#a drabble of sorts

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Sorry, but I just had a thought and I’m exhausted and don’t know if I’m going to write anymore tonight.

Just Steve holding a slight grudge against Nancy after she pretty much calls his love bullshit in the bathroom. He feels lead on, he’s slightly bitter but he knows how to be discreetly passive if he needs to be. But thing is he doesn’t have the energy in him to be passive. If this had been before the monsters, and someone who he thought was the love of his life did what Nancy did and proceeded to end up dating the guy who she said not to worry about within days after getting into a fight, he would have probably done something stupid. Probably would have ruined her locker with mean words or something like that.

He wasn’t sure what he would do, he was exhausted and couldn’t think of what used to come easy to him. Or maybe he’s grown to realize how immature that was, how it didn’t even seem all that fun to do to someone. Just thinking back to spray painting slut on the theater makes his gut twist uncomfortably. Once, he used to be the one to climb up there and spray something even worst. Now the thought made him want to throw up.

And maybe the grudge he is holding against Nancy isn’t really a grudge. Maybe he has matured to realized that the grudge he held was within himself for how fast he had fallen. For how stupid he was for thinking the girl would ever end up with him. He should have seen the signs. How she defended Jonathan even after he took non consensual photos of him and her about to have sex. Which he still felt disgusted by, his skin still crawled uncomfortably around the little creep whenever he was close by.

Though when the time comes, he realizes he was holding a grudge against Nancy. When he falls harder for someone new he realizes within minutes that something was different about this one. Instead of smacking him in the shoulder and scolding him for staring to long, Eddie would pull his hair in front of his face with bright eyes. Would do something dramatic to snap Steve out of the trance he was in. Like lick his face instead of kissing him.

That was the other thing Steve discovered. In the moments where it was just the two of them, it seemed like every other minute time would stop and Eddie would be in the same bubble as him. Lost in the same spell that Steve had tumbled into, needing to kiss the other just as much as they needed oxygen to breathe.

Nancy rarely had those moments with Steve, and they had stopped right around the time she started hanging out with Jonathan.

And Steve does hold a grudge, for how she stayed with him longer than what she had to.

Eddie made him feel in love and loved. Whenever Steve watched the other man he could barely keep his hands to himself and the best part was Eddie didn’t care. Steve could bite off Eddie’s remaining nipple and the man would still let Steve do whatever he wanted to him. Nancy never trusted Steve and never earned Steve’s trust the way Eddie did within one week of knowing each other.

Eddie was the moon and Nancy had been the sun for Steve. The sun burnt his skin and left him blistered while the moon wrapped his arms around him and rocked him to sleep every night. While Steve worried about when the sun would explode, he never had to worry about the moon disappearing for to long. It always came back, no matter what happened. Even if Steve had been an asshole.

God was Steve in love. This was it for him. And maybe at one point he had loved Nancy just as much as he did Eddie.

But now, as each day passes he only finds himself falling more in love with Eddie Munson.

He slowly comes to the conclusion that his love was and will never be bullshit.

And when he finally sits down to talk to Nancy about it, he finally gets it off his chest. What had been bugging him for almost years before falling for Eddie.

“Nancy, we were bullshit. But my love, it was all real. Maybe not as strong as it is for Ed’s but I know that if … everything wasn’t such bullshit I could have gotten there.” Steve says softly to Nancy. Shortly after she confessed she still had feelings for him. He seen this conversation coming from a mile away, especially with how many one sided sparks happened between the two of them while running for their life’s on spring break.

And as he stands up, leaving her in her own shock. Letting her process that he was with Eddie, a man. He can’t help but feel proud of himself.

He didn’t intentionally hold this grudge, but he felt as if he got back at her the healthiest way he could. By maturing and moving on. And looking down at Nancy, he could tell that she needed time to do the same. Not to be with another man or date in general, but to just grow as a person. But that was no longer his problem. His problem was currently running up the steps of the trailer with what seemed to be a moving snake.

“Hey Stevie! Look what I found.”

Steve was in love, and it wasn’t bullshit.

[sentientcave]

Thinking about "came back wrong" Price, but he's come back better. John is brusque when he returns home from deployment, monosyllabic, closed off. He barely looks at you, barely speaks to you, sits in his office by himself for hours, cigar smoke creeping out into the hallway while you sit by and wait to see if the man that comes out of the room next will be the sweet, smiling, attentive man that you fell in love with, or the Captain.

You keep your head down when the Captain's home. He only needs two things from you when he's like this, and you're prompt with dinner, and bend over uncomplainingly when he tells you to. It's just a matter of time before your loving husband returns. You just have to be patient.

But this time... He's just John as soon as he walks in the door, and he beams when he sees you, and kisses you like it's all he's been able to think about during the long months away. He pulls you away from the kitchen and makes love to you, and the only smoke that fills the house is the dinner that burns while he refuses to let you out of bed. And then he offers to take you out, or order in. His eyes stay soft, and he doesn't reach for the whiskey or cigars all night.

He's buried face-first in your pussy when the door bangs open, and the Captain comes home. This is the husband you expected, eyes as cold as the stormy Atlantic, tense and ready for a fight, mouth set in a grim line. The look he gives you is murderous before he focuses on the interloper, dragging John away from you roughly.

The Captain hesitates a moment too long when he sees his own face staring back at him. It's long enough for John to lunge at him, the two of them hitting the floor, growling and snapping like dogs. The Captain goes for his gun, and John knocks it out of his grip. It skitters across the floor and stops in front of your feet.

You snatch it up, hands shaking. You tell them to stop, and they both freeze.

"Shoot him," the Captain orders.

It's obvious that John is the pretender. You should have known. It was too much to hope that he would come home happy to see you.

You study them both down the barrel of the gun, meeting the furious eyes of the Captain, and John's soft gaze. He expects that you'll do what you're told and shoot him, and he doesn't blame you. The understanding there is enough to shock you into pulling back the safety.

You take a steadying breath, and fire.

[theroundbartable]

Time travel au:

After Arthur dies at Camlann, he wakes up the day of the 20th anniversary of the purge.

Conflicted about his father's rule, scared of this death-not death scenario, he finds himself reaching out to Merlin, who, for the first time of many, saves his life.

Alive and full of energy, Arthur wants to be kind and gentle with Merlin, but the 10 years of lying lay ahead only in Merlin's eyes, not his own. The betrayal cut deep, would still have if it hadn't been about magic.

Just as back then, they slowly become friends. Arthur is different, kinder, albeit more reserved around Merlin. He trusts him but is always suspicious of his lying nature. But Arthur is also more positive about magic. More doubtful about the law. More open about it too.

And it is here, right before the battle of Ealdor, less than half a year after Merlin came to Camelot, that he tells Arthur.

Merlin: I know you're a good man and I know you wish to help, but I need you to turn around and go home.

Arthur: don't be stupid, Merlin, I won't let you fight this war all on your own. You can barely hold a sword!

Merlin: I can and I will. With magic.

The confession comes out of nowhere, the honestly stuns Arthur into silence.

