#ack fic

[gay-ppl-real]

Been writing quite a lot of WH fic in my spare time recently and I realised I've kinda accidentally created a consistent interpretation of how the neighbourhood would see Frank X Eddie (liking each other or being together but on the down-low):

To be clear these aren't my theories on what's going on in the ARG, it's like... just in the world of the WH show itself, without getting deep into the horror and mystery elements, and therefore excluding facts like that in canon there's probably going to be homophobia themes to the story iirc. This is how I imagine it'd unfold if it just happened normally without whatever scariness is going on in Home as a factor.

Also I like playing around with lots of different ideas and dynamics and interpretations; this is just a bit of fun.

Transcripts (and a bunch of extra explanations/info) under the concealment charm! ⬇️

Sally:

Has no idea, because she's not paying attention to them.

Would be like "Cool. Now about MY NEXT PLAY!" if it was pointed out to her.

Unless she could make it into something dramatic.

(Extra: like if she thought of a way to basically make a performance out of it, I can imagine she'd do that. Eddie and Frank would both think she was being very strange.)

Poppy:

K N O W S

Possibly before even Eddie does, and trying to drop him hints.

Thinks they'd be wonderful together.

(Extra: She wouldn't think it was her place to say anything outright, especially because that could risk outing either of them, but she'd be like "Frank can be very protective of you, you know..." HINT HINT.)

Howdy:

Has a vague suspicion.

Doesn't think it's really his business.

DOES think they're cute together.

(Extra: it wouldn't really interest or concern him much so he wouldn't feel a need to offer input or say anything, but he would sometimes see them talking and be like 'lmao these bitches gay! good for them, good for them,' in his head.)

Wally:

Knows Eddie & Frank 'love each other' but is unclear on how this differs from how he loves all his neighbours.

Would be very happy for them if someone explained it to him.

(Extra: he wouldn't pick up on anything particularly special about them/their relationship, he just assumes that all his neighbours love each other because, in his opinion, what's not to love. He'd also likely be one of the first people either of them would feel comfortable telling.)

(Extra 2: also no-one would ever explain it to him properly. Eddie would get into embarrassed blethering and Frank wouldn't know what to say beyond that it's "just different," Barnaby would keep giving joke answers, Poppy and Howdy would just be like 🤷not my place, and Sally and Julie would keep telling him things that only made him more confused.)

Barnaby:

Would eventually pick up on it, and take great joy in teasing either of them.

Ultimately supportive, though.

(Extra: He'd greatly enjoy irritating Frank and making Eddie flustered in ways that meant nobody else but them knew what he was hinting at lol)

Julie:

#1 Frank X Eddie shipper.

She finds out because Frank talks to her about their feelings, and she's rooting for them from then on.

(Extra: she'd try to be Frank's wingman and just end up confusing and scaring Eddie and making Frank facepalm.)

[sockhopbuns]

// "Cure for Me", Aurora

Leo from The Lemonade Leak by @turtleinsoup !!!

[maddiebuckettebuckley]

casual (is it casual now?)

eddie/tommy angst | 1.1k words | read on ao3

summary: literally just the bucktommy kiss if it had been eddie instead, because lou said it was almost eddie and the show said eddie catholic guilt real and I said oh bet?

Eddie slides Tommy a beer across the table and cracks one open for himself. Despite still feeling the burn of the whiskey from the karaoke bar in his stomach, he takes a swig. “Man, I have to remember to invite Buck next week. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him, but he’s a big trivia buff.”

Tommy hums good-naturedly. “Maybe that way we’d actually break our ten-point record.” He grabs the beer and taps his fingers against the side without taking a drink. “Hey, what’s the deal with you two, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Eddie cocks his head slightly, not entirely understanding the question. “Me and Buck?”

“You talk about each other all the time, and your kid is obsessed with him. His name must have come up a dozen times the other day.”

Eddie shrugs. What is there to say about Buck? He’s Buck. He’s worked his way into every aspect of Eddie’s life, and somehow, unexpectedly, became Eddie’s favorite person in the world, after Chris. Not that he would ever tell him. His head’s big enough as it is.

“We’re like family, I guess. The whole 118 is more than a house. We’re all family.”

“Hah. I noticed.” Tommy’s voice is colored with something like bitterness. Not harsh, though. More… sad. Wistful, maybe. “Wasn’t like that when I was there.”

“Really? How so?” Without meaning to, Eddie inches closer.

Tommy lets out a puff of air and shakes his head slightly. “The whole… culture was different. Very macho. Regressive. Not that different from serving, honestly.”

That Eddie can understand. His team was close, but it was a completely different world than the 118. The jokes were sharper, aimed to hurt as often as not. The conversations shallower. Sometimes it almost felt like they didn’t want to get too close in case someone didn’t make it out. Maybe they had the right idea; he had almost died trying to get them all home. Not that he learns from his mistakes, since he knows from experience he’d stop at nothing to fight for any of his new family. It scares him if he lets it. How much he cares about all of them.

“I get it,” Eddie says, taking another swig of his beer. “You’d fit right in there now, though. The way you threw in with us in that storm.” He whistles. “Pretty fuckin’ cool.”

A small smile appears on Tommy’s face that Eddie finds difficult to read. Could be the whiskey. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“You wouldn’t get sick of me, seeing me every day?” Tommy asks. He sets down his beer, still untouched, next to Eddie on the table, and Eddie suddenly becomes aware that he’s well within touching distance. He’d barely even have to reach out his hand.

“’Course not. Anyone would be an improvement over Buck.” Why did he say that? He doesn’t think that. But it makes Tommy laugh again. Which makes Eddie smile, even as his stomach turns from the casual cruelty of the joke.

“You’re pretty cool yourself, you know.” The calm intensity of Tommy’s eye contact is setting off alarm bells in the back of Eddie’s mind. He tries to ignore them, because something about it feels nice, like the gaze itself is casting a warm glow over him.

“Oh, am I?” Eddie replies, raising an eyebrow.

