#and written so so so little

[a-song-of-quill-and-feather]

Hello Im sorry if this comes of as a bother but I wanted to check in on your status seeing as your stories haven’t been updated in a while keep up the awesome work

Hiya! Totally not a bother, I understand wondering about the status of fics (I'm glad you like mine enough to wonder about it!)

I sort of got hit with like a major lack of inspiration/motivation for my fics/ocs sometime in the last several months and as a result I took a sort of step away from this blog (hence the general lack of presence)

I'm not gone for good by any means and none of my stuff is abandoned atm. I have been considering deleting a few of the fics I have on Ao3 primarily the ones that only have like 1 or 2 chapters just because I don't know if I see myself ever really writing those fics anymore. The Other Stark Girl, Growing Strong, and Mirror Images are the only ones I will NOT be deleting (The Other Stark Girl especially will probs never get deleted). Though I am leaving all my fics on FFN alone, so if I delete one on Ao3 it's probably still up on FFN.

As for updates.... like I said I've struggled a lot with motivation/inspiration for writing the last few months. And that hasn't really changed much recently, though I have been writing here and there (albeit nothing to do with fics I already have). And like I said nothing is abandoned (unless it gets deleted), The Other Stark Girl will be updated at some point, when I am able to steer the muse back that way (though my mind has been far from asoiaf for a while and idk when it will go back). And upside my plan is to finish TOSG before I post the rest of the chapters (cause I only have 10ish left to write for the fic to be finished) so when it does start updating it will be updated regularly.

So yeah... sorry its not the most amazing news of a comeback. but eh... life is what it is and the muse goes where it goes. I do really want to finish TOSG and hopefully will sooner rather than later.

[stevebabey]

have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

[tenowls]

teacher getou au...... wauh

[bedazzlecunt]

i really do have to emphasize that like. horny tumblr is a fucking horrible place to learn about kink. at least half the people here have never had sex (or done kink without sex) beyond sexting on omegle, and even the ones who do have any experience with sex and and kink and IRL kink spaces (including myself!) are mostly engaging in fantasy and theatre and performance. that's fine! that's fun! there's nothing wrong with that. but i do worry so much about all the 18 yr olds i see on here who've never had sex, many of whom have never been in a relationship, and who are building ideas about kink and sex and health based on the most deranged fantasy-of-the-sort-you-literally-cannot-do-safely-irl tumblr posts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not take any tumblr posts as actual kink education, including and sometimes especially the ones claiming to be actual kink education. there are actual books and groups and dungeons for that.

[hiems-incaelo]

i fucking love this movie

[son1c]

i got you

[gardenofnoah]

“you’re going to hurt yourself like that, my love.”

you startle at the voice over you, having been nearly asleep.

“—uh?”

you turn your head to see Nanami looming over your side of the bed. if you were fully conscious, you would see the tiny look of mischief in his eyes as they roam your body, but you’re not, so you take it as his tendency to mother hen you.

and then he’s pushing you to the middle of the bed despite your whining, climbing in beside you. you try to settle in and find you’re still being moved—he’s on his back, shuffling himself down the bed and pulling one of your legs over his chest. you feel him turn his face into your belly in a move that feels suspiciously like nuzzling.

“what’re y’doin,” you slur, a little petulant at being woken up like this, despite it being well past the time you meant to rejoin the living and despite your own desire to seek out the warmth he’s emitting next to you.

“you’re going to hurt your hip, laying like that,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he runs a hand up the back of your thigh and over your hip, and you sigh a little bit, comforted by the feeling of him.

“i don’t know how you sleep like that,” he continues, absentmindedly dragging his fingers over your skin, making you shiver every now and then.

“feels good,” you grumble, face shoved into the pillow. talking about your bizarre sleeping position and maybe also the way the rough pads of his fingers leave a trail of warmth in their wake. you think you hear him chuckle softly, and you feel him press a kiss to the skin of your belly, right above the hem of your sleep shorts.

it’s soft, chaste—and then it’s not, and you suck in a breath when you feel him kiss you there again, feeling the tip of his tongue drag along the skin that stretches over your hip bone.

and evidently he hears your sharp inhale, because you feel a strong arm sneak around your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“was still sleeping, you know,” but it’s lost all of its bite and you’re a little breathless now, fixated on the way his free hand slides up the back of your thigh to brush over the sensitive spot just under the curve of your ass.

