#I wrote this in 24 hours

[hoarder-of-dragons]

What we (or atleast I) keep forgetting about the Frankenstan AU is that, Ford taking care of the dead body. No, not the stitching or the temperature regulation but imagine tenderly scrubbing the grime of his skin, washing his hair, do you think he combs it and remembers how he used to look like and he is so tempted to "form" the person in front of him to the kid he remembers from his past and discovering his scars?

Meanwhile Ghost Stan can't make himself look at Ford taking care of his body like a hospital patient he should just die he did die why can't he leave why won't he die he is useless much less deserving of this care

[spaceshipkat]

once more, with feeling

buddie | explicit | 13k Buck goes missing, and Eddie goes crazy.

It’s been three hours since Buck replied to a text, and two hours and fifty-nine minutes since Eddie started worrying. He doesn’t panic, since there could be a logical reason for the radio silence—Buck had said he’s been deep-cleaning the house since four in the morning right after coming off a forty-eight and provided photographic evidence that Chris already made Buck’s new contact picture in Eddie’s phone: apron tied tight around his waist, yellow rubber gloves stretched up to his elbows, hairnet on his head. So it’s entirely possible Buck just passed out from exhaustion.

Then again, Buck also said he’s been making some of Chris’s favorite foods all day in anticipation of their arrival. And while Eddie might not be the best chef in the world, even he knows none of Chris’s favorite foods take three hours to cook. Besides, Buck would have set a dozen different timers to ensure he wouldn’t burn a single macaroni noodle, so there’s no way he could have slept through all of them. (Buck’s slept over often enough, has cooked in Eddie’s kitchen often enough, that he knows Buck always chooses the most obnoxious sounds available on his phone. They could wake a dead man.)

So Eddie worries, but he doesn’t panic. Maybe Buck’s phone died and he hasn’t plugged it in yet. Maybe he’s weeding the backyard and can’t hear his phone. Maybe he’s washing the roof (as if Eddie would ever go up there, let alone Chris) and left his phone inside. It’s unusual for Buck to leave it behind, but stranger things have happened.

It’s just completely unlike Buck to not reply, and fucking strange it would take so damn long. Outside of working a shift, Eddie can count on one hand the number of times Buck took longer than five minutes to reply to a text since Eddie moved to El Paso. But he knows Buck’s just eighteen hours into ninety-six off; it’s why they decided today would be the perfect day for Eddie and Chris to get back, so Chris could have his Buck time uninterrupted. So Eddie wouldn’t be climbing the walls with boredom or nerves while Buck was at work.

Not that Eddie is panicking. He’s not. He’s just . . . mildly concerned, and having a hard time hiding it. Even from Chris.

Then again, Chris is far from being the little kid who can’t see right through every single one of Eddie’s forced smiles.

“Wanna text him we’re almost home?” Eddie asks while idling at a stoplight, the red like a gunshot wound in the evening blue. The turn signal sounds far too taunting, a rhythmic uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh in the quiet car. He forces his teeth to unclench and hopes Chris won’t notice the bleached white of his knuckles on the steering wheel. “Or do you wanna surprise him?”

Chris absentmindedly locks and unlocks the door, and Eddie might scold him for it, but he’s at capacity for worry with every passing minute of silence from his phone. “Surprise him,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “Like I said when you asked me five minutes ago.”

Eddie screws his jaw to the side with a pop. Maybe he was hoping Buck would text Chris back, if he won’t Eddie. But Chris clearly isn’t worried, and Eddie tries to take comfort in that. Chris is about as even-keeled as Eddie usually is, save for the rare moments when Chris proves he’s still a teenager growing into his deepening voice.

The light turns green. Eddie doesn’t floor it—barely.

Chris heaves a sigh and drops his hand off the lock. “Dad, his phone’s probably just dead. He’s been texting you or me or both of us every five seconds since we left El Paso yesterday.”

And since the last few hours of his shift passed without any calls, he’d stayed up with Eddie last night texting. Eddie had been too buzzed from that last coffee he’d bought at a gas station to sleep in the motel room (he’d asked for decaf, but maybe that meant something different in Arizona). It’s possible Buck just forgot to plug his phone in after getting home and sleeping for four hours before rising to start his cleaning spree.

But just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s likely.

Turning onto South Bedford for the first time in four months with his own two hands on a steering wheel carries the same relief as shucking his turnouts after half a day fighting a fire that just wouldn’t die. (He tries not to think about the too-long weeks they all thought Bobby was dead. He tries not to think about that too-tight hug in the airport when he found Buck waiting for him at baggage claim, chin raised and shoulders squared, like he’d decided to mimic Atlas for the few seconds it took him to drop his weight against Eddie and let him share the load. He tries not to think about the too-quiet drive home, Buck grinding his teeth so hard Eddie could hear his molars squeak together.) The relief only doubles when he sees Buck’s jeep sitting in the driveway, though it also doesn’t last long.

“Porchlights aren’t on,” Eddie says, mostly to himself.

Chris snorts. “Well, the sun’s not even set yet.”

Sure, but Buck said he’d leave the light on for Eddie and Chris, and the sky’s that deep kind of blue that makes Eddie homesick for a thing he can’t name. It’s a California blue, the one he ached for every night he looked out the window of his house in El Paso and tried to convince himself he could feel at home there. It’s the blue that always makes Buck remark on the time and make a detour to the front door so he can flick on the porchlight. It was a habit that only existed when he was at Eddie’s house, and always prompted Eddie to invite him to stay for dinner, or a movie, or the night. It was already so late, and he’d be driving back here bright and early the next day anyway, so why bother going home? And Buck would get all pink-cheeked and smiley, shoulders tucked up to his ears, and say, “Well, if you insist,” and Eddie would smirk at him and fetch the bedding from the closet, ignoring the impulse to invite Buck to just share his bed. (It got harder to ignore with every passing day.)

When a shiver snakes up Eddie’s spine, he clenches his teeth once more to hide their sudden chatter. He can’t put his finger on why that lack of light is what makes the worry finally shift gears, but it settles into his bones as he pulls into the driveway behind the jeep. The front door doesn’t open. Another jolt of panic flutters in his chest.

