#can't believe it's been nearly a year since I started writing this fic

[im-a-king-baby]

Hiii!

I loved ELYN so much! And one scene I would love you to comment on is in chapter 14 when they're out by the lake, and they talk about their futures and their public personas, and I guess they both help each other get to thinking about their options in new ways:

“The first thing you ever said to me was that you weren’t allowed to talk about politics.” Simon bends down to pick a rock up from the grass, turning it over between his fingers. “I guess I’m just saying if this debate is live and there’s no script then this is your chance to tell people your story. To show them what kind of king you’re going to be.” He tosses the stone once in his palm, then throws it into the lake."

I really loved how this got Wilhelm thinking about what he wanted, and how he could go about to get it.

Thanks a lot 💜

No, thank YOU a lot <3 <3.

(This meme is bonus content for ELYN/Everybody Loves You Now which you can read on AO3 here. This post below the cut will contain spoilers.)

So the VERY FIRST line of YR fanfiction I ever wrote was: ‘The first thing Wilhelm ever said to Simon was, "I’m not allowed to talk about politics." It was a wake-up call, a reminder, that Wilhelm will always belong to Sweden first.’ It was originally for a different fic, then I stole it for a Simon POV ELYN-scene which I might post someday (snippet below), but that sense of responsibility is definitely one of the core parts of this kind of contemporary royalty story that is interesting to me. So the beginning of that quote is definitely something that was in my mind from the very beginning.

And it’s interesting to talk about this scene (and chapters 13/14 in general) and that progression to Wilhelm’s decision because it was hardly in draft 1, which jumped from Candace to the debate with very little in between. And then I kept expanding it, and rewriting it a million times (and then my beta was like ‘this isn’t working’ about some parts and I rewrote them several more times.) and these chapters more than a lot of the others I had to step back and really be like ‘what am I trying to achieve here, what are my character arcs, how do I balance that?’

The most important part of ELYN (to me) was that losing the vote had to be a Choice that Wilhelm made. I’ve seen some debates about whether people want an ending where Wilhelm abdicates or where the monarchy is abolished and I always think it misses the nuance that if monarchy is abolished it should be because Wilhelm abolishes it. To me, that’s what makes it an empowered narrative, rather than a story about society rejecting a queer king. And in ELYN, the other key plotline is this reconnection between Wilhelm and Simon and how that pushes them both to break out of these boxes they’re stuck in. On Simon’s side, Wilhelm is a reminder of his past and a wake-up call to how not-okay Simon is now. Pre the writing of 13/14 Wilhelm did had some influence from Simon, breaking the rules and pushing back on his mother and Minou, but I wanted there to be a clear character beat that tied Simon's return to Wilhelm’s making the decision to call for a 'no' vote.

Then it was a case of reflecting on the parallels of their lives, which was mostly this theme of being voiceless. Simon not being able to sing his own songs, vs. Wilhelm being handed speeches to read out and having to stick to the Official Story. And this is where Simon is kind of ahead of Wilhelm, in that he’s already had his ‘fuck it, they can’t stop me’ moment singing at the concert, so he gets to take the advice-giving role, which is nice to balance out their interactions a bit more so it’s not Wilhelm helping Simon all the time.

(In case you’re interested, this is one of the notes I sent my beta with the final rewrite (which kind of shows how I was approaching this transition from a character development perspective): ‘I’ve tried to make the split more clear so that in 13 his action is avoiding the debate (passive) and in 14 he switches to actively using the debate to change the vote.’)

Bonus snippet, here is the line from paragraph one in the Simon hotel scene:

The wind is bitingly cold. “Thanks, tack, love you all,” he calls down. “Have a good night!” He shuts the window, draws the curtains like maybe they’ll leave if they can’t see him. They won’t leave. They were there this morning when he went to an interview, then a doctor about the scratch in his throat, then an outfit fitting for the charity show. The numbers fluctuate but they’re never gone. He wonders how Wilhelm got past them. There must be another entrance, one that someone has decided Simme isn’t allowed to use, because they want to reward the loyalty of the fans freezing their fucking toes off to get a glimpse of him. Wilhelm wouldn’t risk being seen by them. Wilhelm knows how important is is to maintain his image. The first thing Wilhelm ever said to Simon was, ‘I’m not supposed to talk about politics.’ A wake up call. A reminder. That Wilhelm will always belong to Sweden first. And now Simon knows a little of how that feels, to have the expectations of thousands of strangers resting on his shoulders. Fortunately Simme’s image is much easier to maintain. A bit of smoky eye, a smile that promises sex, a never ending stream of photoshoots where the clothes are more or less optional. It all comes naturally: start at the neck of the bottle and work down.