“go to sleep then,” he says into the soft of your belly, pressing another kiss, opening his mouth a little wider to catch the skin of it between his teeth. he’s turned into you now, and despite yourself, you drag your leg up from his chest so it’s over his shoulder.

he moves to rest his head against your thigh that’s trapped underneath him, and distantly you think that it is more comfortable like this— his head squeezed between your legs having alleviated some of the pressure against your hip from laying on your side. that thought quickly becomes muddled in your head when you feel him latch on to the skin of your inner thigh that rests against his face.

you whine, hips bucking weakly as you squirm under tongue and teeth—both leaning into and trying to get away from the sting of his bite.

“my sweet love,” he coos, running his tongue over the fresh bruise, placating you. you shiver, pressing your face further into the pillow to try to breathe—to ground yourself despite the heat that curls up your spine. he stops, then, and you peak down at him to find that he’s staring back up at you.

“hi,” you whisper, fighting another shudder at the way his lips pull at the corners into a smirk that looks absolutely sinful on him.

“good morning,” he drawls, deep and far too awake. he rests his chin in the space between your hips, pressing a quick kiss above your pubic bone. your hips buck toward him a tiny bit, and his smirk widens when he feels it.

you bring a hand down to run it through his hair, tangling in the blond strands and scratching at his scalp. he closes his eyes and hums, deep in his chest, nuzzling into your thigh. it makes you smile, and it makes you ache.

“want you, ken,” you murmur, squeezing him gently between your thighs and reveling in the groan he lets out.

“i know, sweetheart,” he coos, hands coming up again to grope whatever skin he can reach and pressing a tiny kiss through your shorts, “i can smell you.”

[belltari]

he's just admiring the view

(ghost's horse's name is Gob. it's short for Gobshite)

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.

steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.

eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.

so steve is all over eddie, it seems.

at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they’d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.

so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.

robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?

eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.

it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?

- robin and steve

“Steve.”

“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“

“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…

Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”

To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”

“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.

“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”

“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“

“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”

To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.

“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.

“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“

“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.

“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”

She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.

He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.

After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.

“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”

He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.

“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“

“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.

“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“

“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”

Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.

“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”

“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”

“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”

- later. steve’s house. to be continued?

[rotruff]

your f/o would not care abt any 'abnormal' speech mannerisms you've got btw.

stutter? that's ok, they're more than happy to wait to let you get the words out, it just gives them an extra few seconds to appreciate your voice. Even if you get caught up on the same word a few times or the whole sentence struggles a little, they're not gonna make fun of you. It's you talking, what could ever be 'wrong' with that?

mix up your words? that's totally ok! whether you'd rather try again and say what you actually meant to say or just wanna repeat a few bits so they get the gist, they're not gonna make fun of you. even if you don't notice that you swapped around some words, they've gotten pretty good at deciphering your meaning, time together letting them hone their skills.

forget what you were saying halfway through it? that's totally fine too! whether they give you a few minutes to try and remember or just move past it till something jogs your memory again, they're fine to offer up some ideas on what it might've been about or a new topic to get your mind off of it.

use a lot of 'fluff' in your speech (ie. 'umm,' 'like,' 'uhh,' etc.)? they're not gonna rush the words out of you or interrupt your speech. They're more than happy to give you all the time in the world to talk, no matter how rambly and long-winded it might seem. They like hearing what you have to say and your thoughts are priceless to them.

[hajihiko]

Multilingual 🌍

Fuyuhiko: its beneficial to understand when rivals are talking in secret

Sonia: diplomacy is easier when you speak their language too

Hajime: duolingo library forced speedrun

Akane: worked in customer service

Kazuichi is just more of a Language of Numbera guy 😋

[pettyprocrastination]

The Revenant Wife

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of grief and death. 

Summary: Ellie knows very little of Joel and even less of the wife he had before the outbreak. When she finally meets you, its just as much as shock to her as it is to your husband. 

Word count: 1.6k

Note: ficlet is based off of this previous post about Joel getting separated from his wife during the outbreak and assuming you died until you find one another years later. Reader is described to look like Sarah. Title came from the ever lovely @djarin-junk​ <3

Tagging those I think would enjoy: @pedrostories​ @thesadvampire​ @joel-mlller @softanon​ @max--phillips​ @captainsamwlsn​ @hooplahoopla​ @moondirti​ 

-------------------------------

Ellie didn’t know that Joel had a wife. 

Granted, she didn’t know much about his old life at all. 

She knew he built things. That he had a brother named Tommy and a daughter named Sarah, but didn’t like to talk about the latter that much. In one fleeting conversation, full of mumbles as her eyes began to close while they rested under the night sky she heard him mention you but was far too gone to truly hear what he said. Nothing more than the vague rumble of his voice saying “my wife” before her eyes opened once more. 

