#SO MUCH pining

[historicalfictionenthusiast]

Who tf invented modern dating culture because this is awful. Is it really too much to ask to get dressed up in the latest fashions and dance with eligible suitors in elaborate ballrooms and live out my irl Mr. Darcy hand scene ??? Why must I snapchat

[dragonflylady77]

Heather: Jesus Fucking Christ, William. First of all, you live on the first floor, so you’re unlikely to do much damage to yourself if you jump out the window. Billy: you underestimate how much i can do out of spite

[fizzyginfizz]

Harry had spent years imagining this moment. Snitch in hand. Roar of the crowd. Ginevra Weasley finally fixing those bright brown eyes on him. He had imagined this moment countless times… …but never stuffed in Dumbledore’s office squeezed between the Headmaster, two Heads of Houses, an honorary uncle, his godfather, a referee, an auror, his parents and a nervous-looking phoenix.

Hufflepup - An Everyone-Lived AU - Read on Ao3

Since I'm *still* not quite ready to update Quidditch is for Losers, I toss this whatever-this-is out there in hopes I will be forgiven for writing slow. Special thanks to @honeydukesheroine for her beta-read skills, her relentless cheerleading and her unfailing kindness. Happy Holidays, everyone!

[dapandapod]

Fake dating Geraskier Pt1

WHY HELLO THERE!

I was thinking this will be ONE list. And then I took a look at how many treasures I collected. Now I’m thinking there will be TWO lists!

GERASKIER FAKE DATING REC LIST! 

Various ratings and word count! There are so many, please forgive me not doing a little personal note on everything like I meant to, I’m just so excited to share!

Oh! And if you find one you think I should read, yours or others, please send them my way? <3  PART 2 HERE

- we could be married (and then we'd be happy)      akindofmerrywar - E - WC: 50 222

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

 -  Bardic Idyll 

Lisztful - M - WC: 13056

Pretend boyfriends fic, with battling bards, well-meaning friends, and fluff and angst in equal measure.Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

- A Valentine's to Remember  

JaskiersWolf - T - WC: 3593

For Valentine's Day Jaskier has arrived to walk alpacas with his very best friend in the whole wide world... the catch? They have to pretend to be dating to get the Valentine's Day discount.

-winnings and weddings 

shestepsintotheriver - M - WC:16 262

Jaskier and Geralt have to pretend to be engaged.Surprisingly, it's Geralt's idea.Everything is simultaneously the most hare-brained scheme and the most thorough production in the world.

-A Fake Boyfriend Christmas  

LovelyRita1967 - M - WC: 6917

Jaskier has just found out—via Instagram, for fuck's sake—that his ex, Valdo Marx, is now dating his sister. And it is the day before the huge Pankratz family Christmas party. He knows it's cheesy and ridiculous, but he convinces his roommate Geralt to come to the party as his fake boyfriend. Turns out, they are REALLY good at fake dating. A little too good.

- I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie 

I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee T - WC: 21131

“I need you to be my husband.”Geralt’s thoughts came to a screeching halt and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t have heard correctly. All of those stupid wishes and hopeless dreams must have made him mishear.

“Not really, of course,” Jaskier added hastily and rubbed his fingers together. “I… please don’t be mad at me, Geralt.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together and his heart sank. “What did you do?”

“I – I might have said that we were married.” Or: When some bigoted man insists that Geralt can’t feel love, Jaskier blurts out that they are married - which they very much aren’t. So naturally, Geralt and Jaskier have to pretend to be husbands to convince people that Geralt is lovable, though no one doubts that more than Geralt himself.

- Open Season

ghostinthelibrary - M - WC: 1446

When Geralt needs Jaskier to help him fend off an overly persistent sorceress, Jaskier is only too happy to help a friend in need. But pretending to be madly in love with Geralt hits a little too close to home.

- expectations 

acheforhim - E - WC: 2629

“What did you tell them about me?” he asks, and Jaskier sighs.

“They asked if you were good.”

“Good to you?”

“Just if you were good.”

“Ah,” Geralt says eloquently. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

-Love, Run 

Unknown - M - WC: 54526

Jaskier's and his partner's presence are requested at his sister's wedding - which is all well and good, except well. Jaskier may have made up a fake partner to keep his nosey family satisfied. Good thing Geralt is his best friend in the whole wide world and suggests they go together under the guise of a married couple. Which is also well and good, except... well, Jaskier may already be for real in love with him. What is being fake-married going to do to the poor bard's heart? Add a scheming, well-meaning Yennefer and an amused Ciri to the mix of Jaskier's exuberant family and it's definitely going to be an interesting week leading up to the wedding.

- Handsy Strangers and Clever Bards 

dhwty_writes - T - WC: 1287

"What do you want, Jaskier?" he muttered and took another swig of his ale.He chuckled and sat down on Geralt’s table, planting his feet on either side of his chair. "Nothing, my love, but the sweet reward that is your lovely company," he singsonged, looping his arms around his neck and pulling him close.. "Let me rephrase my question,” he said slowly, “what did you do now?"OR: Jaskier is hit on by a stranger and asks Geralt to be his pretend boyfriend.