Merlin: I'm sorry I kept this from you. But you know your father. What he would do. You have a good heart, but you don't have to worry about me or my village. I want to show you how magic can do good. Just - I don't want to drag you into this

Arthur: Did you just tell me about your magic?!

Merlin: I know I can trust you.

Arthur: after 6 months?

Merlin: you deserve the truth.

'Did I not deserve it then?''

It occurrs to Arthur slowly, very slowly, as he force accompanies Merlin to Ealdor and sees Merlin fight, how he defeats bandits and Griffins, helps bastets and druids, that he was wrong.

Merlin HAD trusted him. With every doubt and every conflict and every wonder, Merlin had come to him.

Arthur simply hadn't let him. Merlin had trusted him. It had been Arthur, who'd pushed him away.

And one night, as Merlin had fallen asleep in a chair beside Arthur, a magical glowing orb hovering over the new magic laws, he finally understands:

'I'm the one who didn't trust you.'

[koolades-world]

RAD was starting in less than twenty minutes, and thanks to Mammon, the both of you were running late.

You barreled into the bathroom, rushing to get ready. After quickly brushing your teeth, you decided you had time for a very quick shower.

As soon as the water was warm, you hopped in, scrambling to find your soap in the many bottles that lined the edge of the shower. Once you found your bottle, you found it was suspiciously lighter. Upon opening it and turning it on its head, it was as you’d suspected; the bottle was completely empty.

Whatever. You could just repay the likely culprit by giving them the treatment they’d given you.

As you reached for Belphie’s soap, determined to give him a taste of his own medicine, the bathroom door flung open, hitting the wall with such a force it groaned. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for one of the brothers to barge in during a shower of yours, but never did it come with such urgency.

Catching you off guard, Mammon pushed open the shower curtain, shooing you aside.

“Make room!” He insisted.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed. Despite this, you did as he asked. Mammon tossed his last article of clothing, which was his shirt, above and out of the shower. “Careful! You’re going to get my hair wet!”

Mammon zeroed in on the bottle in your hand. “What’re ya doin’ with Belphie’s wash? That gardenia shit is too strong.” He inspected it, totally blocking you from the stream of water. Before you could protest, he plucked it from your hands, and placed his own in place.

“It smells good! He used all mine, so I was going to make it even.” Mammon chucked that too out of the shower. It landed with a clatter next to his other articles of clothing.

“We don’t have time fer this. Use mine.” He insisted. You were both short on time, so you weren’t about to argue with him. You squeezed some of the liquid gold into your hand, and despite just having handed you the bottle, he seizes your hand and squeezed some out for himself. At least it could be closed now. You pushed him behind you so you had access to the water too.

The last thing you expected was for Mammon to trip over where you started washing.

“Yer tellin’ me you start with your stomach?” He stared at you in disbelief.

“I always do. We’ve showered together before. Why are you so surprised?” You turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. He’d likely just been more focused on other things.

“That doesn’t feel right.” He mused.

“You’re one to talk. You start with your ass.” You shut him down quickly. When he opened his mouth to protest once more, you pressed a finger over his mouth. “Mams. We are running late. You were the one who decided you wanted to join me. Now is not the time for this.” You remarked, your voice sickly sweet.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Mammon muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

The two of you would be fourty-five minutes late.

[idorukiss]

Sylus is a light sleeper, confirmed by the twins on multiple occasions when you've arrived while he was resting. Being told to make yourself at home but try to keep it quiet if you don't want to evoke boss man's wrath

More than once as time goes by you see it for yourself, shortly after a book falls to the floor on the other side of the house he walks into the room briefly on alert before realizing its just you and not an intruder

With his status and the number of people after his life it doesn't surprise you that he would always be expecting danger at a moments notice. When was the last time he got a full nights sleep you wonder- like true proper deep sleep.

It's only after your relationship develops and a bond starts to form that he lets his guard down completely. At first you thought he was just being stubborn- refusing to let you go come morning and you had to leave. Wanting to spend every moment with you in his arms as possible

But soon realizing that wasn't the case after all. Your phone dinging with a text message used to wake him from the other room, and now it does nothing. His face remains serine as ever, and even nudging him rarely does the trick now

It's warm to see how relaxed he can get, and you'll do everything in your power to protect it. It's your duty to stay there in bed cuddled up to him now, and its totally not because you can't will yourself out of bed every morning. Nope totally not it

[laurasimonsdaughter]

'That cannot work,' the young queen signed, frowning at her brothers. They were still human, but their quarter hour was almost up. Their movements were already beginning to become more bird-like and the colour of their hair getting closer and closer to raven feathers.

"Why not!" the boys cried in unison and their sister sternly put a finger to her lips.

They shut their mouths and she glanced into the cradle beside her. Her baby was still sleeping soundly, nothing amiss but the already fading mark on his little cheek where her mother-in-law had scratched him with her ring when she tried to steal him from the cradle. Not nearly as scratched as that dreaded woman had been herself after the ravens were done with her, though.

"Why not?" her youngest brother tried again, in a lower voice.k

'It is a curse,' she signed emphatically before resuming her work.

"Well, the curse didn't think you could learn to speak without making a sound," he argued. "So why couldn't it be tricked by detachable sleeves?"

His sister paused with her needle hovering above the many-petaled flower she was trying to stitch to the others. She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Why wouldn't it work!" her brothers urged her. "If you make the shirts so the sleeves can be taken off and put back on whenever we want, then surely we can decide to have wings whenever we want!"

They shifted restlessly from foot to foot, almost like the hopping of a bird and their sister glanced worriedly at the nearly night-dark sky outside the window.

"We want to be human again! But it would be so good to still be able to fly."

She looked at their eager, expectant faces and gave a doubtful nod. 'I will think about it.'

All three of them rushed her at once, hugging her or kissing her cheek, and then bowing quietly over the baby for a moment before rushing to the window. As the last, dim light of evening faded into night, so did their shapes shrink into three black ravens. They cawed their goodbyes and flew out of the window, leaving their sister to frown at her tiresome sewing.

It was not long before the door to the chamber opened and her husband appeared. His face was still pale, not yet recovered from the grief he felt over his mother's betrayal, but his eyes were as full of affection as ever.

"Had a good visit?" he asked quietly, looking fondly at his little son.

The young queen held out her hand and squeezed his for a moment before letting go to sign, with a great frown furrowing her brow:

'Do we have a royal wizard?'

The young king looked doubtful. "Yes, but he's never much use. I don't think he can actually do any magic. He just read a lot and goes on about the terms and conditions of blessings."

But to his surprise his wife's face lit up with approval and her pollen-stained fingers waved at him with renewed energy:

'Perfect!'

Shout out to @fishingforcrows who commented "Solution: detachable sleeves!!" on my Seven Swans inspired microfic.

[adverbally]

Baby, Please Come Home

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt “together” and the @steddiemas prompt “surprise” | wc: 955 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: future fic, established relationship, alone at Christmas, angst with a happy ending | dividers by @popmilky

“All the flights out are grounded and they’re rerouting everyone coming in. We’re just hoping they can get us in a hotel for the night, otherwise we’re sleeping on the floor of the terminal.”