Chris opens the passenger door and Eddie breathes in deep, listening to him climb out with a clatter of his crutches. It still smells the same: asphalt warmed by the sun, saccharine roses from his neighbor’s yard. All that’s missing is the diesel of his truck, and he swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t regret selling it, but he wishes he still had it.

They leave their bags and boxes in the car for now—his sisters insisted on driving the U-Haul out here in a week to bring Eddie the rest of his stuff, so they could finally meet the man Eddie hadn’t shut up about in the months he’d lived in Texas—and Eddie jingles his keys as he follows Chris to the front door. Chris insists on knocking shave and a haircut, because Buck always knocks two bits in answer before he opens the door. Buck and Chris have been doing it since he was little, and it settles something in Eddie, knowing that, no matter how old Chris gets, he’ll always be Buck and Eddie’s kid.

But couplet goes incomplete.

Chris rings the doorbell, shouts, “Buck! Wake up!” and Eddie takes a step back, recalling something he once overheard Athena tell Buck when they were gearing up for one of their occasional escapades. He eyes the street corners, the sidewalk spotlighted in orange by streetlamps. He eyes the cars parked on various curbs—the Jensons down the road swapped their minivan for an SUV while Eddie was gone. He brushes his fingers over the windowsills and checks that the spare key is still hidden in its pot.

Nothing screams something happened here, but it does little to settle Eddie.

“Hold on,” he says, finding the house key he never removed from his keyring. Then he gently nudges Chris behind him and unlocks the door, pushing it open a crack to listen. Chris pokes at his back, but Eddie just holds up a hand and peers inside.

The house looks even cleaner than it had when Eddie was trying to sublet it, and smells like lemon wood polish and ocean breeze Febreze and Buck, his bodywash and his lotion and the cream he uses in his curls.

Eddie steps inside. Nothing moves or makes a sound. He exhales slowly and waves for Chris to enter, then shuts the door and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here.”

Chris raises a brow at him. “Uh, why? The house is clearly empty.”

“Just—” He bites his tongue. There’s no explaining the string that ties Eddie to Buck and Buck to Eddie, no explaining how he always knows when Buck needs him even while states apart or how Buck always knows exactly what Eddie needs to hear when no one else does. There’s no explaining how he knows that something’s wrong. Buck said he would be here, and he isn’t. He wouldn’t have changed his plans, not without good reason, and certainly not without leaving a note. He wouldn’t have spent the past three and a half hours ignoring Eddie’s texts.

“Text him for me,” Eddie says. “And please, Chris, just wait here.”

Chris screws his mouth up in that way that Eddie recognizes from his own mouth, but nods and pulls out his phone. Eddie starts slowly through the house, eyeing every shadow on his way to the kitchen—and hears the ribbit that is Chris’s text sound on Buck’s phone come from the denim jacket draped over the back of a chair at the dining table.

Eddie fishes it out and feels his heart drop into his stomach at the sheer number of missed notifications. His heart drops out of his ass when he spies the two glasses on the table. One has barely a finger of water in it, and the other left a ring of condensation from long-melted ice.

Swallowing hard, he forces himself to slip into the kitchen and finds the oven on but, thankfully, empty. A cookie sheet sits on the stove, holding two foil pans: one with baked macaroni and cheese and another with eight-cheese lasagna. Cookies of all flavors sit in saran-wrapped platters on the island. A pitcher in the fridge holds pink lemonade.

He exhales slow and turns off the oven. Then he calls Athena.

read the rest here on ao3!!!

[batsyheere]

There is just something about Percy Jackson being secretly a genius that is so funny and traumatizing to consider, because he's not smart in the way of a paper test, and while he has street smarts in spades, it's not what makes him scary.

Percy Jackson has the same manic genius energy of Kevin McAllister from home alone. He has sarcasm and wit by the bucket, but doesn't generally apply himself until the point of "I'm in danger". Gym class and bullies? Annoying but all he'll do is complain a little. War games at camp? He'll give his "all" but otherwise there are definitely others better at things.

Toss him into a fight on a quest or involving a prophecy? Strategy, improv, random skill sets and even better one-liners than what usually drips from his vocabulary. He has no clue what he's doing but to everyone else he's a natural disaster made from a planned domino fall line.

[hbyrde36]

Inspired by this TikTok

I wrote this instead of everything else I should be working on, enjoy! 😂

Rating: G | WC: 2494 | AO3

Eddie took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for the night ahead as he walked up the street towards the place he was supposed to meet his blind date.

He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this, but it wasn’t like he was having any luck finding love on his own. 

After several failed long-term relationships with fuckboys that weren’t worth his time and heartache, who ran the second things got real, he joined the apps—quickly realizing that most of the guys he found on there were only looking for sex. Which was fun and all, but Eddie wanted more. 

He was looking for romance, a spark, someone he could see spending his life with, who was also looking for a partner. Someone who wasn’t allergic to commitment. 

So, he’d quit the apps. 

And when Chrissy told him she had a guy she wanted him to meet he figured, fuck it, he’d tried everything else. 

Steve Harrington. 

He was a friend of Robin’s, Chrissy’s new girlfriend who Eddie hadn’t had the chance to meet yet, but apparently the three of them had gotten together last weekend, and now Chrissy was convinced the man and Eddie were perfect for each other. 

“On the surface it’s giving opposites attract,” she’d said, “but under the carefully styled hair and button down shirts, Steve is not at all what you’d expect. He’s kind, funny, a little weird, and way different than the guys you usually go for—but in the best way. Just give it a chance. I promise at the very least you’ll have a good time and maybe make a friend.”

Eddie wasn’t so sure that’d be the case, but he was here, willing to give it a go, and he had a trick up his sleeve. A little idea he’d stolen from a TikTok video that had, so far, a 100% success rate for exposing duds.

He reached his destination and pushed open the door, entering the warm dimly lit restaurant, and before he’d even reached the hostess stand noticed a man rising from his seat, smiling and waving—waving at him.

And oh, oh Chrissy had better count her days because Eddie was going to fucking kill her. Steve, assuming this was the guy, was quite literally the hottest man he’d ever seen in real life. 

She couldn't warn a guy?  

Eddie raised his hand, absently returning the wave as he continued to stare a little dumbstruck at his date. 

Get it together, Munson. 

Mercifully, Eddie was able to snap out of it enough to put one foot in front of the other again and make his way over to their booth.

