#I'll post this on ao3 later

[prepare4trouble]

Edgar and Sam being cute boyfriends fic, please? Sam comes on a hunt with the frog bros and Edgar is all protective, ect. Its okay if you can't! I don't mind.

Absolutely. I love Edgar and Sam, I'm always happy for any excuse to write about them!

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“Hey Sam, catch,“ Edgar said, fishing a camouflage print t-shirt from a drawer and tossing it across the room.

Sam caught it, shook it out and held it up for inspection. “What’s this for?” he asked.

Edgar frowned. “It’s a t-shirt, Sam. What do you think it’s for?”

“Yeah yeah, hilarious,” Sam told him. He held it up in front of his chest as though trying to decide what it would look like on. “I don’t get it though, I’m already wearing a t-shirt.”

Alan turned away and counted his wooden stakes, pretending not to watch the exchange. Foolishly, he had thought that if his brother and Sam finally admitted their feelings for each other, they might start behaving a little differently. Maybe even stop sniping about each other’s dress sense and start acting like actual boyfriends.

No such luck.

“Yes, I can see you have a t-shirt on. Half of Santa Carla has probably seen it on your way over here. Do you really want to go into a potential vampire lair wearing a bright red flashing ‘bite me’ signal?”

“Your bandana’s red too, you know,” Sam countered. “Anyway, I thought you said vampires have excellent night vision.”

Edgar sighed. “They do. They’re creatures of the night, they hunt in the dark, they have to be able to see their prey. And just in case you’re unclear, in this case their prey would be you.”

Alan put his stakes back into his pack and tucked two into the hip holster. He sighed. If anything, since Edgar and Sam had officially started dating, these kinds of arguments had gotten worse, not better. He supposed it was Edgar’s way of showing that he cared. After all, what kind of a boyfriend would he be if he let Sam get killed, or worse; turned?

“Okay, sure,” Sam said. “But if they have such great night vision, what’s the point in wearing camo? Aren’t they going to see you anyway?”

Edgar took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was really trying, Alan could tell, not to lose his temper. Sam, on the other hand, was having a great time. Edgar either didn’t notice the barely suppressed grin on his face, or he didn’t care.

“They probably will see us,” Edgar told him. “But they’ll definitely see you first. Just get changed, or you’re not coming with us. And while you’re at it…” He picked up the facepaint and offered that to Sam too.

Sam frowned. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Edgar confirmed. He turned to glance at Alan, then took a step closer to Sam and lowered his voice. “Please, Sam? This is dangerous enough without making yourself a target.”

Sam’s expression softened, and he nodded. He reached out and took the paint from Edgar, set it down on the floor, then reached out again and intertwined his fingers with Edgar’s. “Okay,” he agreed. “But only because I really like the idea of sharing clothes with my boyfriend.”

Edgar’s cheeks turned pink and he made a sound somewhere between embarrassment and a grunt of acknowledgement. “You can borrow my clothes, Sam, but I won’t be borrowing any of yours!”

********

“Wow. I know you said it was creepy here, but I had no idea you meant this creepy.” Sam gazed in awe at the abandoned house. It sat in the middle of literally nowhere, a small property on the outskirts of town, a half hour bike ride from the boardwalk. It was a bright, sunny day, and the house cast a long, dark shadow. As Sam stepped into it, he felt himself shiver. He looked at both Edgar and Alan in turn. “Are you guy sure about this?”

The Frogs glanced at each other, and Sam wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of doubt in their expressions too. They turned back to him and nodded. “We’re sure,” Edgar told him. “But if you don’t want to go in, that’s fine. You can stay out here in the sunlight.”

Sam shook his head, instantly on the defensive. “What? No way! I’m not letting you guys go in there alone!”

Edgar and Alan shared another glance, then Alan took a deep breath as though steeling himself for the task. He climbed the three wooden steps onto the porch, and reached out to push the door. It swung inward easily, unlocked, not even properly closed. He turned back to look at the others, then swallowed.

“How’d you guys find this place, anyway?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s not exactly on your way to school, is it? How did you know it was here?”

“We explore,” Edgar told him. “Looking for possible targets, places that look like vampires might hang out there. This place stuck out like a sore thumb.”

Sam nodded. He wasn’t wrong. “I never really understood that expression,” he said. “I mean, how much does a sore thumb actually stick out?”

Edgar frowned. “I guess it depends how sore it actually is,” he suggested. “Anyway, it’s fine if you don’t want to come in. You can guard the bikes.”

“From who?” Sam asked. He looked around them demonstratively at the emptiness that surrounded them. “That crow over there?”

“From anyone who comes along,” Edgar told him. “There’s probably nothing in there anyway. Me and Alan’ll be in and out before you know it.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He was beginning to get a very strong feeling of not being wanted, and he didn’t like it. Edgar had seemed reluctant about bringing him along from the start, and now here he was, right outside the potential vampire nest, trying to convince Sam to wait outside. “What’s going on, Edgar,” he asked. “You don’t want me to go in with you?” He scowled. “I killed a vampire back at my grandpa’s house too, you know. I’m not exactly brand new to this. I can help.”

Noticing the discussion happening behind him, Alan allowed the door to swing back closed, then approached the two of them to observe. Sam looked at him, pleading for help, but Alan appeared to be there only to get a better view.

“I know you can help,” Edgar assured him. “But this would help too.”

“So you’re saying it would be helpful to not have me in there? What’s going on Edgar, you think I’d mess it up or something? I know I’m not as experienced at this as you guys, but I’m never going to learn if you don’t let me.”

Edgar sighed. “Look Sam…” he began. “It’s not that I think you’ll do something wrong, I just really, really think it would be better if someone stayed out here, that’s all.”

Alan sighed. He folded his arms and shook his head. “Edgar, we’re on a schedule here. Just tell him the truth.”

Edgar shot a glare at him. “Stay out of this, Alan.”

Sam frowned, worried now. “What truth? What’s going on, guys?”

Alan took a step closer. “It’s okay Sam, he wants you here, he’s just worried about you.”

Edgar’s glare intensified. “Shut up.”

Alan didn’t. “He doesn’t think you’re going to mess anything up, but this is dangerous work, and Edgar…” he glanced back to his brother, who looked as though he wanted to murder him. “You’ll have to tell him now,” he said. “Unless you want me to do it, but it’ll sound better coming from you.”

Edgar scowled and folded his arms. He tore his glare away from Alan, then glanced quickly at Sam before redirecting his gaze to the tips of his own boots. “I love you,” he said.

He spoke in a low mumble, the words blurring together into an indistinct mess that Sam could barely make out, but he did make it out, and he felt a smile work its way across his face as he developed a blush to match Edgar’s. “I mean…” he said. “Same. But Edgar…”

“If you go in there with us and something goes wrong -- not you doing something wrong, I mean if something bad happened -- I don’t know what I’d… I mean, I wouldn’t be able to…” Edgar’s face was fast approaching beetroot now. He glanced up from his feet to stare accusingly at Alan. “I’ll get you back for this,” he said.

Sam stepped forward, putting himself between the two brothers. “Hey,” he said. “Nothing to get him back for, Edgar. I love you too, but you already knew that, because I tell you all the time. There’s nothing embarrassing about it.”

Edgar’s glare faltered slightly, and he shifted his gaze to look at Sam. Sam reached out a hand. Edgar hesitated, before reaching out too and taking hold of it. Sam pulled him a little closer.

And do you think I don’t worry about you, going into places like this?” Sam asked. He glanced at the creepy abandoned property and suppressed the urge to shiver again. “What if something happened to you, huh? There’s no way I’m letting you guys go in there without me. We’re a team.”

Edgar glanced around Sam to look at Alan, then looked back to Sam. “Okay, fine,” he said. “You win. But if I give the order to run, you do not hesitate. Got it?”

Sam grinned. He stepped closer and placed his arms around Edgar, then planted a small kiss on his cheek. He would save a real one for later, when they didn’t have Alan watching them, impatient to get on with the mission. “Yeah, got it,” he agreed. “Okay, let’s go.”

He took hold of Edgar’s hand again, then fell into place next to him. He glanced up at the house again. With Edgar’s hand in his, it didn’t look anywhere near as scary.

*********

“Hey, Edgar?”

Edgar looked at Sam, who was sitting on a wall overlooking the beach, staring out over the endless blue expanse of the ocean. “Yeah?” he asked.

“What you said before, did you mean it?”

Edgar pressed his hands onto the top of the wall and scrambled up to sit next to Sam, joining him as he sat watching the waves breaking on the shore. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably. What did I say?”

The mission had been a bust. Secretly, Edgar was pleased. Not because he didn’t relish any opportunity to rid Santa Carla of the bloodsuckers that seemed to be drawn there, but because sometimes it was nice to get home not covered in blood and filth. It meant that they could have a celebratory ice cream on the boardwalk before they needed to be back to open up the store.

Alan was on ice cream buying duty. Edgar glanced over to the stall, where his brother was waiting in line behind several vacationing families, the kids excitedly choosing their flavors.

As soon as Edgar was settled on the wall, Sam edged a little closer so that his leg pressed firmly against Edgar’s. “You know what you said,” he told him.

Edgar felt himself begin to blush again, and he hated himself for it. Sam was right; there was nothing embarrassing about it. The trouble was, Sam’s family was different to his. They talked about their feelings, they showed affection, they didn’t turn as red as the t-shirt that Edgar had forced Sam to change out of if they were forced to admit that they cared about someone. “Oh,” he said. “That.”

Sam shuffled even closer and smiled. “Yeah,” he told him. “That.”

Edgar glanced over at the ice cream stand. Alan was next in line now, waiting impatiently behind a couple of older teens. “Yeah,” Edgar said. “I meant it.”

He wished it had been said under better circumstances; preferably not with Alan forcing his hand, standing outside the creepiest looking abandoned house he had ever seen, and with the vague but ever-present threat of imminent death hanging over them, but that didn’t change the fact that it was true. He cleared his throat and turned to look Sam in the eyes. Maybe he could get it right this time.

“I love you,” he said.

It still sounded wrong, those words coming from his mouth. It felt awkward, as though he was saying it wrong. It sounded insincere to his own ears despite his certainty of the truth behind his words.

Sam, however, either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He placed an arm around Edgar’s shoulders and squeezed tightly. “I love you too,” he said. “But you know, you don’t have to say it out loud if you feel weird. I know how you feel, because you show me all the time. Like when you made me change out of that shirt, or I guess when you tried to keep me safe outside the house, even if I didn’t get it at first.”

Edgar pulled away slightly from Sam so that he could turn and look at him. “If you already know, why’d you ask if I meant it? And if you knew why I was making you get changed, why’d you argue?”

Sam gave a shy smile. “You don’t have to say it all the time,” he said. “But it’s nice to hear it every now and then. And the shirt? Honestly, sometimes it’s just fun to mess with you.”

Edgar rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and that other thing you said,” Sam added. “You know, about how you’re never going to borrow my clothes?”

Edgar frowned. “Yeah?”

“Well…” Sam smiled and rested his head on Edgar’s shoulder. “One thing you should know about me, Edgar, is that I really like a challenge…”

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Never Love Another

It was no secret that when Jason came back he came back wrong. The violence and pit rage were the most obvious ones of course, but now that it had faded other little things had started to surface. He had noticed this deep loneliness and homesickness for something he couldn’t remember or name. He didn’t know what to do about it besides, well maybe try to find someone who could sooth the loneliness. But it wasn’t working, if it wasn’t for how bad he wanted a romantic connection he would have thought he was aromatic now because he never, Never felt a spark at all, with anyone.

He actually talked to Dick about it, and let him talk Jason into therapy, but that didn’t help, and when Tim found out about it the paranoid little shit started doing tests. And that was how fucking Bruce found out, and he was even more paranoid so they would not believe it was a coincidence or anything and more tests were done. No answers were found until Batman called in a favour from JLD, Jason tried to insist it wasn’t worth it but Batman said his happiness was the most important thing, which made Jason shut up and make a face like he’d bitten into a lemon.

Now he was just trying to avoid admitting that they were right. “What the fuck do you mean cursed?!” Jason demanded from Constantine who shrugged and lit a new cigarette from the butt of the last one.

“I don’t know mate,” He said with a shrug, taking a drag. “While you were dead you must have pissed off some pretty powerful bastard because it’s Not a petty curse either, not the sort of thing I or Zatanna can break. Looks like it’s to ‘never love again’ or something like that, I don’t know it’s not exactly written in words.” He explained and Jason dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

Of course, why wouldn’t this happened? Honestly though as the literature nerd he was he had to think whoever had cursed him must have been of a similar temperament, given how melodramatic is was.  He wished he could remember what the fuck he had done to get cursed like this?

“So how would we break the curse?” Batman asked, ever solution oriented.

“Don’t know Bats,” Constantine admitted with a one shoulder shrug. “I think you’d have to find whoever cursed him and convince them to lift it. They’re a seriously powerful denizen of the Infinite Realms so we could try a summoning but there’s no guarantee that is would work, and if not you’d have to go to them which would be veeery risky. I’m not sure it’d be worth it honestly, I mean it’s a bit of a blessing isn’t it? Not like our lifestyles really lend to romance,” He snickered and everyone ignored him.

“How long will it take to arrange a summoning,” Nightwing demanded with a frown, why he had to be here too Jason didn’t know but… he was privately a little grateful that he was.

“Mmm A couple of weeks, we have most of the stuff required and the unique ingredients aren’t that hard to find,” the magician hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll remind you, there’s no guarantee that it’s going to work,” he reminded and even though Jason hadn’t looked up he could practically sense the twin scowls Dick and Bruce were shooting John.

“We’re going to try it,” Batman growled and Constantine hummed.

“Sure, whatever you say, I’ll start setting it up.”

------

Those two weeks were plenty of time to panic about who it might be, what Jason might have done to cause this, and what the being might do if they answered the summons. They had a lot of preparations to do, but when Jason tried to say they shouldn’t do this Bruce and the others insisted that they needed to know ho had it out for Jason if just in case they decided to cause more problems. There was discussion about if Jason should be present, but he really wanted to be if this was happening, he wanted to see the monster that had cursed him.

Constantine and Zatanna were both there the day of, as well as Batman and Nightwing, and superman, just in case things went horribly wrong. The spell was… stressful for Red Hood, the portal it opened made him feel like he was staring into the Lazarus pits again, even if it was missing the feeling of rage.

It felt like they were all holding their breath for a few long minutes waiting to see if the summon would be answered. Jason was just starting to think that no one was going to answer when a white booted foot stepped through, followed quickly by the rest of the body.

Jason blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the being that had answered the summons, not because they were some incomprehensible monster, but for the opposite reason, because they looked so human. Not normal, their ashen skin, pointed ears, and white hair that disregarded gravity, made sure of that, but he looked human other then that. A head or so shorter then Jason, lean and agile looking with unusually wide hips and soft curves for a man. His ears were pierced three times, two having studs like planets and a set of dangly ones shaped like a sun and a moon which glinted in the light of the glowing crown on his head. It looked like ice that had trapped the northern lights within them, it was beautiful, it took his breath away.

He had a vague feeling that the others present were talking, but Jason and, it seemed, the spirit, were not hearing them. Jason couldn’t tear his gaze away from the creatures Lazarus green eyes, why did he feel so familiar.

“Jay,” The being breathes, a bright smile spreading across his face, revealing little fangs that shouldn’t have been so adorable. “How did you, you shouldn’t have called me, I don’t… You don’t remember me do you? You shouldn’t,” He breathed, the smile dropping as the initial joy at seeing Jason overtaken by worry.

“We want to know why you cursed my son!” Batman shouted, suddenly cutting through the odd, tunnel version they’d both been trapped in and sending them both reeling. Jason had been leaning forward and ended up stumbling.

“Oh,” The creature sounded, his brows furrowing as Jason finally looked around and noticed how Constantine was cowering.

“Batman! Don’t yell at the fucking king of the Infinite Realms!” Constantine practically squeaked. The king?! How had Jason pissed off the king?! “We’re so sorry for disturbing you your Majesty, please don’t destroy us,” the wizard said, sounding like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

The being still in the circle cackled and crossed his legs under him, sitting on air at the odd cape that looked like it was made of the night sky billowed behind him. “Don’t worry I’m not planning on it, honestly, I am happy to see you again Jaybird,” He said with a soft smile, his gaze going back to Jason like he wanted to drink him in. “You’ve grown so much pretty-bird, are you happy? Do you like being alive again?” He asked worriedly. “You’re always welcome back-“

Nightwing read that as a threat that this supposed King was going to kill Jason again and yanked him back, standing between Jason and the stranger, even though he was shorter and slimmer then Red Hood. “He’s not going anywhere! Why did you curse him?” Nightwing demanded again.

