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loveharlow · 1 year

Note

hi :)

i love your writing! could i request an ajax x reader fic where the reader gets hurt and ajax gets all protective over them and angry with the person who hurt them, sort of angsty

thank you!!

ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

PAIRING ‧₊˚ Ajax Petropolus x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS ‧₊˚ [1.7k] Ajax is bit protective of his girlfriend and wants to keep her safe. So when a recently erratic redhead catches her in the Nightshades archives, he isn't too pleased.

WARNING(S) ‧₊˚ swearing, fluff, hurt/comfort, mild violence, Rowan loosing his shit, angry!ajax, mild angst

A/N ‧₊˚ I'm not tryna villainize Rowan , I just needed a conflict. RIP ma boy. PS - To all my gif makers, we need more Ajax gifs please, I will pay you 😭 (not literally I'm broke)

Hope this is good enough for you, anon!

˗ˏˋ ajax masterlist ˎˊ˗

I WAS IN THE NIGHTSHADES LIBRARY, SLUMPED AGAINST ONE OF THE SUPPORT BEAMS AS I READ THE BOOK I’D BEEN STUCK ON FOR THE PAST WEEK. A bowl of grapes on one side of me, occasionally dipping my hand in to grab a few and plop them in my mouth, eyes scanning word after word, paying no mind to my surroundings.

That was, until I heard the familiar screeching of the statue opening to the library. My face screwed in mild confusion, not expecting anyone to be coming. Especially at this hour — it was half past 11 and I should have very well been in my dorm, sleeping. But what Weems and the other staff didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, right?

The footsteps that descended the curved staircases were heavy and frantic, tattered sneakers coming into view as they practically flew down the steps. Fully lifting my head from the worn pages of the novel I was reading, I waited to see who had entered the library — seeing as only a handful of people knew it existed.

However, the face that followed was unexpected. A head of red hair and glasses — what was Rowan doing here? He got kicked out weeks ago.

He didn’t seem to notice me as he eagerly scanned the bookshelves for…whatever it was he was looking for.

He looked stressed…erratic. Almost like a wild animal, if I’m being honest. He’d been acting strange ever since the new girl showed up but he looked worse than he did when we told him we couldn’t keep him around a couple weeks back. He had deep, red bags under his eyes and his hair looked like he either hadn’t touched it in days or couldn’t stop touching it.

I let the grape clenched between my fingers fall into the bowl and let the book fall shut, the sudden noise causing the boy to whip around until he set his eyes on me. His shaky gaze went wide before hardening into a glare that I chose to ignore.

Setting the book on the ground, I stood slowly, dusting off my pants as I did so. “Rowan, shouldn’t be in here. You’re not a Nightshade, anymore.” I stated, keeping my distance.

“Y/n…” He muttered my name as if he was scared, putting his hands palm-side down in front of him as he inched closer. “I just need one thing. You don’t have to tell anyone I was here. I’ll be in and out, ’kay? I-I swear.”

I shook my head with regret, hugging myself close with the sleeves of my sweater pulled over my hands. “Rowan, I can’t- It’s not up to me. And even if it was, I'd tell you the same thing. You’ve been off lately…” I spoke meekly, not wanting to set him off as it has been easy to do that lately. Too easy. Dangerously easy.

His eyes squinted, his motions to come closer halting in a heartbeat. A deep scowl formed on his face. “Off? I’ve been off?” He laughed bitterly, looking up at the library ceiling. “That’s really funny coming from one of the elitist assholes who kicked me out of their little secret society the second I didn’t fit your standards anymore.” He snapped, throwing his hand out at me.

My head fell to the side as he spoke, lips parting to speak. “We kicked you out, Rowan, because you were losing your shit and we got sick of your tantrums. It seems not much has changed.” I reprimanded sternly. He started to take slow, calculated steps towards me. So, I started to walk around him, my back going from facing the support beams to me standing in front of the bookshelf, Rowan never taking his eyes off of me. We circled one another, almost taking the others place, with him now standing close to my abandoned book and bowl of grapes. “You’re dangerous. To yourself and us. And we don’t want to get caught up with whatever theory you’re chasing.”

“It's not a theory! It’s-” He took a deep breath, pinching the skin between his brows. “Damn it! Why are all of you so oblivious?! You can’t see the real danger that’s right in front of you-”

He was becoming volatile and unpredictable, in his words and movements. Grasping at his hair as his face became a deep, angry shade of red. “Rowan, you should leave.”

“NO! No, I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for-” He spoke quickly, his words jumbling together. He started towards me, in long strides and I almost didn’t see him coming. I wasn’t thinking clearly and he was starting to scare me.

“Rowan!” I shouted, the sound echoing of the walls and halting his movements. “Just go! I don’t want to hurt you but you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I need the book…” He muttered, eyes glancing over the tiles on the floor frantically.

“What-”

“Just give me the damn book!” He shouted, finally snapping.

His right hand shot out and I could feel my body leave the floor as I flew back, my head hitting the wood of the bookshelves, disorienting me for a few moments. My head was spinning and the room was split into two as I tried to regain my consciousness.

All of a sudden, what sounded like two pairs of footsteps were trampling down the steps, two blurry figures coming into view and shouting at Rowan. Inaudible statements I couldn’t make out.

When my senses balanced back out, I could finally see the two people who’d entered the hidden library — Ajax and Bianca, shouting worriedly at Rowan.

“What the hell?! Stop!”

“Rowan, let her go!”

Rowan was simply shaking his head and squinting his eyes so tight, it had to have hurt. It looked like he was trying to block out his own thoughts and failing miserably.

“Mmm.. shut up!” The angry boy shouted, causing his psychic hold on me to somehow put more pressure on my chest, constricting my airflow as I gasped for air — my chest was caving in. And if he didn't let me down, I knew I might die.

“You’re gonna kill her! Put her down!” Bianca pleaded. None of us were thinking straight. I looked ahead at my best friend and boyfriend, my eyes watering in struggle as my fists clenched at nothing.

They spared a glance at one another before Ajax was reaching up at his beanie, going to tug it off before Bianca stopped him — shaking her head ‘no’ before she was marching up to Rowan and throwing his shoulder back.

Using her siren voice to force him into capitulation. “Put her down.”

Rowan's hands fell to his side limply, my lungs filling with air as my body slid rapidly down the wood of bookshelves and Ajax sped across the room as fast as he could to catch my frame before it collided with the hard floor.

His arms went under me, holding me bridal style before sitting down and lifting my head onto his lap, rubbing my cheek with one hand as I gripped the sleeve of his hoodie with mine.

“Breathe, it’s okay. You’re okay, it's alright. I got you...” he coaxed as I caught my breath.

Once I was breathing, shakily but breathing nonetheless, his head snapped to Rowan who was arguing to Bianca. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled. “You could have killed her!”

“Ajax, it’s fine.” His gaze whipped back down to me, his glare harsh and angry — frightened.

“Fine?” He said incredulously. “That wasn’t fine! He isn’t even supposed to be here. This is why we kicked him to the curb in the first place.” He ranted, turning back to Rowan who looked regretful about his actions but not necessarily sorry. “Because we knew some shit like this was bound to happen!”

“I didn’t mean to...She was-”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Ajax said lowly, his eyes hard and dark.

“You need to leave.” Bianca said sternly, arms crossed and eyes dead-set on him. Rowan stood in his place, stuttering like a fish out of water before she spoke again, much more conviction in her tone. “Now.”

Then the boy was dipping his head down and rushing up the stairs and out of the library. “Next time I see you, I’ll kick your ass!” Ajax shouted after him. He wasn’t the type to make threats but stoners had a type of strength like no other, so it wasn't one to be taken lightly.

Bianca rushed over to me who was now sitting up slow out of Ajax’s lap.

“Are you alright?” She asked worriedly. I nodded, coughing lightly once or twice. Ajax had a hand set on my back as I allowed my head to fall onto his chest, his free hand coming up to cradle my head.

“Thank you.” I muttered, voice still shaky. “But, why were you guys down here?”

Bianca smiled pitifully and rubbed her hand up and down my forearm. “I woke up and you weren't in the dorm, I got worried. I asked Ajax if you were with him and he said no, said he had an idea where you might be.”

“I told you to stop coming down here alone.” Ajax reminded firmly, looking down at me from where I was perched against his chest. I muttered an ‘I know’ and a ‘sorry’ before letting my arms go around his waist and hug him closer. Bianca let her hand fall from my arm, sending us both a look before bidding goodnight and leaving the library.

Ajax and I sat like that for a while before he moved to stand, my arms falling from him as he rose. Dusting off his pajama pants, he outstretched a hand to help me stand. I wrapped both of my arms around one of his as we left the library together — my bowl of grapes and book abandoned and long forgotten.

When we got outside, I clung to him tighter as a chill swept by, my lungs thanking the breeze. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

He didn’t stop walking as he leaned to kiss the top of my forehead. “‘Course you can.” He replied as we continued to walk together.

We made it to his room without being caught, going inside and getting comfortable under his covers. It wasn’t long before we clung to each so close, you couldn’t tell where he started and I ended.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. But I promise I won’t let it happen again.” He assured me sleepily.

“I know., but it wasn't your fault.” I mumbled, burying my face in his chest. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” He muttered, lifting my chin to peck my lips before allowing me to bury my face into his chest once more. His arms tugged me closer. I knew he was still fuming from what happened and I'd have to try and talk him down from potentially killing Rowan, or recruit Xavier to do it for me. In a weird way, I found it endearing to know he cared so much. But I don't like to see him upset.

And even though my chest still felt heavy and achy, and I’d have to sneak back to the girl’s dorm at the crack of dawn praying not to be spotted by Weems or the teachers — I knew it’d be okay.

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#ajax petropolus wednesday addams #ajax petropolus wednesday #ajax petropolus #ajax petropolus x normie!reader #ajax petropolus x fem!reader #ajax petropolus x reader #ajax petropolis x reader #ajax petropolus x you #ajax petropolus x y/n #wednesday characters x reader #wednesday netflix #req. ♥︎

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hydrangea-mon-amor · 7 months

Text

Yandere Vampire

Yandere Male! x AFAB! Reader

Trigger warning! Yandere behavior, obsessive behavior

A/N: Okay it’s been like…a couple of months since I last updated a fic (sorry about that) but I couldn’t help but write this idea down, it has been plaguing my mind ever since I had thought of it. (Which was literally a few hours ago…) anyways, no official title because I’m not sure if this will be a permanent character but please do enjoy the story. (If you can)

Summary! You acted stupid and went into the only Forest you shouldn’t have gone into, to your luck (if we can even call it that) you ran into the Duke Osborne who has insisted you stay the night in his manner lest you be a pray to the creatures roaming in the forest. (He is the creature btw)

Side note — if you read the trigger warning and still were triggered by the content (or any that I’ve wrote) please message me ASAP and tell me about it. I DO NOT condone this behavior.

Duke Osborne sits in front of you,

You mentally curse yourself, you just had to have ignored your fathers wishes and ventured pass the safe grounds of your home. The breath you wish to let out protest against the folds of your lips. You expected some sort of activity to occur in the forest, but you hadn’t expected Lord Osborne to be there as well.

his hands lay comfortably on the table, you sat in apprehension.

“I hear you are the Barons offspring? Such a shame I hadn’t been blessed to see your visage sooner.”

“Duke Osborne—“

“Please, no need for civilities here. Address me casually, just Aloysius is fine.” He tosses a smile, the dazzle of his eyes gleaming down at you. It is peculiar, you don’t think he looks at you as if it were antagonistic, but you couldn’t help but feel cornered.

“Aloysius…you are very kind to allow me a room at your estate for the night, I appreciate it very much.”

“Do you now?”

You gulp.

“Y-yes, since I am the offspring of only a Baron and nothing else, I am not used to, nor think, that I am deserving of such catered treatment.”

The Duke frowns.

“Not deserving?” His query comes out like that of a saddened child, you fiddle with your fingers, unsure of how to answer such a tone.

“Well I…” you straighten your posture. “I don’t mean to speak negatively about myself, but it is common knowledge that the power a Baron or Baroness holds is not that of a Duke or Duchess. I know my station in society, and know of the role I must fit into to adequately play it. It is of no inconvenience to me, so really, a Duke such as yourself shouldn’t be worried with frivolous matters.” Aloysius twirls the spoon in his tea. He has a specific analytic gaze to him, one you feel positively scanned by.

“Is that all? Don’t you feel some sort of resentment for the way society looks down on you compared to other nobles?”

“I do not care for that lifestyle, if I can be happy in life, then that is all I need to be contented.”

“Even if you were as lowly as the offspring of a bastard.”

“Even then.”

He takes a minute to compile his thoughts, but as quick as one would imagine, he resumes his air of chivalry and charm.

You jolt, not expecting for the Duke to clasp his hands quite loudly that it echoed throughout the dining room of his estate.

“Very well then, you amuse me Y/N.” You look at him quizzically.

“Apologies, I don’t think I ever gave you my name.”

“You didn’t have to, I know the names of every resident in this estate.”

“Resident? Pardon me Aloysius, but I am merely a guest.”

“Of course.”

The Duke continues on with his meal, glancing at you a couple times to make sure you had your fill. You can’t say you quite enjoy the Dukes presence, but you do appreciate his effort in assuring your comfort.

This quiet would not last.

“I wonder, do you know of the tale spoken for the Forest of Naught?”

You chuckle uncomfortably, “how could I not?”

It was impossible, you thought, for a child of this kingdom to have not heard it. It’s rhymes are Ingrained to the child it passes over to, until it passes on to the next, and then to the next and on and on it goes.

You can recite it by heart.

In a forest called Naught, where darkness reigns,

Existing creatures man cannot rid nor tame.

A plague they are, with fangs as sharp as knives,

Skin pale as moonlight, eyes aflame with red.

Their feast, the tender essence of your blood,

Teeth sinking deep into sweet flesh so raw.

No care for you, they crave the crimson flood,

Their only longing, for your lifeblood's draw.

These creatures possess powers to deceive,

Morphing their form to appear just like us.

But in reflection, true nature they conceive,

A ghastly visage, causing hearts to fuss.

They shun the light, abhor the sun's bright beams,

Yet thrive by night, fulfilling their dark dreams.

In shadows deep, their wickedness takes flight,

Within the veil of night, their hunger stirs.

No mercy shown, no solace in their sight,

They prey upon the innocent, like curses.

“What is your opinion of it?”

“My opinion?” You take a while to form an answer you’d think he would respond best to. “Well, I think it is definitely something the children could be frightened by—“

You believe you are dreaming, the Duke, Aloysius Osborne, is laughing.

“The children? Truly, a forest as mysterious as this and you think of the children?” You do not think the Duke capable of shedding tears, but here’s he is now, wiping away the tears forming at the baseline of his eyelids.

“I stand by my statement.” Your arms press forth on the table. “Those creatures, whatever they may be called, it’d be horrible if they feast on innocent children.”

“I suppose so, but not every child is innocent.” Aloysius makes motion for a glass of wine to be brought, and it is like magic how a servant is already to his aid. You watch tenderly, eyes fixed at the action in hand. In your opinion, the wine looks a little distasteful. Too red, you thought, but you had not the reason to speak it aloud.

“I would offer you a glass but this wine isn’t any that you have tasted before, I can assure you this.”

“Really now?”

He inclines his head to a nod, “not as sweet as regular wine, tastes quite like iron to the normal civilian, but what can I say? I have an expensive taste.”

You shift in your seat “Well, Duke, my interest is piqued.”

“No civilities!” He whined, almost knocking the glass in the process. Having realized what he had done, he is quick to manage himself. “Apologies, I as an individual simply just abhor honorifics.”

Liar.

“Please just address me by my name, it’ll please me greatly.”

“Excuse my negligence, I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

For the remainder of your meal, you dine uncertainly. The food you taste is exceptional in taste, but it almost feels bland. You can’t say you would feel any better with the Dukes gaze looming over you like a watchful hawk. Can’t to think of it, why did the Dukes eyes appear more red than his normal chestnut hue? You can’t point the science behind it. And perhaps it is just your wishful thinking, but you never noticed, or thought, the Dukes skin to be so naturally pale. Frankly, it’s color is akin to that of moonlight.

What an odd thing to note.

You say not a single word to him, growing apprehension if he’d take the word and turn it into a working conversation. Even though you are the child of a Baron, and have been educated, you still are not quite adept to socializing compared to your peers.

That is until you start to feel drowsy.

“Please excuse me, but I fear I am succumbing to sleep. Could you please walk me to the room I will be sleeping in for the night?” Without a word, Aloysius rises to his feet, discarding the remainder of his meal. It is odd, for such a lofty meal he managed to finish each glass of wine he obtained.

You wondered why he hadn’t touched the garlic at all…

“Of course, follow me.”

You stand, dusting off the dirt that remain on your clothes. You look at him, and take note of how precisely he is gazing at you.

You shake off the feeling.

You arrive at his side, and generously, he leads you without a word. But you must be honest with yourself, the whole time you ventured through his walls it had almost felt like the phantom touch of a hand was latching onto you.

He yawns, you believe sleep has anchored him too.

“It’s such a shame.” He whined. “I would have loved to dance with you in my ballroom.”

“Aloysius there is no need—“

“I protest. You know full well that my family, Osborne, has danced with the guest of their house before they leave for the night or leave for home. I’d be disrespecting tradition if I hadn’t had even one dance with you.”

Flattery will do you no good.

“I have never been instructed.”

“Pardon me?”

You hesitate, “dancing, it has never come naturally to me and my family hadn’t harbor the sufficient funds to acquire a teacher. But considering my prowess regarding the art, I don’t think I’d be of any good even with the paid help.”

“You can always learn.”

“And with what help, if I might ask?”

“With mine, naturally.”

Your cheeks dust red.

“I cannot trouble you like this.”

“It is of no trouble, please share just one dance.”