There was an awkward moment where Steve couldn’t seem to make up his mind between shaking Eddie’s hand, or hugging him in greeting. 

Honestly Eddie wasn’t sure of the protocol either since it was his first blind date. He supposed this was to be expected. Not only were they about to embark upon the supremely awkward adventure that was every first date ever, but they were also meeting for the very first time having never seen or spoken to each other before.    

In the end it became one of those half-and-half bro hugs with the little pat on the back, before they took their seats opposite one another. 

Steve was the first to break the silence. “It’s good to meet you, Chrissy told me a lot about you.” 

“Wish I could say the same.” Eddie muttered under his breath. 

“Oh, um.”

“Sorry, it’s—I didn’t mean,” Eddie shook his head at himself. “Ignore me.”

“No, I'm sorry.” Steve raked a hand over his face. “It’s weird right? This is weird. I tried to tell Robin—I mean, who even goes on blind dates anymore!”

It surprised a laugh out of Eddie that he couldn’t have held back if he tried. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. 

Great job, Munson, laugh at the guy—great way to make a first impression. 

But then Steve was cracking a little lopsided smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly with it. He didn’t seem offended, or mad. 

Fuck. 

He wasn’t just dangerously hot, he was cute too. 

Eddie tugged lightly on his shirt collar, and cleared his throat. “It’s a little weird, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

Their server chose that moment to arrive and introduce herself, taking their drink order—some local craft beer Eddie had never heard of for Steve, a Jack and coke for himself—and Eddie used the temporary distraction to try and regain some composure. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already hoping this would go somewhere, that Steve would be different from all the others.

But when the server had gone and it was just the two of them again, Steve opened his mouth and Eddie instantly flashed back to every bad first date he’d been on.

“So, what’s your favorite—”

Steve hadn’t even finished asking his first question before Eddie was interrupting, raising a hand to tick off each response on his fingers as he went.

“Black, metal, D&D, the 1999 cinematic masterpiece The Mummy starring our lord and savior Brendan Fraser, The Silmarillion, cheeseburgers, Halloween, aaaaand—a dog.”

Steve blinked at him. “...What?”

“My favorite color, genre of music, hobby, movie, book, food, holiday, and of course the classic—if I could be any animal, what animal would I be and why?” 

Eddie let his hand fall to the table with a soft thud. “Dog—hands down. And I know I look more like someone who’d say black cat or something like that, but I enjoy attention and physical affection far too much to be an aloof feline. Shaggy lovable mutt seems way more my speed.”

By the end of his speech, Steve was grinning from ear to ear, nodding in understanding.

Eddie gave half a shrug, blushing a bit under the full force of Steve’s dazzling smile. “Thought I'd save us some time and speed-run the same old, same old.”

A moment later their drinks arrived and they both sat up a little straighter reflexively as the server set each glass down on cocktail napkins in front of them before scurrying off. 

They’d been leaning in towards each other without even realizing, it seemed. It was Steve’s turn to blush now, Eddie noted with delight as he raised his glass to his lips, grateful to have something to do with his hands.

“I take it you’ve been on a lot of first dates?” Steve asked, taking a long sip from his own drink.

“A few.” Eddie said, tilting his cup to swirl the ice around. “You?”

Steve made a waffling motion with his head. “A few.” 

Eddie took another sizable swig from his glass, focusing for a moment on the burn of the whiskey and the tingle of soda bubbles in his throat as he swallowed, and carefully set his cup down on the table between them. It was almost empty already—should have asked for a double. 

“Okay, my turn, “ he said.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You wanna know my favorite color?”

“No, there’ll be plenty of time to find that out later.”

“Presumptuous of you.”

Eddie hummed noncommittally. “More… hopeful.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

Here goes nothing—

“What would you do if we moved in together and I started seeing ghosts and told you that our house was haunted?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, giving Eddie that soft crooked smile again, and damn if it wasn’t becoming one of Eddie’s favorite things. Can you be obsessed with something you’ve only seen twice?

Steve was quiet for a long moment, nearly draining his beer as he thought it over, but eventually set his own drink down beside Eddie’s and looked him dead in the eye. “Is it a nice ghost or a scary ghost? Are we talking banging on walls and rearranging furniture at 3am? Or a cold yet comforting presence in the corner.” 

Eddie put on a show of thinking about it, rubbing his chin and staring off into space as he tried desperately to contain his excitement. He’d never had the question go over this well before. 

Then their server was back, asking if they wanted another round—yes, of course—and if they were ready to order. They hadn’t even cracked open their menus yet, too distracted with talking. 

“Do you know what you want?” Steve asked him.

Eddie swallowed hard. 

You.

“I-I’m not picky. Order for me? Chrissy said you come here a lot so I’m sure you know what’s good.”

Without hesitation Steve ordered them a burger each, and a plate of some sort of fancy fries to share, apparently they had the best fries. 

It hadn’t been another test, honest. Eddie really didn’t care what he ate, this was already turning out to be his best date in far too long—and It could have been a coincidence, maybe Steve ordered burgers there all the time, but Eddie chose to believe it meant Steve had been listening. Test or not, he’d passed with flying colors.

When they were alone again Eddie smoothed his hands along the table, drawing invisible patterns with his fingers and finally answered Steve’s question. 

“Let’s go with scary ghost, but remember you have no proof, you haven't seen it with your own eyes, just my word.”

Steve waved him off as if that was inconsequential, upending his glass to get the last dregs of the beer, and wiping his lips on the back of his hand.

“Okay, well then it depends on how hands on you want to be. We could consult WitchTok, try and cleanse the house ourselves, ask the spirit to leave, that kinda thing. Or maybe find a priest who’d be willing to help us out? That might be a little more difficult since the church isn’t usually our biggest fans, but I could deal with a little homophobia to make sure you were happy and comfortable in our home.”

Eddie’s stomach flipped, heart beginning to race. He wasn’t surprised exactly, Steve had been blowing past his expectations at every turn already, but there was no more perfect answer to his admittedly insane first date question.

So naturally, he had to push. 

“What if I wanted to move?”

Steve shrugged. “Then we’d move.” 