“It wasn’t a curse, it was a price,” Phantom said with a frown. “I would let him go, but not to love another.”

“Love, another?” Jason asked this time, his voice harsh and soft. God how his heart ached, why couldn’t he remember something that made him feel so much longing and pain?

“Another,” Danny said, his voice softening again. “While you were in my realm we were… Close, very close. But you couldn’t let go of life, you weren’t ready to give yourself to me, not fully,” Danny bit his lip for a moment. “It hurt, but I only wanted what was best for you Jay, so if you had unfinished business… well, I let you leave. I did! I let you go, but-but maybe I was selfish, I was going to be waiting decades for you and-and I couldn’t stand the idea of waiting that long only for you to have fallen in love again with someone in life and, even after dying and remembering me, choosing to stay with them! So that was the deal, you get to live again, but only if you don’t love again, and you come back to me when you’re done. You agreed.”

There was a long silence as everyone processed what the king had said, it was Constantine who reacted first, rounding on Jason. “You dated the King of the Infinite Realms!?” He demanded, flabbergasted.

“Ugh, just call me Danny, I’m the king sure but I don’t care much for the title,” The bring in front of them corrected with a grimace.

“Danny,” Nightwing said, holding out his hand in a sort of placating gesture. “Can you… change the price?” He asked uncertainly.

“NO!” Danny said instantly, his voice echoing in a way that made those present flinch. “No, the deal still stands. I let him leave my kingdom, but I won’t completely give him up. I can’t, I can’t,” Danny said and Jason could swear he saw Danny’s eyes glimmer with tears.

“It’s alright,” Jason said, softly as he could, Danny’s pain called to him in a way he couldn’t explain. “It’s just, I’ve been lonely, I’ve felt like I’ve been missing something since I came back. I thought it was love, but now I think, I think it’s you. I’ve been homesick, for You,” He said, stepping closer again and holding out his hand. John yelped when Jason broke the circle, but he was being ignored.

Danny’s eyes widened in shock, then welled over with tears as he reached out and took Jason’s hand, his feet landing back on the ground as he stepped closer. “I’ve missed you too Jaybird, I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe,” He practically whispered. As he stepped over the line a white ring ran up and over his body, leaving a- well, for all appearances a human man with similar features and inverted colours, maybe a little younger then Jason. “I’m sorry you’ve been lonely, but I wanted to let you live your life. If you want, I could visit more? I would be happy to put in the work to, start over, let you get to know me in this life?” He laced their fingers together, taking Jason’s other hand as well, standing chest to chest and looking up at him through dark lashes, framing beautiful clear blue eyes.

“I would love that,” Jason breathed. Startled by a sound of disbelief behind him, he’d forgotten Nightwing was there and he glanced back. “What? It solves the problem of me being unable to love, it turns out I was just trying to love the wrong people.

[alchely]

My Top Gallavich fics

So, under the advice of the lovely @iangallagherisadeadman I've decided to compile a favorites Gallavich fic list along with a brief rec of each, this won't be a strict top 10 cause I'm not gonna torture myself into excluding some of these stories on some made-up self imposed arbitrary rules.

A bunch of disclaimers: most of these fics are long fics, going from 30k words up, I'm not purposefully excluding shorter fics, I have read plenty of them, but they do have a harder time sticking in my head months after reading.

Most of these fics will be explicit, just read the tags on the fic itself if you want to find out more.

Some of these fics don't have links because the authors chose to lock them and as such make them unlinkable, in order to read them you will need to go through the author's page while you're logged in your AO3 account.

This ended up ballooning out of control and is A LOT longer than ten fics, I apologize in advance :p.

YOU'LL NEVER SEE US AGAIN – spoonfulstar - 231k words

Mickey and Ian have been students at Marceline boarding school their whole lives, as their time at the institute draws toward the end they will start to discover many things, about themselves, about each other and about the world they live in.

THIS FIC! I CRIED! The number of fanfiction that are able to make me cry can be counted on a singular hand, the emotional stakes get higher and higher as the story goes on, leading to a beautiful and bittersweet climax.

This story will make you think and feel deeply about topics you'd never think a shameless fic would delve into.

I am obsessed with Mickey in this fic, he and Ian grow up in an environment that could not be more removed from South Side Chicago and yet his personality is still so recognizably and distinctly Mickey.

The story goes very dark at times, and the fic itself could be considered lengthy, but I assure you the author has made sure to not make you feel it. Those 200k words flowed so well the story did not feel long at all.

HELP ME (TEAR DOWN MY REASON) – wehangout - 34k words

Mickey is a detective and Ian becomes a suspect in an investigation except Mickey already knows him because he's his favorite dancer.

This fic falls under the umbrella of fics where “Mickey is so in love with Ian he does something unbelievably crazy”.

Oooh boy, this fic, it's written in second person (yes you've read that right), tbh out of all fics I've read from this author I think this one was the easiest to adjust mentally to the change in perspective.

I loved Mickey’s “love” in this, just… This raw connection to Ian, the perfect cocktail of feelings, I could read that all day long.

IN ANOTHER WORLD – Roryonic - 249k words

Mickey does not get sent to prison at the end of S5, what happens after and how his presence influences future events (mostly Ian, but also every other Gallagher as well as his own family).

As far as I'm concerned this fic is the closest to a perfect S6 and beyond fix-it. The dialogue writing in this story is so close to canon Shameless that I could picture entire scenes in my head with the actors playing the characters, with their body and personality quirks.

Sometimes I find myself describing this fic like it's the actual show's deleted scenes, “Look, Mickey has his own storyline! And Mandy is here! And the existence of Yevgeni does not become a plot hole!”

There are some Mickey lines in this fic that to me are as canon as if they'd been in the show. Absolutely iconic writing.

I love this author so here's a rec of some of their other longfics, however I highly suggest a lot of their other much shorter stuff as well:

BATTLESHIPS AND LOVE BOATS: Ian and Mickey start their “no strings attached” kind of sex relationship a little later than canon but their attraction and love is just as strong. This is a sort of High School AU that turns into a Prison AU that turns into something else and every shift is just as lovely as the next.

YOU SMELL LIKE LOVE: Ian and Mickey are childhood friends, to the point that the rest of the Gallaghers might as well consider Mickey a seventh brother, mmmh, I sure wonder how things will start to change. Look, I never thought I'd love a childhood friends AU for Gallavich yet here I am, if it's good it's good.

ME AND THE DEVIL: Mickey unconsciously calls for a vengeance demon and Ian Gallagher shows up at his door, because Mickey is a stubborn dumbass they fall in love instead. This story has a lot of twists and turns and the premise is only the very beginning of the story. I LOVED it!

THE INCREASINGLY POOR DECISIONS OF IAN GALLAGHER – Shamelessquestions - 309k words

Ian is a dancer in a club, he accidentally gets involved in the affair of a dangerous mafia don, but the true danger is the attraction he and the mafioso’s right hand Mickey feel for each other as soon as they meet.

What. A. Classic. Truly, an unforgettable story, and I don't mean this in hyperbole, I read this story around… 2016/2017 during my second round in the Shameless fandom, then I read countless other fics in a lot of other fandom and yet this story was the only one that my mind retained from back then, to the point that I could still remember some of the finer details as well as the final plot twists when I came back to reread it.

The plot is constructed beautifully and the original characters (part of the Shamelessquestions fanfiction universe, as they come back time and time again in every one of their AU to fulfill their role in the story) are just as vibrant.

What a story, truly.

Favorite original character in this AU: Sal, his downfall is so satisfying and yet so pitiful to read.

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME – Mellow_Yellow - 221k words

Ian finds something scary and calls Mickey for help, even though they had only reconnected that very day after two years of not seeing each other. Together, they get sucked into a situation they weren't at all prepared for. Can they even admit that they're in over their head?

The very beginning of this fic is SO cinematic it grabbed my interest from the very first scene and didn't let go until the end, DO NOT search for spoilers.

The only warning I'll give is that it does deal with a bit of gore and what I'm personally gonna define as slight psychological horror. That's it. Enjoy!

BROKE STRAIGHT BOYS – dancermk - 66k words

Mickey becomes a porn actor for a site where he has to pretend he's straight and not enjoying the copious amount of gay sex he's having on camera, enter Ian, another actor under the same agency and their off the chart physical chemistry.

This story has, needless to say, some really, really good smut. I especially loved their first time together, but every sex scene in this story is seared in my mind.

ETHERIZED AGAINST THE SKY – Snarfle - 213k words

So, I debated whether I should add this fic or not, but I think if there is one fic that will stay in my mind long after this Shameless binge of the past couple of months it's this one, and it should absolutely become one of those fic that everyone in the fandom should read.

After Mickey gets shot by Kash his life takes a completely different direction and he ends up in a group home where, through many difficult times, he turns his life around.

So many iconic moments in this fic, some funny as fuck, some sad, some so absurd that I'm surprised they weren't lifted straight from Shameless, one so gruesome in the very first chapter that I was surprised to have such a visceral feeling from just words on a screen. Yeah, this story will stay with me for a long time.

OLD RULES FOR NEW SIDE PIECES – Shamelessquestions - 217k words

Ian is a Fed and he spots Mickey looking suspicious in an art museum, the mutual attraction is overwhelming, Mickey is not what he seems and Ian is already with someone else, but that's not gonna stop him from pursuing what he and Mickey have.

Putting it as bluntly as I can, this fic made me face the realization that I love cheating fics (if the cheating happens to someone else to bring together the endgame couple). I have already reread this fic twice and I could probably go for another one and not get tired of it, it's that good, and out of all this author's fics it's probably my favorite.

Favorite original characters in this AU: It's a three way tie between Dre, Ivan and Carrie, they're all very captivating in this story.

Other fic from this author I'd recommend cause I really love their style:

LOST IN TRANSLATION: Ian meets a very attractive man while he's in Ukraine who doesn't speak English, a mere language barrier won't stop him from flirting for hours. (adorable)

YOU MAKE ME FEEL HUMAN – Dragona - 66k words

Ian is an assassin, he meets Mickey and thus begins a very sick love story.

To say I'm obsessed with this fic is an understatement, I suggest to everyone to just go read the original author’s own description of the fic, it sets the tone of the story magnificently.

This is an Ian Gallagher that almost resembles Jerome (also played by Cameron in Gotham) but like… a slightly more subdued and saner S1/S2 version of him. I love the layers that get peeled right in front of my eyes, the madness that creeps in a bit more every chapter. I LOVE this story.

DRIED INK - 87k words

This fic combines my two favorite Gallavich-specific tropes, one being ‘Mickey comes back from prison after s6, Ian is with someone else’ and ‘Ian cheats on that someone else for Mickey’

I love the Gallaghers in this and how unsurprised they are at Ian going back to Mickey right away. It's a little jewel of a fic.

Mickey tries SO hard to stop himself and Ian in this but their love is too magnetic, they're irresistible to each other.

THE QUESTION OF NORMAL – blue_newman - 92k words

Ian is a prison counselor, Mickey is in prison, they fall in love and it's beautiful and Ian is incredibly devoted to Mickey in this fic and I fell in love with them both in this.

KINDA RAW – catgrassplantdad - 6k

Quite simply this is my favorite short pwp fic.

Illustrating those “five times” in one night that Mickey references in 11x01.

This fic is so hot, I love it <3

QUATERVOIS – DodgerBear - 51k words

Soldier Mickey gets stationed in the middle of nowhere and meets a farmer called Ian who makes him question everything.

Falling under the same umbrella of “Mickey does something crazy for Ian” fics and this is why it stuck in my mind even if it's been a while since I've read it.

I LOVE this story, their dialogues and everything that happens in it. The setting is lovely and you will fall in love with the description of Ian’s farm.

Other fic by the same author that I also loved:

BURDEN OF PROOF: Cop Mickey gets caught in a legal battle between the two oldest Gallagher brothers, something doesn't feel right though…

THE WORDS HE DOESN'T SAY: Mickey is released before Ian in s10 and has to meet a court-mandated therapist. The story is from the therapist POV and goes AU from the beginning of s10 in that Mickey gets involved back into Yev and Svetlana’s life, the dialogue is, quite obviously, the main attraction of the story and it's really well done. (Also, written in first person).

THE MENAGERIE – CrossMyDNA - 147k words

Ian decides to re-explore his bdsm preferences at The Menagerie where he meets sub extraordinaire Mickey on his very first visit.

Shameless is undoubtedly the fandom that opened my eyes to what bdsm could be back in… approx 2016? When that other popular bdsm fic was still around *ahem*.

So it definitely feels like a sign that coming back into the fandom this fic now exists and is SO GOOD.

Obviously it's very explicit, the smut in this fic is one of the best I've ever read.

The chemistry between Ian and Mickey sizzles off the screen and can absolutely be felt even in moments not of the nsfw variety, absolutely recommended!

MICKEY MILKOVICH’S GUIDE TO FLIRTING – whatwouldmickeydo - 40k words

An s2 “missing moments” between Gallavich, completely canon compliant, all under the pretense that Mickey is following a step by step guide to flirting.

I wish this fic was describing canon moments, not kidding a single bit, I wish I could somehow magically manifest these scenes into existence they're that good and fit that well into canon.

M8TE – gallawitch - 53k words

Omegaverse fic where Ian and Mickey both start using an app and end up matching with each other, even though a connection is made almost instinctively, coming to terms with it with a sound mind will take a bit longer…

Hey,had to have at least one of these on here lol

I love omegaverse and this was everything I wanted from it, couldn't have asked for anything better really <3.

SHACKLED – MyRelapse - 19k words

Ian has a change of heart and he decides that Mickey IS the one he wants, even if he's still in prison, so he keeps in contact and goes through every hoop imaginable to have him back as soon as possible.

Reading this made me so happy like I could burst, love it.

WAITING ON MY OWN TOO LONG – Ride4812 - 266k words

This rec more than any other on this list is what I'm gonna consider self indulgent because it covers the trope I always craved to read in such a satisfying way: Canon AU where Mickey comes back from prison after 8 years, Ian has found someone else but the moment the two meet again they fall back into each other right away.

The series is made up of 4 smaller fics:

One more night

Something more this time

No more lonely nights

Ain't this life so sweet

(I will point out here and nowhere else that the last installment of this series has some segment that probably needed to be re-read a couple more times, but by that point I was too invested, and the quality fluctuates a lot only in certain parts)

The writing style is very direct and to the point, which I love, the smut is very present and written beautifully and most importantly never boring.

Ian is a MESS in this fic and had me Stressed™, mostly cause for some reason I can't handle too much casual depiction of drug abuse and addiction (I know, ironic considering the fandom).

Conflicts and resolutions are never clean cut, they don't necessarily resolve quickly or definitely or the way you probably imagine they should and I find this level of realism very satisfying.

Taking a bit of space here at the end to also rec a couple other Ride4812 fics that I also loved:

COUP DE FOUDRE - A model/photographer AU where Ian and Mickey fall in love the instant they meet and do some crazy things because of that.

HOPE HE MIGHT - A lawyer AU where Ian and Mickey are on opposing sides for the same client, an interesting murder mystery steeped in a religious cult.

Generally I feel like this author is really good at depicting just how unapproachable Mickey can be to anyone that isn't called Ian Gallagher and I eat it up every time.

WHAT THE NIGHT DOES TO THE DAY – andchaos - 9k words

A Gallavich childhood friends AU with a quite original arrangement for the story and the various segments of their lives. Very satisfying read.

RANSOM – BeckyHarvey29 - 112k words

Terry sends his sons to kidnap a Gallagher child to force Frank into paying back the money he owes, unfortunately for him Mickey and his brothers kidnap Ian, and a whole other kind of story unfolds.

Mickey and Ian falling in love in this fic is such a good read. I don't wanna spoil anything of how that or the kidnapping plot goes, since the two are so intertwined. Just know that it will be worth it.

UNDER LOCK AND KEY – Suzy_Queue - 106k words

Ian is assigned the night shift at his new job where he provides spare keys to his fellow college students stuck outside their dorm rooms. To make matters worse his shift coworker is the oh so infamous Mickey Milkovich.