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[babydollmarauders]

YOU’RE LOSING ME — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n is struggling to grasp the fact that she and jack have grown apart amongst his newfound nhl stardom

warnings: angst, neglectful jack, dying relationship, long intro (so sorry), alcohol

specific lyrics: “remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light. now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time” and “how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?” and “how long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life? i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier. fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me. i'm the best thing at this party (you're losin' me). and i wouldn't marry me either; a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her. and I'm fadin', thinkin' "do something, babe, say something" "lose something, babe, risk something" "choose something, babe, i got nothing" (i got nothing) "to believe, unless you're choosin' me"”

notes: idk how i feel about this. it’s been awhile since i’ve written an actual fic so i think my writing is a little rusty. there will be no part 2 to this one! i know y’all love when i make part 2’s to my angsty fics, but some fics i just wanna keep as angst and this is one of them <3

maybe we were naïve. young and innocent in thinking our love would last forever. that we could withstand everything the universe had to throw at us.

i could give us this; we did last past Jack’s rookie year. but maybe that’s when things started breaking. i couldn’t tell you for certain.

when we moved to New Jersey, we were going on three years into our relationship. we thought that milestone of three years meant we would be together forever.

we went apartment hunting, i opted to go into online schooling rather than on campus classes, late night whispers consisted of marriage and future children.

now, the last time i even brought up marriage, he told me he wasn’t ready for that. that he was at the peak of his career and didn’t want to spend time that could be used bettering his skills, to plan a wedding.

i spend most nights in an empty bed, the cold sheets serving as a harsh reminder that my boyfriend would rather go out with his teammates than spend time with me.

rather than the past early mornings of soft loving stares and cuddling on his bare chest, i now spend my mornings glaring towards my boyfriends sleeping figure; trying to calculate when he may have gotten home after i had already fallen asleep.

seven years. one-third of my life, spent with Jack.

no one ever said love would be easy; but no one ever told me it would be this hard either.

the mug in my hands is at risk of breaking from my grip, the coffee inside having gone cold. a cruel euphemism to how our relationship has cooled. the burning fire that it once was, now fizzling to dying sparks. but i still hold onto what’s left, because i’m not sure i know how to live a life without him anymore.

i sit curled up on the sofa, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the New Jersey skyline. i still remember the day that Jack and i decided on this apartment, this room was a deciding factor. we loved the lighting, the way the sun shone through the windows and cast a golden haze over the rest of the apartment.

now i sit in the darkness nearly every night, wondering if this was the end of our relationship; if it’s time.

the worst part is that we keep going on. keep playing house. pretending that our relationship is still as happy as it once was.

‘i love you’s never became a rarity, still uttered past our lips multiple times a day. but i know his words only hold an empty promise now.

how can he say he loves me when he can’t tell that this relationship is killing me?

that this dynamic of our relationship becoming a chore has slowly broken me down?

our life is robotic now. we wake up, he leaves for practice, i stay home, i do school, he comes home for a pre-game nap, he leaves for a game, i still stay home, i go to bed, he comes home, repeat.

even worse when he’s away. what once started as facetime calls whenever he was free on a roadie, slowly died until it’s nothing but a few measly unsubstantial texts.

at first i thought maybe we were just going through a rough patch, that we would get through this, but now i fear we won’t.

***

my eyes track my boyfriend at the crowded rooftop bar as i nod my head, only half paying attention to what Ryleigh says.