Eddie stared at him incredulously. Steve said it like it was nothing, like uprooting his entire life for some crazy shit was akin to changing his socks. This was all hypothetical, Eddie knew that, and Steve could just be telling him what he wanted to hear, but Eddie had a feeling he was telling the absolute truth

“But we’d be out, at minimum, a month’s rent and security deposit, and what if the landlord won’t let us out of the lease?!” Eddie threw his hands up, suddenly taking his own game much too seriously. “Or godforbid we’d bought the place, then we’d have to sell it and all our money would be tied up in it, and—”

Steve reached out and took Eddie’s hands with his own, gently stroking his thumbs along the back of them. “Baby—baby it’s okay. No amount of money would be worth you feeling unsafe.”

And Eddie was simply going to pass away, because what the fuck—how was this man so perfect?

“Why—how are you single?”

Steve flashed a sad, self deprecating smile. “I’ve been told I can be a little… intense.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, historically speaking…”

Eddie leaned over the table, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. “I happen to like intense.”

Steve sucked in a breath, cheeks flushing again with the most glorious shade of pink. “Good to know.”

They stayed hand in hand talking for a long time, taking turns asking each other the most random questions they could think of. 

“Favorite episode of The Twilight Zone?” Eddie asked. 

“Oh, easy. I don’t know the name of it but it’s the one where the kid is lost and her parents can hear her in the house panicking, but they can’t see her?” 

Eddie nodded his approval. “Little Girl Lost, good choice.” God he was falling more in love by the second. 

“Favorite Abba song.” Steve countered. 

Eddie grinned. “How do you know I even have one? Mean scary metalhead like me.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and shot him a look that clearly stated he found Eddie neither mean or scary. “Everybody likes Abba.”

“Well played.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip. He felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. “Fine—while Dancing Queen holds a special place in my heart, and maybe this makes me a gay cliche, but Gimme, Gimme, Gimme fucking slaps.” 

It went on and on like that until eventually their food arrived, forcing them to separate. They still spoke as they finished their meal, and settled their tab, but Eddie missed the warmth of Steve’s hand in his already. 

He suddenly understood why some couples chose to sit together on the same side of a booth. He’d happily look like a dork right now to have the opportunity to be pressed up against Steve’s side, to be able to slide a hand along his thigh and maybe—

“Eddie?” 

Steve’s slightly raised voice found him in his daydream, snapping him out of it abruptly. 

“Wha..?”

“Did I lose you there for a second?” Steve asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Eddie rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, sorry, um—you were saying?”

“I said, I'm having a really good time, and I know we already paid the bill but I really don’t want this night to end, so—” Steve slid out of his seat and moved to stand in front of him, holding a hand out—which Eddie took immediately, of course, and let Steve pull him to his feet. 

“I was wondering if you’d want to take this back to my apartment? Y’know, so we can plan a second date?” He finished with a smirk.

Jesus Christ. 

Warmth shot through Eddie’s body at the implications but he found his heart skipping a beat too, because as much as Steve was teasing, Eddie knew somehow that he meant it about the second date. 

He couldn’t believe his luck, Steve was everything Chrissy had made him out to be, and so much more. He was going to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers tomorrow, and maybe an edible arrangement. Were those still a thing?

Eddie leaned in, letting his lips brush along the shell of Steve’s ear as he spoke. “It’s not haunted, is it?” 

Steve shivered, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling their bodies flush. “No, but if you’re interested I can think of a few other ways to make you scream.”

Thanks as always to the lovely @penny00dreadful for everything😘😘😘

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari

[little-cereal-draws]

Dinner Time

“You made it, you have to eat it,” Shellington said. “You can’t leave the table until it’s all gone.”

Tunip chirped and Shellington sighed.

“I know you made the mashed algae because Peso requested it, that was very nice of you. But everybody else had some so you have to have some too.”

Tunip shook his head.

“It’s just a wee bit of algae. How do you know you don’t like it if you won’t try it? Mmmmm.” Shellington rubbed his stomach in mock culinary bliss.

“It’s alright, Shellington,” Captain Barnacles said, putting a paw on Shellington’s arm. “We can eat the rest of it.”

“It’s not actually about the algae, Captain, it’s about getting him to eat a vegetable!” Shellington ran his hands down his face, happy demeanor disappearing. “I just— I don’t know where this came from! None of the vegimals have wanted to eat their vegetables for- for weeks now! Every meal is a battle!”

Tunip chirped indignantly.

“It’s not cannibalism!” Shellington burst out. “We’ve been over this!”

“Easy, Shellington,” Captain Barnacles said.

“They eat loads of vegetables,” Kwazii said, putting his plate in the sink. “What about kelp biscuit? Kelp’s a vegetable, isn’t it?”

Tunip nodded.

“Yes, but it’s also a biscuit. There’s a lot of sugar in them.” Shellington looked at Tunip’s algae covered plate. “Ok… Eat half of it.”

Tunip’s eyes widened. “Cheepa choopo!”

“It’s not disgusting! It’s healthy! Either you eat half of it or you eat all of it.” Shellington folded his arms.

Tunip grumbled and poked the algae with his fork.

“I trust you to handle this,” Captain Barnacles said, “but sometimes a compromise is needed.”

“We just did compromise. He only has to eat half of it.”

Tunip glared at Shellington as he pushed it around his plate.

Captain Barnacles sighed. “Alright. I’ll be back later to check on… the situation.”

“You hear that, Tunip? Half the algae has to be gone before Captain Barnacles comes back,” Shellington said.

Tunip protested, looking to his captain for help.

“Um… Listen to Shellington. Bye,” Captain Barnacles said awkwardly. He quickly hurried towards the hatch, Kwazii right on his heels. As they left he whispered, “I love kids but I don’t think I would know what to do in situations like these.”

Much louder Kwazii added, “It sounds like a nightmare honestly!”

They disappeared down the hatch and Shellington huffed.

“Please, Tunip,” he said, “just half of it.”

Tunip put his head down on the table.

“Please don’t be like this. Everyone else has left! Wouldn’t you like to go play?”

Tunip nodded, still not lifting his head.

“Then eat half of your plate.”

Tunip cried out and slowly slid off his seat onto the floor.

“Do you want a biscuit?” Shellington asked.

Tunip immediately stopped whining and clung to the strap of Shellington’s bag with an eager smile.

“You’ll get a biscuit,” Shellington carefully negotiated, “if you eat half your plate.”