Eddie sounds so far away through the telephone line. He’s with the rest of Corroded Coffin in New York City, where they’re apparently stuck in the blizzard of the century. The airport is completely shut down, just in time for the Christmas travel season.

“How long do they think it’ll take for the storm to pass?” Steve asks, biting at the cuticle of his thumb. He paces back and forth in front of the phone to work off his nervous energy. It might actually be making him feel worse, moving so much but not getting anywhere, but he can’t just sit here.

Eddie sighs. “No clue. But with how many flights need to be rescheduled, it might be a couple days before I can get home.”

Today is December 23rd, which means— “You won’t be here for Christmas,” Steve realizes.

He hasn’t had a Christmas without Eddie in eight years. Even when they were just friends, they spent the holiday together while Wayne was at work and the Harringtons were in Europe somewhere. Then there were Christmases in their first apartment in Chicago, on the road with Corroded Coffin, even a memorable tropical getaway where their drinks were garnished with Santa hats.

Steve won’t get any of that this year. It was supposed to be a quiet holiday, just the two of them. Now he’ll be alone.

Eddie has clearly come to the same conclusion. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d rent a car and start driving right this second if the roads were clear.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries hard to keep his voice level and hide any evidence of the tears he wipes from his cheeks. “We’ll celebrate when you get back. Stay safe and say hi to the boys for me.”

Eddie’s voice goes soft. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you,” Steve manages to croak before the line goes dead.

The dial tone seems to echo in the empty apartment for hours.

Christmas Eve passes achingly slowly. Steve spends half the day on the phone, catching up with Dustin visiting his mom back in Hawkins and Robin and Nancy who are snowed in at home in Boston. He waits for Eddie to call, too, maybe with some sort of update on their flight situation.

Eddie doesn’t call.

He stares out the window of their apartment and watches the snow piling up outside. It’s nothing compared to what’s bombarding the east coast, but Steve has always liked the snow. A fresh blanket of white, covering the dirty pavement and muddy slush in the streets with something beautiful. He wishes Eddie were here, complaining about the cold and the ankles of his pants getting wet. Even better, snuggling up with Steve on the couch to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, just like they do every year.

Steve doesn’t try to watch it alone. Instead, he chokes down a frozen dinner and goes to bed at six o’clock so he can have a few hours where he doesn’t have to think about how much he misses Eddie.

It’s very late– or maybe very early– when Steve wakes up to the bed shifting beneath him.

In the dull blue light of the pre-dawn hours, he can only make out shapes. A dark silhouette with messy hair on Eddie’s side of the bed, looking just like Eddie does when he sits to unlace his boots.

Steve thinks he might choke on the wave of emotion that rises in his throat. It’s Eddie, undeniably. He can tell from the exhaustion in his shoulders and his quiet mumbles of frustration when he can’t undo the knot in his shoelaces.

Without thinking, Steve reaches out a hand to settle at the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie looks at him over his shoulder, an apologetic grimace on his face. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you up.”

“You—” Steve can barely get a word out before his vision starts to blur and his chest gets tight. The tears he hadn’t let himself shed all day are hitting him hard now, like the shock of Eddie making it home knocked them loose.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” Eddie shifts until he’s lying next to Steve, still wearing his jeans and an old henley of Steve’s. He smells like recycled plane air.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to roll into Eddie’s waiting arms. He needs the comfort, the reassurance that Eddie is real and solid and here. “I can’t believe you made it,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shirt.

“Me neither,” Eddie sighs. Already, his fingers are combing through Steve’s hair, trying to soothe both of them at once. “A seat opened up at the very last minute. I didn’t even have a chance to call and tell you I was leaving.”

“Remind me to be mad about that later.” He can feel Eddie’s quiet laugh rumbling through his chest. Steve smiles along with him. “God, I missed you.”

Eddie kisses his temple. “I’m taking you with me next time, I don’t care if it’s only for two shows.”

“Sounds good.”

“And no more holiday concerts.”

“Nuh-uh.” It comes out a little slurred, Steve’s voice feeling as heavy as his eyelids now that he’s comfortable and Eddie is with him.

Eddie is still stroking his hair in long, slow movements. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Steve hums in agreement. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Just before Steve drifts off, he thinks that Eddie might be the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten.

[justporo]

I wanna talk about this Epilogue letter for a hot moment.

I bet someone must've talked about this before but alas I haven’t seen it and BOI do I have feelings about this.

This letter is from the Gur to Astarion.

Not only did I find it astounding that they wrote him a letter but like...

Not only are they forgiving him but they tell him he is a ROLE MODEL to their vampiric children. They admire him for the redemption he lived through, the development he made to become the bigger man.

So not only do they tell him that they're even with him now: no! They also claim that he's helped them to accept their vampire children. Because Astarion showed them that they can be more than just undead creatures.

They voice admiration for him and tell him they're gonna keep watch of him.

(This is not to say that Astarion's actions against the Gur should be overlooked, but it shows to me that both sides have learned and moved on.)

Now: imagine Astarion reads this letter at the reunion party. Or maybe Tav hands it to him later because he couldn't be bothered to waste his time sorting through letters (is what he says but he probably thought no one would have sent him one). He reads the letter barely believing the words he's reading. Tav notices he's gone super silent and turns to find Astarion teary eyed, hand covering his mouth. When he sees you noticing he looks almost like he's going to snarl at you but then he just let's you wrap your arms around him.

"I'm so proud of you," you say.

And he might need more time to accept that, but the seed is planted.

[scarlettriot]

WARNING: Body image discussion, fat phobic comments. Sexual comments mentioned.

Sorry I made Denki shitty in this one.

Minors and Ageless Blogs: Do Not Interact

“You see the new heroes that joined up for this mission?” Sero asked over a beer at the end of the shift, a smirk settling on his face as his eyes glance over to where a few of them had gathered at the bar.

There was a briefing for a massive joint mission set to take place in a few days and a few of them opted to go for drinks afterward.

“That one with the elemental quirk is pretty great.” Sero comments, his eyes finding the woman in question and wiggling his fingers in a little hello to her.

Everyone had fantastic skills perfectly suited for the task at hand. But everyone was also pretty easy on the eyes.

And Denki had an opinion on every single one of them, “Gods yes, she’s so cute and petite too.”

“I sorta think the woman with the teleportation quirk is pretty great. Her laugh was real pretty.” Kiri adds.

“Really? Her? Of everyone who joined up, you pick her!?” The energetic blonde scoffs, “her laugh is about the only thing she’s got going for her.”

Kiri was never a man to look down on someone for having a preference, the gods knew he sure did, but when that preference came with shaming others, then he had a problem.

“C’mon dude,” Sero tries smoothing it over before Kiri had a chance to say anything, “she’s exactly Red’s type. And her smile is super sweet too.”