Nico’s surprise party has been a success. for Nico, at least.

i, selfishly, thought i would use this party as an opportunity to grasp Jack’s attention. i wore the dress that he used to say was his favorite, but not once did he mention it. i curled my hair because i knew how much he loved it, but he didn’t compliment it how he usually does. i dolled myself up in hopes that it would glue him to my side. maybe even spark that possessiveness he used to hold for me.

but instead, all i got was a measly and empty ‘hey babe, you look nice.’ when i arrived, before he chased Dawson down to discuss some new bar he wanted to check out after their next win.

i spent the next hour following him around like a lost puppy, standing by his side as he spoke to his teammates. if he hadn’t had his hand resting on my lower back, i would’ve thought he forgot i was there. but somehow being forgotten would’ve felt better than being ignored.

i’m the best thing at this party, or at least i should be to him, and he barely spared me a second glance.

eventually, i saltily left to find the other wives and girlfriends. for the past three hours now, i sit with Ryleigh and Darya. Ryleigh is currently recounting she and Dawson’s date night last night.

the party has been dwindling down, our group of people among the bar slowly dispersing, giving their final birthday wishes to Nico and going home.

“what about you and Jack?”

“hmm?” i perk up at the mention of my boyfriend, dragging my line of sight away from said boy and back towards my friends.

“i asked about you and Jack. when was your guys’ last date night? how was it?” Ryleigh is only trying to be polite, i know that. but she’s only reminded me that Jack and i haven’t gone on a date in what has to be at least six months.

“honestly? i couldn’t tell you.” i confess. “i don’t even remember the last time we went on a date.”

“well, that’s not right! we should do a double date soon! i’ll have Dawson set it up.” she smiles. “ooh triple date! you and Yegor should come!”

“we’d love that!” Darya chimes in. i let out a polite smile, but i know it won’t happen. i’ve tried too many times to set up a date night and nothing ever comes from it.

“hey, baby. you ready to go?” Dawson saunters over, planting a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek. Ryleigh nods, bidding Darya and i goodbye.

“hey, y/n? i think Jack was looking for you.” Yegor tells me as he comes over next, gathering his wife to leave for the night.

“he was?” my voice is filled with a pathetic hope, an excitement over even the thought of my boyfriend seeking me out. but when i look back to where i last saw him, he still stands next to his captain, laughing over something one of them said. “thanks, Shara.”

he smiles, the both of them now saying their goodbyes. and then there was one.

i sit by myself, lazily chewing the straw in my drink as i watch my boyfriend and his friend.

i quickly lose track of how long i sit there, ordering drink after drink. eventually, i stop watching Jack, opting for mindlessly scrolling through instagram instead.

“hey.” my head snaps up at Jack’s voice, watching as he finally joins me. my heart thumps in my chest, like i’m a teenager again, at the thought of spending time with him. “i think i’m ready to head home.”

my mood deflates, my shoulders slumping, but i nod, gathering my purse as Jack sets some cash on the bar top to cover my drinks from the night.

i wobble slightly as i stand, Jack’s hand coming up to hold onto my arm, making sure i don’t fall. heat spreads from the site of the touch, shivers racking my body.

“you okay, babe?” he chuckles, pulling me into his side as we walk to the elevator, pressing the down button and waiting for it to arrive. “how much did you drink?”

“i don’t know. maybe three? i lost count after the first hour alone.” i shrug, my words are slurred, a product of my tipsy state. “i started off with sprite, but i switched to gin and tonics once Darya left.”

Jack is silent as we get into the elevator, his brows furrowed and him seemingly in deep thought. the whole ride home is quiet, the air charged. i spend the whole drive with my head turned to look out the window. but as soon as we reach the parking deck of our apartment, getting out of his Range Rover, he speaks up again.

“you could’ve come and found me? i was just with Nico.” i’m silent for a moment, picking up my pace to try and reach apartment faster.

“i didn’t feel like being ignored again.” i shrug as we step through the door, the alcohol giving me obvious courage that i never had before.

“what do you mean ‘again’? i haven’t ignored you.” Jack follows behind me into our bedroom, his eyes tracking me as i sit on the bed and begin unfastening my heels.

“stop.” i sigh.

“stop what? y/n/n, when have i ignored you?” his genuine obliviousness hurts more than i thought it could. the fact that he didn’t even realize he was ignoring me; that it was just a subconscious reaction for him to push me aside.

