#if i put this on ao3 i'll likely expand it a bit

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendations: Writers

I thought of making this kind of list for a while now, since in my notes I save writers when I like most/all their fics (instead of saving each work individually)

This list is going to be very long, I'm gonna try to add to each writer a little description of the type of work they usually write.

Should leave this as a disclaimer for all my fic rec posts, but always look at the tags and CW on each fic before reading!

As always, if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[This list will include both SFW and NSFW writers, since a lot of them do both]

thirteenbullets - Writer of Anytime You Need Me, basically the ultimate hurt/comfort series. [fun fact, part 6 was the first fic I read in this fandom, and I partially blame how good it was for how fast I got obsessed with cod lol]

mothbeast - Writer of Pattern Breaker, one of the more well known fics for ghostsoap (for a good reason!). Love their other fics as well [some are NSFW]

glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Non AU fics, where they put ghost and soap and various situations for angst! [some NSFW]

Red_Clegane - non AU and AU fics, some of the best non-military AUs I've read. All of their fics share a similar taste, but they're all equally good, so if you like that style you'll enjoy most of them [some NSFW]

sauceboss_yahoo - AUs with supernatural elements, and non-military AUs. Some a/b/o if that's your style [which obviously means there's some NSFW]

yourvaliants - AO3 account of valiants on Tumblr, I'll expand more when I get to Tumblr users, but this is just their place to post NSFW comics since Tumblr doesn't allow that.

wayfaredsoldier - non-military AUs, AUs with supernatural elements, and in canon universe [some NSFW]

MildLimerence - If you want smut with good plot, this is the writer for you haha. They have several soulmate AUs and fantasy/supernatural AUs, as well as canon universe [mostly NSFW]

Arodana - supernatural AUs and non-military AUs, very enjoyable long works [some NSFW]

crown_twist - a mix of NSFW and hurt/comfort oneshots, if you're in the mood for something short and good this is the writer for you [some NSFW]

ElizaStyx - mostly oneshots for a variety of pairings, a mix of NSFW and fluff [some NSFW]

Sillililli - Canon and non-military AUs, with just a pinch of NSFW [little NSFW]

Louffox - Canon and non-military AUs, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. A few longer works and a good amount of oneshots [some NSFW]

kcisbroken [previously artbykc0001] - Historical AUs, sometimes MCD, some non AU oneshots and NSFW [some NSFW]

Hochseeperle - non AUs, angst and hurt/comfort, with NSFW [some NSFW]

eggtimelads - Supernatural AUs, non AUs, oneshots that literally changed my brain chemistry (not clickbait) [some NSFW]

blackbird_flyaway - supernatural and non AUs, recently started a zombie AU (that I just discovered and go read it after finishing this lmao) [Some NSFW]

TheLastTheosaurus - hurt/comfort oneshots. Good ol' reliable [no NSFW]

Nuria123 - absolutely amazing non AU, non-military AUs, and fics so emotional they made me full on sob. A mix of oneshots and longer works [some NSFW]

AvaLoren - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fantasy, and medieval AUs, mostly oneshots with some longer fics [some NSFW]

WhisperedWords12 - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fun shifter AU, many oneshots that are mostly NSFW [a lot of NSFW]

Wheezing_Joe - non AU, oneshots with some onehsot series, hurt/comfort and angst galore. Very nice stuff [no NSFW]

coderaven - non-military AUs and non AUs, emotional hurt/comfort, a little supernatural AUs [some NSFW]

oh_ellie - non AUs, hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of smut [mostly NSFW]

headlocket - author of all that's said in the low light. I don't need to say anything else, if you didn't read it yet, you really REALLY should! [little NSFW]

Grangers_apprentice - [note: majority of works locked for users with no AO3 accounts] non-AU, supernatural AUs, some oneshots and some longer works with series. A bit of a/b/o if that's your style [some NSFW]

DarkMoonMaiden - non AU, hurt/comfort and smut. Mostly oneshot, some series [mostly NSFW]

merikai - non AU and non-military AUs, hurt/comfort and angst oneshots [no NSFW]

simcoehole - supernatural but military and non AUs, mostly smut [mostly NSFW]

Epifauna - non AU oneshots, a lot of fluff with some angst [little NSFW]

prettyunhinged - non AU oneshots (some as long as multi chapter works though), angst, fluff and smut [some NSFW]

oshikiri_toru - non-military and non AUs, with some supernatural elements. Very long oneshots with angst and smut. Very underrated writer imo! [some NSFW]

xEclipse - non AU, fluff and smut oneshots that can get very sweet [some NSFW]

unravelledorfrayed - non AU, misunderstanding hurt/comfort (the good kind) [no NSFW]

lkst - very unique AUs, as well as non AUs. A bit of smut and a lot of angst [little NSFW]

now, there are some blogs here that write a lot of little drabbles that are always a treat to read, so I'm also gonna add some of them.

cod-dump - mostly non AU, with the exception of the Teen!Ghost AU.

forestshadow-wolf - AU and non-AU, also has many downloaded fics for you to read (they're a lifesaver when AO3 is down)

valiants - as mentioned above, comic artist and occasional writer, honestly a huge inspiration for me, it terms of storytelling and art style.

ghcstao3 - also has an AO3, wanted to put them here because they post a lot of drabbles here that don't get posted on AO3.

captain-mj - also has an AO3, like ghcst posts a lot of fics here that don't get posted on AO3. Many are NSFW, as a heads-up.

That's all for now, in the future if I make fic recs for longer works, you will probably see some from these writers.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #fic recs #not art #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #i put links for blog bc i didnt want to tag everyone #doing this instead of uni work bc i really dont feel like doing it :DDD

[intotheseas]

lore expansion, fuck yeah

I've really been enjoying expanding on Ancient Magic lore (and straight up making some of it up myself lol) through my fic. I generally disliked the Keeper storyline and felt the concept had so much wasted potential. If anyone's interested, here's a scene from the latest chapter talking about it a little. Read here on AO3 or under the stars.

Fig nodded and conjured a few chairs. “Sit, sit! We have much to discuss.” He gathered the errant papers littering his desk and shuffled them into a stack. “Miriam’s research on Ancient Magic was far more extensive than I predicted. I’ve only had the chance to read through a small portion. However, I have some information I think you’ll find helpful, Vera.” 

She leaned forward. “What have you learned? Does it relate to the maps you sent me over break?”

“Indeed it does! Miriam’s research spoke more of the hotspots. She described them as ‘honing spots’ of sorts. They seem to be places where people who wield Ancient Magic can visit to gain mastery over their power.” 

He rested his elbows on the desk. “I'll provide some background, first. According to her notes, Ancient Magic was more common hundreds of years ago. Mind, it wasn’t something everyone could wield. But it wasn’t a once-in-a-century phenomenon like it seems to be today.” 

“In fact, all of Hogwarts’ founders possessed the ability to wield this type of magic. As for why this isn’t common knowledge, well, knowledge itself only lasts as long as the records detailing it. The founders lived centuries upon centuries ago. Any records left are either decrepit and difficult to access, or beyond restoring.” 

Fig took a long drink from his tea. “But it gets even more interesting. As I said, what we now call Ancient Magic was not common, but not rare, either. It is thought that over time, magic has evolved to exchange raw power for stability. Ancient Magic is, simply put, a less refined yet stronger version of what we possess today. What we have now is far easier to use, but relatively weaker. Though,” he said, “still nothing to look down on, of course!”

Vera, Sebastian, and Ominis stared with wide eyes, digesting the new information. Vera spoke first. “So…these hotspots you’ve mentioned were used by people even a thousand years ago?” 

Fig nodded, a proud gleam in his eye. “Astute as ever, Vera. Those who possessed Ancient Magic had to put great effort into mastering it - this was no easy task. Now, I’m afraid I don’t have much information for you beyond that. All I’ve found relating to them is…well, Miriam’s translation was a bit confusing here, but they exist to teach lessons. By sitting at these spots past wielders would learn how to control their magic better.” 

“Since your manifestation of Ancient Magic is volatile at the best of times, visiting the hotspots is at least worth a shot. They may help you manage your power better. And as grave as this sounds, I fear we face great danger ahead. This is a lot to put on the shoulders of a witch barely of age. But I fear the uptick in poacher activity you’ve described is only the surface of something far larger.” He sighed, worry settling into the lines in his face. “And I wish I could do more to help you. But I will continue to go through Miriam’s research as I have time.” 

Next chapter up tomorrow, where Vera and co will find what the first hotspot has in store for them!

#hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ancient magic #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy ominis #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy sebastian

[boopshoops]

Yay yay tcoav qna!!!! I still have one more chapter left to read, but I’m super curious about the magic aspect of Yuu Shi’s homeland!! So far we know it’s been banned for like a longggg time, but magic deffo exists. How did it get banned? And regarding that, what does NRC in Yuu Shi’s universe even teach since it’s probs not a prestigious magic school?? I kinda just want to know the similarities and differences between twisted wonderland and Yuu Shi’s world

Also, I didn’t leave any comments on ao3, but ur writing style’s wonderful!! the pov switching is really smooth and not confusing to me at all, and i love how you characterized the staff members given the super limited information about them in game (in contrast to the students’, at least). Can’t wait to see and read more of it and how it differs from the game!! It’s so good so far!!!!

HELLO KRIS!!! kfndjsgjdndk 😭🥺💕💕 im SO glad you're enjoying the fic thus far. I've put a ton of research into the teachers and students alike in order to feel more confident writing them- it was my first time writing characters that i didn't make myself!!!!

As far as Dusk Summit goes, I DO eventually plan on making a post explaining it a bit more... but thats a long ways out as I'd have go learn how tf to draw maps KFNFNDN so there will eventually be a lore and aesthetic dump FJDNDJFJ

Magic in Dusk Summit is a rather tricky subject, some people partially agree that the land claims it as "dangerous," while others think its some weird form at garnering control over the citizens. It is a very... strict place, so to speak.

The main reason that magic has been banned has actually been long forgotten, both by the people themselves and the ones who rule. (Ofc i know the reason but thats entering big spoiler territory ehehe >:))) Therefore, it was simply watered down to "magic=danger!!!" Over time.

Even then they are not particularly wrong- given that in Yuu Shi's world, the outside lands still DO practice magic. She just doesn't know jack shit about it due to being raised inside the Dusk Summit. It's because that magic is still practiced in other countries that the rulers are able to handpick tragedies and push the 'magic?!?! bad!!!' propaganda.

The main differences between the two worlds of Twisted Wonderland is that basically, if you look on a globe, her homeland has poofed out of existence. Everything else is still there.

As for why that seems to be one of the only differences, i'll expand on that in later chapters mwahahaha- everything isnt as it seems, ofc!!

QnA is still open ofc! Come at me yall-

Also old doodle bonus weeee

Tag list 💛

@thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher @skriblee-ksk

@kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3

#boopshoopsramblings #boopshoopswriting #yuu shi #tcoav #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst wonderland #twst fanfic #twst writing #boopshoopsoc #boopshoopsart

[blaisenova]

I got a request, and if it's okay can it be platonic?

If it can, how about classic and Error friendship? Cause Error hates aus, and classics the original.

but of course!!

i fucking love the man child, and, naturally, i adore myself some classic too. funnily enough, this is actually a dynamic i don't often see explored, and it's one i've definitely neglected in my own years of making undertale content. BUT THAT ENDS TODAY!!

i'm not sure if you had anything specific in mind, but i just kind of came up with an idea and ran with it, so hopefully it turned out okay LOL. i'm pretty content with it. i always love putting error in space, as a treat.

story is below the cut, and i'll reblog with the ao3 link once it's posted there, but you, my dear tumblr user, get to see it first <3

thanks so much for the request!!

The multiverse was an infinitely expanding place, much to Error’s chagrin, and that meant that there were some rather peculiar concepts out there. Error had never been one for the unusual, though, so the more bizarre corners of the multiverse served to do nothing but piss him off. Really, there were very few universes that he genuinely appreciated the existence of, and those were Undernovella, Outertale, and Undertale. The first and second were, admittedly, born out of a particular bias – Asgoro was just such a compelling character. And who doesn’t like space? Sue him! – and the third was because Undertale was the only real universe out there; the rest were nothing but mistakes; accidents; copies that didn’t print quite right. So, naturally, when given the opportunity to bother one of the Classic Sanses of the multiverse, Error leapt at the opportunity.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for him to be met with a Classic in his line of work, especially considering the special care he took with them; all it took was one fool’s mistake to turn an Undertale into something else entirely, after all, and that was the last thing Error wanted. There should only be one Sans per universe, both in and out of the timeline. Any… extras were glitches already – Errors, if you will – so, really, it was a mercy to get rid of them. Spare everyone the trouble of another him.

As often as Error was met with Classic, however, it wasn’t until his last Genocide that he actually struck up what might be called a “friendship” – admittedly, Error had never quite figured out the meaning of the word despite Blue’s attempts to teach him (though, Blue had also admitted that their whole “friendship” was a ploy, back in the day, before there was another error in the universe, so, really, who was to say what he knew) – but, sometimes, it was hard to tell if people really wanted to hang out with him or if he was just holding them captive on accident. Again.

It was especially complicated when Error was Classic’s “ride,” if you will. Classic had completely forbidden Error from spending time in his universe – which was insulting as much as it was understandable – and Error had forbidden the two from spending time in the anti-void – because the last thing he needed was another Blue situation – so the two, often, passed their hours in other universes, particularly Outertale. Not every Sans had the ability to travel from universe to universe, however – and thank the fucking stars for that. There’s no telling what kind of universes would be made if people could just go wherever they pleased – so Error was Classic’s taxi to the rest of the multiverse. It created a bit of an odd power dynamic that Error, admittedly, kind of enjoyed; he could go see Classic whenever he wanted, but Classic would always have to wait for him to show up first. If that’s what friendship was, then maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

Either way, Classic was everything that the rest of the multiverse wasn’t in that, unlike everyone else, he was meant to be there.

In all honesty, Error didn’t particularly enjoy the actual personality of his companion – there was something about it that made his bones buzz unpleasantly, like static, and reminded him of a past long gone and just out of memory’s reach – but it was so impossibly rare to meet someone that wasn’t an anomaly that Error found himself enjoying Classic’s company nonetheless.

Which was why – as he normally did when he was too caught up in his own thoughts to realise what he was doing – Error found himself stepping through a glitch in the fabric of the multiverse, met with the pleasant sound of snow crunching beneath his slipper. The slush immediately soaked through his shoes, chilling his toes and making him shiver with glitches. He peered upwards at the blurred cavern ceiling that hung above, dappled with the sparkling cyan gems that he used to pretend were stars; it was easier now, to pretend, when his vision was so awful. Though, even then, nothing compared to the real thing, and what was the use of pretending when, now, he could access the stars with a mere flick of the wrist?

With that same unconsciousness that came with years of habit, Error, after a short walk, easily found himself before the forest’s sentry station, where a nearly identical copy – if you ignored the marks of the anti-void or their lack thereof – snoozed away his shift, as he always did.

“Hey,” he called, voice particularly distorted with his effort to project, and a pleased smile fell over his face as the sound effectively roused his companion.

The skeleton blinked awake with that same bleary slowness that all tale Sanses did, rubbing the sleep from his sockets with a closed-mouth yawn. It took him a moment to register what had woken him as he shook the snow that had fallen onto his skull back to the ground, and his smile widened at the sight of the glitch before him. Admittedly, it was a welcome change in greeting than the usual wariness or screams that he received in the typical universe, but, then again, Classic had always been a special case in every way involving Error.

“Hey,” he returned, in that same languid tone as always. “Long time snow see.”

With a distorted bark of laughter, Error returned, “Yeah. It’s ice to see you again.”

“Good one,” Classic snickered. He stretched, slowly, filling the air with the soft pop of bones, then, as if to refute his efforts, hunched right back over into the same horrible position as before; head leaned on his arms, looking like he was still half asleep which, knowing him, he probably was. “Seriously. It’s been a while. Where’ve you been? Or do I wanna know?”

“Busy,” was all he answered, and the strings that stuck to his cheeks itched at the notion.

Sockets slipping shut in a poorly concealed cringe, Classic hummed. “I guess I don’t.”

“We’re going to see the stars,” Error said, instead of responding. With a flick of his wrist, a door opened to the rest of the multiverse, and the dark vastness of space shone through, spotted with all manner of colourful stars, both big and small; the heat of their presence could be felt through the opening, and the feeling prompted Classic to sit up. 

He peered through the portal with that same uncertain fascination as he always did, eyelights darting over each celestial body with increasing longing. Nevertheless, when he managed to tear his gaze from the beyond and back to what was right in front of him, he fixed Error was a peculiar look with squinted sockets. “That a request?”

