the car into park but doesn’t make a move to get out yet. you clutch the books a little bit closer to your chest. there’s something written all over his chest as he peers at his childhood home. “i really hate living here still, you know?”

“how come?”

on the outside, the harrington family was perfect. two parents still together and one son, basketball star and stand up guy. but you knew what the reality was. the state of steve’s parents marriage and steve’s own insecurities weren’t lost on you.

“my dad,” he hisses out a sigh and his head thunks against the headrest. “you know, i don’t have regrets about not going to college. would i have worked a little bit harder on my grades a little earlier? probably. but i know that i’m not dumb, or a bad person because i’m not going. and i know that i can still go! and--” he looks over at you where you’ve already opened your mouth. “no, no, don’t. i know what you’re going to say, and i know that, alright? i know the stuff you’re going to say. and i appreciate it.” he looks back to the house and shrugs his shoulders. “i know that you’re going to say that i shouldn’t care what he thinks, or that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. and, realistically, i know that. but... he’s my dad. shouldn’t he know what he’s talking about when it comes to me?”

you press your lips into a line while he carries on. “i just... i just want to make them proud, i guess. haven’t heard that in a long time.” he looks over at you. “i’m not really setting the mood for a nice date, am i?”

shaking your head, you wrap your hand around his wrist, slinking down to his hand to slot your fingers together. “i don’t care about that,” you say easily. “i’m glad that you’re talking to me about stuff. real stuff.”

“yeah, well...” he rubs his nose. “for the record, if your dad was a piece of shit, i’d listen. or... any of your problems, or fears, or anything. i’d listen.” he levels you with a slight upturn of his mouth. “you may be my fake girlfriend, but you’re also my friend now. one of my closest friends.”

maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. yes, you were sad that you felt rejected and neglected when ryan was your secret boyfriend, but... maybe what you had really wanted was a friend. a true friend.

and steve harrington was the truest kind of friend around.

it only made your heart tumble nearer towards loving him truly and completely.

you spend the night doing exactly what he laid out. you read the book with the model that looked eerily similar to steve on the cover, and secretly, you imagined him as your rakish hero the whole time. steve sat on the couch and watched the basketball game, and every once in awhile, you’d get distracted from your book and simply watch him. it’s easy to watch him from this position: your head in his lap. it gives you the perfect view.

you cook spaghetti together and you eat every last bite. you eat the moose tracks ice cream together, after your book is put away and his game is long ago, his favorite team losing. and you decide if this is what every weekday date night could be like with steve, that whoever ends up with him might just be the luckiest girl in the world.

there’s a hope that bubbles in you that maybe, in one of the alternate universes out there, you’re that girl. none of this is fake and steve’s your boyfriend for real, and he loves you.

but when he looks at you and swipes a bit of chocolate away from the corner of your mouth, you think that maybe he loves you in this universe, too. maybe.

[aegon-targaryen]

Ghosts That We Knew

Zelink Week Day 2: Fading | TP Zelink | read on AO3) | @zelinkcommunity

Link dreamed of a golden wolf.

He bounded through a forest of mist, weaving through the towering trees that stood guard over this ancient place. Link’s paws kicked up leaves as he raced to catch up. Snatches of sound caught his attention from time to time—music, voices, a child’s giggle—but he kept to his course.

Yet the bright coat of his quarry disappeared from view, and when he slowed to a halt, he found himself in a clearing he would recognize anywhere. A sword waited at its center. He was padding forward to answer its call when the golden wolf emerged from the fog, his single eye glowing with crimson sorrow.

Turn back, he said with all the terrible gravity of time. Go and do not falter, my child.

Link sat up sharply, grasping his surroundings with the speed of someone shaped by deadly times: Ordon, safety, a sword within reach, Zelda in his bed.

Zelda in his bed. A foolish grin tugged at his lips. They’d spent plenty of nights together in the castle, but something about having her here was so enthralling. She was stirring now, rolling over to face him, and he tried to wipe the stupid look off his face.

“Link?” she mumbled sleepily. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Just a weird dream,” he assured her, laying back down under the dark oaken ceiling of his treehouse. Dawn and the journey back to Castle Town were still a few hours away. As always, a part of him longed to stay, but at least he would take with him the memory of Zelda dancing under the harvest festival lanterns, of Ordon welcoming her the same way they’d welcomed Link when he was only a lost little boy.

“I had one too,” Zelda said. “The scribe’s meeting minutes transformed into a Chu that terrorized my Council.”

He laughed. “You would dream about meeting minutes.”

“Now tell me about yours. It’s only fair.”

Go and do not falter, my child. Those words had been with Link when he dealt Ganondorf the ending blow, the final mercy, just like he’d been taught. “Well…did I ever tell you about the Hero’s Shade?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“He was a spirit, I guess. Sometimes a wolf, sometimes a skeleton in armor. He brought me into some…other realm and taught me some of his techniques.”

“The Hero’s Shade,” Zelda mused. “He called himself that?”

Link frowned, trying to remember. “I’m not sure. But it felt right to me.”

She was quiet for some time, though he could practically hear the gears of her mind turning. Eventually she reached through the darkness to touch his cheek and said, “Can you go back to sleep? Or shall we take a walk?”

Wide awake now, he followed her outside, where the harvest moon bathed the sleeping village in its silver glow. Other than the crickets singing in the tall grass, Ordon was quiet in a way Castle Town never was. Link loved his tiny room above Telma’s bar and his work in the Resistance; he’d even grown to love Hyrule Castle, because Zelda was there. But coming home was always like drawing his first breath after days underwater.

They passed by their sleeping horses and continued on to the Light Spirit’s spring. This place always felt different at night, cast in a strange glow unlike either the sun’s heat or the moon’s gleam. Zelda’s boots sank into the white sand as she wandered along the water’s edge.

“I know you don’t like to be called Hero,” she said quietly. “But—you are aware there was one before you?”

“Yeah.” Link had worn his tunic, carried his weapons, walked in his footsteps. “I figured the Shade had something to do with him.”

“He lived hundreds of years ago, but perhaps some part of him…lingered, as ghosts sometimes do.”

He’d seen plenty of ghosts as a wolf, but only one had spoken to him. Without asking a single question, the Shade understood who Link was and what he needed to learn. He’d understood the enemy, too. “He faced Ganondorf, didn’t he? Before the Sages sent him to the Twilight Realm?”

“Yes. The hero’s story is largely forgotten across Hyrule, but he was close with an ancestor of mine. She kept a journal, if you’d like to know more.”

Link couldn’t help but remember the curse Ganondorf had uttered with his last breath: The history of light and shadow will be written in blood. There had been so much weight to those words, a sense of that history reaching back further than Link could conceive, a sense that it would continue long past his lifetime.

The full force of it felt suddenly awful here in this spring, where fate had come roaring out of the forest to claim him last year, where he’d returned as a wolf and killed his first shadow beast in the same spot where Ilia used to bathe Epona. His predecessor had been hurt in the same way. All that sorrow had been evident in his rusted armor, his heavy sword, his single crimson eye.

Yet he hadn’t been alone. Link looked at Zelda and remembered hearing her name in passing as a child, thinking to himself: I know her. Remembered meeting her eyes in that tower, feeling like the sun had broken through stifling twilight to clear away any doubt: I know her.

“There was another you,” he breathed. “And there was another me.”

Her brow creased thoughtfully, such a familiar expression that his heart twisted in his chest. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but…yes.”

“It happened before. Will it happen again?”

Zelda drew closer, glowing like magic in the spring’s unearthly light, her dark hair spilling loose over her white nightgown. She touched the scar on Link’s cheek and said softly, “Not for a long time, I hope. But if it does, we will face it together.”

.

.

.

After breakfast came the hardest part of home: saying goodbye. While Uli stuffed Link’s saddlebags with as many snacks as possible, Beth tried to convince Zelda to bring her back to the castle and make her a princess. Rusl lost the battle with his wriggling toddler and handed her to Link, who was happy to bounce her up and down on his hip until she settled.

“She likes you more than me,” Rusl grumbled.

“Hey,” Link said, tapping the Triforce on the back of his left hand. “I already had this when you found me in Faron, right?”

Rusl raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Are you wondering about your birth parents?”

“It’s all right if you are,” Uli said, pausing her struggle with the saddlebags. “I only wish we were able to find you some answers.”

Link was wondering more about the wheels of time, the Goddesses who spun them, and an ancient ghost who called him my child. “No,” he answered, ruffling his little sister’s hair before he handed her back to Rusl. “You gave me everything I needed.”

Uli inspected his face with a smile, then turned to hug Zelda, who accepted the embrace with her slow smile—the kind that bloomed so uncertainly across her face, as though she was afraid someone would come and take it away. But she held onto it this time, beaming at Link over Uli’s shoulder, and the sight made him happy enough to lessen the pain of leaving.

.

.

.

Tucked away in a forgotten corner of Hyrule Castle was a graveyard accessible only to those who knew its secrets—at least, that was what Zelda said as she waved the illusory entrance away. It felt like stepping into a different realm blanketed by silence and thick grey mist, where there had just been sunlight and clear skies on the other side of the wall.

Since the Twilight, the crooked headstones had been straightened and the rubble cleared away. The thought of her coming here alone to weave her magic through her family’s resting place made Link proud and sad in equal measure.

“I’ve…actually been here,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was looking for a key to get me inside the castle, so…I burrowed under the wall. Sorry.”

Zelda’s mouth twitched. “Don’t be. My mother, at least, would have found that amusing.”

She halted under an enormous oak tree, its branches reaching far enough to brush the courtyard’s stone walls. Link still remembered the words inscribed on the tombstone, because they’d itched at the back of his mind on his first visit: The cursed swordsman sleeps beneath the sacred tree.

“He’s buried here?”

“I don’t believe so,” Zelda replied, pulling a weathered book from the pocket of her cloak and flipping through until she found a certain page and handed it over. “This is what my ancestor wrote.”

All they found were broken pieces of his armor, the journal said. People keep telling me he could have survived. But I am old enough to prefer hard truths over false hope. He’s gone. I know it in my soul. 

Tears sprang to Link’s eyes. “Where did he die, then?”

Far away, said a voice that creaked like the branches of the old oak, and they turned to find the golden wolf behind them, his image blurring and reforming into the spectral skeleton who had trained Link. Too far.

“It’s you,” Zelda breathed.

The Shade’s gaze snagged on her face as she drew closer, and he went still, his sword hanging loosely from his ruined fingers. His translucent form pulsed in and out of being with every breath. Princess, he said in a faint whisper.

Zelda had been queen for some time now, but she just smiled at him sadly. “Have you been here all this time?”

His red eye shifted to Link. I returned when the beast did. It should never have fallen on anyone else.

“No, that’s…” Link’s throat was tightening. When Zelda touched his arm, he swallowed hard and continued. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. You made me strong enough to win.”

And now you have won. Stay the course. Leave the sword where it lies. Do not falter as I did.

“I—I never do, thanks to you.”

Stay with her, the Shade insisted. Treasure her. Be there long enough to say goodbye.

Zelda raised her head suddenly, digging around in her cloak pocket. Link only caught a brief glimpse of what she produced—a painted miniature of a golden-haired woman—before the Shade choked out a sound that was undoubtedly, devastatingly human.

“She treasured you too,” Zelda promised. “She felt you go, and knew it wasn’t your fault. She…she wrote…” Her free hand brushed Link’s, tilting the journal towards her so she could read aloud. “I buried those pieces of armor in a garden we both loved. The cursed swordsman and all the weight he carried will rest here. But the rest of him is free. I can feel him in the earth, in the wind’s song, in the beat of my heart.”

“She was right,” Link realized. “You’re what he left behind. But the beast is dead, and we’re—we’re going to be okay. You can rest now. Is that why you’re here? Because you’re ready to rest?”