- Fake Dating  

lesdemonium (winnerstick), winnerstick - T - WC: 2431

Jaskier is invited to his parent's annual banquet, and to keep the nobles (and his parents) off his back, he asks Geralt to pose as his husband. Geralt completes this task a little too well.

- No Think, Only Panic 

bi_aragorn - T - WC: 3043

In which two idiots end up pretending to be together and do some thoroughly ridiculous pining. Because apparently clear communication isn't an option for either of them.

-A Marriage of Convenience 

valdomarx - M- WC: 2811

Geralt, being the good friend he is, offers to help him out by marrying him.What could possibly go wrong? 

OR: Jaskier has some trouble with his inheritance: if he's not married by the age of 35, he'll be cut out of his family's will.

- His Kiss Still Thrills 

mintedwitcher - M - WC: 6273

5 times Jaskier and Geralt kissed because they had to. +1 time they kissed for fun.

ENJOY!!! <3

[pearlypairings]

Jonathan Byers x Chrissy Cunningham

Summary: Jonathan drives around Chrissy to sober her up and help her decompress after the party's crazy confrontations. After a little scare, she opens up about her break up and how she's been feeling lately.

Fanart for this chapter💕

Chapter preview below the break:

She giggled, tapping on his arm on the middle console to the beat. Even in his periphery, he could see her bouncing and shimmying her shoulders in the passenger seat, and he had to turn his head, her light irresistible. If there was a human embodiment to sunshine, even on a stormy day, it would be her. It was contagious.

He bobbed his head side to side, nudging her hand as he refocused on the road. For the few minutes of that song, they had a little bit of late night fun to blow off steam. Jonathan wasn’t sure if this was what The Cure had in mind for this song, but the claps and catchy beat helped her let go of the tension that boiled over. It even helped him ease into being her inexperienced escort for the night.

The night had settled, draping a thick darkness over the highway and its woods. Only his headlights and the twinkle of the autumn constellations lit up the street as he drove carefully down the last stretch before they were out of Hawkins proper. With the change of song, Chrissy propped her elbow to stare out the window at the trees rushing past.

Quiet solitude, but not awkward, just comfortable. He steered the car through several bends, one after another, in quick succession like a horizontal roller coaster. He wondered if whoever had designed this road was drunk from the way it curved graciously around the groves of trees. As if answering his unspoken question, Chrissy gripped his wrist on the wheel.

“I need to get out. Now!” The urgency in her voice scared him. She’d gone from carefree and floaty to desperately demanding in an instant.

He swerved to pull over into the patch of grass outside the treeline, realizing maybe she’d panicked when she saw they were in the outskirts of their town alone. His heart thumped against his chest. “I can take you home now. I wasn’t taking you anywhere, I swear.”

By the time he lifted his hands off the wheel and tried to look earnestly at her, Chrissy had already unlocked and flew out the door....

Read the rest on ao3 ❤️!

[jomiddlemarch]

And thy mercy shall follow me

4. The truth was, she had fallen asleep. She sat beside Anjin and watched him breathe and slowly, her eyes had drifted shut. For only a moment, she had told herself. She would rest and allow herself to husband her strength. She would not leave him, but it was not so much to close her eyes briefly.

“Mariko-sama, wake up,” Anjin said, his voice rust. Ash. Whatever destroyed and was destroyed. She blinked, flushed with shame at failing him, licked her dry lips in preparation of making her apology. Anjin spoke before she could, low, each word clearly costing him. “You should not be here.”

“I should not have fallen asleep. I am here to care for you. I was negligent,” she said, inclining her head in regret. It was the accepted form but it was sincere; she had said she would be responsible for him and had failed. He needed more than a maid could provide.

“You’ll make yourself ill. I won’t have that,” he replied, some of his usual contrary spirit imbuing the words with vitality. A sham, unsustainable, but she took it as a good sign, as there were too few of them.

“There is no risk to me,” Mariko said.

“You don’t know that—there are noxious airs, spirits—" he said, breaking off when he was seized by a storm of coughing. The catarrh sounded worse, deeper, more violent, and he was breathless when it ended, unable to speak.

“Your illness comes from your wound. I am uninjured. Safe,” she said. “If your physician had fears for me, he would not have allowed me to stay and nurse you.”

She poured out a cup of water and moved closer to him. He could not lift his head.

“Drink this now and I will have Sugi prepare tea for you,” she said, holding the cup to his lips, trying hard not to spill any water onto his chest or the linens around him. They would need to be changed and she and Sugi would likely need assistance to help him while the bedding was taken away and fresh bedclothes brought to the room.