In high society, people would think you frivolous if you were to refuse the good natured will of a Duke, considering your title as the child of a Baron, you have no societal standing to reject him. In other words, you are completely and utterly trapped.

“I suppose one would do adequately.” The Duke smiles at you, and perhaps you hadn’t seen him enough in all the parties you were fortunate enough to attend, but he didn’t look as happy and content as he did now.

Oh.

You squint.

Why did the front of his teeth look more like protruding canines instead of regular molars?

Whatever, forget it.

He leads you to his ballroom, the scenery draped in blood red curtains and the floor a sinister black. The area exudes a treacherous aura but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enticed.

It is practically instantaneous that music started to flow into the room. You can only guess that he intended for this to happen from the very beginning and had a servant stationed here for the time being.

“Do you mind if I call your name with a term of endearment?”

You’re startled.

“Your pardon?”

“You know, how wedded couples address each other. Love, darling, sweetie?”

Dread builds in the pits of your stomach.

“Please—I must protest! We have only been acquainted with each other for a few hours!” The Dukes lips purse into a frown.

“Is this your rejection to my proposal of us becoming friends?”

“My Lord—I mean, Aloysius, you must realize that friends don’t simply just refer to each other with such…compounded words!”

There seems to be a looks of realization smearing onto his face.

“Ah, so you mean to tell me that only wedded couples do so?” You exhale, relieved that he is starting to come to sense.

“Right then, apologies with my forwardness.” He hasn’t looked sympathetic at all.

“It’s quite alright.

Aloysius seizes the lead, you think it abnormal, how elegantly he moves through the dance. His long and graceful body forces you to admire it.

“I must confess I was lying.”

Your eyes widen.

“And what what would that be, exactly?”

“I lied to you when I eluded to the fact that I never got the pleasure to see your face. In actuality, I have seen it quite a few dozen times.” You try not to make the stilling of your body too noticeable. “My sister, Duchess Akosua, you may have heard of her, has helped me greatly in seeing you.”

You try to be careful and strategic with how you phrase you sentence.

“In what way, if I may ask?”

“You sleepwalk, Y/N. On many occasions you would wind up in the heart of The Forest of Naught.”

Now, you do not care if it is obvious of your body stilling.

“Of course, you must ask why I had been there too, especially since you sleepwalk quite often.”

You gulp. “H-how often?”

“Ah, I’d say three a four times a week.”

Impossible….

“Y-you were there? Every time?”

“Yes, yes I was.”

You start to hyperventilate.

“B-but why?”

Aloysius looks at you, and it is the kind of look most similar to that of admiration.

“You are just too adorable.” He adds, unable to contain his smile. “But if I were to answer your question…” He leans down, his head level to your ear, and his lips level to your neck. “It is because I am one of the creature of the forest.”

You cry in pain as he bites into you.

You wake in a soft bed, your neck throbbing and your body in only undergarments.

Your eyes widen.

By your side is Duke Aloysius Osborne, his eyes a chilling red and fangs protruding from his lips.

“Ah your awake, how splendid!” He speaks to you as if you are a revered treasure. “For a second I feared I drank too much blood from you, good to know that it was just enough.

“I…I…”

“You must be too frightened, considering your incapability to speak. Don’t be worried, I have decided that you are too precious to discard.”

You force yourself to answer.

“W-what—what do you mean?”

“I mean that I am taking you as my spouse.” He smiles kindly, lending a hand to caress your cheek.

You shiver.

“No need for embarrassment my darling rose, I intend for us to be deeply aquatinted with one another.”

—

A/N: okay, I hope this story was enough to suffice for the next couple of days before I release the next one. I do intend to come back and post more actively, sorry for the long hiatus. Also the poem from this story was generated from an ai (lmao) have a good day my loves.

#yandere #yandere blurbs #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere original character #yandere x you #obsessive #original character #reader x yandere #yandere x reader #yandere vibes #yandere oc #yandere vampire #afab reader

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter One: She Might be It

a/n: here’s chapter one of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: hugely unedited; mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

The rooftop is crowded, bodies brushing against your shoulders and hips as you try to blend in, ignoring the creeping insecurity that you’re merely an imposter trying to fit into a world you were never meant to. It’s a foreign land you’ve found yourself in. A stranger in unknown territory as you listen to the sounds of lively conversation and clinking glasses.

The air is thick with the smell of expensive colognes and perfumes, bringing to your attention the soft spray of vanilla you’d spritzed on earlier, bought off some discount rack at the mall. Yet another reminder of the chasm separating you from them. From the elites of society you can’t help but compare yourself to.

All around are women garbed in designer dresses, men decked to the nines in finely tailored suits. Beneath, when you look out to the cityscape, is an electric hub of activity below. Cars spill in and out of busy streets, headlights illuminating the night sky.

You’ve found yourself at some rooftop lounge situated in the heart of the city, which you know for certain is well outside of Robin’s and your budget, but Eddie insists. And when Eddie insists, neither of you argues. You merely humor him, milling about bodies around the bar illuminated in glowing neon lavender, fingers curled around a flute of champagne that you’re sure likely cost at least half of your monthly rent.

You didn’t buy it. No—the man who did has long since disappeared into the throng of bodies, seeking out conversation with close companions, leaving you to wander aimlessly about the space, did. And you find it hard to focus on anything but when you’re constantly reminded of your own humble beginnings everywhere you turn.

Robin and Eddie have drifted toward the rest of Corroded Coffin, likely catching up after months of him being on tour, leaving you to people watch in silence, very much a tiny fish in a sea of wealth. And there, in the center of the sea of swirling bodies, stands none other than the man who bought you your drink himself, decked head to toe in a suit, freshly from the office, one hand in his pocket, the other elbow leaning on the bar as someone regales him with a story he seems uninterested in. His head bobs as they speak, mouth drawn tight, light catching on the thin wires of his glasses.

He glances your way and suddenly the room feels like it shrinks. As if it hones in on where you stand. You’re a girl in a spotlight you never yearned for, drawing the attention of Steve and the man he’s presently talking to, your hand coming to rub along your bicep as he waves you over into the fold. Heart hammering in your ribcage, you make your way over, heels clacking against the rooftop, stomach fluttering when Steve’s hand brushes your shoulder as he pulls you nearer to him, asking if his companion will excuse the two of you.

You dip your head to the man standing beside Steve. Definitely older than the two of you—likely in his forties, with wrinkles bracketing his mouth, the beginnings of salt and pepper throughout his hair. And when they’re gone, muttering they’ll see Steve come tomorrow at the office, you shift so you can stand as he is with one elbow against the bar, skin basked in neon lavender light. Your other hand holding your glass raises your glass to his, earning a huff of laughter from his full lips.

“Using me as a distraction, are we?” You tease, taking a few sips of your bubbly drink. “Didn’t think we were on that level yet, Harrington. This is—oh, I don’t know, the third time we’ve hung out, is it?”

“The fourth, actually.” When you’ve finished off your drink, he waves the bartender over for another, even despite your multiple protests. “It’s on me. We’re meant to be celebrating. You’ve finished…year three of veterinary school, Eddie told me. Impressive.”

“Yes, I just finished my last final the other day. And I am definitely looking forward to some down time.” Another champagne flute is pushed across the bar toward you, your fingers curling around the stem. You gently tip the glass in Steve’s direction, watching those eyes of his trail along your face, taking in your features. Curiosity piqued, you continue, “Keeping tabs on me, Harrington?”

“Always Harrington to you, huh?” He chuckles, extending an arm to lead you away from the bar. “You looked a little out of place. Figured you’d like a little company, even if you don’t consider me a friend just yet.”

“In case you couldn’t exactly tell, this isn’t my usual crowd.” Nose wrinkling humorously, your elbow loops with his as he walks you over to one of the many smaller barstools situated along the roof. “Well, we can always fix that. Tell me, Steve, what brings you here tonight other than Eddie’s demanding? You seemed a little off kilter when we first got here.”

“I’ll need another drink for that,” he laughs, the light of the moon catching on his wire frame glasses. “There is a quieter area inside. We could play a game of pool. Catch up.”

You’d like that, so you tell him as much. There’s a boldness you feel as he leads you into the mouth of the building, the gazes of those around you shifting your way, likely because no one can imagine Steve Harrington entertaining Cinderella in a room full of royalty.

He’s not wrong that the inside of the building is quieter. There’s a second bar in here, various bodies lining couches as the two of you steal away toward the pool table. Your throat tightens at the couple sitting across the way, the man’s nose running along the side of his partner’s. Intimate. A closeness that has heat thrumming in your gut as your eyes dart up to find Steve looking at you. Inside, you’re really given a chance to see him. He’s draped his jacket over the side of the pool table, revealing a black tie and thin gray button up. The corded muscles in his arms ripple and jolt as he unfastens the buttons around his wrists and rolls the sleeves up to the elbow, revealing golden tan skin lined with dark hair that matches the fullness of his wild mane atop his head.

Steve, though a mere acquaintance, is handsome. Highly so. To deny that would be choosing to ignore what’s so plainly there. You’ve only seen him after work. Always dressed to the nines in suits and slacks, professional at all times. But now he’s carding his fingers through his voluminous hair and sidling up beside you, bumping his shoulder into yours, ordering another bottle of champagne for the two of you, murmuring, “As we were saying, I think it’s about time you call me something other than Harrington or Mr. Harrington.” And you’re struck with his charm. The little smirk that crawls along his lips making something foreign flutter in your chest.

Your lip pinches between your teeth at the notion—at the roiling heat in your gut at the purr in his voice. Hip pressing into the corner of the table, you shift to face him, head tilting to the right slightly. “Okay, Harrington. You start. Tell me about yourself.”

“That’s so very broad,” he teases, moving to set the pool table. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. What does a normal day like this look like for you? Was always curious. Is it always flowing drinks and sneaking women off to quiet rooms to chit-chat? Or am I special?”

“You know, I forget who you’ve been best friends with since kids sometimes, and then you go and remind me.” He snorts, lining up the balls on the table. “It’s actually not all that exciting. Since my dad passed, I’ve been preoccupied with…all of the details of that. His will, stakeholders, lawyers—you know, all very exciting.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie told me and I meant to go to the funeral—”

“Don’t even worry about that.” He waves a hand in the air. “And no, I don’t sneak off women to quiet rooms for chit-chat. I don’t usually have time for stuff like this.”

“Late night rendezvous with your best friend’s best friend?”

He lets out a guffaw at that, shaking his head. “And sleep. Apparently it’s a hot commodity for someone who newly inherited a business. Who knew?”

“I think it’s a hot commodity for most,” you joke, sliding back up beside him. Your elbow brushes the bare skin on his forearm, palms pressing against the edge of the table. “I work at a restaurant after classes. I’m sure it’s…not the same as running a company, but the no sleeping thing…”

He grips one of the poles and tosses you one. “Know how to play?”

“Are the rules different here?” You smirk, lip quirking upward.

“No, guess they’re not. You can be stripes.” He pauses, like he’s contemplating something, and bumps your elbow back. “You’re different than I remember.”

“This is the first time we’ve really spoken alone,” you remind him, grasping your champagne glass and taking a sip. He does the same, eyes trailing yours over the lip as you lean forward over the table for the break. You manage to sink one of his, grinning wryly. “So you know I’m in veterinary school and that Eddie is my best friend. You’ve also known Robin for a bit. I grew up in Hawkins, which is basically bumble fuck. You’ve lived in the city your whole life, haven’t you?”

He takes his turn next, hips angling a bit as he gets into position, those broad forearms shifting with every movement. You turn a bit to take another gulp of your drink, the familiar heat of your buzz starting to settle in. “Grew up here. I’m an only child to Elise and Rowland Harrington. And now I’m the inherited CEO of the company for the time being.”

“For the time being?” You muse, shoving him jokingly out of the way as he sinks one of your balls and it’s your turn once more. “How can one be a CEO for the time being?”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation,” he laughs, eyes lingering on the side of your face as you attempt to sink another ball but it bounces against the exterior with a hollow thump.

You take turns around the table, talking about surface level topics. Laughter ebbs and flows in the spaces between you, an endless banter that flows easily between two friends. And it’s in that moment the knowledge of such solidifies for you. Steve’s company is pleasant, the two of you feeding off of the other’s energy as the drinks continue to flow between the two of you.

He wins the first game and you poke him squarely in the chest, watching those dark eyes of his grow darker as they linger on your face. “Mr. Harrington, we’re going for round two. And you’re going to tell me something no one else knows. I think it’ll truly solidify our friendship.”

“Oh will it?” He smirks, turning to set the table once more. He pours the two of you another glass as soon as you’re ready for the next game, glass clinking against his. “You’ll tell me one?”

At your nod, he moves to line up for the break, and with the clash of his cue stick against the cue ball, he blurts out, “There’s a condition in my father’s will that I need to marry, otherwise it goes to my shit head of a cousin, Theobald Cletus. And don’t you dare call him anything but, because he’ll never let you live it down if you do.”

“Theobald Cletus?” You snicker, leaning in to take your turn. “People don’t really have ritzy names like that, do they? I thought that was just a celebrity thing. Like naming your kids after inanimate objects”

“He sure does,” he clears his throat and gets into position, knocking one of your halls into a pocket. “Anyway, I’m coming up on the date I’m supposed to be married. People are already giving me a hard time because I’m young, and then I have this over my head on top of it all.”

“Haven't you thought about dating?” At his narrowed eyes, you splutter out, “Right. You already said you don’t really have a lot of free time. I’m sure dating is the furthest thing from your mind. Uhm—if it makes you feel any better, I’m drowning in student debt because most of my money is used for rent and helping my dad take care of my little sister.”

He stops in his movements and rubs a thumb along his jaw, thoughtful. “I just had a funny idea. But I’m pretty sure it’s because you’ve coerced me into drinking two bottles of champagne—”

“I did nothing of the sort!” You gasp, thumping the back of your hand into his stomach. He laughs jovially, one of his hands coming up to steady you when you nearly trip over your heels. “What was this funny idea, anyway?”

“We could…get married. Would solve all problems.”

You laugh.

And then laugh again.

Because there’s no way Steve Harrington just suggested what he had.

“I’m serious,” he continues, hand carding through those messy strands of hair. “We would be helping each other.”

You laugh again, palm pressing against your forehead. “I think we’re a little drunk. But what you’re insinuating…”

“I’d help you pay for college, and you’d help me secure the company from Theobald.”

“By becoming your wife,” you tell him slowly, uneasiness creeping up slowly. “You do realize what you’re suggesting.”

“It sounds crazy, I know.”

“Actually insane.” Your head nods up and down rapidly, watching the man swallow thickly before you.

He palms the back of his neck. “It would solve all our problems, though.”

“You’re just casually offering to pay for my college. It’s veterinary school,” you explain, as if he’s not fully understanding.

“Between my inheritance and my salary, I think I’ll be fine,” he says plainly, like it’s some minor inconvenience, when it feels like a daily cloud over your head.

“Your wife.” You emphasize the word, hoping it breaks through his skull the severity of what he’s proposing.

“Yeah,” he exhales deeply.

“And you think it would work?” Your words are quiet and shaky, a hoarse edge filling the tone of them.

Not that you’re considering.

You’re just curious. That’s all.

Right?

He shrugs. “I mean, people fall in love fast all the time.”

Your hand waves wildly in the air. “Just a whirlwind romance. No big deal.”

“Again, just a funny idea.”

You laugh. “Yeah, very funny.”

The two of you continue as if everything is normal. As if he’s not just thrown out into the open the suggestion of a fake marriage. That ease that flows between the two of you continues, even despite it, bodies shifting about one another as you finish your second game and Eddie and Robin finally find you, commenting that it’s probably a good time for the girls to head back to their apartment.

You walk alongside Steve with the rest of the group as you all walk out onto the busy city streets. Eddie lights a cigarette just as Steve asks for a moment alone with you. With a hesitant wave to your friends, you walk a short distance away with him, heart thundering away at what he might ask you now.

Surely, you can’t. Surely he hadn’t meant those words back inside the building. And yet, now that you’re both a little more sober in the chilly summer air, he repeats the suggestion.

“Just…I know it sounds crazy. But think about it.” He holds out a hand and you pass him your phone, watching as he puts his number inside and presses it back into your awaiting palm.

“Sounds like the plot of some book. Definitely not real life.”

He chuckles brightly and nods in agreement. “Just—just think about it.”

And as you walk back toward your awaiting Uber and glance out the window, capturing the gaze of the man standing with his hand in his pockets on the sidewalk, you find that you actually do.

The days that follow pass as they normally would.

It’s almost like you’ve forgotten Steve’s proposal of marriage. If one could even call it that. You’re not sure standing on a side street in the middle of the night, still humming with the remainder of your drinks in your bloodstream, staring up into the face of someone who was still very much a stranger, despite the way you’d exposed yourselves to one another that night counts as one. Had shared the deepest insecurities plaguing the both of you at the present time. Him, with his need for a wife to satisfy the wishes of his father’s will and the safety of the Harrington business. And you, with the endless swirl of debt that dangles like an ax over your head, awaiting your judgment day.

Every day thereafter on your summer break you wake up and prepare for the day as normal. Carry on your routine as it was before. Waltz through your apartment and greet Robin on your way to the coffee pot that’s nearing the end of its life, make yourself a fresh brew, and scroll through social media as you await the silence that follows endless percolating, signaling the coffee is ready. You’re about two cups in by the time you are ready for the day, tossing on what little makeup you wear, and slipping into your work attire. During your summer sessions, it’s generally a pair of dark slacks and a black top. Something simple and sophisticated for the restaurant you work as a waitress at.

You greet your normal customers for the evening, tend to their needs, and slip into the break room to scarf down whatever food the cook’s had on reserve. That evening it happened to be a salad someone had returned to the wait staff. You’ve made good tips for the evening—nothing to write home about, but enough that you’ll be able to cover a good bit for what your father will need to care for Caroline. Mostly food or clothes, now that she’s at the stage in life where she grows out of things way too quickly for either of you to keep track of. Last week it had been new shoes, and last you’d spoken to her, she had muttered breathlessly over the phone in her excitement to get to her play date, that she happened to need new jeans. So you split your tips into two and mentally made a note to pull up the website she had sent you and place an order later that evening to have it shipped home for the upcoming school week.