“In my book, at least. Whatever that counts for.” Impossibly, Tommy has gotten even closer, so that there’s almost no space between them at all. The alarm bells get louder, more intense, and Eddie can feel his heartbeat throughout his body.

“Definitely counts for something.” Eddie’s words come out quiet. He kind of can’t breathe.

But he doesn’t back away. He doesn’t break eye contact. Even when Tommy closes the distance completely, when his hand is under Eddie’s chin pulling it ever so slightly upwards so that their mouths meet.

Eddie’s swept away in it. The warmth, the strength of his hand, the hint of vanilla vodka still on his lips. It all makes him dizzy, twists up his head so he forgets, well, everything. Just for a moment. And he leans into the kiss until their bodies are pressed flush against each other and his hand finds its way into Tommy’s hair and—

“Shit.” Eddie pulls away abruptly, breathless. The man — the man — in front of him stares back. Kindly, questioning. And they’re the only two people in the room, but Eddie has never been more sure he’s being watched. Panic starts to migrate from the tips of his fingers wrapped in Tommy’s T-shirt and hair, all the way up into Eddie’s chest and settles there. He takes one step back, then another. The look on Tommy’s face as he does is unbearable, so he turns away, balling his hands into fists that will leave purple crescents in his palms. “I’m not… I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“It’s actually getting pretty serious. We’re moving in together soon.” Eddie winces at the lie. He hasn’t even asked her yet.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” A gentle hand on his shoulder tells him that Tommy’s stepped closer. Instinctively, Eddie shrugs it off. And instantly feels sick.

Don’t be a fucking coward. Look him in the face, at least.

He turns to face Tommy, who looks — hurt. Worse, he looks like he’s trying not to look hurt. Eddie swallows, trying to keep down the panic as it crawls up his throat.

“Nah man, it’s on me. I shouldn’t have… I should’ve told you sooner.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his eyes. His skin itches like it’s covered with grime. His fingers twitch like they’re searching for rosary beads. “I think you should probably go. It’s getting late.”

Tommy nods, then opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. Closes it again.

Eddie walks him to the door, trying to come up with any words that would make this less awful, but when he tries to think there’s only a dark static filling his head with noise.

With one foot outside, Tommy hesitates, lingering in the doorframe.

“Listen, Eddie. I really am sorry for the misunderstanding. But I hope you know that you can call me if you ever need to talk. I’ve been where—” He cuts himself off. Holds eye contact with Eddie for a moment. Sighs. “I’m still here for you, if you need anything.”

Eddie nods lamely. A part of him needs to delete Tommy’s number. A part of him wants to pull him back inside. He’s not even sure what for. “Thanks, Tommy.”

The door clicks shut with Tommy behind it and Eddie slides down the wood paneling to the floor, dropping his head between his knees as a heavy sob escapes his mouth.

[skyward-floored]

Every year I’m like “oh I should write something nice and shippy for Valentine’s Day” and every year I either write nothing or something that’s in no way lovey dovey at all

[limerental]

carry what i need to carry 1/?

a ciri/everyone post-book canon fic

summary

After the end of everything, Ciri started over again, trying to navigate a life caught between worlds while full of desires she was only just beginning to explore. And again. And again.

excerpt

Without warning, she moved, rising to sling a leg around his narrow waist as nimbly as though she were mounting her mare. Galahad startled and grabbed at the muscle of her thighs a little too harshly, and she hissed a complaint. Galahad swiftly removed his hands from her as though burned and curled them tight against his chest. He looked so miserably guilty and wet-eyed, like a kicked dog, that Ciri could not help but laugh. She had been jittery and anxious all evening with the anticipation of this moment, but now that she had struck and held the boy captive beneath her, her fears fled and confidence welled up to meet the heat that had settled low in her belly. If he made the wrong move or proved himself dangerous, her sword was only an arm’s length away. But he didn’t look dangerous. He was young, no older than she was, and his sword had naively been left propped against the rock wall some distance away. His body was warm beneath her spread thighs, her knees nudging against the swell of his ribcage. His ringlets of hair looked soft in the moonlight, and his expression was one of open wonder, his full lips parted and eyes wide.

[pin3-vin3]

I was reading a fic where the Omega mc had just a normal bed and then a room divider sectioning off a separate nesting area from the rest of the room and I thought that was really cool since I'm of the belief that nests can be very private and personal, at least enough for it to be separated from the general bedroom space. But then it had me thinking if there would be any discourse or tension between people who have separate permanent nests and people who repeatedly build temporary ones. And by permanent I don't mean nests that are left alone and never freshened up, just nests that are repeatedly refreshed and kept in one place instead of being taken down and packed away after use.

I'd think it'd be harder for people to carve out separate areas both for bed/sleeping space and for nesting space if their living spaces were smaller or they had limited materials possibly because of their financial situation— I mean, it'd be hard to find enough bedding for one place to rest if you can't afford groceries, let alone two— so just occasionally setting up temporary nests in their sleeping spaces wouldn't be uncommon.

A lot of people would also probably just sleep and nest in the same place all the time if not by preference then because of convince for those who have physical and/or mental illness or any other disability that'd make constantly going back and forth between spaces and building a nest difficult (that opens up a whole other can of worms for how those with disabilities who can't/struggle to make nests are treated and view themselves but that's it's own post entirely)

On the other end of things, for those who have the space and the means for both day-to-day bed space and nesting space, they might prefer to make temporary than keep permanent nests because they enjoy the nest building process, the versatility, or maybe for some more high horse-y reasons like thinking permanent nests must be unclean and stale.

I think some people who make permanent separate nests would have their own prejudice too, like thinking people who nest in the same place they sleep every day instead of some separate secluded place are indecent because nests are supposed to be so personal and sacred.