“Rather have sake,” he rasped. “Home, Mary would make a posset with cream and egg, plenty of ale, not this infernal mess of greenery.”

Mariko could not imagine anything more repulsive to choke down, ill or healthy, but he’d spoken with such fondness. She wondered how much was for the drink and how much for his distant wife.

“When you are stronger, perhaps,” she said.

“Never get ill,” he said. It did not seem like the bluster of a sick man and he was well-built, sturdy, his numerous scars well-healed. He had been, before his wound festered. Now, the fever having overtaken him, he’d turned gaunt and his scars stood out livid against his pallor.

“You must rest now,” she said.

“So must you, Mariko-sama,” he replied. 

“If I agree, will you stop arguing?” she said.

He gave her a crooked smile in response, but there was exhaustion in his blue eyes and pain.

“Tisn’t an argument, but I’ll leave it,” he said. He moved, as if to find a more comfortable position, and then stilled, unable to improve his situation. “My head aches most fearsomely.”

Mariko moved closer, put her arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him so his head was pillowed on her lap. He looked at her wordlessly, gratitude and wonder mixed together in his gaze. She stroked his forehead and his tousled hair, the intimacy of a lover, not a nurse. Sugi, in the corner of the room, must see but would not speak of it. 

“Sleep, John,” she said quietly. She felt some tension leave him and he closed his eyes.

“Sweet,” he muttered.

[lina-lovebug]

OKAY BUT LIKE WHO WOULD READ A NA'VI! QUARITCH FANFIC

I have several ideas:

1. Reader/ OC would be Neytiri sister and kidnapped by Quaritch

2. Reader/ OC was raised with Neytiri, originally found as a Na'vi orphan, and is actually the reincarnation of Quaritch first love who died on Earth

[saltstuck]

gridlock

for harringrove week // only one bed // [holiday] in the summer

tw: panic attacks and ptsd

Billy walks out into the early morning hours of July 4th to find Steve waiting for him. 

He stops in his tracks. Takes in the sight of him, arms crossed and leaning up against the hood of his truck. “Harrington.”

“Billy.”

They stare at each other.

Billy sighs. “Max, huh.”

“Max.” Steve shrugs helplessly.

Billy turns round to lock up, then shuts the screen door silently behind him. Approaches Steve with a glance at the backpack at his feet. “It’s a long drive.”

“Better than babysitting duty.”

It’s just Steve and him right now. Around them, Hawkins is quiet. Sparse in sound and bodies. It won’t be come dusk. Not with the fireworks, not with the memories, not with what happened last year. He studies Steve’s face. Maybe he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be here for it.

“Fine, get in,” he grunts and Steve perks up, trotting to the other side of the truck. 

Billy glances across the seat. 

Steve’s head has fallen into the crook of his elbow. He dozes, eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks and lips parted, puckered slightly where they’re pushed up against his forearm. 

Billy puts a cigarette to his lips and drags his gaze back to the road.

He flicks on the radio and Steve stirs. Around a yawn, he complains, “Don’t know how you can be so awake. Too early.”

“We’re on a schedule.”

“Yeah, but it’s not even 6 yet…”

“You didn’t have to come,” Billy reminds him, flicking a look over his shoulder as he merges into the next lane.

Steve’s response is interrupted by the obnoxious sound of a commercial over the radio. They groan in unison and both reach to shut it off at the same time but Steve’s a second too slow and his fingertips end up brushing over the back of Billy’s hand instead. 

Billy pulls his hand back like it’s been burned, choking back a surprised gasp.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says in a rush. 

Billy shakes his head. “’S okay.” And it is, it just startled him. Assures him, “Really, it’s fine.”

“Okay..” 

They fall into silence again, but it doesn’t last long because then Steve asks, “Do they hurt?” 

Billy’s breath catches.

He flexes his hand on the steering wheel, gaze settling on the scar that runs from his first knuckle down to his wrist. He’s not averse to talking about them, it’s just rare that anyone actually brings it up. Most people avoid the topic, look away, some stare. Nobody asks about them. 

He swallows. “Sometimes.” 

“Oh.” 

They stop for breakfast just as the sun breaks over the horizon. The rest stop is empty so they have their pick of a parking space. Billy finds a spot that faces the sunrise and pulls the truck in backwards. Steve leans up against the trunk bed, long legs extended out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Billy hops up next to him.

They’d picked up some sandwich from the gas station nearby and Steve’s taking these big bites out of his and chewing real slow, squinting into the distance like he’s thinking real hard about something. Eventually, he points at the sun and says, “It kind of looks like an egg yolk, right?”

It does look like an egg yolk, Billy agrees, but he doesn’t want to look, too engrossed in watching Steve look at it, and then Steve’s glancing down at what’s left of his sandwich, whining, “Man, now I kind of wish we’d gotten omelets..” 