Only that day in particular is different from the ones before it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that it’s only going to get worse once your father calls you gruffly explaining how he’s been let go of a job he’s had for twenty some-odd years. Your heart aches at the way his voice breaks off at the end, the hurt evident in his voice, the anguish over not knowing how he’s going to pay for everything. You offer to give him extra that week, uncertain of how you’ll also manage to then pay rent for your apartment, but before he can even protest you’re routing him some money over to his bank account—throwing in a little extra for Caroline.

It gets worse later that evening when you’re late to work because you’d missed your usual subway. Your boss is less than thrilled; merely offers you a huff and threatens a write up then next time you’re late. One more of which—for similar reasons—would lead to an eventual firing. And you need your position to stay afloat; especially those vital summer hours, where more tourists fill your section, eager to tip a little extra.

But the icing on the cake. The moment that really drives the knife into your already aching chest is the way Robin looks at you when she enters your shared apartment. Drapes her jean jacket over the coat rack at the door and huffs out a great sigh, glancing down at something on her phone. Always effervescent, Robin’s quiet roils the nerves already rolling in your belly. Your suspicions of the day going from bad to worse are proven correct when she sits down on the coffee table in front of you and claps her hands in front of her, chewing on her bottom lip.

“What’s going on, Rob?” Tiredness oozes from your voice, legs and brain already aching from your long day. You’d ended your shift with a table full to the brim with business men who had barely looked up from their phones to acknowledge your presence. One of them looked so similar to Steve it nearly struck you quiet. Steve, who you still have a text sitting unanswered in your inbox from.

“So, you know how Nancy and I have been dating for a few months now…”

“Well, yeah.” You laugh uneasily. “I’m the one who set the two of you up, remember? She’d been working part time at the restaurant and I noticed her looking at you and all of that—asked her if she’d be interested and the rest was history.” You’re not quite understanding the morose expression on her face, the downturn of her lips, the overall downtrodden demeanor.

“We’re thinking about taking the next steps, babe.” Her hands fold in front of her, nervous energy making them shake in her lap. At the upward arch of your brows, she proceeds, “We’re moving in together at the end of the summer. And before you freak out and panic, I’ll be covering my portion of the rent until then! Don’t even worry about it. And I’ll definitely help you figure out other living arrangements, I’ll screenshot listings and—”

“Robin, it’s fine—”

She shakes her head vehemently, hands carving broad slices in the air. “I feel so bad, and I told Nance, maybe we should wait until your winter session with school. But I just figure we’ll be saving money, I’ll be closer to her job and my job and I—”

“Robin,” you interject, palm coming to curl around her forearm. Your voice wavers, but you swallow your tears. It’s likely only a result of all the issues cropping up out of the blue, you remind yourself. None of which are her doing. And you’re happy. All you’d ever hoped for when introducing them was for them to find deep, lasting love in one another. “I’m happy for you.”

It doesn’t lessen the sting of the news. The timing of it all, the knowledge that in a few weeks you’ll either have to move back to Hawkins with your family, or try and foot the bill on rent all on your own. With year four of school coming upon, you know you’ll be working less. Spending hours upon hours studying when you’re not in class, and starting up clinicals in the midst of it all. You’ll be barely scraping by as is, simply trying to keep a roof over your head.

But you don’t give her insight to any of that. They’re not her burdens to carry, nor were they ever meant to be.

Robin heads off to shower after you hug her for a long while in your living room, murmuring your reassurances in her ear until her smile slides back into place and the tension eases from her form. It’s then and only then, when you hear the water running in the bathroom, you pull out your cell phone and dial Eddie’s number.

He answers on the second ring, groaning, “Are you okay? It’s one in the morning, and you’re usually sleeping like the dead by now.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask, biting your bottom lip nervously.

“Always.” There’s a rustle on the other end, like the shifting of bedsheets in his hotel room.

“Would you love me even if I did something stupid?” Your heart clenches. You can’t believe you’re even considering the thoughts running wild in your mind. The prospect of opening that message from Steve Harrington where he’d sent you a simple, “Here’s my number, think about it.”

“You’ve done a lot of stupid shit. I mean, look back on high school. Like that time you planted that whoopee cushion under the principal’s chair, so when they sat down and started the morning announcements, everyone thought Higgins ripped ass.”

You groan at his choice of memory. “That was your idea, asshole; you were just too chicken-shit to do it—”

“I was trying to graduate.” He did that year, and you’d been so happy for him, knowing how hard he’d worked to get there against all the odds stacked against him.

“Moving on. You would?” A frown stretches along your lips, heart hammering away behind your sternum.

There’s a deep huff on the other end. In your mind, you can picture the deep set lines around the corners of Eddie’s mouth, concern evident in those umber eyes. “You’re worrying me now. What are we talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” you mutter breathlessly, already swiping up into your text threads. “I just needed your blessing.”

“Wait, wait—wait! What am I giving my blessing for?! Don’t you dare hang up the phone—”

The line clicks as you hit the end call button and pull open the message from Steve. There’s a small image of his face pulled from social media for his icon, his face obscured by sunglasses, jeans snug against muscular thighs. Fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, mind churning, before you begin typing away.

You: So if I were to marry you. BIG IF. What would that entail?

Husband?: Meet me at Caldwell’s tomorrow? I have meetings until 2pm, we can grab coffee there at 3pm and talk business.

You: Stop. He’s trying to seduce me. Oh no.

Husband?: HAHA — you’re hilarious. I’ll send you the address.

Husband?: (Address Link)

You: Didn’t know they sold coffee this expensive.

Husband?: It’s on me.

You: So it’s a real date.

Husband?: Something like that.

Husband?: Talk to you tomorrow.

Caldwell’s is gorgeous. An array of pinks, beiges and creams. Like something out of a Pinterest daydream. Endless sprawling plants line the ceilings. Plush couches and eclectic wooden decor outline the walls and interior seating section. You’re amused by the fact Steve chose here of all places for your meeting. So opposite of where you imagined he might choose.

Almost even more amusing is that your prospective husband-to-be looks out of place in the brightly illuminated space in his dark outfit. In the few times you’ve seen him, you’ve noticed a pattern: gray, black, the occasional pop of maroon, and navy blue make up most of Steve’s wardrobe. And sure, it's no detriment to him, because he looks handsome as ever, but it brings a smile to your face as you capture his gaze from across the coffee shop. Your lips quirk upward as you wave. His answering smile makes something unfamiliar quiver in your chest, though you pay it no attention and clutch your bag tighter to your chest, phone in the other, and make your way over.

He’s already placed an order for you. Texted you a few minutes prior so it was ready at the table he’d situated himself at. You settle down on the chair across from him, catching the laptop in the center of the table, a leather satchel on the plush bench beside him. He’d foregone his glasses today, you notice, eyes meeting the constellations of birth marks along his face and neck, drifting down into the collar of his shirt.

“You look nice,” he mutters, glancing down at your workout clothes. Nothing more than a cross body bag, pair of leggings, tee shirt and running shoes. You know he’s only being kind, a snort falling from your lips, eyes rolling. “I’m not kidding.”

“I meant to change. But, uh, something came up and I sort of needed to rush here.”

No, you had no intention of telling him you’d fallen asleep after you’d gone for a run around the neighborhood. You’d been reading a book on your couch and woke to the pages folded across your face. It had taken a bit to rub out the crease in one of your cheeks, evidence of one too many sleepless nights at the restaurant you worked at.

“I got your iced coffee…thing. Although, I don’t know how you consider that coffee. The barista threw in so much sugar,” he says, pointing to your drink. Your fingers open the straw wrapper before you hastily, giving him a thumbs up with the first splendidly perfect sip. “Good?”

“It’s actually perfect. And it’s meant to taste like a cinnamon roll, if you must know. But in all honesty, ‘Happy wife happy life’ starts with getting your wife’s coffee order right,” you laugh, not missing the way his cheeks flush. He clears his throat, fingers tapping along the spacebar on his laptop. “Sorry. Just trying to get used to the fact this…might actually happen. I figure if I repeat I’ll be your wife about, oh I don’t know, a thousand more times I should be okay.”

He folds his hands in front of him, and you wonder briefly if this is how it’s like sitting in a conference room with him. Stern demeanor, an edge of severity that has your feet curling inside your shoes, that tension in his jaw which highlights the perfectly sculpted features sitting mere inches across from you.

“I guess we should probably talk out the details,” he says, shifting his laptop to show you the document he’s typed up. At the top he’s written the title of your ‘marriage contract’ and you also don’t miss the NDA agreement tab just beside it. “So my father said as long as I was married a year after the reading of the document, I would satisfy the will and the company wouldn’t be transferred over to my shitty cousin, Theobald. Which would mean we need to marry soon. I’d like the sooner the better…since you go back to school in a few months. And I’d like to maintain the appearance that we’re spending time together. So we’ll need to go on a honeymoon as well. But we’ll get to the details of that later.”

You know Steve has a pretty substantial social media following. It’s natural for someone who is not only the son of the late Mr. Harrington, but someone who has also modeled for his mother’s clothing brand, and thus other companies. And you suppose it’s also natural for someone who is friends with other socialites and people like Eddie Munson, who is part of one of the biggest up and coming bands.

You’ve been on the receiving end of comments on Eddie’s photos long enough to understand people are interested in everything going on in their favorite celebrities' lives. You can’t even count on two hands the amount of times people have asked ‘is she dating Eddie?’ To which you’ve always laughed and scrolled out of the photo. But for someone like Steve, someone who has been notoriously private and maintained an air of mystery for so long, to post a photo with his new bride-to-be? You’re not sure about that one. All you can assume is it’ll be explosive.

“Okay, I’m listening,” you tell him, glancing about the room.

No one is looking; not really, at least. But you can’t help the fear that wells over anyone overhearing what you’re planning on doing. Negotiating a marriage contract, talking through the terms of said marriage, actually planning to marry.

“We will marry in a month.” He coughs, like he can’t believe he’s speaking that sentence out loud. Neither can you, but you’re certain if it’s baffling to you, it must be to him as well. “If you agree to it. My mother knows enough wedding planners and has enough connections in the city that we won’t have to worry about scheduling or anything like that. It shouldn’t be too hard to make it happen.”

“A month.” Thirty days. June seventeenth of this year will be your anniversary. A thought in itself that has your stomach clenching. “We will get married in a month.”

“A month,” he repeats, nodding patiently at your thoughtful expression, brows drawn high on your forehead, lines etching into creases between your brows. “In front of all our closest family and friends.”

“In typical holy matrimonial fashion, yeah.” Only there’s nothing holy about this union.

This ruse, if done properly, will set you both up to achieve everything the other lacks.

“Okay, uhm…what else is in this contract?” you ask, giving him permission to continue through the remainder of the document.

You’ll stay married for three years, giving you enough time to sustain the image needed to set forth. Steve agrees to pay for your tuition on a per semester basis throughout. Sorrow creeps into your heart at the thought desperation has brought you to this moment, and you briefly wonder if Steve senses it when he stops mid-sentence and brushes a thumb along the back of your hand.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks softly, your eyes lingering where your skin meets. Your head shakes, and he continues, “Are we going to be faithful to each other?”

“Oh—I hadn’t really thought about that.” Your eyes lift to meet his dark ones, shoulders shrugging. “I mean, I don’t really think I’d enjoy people gossiping if they caught either of us with someone else. But this is a fake marriage, so…uh, I mean, if you need to uh…take care of business elsewhere I suppose I wouldn’t—”

“I don’t really date much these days,” he laughs, easing your seemingly silly fears. You find that one very hard to believe, but he proceeds before you can think much further on it, “Or at all, really.”

“Right. So, uh, you’re going to be good for three years with just your ha—”

“I’ll manage just fine.”

You whistle. “Brave, Harrington.” He snorts, eyes rolling. “I don’t date much either these days. Always too busy. When I’m not in school, I’m working. So you’ll have yourself a faithful wife.”

You’ll attend as many social gatherings as you can given your schedule. Be it family gatherings, galas, charity events, and the like. It’s all meant to uphold the image of a supportive wife, though you don’t really find issue in it. At the base level, Steve is an easy person to get along with, so you suppose it’ll be like spending an evening with a friend.

And there, at the bottom of the contract, after he’s walked you through the remaining details of your nuptials, is a line for both yours and his names.

“Do we really need a contract, though?” Your finger taps his screen, pointing to the NDA next. “And the NDA? Are you really thinking I’m going to admit to people how absolutely insane this whole idea is? We’re like one of those cliché romance novels as it is. Two people who are practically strangers choose to fake their marriage, minus the falling in love bit.”

“It would make me feel better, yes.” He folds the laptop shut. “You don’t have to make a decision right now, but—”

“I want to do it,” you blurt out. The hard line of his mouth softens, cheek jolting. “I want to marry you. I, ah, want to be your wife.”

It’s impulsive, you know. But if you allow yourself to think too long about it, you’ll talk yourself out of it.

“Are you sure?” And suddenly it’s like the whole room shifts, eyes locking on the couple that’s not really a couple sitting in the corner of the coffee shop. “You…agree to it. Really?”

“Looks like we’re getting hitched June seventeenth, Harrington.”

If there’s one thing Steve is, it’s a gentleman. He opens the door for you as you waltz into the jewelry shop, hand lingering on your back as he leads you toward one of the many display cases revealing different engagement and wedding rings, as well as earrings, necklaces, and other pieces.

It suddenly dawns on you what you’re here for. An engagement ring, and your wedding rings. Plural, for both you and Steve when you solidify your marriage in only a month’s time in front of your closest family and companions. The weight of his palm guides you toward one of the many illuminated displays, eyes peering in on a selection of halo engagement rings.

“The Mrs. Harrington-to-be. Have those caught your eye?” The gentleman behind the counter admonishes, sliding out the set of glittering rings. “Gorgeous, truly. Also new. She has good taste, Mr. Harrington. Would you like to try it on?”

“Isn’t that bad luck?” You glance over your shoulder to Steve, who merely shrugs at the suggestion. You suppose it can’t be too much poor luck when you’re already lying to everyone around you as it is and allow the jeweler to slide the ring onto your ring finger for size. It’s a gorgeous piece, you can’t deny. A giant central diamond with a sparkling halo and glittering band. But it’s not quite you. Too fantastical and bright—well outside of your comfort zone and liking. Instead, your eyes gravitate around the many display cases for something simplistic. Something timeless.

If you’re going to be married to Steve Harrington for three years, you want something understated and more in line with your preferences. “Do you have anything a little less…bold? I—well, I want to wear this every day proudly. But I don’t know if it’s impractical for my job.”

“My fiancée is going to be a veterinarian,” Steve explains, drawing you tighter to his side.

“You’re thinking of something smaller?” The attendant looks to Steve worriedly, mouth downturned at your words. Steve only waves a hand and they dip their head. “What about these?”

You walk around the counter, looking into the cases imploringly. Steve is there at your back, glancing over your shoulder as you shop about, stumbling on a round engagement ring with diamonds set lovingly into the band. They’re simple—albeit still extravagant—but they’re better suited to your tastes. Understated and classic.

“How about Mr. Harrington puts this one on?” The man grins, eyes bright as Steve takes the ring and lowers it to your presently bare finger.

“Still want to marry me, honey?” Steve asks, wry grin in place as he rests the ring on your first knuckle. He doesn’t slide it up. Not right away.

The nickname is new. Sends a flood of liquid heat to roll in your gut, heart fluttering rapidly behind your ribcage as you nod and he pushes the ring up into place. You glance down and marvel at it as his fingers wriggle it into place near the base of your knuckle, his thumb brushing overtop before swiping across your skin. It’s perfect. As perfect as fake engagement rings go.

You both tell the worker as much, before proceeding to find a matching wedding band for your new ring, and then search for Steve’s. Steve settles on a metal and you’re presented with a few options of styles. Steve’s preferences are more simplistic, his wedding ring a simple shiny silver. Your breath skitters when you teasingly ask him to marry you, before sliding the ring up his finger. Inhaling sharply, your eyes dart upward to your future husband’s, softening when he glances down at his finger and smiles to himself. That smile falters only for him to ask to purchase the ring, and it’s soon thereafter you leave the shop and ready yourselves for your dinner with Eddie and Robin, where you’ll deliver your engagement news.

Images of their reactions already preconceived dance in your mind. You’re prepared for Eddie to have a fit over the whole thing. Can already hear Robin’s frantic rant wherein she tells you all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

So you suppose it should come to no surprise when you sit down, now beside Steve to present yourselves as a couple, and are met with the unamused the looks on their faces when you exclaim, “We’re engaged!”

Robin glances at Nancy. Laughs nervously to herself, chokes on her water. Her girlfriend places a hand on her arm, mouth opening to speak, just as Robin cries out, “Babe. I’m gonna be really honest with you. Steve’s great, I love him, but are you really thinking this one through. You two have hung out a collective…four times. What do you really know about each other? I mean, we left you two alone because we wanted you to maybe date, but holy shit Eddie, if we knew they were going to do this—”

“You told me you wanted my blessing for whatever stupid thing you were about to do,” Eddie interjects, swiping a hand down his face. “I didn’t think that you meant marrying my best friend. And hey, asshole—I didn’t say you could ask her to marry you.”

“I haven’t technically asked her,” he says, holding up your hand to show off your still bare ring finger. “Well unless you count the party the other day.”

Eddie’s eye twitches. “He asked you at the par—”

“You haven’t even asked her to marry you with the ring, you dingus?!” Robin’s vein in her forehead throbs, her head leaning into Nancy’s as the girl beside her shifts to run a hand along her arm.

“I wanted to make it special,” he admits, wincing at the sight of Eddie practically turning red before you. “In front of our closest friends.”