“every day.” i tell him. my eyes start stinging with tears, finally ready to have the fight that i’ve so desperately been avoiding. but it’s obvious that Jack doesn’t feel the same.

“i’m sorry you felt that way.” he tells me, barely sparing another glance my way before he starts grabbing pajamas out of the dresser.

“you’re losing me.” my words are choked out in a whisper, but i know he hears them because i watch as he stiffens, slowly turning around.

“what?”

“Jack, this doesn’t feel like a relationship anymore. it feels like a job. a chore.” i confess. “it doesn’t feel like you love me anymore and i need you to just say it. because i love you too much to keep going on like this.”

“y/n-”

“we barely talk, Jack.” i cut him off. “when we do, we’re struggling through empty small talk. you’re barely home, and when you are, you don’t try and spend time with me. i sit in this house, alone, even when you’re here.”

“what are you talking about? y/n, we’ve been together for almost seven years. we’ve been through so much together.” his words are harsh, defensive.

“exactly! i gave you all my best me’s- i gave you my teenage years, i gave you all of my best years! i gave you all my empathy when you were being called a bust. when you were struggling in your rookie year and at your lowest. i sat here and comforted you after every loss! i stayed here and cried and tried to be brave every time you were gone. i defended you to everyone!”

tears roll freely down my cheeks, my nose becoming stuffy and my throat tightening. i’ve risen from the bed now, still keeping my distance from him though.

“and what do i have to show for it? an empty apartment? an empty relationship? we used to spend hours talking about marriage and our future. now, the last time i tried to bring that up, you all but told me you didn’t want to marry me.” i scoff. “and i can’t blame you, i wouldn’t marry me either; a pathological people pleaser.”

“don’t say that, please.” he whispers.

“but all i wanted was for you to see me, Jack! i’m here! i have feelings! i know it’s hard to believe, but i’m a person too! i need love! not whatever this has been.” my words fade off at the end, breaking off into sobs.

Jack’s eyes are red, tears of his own slowly descending as we stand in silence.

“do something, please. say something.” i plead, furiously wiping at my tears. i swallow a lump in the throat as he finally takes a step forward.

“i’m sorry.” his voice is shaky, breaking midst sentence. “i’m so sorry i didn’t know you were feeling this way. i’ve been so wrapped up in hockey and the team that i haven’t been here. not fully, at least.

“i took you for granted. i guess you’ve been this dependable force in my life for so long that eventually i forgot that you need more than just my presence.

“i do love you, y/n. i can’t imagine my life without you. i’ll be better, i promise. just, please, don’t leave.” he begs.

Jack steps forward, closing the distance between us and taking my face in his hands.

“i need you. i’ll always choose you.” his hands shake on my cheeks as he pulls me into a kiss. he pulls away, heaving out a broken mix between a sigh and a sob. “i’m so so sorry.”

“we can fix us. i believe that. but please, don’t put me through this again.” i beg, laying my forehead against his.

“never.”

[mjanelupinblack]

starving creatures | chapter one 🖤

pairing: xu minghao x reader // jun x reader (mainly lol)

description: starving creatures have arrived at your homeland in forks. little do you know, they not only intend to drain the blood out of you... they'll also to break your heart in two.

genres: slowburn (please bare with me), fluff, angst, vampire!au

warnings: blood drinking, lot of blood related themes, repressed emotions, family issues, miscommunication, kinda toxic friendship with cheol? blood and smut will be mixed. emotionally and physically starved vampires oops. did i mentioned blood?

minors dni!!!

fic playlist 🖤

w/c: 3.2k

a/n: like i said, slowburn as f*ck. you'll have to wait to have fun with jun and hao but it'll be worth it if you bare with me. also i am having so much fun writing this omg ^_^ english isn't my first language and i don't have beta readers so kind feedback is welcome <3

CHAPTER 1

Joshua Hong had been the first for many things in his life: the firstborn, the first brother to complete his education, the first student among his classmates to perform a solo surgery, and one of the first doctors to try chloroform for his medical procedures, as anesthesia wasn't nearly as developed as it is now.