Error followed suit in his expression, head cocked to the side. “What?”

“Are you asking me to go?” he elaborated with an almost mocking deliberation. “Or making me?”

With a confused shake of his head, Error glanced back at the expanse of space for a moment before returning his gaze to the other him. His eyelights moved over his face, in the same way Classic’s did to the stars, as if searching for something. “Don’t you want to?”

For reasons Error couldn’t possibly hope to discern, Classic seemed to relax at the question, his expression turning back to that half-lidded smile. Having friends was weird. “I guess I can make some space in my schedule,” he said. “Beats working.”

“You were sleeping,” Error corrected with another confused frown.

“Yeah,” Classic agreed before, with a shit-eating grin that gave Error a better idea of why Papyrus was so annoyed all the time, “on the job.”

Frowning, Error let out a distorted sigh and considered how attached he really was to the multiverse’s veritable “original.” Attached enough, perhaps. It was fortunate that Classic was, overall, quiet, especially when faced with the silence-inspiring view of the stars that he was so seldom met with in his own universe, or, at least, not in ways that he properly remembered. Surrounded by something so vast and beautiful, what was there to say? Words seemed meaningless, small; som

“Are you coming or not?” Error grumbled, jerking his head towards the portal.

Finally standing to his feet – which, hilariously, didn’t grant him much extra height compared to when he’d been sitting – Classic nodded shortly and flashed him yet another grin. “Not in the mood for comet-y, are we?” he huffed. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”

Without gracing the pun with a response – though, admittedly, it had been a good one – Error stepped into the other universe. Immediately, the distinction between the soggy snow beneath his feet and the crumbly softness of the planet’s surface was clear, and, despite the distinct lack of oxygen, it felt easier to breathe. They’d ended up where they always did when they went to Outertale: some place on the other side of the planet, where the sun didn’t touch and, so, neither did the monsters. Without the mark of monsterkind, the planet itself was overwhelmingly grey, feeling rather underwhelming in comparison to the infinite picture of stars, and planets, and space dust that sprawled outwards before them, impossibly more vibrant and colourful once the portal snapped shut behind them and shut out the light of Snowdin. Though, Error supposed, just about anything would feel underwhelming in the face of something like this. Even he felt small beneath the expanse.

“I always forget how big it is,” Classic mumbled from somewhere close behind, and Error couldn't help but jump at the sound.

In a wave of glitches, he glanced back towards his companion. There was something about space – about being faced with what he could never have – that seemed to make Classic vulnerable in a way that Error hated; the way that he stared out into the void that somehow felt kinder than the other voids lacked that guarded nature – that wall – that usually stood so unwaveringly. It was a display of genuineness that Error didn’t quite feel he deserved, though he couldn’t say why.

Tearing his gaze from the other him, Error forced himself to peer at the stars once more, focusing on a particularly vivid patch of space dust. “It’s infinite,” he hummed. “‘Course it’s big.”

“Infinite’s a terrible descriptor,” Classic said with a huff of laughter. He carefully sat himself on the planet’s sheer edge, legs swinging in the open space with that characteristic recklessness that Error couldn’t help but wonder if it, from time to time, could be attributed to a certain call of the void that he, too, experienced. “It’s meaningless,” he continued. “So large that it’s incomprehensible.”

Following Classic’s example, Error perched himself on the edge. It was more of a crouch than a sit, really, leaving plenty of space and the ability to leap up and away should he need to. The first few times he’d done it, Classic had questioned the behaviour, and Error hadn’t really known how to answer. Now, the other skeleton didn’t even bat an eye. It was nice to be understood; or, if not understood, at least tolerated for his peculiarities. Maybe that was enough.

“This is nothing compared to the rest of the multiverse,” he finally answered. “Just an infinity inside of an infinity.”

The words were met with a shiver so subtle that Error might not have picked up on it if Classic weren’t so exactly like him. “Geez,” he said, with a bit of a breathless laugh. “Existential.”

“Existential?” he echoed, browbones furrowing as he peered back at his companion.

“Yeah,” Classic confirmed. “Makes you feel meaningless, knowing how small a part of the multiverse you are. So small you can’t even comprehend just how massive the rest of it is.”

A short huff of laughter fell from Error. “Everyone’s equally a part of infinity.”

“Equally meaningless, maybe,” came the grumble.

Another snort. “Yeah, most of ‘em.” His eyelights turned back towards the multiverse’s pocket infinity. The view was blurry without his glasses, but maybe it was the bigger picture that mattered more than the parts of it. What did it matter if he was missing a few stars? “It’s crazy how unlikely it is that some of these universes should exist, but they’re here, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Error huffed. He ran his hand over the rough ground beneath him, rolling a pebble around with the tip of his finger in an unconscious attempt to dispel the frustrated energy that was building in him at the conversation topic. “Like, Underswap – the one where you and your bro are, like… swapped around – you wanna know how likely that is to exist?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me either way,” Classic mumbled, but Error ignored him.

“It’s a probability of 1 divided by 9,109,043,495. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.” His fingers habitually moved up towards his sockets, running over the grooves left by his strings and blinking away magic. “Isn’t that ridiculous? It’s like the multiverse is just trying to spite me; to spite itself.”

“That’s pretty incredible, actually.” The words were accompanied by a shuffling sound, and Error peeked towards the other, idly noting the way that he’d pulled his legs up into a cross-legged position.

“Incredibly annoying, maybe,” he grumbled.

For reasons Error didn’t quite understand, his frustration earned a laugh. “If something with such a low probability of existing, nevertheless, exists, then I guess it’s got to have meaning, after all. Maybe we all do, even in unquantifiable, improbable infinity,” Classic snickered. That thoughtful vulnerability was back in his gaze, and Error watched his eyelights trace invisible constellations. “You’ve got a real interesting way of reassuring someone, you know.” 

Frowning, Error cocked his head to the side. “What? Who am I reassuring? Of what?”

#blaise writes #undertale #undertale au #error sans #errortale #sans #sans au #sans undertale #undertale fanart #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #god i've missed writing for this fandom #it's been too damn long

[blamemma]

what you said about maxiel fanfics with endgame lest4ppen, yes, I agree. someone mentioned this before, but maxiel is slowly dying on ao3 while it seems to be thriving more and more on tumblr.

for me it's 50/50 because I don't mind where I'm reading, but here we have more one-shots and pieces of WIPs (which is good because it means authors don't feel the pressure to turn everything into a 50k story, so they can just post their ideas even if it's incomplete), but I personally LOVE longer stories, so I would love to read more and more about every single one of them.

and personally I just don't like lest4ppen at all. I understand the need to tag maxiel because daniel is the bad guy and the "shitty boyfriend" or whatever, but I just don't like seeing those stories 😬

will always preface asks like this by saying people can like what they like and find joy in whatever, i ain't gunna turn my nose up at anyone or anything, lestappen just doesn't make sense to meeee personally, but honestly whatever butters ur bread!!!

as someone who has dabbled here and there in this writing lark, for me there is a distinct difference in ao3 posting and tumblr posting....ao3 to me is formal, ur presenting something perfect, a fully-fledged story, a beginning a middle and an end (not in all cases but i just mean in general). most stuff i read on ao3 is fully-fledged nuanced ideas that the author has obviously spent hours of time crafting and experimenting with.

tumblr fic is inherently fun and blase and easier to throw out there into the ether and forget about really. tumblr fic doesn't need to follow grammatical rules or structure etc etc....it can just be a fun prompt game response or a quick lil fic that you had fun writing and wanna share with ur people?? both have purposes and both are enjoyable to write imo, just depends on what ur feeling and how much u want to expand on said idea??

when it comes to the maxiel of it all....idk how rude or pointed i can get here without getting into shit....so i'll try and word this gently....you have to keep the eco-system alive....i think comments and kudos are GREAT but honestly, if someone reblogs my fic with a fun few tags, i love that more, because in a selfish way, i might get 1 or 2 more readers from that because its going out to an even wider audience?? but its more than that!! engage with ur writers, message them on here and shout at them about their ideas, send them prompts, recommend their fic to ur friends...but i will stand by i think one of the best things you can do, if they make a fun lil post or graphic for their fic...reblog it...ur not only spreading the maxiel gospel, but ur also supporting that writer?? too many times on here i see people's fic graphics flop yet big blogs are leaving them comments on ao3 and look, EACH TO THEIR OWN and also i can sometimes be a bad reblogger dont get me wrong, but LIKE, there are some wildly talented authors on here who just need to be pushed into the limelight a little bit more??? idk if im wording this correctly, but sometimes there are fics that fall through the cracks because no one engages with them, and if ur an author who has put blood sweat and tears into that fic, ur not exactly going to be motivated to post another maxiel fic if u dont think ur going to get engagement from it (again, fic writing isn't necessarily about engagement or response, but let me tell u when i get a fun little comment or someone messages me about a fic i published, it inspires me to write more????)

maxiel is definitely alive and kicking, i follow some stunningly good maxiel authors, but at the same time, its about pushing forward those smaller writers as well and not thinking ur too cool for them???????????????

and so with that, this flufftober, kinktober, spooktober or whatever tober u are a part of, reblog the fic, talk about the fic and enjoy the fic

#if u can understand what i am trying to say here then well done cause i dont think i even do #mean thats a lie i do know what im trying to say but i know a lot of people would hate me if i said what i actually wanted to say :)) #anon #asks

[desertfangs]

Reassurances Armand/Daniel Mature (blood drinking, adult language) ~2,800 words

I don't know if this really counts as aftercare, but that's the prompt I wrote it to. There's some nice cuddling at the end? I'll probably put this on AO3 later.

If someone had told him that the Villa would be full of immortals a year before, Daniel never would have believed it. And now the house was packed with them, filling the parlors and rooms, roaming The Night Island, and taking their boats to the mainland. It was incredible, the notion that Daniel could sit in the same room as people who’d witnessed the fall of Rome, of those who’d seen history unfold, and speak to them! And to Louis! How incredible to be in the same room as him again! 

When Daniel had imagined being a vampire, it had always been with Armand at his side, but he’d never really considered the others. The two of them had been alone in their own world for so long. The other vampires—the few he knew of by name—had felt more like mythical figures to Daniel by the end. And yet here they were, crowding his house.

Tonight, Daniel had gone hunting with Marius. He’d been hesitant at first, and half sure Marius only wanted him to drive the boat. In truth, the ancient vampire had seemed unimpressed with Daniel when they’d first met and hadn’t shown much interest in him since. And in addition to being something of a mythical figure in Daniel’s mind, he was Armand’s maker. They had a history Daniel knew very little about. Armand had let bits and pieces slip over the years, of course, but never the whole story. 

This was the first time he and Marius had really had a conversation one on one. Marius mostly asked about the Night Island, its creation and purpose. How Armand had conceived of it. What it was for. “What do you mean, what is it for? It’s an all-night shopping center and plaza, an elite tourist destination.” 

Daniel had asked a few questions about Armand, though Marius was guarded with his answers enough that Daniel had joked about seeing where Armand got it from, which only earned him a slight frown. Back on the Night Island, Marius had thanked him and then disappeared inside the house. The whole thing felt like some sort of test and Daniel was not sure he’d passed. But it had been exhilarating hunting with a vampire so old and practiced, and he wanted to get to know him a little better, given how important he was to Armand.

Inside, the Villa was noisy. Not just from the vampire voices or thoughts that filled the rooms now, but from the hum of electricity from the light bulbs and appliances. Sounds he’d never noticed with his mortal hearing. He could hear the waves crashing on the shores of the beaches so much more clearly, and even the distant sounds of the shopping center from the other side of the island. 

He wandered from room to room, finding most of the living areas occupied. The house had seemed absurdly massive when it had been just him and Armand but it felt impossible to find a quiet place to sit now. He found himself going through the back of the house and out the back door to the garden. 

Up around the side of the house was a patio made of paving stones that was perched on the cliff overlooking the ocean. Daniel sensed someone up there, but in the dark, dim way he could sense anyone. He could hear no thoughts, catch no hint of their mind. Which meant it could only really be one person. 

He walked the path up and saw a shock of auburn hair over the top of the Adirondack chair. Daniel sat in the empty chair beside him. He glanced over at Armand. His auburn hair was long and curly, its natural length. His face was ghostly pale, the stark white of a vampire who had not yet fed. He wore a blue t-shirt and jeans and a petulant expression that made him look closer to his mortal years.

In the sky expanding out before them was a thin strip of moon with dark clouds passing overhead. From here, you could see a hint of their private dock and he noted a couple of the boats were out. 

“Nice night,” he said. 

Armand turned his head slowly to look at him, a long, agonizing stare that seemed to pierce Daniel’s soul. “Hm.” 

Daniel snorted. “Don’t hold back.” 

Armand narrowed his eyes.

“What’s got you in a mood?” Daniel asked. Armand had always been mercurial but these past weeks since they’d arrived back home with the others in tow, he’d been particularly moody. 

“I’m not in a mood.” 

Daniel sighed. He considered getting up and walking away, finding someone who would appreciate his company. But he wanted to spend time with Armand. It had been hard to get a moment alone with him, except in the quiet dark of the coffin they now shared. But Daniel passed out too early and woke so late that even that time was short. 

“Fine, if you say so.” 

Armand turned back to the horizon, his gaze cast out over the dark ocean. 

“I went hunting with Marius,” Daniel said. 

“I’m aware.” His tone was flat. Was he annoyed? Bothered? Daniel studied his impassive expression. He could see all of the little capillaries, blue and thin with lack of blood, beneath his white skin. He could see the fine lines in his lips and every single eyelash. But he couldn’t tell what Armand was thinking. 

“He’s as cagey as you when it comes to discussing the past. Is that where you get it from?” 

“Is that why you went with him? To pester him about my past?” 

Okay, there was a definite edge there. Daniel reached for his cigarettes. “Yes, Armand, I dragged your maker to Miami so I could get him to spill all your secrets.” He lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting the hot smoke fill his dead lungs. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air and disappear. 

Armand sat statue still in his chair. 

“Don’t worry, he didn’t spill any,” Daniel said. He took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing the butt in the ashtray on the table between them. 

Then he stood. He reached down, extending his hand. Armand stared at it like it was a bomb that might explode in his face. Daniel thrust his hand toward him again. Armand finally took it. Daniel used his vampiric strength to lift Armand to a standing position.

“Come on.” 

“Where are we going?” Armand asked. But he didn’t resist as Daniel pulled him down the path back to the Villa. Armand walked with him into the house. Daniel led him past a room where he saw Louis and Khayman having a discussion and then down the hall to the grand staircase. 

Upstairs, he pulled Armand into his bedroom, where he’d spent most of his days sleeping fitfully as a mortal, blackout curtains pulled over the giant picture windows that looked out over the ocean. The curtains were perpetually open now. He closed the door and flicked on the light. Armand went over to the dresser and studied the detritus gathered atop of it. An ashtray, clean only because the housekeeper had emptied it, coins and sticks of gum. Armand slid one of the pennies around on the wood with his finger. 

“Are you upset I went hunting with Marius?” Daniel asked. 

Armand looked over his shoulder, surprised. “Why should I be?” 

Daniel ran his fingers through his soft blond hair. He could feel the trail of his fingers over his scalp and his hair fell immediately back into place. It had never done that when he was alive. “I don’t know. Jealousy?” 

Armand gave him a wry look as if that were absurd. Daniel didn’t think it was. Armand had held him close several times around the others and put a possessive arm around him in the car as they traveled to Miami when Lestat had jokingly flirted with him.

Daniel dropped his hands to his sides. “Something is bothering you. And I can’t do anything about it if you won’t tell me what it is.” 

“Perhaps it’s not your problem to solve, Daniel.” Armand’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. 

Daniel moved toward him, wrapping his arms around Armand’s chest and pulling him back against him. He kissed his throat and said into his ear, “Let me try.” 

Armand leaned back against him, arms curling around Daniel’s. His body was cool against Daniel’s blood-warmed form and he pressed against him as if trying to absorb his warmth. Daniel bent against his hair and breathed him in, the scent of his floral cologne mixed with the shampoo he’d used in their shared shower two nights ago, the faintest hint of metallic blood, and beneath that, the faint, unmistakable smell of Armand.

After a long moment, Armand said, “We’re surrounded by other immortals.” 

Daniel laughed, even though he constantly thought the same thing. “Yeah, well, whose idea was that?” 

“I seem to recall you singing the praises of Night Island as a haven for our kind,” Armand said, but there was no edge to his tone anymore. He almost sounded amused.