The sunlight hits him right then, staining him in pink and gold, and Billy wants to say, well, your eyes look like a sunrise, but he can’t just say that, so he scoffs instead, shoves his own sandwich into his mouth and finds a spot on the ground to stare at so he doesn’t stare at Steve. 

Steve’s finished already. He brushes a few crumbs off his jeans, then leans back on his hands with a content sigh. Billy is watching him again. Studying him, really, because he’s never been real good at self-restraint when it comes to Steve. 

“Does that hurt?” 

“Hm?” His gaze skates over to Billy.

Billy touches his forehead then points at Steve who mimics the movement. 

“Oh.” Steve says, contemplative as he runs a finger over the scar hiding in his hairline. “No, not really. My jaw does sometimes, though. When I yawn.”

“Right.” He finds that spot on the ground again, throat tight. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s taken a swing at me,” he says and shrugs. “Anyways… I dunno, I kind of like it.” 

Billy chokes on air. “W-what?” 

“Oh my god, not like that, Jesus,” Steve says, hiding his face behind his hand. Then he sits up, growing serious again. “I mean, like… it’s a reminder, I guess. That I’m here. I’m alive.” 

“You survived,” Billy supplies quietly. 

Their eyes meet. 

“Yeah.”

“It’s hot,” Steve whines. 

Traffic is at a stand still. Steve’s got his feet up on the seat. There's no gap between them, no center console, just one long seat with a little more than a foot separating the two of them, and Steve’s taking up all of it. 

“It’s hot!” He repeats, yells it like the heat has boiled it out of him, then he’s laughing, head thrown out the window. A bead of sweat drips over the curve of his jaw and down the long line of his throat. Billy indulges in the view, greedy for it now that he’s free from the visual prison of the road ahead. For now anyway.

“Aren’t you hot? How can you wear that? You must be boiling.”

He shrugs. He likes the heat. It was sort of a foreign concept to Billy for a time and he’d like to savor it. That’s what happens when you’re possessed by a monster who likes it cold. 

Steve’s words catch up to him a second later, taking Billy’s silence as him being offended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” 

That’s enough of that, Billy thinks and sneers, “That’s new. Wasn’t too long ago you were telling me to put clothes on, not take them off.” 

It does the trick. Steve’s cheeks are cherry red and unbelievably cute. Even cuter is his outraged squawk, “Shut up! God, you’re unbearable.”

He’s beautiful. 

The car ahead of them creeps forward a few inches, then stops. Gridlock. Billy sighs and fishes out a cigarette from the pack on the dashboard. Pauses when Steve’s shoe nudges his thigh. 

“Gimme one of those.” 

Billy eyes the offending toe with a raised brow. He tosses him the pack. “Thought you quit.” 

“Yeah, well,” is all he says. It’s bitter and Billy’s quick to connect the dots. Only a smoker forced to quit by someone else is that sour about it.

“Tell me something,” Billy starts curiously. “The princess. What happened there?” 

“Not much to say. Fell in love, she fell out.”

“Yeah, I know that part.”

“Well, she moved on, obviously. We’re friends. That’s about it.”

“And it doesn’t bother you, seeing them together?”

“Nancy and Jonathan? At first, yeah. But then there was all the Upside Down shit going on and Halloween…“ he shrugs and takes a drag off his cigarette, exhales it out the window.

“And now?”

“Not interested.” 

“Hm.”

A semi flies by on the opposite side of the freeway. It kicks up the smoke in its wake, tossing it left and right before dispersing into the air.

“What about you? Any ladies catching your eye these days?” Steve asks a moment later, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Billy drums a rhythm on the steering wheel. Resists the gravitational pull of Steve’s gaze when he states, “Nope, no ladies.” 

“That’s too bad,” Steve hums.

Billy swears the foot, still on his thigh, presses down for a second.

The traffic sets them back a few hours. In the rear view mirror, the sun starts its descent into the horizon. Billy speeds up. 

Then, the fireworks start. 

It’s like Billy has been dunked under water. The truck jerks at the first crackle. Beside him, Steve sits up, suddenly wide awake.

“Maybe we should get off the road.” 

“Billy.”

“Billy, pull over."

A crack, a big one, then a dozen pops.

He swerves onto the shoulder. 

“Shit—“ 

Steve is thrown forward when Billy slams the breaks, spooked by the echo of another firework. He catches himself with an elbow on the dashboard and swears. 

“Let me drive.” 

“It’s fine!” Billy snaps. “Give me a minute.” 

And then another firework goes off. And Steve has already hopped out of the truck and is opening Billy’s door, insisting, “I’m driving. We’ll find a motel, head out again in the morning. C’mon, move over.”.

Billy wants to laugh. He wants to cry, too. Of course, Steve doesn’t know. Last time he went to a motel around Fourth of July, he got dragged into a basement and possessed. But he’s not about to tell Steve that. 

He’s fucking right though. They don’t really have a choice. Even with Steve driving, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep his shit together, not with fireworks going off all over, not when they’re out in the open, vulnerable. And it’s only just started. Who knows how long they’ll go on for…

“Okay, yeah. Fine.” 