Tunip’s face dropped.

The floodgates opened.

He rolled around on the dining room floor, crying and waving his tiny fists.

After a minute, Shellington exclaimed, “Fine! This! You have to eat this much.”

He took the fork and scooped a bit of the algae on it. He held it out and Tunip looked at it warily.

“Only one bite.”

Tunip slowly came over, holding onto Shellington’s leg as he braced himself for the horrible vegetable.

“Ready? Here it comes.” Shellington moved the fork towards him but Tunip didn’t move. Shellington’s smile strained. “I… I need you to open your mouth.”

Tunip didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the fork. Shellington gently nudged it against his lips but Tunip didn’t open his mouth.

“C’mon, Tunip,” he said.

Tunip turned his head away and chirped.

“Tunip.”

“Cheepa.”

“Tunip, open your mouth.”

“Cheepa.”

Shellington took a deep breath, shaking with barely controlled frustration. He gritted his teeth. “Fine. You don’t have to eat it.”

Tunip looked up at him hopefully.

“Just open your mouth so I can at least wipe it across your tongue.”

“Cheepa cheepo chi chu!”

“Ok, fINE!!” Shellington threw his hands up. “You can have a biscuit!”

Tunip happily bounced over to the cupboard and got out the cookie jar.

“I’m so tired,” Shellington mumbled, putting his head down on the table.

The hatch wooshed open and Captain Barnacles appeared. “How’s it go— Oh dear.“

Shellington slowly turned his head to look at him. “I lost, Captain.”

Tunip climbed up into Shellington’s lap, still happily munching away.

“Um, yes. Yes, you did.” Captain Barnacles put a comforting paw on his back. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

“Augh, don’t remind me,” Shellington groaned.

“Do you want me to take him?” Captain Barnacles asked.

“Yes, please.” Shellington took the jar from Tunip, placing it far from his grasp, before lifting him. “I suppose it’s too late for me to take a nap?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Captain Barnacles put Tunip on his shoulders. “Ok, Tunip, let’s go watch Professor Inkling beat Kwazii at ping-pong.”

Tunip chirped excitedly.

Captain Barnacles turned around. “Shellington, do you need—“

Shellington softly snored.

Tunip giggled.

“Wow, that was fast. Sleep tight,” Captain Barnacles whispered. He turned the light off, finally letting Shellington rest.

[sinofwriting]

Causing Problems - Max Verstappen

Words: 2,365 Summary: After learning about his girlfriends first time, it’s safe to say that Max is not happy. Note(s)/Warnings: Leclerc!Reader, Talks of Sex/Losing Virginity. Mentions/Talks of Underage Sex. Past Pierre/Reader. Also there is french here, didn’t use google translate, but still used a translator, so sorry if any of it’s wrong.

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“Don’t judge me.”

His brows raise and he can’t help but smile. “What could I ever judge?”

She shoots him a disbelieving look, but sighs. “I was fourteen.”

His eyes widened.

“See judge!”

He shakes his head, “no, no. No judgment, just,” he pauses unsure how to phrase it. “Lorenzo and Charles let you have a boyfriend at fourteen?”

She snorts, ten years had passed and the two and now Arthur wrinkled their nose at the idea of her with a boy. They were somewhat fond of her and Max together. “No, I,” she pauses, feeling herself get a little flustered as she thinks about who and how she lost her virginity.

“It was a friend.” Her voice is a little fond, but she squeezes Max’s hand letting him know it’s not the person she’s fond of but rather just the memory. Her eyes flicker upwards to meet the Dutch’s eyes. Seeing how warm they are and his earnest nod to continue, she does.

“We were in France for a race.” She squeezes his hand again, “you won that one.” She tells him, smiling at his eyes crinkling at her pause. “We decided to stay with his family for the night instead of at the racetrack or just driving home. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go down to the basement, hoping to wear myself out by uh,” she pauses trying to think of the word in English.

“Pacing?” He offers, having seen her do it a few times.

She nods, smiling wide. “Yes, pacing. But when I got there, he was also there unable to sleep. We talked for a bit and then things got a bit tense and we ended up having sex.” She shrugs, with a little laugh. “It was a little odd since we both hadn’t done it before. But it was good.”

“Did you orgasm?” He can’t help but ask.

“Surprisingly, yes.” A flare of jealousy hits him at the knowledge that some fourteen year old kid got a girl off his first time having sex, while he didn’t when he was eighteen. But it leaves just as quickly as it came, shock replacing it with her next words. “But after all the French are known for being generous lovers and Pierre is quite French, no?” She laughs.

“Pierre?” He asks, brain struggling to comprehend what she said.

“Yes, Pierre.”

The confirmation makes him a blink and god he can’t believe the balls on the French driver. Charles was insanely overprotective. Then again, if Charles had any idea what his best friend and little sister had done he wouldn’t be alive but at the bottom of the river.

Then a thought strikes him, Pierre and her weren’t not the same age. A fourteen year old virgin didn’t make her cum but rather a seventeen year old one and suddenly anger is boiling in his stomach.

“He was seventeen.” His voice is surprisingly blank.

“Yes, Pierre is three years older than me.” She looks at him, worryingly. “Max, are you okay?”

—

“Gasly!” The frenchman’s head jerks to the left at the sound of his last name in such anger.

He stares wide eyed at the dutch driver. His jaw was twitching, face red, and fists clenched. He had only seen Max this angry a couple of times before but never was it directed at him. “Max.” He ends up saying, eyes flickering around the room. Hoping that Charles, Daniel, Lando, Alex, or George know what’s going on, but they all look just as confused. His eyes catch on Y/N, who’s looking at Max with wide eyes of her own.

“Fourteen.” The word is gritted out and Pierre’s eyes are back on him, more confusion filling him.

“What?”

He couldn’t think of anything that would make Max this mad involving the number fourteen. Lap fourteen had been fine this race. They hadn’t yet gotten to race fourteen of the season. It couldn’t be the year 2014, they didn’t have any contact that year.

“Fourteen.” Max repeats, putting a weird emphasis on the word as it comes out quieter than before.

Pierre’s eyes flicker to the only girl in the room, hoping she’ll know what it’s about and when his eyes move to look at her it hits him and his eyes are moving back to Max. Understanding him. “Oh, fourteen.”