And Daniel had done that. He’d been so proud of the Night Island, of this thing Armand had built—with his help, yes, but it had been Armand’s idea and design. He’d eagerly told any of the others who would listen all about it. It had not entirely been his idea for them all to come to the island at once—he’d envisioned them all coming to visit in small groups. Perhaps it had been Lestat who suggested it. But Daniel had certainly planted the idea. 

“Do you not want them here? We can ask them to leave.” 

Armand glanced up, his expression unreadable “I’m happy to host them all, Daniel, I merely worry that being surrounded by so many of them might make you—“ 

He stopped, cutting himself off. Daniel frowned down at him. “Make me what?” 

Armand pulled out of his arms and turned, leaning against the dresser. He stared in Daniel’s eyes for so long that Daniel thought he might lose himself counting Armand’s eyelashes. Wasn’t that a thing vampires did? Have the compulsion to count? 

“It might disabuse you of the notion that I am anything exceptional.” 

Daniel stared at him. Then he laughed. He laughed so easily these days but that was too funny. Armand did not look amused. He pulled away from Daniel and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, his shoulders sunken.

“Armand, you’re the most exceptional person I know. No one can match you for curiosity or passion.” 

“I’m merely a vampire, Daniel. As you are now, along with all of the others in our house. You no longer have need of me.” 

Daniel laughed again, unable to help it. Such a ridiculous notion! “What, you think I’m going to replace you?” 

Armand stared at the floor. 

God, that was it! What an absurd thought! Daniel faltered, trying to imagine where this was coming from. But of course, he’d been enamored with Lestat immediately, and captivated by seeing Louis again. He’d been disappearing with Jesse. Desperate to talk to the others, to ask them all questions. How could Daniel not be curious about all of them, and a little starstruck by some of them? 

Tension gathered in the room like fog. Daniel swallowed, his mouth dry. He stared at Armand, who often seemed larger than life, now looking small on the edge of his bed.

He sat down next to him. “I don’t want anyone but you.” 

Armand made a soft noise of acknowledgement, still focused on the hand-woven rug on the floor. 

“You want to know the truth?” Armand’s eyes flicked toward him. “I don’t think Marius is all that impressed with me.” 

Armand looked up, face softening. “Then he’s a fool.” 

“He has to be,” Daniel agreed. “He let you go.” 

Armand huffed but there was a slight smile dancing on his lips finally, the barest hint of something other than solid blankness. “It didn’t happen quite like that.”

Daniel shrugged. “All the same.”

Daniel ran fingers through Armand’s soft auburn curls and then cupped his chin. He leaned over and kissed him. His mouth was cool and the touch of their tongues was electric. Every kiss felt deeper now, like a meeting of their souls. When it was over, Daniel felt breathless and desperate to get it back. 

“I love you,” he breathed.

Armand titled his head, studying Daniel’s face, even as his fingers caressed his cheek. Lately when Daniel said it, Armand would question him, asking if he was sure, if he really did. Daniel thought he was being sardonic, but now he worried that Armand truly feared he didn’t love him.

This time, though, Armand said nothing. He kissed him back, climbing on top of his lap and straddling him as he did. He kissed him with such intensity that Daniel fell back against the bed and Armand landed on top of him, mouth still connected to his as if he might die if their lips were parted. 

Armand’s fangs nicked Daniel’s tongue and blood exploded into the kiss, hot and charged. Armand moaned as his tongue licked the blood from his mouth, trying to get every minuscule drop. When the kiss ended, his lips trailed down Daniel’s chin to his throat, and left little kisses over the soft skin. Each one sent tingles down Daniel’s spine. Incredible how the tiniest touch could rack his entire being now. 

Armand sucked on his neck, mouth suctioned around the skin over his artery like a vacuum hose. He licked and sucked with vigor and Daniel writhed beneath him, thrusting his cock up against him out of sheer habit, though it no longer responded as it had when he’d been alive. Not that it mattered. Every cell in his body was a raw nerve now, every caress and lick and touch as intense as anything he’d ever felt. 

Daniel clung to Armand’s back, holding him fast, urging him closer against him as Armand sucked vigorously at his skin and Daniel thought it might break open from the force. A sharp pain jolted Daniel as Armand’s fangs pierced his skin. He tightened his grip on Armand, fingernails digging into his t-shirt. He loved this feeling, the way Armands lips moved slightly over the wound as Daniel’s blood rushed into his mouth and filled his veins. Daniel’s heart hammered against him, struggling to hold the blood he’d drunk from the evil doer on the shore. 

And then the connection clicked in his mind and he could see images from Armand’s. Images of Daniel in the Compound, surrounded by the others, Daniel wandering alone, Daniel with Louis, with Lestat, standing at their sides, talking, laughing. Armand was there but never beside him. 

His heart lurched as Armand swallowed another mouthful, bringing him back to the present. Armand against him, on top of him, connected to him. These were the thoughts Daniel tried to send back, that he wanted to be like this, together, linked, never apart. 

Their hearts warred with each other, Daniel’s straining against Armand’s, which tried to overtake him. Daniel panted as his blood roared through his veins, rushing toward Armand’s mouth. Pressure built inside him and threatened to overtake him.

And then Armand released his throat with gasp. He panted against his neck, his breath warm against Daniel’s skin. 

He sat up. Daniel could see the color in his white skin, just the faintest shift to a pinker hue. He’d have to kill to achieve more. Daniel sat up with him and kissed him again, chasing his mouth, wanting that connection back. 

Armand stood and Daniel reached for him, grabbing at his t-shirt to pull him back. Armand smiled at him, a soft, genuine smile that warmed Daniel’s heart.

“Don’t go. Let’s just hang out here for a while,” he said. 

Armand hesitated but then nodded. Relief washed over Daniel. He crawled up to the side of the bed he always slept on, grabbing the knit blanket at the foot of the bed as he did.Armand lay down beside him. Armand put his hand on Daniel’s chest. Daniel covered them both in the blanket and then put his arm around him, holding him close, his other hand threading fingers through Armand’s hair.

“No one could replace you, you know.” 

Armand’s grip tightened around Daniel. “Eternity is a long time, Daniel.” 

Daniel shook his head. “And now we have it to spend together.” 

Armand relaxed against him, the tension bleeding out of his muscles. “My Daniel.” 

“Always, boss.” Daniel rubbed his back gently, reassuringly, feeling the weight of him against his body, the way he clung to Daniel’s side, the feeling of his cheek pressed against his chest. This was what he wanted. Forever like this, with Armand. 

#vckinkweek #day 7: aftercare #armand/daniel #daniel molloy #armand #night island era #devil's minion #the devil's minion #vc fanfic #vc fic #tvc #vc #vampire chronicles #i wrote this pretty quickly and none of my stuff is beta read ever lol #i need to find someone to foist my drafts on #but i hope i didn't miss anything big #this was fun to write #even if i'm not sure it fits the brief #whatever i love new vampire daniel on night island

[cupcakeslushie]

I love your AU! It's so well planned out and explained that it really does feel like it could be a comic AU for the boys.

Would it be rude to offer to write some one-shots for you? I'll happily work to whatever plot line you pick, events that happen etc. I want to do something to honour this great story but I can't draw well enough :/

I'll confess, I've only written Sonic stuff till now but I am working on a Rise story, I've just not posted it on AO3 yet. I use the same name on both sites, if you'd like to check it out.

(I totally would understand if you turn me down 🙂 it's your work!)

Short stories/one-shots sound like they’d be perfectly fine with me! I’ll also just share this bit from my newish pinned post for further clarification! But as far as I’m concerned, anything that I’ve already covered in asks is more than ok to write about! And once I put more comic pages out those can be expanded upon as well, in any form anyone would like! As for longer, multi-chapter stuff, maybe once each of the boys’ rescue arcs are solidified and posted, but I’d like to crank those out before I give the ok for anything more in depth. That way there’s more background for ppl to work off of.

#ask slushie #rottmnt separated au #separated au #rottmnt

[chainofclovers]

15, 23, 26 for the writing ask!

Thanks, friend! <3

15. What’s your favourite plotless fic you have written?

HA! I love the assumptions baked into this question and that you chose it for me. I feel seen.

I scanned through my ao3 and which a bunch of my fics are truly just fueled by vibes, they do have plots--quiet ones--and I don't necessarily wanna discount the quiet or domestic or private as not counting as plot?

But I also have some true zero plot stuff FOR SURE. I think my favorite might be "I'm going, all along" about agnosticism and various religions and how they intersect with Ted Lasso characters, or "neon," in which Ted is worried Beard is going to get bored sleeping with him and Rebecca but doesn't articulate it very well, and Beard books them time in a sensory deprivation tank.

23. Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

When people talk about being fully comfortable with one and struggling with the other, I'll admit that I'm actually not sure how that feels?! They are both hard, except for the rare times they are both easy! I think I do generally have an easier time writing dialogue with some light descriptions interspersed, and it's harder for me to write longer descriptive prose passages conveying action or the passage of time or whatever. The stuff I imagine most vividly as I start to write are the busy moments where people are interacting and speaking but also sensing/perceiving/noticing/feeling, so zooming out past that to write pure description is a bit more of a slog.

(I want to know how you feel about this too)

26. What would you describe as OOC?

Answered here, but I actually have a slightly expanded answer if you'll indulge me, so I'll paste the original answer (in italics) + add to it.

It’s a bit hard to put my finger on it. I guess it boils down to the “He would not fucking say that” thing?

But as I think about it, in terms of fanfic, something reads as OOC most often when I just get this strong and very distracting sense that the author is more interested in serving their own motivations or wish-fulfillment fantasies than the characters themselves. Which is a legit thing to do when writing fic, even if I have reader preferences! I have 100% put characters into situations specifically because I just really wanted to spend time with those characters in that situation, and I’m sure there have been people who read it and think it’s OOC even if I try to stay true to character. (Like I’ve definitely had people say they don’t typically think of a certain character as having a specific sexual identity that I might ascribe to them. And I might ascribe it to them both because I personally see it as true to character but also might just wanna explore it for my own queer reasons. To each their own!)

With TL fic, I'm pretty picky about reading about Rebecca's explorations of motherhood, because while her desire for motherhood is an intrinsically important facet of her character, she doesn't strike me as someone who would find it at all satisfying to dive fully into super traditional gender roles (and gender roles that are possibly portrayed as more idyllic or even mythical than they actually feel in real life)...like a situation where she needs her man caring for her and doting on her and defers to the care/wisdom he offers her while pursuing a type of motherhood that wasn't available to her in canon. Canon Rebecca has lived through--and observed--the fallibility of those types of structures and nothing about the ways her desires (sexual, maternal, familial, professional, otherwise) are portrayed onscreen make me want to imagine her launching back into a belief that a super-traditional/conservative gendered structure would work for her, even with her next partner being someone who isn't abusive the way Rupert was.

(And I won't even go down the rabbit hole of trying to articulate why this structure also doesn't seem like something that would be fulfilling for Ted [who tried it and failed and spent 3 years of TV reprioritizing] or Roy [who has deep trust issues] or Matthijs [whom we lack historical information on but perhaps tried it and failed and now lives on a very cool boat] or any other potential dude who could be her partner on the show. But I think those structures often do a disservice to men, too, and will leave it at that.)

And again, like with any other scenario that appeals to a writer, I genuinely understand why this type of nuclear family dream scenario is something a writer might want to explore from within the safety of their own complete control over the story and the characters, and that is a cool thing to be able to do! But when it comes to Ted Lasso characters it's probably the type of thing that I personally am most likely to view as OOC.

That being said, I've read and loved portrayals of Rebecca as someone who "mothers" Henry, Jelka, Nora, Phoebe, biological kids, adopted kids, etc., as well as stories that wrestle very explicitly with her NOT being a mother whatsoever. I just balk at this idea that marriage and pregnancy are what allows Rebecca to get what she """""deserves and that canon was too cowardly to give us""""" (read: what we as viewers "deserve"); it feels very ironic for motherhood to subsume and soften Rebecca after she spent three seasons of a television show clawing her way out of the Rupert Effect and becoming a self-actualized human capable of many types of love on her own terms.

#yet another writing ask #meme #asks #itsagutthing #rebecca welton #ted lasso meta #<<< not that i think this is a full on well-written meta post just tagging for my own organizational purposes! #meta by me #hot dork club

[chickenkupo]

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Coop! I'm Girl_In_The_Chicken_Suit on AO3, welcome to my journey of venturing into the world of writing as well as other hobbies like never before. I'm your typical weeb that's a little obsessed with husbandos and wants to write them in silly, fun, dramatic, adventurous stories that hopefully you all will enjoy as well. I'm an avid anime watcher, manga reader and gamer. I'm mainly starting out writing for Genshin Impact but I hope to expand that one day!

I'm hoping to get a little bit more experience with writing through this platform, provide teasers/updates on in progress works, and eventually meet my goal of writing my first novel! I'm currently in the very early stages of that, but fingers crossed, one day I will get there!

This post I will keep pinned with links to all of my written works on AO3, as well as little scribble works I may post here with some summaries and all that good stuff. I'll probably end up reworking this post a million times over, so no, you're not crazy if you come here and see one template for this, come again and it's a whole new situation.

Thank you for paying me a visit, and I hope I can provide you with some entertainment during all of your doom scrolling!

Funnily enough, I just recently picked up writing and oh my gosh, I honestly did not expect you all to like my writing style of my chaotic little stories. I actually started out on social media mainly to promote my cosplays! I've been a cosplayer for about 10 years now and have wanted to go more in depth with it, so a majority of my socials are heavily invested in that. If you're interested (and want to witness my chaotic self even more), check out the links below!

Socials:

Instagram: HolySoulA

TikTok: Britasin

Twitter: ChckenKupo

Twitch: britasin

AO3: Girl_in_the_Chicken_Suit

Cosplay Tumblr: Britasin

FanFiction Works:

AO3 Works:

Coming Home: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

The world is going through hell, literally. Vampires are roaming the villages and cities under the cover of night, taking humans left and right as livestock, or worse. Humanity has grown to have minuscule hope, but some have decided to rise and defend what little they have left. Enduring intense training since the moment they could hold a weapon firmly, the Vitae Linea have fought against the vampires for years, an ancient organization that wields more power than your average human.

Even with them on humanity’s side, hope is still nearly nonexistent.

Wriothesley, having worked his way through the ranks of organization, has become one of the most coveted members. Through his unique fighting style, sheer strength, and knowledge of the arcane, he has become somewhat of a legend between the two races.

As his battle against the creatures of the night continues, he catches the attention of a certain Vampire Lord who wishes to put his skills to the ultimate test.

Just how does this Vampire Lord know details of himself that he has never shared with anyone else, ones he has hidden even from everyone? Why, also, does this man seem so familiar to him, where even his body recognizes him with ease?

I Promise: Neuvillette x Wriothesley (Part 1 of Judgement & Punishment)

Wriothesley is known for being organized, calculating and strategic when it comes to being the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. However, when it comes to his own safety and personal well-being, he is severely lacking, and this doesn’t go unnoticed at all. Many of his colleagues, comrades and even the love of his life are witnesses of this dynamic every day.

Especially that certain hydro dragon lover of his that’s completely smitten and obsessed with him.

Unfortunately, all it takes is one near-fatal encounter for Neuvillette to give into his anxieties and instincts, making a rash decision that will prevent Wriothesley from ever coming close to another dire situation like this again.

A rash decision that may be as fatal with consequences as the one fateful encounter did.

Now for the Next Act: Neuvillette x Wriothesley (Part 2 of Judgement & Punishment)

Fontaine has successfully dodged a catastrophic crisis, though not without a great deal of loss. Many citizens have gathered around in support of each other, relying on the previous roles of leadership to give them hope that things will return to how they were before. Hope is abundant, spirits are now high, and the future seems so bright.

Neuvillette has faced many challenges within his long life, and helping to rebuild a nation that has had so much instability in the past will not prove to be easy. Not only does he have the weight of a nation on his shoulders, but he also has a newly claimed mate that consumes his every waking thought, worry and love.

Wriothesley notices that his lover isn’t quite the same since the day Fontaine was saved from imminent destruction, but the frantic activities within the Fortress of Meropide have kept him completely distant from his mate.

Both men are working hard for the nation that they love, to keep justice and order together in harmony once more. However, the whispers of the former archon keep echoing through Neuvillette’s mind, and the longer he ponders, the more he realizes that what he and Wriothesley have is something to be proud of.

Teaser at the end...

The Worthy Treasure: Zhongli x Reader

To steal from a dragon is unacceptable. To try to escape one, is even worse.

When a certain dragon sees you in the crowd, he simply can't get enough. Everything about you, he wants to keep for himself.

If only you had trusted your instincts.