“You’re married?”

She asks with such incredulous shock it sounds more like “somebody married you?” but girls at her age hardly ever have filters. 

“I was.” 

There’s the same bristle in his throat and far off look in his eyes as when she first asked about his daughter. An open answer but one that carries enough unsaid to tell Ellie of your fate. To warn her that she should change the subject or simply shut her mouth and go to sleep before plucking his raw nerve one too many times until he snaps- 

“What was she like?” 

But Joel learned early on that Ellie wasn’t one to follow warnings. 

“Kind.” His breath stutters. “But not a pushover- she didn’t take shit from anybody.” He stares up at the sky, feeling his chest grow tight and fingers twitch by his side until there’s a rustling, the girl next to him rolling over to face him and he turns to find Ellie peeking out from her sleeping bag with a smile. 

Damn this girl. 

“Not even from you?” 

Joel scoffs. “Especially from me. The amount of times she gave me and Tommy and earful-” he shakes his head, Ellie watches a smile grow on his face in silence, as if worried she may frighten it away. 

“Did she cook?” 

Ellie thinks of the stories the older kids would tell her. The ones who remembered life before the Outbreak, who told her of freshly baked pies on weekend and fluffy pancakes in the morning. 

Joel remembers the first time you tried to bake him a cake for his birthday back when he was sixteen. How he opened the door to your forlorn face and a store bought sheet cake in your hands because as your mother told him over the phone, you damn near burned the whole house down trying to bake for him as a surprise. 

“From time to time.” 

There was only so much she could get out of him before his voice became clipped and eyes full of an emotion she didn’t quite know the name of that he told her to get some rest. Leaving her with nothing to do but to stare at the sky and wonder about these stories in the shape of a woman who unveiled a little bit more about the mysterious man she traveled with. 

Of all the silence and secrets that made up the man that protected her, she created stories to fill them. Stories of Joel Miller, husband, father, brother and badass contractor that everybody loved.   Of his soldier brother, of his wife and their smiling daughter between them both. 

In Ellie’s mind, you didn’t work. 

But not in a ditzy lame way like some boring housewife. But just because you didn’t have to. 

Joel said that everybody loved contractors so that means he probably got paid like, a ton of money to build stuff for people so you got to stay at home all day. Ellie imagined your house to be ginormous. Maybe Joel made it himself for you when you guys first got married. It was big enough that when Joel came home everyday he’d call out your name and it’d echo through  the hall as you called him into the kitchen, where your daughter sat reading as you set dinner on the table. Sometimes you’d get upset if he came home late but then he’d kiss your cheek and you would roll your eyes but smile before you all sat down and ate as a family. 

Ellie imagines Joel’s daughter, she wonders if Sarah looks more like her mother than her father. 

Ellie wonders as the sleep takes over her body, if they could have been friends. 

When it happens, months later after she’s come to think of Joel as something akin to family and he thinks of her as something he can’t say out loud just yet, she’s shocked. She’s face to face with a woman holding her at gunpoint that looks nothing like the smiling mother she dreamt of during cold nights. 

You don’t match the stories Ellie made up in your head.

You’re mean. 

No. Mean isn’t the right word. 

Cold. Yes. you're very cold. 

Ellie watches in shock as you ask where they're headed, gun focused on the center of her chest while the two boys at your side point their own at Joel, who has yet to speak. 

She waits for him to answer, but he just stares at you in awe. The same man she’s seen kill and threaten to keep her safe day in and day out is rendered speechless until all he can do is utter your name and she realizes that he knows you. More than that, judging by the way he surrenders his gun to you with no fight, something she had never seen him do. 

You lift your head to look at him, the brim of your hat raises just enough to clear the shadow cast over your face and Ellie can finally see your eyes and the snarl on your face. 

You’re also very pretty.

“I won’t ask again.” 

The two boys standing on either side of you have your eyes. Same color and intensity, narrowed into slits like guard dogs waiting for an order and Ellie sees the way Joel stares at them. 

She wonders if Sarah had brothers. 

“Out west.” He manages. “Takin’ her to her family.” 

Your eyes move to her and she holds her hands higher in the air. 

“That true?” “What?” 

“Is he telling the truth?” 

The taller one, Duke, she had heard you call him, had already ripped the bag from her back and emptied its contents onto the ground, she had nothing else to hide from you. 

But then she sees something in your eyes. A concern for her that she hadn’t seen since Tess or Marlene. 

And she understands. 

“He’s telling the truth.” Ellie forces out. 

You watch her for a moment and there’s a moment of panic where she thinks you can see right through her lie. 