The Shade stared at him in wordless disbelief.

Zelda wiped her eyes and kept reading. “Neither of us were strangers to regret—how could it be otherwise with the lives we’ve led? But we had so much sweetness, too. It was worth the sorrow. I hope he remembered that at the end.”

I did, the Shade whispered. Of course I did.

“She would want you to find peace,” Zelda told him gently.

She…she would. Yes. I believe it’s time.

His form was blurring around the edges. Link blinked hard, finally allowing his tears to fall, and searched himself for the right words to give the spirit of his predecessor, who had fought so hard and lost so much, who had returned to help him take down their common enemy.

In the end, all he could say was, “Thank you.”

The Shade looked down at the portrait, then at Link and Zelda, huddled together in the graveyard with tears in their eyes. Write a happier story, he told them as he faded slowly into the mist, replaced by a golden wolf that bounded towards freedom.

Wind gusted through the courtyard, so sudden and so strong that Link wrapped his arms around Zelda to keep them both anchored to the earth. When he raised his head, the tears had dried on his cheeks, and the Hero’s Shade was gone.

Zelda brought the portrait closer, turning it around to study the golden-haired woman. Though the only crown she wore was a simple circlet of rubies, there was something in her proud shoulders that made it clear she was a queen. Her forehead was creased with worry lines, but her smile was bright, and her eyes…

Link took Zelda’s face in his scarred hands, meeting her gaze: the color of an early morning sky, after the dawn dwindles and a new day begins. No wonder he’d known her so instantly, so naturally. And that was before he understood what it was like to love her, to be graced with the trust she found so hard to bestow, to unravel the parts of himself only she could understand.

Maybe she was thinking the same thing, for she pressed a soft kiss to the scar on his cheek.

“I wouldn’t choose anything else,” Link breathed when he finally found his voice. “I—no matter what happened before, or what happens next…”

“I wouldn’t either.” Zelda held the portrait close to her heart, and though her eyes were her ancestor’s, that small, precious smile he’d first fallen in love with was all her own. “She was right. It was worth the sorrow.”

.

.

.

[carionto]

It's too big

Part 1 2 3

"How's the Captain holding up?" the overqualified Haespar Kraus asked Trisha, who was just leaving Knoslark's quarters, with a very fine braid he noted.

"Awful, he didn't ask a single thing about sea turtles. It's like I was talkin' to a brick wall, that can knit. I mean I was literally starin' at a wall, but it's like there was nothin' behind me either."

"Well this won't cheer you up then. We need to go on another expedition."

"Already? No way is Ying up and about already, and this" she points an irritated finger at the sign on Knoslark's door, "stupid thing is technically an order from our superior to not do a damn thing."

"Quite. Another technicality is that we will not be leaving the ship for this journey. Remember how the warp jump fried all our quantum gear, as well as numerous sub-systems and left us with one running reactor? That list also includes the internal ship-wide scanners and most monitoring sensors. And the drone controls."

"No way. She can't be serious." Trisha's face began to pale at the realization of what they were about to embark on.

"I'm afraid so."

"TAMEKI!! DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG THIS STUPID SHIP IS! WE'LL BE GOING THROUGH IT FOR WEEKS!"

"Closer to three months. I did the math." Haespar said with a glint of smugness. He loved being right with numbers to back him up. Though it quickly faded as he was also part of this tour of the Radiant Dusk, "At least the turbo-lifts work, so at most we will be a seven hour crawl from everyone else at the furthest nook we have to inspect."

"Woooow, you really know how to cheer a girl up, y'know."

"Even better news then - we can't lift off into space on one reactor in this gravity, AND we don't know if there are any radiation or coolant leaks. Suits on at all times."

"Greeeeat! Now tell me the local aliens are building a giant box around our ship. That way I can be triple packaged."

"Well, they are pelting the ship and trying to get in, but unless they are keeping advanced metallurgy a secret, they won't succeed."

Trisha just rubs her hands over her face before slapping her cheeks: "Right. Okay. Fine. Imma take a nice long bath first. And eat a cake while I talk to Emily about the underground catacombs of Paris. You're NOT invited."

[chuckle] "Hey, I'm just the messenger."

"Well I hate messages, so nyee."

_______________________________

Human ships are big. Seemingly pointlessly so, but there is a reason for everything. Sure, it's not the best reasons, but they're legit.

You need big engines to carry a lot of stuff into space.

You need big power generators to have enough thrust.

You need bigger cargo holds since the generators are taking up too much space.

You need a stronger, thicker hull to keep it all together.

You need more powerful engines now to move all that extra mass.

You need additional lift chutes and corridors to connect all the parts of the ship

You need an army of drones to maintain all of everything.

You need a bigger cargo hold since everything else is taking up the previously allotted space now.

You need...

And it just goes on until somebody finally decides that a 10 kilometer long ship that can transform into a circle is enough engineering for one day. Then you hand it over to a crew of 27 and let them do whatever, you installed a few thousand redundancies and safety features (adding a few hundred thousand meters of wiring, piping and code and a million tons of matter and bumping everything else up a size category in the process, but who's counting) what could go wrong?

Nothing! You're an engineer who thought of everything, not an architect who draws ugly shapes.

So yeah, you try exploring every street and building and attic in your city. Then do it five more times because in space you can just build in every direction. Oh and take notes and pictures of everything, because if you don't, you might miss a loose cable.

And if you happen to be neglectful and try to turn on your star creating power reactors, you might end up with a permanent tan.

Continue->

[wildmtthyme]

What is Love? Baby, don't hurt me.

Simon doesn't believe in love. He thinks it's the greatest lie ever told, experience has taught him that. Not personal experience, but experience nonetheless. Never mind the fact that he's in a long-term relationship. Never mind the fact that him and his girlfriend live together. Never mind the fact that they have a dog. All of this doesn't matter until he's confronted with that very topic he hates so much. And then his world is tipped upside down when his best mate is KIA. Simon is forced to take a hard look at his life afterwards.

Master List can be found here.

Chapter 1. The Topic of Love.

Warnings: Cynical ideology. (Is that really a warning?) Mentions of abuse/past abuse.

Chapter 2. The Call of Duty ->

They were sitting in the living room of his flat, Simon sharpening his knives- with him leaving in the morning, he knew he needed to make sure they were ready to go. Every now and again, he’d glance up at her. His… well, he felt silly even thinking the word ‘girlfriend’. Melissa was… well, she lived with him but he didn’t often think of the flat as theirs. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Her stuff was here, it didn’t bother him. She picked out some of the furniture, that didn’t bother him. She did most, if not all of the grocery shopping, that didn’t bother him either. She had even gone out and got a damned dog while he was away on a particularly long mission- that hadn’t bothered him either… even if the dog hair tended to get God-damned everywhere. Sam was a good dog, a shepherd mix from the shelter that thought she hung the moon. He was also fiercely protective of her and it did bring Simon a certain amount of comfort knowing that he was here with her whenever he was away- which was a lot.

It was a pleasantly warm, sunny afternoon… she had thrown open the windows in the flat, the curtains lazily moving in the breeze… she was laying lazily on the couch with a book. He wanted to be more… in it with her but he knew that he just didn’t have that in him. He cared about her safety and he didn’t mind her being around him… but he knew there was a vast crevasse between them that he refused to cross. He was still distant, he was still cold to a certain extent, and he knew that his standoffishness sometimes hurt her feelings. But… that’s who he was and she knew that when she got in this with him three years ago. He focused back on his knives.

He had just slipped the last one back into the sleeve when he heard her softly call his name. He glanced up, realizing she’d set her book down and had been looking at him, watching him, in that soft way of hers. “Hn.” He was wearing his lightweight, at-home, balaclava- the skull print was very light on this one- some screen print that she’d done for him. You know I love you, right? He blinked at her. He was sitting there at the small table beside the window, not in front of it because that would be stupid, but beside it against the wall… his gear spread out on the floor around him. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stared at her. She was waiting for some kind of response from him. She had never actually said those words to him before and he wasn’t sure what she was expecting him to say in return. He felt… off kilter, and he didn’t like it.

“No, you don’t.” He said simply, his attention shifting back down to the holder with his knives, starting to roll it up and ready it for packing. Excuse me? He didn’t look up. “You think you do but it’s not real.” He bent down and tucked the roll of weaponry into his rucksack. He heard a scoff come from her direction. Yeah, okay. He blinked and paused, glancing back up at her as she opened her book back up and went back to reading. Her words, few that there had been, were dismissive. He sat back up and tapped a cigarette out of his pack, one lighter flick later, he was drawing a heavy lungful of smoke in before exhaling through his nose, the plume of smoke gathering around his lap.

“Love is an illusion.” He pressed… for some reason, it bothered him that she dismissed his words so easily. Sure, Simon. She sighed the words, as if he were being some kind of petulant child! His brow lowered as he felt anger lick at the back of his mind. “People say that bullshit all the time and they don’t mean it.” He pointed at the window with index and middle when she glanced up at him but didn’t lower her book. “Right now, people out there are professing their so-called love after they just beat the shit out of each other or using it as a reason to shoot some sod in the fucking head.” She quirked a brow at him and his hardening tone. You think I’m going to shoot you because I said I love you? He ground his teeth. “You know that’s not what I fucking meant.” He took an aggressive drag off his cigarette and ashed it harshly. “People use love as a fucking excuse, it’s not fucking real. They’ll say it and stay in a shit relationship where they’re treated worse than dirt because they love their partner. They’ll accept it as a reason to get beat, to get cheated on, to get thrown around. They’ll let it trap them, keep them, reduce them to nothing.” His tone kept getting harder and harder until he was damn near yelling at her, leaning forward in his chair, doing everything to keep himself seated.

Finally, he crushed the cigarette out roughly. She dog-eared her book (something he fucking hated) and closed it, setting it on the table beside the couch as she stood up. Okay. She fucking shrugged and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, where he heard her grab a pot and heard the water running.

The fuck?! He was sitting there with a flabbergasted look. Fucking okay? That’s all she had to say in response to everything he just told her!? Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, following her into the kitchen. “Fucking, okay? That’s it?” He couldn’t help it. She needed to fucking understand this particular point.

He watched her set the pot on the stove, turn it on to boil before she faced him and leaned her hip on the counter. She was wearing some house shorts and an old band shirt of hers, not his. Yeah, okay. She gave him another lift of her narrow shoulders, folding her arms loosely over her mid-section. You can have your opinions, Simon. But, it’s not going to change the fact that I love you. You can rail against it all day long and all night and hell, until the end of time. I can’t control how you feel, I can’t make you love me back. Just like you can’t make me not love you. That’s the only really shitty thing about love. And the thing I think you really can’t stand about it. Yeah, all of what you said may be true but the real issue I think you have with it is simple. He cocked a challenging brow at her, folding his arms over his chest, his boots standing shoulder-width apart. You can’t control it. If you love someone, you just do. It happens all on its own and there’s nothing you can do about it. Now… whether or not you stay with that person, that you can control. I’m with you because I want to be. The fact that I love you is its own thing. And I didn’t tell you that so you’d feel any kind of guilt or… obligation. But before you leave… I wanted you to know that I do love you. He clinched his jaw tight, his eyes snapping in anger again at those words. So, when you’re out there and things get fucked… I don’t want you thinking that you’re in this shit alone. He swallowed thickly and felt the corner of his mouth twitch. She wasn’t emotional, she wasn’t teary eyed… she wasn’t hurt by what all he said and she was being honest.