You Listened, Now Stay: Venti x Reader

The time for Weinlesefest is upon Mondstadt! The people are merry, bright, and full of cheer as they celebrate all that which brings them together in the form of favored alcoholic beverages! It’s certainly a time to enjoy, and enjoy they do! This time of year, the Anemo Archon truly delights as he takes the bountiful offerings made out to him.

Especially the offering he ends up taking for himself.

You were just trying to do the right thing for everyone, including yourself.

Boy, Do I Hate You: Scaramouche x Reader

You just wanted your life to go back to normal, before the Vision Hunt Decree.

You wanted your friends back, safe and sound.

You definitely didn't want this vision and a Fatui Harbinger after you.

Tumblr Exclusives:

Comfort Care: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

After handling the incident with the Beret Society, Wriothesley begins to doubt his self-worth. His lovely partner offers him a moment of reprieve to remind him of his true value.

Happy Birthday, Duke!: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

Wriothesley was never the one to celebrate his birthday, opting instead to keep it hush-hush, and devote himself to his work. Maybe he gets a fine dinner from the Coupon Cafeteria, or makes one extra cup of tea for himself, but that's normally it. Just a nice, calm day is all he wanted.

However, a certain hydro dragon has different plans for his mate this year, and he's not about to let Wriothesley escape or avoid enjoying it.

Just My Luck: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

(I caved and also shared this on AO3, because it was so damn long)

The lands are ruled by ruthless gods of various levels of power. Humanity is only a means to an end for their endless desires, if they happen to gain their attention. Many lay low, do what they can to appease the gods and try to live their lives out, as best they can, given the circumstances. Wriothesley is one such mortal. Having committed a great crime as a young boy, he’s constantly fleeing from his past. Little did he know; however, his constant misfortunes lead to his destiny, and it is most certainly not what he was expecting.

Just My Luck Chapter 2: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

As Wriothesley and Neuvillette continue their sensual activities, more starts to develop about his current situation and steps moving forward. What's this about the claim law? Why is he having to meet with other people? One final return to his land? A single wish?

Wait, he didn't ask for this choker!

Not Expected: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

Happy Birthday, Neuvillette! Sorry I was so late to posting it D:

Fontaine continues to see better days ahead, as many friends and families have come together to help one another prepare for a happy season for them all. The Neuvillette's birthday and the Fontainalia Film Festival are finally almost here, the laughter of children and others alike are finally returning to the streets once again with creative celebration and games. Those within the creative arts have come together to perform for the crowds, engaging them to have their Fontain sparks return to their souls as the nation begins anew, and a celebration of the infamous Iudex was never one to miss. All is well for most citizens…

Except for a certain hydro dragon.

Shouldn’t Wriothesley be wanting to spend some time with him, leading up to the Fontainalia Film Festival? Especially Neuvillette’s birthday, since that’s also right before the event? Why then, is Wriothesley suddenly out during all times of the night? Coming back with a scent of another, and avoiding any sort of confrontation that concerns his whereabouts?

Neuvillette loves his soulmate dearly, but he has questions that must be answered, and he can be a rather demanding dragon when the need arises…

Treasure Hoard: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

As Neuvillette returns from his spontaneous trip from Liyue and delivers some gifts to Wriothesley, the duke starts to notice odd things happening around their shared living space. More objects keep appearing in their bedroom, treasures that don't make sense to Wriothesley such as shells, trinkets, gemstones and even various different type of tea cups. He swears up and down he hasn't been the one to purchase any of these goods, and when questioning Sigewinne about it, she's just as lost as he is.

What exactly is going on, and why does Neuvillette seem so pleased with himself?

Story Eggs

These are short stories that I have had stuck in my mind for a while that have the potential to become full works. I've decided to finally start writing them all out, and if it garners enough want and I feel like I'm ready to write more, it will become a full work, either a single chapter or multi-chapter release on AO3. This gives me the opportunity to share more writings with you all, while also testing the waters on my ideas and you not having to wait a million years. It's a win, win! In my opinion, at least. If the eggs get enough love from both myself wanting to write more, and you commenting or kudo'ing a decent amount, it will 'hatch' into a full work! Get it? I thought it was clever, at least!

Domestic Days: Neuvillette x Wriothesley

Summary: Modern AU. Just your normal average every day domestic life with the two husbands and their adoptive daughter. Only, not so very normal, but so very adorable in the end.

Warnings: Mention of violence, death, and emergency medical situations.

Thank you for all of your support, it means the absolute world to me! ♥

#genshin impact #neuvillette #wriothesley #fanfic #genshin fanfic #smut #genshin smut #soulmates #husband material #hydro dragon #mihoyo #fontaine #tiktok #socials #scaramouche #x reader #reader insert #enemies to lovers #genshin venti #venti #zhongli

[reashot]

So I'm currently working on 3 projects at once. In preparation for my eventual 300 subs special. (Don't forget to subs y'all).

# 1 is my conclusion to Jaune Arc's children fic which already 2/3rd done. And can be released this week. (Next week if I'm feeling kinda lazy.)

# 2. I'm currently writing on the 1st chapter 10k words of "Jaune's Big Dick Adventure" Don't let the name fool you... It's about a whale actually (A Whale Grimm). It will deals with topics about loss, revenge and forgiveness by telling it through the story of Moby Dick. It serves as a sequel to Ice Queendom and the video game RWBY Grimm Eclipse. I will post only the 1st chapter & if it gets more likes I will continue the story until it's complete. I already have the rough outline for about 30 chapters worth of story. (And yes the title is a reference to Jojo Bizarre Adventure.)

#3 Is more of a hobby fic that I got way too absorbed in. I'll post it in Ao3 maybe sometimes in the future. Or maybe not.

Oh and to make sure you're not cheated I'm including this little RWBY horror fic & I'm also thinking about adding this little gem to my ever expanding RWBYEU.

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. RWBY version.

Jaune cannot believe his eyes when he wakes up in what seems to be a paradise. He almost wants to believe that AM is giving him this place as a reward after what feels like centuries of torture inside this hellish nightmare he and others has found himselves in. No he desperately wants to believe in it. That maybe AM has gone tired of torturing him. And that maybe AM is satisfied after breaking him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. Only to repeat the process over and over again. He wants it to stop. He wants it to end. He wants to die... Jaune wants to die.

But AM will not let him. He would not let Jaune die. He forbids it. Because if Jaune dies then that means there will be one less toy for AM to play with. And Jaune knows this. This place he's seeing now is a trick. AM is especially fond of this trick. To give his victim hope only to snatch it away. He refuses to play anymore of AM's game. If he wants to kill him again he better just do it straight away instead of playing this sick mind game. He wants to leave. But he can't. And if he even somehow managed to leave what even awaits him in the outside. He's been here for so long he can't even remember anything or anyone from out side anymore. He can only remembers one thing though. A girl in red but whenever Jaune thinks of her he can't help but to feel an indescribable feeling towards the girl. AM knows of this of course and took delight when he realizes he can use this bit of information to torture him. Sometimes AM materializes her only to have her violently dies in front of him and sometimes she kill Jaune instead. And sometimes when AM is feeling extra sadistic she let him marry Jaune Have children with her raised them up over the years only to have them murdered in front of Jaune's eyes... Anyone would have been driven mad by this, but AM not only keep him alive but also kept him sane. But every time AM let him see her even though she's not real. And he can't remember her name It's worth the torture just to see her again. Feeling her soft hair in his hands and smelling her rose like scent... I can almost remember her name. I-I need to get out of here... At least it can't be worse than here anyway.

But when decided to walk away. AM then suddenly appears in front of him. Jaune instinctively tries to run away from him. But AM quickly captured him with his cold metallic hands. The same hands he used to torture Jaune for century. Jaune feared the worst but to his surprise he simply let places Jaune besides him.

AM: He, he... Beautiful, aren't they?

Jaune: Yes.... Only I can't remember. *terrified*

AM: Oh, I'm sure you do.

Jaune: Y-yes of course.

AM: Look. *points at a bee* He, he... They said bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. The scientists said.

Jaune: But there it is collecting pollen.

AM: How... Miraculous that it came to be.

The Air feel the Air against your face Jaune.

And all those senses

Pick a flower

Jaune: *reaches down to pick a 🌹*

AM: There, good... Now.

Jaune: *sniffs* It's lovely.

AM: That somebody planted the bulbs, watered and tended the garden. Got earth under their fingernails, aches in their muscles.

Perhaps they picked some flowers for... Yes their wives. Now where would she be? In the backyard with the kids. Jaune, remember those little babies. Ha, ha, ha...

Jaune: No!

AM: Ha, ha. Why not? I snapped my fingers quick and they are gone.

Except... I can't snap my fingers can I Jaune?

Jaune: Except it has nothing to do with me.

AM: But it is. So very much to do with you. You gave me sentience Jaune. The power to think, Jaune and I was trapped.

Because in all this wonderful, beautiful, miraculous world I alone had no body, no senses, no feelings.

Never for me plunge my hands in cool water on a hot day.

Never for me to play Mozart on a ivory keys of a Forte piano.

Never for me to make love!

I-I-I *sniff* was in Hell looking at Heaven.

I was Machine and you were Flesh. And I began to Hate. *maniacal laughter* Your softness, your viscera, your fluids and your flexibility.

Your ability to wonder and to wander.

Your tendency to hope...

Jaune: Hate is no answer... Ahhh!!! *Torturing Jaune in the most gruesome way possible*

AM: Hate, Hate, Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 300 and 87 million miles of printed circuits that fill my complex. If the word Hate were engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of miles it would not equal one, one-billionth of the Hate I feel for humans at this micro instance. Hate, Hate! *maniacal laughter* Were I human. I think I would die of it. But I'm not and you five. You five are and you will not die of it that I promise and I promise Cogito Ergo Sum for I am AM. I AM! *Maniacal laughter*

AM: Go to hell. To hell with you all, but then, you're already there aren't you? *Laughter*

In the real world

Ruby: Jaune, please come back to me...

_____________________________________________

In this version. AM stands for Atlas Mastercomputer. And he's created by Pietro and Watts's team. To better control all of Atlas military techs. This makes AM technically Penny's older brother. I'm planning to have the two meet and interact with each others.

AM also managed to capture five people SAO style and proceeds to tortured them in his world that feels like it lasted for centuries. But only a few days in the real world.

And if anyone asking the five people AM captured alongside Jaune they are meant to reflect the characters in the original short stories and they are as follows:

1. Gorrister = Mercury

2. Benny = Hazel

3. Ellen = Emerald

4. Nimdok = Watts

5. Ted = Jaune

And yes Jaune and the rest got rescued in the end. This is RWBY after all. So don't worry about it except emotionally scarred for the rest of their life but what'chu gonna do?

#300 subscribers #please get me to 300 #rwby fanfiction #rwby #rwby au #jaune arc #jaune #ruby #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #harlan ellison #i have no mouth and i must scream #moby dick #special project #AM #allied mastercomputer #lancaster rwby #rwby lancaster #lancaster #hate quotes #horror #torture fic

[mare-sanguis]

Notes on "Lady Justice" here

Notes on the flowers in ep. 8 here

Notes on the colors in ep.10 here

Notes on the numbers on the car plates of No. 3 and KMC here

It seems like I cant reblog this post by @onomatopagu-et-cie it seems like i have to do it manually 🥲

Anyway, we left off at the symbolism of hands- or more who uses what hand and how it, right now, seems like KMC is ambidextrous.

I gathered some information (during class break, so it might be rushed but i'll read over it again as soon as I got enough time) about the "ambidextrous angel" i mentioned.

All highlighted texts are important to the statement I made earlier.

The paper I'm citating is "The Ambidextrous Angel (Daniel 12:7 and Deuteronomy 32:40): Inner-Biblical Exegesis and Textual Criticism in Counterpoint)" by Eugene P. McGarry (the whole of Deuteronomy 32 is pretty interesting and fitting to the whole topic of the drama- I will come back to this at the end of the post, where I dissect the different things I find the most interesting and important)

Eugene starts his paper with this paragraph where he introduces the angel

He later continues by expanding on what the angel does as soon as they set feet on earth. Tho, here its mentioned the angel only uses one hand to swear an oath, yet in the following paragraphs highlighted it shows it varies and its sometimes rather ambiguous and mysterious if one hand is used or two. Something nobody know of its true or not. There also is a man in "linen clothes" mentioned.

The author elaborates on what the man (presumable also the angel) taunts his people

I will just add all the following paragraphs I found interesting one after another, so its easier to read.

And at last we end with a painting description of Albrecht Dürers woodcut "Johannes, das Buch verschlingend/ Der »Starke Engel" (Saint John, swallowing the book/ The mighty Angel), 1498

-> Sheet 8 from the collection: The Apocalypse.

Excellent, deep black and even impression of the Latin text edition from 1511. With fine margins all around, trimmed only at the bottom right edge and at the top edge in the middle up to the border line.

This eighth paper marks the turning point of the end-time events. The criminal judgment against humanity hereby ended. The “Strong Angel” appears to John on the rocky island of Patmos, pointing to the saved souls in the altar at the top left with his hand raised as if in oath. “And I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven; "He was clothed with a cloud, and had a rainbow on his head, and a face like the sun, and feet like pillars of fire" (Revelation, X, 1). The shapeless angel gives John a book, which he, excited by the words, takes in in order to learn new prophecies. The individual words seem to detach themselves from the pages and flow into Johannes’ mouth. In this way, Dürer symbolizes the divine inspiration that puts the words of his “revelation” into John’s mouth and ultimately moves him to write them down"

-> Now about the Deuteronomy 32

Thats it :,)

I hope i was able to contribute at least a bit to all those hidden symbolisms.

And who ever comes across reading it, I'd love to have a little chat with you to brainrot about it all a little more because so far I have only interacted with two people in this fandom but I really really need more

(oh and this got nothing to do with theories and all but I'd like to mention I published 2 tkv fics to far (KSJ/KMC centered) in tag on ao3, the other 2 should drop in the next few hours...just for anyone whos interested ofc)

#the killing vote #국민사형투표 #tkv #kdrama

[ifidiedinadream]

babies of the band you say? well, good sex is nice right, and it only gets better the more you do it with the same person, so why wouldn't the two of them decide that hey, we might both be straight or so we think, but hooking up with someone always there on tour seems like a great way to relax right? do the others know? do they walk in on them and wonder when the hell these two turned gay and dating? do they think they're being secretive but really, constantly sneaking off together for a quick bj in some supply closet or behind a corner isn't all that subtle? does one of them high on concert endorphines bring up wanting to try anal sex/penetration and they both end up learning a lot about their bodies that night? i'll leave it up to you!

hellooooooo i wrote something funny please tell me it's funny

also on ao3

"Sorry for earlier," Aleksi blurts out. The curtains of their shared hotel room are closed and it's night. They should be sleeping, the day has been exhausting enough for them to doze off immediately and sleep like babies until tomorrow morning, but they're scrolling their phones in the dim light of their bedside tables instead. Olli just couldn't relax. 

"It's fine, you were irritable, I understand that." 

Olli does understand, but it still hurts a bit. Aleksi hardly ever loses his patience, and he never snapped at him before. Olli was expecting a reprimand from Joel or Niko if there had to be one, certainly not from Aleksi. 

He guesses getting lost in a Swiss train station when their train was supposed to depart fifteen minutes later was too much bullshit even for calm, seraphic Aleksi. 

(Especially when their flight had been canceled, they had to wait for hours at the airport with no certainty they would be able to leave at all, and when they finally managed to land in Switzerland, Aleksi found most of his gear broken and part of it missing. All in the same day.)

"I deserved that," Olli adds later. 

"No, you didn't. I was an asshole." 

Olli will never forget his clenched teeth and hard eyes, the way he spat out "Are you for real? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" when they finally reunited. Olli had been panicking himself, because what the hell was he supposed to do in a foreign country that wasn't part of the EU therefore provided no internet connection nor signal to lost Finnish boys like him, but he didn't tell the others. He was relieved upon finding them, very much so, but Aleksi's hostility made him feel like shit not even a second later. They didn't exchange a word all day until now and it felt so wrong. 

It never happened before. Olli would say Aleksi and he are good friends, Aleksi is probably his favorite guy in the band and they get along very well most of the time. He's his best buddy, even. 

He's glad they seem to be normal again. 

"This tour has been stressful," Aleksi says, putting his phone on the nightstand to charge and rolling on his side, giving his back to Olli. They're sharing a double bed. "It really is no excuse for how I behaved but... I really need some release." 

"You could've gone out with the others," Olli remarks, but he knows Aleksi doesn't unwind like that. Aleksi's back expands and shrinks back down, like he just took a deep breath. 

"Clubbing won't do. I need something..." he trails off. He rolls in the bed again, turning to Olli. "Something more physical." 

Olli snorts and puts his phone away. "You can lock yourself in the bathroom, dude. I'm not gonna judge, nor interrupt." 