I am magnetized by the way this author writes their pining for each other, their attraction and obsession, how it blooms and unfolds. This fic in particular had me develop a very bad case of tunnel vision, couldn't really turn away until I finished reading it all.

I still haven't read everything this author has to offer, but so far I also loved:

INHUMAN: A mysterious force starts attacking people close to Mickey and it all seems to lead to a mysterious redhead Mickey is oh so coincidentally obsessed with. Very cool paranormal story.

THESE FOOLISH GAMES: Mickey takes over as the boss of the local branch of a trampoline park, where Ian is one of the employees, they annoy each other to no end but what they don't know is that they're secretly texting each other.

IS THERE SOMEWHERE – andchaos - 48k words

Mickey is born with no words on his skin, convinced he's going to live a life of misery cause no one will ever say the words he's destined to hear, he's not a very happy guy. Here comes mute boy Ian who crashes into his life and won't let go.

A classic Soulmate AU, I love that like in a lot of other Gallavich fics their physical connection and compatibility usually comes before their emotional one, it is one aspect that I feel distinguishes their relationship to many other fandom’s ships.

LAST NIGHT AT THE VERONA GRAND HOTEL – the_rat_wins - 27k words

Mickey starts working at an ancient hotel who's supposedly haunted. Mickey doesn't believe in ghost stories, he is much more interested in this one guest he meets at night during his shift.

What a cinematic experience this fic is! Absolutely recommended, the length of it makes it so you can read it in the same time it would take to watch the same story in movie format.

Other fics by the same authors that have impressed me:

FADE THIS ONE TO BLACK: Ian dies of overdose in a pile of snow outside the club, when Mickey finds him there he vows to do anything to get him back.

I don't know why but this fic in particular gives off the vibes of being a pilot for a ya urban fantasy TV series, except we gotta imagine everything that comes after the first episode lol

NO LIE: Ian and Mickey are Soulmates and as such they can't lie to each other. This series is short and sweet and full of feelings, perfect

PARAGRAPHS – pink_ink - 100k words

Ian becomes a reading tutor for ex-convicts, Mickey is among them and Ian starts paying him more and more attention.

This is a story where they meet under very different circumstances and where they've lived slightly different lives compared to canon and yet they're still able to find each other in the end.

Also, sign me up for every fic where Ian has to work just as hard to help Mickey and care for him as the opposite, where Ian's brand of stubbornness is the only way to get through to Mickey.

I'm also adding a couple of ongoing fics, just two to not overwhelm too much.

NONE THE WISER – Loftec - ~218k words

Ian starts visiting Mickey’s diner, it takes a while and yet no time at all to warm up to each other.

I'm captivated by the author's writing style. I love Ian's and Mickey’s relationship. I love how they sort of take their time and yet pine helplessly for each other.

I'm obsessed with the fact that the whole point of the fic doesn't appear until two thirds of the way in cause the diner scenes were just too good to pass up on lol (and I 100% agree with them).

INTRO TO QUANTUM DATING – spoonfulstar - ~563k words

Canon Mickey and Ian meet in University. A college slice of life but drenched in the casual (and not so casual) darkness of canon shameless.

The dark humor in this is fenomenal and left me gasping laughing so many times.

Unexpectedly Ian in this fic is pursuing a linguistics oriented degree, which was what I studied when I tried university, the topics are explained in such an accurate way I have to assume the author studied them themselves and that this story is somewhat a reimagining of their own college experience because if not this would be an absurd amount of accurate research to make.

Reading this fic feels like living through the American college experience from the comfort of my home lol.

As I said before, this author's way of writing does not weight you down even with its length, the story flows perfectly from one scene to the next and before you realize it you've reached the end and you have to accept that 500k words weren't even enough.

Let's end this list with some quick recommendations

WHILE WE'RE MAKING OTHER (PEOPLE'S) PLANS - kyasticlikestea

Mickey is volunteered to organize someone's else's wedding after he managed to salvage his own so well, he'll do it, but his own Southside way.

THIS IS THE ROAD TO RUIN - bricoleur10

Ian and Mickey never go to rob Ned, the story unfolds differently from there. A fix-it with a lot of Gallavich longing , very good smut and some really good dialogue.

HEY, HONEY MINE (I WAS THERE ALL THE TIME) - serveteas

Mickey talks about his crush with Iggy and accidentally pronoun-slips. Short, to the point, funny af and I just really love it. Takes place after their fight at Kash’n Grab in s2.

AGAINST GLASS - AllThatMatters

Ian gets traded from one club to another as a dancer (and more) and ends up in the Milkovich family's club. This is a Mafia!Mickey story with some pretty tight sub-plots, I love his brothers in this.

ONE OF A KIND - fckyeahgallavich

Mickey breaks his finger and it has to be set in the hospital, chaos - of the homophobic kind - ensues. Protective!Ian, I wanna hug Mickey in this.

IAN THE FRIENDLY GHOST - Ravenheart

Ian is haunting an apartment and Mickey starts living in it, Ian is maybe starting to have a crush on him. This isn't angsty!

BLOOD IN, BLEED OUT - brewrosemilk, Whatsastory

Historical AU. Perfectly innocent bystander Ian Gallagher is thrown into the affairs of the Ukrainian Mafia back in 1954, his relationship with Mickey will span decades and he won't remain innocent for long, the mafia can corrupt anyone.

TEENAGE RUNAWAY - sadwhales

Ian comes to live and finish high school with his half siblings on the South Side, he's immediately captivated by a boy sitting under the bleachers, maybe his North Side naivety will catch his attention too.

GARDEN SONG - melwrtiesthings

A glimpse into their lives in their West Side apartment, a lot of initial angst due to a manic episode and then a lot of recovery and healing and learning more about themselves.

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 07: free space a happy ending

Wakefulness embraces him so slowly and gently that Steve’s not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming when he sees Eddie lying next to him, watching him with an easy smile as his fingers tap out a slow beat on his pillow. Steve looks at him, blinking away the remnants of sleep, not quite daring to do anything more than that for fear of it being a dream after all, scared that Eddie would disappear if Steve reached out to touch. 

But then Eddie’s smile widens. “Good morning, sunshine.” 

Steve gasps a little and moves his hand to Eddie’s cheek, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear, his breath hitching when Eddie leans into the touch. 

“You’re here,” he whispers, his gaze wandering over Eddie’s features, taking it all in and looking for any indication that this is a dream. 

Eddie hums. “And you’re pretty.” 

It hits him out of nowhere, the open sincerity in Eddie’s voice, the fondness in his eyes, the honesty in everything about him. The love, open and free now — or getting there, at least. It’s still so raw, though, so new, that Steve doesn’t know how to handle it yet. 

“Shut up,” he huffs once he’s caught his breath, rolling over to hide his face and the way his cheeks are heating up. He rolls right into Eddie's chest, though, and he's so warm, so close, smells so good that Steve wants nothing more than to bury his face in his neck and stay there for the rest of the morning. Or maybe the rest of his life.

The reflex to pull away is there. The urge to run and hide, to laugh it off, to freeze up and find something else to do, something to occupy his hands and stop them from reaching for Eddie. Years and years of muscle memory telling Steve to leave. 

But Eddie's arms come around him, holding him close and pulling him even closer. And Steve breathes him in, remembering that it can be okay. Remembering that they get a chance now. 

Remembering the words. 

What are you doing? 

Changing the world. 

So he tries that, too. Changing the world. He tries by winding his arms around Eddie, too, and breathing in again and again, learning that Eddie won't disappear if he does. 

Slowly, he dares to move his arms, stroking along Eddie's back in slow, gentle patterns, lulling himself into a safety he hasn't felt in a while. Maybe ever. At some point Eddie begins to hum, and Steve thinks that it's just another one of his audible smiles, inviting Steve and the rest of the world to join in if they're so inclined. But then he detects a familiar melody in the vibrations of Eddie's neck against his skin, and he holds his breath to find out what it is. 

His heart jumps when he recognises the song as one he used to listen to on repeat like a lovesick fool around the time his feelings for Eddie turned into something more, something better, something infinitely worse. 

It skips and he forgets how to breathe as he lets his hands travel over Eddie's back, slowly and tentatively daring to slip underneath his shirt and touch his skin. 

Eddie begins to sing, then, and Steve wonders if he's even been in love with him before, because nothing of what he's ever felt compares to Eddie's gentle, hoarse, sleep-rough voice as he sings Somebody to Steve, to their little bubble, or to the world outside. 

"I want somebody to share, share the rest of my lifeShare my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details."

He closes his eyes as he listens, focusing on the vibrations, on the warmth, on the closeness, on how this moment is everything he's never even dared to want. Everything so perfect that he couldn't even dream it up. 

Everything. You're everything. 

He needs to be closer still, so be buries his nose in Eddie's neck and breathes him in, tangling their legs, filled with a breathless kind of joyful bliss when Eddie's breath hitches, too, and he stumbles over the words of the second verse as Steve tries to climb into his skin. 

"I want somebody who cares for me passionatelyWith every thought and with every breath."

You have me, Steve thinks, pressing his lips to Eddie's pulse point. It's not a kiss, not quite. It's something deeper. It's a promise. 

Eddie's hands come up to hold him there even as his voice carries through the drumbeat of Steve's heart in his throat, running fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, making him purr along to the melody. 

"But when I'm asleep I want somebodyWho will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderlyThough things like this make me sickIn a case like this, I'll get away with it."

When the song ends, Eddie's words faded out, replaced once again by the gentlest silence, Steve feels raw. Vulnerable. Open and exposed. But he also feels safe, and loved, buried in Eddie's skin and held there, as though Eddie is just as scared of fading away as Steve is. 

He lifts his head just slightly, enough to meet Eddie's eyes – only to find that they're closed, an expression so serene like Steve has never seen before. Mesmerised and overflowing with affection, he reaches out to trace the line of his brows, down to his cheeks and all the way to his lips, where his eyes are glued for a second. 

The thought of kissing Eddie is right there. The opportunity is, too. But he doesn't. He barely dares to move as it is. But he does roll them over the rest of the way until he lies comfortably on top of Eddie, and tucks his head underneath his chin, finding one of his hands and lacing their fingers. 

"You've got him," he breathes eventually. "That somebody. If you—“ 

"Yes," Eddie says, his other hand finding its way to the nape of Steve's neck to play with his hair again. "I want."

"Good." It's lame; far from what he wants to say. From what he has already said last night. It feels like they're doing this backwards, starting with the I love you and catching up with the slow build-up afterwards. "Good. Me, too." 

"Good," Eddie hums, and there's that smile again that Steve can't help but mirror. 

They fall asleep again like that even though it’s already late in the morning; cuddling and holding and cradling each other, still trembling slightly. Maybe that's what changing the world will do to you. Maybe that's the bravery more than the love. 

Or maybe it's just Steve and Eddie. Steve and Eddie. SteveandEddie. 

I love you. 

~*~

It takes a bit for Steve to relearn loving Eddie. To not associate it with tragedy and sadness and a bone-deep loneliness that'll leave him breathless even on the best of days. 

It takes a while for Steve to learn a whole new kind of breathlessness, a whole new kind of aching when it comes to Eddie. 

And Eddie's not much better than Steve, pulling away when Steve wants him closer, swallowing his words and needing a second, third, fourth try until he learns that he gets to love Steve now. 

Years of unrequited love, or feelings unreturned, of words put out into the universe with no one to receive them, are not easily or quickly unwritten. But every time Steve's breath gets lodged in his throat and he wants to run away, Eddie is right there to remind him of what they can have now. Every time Steve tries to be a little less of who he really is, Eddie is right there to coax him out of his head with gentle touch and a lot of hugs. 

Every time Eddie starts to doubt himself and all the ways he makes Steve the happiest person on the planet, Steve is right there with the words he only has for Eddie. Words that don't get stuck anymore. Words that finally get a recipient. 

~*~

Their first kiss, the first real kiss, doesn't happen that first morning. They spend the first week only holding each other, barely wanting to let go, hiding their vulnerabilities within each other. 

Steve is worried about it at first, seeing Eddie so quiet, so reverent, lacking his usual cheer, his energy and snarky comments. He asks about it one night, ready to prove right that he isn't and can never be enough for him, that all he will do is steal the things that make him Eddie. 

Eddie stops then, lifting Steve's chin with a finger when he's too scared, too ashamed, too vulnerable to meet his eyes on his own accord. 

"Stevie," Eddie says, his voice so gentle that Steve immediately feels stupid for doubting. "I have loved you for ten years. I've had you for three days. Let me bask in it. Let me be unable to be myself with how absolutely and utterly overcome I am with the knowledge that I have you now. That I get to hold you. That I get to kiss you and keep you and... God. I'm not unhappy. I'm so much the opposite of that that I'm not sure there's a word for it. Other than devoted. Smitten. Bewitched, body and soul."

Steve wants to kiss him then. Almost does, with the way they're just staring at each other, breathing the same air —air that smells like Eddie now. In the end, Eddie just holds him, brushing a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his temple, and whispers, "Let me bask in it." 

And so they do. 

Wayne called Eddie not long after with the words, "Chrissy just told me the wedding's off. Please tell me that means what I think it means." 

Eddie just blushed, reaching for Steve, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Yeah, I, uh. I finally talked to Steve."

There was a very loud cheer on the other end that made Steve laugh, falling into Eddie's side, holding him tight, a weight falling off his shoulders knowing that Wayne was okay with them. 

You know, I always figured it would be you. 

No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me.

It made his eyes sting again, but he basked in the moment and in the knowledge that Wayne was on their side. Always has been, always will be. 

"You better come here on Sunday, and bring Robin and Chrissy, too." 

"Robs and Chrissy?" Eddie asked. 

"Oh, you're in for a treat. I'll see your asses on Sunday, boys." 

And with that, he hung up. Steve immediately went to call Robin, hopeful and giddy with Wayne's implication, knowing that Chrissy was Robin's person just like Eddie was his. 

"She loves me," Robin said, on the verge of tears, and Steve joined here right then and there. "She's– Steve. She's so– She... God!" 

"Yeah," Steve laughed at the ceiling above his bed, grinning because Robin sounded so happy, not even caring that she didn't have the right words for it, because he could hear Chrissy laughing in the background, too. Laughing and saying hi to him and interrupting Robin's ramblings and groans and giggles with kisses that always left her dumbstruck for a good two seconds each time. 

When the call ended, he went right back to the living room, where he and Eddie started watching Pride and Prejudice before, and fell right on top of him with a happy, happy smile. 

~*~

It happens at Wayne's, exactly one week after Eddie showed up at Steve's in the middle of the night. One week after the phone call. One week after I love you. 

It happens in the soft glow of the fairy lights Steve and Eddie helped him put up years ago. I happens after Wayne hugged him tight once more, after he pulled Chrissy to the side and promised her that she's still his kid, that he still loves her, and that he's happy to see her smile like that. After he promised the same to Robin.

It happens when Wayne's inside to refill their drinks and Chrissy and Robin are caught up in each other that they're blind and deaf to the rest of the world. When Steve turns to find Eddie looking at him with the softest, gentlest expression. 

"Eddie," he whispers, leaning in to rest their heads together, lacing their fingers and stroking his thumb along Eddie's palm.

"Yeah, baby?" 

Baby. It fills him with butterflies, with the urge to scream, to shout from all the rooftops that he loves Eddie, and more importantly, that Eddie loves him back! Baby. Baby.

"I love you." 

"Hmm. I love you more." 

No, you don't. Just longer. "Can I kiss you?" 

He can feel Eddie's little gasp before he leans in even closer, rubbing their noses together, cradling Steve's face with his free hand. "Please," he whispers. 

And Steve does. He captures Eddie's lips, pouring into it everything he feels and more. Sealing the promises he's made and all the ones he's yet to make. The promises to love and cherish Eddie. To be brave. To be there. To stay and keep and bask. 

It's nothing like their first kiss all those years ago. There is no question behind it this time. Only declarations, only promises, only the beginning of a shared future. 

And there are many, many more after this one.

🌷🤍🌷 THE END 🌷🤍🌷

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript @hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar @phirex22 @littlemsterious @captaingigglyguinea @animecookie95 @sharingisntkaren @haluton @littlemsterious @animecookie95 @suddenlyinlove @bisexual-bilingual-biped @jinx-nanami @makewavesandwar @scheodingers-muppet @morcantinon @hexdbog @homosexualhomocide13

god i can't believe it's over. i thank you, every one of you, who cheered for me, cried with me, screamed and yelled at me, and stayed with me throughout this past week. i have no words right now other than thank you 🤍🌷 and i hope this is okay

[varpusvaras]

Still thinking about this morning's little thought...about the post order 66 au...and how Fox has to learn how to walk again. And how Leia is also learning how to walk. So they're doing it together. Taking little steps. And later when they both can stay on their feet Leia will hold onto Fox's hand and they will walk on their own speed. And she is so, so supportive of her Buir and always cheering on him and they bond over their little walks.