“You’re going to ask her properly.” It’s Eddie who speaks next, his eyes drifting to lock onto yours. “If you two idiots are going to actually get married, he’s asking you properly.”

Maybe now is the right time to tell them it’s fake. Nothing more than an equally beneficial agreement between two consenting parties. Your mouth opens to tell them as much, to try and assuage their fears, when a waiter walks out with a champagne bottle on ice and a dessert plate with Marry Me? written out in decorative chocolate. Head already reeling from that, you fail to notice Steve dropping down onto one knee in his perfectly tailored suit, despite the fact he’ll likely wrinkle, with that velvet ring box open and your sparkling ring set into the center.

All eyes in the restaurant take you in. Some with phones held aloft, because naturally they’ve noticed Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington. Your hands tremble as you finally look into his eyes, knowing this agreement is very much fake, but the nervousness that wells in your belly isn’t. Ever the gentleman, Steve reaches across your lap and grasps your left hand, staring you squarely in the eyes.

It’s grounding, even despite catching Eddie, Robin and Nancy watching with bated breath on the other side of the booth, to have him there to offer support. In one month, your future husband.

“Honey, I know it hasn’t been very long, but people have always said ‘when you know, you know.’ And I know there’s no one I would want to spend the rest of my life with other than you.” There’s a collective inhale all around the room, or maybe that’s your own breath hitching in your lungs as he pulls the ring free and Eddie’s hand reaches across the table to retrieve the empty box. Steve breathes your full name into the open space, and it sounds like a gentle caress down your spine. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”

This part—this part, you haven’t thought out. Haven’t really allowed your mind to wander down the path of public displays of affection with your very fake husband. At the wedding, when the officiant declares he may now kiss his bride, sure. Maybe a little hand holding at a social gathering or family event. But this part? The engagement itself, the portrayal of a happy couple in front of prying eyes? No.

And still, you nod your head all the same, letting out an excited “Yes,” that you hope isn’t too over the top, and cover your mouth delicately with one hand as he slides the ring into place on your left one. Cheers erupt into the room, mixing together with the clinking of utensils against glasses, prompting the two of you to lean forward in an embrace.

His arms circle your waist and his lips brush your ear, chills dancing along skin.

“Kiss me,” he whispers into your skin.

Your head dips and you lean back just enough to capture his gaze before he’s leaning forward and pressing the chastest of kisses to your lips.

After that it’s endless congratulations as people pass in leaving, the looks of pure unadulterated happiness from coupled up spectators around the room, as if recalling their own proposals or simply reminiscing on the love they share. Across from you, Eddie, Nancy and Robin start pouring champagne.

Eddie downs his first drink swiftly, before reaching across the table to grab your hand. “Speak up, both of you. Why the rush to the altar?”

“It’s uh…” you start, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. “It’s—well, it’s a long story.”

“We have nothing but time,” Robin points out, leaning back comfortably against the plush booth.

They remain quiet as you both explain the whole situation. The events that have brought you both to this moment, the reminders that you’re both capable of making your own decisions (albeit silly ones), and that it’s only for the required amount of time. It’s a positive business decision for the both of you, Steve expresses, though you wish he’d maybe avoided that one because Eddie’s face is nearly purple by the end of it. Nancy remains quiet at Robin’s side, while Robin nods here and there throughout, awaiting the perfect moment to explode over the whole ordeal.

“I hope this isn’t because I’m moving out—”

She speaks, just as Eddie lets out, “When you asked if I’d love you for making a stupid decision, I didn’t mean this one! I thought you two would go on one date after we saw you walking together. Not get married!”

“But it’s…” your voice drops to a whisper, “not a real marriage.”

“Babe, when you say it like that, it doesn’t really make it better,” Robin murmurs, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s forearm.

“I think it actually makes it worse,” Nancy adds, wincing slightly.

All in all, Eddie, Robin and Nancy eventually come around to the idea. There’s multiple drinks passed around the table before they do start to understand, but once the idea has settled a bit in their minds, they start to question the event itself. Robin and Nancy will be in the bridal party, naturally, and Eddie’s the decided best man. Luckily, this aids in dissipating a lot of his anger—either that or he’s trying to appease you both—and the group is excited by the end of the night for the ordeal. A big party, you remind them, think of it like a big party.

Full of hundreds of strangers.

But there are important matters to be taken care of before then.

Your heart throbs as the driver pulls up in front of the Mrs. Harrington’s home. It sits outside of the city in an eastern county. A large cream house, grandiose in comparison to anything you’ve ever known, with sprawling property and modern decor sits atop a sprawling driveway. It looks like you’ve stepped out of a Pinterest catalog. What with the endless black and gray detailing, floor to ceiling windows, and a porch that overlooks a small body of water.

Though you’ve told your friends the arrangement is purely an arrangement and nothing more, both Steve and you have decided in order to prevent any doubt over the situation, your families need to be kept in the dark. The thought supplies you with hefty guilt, but you tip your head up all the same and clink your glass of wine with both Elise Harrington and her son’s.

“To a bright and happy future and hopefully grand babies,” she toasts, and your chest burns at the idea. Quietly, she adds, “If you two should want them, that is.”

You’re surprised by how easy going she is with the whole thing. Upon arriving she immediately commented on how pretty you were, kissing you on both sides of the cheek before ruffling her son’s hair. He’s told you enough that for most of his life, their relationship has been strained, but that with the death of his father she’s been trying. It warms your heart seeing them now, caught in a moment as she cups his cheek fondly and waves you both into the kitchen.

You recount how you met. A wonderful evening at a rooftop bar. Conversation flowing simply between the two of you, a few months of quiet relationship kept from the public eye, and a pure desire to not wait to spend forever together. It’s simple and it’s partially true, and she latches onto it without hesitation, hand immediately reaching out to look at your ring.

Bringing Steve to Hawkins takes place the next day after an early morning flight. You call your father the day before and tell him there’s something very important you need to tell him. Steve steps out of the rental car and opens your door on the other side, drawing you as close as possible as he tucks a wine bottle under his other arm.

“Are you nervous?” You tease him, catching the way his knuckles pause mid-air over the door. “They’re both harmless. Caroline probably will scroll through TikTok the whole time we’re here.”

Only you’re wrong.

Instead, you’re immediately met with the screech of a younger tween when your father opens the door and Steve introduces himself, the girl practically throwing herself into your arms as you reach out to grasp her. From above your shoulder, where you struggle to hold her up, she shoves at Steve with a wild glint in her eye.

“Did you bring home a boyfriend?!”

“Nice to meet you, Caroline. Your sister has told me all about you,” Steve says, rubbing at the place she’s dug her fingers into playfully.

Your father leads you both into the living room, your eyes catching on all the papers and bills strewn about the kitchen table as you pass by. Steve’s ignorant to it all, his hand still clutching yours tightly as the two of you settle down onto the couches there. Fondness brims in your chest when your father reaches across and shakes Steve’s hand again, his kind grin settling into the wrinkles surrounding his mouth.

“Holy shit, is that a rock?” Carole gasps, breaking up the moment. Your eyes drop down to where your hand rests over Steve’s, sunlight catching on the sparkling stones. “That is a rock! Wait, you’re Eddie’s friend. You’re that Steve. Your dad was the owner of that company, and you model and…don’t you own a football team? Your mom is also that big designer in the city! You’re, like, really rich, I bet.”

“Care,” you warn, shooting her a glare to calm down. “I, ah, have known Steve for a little while now and I know it’s crazy but…I’m in love with him.” The words taste wrong on your lips, throat tightening as you continue, “When you know, you know, right?”

The words leave you with a wince, and you’re not sure if you imagine Steve’s fingers tightening around your own, but it brings you a semblance of comfort. Thankfully, your father speaks next, “I knew your mother for two weeks before I asked her to marry me. We were married for twenty three years, you see, Steve. So if my daughter says she loves you, I trust wholeheartedly and believe you’re the one for her.”

And in a way, those words are both soothing and a knife in your heart, what with the ease he accepts your feelings as truth.

The remainder of the evening is spent talking about the wedding details—what little you know, at least—and your offer for Caroline to be in the bridal party. She’s over the moon, naturally, and grows bored immediately after, pulling out her iPhone and scrolling through social media so she can show your father the engagement photo plastered across your page, Steve’s and Eddie’s now.

“Congratulations, you two. I wish I had something fancy to toast with, so the wine you brought will have to do,” he apologizes, moving into the kitchen to pour you all glasses.

“It’s not a problem at all,” you reassure him, thanking him softly when he returns and places a glass in both your hands.

“To your love.” He turns to Steve next, grinning in a way that has your heart sinking. “Welcome to the family, son.”

Steve drops you off at your apartment at the end of your evening spent together apprising your family of your news. Neither of you speaks for a moment. He merely rests his palm on the car steering wheel and brushes a thumb over your ring, making sure the stone is in place. It seems like such a silly thing—the slightest of brushes to make sure your fake engagement ring is properly on your finger. But your skin still ignites at the small contact. It’s paired with the crushing knowledge that in a month, in only thirty days, you’ll be standing across from this man and reciting your vows to him, binding yourselves together in marriage.

“Your rent is up at the end of the month with Robin,” he reminds you, eyes shifting your way. You watch his long fingers glide through his hair, ruffling bits of it in his face. A part of you feels intent on fixing it despite yourself, but you remain seated in place, one ankle crossed over your knee. “But I think for those following on social media, it likely looks better if you move in as soon as possible.”

That reminds you of the thousands of new followers you’d received once Eddie and Steve had posted your congratulatory photos from your engagement—as well as once other news sources got a hold of it. The young CEO, friend to one of the hottest up and coming musicians, a girl who has always been in the background of their photos now suddenly took center stage. You’ve propelled into a world you’d never prepared for.

Becoming Steve’s wife was one thing, gaining a spotlight another, wholly untouched territory.

“I think you should move in on Friday.” You know he’s saying you think, but a part of you recognizes it’s what he knows is best for optics. It’s what he wants without forcing you to do so. “There’s more than enough room. I have the penthouse, we’ll have privacy. And it’ll, uh, sell the illusion.”

It’s then and only then that the reality of your situation finally creeps up on you. The understanding of the weight that settles on your ring finger as you glance down at the ring he’d bought you. A ring that should be meant for someone he loves—truly loves, at least—and not someone who is little more than a mere stranger. Your thumb moves to run along the diamond band, hand cupping over the sparkling stones that cost a small fortune.

His palm reaches over and slides over the back of yours, stilling you in your movements. “I’ll help you. And your room is nice. Spacious. Far away from mine.”

Because, you remind yourself, you’ve agreed upon not falling in love—and definitely no consummation of marriage. Even still, there’s a sting to his words. The understanding of a loveless marriage, forged in mere convenience. Two ships passing in the night, nestled on opposite sides of Steve’s spacious lodgings.

“Okay,” you agree, dipping your head and moving to push the passenger side door open. “I’ll move in on Friday. I’ll tell Robin tonight. I should get going; I have to meet with your mother and the wedding planner first thing tomorrow, you know?”

“I’ll see you,” he says, leaning down to look at you on the sidewalk. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your chest tightens as you watch him peel away from the sidewalk. As he drives down your road, and disappears from view. Your heart throbs at the recollection of your father’s weathered face, smiling as he’d welcomed Steve into the fold of your family like he was already a part of it with a firm shake of the hand and a blessing. Chest aches at the vision of Caroline nearly slamming into your soon-to-be husband’s legs when he’d reached for the door and wished your family well for the rest of the evening. Because you feel like a fraud—are a fraud, really. Your impending nuptials are not refined by fire and forged in love. They’re unlike that of your own parents' relationship—the depth of your father’s love toward his wife had been limitless. Untouchable from anything the world might have thrown at it. No, instead your upcoming sentiments you’ll share with Steve are a mockery of the vows people wait to speak over the altar in front of loved ones their whole lives. They’re a lie told to secure an inheritance and cover a debt. That’s all. And it dawns on you then as you slip into your bedroom, waving to Robin as you pass, and settle down on your bed.

Your mind wanders to that moment back at the restaurant with your friends. How all the eyes turned your way in the room to watch your face drop in shock. It’s the only genuine reaction you’ve had thus far, you realize. Because you hadn’t expected a proposal. Not really. When you’d picked out your ring at the store your mind had been a bleary haze. You remembered hearing the voices of Steve and the jeweler, running over various options that were befitting for someone of Steve’s status, and thus his wife-to-be by default. But they’d slipped into conversation about karats, quality, and cuts. And all you could think about was the fact the rings Steve were looking at cost a few months worth of your rent. All of a sudden you were Cinderella long after the clock struck midnight, your carriage turned back into a pumpkin, your tattered dress the pair of thrifted jeans that sat a little too-big on your frame.

But you once more think of your father’s aging face, the brightness of Caroline’s eyes. You think of the knowledge he’s looking for a new job with little luck because of layoffs in his workplace, the mortgage on his home, the endless list of things Caroline needs. The constant stream of bills you’re footing, the need to try and save them, because if you can’t save them, who can you save? And on top of it all, your college debt, for a program you’re only halfway finished with. With a resounding sigh, you roll over onto your side, snapping a photo of your ring to send to Steve. It looks silly and garish in the dying afternoon light, though you suppose fitting for a wife to a young CEO of a prolific real estate company.

You: I don’t even know if my first name goes well with Harrington.

HubsToBe: It does. It’s a perfect fit. Don’t worry. I can practically hear you worrying from here.

You: Guess we’re really doing this.

HubsToBe: One month until we say ‘I do.’

The second text message rushes in.

HubsToBe: Remember you can back out at any time.

You: I’m not changing my mind, don’t worry. Time to plan a wedding, fiancé. ;)

comment/reblog if you can. 🩷

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington modern au #husband!steve harrington

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

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Garden of Secrets [12] - Hydrangeas

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Planning a wedding can cause tension.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 5400

Series Masterlist

You didn’t even know preparing a wedding could be this troublesome, but for the last couple of days, you’d barely had any time to sit down. There were so many things to do, and for the most part you felt as if you were doing nothing but saying “Yes” to things you weren’t even paying attention to.

But this?

This you paid quite the attention to.

Your uncle had decided to buy you and Benedict a house as a wedding gift. You hadn’t gotten to see it before because it was being made ready but your aunt had assured you that it was to your liking, and to Benedict’s no doubt. Apparently Benedict had a house in the countryside already and he was planning on buying one here as well before the wedding but your uncle had stopped him, stating it would be a present from him for a new beginning.

The carriage stopped and the coachman opened the door for you and helped you out, Teddy, your aunt and your maid following you. After thanking him, you raised your head to look at the house in front of you, an exhale leaving your lips.

It was so beautiful that for a moment you could do nothing but stare at the impressive building, frozen in your spot. It was large, larger than most of the houses in London but knowing your uncle that shouldn’t have been surprising. The huge windows meant inside the house would be well lit all over and the gate opening to the stone road that led to the house looked like it was polished to perfection. A footman rushed to open the gate and your aunt linked her arm through yours while Teddy ran ahead.

“Teddy, not so fast!” you called out but he didn’t even stop.

“I want to see the house!”

“I’ll keep an eye on him my lady,” Paula said and rushed after him to the house while your aunt took an excited breath.

“You will especially like what I’m about to show you,” she said as she pulled you to the step inside the gate but instead of going inside the house, she led you to right past it.

“Auntie, where are we going?”

“You will see!”

“But the entrance is—” you started but stopped talking as soon as you both reached the backyard.

The huge extravagant garden lying in front of you was absolutely breathtaking. The flowerbeds were full of colorful flowers, no doubt kept in pristine condition by the previous owner’s gardener and you turned your gaze to the beautiful greenhouse by the far end of the garden, across from the fountain by the gazebo.

It looked like something out of a fairytale.

“We chose this one not only for the house but for the garden as well!” she said, turning to look at you better. “A garden of your own and a greenhouse! Do you like it?”

You could feel the burning behind your eyes as well as the slight pinch on the bridge of your nose, a sure sign of the tears. In truth, this was beyond everything you had dreamt or hoped for when you imagined your future, that was why it was nearly a torment to see such a beautiful vision and knowing you wouldn’t get to make it yours no matter how much you wanted to.

You couldn’t keep a garden and live in fear that Benedict could take it away from you whenever he saw it fit.

“It’s so beautiful,” you managed to say before you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her into a hug to hide your face. She patted your back gently, holding you tight before pulling back to cup your face.

“I hope your marriage will be filled with nothing but bliss,” she said. “And that you and your husband will be incredibly happy here.”

Your husband.

Right.

You blinked back the tears and smiled at her.

“I’m certain we will,” you lied and she let out a happy laugh.

“Wonderful!” she said and pulled you by the hand. “Let me show you the house!”

The house itself was as gorgeous as the outside. With its high ceilings, spacious hallways and well-lit rooms, it was as if someone wanted to make sure anyone who stepped inside would never feel smothered by the walls, instead would feel as free as one would outside. You could already hear Teddy running wild in the hallway and your aunt talking to Paula while you leaned sideways to the window frame, keeping your eyes on the garden.

It looked like a painting, almost.

The knock on the doorframe made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked over your shoulder.

“Benedict?”

“Good afternoon,” he said, his soft smile making your heart skip a beat. “I hope you do not mind, your aunt invited me.”

“Of course she did,” you said, that familiar tension making its way through your veins again but you managed to ignore it. “Have you had the chance to look around?”

He nodded his head.

“I have,” he said. “Is it to your liking?”

You opened your mouth to say yes, then stopped yourself and shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms.

“To yours?”

“It is actually,” he said. “Did you see the garden yet?”

Your eyes flickered over his handsome face and you shrugged your shoulders again.

“I did,” you said. “Which side do you want by the way?”

He seemed confused at your question. “What?”

You motioned around. “The house,” you said. “Which side would you prefer? I think the east side has better light for your work, but it doesn’t matter to me really.”

A frown pulled at his brows. “We’re—we’re dividing the house?”