“I have a team.” He heard himself say. “I’m never in this shit alone.” He saw the way she pressed her lips together and heard her quiet sigh. Yeah, I know. She turned away then… and that’s when he saw the first and only sliver of hurt. And he saw it for what it was. He felt like he’d literally just brushed her aside though he hadn’t gotten near her. That… that’s what hurt her. He watched her open the fridge and start pulling random (to him) ingredients out. Dinner’ll be ready at six. He heard those words for what they were. Her quiet, soft way of telling him to leave her alone. It was rare that he ever actually hurt her feelings… but when he did, she wouldn’t rail at him… not like he did… no, she wouldn’t cry or scream or yell… she’d just get… quiet. And that was somehow worse. He left the kitchen quietly, passing Sam in the doorway as the dog brought himself to her, drawn by her sudden shift in attitude, no doubt.

Simon spent the rest of the late afternoon and evening packing, ensuring that his gear was in order. Swapping random texts with Johnny and Price over what all was needed… what wasn’t… the usual. Except this mission wasn’t the usual and he knew it. He never talked to her about his missions… he didn’t want that shit in her head. He wanted to protect her from that side of his life. She made him carbonara… one of his favorites. They ate quietly… low murmurs of his appreciation and that he thought it was good, her thanks and whether he wanted to get takeaway for dessert. He didn’t. She said that was fine. He tried to get her to let him do the dishes… but she ignored his insistence.

When he climbed into bed that night, her having already gone to bed a few hours before him… he felt… unsettled. It wasn’t like they had a routine whenever he went on missions but… he didn’t like leaving whenever they were at odds with one another. It was rare, but it happened. And though they weren’t fighting, per say. He still felt… off. He rolled towards her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into him gently as to not wake her. She still woke up, she was a light sleeper. Hmm? You… you leavin’ already? She was groggy, her mind still clouded with sleep. Though she was a light sleeper, she trusted him enough that she’d stay just beneath the layer of consciousness where she wasn’t quiet aware of what time it was.

He pressed his face into her neck and took in a deep breath. “No, go back to sleep.” He murmured low and felt her curl up a little more, wrapping around his arm. He, in turn, curled around her. She was so much smaller than him, which wasn’t that hard, but still… it never ceased to amaze him sometimes. He ran his hand up and splayed it over her sternum, feeling her heart beat slow and steady. Knowing she loved him… hearing her say it… that was one hell of a burden. It was a responsibility he didn’t want. He’d seen people get destroyed for love.

His mother, for one. Love ruined her. And he knew, as much as he tried, as much as he hated the fact… that he was his father’s son. He had that meanness in him… that’s what allowed him to do what he did, to be as good as he was at his job. If he allowed that meanness to bleed over onto her… he held her a little tighter, hearing her sigh heavily in her sleep because of it. If he allowed it to bleed over onto her… her love would make her stay, just like his mother stayed with his father. He knew when this started that it had been a horrible idea to get into a long-term relationship… but it had all just… clicked, so damned easily. They just… worked. He could be mean sometimes, he wouldn’t mean to be that way, it’d just come out. Or, he wouldn’t even mean it that way but the tone of his voice would just tilt too far into that tone and whatever he was saying would come out mean.

But she had always been able to tell whether he really meant it or not. And if he did, she’d always warn him that he was walking a line. She’d give him a chance to reign it back in. She was always so damned understanding. His muscles all started to go loose as realization dawned on him. How long had she fucking loved him? His mind flashed through all the times he’d been unnecessarily cruel… mean… sharp… and all the times she’d just dealt with him, accepted him, eased him through things, been so damned patient. So many times, where she should have walked away and didn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a heavy breath. Was he already ruining her?

He nearly jumped when he felt her hand reach up and fingers comb into his hair… he never slept with his balaclava on here at his flat. Yer thinkin’ could wake the dead, Si. He sighed heavily and nuzzled into her neck again. “Sorry, love.” That endearment that he used struck him dead center in his chest. But she didn’t seem to notice, he only ever used it when they were in bed or he was fucking apologizing for something. Sleep, baby. He felt some of the ice that encased his heart thaw, just like it always did, whenever she called him that. He nodded and forced his mind to stop the laps around the abstract idea of love and what it did to people. He had to leave early and he needed to sleep. And he knew that this was going to be the best sleep he was likely to get for a good long while.

[coyote-kiddo]

i was re-tagging some of my old posts and found this, so i figured i'd re-do it!!! (all at once because i do NOT have the memory to do it over 30 days)

i found petdre first via the aesthetic "babycore", and then slowly got more and more into agedre!! i also found out a while later that i had been involuntarily age regressing for years and hadnt noticed

my age when im small is kinda hard to pinpoint, but i would say somewhere between 3-5 most of the time!!

i dont have one, and i dont plan on getting one until im an adult (for safety purposes), but i have a few fictional cgs!! (stolas, toriel, and alastor are my biggest ones :3)

hm, i would say a day with one of my fictional cgs!! getting to play with the toys ive been wanting, color and draw, wear clothes that feel comfortable on my body, use teethers, bottles, diaps and pacis and watch my favorite shows without being judged or being embarrassed abt it :3 plus a nice warm bubble bath, baba of warm almond milk and a lullaby before bed!!

i have loads of sippies, a few bottles, a few teethers, a paci and one disposable diap as of right now, but i really really want a babyyourdoll classic round paci!! and also pull ups, mostly js for comfort :33 i would also like more silicon teethers bc they feel nicer than gel/water teethers heheh

i pet dream occasionally, not as often as i used to but still occasionally!! i petdre to an afghan hound, a kitty, a fox, and im considering trying wolf pup, fruit/vampire bat and deer :3

when i age dream, im not too much different from when im big bc my headspace doesnt change as much- im just a bit more childish and less embarrassed about stuff!! regressed me is wayy different though bc my regression is almost always negative- im typically more emotional, childish, clingy, and annoying.

i prefer drawing!!! i like to color also but drawing just feels so freeing to me :3

my moots!!! too shy to tag but i love them sm /p /gen

regression is almost always invol for me because of anxiety and trauma, its also usually negative which is kinda sucky

yepp!!

not that i can remember, ive used regression gear in dreams before but never regressed

this one is kinda tricky- im gonna say probably either apple slice or salteens!! i also really love juice, chocolate, graham crackers and cheese and crackers :3

yes!! i never really grew out of them, even before i started to age dream ive collected them :3

just my stepmom and my dad, i dont really think they remember though

bubs, kiddo, buddy, and little guy are my favs!! masc nicknames are sooo gender affirming to me as a fem-presenting trans man :,3

my regression is usually negative and involuntary, but nothing usually makes me "instantly regress"- its kinda a coin flip- but something that makes me feel smaller when i age dream is fuzzy socks!!

nope 😭 even if im able to buckle down and have small time after ive been involuntarily regressed it just kinda fades away

its okay, i cant really speak on it much bc i have most people i dont feel comfortable with blocked and i dont have any other socials. though i do hate when people stereotype and gatekeep it, or water it down to "fem, pastel, cute way of coping for skinny white girls only"

not a lot, but if i stumble upon one in the tags i might read it :3c

yeah, but i dont really feel comfortable being tickled

stolas goetia from helluva boss!!!! he is literally my dada guys /silly

my preference changes constantly, but it would definitely have a crib that can be converted into a toddler/big kid bed w a canopy and mobile, a sensory tent, a bouncer, a play area and a deer rocker!!!

not really, it makes it harder for me to stay small sometimes

i regress because of trauma and anxiety, i age dream as a coping mechanism for stress, gender dysphoria and missing out on my childhood :3

i almost always have to be listening to music when small, regressed or age dreaming, and my music taste jus kinda stays the same

just boundaries i set for myself- dont intentionally seek out my triggers, dont stay up too late, eat when im hungry, etc

when i regress, i get very very clingy and sad and scared, so i come off as very needy and kinda annoying (+ blunt because i kinda forget how social rules work), when i age dream im basically the same as when im big, just gigglier and more childish

maybe!! i havent tried out caregiving before but i would like to!!

im in the process of learning italian, so i sometimes watch kids' shows in italian to help practice and to make myself feel smaller!!

[kiyzeiin]

Okay so I love love LOVE the way you draw the monkey d family it FUELS MY SOUL. I’m new to this app and I have lived my whole life thinking nobody drew them due to there being a lack of it but HERE WE ARE!! I absolutely love the luffys mom design and need to know everything about her. May we have a fun fact abt her? (If not that’s cool too)

thank you sm!!! ABSOLUTELY. i love her too. was waiting for someone to ask. this might be a little long.

she acts JUST like luffy. same mannerisms and everything. not as “empty headed” or frivolous but you get the idea. confronting, loud, blunt, selfish to the point where she’s extraordinarily selfless, etc..

samoan-austronesian ofc !!

she’s an international big-time con artist who steals(pirates) from local corrupt, rich leaders of different islands through her sea voyaging. she rarely uses the money for herself, but for the purpose of gifting it to the poor people who really need it. it’s a robin hood allegory. she’s very bright and quick-witted. and beats people up if they deserve it most importantly

traveled usually with friends from her home village and sometimes new people met venturing. unironically, very good wayfinder. she can navigate extremely well even without the help of her best friend, who was their ship’s navigator. she did this for 10+ years. the government wishes she would explode.

garp is more or less angry about this but mostly because her bounty would only continue to rise. meaning it’s dangerous. at that point, he’s like “oi sole !! fine! whatever she can handle herself i guess. it’s not like i can stop her !” it’s so funny to me, he can’t control his kid, his grandkids to come, or his son in law who just so happens to be the most wanted criminal in the world 😭 no one listens to him. i’m sure he feels crazy. most of his aiga are considered criminals.

may or may not be a devil fruit user. probably not tbh.

i figured since oda keeps insisting that luffy looks just like garp when he’s young and when he’s older, i thought yeah exactly ! luffy’s the spitting image of his mum too.

her and dragon met on her island when they were young. i’d say around the age 14-16. when they married many years later, dragon took her last name for reasons iykyk

before they married though, her and dragon went voyaging as well. they did many revolutionary missions/undertakings together. even before dragon named the endeavor a “revolutionary army.” this was the beginning.

dragon developed feelings for her and of course, it took her a long while to realize this.

luffy’s mom knows dadan. she’s an old friend of hers. wink wink. this is why garp is familiar with dadan and trusted luffy (and ace)with her.

i’d like to think(i DO think) they gave luffy over to dadan for safety reasons if we’re being honest. this is why luffy probably never saw his biological mom.

i like to paint luffy with a bit of pink in his eyes, a feature his mom and his grandpa garp, and previous maternal family members inherit. notice how gear 5 has pink-reddish eyes too !

after luffy was born she doesn’t scheme as much. things happened. with her bounty it’s not safe to stay in one place, but she does get to relax in her home village on every good occasion. she kinda has to play hopscotch between islands so they won’t be targeted.

*

these are just a couple of ideas i had about her. a little might change later but this is how i feel about her (possible) character. AUGHHH i really wish to expand more on this and draw more of her. i do have unfinished drawings of her in my cloud though. im super busy with college rn. i will post more art of the monkey d aiga (family) when i have the time to !!! i’m SO happy you like how i interpret them 💗💗💗

[bravoactual]

Just thinking about Soap's journal again and the reason why 'How many times times can a man save your life until it's no longer your own?' has me in a permanent chokehold. (822 words)

Soap seeing himself in Roach.

Like Sanderson. He's a Sgt., but reminds me of what I must've looked like coming out of selection: raw, skilled, loyal to a fault.

Soap seeing Price in himself because of Roach.

Maybe it's the Villa Clara's? Five years ago, my first mission with the 22nd began with one. Yesterday, Roach and I follow suit. Then, like clockwork, fresh meat gets caught falling to certain death.

Me: Off a helicopter over the Bering Strait. Roach: An ice cliff in Kazakhstan.

But wait, there's more.

Have been looking forward to breaking Roach in. Beyond the mission similarities, He reminds me after myself after selection. Feel even more comfortable with him than Price must have with me.