“Yes,” the Dutch driver’s jaw twitches again. “Fourteen.”

He can’t help but glance around the room taking in how the other guys are still looking at Max and now him in confusion. He notes that Charles has gotten up, clearly ready to interfere. Get in between them if it comes down to it. And Pierre winces. There would be no getting out of this. He’d have to come clean and perhaps lose Charles’ friendship forever.

“Would you like to hit me and then talk? Or talk and then hit me?” He offers Max, figuring that no matter what he’d end the night with some bruises.

Suddenly she’s standing in between them, gently resting a hand on Max’s chest. “There won’t be any hitting. Words only.” She tells Max, her eyes flickering to her brother as she says it. His expression of confusion only deepened at the words also directed towards him as he sat back down.

She pushes Max to sit down on the floor next to Daniel and a space between him and Charles where she would sit in a moment. She turns to face Pierre.

“Je suis désolé, Pierre.” (I’m so sorry, Pierre.) She apologizes, twisting her fingers together in a way that makes him wince.

He shakes his head, standing and maybe he shouldn’t but he pulls her into a hug. Keeping his hands clearly in Max’s sight. There was no need to make him any madder. “Non, bébé calmar. Tu ne t'excuses pas. C'est bien.” (No, baby squid. You don’t apologize. It’s fine.) He pulls away from her, giving her hand a squeeze before taking a step back. “C'est à vous de partager.” (It is for you to share.)

“Ce n'est pas seulement le mien.” (It is not just mine.)

He shakes his head, had he hoped that Charles would never know, yes. But he had always known that one day he’d find out. He could only be happy that he got a decade more of his friendship. “C'était toujours le tien.” (It was always yours.)

She looks like she is going to argue more and he expects her to. It was such a Leclerc thing to do, argue until you got your way. But she doesn’t. She gives him another sorry look before sitting in between Max and Charles. Ignoring the soft nudge that her brother gives her.

“Max,” Pierre starts to say, but stops not sure what to say, what to do. Did the younger driver want an apology? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t something he could apologize to Max for. The only person he really could offer an apology to was Charles and that was only for not telling him sooner.

Pierre and Y/N had spoken about it after it happened. It wasn’t something they could really ignore or pretend didn’t happen. They had even spoken about it a little over a year ago when Kika had found out. Kika made a joke about it as they all went for dinner, a little wine drunk, but hoping to see Pierre get a little flustered. He nearly smiles at the thought of Kika. She really was amazing, far better than he deserved, and her easy acceptance of what happened between them when they were so young.

“Fourteen, Pierre. She was fourteen.” Max’s voice draws him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, and I was seventeen.”

His acknowledgement makes Max wince and he catches Alex’s wide eyes and knows that he’s realized what this about or at least has a good idea of it. “And you just,” Max starts, before shaking his head. “That was fine with you?”

“I wouldn’t do it again, if that’s what you are asking.” Pierre sighs when Max’s expression doesn’t change. “Max, your issue with this is the age difference. And I imagine it’s worse because of Kika, yes?”

Max nods.

He presses his lips together, murmuring to himself in french under his breath. “I never intended for it to happen, Max. We were kids. Me less so, but still young, foolish.”

“What happened?” Charles speaks for the first time, looking between Pierre and Max. “What happened when you were seventeen?”

Pierre sighs, but before he can speak, she does.

“Charles, do you remember when you were fifteen, we went to that race in France and we stayed with Pierre’s family for the night?”

He nods after a second. “Yes, Papa didn’t want to stay at the track or drive home that night.”

“I couldn’t sleep that night, so I went down to the basement so I could pace.”

“You still do that.” Charles interrupts her, the words fond.

“Yes. But Pierre was also there, he couldn’t sleep either. We ended up talking.”

Charles nods, because yes that made sense. She didn’t like pacing if someone else was in the room and awake. Would rather talk until she fell asleep.

“Pierre and I,” she pauses before slipping into french. “nous avons fait l'amour.” (We had sex.)

“Non.” His mouth is open, disbelief in his eyes. “Non. Vous deux ne l'avez pas fait.” (No. You two did not.)

“Charles,” she lays a hand on his arm. “We did. It was in the moment and never happened again.”

“But you were so young. Just a baby.” His face is horrified and everyone in the room knows now what Max bursting in was about.

Her brows furrow. “I was not a baby. I was fourteen.”

Charles makes a pained noise and then his attention turns to Pierre, a fire in his eyes.

“You!” He points at Pierre. “How could you! She’s my sister. My baby sister!”

He puts his hands up. “We didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I went down to the basement to watch tv because I couldn’t sleep. Not to have sex for the first time with your sister.” His fists clench, wanting to say something more, but unable to say anything but, “Je suis désolé, Charles. J'aurais dû,” (I’m sorry, Charles. I should have,)

“Non.” Charles shakes his head, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear it. You should have told me sooner. Not wait so long. I need time. She was a baby, Pierre.” He says the last sentence quietly and Pierre knows that his insistence makes no sense to her or the rest of the people in the room, but he understands.

He had been the one to hold Charles after his father made him promise to always take care of her, to watch over her, to protect her. Had cemented that she was his baby sister, she needed protection, to Charles. Had promised to help Charles with that promise.

“I need time, calamar.” His voice is gentle, but there’s a raw element to it.

“Of course, Charles.” As he stands to look around the room, he has to look away at the different looks some of the drivers give him. Moving out of the weird sort of circle the driver’s had formed when they first entered Charles’ room hours ago, he stops just before the entryway.

“Y/N if,”

“I know, Pierre.” She stops him before he can continue, already knowing what he’s going to say. “Give Kika my love.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Of course.” And with that he slips out of the room.

—

“Are you better, Max?” She asks, when nearly an hour later they are back in his hotel room, a glass of wine in her hand.

He winces, “I’m sorry. My anger got the better of me.”

She nods, lips pressing together. A little embarrassment still lingering inside of her. It wasn’t Lando, Daniel, Alex, or George knowing. It was Charles. It was her older brother, her closest brother. She had never wanted Charles to know that much about her and Pierre. She knew just like Pierre even if they had hoped it wouldn’t come out, that it would. She had just figured it would come out that yes, they had sex together. It was one time, maybe that they were each other’s firsts but that was it.