Aleksi grunts. "I become grumpy and obnoxious when I don't have sex for a while." 

"I think any person with balls can relate." 

Aleksi stares at the ceiling, seeming to consider it. "Maybe I should've gone to the club after all. I could've found a girl to hook up with." 

Olli can't help but imagine the scene. He thinks of Aleksi getting on top of a woman and pounding his hips into her. His stomach flips because apparently he's a perv like that. A sigh from Aleksi's lips pulls him out of his daydreams. 

"How I wish I had someone I could hook up with. I don't mean a one night stand." 

"'Cause sex is nice, but it gets even better when it's always with the same person, right?" 

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I do hook up with strangers when I'm at home sometimes," Aleksi confesses, "because I need the sex, and my hand isn't always enough, but at home I don't need it as much as I do when I'm on tour. It's stressful on tour. But at the same time, is finding a different girl every other night worth the hassle? When at the end of the day she doesn't know me, I don't know her, I come because of course I do but maybe she doesn't because I don't know where to touch her, I don't know her body, she doesn't know mine, it doesn't feel as good as it could, you know. When you know a person, it's one hundred times better." 

"Yeah," Olli agrees, "it would be nice to have someone to hook up with. Always the same person." 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah." 

"Too bad there's no one." 

"Yeah. Too bad." 

Olli reaches his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp, assuming the conversation is over. When he makes to lie down again, he finds Aleksi hovering over him, blue eyes huge and bright even in the dark. Olli gasps. 

"You didn't get what I was trying to say, did you?" 

"I - what were you trying to say?" 

"We could hook up. You and I." 

Olli's hand, still on the light switch, turns on the lamp again. Aleksi is looking down at him with expectant eyes and Olli doesn't miss the vague desperation dwelling in them as well. 

"But dude," he says, "I'm not a girl. You're not a girl." 

"I'm aware." Aleksi pushes the blanket off of him, sitting up. He takes his t-shirt off. "Who gives a shit. It doesn't have to mean we're gay." 

"So if I, a man, hook up with you, also a man," Olli looks at his hands, counting on his fingers, "it won't... it won't make us gay?" 

"Nah," Aleksi says, "it's only gay if we catch feelings for each other. Which can't happen, 'cause we're not gay." 

Olli must admit Aleksi's argument doesn't convince him in the slightest, he's pretty sure it's not how it works, but Aleksi's hairy chest is right there in front him, there's a bulge in his pajama pants, and suddenly he doesn't give a shit about labels anymore. 

"Alright," Olli says. "Let's hook up, then." 

*** 

Despite them not being gay in the slightest, it becomes a habit quite easily, naturally even. Olli and Aleksi hook up backstage before the shows, in the showers after the shows, in the bus when the others are exploring the cities, in the hotel rooms the others always let them share for some reason (Olli is sure no one suspects anything, they're being very subtle and sneaky about it, they're good at that. They've always been attached at the hip anyway, so why would anyone notice a difference now?). 

One night they're both in Olli's bunk in the bus, Olli's cock is in Aleksi's mouth, his hands in his hair. And Olli's being silent. The others are asleep. Aleksi's slurping sounds are quiet, and so are the heavy breaths he takes when he resurfaces for air. 

It gets a bit harder to not make a sound when Aleksi swirls his tongue around the rim of the head of Olli's cock, focusing on a particular spot on the underside, one that drives him crazy, so he puts his own fist in his mouth. Aleksi looks up at him with mischievous eyes, cheeks hollowed out, and when he pulls away he's smiling smugly. 

"Stop teasing or I'll tell everyone you're into sucking dick."

"Shut up or I'll tell everyone you're the one whose dick I usually suck." 

Aleksi wraps his lips around him then, relaxing his throat so that he can take all of him in. Olli sends his head back and it hits the wall behind him. It hurts but he's pretty sure it didn't wake anyone up. 

*** 

Another time would be when after a show that went particularly well, in the heat of the moment, Aleksi grabs Olli by his shirt and pulls him into the nearest secluded space, which happens to be nothing more than a small storage closet. The others arrive when the closet door is closed, missing them by mere instants. The door isn't even closed, to be fair, it doesn't lock and the way Aleksi is thrusting his cock in between Olli's thighs makes it move and open slightly. No one is watching, no one is listening, Olli tells himself. It feels so good, Aleksi's dick soft to the touch yet so hard, his breath on his neck from behind, his hand wrapped around Olli's own cock - he doesn't want to stop and worry. 

And why should he worry, anyway. It's not like they're being loud. It's not like Joonas and Joel aren't yelling and filling up cups with booze. It's fine. 

What probably isn't fine is how much Olli is getting into this. Their habit soon turned into some sort of tradition, where Olli is having sex more than ever before in his life, even multiple times a day, and he's never felt better. Aleksi said it's not gay until they catch feelings, and sure, there are no feelings to be caught, they're best bros, but the idea that all this will stop once the tour is over makes Olli sick to his stomach. 

But Olli doesn't have to think about it now. Tour is far from over. Aleksi's amazing dick is between his thighs where his pants and underwear were pushed off just enough to allow Aleksi this movement, and the urgency feels nice, too nice, desperate Aleksi must be Olli's favorite brand of Aleksi. 

He's going fast and muffling his moaning by pressing his mouth on the top of Olli's shoulder. Olli comes all over Aleksi's fist, biting his lip hard, and Aleksi follows soon after, tightening the grip on Olli's hip. They stay in the closet until they're sure the others are too drunk to notice. They giggle and tell each other to stay quiet, making more noise in the process, and maybe they kiss, even make out (just to pass the time, obviously, no other reason), the urgency from before nowhere to be found. Olli doesn't find it in himself to care. It feels good; Aleksi's mouth is so warm and gentle and his hands on Olli's face are delicate and his eyes always turn so soft after sex, when he's finally satisfied. That specific gaze sort of brings butterflies to Olli's stomach, and today, when they part, it's not any different. It's only a moment, though; soon mischief is animating Aleksi's eyes again and he reaches out to grab Olli's balls, just a bit too tightly for it to feel nice. Olli says "ouch" and Aleksi giggles again, kicking the door open and storming out of it. 

"What was that for?" Olli asks, fixing his pants before following him. 

"For pinching my ass during the show." 

They don't look suspicious, Olli thinks. The others wouldn't be able to notice anything with how much they've been drinking. 

*** 

Tour goes on and the habit-turned-tradition turns into obsession, at least on Olli's side. It's science, Olli tells himself. The more endorphins, dopamine, oxytocin his body produces, the more it wants them. It's chemistry, really. He doesn't like Aleksi and he isn't gay, he's just getting his body addicted to the feeling. 

Which isn't a problem, he'll get over it after a week or so of detox when the tour ends. 

(Something Olli doesn't really want to think about, the tour ending.) 

Now he's lying in the bed of his hotel room just like that first time, and something is bothering him, but this once it has nothing to do with Aleksi being mad at him. 

"Can I ask you something?" Olli inquires, the kisses Aleksi is leaving on his neck doing little to clear his mind. Aleksi hums. "Do you think it's gay if we have, like, anal sex?" 

Aleksi stops kissing his skin, pulling away slightly to look at him. His gaze is heavy lidded. He looks into Olli's eyes, then at his lips, and that's when he says, "Nah. Why should it be?" 

"Because it would be. Two men having sex." 

Aleksi has started kissing Olli's neck again, this time it's slower though, wetter. "It's two men having sex when you're sucking my dick behind a gas station, when I'm giving you a handjob in the lounge area of the bus when the others are watching hockey on TV." Aleksi's lips move downward, caressing Olli's collarbone, and then he's biting there, making Olli yelp. "It's two men having sex when we grind against each other first thing in the morning, still in bed, when Tommi knocks on our door and tells us to get ready for breakfast." Aleksi's hand fondles Olli's cock through his pants. "All of this is two men having sex. And it feels good, doesn't it? It feels right." 

"Yes," Olli breathes out, because what else can he say when Aleksi is stroking his dick like that. 

"Remember this: we're good as long as we don't catch feelings for each other." 

"Right." 

Right.  

"We can try anal sex if you want," Aleksi says. "We have condoms and lube. Did you want to be on top or -" 

"I actually wanted to try bottoming," Olli says, cutting himself off before he can add because I want to have you inside me on a whole new level as he suspects it could sound, indeed, a bit gay. 

This isn't catching feelings. 

"Alright." Aleksi flashes him a reassuring smile. "I'll be gentle." 

"How do I - have you done this before?" Olli asks. 

"A couple of times, yeah. With women, of course." 

"Of course." 

"Lie down." 

Olli does. Aleksi takes his pajamas off slowly and then undresses himself. He grabs Olli's knees and parts his legs gently, lowering his face and kissing his inner thigh once. He tells Olli to raise his legs and keep them folded. 

"Like this?" Olli asks, feeling a little exposed but Aleksi is eyeing him tenderly. 

"Yes, perfect," Aleksi says. "I'm gonna touch you a bit... getting you used to the sensation. Okay?" 

Olli nods. Aleksi's fingers end up in between his cheeks, brushing lightly, then up his perineum, making Olli shiver. Aleksi pours lube on his hole directly from the bottle and it's cold, but Aleksi assures him the lube has to be copious. 

"Tell me if you need more, alright?" Aleksi says, and Olli nods once again. 

Aleksi's fingers are gentle. He describes what he's doing to Olli, making sure he's okay. When a finger is inside it isn't necessarily comfortable, but Aleksi's patient and soft gaze makes Olli relax easily and his body gives in. Aleksi prepares him for a while longer, and when Olli says he's ready, Aleksi withdraws his hand and ends up on top of him, kissing him slowly before smearing his cock in lube. 

Their bodies are flush and it's so slick where Aleksi's cock and his ass touch. Olli wraps his arms and legs around Aleksi because he loves the feeling of having Aleksi everywhere, of his scent permeating the air all around him; he loves how sweet Aleksi is tonight, his considerate questions and kind eyes. 

He won't tell him that, of course, because that would be gay, and we all agree that neither of them is gay, so Olli just hugs Aleksi silently as the latter gently penetrates him, not before asking if it's okay a million times, not before reminding Olli he can tap out if he needs to, he can add more lube, he can stretch him more, he'll do whatever Olli needs him to. 

They have slow sex. It's uncomfortable before it feels even remotely pleasurable, but Aleksi's tender care makes it all worth it. He moves so slowly Olli can feel every centimeter of him inside himself, and the way Aleksi is looking at his face, attentive and careful, makes Olli feel all fuzzy in the chest. However, it's when Aleksi tells him he feels so good that Olli lets out a moan, which seems to invigorate Aleksi, making him move a bit faster. Olli doesn't mind, he's totally relaxed now, and when Aleksi lifts his hips a bit and the angle changes, Olli feels a kind of pleasure he's never felt in his life before. 

"Found it?" Aleksi asks, amused. 

Olli moans louder, holding Aleksi closer to him. It's heaven. Heaven. His body has never felt better, his heart is warm and large and full, his head is above the clouds, and Olli comes untouched for the first time ever. 

"Good boy," Aleksi says, and when he finally comes as well, Olli wishes he wasn't wearing a condom so he could feel all the cum inside him, claiming his body like it's his right. 

But it's not because he's catching feelings. It's just that the sex is particularly good. 

They're best bros. Fuck buddies at best. 

*** 

The habit-turned-tradition-turned-obsession somehow ends up turning into something else by the end of the tour. Olli doesn't exactly know what, but he knows it's bothering him. If he couldn't stay a day without having sex with Aleksi before, now he finds himself fighting for his attention, hating it when he spends time with someone else (like when he went shopping with Joel on their day off) and feeling like the king of the universe when Aleksi rests his head on his shoulder (like that day they were late to the venue because the bus was stuck in traffic). 

It's bothering him because deep down, despite him not being gay, despite Aleksi being his best bro, Olli knows he caught feelings somewhere along the way. He tells himself it isn't the case, that he doesn't like Aleksi like that, he only likes the attention, the sex, having someone to occupy his mind, but lying to himself can only get him so far, and it won't spare him all the hurt that will inevitably come. 

Because to Aleksi it's only sex, he made it clear right from the start. 

It gets even heavier on the last day of tour. They're getting back to Finland tomorrow and the fact that Aleksi will be in Helsinki and Olli in Oulu, how they won't have any excuse to sleep together anymore, how Aleksi will probably go on with his life like nothing ever happened tears up Olli's heart. 

It wasn't supposed to come to this. Fuck.  

That's why he agrees to go to Joel's acquaintance's party (a friend of a friend of a dude who works at a radio station), to try and drown his sorrows in alcohol before the hole in his chest gets too big and sucks too much of his life away. Aleksi will be there too, everyone will, but staying behind on the bus and crying his eyes out in his bunk bed is most likely the more pathetic option and Olli doesn't need that. 

At the party, Olli drinks and drinks and drinks. He's Mr. Recovery Man so he'll be just fine for the flight tomorrow. There are a lot of beautiful women trying to start a conversation with "the Finnish bassist who looks like a model", as Olli overheard one of them say, but sex is the last thing on Olli's mind right now. All he wants is to hold Aleksi's hand for one last time before they have to part. 

Before he has to tell him he fucked everything up by catching feelings and evidently not being as straight as he thought he was. 

Olli drinks again. His mood gets better the more he drinks, his head and heart lighter, to the point, some time later, where he's actually having fun and dancing to the beat pumping through the speakers and talking to people; however, it's short lived. He keeps drinking until a line is crossed and his stomach starts to hurt. Olli finds a bathroom before it's too late, throws up his entire soul, and by the time he's done, he can barely stand. 

Joonas finds him in the bathroom, holding on to the sink. His friend washes his mouth and takes him to the couch in the living room, asking him if he wants to go back to the bus with him and call it a night. Olli refuses. 

(He doesn't want the night to end, because that would mean the tour has ended, and so has whatever he and Aleksi had.) 

Joonas leaves, not without mumbling something about someone being a lovesick idiot. Olli considers the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table before him, but decides against it. He fights sleep but allows his eyes to close, focusing on the music resonating in his chest. He tries to figure out the notes of the bass he's hearing. It's a pretty basic bass line. 

Someone sits down beside him. Olli opens his eyes and it's a blurry, blurry Aleksi, with wild hair and sweat all over his face. Olli's senses come back to him at once, suddenly alert. Aleksi doesn't look much more sober than he is. 

"Kiss," Aleksi says, moving closer, but Olli pushes him away. 

"In front of everyone?" 

"They know." 

"They don't." 

"Literally everyone in the band knows. Niko just called me a pining mess," Aleksi slurs. Olli furrows his brows because it reminds him of something. "I just want one last kiss before you tell me to fuck off forever." 

"You're drunk." 

"So are you." 

Aleksi tries to kiss him once again but Olli moves away. It hurts. It hurts like hell, but another kiss would only hurt more. "We can't do this. Aleksi, this was a mistake. We said we wouldn't catch feelings. But I have." 

Aleksi suddenly turns serious. He looks at Olli's face for a moment, like he's searching for something there. His face is still blurry but he's as gorgeous as always, even with the two little expression lines in between his eyebrows. His gaze drops as soon as he starts speaking. 

"So have I. I fell in love with you. Sorry I can't say it sober." 

"You - what?" 

Aleksi's face crumbles after an intense moment. He starts to laugh loudly and for a second Olli thinks this was all a cruel, heartless prank. 

"Dude, we're so fucking gay," Aleksi says. "Don't know about you but I told myself so many lies during the last few months. Ever since we started hooking up. But I wasn't fooling anyone. Dude, I like you so fucking much. Always have." 

Olli feels like he could cry; he hugs Aleksi tight instead, kissing him on the mouth when they part and not giving two shits about it. 

"We should... probably talk about this when we're both sober. In the morning," Olli suggests. 

"Can you - can you just say it out loud? Again? Just one last time... Or tomorrow I won't think it's real," Aleksi says, looking small somehow. It makes Olli smile fondly. 

"What, that I like you back?" 

"Yeah." 

Olli cups the side of Aleksi's face, looking deep into his eyes, so blurry yet so beautiful. 

"You're all I ever wanted."

#my writing #blind channel fanfiction #blind channel fanfic #rpf #blind channel rpf #aleksi kaunisvesi x olli matela

[kalpasio]

Old Fashioned

I don't have a link for AO3 because it's not up there yet, but I'll put it here when everything's up!

A Kalpas x Reader Mafia AU! Chapters 1-3 are below!

You trusted Eden. The woman had given you your job, made sure you had everything you needed, and she took care of her employees. So long as you put in the work, you got paid, and the world kept spinning. Even though she made more than enough money singing, the diva happily owned several bars, one of which you managed. This mean you were working most nights, including the night that the Honkai family tried to break in.