But then you lower your gun and jerk your head over your shoulder. 

“C’mon.” is all you say before you begin to walk away. The boys gawk at you for a moment before you give them a look of warning and they follow in your step, occasionally casting glances behind them at Joel and Ellie who follow suit. 

She’s quick to grab onto the sleeve of Joel’s jacket and pull with a harsh whisper as the other’s march forward. 

“You know this psycho?” 

Joel flinches at her voice as it pitches up. If any of you heard her, which he gathered you did because Ellie didn’t have an inside voice to save her fucking life, you didn’t care enough to react. 

Ellie whispers his name again. Insistent and angry for answers but he just keeps looking forward. He can’t take his eyes off of you or the boys ahead and it fills her with worry but she doesn’t know why. 

“She’s my wife.”

You lead them to a cottage. Its paint is chipping and the fence is reinforced with wiring around the perimeter but it looks like a home. She can vaguely hear the soft clucking of chickens nearby and there's a flash of fur behind the fence with a pair of pointed ears that duck away just as fast as she saw them. 

Ellie has seen the remnants of homes before the outbreak. The plates still stacked in the sink and the jacket still hung up on the hook. A story telling a family that once lived within its walls and is now nothing more than memories that ghosts along its foundation. 

But this one is real. It’s yours. 

 There is a rickety wooden table in the dining room. Each chair around it seems to have been brought from a different house and is varying shades of faded brown. You kick the leg of one and nod toward it.“Sit, both of you.”

Ellie looks to Joel before sitting. He follows suit, choosing the chair closest to her. 

“I’m gonna get some bandages for that leg-” 

Joel shifts forward. “I don’t need-” 

“I wasn’t fucking asking, Joel.” 

You’re not stronger than Joel, if she had to guess. You both look the same age, but she’s seen his strength, his violence, all done for her safety and knows if it came down to it, you might not win in a fight against him. 

But at your order, he sits back in his chair. 

You turn and set a shoulder on your son’s shoulder. 

At least. She thinks he’s your son. 

Softly spoken words are exchanged while the other keeps his eyes on Joel and his hand on his holster. The boy says something back in insistence, but you tilt your head and he nods. 

“If either of them try moving or taking anything.” You offer them one final look over your shoulder before slipping out of the room. “Shoot them.” 

They listen to your footsteps slowly retreat until there’s nothing but the subtle creak and groan of the wood floor beneath them. Ellie leans forward to look at Joel, setting her hands firmly on the dinner table in announcement. 

“Dude-” The young girl breathes out. “Your wife is a bitch.”

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 4: Jason)

<<Part 3: Tim    |    Part 5: Cass >>

[Masterlist]

Jason: Alright everyone get your hopes way down

Tim: I’m truly terrified of whatever you made for this

Dick: Let’s just be happy he participated!

Dick: Okay yeah nevermind

Bruce: Jason. This is-

Jason: Let’s just be happy I participated

Steph: If I’m not your favorite I’m rioting

Tim: Yeah this is the only right answer

Duke: He really does put up with way too much

Dick: Like childhood Bruce

Bruce: Hn. (in reluctant agreement)

Cass: (signs) I love you too :)

Damian: Cassandra is undoubtedly a very skilled combatant.

Steph: A rare good opinion from Jason

Jason: This is why you’re higher on the hate list

Duke: I am literally so honored, I would like to thank the Academy- 

Barbara: He called you “Nightlight”

Tim: And said your suit is ugly

Duke: I don’t even care. I’m too low on the hate list to care.

Dick: He said you’re going to snap?

Duke: I mean I don’t disagree

Tim: I’M THE FOURTH BEST?

Jason: After some new information learned in the previous presentation, Timmy should probably be a lot higher on the list. 

Steph: Oh calm down Timbo you barely got “tolerable”

Tim: HE TRIED TO KILL ME AND HE STILL LIKES ME BETTER THAN THE REST OF YOU

Barbara: Fair.

Dick: For the record, Jason, we are dating and I am not a cop anymore

Barbara: I still did date a cop though Dick he’s not wrong

Jason: See this is why she’s lower on the hate list than you

Barbara: You’re just scared to cross me

Jason: ...that too.

Tim: AHAAHAH

Damian: THIS IS UNFAIR

Steph: HAHHHAHHA

Damian: I AM NOT DONE GROWING YET TODD

Jason: You’re still short

Dick: It’s okay Damian, Jason was even shorter when he was your age!

Dick: ...crap.

Jason: Thank you for proving my point.