She didn’t want him to know that it was in France. After a race, in Pierre’s home. She especially didn’t want him to know that she had been fourteen. It made her shrink a little, knowing that he knew that. And yet she didn’t hate Max for letting that loose. She was a little angry with him, but it was her own fault. She should have never been so careless to let it slip that it was Pierre when he was close by. Should have waited for summer break, when they were in completely different countries.

“I’m angry with you.” She was not going to hide that. “I didn’t want Charles to know that. All of that. Pierre and I figured that at some point it would come out, but he was not supposed to know all of that.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again. “I,” he pauses. “My temper, it needs to be worked on.”

She nods again, “You are better than before. You’ve grown much since.” She sighs, placing the glass down and turning to look at him. “I should have waited until summer break.”

He shakes his head, “no, this was all me. And I’ll apologize to Pierre as well.” He looks a little pained at the thought.

“Good. He deserves one.”

“Yes, he does.”

She looks at him, taking in the regretful expression on his face. The way his body is slightly curled in. Grabbing her glass of wine, she tosses the rest of the glass back, before setting it back down and taking her shirt off.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She tells him, thumbs pressing between her skin and her pants as she starts to take them off. “You’re going to join me.”

“I am?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am.” Max nods, eyes wide as he watches her completely strip.

“Good. Hurry. It’ll be cold without you.” She tells him, before walking to the bathroom, the door slightly closed behind her as the sound of the shower fills the room.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

you’ve got too much to wear on your sleeve

4136 words // rated g

“Uh, sorry.” He stares down at Eddie’s shoes. “I just think I’m- I’m kind of scared.” He eventually understood, intellectually, why Ali left him. It was a lot. She didn’t really get the scope of what she was signing up for. His leg had turned something fun and casual into something suddenly dead fucking serious. So, yeah, he understood, but he’s not sure until this moment that he really, actually understood. Tommy’s down that hall somewhere, and he got hurt at his job which is dangerous, and Buck is wondering how awful it would be to flee back through all the hallways and out of Pasadena to parts of the city he knows better, and go and find a nice safe girl with a nice safe job so his chest won’t ever feel like this. Or, only feel like this sometimes, with Eddie or Hen and Chimney and Bobby, or Maddie, people who he’s already seen bleed so he knows they can do it.

—

Tommy’s helicopter goes down. Buck fixes the station AC unit.

[jaynovz]

Chapters: 1/6 Word count: 1600 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jayce/Viktor (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Viktor POV, gapfiller, S1A1 timeskip, 5+1, Prompt Fill, excessive touching, Jayce’s Huge Hands, Hand Kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, Viktor Character Study, Canon Disabled Character, Pining, Fluff, Comedy, UST, They Fell In Love the Very First Night and Are Playing Catchup to That Fact, Eventual Smut, Science Nonsense I Fully Fucking Made Up

--   Summary:

"When Viktor has sought out bed partners previously to work off steam, he's chosen men more… similar to himself, in looks, in stature, in disposition. To put a finer point on it, none of those men have been Jayce fucking Talis, the only person who has ever matched Viktor in ambition and intellectual pursuit, his equal, most definitely the first actual friend he has ever made, and oh yes coincidentally also, tall, dark, broad, unfairly handsome, with gargantuan, capable blacksmith’s hands."

--

Aka five times Viktor noticed his new partner has huge wandering fuckoff paws, plus the one time he did something about it.

--

Helloooo, first foray in Arcane fic, didn’t think it would be this one, let’s goooo.

This fic brought to you by me reading this Tumblr post by @fuckyeahisawthat​:

“See the thing is that I think that in general Viktor would not have a thing for big beefy dudes who can wrap their hands all the way around his slutty little consumptive waist because I think he's deeply allergic to anyone treating him like he is delicate or fragile including but maybe especially in sexual situations. That shit is NOT a turn-on for him. Which makes it unbelievably annoying when he can't stop thinking about Jayce Talis and his huge fucking hands.”

And I just went fully out of my gourd I guess, lmao. This will be a pretty standard 5+1, six chapters, and be assured, they will fuck at the end.

I’m just kinda busy IRL right now so I churned out the first chap for yall, then I gotta work on the rest after finishing my move to a new city. But it’s all outlined, I know exactly what happens etc. :DD

Anyway, enjoy! <333

[atlasblue85]

what's left if i let you go? G, 1k

“Just let me say sorry,” Buck says, a note of pleading in his voice. Eddie fixes him with a look, stern but gentle. “You already did that.” Buck hunches a little against the morning chill and wraps his hands tighter around the cup of coffee. “If you were already gone when this happened…” “I’m not,” Eddie says firmly. “I’m right here.”

a post 8x10 coda for @young-waverer

[khaire-traveler]

Hermes is the exhausted traveler who spent almost a full twenty four hours traveling from one place to the next. He drags his feet along the floor as he lugs his overstuffed suitcase of souvenirs behind him then immediately perks up when he sees the time and rushes to make his next flight.

Hermes is the excited tourist who struggled to save thousands of dollars for the chance to visit another country that they've admired for so long. He zips around from place to place, stopping to take photos of the gorgeous sights he may never see again, and he dives in head first at any opportunity to participate in or witness cultural traditions.

Hermes is the newly-wed groom who enthusiastically jumped on his flight with his spouse for his first honeymoon. He tenderly holds hands with his lover, resting their heads on one another, as they both stare, wide-eyed, at a strikingly clear sky populated with glistening stars and makes a wish as he mistakes a satellite for a comet.

Hermes is the single father who desperately needed a vacation but couldn't find a babysitter in time. He smiles contently as he lounges on a beach chair, soaking up the sun, and watches his two girls pretending to be sea monsters in the ocean's waters a few feet away.

Hermes is the college frat boy who travelled to the beach a couple cities away for his spring break vacation. He chugs down another glass of beer and belts out karaoke with his best friend to the song I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston at 3am, likely annoying their neighbors in the hotel room next door.

Hermes is the fragile old man who finally got the chance to return to his home country after years of having no choice but to live abroad. He smiles nostalgically at the small town he grew up in, sipping at a cup of coffee as he sits in an old café he used to visit often, admiring the scenery and feeling torn about how much things have changed in his absence.