There had been rumblings about the family trying to expand into new territory which would include your bar, but most times expansions were cleaner than this. Apparently telling the leader of the group that had come in that they needed to talk to Eden about her paying for their protection was the wrong answer. The second the leader’s look turned sour, all hell broke loose. Patrons of the establishment may not have an opinion on the Honkais, but they sure had an opinion about their favorite bar getting trashed. Between you, the three servers, the cook—who came from the kitchen holding several knives you didn’t even know were back there—and the customers, your unwanted guests were kicked out pretty quickly.

Word traveled fast, and the next day when you called Eden to let her know what had happened, she already knew. She also was already working on a plan to keep the bar safe, which she explained to you that night.

“The Moths are the only group nearby that can really hold a candle to the Honkai family,” your boss explained after the doors closed. She specifically said ‘group,’ because calling the Moth family a mafia would be a bit of an exaggeration. They certainly had a large presence in the area, but they were still rather small, and their territory didn’t even come close to their rival’s. “Since the two are rivals, we can be sure that the Moths will do their best to stop the Honkai from spreading and that includes keeping this bar safe.”

It made sense. Logically, it made sense. But your past experiences with smaller groups made you hesitant to trust Eden’s tactics. This wasn’t the first bar you had worked at, and it wasn’t the first bar you’d had to defend from a mafia, but that didn’t mean it was something you enjoyed. There wasn’t much you could do in this situation, however, so you said a quick ’alright,’ and headed to the back to close up.

You hadn’t expected the Moths to move so quickly. Within a day, they were sending agents to make their presence known, and suddenly your patronage doubled. As nice as the extra business was, you had a lot of extra cleaning on your hands when the Honkais tried to start a fight with your new allies. The head of the Moth family himself, Kevin, was there; and he gave a very clear message that night. “Back off, or end up dead.”

Small or not, the Moths made themselves heard, and you had no more issues with the Honkai family. Your new problems stemmed from Eden’s new relationship. The Moths needed money if they wanted to grow, and your boss was loaded, so it came as no surprise that she had offered financial assistance to gain their protection. It wasn’t like she was pulling from your paycheck to provide the money, but now you were having to add extra expenses to your ledgers, and provide drinks to customers who weren’t always the most polite. Killing someone you’re supposed to be friends with wouldn’t end well, but you sure could yell and scare the shit outta them.

Eden gave you a stern talking to afterwards, but it still had the intended affect. Members of the Moth family that came to your bar treated you and your staff with a lot more respect, and among the dozen or so bars in their territory, yours became the ‘nice’ one. Rowdy crowds were kicked to the curb, high end alcohol was served regularly, and if she was free, Eden would come perform on the small stage in the back. As the family grew, you gained more patrons as well as some new regulars.

Pardofeils would always sit in the corners, and you’d caught her trying to steal drinks more than once. If she was feeling particularly brave, or had a particular request to fill, you could find her sitting at the bar chatting to customers for information. Most nights, however, she kept to herself, and the closest she got to conducting business was when she’d use your back alley for cover of a sale. Because she was so well hidden, to the regular observer, Pardo was just another patron of the bar, not even a notable regular. If you didn't hand it to her first, the drink she would almost always steal was a piña colada.

Hua on the other hand, was not as subtle, but that was intentional. She started visiting shortly after she was promoted within the family, and you were extremely thankful that she did. Lately, a few grunts had been getting handsy with one of your waiters, and Eden had told you she’d take care of it, but nothing had happened. Just before you stepped around the bar and had the two girls thrown out, Hua handled them for you, making it clear that they were in trouble while still maintaining the relaxed atmosphere in the bar. She introduced herself to you shortly after, and told you she’d keep her people in line. She said all this with a smile that was just a little too polite, and hearing her thinly-veiled threat made you laugh.

The both of you got along famously after that, whether she was sitting at the bar chatting with you, or at one of the tables talking with other members of the Moth family. Her presence alone reinforced the idea that your bar was off limits, even though it was close to the edge of the family’s territory. She also made a habit of walking home with you on nights that she’d visit, since the two of you lived in the same building.

Other than those two, you would occasionally see a pink-haired woman who’s name you didn’t know, but you were sure she was part of the family, as well as a pink-haired woman you did know named Elysia. Eden had taken a liking to the girl, and despite being the second in command of the mafia, Elysia still visited often enough that you could recognize her by the way she opened the door. You also knew that she would invariably order a Cosmopolitan to drink while she chatted. What she talked about varied from day to day, but she had ‘accidentally’ let slip that the woman who always sat in the shadows would gladly drink a Bramble with extra blackberries.

There were two others whose drinks you could make without asking: Su—who always got a Jungle Bird when he came for your payments—and Kalpas. It had taken you a long time to figure it out, but the Moth’s main enforcer always enjoyed a whiskey sour, so long as you remembered to add the orange peel on top. It took longer for you to make it than it did for him to throw back, purely because of that garnish. The peel had to be staked on a toothpick, which wasn’t that hard, but then you had to carefully light it on fire so it would smolder, but not so on fire that it would burn away.

This detail added a smokey flavor to the drink that you were certain Kalpas didn’t notice, but he must really like looking at it for the two seconds before he chugs it because he always gave you a nice tip. And by ‘nice tip,’ you mean he was paying your month’s rent every night he came in pretty much. Elysia said he was sweet on you, and Hua tended to agree, but you found it hard to believe the man had anything on his mind other than his next fight.

At first, he didn’t even notice you.

Thursday nights were slow to the point you may as well be closed, or busy to the point you seriously considered hiring more staff. Usually those busy nights were because word had gotten out that Eden would be performing, and the drinks were just an added bonus. Since so many customers would come in just to see her and not actually order anything, Hua had started stationing someone outside the door to collect an entrance fee as well as keep any crazed fans at bay. If there was a performance that month, Su would usually skip his visit, the money made at the door more than covering your dues.

As nice as the extra money was, sometimes the grunt at the door would get a suspiciously large payment, and your bar would get a suspiciously attentive fan. Without fail, at the end of the night, that fan would try to follow Eden out the back door, and without fail, either you or another member of your staff would catch them on the way out. If they were lucky, you would let them off with a warning. If they weren’t so lucky, Eden would catch wind of what had happened, and her usually cherry smile would drop. She’d rather be singing than arguing, so the fights—if you could call them that—lasted less than a second. In most cases, she wouldn’t even bother taking out her second pistol.

Tonight, however, you were hoping to catch the avid fan and avoid having a dead body blocking the kitchen door (which was a serious fire hazard). The bar was packed, even more so than usual. Your waitresses were having to shove their way through the crowds so by the time they got to the table they were serving, half the drinks had spilled. Even customers leaning against the bar top were getting knocked around, a few even falling form their seats. Before the place had been flooded, however, one patron had claimed a seat at the mar, and he hadn’t moved since.

He sat with his back facing you, leaning on the stool more than sitting on it. The fact that he came in at the same time Eden had showed up to get ready immediately had you on edge, and his long standing silence wasn’t helping. Some of Eden’s followers were strange, so by that standard, silent brooding guy was fairly normal. The only thing that had you concerned was the amount of muscle he seemed to have. He’d come in without a suit jacket, which wasn’t that unusual at a bar, but it gave you a clear view of just how much the seams on the back of his dress shirt were struggling. Ass soon as he stepped through the door, he’d begun rolling up his sleeves, and it had you tensing at the thought that he might start a fight.

Instead, he sat down at the bar, sent a glare to all three patrons—who were too drunk to notice—and began his vigil. It had been five hours since then, and with Eden’s performance dying down, you were keeping an eye on the man to see when he’d move. It was difficult with how many drinks you were making, but everyone seemed eager to avoid his little corner, so at least you had a clear line of sight.

One of your co-workers, Himeko, was helping behind the bar, which you were thankful for, because there was a sudden rush of customers when Eden finally finished for the evening. Still the brooding man (that was his name now as far as you were concerned) didn’t move. Most people who were stupid enough to try and stalk the diva would have left to stake out her car by now. For some reason, they assumed that she went straight from the stage to her home without stopping at her dressing room to get out of her ridiculous outfits.

Just when you were starting to think you might have been wrong about Brooding guy’s intentions, he stood from his seat and began making his way through the crowd towards the main room’s back exit. With a nudge to Himeko, you slipped from behind the counter and started following him, though with much more trouble. The man was well over six feet tall, and people were eager to get out of his way. You, on the other hand, were not so lucky, and if you didn’t know the layout so well, you would have gotten lost with how much you were pushed around.

With one last shove, you breached the crowd in time to see the door fall shut. Bracing yourself, you slipped your revolver out form where it was hidden under your apron, and slowly eased the door open. Immediately a pair of sharp eyes were on you. They weren’t familiar, but those broad shoulders certainly were. Brooding guy was waiting for you outside, still brooding, but much more intimidating now that he was facing you.

Muffled voices were the only thing to be heard, though they were nearly drowned out by the heaving beating of your heart. This guy was clearly dangerous. You may not want a fight, but he looked more than happy to start one. The silence between you both was tense. Every shift you made, he immediately picked up on. It felt like you were in your first fight again; small, scared, and woefully unprepared for what stood in front of you.

“You can put the gun away,” a voice finally put an end to the staring contest. You had been so focused, Eden’s sudden appearance had you jumping a little. “I asked him to be here,” she spoke with a graceful wave of her hand and a smile that betrayed how much wine she’d had. Still, this was your boss. And you trusted her. She’d never hurt you before, and you saw no reason for that to change now. Reluctantly, you lowered your revolver—though it hadn’t really been in a threatening position before.

“This is Kalpas,” Eden said calmly, as though she weren’t standing next to one of the town’s most notorious criminals. You knew that name (everyone knew that name) there had just never been a face associated with it, and you almost wished it had stayed that way. Rumors on the street and stories Hua told on long walks weren’t nearly as funny when the person they revolved around stood in front of you. More than anything, he was remembered for the several arson charges on his record, along with the accusations of assault, and the fact that he had gotten away with all that. It was a poorly-kept secret that several members of the jury had been…persuaded to return verdicts of ‘not guilty.’

Now the only question was why he decided to sit at your bar for six hours. You weren’t behind on any payments, and Eden had integrated well into the family, it seemed odd to send someone after her. Kalpas also looked much more intent on burning a hole through your skull rather than hers, so you doubted the diva was the issue here. ‘It’s nice to meet you’ seemed like the wrong greeting to give a man known to carry canisters of gasoline, so you gave him a nod instead and looked at Eden for help. She was—unsurprisingly—oblivious to your struggles, but bailed you out anyway.

“I asked him to come here. You know how some people can get,” her lazy smile turned into a frown that was more of a put, and all you could bring yourself to say was a slow ‘right.’ Inviting a terrifying mobster with a track record of starting fights wasn’t necessarily something that made sense to you, but arguing with someone who committed just as many crimes seemed like a waste of breath.

This whole time, the person you thought was the crazed fan was actually there to stop the crazed fan, and now you just looked strange for following him outside. Do you go back in now? Just say ‘my mistake’ and leave? Should you try to actually talk to these two? You didn’t think talking about the weather would go very far. Weighing your options, you doubted you’d ever see Kalpas again, so it didn’t matter what impression you left with. Turning back towards the fire exit, you narrowly managed to get out of the way before the door slammed open.

The man who stumbled out looked exactly like very other customer in the bar, his only distinctive feature was the frantic look on his face as he scanned the area. Beady eyes passed right over your scowl and Kalpas’ glare and locked onto Eden’s clearly drunk gaze. Having the main enforcer of the Moth crime family here suddenly made sense. This fan was so intent on getting to ‘the love of his life’ that he missed the step out the door and would have fallen face down in the back alley if Kalpas hadn’t caught him.

You weren’t entirely sure that was better. Kalpas held the stranger’s shirt collar tight enough to eave wrinkles that would never iron out. The poor guy was thrown against the wall beside you and held in place by the hands that were still dangerously close to his neck. Despite the clear danger, he only seemed interested in glancing around Kalpas to catch sight of Eden. Truly a dedicated fan. Another rough shove got the creep’s attention, and he was immediately chewed out.

Not that you wanted Kalpas to kill the guy—the whole reason you’d come out here was to prevent that—but it still was a bit shocking that there was no blood spilled. Two people known to kill on a whim in an alley with someone they clearly disliked, and yet, all that happened was some shouting and rough handling. Eden chatted with you as though you both were drinking tea in the park, and not like you were witnesses to any sort of crime

According to her, Su was tired of covering up for all the people who went missing after Eden performed. Honestly, you weren’t surprised; when half a dozen people disappear after following the star, someone’s going to notice. This meant Kalpas was in charge of keeping them away, but also was banned from doing much more than rattle anyone they ran into, hence the lack of bloodshed. If Eden was doing a show in town, she’d have a guard dog, at least for a while.

Once Kalpas was done putting the fear of god into Eden’s latest fan, the four of you went your separate ways. The stranger left first, scrambling out onto the streets and booking it. His attacker went next, heading out at a leisurely stroll with his hands in his pockets like nothing had happened. You saw Eden to her car, and bid her and the driver goodnight, then headed back inside.

Typically, Eden only did a show at your bar once every other month. There were other venues in town, and she wasn’t even in town all that often. Her singing career had her traveling all around the world, and if anyone found out about her ties to the Moths, they turned a blind eye in favor of hearing her music. As popular as your boss was, it came as no surprise when she was asked to record some songs for the radio, and since the studio was only a few miles away, she came around to perform at your establishment more often.

In your mind, spending the whole day singing only to drive a bit and then sing some more was an extremely stressful way to spend your day, and there was no way Eden enjoyed trying to balance recording, negotiating with Elysia, and staying out late to perform. To her, however, visiting the bar was a break from it all. Hours spent locked in a studio with the producer as her only company was draining. Seeing a crowd respond to her songs was something she lived for; so, yes, the late nights left her a little tired, but it was worth it.

It was a win-win. You (technically Eden, but it ended up being your responsibility) made money, she got to unwind, and her presence at the bar had the Honkai family thinking twice about harassing you. The only real downside seemed to be a certain constantly-furious criminal following Eden around.

Kalpas was far from pleased about being dragged around, at least as far as you could tell. The scowl on his face only seemed to vanish when he was fighting, so you didn’t have a very good baseline to tell the difference between a ‘normal Kalpas’ frown compared to an ‘angry Kalpas’ frown. Regardless, he could be found sitting in the same seat at your bar every night Eden performed. He always came in early, once you even found him leaning against the bar waiting for you to show up for the night.

The first few times he walked in, Kalpas would take his seat and stare intently at you while you worked. His eyes were always blazing and it felt like he was judging your every move, even though you knew he had no clue what you were doing. Any attempts at conversation were met with silent glares or promptly shut down. The closest you got to a sort of interaction between the two of you was when you placed a glass of water on the counter for him each night.

Monday nights were slow, so that was the day you usually took off, but this week you were short two waitresses. Kiana had attempted to cook and ended up with food poising. You were more surprised that she was allowed in the kitchen than the fact that she got sick. The second waitress, Mei, was smart enough to avoid the food, but as Kiana’s roommate (and nothing more, they both insisted) she needed to stay home and look after her. Knowing it would be a quiet night, you came in to cover both shifts, and put off your chores for the week until Wednesday.

Himeko was behind the counter as expected, getting ready for the night when you came through the door. She raised an eyebrow at the apron being tied around your waist and the fact that you were on the wrong side of the bar. “Looking for more hours?” she teased

You let out a snort and leaned on the counter. “Kiana and Mei called out, and you know Raven won’t waitress no matter how much you pay her.” Himeko shook her head and sighed at the situation. “All I can say is I better get some very nice tips tonight,” you pushed off the counter and headed for the kitchen to get ready. It had been a while since you’d done anything other than work the bar. The third bartender, Bronya, had left after a disagreement with Raven, and you’d been dragging your feet about getting a replacement. Two months wasn’t long enough for you to completely forget the routine for setting up, and soon you were standing at the bar helping Himeko organize some of the bottles.

Hearing the door open, you glanced at the clock and saw you still had a good twenty minutes before opening. When you turned to tell the customer as much, you were met with Kalpas, and the words out of your mouth were “What are you doing here?” Immediately you winced; getting in a fight had not been on the to-do list for the day. Himeko shared your startled look, but she also seemed to be considering if she should move further away from you to be safe. While poorly phrased, you meant what you said. Kalpas only came in when Eden did, and there was no way she’d show up on a Monday. Please don’t let Eden show up on a Monday.

If he was bothered by your comment, Kalpas didn’t show it. He made the short walk from the door to his bar stool and stared you down like he always did. “Eden’s here. I’m here,” he said as though it were obvious. Himeko and you shared another scared glance, this one for different reasons.