Denki just insists on digging himself further into a hole though. “I know but come on, that’s a lot to deal with and there are WAY better options here.”

The beer can crumpled in Kiri’s hand.

“Shit— Red, he just drank too much—”

“Nah.” Bakugou cuts him off, “he deserves what’s coming to him.”

“I’m just being honest!” Denki laughs, not seeing any issue with his words, “you mean to tell me if both those women came onto you, you’d pick teleportation quirk over elemental?”

“Yup.” He isn’t in the mood for this little game but Denki seems to be the only one who isn’t picking up on that.

“Crazy man, you should—”

“Just say you can’t handle her.” Kiri says calmly.

“Excuse me?”

He leans forward and repeats, “just say you can’t handle her. Say you’re not man enough for it.” He words are nice and even as he gets a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips and he pushes himself up, “you don’t have the skills to satisfy a woman like her. Don’t have the dick? It’s alright, man.” He pats his shoulder, “some of us know how to please a woman no matter her size.”

He didn’t hear whatever Denki sputtered because he was way too busy walking up to the bar to buy that pretty woman her next drink.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny hurts.

That's nothing new, but he thinks he deserves to talk about it still. He hurts specifically behind his eyes, as if he's been doing nothing but stare at a screen all day, and his lungs feel shallow and stifled like he's run for a mile without stopping. There's an ache in his knees like abdominal cramps, stretching down to his calves and slightly up his thighs. His shoulder blades ache, rooting center towards his spine, snaking down to his hips.

It's bearable, but he still hurts.

It was a nightmare that brought him here, with his arms wrapped around Bruce's middle like a cobra and his ear pressed to the man's stomach. It's not a heartbeat, but he's already checked for it, and if he stops and listens, real quiet, he can hear Bruce's internal organs gurgling. So it's the next best thing, it means he's working as he should.

Bruce's curved finger draws a line down his spine, and then back up, slow and soothingly. Danny shudders involuntarily, gooseflesh popping up on his skin, and his arms tighten briefly, then loosen up. He shakes for a moment, and then tries to sigh out of his nose in a way that didn't reveal just how awful he felt.

"…Tell me about flying?" Bruce asks him after a few seconds of silence, voice quiet and low; tentative. The petting doesn't stop, and Danny blinks slowly. To think, first, and then to try and come up with a response. His jaw feels heavy and sluggish beneath the skin, the way it usually feels when he doesn't want to talk.

He cleans the cobwebs off, tightens his fingers around Bruce's shirt. Loosens it. "Incredible," he croaks, "Weird. It was— crazy. Instinctual. All I needed to do was think about it, and then not even that after I got used to it. I'd think about going up and- and I'd go up. Or down. And I'd tell myself to slow down or go faster, and- and uh, I would."

It's weird, talking about his powers to someone who isn't Sam or Tucker- or, or Jazz. Even weirder for it to be an adult. A living one, that is. And one that would just— just listen. Just like that. And ask questions with no judgement, none that Danny could pick up on anyways.

He starts drawing abstract shapes into Bruce's back with his finger, trying to think. "It was- it was so weird, and so cool. Have you ever— have you ever had one of those hyper-realistic dreams as a kid, where everything felt real? It was like that." He continues, and the tension bleeds out of him, and the grief, and the hurt, "I could go as— as high as I wanted, and since I didn't need to breathe, I didn't need to worry about choking."

Bruce keeps quiet, and it's a bit of a relief, Danny's gaining steam. "I wanted to touch the stars," he tells him, staring unfocused, "and I had this revelation one day, uh- I think the summer after my accident, that I could now. I didn't have to wait anymore. I could probably fly up and up and up, and I'd be in space." It'd been a ground-shaking revelation to him, and it'd shaken and then shattered his foundation of rules and what he could and couldn't do.

He focuses back in on the feeling of tracing the edges of Bruce's ribs, and Bruce does the same to his spine. "I- I uh, didn't. Of course. Going up- was— well— I, I'd never been that high before. I tried to, once, just to see if I could. And then I looked down, and Amity was a bunch of specks below my feet. Like an ant colony. Or a bunch pebbles." It had been amazing, and horrifying. He could see it from one end to the other, and he only knew where home was by the OPS Center on the top, sitting like a satellite.

Danny swallows the spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, "It was terrifying," he says, "I thought that if I kept going up, I'd lose Amity and never be able to find it again. I knew Earth was always rotating, I got scared that if I went up, when I went down Amity wouldn't be where I left it." He trembled the entire flight down to the ground. It'd felt like some sort of epiphany to him, or a kind of enlightenment. His mind had pushed past the borders of what it thought to be foundational, and now a bubble had popped. And he didn't like it.

"I went back down, and told myself I'd try again when I was older." And the world was less scary.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Eddie skims the books on the shelf in front of him, there was no use in trying to find one he was actually interested in. He was just going to end up forgetting about it and picking up one of the lord of the rings books again. Instead he just lets himself wander through his thoughts. Letting his body go in autopilot as his fingers gently brush the spines of dozens of books.

He should be in gym class, but he isn’t. The consequences of skipping were far better than those of actually showing up. The last time he went (over a month ago now) he ended up walking out with a chipped tooth and black eye. And he can’t forget about the bruised ego.

Walking at the end of one aisle, he carefully turns and moves himself into the next. Preparing to loop through said aisle again but nearly jumping out of his skin when he nearly falls over another person. A person who was sitting down, back pressed to the shelf he was walking the corner of.

A croak like noise comes out of the back of his throat as he nearly tumbles face first into carpeting. Stumbling forward a bit and catching balance on the shelf to the left of him. Secretly praying to all that’s holy that he didn’t somehow know the entire shelf over.

“Jesus H Christ.” He spits out, a hand pressed against his chest as he dramatically breathes heavier then normal. Putting on a show for whoever nearly killed him. Turning around to face the culprit he nearly jumps back again startled.

Sitting, pretty pathetically Eddie would say, was a very beat up Steve Harrington. Who looked like a horror book came to life. His eyes, or eye was a bit glossed over and wide as he starts stuttering over his words a bit. Obviously having a moment before Eddie came along and crashed the party.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip you up like that.” Steve visibly cringes at his own words, as if he was also aware he seemed pathetic.

“Eh- it’s alright. Not the first time a king has tried taking me out.” He grins, before faltering a bit as he remembers that the other wouldn’t understand his DnD campaign reference.

He begins to walk away, wanting the entire awkward interaction to be over. But he can’t help but be just a bit nosy as his eyes glance down at the book in Steve’s lap. It probably had been open at one point, but it was now closed and Eddie is secretly thankful he can read upside down.

“Head injuries huh?” He points out. “Didn’t take you for a reader King Steve.” He drags the other’s name out a bit longer than he has to as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocking a hip out. He didn’t personally enjoy talking with asshole jocks, but what he did enjoy was knowing some things. He liked having some lore for the people around him.