[smolbonbon]

I will take care of you

Solar/Moon fanfiction

The prequel from Whether you like it or not you're stuck with me.

Compared to the Sequel this is a cozy fanfiction with shenanigans.

I hope you enjoy it <3

On the same night, Ruin was saved from the prison. Moon's steps echoed through the lobby while he was heading to parts and service. He wanted to see if he could track Eclipse's magic in a way before he called it a night. Eclipse always had a way to distract them.

Moon had to focus on so many things at the same time. Moon didn't know where to start and who to trust aside from Solar and Sun. Sure, he trusted Earth and Lunar but the last thing he wanted was to scare his smaller brother. Moon knew how easily Lunar gets locked up when it comes to Eclipse. And Earth didn't need to be more involved in their problems than she already was.

Then there is Ruin, the crescent Lunar animatronic who doesn't know what to think of them. Solar and he were quite confident about the fact that they could have been behind in making Eclipse. It's weird, Solar got knocked out and the footage of it was just gone. Ruin was the only one who was near him. But then again, there is no reason he could think of why they would do that. Maybe it was when Ruin was still infected?

Moon sighed as he moved his hands to his face. "One at a time, Moon." He muttered to himself. He can't start to spiral when he has to keep track of so many things. Moon focused on his to-do list and saw Solar send him the details of coding that he needed for the bodyguard. Well, that's for later.

Solar and he parted the tasks, the dusk animatronic mostly doing the mechanic details and Moon focused on doing the coding part. Solar is capable of programming but it's not his strongest suit. Also, it feels unfair to him if Solar does all the work.

Moon opened the door to the entrance from Parts and Service and sat down to start the computer.

Even if he's more than willing to do so. This fucker is a work alcoholic and if nobody stopped him, then Solar would work himself to the bone.

The blue crescent animatronic didn't know what he would have done if it wasn't for Solar's help. He had done so much for them even if he never had to.

A soft smile appeared on his face but before other thoughts came to his mind he shook his head and sighed. No time for that, the blue animatronic thought to himself. He stretched before he got up from the weird computer.

Parts and service were not his favorite place. It was cold, the room was always bad lighted and it gave him a weird gut feeling. Speaking of the cold, it was more chilly down here than usual.

He walked over to the locker and pulled out his key. Moon kept his tools in the locker since anyone could come down here and just snatch his stuff. As he opened the locker, he took an old keyboard out of it and went back to the weird computer. There was no way he would start looking for Eclipse with the three-button keyboard.

If you could even call that a keyboard. Moon looked at the time and it was 11 p.m. Maybe he would work until 3 a.m. and then call it a night.

Moon groaned as he walked to the daycare. He found nothing! No hints, nothing the computer could pick up, how is that possible? Eclipse didn't seem like himself, he was more clumsy and confused. The crescent Lunar animatronic didn't believe Eclipse was focused enough to not make any mistakes.

Moon opened the door and watched Solar drinking his coffee.

"Hi, Solar." The crescent Lunar animatronic mumbled and Solar raised his brow as he faced Moon. "Well, you sound happy." He sarcastically vocalized "No luck?" Solar questioned while setting his mug down.

"Nope, nothing." Moon sighed and let himself fall into the chair next to his companion.

Solar was about to say something but got interrupted by squeaks from the chair. Solar saw Moon spinning in his chair.

Solar watched him amused and waited for him patiently to spin it out from his system.

"Having fun there?" The dusk animatronic asked while the chair kept squeaking until Moon stopped.

"Sorry, I'm listening now." Moon said while getting comfortable in the chair. "You're good I think you needed this." Solar rasped out and the Lunar crescent animatronic watched his mug.

"I wanted to make myself a coffee." Moon mumbled. "Well, then go make yourself coffee." Solar suggested and Moon leaned lazily back in the chair. "Nah I'm too lazy."

The dusk animatronic thought for a moment and then handed his mug to him. "You can have the rest." Solar told him and Moon took it. "Are you sure?" Solar shrugged and grinned. "I had more than enough and besides If I drink more I might run around like Lunar when he had sundrops."

Moon cringed at the memory and then drank his coffee. It certainly wasn't the first time Solar and Moon shared a mug. There were times when Moon accidentally grabbed Solar's mug instead of his own while working. But it didn't bother them.

Their bond grew strong, especially after Moon and Solar worked on the satellite together. The things they went through together in a month were unspeakable. Side quests the celestial animatronics had to do for British Monty so they worked along which resulted in Solar tackling Moon so he didn't attack the British gator.

The amount of times they end up falling asleep on each other while they took a break from working. But that never changed, Lunar and Sun could prove it with the pictures they took for blackmailing.

Moon tasted the sweetness and licked his lips, he remembered how much of a sweet tooth Solar was. Which was ironic who would have guessed a grumpy animatronic like him was actually a sweet tooth? The blue crescent animatronic also liked the sweetness but not as much as Solar did. "Thanks, Solar." Moon rasped out.

Solar shrugged again. "I don't mind." The Solar bot spoke out.

"Anyways the computer was not able to find anything, don't you think that's weird? Eclipse was completely out of it even Ruin thinks so." Moon mused as he continued. "How is he able to hide his magical signature so well?"

The Solar bot thought about it. "Maybe it's Eclipse's creator who is hiding all the evidence?"

Moon moved his hand over his face while letting out a groan of frustration. "That could be it." He mumbled. "We still have zero process of who made Eclipse."

Solar leaned his hand on his shoulder and the crescent animatronic gazed at him. "How about we focus on our other project and come back to Eclipse's creator later?" Solar suggested. "Yeah, you're right. We should make sure Lunar is safe." Moon replied.

It was around 4:30 a.m. when they finally decided to stop. Both of them could barely keep their eyes open, they didn't want to mess something up and possibly destroy their process.

Moon headed to the theater. He saw Sun was cuddled up in a pile of pillows with his cats sleeping right next to him.

Moom yawned as he pulled the donut-looking pillow to a dark spot and a blanket. If he just laid on the ground again then Earth would scold him. He cringed at the memory when Earth found him lying faceplant on the ground. She sure gave him a fifteen-minute lecture on why it's bad for your back to sleep on the ground. Let's not forget about how Sun started to continue lecturing him about how many germs there were on the ground. Sun literally forced him to watch a documentary of germs.

Moon woke up his head was buzzing, and his wires felt all twisted and messed up. His fans were on full blast like he was overheating and yet he was shivering like a leaf.

Moon groaned and pulled himself up but he had to take a second before getting up, everything was spinning.

Oh boy, he probably caught something. Moon groaned and laid back on the donut thing as he pulled the blanket over his face. His joints hurt and felt like they were locked up. The crescent Lunar animatronic knew he wouldn't be able to work if he felt like this.

His vision was blurry and for some reason, he felt very anxious. But there was no reason to be, it wasn't the first time he caught a virus or something.

"Hey, computer, what time is it?" The grumpy Lunar bot asked. "It is currently 12:40 p.m., Moon."

Moon sighed, the theater would open soon and the last thing he wanted was to interact with Karen's. Also, Solar send him a message to come to the daycare.

So he made his way slowly to the daycare, there was a ringing in his ear and the light made his eyes hurt. Solar was already glued to the computer as he opened the doors.

The room was filled with kids and they were running around and screaming, like usual. Lunar was having a tea party with the other kids while Earth was comforting a child and Sun was preparing for snack time.

Solar drank his coffee as he tipped something on the keyboard. "Hey, Moon." The Solar bot spoke.

"How are you doing?" Solar asked while watching him. Moon sat down on the chair next to him and squinted over to Solar.

"Actually I'm not feeling good. I think I caught something." Moon rasped out.

"Yeah, you really don't look good." Solar said bluntly and Moon grumbled "Thanks, Solar."

Solar grabbed another mug and handed it to him. "So does Ruin."

"Geez Solar why so rude today?" Moon replied drowsily. "Huh? Wha- no that's not what I meant. He's also sick."

Moon took the mug and looked into it and tried not to grimace. Coffee was the last thing he wanted to drink. "It's tea, it should make you feel a bit better." Solar replied as if he could read Moon's mind.

"Thanks, Solar." Moon shivered as he drank a bit. "So Ruin is also sick?" Solar nodded. "They woke me up earlier and asked if I could do a diagnostic check on them."

Moon leaned in the chair as he listened. "Don't you think it's a bit weird that you both got sick right after our rescue?" Solar asked and Moon thought about it.

It was weird, maybe there was something in that prison that made them sick? "What do you have in mind, Solar?" Moon tilted his head as he asked.

"Well since I didn't get sick, despite being right beside you. I believe the barrier which kept Ruin in there was infected with some malware." Solar stated.

"I think you're right. " Moon spoke while placing the mug down and Solar shrugged

"So you believe the barrier infected us through the electric shock?" Solar nodded.

"Where is he anyway?" Moon questioned while looking around. "They're in the room beside mine, on the couch." Solar replied.

Moon coughed as he shivered and the dusk animatronic looked at him quite concerned. "You know you kinda look worse than they do." Moon deadpanned him. "Yea, you don't say, Solar." He mumbled.

"Moon, you know I don't mean it like that." Solar spoke amused as he pulled a blanket out from the drawer.

His frown turned to a grin. "Yeah, yeah I know." Solar stood up and wrapped a blanket around his shoulder. Solar moved his hand to his forehead.

"Computer can you do a diagnostic on Moon?"

Moon coughed into his elbow as Solar stood in front of him. The computer scanned him and then stated: "His temperature rose to 39,6°C"

Solar smiled fell and started to think.

"I recommend taking off his coat and pullover, so his fans on his back can work better." Spinard continued.

"I prefer not to take off my clothes here though." Moon mumbled and Solar looked at him. "Why? You used to walk around shirtless all the time."

Before Moon could answer him they heard Sun walking towards them. The bright animatronic could tell immediately Moon didn't feel well.

"Hey Moon are you okay?" The crescent Lunar animatronic nodded. "Hi Sun, yeah I'm okay, just caught a virus." Sun took a huge step back and distanced himself from them.

"Wuss." Moon verbalised and Sun pouted. "Hey, I have to take care of kids, I can't get sick. You know how many kids we get and I can't leave Lunad and Earth alone!" He did have a point but Moon just shrugged.

"Don't worry, brother I'll get out your rays in a minute." Moon uttered as another shiver struck his body. Sun smiled softly. "If you need something I can make Lunar get it."

"Thanks, Sun." Moon replied drowsily. "I'll look after him." The dusk animatronic spoke and Sun tilted his head. "That good I honestly was worried to leave him alone."

"Sun you don't have to worry about me" Moon mumbled and Sun's smile twitched. "Sure brother. " Sun spoke and before the crescent Lunar animatronic could ask him what he meant, they watched the bright animatronic turn around as he announced to the kids. "It's snack time!" They watched the kids running to the table and sat down enthusiastically.

"I guess I'm heading to the Parts and service." Moon mumbled, he felt the same anxiety as when he woke up. The thought of being alone made him nervous. Solar tilted his head. "Parts and service? How about we go to my room?" Solar recommended. "Like I said before I'll take care of you."

"I thought you meant checking up on me. Don't you want to keep working?" Solar shrugged. "I can work later. I wanna make sure you're doing okay." He spoke softly and Moon felt his cheeks lighten up. He looked to the side and hoped Solar didn't see his red face.

Solar moved to the door Moon followed but his head was spinning and his vision blurred. There was a loud ringing in his ear again and he then realized his vision was turning black. Moon grabbed on the chair and called out for Solar.

He couldn't hear anything but the ringing. Solar turned around to Moon's call, he saw him fainting, and before he hit the ground Solar animatronic caught him.

"Moon?!" Solar spoke alarmed, Moon's body fell limp against the dusk animatronic. He started to shake Moon and slapped his face softly. Solar realized he was shutting down since his fans were going quiet "Computer! Diagnostic Moon right now."

Solar picked Moon up as the computer stated. "His temperature has risen to 40,3°C. Solar you have to cool him down immediately."

Earth jogged towards Solar since she saw Moon fainting. "Solar? What happened?"

"Moon fainted, he has a high fever and I'm bringing him to my room. Send someone with icepacks." Solar rushed explaining while opening the door after Earth nodded he sprinted out of the daycare.

"My gut feeling was right to not leave you alone." He mumbled grumpy while running to his room. As he opened the door Ruin was sitting on the couch and looked at Solar a bit startled.

"Hi Solar-" Solar climbed through the tunnel with Moon. "Not now, Ruin. Moon passed out."

Solar felt his fans blasting and tried to stay calm as he took off Moon's coat and pullover.

The panicked bot pressed the button on Moon's chest to open his chestplate, Solar grabbed cables from the Arcade machine which is a working computer and plugged them into his chest.

Soon after Lunar climbed through the tunnel and brought icepacks. "I'm here, Solar!" The smaller jester yelped. "Okay do me a favor and put them on his forehead." Lunar nodded as he climbed quickly up on Solar's bed and leaned it on Moon's forehead.

Solar pulled Moon's pants up where his ankles were. "What are you doing, Solar? Is he going to be okay?" Lunar asked concerned. "He is going to be fine if I do this right. I'm freeing all his fans so he can cool down."

"I connected him to the computer so I can see better what is going on and it alerts me right away if something changes." Solar continued explaining.

Lunar nodded as he held the ice packet on his forehead. Solar glanced over to the monitor and then looked back to Moon.

"Computer can you do another diagnostic on him?" The arcade machine made a noise as the computer scanned him. "His temperature is going down his current temperature is 39,8°C. He should shortly turn back on."

Solar sighed relieved as he sat down next to Moon. Ruin then climbed through the tunnel as well and fidgeted with their hands. "Solar? What is happening to our companion?"

"He also got infected with the same virus but for some reason, he caught it way worse than you." Solar stopped for a moment and then turned to the computer. "Hey, Spinard can you do another diagnostic on Ruin?"

"Yes, of course, Solar. Ruin is currently okay, his temperature is still at 38°C but his fans aren't overheating." Solar let another relieved sigh out and leaned back to the wall.

"Well, that's rather weird." Ruin spoke. "I honestly thought you would have it worse since your body was fixed recently," Solar said thoughtfully.

"What does it have to do with that, Solar?" Ruin questioned out confused and tilted his head. "Well your body got fixed recently and your firewall could be distracted by that." Solar tried to explain but when a quiet click was heard, Lunar kicked him in the back.

Solar flinched and turned around to him grumpy. "Lunar-" The smaller bot smiled innocently. "I can hear his fans turning on," Lunar told them.

"He is actually rebooting." Spinard affirmed and Lunar shrugged. "The same thing."

The celestial animatronics waited for him to wake up but nothing happened after a while they could hear Moon snore. Lunar sighed and slapped him. "Wake up!" Moon groaned. "What the, what happened?" Moon rasped out. "You passed out because of overheating. How do you feel?" Solar questions concerned.

Moon pulled himself up and Lunar took the ice packet from his forehead. "I still feel like shit but not as bad as before," Moon mumbled and looked down. "Why am I shirtless?"

"Your fans were suffocating." Solar vocalized and Ruin side eyes the wall. Moon trembled and rubbed his arms. "Am I really overheating if I'm freezing?" Solar grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Moon's shoulders. "Yeah, it's normal."

Lunar looked worried up at Moon. "Are you going to be okay?" He asked and Moon glanced down to his younger brother. Moon smiled softly at him. "I will be all right, thank you for your help."

Lunar shrugged "It's whatever. Please stay here you scared us." Moon leaned back on the wall. "Oh, I'll definitely. I'm not going anywhere. I prefer not to pass out again."

The computer cleared out its non-existent throat to get their attention. "Solar, I have found out why Moon overheats so quickly."

The dusk animatronic gazed to the arcade machine.

"It seems like Moon didn't clean his fans in a long while and they're not working completely anymore."

Solar turned slowly his head back to Moon and the dark crescent animatronic suddenly felt like he was in danger.

Moon let out a nervous chuckle and looked at the three animatronics staring at him. "Oh boy." Ruin spoke while dramatically covering his mouth.