Okay yeah that's all for now I think. Got very rambley. Is this anything

[blood-mocha-latte]

damp - hilldane drabble

for an anonymous ask || request an edit/drabble || i… don’t know what this is. i call it ‘rie accidentally projects a lot onto two characters simultaneously and accidentally makes herself cry’ and also 'rie needs to stop obsessing about keaton st james poems before they Consume her'

9 LINES ABOUT EITHER ROMANCE OR DEATH

The damp, damp dark seemed to find Andy always wanting, always in a limbo between humanity and something else. Something more, something less. A change, but never one big or small enough to be important.

Eddie sat by him, carving a stick with his knife, warm at Andy’s shoulder.

“Ya ever think love stories will be told about people like us?” He asked. Andy shrugged. He knew the answer that Eddie believed. The same one most men like them believed. A story that ain’t ever worth telling. That wasn’t the answer Andy wanted to give.

“Maybe one day.” He said, watching the way the wind shifted through the palm fronds, the men laughing and talking and playing around in the sand and around the camp. “If it’s a good story.”

Eddie snorted. His knife slipped, and he nicked the pad of his thumb. As he held it up to his lips to suck on the cut, he said, “or a tragic one.”

1. It guides our every action.

Andy walked in front of a tank, and didn’t have to turn around to know that Eddie would follow him. Like a soft string that was tethered to his heart with steel, he never had to think too hard about where Eddie would ever be.

He watched as Eddie bent over, pistol loose in his grip, and talked lowly to the army tanker. Andy didn’t need to see him to know how his eyes flashed on certain words, how his lips twisted around others. 

Talkin’ and killin’. Sometimes Andy thought it might be the same deadly dance.

The army tanker bowed his head, and Eddie turned on his heel and back to their boys, gripping them by their arms, pulling them to their feet. Dusting them off, helping guide them Away. 

Andy wondered if the seraphim of his mothers bible could even hold a candle to Eddie Jones.

He stood in front of the tank until Eddie was done. He watched the treads of the tank, its gun, the crew that he couldn’t see but stared down anyways. 

He’d probably let the damn thing crush him, if it would buy Eddie more time, help more of their boys.

2. Do you remember when we rode the train home from the ocean with salt dried in our hair, and yet, somehow, your mouth still tasted so sweet as i kissed you goodnight on your porch? while the dark-winged sedges sang?

“C’mon, just one.”

“No,” Andy laughed, crossing his legs under him to sit in the shallow foxhole with Eddie, who's smile was wide and eyes even brighter. “You're drunk.”

Eddie laughed, and it was warm and free. “Turns out, the more Saki you drink, it does not taste better.” Andy smiled, leaning against loose dirt and feeling the warmth of the setting sun across his face. 

“You know, I never would've guessed.” He said dryly. Eddie laughed again. He held the near-empty bottle by its glass neck, and extended it to Andy, shaking it slightly.

“Probably should drink some all the same, though.” He said, and Andy couldn't tell if his pupils swallowed his irises because of the drink or something else. “Just to make sure.”

“Nah.” Andy said lightly, in reference to the Saki. “I've got all the proof I need.”

Eddie smiled and, after looking over his shoulder as if a conspiracy, cheeks flushed red and eyes ink dark, he whispered, loudly, “just one kiss, huh, Skip? ‘M probably drunk enough that it's run off on you.”

Andy watched him seriously, if only for a moment, if only to see the way Eddie leaned against the shallow foxhole again and smiled at him with bitten-red lips and dark, happy eyes.

“Well, you could be stone-cold sober and I could still get drunk off you.” Is what he ended up saying, and Eddie's laugh was warm and bright and it made Andy want to reach for him.

“Hopefully I taste less shitty.” Is what Eddie said back, and drank the rest of the Saki in one go. 

3. i dream about you all the time.

Eddie loved, loved, loved Australia, with such a fervor that Andy almost forgot about taking him back home entirely to focus instead on buying them a house Down Under.

They sat in a darker corner of the bar, other marines shouting and singing and drinking and dancing with laughing women. 

Eddie sat with light eyes and a whiskey in front of him, running his index finger along the rim of its glass. 

“I wonder what it's like in the middle of Australia.” Eddie said thoughtfully, his hand stilling. “I know it's wild, but I'd like to know how.”

Under the table, their knees knocked together, and Andy risked hooking his foot around Eddie's calf, downing the rest of his own drink. “I’d guess somewhat like how the west was, before Lewis and Clark got there.” He said, the whiskey burning down his throat and settling in his chest, curling around his heart.

Eddie hummed, finished off his own drink. “I heard from a woman at a corner shop that they tried to send their own Lewis and Clark out there.” He said. “But nature doesn't want them out there. It's just… meant to be wild. Meant to be sand and dark and stars.”

Andy thought about that, for a moment. About a place that can’t be tamed by man, not really. Not like back home, in Lawrence, or even like their camps along every island the Marine Corps sends them to. Just really, truly wild. Home to no one but itself and those who were there first.

“It sounds nice.” He said.

“Yeah.” Eddie said back.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go, picked up his and Andy’s empty glasses and tilted them towards the door. Andy huffed, pushing his chair out and standing up.

“Thought I was the one that made orders.” He said dryly. Eddie smiles, small and barely there, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes brilliantly, brilliantly bright.

“Yeah.” He said, slowly. Like a joke. “Don’t get too used to that, Skip.”

4. i’m so constantly hungry sometimes i feel as if i’m nothing but ache

They traded the cigarette back and forth, and it was gone entirely too quickly.

Andy turned to watch Eddie, just out of the corner of his eye, just like he always did, and watched him stub the smoke out against a rock.

“You did what you had to do.” Andy said softly. 

The sun, still sleeping along the horizon, wasn't showing herself. In her absence, shadows stretched across Eddie's face, making him seem older. Haggard.

“I know.” He said. His voice was quiet, his voice slightly off. He swayed slightly, where he rested on his knees, and scrubbed a hand down his face. 

Andy turned to face him fully. Eddie was close enough that he could reach the hand not covering his eyes easily, tangling their fingers together and linking their pinkies.