“I’m not.” Steve snorts as he lifts the book up. “Just trying to do some research, I don’t know if you have eyes or anything but my face is pretty smashed in right now.” He retorts back with a little bit of sass. Eddie notes how his words slur up a bit, like he was drunk. But Eddie could spot a drunk anywhere and Steve Harrington seemed a hundred percent sober.

Furrowing his eyebrows, just a bit concerned he doesn’t let up the banter. Purposely forcing his eye lids open with one hand and jokingly pressing the finger tip against his eye before pulling back. Blinking the tears out of his slightly agitated right eye as he brings two thumbs up and comments, “we are in the clear I, Eddie Munson, let the record show, have eyeballs.” He grins dramatically.

“Want a gold star for that poncho.” Steve snorts, shaking his head a bit obviously amused. His body tensed up a bit as he goes a bit pale for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut with shaky breathes as his fists tighten around the book he was holding.

“Yes I do in fact want a gold star-” Eddie mumbles out gently, face scrunching up a bit more worried now as he moves his crossed arms from off his chest and moves a few steps closer to the other.

“Hey Harrington, you alright? You don’t seem like your typical charming self.” He comments as he hesitates for a moment before he crouches down. Leaving a few inches between the two of them.

Steve gives a weak nod of his head before he adjusting himself. “Yeah- just moves my head too much. Happens sometimes you know?” He chuckles gently.

“Oh thank god, you were looking a little green. Was worried you were about to hulk out on me buddy.” Eddie jokes a little, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Lifting his hand up and running one of his rings against the bottom of his lip before glancing back down at the book.

“Find anything good in there, or are you just holding it for show?” Eddie asks gently, trying to come off a bit more teasing.

Steve snorts again, sounding a bit stressed as he nearly shakes his head no again but stopped ps himself. “No, couldn’t even make it through the first page without wanting to throw up.” He groans as he quickly adds. “Not because I don’t want to read it, it’s just the words won’t sit still and it hurts my eyes which then hurts my head.” He groans as he opens his eyes back up fully and looks down at the book with a little huff.

“Could always get a nerd to do your homework for you,” Eddie jokes, slightly hinting towards Wheeler. “Heard that girlfriend of yours had a decent brain on her, she seems like the type to understand that you’ll need help.” He tilts his head to the side as he looks at the other.

Steve makes a noise that Eddie can’t even place, it sounded like the mixture of a laugh and a snort combined. “Can’t, I’m pretty sure she cheated on me with Byers. Don’t want to feel any more stupid around her.” He mumbles the last sentence out.

Eddie looks a bit surprised, he hadn’t taken Mrs Priss to be a cheater. Though he furrows his eyebrows again in thought. “If you give me a twenty I’ll read that book for you and try answering any questions you have.”

Eddie didn’t want to seem completely like a sweetheart, he had to keep up the image he had going on or else people wouldn’t take him seriously during deals. And he didn’t want to ruin said image to Steve Harrington of all people.

Steve squints his good eye at Eddie suspiciously, “I’ll pay you a hundred if you don’t mention this to anybody else.”

Eddie feels a little bit shitty for doing this but an image had to be kept.

“You’ve got yourself a deal Harrington.” His grin isn’t fully authentic as he takes the book from the other and does a playful salute as he stands up fully and begins to walk away.

[capesch-arts]

Recently imagined Joy and Faroe interaction and here's a Convo I thought up

Faroe: How do you deal with this?

Joy: Which part? Becoming the Priest of The King in Yellow or life in general because the latter is embracing life in its-

Faroe: NO! No. I mean- You know you're just as much of a play thing to these gods as I am, right?

Joy: Oh, I know. I know it well

Faroe: You..- What do you mean? Are you saying you're... Self aware?

Joy: Yes, Ms. Lester, I am quite self aware that I am a toy figurine that is free to be played with by whatever entity that's bored with existence. It's not that hard to grasp that reality.

Faroe: ... Even The King?

Joy: especially so.

Faroe: If you're aware of all this. If you KNOW you're just some pawn, even in your own god's eyes. How do you even cope with that?

Joy: Because if I allow myself to be fully aware of my own circumstances... I'll go mad. Truly mad. So, instead of just wallowing in my own existential misery, why not happily be a part of it? Humanity hasn't quite treated me or the world well, I don't have anything to look forward to in that.

Faroe: Ah... Fuck.

Joy: Mm-hmm... Smoke? Or does The Princess in your eyes object to their lover smoking a-

Faroe: Please.

Jane: Please.

[windser]

thinking about being the non-mc, just sylus pretty princess with no real combative experience. because why would you need it when the n109 zone lifeline was practically intertwined with his own. so no you didn't really need to know how to shoot a gun, but that didn't make you curious. you knew about sylus collection. all about his secred closet of toys of mass destruction.

for the longest, that was his thing. tools he utilized to keep you safe. until the thought occured to you, what were you going to do to keep him safe?

even without asking aloud, you could hear sylus dry chuckle tickling your ear. kitten, if i ever went down, any threat to you would have been eliminated before i drew my last breath. which was scarily sweet to hear, except you hated to think about sylus drawing his last anything.

so you decided on a rather peaceful day, to request that it was now your turn to learn how to weld a gun.

lounged back on the couch, legs parted just enough to give you enough grounding to rest back again, sylus appeared to barely acknowledge your request. it was almost too easy to get lost in the way his face was relaxed against the afternoon sun, no doubt pulling lightly at the strings of sleep to off-set his late night activities.

your finger tips were just grazing his slackened lips, when you brought yourself back to your senses to probe him again. this time he gave you a bit more attention, one vermillion eye peering up at you with hinted bemusement.

always asking for more, hm? because at the end of the day, if it let your lips he would procure it. if only after a bit of teasing. this acceptance, didn't come without a longer look of consideration however as his large hands cupped your cheeks to draw you in until your foreheads touched. he stared at you with an indiscriminate look for a long time, almost long enough to think he'd take back his word before he breathed a slow sigh against your lips.

alright, let's sharpen your claws then.

and so after a few indulgent kisses, you managed to eventually nudge him off the couch, fighting his last dregs of delay. the two of you never needed to leave the estate, trailing down to the lower floors where the twins often escaped to practice.

it was your first time really exploring the area and curiousity roused with it. much more than you thought you harbored. to see you curious and animated over your lesson was foreign and it gave him pause him, but he set his jaw and answered your questions.

perhaps sylus had been waiting for you to eventually chicken out. let that blanket of shyness shroud you as you tucked yourself close to his side and asked to be taken back.

but that never came.

instead, you stood there with a sort of reverence on your face when he placed the gun into your hand, watching you handle it carefully, gently loading and unloading it until you could do it without his directions, your hands moving far more deftly than he would have liked.

watching you, sylus admitted to himself that your nervous naivety had started to relax him a little, your soft voice and innocent questions reminding him that any gun you held wouldn’t tarnish you , no matter how or why you shot it.

so he took more command and stood behind you with his chest against your back, guiding your hands into the correct grip and lifting your arms to just where they should be to hit the fresh target he'd set up after removing the old ones littered from the twins' sessions.