And,

Afterwards, saw the Sgt. writing in a journal. Wonder if he's thinking about PT like I was. If he's wondering what Villa Clara's taste like.

Like, yes, Soap. It's only natural to think about what your captain's been tasting after he saves your life. There's no way that's something exclusive to you.

And of course, just like Price, you'd give yourself to keep your men from going first.

Bingo or not, would've crashed before leaving Roach on those rooftops.My fault, it was so close. Could have told Roach to shed more gear before the jump.

Yes, take full responsibility for Roach's fate. He's who you were and you're who he'll be.

Funny thing, watching Roach get taken down by Price in the gulag not like the old man rotted in a gulag for 5 years or anything...

It is funny isn't it, like your past and your future met at the present. And what do you do with the only tangible piece of Price you've had since he was MIA?

Felt good to give the gun back. Price's pistol wasn't just the gun that killed Imran Zakhaev - it was the gun that saved my life.

In Price's hands, not yours. Right where it belongs. And not just giving the pistol back, but giving over the task force you built and breathed and burned for. Despite the fact he's "rotted" as a POW for five years.

Good to have the Captain back in command. Best demotion imaginable.

Just say you missed him.

So yeah, was happy to follow Price and Roach over the net. Not just because it meant I was far from the mutts, but because I got to listen to the two of them working together, like we once did.

Just say you missed him.

There was that same options: Take out the target or let themHIM pass. Nice to hear Price taking Roach under his wing. Know the effect it can have.

Yeah, the effect of a lifetime of devotion, but you aren't any man and Roach isn't you.

Soon as Price went dark; right then, knew it was bad. Didn't need Ghost screaming over the net to realize it. Spoke to Price afterwards. Man knows something about the greater good.

And what if he hadn't appeased you? What was it you called Roach? Loyal to a fault.

Then you lose Ghost and Roach. You can't even keep your hand steady as you curse Shepherd on the pages. And the part of you that you protected through Roach is lost too.

And here it is, the crux of it.

Saved again. How many times now, I've lost count. Don't mean I've lost track. The questions are hard. How do I repay his debt? How many times times can a man save your life until it's no longer your own? But the answer's easy. At least to me. LOYALTY doesn't operate on a sliding scale. It's a safety. ON OR OFF.

You belong to Price. You've belonged to Price since Bering Strait. There is no off. You remained loyal even when Price was dead. You carried him with you every single day. He's your master. You're his dog.

No more drawings of Price, not even a mention of him beyond tactics. You used to find echos of him in everything and everyone. You aren't the sergeant, you can't be. The sergeant is KIA. You are the captain.

Here on out, we're for just one thing: Redemption.

The end is in sight. Shepherd took the task force you'd built and tarnished every operator's name. Your men, under your watch. The ones you'd give yourself to protect. Yourself is exactly what it costs. Redemption can only be granted to the dead if you succeed.

And then the final page, the epitaph written by Price from "The Golden Journey to Samarkand".

"We are the pilgrims, master: we shall go. Always a little further: it may be Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow, Across that angry or that glimmering sea,"

Once your name is clean, John "Soap" MacTavish will join the others KIA, engraved on the clocktower in Hereford. Until then, Price will hold the last tangible piece of you, just as you did for him.

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

This is a NSFW parksborn puppy play doodle dump, ft. both concepts for gear and also just plain old horny drawings.

I wrote that puppy play fic and now I am ill, I think—with puppy peter fever,

(there's a separate post for the safe-for-work drawings on that second page of doodles: link)

This is all slapped together so some closeups after the readmore, focusing on the less-than-safe-for-work images:

I'll start off with some of the sillier drawings:

this ⬇️ is a little doodle-comic of what probably happened immediately after they finished their little uh, play session in the fic.

not really a puppy related drawing other than addressing the fact that Peter "Daddy Dom" Parker is extremely embarrassed by what he just did... I will be honest, I kind of approach all instances of Peter subbing as involving inevitable sub drop. He just doesn't deal well with submission, after-the-fact, even when it's cathartic for him.

Goofy x Horny double combo—

also more sub drop. i was just having fun with little doodles. if i actually write anything about Peter's aftercare needs in this context it will be, like in other contexts I have written it, much less silly.

HORNY:

hi 🥴

and some uh. dog bone gags 😳 don't judge me.

one, an actual gag made for humans, and the other, me looking at a chew toy and thinking to myself, they could probably fit that in Peter's big mouth. for when he won't shut the fuck up.

all you need is a spring lock and suddenly it's adjustable, amiright?

he's still topping here btw. not that i drew the rest of what's happening. but. probably topping. or getting a bj idk.

Harness and collar concepts ahoy:

Peter's day collar. It's heavily based off of this collar (sfw link btw it's just petco LOL) by Le Dog Company, but I wanted to make it more padded under the buckle. I do like that the strap just says "Le dog" though like. Yeah. And you can see his little name tags and stuff.

probably the inside is like a nice caramel color, rather than black or anything, but i didn't color that part.

and I decided that they'll never go beyond "training" or other non-ownership collars. i don't think he'd be okay with extending even pretend ownership outside of actively having sex tbh. they're extremely not following "old guard traditions" here. peter owns himself and all of his gear, no exceptions

concept for harness to match, courtesy of Felicia, and just. photos of one of the leashes. i didn't feel like drawing it. not pictured: 9 footer (another petco link lol) — I think I like the way the 4 foot leash looks better, esp since it matches the collar better imo, but I figured. maybe sometimes they would want a 9 foot leash. I mean. Is Harry taking Peter on walks, No, but, you know, could be useful.

Harness is the same color as the collar, I just made it lighter in this pic so you can see the actual details. It's loosely based on some leather harness I saw but slightly different.

...

I also wanted to add some bonus sets which are probably gifts from Felicia, though I'm sure Harry could afford more, but *waves my hand* Felicia likes to tease Peter—

*loudly clears my throat* It's uhh, you know, I just like pink. yeah. I mean normally I put Flash in pink for gender-y reasons I think most people are aware of at this point, but I just. Happened to see a picture of a cute pink mesh dog harness while looking for inspiration, and, well, it got away from me a little bit,

not for gender reasons, particularly, mostly just for horny reasons 😂

this one is obviously stealing I mean taking heavy inspo from the irl dog harness but also from some other stuff, like safety vests and what have you. And I decided I wanted it to have nylon straps with a cinch instead of a normal buckle because............ conceptually, I find that sexy, for some reason LOL idk it's the physicality or something. the combo of industrial hardware with girly aesthetics. just really strapping him into this thing.

also yeah i designed this one to not be easily removed (or put on) by the wearer themself, also for horny reasons. requires a helper to put on and take off, though Peter is probably flexible enough he could take it off by himself if he needed to get out in a pinch.

........does this qualify as sissification? probably. who can say,

anyway the collar is based on those thousand different kinds of customizable rhinestone collars where you can get your pet's name, or "cum slut" or whatever, spelled out in bejeweled charms. but made with like, slightly higher quality materials. like suede, heavy duty hardware, cubic zirconia or something, etc... I came VERY close to putting something vulgar but settled on just Peter's name and the hearts instead.

In my head, Felicia thinks she's very, very funny for giving this pink set to Peter.

don't be such a wet blanket Peter.

no, i do have a scenario in my notes involving him trying this on and enjoying it a little bit more than he intended to... not because of him having a secretly girlish nature so much as uh the opposite, so. you know, like i said, it might qualify as sissification/force femme, but idk. i just like it...

harry would also be cute in this... also flash... really any of the gang. full CBG matching bubblegum pink kink wear, now there's a thought 😂 mj would probably get a kick out of that

swarovski crystal... i wanted a D-ring on both the front and the back (for versatility) and it happened to also be a useful place to hang a cute little charm.

And now for something on the complete opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum, and probably more Felicia's style than anything else in this post.

Anyway, the other bonus from Fel (or possibly just Peter and Harry buying it). Sometimes Peter is naughty... or, you know, combining his top and dom instincts with submission and bdsm—a bad dog who bites. muzzle optional. tbh idk how hardcore Harry is but Peter likes this stuff (in my mind) so I figure it would make sense. More BDSM looking than doggy at this point but, you know, the spiked collar and a very short (like a foot or two at most) chain leash. plus muzzles.

went for two different muzzles—the medical padded style that is on its own pretty intense, with a little snap so it can attach to the O-ring on the front of the collar instead of having its own attached collar (see, O-ring not just aesthetic lol) and the other one is a more dog-like muzzle, with the metal basket. Both would probably be custom, esp if they're from Felicia, though i guess with the right needle and stuff Peter could probably modify a stock padded muzzle on his own... so maybe only the metal one is custom. who knows.

Obv the leather padded one is way more of a muzzle that makes it so you can't speak easily, or bite or eat or anything else, plus it has its own D-ring for extra bondage lol— vs the basket muzzle which is mostly aesthetic and to prevent biting. lol.

there are 500 harnesses that look almost exactly like this on etsy. can't beat the classics i guess. didn't bother drawing seams but this is definitely reinforced, though none of it's padded except where it needs to be for durability.

butt. all of the harnesses like this i saw also have that kind of rubber handle on the back. it's not like Harry can really tug Peter around that much even if Peter didn't have super strength, but, i have to include nice handles on all of these for the aesthetic/sex appeal. it's about the implication.

my real motivation for making this one unpadded (aside from, I guess, being less gentle) was cause I wanted all the spike rivets and other hardware to be skin-contact. aka: put the collar in the fridge for some temperature play LOL 🥶❄️ obv it would warm up fast but, appealing mental image,

i also thought it would be fun if it had some warning patches they could put on it, so I sketched a couple of those. I think Peter could make or modify something like this very easily lol. these could probably be put on the other harnesses too. or like on the shoulder straps. full kit w/ muzzle + spiked collar + harness + chain leash + caution patches is definitely... a thought...

[miss-writes-a-lot]

Ozqrow Week 2023 Day 2

(Still going strong for @ozqrowweek with day 2! Let's see how long this lasts!)

CW for angst, crying, brief mentions of Summer Rose

Ozqrow Week 2023 Day 2: Accidental kiss

Qrow returns to the clocktower late at night to find it an absolute mess. 

The few pieces of furniture that are in Ozpin’s office are knocked over and are dragged off to the side. Papers and books are scattered across the floor, some of those pages ripped to shreds. The alarm bells in Qrow’s head immediately begin going off.

These books are - or, were - decades worth of notes and findings on whatever information he could gather on Salem. He wouldn’t just throw it all away like it was nothing. Someone was in the clocktower.

Someone got to Oz.

 The avian man draws his weapon and slowly leaves the safety of the elevator to enter the rest of the office. He scans the perimeter, searching for any sign of life or remaining intruders. He perks up when he hears the sound of quiet sobbing coming from one of the corners. He whips around, Harbinger at the ready to strike when he sees him.

Ozpin hides behind one of the pillars closest to the window. His hands are buried deep in his disheveled silver hair. His clothes are ripped and ragged like his breathing. 

“Oz,” Qrow says.

He sheaths Harbinger and runs to him, sliding into a crouch in front of him. Ozpin doesn’t react when Qrow grabs his shoulders.

“Oz - Hey, Ozzy. Talk to me. What happened, huh? What happened? You hurt?”

Ozpin shakes his head, sobbing, “It’s all my fault, Qrow. It’s all my fault!”

“What is, Ozzy? What’s your fault?”

“All of...Of this!” he gestures out to the room, revealing his red, tear stained face, “This! You and Raven and - and - and Summer! It’s all my fault!”

Qrow leans back. The gears in his head start to turn. He takes another look around the office again. The ripped pages, the scattered books full of research, Ozpin talking about...her. Qrow sighs through his nose, releasing Ozpin from his grip.

“No, Oz. It’s not.”