“When this is over,” He said, “I'm going to take you to the park just outside my neighborhood, and we can watch the sunset there instead, and not worry about this. About any of this.”

From the way Eddie looked at him, Andy knows he didn't believe him. He still tightened his grip in Andy’s hand.

“Yeah.” He said. His voice was rough, like he'd been crying. He'd given his entrenching tool to Andy – it still had blood and brain matter across the flat edge of it – and wouldn't take it back. They both knew the boys were worried now, about having nightmares. They were having their buddies wake them up every fifteen minutes, so they couldn't fall too deep into it. 

Eddie didn't say anything else, but Andy nodded anyway.

“One day,” He said, “I'm going to take you home. And you don't have to believe it, because I do.”

He went back to watching the sunrise, and smiled when he felt Eddie's chapped lips press to his knuckles.

5. every sentence i try to write starts with you and ends with my heart wanting to burst open, less like gates during a flood and more like a peach growing on the vine. so ripe, so ready for the fall.

“I read the book about Huck Finn, once.” Eddie said, one day, while they led their platoon down a water-swollen, muddy crevice. He was quiet, after that, and Andy looked at him sideways, keeping his eyes on his feet and the treacherous path in front of them. 

“Yeah?” Andy asked, after a moment, to prompt him. Eddie blinked, like he'd forgotten he'd spoken at all, but nodded after a moment.

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “When I was thirteen. It was hard as all hell to read, it took me almost a year to get through the damn thing. But I read it. Was real proud, too. Gettin’ through that big book like that.”

“Yeah.” Andy said, trying to remember anything about the book. He'd read it, what seemed like ages ago, but trying to remember its contents or words was like trying to recall the face of a long gone childhood friend. No memory, only feelings. “Did you like it?”

Eddie was quiet again.

When he finally spoke, his eyes stayed on the ground, boots sinking four or five inches into the mud with every squelching step. “I did.” He said, vague. “But my daddy—” 

He stopped, face doing something complicated, one of his hands twitching on his rifle as if, by habit, to have fingertips ghost along a scar. 

Andy half-turned, looking over his shoulder and counting the helmets behind him. He counted them one more time before turning back again. By the time he did so, Eddie’s expression had smoothed back out, eyes ahead.

“He wasn't as proud that I'd read that book as I was.” He said, quietly. “He didn't — I guess he didn't much like what… what Huck Finn was. Or maybe how Tom Sawyer was. I don't know.” 

Andy was quiet. He didn't say sorry. He knew Eddie hated that. 

“I'll have to read it again sometime.” Is what he said, after a long moment. “So we can talk about it.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh, and Andy, as always, was angry so quickly it made his head hurt.

He imagined a thirteen-year-old Eddie Jones, reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn whenever and wherever he could, a finger tracking the words and his mouth moving silently around them, working steadily through the pages, sentence by sentence. 

He imagined the kind of father who couldn't be so goddamn proud of his son for that, who wouldn't be able to see much past his own beliefs, like rotting teeth in a crying child's mouth. He felt, rather guiltily, a wave of gratefulness towards his own father at the thought. 

The anger passed as quick as it came. It always did. 

“I'd like that.” Eddie said, and Andy tried to remember what they were talking about, in the split second he'd gone somewhere else. “I'd like to talk about Huck Finn with you.”

Andy wished he could let go of his rifle for just a split second, if not to just knock his knuckles against Eddie's.

“I bet I could scrounge one up by next week.” He said instead, just to see Eddie's mouth curl into a smile, and it would have to be enough.

6. i bring up your name any time i eat black raspberry ice cream with someone who isn’t you.

“I'm a shitty writer.” Eddie began out of nowhere, and Andy looked up from where he was trying to clean clotting sand out of his rifle barrel. Eddie wasn't looking at him, his face turned towards the blood-red sun. 

“You're not so bad.” Andy said. Eddie wasn't, was the thing, for all he pretended to be illiterate. It made boys with similar experiences, like Snafu Shelton, laugh; and boys like Eugene Sledge, with enough money to drown in, uncomfortable. 

It just made Andy smile.

Then again, everything that Eddie did made Andy smile. 

“I can't spell for shit.” Eddie said. ���You're the only one that can read my handwriting.” 

That, at least, was true. Andy shrugged.

“I like rewriting your reports.” He said. Eddie waved a hand, dismissive.

“Whatever.” He said. “The letters are always fucking moving around, that’s their fuckin’ problem.” Andy smiled. He looked back down to his rifle and continued to unclog it. “My point is that I can't write a letter to save my life.”

Andy shrugged again, but kept his eyes focused on the rifle stock. “I can write a letter for you, if you want.” He offered. Eddie snorted.

“Nah.” He said. “I'm just… well, I’m glad that we're together, here. You know? Because if we weren't, I'd want to write you a letter, and then you'd just be wondering who in the hell gave their blind chicken a pencil.”

Andy’s chest felt warm, like there was hot coffee spreading throughout his veins, and he huffed. “Your writing isn't that bad.” He said. 

Eddie turned to look back at him, for the first time, and the bright horizon dyed the side of his face a brilliant orange. His lips were twisted into their same ever smile.

“No.” He said. “But I'm glad it doesn't need to get better. I'm glad I have you for that.”

And with that, he went back to watching the sunset and Andy went back to his rifle.

Eddie leaned against him, when it was too dark to do anything but be quiet and sleep. Andy took his hands and pressed his lips to his fingers and thanked God that he was able to translate what they were able to show.

There were no artillery barrages, no death, that night. It felt like God had heard him.

8. do you remember when we went running through the wet city streets late at night, how we glowed rose-pink in the shop-lights. how we held hands and laughed and thought we’d never feel this happy again?

“D’you think he'll be alright?” Andy whispered into the dark, Eddie's curls brushing warmly against his jaw. 

Eddie shifted against him, head resting on Andy’s shoulder, and said, “I don't know.”

Andy stared straight ahead. Both of Eddie's hands were tangled with one of his, and he brought his other hand around to run his index finger along the ridges of the others knuckles. “I've never seen it that bad, before.” He murmured. 