he was ready for the kickback from the shot rocked you back into his muscled frame, but you were not as you squealed in half surprise, half glee. he fought a smile, not noticing he was until you turned and shoved his arm, griping that you’d missed after the high of pulling the trigger had worn off.

guiding you the second time was easier for him, both of you less stiff as he slid his arms down yours, his voice low in your ear. urging you to breathe and take your time instead of a ‘point and shoot’, sylus fought the sudden need to press his lips to where your pulse thumped at your neck, instead letting you relax and shoot when you were ready. the edge of the second most inner ring bore a new breach from your well-placed shot, and syus truly grinned at your childish excitement.

but it didn’t take long for a very different kind of feeling to sink its teeth into sylus, and his eyes glazed over at the loosened tendrils of your hair and your flushed cheeks, trailing his gaze up and down you while you littered the flimsy paper target with sharpened aim.

sylus let you empty the gun of bullets and smirked at the empty clicking of the trigger that you continued to pull. glad he’d only taken a few rounds from inventory expecting you to lose interest rather quickly, sylus now wanted your lesson to end for a very different reason, snaking his arms around your waist, assuring you that there’d be plenty more lessons in your future as he gripped your chin and brought your lips to his.

[bi-bi-buckleys]

Here’s my vision:

It’s the end of the episode, Eddie’s rooting through Buck’s fridge and sees the champagne bottle, not for the first time, but after everything they’ve been through he thinks what the hell we deserve to celebrate a bit.

He takes the bottle out of the fridge and calls out to Buck who is in the dining room.

“Hey Buck! What do you say we crack this open? Celebrate me moving back?”

Buck pokes his head in the kitchen and something like panic crosses his face. He reaches out and snatches the bottle out of Eddie’s hands.

“Uh, that- that’s mine.” Buck cradles the champagne to his chest, almost protectively.

Eddie snorts a laugh.

“What, you can’t share a bottle of champagne?” Eddie asks teasingly.

Buck stares down at the bottle and a small smile blooms on his face.

“Not with you.” Buck says, beaming at this point.

“Umm ok, ouch I think?” Eddie responds, but it’s lighthearted. He has his suspicions.

“Sorry it’s just….you know what? I have to go. Don’t wait up!” Buck calls as he starts towards the door.

“Uh huh. Tell Tommy I said hi!” Eddie calls back.

“Will do!” Buck shouts just before the door shuts.

Eddie laughs and shakes his head.

End scene.

[lorelune]

regency au jing yuan how you are haunting me.

(continued here!)

a retired general who at the ripe age of thirty five has never taken a wife. never showed any interest in procuring a spouse nor does he entertain any attempts by the mamas of the ton to throw their eligible children at him. he is a polite scoundrel, kind-hearted in a way that makes those with half a mind question how someone with his demeanor could ever be the famed general who's strategies downed Shuhu during the Abundance Upheaval. he doesn't seem to care for his legacy, as much as he has cultivated one. he doesn't mind gossip, but doesn't entertain it much either.

you only meet him due to fortunate circumstances.

lord Luocha, a successful travelling merchant, pledged patronage to you sometime ago. he keeps you in a little cottage on the grounds of his manor where you're allowed to mostly do as you please as long as there's a new painting hung on the lord's wall every few months or so. the lord likes when you play too. he brings back new instruments for you to try, though he never expects mastery. he has an air of mystery to him that, despite all of the time you spend near him, keeps you from understanding him fully. you aren't one to pry about it either.

lord luocha invites jing yuan over to partake in fancy spirits from a country and city you can't ever hope to visit, let alone find on a map. you bring lord luocha your newest work-- (a meticulously completed oil painting. something more abstract, suited to the odd lonely and isolation you feel in your little, cozy cottage, despite all of the comforts you are afforded)-- and happen upon the pair.

lord luocha examines your newest work with pride, and shortly after introduces you. 'his patron' he calls you, but offers jing yuan no title. you--

(do not have one. it was stripped from you a long time ago. you think being an artist suits you better, anyways.)

jing yuan offers you his name, though you already know it. you recognize him based on the prattling of the girls and boys at the market. they swoon over his stature, fawn over his good deeds, and make note of his identifiable red hair ribbon. he has the same soft, sun-colored eyes that you had heard the eligible young of the ton giggle about.

you bow to him politely.

you have no reason to linger, but luocha calls you to anyways. perhaps he is lonely. perhaps you want him to be lonely, so it gives you a reason to stick closer to his side in the rare moments he is home for more than a day or two. the proximity is shared with jing yuan, who regards you with keen eyes and a lazy smile. the attention upon you feels weighted, important, like you're something special.

you savor it, however fleeting.

perhaps, however, you misunderstood jing yuan. or lord luocha's intentions.

because as jing yuan rises to take his leave and you bow once more, he catches your hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss into the soft skin. you're sure you smell of linseed and yarrow oil. he lingers there for a moment before meeting your gaze. there's a light of mischief in them that sends your heart fluttering. your breath catches.

when jing yuan is out of the manor, lord luocha pats your shoulder gently, "quite the man, isn't he?"

"i suppose... he is."

"you may speak freely."

"i am," you mince, and shake your head. you must be careful, entertaining such fanciful thoughts. "he is... kind."

"and handsome."

"lord luocha," you barely keep yourself from whining. "please, do not tease me. or the poor man. from what i hear, he has enough to deal with."

"the mamas do chase after him like foxes to a hen," lord luocha chuckles and studies your painting once more with a curious tilt of his head. "he'll ask to see you again, i'm certain."

"and why do you say that?"

"general jing yuan has never taken the hand of a potential suitor."

your heart feels heavy and warm in your chest, burning. "my lord, you cannot possibly think that this single action indicates that the general will... call upon me? that is highly unorthodox and i don't believe that's... quite allowed."

"jing yuan has never cared for the dances of decorum." lord luocha guides you into your gardens. the peonies are in bloom, full and lush in the humidity of late spring. "and, for the record, i don't believe he'll simply call upon you. court, properly, certainly."

"you're bluffing."

"what reason do i have to lie?"

"to tease me, as you so enjoy doing," you huff.

lord luocha simply hums and pauses near a bush of lilacs. they're fragrant, at the peak of their season. the scent rolls over you.

"if i truly intended to tease you, i simply would abstain from telling you of jing yuan's interest and allow you to be terribly surprised when he arrives and formally asks for you and your time. consider this a warning. i'll walk you to the modiste tomorrow, hm?"

you want to squawk at him. your linen dresses and tunics are fine (albeit smeared and stained with paints and oils over the years. you rarely bother replacing them.)

you want to protest and pry more, but lord luocha strikes you silent when he breaks off a cluster of lilac and tucks it behind your ear. he leaves you with your thoughts, however tortuous. and, perhaps horribly, you find yourself believing him. perhaps the warm-eyed general really was charmed. perhaps, your dresses needed replacing and you should contact your perfumer friend for a fresh vial or two.

perhaps perhaps perhaps, you can still feel where his lips lingered on your skin, like a brand. you never thought you could ache for burning, but in the gardens, you find yourself clutching your hand to your chest, craving the lick of the his sun's heat once more.