Ozpin sniffs loud, “It is, Qrow. All of it is! I’ve wasted years researching and going on missions and - and sending you all on missions to find nothing! We have nothing and she-”

“Ozpin, no,” Qrow says firmly, “This isn’t all on you, okay?”

“But I-”

“No,”  Qrow scoots closer to him, his calloused hands slowly moving to Ozpin’s with a soft touch, “Sure, you asked us to help you with all this. But you gave us the choice. You didn’t say that we had to do it, right? You asked if we could. If we wanted to, and we did. We knew the risk; loud and clear and we still wanted to run into fire with you and we did.”

“Qrow, I-”

“We knew the risk,” he brings Ozpin closer until the foreheads touch, “We all knew the risk, even before Salem. I know it, Tai knows it, Summer knew it. We’d all have had to be idiots to jump in without knowing that we might not make it home or something.”

His hands move to hold Ozpin’s face, “You’ve been dealin’ with this all by yourself. Yeah, you fucked up a couple of times, but now, you’re not alone. This stuff isn’t useless. We haven’t lost yet. There’s still a chance we can find something to take her down. We still have Amber. We have Jimmy’s tech and the Nikkos girl comin’ from Argus, right? We still have a chance, so don’t give up on all this just yet.”

Ozpin stares at him with his red, puffy eyes, searching for the lie. Or maybe an answer that’s more concrete and that could end this all. When he doesn’t find one, his face twists and he buries himself in Qrow’s shoulder, heavily sobbing a chorus of ‘I’m sorry’s’ between heavy, ragged breaths.

Qrow cradles his head in one hand while the other travels up and down his back. “I gotcha, Ozzy. I gotcha.”

Qrow sits with him, the man who usually towers above him some days now the smallest he’s ever seen him, as he cries into his shoulder blade. He doesn’t say a word the entire time. He’s just there. He’s there the same way Ozpin had and has been all these years since they started walking down this path together. He holds him in silence because he knows the last thing he wants is to keep hearing Qrow rattle off all the ways this is supposed to work out somehow in the end. 

He knows that Ozpin just wants him there, so he’s going to be there for as long as it takes.

It’s only until Ozpin’s sobs dissolve into small sniffling does he look down at his companion with the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his face. “You doing okay there, Ozzy?”

Ozpin nods.

“You wanna look at me so I can make sure you’re okay?”

The silver haired man shakes his head, tightening his hold on Qrow’s jacket. 

“You sure?”

“Don’t...want you to see me like this,” Ozpin murmurs.

Qrow scoffs, “You’ve seen me in worse condition than this. I can handle whatever you’ve got for me.”

Ozpin hesitates. He slowly lifts his head to look up at Qrow. His cheeks are blotchy and red. There are noticeable tears stains streaked down his face to his chin and his hair’s a mess, which for Qrow, was just another Tuesday night for him.

“There he is,” Qrow says softly.

“I’m so sorry for this, Qrow,” Ozpin rasps, “I didn’t...I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I...I’m glad you came, however. I...I don’t think I could’ve braved this night alone.”

Qrow smiles. He leans in, brushes back Ozpin’s bangs, and pecks a kiss to his forehead. “Anytime you need me, Oz. I’ll be here.”

Qrow pulls back to Ozpin’s eyes wide as saucers staring at him. Qrow quirks a curious brow, wondering what got him so spooked until he realizes that he just kissed Ozpin.

Ozpin, his friend who is definitely not his boyfriend and has not kissed like that before - or ever. 

He feels his face burn several different shades of red. “U-Uh, that was an accident! F-Force of habit with my nieces, you know?”

“O-Of course.”

“Ye-Yeah, you get it, right?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

They continue to stare at one another, their faces redder than Ruby’s cape. Qrow stands, hands awkward situated on his hips in an attempt to seem casual. “Welp! I gotta get going! Unless, you know, you...need me to stay with you and help you with somethin’?”

“Well...I could use a hand fixing this place up? Maybe you can help me piece my notes back together? Make sense of the scribbles again.”

“Uh...sure. I can - I can do that,” he replies.

“Could you...also help me stand up? My legs aren’t, uh-”

“Oh, yeah! No problem!”

Qrow reaches out a hand. Ozpin grabs him by the forearm and Qrow lifts him onto his shaky legs. Ozpin steadies himself against Qrow, which sends his heart rate skyrocketing. 

“Think you’ll be good?”

“I should be. Should we get to work?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

“Oh, and Qrow?”

“Yeah Oz?”

For the first time tonight, Ozpin smiles. He geniunely smiles. He seems so intent on putting Qrow in an early grave all by himself. “Thank you. I needed this tonight.”

Qrow smiles back at him, squeezing his hand. “Anytime, Oz. I’ll be here for you anytime.” 

[unsurebazookacore]

So here's the second third of the story/idea i'd written for s5, here's the link to the first third if anyone is at all curious: https://www.tumblr.com/unsurebisexualcore/724455275102404608/i-wrote-the-idea-for-this-around-the-same-time-s4?source=share The last third still isnt written, and im unsure if it ever will be, but yeah, i'm just happy if even one person reads it :)

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

“Darlin’ you’ve got to let me know”

Will gasped.

He’d heard that voice before.

“Should I stay or should I go”

There it was again. The rasp of a man, not different from the belting notes that chirred from Johnathan’s dingy old speaker at odd hours of the night.

“If, you say that you are mine”

Will could practically imagine feeling the bumbling chords vibrating up his arms as he brushed his fingers over the buzzing speaker, Johnathan’s soft whispers overlaying Joe Strummer’s rebellious vocals as they mouthed along to the lyrics.

“I’ll be here til the end of time”

“No,” Vecna growled. His mangled face had transformed into an expression of inescapable rage. “No”

“So, you’ve got to let me know!”

The vines encircling Will’s neck wavered. 

“Should I stay or should I go!”

---

A girl stepped out of the shadows before them. She had been out of sight for so long, Mike had nearly forgotten she was even there. 

Her hand was outstretched, reaching for the discarded radio scattered by his foot. Her fingers quavered, bloodshot eyes glossy and hardened as she breathed harshly through her nose.

“Don’t stop!” Lucas shouted. He pointed at Will, whose arms had now hauntingly risen perpendicular to his body. 

“He’s almost got him, don’t stop!”

The music became louder, crystal clear, pulsing through every crevice, absorbing into the air until the house itself rang with the restless percussive and instrumentalist might that was The Clash. 

---

The blurred red sky burned sharp against Vecna’s outline. Will could see the fear imprinted into his captors face, the panicked tension in his powers as the creepers restraining Will’s legs fell slack.

In a split second Will felt his fight or flight response snap. 

He jerked forward and kicked Vecna dead center in the chest, right over the still-healing bullet wound Nancy had given him not days ago. 

Hard.

Vecna wailed in pain. He caved backwards, his attention breaking. The vines tying Will up retreated like slapped animals, dropping him to the ground.

Will gasped, grabbing his bruising neck as his lungs quickly filled with stale air. 

“Don't move” Vecna howled angrily, sending a sickening jolt of energy though the strangled boy crumpled not far from him. 

Will darted to his feet, his head spinning as the steady beating of drums quickened, Strummer’s voice warbling as he charged head first into the chorus. 

There, on the horizon. A portal wavered not far away, a faded gateway cut into the furious crimson skyline like a hole between two realms. The music streamed out of the exit with bravado, chorusing grandly, the words drawing Will towards it like a life buoy dragging him to safety. 

He stumbled, drowning out Vecna’s enraged screams. His footfalls fell in sync to the pounding beat as he broke into a staggering run, letting the buoyant symphony of instrumentals lead him forward. A slithering vine flashed into the path before him, reaching for his ankles like a snake. He leapt over it just in time, crushing it under his foot. A second later a dagger of rock the size of a car fell from the sky, grazing the back of his calf and crumbling into the ground, nearly throwing him off balance. Another nearly took his arm off when he tried to dodge an assault of vines once again attacking his legs. He wasted no time looking looking back at Vecna, who was now throwing everything he had at Will in order to stop him. Will’s gaze was locked onto the portal. His field of vision narrowed as his survival instincts kicked into high gear. 

Only one thought ran through his head.

Get to the portal. 

“Should i stay or should I go now”

The voice from the heavens sang. The image within the portal sharpened as Will approached it. The blurry features of the four people standing in the gateway became discernible. Will felt another surge of strength as his friend’s faces emerged through the haze. 

“Should I stay or should I go now”

Will tripped over a crevice in the ground, slowing down slightly. El was the closest to him. Even from his distance, he could see the strained concentration tightening his sister’s pallid face. A spot of fresh blood dripping down her upper lip. He could now see Lucas and Dustin clearly. They were both staring upwards, at what must have been Will’s body hung in the air. He could hear their panic-stricken voices screaming his name. 

Except there was one voice missing. 

One face not turned up at him. 

“If I go there will be trouble”

There, behind Lucas, was a familiar figure. A tall, lanky boy dressed in deep blue, whose freckled face and curly black hair had a special place in Will’s mind. He felt his chest soar at the sight of his best friend, his heart, waiting for him on the other side. 

“If I stay there will be double”

But Mike wasn’t looking up at Will.

He was standing next to El. 

He had a hand on El’s shoulder. His mouth moved soundlessly as he stared at her intently, no doubt trying to comfort her with some words of encouragement. Unlike Lucas and Dustin, Will couldn’t tell if Mike even noticed his body floating in the air. Like Mike was ignoring him. 

Like he didn’t care.

“So you’ve got to let me know”

Will’s steps faltered, a pang of hurt tumbling into his heart. A vine snapped forward, curling around Will’s foot. He looked down and shrieked in shock, and quickly kicked it away.

He looked back up, and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Mike had looked up. His brows were furrowed, sudden anger silently brewing over his gentle face. He glared up at Will’s body, with an expression that Will could only describe as fierce, bitter, hatred. 

“Should I stay or should I go!”

And finally, through the chorus of screams and cried of his name, Will heard Mike’s voice.

“Go away!”

And Will stopped.

---

“Go away!” Mike screamed into the empty air surrounding Will’s body.

“Vecna, leave him alone!”

Words could not describe the raw, uncontrollable rage that was coursing through his body. The immeasurable dosage of fear swirling around in his head just barely stopped him for wanting to walk straight into the Upside Down and strangle Vecna to death singlehandedly right there and then.

“Mike!” El shouted in pain, tears prickling in her eyes.

“Let me go please you are hurting me!”

“Sorry!” Mike yelped, realizing he had El’s shoulder trapped in a death grip. 

“Sorry, sorry! Hold on okay, don’t lose connection!”

“I won’t” she said fiercely, her jaw clenched tightly.

“Let him go!” Dustin yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth as he too addressed the air above them. “Let him go you bastard!”

The song had pulled away into the second verse. Bits of static were now feeding into the musical flow, but El was holding strong. 

“He’s fighting him,” Lucas said almost to himself, nodding nervously. “Will’s fighting back. He’s gonna be okay”

“Fight him Will!” Mike shouted, a shard of grief breaking in his voice. 

“Don’t let him take you!”

---

Within seconds an army of creepers dragged Will to the ground. Will didn’t fight them. He sat there dumbly, a strange, numbing sensation over-taking his limbs. Tears slipped silently down his icy cheeks, though he couldn’t feel the sadness that echoed behind them. Damp vines slithered over his arms and legs, but when they tightened, he couldn’t feel the cold strangling him like before. An empty chasm had finally caved into where his heart had once been. 

Not happy. Not hurt. 

Just empty. 

So he just sat there staring at the dark green vines wrapped around his wrists, the vague sound of his friends slowly fading away as his mind became still. 

As everything became still.

Like finally, finally, he’d given up. For real this time, every atom in his body really, truly, giving up. 

Through the haze he heard a pair of footsteps slowly approach him.

Vecna had come to claim his final victim. 