Eddie sighed. It was weary, and heavy, and Andy closed his eyes to the melody of it and thought of their park, the one that Eddie's never even been to. It only helps somewhat.

“What matters,” Eddie said, slowly, like he was waiting for Andy to really understand what he was saying before he continued, “is that you got him off the line. Better for him, better for the other boys.”

Andy lifted their tangled mess of hands from his lap, resting his forehead against them. Eddie shifted against his shoulder to press a kiss to his jawline. 

“Maybe countin’ blankets is like counting sheep.” He said, and Andy leaned further into him. Eddie bore the weight without any effort, but Andy still worried about it being too much. He always worried about it being too much. 

That's what causes combat exhaustion. That's what causes men to break apart and start counting things they couldn't see.

“Eddie.” He said, just to say it, against the back of Eddie's hands, to his calloused fingers and warm skin. Eddie's hands tightened around his.

“I know.” Eddie murmured back. “But it's… it's okay. We're… we're right here, you know? Right here together. Here and in the park and wherever else. It’s okay.” 

Andy didn't say anything. He just turned his head and buried his face in Eddie's hair, rough with ocean spray and curled with humidity.

9. it consumes us.

As Andy turned around, he almost knew what he was doing. The rational part of him knew that no one would be there, just at his shoulder. Not ever again.

Least, no one he could ever know and love the same.

But the rational part of him died two days ago.

So Andy turned around anyway, maybe wanting to say something over his shoulder to someone that wasn’t there, and between one split second and another that never came, he could almost see Eddie over his shoulder, eyes intent and bright. Could almost feel his hand in his.

[fisheito]

Probably what will happen if u put me in a room with another yakumo fan

[dw-flagler]

you know this could have been a sort of interesting question (i mean it's sort of a moral relativism thing, which is one of worm's big themes) but the "shadow stalker is a no-brainer" thing just had to take me out of it. Shadow stalker is a no brainer fuck yourself and die

[megamanrecut]

Return to the Night, Part 6 (Now on Ao3!)

After ushering Elec Man back up the creaking, rotted stairs, they returned to Elec Man and Top Man's apartment without much difficulty by calling a cab (the driver had questioned if they were sure they didn't want to go to a hospital, but Elec Man had glared so fiercely at this suggestion that the driver just shrugged and muttered that they could do what they wanted, he didn't care anyway. Elec Man was sullen and embarrassed the entire trip, and no one talked, though Top Man had gotten over his previous indignation and had warmed up to Proto considerably, occasionally catching his eye and giving him a small smile).

Winston, Top Man's valet-drone, let out a startled beep when they first entered the small apartment, then quickly began fussing over Elec Man with a microfiber cloth and lint roller until Elec Man pushed him away impatiently. He sat slumped on the edge of his bed like an angry, flightless bird, sipping dismally at an energy can while Proto carefully inspected his injuries.

"Well, you're real lucky this time, ya know? Your damage isn't too bad," Proto pronounced finally after performing a few spot repairs. "Nothing internal. I think you can skip a trip to the repair shop this time around."

"Good, because I have a full agenda of tasks I must catch up on," muttered Elec Man, slipping down to the floor and teetering unsteadily.

Top Man looked aghast, but Proto only snickered, pushing Elec Man back onto his bed.

"Some things don't change—sit back down, hot shot, before you hurt yourself," Proto told Elec Man in a mock-sanctimonious voice, reaching toward Elec Man's hair and ruffling it until it no longer swept backward in its usual neat lines. "You're not going anywhere."

"You're messing up my hair—"

"Yes, I am. Because today, you're not playing the role of 'big bad mobster' or the intimidating 'Mr. Smith' —today you're just Elec Man, who never takes a day off and sorely needs to rest."

Catching Proto's eye again, Top Man let out a small laugh, amused at Elec Man's discomfort (seeing the critical, 'never a thread or hair out of place' Elec Man being grounded was a rare sight indeed, for few had the nerve to boss Elec Man around). Proto smiled back. He had finally gotten Top Man to laugh after all; mission accomplished.

…The fact that Elec Man needed to rest was of course obvious to everyone (including Elec Man), still, Elec Man wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Why?" he demanded.

Proto smirked. "Uh, because of what you went through? Because you're damaged? Because you never take a break? …Because you want me to help you keep this quiet?" Proto added the last one in a warning undertone. "Pick one. Now, let's get you undressed—" he said, unbuttoning Elec Man's suit jacket.

Elec Man gave an involuntary jerk, flustered. "Thank you, but that's unnecessary—"

But Proto had tugged off Elec Man's ruined suit jacket and tossed it carelessly to a heap on the floor. From its perch on Top Man's vanity, Winston gave a scandalized beep. Proto went for the tie next, then the buttons of Elec Man's black dress shirt, Winston trilling like a police car toy—

"Really! That's unnecessary!" snapped Elec Man quickly, squirming away when Proto reached for his belt. Glaring reproachfully, Elec Man pointedly gestured with his eyes toward Top Man, who was still in the room watching them.

At this, Top Man had hastily turned his back on the scene, his gaze averted toward the ceiling, though Proto could see him shaking with silent laughter.

Finally, Elec Man was dressed in a pair of black silk pajamas embroidered with small lightning bolts that Winston had presented him from the bottom of Elec Man's dresser. Elec Man sank back into his small, uncomfortable bed. Save for his pale piercing eyes (which by now could have incinerated concrete) there was nothing even remotely mobster or even intimidating about him, his short black hair sticking wildly out in every direction. "There…happy?"

"Actually, yeah. Thanks for the assist, Winston," said Proto pleasantly, pulling the covers up over Elec Man's shoulders and smoothing out his collar (Winston, who had cleared away the ruined suit and was now hovering by Top Man, gave Proto a cold, tut-like beep). "Nice PJs. They look comfortable."

"Shut up."