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

kiss and cry

summary | you’ve learnt to build your walls sky high in the wake of dick grayson’s abrupt departure from the world of skating. but one decade later, he’s back like nothing ever happened, and you’re back to square one. prompt | language of flowers event: a bouquet of purple hyacinths in blue wrapping paper with a pink ribbon ♡ pairing | dick grayson x gn!reader wc | 3.2k warnings/tags | pairs figure skating, childhood friends to strangers to ???, mutual pining, repressed feelings, angst, swearing, insecurity, no use of y/n, very liberal interpretation of how you’d qualify for the olympics ty @strangergraphics for the divider!

Brian Orser is a liar. 

“Oh c'mon kid, I had no idea. I thought this was a good kind of surprise! You might have a chance at the Olympics this time around!”

You should’ve known something was up when he asked you to stay after practice. The old man is annoyingly close to catching up with you, and if you weren’t wearing skate guards right now, you’d speed walk to the lockers faster. 

“Isn’t this good? You need a new partner, Dick finally decided to call me back, and anyways, I thought you l-”

You don’t need to hear the rest of his sentence to know what he’s about to say. “I didn’t. And I don’t anymore.” Neither of you seem convinced, but at least it gets him to shut up. 

What pains you the most is you can’t even be mad at the older man. You can’t cry, or scream, or throw a tantrum like you were 9 again, because at the end of the day, this is the coach you had begged to take you on. The one who has been behind so many legends and basically built your career up from the ground. Had this been any other situation, any other person, besides the Boy Wonder himself, you would probably be on the verge of much happier tears. But you know, just like last time, he won’t be here to stay. And you don’t know how much more heartbreak you can take.

Before you get the chance to talk him out of it, a pair of footsteps joins you. Speak of the fucking devil.

It’s like they had planned some flanked attack, with Brian herding you towards the front of the building and Dick stepping in to cut you off as you’re about to make your grand escape. No idea, your ass. Brian knew you wouldn’t be able to say no if they had you cornered like this.

“Dick!” he exclaims, pushing past you to wrap the black-haired man in bear hug. Normally, you think you’d be hurt by how his face is practically illuminating (he had never greeted you like that before). But you have your own worries to deal with: namely, a heart that is currently trying to claw its way out of your throat and lungs that have forgotten how to inhale air. You think Brian might still be speaking, but if he is, you’ve tossed that all to the side in lieu of studying the man in front of you.

You make it a point not to meet his gaze, even as you feel him trying to meet yours. Perhaps it’s pride, perhaps it’s fear, but either way, you know as soon as you look at him, properly look at him, any objectivity will fly out the door.

So you settle for the obvious things. He’s taller, and his face is sharper, no longer rounded by baby fat. Even the spiky haircut you used to tease him for is grown out now. He looks good—but nothing like the boy you have enshrined in your memories. This isn’t the boy who would stay behind to help you practice your jumps. This isn’t the boy who would pack an extra lunch for you in case you forgot yours. This isn’t the boy you cried yourself to sleep over for months, the boy who almost made you quit the one thing you loved most in the world because the thought of skating alone made you want to hurl.

This? Him? It’s just a bitter reminder that figure skating wasn’t the only thing he left behind all those years ago. 

You think you hear the two of them discuss the technical details. Practice schedules, song choices, choreography—it all goes in one ear and out the other. It’s a conversation you have with the older man at the start of every season. An annual promise that that year would be the year you finally earn the recognition you had worked so hard for. 

Technically, everything had been perfect. Technically, you were good. Enough to consistently land a spot at the Grand Prix Final.

But not good enough for a medal. It was never enough. No matter how much training you did, how many extra jumps you crammed into your programs, how many partners you had cycled through. There was no use in denying it: after Dick had left, you hadn’t been the same skater.

It’s pathetic. Your crush had not only abandoned you at 14, but any hopes of even making it to the podium had been crushed then as well. And you hate that 10 years later, you still haven’t moved on. Not enough to say no to his offer. Because like it or not, chemistry is everything in pairs, and there’s nobody like him. There is nobody like Dick Grayson.

It’s silent now. They’re waiting for you. 

You finally look up to meet his gaze. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

—

It’s too easy to fall back into step with Dick. He always greets you with a smile, brings you snacks before practice (homemade ones at that), and carries your bag to your car for you, even though you insist that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He’s certainly trying, but the more effort he puts in, the more you can’t help but resent him. 

His kindness is all just a means to an end for him. He’s buttering you up so your movements are less goddamn stiff when you’re next to him, so you at least vaguely resemble an evenly matched pair. You know from Brian that he’s only coming back because of a stupid bet he made with his brother. He’s just here to prove he can make it to the Olympics. Your childhood dream, what you’ve decided would be the sign that you’ve made it—to him, it’s just another achievement he can use to inflate his ego. The worst part about it is he’s good enough that he could genuinely make it happen that effortlessly. And once he’s satisfied with that, he’ll waltz out of your life just as quickly as he came in. 

So when he offers you a hand as you step out of the rink, when he happens to have an extra energy drink, when he suggests a “team bonding” dinner, you don’t accept. You’ll let yourself entertain him on the ice for the sake of the skate. But nothing more. 

At the very least, you can admit that your performance aspect has definitely improved since skating alongside Dick. You breeze through Eastern Regionals, then Skate Canada, then Skate America, and in no time at all, you’re at the Grand Prix Final: the one barrier you’ve always hit. 

The short goes even better than you imagined it would. Too good. You’ve seen the posts that the fans have made about the two of you, digging up old skating clips to support their theories about the two of you. There’s a poorly worded interview by Brian that does nothing but fuel the flames, and even some of the commentators have been talking about how good the two of you look together. All signs seem to be telling you that you have nothing to worry about; the two of you are perfect. They don’t understand that that’s exactly what you’re worried about. 

You don’t catch yourself until it’s too late. You’re slowly getting consumed by him—by his soft smiles and whispers of encouragement and stupid, stupid puns. You’re back where you started, feeling weightless as the two of you skate your free program, actually losing yourself to the music. There’s nothing to prove anymore; this isn’t a performance—this is just how it’s always meant to be. It should feel right. But it doesn’t, because you’re terrified that if you let yourself get comfortable in his embrace, you won’t be able to skate like this ever again.

You pop the triple Lutz. Then you go into an Euler and a double toe loop that’s under-rotated too. You don’t understand, your jumps have always been pristine, especially your doubles. You haven’t made a sloppy mistake like this in a while. The last time was when–

Shit, you’re too early into the step sequence, the turn too sharp at the corner. You meet his gaze repentantly, like that will absolve you of your guilt. You don’t know what emotion you’re expecting to find in eyes. Maybe anger? Frustration? That’s certainly how you feel at the moment. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not adoration. 

You want to ask him what the hell is going on, but there’s no time. Last move. Death spiral. You have to hold hands, and the contact makes your skin burn. You don’t have the heart to look at him again. You’re afraid of what you’re going to find.