And Will wasn’t going to stop him.

But when Will looked up, it was not Vecna’s demonic face who stared down at him. 

It was a man.

A young man that too, for he could not have been much older than Johnathan. He was dressed simply in white, a sharp contrast against the supernatural world around them. His neat blond hair was combed and swept out of his face tidily, revealing two handsome blue eyes. 

He looked as if he belonged in a hospital, or a nursing home. Certainly not in the Upside Down. 

But there was something unexplainably consoling about his gentle  expression, the sympathetic understanding in his smile, that made Will overlook this.

“May I sit?”

His voice was delicate and quiet against the boom of thunder around them, yet also somehow solemn and commanding at the same time. 

Will nodded wordlessly. 

The man sat down calmly, the amicable smile never leaving his mouth. 

Will stared at him. Though he was never a very religious person, in this utter hellscape, the man seemed almost angelic to Will, so at peace in this place of disharmony and agitation. 

A face not yet scarred by the fiery red lighting sparking the air. 

A body not yet disfigured by banishment from the real world. 

But those blue eyes were the same.

Smooth, dark blue, peering into Will’s like he was looking directly into his soul.

“You’re One,” Will mumbled. “Henry. Vecna.”

The man’s smile widened, something like pride turning up the corners of his lips. 

“That depends, what name do you prefer?”

“It’s the same either way”

One chuckled softly.

“You’re a smart one aren’t you?”

Will looked away, staring into the distance soundlessly. 

The music in the air was growing louder, edging into the second chorus with renewed courage and gallantry.

“I knew your sister, you know?” One said serenely, glancing at the portal not 50 yards away.

“She told me about you,” Will muttered. “You tried to kill her.”

One nodded, hardly remorseful.

“That I did. Not much good it did me, as you can probably see.”

Will turned back and looked at him.

“She told me you created this place. This… hell. She said you wanted her to join you. Why?”

One sighed and glanced down at his lap. 

“Because I was different, Will Byers. I wasn’t normal”

He raised his hand and brushed his fingers out from his palm. The vines fastening Will to the ground scattered, lurking a couple feet away just out of sight.

 “I didn’t ask for these powers. For a long time I thought they were a curse, that my existence had somehow upset some higher power, and this was my punishment But I was born to have them. They are what make me different, what alienates me from the others. With them, I can never be... normal”

Will watched One carefully. An unexpected flash of empathy struck a chord his heart, and his stare unwillingly softened.

One looked back at Will.

“I thought Eleven was different. I thought she would understand me. Understand our shared potential.”

“But I was wrong.”

One’s voice suddenly turned cold.

“You see Eleven was not like me. She was a coward, a people-pleaser, just like the rest of them. 

This place…” One looked out to the vast thunderous dimension as if regarding it with bitter acceptance. 

“It was meant to be my prison, as it was yours not three years ago. Our eternal damnation for what we’d done on the other side. But you see Will Byers, it is anything but”

A smile flickered over One’s face. He raised his hand slowly from his lap, his palm facing up to the raging clouds, steady and gradual. Will felt the chill catch in his throat before he could see it. A flame of cold rippling through him like a blade slicing clean into his skin. The prickle of shadow slipping over his eyes. 

From the range of towering mountains in the distance a giant figure rose from the horizon. It’s reaching, spider-like arms blotted out the crimson hurricane in the stratosphere. 

Will jerked backwards, something like cold, dark fear trapped in his chest. He willed himself to retreat, to get to his feet and run as every muscle in his legs trembled to launch. 

“Don't be afraid, Will” One said softly. In his eyes Will saw a sort of gentle reverence, as he gazed at the dark monstrosity of his own creation.

“It can't hurt you here”

The hairs along Will’s arms quivered with static as the storm above him intensified. The crack of lightning rang brutally against his eardrums. 

Will gasped in fear. A shock of energy took hold of his chest, his eyes widening as the electricity dispersed into his bloodstream, rippling like fire. A fierce gale whipped at his icy face as the sky closed down upon him. Smooth particles kicked up by the cyclone that suddenly encased him blew silt and charcoal black dust into his mouth and ears. Sparks of red snapped before his eyes like blinding firecrackers, briefly illuminating the storm consuming him. 

“Help!” He screamed, choking on his poisoned breath. He stumbled as he stood up, the frenzied gusts knocking him every which way as he struggled to regain his balance. 

“Help, let me go! LET ME GO!”

“You don’t have to fight it anymore, Will!” A pressure steadied his shoulder and suddenly One was standing next to him again. A glint of lightning bathed his face in vermillion. Will locked eyes with him, trying desperately to search past the shine of encouragement in his deep blue irises.

“No more running away! No more hiding! You can be free in this place, the both of us! I can show you the gifts it can give!”

One looked into the wall of storm billowing around them. From the sky the Mind Flayer emerged, silent to the roar of the wind. 

“Let it take you! Let it’s powers flow through your veins. Let it finish what was meant to be done long ago!”

Will’s feet lifted from the trembling ground, his arms opening as his face tilted up towards the sky.

And finally, he embraced the chaos, allowing it to take over him. He opened his eyes, and let out a cry of pain as a charged bolt of blinding red came crashing down upon him. 

Then, there was silence.

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

I know that Mike showing care for El to be Will's breaking point is kind of toxic and unrealistic, but that was kind of what I was going for is like from Will's POV he's literally on death's doorstep and yet Mike is still focused on El, showing that he is an unreliable narrator (as proven by s3/s4), and that in the long list of ignored and unhealed traumas he's experienced, when his life's value is (seemingly) invalidated to that degree, he just gives up, and accepts the thought that he's always going to be a defective and unlovable part of society. And that projection of isolation makes him see a kinship between him and One, and vice versa as to why One/Vecna would want Will to join him instead of just use and kill him. Anyway I feel like seeing Noah and Jamie Lee Campbell act together would be a super cool dynamic and they would work off each other very interestingly

[voidspacecowboy]

Here is a story I was thinking about the other day that I thought Tumblr might enjoy.

So, I used to work at a place where every year we would host a huge rock climbing competion/festival. Like, 1000 people all camping for the week, shit gets wild, it’s a fun time.

A fun thing to note is that the property owners are Mormon. They’re pretty chill as far as mormons go, but still.

So the comp happens, everyone has a blast, and as it tends to be with large events, there is always a pretty big lost and found pile left behind. So a day or so after the comp, our office manager is like ‘can someone please go through the lost and found, I don’t want it lying around forever’, which is fair because like, a lot of that stuff is in A State, and the original owners probably do not want it back. My coworker and I, with very little else to do that day, are like yeah no problem we got this.

We start rooting through the box, finding a million grimy water bottles, several single climbing shoes with blown-out toes, items of clothing that definitely need washing before we can mail them back to anyone. Climbing gear, camping gear, the usual.

And then there’s a backpack.

It’s a pretty full-looking backpack, too. It’s heavy when we pick it up. We open the main zip, and discover a pair of climbing shoes and an entire trad rack - which if you are not a climber, is a very expensive set of gear that usually climbers will have built up over time. We are astounded that someone has left their entire rack behind. It’s in such good shape, too. Someone has got to be looking for this!

We dig through the backpack a little more, looking for a name or anything that might be used for identification. Library card, funky looking keyring, whatever. My coworker unzips the front pouch of the backpack, and is immediately like ‘oh my god’. They grab a tissue, while I’m sat there like ‘dude wtf’, and using that tissue, they reach into the pouch… and pull out a pink plastic chastity cage.

We stare at each other, wide-eyed. “Is that…” I trail off. My coworker nods. We stare at it a little more, just to check that yep, that is indeed a chastity cage that somebody kept in their climbing backpack and left behind.

At this point, we’re like, okay, we now have so many questions that we don’t necessarily want to know the answers to. Is it for during the climbing comp?? For after?? Surely this person did not climb wearing that for 12-24hrs, that has got to be medically inadvisable. But hey, my coworker says; on the bright side, we now have something very identifiable to help return this backpack to its rightful owner. So we hop on the work Facebook, and make a post like ‘hey, we have a backpack with a trad rack and some other stuff in the lost and found, there is a very unique personal item in the front pouch, if this is your stuff please prove it by telling us what that item is, and we’ll get it back to you asap’.

We’re not here to kink shame anybody, whatever gets you going, go nuts. We’re a little concerned about the safety and comfort of a person who keeps such things in with their climbing gear, but whatever. Get freaky.

The afternoon draws on, we get through the pile and rehome some stuff via Facebook. The property owner and the office manager come back, and we tell them about our progress, wanting praise for Doing A Good Job. They’re both like “cool, that’s great. Hey, what’s the deal with that backpack? What’s the ‘personal item’ you’re talking about in the Facebook post, so we know if someone calls about it what they’re talking about.”

And that, my friends, is the moment that my coworker and I realise that we are about to have to explain to our Mormon boss and our Jehovah’s Witness office manager exactly what a chastity cage is.

We were NOT getting paid enough for that.

[tyler-lawson]

Hello, Dispatch. I’m sorry. You want to know what?!

"Hello, Campus Public Safety, this is Dan, how can I help you?" The department receptionist answered the phone. He listened intently for a few minutes, his face growing more and more confused and concerned. "Why would that not be legal?" He asked, scrunching his face. "Oh, uh, let me see if one of the officers can help with that." He put the call on hold, and looked up to me in shock.

"Officer Lawson, I have a student on the phone asking if it would be legal for them to grow poppies in his dorm room. He says he is asking because he knows poppies can be harvested and brewed into a narcotic tea, and just wanted to clarify that is not what he wants to do, but wants to know if there are any issues he could run into?"

I slump into my desk again. For being college students, these kids are remarkably dumb, and apparently think I am dumber still. "Get a name and room number and tell them I will call them back."

"Okay. ... Hello sir, can I get a name and room number, the officers are all busy, but I will have one call you back as soon as they have a moment. Uh huh. Okay. Got it. Thanks. Yes, you have a nice day too." Dan hung up the phone and looked at me with a face of utter confusion. "Here is his info." He said, handing over a note. "What the hell? Is this the kind of stuff I have to look forward to this year?"

"Every year. It is never boring. You have to admire the creativity, though maybe not the common sense. Alright, well, I guess I am off to give this kid a house call. So much for a slow office day." I gripe, standing up and heading collecting my gear.

It was a short walk across campus to the dorm room. I knocked on the door with my patented Cop Knock, and heard scrambling inside for a bit before the door was pulled open. Standing in front of me was a thin man wearing a black hoody and faded blue skinny jeans, with a drop crotch. His pants were sagging down enough that his vibrant blue and yellow splotched boxer briefs were visible beneath the hem of his hoody. His brilliant orange shoes helped to draw attention away from his cupped and nearly exposed package.

"Hello, I am Officer Lawson with Campus Safety. I was told you had some questions about some room accessories you were looking at?"

"Oh, yeah. I thought you were just going to call."

"Yeah, I was in the area when Dan called, and figured this would be an easier option. So, want to explain to me what is up?" I asked innocently. "Mind if I step in and we take a seat?"

We take a seat, I sit on a chair and he perches himself on the side of the bed. His sag becomes more clear as he sits, I can tell that his pants are fully beneath his butt, and his boxer briefs are clearly visible over his ass as he sits with just his butt on the bed.

"Uh yeah. Sure. So, my buddies and I are, uh, getting into horticulture, and wanted to try gardening this year. I heard poppies are a, uh, good starting plant. So, I, uh, we, uh, were just like, hoping to do a small planter, over there, on the window sill." His focus on irrelevant details highlighting this lie, his stuttering and stammering emphasizing his discomfort.

"And you called the police just to check if it was okay to put a planter in the window?", I ask, unamused, sitting and scanning the room. The room is dissheveled and chaotic, the bed, desk, and dresser covered in discarded clothes, papers spread on the desk and piled in place. I can smell the clear scent of marijuana, and notice a bong barely hidden under jeans and several pairs of boxers.