The nearest motel is a two minute drive away. It’s quiet when they pull up and Billy hopes it’s far enough from the surrounding town. The lady at the counter scrutinizes them over her glasses when Steve asks for a room.

“No doubles.” 

“Okay, um, what do you have then?” 

A man in the reception area is watching them. The looks he’s giving them has Billy crawling under his skin. 

“It’s fine. Just give us whatever you’ve got,”Billy mutters, nudging Steve out of the way.  He holds out his hand, snaps a few times when she doesn’t move. “C’mon. Don’t got all night.” 

She forks the keys over finally and Billy takes off, leaving Steve behind to deal with the payment. He books it to the bathroom the moment he’s in the room. Shuts the door and paces like a caged animal. Stops only to brace himself at the sink. 

He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s here. Not there . He’s here.

The knock startles him, even though It’s barely a tap against wood. “Billy—“”

“I’m fine. Stop hovering.” 

He’s not fine. From the long pause, Steve knows it too. But he doesn’t press. “I’ll just, uh, call the cabin, then. They’re probably worried.”

Billy pushes off the counter and opens the door. 

“Sorry,” he starts to say, but then another firework goes off. Crackles just outside the window. The smell of ash and dynamite. The ground sways beneath his feet and Billy drops to meet it. He lands hard on his ass in the doorway.

The walkie clatters on the tile, then Steve’s kneeling in front of him, eyes blown wide. “Billy, hey, it’s okay.”

The fireworks stop and Billy sucks in a breath, then they come again but they’re louder and there’s more of them and he's sinking into the black again. 

“Fuck, what can I do? What do you need?” 

“I need—I don't know, fuck—“ What does he need? He needs a fucking break, he needs air in his fucking lungs, he needs something to grab onto— he reaches out blindly, tethers himself to Steve’s forearms and digs his nails in.

“Okay, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” 

There’s pressure at either side of his neck, the base of his skull. Billy’s fingers clench harder and the pressure does, too, and it’s better, good even, grounding. 

Brown eyes break through the black like a sunrise, and Steve is right there, face a few inches away. “I got you, Billy,” he’s saying, “I’m here, I got you.” 

He needs to be here, now, not in a basement in the dark or skewered bloodied in a mall. He needs more. 

He needs—

“Steve,” Billy croaks and tugs at his tether. 

“You gotta let go of me first.”

Steve comes to him easily then, reels Billy into the safety of his arms with that same grounding pressure.

“Breathe with me, yeah? breathe. In and out. That’s good, good job, Billy, keep going. In… and out.”

Together, they breathe. And breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

 

Billy wakes warm. 

He finds himself nestled in the v of Steve’s legs, still encased in his arms. It’s quiet, the only sound is Steve breathing beneath him. He adjusts slightly and winces at the ache. 

Still in the bathroom then, he observes hazily.

“I didn’t want to move you,” Steve murmurs into his hair, reading his mind. 

Not awake enough yet to use words, Billy nods once. The motion tickles his nose where it brushes against the chest hairs escaping the top of Steve’s shirt. 

He burrows into Steve’s embrace and sighs, relaxing again. Safe. Sleep beckons him.

A squeeze. “Billy.”

He hums, stirring. 

“You know I love you, right?”

Billy blinks his eyes open. Steve’s heart is a steady drum beneath his cheek. 

When he finds his voice, it’s barely a whisper. 

“Yeah, I know.” He squeezes back.

When morning comes, they’re slow to pack up their things. After they check out, they head out to the truck. Steve holds a hand out for the keys, but Billy shakes his head. 

The night's events are a heavy hand on Billy’s back but the bruises under Steve’s eyes and the bed they’ve left unused tells him that he’s faring far better than Steve. 

“No way.”

“What? Why not?”

Billy tosses their bags into the backseat, then pins him with an accusing glare. “Did you get any sleep?”

Steve scowls. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Billy scoffs. He hops behind the wheel without waiting for an answer. 

Steve follows to the other side of the truck but continues his protest when he gets into the passenger seat.

“I just don’t see why you won’t let me drive, I’m a good fucking driver—“

Billy exhales a sharp breath through his nose. “Steve.”

“What.” 

“C’mere.” 

That gets his attention. In his peripherals, Steve’s gaze flicks from Billy’s profile to the space he opens up on his thigh. Processing. 

Nervousness turning into impatience, Billy clicks his tongue. “Just.. lay down. Sleep.”

“Fine,” Steve grumbles the entire way down, like a brat. Curls his body into the empty space, legs bent across the seat and his head on top of Billy’s thigh. Then pouts. Ridiculous.

“Drama queen,” Billy mutters, flicking his ear. 