Tim: At least you’re not a cop anymore

Bruce: You broke his nose, Jason

Jason: He deserved it 

Steph: ...wait a minute

Tim: (laughing, in realization) You mean... no

Steph: guys wait no-

Steph: NO WAY AM I YOUR LEAST FAVORITE

Jason: THE F*@#%&$ YOGURT HAD MY NAME ON IT 

Steph: YOU CANT CALL DIBS ITS FIRST COME FIRST SERVE

[squabbling continues]

Dick: I’m surprised Bruce didn’t score the number one spot

Bruce: Hn. (in understanding)

Tim: I thought it’d be me honestly

Barbara: Oh come on, he loves all of us. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t.

Cass: (signing) Agreed. I can go next?

<<Part 3: Tim    |    Part 5: Cass >>

[Masterlist]

[nomazee]

close to your heart and that bed of yours too

you've been having the same weird dream about dan heng, over and over, and it just so happens that he's had the same dream, too.

dan heng x gn reader — 2.4k — super suggestive content but definitely nothing serious or graphic, some guilt abt attraction, dreams, romantic fantasies but not weird ones, kissing and closeness and physical touch, literal sleeping together

notes: forgive me and my debaucherous writing... this is nowhere near smut but it's definitely suggestive they get touchy and feely but it's very emotions-focused...oh my god what did i write this is so

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

It’s probably not possible to get cabin fever on a constantly-running space train, but that’s the only reasonable explanation for the weird, weird recurring dream you’ve been having about Dan Heng. It’s not— not that weird, not weird enough that you feel like a complete deviant, but enough for you to realize that it’s a complete reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires, and that scares you more than anything. 

The dream— it goes like this: 

You wake up—not in real life, but in the dream world, which freaked you out the first time because you didn't realize you were dreaming at all so you thought everything was entirely real—and it’s usually because of the noise of your door sliding open. The instinct to look and see who it is doesn’t hit you. You lay there, gaze fixed distantly on the steel surface of your ceiling until the feeling of your bedsheets moving next to you pushes you to full awareness. 

You still don’t move your gaze until you feel a body—warm, breathing, real real real?—lift up your blankets and slide underneath them, pressing next to you, curling into your side as if seeking out your life source. Your breath catches in your throat every single time as you turn to see that it’s Dan Heng, still dressed in his work clothes because he doesn’t understand the concept of pajamas, and his arm reaches around you and curls around your shoulder and he rests his head on your collarbone, gently, and you can feel his breath fan against the fabric of your shirt and your skin. 

Dan Heng says your name with reverence, with something like desire, and it makes your stomach clench and he turns his body into you more. He tucks his leg between yours—not moving, just sitting there, a reminder of him, his warmth—and he’s so, so warm, it amazes you that he’s like a furnace, and that he’s so unbothered by laying so close to you under all of your blankets. 

And he says your name again, each and every time, and it spurs something in you and you bring your arms around him each and every time, and pull him close, and feel the way he shudders, like a cold breeze wracking his body, like he’s never been this close to anyone before, and it dawns on you that he probably hasn’t—and that thought alone spirals into the realization that Dan Heng would never do this—

And then you wake up. Each time. 

The first time it happened, you didn't realize it was a dream, and you were so overwhelmed with thought after thought and feeling after feeling and sensation after sensation. When you finally woke up, it felt like you were grieving a loss. You felt too cold, and too empty, and curled into yourself and laid in your bed for an hour taking in shaky breaths until you finally got over yourself. 

You couldn't face Dan Heng for that entire day. Which was fine, because he spent his whole day in his room shuffling through the archives, so he was easy to dodge. But then you dreamt of him again. And again, and again, and then it just became a part of your nighttime routine to dream of your own friend so intimately and then wake up and pretend like nothing matters and nothing changed. Pretend like you didn't feel anything, and pretend like these dreams didn't flood you with guilt about your sick sick feelings and your sick sick fantasies. 

You tried to rationalize it, make yourself feel less awful. The dreams never went past him laying beside you, for the most part, and you preferred it that way. If they got any more intimate than they already were, you would’ve thrown yourself off the Express the next morning. 

Regardless, the Dan Heng in your dream and the Dan Heng that you saw every morning were different people, because the Dan Heng you saw every morning would never get so close to you. Would never lay in your bed and breathe on your neck like that. 

Never. That distinction is the only thing that convinces you to let yourself dream. You indulge, and it’s sickening, but you let your dreams happen over and over, and each time you hold Dan Heng tighter and tighter and tighter, and let him breathe against your neck, and feel the rush of his blood circulating through his body. 