He was also the first one to be turned.

No other outcome could have been expected. People like him - young, enthusiastic, seemingly blessed by the gods - had to have some divine punishment waiting for them. Josh's penance would be to live forever with his luck... and to have it slowly fade into misfortune.

As a doctor, he never thought life could be eternal. He had witnessed all types of miracles at Paris Salpêtrière, but no soul had ever gotten to escape the sweet lullabies of death. At first, he felt terrible about it. Doctor Pierre had told him to get used to it, as God only gives special treatment to his friends. Little did he know, Pierre was a close friend of Him. He didn't notice it until he found himself digging a blade into his tutor's jugular vein.

No pulse could be found, but Pierre's breaths were still steady.

"Let's go, Josh! Everything's packed!" Vernon shouted as he got into the driver's seat.

"Do we really have to go through this again?" Jun complained, as if it would change anything. For the last time, he stared at the California house that had been their home for the past ten years.

He always got too attached.

"C'mon, man, you know it's better this way," Vernon replied.

From the passenger seat, Joshua looked at them. Minghao rubbed his brother's back and gently pushed him into the car despite his deep and frustrated sighs. This might be the worst part. But upon reflection, the worst part might also involve the one where locals started noticing their lack of aging, leading him to search for a new town.

"Jun, you can't be mad..." Vernon tried.

"Hum, yes, I can be mad," Jun countered. "And I can't believe you all think it's possible to move from California to this nowhere town."

"This 'nowhere town' is called Forks, alright? And it's your new home, so you better get used to it."

Nowhere Town. That's a good name, as it reflected all the peace Joshua had been praying for since Junhui and Minghao joined his and Vernon's odd nomadic, supernatural-like lifestyle.

"It's always cloudy there. You'll get to hang out more often with your friends."

"Sorry, what friends?" Jun asked sarcastically.

"You'll make friends eventually, Jun. Stop whining," Minghao said.

You didn't believe Forks was the best town in the world either. The landscape, always covered by mist and the ground sticky wet from the most recent storm, looked exactly as it did when you were born. You finished cleaning the house an hour before the awaited arrival. The large windows were all cleaned, not a single stain preventing passersby from catching a glimpse inside.

The house was empty for now, as it had been since the heartbreaking death of the previous inhabitants. You sat by the porch, trying to catch your breath and wondering what the new family looked like. Were they old? Were they nice? Certainly, they wouldn't want anyone to disturb them, otherwise, they would have chosen to live closer to the town center.

Surrounded by trees and animals, your aunt's house was known for attracting people who appreciated solitude.

That's the first thing you learned about Minghao.

There is a van approaching from a distance. The new renters arrived half an hour earlier than you planned. You stand up quickly, shaking the dirt off your pants when, for the first time, you see his face.

You won’t be able to forget that face.

"Y/N, right? We talked on the phone yesterday," one of the guys says. There are four of them now. By his introduction, you supposed you are talking to Mr. Chwe.

"Yes! It's so nice to meet you all, Mr. Chwe."

You shake his hand, surprised to find Mr. Chwe, a doctor, looks more like a student who just pulled an all-nighter.

He also has the temperature of an old man.

"Just Vernon, please," he said.

You had a speech planned, but right now you're having trouble remembering what you were going to say. There's a man behind Vernon who looks at you with tender and compassionate eyes. You assume he's Joshua, the one who responded to your emails.

"I'm so sorry my aunt couldn't make it today. As I told you, she's been sick. It would be difficult for her to climb all the way up here. I'll give you the tour, if you're comfortable with it."

Vernon shows his understanding. The same goes for Joshua, who breaks into a sincere smile and thanks you for being so attentive. It's almost as if they're acting like parents. And then, there are the kids...

"Actually, I'm tired. I'm sure we can figure out the house ourselves."

"I could really use some sleep."

"We've stayed in bigger houses anyway."

"Jun, Hao... Enough of that."

Jun and Hao; you're not sure which one takes your breath away more. With their silky, white, shoulder-length hair, they stand in the woods like fairies in a fairytale.

But you imagined fairies to be... more polite, perhaps.