Top Man stood at the foot of Elec Man's bed, beaming down at him. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying this and cast a regretful glance over at the clock on his nightstand. "I have to go to the theater—I've missed three performances already, they'll be worried. Will you be alright?" he asked Elec Man anxiously.

"Don't worry, Top Man, I'll stay and make sure he takes it easy tonight," Proto assured him. Elec Man shook his head and muttered something under his breath on how unnecessary this all was, but his eyes were already drooping and the protest seemed perfunctory.

Top Man gave Proto a large grin. It really looked more sincere and attractive on his face than any of his closed-off Syndicate sneers or haughty looks had. Finally, Top Man tore himself away, grabbing a duffle bag filled with ballet gear.

"Be careful—watch out for anyone suspicious, and take a laser pistol just in case!" Elec Man called after Top Man.

"I know!" replied Top Man, rolling his eyes as he stepped out the door with Winston hovering dutifully behind him. He looked over at Proto. "I'll be back later, okay?"

Still grinning, Top Man shut the door, leaving Elec Man and Proto alone.

It was quiet in the apartment—Proto suspected the walls were soundproofed. He rolled Elec Man's office chair over to the bed and sat down, taking off his aviators and sticking them in his pocket.

"So, you two share a room?" Proto asked to break the ice. He was both amused and interested in the situation, for neither Elec Man nor Top Man were very much alike.

"Top Man insisted," Elec Man responded wearily. "A scrapper ambushed us one night when we were walking home. I dispatched it quickly of course, but ever since then Top Man doesn't like to sleep alone, he wants me for protection…so now we share a room."

"I can't imagine what that's like for you."

"It's been a bit of an adjustment."

"Not to mention your new human-like programming?"

"…It's a nuisance, all part of the upgrades my creator made to my programming to protect me from becoming reprogrammed—I guess I have you to thank for that, he was inspired by your systems."

With a heavy sigh, Elec Man rested his head deeper into his silk pillow, staring up into the ceiling.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he said finally.

"But I am here. And you're stuck with me again, at least for a little while."

...A small smile flickered across Elec Man's face, though he quickly banished it, making his face as blank and unreadable as pavement. "Thanks for everything. Though I still think this is a bit overkill, Top Man will feel much better knowing you're keeping me safe tonight."

"Well, I dunno if you're ever safe with me, pal," Proto said mischievously. He leaned forward to whisper into Elec Man's ear. "Say…I have a crazy idea. What if I were to capture you like you did to me a year ago? …For your own good."

"Proto…"

"—Have Light reprogram you as a lab assistant, force you to live in the lab like a human…to always have messy hair and wear the same baggy polyester clothes from the mall most humans wear, to spend your afternoons playing video games in the family room, to sleep through every night in a proper bed with cotton sheets, to act like a normal brother to Top Man instead of his strict Syndicate mentor…"

Elec Man wrinkled his nose. "Well, Top Man would like that. Is this supposed to be revenge for me telling Dr. Light where you were and forcing you to go back home?"

"No��but I am livid you almost died and wouldn't even call me."

"You shouldn't be involved. …You were supposed to be happy."

"You should have called me." Proto leaned back in his chair, surveying Elec Man for a moment. "…I can't possibly tell you how irresponsible this is. Not just for you, but how you left Top Man completely in the dark."

Elec Man winced. "I thought I could do it, I didn't want him to get involved either."

"He was freaking out when you went missing, didn't even know who to call, suspected the worst—with good reason. I know Syndicate matters are secretive, but if you're going to pull a stunt like that you should have at least left him some sort of emergency contact!"

"I know," Elec Man admitted feebly. He seemed to be shrinking deeper into the sheets.

"Speaking of which…How did Top Man know to find me? Pretty sure you were supposed to keep quiet about me…seeing as I'm not in the Syndicate anymore."

"Yes, I was…" It was a moment before Elec Man elaborated, and when he did, his voice was very soft, as though afraid of being overheard, yet direct. "A few weeks ago, Top Man had something going on with one of the human dancers in his ballet troop that he had to break off because, well, Top Man's not human, he's Syndicate, and some worlds shouldn't mix." Elec Man swallowed. "He was feeling really down about it, so I told him about you."

"…Oh."

Elec Man's eyes darted away from Proto's again, and neither said anything for a while.

Finally, Proto cricked his neck restlessly, glancing over at Top Man's vanity and the vase packed with slightly wilted white roses, and said, "I don't think Top Man wants to be Syndicate, he only pretends to play the part to please you, ya know?"

Elec Man nodded. "I know. He wants to be human." He gave a small shrug. "I don't get it."

"Rock's like that…I don't get it either. But you should be happy at least about how much Top Man looks up to you."

"I get that even less," Elec Man responded gruffly.

Proto chuckled softly, and began slowly ruffling Elec Man's already disheveled hair again, his thumb massaging Elec Man's temple. "Well, some things are softer than they look."

The small beginning of a smile softened Elec Man's face, and he closed his eyes.

"You make yourself miserable with all this self-discipline you impose on yourself—" Proto added. "Maybe you should take up my offer, come back to Light's lab with me."

"It'd never work. Like I said, some worlds shouldn't mix. Nice suburban families don't like dangerous robots like me."

"You don't know that…they tolerate me, after all." Proto smiled softly to himself. "…Who am I kidding, you'd hate domestic life as much as I do, too boring. Still, kinda hoping you'll drop by some night. I know you're busy, but it's been what…another five months since I last saw you? I started working on this jet in Light's garage. Ever been flying? It's incredible. You should come flying with me. I'll take you somewhere you've never been. You won't believe how freeing it feels when you can just hop in a jet and get far away from it all…"

Elec Man didn't respond. He looked relaxed and appeared to be listening, a small, unconscious smile on his face—but then a few moments later he had finally drifted off to sleep, his breathing light and even. Yet as he slept, his guard completely down, a sadness had settled into his face—he seemed exhausted beyond what even a good night's rest would cure.

After watching Elec Man for a moment longer, Proto's hands fell into his lap again as he leaned back in his chair again and sighed.