One night, in one iteration of this dream, Dan Heng kisses you. It feels so real that it makes you nauseous. His lips were warm and damp and clumsy against the corner of your mouth, and he let out anxious breaths until you tangled your hands in his hair and tugged him closer and kissed him back. 

You woke up sick, running to your bathroom to puke in the sink as your hands shook in guilt. Somehow, you could still talk to Dan Heng normally that day, stomach twisting only the slightest bit whenever your gaze lingered on him for too long. 

Welt might have noticed how weird you were acting. There was a nagging furrow in his brow and he caught your gaze more than once and each time, you felt waves of humiliation crash into you, flooding you in heat and guilt and vertigo. He looked like he wanted to pry in that odd, awkward, old-man-paternal way of his, but you just shook your head and looked away and begged, hoped, wished upon a star that you would have a normal dream tonight.

The night— it goes like this: 

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, leftover remnants of guilt swimming in your lungs and nightly congestion forcing you to take shallow breaths through your mouth. Thoughts run through your mind and slam into your skull at rapid speed. Has Dan Heng noticed how weird you’ve been acting? He hasn’t treated you any differently, but maybe it’s out of pity. Maybe you haven’t been paying enough attention, because you’re so busy replaying that dream over and over and over, obsessive, wondering if you should just let go of the rope you’re suspended on and slam into the water and drown in your wants and your needs. 

So you close your eyes, and you let yourself drift off and wake back up in your dream. You’re on your side now, instead of on your back, and the door is on the far wall behind you. You still hear it slide open, as it always does in this dream, and the footsteps get closer until you hear the shuffling of someone kneeling behind you. And then there’s nothing. 

Your blankets don’t get lifted up. There’s no warm body tucking itself next to you. But there’s— a voice, Dan Heng’s voice, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear the pitch of his voice, the vibrations of sound. 

“Are you awake?”

Your brow furrows, and you clench and unclench your fists twice before parting your dry, trembling lips. He’s never spoken in a dream before, not like this. He’s only ever said your name. Your fingers twitch with the instinct to pinch yourself. 

“Yes,” you respond, hoping that the confusion isn’t clear in the timbre of your voice. “What’s— is something wrong?” 

“No,” he says immediately. Clothes rustle as he adjusts himself. You’re scared to turn around and face him. You don’t know what you’d see. “You…” and he pauses, thinking of his words. Dan Heng would rather take a full minute to think about what to say, what words to pick, instead of stumbling over syllables, and it’s so unlike your own habits and as you think of this, your fingers twitch again. This time with the desire to hold his hand, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this dream, but everything feels too real now and you don’t know where you are. 

Finally, he finds his words. You’re patient with him. “I can’t sleep alone,” he whispers, as if embarrassed to admit it, “not tonight. I trust you.” 

God. He can’t say that. He shouldn’t say that, because your head is spinning and you’re going to throw up. Your hand finds the strength to pick itself up and pinch the skin of your forearm. You’re not dreaming. 

“Yeah,” you cough out, sniffling afterwards to cover up your budding anxiety as you finally sit up and turn to face him. “Yeah, you can, um. Sleep here.” 

When he finally enters your field of vision, he looks the same as he always does—both in your dreams and in real life. It makes you sick. The guilt that you feel now comes more from the fact that he’s still in his typical outfit instead of pajamas. 

“Dan Heng,” you start as you shuffle back on your bed to make space for him. He follows your motion, kneeling on the edge of your mattress before adjusting the sheets around you to tuck himself underneath and lay down. “We need to get you pajamas. I don’t know how you sleep like that.” 

“I don’t sleep,” he admits, “not usually. I don’t need a lot of sleep.” 

“You do. You might not think so, but you probably do. I wish I had a spare set of pajamas, but— they’re all, um, in the wash right now.” 

“It’s okay. Your blankets are nice.” 

Words tingle against your gums, syllables of confessions lighting up in your mouth. You want to tell him that a dream-version of him has slept under a copy of these blankets multiple times before, that you’ve dreamed for weeks about him curled into you and sleeping, and saying your name, and kissing the corner of your mouth. Right now, you’re just laid side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, but you can feel how warm he is and his hand is so close to yours and you just want to hold it. You want him to say your name and look at you and hold your hand. 

“Good,” you say instead of everything else that you could say, because you have a sense of self control at times. 

Then Dan Heng says your name, rolling onto his side to face you, hands tucked underneath the side of his face in a stupidly endearing sleeping position. You follow suit, because your self control isn’t that strong. He doesn’t say anything else. Just your name, once. With reverence and desire. Maybe you’re dreaming it, but you pinch your knuckles again and yet you’re still in the same room with the same man in front of you. 