"It's okay. It must have been a long ride for them. I'll leave you to rest." You tranquillize Mr. Chwe with a smile, but think, Morons, in your head.

Almost as if he heard what you said, Jun's face contorts in a gesture that appears both surprised and offended.

"Do you all see that little house right there?" you ask, pointing down into the distance past the trees. "That's where I live. Just call me if you need anything. We're the only neighbors you have around, besides the Boo Family. Oh, and I almost forgot. They asked me to leave you a present since they won't be able to come and say hello today. I left it inside."

"A present?" Minghao asks, his forehead furrowed and a fucked up temper. It's as if you'd just left a bomb or something in their kitchen.

You feel small under his gaze.

"Yes... it's just a beautiful mirror."

•••

Vernon was the second one to get turned.

He graduated from uni, having already killed a man. He tasted his blood, vomited to stop feeling sick, but then got the imperious need to drink from him again.

“Who the hell is this Boo Family?” Jun asks once they get to the house. The mirror is still covered in the living room. There’s no use in unwrapping it as they can’t use it anyways.

“Some old friends.” Vernon answers, face paler than usual.

He made a vow to never to steal a life again. No matter how hungry he was, no matter how weak he could get, he had a strong set of values he planned to spend the rest of his non-desired eternity with, even if people told him it wasn’t the natural thing to do.

“Explain yourself.”

“No explanation needed… Just go to your room, Jun.”

“Are you grounding me or something? I thought we were over with all this weird family shit.”

“I could be your grandfather, how is that weird to…”

“Boo Seungkwan is the man who brought Vernon into this life, okay?” Joshua explains.

Josh had been his mentor. Studying hard for his degree, Vernon was only seven years younger than him and had a mind full of dreams. One of them was to become a doctor as brilliant as Joshua, which, after a lot of sacrifice, he did. But he never thought his desire to be like Joshua would put him into a world so dark and twisted. When he said he wanted to be like Joshua, he never imagined… this.

“There’s your answer.” Vernon says.

He wouldn’t have endured sane this long without Joshua as a friend.

“Don’t worry, mate, we are leaving this place.”

The house is big. Of course, they lived in much larger houses than your auntie’s, as Jun said. But this house… There is wood covering the walls and enormous trees blocking the sunlight from the windows.

Vernon asks himself, is it always going to be like this?

Will Josh and he finally be able to take daytime shifts? Will they be able to walk around town without having to worry about deadly eruptions on their skins?

Sunglasses and long sleeves, then they are ready to go. The offer is tempting.

“There’s no need.”

“What do you mean?” Joshua asks in disbelief.

“I mean… We already paid the girl.”

“And she can keep the money. We’re leaving.”

Jun seems thrilled. What will their new location be? Bahamas? Maybe France? Oh, he loves pain au chocolat! Now it is gonna be great.

“I want to give it a try, Josh,” Vernon says, much to Jun’s disgrace. “Yejin is dead. And there’s no other reason for the Boo family to attack me again.”

“Yejin? Like your ex-friend Yejin?” Minghao asks.

“More like the maniac, out-of-her-mind-obsessed-with-Vernon, Yejin.” Joshua corrects.

“How did you know about her, Hao?”

“I might have stumbled upon your diaries once. But then we moved, and I don’t know where you hide them anymore. So I’m kinda stuck in the middle of the tale.

“Well, well, well… Looks like we know very little of each other to be part of the same family, Mr. Chew. Or should I call you Doctor?”

Jun disappears from the room, not caring for Joshua, who wants to say something to him. Even if he couldn’t move at this dazzling speed, he would’ve been able to escape the situation with equal grace.

That’s the way he is.

“Welcome to Forks, then.”

•••

“So… the new renters are a piece of shit.” your friend Cheol says. It's nice to catch up after a whole summer apart, not seeing or hearing anything from him.

Your ankles ache from the cold wind that bites as you walk the last stretch to school.

“That’s not what I said,” you explain. “The doctors were very nice to me. But the young ones… This guy Jun was in a terrible mood and treated everyone like shit. The other brother was…”

Threatening? But gut-wrenchingly beautiful? Eyes so deep like sinking ships after crashing with an iceberg?