He fights a smile at Steve's glare. The glare turns to surprise at the stroke of Billy’s thumb over his flushed cheek and Billy can’t hold it back any longer. He laughs, softly and terribly fond. “Who would have thought that’s all it took to shut you up.”

Then Steve’s face changes again and suddenly Billy can barely breathe. 

“You know I love you, right?”

He’d known it, he thought he had, but gazing into Steve’s eyes now, the raw adoration looking back at him, he believes it. 

A thumb brushes across Billy’s cheek and Steve smiles. “Right back at you.”

[artbymagsn]

Heartrender Husband pining ❤️

[homo-hexual]

Chapter 7 of All Things Fair is up! We're at the halfway mark!

“You are a world-class muppet, MacTavish,” Ghost says with a long-suffering sigh. “Kip on my couch tonight, and get a train back at a reasonable hour tomorrow. Like a normal person. Even though I'm well aware that there's nothing normal about you.” Soap opens his mouth to answer, to say yes, of course I’ll come, or, sure, but I warn ye I might never leave, but Ghost is watching him with an expression that’s slowly creeping towards nervousness, and that makes Soap nervous. Did he regret the offer as soon as it was out of his mouth? Behind them, the train doors close, and it departs.

read it here :3

[timptoe]

Peace of Mind

I got the pleasure of writing two pieces for ShenkoSummer 2023! The first one is an angst/pining-fic for @Cardhwion on AO3. Sometimes it takes major head trauma and an argument with a dead friend to get you to admit you've been in love with someone for three years. Read the full thing on AO3.

----

When I try to hear my voice it's gone I'll ignore the raging war within my soul To keep the peace of mind - Arcadian Wild, “Oh, Sleeper”

—

Yelling. Running. Impact. Explosion.

Metal on metal, shearing, screaming.

Fire everywhere. Loud, too loud, have to focus, have to save—

Pain. Overwhelming, excruciating pain.

Weightlessness, like being gently carried.

Nothing.

Kaidan’s eyes fly open, heart racing, chest heaving. He looks around wildly, his fingers tightly clutching at the fabric of the blanket. He doesn’t recognize where he is, can’t see anything, can’t focus, can’t—

Breathe.

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a shaky breath. Lets it out. Takes in another, slowly, through his nostrils, like he was taught. Exhales again, hissing through his teeth—a snake, scaring away his fears.

She holds him, comfort in her arms. “It’s just a panic attack, Kaidan. You’re okay. Hiss it away, you can do it.” She kisses his forehead, like a mom’s supposed to. It feels better.

His heart slows down, his breathing more controlled. He opens his eyes.

He still doesn’t recognize where he is.

It’s like his room at the family cabin in the Interior back home, but it’s on fire, everything’s on fire, he’s running, his parents are at home oh god his parents are still at home—

He squeezes his eyes back shut. The sense memory fades, as if it never existed.

Kaidan slowly opens his eyes, and tries again.

It’s his family’s cabin in the Interior, but…not. It’s like it should be, but it feels wrong. Like there’s something sliding out of place just in his periphery. Fuzzy, maybe? Indistinct. The details aren’t right when he really looks. No room at the cabin has this layout. And that dresser doesn’t seem to have any knobs on it. And that picture on the wall has a man he doesn’t recognize. And there’s a dark-haired woman standing in the corner.

“Hey, LT,” says the dark-haired woman standing in the corner.

Kaidan bolts out of the bed, arms wreathed in blue fire. “What the fuck?”

She snorts, leaning against the wall. “Been working on that reaction time, I see.”

“Who— How—“ His heart rate speeds up again, his biotic field writhing and unstable, it’s like there’s a fist around his throat that’s getting tighter and tighter

no, not my throat, my head, she’s crushing my head—

“Breathe,” says the dead woman in front of him.

He breathes.

“Again.”

He breathes again. And again.

For a few long moments, he stares at her as he wills the control back into his body. His heart rate’s under control. His breathing’s under control. His biotics are under control.

He’s in control.

“Always did like being in control, LT,” she smirks.

“I don’t understand,” Kaidan whispers.

She laughs. “Seriously? You don’t remember that time on Eletania when you got so frustrated that that monkey wouldn’t—“

“No,” he interrupts. “This…this isn’t real. It can’t be. You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here.”

“Why not?” She raises an eyebrow.

“You’re dead.”

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams shrugs. “Yeah.”

Read it on AO3.

[coffeebanana]

Chapter Summary:

Marinette is not a morning person. Also, wine and assembling IKEA furniture do not mix. Thankfully she has a wonderful roommate to assist with both these issues! And if he renders her hopelessly flustered in the process, well...she'll probably survive.

First scene under the cut!

Marinette was not ready to be awake. Apparently her internal clock had yet to register that the semester was over, because she’d woken up several times throughout the night, panicked about deadlines that no longer existed. All she wanted now was to doze off again. To sleep until her body and the ridiculously comfortable mattress melded together as one.