“Well not dividing,” you said. “At least not literally but I figured it would be easier for…us both.”

“Easier?” he asked but before you could come up with an answer, you heard Teddy’s footsteps coming closer.

“Y/N I saw a butterfly—” he stopped talking when he saw Benedict, his face pinching in a frown. He made his way to you, shy all of a sudden now that you weren’t surrounded by people like you had been back at dinner. You knew he would be distant with Benedict after learning you would be marrying him, and you squeezed at his shoulder in an assuring way while he half hid behind your skirts.

“Hello Teddy,” Benedict said, kneeling down to get to his level. “You saw a butterfly?”

Teddy nodded quietly, biting on his nail.

“What was it like?”

Teddy paused, then shrugged his shoulders in silence. Benedict looked around the room, then tilted his head.

“What do you think about the house?”

“’s nice.” Teddy mumbled inaudibly, still hesitant to answer and Benedict hummed.

“Have you picked your room yet?”

That managed to get a reaction from Teddy as he gasped, looking up at you. “My room?”

You stared at Benedict, then cleared your throat. “Teddy…”

“I get a room?!” he asked, excitement laced in his voice and he darted before you could even say anything. “Auntie! Auntie I’ll have a room here, did you know that?!”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your lip and turned to Benedict. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why? Surely he will need a room especially if he’s staying with—”

“He’s not staying with us,” you cut him off, making him frown.

“Why not?”

Because you didn’t want to risk it. You had grown up watching your mother and father and you had seen what happened numerous times when there was a fight. Teddy staying with your uncle and aunt was going to be better for him, at least you trusted them.

Not to mention it would be safer for him. If Benedict got angry and wanted to take it out on the nearest person like your father used to—

You couldn’t let that happen, not to Teddy.

“Mr. Bridgerton, welcome!” your aunt’s voice reached you both, making you turn to her and Benedict bowed his head.

“Lady Thorne.”

“Now that both of you are here, I can finally show you the bedchambers!”

You gawked at her. “Pardon?”

“Come come!” she said and you both followed her down the hallway until she turned a corner and opened a door.

“Here are your bedchambers,” she said with a smile while you stared at the huge four-poster bed. “And Y/N, the cojoined lady’s room we can turn into a close for you! Or a studio for Mr. Bridgerton.”

Oh.

Oh you were to—

Right. Of course you were expected to sleep together, or at least spend some nights in the same bed for the… nightly activities of marriage.

You could feel the fear crashing down on you but you managed to swallow the lump growing bigger in your throat, biting on your tongue to focus. If it were any other time you would’ve thought the room looked even lovelier than your current room, but now all it looked like was a threat of the days to come. Benedict’s gaze stopped on you while you clenched and unclenched your hand, twisting your wrist subtly.

“Or a nursery if you wish but the actual nursery is the room over there—”

“I’ll go and check the kitchen,” you cut her off, the panic roaring through your veins like wildfire as you walked past Benedict, and rushed downstairs.

It didn’t take you that long to find it, probably because the layout was a bit similar to your uncle’s house, at least when it came to floor plan. You entered the empty kitchen and went to the table to pull yourself a seat, then slumped down on it, your heart still beating in your ears.

It was going to be unpleasant yes, but it wasn’t as if you didn’t know it before. You knew what was to take place on your wedding night and throughout your marriage but at least Benedict already had mistresses so perhaps it wouldn’t take place very often.

You rubbed at your wrist, thoughts swirling in your mind but then raised your head when you heard Benedict entering the kitchen.

“May I?” he motioned at the chair across from you and scoffed a laugh.

“By all means. It’s your house.”

“Our house.”

You clicked your tongue. “My name isn’t on it,” you stated as he sat down.

“Listen—”

“I was thinking—” you both said at the same time and Benedict motioned at you.

“You first.”

You could feel your heart leaping to your throat in nervousness but you swallowed thickly, then ran your nail over the wooden table.

“I would like to have my own room,” you said after a beat and he nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “However you like.”

“And I want to go back to it or for you to go back to yours if it takes place in my room, after we’re done.”

He frowned slightly like he didn’t understand. “After we’re done?”

You nibbled on your lip, still dragging your nail over the wood.

“I know what’s expected of me,” you managed to say, your voice very clear and not shaky by some miracle. “At night. And I will comply with those expectations but I’d—”

“Y/N,” he stopped you and let out a breath of disbelief, shaking his head. “Nothing is expected of you."

You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. “We’re having a serious conversation here.”

“Do I look to be jesting?” he asked and you paused for a moment, then sat up straighter.

“Assuming you’re going to keep your mistresses after the wedding…”

“I don’t have any mistresses and I will not keep one,” he said. “Do you really think—”

“You can though,” you stated, making him pull back slightly. For some reason, a pang of pain spread through your chest but you paid no mind to it. “Whatever your prior arrangements were, as long as they’re discreet for the sake of appearances I will not mind. Besides I’d—”

You paused for a moment, nervousness getting the words stuck in your throat but you took a deep breath.

“With you and me, I’d like it if it wasn’t very…often. Aside from our duty of course.”

A silence fell upon the kitchen while he stared at you and you waited with bated breath, your face growing hotter every second. The panic was slowly climbing up your chest and before you knew it, you found yourself unnecessarily explaining the situation.

“Because I know it’s usually unpleasant for—you know, I’m aware that it’s just usually unpleasant for women even in the instances both sides try to make it so. No need for us to try when you already have a working arrangement with others.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, making you pull your brows together and he cleared his throat before clasping his hands over the table, the perfect picture of decorum. His hands were so close to yours that if you moved your fingers just a little you would be able to touch his hand and feel if they were as warm as you remembered. The sudden desire twitched your fingers but you curled them and dug your fingernails into your palm, forcing yourself to focus.

“I will not touch you unless you want me to,” he said, his calm voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “I swear on my honor, nothing is expected of you and you have no duty to fulfill.”

Your frown deepened as you tried to wrap your mind around it.

“And,” he said, a cocky smile curling his lips slightly. “If the time ever comes and you decide you do want me to touch you, I can assure you I will do a better job at it than some incompetent prick who convinced you it was supposed to be unpleasant for you.”

That simple promise wasn’t supposed to send tingles right between your legs and your eyes snapped up at his before confusion hit you, making you tilt your head.

“Wait, what?”

“Whoever that clumsy idiot was,” he said. “He clearly lied to you.”

You blinked a couple of times. “You think I’ve been with someone before?”

He shot you a knowing look. “You really don’t need to do that, I would never think any less of you. I’m guessing it was before you came to London? Was he a friend or something?”

You would have laughed if you weren’t so tense.

“He was nonexistent?” you said after a beat. “I’ve never been with anyone.”

That seemed to take him by surprise, and he pulled back a little, his mouth slightly agape.

“You’re…” he trailed off, still staring at you. “Oh.”

You frowned. “Why are you so surprised by that?”

“I’m not!” he said defensively and your jaw dropped.

“Yes you are!”

“No I just thought—” he motioned at you. “You make a lot of jokes about it.”

“So?”

“So I assumed,” he paused. “Well, Charlie doesn’t even know it exists.”

A scoff left your lips. “And whose fault is that?”

“Not mine, clearly!” he insisted. “I just assumed since you kept making innuendos and you obviously know what it is…”

“I also know a lot about cacti Benedict,” you whispered through your teeth, your voice heated. “It doesn’t make me a goddamn cactus!”

“It’s different—”

“Wait a second,” you cut him off and he ran a hand through his hair, making it fluffier.

“Hm?”

“You were going to marry me even if you thought I…” you tried to find the words but failed miserably. “Even if you thought I haven’t remained chaste?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I haven’t remained chaste,” he pointed out with a small grin. “In case it has escaped your notice.”

“It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice,” you deadpanned, trying to hold back the sudden laughter bubbling in your chest and his grin widened.

“So why would it change anything?”

You could feel the warmth filling your chest and you nibbled on your lip, but before you could say anything, you heard footsteps coming closer and your aunt leaned on the doorframe.

“What is it with you two and this unstoppable insistence on being unchaperoned?” she asked as Benedict winked at you, making you roll your eyes while a small smile pulled at your lips. “Come on. We still have much to do.”

As it turned out, your aunt had another surprise for you. After you and Benedict got in the separate carriages to go to your separate ways, you realized it wasn’t the way to your home but your aunt refused to tell you where you were going.

It was only when the carriage stopped in front of a very familiar shop that you realized what it was and your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What on earth?”

“Surprise!” your aunt said and turned to Teddy. “My dear, Paula will take you to that pastry shop over there while you wait for us, alright?”

“Yes!” Teddy grinned while you turned to your aunt.

“Auntie…”

“We’re going to choose designs for your wedding gown, and who is better than Madame Delacroix to give you the perfect wedding gown?”

Anyone.

Anyone at all, you were half tempted to stop a random person on the street if it meant it wouldn’t be Madame Delacroix who would make your wedding gown. She and Benedict had been together up until your very sudden betrothal, and you weren’t even sure if that was still happening.

Even the thought of it made your throat burn for some reason.

It wasn’t within your plans to have your wedding gown made by your future husband’s former -and perhaps current- mistress, but it wasn’t as if you could tell your aunt about it.

“Lady Bridgerton is already there!”

Oh dear God.

You wondered if you could just trip on your way down from carriage to fake a sprained ankle just so that you could avoid this very moment, but before you could even do that, Paula and Teddy had already left the carriage to go to the pastry shop and your aunt pulled you out of the carriage and essentially pushed you into the store before you could protest.

“Y/N!” Lady Bridgerton said, standing up from the sofa to come and hug you. “Ah how beautiful you look!”

“Lady Bridgerton,” you managed to say. “What a lovely surprise. Good afternoon.”

She pulled back to smile at you, clasping your hands in hers.

“I hope you do not mind the intrusion, but your aunt says you were quite hesitant about your wedding gown,” she said. “So she and I will help you.”

“…Wonderful,” you said after a beat and Madame Delacroix came closer to you.

“Miss Y/N,” she said silkily, “Welcome. Congratulations on your engagement.”

You forced yourself to smile and gulped down. “Thank you, Madame Delacroix,” you said. “You’re most kind.”

“Caroline have you seen this silk?” Lady Bridgerton asked, pointing at a fabric before walking to the other side of the shop with your aunt following her, and you shifted your weight from one foot to other.

“If you could come with me,” Madame Delacroix said and led you to the counter where the sketchbook was open, full of different sketches of many wedding gowns. “We can make some arrangements if you’d like, these are just so that you can have some idea.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down at the sketches, silence falling upon you. You could still hear your aunt and Lady Bridgerton chatting happily and you absentmindedly turned a page, trailing your fingertips in a lazy manner until—

Until you saw it.

The gown itself looked like it was ethereal, with light tulle and white silk that almost looked liquid. Even though the design itself didn’t have any flowers, you could almost see how it would look if the skirts were embroidered with tiny blossoms along with small leaves over the bodice.

“That one?”

Madame Delacroix’s soft accent made you snap out of it and you scolded yourself in your head before you nodded, keeping your finger on it so that you wouldn’t miss it.

“Let me show you some options,” she said and walked behind the shop before she came out with three different shades of white silk, then laid them over the counter. You bit inside your cheek, guilt washing over you as you took one of the silks into your hand, then stole a look at her.

“I would like to offer you my apologies, Madame Delacroix.”

She raised her brows. “For what, ma chérie?”

“I think you know.”

A look of realization crossed her face but she managed to cover it quite fast.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“We have a common friend whom you know better than I do,” you said, then shook your head when you saw her expression. “I didn’t tell anyone. I would never, I assure you. I’m quite good with secrets.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever you may have heard…”

“He didn’t tell me,” you added in a haste. “No one did, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter how I know, I just—”

She watched you in a silence and you cleared your throat, then motioned around.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you said. “I recognize this visit may come off as rubbing salt in the wound or tantalizing but I honestly wasn’t aware my aunt and his mother were planning on it until just now.”

She pursed her lips, but stayed quiet.

“I recognize how difficult it might be,” you said. “And if you wish, I can just tell them I want to hire someone else for this.”

She tilted her head. “And why would you do that for me?”

You shrugged your shoulders, then heaved a sigh.

“It wasn’t my intention to—” you paused for a moment, then let out a bitter chuckle. “Despite what Lady Whistledown might suggest, it was never my intention to steal him or get in the way of a certain…arrangement, whatever it may be. So I would like to offer my apologies if I accidentally did such a thing.”

She looked almost taken aback by your words but before she could say anything, Lady Bridgerton came closer.

“Did you find anything you liked, dearest?”

You paused for a second, then cleared your throat. “Actually Lady Bridgerton, I’d rather hire—”

“Miss Y/N liked a very beautiful design,” Madame Delacroix cut you off, making you turn to her. “And I’d love to make it for her.”

You blinked a couple of times, then offered her a smile.

“…Thank you,” you said and she smiled back before you turned to Lady Bridgerton. “And yes. I found a design I love.”

Thankfully most of the ton was convinced of your sudden love story with Benedict, especially after the last ball. Even Lady Whistledown had claimed Benedict’s love must have melted your ice on her last piece and it was obvious while people would be watching you very closely, they believed your ruse.

It was probably more about Benedict and less about you though. He had been so convincing that multiple ladies had come to talk to you and tell you how lucky you were throughout the night.

So you had a feeling this ball wasn’t going to be so different but that did nothing to soothe that nervousness in you.

Benedict was just writing his name on Charlotte’s dance card for a dance when you got to the ballroom with your aunt, and Lottie waved at you before she said something to Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury who were with them.

“I was beginning to wonder where you were,” Benedict said as you reached them and pressed a kiss on your gloved hand, making you smile at him while Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton exchanged glances, grinning. Your aunt pressed a hand over her chest, obviously emotional.

“Last minute gown issue,” you said as you grabbed a lemonade from the tray a footman was carrying. “Good evening Lady Danbury. Lady Bridgerton.”

“Good evening dear.”

“What was wrong with your gown?” Lottie asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Oh, long story.”

“Speaking of gowns...” Lady Bridgerton said and your aunt chuckled.

“I’m so excited about that, you’d think it’s my wedding.”

Charlotte looked from you to your aunt and Lady Danbury snapped her fingers.

“Oh I forgot you were doing that today!” she said. “Violet told me. When do we get to see it?”

“See what?” Charlotte asked and you cleared your throat.

“I would’ve told you beforehand if I knew.”

“Knew what?” Benedict asked, making Lady Bridgerton turn to him.

“Well I kept it a secret from you as well Benedict, because I knew you would tell her,” she said with a smile, “We surprised your betrothed today.”

“With what?”

You looked down at your drink, discomfort hitting you all of a sudden but Lady Bridgerton didn’t notice.

“We took Y/N to the modiste so that she could choose her wedding gown.”

It was apparently a bad idea for Benedict to have been sipping his drink when he heard that, because he choked on his drink and started coughing, making Charlotte slap his back, completely oblivious.

“Oh I would love to come to the next fitting Y/N!”

“You did what?” Benedict asked when he could get enough air and you raised your brows, then nodded your head.

“It surely was a surprise when the carriage stopped there,” you managed to say and Benedict swallowed thickly.

��I can imagine.”

“Perhaps you can join the next time—”

“That’s not a good idea auntie,” you cut her off and Charlotte held her breath.

“Of course, he is not allowed to see it before the wedding!” she said and turned to Benedict. “It’s bad luck, everyone knows.”

You and Benedict exchanged glances and Lady Danbury smiled.

“But we can, right?”

“…Of course,” you said as the music started and Charlotte turned her head.

“It’s our turn, come on,” she said and put her hand on his arm, then pulled him to the dance floor.

“It’ll be so beautiful,” your aunt told Lady Danbury, “She’s having some changes made on the original sketch, I cannot wait to see the final product.”

“Flowers and leaves,” Lady Bridgerton said and you reminded yourself to smile.

“Excuse me for a moment please,” you said and made your way out of the ballroom into the hallway just so that you could get away from the chaos there. You ran your hand over the white hydrangeas in the vase on the small table as you approached the nearest painting, and tilted your head, staring at the brush strokes.

Benedict’s art was better.

You rubbed at your forehead, a sigh leaving your lips as you willed yourself to focus on anything but the storm of thoughts in your head. Today had been extremely tiring for you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Benedict still had feelings for Madame Delacroix or if he and she ever—

“Miss Y/N,” a voice interrupted your thoughts, making you turn your head but as soon as you saw who it was, you rolled your eyes, a small groan leaving your lips.

Exactly what the situation needed.

A conversation with Kitty Morris.

“What?” you asked tersely and she scoffed.

“Oh dear, what they say about you is true. You must’ve been raised by wolves.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yes it’s true. What do you want?”

She took a look at the painting before she stepped closer. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your engagement.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Much appreciated.”

“Quite a hasty engagement though,” she said. “People have all sorts of ideas about the reason.”

“Like what?”

“My friends say that you trapped him,” she said with her nose up in the air. “With what, I do not dare assume.”

You arched a brow. “Do you not?”

“I can assume the reason, not the act,” she said. “Some of us were raised as ladies.”

You clicked your tongue, anger starting to burn at the pit of your stomach.

“And what is the reason, pray tell?”

“You knew he would never think anything serious with you unless you forced him,” she said. “I mean, he didn’t even think anything serious with Charlotte while leading her on for two years let alone someone like you.”

Your eyes sharpened like a cat’s but you forced yourself not to take the bait. Fighting over a man was absolutely beneath you, you weren’t going to do it just because she was trying to start a verbal fight.

You had to draw the line somewhere.

“Go deal with whatever is bothering you on your own, I’m not going to hold your hand through it,” you said as you took a step, but stopped dead in your tracks when you heard her speak again.

“He was never going to marry you,” she called out. “Unless you trapped him. You grew up poor for God’s sake, if it weren’t for your uncle you would be on the streets where you belong. Everyone knows that, they say even your parents didn’t want you. Why would someone like Benedict Bridgerton want to be married to you?”