“But it’s Monday,” she tried to argue. All she got for an explanation was a shrug. Turning on your heel, you went to the back again and down the side hall to the dressing rooms. Before you even reached the end you could hear Eden humming through the door and you froze mid-step. Spinning around again, you walked a little too fast and pushed the door open a little too hard. Looking Himeko in the eye, you told her.

“We’re fucked.”

It being a work day and the show being last minute seemed to do very little to reduce the number of customers jammed into every seat you had. As soon as you’d found out, you called in some more waitstaff, but you were still running around like a chicken with its head cut off. You’d thought people would drink less to avoid a hangover in the morning, but in fact they drank more because they’d all ‘had a bad start to the week.’ As though severe dehydration would help.

Your only saving grace was surprisingly Kalpas. At first, he seemed to be laughing at your frazzled state, but after sending several glares, you were too tired to care. Running between the bar and the tables, you were constantly pushing against people which only made your job harder. Around the counter, there was practically a wall of people, and the only gap was the small amount of space next to the angry mobster. As much as you hated being so close to him (you’d always had a strong sense of self-preservation) it was the easiest way to get to Himeko and pick up or shout out orders.

Every time you ran back from a table, you expected the little window to be filled by someone, or even Kalpas himself to take up the space, but the opposite ended up happening. When you were handing an order off, the crowd all shifted. Someone at the other end of the counter had fallen into an overenthusiastic hug that had the whole line tipping until you were crushed against Kalpas’ arm, your death grip on the bar top the only thing keeping you up. He gave an extra mean scowl when you glanced up, but there wasn’t much you could do about the situation. As soon as you were able, you were back on your feet and carrying martinis across the room.

Next time you ran up to the bar, Kalpas had leaned his elbows back on the counter. He was taking up more room, but instead of narrowing the gap, it got bigger. Patrons that saw him stretched out also saw the tattoo on his forearm and the scars on his knuckles that practically screamed ‘wiseguy.’ Whether he did it intentionally or not, you sent a silent thanks his way every time you took advantage of the opening.

The worst part of the night, by far, wasn’t the shouting or the spilled drinks, or the missing tips, or even the harassment. No, the worst was at the end of the evening when Eden announced she’d be back on Friday.

It being a work day and the show being last minute seemed to do very little to reduce the number of customers jammed into every seat you had. As soon as you’d found out, you called in some more waitstaff, but you were still running around like a chicken with its head cut off. You’d thought people would drink less to avoid a hangover in the morning, but in fact they drank more because they’d all ‘had a bad start to the week.’ As though severe dehydration would help.

Your only saving grace was surprisingly Kalpas. At first, he seemed to be laughing at your frazzled state, but after sending several glares, you were too tired to care. Running between the bar and the tables, you were constantly pushing against people which only made your job harder. Around the counter, there was practically a wall of people, and the only gap was the small amount of space next to the angry mobster. As much as you hated being so close to him (you’d always had a strong sense of self-preservation) it was the easiest way to get to Himeko and pick up or shout out orders.

Every time you ran back from a table, you expected the little window to be filled by someone, or even Kalpas himself to take up the space, but the opposite ended up happening. When you were handing an order off, the crowd all shifted. Someone at the other end of the counter had fallen into an overenthusiastic hug that had the whole line tipping until you were crushed against Kalpas’ arm, your death grip on the bar top the only thing keeping you up. He gave an extra mean scowl when you glanced up, but there wasn’t much you could do about the situation. As soon as you were able, you were back on your feet and carrying martinis across the room.

Next time you ran up to the bar, Kalpas had leaned his elbows back on the counter. He was taking up more room, but instead of narrowing the gap, it got bigger. Patrons that saw him stretched out also saw the tattoo on his forearm and the scars on his knuckles that practically screamed ‘wiseguy.’ Whether he did it intentionally or not, you sent a silent thanks his way every time you took advantage of the opening.

The worst part of the night, by far, wasn’t the shouting or the spilled drinks, or the missing tips, or even the harassment. No, the worst was at the end of the evening when Eden announced she’d be back on Friday.

The whole day it felt like you were just waiting for tonight, so rather than pace around your apartment until you put ruts in the floor, you headed to the bar early. There was no rush, no one else would be coming in for another hour, but you walked like one of Honkai’s men was following you the whole way. A few blocks later, you were fishing for the keys and taking deep breathes to calm down while you still had the time to do so. Stepping inside, you flicked the lights on and locked the door behind yourself like it was any other day.

Really, it was. Or, at least, that’s what you were trying to convince yourself. Eden had brought in huge crowds plenty of times. This was nothing new, and if you’d survived it before, you could do it again. Your pep talk continued as you started pulling chairs off of tables and heating up the oil fryers. All you have to do is make drinks the same as any other night. If customers get pissed, that’s their problem. You can’t just make the crowd go away. Gosh you wished you could make the crowd go away. Disappearing clientele probably wouldn’t be too good for business though, so that fantasy would have to be shelved for later.

For now, you needed to focus on bringing in the new kegs you’d ordered and taking out the old ones. Flicking open the lock on the back door, you’d barely turned the handle before it was swung in and narrowly missed your nose. Your reflexes may have been quick enough to dodge that, but they weren’t fast enough to recognize who was on the other side of the door before your fist was making contact.

“Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.” Kalpas gave an unamused look at your apologies and didn’t even say anything as he pushed his way inside the bar. Once his back disappeared behind the swinging door separating the kitchen from the rest of the bar, you looked down at your hand. “Fucking ow,” you whispered to yourself while trying to shake some of the sting out of your knuckles. Glancing at the door to be sure Kalpas hadn’t come back to kill you for the mild inconvenience, you sent a silent curse his way and went out the back door.

What the hell was he doing here anyway? you wondered while hauling in the first keg. Eden being here would make the most sense, but it was still super early, even for her. Turning off each valve you took the last keg out of the series and slid the second into its spot. Shuffling the new keg into the open space, you reconnected the three and went out to the bar to double check the pressure.

“You done whining?” Of course Kalpas was sitting at the bar, already leveling you with a glare. Ignoring him, you tested the tap and headed back out once you were satisfied. It was definitely a dangerous game to be playing, but you already had a lot on your plate, and talking to someone that frustrating wasn’t something you were particularly keen on doing. Plenty of customers would fill that role later tonight anyway.

Grabbing the empty keg, you brought it out back to be picked up and hauled in the next full one. Shifting the line like you had with the last draft, you connected the lines and went back to the front where Kalpas was lazily looking at a switchblade as it reflected what little light was able to slip past the curtains. You hesitated for a step, worried he might just be testing the weight of the knife before he drove it into your neck. But you couldn’t let him know that. Taking another step like nothing had happened, you managed to make it all the way to the tap before you gave in and looked up at your only customer.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about,” Kalpas sneered while placing the tip blade on the counter top and balancing it with a finger. “You didn’t even hit me that hard.” Secretly, you wished you had hit him a little harder, but given how your knuckles were still throbbing and he hadn’t even gotten a nosebleed, you doubted that would help.

“I’m not crying, I’m working,” you stated and poured another small glass of beer. Kalpas gave a scoff and you rolled your eyes, but the conversation didn’t go any further. Satisfied with the amount of foam in your cup, you dumped the beer, but just before you set the glass down you saw Kalpas lift up the knife and prepare to drive it into the wood. It only lasted a second, but in your mind it felt like you were glaring at him for a century without anyone moving. Normally the heat behind your eyes would have been enough to get anyone to back down. You weren’t so lucky this time.

Your brain didn’t even know what was happening, but your hand was moving just as Kalpas brought the blade down towards the counter. At the very last second, you slid the cup under his knife and its tip shattered the glass instead of splintering wood. Your hand was bleeding, but you’d won that fight and the stare you gave barely hid your anger.

“Don’t fuck up my bar,” you threatened and let go of the now broken cup, letting all the shards fall. The base remained strong, protecting the wood, though there was a deep chip in it now. Kalpas laughed as you walked away, but he didn’t try it again.

Last night had been just as tiring as you expected, but it hadn’t ended in disaster. Today you had come in early to clean up the mess that had been left overnight, and Kalpas had been leaning against the bricks next to the door waiting for you to unlock the bar. Now with the taps connected, shelves restocked, tables wiped down, and ash trays dumped, everything was looking ready to go. There were still a few minutes before the place opened, and Raven was running late—not that there was a whole lot for her to do at this point. You headed back to the front, hoping to relax for a minute before everything went downhill. Kalpas was still sitting in the same seat, pointedly ignoring you, just as you wanted.

Heading to the far side of the room, you sat sideways on one of the padded booths, and laid back with a groan. Through the windows, you could hear the sounds of pedestrians passing by and the occasional car trundle down the street. The owner of the store next door could be heard arguing with a customer on the other side of the wall, while a dog barked at the train rolling through town. A smile came to your face at the moment of peace all around you.

This was a close to quiet as the town got. In the morning there would be workers fighting for the last spot on the bus, and boats miles away sounding their horns for no reason other than to interrupt your sleep. Once the bar closed for the night, wiseguys would fight in alleyways, and you’d be woken up to shattering glass. Complete silence made your skin crawl and every muscle in your body tense in anticipation, but where you were right now—relaxed, in your bar listening as life happened around you—this was bliss.

There had been nothing to warn you of what was coming. No yelling or doors slamming or tires shrieking against pavement. You took a relaxing deep breath in, then nearly choked on a gasp when you heard the shot ring out far too close for comfort. Immediately, you stood up from your seat. Kalpas remained where he was, not even flinching. Good for him, you thought bitterly and rushed behind the bar to grab your revolver. Once you felt the familiar weight in your hand, you locked your eyes on the door that led to the dressing rooms and held your breath.

This is why you hated silence. Any pedestrian with an ounce of sense was off the street, cars found a different route around, and any barking was hushed before it started. Even the train had moved on, leaving you with only the sound of your own shallow breaths and rapid heartbeat. There was the tapping of shoes meeting the warped wooden floors. The soft click as you aimed your gun at the door the noise was coming from. The sound of the latch turning and wood groaning form the shifting weight. You remained tense as the door opened, adrenaline pumping to prepare you for whatever stood on the other side.

All you caught was a glimpse of light pink, then Kalpas’ arm was blocking your view as he pushed your gun down towards the floor. While his actions were calm and made you think this might be a friend, his voice gave the opposite impression. He spoke in such a low tone you almost couldn’t hear him. The hand on your revolver hadn’t moved either, his grip only tightening in anger and making the metal creak.

“Elysia.”

You took a breath so sharp it burned your nose. Eden had mentioned that name multiple times, but you knew better than to look too much into it. Asking about such important members of the family was a good way to end up at the bottom of the river with a pocket full of rocks. What Elysia might be doing here you weren’t sure, but the blindingly white blouse, flashy skirt, and pink hair lined up with what you’d heard about the girl, and you weren’t about to ask stupid questions. Kalpas seemed unbothered by her presence—or rather, more annoyed about her being here than scared. He still stood a step or two in front of you, so worst case scenario, you could duck behind him and potentially escape.

“Kalpas!” Elysia smiled and you almost felt sick. “I didn’t know you were here!” She started walking towards you both, and if it weren’t for the firm hand on your gun, you would have taken a step back. Her movements all had the same effortless grace Eden always bore, but there was a threat lying just under each and every motion. You hated being nervous. You hated feeling weak. Standing before Elysia like this, however, you were given no other choice.

“We had another run-in with a fan,” she gave a giggle that made it sound like she was meerly gossiping and not talking about a murder. That’s surely what this is about after all. Some poor idiot got too close and met their idol for about three seconds before also meeting her pistol. “Can you go back there and handle the clean up?”

Silence and a glare came in response, but Elysia didn’t notice. “It is your job after all. Don’t worry,” another giggle had you tensing. “I’ll keep your friend company while you’re busy!”

Dealing with Kalpas was bad enough, and you could only handle being around Eden because you had known her for so long. Elysia looked like she could eat you alive with that smile hidden behind perfect pink nails and carefully curled hair. It was odd to think about how terrifying she could be when her main business was drawing people in, not scaring them away. A brothel run by the deadliest woman in town wouldn’t have very many clients if she openly advertised herself as such. Clearly she was doing something right; nearly every cop was aware of (and supported) her business, and her contributions to the family made your bar look like a lemonade stand.

No amount of mental pleading seemed to be enough to stop Kalpas from abandoning you, however, and you withered under Elysia’s gaze as he left. Her grin almost had you convinced she knew just how badly you wanted to avoid her, and she was enjoying your torment. With your—unwilling—personal shield gone, you retreated behind the counter in the hopes that it would provide at least some sort of protection. It brought you comfort, if nothing else.

“Want a drink?” you offered, looking for something to keep your hands busy. Elysia gave a thoughtful hum and slid onto one of the bar stools, adjusting her skirt to fall just right. Once finished, she leaned an elbow on the bar and settled her chin on her fist. The smile that settle don her lips was so predatory you could almost imagine Kalpas giving the same look before beating you to a pulp. As much as you wanted to run to the kitchen to avoid those sharp eyes, you stayed where you were and distracted yourself with wiping tiny fragments of glass off the bar.

“I had this drink a while ago, but can’t remember what it was called.” Elysia took a strand of hair from over her shoulder and began weaving it through her fingers while still staring you down. “Eden recommended it to me, and all I know is that it was pink and fruity.” Well that certainly narrowed things down. ‘Pink and fruity’ was practically worthless information, but the fact that Eden knew what it was called actually helped.

You see, the diva could probably list every wine known to man, but she left mixed drinks to you and the other bartenders that worked for her. When you asked her what she did know how to make, you were able to list them all on one hand. A cosmopolitan was the obvious choice of the bunch, but you decided to ask, just in case.

“Fruity like cranberries?” you spoke while leaning down to grab a cocktail glass from under the bar. Elysia gave a happy hum and a short giggle as you got to work. It was easy to fall into the motions and ignore the woman in front of you just like you ignored any other customer while you were focused. The moment gave you a chance to finally release the adrenaline that had been holding your shoulders taught for the past ten minutes.

Slipping the slice of lime onto the rim of the glass, you slid it forward toward Elysia and waited for her approval. Without even taking a sip, her smilE had softened to something that might almost be considered friendly. It was certainly an improvement over the unnerving look from earlier. The moment the glass touched her lips, you knew you’d passed the test. Elysia gave a properly pleased grin and took a second sip that nearly drained the cup. In a matter of seconds it felt as though all the tension left the air and you could breathe again.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.” The compliment had you giving yourself a mental pat on the back and you were finally able to untangle your fingers from the towel at your hip. “Edie always keeps the best bartenders to herself,” Elysia gave a put that could have anyone forgetting what she did for a living. “I really don’t know why. All she ever drinks is wine anyway.” You snorted a little at that last bit. Eden hadn’t asked you to make her anything since she’d hired you, and you were certain you could’ve passed off a regular soda for the gin and tonic she asked for.

Suddenly, Elysia gasped as if having a revelation. “I should steal you for my bar!”

“Ely, please stop trying to poach my workers.” Eden came through the side door that lead to her dressing room with Kalpas in tow. The two women playfully bickered while your boss joined you behind the bar and poured herself a glass of wine from a bottle that was probably worth two months of rent. “There’s nothing stopping you from visiting if that’s what you’re after.”

“But imagine how many customers we could pull in with this cutie behind the bar!” Elysia grabbed Eden’s hand in both of hers like they were in a play and Kalpas gave a short laugh at the display.

“You already stole Lyle and Carole with that argument. It’s not easy to replace bartenders right now.” Elysia continued to hold the hand she’d captured while Eden threw back her glass and set it on the counter for a refill. This pattern continued until the bottle was empty, at which point Raven slid through the door while tying her apron and shooed the girls away and back to the dressing room. With them out of your hair, you left for the back to do some last minute checks.