One of your arms is bent between you two, hand resting on the pillow that separates you two. Dan Heng’s own hand—warm, and breathing, and real— comes up to rest on top of yours, and you cannot believe any of this is happening. You want to pinch yourself again but his hand is curling around yours and he’s inching forward and you hope that your deer-in-headlights expression doesn’t scare him off. 

“Dan Heng,” you whisper, voice cracking with an embarrassing desperation. It’s a warning for him, before he does whatever he’s about to do. But he says your name, again, and his face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath fan against your face, and your entire body is warmed and your hand flips over to hold his, fingers slipping between his and tightening around it. 

“Have you had these odd dreams these last few nights,” he asks, a leading tone in his voice, “because I have. About you,” and he’s too honest, and you have to swallow your saliva before it turns into sweat and blood, and you feel his hand squeeze back around yours. His is shaking, and you find some kind of comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one. 

“Yeah,” you answer, because you can’t get more than one syllable out at a time tonight. Could anyone blame you? Would Dan Heng blame you for that, afterwards, even though his face is so close and his hand is so warm and it’s tight around you, and he’s shuffling around again, constantly fidgeting, and he takes his other arm and slides it around you, hand between your shoulder blades. He hooks a leg between yours, tugging you closer and closer and closer. You’re blinking at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes landing on his lips so that maybe he’ll finally take the hint. 

He does. He does, and as cliche as it is, it’s better than your dream. He kisses you, desperate, and right before your eyes flutter shut you catch the contemplative furrow in his brow. His mouth is—warm, damp, but you feel the crack in the skin in the center of his bottom lip. It scrapes against you and you can’t help the shaky sigh you release at the feeling, and the hand on your back curls into the fabric of your sleep shirt. 

Your eyes are closed, tight, scared that if you open them, you’ll just wake up back in your room, alone and cold again with your empty steel ceiling. Dan Heng’s mouth is moving against yours with a practiced proficiency that you’re almost jealous of. You let your tongue trace the edges of his teeth, carnal in your desires, before you bite down on his lip hard enough to leave a temporary dent. He shudders, hand trembling against yours and lips pulling back from yours as he tucks his head into your neck and lets out shaky breaths lines with addictive sounds. You’re going crazy. He’s driving you crazy. 

The hard, carved metal parts of his clothes dig into you. Your hand goes around him to rest on the back of his head, threading through his hair as his breathing slows against you. “We can go shopping somewhere tomorrow,” you tell him, already thinking of how you’d convince Pom-Pom to land at some shopping district of some planet. “You need pajamas.” 

“There’s no need for me to have that,” he says, stubborn and set in his ways, even with something as mundane as sleep clothes. “My normal clothes are fine.” 

“Not if you’ll be sleeping in my bed.” 

And that makes him succumb to your whims, much too easy for your own good, and you laugh when he lets out a weary sigh at your reciprocal stubbornness. Your fingers keep combing through his hair, soft and meaningful, until he falls asleep. You think you'll get him a blue plaid pajama set. He'd look nice in it.

[deoidesign]

sleeping beauty (available in print!)

[mochiwrites]

couldn’t help writing a lil thing from @plumadot’s arts (linked here and here!)🥺👉👈 third life scarian possessed me so hard I broke out of my burn out for this reblogs would be really cool and awesome okaythankyou

——————————

“And how are preparations for Doom Day going, my good sir?” Scar’s voice is a light sound behind him, tone cheerful and inquisitive all at once.

Grian turns around from where he’s knee deep in sand, a small hole dug out in front of him. Scar comes to stand beside him, red eyes staring down at him. His gaze is soft, far too soft for a man who’s meant to be anything but.

With a soft noise, Grian pushes himself up to stand while dusting off his hands. He leaves his shovel in the ground by the hole. His wings flutter.

He hums, surveying the area. He gazes at the holes of sand, where the tnt will be set down, at the place where a bunker will be built. “Not bad, I’d say. I think this place’ll be ready by tomorrow or some time ‘round then.”

Scar whistles, moving to casually wrap an arm around the green life’s shoulders. “Amayzin’!” His lips lift in a smile. “Man, those Dogwarts guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“That’s if this trap even works, Scar,” Grian mutters, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. His traps have hardly worked all game, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about this one failing too. “It has to,” he says, brows knitting together, “there’s too much riding on this one.”

His eyes trail over to Scar, who doesn’t seem to share his worries.

“Aw, c’mon G,” Scar starts as he pulls the other toward him. He tugs so that Grian’s facing him, their faces a few inches apart. Grian can feel how warm Scar is this close, can see the way his chest rises and falls. “I have total trust in you and your trapping skills. So relax a little, yeah?”