…Very well.

Fighting over a man was beneath you but you could kneel down a little if she wanted to go there.

You threw your shoulders back and turned around.

“And you think if it weren’t for me, he was going to marry you?”

“Obviously,” she said. “That’s why you sabotaged it the moment he started taking interest in me. It was clear he was going to propose to me, everyone knows that.”

You hummed and pointed at the ballroom with your thumb. “Why don’t you go ahead and ask him then?”

She pulled back slightly. “What?”

“Go ask him if he wants to marry you instead of me,” you said. “He’s in the ballroom, the dance is probably over. He’s not busy.”

She looked at a loss for words and you tilted your head.

“No?” you asked. “Fine, I can go ask him if you’d like.”

You took a couple of steps towards the ballroom but she rushed to get in front of you.

“You will do no such thing!” she demanded and you let out a small laugh.

“Why not?” you asked. “If he wants to marry you, I will not stand in your way. We can break the engagement tonight in front of the whole ton.”

“If you think that’s acceptable—”

“I did ask him about you by the way,” you cut her off “Once. Whether he would propose to you after you and your friends kept whispering about it right behind me. Do you want to hear what he said?”

She glared at you. “You’re lying.”

“Benedict is too polite to break people’s delusions,” you stated. “I don’t have that issue. So I’m not lying, I’ll tell you what he said if you want to hear it.”

A silence fell upon you and you raised your brows.

“I suppose not,” you pointed out. “Alright then. I will go back to my betrothed now if you don’t mind so if you could step aside?”

She raised her chin defiantly, crossing her arms as if she dared you to and you smirked slightly.

“Kitty,” you said. “You will not like it if I make you. Step aside.”

She gritted her teeth and looked you up and down.

“It doesn’t surprise me the whole ton is shocked by your engagement, not just me,” she spat, fury apparent in her tone. “Your less than favorable background is apparent all over you, regardless of what expensive gown they put you in. No wonder we’re all surprised.”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe,” you said airily. “Whether you find it surprising or not doesn’t really change the outcome though.”

“The outcome?”

You smiled, then nodded in the direction of the ballroom.

“That one is mine,” you said, barely aware of the pride laced in your voice. “And he’s in love with me. Go find your own.”

She took a step back, her eyes gleaming with frustrated tears and you sipped your drink.

“And show some composure, will you?” you asked. “People will think you were raised by wolves.”

She paused for only a moment before a sob escaped from her and she rushed past you to go outside, leaving you there. You scoffed a laugh and shook your head.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself and downed your lemonade, then made your way back to the ballroom.

Chapter 13

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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ineffablelunatics · 29 days

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The Good Place and Crowley

A while ago, someone sent an ask to Gaiman. It went as follows, “In the book, ‘Golden Girls’ was Crowley’s favorite TV show. Is that slo TV Crowley’s favorite or does he have a current TV show that he prefers?” He answered, “I think he’d love the ‘The Good Place.’”

The Good Place is one of my favorite shows. I completely understand why Crowley would like it. It has some of the best debates of the philosophy and ethics of modern day society including the afterlife. It argues that people should not be defined as good and bad. It shows that people can improve. It tells us why and how they improve.

There’s two things about Crowley that really connect him to these thoughts. 1. Crowley does not like to be defined as good(or nice). Though we haven’t really seen that include bad, I would assume that it would be the similar thought. It also might have something to do with Aziraphale saying those things specifically, but that’s another post. 2. That people are not defined by what happened to them, and that means that anyone can improve.

Crowley fell from Heaven. He fell from grace which made him demon which means that for all intents and purposes, he should be evil. But he isn’t. Crowley doesn’t ever really commit truly evil acts. Any truly evil act that Hell thinks Crowley committed, humans committed. Crowley just took the credit. Crowley likes the thought that people can change. In Hell, he sees tons of people who are awful, but he also sees people who just made some mistakes. He sees demons who are like him who don’t find joy in treating people terribly. He’s seen angels causing harm happily, but others giving away joy like lollipops.

Those two things are fundamental in the show, The Good Place. I would argue Good Omens as well. If Adam had always been treated like he was evil, he probably would have never had friends who he genuinely cared about so much so that their fear pulled him out of his power drunken state. If Aziraphale had assumed the snake was evil(if he even saw him lol), then smited him, where would Crowley and humanity be? The demon with the imagination burned to ash and humanity living with almost decision-less whilst tucked neatly within Eden’s walls. If people couldn’t improve then Shadwell would have never been able to put aside his fears and foolishness so that he could love Madame Tracy and show it. Gabriel and Beelzebub would still be planning Armageddon 2.0 if they hadn’t moved on and fell in love instead.

The Good Place reminds us of the things time and time again. Each of the four main characters get reset, and every time, in the right circumstances, they always become better people. They are also never really defined as good and bad either. At times, others try to define Eleanor as a bad person, but every time, she reminds them that, yes, maybe, she shouldn’t be in the Good Place, but at the very least, she should be in her very own Middle Place. Every time, Chidi teaches her how to become a better person(which only works, because she wants to be one) and in the process, he becomes one too. Just like Gabriel and Beelzebub.

This was way longer than I expected it to be, but here are some quotes from The Good Place and where I think they would fit into Good Omens whether that be place and time or people and relationships.

“Sometimes, when you’re feeling helpless, the secret is to help someone else. Get out of your own head. Trust me. The next time someone asks for help, say yes.” This feels like the whole of S2, specially Aziraphale with Jim and then Maggie

“If you have bills to pay and shit to deal with you don;t have time or energy to become a better person.” The Resurrectionists in 1827 with Elspeth and Wee Morag

“If there were an answer I could give you to how the universe works, it wouldn’t;t be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling its cosmic design. It would just be a big, dumb food processor. But since nothing seems to make sense, when find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria.” All the couples in GO, but that quote right there seems to be how Crowley and Aziraphale has been holding on for so long

“I guess all I can do is embrace the pandemonium find happiness in the unique insanity of being here, now.” Nina specially during The Ball

“People improve when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don’t?” Beelzebub and Gabriel

“We have no plan. No one’s coming to save us. So... I’m going to do it.” Aziraphale(specifically him at the end of S2 in my opinion)but also just everybody in S1 with Anathema, Agnus, the Them, Aziraphale and Crowley, just all trying their best

“If soulmates do exist, they’re not found. They’re made. People meet. They get a good feeling, and they get to work building a relationship.” All the couples, but especially Aziraphale and Crowley with the Agreement, they were working on their relationship before they knew they were even working on their relationship

“What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is if people are trying to be better today than they were yesterday. You asked me where my hope comes from? That’s my answer.” Crowley, because deep down, at the end of the line, we know that he’s an optimist

*reminder that all of this is my opinion, if there’s anymore quotes you would like to add, please do, some of the information might be incorrect

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens spoilers #david tennant #michael sheen #the good place #eleanor shellstrop #chidi anagonye #jason mendoza #tahani al jamil #the good place quotes #I don’t know why #but here is a really long post about the good place and good omens #because i love them so much

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laurelsofhighever · 1 year

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Unpopular opinion time: I really don’t care for the Titans as a concept. Or rather, I don’t like the way they fit into the worldbuilding of Thedas. It’s a symptom of this ongoing problem BioWare has where everything has to have some grand, shocking twist and an intricate backstory that connects with the intricate backstory of everything else. It’s like a slow power creep to the lore that honestly reminds me most of Supernatural in how desperate it is to outdo itself.

The Dalish Creators aren’t apocryphal characters used to impart moral lessons or explain natural phenomena – they were real, and they weren’t really gods, just super powerful mages who enslaved a bunch of people and used them to build statues!

The Fade isn’t just another, natural layer of existence that only a few can tap into – it was created by Some Guy who decided to fight the Actually Real Elvhen Gods and then had a nap about it for several thousand years!

Lyrium isn’t just a toxic mineral that causes neurological degradation but also happens to enhance magical ability – it’s actually the crystalised blood of an ancient race of giant beings that were hunted to extinction by the Actually Real Elvhen Gods!

The dwarves don’t have Stone Sense because of their specific cultural identity and because their society that’s based underground needs to know how to navigate without the sun – they were literally created by an ancient race of giant beings who decided to make them to the same vague shape as other bipedal mammals for some reason!

(these aren’t the only examples, they do it with everything from character backstories to religious schisms)

It’s like they don’t trust the player to suspend their disbelief in a fantasy world where magic and dragons are real, and the ironic thing is that by dissecting everything instead of just letting these story elements just be, it makes everything about Thedas feel smaller, and less like an intricate, organic world.

In DAO, we’re introduced to many gods – Avvar, Elvhen, Andrastian, as well as the dwarven concept of “the Stone” – and they exist in the role that gods fill in the real world: cultural artifacts that create a shared sense of identity. It makes sense for there to be similarities between the Elvhen Creators and the Avvar pantheon, given the amount of interaction between the two groups before they became isolated by persecution. Similarly, it makes sense that dwarves would have an entirely different theology structured around the material that literally encases them their whole lives and marks them as distinct from the surface-dwelling races. to reduce these belief systems to single, quantifiable truths makes as much sense as trying to claim the Real Zeus was [specific guy] from [specific time period]. It also does such disrespect to the individuals who make up these cultures, and who would have, through history, changed it simply by being part of it.

With the Titans specifically, they weren’t needed. We already had a concept of dwarves that worked well as a framework for the stories being told in the games: insular, rigid caste system, hub of the lyrium trade, collective PTSD from a millennia of fighting darkspawn. It’s cultural background radiation that adds motive and flavour for character actions, and that’s all it needs to be.

We don’t need to know precisely how Stone Sense works, just that it does. We don’t need to know where dwarves – or elves, or qunari, or humans – really come from, it’s enough for the story that they exist within a collective cultural identity. We don’t need to know what lyrium is, we just need to know that bad things happen when characters play with it.

It's fantasy. A wizard did it. The wizard shouldn’t feel the need to pull back his own curtain and then also rip the casing off the mechanism, just to prove how clever he is.

#dragon age meta #bioware critical #let a little ambiguity in guys #just a little mystery #like with chinese painting you want the suggestion of mountains #the imagination fills in the rest

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eds6ngel · 9 months

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another idea: reader going over to robin and vickie’s with steve for dinner one night, robin talks to reader about how good reader is for steve, little bonding moment with robin, and reader starts to feel deeper love, then fluff with steve and maybe a reciprocation of feelings? I think that’s it for now, but you don’t have to do any of them! thank you so much for writing the series, its soooo good and I can’t wait for any spin-offs!

hi my love!! i started off with this one as it goes in the order i'd like to tackle my asks in! i changed it up slightly (not too much), so i hope you enjoy!! ♡

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. use of y/n. swearing. kissing. a lil bit of making out. allusions to sex. pet names. food mentions. r is mentioned as unlabeled (so you can assign the label according to your identity!!) r being an ally. fluff. comfort. love confessions!! [2.3k].

full 'when i kissed the teacher' masterlist.

“Babe?” Steve asks you, currently attending to the dishes piled in the sink from your beautiful handmade soup the two of you had for lunch. Alena was currently staying with Jonathan and Nancy, having a sleepover with her friend Ashley, which meant you had the place to yourselves.

“Uh huh?” you reply, not tearing your eyes away from the very intriguing book about the psychology of the human mind.

“You’re accepting, right?”

The question draws you away from the paperback, looking behind you to where Steve was scrubbing away at a green bowl, placing it neatly on the drying rack. “Yeah, I would say I am. Why?” The question seemed out of the blue, almost unordinary for him. It’s not like you had an issue with said question, it was just the timing that was confusing.

“Just… I really hope she doesn’t kill me for this,” Steve mumbles to himself, just loud enough for you to catch the tail end of, “You know Robin, she’s uh… She’s a lesbian, had a girlfriend for nine years. That’s okay with you… right?”

You smile, “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. People can love whoever they want to love.” You were very passionate about this topic. You hadn’t particularly labeled your own sexuality, but you were striving for the ones that didn’t fit into the heteronormative society to have as many rights as you did. You frankly thought it was stupid that they didn’t already, and that as long as relationships are consensual and healthy, anybody of age should be allowed to love and potentially have sex with whoever they wanted.

Steve sighs out, chuckling lightly, “Oh thank God. I was so scared for a second.”

“Babe, if I didn’t support gay people, I shouldn’t even be deserving of your time. Besides… I’ve been to a few protests in my life,” you smirk, quickly looking back down at your book to leave Steve standing there in shock.

“You’ve been to protests?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “College is a wild ride babe. You end up doing things you never thought you would ever do.”

“Huh… Anyway,” he shakes his running thoughts off, “I was asking because I was wondering if you’d like to go on a double date with them. You know, me and you, Robin and her girlfriend Vickie, that sort of thing?”

“Of course!” you happily agree, “When were you thinking?”

“Well, I’ll have to check with the girls, but since Alena isn’t back until tomorrow evening, I was thinking we could grab lunch somewhere tomorrow afternoon?”

“That sounds great babe! I’m totally down.”

He puts the final dish on the rack, walking up behind you and placing a tender kiss on the crown of your head, “Great, let me just give them a call, see if they’re down too.”

“There’s nothing good on this menu,” Robin whines, “You couldn’t have chosen a better restaurant, Steve?”

The four of you were squeezed into a booth of a small sandwich shop on the outskirts of Hawkins. Steve had his hand on your thigh as he scanned through the menu to the right of you, Robin and Vickie sat opposite.

Steve scoffs, “Just because you’re an extremely fussy eater, Robin. Everyone else here seems to be fine with the menu. The menu’s good, isn’t it, babe?” His question holds a slight waver of uncertainty, his best friend making his insecurities come out.

You take a quick look up at Robin over the top of your menu, smirking away as you pretend to cringe, “Well…”

Steve’s eyes open wide as he thinks he made the biggest mistake of his life, you having to quickly put a reassuring hand on your shoulder to calm him down, “I’m only kidding babe, it’s wonderful.”

“Well, according to someone it isn’t,” he narrows his eyes at Robin, her sticking her tongue out at him. You and Vickie give each other a look, as if you were both mothers parenting your immature children.

The waiter soon comes, Robin ordering a plain chicken sandwich, as suspected, Steve a ham and cheese toastie, Vickie a cheese and salad sandwich, and you deciding on a pulled pork sandwich.

“So,” you begin to start the conversation back up, “I’ve heard the two of you have been together for nine years. That’s incredible!”

Vickie holds Robin’s hand in hers on top of the table, the other leaning against her cheek, “Yeah. Almost at the nine year anniversary. You know, it took Robin two years to ask me out. She had a crush on me since the start of ‘86, took her until the Spring of ‘88 to make a move. We were both just blubbering messes up until that point. She finally asked me out, we had our first date, and then the rest is history I suppose.”

“So, just like me and Steve,” you giggle, Steve squeezing your thigh as he smiles down at you, Robin noticing how in love her best friend looks. “Always the whole mutual pining game, huh?”

“Apparently so. After the earthquake happened here a decade ago, we had to help out at the school for anyone affected,” Vickie explains, “Well, Robin and I got put on making PB&J’s, and I got so rambly and nervous in her presence that I buttered both pieces of bread with peanut butter.”

“Yeah, I was sorting clothes, watching the two of you be all cutesy and shit from across the room.”

Robin lets her mouth hang open, “You were watching that day?”

Steve nods with a grin on his face, “Uh, yeah? My best friend talking to her crush who she wouldn’t shut up about for months? And the two of you laughing and getting along? Of course I was watching.”

Vickie sighs happily, “I’m trying to think of some questions to ask the two of you, but I think we know every detail of your relationship.”

Robin raises her eyebrows with a smirk next to her girlfriend, “Oh yeah. Every goddamn time we saw him. ‘She called me handsome.’ ‘She’s just so pretty.’ ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Over and over again. It was constant reassurance, trying to encourage him to ask you out.”

“Just to let you know though,” Vickie points at you, “We did not encourage him to kiss you and therefore lose your job. We take absolutely no responsibility in that.”

You brush her off with a wave of your hand, “I mean, it didn’t end up so bad in the end. I mean, no insult to Hawkins or anything—”

“Babe,” Steve interrupts you, “We’ve all grown up here. You can insult this place however you like.”

“I don’t like to be rude though honey, you know that!” you laugh as Steve presses a kiss to your cheek, Robin and Vickie giving each other a knowing look, “Okay, fine. Just to preface, I loved the kids I taught, okay? Nothing wrong on their part. Just… some of the teachers were extremely mean in the staff room, some parents were just absolutely awful and the place itself was just… I dunno, something felt off.”

“Yeah, because it’s a piece of shit,” Robin truthfully states, Vickie jabbing her lightly in the ribs, Robin letting out an “Ow!”

You giggle, “Yeah, it kind of is, I guess. At least in comparison to Ernie Pyle. I suppose parents take their kids education a lot more seriously there. The student population is mostly made up of ethnic minorities from disadvantaged backgrounds, so the parents want to give their kids what they never had growing up. Plus, I think it’s around 90% of the teachers already have at least three years of prior teaching experience. It’s one of the reasons they took me on actually.”

“Well, I’m glad you got your happy ending. Perfect relationship and a perfect job,” Vickie points out, “Seems like a total win.”

“Yeah,” you look up at Steve lovingly, “It was.”

You had all enjoyed your meals, no matter how adventurous your selections were. Before you all got ready to leave, Steve excused himself to the bathroom, Robin sipping the final bits of her strawberry milkshake. “I’ve never seen dingus so in love before. I imagine you must get fed up with how much he says it.”

But, that’s the thing: he’d never said it. You weren’t gonna critique him on that, you were happy to take things as slow as possible, but there was that lingering thought in the back of your mind that maybe he wasn’t as in love as you were. And you didn’t want to scare him off by saying those three words if he didn’t feel that confident in the relationship yet.

“Actually, he hasn’t said it yet…” you let out.

“What?”