Later that night, Proto heard the soft creaking of stairs as Top Man returned to the apartment. Quickly, he replaced his aviators, stood up, stretched, then walked out the door.

"Hey, how was your performance?" he asked as he met Top Man in the landing outside.

"Excellent as always," grinned Top Man, but then he frowned, casting Proto a sharp look. "…Where are you going? Surely you're not thinking of leaving so soon after all this! It's late. Please, spend the night with us. It's not much, perhaps not up to the human standards you're used to, but we will try to make it comfortable for you. You can sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the floor—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, kiddo…I can't stay here. Elec Man doesn't want me to."

"Oh." Top Man's face closed back up into the cold Syndicate facade like a door locking. "Well, when will we see each other again?"

"Up to your older brother. Here are my digits—" Proto handed Top Man a slip of paper with the laboratory's home phone number on it. "Call me if Elec Man does that disappearing trick again, I guarantee he's up to no good. Oh, and feel free to visit anytime."

Though Top Man seemed pleased at this, he gave Proto a curt nod, returning to unnatural formalities, almost like how a prince might treat a foreign ambassador. Proto waved goodbye, then chuckled to himself as walked down the dirty creaking stairs.

The lights at Dr. Light's laboratory were dark when Proto returned to New York. Proto brightened. Hopefully everyone had gone to bed, yet as he crept silently in through the window to his room, a light clicked on and two faces were staring disappointedly from the edge of his bed.

"I am going to kick your ass so hard you won't need a jet to go flying around the world, mister!" said Roll, standing up with her hands on her hips. Though she kept her voice low, it was as scolding as a shout. "Where were you? The air raider was gone, no note, no phone call, you could have been kidnapped by gangsters for all we knew!"

By her side, Rock was also frowning. Both were dressed in their pajamas, Roll's a creamy yellow, Rock's a true blue.

"Uh, sorry if I worried you, but you see this troubled ballet star showed up on our doorstep and I had to help him rescue his brother from a botched assassination mission."

"Shut up! Your stupid-sounding stories get old after a while, ya know?"

"…Where's Dr. Light? Was he worried?"

Proto had a slight sinking feeling. Dr. Light disapproved of Proto going on secret adventures. It wasn't that Proto was worried about getting into trouble, but he hated Dr. Light's gentle lectures about roles and responsibilities. It made living here all the more…suffocating.

Roll rolled her eyes. "No, I covered for you, as usual. But seriously this has to be the last time, I hate lying to Dad for you when he trusts you so much. I swear if you ever get into serious trouble, don't expect me to come rescue you! You're not supposed to sneak off on your own like this!"

"…Are you mad because I didn't invite you?"

"Yes!"

"You wouldn't have liked it, I didn't even bring my armor, and didn't get into any fights."

"…Really?"

"Really."

"Oh. Huh."

Roll's anger seemed to abate a bit, though she still cocked a brow skeptically at Proto. Meanwhile Rock stared at Proto in grave silence. It always surprised Proto that Rock never tattled on either of them. Perhaps Rock was hoping he could guilt Proto into coming clean with his silent, accusing stares. So far, his strategy had no effect.

"Well, I'm home now, and all's well that ends well, right?" said Proto with a careless shrug and a winning grin.

Roll just glared.

"I'm glad you're alright," Rock said finally, looking tentatively from Roll to Proto and resigning himself to the fact that Proto wasn't going to be properly remorseful for his mysterious disappearance tonight. He crossed over to Proto's door. "It's late and I'm going to bed. Night, Proto."

"Yeah, night Proto," said Roll, sticking out her tongue at him as she followed Rock out.

"Night guys," Proto called softly after them, cringing internally. Great, they were annoyed with him. Again. He got it, he'd have to make it up to them tomorrow—being a responsible older brother was a lot of work!

Sighing, Proto closed his window which had been left open behind him, shutting out the tempting night breeze.

A/N: this mostly concludes this little interlude but there will be a final chapter I’ll post eventually

[hungerpunch]

yukierre + “fuck! you scared me! why are you sitting in the dark??”

"fuck!" yuki yelps when he hits the lights inside his hotel door and sees someone sitting in the courtesy armchair opposite the bed. they've dragged it to face the window instead but yuki knows the back of that head all the same.

the fear tempers into relief in an instant but his heart is still racing as he moves further into the room, soft-close door dragging shut behind him and automatically locking. "you scared me," he says as he goes, the gushing sigh of his voice like pressure releasing from a steam tank.

the relief curdles into wary confusion as the details start coming into focus: pierre is in his room, in the dark, gazing at the astronomical twilight enfolding the landscape of budapest below. he notices both an uncorked bottle of red wine and a goblet, empty but stained, on the floor beside the chair and curses internally at the portent pair. red wine makes pierre maudlin, is the thing.

"why are you sitting in the dark?" yuki asks instead of asking how did you get in my room? or why are you drinking alone? or is it charles or esteban this time?

"well, i'm not anymore," pierre says. yuki recognizes his attempt at his signature casual drawl but it wavers, watery, and yuki's heart seizes in his chest. he hates when pierre cries. not that pierre shouldn't be allowed to, it’s more that yuki never knows how to fix it.

"why were you, then?" yuki amends. he kicks off his shoes and slides quietly on socked feet to draw even with the arm of the chair; looks down at pierre. all he can really see is the top of pierre's head, the point of his nose and his chin, and his hands folded in his lap.

"yukino," pierre says quietly. then he tilts his head back, bringing his face into view. it's devastating. his eyes are shining, welled up glossy with tears, and his mouth is a dark pit—an awful case of wine lips.

"pierre?" yuki whispers. he doesn't know why. the moment just feels so delicate; fragile enough to shatter under the weight of normal conversational volume.

"i miss you," pierre says sadly, his drunken gaze boring straight into yuki's.

yuki has seen pierre cry over charles. he has seen pierre cry over esteban. but he's never seen pierre cry over him.