Unfortunately, the room had the audacity to have an east-facing window, and she’d been too lazy yesterday to put up the blackout curtains she’d purchased. Plus, she could hear Adrien moving around in the kitchen, and knowing he was so close did funny things to her insides. She yawned and allowed herself one last stretch before reluctantly pushing herself up.

For a minute or so after, she just sat on the edge of her bed, hoping she’d spontaneously develop the ability to teleport into the kitchen. (Damn Monarch. Couldn’t he at least have left her the Horse Miraculous?)

Eventually, she resigned herself to the fact that she’d actually have touseher legs. She stood slowly, pulling the fuzzy blanket she’d taken to bed over her head like a hood. She hadn’t taken so much as a step when Tikki flew up to her.

“Don’t forget your bracelet, Marinette.” Oops.

“Thanks, Tikki,” she mumbled. Or she tried to—judging by Tikki’s giggle she wasn’t sure her words had been coherent.

The wave of relief that washed over her as she slipped on the bracelet roused her a little—forgetting that would have been a disaster. She’d taken it off midway through the night, unused to sleeping in jewellery aside from her earrings. Clearly she’d have to adjust though—she couldn’t risk forgetting it in her room.

In retrospect, the amount of times she’d left her house still wearing pyjamas really should have tipped her off to the dangers of leaving her sleep-deprived brain in charge of such decisions.

With another yawn, Marinette stumbled out of her room and into the kitchen. Adrien immediately turned around from his spot browsing the fridge to give her a bright smile—he must have heard her grumbling her way down the hall.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. Too cheerfully—Marinette really ought to have considered the repercussions of moving in with a morning person.

She answered him wordlessly, with the most petulant face she could muster, before taking her usual seat at the kitchen island and slumping down on the counter.

Adrien laughed, which…okay. That was a nice, warm, magical sound. The kind that probably cured sick kids instantly and made birds sing. Maybe she could put up with Morning Adrien™️ for the sake of that laugh.

Maybe.

“Want some coffee, Sleepy Bug?”

“Mmm.”

Another laugh, one that was over too soon. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She heard him get a few things out of the fridge and set them on the counter, then his footsteps took him to the corner of the kitchen. Where the espresso machine lives, Marinette thought dreamily. Before she knew it a cup was set down beside her, its pleasant aroma finally urging her to push herself up and meet Adrien’s smiling eyes.

“One espresso for my favourite hero.” His smile was far warmer than the cup he slid into her hands. “Figured I should caffeinate you the quickest way possible, but I can also make you a cappuccino if you want.”

“You’re perfect,” she sighed. “Marry me.”

For a second—about the moment it took her to realize she’d made a terrible mistake—Adrien just stared at her. Then a wild grin stretched across his face.

“As lovely as that sounds,” he said, “I don’t think you’re in any state to be making those sorts of decisions.”

Marinette squeaked in response and buried her face in her arms again. As lovely as that sounds?!

At this rate, she wouldn’t survive long enough to enjoy that cappuccino.

[hellcheerficdatabase]

I See You (Please See Me)

Author: @writingmymind

Rating/Warning: Teen and up audience, referenced ED, referenced ab*se

Chapter Count: 14/14 (part 1 of Their Year ('86, Baby!) series)

Description:

Due to a chance accident, Chrissy Cunningham survives that night at Eddie's trailer. This has lasting impacts on The Party.

The first chapter is very similar to canon, but after that, everything's going to change. Season 4 Part 2 spoilers ahead!!

Tags: Alternate Universe- canon divergence, alternate universe-everyone lives/nobody dies, Chrissy deserves better, Eddie deserves better, pre-relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, SO MUCH PINING, I'm drinking it up, alternating POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: completed

[pearlypairings]

Updated fanfic alert ⚠️

jonathan x chrissy || ch 8/? || total wc: 28k || slow burn, pining, happy ending

summary: Jonathan and Chrissy meet for the last time about their photos and for a bittersweet farewell. Their rendezvous is interrupted and a party invitation is extended. Will won't let his big brother let this invite slip away...

snippet from chapter 8:

Chrissy held the folder in both hands, taking a moment to stare at the plain brown cover. Her thumbs rubbed the edges of the thick portfolio to flutter the layers of photos inside. With a final glossy-eyed glance, she slipped her bag down to unzip and carefully stashed the photos in between textbooks. Jonathan shoved his hand into jacket pocket, pleasantly caught off guard to find the necklace still in there. He needed to be reminded that next spring would be his last here, if he was gonna get through this year pining over a lost cause. He tightened his grip and prepared to say a simple “see-you-later” for both their egos, but fate or comedy intervened first. Snowcaps girl from the theater bumped a hip into Chrissy while she finished zipping up her bag, careening directly into their bittersweet moment. Her dark eyes lit up at the sight of Jonathan. “Hey! It’s you!”