“Are you kidding?”

The two girls sit there in shock as you shrug it off. “No, you have to be lying,” Robin says, “Dingus has been in love with you since… well, forever!“

“Yeah, my love’s not kidding,” Vickie adds on, “I’m pretty sure he told us after you two did the Christmas Fayre together.”

“Probably even alluded to it before that.” Robin looks you in the eye, “You do love him, don’t you?”

You nod, “Of course I love him, Robin! I just don’t want to say it, and then he doesn’t feel the same—“

“Y/N, I’m telling you,” Vickie interrupts you, “He is 100% definitely in love with you. I know that for a fact. We both do.”

Robin nods, making you lean back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose, “Why won’t he say it then?”

“Y/N,” Robin starts, “The first girl Steve ever said ‘I love you’ to was Nancy Wheeler two weeks into their relationship, and they broke up a year later. The second was Alena’s mother who walked out when her daughter was a few months old, leaving Steve alone with a child to raise by himself. I think he’s just scared to say it in case you leave, since that’s all he knows.”

Vickie nods along, “But, if you say it first… I think that he might calm down a little. Realise that you are the one taking initiative.”

“Just say it…” Robin says softly, “What else have you got left to lose?”

But, you could have a lot to lose. What if he was just saying it to Robin and Vickie and doesn’t properly mean it? What if you tell him and he doesn’t reciprocate? You’d lose your whole relationship.

You have no time to think as Steve re-appears, reaching for his denim jacket the other side of you, “Right, we ready to go?”

Robin and Vickie smile at you, giving you a look as they begin to stand, collecting their belongings as the four of you head out the main entrance of the shop.

After bidding farewell to Robin and Vickie, Steve drove you back home, him having to clean the house for when Alena got home, and you having to prepare resources for your class tomorrow.

He pulls up to your apartment complex, leading you to the entrance as always, like the gentlemen he is.

You grab his hand, Steve noticing that it was slightly shaking wrapped around his, “Um… Steve? I just want to say something before you go.”

He simply stares back, you taking it as a sign to continue talking. You let out a breath. It was now or never.

“I understand that you’ve been wanting to take this entire thing slowly, and I get that. But, I just want to reassure you that I am in this for the long run. I love how you treat me, and care for me. I love the dates you take me on, they are so varied. I love how kind, and caring, and slightly stupid you can be sometimes. And I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I love you.”

You can audibly hear how his breath hitches in his throat, your brain instantly taking that as a mistake, “But, don’t feel as if you need to reciprocate or anything, because I don’t want to pressure you into doing that. I just needed to let it out—”

Your rambling is stopped by Steve’s lips crashing into yours. You can’t help but let the slight moan slip from your mouth as he deepens the kiss, your hands wrapped around his shoulders as he cups your cheeks. Before the kiss can escalate, Steve pulls apart from you, leaning his forehead against yours as he whispers back, “I love you too,” a goofy smile gracing his features. “Shit, I was just so scared to say anything in case it made you leave, as that’s what usually happens whenever I say those words—”

It’s now your time to interrupt him with a giggle, “I know baby, Robin kind of told me everything.”

He shakes his head, “God, I hate her. Always revealing secrets about me.”

“Damn,” you huff, “Maybe I should hang out with her more, get more juicy details about you.”

He leans back, raising his eyebrows at you, “Absolutely not. I’ve revealed way too much of my life to her.”

You both laugh, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too, Y/N L/N,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you once again. You melt into the kiss, Steve swiping his tongue across your lips, asking for permission to which you accept, opening your mouth and letting his tongue slip in, the lingering taste of his sandwich invading your senses. The two of you moan, you pulling back to catch your breath, realising the two of you were technically stood directly next to a busy road. “Amy’s out with her boyfriend today… So, I have the apartment to myself…”

Steve looks down at his watch, before turning his gaze back to you, smirking and seductively replying, “I think we have time.”

i hope you enjoyed!! i will get to the rest of your asks (and everybody else's) tomorrow and during the course of next week!! ♡

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington drabble #dad!steve harrington #singledad!steve harrington #stranger things #eds6ngel

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cosmererambles · 7 months

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Kelsier and Anti-Social Personality Disorder: An Essay

Thank you sooo much for editing this @ladyartichokie! You were a massive help!

Kelsier Essay

I hope the dear reader will forgive my use of a proper noun as I write this essay; it removes somewhat of a formal aspect from its words but I must admit, it does come from a personal place of my heart. While this essay is meant to be persuasive, it’s also meant to be constructive and to drive a point home that I have been musing on for quite a while. This essay has major spoilers for the entirety of the Cosmere. If you haven’t read up to SP3, please refrain from reading this.

In the endless expanses of the Cosmere, there are hundreds of characters whom many hold dear and just as many whom people hate. You could say this is due to the brilliance of the author, who, despite his busy schedules and near constant time spent behind a keyboard, finds time to sign sheets and answer questions. Why is signing sheets and answering questions relevant to beloved and reviled characters? Read on.

Brandon Sanderson answers hundreds of questions, many of whom are inane, innocuous, or silly. Some are deeper, others delve into the basis behind some of his choices while writing. Still others pertain to characters. We get to the meat of it. This particular character is known, through the writing, as a brutal man, who let nothing stand in the way of his goal, who, while cleaving the noble class of his society in twain, uplifted the peasants and upended the thousand-year reign of his deity and ruler. Yes, we’re talking of Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, hero of the Final Empire, and a character that leaves many people puzzled.

Reddit forums are frequented by questions about him. r/Mistborn and r/Cosmere alike have had their fair share of debates, and there was one thing I noticed in many of these: they take the words of Sanderson very, very seriously. Why shouldn’t they? He’s the author, is he not? Back in 2013, Sanderson had a Q&A session where someone asked him who his most disturbing character was. The WoB is as follows:

I_are_pant

1.Which of your protagonist characters do you dislike the most as a person? Taking in account that you know all of their inner secrets and motivations. 2. On the flip side, which of your antagonists do you connect with the most? The Lord Ruler seems an obvious choice as he was misunderstood by everyone for so long. But still, I’m curious.

Brandon Sanderson This is a tough one, as while I’m writing, I HAVE to like everyone. However, the most disturbing of them is probably Kelsier. He’s a psychopath—meaning the actual, technical term. Lack of empathy, egotism, lack of fear. If his life had gone differently, he could have been a very, very evil dude.

This Word of Brandon has had a decided effect on the fandom, namely in the fact that critical thought surrounding Kelsier, his motives, his struggles, and his successes, has all but been erased. He has been branded a psychopath, and there is nothing anyone can say against it.

The word “psychopath” is a very negatively charged word. To preface things, I want to be clear that this essay is going to refer to “psychopathy” as Antisocial-Personality Disorder. The term psychopath is very old, and largely refers to individuals with this particular disorder. The traditional definition of psychopath is someone who both lacks a conscience and lacks empathy.

Through this essay, I plan to painstakingly showcase that Kelsier fits neither the outdated term nor the criteria for the actual disorder, through canon book citations. I will break down each diagnostic criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder (Henceforth shortened to ASPD) and Kelsier’s character traits at large. I wish to not only prove Brandon wrong (It is a very old WoB and I doubt very much he still believes this.) but to prove to the fandom at large that Kelsier is a good man. A flawed man, but a good man. I will also note specific character traits that I feel are of note in discussing him, his motives, and his current ideologies.

(Please note that there are plenty of individuals with ASPD that are not bad people. Your actions make you bad, not your mental health. I will be using terms such as “bad” and “wrong”, but this is in regards to a fictional character, NOT a real life human being.)

Antisocial Personality Disorder is a disorder characterized by the DSM-V as a Cluster-B personality disorder. It shares its family with Narcissistic, Borderline, and Histrionic disorders, and is characterized by a “continuing disregard and violation of the rights of others, occurring since the age of fifteen. To be diagnosed with ASPD, you must show a pattern of three or more of the following characteristics:

· Failure to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

· Deceitfulness (Repeated lying or conning of others for personal profit or pleasure.

· Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead.

· Irritability or Aggressiveness (Repeated physical fights or assaults.)

· Reckless disregard for the safety of others.

· Consistent irresponsibility. (Failure to keep a job or honor financial obligations.

· Lack of remorse.

Psychopathy is a term that was coined before this disorder was identified and refers specifically to a person lacking in both empathy and a conscience. The term is still widely used today, along with the term Sociopath, often interchangeably. For this essay, I’ll be largely relying on the psychiatric standards set in the DSM-V.

With this in mind, let’s jump into the criteria necessary for one (In this case, Kelsier) to be diagnosed with ASPD. While Kelsier waits in the waiting room, rather annoyed, let’s overview his case file. I will be pulling The Final Empire (TFE), Secret History (SH), and Eleventh Metal (EM). To make things clearer, I am using the Arcanum Unbounded version of SH and EM.

Failing to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

“Yes, he pocketed the gemstones in the vault, but that was more out of pragmatism than anything else.” (SH)

“Individual must show a pattern of Failing to conform with laws and social norms.” This one is tricky, as we are speaking of a fictional character in a brutal society hell bent on slaughtering those like Kelsier. Him becoming a thief was his way of surviving. While a thief, he was known as trusting, fair, just, and great to work with. When speaking to Vin after saving her from Camon’s beating, he explains just what sort of thief and crew leader he is, which puzzles her for quite a few pages as she notices the level of trust he places in other people.

“…Well Dox and I, we’re scavengers too, we’re just a higher quality scavenger. We’re more well bred, you might say-or perhaps just more ambitious.” (Chapter 3, page 56, TFE). After Clubs leaves in a huff, Yeden exclaims that he has to be dealt with, and Kelsier shuts him down.

“You’re just going to let him go?” “…I don’t work that way, Yeden. I invited Clubs where I outlined a dangerous plan-one some people might even call stupid. I’m not going to have him assassinated because he decided it was too dangerous. If you do things like that, pretty soon nobody will come listen to your plans in the first place.” (chapter 4, page 80, TFE).

Clubs, upon his return, remarks he’s heard that Kelsier would never use emotional allomancy to sway someone to his side. “You’re a smoker Clubs. He couldn’t do much to you, not if you didn’t want him too.” “I don’t like Soothers…Men like that…well you can’t trust you aren’t being manipulated when they are around. Copper or no copper.” “I wouldn’t rely on something like that to get your loyalty.” “So I’ve heard.” (Chapter 5, page 87, TFE).

If we mark his thieving and conning as a pattern in this trope, we also have to mark it against Doxson, Hammond, Breeze, Vin, and Clubs, not to mention hundreds of other Skaa and half-skaa that are just trying to live. Thus, this particular criterion is being ignored due to the outstanding circumstances of the Final Empire and how it was run.

Deceitfulness for Profit or Pleasure

“And the third…well, that was Kelsier’s favorite. It involved a tongue coated with zinc. Instead of a knife it used confusion, and instead of prowling it worked in the open.” (SH)

As a con-artist and thief, Kelsier throughly enjoys his trade. He made it a mission in life to con his way to the top of the thieving world, becoming the most “Infamous crewleader in Luthadel” (Chapter 5, page 89, TFE). He loved terrifying the Ire out of their possessions and the orb of Investiture. The man enjoys his profession in life; he didn’t fall into it out of necessity or trick. He even states, in narration of his own in the Eleventh Metal, that when he Snapped as a Mistborn, he immediately gravitated towards Zinc and Brass, as they could “manipulate other people’s emotions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 159). “We’re thieves, gentlemen- and we’re extraordinarily good ones. We can rob the unrobbable and fool the unfoolable…” (Chapter 4, page 75, TFE). That being said, he doesn’t lie to his crewmembers. (Ghostblood’s are a bit different, and I’ll get to that later.) He is upfront and honest with his crew members, never expecting them to go into something without all the information. He has never used emotional allomancy to manipulate his friends. “Despite what Breeze says, it’s bad manners to use emotional Allomancy on your friends.” (Chapter 11, page 212, TFE).

His dealings with the Ghostbloods get a little trickier. I do not think lying to them about having powers has anything to do with profit or pleasure, more, it has to do with his position and what he is. A little mystery aids his position, and I’m sure those closest to him know quite well he lacks powers.

To sum it up, Kelsier does meet this criterion. He enjoys the con, lives for it.

Impulsivity with a Failure to Plan Ahead

“Oh hell,” Kelsier said. “There’s actually a God?”“Yes.”Kelsier decked him. (SH) Impulsiveness, in regards to ASPD, is described as someone who is not only impulsive, but also fails to plan ahead. To quote the exact text. “Impulsivity with a failure to plan ahead.” They lack any way of preparing for large tasks or what they are going to do in the future. In regards to Kelsier, he can certainly be impulsive. Heat of the moment decisions is one of his major strengths, along with one of his major flaws. He’s fond of brash decisions against those he deems slighted him or others (Punching Leras/Ruin in Secret History.) He will jump headlong into danger in order to save those in helpless situations. (Running to save the army, only to be stopped by Vin.) His foray into Kredik Shaw could be called impulsive, though I read it as him believing that since he didn’t plan at all, there was no way he could be betrayed, as had happened last time. Him taking Vin was certainly a foolish choice, though I wouldn’t call it impulsive.

Speaking of his impulsiveness, other characters are aware of it as well. Vin, inspecting the crates that will be shipped to the caves, says that “Even the new, more responsible Kelsier was an impulsive man.” upon learning he planned to go to the caves with Yeden to inspect the army. (Chapter 20, page 331, TFE).

His slaughter of the noblemen and women in the town of Longsfellow after they murdered a young girl could be seen as impulsive. He did it without regard for their plan, which angered Mare.

That being said, Kelsier does not fit this criteria, despite being an impulsive man, as he does not fail to plan ahead. All of Kelsier’s life as a thief was nothing but planning; job after job, all planned out and discussed with his friends/crewmates.

“It was an unfamiliar experience for him. [faltering/indecision] He’d always had a plan, before. Plans upon plans…” (Eleventh Metal, page 152).

“…all those plans, all of those heists, all of his grand visions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 164).

Beginning in Eleventh Metal, Kelsier forms his plan that we see enacted in The Final Empire. Specifically, this line. “Nobody fights, he thought, Nobody thinks they can fight. But they’re wrong. We can fight…I can fight.” (Eleventh Metal, page 165). “A plan began to bud, a plan he barely dared consider for its audacity. Vengeance. And more.” (Eleventh Metal, Page 169).

This plan carries us into the main narrative of The Final Empire. Every major event, barring a few hiccups, is fully orchestrated by Kelsier. He planned for the House War, long before he sat down with his friends and discussed it in Club’s Shop. The beginnings of it were at Trestings Plantation, where he “stirred up a little trouble.” (Prologue, page 12, TFE).

His death, at the end of the novel, was part of a plan; hidden deep under other sets of plans, a hidden leaf of paper among many: A plan to get the Skaa to rise up.

I doubt I need to fully list all of Kelsier’s planning and plotting throughout the books; it’s extensive and would fill several sheets of paper. While we can all agree that Kelsier is an impulsive man, I believe a suitable picture has been drawn up that proves that he doesn’t fit this particular criteria.

Irritability or Aggressiveness

“He’d been in street brawls before, but not many. He’d tried to avoid them-brawling had been an old habit of Dockson’s. For once, he wished he’d been less refined in that particular area.”

Kelsier’s anger throughout the first novel, and indeed Eleventh Metal, is mostly internal. In Eleventh Metal, he doesn’t lash out at Gemmel, despite the man deserving it. He instead focuses that anger on other, more deserving targets. Through most of the novel, he’s rather numb, incapable of any emotion, until he finds the Skaa, hanging up and nearly flayed from the experiments at Shezler’s hands. He murders Shezler brutally with a shard of glass punched to the throat. (Eleventh Metal, page 167). His actions with Hoid in the Well of Ascension could certainly be touted as aggressive, however I disagree with this line of thinking, for reasons I’ll outline in greater detail later in the essay. (Part 2, Chapter 1, page 231, SH)

“Kelsier kept smiling. He’d do so until it felt natural. Until that numbness, tied in a knot within him, started to unravel and he began to feel again. If that was possible.” (Eleventh Metal, page 149).

“…the only thing he could feel these days was rage, and that rage couldn’t guide him.”

Irritability generally means lashing out at those around you. Kelsier doesn’t do that. He gets his angriest towards “friends” in the caves, when manipulating Bilg to speak of his doubts. Diction is very important here. Kelsier wanted Bilg to die for speaking against him. (Something that was, unfortunately, very common in military groups in prior eras (of Earth). It was labeled as treason, and execution was the usual punishment.) “Kelsier paused. This man should die, he thought angrily. On the ground, Bilg groaned quiestly. Kelsier could just barely see his twisted arm, its bone shattered by the powerful strike. It was bleeding. No, Kelsier thought. This is enough.” (Chapter 21, Page 351, TFE).

Note that, despite his anger and irritation, he changes his mind quickly. The heat of the moment, the trauma of being back in caverns similar to the ones he was tortured in, the looming threat of their deaths drawing ever closer, got the better of him, and he stoppered it.

Despite Vin disobeying him many, many times, following him, and contradicting him, Kelsier never snaps at her. When he catches her following him to Kredik Shaw, he sits down and speaks to her. Yet more evidence is seen in his speaking with his brother. Marsh gets angry; Marsh snaps; We can’t deny him this. Yet Kelsier, despite his inner monologue saying that Marsh is the only one that can get under his skin, keeps his relative cool.

““Oh?” Marsh asked, tapping the word atium on the board. “Why the games, Kelsier? Why lead Yeden along, pretending to accept him as your ‘employer’? Why act like you care about the skaa? We both know what you’re really after.” Kelsier clenched his jaw, a bit of his humor melting away. He always could do that to me.””(Chapter 7, Page 130, TFE).

During Secret History, though technically before the events of Eleventh Metal and The Final Empire, Kelsier kills seven people in retribution for murdering a girl for spilling tea. He remembers this as he wanders into the town of Longsfollow. You could definitely argue aggression in this case. (Part 4, Chapter 2, page 282, SH).