Grian frowns at him in turn. Speculation and trust aren’t good enough when up against his fail rate. He needs one hundred percent certainty. But he can’t just test this one. It’s a one time pull. “Scar—”

Careful fingers grab his chin, rough and calloused from the harsh conditions of the desert but still far too careful. Red names aren’t supposed to be careful or gentle, and yet here Scar is.

“I trust you,” Scar says again, and Grian doesn’t think this is how things are supposed to go. It’s not the first time he’s had this thought, and he’s sure it won’t be the last (provided they both survive this, that is). “You really do worry too much.”

“One of us has to while you’re off gallivanting around without a shirt on,” Grian grumbles while reaching for the edge of Scar’s cloak. He holds onto it, fingers digging into the fabric.

Scar lifts a playful brow at Grian’s comment, “Does that mean I look good while valligaggling?”

Grian snorts, the action laced with too much affection. “That’s not even a word, Scar,” he replies with a little laugh, one that makes Scar’s grin widen.

“It’s close enough,” the man hums in answer, their faces moving closer. His hand drops to Grian’s elbow, the other drawing him in closer by the waist. Red eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts over Grian’s lips. “And it made you laugh.”

“Your priorities are seriously mixed up,” Grian’s voice is hardly above a whisper as watches as Scar draws in closer.

Their lips meet seconds later, chapped and warm. Grian stares at Scar’s face, the way the creases in his forehead smooth over and relax. He looks so content, a funny feeling to express when the powder keg is seconds from exploding.

It hardly takes any time at all for Scar to deepen the kiss, raising his hand from Grian’s elbow to hold the edge of his jaw. His thumb settles too close to Grian’s throat, yet not an ounce of fear runs through him. His eyes shut as he presses his lips back against Scar’s, a bit more pressure than the other applies. He catches Scar’s wrist in his hand, and his grip is a little tight at first (too tight for a green name). He has to remind himself to loosen his hand, but Scar never gives a reaction.

He simply angles Grian’s chin up slightly, hand shifting to cup his cheek. His fingers tangle in his hair, brushing against his ear.

It’s kind of a shame they’re blowing up the desert. He wouldn’t mind sharing more kisses with Scar out in the open chilly air like this.

Scar kisses him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He kisses him like he’s afraid of breaking him, and really it’s laughable how gentle he is with Grian. His eyes say he shouldn’t be.

(Ironic then, that Grian is wearing more red than him.)

It’s with a soft sigh that Scar pulls back, setting their foreheads against one another. So easily, so fluidly, he holds Grian’s face in both of his hands, one of his thumbs brushing along his cheek. There’s a fond smile on his face, and Grian feels a little dazed by the sight.

“Gri,” Scar says quietly, a moment shared for only the two of them, “I need you to know, I—”

Some kind of alarm rings in Grian’s head, and he knows he cannot let Scar finish that sentence. Panic runs down his spine like electricity, zapping him. He sets his hands on Scar’s front, gently pushing back as he turns his head away.

“H-Haha, we’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?” he questions, some kind of desperate attempt to change the conversation. “We have a war to prepare for, remember?”

He doesn’t watch Scar’s face as he turns away, unable to face it. He turns his back to Scar, wings twitching behind him. Grian purposefully looks down at the sand before him, reminding himself of what he’s meant to be doing. “We, uh, have much to do still,” he says, trying to focus on anything but Scar. “I mean, unless you want me to lose my first life!”

Grian goes to say more, but two hands land on his shoulders, stopping him. He jumps just slightly, startled. Yet it doesn’t last long as he feels Scar’s warmth against his back. “…Scar,” he mumbles.

Arms wrap around him proper, holding him close. He feels Scar bury his face in his hair as the smell of lilacs and poppies flood his senses. “Just a little longer, okay?” the red name murmurs so softly.

Let me hold you for a little longer.

Stay with me for a little longer.

Pretend this’ll last for a little longer.

How selfish, Scar is. Grian looks down at the sand below, its mocking grains. He grabs hold of Scar, keeping him right where he is. “…I’m not going to die, Scar.”

“Promise me.” Scar’s arms tighten around him, giving away how much he needs Grian to stay alive. How much he treasures Grian, both his partnership and company.

Grian squeezes him. He supposes he’s a little selfish as well. “…I promise.”

Scar lets out a shaky breath, burying his face further into Grian’s hair.

They don’t move for a little while. A gentle red name and a green name clothed in far too much crimson. Together they stand, selfishly.