"Yeah, uh, so, I, uh, one of the guys, uh, they like, they heard that like, poppies could, you know, if cooked right or whatever, could make like a light version of heroin or something, if, you, I don't know, put it in a tea or something. And, look, I don't want to get arrested for a hobby, right? So, like, I just want to make sure that you guys are not going to like slap me in cuffs for having a planter in the window or whatever." He continues stammering. "So, like, I figured I would just, like, call and check."

"Sure, sure. So, listen. No, possession of a poppy plant is not a crime, you can grow it and stick it in a planter in your room."

He breathes in finally, relief spreading across his face. "Oh, cool. Great. Well, thanks for stopping by." He says, standing and trying to usher me out the door. His pants sink a bit as he does, and he reaches down to catch them.

"No, the plant is not illegal. Having the intent to manufacture narcotics with it, that part is illegal." He stops in his tracks, his face flushing. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, seemingly unable to form words. He finally swallows and is able to croak out a few words.

"No, *gulp*, no. I don't want to manufacture narcotics. I am just trying to learn how to grow my own plants."

"Dude." I say flatly. "You are not fooling anyone. You are a druggy. This room reeks of weed." I lift up the underwear off the bong, "You sat me right next to your bong. I bet if I searched this room I could find weed, mushrooms, maybe some acid."

"No, please. Look, I am sorry. It was stupid. But I really don't want to do aything other than."

"Shut up. Between your call with Dan, which, like all calls to the station are recorded, by the way, and the conversation we had here, I have more than enough to charge you with possession with intent to manufacture."

"What?! But, I don't even have..." He stammers, trying to summon words, but none come. He starts shaking nervously, hugging his arms around his chest. That pulls his hoody up from his waist, fully showing off his abstract-art-covered package trapped above his jeans waist.

"Face the wall, put your hands behind your back." I instruct, kicking clothes and snacks out of the way on the ground to clear a path for him. I point to the wall and guide him just barely touching his elbow.

He steps up against the wall, and puts his hands down behind his back, wrists crossed. He rests his forehead on the wall, then bangs it softly against the wall several times. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." He repeats.

I pull out a pair handcuffs, and slip them quickly over his waiting wrists, double-locking them with the key.

"Alright. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?" I ask, starting to frisk him.

I feel over his hoody, down his arms and along his chest and stomach. I tuck my hands in under his hoody, feeling his thin shirt against this skin. He shakes as I drag my hands across his body. Down over his boxer briefs and then down into his pockets. I pull out two small baggies of marijuana, and drop them on the desk.

"Anything else you have on you? Now would be the best time for me to know." I ask a tinge of gloating in my voice.

"No." He breathed, pressing his body against the wall and hiding his face. I finish the frisk, and open the door. I have him step outside and put him up against the wall, standing in the hallway. His sagging jeans fall further as he shuffles, and his vibrant-painted butt of blue, white, and yellow sticks out for any passerby's to see. Several students were walking or standing in the hall and turned to watch the cuffed boy being manhandled by a cop.

I step back in the room, and start collecting and bagging or tagging everything that I found. The drugs get individual bags, the bong got a tag taped to it. I found a bag of poppy seeds that were bagged and labeled.

My work as interrupted as I heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. I stepped out and saw the kid running down the hallways, slightly tripping as his pants fell lower, struggling to keep his balance with his hands cuffed behind him. He pushed past several students who had their phones out. I took off down the hallway behind him. He tripped and stumbled as he reached the door at the end of the hallway, and started trying to fumble with the handle, twisting his cuffed hands around to the side of his body to try and work it.

I caught up to him still fumbling with the door. I grabbed his elbows and straightened him out, slamming his chest against the door. "Well, that is not going to make anything easier for you." I scolded, holding him against the door and kicking his feet apart with mine. I pull out a pair of leg irons from a pocket in my BDUs, and bend down, locking them around his ankles, over top of the legs of his faded, torn skinny jeans, above his stark orange shoes. He probably wished he did not have such loud shoes to draw attention to his new restraints.

I walked him back to his room, him now tripping and stumbling as the chain of the ankle cuffs and his own pants conspired together to make movement a challenge. I used another pair of cuffs to lock his wrists to the nob of his door, forcing him to now stand outside in the hallway facing out. His boxer briefs the only cover for his package as students walked past to get to class, snapping pictures and recording video.

I got the students who had footage of him running from the room in cuffs to provide me a copy of that, and got their names in case the prosecutors needed additional information from them. I proceeded to finish my search in his room as he stood locked to the door like a living statute, his hands cuffed away preventing him from hiding his shame, unable to cover his junk or his face, and both clearly visible to all that passed by.

I eventually finished collecting everything, ultimately finding LSD, marijuana, poppy seeds, a bong, a pipe, and a vape. Everything was bagged and tagged, but I could not take it with me if I also was going to escort my prisoner. So, I closed and locked the door, sealing it with tamper-evident tape before uncuffing him from it.

We walked, well, I walked, he shuffled and stumbled like a penguin as he tried to learn to walk with chains on his ankles. His inability to grab and pull up his pants another new challenge for him, and one he was not winning.

I brought him into the station, and dumped him cuffed and shackled in a holding cell for booking. Before did that, I had to share around the video of him "running" cuffed and losing his pants.

(Inspired by @saggysammy)

[bellandeano]

I believe Bao on a skate board was a missed opportunity with first first outfit. Like half his protection wear looked like it was skateboard safety gear. I will continue to draw Bao on a skateboard wielding his bat-bat. I feel it has so much drawing potential, like imagine him bouncing his board off some clown’s face or just in gen doing tricks and shit.

GOD WAIT YEAH this is so fucking real. peak aesthetic with his old outfit but also the vibes of ghostmaker's (sleek, robotic, swords and electronics) 'sidekick' being a kid with a baseball bat and a skateboard. plus bonding when he was with tim bc tim skates too?? YES yes yes

[quinloki]

i so greatly appreciate all your kink content (esp. the kink headcanons). fics are fantasy of course, but as someone who indulges in kink irl, it concerns me how much misinformation about bdsm/kink there is in popular media and fanfic. fic certainly shouidn't be an educational tool for learning how to do kink safely, but if anyone IS going to replicate what they read (thinking of every woman i knew who suddenly wanted to be kinky after 50 shades with absolutely no concept of what that meant and no desire to do even a cursory google... >_<), they should be reading about safe/sane/consensual practices. TL;DR: thanks for presenting kink in a sexy AND educational way!

Oh gods, yeah - 50 shades of oh I can't believe she wrote that. [insert weary face]. This got long, so it's going below a cut XD.

I have a personal disdain for what that book did to real life kink, but! it's important to, to reach out to people like that and sit them down and talk. It's a lot of extra work for the "old guard" as it is, but better to have people coming in safely than being left to poor devices.

And also, like, thanks I guess, for making more of a market for kink gear, so you don't have to get it ALL custom made, but at the same time some of it just plain isn't safe - or even well constructed and it causes it's own problems.

Okay - personal mini-rant off - I do love fantasy and fics for the capacity to do and explore things that aren't strictly safe in reality (I also love not necessarily having to worry about who remembered to buy condoms).

But I've spent years dealing with people's misconceptions, so that's a large part of why I write the way I do. Sure I cut loose and have fun plenty of times - okay, I mean, for me I'm having fun the ENTIRE time, but I'm also passionate about BDSM and Kink and I *want* to be able to help educate people.

I would rather people write kinky smut wrong than not at all.

I just want people to practice kink and bdsm outside of fiction safely, and Fifty Shades of Yanderian Grey gave a whole rush of people uncomfortable misconceptions - that they didn't consider correcting.

Want some quick and dirty safety? Know where your scissors are, and HAVE them if you're using rope. Make sure your cuff keys are easily accessible. If you're stepping out, the sub should be able to free themselves, no exceptions. Safe words are absolute. You do not anchor any weight on someone's neck. DO NOT YANK ON A LEASH. for the love of the gods yank on someone's hair. Throats are fragile. Use rope harnesses, or body harnesses if you want to tug or have a lead. Bolt cutters keep the locksmith from seeing your pet in a cage. buy them.

I could go on xD but I'm not trying to turn an ask into an educational tirade.

One thing I will say, is knowing the limits and safety requirements of BDSM and Kink make it easier to push past those limits in writing. At least in my opinion. it's just like with drawing and animating - you learn the rules, and then you learn how to break them.

That's how you become a better creator.

(I'm not saying you have to have kinky sex, but there's some educational seminars out there that might be more help than you expect.) In the end though, write messy sex, clean sex, vanilla sex, spicy sex, monster sex, toxic sex, bad sex - have fun. Writing is about poking all the corners we don't want to - or can't - poke in reality ♥

[shiningstages]

@feveredbcnes - [ AWOO. ]   the sender howls at the moon. + [ DARK. ]   the receiver finds the sender out on a full moon.  (either Lil or Thomas!)

          The howl pierces the night, almost like a siren for the hunters to hone in on. Trails of soft white smoke pouring out of their mouths with every exhale, huffed constantly through their light jog towards their destination. Expertly dodging anything in their path with the help of the light of the full moon, they hiked through the forest and up various inclines until they came upon him - The werewolf. Bigger in size than the Welsh man usually was, a hulking figure against the powerful light that made him this way. Full moons were when many creatures of the night were the strongest, but werewolves were the ones that could control themselves the least under the influence - or so it seemed from the hunters’ observations. They had to transform; they had to feed the beast in any way they could, or at least exhaust it into slumber once more.

          It was when he needed the most help. A shrill whistle from between his teeth signaled his boy to turn and look at him, the hunter getting a good look now at the bandana that was stuck through one of his front claws. It was supposed to go loosely around his wrist…Guess that hadn’t worked out, though Thomas only gave it to him as he was rushing out the door, with the instructions of “Put it on just in case.” barely out of his mouth before Rey was gone. The woods were his safe space during these times, after all, and he probably felt such an urgency to get here to just be on the safe side of things. He never wanted anyone to get hurt anytime he transformed, and especially if it was a particularly strong draw towards hunger and bloodlust, and of course he'd be back by the morning…

          …But of course Thomas worried for him. Now more than ever - even if all the hunters in the area knew Reynardine and his relationship to the Marchands, and even though he knew Rey could handle himself and had grown so much since they first met, after seeing him like he had…Thomas couldn’t take a chance. It was panicked thinking that made Thomas shove a bandana in Rey’s hands once he realized what day it was, as if that was a protective spell to help him avoid getting shot by a friend. Then calls to Matt and the butchers around town for help and backup plans, even the calmest voice he could muster shaking slightly. Then it’s off to the woods in his old truck, crossing trails and unmarked territory alike while carrying all their gear, along with cheap duffle bags weighing them down more. By the time they get to Rey, they’re both panting up a storm, but Thomas can’t help but smirk upon seeing the werewolf he knew and loved. 

          “You doin’ okay?” He shouts it against a chilly gust of air, putting his bag down next to a nearby tree and then walking a good distance away from it, adjusting his gear - classic shotgun now swapped with the biggest tranquilizer gun he ever did see. He was surprised Matt had actually bought it “in case of emergencies” back when Rey first became a friend, but as a mortuary in a town crossing paths with the supernatural, it was always good to have anything at hand. 

          “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” His friend hollers as he places his bag right next to his own. “Oh, wait, of course you’re not asking about me.” Annoyed tone filled with love. Thomas can’t help but chuckle at the comment, yet his eyes stay on Rey the whole time. Matt can only sigh when that’s his only response, slapping Thomas’ shoulder, “You’re so very lucky that I was feeling very generous tonight, or else I would’ve let you do all this stupid shit on your own.”