"Moon.." Solar scowled and before he could say something Lunar pushed a pillow directly on his face.

Ruin fidgeted with their hands as they watched the interaction. He yelped as Lunar suffocated his older brother with the pillow. "Before you overheat I'll strangle you!" Lunar hissed.

"Lunar!" Moon muffled while he tried to pull the pillow away from his face.

Solar picked up the smaller animatronic and pulled him away from Moon. "Lunar you gonna make him faint." Solar muttered and he blew raspberries at them. "Rightfully deserved." Lunar mumbled.

Moon sighed annoyed by his younger brother's shenanigans but he had a point. There was a ping and Lunar checked his messages. "Let go of me, Solar." The dusk animatronic let the small animatronic down.

Lunar brushed his clothes straight and crossed his arms.

"Earth and Sun are worried and it's about naptime so I'll go and help them." He said unamused while looking directly at Moon. "You better sleep with an open eye if you don't clean your stupid fans."

Moon put his hand to his chest. "I promise I'll clean them." Lunar squinted at him and pointed his finger at him dramatically. "You better clean them before the others come up here." Then the small animatronic turned around and left.

Solar looked at Moon pissed and the British animatronic glanced between them amused.

"Okay, I get it! I will clean them up." Moon defensively spoke while fighting a smile. "You better."

The dark crescent animatronic moved around and remembered that his chest plate was still open. Moon cringed at the feeling.

"Do you still need the cable plugged in?" He asked while covering his chest with the blanket. The situation made him feel exposed.

Solar thought about it, he was still worried that it might backfire. The fact his body overheated and he was unconscious for a few minutes worries him. "Hey, Spinard can you alert me if his body temperature rises or if there are other problems?"

"Of course, I shall alert you if there are any concerns." The computer agreed. "Thanks."

Solar moved his hands to Moon's chest, the dark lunar animatronic felt his face heaten and then Moon glanced over to Ruin. He realized they had been watching them the whole time. Ugh, he hoped Ruin didn't notice his bright faceplate. Solar pulled out the cables and Moon sighed while closing his chest plate.

"Are you just gonna stand there or will you sit down next to us?" Solar asked while looking over to the smaller jester.

"O-Oh, no, no I'm fine. I'll rest my eyes on the couch over there." They clumsily pointed to the yellow couch in the balcony room. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure. It was entertaining to watch but um.. you see the sickness makes me feel very woozy so I'll take a small nap!" Ruin fumbled with his words and smiled.

"Whatever suits you." Solar shrugged. "But you two have a wonderful afternoon. Ta ta." The silly jester hummed as they climbed out through the tunnel.

Moon and Solar glanced at each other.

"Entertaining to watch, huh?" Moon repeated and Solar huffed.

"Well, we deal daily with a lot of shit. I guess from an outside view it's very entertaining." Solar grumpy mumbled.

Moon groaned and leaned back as he cuddled into the blanket. Solar sat down next to him and watched him.

"Solar aren't you worried you will get sick as well?" Moon questioned, the dusk animatronic thought about it and then shrugged. "If I get sick then so be it."

"Besides I have to make sure you don't get strangled by Lunar." Solar teased, Moon rolled his eyes and smiled softly.

When Solar moved his arm back to the wall, his hand accidentally touched Moon's hand but neither moved their hand away. The dark crescent animatronic felt his faceplate brighten up, usually he didn't mind Solar's touch but for some reason it felt more.. welcoming?

Moon drew circles in his hand while looking to the side.

Moon felt like butterflies were stuck in his wires, it was not unpleasant, far from it. The dark crescent animatronic knew he had been feeling like this a while around Solar.

He remembered when Monty asked him if he was still AroAce but Moon didn't know.

Is this what romantic love feels like? Is it just a crush? Do Aromantic people experience crushes? Aside from gray and demiromantic people. Does he like him in a queerplatonic way? Maybe he's demiromantic, he the feelings didn't instantly start more after their bond grew.

Solar grabbed his hand and the dark crescent animatronic let out a strangled noise. Then both of them hear a loud whirr. Moon pulled his hat down with his other hand, how dare his body work against him?

Solar turned his head to the glowing animatronic, he immediately let go of Moon's hand and cleared his non-existent throat.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Solar spoke nervously.

"No, you're fine. Just startled that's all." Solar watched him. "I don't mind." The dark crescent animatronic mumbled and Solar smiled.

There was a moment of silence.

"But we should really clean your fans." Solar mused. "Now?" Moon asked.

The dusk animatronic shrugged. "I prefer if we do it now before your cables melt." Moon grunted embarrassed and crossed his arms. "Alright, we will do it now."

Moon felt the weight of the matress lift and he watched Solar getting his tools. He didn't realize he was staring at him until the dusk animatronic spoke. "So with which one do you want to start? We got one on your back and then on your ankles.

"I guess we can start with my ankles." Moon grumpy mumbled and Solar grinned at him. "Oh c'mon Moon, I'll be quick."

"Just let me do it myself." Moon groaned and covered his face. The dusk animatronic shook his head. "Not gonna happen I have the feeling that your vision is blurred."

Moon raised his brow. "How did you know?" Solar laid his tools on the desk and went towards the grumpy animatronic. "Moon, you're squinting a lot. It's not hard to tell."

Solar helped him to get up and walked to the desk. Moon sat down on the desk and sighed.

"Besides it's better if we do it now before Lunar comes back and strangles you." Solar teased and he rolled his eyes.

"So you wanna do this while being asleep or awake?" Solar asked and Moon thought about it. The thought of being shut down made him shiver but not because he doesn't trust Solar. Far from it, Moon trusted his friend with all his heart.

Heck, Solar could even do experiences on him and Moon would trust him completely. The blue crescent animatronic knew Solar was more than capable of taking projects in hand and making the right decision. Moon fought the urge to smile and shook his head.

"What does that mean?" Solar questioned confused. Moon perked up and realized he didn't really answer his question. "I want to stay awake."

The motives was due to his memory loss. Moon still feared to shut down only to wake up with no memories. Many accidents happen while being fixed and that gave him more anxiety.

Solar pulled the cables from the Arcade machine and cleared his throat. "So if you stay awake I'll have to connect you to the computer again."

Moon groaned and opend his chestplate. "Because you have to turn off the fan which you are working on." Moon spoke annoyed and Solar nodded.

After the dusk animatronic connected him to the computer and he tipped something until there was a beep sound. Moon felt his fans on his left ankle turn off, Solar then grabbed the screwdriver and pulled his pants up. He unscrewed the vents and gently pulled it out.

Dust instantly met Solar and he coughed. "Geez Moon when was the last time you cleaned it?" Moon didn't response his question. Solar raised his brow while glancing up to him. "Maybe a few months ago?" Moon mumbled and Solar frowned.

"No wonder you passed out." Solar scowled and Moon chuckled nervously while fidgeting with his hat. "I clean mine at least twice a month." Solar continued.

Moon let out a little: "Oh."

The dusk animatronic shook his head and started to clean out his fans. Both of them didn't say anything and the noises from the daycare of kids screaming and talking filled the silence.

"Doesn't it get annoying to work in here when the children are screaming?" Moon wondered out loud and Solar hummed. "It does but I have this function installed. Basically like noise cancelling headphones, so I can easily blend it out."

Moon glanced amazed to Solar, this animatronic has numerous smart ideas. "That's really clever, Solar." Solar shrugged and looked to the side. "Not really. I just got inspired when I saw a kid walking around with headphones."

Moon raised his brow and clung onto the blankets. "So? You still managed to build it."

Solar felt his faceplate heaten up. "I guess I did." He smiled softly while trying to focus on cleaning the vents.

After Solar cleaned the last vent on Moon's back, he got awfully quiet. The blue crescent animatronic was sitting backwards on the chair so it gave Solar easier access to his back.

Solar stopped and moved to the lunar animatronic. He noticed Moon's eyes were closed and his head was resting on the cushion from the chair.

"Hey Spinard, is Moon okay?" Solar whispered. "He is fine, Solar. Moon is currently sleeping." The Solar bot let out a relieved sigh.

"If there was a problem I would already have told you, Solar." The computer spoke out sassy.

When Solar was finally finished with cleaning he picked Moon gently up and moved towards the bed. The blue crescent animatronic clung onto Solar while he tried to lay him down.

The Solar bot let out an amused chuckle. "Moon.. let go off me." As he glanced to Moon he was looking direct at the dusk animatronic. "Join me?" Moon asked carefully and Solar raised a brow. "Are you sure?" He questioned while feeling his cheek lighten up and Moon only smiled at him with half lidded eyes. "If you don't mind?"

Solar felt flustered and let out an amused huff. "I don't mind."

The dusk animatronic moved in the bed and wrapped the blanket around them. He felt Moon arms wrapping around his back and Solar hesitantly hugged him while leaning his chin on his head.

The dark crescent animatronic didn't take long to nod off and Solar followed soon after.

"You're really great you know that, right?" Moon mumbled and Solar smiled fondly. "Moon, just go to sleep." He muttered light-heartedly.

__________________________________

Sun and Earth checked up on Moon.

Earth: "Aww look they're cuddling again!"

"They sure are."

Sun chuckled as he took pictures for blackmailing and Lunar followed them.

Lunar: "Ew cooties."

[ecstarry]

Fic: Mine

James Potter was an expert at identifying his feelings, easily naming them and pinpointing their origins. At 22 years old, he believed he had experienced every emotion he was meant to, convinced that no new ones would surface. 

‘Astonishment’ wouldn't suffice to describe the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that washed over James as a new emotion coursed through him at the sight of a graduate student looking at Regulus as if he were prey. He swiftly began to process his emotions: a searing heat akin to anger, a fierce protectiveness, and an unexpected pang of hurt reminiscent of his first heartbreak at sixteen. It was jealousy—the unexpected and unwelcome guest in his emotional repertoire. 

Now, mortification was the perfect descriptor for his current state as the realization dawned: it was Regulus, Sirius’ little brother, who sparked this new, unexpected emotion. Before James could process his feelings, he hurried over to where Regulus was talking with Evan and Pandora. Towering over the crowd, his striking good looks drew the attention of the graduate student who had been eyeing Regulus. James winked at him as he placed an arm around Regulus, gaze fixed until the man adverted his gaze. 

Regulus, oblivious to the display of possessiveness enacted in his defense tilted his head up at James, “Potter what are you doing? You startled me.” Still, James didn’t withdraw his embrace and Regulus didn’t retreat either. 

“Oh sorry, force of habit,” he gave Regulus’ arm one last squeeze and put his hands on his pockets. 

James would be experiencing this new emotion more frequently in the weeks that followed.

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

Happy 31st anniversary, DS9!

Because 31 is the Sloan number, I hereby challenge the fandom to collectively post at least 31 new fanworks tagged "Luther Sloan" on ao3 this year (2024) to celebrate! >:)

(The original air date of the first DS9 episode was Jan 3, 1993.)

[ohmytiredheart]

It's uncanny how much the FNAF lore actually makes sense if you look at it through the eyes of TMA

[pacificwaternymph]

"When's the last time you slept?" With witchcraft Scott being asked that by Joey? Or Cleo, whatever gets your brain juice flowing

"God, you look awful." Joey was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Scott felt irritation curl in his gut at the casual way which the other witch just waltzed into his home like he owned the place. His fists clenched as he fought to keep from snapping at the intruder. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he sneered. Truce or not, he and Joey certainly weren't on friendly terms, and he didn't appreciate his space being invaded with such little notice. He'd been in the middle of brewing potions, a very delicate process that required exact measurements.

He was already on his fifth try thanks to the way his hands shook and his vision seemed to blur and double. He didn't need additional distractions.

"Did you need something?"

"Come to think of it, do you even have a bed?" Joey bulldozed right over him, as if he hadn't heard Scott at all. "I've been through almost your entire house and I haven't found a single pillow."

Scott bristled. Did this man not have any respect for privacy?

"Why do you want to know? Trying to get a taglock?" Technically, the terms and conditions of their truce forbid Joey from practicing curses or voodoo, or any of the magic that Scott practiced. But he wouldn't put it past Joey to try and find a work around anyway.

"Oh yes, because that went so well for me the first time." The firefrost witch snorted, rolling his eyes. "As if. I know better than to try to mess with you by now."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." Scott rested his hands on the table behind him. "What do you want?"

Joey sighed, long and dramatic, as if it pained him to reveal his purpose here. Scott just scowled at him, refusing to say anything else until his rival spoke first.

"Fine, fine. Since you're just so insistent." Joey smiled amusedly and reached into his bag. Scott tensed, hand already straying towards his wand, but the other didn't move to attack him. Instead, his hand emerged holding a small poppet. "As per our agreement, I need someone cursed. I still have to get back at Pris for the whole demonic alter thing. I even saved you the trouble of having to make one of these creepy little dolls. You're welcome."

He tossed the poppet over to Scott, who held up a hand to catch it. Unfortunately, he was a bit too slow, and the doll bounced off of his hand and fell to the floor before he could curl his fingers around it. He stared at it in defeat for a few moments, as if he could will it back to him with the force of his disappointment, before giving up and bending over to pick it up.

When he looked back over at Joey, the firefrost witch's grin had dropped. His brow was slightly creased, lips twisted downward in what could almost be considered concern, if Scott were stupid.

"What?" He snapped. Joey hesitated, for once devoid of any mocking remark, his usual condescension completely gone.

"Are... you okay? Like I know I was joking about it but seriously... have you been getting any sleep at all?"

Scott grit his teeth and glared, but Joey's expression didn't change. He wasn't falling for it. It didn't matter that the last person to ask that question in a similar context was... him, he wouldn't give away any weakness.

"I don't need sleep," he informed Joey. "I did away with my bed after you and Pris attempted to get my taglock."

Joey's eyes widened, posture loosening. "...Oh." His gaze flicked from side to side, looking mildly uncomfortable. "I... sorry, I guess."

"Don't be. If anything, I should be thanking you. After all, you brought to my attention a glaring vulnerability that my enemies could easily use against me. Thanks to you, I was able to get rid of it" Scott turned back to his brewing stand. "Now, what kind of curse were you thinking of?"

Joey didn't say anything, which was again, strange. After a few seconds, Scott glanced behind him to make sure he was still there. The other witch's mouth was pinched, his eyes welling up with pity. It made Scott's skin crawl.

"...It can wait. You should get some rest."

Scott barked out a laugh.

"I thought you were done with underestimating me. Do you really think I would listen to you of all people?"

Joey's shoulders rose, expression turning sour. "Well forgive me for being concerned."

Scott snorted. "You. Concerned about me?" He shook his head. "Alright, very funny. Who are you really? Is that you, El? Shelby? Tiff?"

"I-I am not any one of those pathetic excuses for witches!" Joey cried out indignantly. "How dare you! Is it so impossible to believe that maybe it is really me?"

"Yes," Scott deadpanned.

Joey turned bright red. "W-well- you-" He screamed in frustration. "Just listen to me, would you? You're of no use to me if you can't even think straight."

"I never do anything straight."

"Me neither, but that is besides the point. Look, you can't curse someone if you can barely keep your eyes open. For all I know you could accidentally grab the wrong taglock and then boom, I'm being lit on fire every time I step out in the sun again." He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just... get some sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."

Scott bit back a traitorous yawn, as if summoned by the very thought. He couldn't go to sleep now- he just couldn't. There was too much that could happen to him while he was asleep. He wouldn't be able to defend himself if someone attacked him. Or tried to steal from him. Or cursed him. Joey was crazy if he thought that Scott would really trust his word.

"I'll call Cleo if you don't."

Scott froze.

"As if she'd pick up for you," he shot back. Joey smirked.

"She would if I was calling from your landline."

...Damnit.

"Alright, fine. Geez." Joey's face turned triumphant. Scott let out a low growl. "I'll go to bed. Now leave me alone."

Joey laughed. "I don't believe you. I'm staying right here until I see for myself you that you fell asleep."

"That is so creepy."

"I don't care. If you're going to insist on making yourself my only option for curses, then I'm going to make sure that I'm getting the best quality possible out of it. Now move, chop chop. Before you actually keel over." Joey gestured behind him to the empty hallway.

Scott grumbled and set down the poppet, but shuffled over to the door anyways. Joey led him down into the living room and over to one of the couches, before immediately sashaying off to the nearest closet and throwing it open.