Suddenly everything feels too tight: the rink, your chest, the skates around your feet. You have to get out of there. One revolution, two, three, four. You can hold on, it’s almost over. Another four. He pulls you back towards him. It’s your final pose. The two of you are chest to chest. 

You just have to hold this for a second, and then you’re free. You can do it. You can do it. And then he’s leaning in even closer, until his forehead is pressed against yours and your lips hovering over each other. 

You can’t do it anymore and all you can think about is how to get out of there. You don’t even bother to wait for your score; you’ll deal with Brian’s scolding later. But you know if you stay out there any longer, you won’t be able to scrape together what little sanity you still have left. 

You’re leaving. You have to leave.

And as you run back to the lockers, you realize somebody’s been calling out your name.

“Hey, wait! Is everything okay?” Of course, the one person you don’t want to see would follow you. “Why did you leave like that? Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovers over your arm for a moment before he pulls it away and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. He used to do it with practiced ease back when you were kids, when you would joke that he had cooties but let him do so all the same. Now, you’re not sure if you can stand his touch, and from the look on his face, it seems to break his heart.

”Nothing, let’s just forget about this.” You feel like you’re being strangled and it takes all of your energy not to burst into tears at the moment. 

”No,” he says softly. “No, I know you, I know you’re not okay. Please, let’s talk about this.” 

And suddenly, everything’s just too much. He’s acting too nice to you, like he actually cares. Like maybe the fervent glances and lingering touches on the ice mean more to him than just pandering to the judges. But you know he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have left.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, you don’t know a single thing about me. So don’t act like you care about me now.”

”I do though!” 

“Bullshit. We’re not anything to each other.” 

His face crumples immediately. He takes a step back. This is the closest he’s ever been to tears.

On a kinder day, you’d take it all back. You’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness and he would be disgustingly kind like he always is and you could both forget about this. But you’re tired of dancing around the issue and you think there’s a sick part of you that revels in his pained expression. 

You take a step forward. “You’re just a coworker. This? This act where we pretend like we can stand to be in the same room as each other? This isn’t real. So stop acting like it is. You didn’t care about me when you left. So why the change now? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to move on? I couldn’t even skate afterwards. I thought my career was over. And I’ve had to fight every single day to prove that—that I’m still a capable skater, that I have a place in this sport.” 

Your voice trembles, and it takes all of your strength to swallow the lump in your throat. “I had to fight to be able to skate without you. To have the courage to stand on the ice alone. So I’m sorry that I’m not willing to welcome you back with open arms, because I know this is just some stupid game to you. You’ll get to the Olympics, because of course you will, and I’ll get to ride on the coattails of that. And that will be the greatest moment of my career, but to you, it’s just another thing on your checklist. Then you’ll go back to whatever you decided is more worthy than m–” You choke on your own words. “Than skating. And I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces again. But frankly speaking, I don’t know if I can do that a second time.”

It’s dead silent, save for your panting. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And Dick? You can’t read him, and that’s what scares you the most.

”Forget it.” The silence is driving you insane, and you just start running your mouth. “Fuck, forget it. I should just be grateful you’re even my partner this season. It’s the only way I’ll make it to the Olympics. I know you’re thinking it, you and Brian—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—that’s why you left, isn’t it? Didn’t want to be tied down to a pathetic fucking loser.”

“I never said th—”

”I can’t blame you. I’d leave me too—“

“I DIDN’T LEAVE YOU!” 

Now you’re both silent. You’ve never heard him raise before. You’ve never seen him this desperate either. He’s shaking as he stands in front of you. “You’re right, I didn’t care about skating. It was always just a hobby to me. But I stayed because of you. Because I was young and stupid and in love and the only way I knew how to show you that was to skate with you. And it killed me when I had to quit, but I just…I saw how much passion you had for skating. Like it was the air you needed to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t dedicate myself to the sport like you could.. And you deserved a partner who would love skating as much as you do.”

You think your brain short circuits after “in love,” and if he says anything else after that, you certainly aren’t processing it. “…You loved me?”

Dick laughs like you’ve just asked if water is a liquid. ”Of course I did. Everybody knew it too. Brian used to tease me about the way I would look at you. And I figured I would finally tell you after I quit, in case it would make things awkward, but then…”

“I blocked you.” You whisper in horror. 

“Yeah, so I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. I didn’t realize quitting meant I would lose you too.” 

And suddenly you’re 14 again, watching the boy you’ve had a crush on for over half of your life tell you that he doesn’t want to skate anymore, and you feel so small and so stupid. “Oh god. So all of those years…”

He nods, “I lied about the Olympics thing. Or well, I really did have a bet with Jason, but when Brian told me that you needed a new partner…I came back hoping it would be a chance to make it up to you.”

You’re still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that maybe Dick had genuinely been trying to make amends with you. “So you being nice wasn’t just for show or team-building or whatever?”

“Team-building? God, I don’t think there’s a world where I can love you in any other way.”

The first realization that he had loved you in the past had been enough to nearly give you a heart attack. But to hear love? In the present tense? You think back to how he’s been acting for the past few months. All of the weird incidents that you can’t just explain away by saying that he’s making fun of you or being civil to you as a teammate or just being nice because that’s how he is. 

Because there’s no other explanation for why he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, why he lifts you with a reverence that could rival the likes of Keats and Byron, why he lingers on the ice after every practice, like he’s chasing the last vestiges of your warmth. 

And you have so many words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ways in which you can lay down your heart for him as he has done for you. But both of you know that even this stolen moment is just that: stolen time.

”Shall we go back?” He offers you his hand evenly, but there’s a tremble in his voice that gives him away. Like he’s worried that even after all of this, there was a universe in which you still don’t reciprocate his feelings. 

Your heart is screaming at you to assure him, promise that yes of course, you would accept him. But the words evaporate from your mind before you have a chance to grasp onto them. So you hope that at the very least, your actions can convey a fraction of your feelings. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the rink. No matter what the result is, you think it’ll be alright if you have Dick’s shoulder to cry on after this is all over. 

—

“And with a free score of 129.44 and a final score of 205.57, that puts America’s own duo from Gotham at third place in the Grand Prix Final!” 

Third, the word echoes in your head, taking you a few moments to process. Third, and there were no other American teams on the podium. Sure, it isn’t exactly the most fairytale ending, but it’s better this way—more real. You turn to look at Dick, who you’re sure has the exact same look of astonishment that you do. You remember Brian doing the math before you guys had even made it to the venue. Based on this event and the rest of your results this season, it was clear that the two of you were the uncontested pair in the whole country. 

“You’re going to the Olympics!” Brian whoops, hugging the both of you and jumping for joy in a way you think only he can get away with. You’re grinning so hard your muscles are starting to twitch but honestly you could care less about that. All of the training, all of the sleepless nights had finally paid off, and you felt like you had really, truly made it. And the fact that you did it with Dick makes it all the sweeter to you. 

You got a medal, a boyfriend, and that day, the kiss and cry finally lived up to its name.

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