Read the full chapter on ao3

[highfunctioning-clotpole]

i wrote some new things and it’d be real cool if you’d maybe check them out maybe

merthur, modern au mercelot, canon era merthur, modern au

[consistentsquash]

5 Viserys/Daemon Fic Recs

Viserys/Daemon! This is definitely the OTP the fandom slept on. Which is tragic. Because they are the best tragic star-crossed brothers ever with Targcestuous vibes. It's a relationship full of what-ifs and if-onlys. The love is deep but the baggage is also really deep.

Time for Recs!

Fandom slept on the pairing overall. But we are lucky because one author at least saw the potential and delivered the best Greek tragedy series out there about these two brothers. Lots of reasons to love eldritcher. Classy dirtybadhotwrong Greek ship picks is definitely one of them.

What are we getting?

Exquisite prose which is almost poetry. Exquisite tragedy. Raw, intense and going to make you bawl. The writing has so much precision. It doesn't blow up. It doesn't blow over. It just builds like music. You are going to cry. It's totally worth crying about. Because this is a love story.

"As the vine to elm, the virgin sought her burning youth, and each the other strengthened and fed."

"They were matched in equal wedlock. One did not contend with the other. One did not strive against the other. They aged in tended touch, from ripe to hoar, for they were united under fourteen holy flames under a sole-starred, moonless night," Daemon recited. He knew these words. He knew this ritual. Viserys and he had recited the holy words to each other as children, in play and in earnest.

"They sang something worthy of memory on that fortunate hour. The evening came, and the vestal bride gave the thirds of her to her juvenal. A welcome, cruel fire joined them in marriage, sullying the one and making the other," Viserys finished. "This was their hymen-song. This they sung at their feasting troth. No fallow embrace theirs, even unto god's hoar, even unto ossuarium."

A dream. A memory. A hope of once. Daemon watched his earnest brother and saw the death that ate him.

 (Soon the light on Olympus, aka the love story)

 Soon the burning youth

Length - 4200 words. Rating - M

Best intentions and worst results is the tagline for Viserys. Young!Viserys takes his brother to the brothel and learns something about his own desires. Really beautiful and introspective pining second half where Viserys is thinking about this in the context of the Daemon/Rhaenyra brothel adventure. Pining + power dynamics... this is just brilliant.

His head came sweet-swept to your shoulder once more. There was none to witness it, but it did not matter right then. His heart ran askew-songed, as he yearned and mourned. Your hands roved over him, painting him in blood and rot. He did not flinch and endure as Alicent did. He pressed closer in blind yield.

 Soon the wedding hymn

Length - 2300 words. Rating - M

Viserys tries to do the right thing for the wrong reasons and gets really stubborn about it. Which means pining, angst and power dynamics. For everybody. Mostly for himself. Because he is all about the pining and the power dynamics.

They said you had no dragon at your bidding.

There stood a dragon at your bidding.

 Soon the beloved

Length - 5300 words. Rating - M

Viserys gets his chance after Laena's death. Being Viserys, he doesn't get it right. Because that's Viserys. More pining, more angst and more power dynamics. But this time it's on both sides. Because Daemon grew up in those ten years and actually understands his own priorities better. It's incredible to see Viserys meeting his match. In every way possible. Of course he totally overreacts and gets it wrong.

Rec note - This is my personal favorite from the series. Its got everything.

"Did you think that I wouldn't come to you in your hour of need?"

A taunt. A truth. A vow.

 Soon the feasting troth

Length - 3600 words. Rating - M

A lot of times people think the umbilical cord fated connection between Daemon and Rhaenyra started with Rhaenyra herself. It definitely didn't. Daemon is looking for something he didn't get from his original umbilical cord fated connection with Viserys. Of course it works better with Rhaenyra because he got to influence her early instead of Viserys who influenced him. That makes their connection the stuff of Greek tragedy. It also explains his loyalty and obsession a lot more. Pining, angst...and more pining. This series is all about the pining.

You did not know what she spoke to him, but you saw how he flinched and reared as a wounded, lonely beast that would not use its claws against its own. How dared he flaunt this weakness of his before so many? How dared he bare himself before your daughter when he would not bare himself to you? You protected him. She would one day be the death of him. How dared he—

 Soon the sole-starred sky

Length - 1600 words. Rating - M

Viserys on his deathbed. We as readers get to decide if he imagines his brother and their entire conversation or if it's a real conversation. The fic is written like a lucid dream with a lot of baiting and switching which kind of keeps you on the fence about deciding if it actually happened or if he was just high on his meds. More pining. More angst. Because that's their love language and it's totally perfect for them.

He crowned you, when you were first named King. He crowned you once more, when you last sat the throne. Perhaps you were a worthy King only for two days of your reign. Perhaps you were worthy only on the first and the last days. The throne, you realise, did not cut you today. How could it have, with brother's faith in brother trothed?

 If you want more, definitely check out the other POV fics in this series. It is just beautiful and reads like poetry. The prose is poetry.