The inside had extra blankets and linens that Scott never actually used, but Joey didn't even seem to see the dust that had piled up on top of them before he was pulling at one of the blankets and shaking it out.

Scott remained on edge as he watched Joey flit around the room, trying to look for something that could suffice as a pillow. He still didn't trust it. He couldn't believe a single thing that the firefrost witch said (no matter the small part of his brain that tried to convince him otherwise).

Joey definitely observed this, and rolled his eyes again. Scott remembered vaguely his mother telling him that if he did that too many times, they'd get stuck back there. He hoped that didn't happen. It would be a shame if Joey's eyes got stuck. They were quite pretty to look at, despite the aggravating personality of the person they were attached to.

The firefrost witch set a hand on his shoulder that burned, which Scott brushed off as his magic, and pushed him into lying down, propping his head with a cushion he'd pried off the other couch and throwing the blanket over him.

"I'll keep watch, or whatever. Nothing will happen while you're out."

"And how am I supposed to trust that?" Scott muttered, although his exhaustion was already sinking into his bones.

"Relax. Killing you in your sleep is hardly beneficial to me right now." Joey's grin was still the same arrogant, self-satisfied thing it always was. But the edges seemed... softer. Or maybe Scott really was just sleep deprived.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you care so much?" Scott turned onto his side. He saw Joey turn his head quickly so that his face was hidden, but he could have sworn he saw a flash of red across his cheeks.

"I don't," Joey said, voice sounding slightly strained. "It's like I said. I want only the best of the best. I can't have the quality of your curses be affected by your terrible self care habits, now can I?"

Scott hummed. He was sure there was a flaw in that logic somewhere, but he was too tired to figure it out. His eyes slipped closed, and he finally let himself fall into the depths of unconsciousness.

[pretentiouswreckingball]

✹✯✹✯✹ my submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ✯✹✯✹✯

prompt: Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets

Drarry | 1.5k | kinda nsfw towards the end |

Summary: Draco has a septum piercing. Harry doesn’t know what to do about that (yes, he does).

✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯

And all my pals will tell me is that I'm crazy

You bet I'm loopy, alright

And I just don't recognise

This fool that you have made me

✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯

“Harry, you’re doing it again.” Hermione squeezes the back of Harry’s hand giving him a bemused smile. 

Harry frowns. “Doing what again?”

Ron takes a swing of his beer, “Come on mate, we know you can get a little bit obsessed when it comes to him but—”

“I’m not obsessed—”

“Yeah you are,” Ginny snorts from beside Hermione ignoring Harry’s glare, “It’s bad enough that even I noticed and I’ve been here for what, twenty minutes?” Ginny leans close, amusement all over her face, regarding a very irritated Harry. “So, what is it this time? Did he change his cologne or did he start combing his hair differently or…”

“Is it because this has been the longest that you two have been apart since you got together and you just miss him?” Luna intervenes before Harry gets a chance to tell Ginny to fuck off. 

The blond girl perched under her girlfriend’s arm looks at Harry directly in the eyes and Harry can’t help but shift uncomfortably, looking away.

“Come on sweetheart, it can’t be that.” Ginny shakes her head at her girlfriend. “Malfoy has only been away for— what, a month? Harry can’t possibly…oh you’re joking,” Ginny laughs in disbelief at Harry’s crimson cheeks. 

“No, it's not— it's not just that,” Harry amends, still not looking at anyone in the face, “It’s just the other night when we were talking over floo, he looked… strange. I don’t know how to describe it better, okay? but I think he’s— I think he’s up to something,” Harry grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth and the cacophony of groans in different states of despair is hard to miss.

“You gotta be kidding me,”

“Harry come on,”

“It’s like sixth year all over again,” Ron points out beside Harry. “Always thinking Malfoy was up to something, obsessed over his every move, I thought that maybe now that you two are together, that would stop but I think it only got worse.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Harry grumbles under his breath. 

When he doesn’t get an immediate response, Harry looks up to four pairs of eyes giving him knowing looks and well, who could blame them? Harry is obsessed. Well on his way to insanity, but how’s that bad, being obsessed over one’s own boyfriend? Besides, it’s not like he’s wrong. He knows Draco is up to something, he can tell a disillusionment charm when he sees one. Even if he isn’t an Auror anymore, he’s not easily fooled. 

“If you weren’t already together, It would’ve been kind of creepy mate,” Ron observes, concerned. 

Hermione tuts, “Leave him, Ronald, we always knew they would end up together, didn’t we?” 

“He might be insane but it’s not like he’s going to marry him anytime soon.”

Harry splutters half of the beer he’s drinking and Ginny only gives him an amused look.

“You did that on purpose,” Harry accuses.

Ginny concedes with a nod but shrugs regardless, “I’m not hearing you deny it,”

Suddenly, the condensation around his beer seems fascinating to Harry. 

Two silent beats and then,

“Oh, Harry,” Luna coos.

“Oh no, you’re so gone,” Ginny teases, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Ron pats Harry on the back, heaving a sigh, “You’re completely mental, mate.”

“And you weren’t completely wrong,” Hermione says and it’s her tone that makes Harry look up from his beer and it’s then that Harry notices everyone is looking at something behind him in various degrees of surprise.. 

Confused by this, Harry turns around and his eyes immediately latch onto the blond boy at the other end of the pub. The vindication Harry ought to feel is quickly overshadowed by the almost physical reaction he gets when he takes a good look at Draco. Specifically, at Draco’s face. If his friends think he is already obsessed with his boyfriend, Harry is about to become completely mental. 

No matter all that Harry praises himself for being observant, never in a million years would he have guessed what Draco was hiding from him. 

A piercing. 

A silver septum piercing. 

Yeah, Harry is completely and utterly fucked.

You see, Harry has always known Draco is pretty. 

Back at Hogwarts, it drove Harry spare becuase it was one of those undeniable truths that go left unsaid because it is so damn obvious nobody feels the need to point it out. To have such strong negative feelings for someone it wasn’t that surprising after all that they ended up where they did.

So, even after all this time, when Draco’s beauty was something Harry could no longer just admire from afar but touch, well, it could drive anyone crazy. Draco was already very fucking pretty but to add a silver piercing to the mix? the bastard was out to kill him, Harry was sure. The final revenge is to make Harry’s mind implode. There was nothing Draco could do now that would shake Harry’s foundation more than this. 

And then, Draco looks back.

Harry is not aware of his surroundings, focused solely on Draco. All his mind can conjure as background noise is a low whistle and a “good luck, mate!” from the table he was in. Doesn’t matter anymore, he only cares about what’s in front of him. 

Making his way to the entrance of the pub, bumping into people murmuring distracted apologies as he goes, after what seems like an eternity, he finally makes it to the other side. 

Draco regards him with curiosity, a smirk tugging from his lips when Harry gets close.

“Harry? What are you—“

“Shut up,” Harry takes Draco’s face in his hands and kisses him hard. Draco lets out a soft whimper but quickly melts in Harry’s hands, kissing him back just as fiercely. 

“Mmm, does that mean you like it?” Draco whispers when they resurface sometime later, still a bit breathless, leaning closer to each other.

“I. Love. It.” he punctuates every word with a hard kiss against Draco’s soft lips.

Draco hums, pleased. Harry doesn’t waste any time, tilting his boyfriend's head to the side to have better access to his neck. Draco complies willingly. 

“Why Harry, ravishing your boyfriend in the middle of a public place, what would the Prophet say?”

“Fuck the Prophet,” Harry grumbles against his skin, biting that soft spot between Draco’s shoulder and his neck, where his pulse point is, making the blond bite back a groan. He tugs Harry's face up and kisses him even harder.

It’s not until Harry shifts a little, putting his leg between Draco’s to let him rub against it that the blond breaks the kiss to look at Harry.

“As much as I love this warm welcome Harry, I would prefer a more private setting if it’s the same for you,” Draco says breathing hard but he doesn’t stop Harry, he actually tugs him closer by the hair, so he can latch to his neck that is sporting some noticeable marks already.

Harry cannot actually think at this point but Draco is right, what Harry wants to do to him is not for everyone to see.

“My place is closer,”

“Lead the way,” still holding Draco by his hips, Harry apparates them away.

✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯

Baby, we ought to fuck

Seven years of bad luck out

The parlor room mirror

Could I have made it any clearer?

✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯

They don’t even stop kissing when they enter the parlour, not even to take off their clothes. It’s rather difficult to do that while you’re sucking the life out of someone but they manage. When they are left only in their pants, Harry manhandles Draco a little further inside and with a hand on his way and the other on his chest, Harry finally turns him around.

What are you—” Draco asks but stops when he sees where Harry is taking him: in front of the full-size mirror that takes up the better part of the wall. 

Draco looks completely debauched; lips shining with spit, hair all over the place, a glint coming from the piece of jewellery on his nose and Harry cannot believe how incredibly lucky he is, being able to see Draco Malfoy in this state and being the cause of it. He looks beautiful and Harry can’t wait to make a complete mess out of him.

Never breaking eye contact with Draco in front of him, Harry tugs him closer by the waist until there’s no surface they’re not touching. He can feel Draco’s arse touching the outline of Harry’s hard cock and Harry gives a teasing move when he hears Draco’s breath catching.

He then leans closer, his mouth next to Draco’s ear and in a low tone Harry says,

“I want you to watch.”

Draco laughs, breathless. “Kinky bastard, aren’t you?”

“As if you didn’t put this mirror here for this exact same reason,” says Harry as he leaves a trail of open-mouth kisses down to Draco’s throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s trying to appear nonchalant, Harry can tell, but the way his body responds to Harry’s touches says otherwise.

He licks the side of Draco’s throat making him shiver. “Let me remind you, then.”

[atelierlili]

Poisoning Pigeons in the Park

The title is inspired by the song with the same name by Tom Leher.

This is just a silly medieval/fantasy/dnd-kinda inspired Everlark Oneshot AU. It came to me in the daze when my kitten woke me up at 4 am. It's barely edited, but i'm just happy I actually wrote something and finished it. Lmao.

Snippet:

"Could have done us all a favour and put her on stage first," I grunt, glaring at him as he hands me my drink back. "Your wailing could land you a cozy job in the gallows. Heard Snow's been trying to find new ways to torture people. I could even put in a good word for you." 

The bard laughs, "I think so too. But my girl is stage shy so I do what I can to make her comfortable." 

A pair of travellers walks into the tavern. Wouldn’t raise much of a fuss if it weren’t for the wailing of the out of tune lute that the boy was strumming. Did the fella smash someone over the head with that thing or something? Boy must be deaf ‘cause he’s chippier than a squirrel. 

The Lass following behind him who doesn't seem to mind the noise. She’s dressed in all black, like a shadow, and carries a bow that hangs off her arm. Poor thing looks like his bodyguard. She looks good though. Small. Thin. No breasts to comment about, but there’s a hint of a tight ass there. Maybe I can convince her for some time away from this bellend she’s traveling with. I got some coin. 

I take a sip of my ale and let the booze warm my blood. A couple more glasses of these and maybe I can tune out the Lad’s annoying lute plucking. Maybe if I’m lucky someone will punch the daylights out of him. 

“Big crowd tonight! First time in the 12. And you do look like a dreary lot. I think it’s a great time for a song, don’t cha think?” 

I frown and look into the stage. Ah bugger. The bard with the detuned lute is on stage now. Who's bright idea was to give this guy an audience? 

Despite asking the crowd, the idiot begins to sing. And dammnit all, this fucking blows. I’ve heard of strangled cats that sound better than this bloke. He’s more out of tune than the fucking lute. 

All the world seems in tune On a spring afternoon When we're poisoning pigeons in the park Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park

Then, over the strangled tunes of this botched siren comes out a wailing "Oh brother, this guy stinks! Get him outta here!" 

I join in on the booing. I even chortle when someone throws a full mug of ale at the bard. The Lad takes it all in good humour and bursts out into laughter. 

"What an encore!" he laughs, ducking as someone hurts a wooden fork his way. "We got one more song for tonight and - woah, good throw! - but I'll let my good friend take the stage!" 

The bard turns to his female friend, holding out his lute to her. The lass is fighting the grin on her face as she takes the lute from him and kicks him off stage. She's a pretty thing, so once she sits down, the tavern riles down. 

She teases us too. Carefully plucking and tuning the lute until it rings just right when she strums. 

Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

Oh. She's got a voice on her. Better than anyone I've heard around these parts. I can tell I'm not the only one to think so cause the folks around me stop and stare. And judging by the staring, I got some competition if I want to get some time with that Lass tonight. 

"Quite the songbird, isn't she?" I jump, nearly dropping my cup as the Bard slides into the seat next to me. He takes the opportunity to swipe my drink from me and take a sip. "Doesn't believe me when I tell her that the gods are envious of that pretty voice of hers." 

"Could have done us all a favour and put her on stage first," I grunt, glaring at him as he hands me my drink back. "Your wailing could land you a cozy job in the gallows. Heard Snow's been trying to find new ways to torture people. I could even put in a good word for you." 

The bard laughs, "I think so too. But my girl is stage shy so I do what I can to make her comfortable." 

I grunt and take a big chug of my ale, annoyed but not surprised at the revelation. What the Lass sees in this loser is beyond me. She could use a real man to tell her how things work. 

"Besides, this is only a side thing for us. A cover up." 

I got a brow and wet my tongue. The ale is thick and sweet on my tongue. It gives me a pleasant buzz. "So what do you do?" 

"You'll find out soon enough, Cray." 

I open my mouth to argue, but I find myself suddenly feeling sluggish. Like my arms and legs are made of lead. My tongue feels larger than it should, large enough to me to choke on it. 

My face hits the table with a thud. I can feel the cool liquid of the ale spill onto the table. Before everything goes dark, I can hear the low out of tune humming from beside me. 

Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park…

"I can't believe you left me there in the tavern to fend for myself." 

I laugh at Katniss as she scowls at me, arms crossed, hip jutting out, and a foot taping furiously. 

"But you had such a big encore- a sincere one too!  I couldn't bear to ruin your spotlight to help me carry this guy out." I prove my point by kicking the Peacekeeper's shoe. He grunts and tips over like a log. 

I know I'm forgiven because Katniss reaches out and curls into my side, wrapping her arms around me. On instinct I bend down to press a small kiss against the side of her head. 

"This is the guy, right?" 

I sense Katniss looking over my shoulder and glare. She's told me stories in the quiet of the night, of what her mother did for her and her little sister Prim. What she gave up so her girls could eat. She told me of the man that preyed on her mother until there was nothing left. 

Katniss nods. 

I peel myself off of Katniss, and rummage through the Peacekeeper's pockets. There I find what we're looking for. A gold key. I hand it to Katniss, who takes it without a word. 

"Think we'll be able to find where they took Prim with this?" Katniss asks me in a small voice. 

I don't know, but I have to be strong for her. I need to give her a little hope. I give her hand a squeeze. "It's our best bet so far." 

Katniss sighs. "Well, now what are we going to do with the body?" 

[azems-familiar]

"Can you just- for a minute, can you pretend that I mean something to you?'

this. uhhhhhh. got a LOT longer than i intended it to, and also had a lot less angst, though if you consider the other pov there is definitely so much more. and also with literally all the context. anyway. have 5.6k words of emetraha, because i have brainrot and the prompt worked so well for them i had to choose between multiple options.

The Exarch being away is the last thing Emet-Selch expects when he arrives at the Crystarium for their usual discussion and debate over tea. The man is bound to the Tower; while he can leave, it weakens him, and thus in all the time Emet-Selch has known him he has only left Lakeland’s borders on the rare occasion, usually to treat with Eulmore (prior to Vauthry’s birth, of course) or in the event of some emergency. According to the Captain of the Guard, however (who had seemed faintly amused when he asked as to the Exarch’s whereabouts), he left the Crystarium three days ago to make the trek to Rak’tika to meet with the Night’s Blessed. The matter of this meeting, she informs Emet-Selch, is something the Exarch himself can decide whether or not to disclose to a non-citizen, and he is not expected to return for another four days, but she can offer Emet-Selch the approximate location of his destination, should he so desire to bother their leader directly.

He does, in fact, so desire. The endless waiting is the most intolerable part of any Rejoining, and while the millennia have gotten him quite accustomed to patience, he is terribly bored, and there is only so much he can do. Should he push the shard too quickly, the Light could consume it entirely before the Source is prepared, leaving a hollow void as useless as the Thirteenth - and Emet-Selch has no intention of repeating Igeyorhm’s mistakes. Thus the necessity of filling his time with activity unrelated to his plotting - and the draw of his weekly meetings with the Exarch. It has been some time since he sparred with someone near his equal in intellect, after all.