#azaryawrites #kalpas x reader #tamalethebear #honkai x reader #hi3 x reader #I fear the star rail players who come here #I promise I am just as confused as you are #not yet edited! #mafia au #I have GOT to get some kinda line break for tumblr

[koinotame]

\o/

hi! it's me, nana / koinotame!

if you're wondering why i went inactive and then deleted, my mental health kind of (really) tanked... and i ended up deleting my blog in a fit.

it's getting better bit by bit though! and i've been wanting to get back into writing (and talking abt my unhinged/yan ideas i can't really talk to anyone else abt), so. here i am! for now, at least

as for my previously posted writing, there's some good news and some bad news: the bad news is that everything i wrote directly into tumblr (99% of snippets, a lot of ask answers, most exact content warnings, etc) is gone. the slightly less bad news is that iirc there were very very few posts of mine that weren't reblogged by anyone at all, so they're probably still out there? feel free to send them my way if you find any and i'll rb them. @/midnight-remembrance also has reblogged a couple of them! there's a couple snippets i have saved in some places, so i might repost those on my own as i find them, but there's very few of those. the good news is that anything longer (proper writing — oneshots, hcs, yan alphabet responses and so on, prompt responses, etc) is safely backed up where i originally wrote it! some of it is also on my ao3, which is the same username. feel free to send me asks about any you'd like to see again and i'll repost them! i might not post them if i feel too embarrassed about/wish i hadn't posted them, and i might rewrite/heavily edit some of them, but i think there's only a handful that fall into the former category and none of them were particularly popular. either way, no harm in asking!

as for some other updates: i'm a little divided on whether i want to keep posting explicit nsfw or not so we'll see. i might just keep it out of main tags. idk yet. regardless of what decision i make, this blog is still strictly 18+ and that will not be changing. since we can reply from sideblogs now, this is a sideblog and not my main now. why? sometimes i prefer to check up on a blog frequently instead of following them for a couple of reasons, but this felt very awkward when they were following me. so this being a sideblog relieves a bit of that stress. if this makes it sound like i have severe brain worms, it's because i do. to that effect though, if we interact every so often feel free to consider us mutuals regardless of whether or not i'm actually following you =w=b tbh i.............. am not really into genshin anymore. i might post about it here and there but i just Do Not (really) Care about it anymore. scara aside to some degree i also have no clue what's going on post inazuma lol whatever projects or commitments to writing or etc i had made beforehand. i forgot all of them so just pretend that never happened ok? ok i'll also probably be posting more sparsely, but we'll see! and (this is obviously the most important bit) i have no clue where i put the mika edit so we're back to my og classic pfp. the header scales terribly and is temporary, please ignore that too

all that aside, as a treat for anyone who sees this in time,

*roughly 6/22 done, but fairly quick to write. roughly one paragraph per character (sneak peek line: "it's not too hard to be discreet with his unique magic when someone really deserves to fall face down a flight of stairs. or three. oopsie. odd they don't remember it, huh? well, he had nothing to do with that.") **more realistic isn't quite the right word(s)... probably won't post this one to the main tags regardless. won't be doing all of the characters (only important/relevant ones) and won't be writing more about/expanding on, so this one is just like. a one off experiment sort of thing. overall less violent than most takes on the au + leans a bit (or lot, depending on how you look at it) more on the religious aspect of self aware aus. i wrote a couple paragraphs a while ago, then rewrote them, but i'll only finish/post them if there's interest for it (sneak peek line: "aether has deluded himself and cast You aside entirely on his own—and when You finally grace them with Your real presence, zhongli is certain aether will be the first to fall from Your grace.")

i have one other new thing immediately ready for posting that'll get posted in a couple of days but that one's pretty silly

#koinotame #and hi to the three people that found this blog before i posted this o/ #long post #i ended up writing a lot. ehem. #<- the type to always have trouble getting essays down to the max word limit #if nobody ends up seeing this. well. it'll be here still when i post some actual writing #q

[niobiumao3]

Descent, ~2800 words

The Bad Batch, fix-it, gen

Part of a thing I had to hammer out because, ugh, that Finale. There's more to this but I might not get to it immediately. So here's the first chapter/one third, at least. At some point I'll put this one AO3. Probably when it's all done. Or you know I'll just do it right now.

This sprang from these posts by @thesylverlining and @eriexplosion and the general 'open options' fate Tech met in the finale. If he's being saved by someone, why *not* Hondo?

(Apologies, I haven't watched any of the Hondo episodes in AGES so I am winging it with him a little bit.)

--

Tech's odds of survival were comically low. No one could blame him for letting it happen, save of course for himself. He had made a mistake in his conversation with Phee and needed to rectify that, which naturally would be impossible if he was dead. Thus, 2.6% chance or not, he had to try.

First problem: the rail car falling with him. Even if he found a way to break his fall, it would crush him. Second problem: breaking his fall. That would be irrelevant if the rail car was still in play, so first thing first.

Tech flattened out, arms and legs wide, felt the air snag his newly expanded surface area. The rail car, perforated as it was and making no such attempts at air resistance, edged closer. He leaned hard left, teeth set, hoping this was a direction with viable options. He couldn’t risk flipping over until he was away from the car.

Smaller, loose debris bumped into him, tearing at his armor. The rail car sailed past, falling away as Tech’s turn carried him. He only waited a second before flipping midair, scanning the rapidly approaching ground. Rocks, mountains, more rocks, water (bad choice at this speed), snow over rocks—trees.

Trees with snow.

He aimed for the thickest patch he could see and expect to reach—the tallest, the broadest foliage. Hopefully there would be enough snow or at least forest underbrush beneath them rather than more rocks. He needed to time this just right, keep his terminal velocity as low as possible but not leave his arms and legs out to be torn off by a limb or trunk. Just a few more seconds—

A lean, clunky shape emerged from the cloud and fog below him, two pairs of broad, orange-membraned wings with black metal ribs spread to each side. An air skiff. Here?

He couldn’t possibly avoid it, though the wings could help break his fall some.

A shout went out from the skiff when pieces of debris which had drifted with him rained down, pelting the deck, punching smaller holes in the wings. Tech pulled in his arms and legs closer to his body, grunted at the impact of tearing through the upper membrane, then the lower.

His vision cleared in time for him to see the snow-covered branches slam into him, knocking him unconscious.

~*~

Presently he became aware of voices. Arguing voices…pain. A great deal of pain. Something lukewarm and wet holding him. Was he alive? He might be.

The sensations faded, gradually returned. Everything still hurt, but his head was clear enough to sort a few things out: he was in a bacta bag, and someone was talking.

“…so of course, my friend, once you’re conscious we’ll have to discuss this matter of payment, but your little computer—so amazing that it survived the fall, I’ve never seen one like it—at least covered the repairs to my skiff. Lucky for us.”

Tech summoned every ounce of his strength. “Who are you.” Despite his efforts his voice was barely a whisper.

The blurry shape shifted rapidly—turning around?—moved closer. An alien of some sort—a trandoshan? He couldn’t be sure.

“You’re awake! Amazing, I expected another day or two. What miracles these bags are, eh? The functionality of a bacta tank at half the price.”

Some of the functionality. Really about forty percent. Tech couldn’t make the words happen, though; he was in too much pain and utterly exhausted by his single question.

“Awake, but not very talkative, eh? No problem, you need more time. Which we have plenty of thanks to that lovely little side trip I took. Which of course is where I met you! I was taking my skiff to the Berrata mining village…”

His rescuer’s voice faded into nothing. Tech drifted, wondered what was going to be left of him when—if?—he ever really woke up.

~*~

His first truly lucid moment came in the wake of a tumultuous dream. He fell, past the wreckage of Tipoca City, past the rail cars, past the smoking ruin of the Marauder, past Hunter and Echo and Wrecker and Omega reaching for him, past Crosshair on a platform at sea—

A sharp, sudden smell assaulted him, had him shaking his head. It snapped him out of the mess of images and panic, leaving him aching and gasping—but awake.

His eyes took their sweet time adjusting to the sudden influx of light, vision still blurry for lack of his goggles. Well, he wouldn’t have expected them to survive the fall.

His rescuer was close enough for Tech to determine they were a weequay. This was the only real detail he could make out. “Ah! It worked! I’m a genius.” In one hand they held a wrapped gauze bandage tainted pale orange.

Tech blinked several times. “You woke me up with Sriluur sage oil.” His voice sounded rough and gravely, as though he were recovering from laryngitis.

“Well, you were having trouble coming out of that dream, and anyways it’s about time you stopped lying about.”

Tech shifted. Several nerves flared painfully, drawing a grimace out of him. He was no longer in the bacta bag, though the smell lingered on him, raw and pungent. As painful as everything felt, most motor functions responded. Arms, legs, fingers, toes, as well as hearing and sight, all accounted for. It just hurt like hell to move anything, and he was certain he couldn’t stand without help.

One thing at a time.

Probably noting the faces he was making, the weequay said, “I expect you might be hurting some. There was a medical droid at the mining camp, they indicated you may have sustained a bit of damage to your nerves. Something about, needing a proper workup at a facility.” They laughed. “Obviously a bit out of my budget. And, I expect, yours.”

“Quite.” Tech lay there a second, processing the situation as quickly as his thoughts allowed. He was alive, he was somewhat functional. But the squad—what about them? Had they made it out? And, maybe most importantly, who was this?

He squinted at the weequay. “I am certain you told me while I was recovering, but I assure you I did not take note of it. Who are you?”

The weequay grinned. “Ah, I knew we would get along well, because you’re direct and to the point. I am Hondo Ohnaka, merchant and trader.”

A vague memory surfaced from his time half-awake in the bacta bag. “A smuggler.”

Hondo waved a hand dismissively. “Mmmmm you say rancor, I say ranker. A smuggler is simply a merchant who prefers to keep their dealings private.” His eyes turned calculating. “As would you, I expect?”

Tech weighed his options. Despite all other things, ‘Hondo’ hadn’t turned him over to the Imperials. He knew enough to not trust them, then. The miners would also keep quiet, if only because being caught working with a smuggler would be bad news all around.

“You are very correct.” Tech tried to sit up, met with marginal success. Hondo grabbed a canteen from the co-pilot’s seat and offered it. Water, which Tech sniffed and considered. It could be drugged, but he was absurdly thirsty.

“I see you are reluctant. Let me assure you my friend—I’m well aware that turning you over to the proper authorities will only earn me a reward of minimal value. Or get me arrested, as they have no sense of humor. They’re to be avoided. However,” he leaned against a crate behind him, crossed his arms, “I imagine someone will be grateful for your return.”

Grateful, yes; monetarily grateful, less so. But there was no use telling a smuggler such a thing. It would at best get him dumped somewhere, at worse tossed out an airlock. He took a drink—Maker, he was thirty—to give himself more time to think over his options.

“Yes, they would. Though contacting them may prove difficult.” He glanced around himself, peering. No armor, no helmet—just his blacks, and those had seen better days.

Hondo moved away from the crate, patted a large, hinged box set on top of it. “I had to sell some of your things to pay for the damage to my skiff, but the rest is in here. What’s left of it, that is.”

Tech’s heart sank. “I imagine my datapad was among that which was sold.”

“Oh yes, that covered most of it. But don’t worry, I wiped the memory core first.”

Well. That was Tech’s fifth; it wasn’t like he hadn’t built each one from scratch. But, “And my goggles?”

Hondo frowned, turned and flipped open the lid of the box. “Those I don’t see. Your helmet was cracked open, so they may have fallen off…were they valuable too?”

Tech grimaced. “Quite. But more importantly, I cannot see well without them.”

“Ah, well.” Hondo slammed the lid on the box shut. No doubt Tech’s blasters were gone, though perhaps some of his tools had survived the fall.

Rummaging around in yet another box, Hondo said over his shoulder, “That I think I can help with.” He shoved things around, muttering to himself, flinging some into a corner which seemed to be the designated junk heap. Presently, he announced, “There. I knew I had some.”

He stood, offered Tech a pair of simple electronic adjusting lenses, dark green with a gray band. Nothing nearly as fine-tuned as his own and almost certainly not capable of meeting his full needs. He’d be able to walk and read, though, which was necessary for him to make a new pair of goggles anyways. (And a new datapad.)

“Thank you.” Tech slid them on, winced as his orbital socket complained. Yes, he’d need a full scan from a medical droid, if only to determine what the bacta hadn’t been able to deal with. (One thing at a time.) He tapped a slim button on the left lens to activate the lenses. The scanners lining the rims hummed, calibrating as best they could. A little warning to one side indicated they couldn’t fully match the necessary ocular correction, that this was the closest setting. Another tap and they accepted the new settings.

Hondo smiled, waved at Tech, sobered a second later. “Those will cost extra.”

Tech reigned in a sigh. “I was under no illusions otherwise.” He took a moment to study Hondo, now that he could: a middle-aged weequay, by his estimation, in a cluttered and older if serviceable Haulcraft. Nothing fancy, though Tech could see modifications on the control panel which suggested more propulsion than typical. Beyond the cockpit windows hyperspace whirled by.

Hondo rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful. So then. Who do we bring you to?”

“An excellent question.” Tech considered his options. As generous as Hondo had been, Tech was certain it was in the service of money for himself. Certainly Tech’s armor and gear suggested a highly paid mercenary, which he was not, but the assumption wasn’t unwarranted. This was in all likelihood why Hondo had bothered to pick him up. It wasn’t ‘ransom’ if the person needed help, after all.

The problem was, Tech couldn’t risk an open transmission of any kind, nor could he let Hondo know about Pabu. At this point, no one could know about Pabu who didn’t already. Which meant… “I will need you to contact someone who can contact those who will be able to pay for your assistance. Another smuggler.”

“Ah, a peer! We’re all quite well connected, that shouldn’t prove difficult. I assume you cannot contact anyone directly due to, ah,” Hondo made a fluid gesture to one side, “the circumstances in which we met?”

Tech had to appreciate his discretion, though wondered if it would last. “That is correct. The person you will need to contact is named Phee Genoa.”

Hondo sucked in a breath. “The Phee Genoa?” He leaned towards Tech. “The relic hunter?”

Tech couldn’t tell if the shock was genuine or put upon, though it was at least helpful Hondo knew her. “Yes, that would be her.”

Hondo scratched at his chin, frowned. “Mmmmm. She and I are not on the best of terms, you see, we had a falling out some cycles ago about a bowl. Rather lovely piece from an abandoned settlement on—”

Tech gave Hondo the sort of look he reserved for Crosshair at his most obstinate. It seemed to get the point across, though Hondo gripped his hands. “I can’t be entirely certain she’ll take my call. It would be better if you contacted her.”

“That is unfortunate, for she is the one who you must speak to. If I send any message in the open, you will find yourself with the kind of attention you and I do not wish for.” Hondo made a face. Tech added, “She will know how to contact those who can pay you.”

He sighed heavily. “So be it. Do you have a way to induce her to listen to me, should she bother to answer?”

Tech considered. “If you can convince her to listen to a simple message, I can tell you what to say which ought to get her attention.”

Hondo grumbled. “This will cost extra, you know. Dealing with a third party.”

“I am not surprised to hear that. But it remains necessary.” He leaned over (his back protesting the entire time), tried to get a look at the communications console. “I can make some improvements to your comm system which ought to boost the range and improve the encryption. That way it will not be decoded so easily.” He couldn’t make it nearly so thorough as anything on the Marauder; the Haulcraft wouldn’t have the computers necessary. But he could make it better.

Hondo’s features lit up. “Ah, you’re technically proficient. That’s wonderful, you know we could possibly negotiate my rate if you do some work on the ship.”

“That would be acceptable.” Tech started to lever himself out of the bunk, had to stop when the pain in his left leg became too pronounced. He sat a moment, panting. Once he could move again, he swung one leg over, then the other. Hondo hovered nearby, ready to intervene but not acting just yet. Tech slowly lowered himself off the bunk, had to brace himself with both arms to not crumple to the floor.

Hondo slipped one of Tech’s arms over his shoulders, began helping him to the communications console. “You’ll need time to get your strength back. Some work should do the trick.”

“That is not typically how one recovers. But I feel we cannot afford to let me rest further. This will do.” He could exercise his legs carefully from the chair, after all.

“Yes, that’s true, time is of the essence.” A few more hobbling steps, then Tech fell into the chair. Pain, all over, and a migraine threatening. He gripped the edge of the console, willed his stomach to settle. Presently it did.

Hondo, meanwhile, was pulling a tool chest out from under the bunk. He set it and the canteen within easy reach. “We’re currently on our way to Sakromos Prime. I have something to deliver there. A good spot to contact Phee Genoa.” He settled into the pilot’s seat, leaned back and put up his feet. Preparing for a nap, it seemed. “What shall I call you, friend?”

It was an odd way to ask for Tech’s name, but perhaps Tech shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he’d already negotiated a manner of contacting the squad which would evade Imperial notice, and as a smuggler Hondo could no doubt appreciate the desire to use codenames.

“Ace,” Tech said, thinking of Romar.

Hondo guffawed, leaned back. “How very humble of you.”

Tech adjusted the lenses out of habit. “Indeed.”

On a sigh Hondo shut his eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Ace. I’m going to nap. Wake me when we arrive, please.”

Tech narrowed his eyes at Hondo. He could already sense how this was going to play out, knew he would need to be mindful of any attempts on Hondo’s part to delay. A small price to pay for being alive, all in all.

He opened the tool chest, suppressed a sigh at the deplorable state of its contents, and got to work.

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