Pt2 to this post
'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.
It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.
Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'
'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'
Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.
'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'
'What happened?'
He sighs. 'It's complicated.'
'Wanna tell me about it?'
The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.
But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.
He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.
'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.
Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.
'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'
'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.
Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.
'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'
Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.
'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.
'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'
She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'
'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'
She nods. 'Okay.'
For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.
'Is it Eddie?'
Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.
'Wha- what?'
'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'
'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.
Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'
Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'
'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'
'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'
Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'
To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.
'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'
'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'
'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'
'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.
Read the last part here
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i'm sure it's been said but i do love how trimax handles wolfwoods death. i've seen so many stories that have characters die and they just go away after. i'm really used to stories where the other characters aren't allowed to grieve, the story keeps going and it feels like the other characters aren't really affected or get over it really easily. but in trimax wolfwoods death is so important. we see other characters grieving him. vash protecting the orphanage, expanding his power when he really shouldn't, because it was wolfwood's home, even though wolfwood is already gone. he gets an actual burial. vash and livio eating their way through the grief, which is more comedic but still shows us how important he was to the two of them, sets up how in many ways they're fighting in his memory.
even after he's gone he's still present in the story in such a strong way. we can see how he's affected the other characters, even when they don't explicitly mention him it's obvious that they're thinking about him. what he did when he was alive, and his death itself, are so important to the story even after he's not there. not just in a really abstract "this is someone we lost" way (though there are a lot of times his death and sacrifice motivate vash and livio to fight harder!) he's present in the finale in a material way to livio, who uses his serums to help fight against elendira, which ofc also ties into the way wolfwoods choice to ally with vash and fight against knives gave livio strength to do the same. wolfwood showed him that there are things worth fighting for, things worth protecting. that your body is a weapon, but you can choose what to do with it, use it for something meaningful.
and the way vash kills legato in order to save livio? vash outright says that he did it to protect what wolfwood fought for, sacrificed his life for. it's tied to the ongoing arc between vash and wolfwood, their conflict over the necessity of killing others. wolfwood pushed vash into having an understanding of his views when he was alive, demonstrating the necessity of that violence. simultaneously, vash inspired wolfwood to follow his path, a kinder one. vash remembers what wolfwood said to him, and his death gives those words added poignancy. wolfwood well and truly sacrificed everything to protect what he loved and fight for what he believed in. how can vash let that go to waste? he sacrifices something just as meaningful to himself, and he pulls the trigger. it brings him closer to wolfwood in a way he never was before. he understands now, fundamentally, what motivates people, motivated wolfwood, to act as he did when he took lives. there are so many other ways wolfwood is present in the story after his death i can't talk about all of them but it makes me so crazy
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i just. . .I just love everything about Colin Bridgerton and I can't stop. I love how heartfelt he is, I love how he makes others comfortable around him, I love how he fidgets, how he gestures, his quips and all his looks. How you can read an entire story just looking at his expressions and how he keeps so much under wraps. I love that he's buttoned up and everything proper on the surface whilst he breaks almost all the rules. I love how he told Penelope she doesn't count as someone he could give up because he cares about her, that she's his friend. How open his friendship with her is in an era where people insist that can't happen, when women aren't valued much at all (save for in a sexual sense) by most men. I love how he has a genuine friendship with her and cares about what she thinks, that he doesn't objectify her or pity her. I love how clearly he respects the women in his life. I love how he always listens to Penelope's insight and opinions, that he adores his mum and jokes around with her, that he played matchmaker for Anthony and Kate at Pall Mall, that he was clearly concerned for Edwina during the wedding. That he looks out for his littlest siblings and snarks with Eloise. That he's Daphne's favorite and how he always tried to ease Marina in S1. That the worst thing he's said about a woman in the entire series has been to call her 'cruel'.
I love that he's lefthanded and that he's great with kids. I love that he loves love. I love that he's a flirt but also that he's not a fuckboi. I love that he's a hopeless romantic, that he talks about Leander going to see his love each night under the cover of darkness and has to be reminded that Leander drowned. I love that he doesn't often think ahead, that he runs in with his heart in his hands and a plan held together with a lick and promise and a bit of hope. I love that he loves yellow, that he's light and cheerful even when he knows heartache, even when he's sad. I love that he hides. I love that he says the wrong thing and I love that his charming demeanor hides so much beneath it. I love how he researches and dives into Greek mythology. I love that he's curious. I love his friendship with Will and Phillip, I love how he pushes back against Anthony's misogyny and that he hugs up on Benedict and encourages him. I love his integrity and nonsense. I love that he can't stop snacking and that he takes people at their word. I love how he trusts and how he loves others.
I love his mischief and his spontaneity, I love that he always wants to make things right. I love how he knows how to properly apologize and I love when he doesn't. I love all his triumphs and all his fuck ups. I love how he tries. I love that he never stops trying. I love that his character is one people need to dig into to truly understand and appreciate. I love rewatching his scenes and noticing something new each time. I love his hero complex and his cowardice, I love how he runs and when he stays. I love that he was shorter than all his brothers and sisters as a kid and that he's the tallest when he's grown. I love how he teases, I love how he uplifts, I love his passions and his insecurity, his concerns and his celebrations, when he's out of his depth and when he's at ease. I love how he changes depending on who he's around and how we have to read him to see where he's being most genuine. I love that he has facets. I love that those facets aren't obvious. I love the surface level of him and all the depths.
I love everything about Colin Bridgerton.
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When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.
Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.
He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.
They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.
Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.
Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.
Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.
It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.
It's an ear.
It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-
Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.
"Hey!"
Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.
"Kaveh, hey!"
The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.
His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.
Quicksand.
Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.
His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-
Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.
"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.
Kaveh is sinking.
Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.
Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.
"Do you believe in karma?"
The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-
Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.
Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.
He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.
He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.
He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.
He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.
Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.
Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.
"Kaveh? What are you doing?"
This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."
Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.
"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.
"Do you believe in karma?"
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𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵. That said, when speaking of his paramour with the mention of Mystra, it is not a slight. After all, Mystra, the goddess, wasn't just his lover; she, as she'll remain, controls the Weave.
As a scholar of magic for all his life, Gale is thoroughly enamored with it. He's always had the Weave, casting spells and enchantments for as far as his long memory goes, and there's no power on earth that can pale that devotion. When Gale says Mystra's name, in love, it is never with yearning. When he tells his lover that he forgets his goddess when he stands beside them, he means quite literally that he foregoes his faith. He doesn't mention her like a quality benchmark with which they've somehow surpassed, but to punctuate how wholly he has fallen for them. With a new, honest love, he is turned entirely from Mystra. In fact, so utterly bewitched, he's like a born again man. He isn't besotted by his goddess, held stalwart in her sway and seemingly, abundantly, and frustratingly stubborn. After that disastrous relationship, I promise you, Gale spares not a single thought toward her. She might have control of the Weave, and as such, stands still his only patron deity, but his new, doting lover? They become something of a new religion for him; he is most devoted, taken by, and so loyal to them.
He does not see Mystra. Do not assume he still feels for her.
He's a man of one love, and they will have all of him.
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