Of all places near a Warden, Rak’tika is less burdensome than others; beneath the boughs the shadows are deep enough to provide some measure of relief from the omnipresent Light and its burn. Thus Emet-Selch does not particularly mind teleporting to a location just outside the Night’s Blessed’s fort and asking after the Exarch once again from their sentries. What he does mind is being informed that the Exarch is late and has yet to arrive, and that they’re considering sending scouts out to search for him if he does not arrive within another few hours.

Emet-Selch sighs. Their scouts are near-guaranteed to be ineffective fools, and he is admittedly curious as to what could delay the Exarch, which means the solution, while distasteful, is an obvious one. “No need,” he informs the sentry, a slight bite to the words. “I will find him myself.”

Truly, how frustrating. And all because he desired a cup of tea and a stimulating conversation.

With the star as shattered as it is, his sight is without equal, and though the presence of the Light somewhat hinders him it takes very little effort all the same to find a shadow to hide in and look into the aether, with a range that far outstrips his usual vision. There’s a glaring brilliance in the sky that reflects off the currents in the ground and air, fragmenting his sight and making it difficult to pick out specifics, but after a moment of squinting against it he catches a hint of the Exarch’s familiar aether, far away and fluctuating with some kind of stress. It could simply be the knowledge that he is late for his meeting, Emet-Selch allows, but there is something…a greater concentration of Light around him. Sin eaters, perhaps? It would be unfortunate indeed were the great Crystal Exarch to be so waylaid.

…Emet-Selch has yet to have an opportunity to see the man in combat. His skills as a mage are whispered about in the Crystarium, but much of what he has accomplished can easily be attributed to his command over the Tower - which, Emet-Selch has to admit, does make him a mage of some high caliber. The Exarch is capable of directing the Tower to perform feats Emet-Selch had not expected from a Sundered soul, and his attempts at turning Allag’s voidgate technology into a summoning spell speak to his grasp on the theoretical. Combat magic, however, is an entirely different beast, and Emet-Selch is curious. And perhaps any observations he might make could unlock some of those secrets the Exarch so furiously guards.

Thus decided, he spirits himself away through the shadows, off in the Exarch’s direction. It takes four attempts for him to actually reach the man; when he finally does, he steps out of the rift into the scene of a small massacre. An overturned wagon lays sprawled across the major path through the Greatwood, crates of supplies and possessions scattered about, some torn open. Several bodies, viis all, have been flung about, deep wounds across multiple of them, marked by claws and swords, no life left in them whatsoever, and scorch marks litter the ground, patches of grass smoldering still. Smoke is heavy in the air, smoke and the spark of fading Light aether and the metallic tang of blood, a rather unsavory pall, and without any wind there is nothing to disperse it.

Emet-Selch arrives just in time to watch the Exarch, standing in the middle of the carnage, gesture with his staff and send a bolt of flame through the last remaining sin eater.

For all that he makes a heroic figure, robes bright and staff gleaming, his body language is anything but. His shoulders are tense and hunched, his fingers too-tight around his staff, his skin pale where it is visible, his legs trembling slightly. And curled against his side, held there by his flesh-and-blood arm, is a tiny viis child with wavy grey hair and small ears pressed flat against the sides of her head, her fists clinging to the Exarch’s robe, an expression on her face that is the kind of fear that has passed through the event horizon of utter terror and morphed into stillness again. Blood streaks her cheek and one arm - a gash in her forehead, another on her bicep. From her size she cannot be any older than three or four years.

“Well, well,” Emet-Selch murmurs, sweeping his eyes over the bodies - yes, that one, with the similarly-pale hair, bears enough resemblance it could be her mother. “So it was sin eaters that delayed you. I wonder, did you involve yourself before or after you knew the child yet lived?”

He takes a few steps out from behind the tree he’d teleported up against, carefully skirting the edges of the Light dappling the ground, bringing him within two or three yalms of the Exarch, though he has to pick his way around the detritus of this family’s existence as he does. The girl’s eyes snap to him as he does, but she doesn’t move except to lean her cheek against the Exarch’s shoulder. There is a rather worrying glassiness in her gaze, if he were to concern himself with such things.

The Exarch’s breaths are coming in short, shallow pants, he notices absently. Pain? “...before,” and the man’s voice is tight, raspy. Emet-Selch knows him well enough by now to know when it is in fact pain that burdens him, and this- despite his lack of visible injury, he must have put himself in harm’s way. “I would not chance passing by if someone yet lived and abandon them to such a fate.” He breathes out, shakily, and returns his staff to his back, brushing his crystal hand gently over the girl’s hair. “...you’re safe for now, little one.”

The child does not respond.

“I believe she may have a head injury,” Emet-Selch informs the Exarch, though he has no particular reason to do so. Why should he care if a single Sundered child lives or dies? And yet…it would be too easy to recall the terrified children on the streets of Amaurot, fleeing the beasts they could not contain. “You may wish to tend to it, should you desire her survival. Considering your boundless compassion for these poor creatures you consider mankind, I assume you do.”

He paces a few more steps away and crouches down to absently rifle through one of the crates - dried fruits and meats, a sack of nuts, a small store of root vegetables, nothing particularly interesting. Behind him he can hear the Exarch murmuring a quiet thank you before the aether ripples with the telltale shimmer of a healing spell; Emet-Selch does not watch, just moves on to investigate the rest of the supplies, half out of curiosity and half because it gives him something to do while he waits. Perhaps the Exarch will be more inclined to conversation once the child has been seen to and calmed.

Perhaps, Emet-Selch considers, he ought to offer the Exarch healing for whatever injuries he bears - but he has never been much of a healer, and there is a difference between providing some oblique aid to his enemy that they may continue their game and directly intervening in affairs that could hinder the Rejoining. The Exarch may be the most intriguing and capable enemy he has had the chance to face in quite some time, but he still stands solidly against the Ardor, and he has never entertained the delusion that the Exarch would set aside their enmity to join with him, no matter that he would make such an excellent addition to their cause. No matter that Emet-Selch has of late found himself wondering more and more what the Exarch would be like, were he Unsundered, soul as bright as it should be. As clever as he is now, Emet-Selch can only imagine what sort of mind he would have were the star whole - enough intelligence to rival Azem and their greatest researchers, he would think.

…it is a futile thought, he knows. But he does not intend to forget the soft rose color of the Exarch’s soul, and should he chance to see it again, when he and his brethren have succeeded- well.

For a few moments, the only sounds are Emet-Selch’s footsteps and quiet rummaging and the Exarch’s breathing, still too harsh and short. With little left to investigate, he eventually stands and stretches absently, turning back to the Exarch - as he watches the man finishes casting another healing spell and the last of the wounds across the girl’s skin close and fade. Not something one with no healing training whatsoever could accomplish, and Emet-Selch raises an eyebrow, musing. His power comes from the Tower, of course, but the knowledge of how to use it - perhaps it was found in the archives. The Exarch does seem to have few hobbies beyond studying and assisting his people.

Before he can question the Exarch, however, there’s a rustling of brush, the sound of wings on the air, and four middling-sized eaters wander out onto the path, drawn straight towards the Exarch and his living aether - and perhaps that would mean little at all, but one of the large winged eaters, bearing sword and shield and the ability to force a transformation, Light pulsing through its white-marble body in waves, descends from the sky, sword held in front of it and gilt wings spread to their fullest extent. The Exarch spits a curse, drawing his staff once again, and sets his feet, and the little girl whimpers and closes her eyes.

Emet-Selch leans against the overturned wagon and watches, untouched by the eaters. Their Light is antithetical to his Darkness, indeed, the brush of it burns like hot oil, but so too is his Darkness more than enough to quench their Light, and they have the intelligence to know his aether would not sate their hunger. He is of no danger as long as he does not come face-to-face with a Lightwarden.

The Exarch does not have that same assurance, and the tension in the corners of his mouth, his pursed lips, speak to his own knowledge of such. But Emet-Selch wishes to observe, and he would truly be a fool were he to intervene now, when this will give him an excellent view of how his enemy handles being pressed and when actively fighting back against the Light, within the Light, would exhaust him far more than he is willing to extend himself for a Sundered soul who would oppose the Ardor.

The Exarch takes three steps back, dodging clawed swipes from two of the lesser eaters, and casts a spell - ice that freezes one of the eaters in place, something far less intensive than the fire he had been calling moments ago. The trembling in his muscles is more pronounced now, as is the sweat beading on his plaster-pale skin, and Emet-Selch takes a step of his own forward despite himself, unease stirring low in his gut. The Exarch is meant to be his opponent in the long game, not to get himself killed by sin eaters over a mere child unlikely to survive to adulthood before the shard is lost-

The greater eater swings its sword in a wide, sweeping motion, and the Exarch grits his teeth and raises his staff, summoning a shimmering barrier into existence around him, a spell clearly adapted from the Allagan defense technology he uses to defend the Crystarium. An impressive display of skill - and though the lesser eaters throw themselves at it, it continues to hold, even as the Exarch shifts and begins to mutter a teleportation incantation under his breath, gathering his aether to spirit himself and the child away. A wise decision, in the face of this threat, Emet-Selch thinks, though it leaves the eaters free to advance on the nearby village. The Exarch’s vaunted compassion, it seems, does not extend to risking his own life.

The greater eater floats back a couple of fulms, raises its sword again, and with little fanfare slices the blade through the air again - and this time, a bright bolt of Light sears forward off it, sharp enough Emet-Selch is momentarily dazed, his sight vaguely scorched by the intensity. The Exarch’s barrier distorts, twists, and collapses in on itself in a rush of aether, the distraction enough to break his teleportation spell before he can execute it, and though the lesser eaters hiss in something that approximates joy, they do not move. Instead they leave it to their seeming commander to lunge forward with a blinding rush, sword held at the ready.

The girl screams, terror so all-consuming Emet-Selch can nearly feel it. Something cracks-

A sound claws itself free from the Exarch’s throat that sounds nearly inhuman. Emet-Selch blinks, then blinks again, and - the Exarch has thrown his crystal arm, claimed by the Tower, between the eater’s sword and the girl he carries, and the tip of the blade is embedded in the sapphire crystal, leaving fissures spreading up the arm from the point of impact and a deep gouge in the flat of his arm just above his wrist. Emet-Selch sucks in a breath despite himself, because the Exarch may be tied to the Tower but that does not mean he cannot feel pain, and the force it would take to shatter the parts of him he has given over-

“Emet-Selch.” The Exarch’s voice is hoarse to the point of near-unrecognizability, taut with pain and desperation, stumbling along the edge of begging. He has never, ever spoken such in Emet-Selch’s presence. “Can you just- for just one moment, will you please pretend that I mean something to you?”

For- for some reason, Emet-Selch feels the words like an impact hard enough to steal the air from his lungs, like a constriction around his throat, like the knife of his loneliness he has lived with for so long has not only driven between his ribs but twisted. The eater draws its sword back once again, raising it for the kill - or to attempt to turn both man and child, more like. He thinks of- afternoons spent deep in debate over the minutiae of the Tower’s function and the technology the Crystarium survives on, Allag’s history and the actions of Emet-Selch’s own order. Of the lounge they typically take their tea in and how it has been Umbrally-aligned for decades, despite the extra drain that would put on the Tower’s resources in this climate. Of how eager the Exarch is to present Emet-Selch with new volumes of theater, whenever one of his people manages to find or pen one. Of the indisputable fact that this enmity between them, this game they play, has caught and held his attention in a way nothing has since his son died and he once again gave up on the Sundered entirely.

…he is here, in this Light-suffused forest, is he not?

Pretend that I mean something to you.

That is truly not so difficult, in the grand scheme of things. The Exarch yet has secrets Emet-Selch has not divined, after all, and it would be a shame to strike him from the game board before they are revealed.

In the breath between heartbeats, Emet-Selch steps through the rift and puts himself neatly between the eaters and the Exarch. A simple twist of his will brings up an unwavering shield of translucent violet - the greater eater’s sword bounces harmlessly off it, the lesser eaters’ claws are a barely-noticeable scratching, and he could maintain this indefinitely, as long as no great amount of Light was brought to bear against it or him, but considering the sound of the Exarch’s ragged breathing and the quiet, poorly-stifled noises of pain, he doubts the man has the focus to teleport at the moment, and- well. Perhaps he finds himself annoyed, and the loss of five eaters will hardly matter as long as the Wardens remain. To truly fight back will drain him, yes, but it is difficult to care.

He musters his aether against the heavy, suffocating Light, lifts his hand, and snaps his fingers.

It’s an easy visualization. Large, dagger-shaped blades of shadow leap forth from him and slam into the eaters, then burst in a rush of Dark aether that instantly vaporizes the lesser eaters and sends their commander crumpling to the ground, sword and shield both falling from its hands and fading into the aether. Emet-Selch takes a step forward, extends his hand, and summons a bolt of Darkness to send directly at its chest, and that last pulse of aether is enough to dissipate it as well - for which he is grateful, because the moment he drops his hand and lets go of the shield he can feel the drain, can feel the Light on the back of his neck, as hot as the desert sun, burning his bones. 

Heavens. The things he does for-

Emet-Selch shakes his head, rubs at his temples, and breathes through the discomfort. Brushes invisible dust from his palms. Turns back to the Exarch and crosses the space between them to take the man’s crystal arm in his hands, shifting his vision to that second sight to peer at the aether currents within. They’re pale and distorted, entirely broken wherever the cracks have spread, and he grimaces at the sight, absently running one finger carefully over the edge of the gouge where the blade impacted.

“This will be difficult to mend, Exarch,” he murmurs, low. “You have done a great deal of damage to your aether.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Give me the child.”

The girl is crying, tiny little hiccups muffled by the Exarch’s robe, but she doesn’t fight back when he hands her over, and Emet-Selch takes her carefully in his arms and settles her against his hip, the motion familiar. Relieved thusly of his burden, the Exarch seems to- shrink, almost, resignation and exhaustion and pain weighing him down until he is but a fraction of the man Emet-Selch knows. “...if you decide our enmity ends here-” he starts, his voice rough with emotion and agony, “at the least take her to the Crystarium, so she can live what life she has left.”

For a moment, Emet-Selch ignores him entirely. “Shh,” he murmurs to the girl instead, drawing on old memories of the mortal children he’s raised - both those he loved and those he did not - of children from long-ago Amaurot which he had on occasion been made to entertain. He had not minded, in truth; they had been discussing having children of their own, once. He lifts his free hand to gently stroke through her hair and over her ears, swaying her back and forth and humming snatches of an ancient lullaby until she quiets, the sniffles fading into shaky breaths. Only then does he carefully cast the lightest of sleep spells over her small frame - she seems unharmed, between the Exarch’s healing and protection, but distress will only keep her compliant for so long, and better to deliver her into the hands of her people docile than clinging to an injured man - or worse, him.

He does not- care about one lone child. He does not. The Exarch merely asked him to pretend, and thus he shall.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he finally says, directed at the Exarch, and heaves a sigh, turning to look at the other man again. “Come, then. There is little I can do for your physical injuries - I leave the frailties of your mortal flesh in the hands of your fellow mortals - but I believe I can do something to mend your arm, if only in part. But make no mistake; you will owe me for this.”

The Exarch laughs, pained and cracked, wincing and curling forward over his ribs as he does, the breath wheezing out of him. “...I shall have to break out my stash of emergency plays from Voeburt, then,” he manages after a moment, and Emet-Selch raises his eyebrows.

“You have plays from Voeburt?” he asks, torn between impressed and irritated that the man has never mentioned this before - and then he shakes himself. This is hardly the time. “Never mind that, I am not so easily distracted by theater as you believe me to be. A favor, Exarch, though I will allow you this: as I did not endanger mine own people in this intervention, neither will I ask you to risk yours. Now come with me before you collapse. I have no desire to be the target of your head chirurgeon’s ire when your heroic, self-sacrificial bent is certainly no fault of mine.”

“...then it must be before the endgame, I would think…” the Exarch rasps out, leaning heavily against his staff and taking a few shaking steps. “I look forward to seeing what you will demand of me. And to watching the chirurgeons yell at you shortly.”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting, though he would dearly like to. Instead he shifts the girl in his arms to free one hand, reaches out, and wraps his hand around the Exarch’s upper arm - his flesh-and-blood one - and unceremoniously yanks all three of them through a rather rough teleport, which he would feel slightly bad about were he not annoyed. The moment they appear in the Crystarium’s infirmary, the Exarch is staggering sideways into his chest, and it is a sign of his exhaustion more than anything else that he simply stays there, trembling and wan, leaning heavily with his face tucked against Emet-Selch’s shoulder.