Kelsier does not fit this criteria. Random acts of aggression spaced throughout a lifetime of traumatic events and death at every corner are to be expected, and throughout it all, he’s a wonderful man to those around him; supportive, charitable, and loyal.

Reckless Disregard for the Safety of Others

“The best practice is doing.” Vin said. “My brother trained me to steal by taking me on burglaries.” Kelsier shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

Kelsier is shown to care, deeply, for the safety of those surrounding him. We don’t see much of it in Eleventh Metal, but we can assume, based on him helping the Skaa get out of the city at the end of the novella, that he cared for their safety.

In TFE, he is constantly aware of not only his crew’s safety, but his army’s as well. They walk a very fine line; one that, if broken, would result in their immediate deaths. Multiple lines of safeguards and protections, of smoke and mirrors, goes into making sure there is no chance of betrayal or accidental mis-step.

“...Renoux nodded. Ostensibly we’re sending this all via canal barges to my plantation in the west. However, the barges will stop to drop off supplies–and many of the canalmen–at the rebellion caverns. The barges and a few men will continue on to keep upon appearances.” “Our soldiers don’t even know that Renoux is in on the plan,” Kelsier said, smiling. “They think he’s a nobleman that I’m scamming.” (Chapter 20, page 329, TFE)

The security of his troops, and indeed, all of their heads as well, was paramount. The three guards at the entrances at all times, were stationed to keep everyone in that cavern safe from potential betrayal. After they find Marsh “dead”, Kelsier sends the entire crew to the bolt lair before leaving for the Pits of Hathsin. He also tells them to send for Renoux, to tell him to pull out. This happened after a night of thought; it wasn’t an impulsive act.

Upon the attack on Vin’s former crew…

“Should we move our base?” Ham asked. Kelsier slowly shook his head. “When Clubs came to this lair, he would have worn a disguise to and from the meeting, hiding his limp…We should still be safe. (Abridged, Page 208, 11)

Upon finding Vin tailing him as he observed Camon’s hanging…

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see what you were doing!” “This could have been dangerous! What were you thinking?” (Abridged, 211, chapter 11)

Upon Kelsier catching Vin tailing him, beginning a back and forth about Kredick Shaw, and Vin deciding she’ll tail him regardless of what he says, Kelsier reads her thoughts. “I’m serious, Vin! You can’t go with me.” “Why not?” she asked, abandoning pretense. “If what you’re doing is so dangerous, wouldn’t it be safer if you had another Mistborn watching your back?” “You still don’t know all of the metals,” Kelsier said. “Only because you haven’t taught me.” “You need more practice.” “The best practice is doing.” Vin said. “My brother trained me to steal by taking me on burglaries.” Kelsier shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.” (page 241, 13)

Upon Vin awakening from her coma the second time…

“Vin,” Kelsier said hesitantly. “I owe you an apology. I nearly got you killed.” Vin snorted quietly. “It’s not your fault. I made you take me.” “You shouldn’t have been able to make me,” Kelsier said. “My original decision to send you away was the right one. Please accept the apology.” (Page 268, Chapter 16, TFE).

“I don’t want to be responsible for something happening to you, Vin. Not again.” (page 287, Chapter 17, TFE).

Are there instances where he disregards the safety of others? He doesn’t care for noblemen. He certainly doesn’t care much for the Ire, though they were trying to forcibly take his God. Many people may argue he doesn’t care for those on Roshar, but this has never been explicitly mentioned in the novels; we hear from players that are literal lightyears away from Kelsier, operating under his orders but without his oversight: they can bend rules and hurt people without being chastised.

Kelsier does not fit this criteria, as the above examples clearly illustrate he cares deeply for the safety of those under his wing.

Consistent Irresponsibility (Inability to hold a job, etc)

“A successful crewleader needs to know how to divide labor, especially on a job as big as this one.”

Throughout the novels, Kelsier has shown consistent responsibility. Before the novels take place, we know he led a successful crew of thieves to the point of massive wealth and infamy. After the Pits, he takes the downfall of the Final Empire under his wing, organizing and spearheading the entire operation on largely his own dime and merit. (It was a multi-headed approach, yes; without Dockson, many things would not have gotten done as well as they had with him, but this just showcases Kelsier’s ability to organize work well.) If we’re getting into the more psychological definition of responsibility (the feeling of being responsible for a person, place, or thing(s) wellbeing) he takes responsibility for the entire planet in Secret History, going so far as to cheating final death, taking up a shard for safe keeping, and giving it up, all to keep his planet, and those he loves, from Ruin.

Leading the Ghostbloods is similar to him leading his crew, only on a far wider and grander scale.

As for him being consistently irresponsible, it’s safe to say he doesn’t fit this. There are a few times when he makes brash decisions that could be labeled as irresponsible, but they fit being impulsive better, which is a trait we know he has.

Lack of Remorse

“Kelsier stood up, turning his back toward the sight. For all his cleverness, he’d gone and broken the poor girl’s heart. I must be the smartest idiot around, Kelsier thought.”

Probably one of the most contentious topics in the fandom is Kelsier’s feelings towards the nobles he kills. Chapter 5 into the beginning of Chapter 7, we are confronted with how he feels towards the men he kills in pursuit of his goal.

It is very safe to say, he doesn’t feel remorse for these men. It’s explained as he descends from the roof, pushing two guards off the balcony to their deaths. He’s angry, he’s determined, and has no pity for those who hold up the Final Empire, especially if their skaa. He does, however, feel remorse for hurting those he cares about; those he wants to protect. The best example of this is Vin: he feels terrible when she’s nearly killed because of his stunt at Kredick Shaw, he feels bad for how he spoke to her before he died, and he’s stricken by his actions in “killing” Elend in an effort for her to keep the power.

Note the actions at the beginning of this scene: “Kelsier was there when she awoke. He sat on the stool by her bed, hands clasped with his elbows on his knees, watching her by the faint light of a lantern.” (Chapter 16, page 267, TFE) Based on Sanderson’s word choice, it is safe to say he’s been watching her for hours, agonized. This is further cemented by a later observation by Vin. “What did one make of a world where a crewleader agonized over his people?” (Chapter 16, page 269, TFE).

He’s also broken up by how he spoke to the army, leading Yeden to “test” the army by striking against a nearby garrison. The entirety of page 419 showcases Kelsier’s thoughts and emotions about this, but I’ll break it up.

“He sat with hands clasped before him…” Remember when he was watching Vin? Similar behavior. “Kelsier shook his head. So many dead. They’d gathered nearly seven thousand troops before this fiasco, but now most of them lay dead. Yeden had apparently decided to “test” the army by striking at night against the Holstep Garrison. What had led him to such a foolish decision?” “Me, Kelsier thought. This is my fault. He’d promised them supernatural aid. He’d set himself up, had made Yeden a part of the crew, and had talked too casually about doing the impossible. Was it any wonder that Yeden had thought he could attack the Final Empire head on, considering the confidence Kelsier had given him? Was it any wonder the soldiers would go with the man, considering the promises Kelsier had made?” “Now the men were dead, and Kelsier was responsible…But, he couldn’t get over the twisting in his gut…the fact that they’d likely died expecting some sort of divine protection from Kelsier…that was disturbing.”

Kelsier fully feels the weight of hubris here, of the secret plan he’s been working on by himself the past few months, that we get a window into during his time in the caves. He feels terrible for what he caused, he fully understands that this was because of him. Safe to say, he feels remorse. You could say this is the comeuppance for his actions with Bilg.

When witnessing the executions, Kelsier opens up about his remorse, as well.

“I wish to the forgotten gods that those boys hadn’t died. Unfortunately, we can’t change that now—we can only use the opening they gave us.” (Chapter 26, page 439, TFE).

Kelsier does not want remorse; he’s full of it. He knows when to put it aside, however, and not let it flood him. Kelsier does not fit this criteria.

Deep Dives Specific scenes in Mistborn are contentious, especially with Kelsier. I have gotten into many arguments with people whom I feel miss the point of the books, and because they have a grudge on a character, fail to see things from their perspective. Therefore, I’m going to go into these specific scenes, break them down, and lay them flat. Imagine it’s a UV Map of a 3D model; all little edges exposed so we can get a good look!

Kelsier and Bilg: Chapter 20 of TFE

Kelsier’s manipulation of Bilg is a key point in the evidence FOR him to be a psychopath, and I want to point out that while Kelsier had very good reasons for doing what he did, I am by no means saying he was moral in doing it. With that out of the way, let’s discuss WHY Kelsier manipulated Bilg into doing what he did, and the emotions that brought him to this point.

It’s not explained outwardly in the text, but Kelsier has some pretty major PTSD surrounding his time in the pits. He pauses before entering the crack, and uses this moment to impress the men; but inwardly he’s not enjoying having to enter this thin crack in the earth and delve into darkness. We get to hear his inner thoughts, but to all others, he’s putting on an act of confidence and bravado. (Pages 346, 347, 352, 353 of Chapter 21, TFE).

During the first tour of the caves, Kelsier is thinking of Mare, her betrayal, and it gets to be so much he asks Hammond to tell him “what he’s thinking about.” Hammond proceeds to ask him a question that seriously disturbs him.

The question, which was if Skaa are meant to be ruled over by the nobility, stayed with him the rest of the week, along with his darkened mood. He realizes, as he’s eating the feast at the end of his visit, that the skaa don’t really believe they can succeed. They need a symbol, a sign, and Kelsier decides to use himself as that symbol.

The reason he chose Bilg and his friends at the table was to scapegoat them into taking the proverbial L for the army. It was all to use his allomancy to empower Demoux and show them they can and will overpower the Final Empire. The reason BIlg had to die was the keep up appearances; those who question their commanding officers were executed. You can argue we don’t know enough about how a militia is ran in the Final Empire, or that it’s nothing like Earth’s military, but as it’s written by an Earth bound man with Earth bound references, I believe it’s a safe thing to assume. Kelsier, whom we’ve already discussed is an impulsive man, got caught up in the moment: his anger from the week spent cooped up in a cave that reminded of hell overcame him. He truly wanted Bilg to die in that moment. He superseded this thought process, reigned himself in, and let him live.

The morality of his actions here can be discussed, and no, it wasn’t ok to manipulate Bilg and Co’s emotions like that. It wasn’t ok to use them as a scapegoat. But I can sure see how it was necessary for a single man to be sacrificed in order to bolster several thousand.

Hoid in the Well: Secret History

When it comes to this scene, I won’t argue that Kelsier was being extra here. The man has been cooped up in a 5x5 spot for a long time, with no answers and seriously questioning his logic at becoming what he’s become. His only companion is an insane, unraveling god who barely speaks most times he “visits.” So when an actual man comes by, floating on what looks to be a corpse, Kelsier is immediately on edge.

All quotes are taken from pages 228 – 233, of Part 2, Chapter 1, of Secret History.

“ “Who are you?” Kelsier asked, stepping to the edge of his prison, eyes narrowed. “A spirit?” “Alas,” the man said, “death has never really suited me. Bad for the complexion, you see.” He studied Kelsier, lips raised in a knowing smile. Kelsier hated him immediately.” “

Seen from Kelsier’s perspective, this is a man that knows things and is holding back. This is a schemeing, conniving man, that is similar to the nobles he’s dealt with all his life. It doesn’t help that Hoid and Kelsier have similar personalities. Note Hoid’s words, “bad for the complexion.” A similar line is used by Kelsier at the very beginning of TFE.

“Fieldwork hasn’t ever really suited me.” Kelsier said. “It’s far too hard on my delicate skin.” (Prologue, page 6, TFE).

“Got stuck there, did you?” the man said. “In Ati’s prison…” He clicked his tongue. “Fitting recompense, for what you did. Poetic, even.” “What I did?” “Destroying the Pits, O Scarred one. That was the only perpendicularity on this planet with any reasonable ease of access.” Kelsier has no idea what a perpendicularity is. Yes, he destroyed it. Did he know what he was doing on a grand scale? No. He was, to his knowledge, destroying the Empire’s main economic driver. Hoid treats him like a criminal when Kelsier was fighting against an unjust Empire, one that Hoid is very familiar with, having been to Scadrial before. Calling him names doesn’t help.

“Who are you?” Kelsier said. “I?” The man said. “I am a driver. A miscreant. The flame’s last breath, made of smoke at it’s passing.” “That’s…needlessly obtuse.” Well said, Kelsier. Hoid plays games, this we know from dealing with him in Stormlight. However, with Kaladin and Shallan he gives half answers, or none at all, in a playful, non-demeaning way. Here he’s laden with vitriol and spite, for no good reason. It gets worse.

“And you claim to not be dead?” “If I were, would I need this?” the Driver said, knocking his oar against the front of his small loglike vessel. [Kelsier notices Spanky for the first time, not knowing what a cognitive shadow just is yet.] “A corpse,” he whispered. “Oh Spanky here is just a spirit. It’s damnably difficult to get about in this subastral—anyone physical risks slipping through these mists and falling, perhaps forever. So many thoughts pool together here, becoming what you see around, and you need something finer to travel over it all.” “That’s horrible.” “Says the man who built a revolution on the backs of the dead. At least I only need one corpse.” Hoid is being ridiculous here. Yes, Spanky is a cognitive shadow, but as I’ve stated, Kelsier has no idea what that is. To his knowledge, this man is riding a corpse around. Hoid is also forgetting that the people Kelsier murdered were far less than innocent; Kelsier can make distinctions here. A rapist and murderer who regularly abuses his peasants is different from a corpse used to wade down a lake of thoughts.

Kelsier folded his arms. This man was wary—thought he spoke lightheartedly, he watched Kelsier with care, and held back as if contemplating a method of attack.

Note the diction here; Kelsier is reading Hoid’s body language as he should; Hoid is planning to use the well to gain purchase in the spiritual realm and take that bead of Lerasium. He isn’t planning anything wrong per se, but Kelsier has no way of knowing that. All Kelsier sees is a man preparing to attack.

“He wants something, Kelsier guessed. Something that I have, maybe? No, he seemed legitimately surprised that Kelsier was there. He had come here, intending to visit the Well. Perhaps he wanted to enter it, access the power? Or did he, perhaps, just want to have a look at the thing Beyond?”

Wrong guesses, but good ones all the same for an ignorant man. Hoid does want something. So far, Kelsier’s waryness is completely justified. He tries to be polite, asking a simple question. “Well, you’re obviously resourceful,” Kelsier said. “Perhaps you can help me with my predicament.” “Alas,” The Driver said. “Your case is hopeless.” Kelsier felt his heart sink. “Yes, nothing to be done,” the Driver continued. “You are, indeed, stuck with that face. By manifesting those same features on this side, you show that even your soul is resigned to you always looking like one ugly sonofa—" “Bastard!” Kelsier cut in. “You had me for a second.”

Instead of even offering Kelsier a crumb of help, he instead insults him, for…very little reason. Hoid rarely kicks people when they’re down; he instead punches up. We notice this with the Rosharan nobility. He doesn’t insult the peasant waitstaff. Why is he insulting Kelsier? There is no reason to do so; he’s just being an ass to be an ass. Kelsier hasn’t even mouthed off yet.

So far Hoid has treated him like an inferior, insulted him and been “needlessly” obtuse, all while showing suspicious body language. Is it any wonder Kelsier is on edge and ready to defend the Well? He knows it’s for Vin; he means to protect it until she can have it.

The two go back and forth for some time, speaking of Kelsier’s bastard nature, skaa versus nobility, and Hoid applying some (I believe it to be dor, but I’m not sure) glowing stuff to his oar. (in an effort to prevent it from de-manifesting). As they speak, Hoid edges closer to the well. Kelsier has been watching him this entire time.

He begins to ask a question again, despite Hoid’s rudeness. “Is there a way to escape this prison?” Kelsier asked. “How about this?” the Drifter said. “We’ll have an insult battle. Winner gets to ask one question, and the other has to answer truthfull. I’ll start. What’s wet, ugly, and has scars on it’s arms?” Another insult to an innocent question, and now Kelsier is very on edge. He’s obviously deflecting. So Kelsier decides to be as extra as possible in an effort to scare him away. Now, a cognitive shadow would, realistically, be as scary as an earthworm to Hoid if it’s not on Threnody, but Kelsier doesn’t know this. Which is why he brings out his “I’m-going-to-murder-you” routine that goes into lurid detail and leaves Hoid speechless. Kelsier even throws in a shrug.

Hoid then dives for the well, and Kelsier grabs him, determined to disable him, kill him, or just prevent him from doing whatever he wants to do in the well. Which leads to their fight, where Kelsier does zero damage to Hoid and Hoid proceeds to torture him incessantly as a “lesson.” He did not need to go as far as he did. If Hoid had been truthful with who he was, what he was after, and perhaps offered explanations, Kelsier would have been less inclined to act rashly. Instead, Hoid is needlessly obtuse, rude, mocking, condescending and tortures him.

It makes his words at the end of RoW amusing to me, as Hoid cheats in this fight and was the aggressor in every definition of the word. Hoid strikes first by the very fact he jumped for the Well. Kelsier was merely defending it.

“Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come there and slap you around again.” (Chapter 115, page 1238, RoW).

To tie this long, rambling, and somewhat insane essay up, Kelsier is not a psychopath. He fits only one of the criteria, and only somewhat fits another. Since one needs to fit three of the traits in order to be diagnosed, the man is free from ASPD. Through the essay, I have showcased his empathy, his understanding, his patience, his trust, and his love of those around him. Hell, he says as much in Secret History when wandering, his soul cracking from loneliness. He’s a flawed man; he can be arrogant, egotistical, and impulsive, but he wants what is best for his people. No one can deny that.

#kelsier #mistborn #cosmere #mywriting #Essay #The Final Empire #Secret History #Eleventh Metal #Brandon Sanderson #Marsh #Vin #ASPD #DSM-V #academic essay #long post

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