Hermes is the anxious student who managed to get an opportunity studying abroad with their school. He nervously examines the map of the metro lines and stations, attempting to catch a metro back to his temporary housing after a full day of wandering the city and being too afraid to ask a stranger for directions.

Hermes is the young boy who took his first plane ride alone to visit his dad after the separation. He shyly converses with the nice lady seated next to him on the plane, sharing very little information but enjoying the company regardless.

Hermes takes the form of all travellers. His spirit journeys with us as we travel by plane, car, bus, or train. He waits in line for the metro ticket by our sides, he rocks out to our favorite songs with us in our cars, he squeezes our hands during the turbulence on the plane, he stares out the bus window with us as we listen to headphones.

Hermes is the spirit of The Traveller, and on every trip we take, every journey we embark on, every first step on the road of life, he wishes us safe travels.

[soupandsorcery]

“I don’t hate the word boyfriend,” Rune says, picking up the thread of a days old conversation like the response has just come to him. And okay…it’s possible that it has, but that’s just for him to know. “It just makes me feel like a teenager with a crush.” 

Addam smiles, metal fingers curling around Rune’s ankle where it’s slung into his lap. “Am I to understand then, Hero,” he says, amusement and that teasing fondness making his voice deeper than usual. “That you would not have had a crush on me when you were a teenager?” 

Before Rune can finish being flustered by Addam’s tone, Brand is snorting from his place in the armchair across the room. 

“Hey. Shut up,” Rune says, and points at him for emphasis. 

Brand, predictably, ignores him. “He absolutely would have had a fucking crush on you back then. You would have come over with your smile and your accent and your dimples, and this one would have swooned all over his fucking self. All I would have heard for weeks was ‘did you see the way he looked at me, Brand? Do you think he likes me, Brand?’ Worse, I would have had to feel him crushing on you through the bond because his control was shit as a teenager. Fucking embarrassing.” 

“That’s offensive,” Rune replies. 

“Truth hurts,” Brand shoots back, shrugging a shoulder. 

Addam’s still grinning, showing off the very dimples in question, and Rune doesn’t think he can be blamed for the way his whole torso goes a little gooey at the sight. Teenage Rune would’ve had good taste, at least, if Brand’s right. Which he isn’t. Mostly.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my dimples in such a complimentary way, Brandon,” Addam says. “I’m flattered. And even moreso that you think they would have been enough to send Rune swooning into your arms.” 

Brand rolls his eyes. “It’s not the compliment you think it is, Saint Nicholas. You flash those things all the time when you want to get your way. That’s where Quinn gets it from. And Rune’s just weak to that pretty boy shit.” 

“You can’t be mean to me,” Rune complains. “I’m still recovering. I had an ordeal.” 

“Oh now you’re recovering. This morning when I caught you trying to sneak down to the beach without having breakfast it was ‘fuck off, Brand, I’m fine’.” 

“That was then.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

The two of them have a familiar stare down: Rune makes a pitiful face that he knows will just make Brand laugh at him, and Brand tries to keep his expression as flat as he can make it. The waves of good humor echo through the bond from both ends though, and Rune’s heart is very full. 

“I like the two of you like this,” Addam says after a bit. “It is always intriguing to see you in a fight, working together and reading each other's minds, but I much prefer when your odd version of telepathy can be applied this way.” 

“What, Brand using our sacred, special bond to bully me? Are you condoning this?” Rune asks, pretending to be outraged. “You’re supposed to be defending my honor, Addam. That’s sort of your job as my fiance and literal knight in shining armor.” 

“And if I thought your honor was in danger, I would certainly leap to your defense,” Addam replies evenly.

Brand laughs at that, and Rune folds his arms, lips turning down into an exaggerated pout. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Addam continues, glancing at the pair of them. “I think that perhaps Rune would not have been the only one who was weak to ‘that pretty boy shit’, as Brand so colorfully put it. I think that if I worked at it, I could have had you both.” 

It’s an Addam level mic drop as he slides out from under Rune’s legs and makes a show of stretching. His arms reach overhead, and he pushes up onto his toes so his muscles pull into one tight line. A few inches of that lovely tanned skin flash as Addam’s shirt rides up, then disappear when he sinks back to his feet with a content sigh. He drops a kiss to the top of Rune’s head, puts a hand on Brand’s shoulder, and then makes his exit from the room. 

Rune and Brand sit in silence for a full minute once he’s gone, gaping in the direction he went. They turn to look at each other at the same time. 

“What the fuck was that?” Brand demands. 

“This is your fault for bringing his dimples into this,” Rune replies, sliding down the couch so he can put his head on the arm rest. “Everybody knows naming something gives it power.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Rune can only sigh and wonder at his attraction to men obsessed with having the last word.

[simcardiac-arrested]

never volunteer for anything university related man. also go listen to this

[zukkaoru]

life, where we all are

At the end of the school day, Aya has to wait to be picked up instead of walking home with her friends. Kunikida arrives in his car, having carved out time in his schedule to get her on the days when her dad can’t, which is most of them. Today, Dazai sits in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio dial. He ignores Aya like he always does as Kunikida helps her into the car. He’s probably only here because he wanted to skip out on work. Kunikida says he likes to do that. Aya’s crutches go on the empty seat beside her, where Dazai’s cane is already lying. It looks less lonely now, at least. She wishes that were enough to make her feel better.

or: aya faces the consequences of being a hero

🌟 5.4k words || aya-centric 🌟 written for @bsd-disability-week-2024 day 4: mobility aids and accommodations/accessibility

[phantom-thieves-official]

Akira looks over, and meets Ryuji’s eyes.

“Hi,” he says.

“Uh. Hi.”

Akira doesn’t say anything else. He just sits there and looks at Ryuji - Ryuji can see his eyes dart here and there, taking in all of Ryuji’s face. God, his expression looks so soft it makes Ryuji’s chest ache - brows slanted, eyes warm, the faintest smile forming.

Ryuji shifts his hand on the box of chocolates. This is it, man. Now or never.

* * * One year after Akira's probation ended, Ryuji plans a weekend trip to visit him in his hometown. It may (or may not) be a coincidence that Valentine's Day is that Saturday.

----------

Hi besties can I interest you in a valentine’s fic uh. six days after valentines?

[hesvenus]

Our music tastes so intertwined within each other's that our playlists are practically fucking.