          “You could’ve.” Thomas simply states back, finally giving Matt a glance, smirk gleaming against the moon.

          Matt just groans, “This old man paid a month’s worth of rent on you just in case you needed it, kid.” shouted over the downwind, though he’s hidden fairly well behind Thomas for safety. “And he has clothes for you in the truck, for whenever you get tuckered out and de-transformed and…Stuff.” He waves his hand around, as if that helps wrap up his sentence neatly enough. 

          Thomas just chuckles again, feeling his breathing finally even out, and a shiver goes up his spine from the cold air. “We’re just here if you need us, okay?” He shouts through a large exhale, one foot behind himself just in case he needed to book it back to the truck, fist gripping the strap of the gun hanging on him. He knows he’s probably being stupid and dumb, but…Well, he was allowed to be every once in awhile, right? “Just give me a sign to let me know if you need anything.”

[phantom-ellie]

The Art of (Smashing) Crockery Chapter 21: Elegy

Summary: Ed and Stede make bold choices. See how it works out for them.

Click here for CWs/Full Chapter List

The only cure for a raging hangover is further rage.

At least, that’s what Stede said after Ed had dropped him off at his hotel to get what he needed for his mother’s funeral. It was a quick ride back to the room for Ed to open up (though if Ed doesn’t actually open it up to the public for the day and plans for them to have the place to themselves, no one will know).

And thus, the fifteenth time Stede enters Blackbeard’s Breakery it is with a dress bag containing an expensive suit, sunglasses covering his eyes, and a plea to leave the lights off.

Ed has all the safety gear at the ready, but when Stede sees it he shakes his head.

“Have to wear the gear to rage, Stede.”

Stede sighs. “Can I just sit? In the room, instead?”

Ed scoops the goggles and other gear back into the bin. “You can do that, too. Music?”

“Something quiet. I just want to think.”

Stede makes his way in and sits down. After a few seconds he looks expectantly at the camera.

“Did you want me to join you, mate?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awkward otherwise, isn’t it?” Ed chuckles and heads in. He hopes Stede has been thinking about things. He hopes they’re on the same page. Ed has never been more ready to take his life in any direction as he is now. His days of aimless existing are drawing to a close.

They find themselves sitting quietly on the ground in an empty room. It’s quiet, dark. Soft music plays through the speakers. Alive by Kisnou begins. Ed had fallen asleep to that song on repeat the previous night. It feels… right.

I will dive into you I’ll sail in this love that’s true

Ed smiles. “You know, I never expected my life to take a turn like this.”

Stede looks at him and smiles. “Has it? Taken a turn?”

Translucent waves Cover me oh beautiful In the waters of your grace

“Well, yeah. New friends, new future. Feelin’ new things, tryin’ new experiences. Feels good.”

“I know that… well, it feels good for me, too. Despite everything else. The new people part.” Stede’s ears turn red as they always do.”

I will dive into you I’ll swim in your ocean blue

“You know, you’ve got everything ahead of you, man. Your whole life. You don’t have to be afraid of change.”

“Yeah, well… these changes are maybe bigger than I hoped.” Stede stands up and stretches a bit. “But if I can weather this… maybe. You know?”

I’m alive in you Let your waters Dance over me

Ed smiles. “I know.”

Stede turns to him. “Ed, there’s… it’s hard being vulnerable… I’m worried I’m going to mess this up…”

This is where you set me free

Ed feels like a sledge, but instead of tiny, invisible huskies leading him, it’s those angels and demons both pulling him towards the man he loves. He isn’t sure what they want him to do, but he rises and stands close enough to smell Stede’s cologne, hints of orange and bergamot from the shampoo he’d used in the last hour, to see the flecks of green in Stede’s hazel eyes. Not just that, but the wanting. The yearning. Ed can almost see his own reflected back at him.

“I want to thank you for everything, Ed,” Stede says softly, almost at a whisper. “You’ve been by my side as everything has fallen apart… you’re the only reason I’ve held on at all. I’m so grateful for you.”

Stede’s smile is tired. His hand accidentally brushes Ed’s. The demons bring out little flamethrowers and incinerate the angels into hot ash and-

Fuck angels. Fuck Judeo-Christian metaphors.

Ed moves in for a kiss, as gentle of one as his libido will allow, and he feels like a wave crashing upon Stede’s shores at first. Stede gasps a little, for but a moment, but Ed feels the fluttering in his chest as the kiss is returned, as his faith in Stede is realized, as his trust in love is validated, as…

As Stede steps back with another gasp, panting. No, not panting.

Hyperventilating.

“Are you- was that okay?” Ed asks with worry.

“Ed… I’m sorry… I thought… why?” Stede isn’t meeting Ed’s eyes. The warmth from the moment goes cold.

“I’m so sorry Stede, I thought you wanted… you were just…” Ed is confused at Stede’s confusion, upset that Stede is upset, devastated that Stede is devastated.

“No… it’s… it’s okay Ed… it’s just…” Stede bursts into tears.

Ed hovers his hands around Stede’s shoulders, afraid to touch him. Can he comfort him? Will Stede comfort him back?

“It’s just… I trusted… I thought you accepted me for who I was.” Stede wipes his eyes.

“What? Stede, of course I do.”

“Ed, youkissedme, I told you I was straight and…” Stede sighs in frustration. His voice is quiet. “No one believes me. No one.”

“Stede… this is my fault. I’m sorry. I’ve had a crush on you and… I read the room wrong. Don’t…” Ed reaches out and Stede steps back.

“No… it isn’t you Ed… it’s me.” Stede takes another step towards the door. “I just can’t be who people need me to be.” Another step. “I can’t… I can’t be who you need me to be, Ed. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” Ed’s heart has dropped to the bottom of his feet. He feels everything crashing around him, the breaking of ceramic, smashing of glass, the splintering of wood, and the room is empty. Stede is at the door.

“I think I need to go now,” Stede practically whispers, backing out quietly, with fragility, as one does in the room of a dying relative.

“It’s going to…” Ed’s voice trails off. Stede is gone.

---

“Mary. You didn’t have to come.” Stede helps her out of her car, and Mary notices that he doesn’t bother to avoid the splash of water from the gutter on his suit pants.

“You can’t do this alone, Stede. She was your mother. And she was our children’s grandmother.” Alma and Louis spring out of the car and run onto the cemetery grass, laughing. Mary sighs and holds up her hands at them before turning to her husband.

“The children… did they want to come?”

“It doesn’t matter. This is something families do together.” Stede looks exhausted. Mary can’t imagine what losing his mother has done to him. They weren’t close to her, none of them were. But in a way, that can make things worse, she suspects.

“I didn’t think…”

“That we were still a family? Stede, I expect you at Thanksgiving, you know that? You still have children. We need to learn to co-parent.”

Stede nods and looks contrite. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m being bad at this again.”

His bowtie is crooked. Mary adjusts it.

“This is the last family funeral you have to go to, hmm? You won’t need to bother for your father. He doesn’t deserve a funeral.”

Stede gives a weak half-smile at that. “Mary… I intend to give a eulogy. For mom. Of course, I mean who else?”

“I thought you would. Your father okay with that?”

“He will not be okay with it. And you should make yourself and the kids scarce when I give it.” Stede sighs.

“You think he’ll get violent?”

Stede winces. “Probably not in front of this lot. But… it’s going to be a proper eulogy. An honest one.”

Mary nods. She is proud of Stede. He’s a terrible husband and father, sure. Annoying, definitely a coward. But he’s done a lot of brave things lately. He deserves to find happiness. Mary would like to think she wished he could be happy with her… but that would be a lie. She deserves better, too.

The funeral is dull, somber and sad, but not in the way a funeral should be. The sadness comes from the distinct lack of tears or real mourning from the attendees. It’s a group of old, soulless associates of the Bonnets, each of whom probably put more thought into the expensive outfits they would wear today than they have ever thought of Sarah Bonnet her whole life. People whispered about her, mocked her behind her back. She’d never defended herself, not even once. Meek and mild to the end. And while her obituaries would pin her cause of death on liver cancer, Mary knew that Sarah’s inability to stand up for herself or her son was the biggest cancer in her life.

Mary would be damned if she allowed the same to take her almost-ex-husband.

Even if he is a terrible husband and father.

Edward Bonnet’s eulogy for his late wife is short, perfunctory, a cold summation of their years of marriage. There is no show of emotion from him. That would be a weakness. Mary shudders imagining such an end to her own life. If this was all those who knew her could muster on her behalf. Stede wouldn’t… he won’t, anyway. He’ll be her ex-husband for a long time before she passes. And Doug? Doug will make Mary’s funeral light, beautiful, happy.

Mary hopes that when the time comes, there will be someone to give Stede the same. And it had better be a man this time.

When Edward Bonnet finishes his eulogy, Stede stands and approaches the microphone. He gets a scowl in return.

“What is it, Stede? We’re moving on.”

“I am her son. I would like to say a few words on her behalf.”

“I didn’t plan for-”

“Of course you didn’t. You won’t deny me to share something nice about my mother here, will you?” Stede gestures to the crowd, almost every member a person who Edward Bonnet respects or wants to respect him.

Mary takes the opportunity to tell Louis and Alma to go play in the grass.

“Fine. Make it quick.” He stalks away and Stede takes his place at the microphone.

“I would like to thank you all for coming. My mother would likely be surprised to see so many faces here, today.” Stede shuffles his notes. “So very little ever surprised Sarah Bonnet. She kept her feelings inside, where it was appropriate to hide them. She hid away from the world, believing it to be a cruel place.” He looks up at the crowd. “My mother was a victim of abuse. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, both at the hands of the people who should have loved her most.”

Edward uncrosses his arms from where he has been standing at the back of the tent. “That is a lie! How dare you besmirch your mother’s name like that!”

“Her parents, her husband. Men were not kind to her. Women were not kind to her. She had so much to offer, but the world was never ready to accept it. So she kept it hidden away. She kept herself hidden away, and taught her son to do the same.”

Edward stalks forward, “Of course you’re making this about you and your failures-”

“Father, if you are going to hit me again, I ask that you wait until we’re behind closed doors, like you used to.” Stede’s face is expressionless. He shuffles his speech cards. “No one stood up for her. That was your way. To stand by and allow it, because you respected my father, or were afraid of him. And your children learned from you. An army of soulless husks, draining the earth of joy with no love to replenish it.”

The crowd grumbles and people begin to leave. It is clear from Edward’s disapproval that they don’t need to pretend to listen to this speech, anyway.

Edward grabs the microphone. “Get out of here,now. I disown you. You are a disgrace. I wil lnever see you again.”

Stede doesn’t acknowledge him. He just continues without the microphone. Seats around Mary begin to clear.

“My mother and father taught me many things. The most important of which are what not to do.” Stede looks at Mary. “I wish I had learned those lessons sooner. I wish I had figured out how to live my life without harming others. I’m sorry. I’m sorry on behalf of myself, my mom, and my father, who will never be.”

Stede tosses the speech cards on the ground at his father’s feet and steps down from the stage. Edward reaches out for Stede’s collar and Stede bats his arm away and grabs his wrist.

“Don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

Stede releases his father’s arm and approaches Mary. She smiles.

“I’m so proud of you, Stede.”

Stede nods, but doesn’t smile. His face is expressionless.

“Tell the kids I’ll be there for Thanksgiving, Mary.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and walks away.

---

Ed: Stede, I’m so sorry about yesterday. You had boundaries and I crossed them.

Ed: Talk to me?

Stede: It isn’t your fault. You are ok.

Stede: There’s a lot going on.

Stede: I just need to be alone.

Ed: Ok. Call me when you’re ready?

---

Post from the blog Hear Something Weird:

Toxic masculinity is bullshit. Elegy for bad rubbish.

Comments: TheRealWande: Everything okay man? Call me.

Chapter 22