"but your car is performing much better—" yuki starts around the dreadful lump forming in his throat.

pierre shakes his head. "did you turn into a car when i wasn't looking?" he asks, syllables slurring together a bit. "i miss you."

"i'm right here," yuki breathes. "i'm in the paddock with you every weekend." he tries a smile first and then he tries to puncture the awful tension with a joke: "i didn't know you were so needy."

all the beautiful, horrible openness of pierre's face slams shut in a moment. he frowns, mouth tight, and looks away from yuki, back out into the city. "forget it," he says. "i shouldn't have said anything."

"no, no," yuki rushes to backtrack, wincing at his poor judgment call. he moves his hand to clutch over the junction of pierre's trap, that damned curve from his shoulder to his neck, and squeeze it. he can feel pierre's body heat bleeding through the cotton of his shirt. "i'm sorry, i was joking. but i am right here, pierre. i haven't gone anywhere."

pierre keeps staring out the window. "i know," he says miserably, "but it's not like it was before."

yuki swallows. "it couldn't be," he says quietly. he pets pierre's shoulder in what he hopes is a soothing manner. "we knew it wouldn't be. you have a new teammate now."

pierre brings one hand up, digs a knuckle into the hollow of his eye. "i know, but he's… he's not…"

"easy like me?" yuki offers, a little sad about it.

that gets pierre to look at yuki again. sharp. indignant. "you were not easy," he spits. "but he is not natural like you." he reaches up to tug at yuki's sleeve. "we did not feel like... co-workers." his lips tremble. his nostrils flare. he's staring at yuki like he is searching for answers, answers to questions yuki could never guess. "to me."

yuki's hand stills on pierre, palm splaying over honed muscle, each fingertip a pinprick. "to me, either," he says. pierre should know that. they'd talked so often about how genuine their friendship was.

pierre blinks his stupidly long lashes and a fat tear finally breaks free from the queue in his eye and rolls, slow and gleaming, down pierre's cheek. "what did we feel like, then? to you?"

yuki bends to gather one of pierre's hands in his before he speaks.

[cuubism]

wip update

since I have a good number of actively-posting WIPs that some lovely people have been very kind about and invested in (and which I am very slow in updating), I figured it might be only polite to post a little update on where those are.

the melting press of the sun (dreamling) - Never intended this as a longfic, there may or may not be more than the 2 chapters it has now. I have a bit more written but it's disjointed and incomplete. I intentionally didn't leave any brutal cliffhangers on what I did post for this reason. We'll see if that one comes back.

Deja vu, Deja connu (dreamling) - The slowness in updating probably belies how deeply emotionally invested I actually am in this fic. Chapter three is just a major challenge--it's very long, covers a lot, has lots of fluff in the first part (fluff is kinda my Achilles heel, though not quite as much as wedding scenes, which this chapter also has) and a lot of heavy content later. But I have the whole fic outlined, a bunch of chapter 4 and 5 written in advance, and I'm super excited about the stuff that comes later, so it will definitely be finished, just... slowly. At least for this chapter.

In Waking Dreams (dreamling) - My current priority for an update. Chapter 4 just hit 10k and will probably hit 15k before its done (god help me), and I feel somewhat obliged to finish chapter 5 as well so I can post them in quick succession. Chapter 4 necessarily ends on a cliffhanger as it catches up to the events of chapter 3, but I feel bad about two cliffhangers in a row. But that one soon, I hope. (chapter 5 has a lot of the juiciest, long awaited scenes promised by the fic's premise, so I hope you will like that one when it's finally done 😅)

IRL (malec) - Fic that I have a tendency to get stuck on for 15 months, then write a ton of all at once, repeat. But I actually picked it up again the other day for the first time in ages, and I think I know all of the events of the chapter now, so who knows! Maybe I'll actually manage an update!

Subject: I Love You (malec) - Fic that I shamefully left with ONE CHAPTER remaining for a full year now. Honestly not sure why. Someday I will pick it up tho, I swear to god, or maybe I'll just cut the chapter short and make it an epilogue. (Actually maybe I do know why. It's another damn proposal/wedding scene. My absolute weakness and failure, I should stop writing them entirely)

mind & heart, body & soul (malec) - This fic haunts me, it follows me around 24/7 like a vengeful spirit that can't find rest. I can't wrangle it back into making any sense in my head, but for the sake of both my own sanity and the story's frankly frightening number of readers (I love you but you scare me), I've been trying to do one final chapter to offer some kind of wrap-up. Hopefully I can manage it.

Leviathan (malec) - My long held passion project that I have, in classic form, not touched in months. In fact I've been stuck on the same chapter I'm on now since probably 2020, when I first started writing the fic. This particular middle part of the fic is just vexing me to no end. At some point, I will decide on a course of action, inevitably flawed, and just power through that chapter (I say, for the 2nd year in a row). Why did I give this story two big villains again? Or think having a whole separate story arc in the middle of the fic was a good idea? Ah well.

in the palm of your hand (malec) - The one and only multichapter I finally caved and marked abandoned. I learnt my lesson with this fic about letting a oneshot expand into a completely unplanned longer fic. Boy did I...

----

I feel like I don't express it enough, but I really appreciate everyone who's ever read one of my fics, commented, kudos'd, chatted with me about them on tumblr, made podfics or art or translations, shared headcanons in my inbox or your own fics with me... I'm always blown away by the kindness and interest, and love getting to share little (or big!) stories with you and am so happy when you enjoy them ❤️ I love doing fandom with you.

[skyward-floored]

Wait crap February is in two days

[bedlund]

a thousand lights in space / a complete kingdom / romantic theory

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Kit Fic Ch. 5 for WIP Wednesday!

Yippiee I haven't worked on this one for a minute! Ty for the ask!!

“Hi loves, is everything okay?” Nimona clicked her teeth. “So, there's a situation with Atticus.”

Anyone please feel free to request any of my file names from my WIP Wednesday Post :)

[fruitybashir]

you guys better be ready for this one