Emet-Selch lets him, and does not think about why.

The head chirurgeon, as it turns out, does not yell at him, though only because of the sleeping child in his arms. Instead she scolds both of them in a furious but low voice before guiding them to one of the few private rooms and immediately fussing over the Exarch; another one of the infirmary’s staff comes to relieve Emet-Selch of the child, whose name, according to the Exarch, is Lyna. Emet-Selch accompanies them to put her to bed in another room where they can examine her, and he suggests with an idleness he doesn’t quite feel that they leave her in the care of the Exarch, once he is fit for it. She is a terrified child, after all, and she will want the familiar. Beyond that, she is likely to consider the man who saved her life as safe, a courtesy he doubts she will be so willing to give strangers.

The chirurgeons seem surprised, but they do not disagree, and he is quite satisfied with that. The girl thus dealt with, he returns to find the Exarch with some faint color returned to his cheeks, enduring a lecture from his healer about what sorts of movements and magical exertions he’s allowed while his ribs and aether reserves recover. It is not a lecture Emet-Selch has been on the receiving side of in quite some time, and for that he is quite grateful. Eventually, however, the Exarch is free, and Emet-Selch convinces him to return straight to the Tower rather than checking in on Lyna mostly by not giving him a choice in the matter, a quite useful and effective strategy. The Exarch is too exhausted, it seems, to truly argue back.

It is not until they are ensconced in the Umbrally-aligned lounge - which finally eases the strain of holding his essence together under the Light’s endless onslaught, given the energy he’d expended - and the Exarch is seated on the couch that Emet-Selch sighs. “Well, very well then, let us get this supremely unpleasant business over with. I do not ask you to trust me, merely that you do not intervene; if this does not work as I intend I will be the one most suited to undoing it, and should you distract me in the moment of casting I cannot predict what might occur. It takes only a passing thought to disrupt this magic.”

“...might I know what it is you’re doing?” the Exarch asks as he drops down to sit next to him on the couch. Even with the cowl hiding most of his face, he is clearly exhausted beyond belief and still in no small amount of pain. His voice is thin and strained, wavering. 

Emet-Selch takes his crystal arm into his lap, running his fingers over its surface, carefully tracing the bumps and textured surface, bringing to mind the complex web of aether currents the Exarch has over many years bored into the crystal. He thinks of patterns and fractals and facets, the structure of crystals, the wholeness of the arm itself, and he draws ever-so-slightly on the Lifestream itself, unwilling to pour his own Dark-aspected aether into this. “Weaving the fabric of reality,” he murmurs, only half-paying attention to the words, eyes falling closed. Creation without a set concept is a risk, especially without an encyclopedic knowledge of that which one wishes to create, but beyond the cool weight of the crystal in his lap right now there are things Emet-Selch knows that will make up for the lack.

He knows the way the Exarch moves - the way he writes, the way he gestures, the way his fingers curl around a mug of tea or a pen or an Allagan relic. He knows the gentleness this arm is capable of, as evidenced by how tenderly he’d healed Lyna; he knows, too, the strength in it, as unyielding as the stone it is made of. Near seven decades he has watched this Exarch, has seen the transformation progress as the Tower takes its due for the magicks he wields, and beyond all academic knowledge he knows the essence of the man in front of him. They are but two sides of the same coin, after all, bound by duty to be in opposition and yet terribly alike, he and the Crystal Exarch.

The power of the Lifestream is a bright, raging thing, a river even he, with his rare gift of control over its eddies, only skims the surface of unless he has no other choice. He lets the pulse of life itself swirl around him, pool beneath his hands, and he holds the fullness of his understanding of this broken limb in his mind and snaps his fingers.

When he opens his eyes, exhaling slowly to let the energies of the Lifestream fade away, the Exarch’s arm is whole and unbroken once more, only a faint cluster of hairline cracks remaining where the worst of the breakage had been. For a moment he pays them no mind - he had not expected the magic to entirely mend the arm, after all, considering he was treading the line between working from a concept and working from belief - instead focusing to once again study the aether. The Exarch’s exhaustion means the flow of aether through his arm is sluggish at best, not ideal for confirming the recreation worked correctly, and- well. Emet-Selch has done this once before, has he not?

He pours a small fraction of his own aether into the man’s arm, watching as it bolsters the flow - there are a few minor hiccups but with some time those will, he hopes, smooth out - and the Exarch lets out a heavy sigh of relief and slumps sideways, tension leaving his body in a rush as he drops his head to rest against Emet-Selch’s shoulder. Foolish of him, Emet-Selch thinks, to let his guard down so around an enemy, whether they have been playing this game for decades or no. He sweeps one thumb absently back and forth across the now-smooth crystal, shifting slightly to let the Exarch’s warm weight settle more comfortably against his side, and shakes his head, reaching one hand up to carefully adjust the Exarch’s cowl before it can slide too far back from his face.

Perhaps it is the state he is in, pushing him to think so little of being vulnerable. It would be unsporting to take advantage of it.

For a few moments there is silence. Emet-Selch lets his aether settle and taper when the Exarch finally stirs again - which is good, he had begun to worry if the man was falling asleep - and sighs once more. He does not straighten, but he does extend his arm and twist it carefully back and forth, testing. Most of the motion is smooth, but his wrist hitches when he rotates it, and Emet-Selch frowns.

Ah, of course. The remaining cracks will need to be filled in if they are to be kept from causing problems. He looks more closely at them, admittedly curious - it is strange, as much as he had not expected the magic to fully succeed, for it to work as cleanly as it had only to leave such a small blemish behind - only for a cold weight to settle low in his stomach as he does.

Because he recognizes the pattern. The lines of it are thin and simplistic, barely visible against the veining, but there all the same - a constellation cut into crystal with such perfect precision it cannot be anything but a mark.

A constellation. His constellation, the sign of his seat.

Perhaps his mind had wandered during the creation after all.

He exhales heavily through his nose, swallows, and does not say a word, and the Exarch must be too tired to notice, because he simply rubs his flesh hand over the constellation and stays tilted into Emet-Selch’s side. “...thank you for this kindness, Emet-Selch,” he says very softly, his voice still somewhat raw but much of the pained tension from earlier missing.

“It was not a kindness,” Emet-Selch reminds him pointedly. They are enemies; it would not do for the Exarch to forget such, not when they yet have all the endgame to play, and he remains deeply curious how the Exarch intends to thwart his plans. “I will expect you to repay the favor when I ask for it, Exarch. You have ever kept your promises. ‘Twould be a shame indeed for that to change now.”

“I do not intend to let my debts go unpaid, or any kindnesses go unanswered, Emet-Selch,” the Exarch answers in a similarly deliberate tone. “Regardless of which they were meant as. But this was a kindness even if you did not intend it to be such - I would have been in pain for the rest of my life without your intervention.” This, Emet-Selch knows to be true - there would have been no other way of healing or regenerating the crystal without creation magicks, and thus the wound would simply have remained, and while it would not have killed the Exarch it would have always been a hindrance. “So- thank you.”

…if the Exarch wishes to think of it as a kindness, then Emet-Selch supposes there is little harm in allowing him to. Perhaps he can leverage it for some kind of knowledge or further concession later on. When playing such a tense game against such a clever and focused foe, with the eighth Rejoining as the stakes, he would be a fool to discard any potential advantage.

(Even if he is only doing what the Exarch asked of him. Pretend that I mean something to you. How could he act any other way, in the face of such a plea? It does not mean anything - not for them, not for his purpose here, not for his duty.

Perhaps, if he reminds himself enough times, he will not risk forgetting that truth.)

His people, his city, and his star hang in the balance, after all.

But for the moment, he can allow the Exarch to remain leaning against his side, a warmth that eases the ever-present ache of grief and loneliness in his chest, and perhaps the Exarch is not the only one who would like to pretend.

[bunnyhysteria]

a few people are bringing up depression in response to my shen yuan post, and while do what you want yes, I feel this does go back to how people don't know how to write disabled characters as another person brought into light. including mental disabilities.

mayb now I'm projectin on this one, but seein the absolute cluster fuck of shen yuan, it feels strange to go "it's depression!". I see narcissistic personality disorder, other cluster b traits, I see autism, mayb even ocd. he's a paranoid, hot head mess whose constantly calculating every moment. but people don't really know how to contextualize mental illness, especially not the "scary" ones, even if they have mental illness themselves. just slap on depression and anxiety as a bandaid and don't talk about the rest! it's not that people don't want to go further (or at least I have some faith), I just think our current society has not prepared people to step out of the "nice" mental disorders.

so I don't fault anyone who reduces his nonsense into the socially acceptable depression, but I can't act like that it doesn't make me uncomfortable. but also not uncomfortable enough to directly respond to strangers on the interwebs HSKDHDH.

but I also did want to talk about the depression to slob pipeline as well because that's I suppose the part that gets me. he's unwell, so he's a slob and a disgustin mess. a statement that could be made about someone who has depression, but I have a hard time applying the "he" to shen yuan in this case. I'm personally under the "I care so much about my image that I feel like I'm gonna rot from the inside out" type, and my response has been to hyper clean. clean and clean until I can't clean anymore and so I'm stressed that I can't make my space (and by extension myself) better in a small matter of time. I was once a slob in the past as a teen, but I'm immensely embarassed by it. I'm vain, so I take photos of myself with my backdrop being my room, and I will loose my marbles if someone looks down on me because I threw my pjamas onto my bed while gettin changed. no one but me and my family enter my room. no one else even enters the house.

*picks up shen yuan by the scruff of the neck* yer telling me this rich pretty boy obsessed with tryin to get people to take him seriously wouldn't have an instagram or whatever the equivalent would be?? honestly I feel like it would be expected of him, and he might also flaunt his wealth (that he didn't earn) to try to feel better. if you couldn't tell I'm tryin to shove a superiority/inferiority complex onto him over his status. that's just cause I think it'd be funny I don't have any text evidence off the top of my head for that lmao.

ultimately with all this, I just want something different. I want people to step back and look at shen yuan for who he is and then extrapolate out from that and into how they want to play with his character. I don't know how, with all these complex thought processes and characterizations of binghe, we have landed with a very 2d, copy paste version of shen yuan every time. maybe I just need to dig more into shen yuan fan creations, but I have yet found one to step out of the invented fanon version mold or their small variations. and its quite strange to me given how divorced fanon shen yuan is from canon shen yuan. I suppose I'm not used to a fandom with a character so warped away from canon well accepted. dare I say, ooc.

[podcastenthusiast]

(Little fic set during the first Long Rest. Astarion experiments with the new limits of his vampiric nature. It goes badly and Tav helps.)

Now on ao3

The atmosphere at camp that first night is fraught with worry and uncertainty, everyone reeling from the recent trauma. Reminds you of home, really. You know a thing or two about sharing space with the only handful of people in this world going through the same horrid experience as you.

Now here you all sit sharing a meal together, too. Or, well, they are.

"Something wrong, Astarion? You're not eating."

The half-orc is looking at you with suspicion—no, with concern. They are all looking at you. Then this is your cue. Time to put on a show. Play your part.

"Well," you sniff haughtily, "to be honest, this is hardly the caliber of cuisine I'm used to. No offence meant, darling."

"None taken; Gale cooked."

"And I did my best with our severely limited provisions, thank you very much. Sorry it isn't up to your standards, Astarion."

You conjure distant memories of decadent meals as unreal to you now as the forgotten color of your own eyes. Can't have anyone sneaking a peak into your mind through your shared connection and seeing blood and vermin--your usual sustenance.

"Even so, please try to eat something," she insists.

"Why? To build team camaraderie? I can think of far more exciting ways to get better acquainted."

"We all need to keep our strength up," she says. "For the journey to that cure Lae'zel spoke of."

Maybe I don't want a cure, you almost snap. But that wouldn't align with the image you've woven for them of a carefree magistrate who must have a comfortable life in the city worth returning to. They cannot know the truth. At least not until they trust you enough to tolerate a monster in their midst. Until you've proven yourself more useful alive.

So you regard the stew warily. Hunger gnaws at your gut, never sated, but only for blood. Still... After a full day in glorious sunlight, perhaps you could decide to push your luck just a bit further. Who knows what other remarkable exceptions to your condition the tadpole has provided? What's the harm in a little experimenting?

You tentatively lift the spoon to your mouth.

———

Later, while the others are asleep in their beds, your evening is spent retching up the meager contents of your stomach into the bushes. Turns out the mind flayer tadpole can't or won't alter every inconvienient facet of your undead physiology. Walking in the sun? Yes, by all means. Eating food? Very much still a no. Makes perfect sense!

"I see Gale's cooking really didn't agree with you."

Her voice manages to startle you. Not many people can do that anymore. Damn. It will be more challenging to seduce her after she's seen you like this, so weak and sick. It's okay. You are a professional, after all.

You fumble for an explanation that would satisfy your traveling companion. Would she believe a garlic allergy, or is that too on the nose? You could claim someone tried to poison you. Or you did it yourself to avoid the inevitable transformation but got the dosage wrong, play her sympathetic heart like the strings of her lyre. That could work.

But she doesn't ask any questions, for which you are immensely grateful.

Your stomach rolls and lurches painfully again. You taste something metallic on your tongue, subtly spitting out a clot of old blood into the grass. Pray she doesn't see; she would think it's already too late for you. She fears the tadpole—fears death, fears becoming something else, losing control of her body, as any reasonable person would in this situation. You almost want to tell her things can get so much worse than that. Worse than she is even capable of imagining.

"Astarion, hey. Breathe."

You breathe. There's a warm pressure against your back. Her hand, you realize, solid and soothing.

"Look at me?"

You look at her.

She touches your forehead. Gentle. You can't recall the last time anyone touched you like that.

"No fever," she mutters as if to herself, withdrawing the hand. Your eyes linger on the veins in her skin. "You feel too cold, in fact, you're shaking. Come sit by the fire."

You obey. Allow her to coax you over to a bedroll. Somehow you have fooled her into believing you're worth caring for.

"I didn't know you're a healer," you hear yourself saying. Where are you? You don't feel entirely present in this moment. Perhaps you haven't been for quite a while.

"Because I'm not. Just a mother," she says, a touch wistfully, and you realize how little you truly know about this woman whose throat you held a knife to mere hours ago. She carries herself like a soldier but calls herself a bard. Probably middle-aged, if the greying hair and lines beneath her eyez are any indication. And she has at least one child, apparently. You wonder vaguely if anyone waits for her back in Baldur's Gate. You wonder how it feels to be missed.

You don't know what to say, however, so you don't speak.

"It's okay to be scared, you know," she says quietly. "I'm scared, too. But we're in this together."

You laugh bitterly. She sincerely thinks it is fear making you ill, doesn't she, like some pathetic creature. A mistaken assumption, obviously, but...

You are, though.

Terrified.

A fear so bone-deep and familiar it is home to you. You're afraid this has all been some bizarrely wonderful nightmare, that you'll wake up any moment in a gloomy crypt with Cazador looming over you. Even more afraid that it's real and you actually have something to lose. You would sooner eat another wriggling parasite--hells, an entire pot of that damn stew—than go back to Cazador.

He will find you, you're certain. He will send hunters to track you down like a dog. Escape is impossible. This is nothing more than a brief reprieve in the misery of your existence.

You're a little afraid, too, of her. Of this unrelenting, undeserved kindness. Of what happens to you when it goes away.

"Why are you helping me?" you ask. She must want something. Everyone does.

"Maybe I just need you well enough to fight tomorrow," she offers. "Or, consider: you're a person who could use some help. Simple as that."

"You're too good for this sorry world," you say it like an accusation. Too good to me.

She shrugs. "Well, go with the first answer then. Need anything?"

"No, I think not."

The one thing you need, you don't dare ask for. Not yet.

"Try to get some rest, okay? I had last watch so dawn can't be too far off."

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"I...I would appreciate if you didn't mention this to the others."

That earns a strange look from her, but she nods. "Of course. Good night, Astarion."

You watch the sunrise for the first time in centuries. It is completely worth the awful, sleepless night which preceded it. Your days are numbered, you know, between the parasite and Cazador, but you are damn well going to make every second of that freedom count.