“…a bit serious, I don’t know. When the doctors asked me if there was a highschool nearby, I thought I'd get to make some friends.”

“Are you saying I’m not enough of a friend?”

Okay, that was a low blow and you need to respond to it.

“The whole summer you went missing. So yes, at some point your friendship felt short for me.”

Many years of friendship taught you that you can open up with Cheol whenever you feel sad or lonely. You arrive at school and identify some of the friends he spent the whole summer with. A sight escapes your mouth. You love the guys, but you kinda wish your alone time with Cheol would have lasted longer.

And he notices.

“We can hang out later. Just you and me,” he promises, grabbing both of your hands. “We can sneak and spy on this jackasses’ house. Then you’ll watch them nose-picking and realize they’re not that big of a deal.”

“Voyeurism? That 's the date?”

Cheol pinches your nose in between his fingers and smiles playfully. Same old smile. Same old gesture that makes you feel safe. Even after a whole summer of not knowing what the hell is going on in his head.

“I know you. Don’t act like you don’t like to get into other people’s lives.”

Touché. You admit there’s a certain rush of adrenaline growing in your veins whenever you think about getting into your new renters’ intimacy. There's a certain power that comes with knowing about other people's secrets. Even when you don’t plan to use any of those against them.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I take it as a yes.”

“Take it as a maybe I'd rather go grab some coffee and not do such creepy things!”

You hit your friend in the arm playfully. When they see you coming, the gang welcomes you with a hug and some cheering. Hoshi tells you about how your best friend drank his blood’s weight in beer and none of the parties were near as entertaining as when you are there to join them.

You don’t believe him. You know he’s only saying this to make you feel better. But you have nothing against white lies when they serve their purpose.

“Maybe invite me next time?” you say, knowing that you are asking for the impossible.

Soonyoung looks at Dino, who answers without saying a word. Cheol pulls you closer to him. Silent and almost surrounding you with his arms.

“I really don’t think you’d like it,” Soonyoung says. “Plus you’ve been busy training, from what I heard.”

Of course. Training. You are not sure what Soonyoung must have heard about it, or who he must have heard it from. But this summer, you have been leaving your house at five in the morning everyday with the intention of running your sacred five miles before seven a.m—or whatever number of miles you could do before starting to feel like you’re about to pass out. It has been awesome; wind whipping your skin and not a single thought crossing your head. Just a pleasant sensation of hurt that would leave your legs shaking and your mind blank.

After that, you’d return home just in time to give your auntie her meds.

And then you’d like to run away again.

“Are you getting into a competition or something?” Dino asks.

“Nah. I was just doing it to clear my mind. But who knows… I’m fast.”

“Maybe I could help your train then”

Around the corners, or maybe even a couple of blocks away, there’s a soul with the extramundane ability of hearing your thoughts and sayings with just the gaze of your silhouette.

“Hum… who the hell are you?” Seungcheol asks him.

He wasn't there just minutes ago. You must have been too lost in your own thoughts as the sight of your neighbor makes your heart skip a beat.

Maybe he wants you to introduce him?

“Guys, this is Jun. My auntie rented the house to his family, so he and his brother are new here.”

“Great way to introduce yourself, mate. You’re an asshole, from what I heard?”

You step over your friend’s foot, hoping to subtly silent him. Damn, Seungcheol has a big mouth.

“Actually, I’m here to apologize,” Jun says, much to your surprise. And then he looks at you like no one else is there. “My manners weren’t the best. We had a long trip from California so I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“California? You’re a ghost, man.”

Ignoring Soonyoung’s comment, your neighbor continues trying to apologize.

“I just wanted to let you know that whatever neighborly thing you need, you can count on my family and me.”

Just by the way they’re silent, analyzing every bit of him but actually finding nothing, you can tell that the guys already hate Jun without even knowing him.

And for that, you feel relieved.

“Thank you, Jun. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

•••

You live in a place so different than Mr. Chwe and Mr Hong’s new house. It only has a few rooms; none of them fancy and only spacious enough for you to sleep and change in there. The little wooden cabin remains hidden in between the trees, all of them prominent enough to prevent your house from being in plain sight. Rain has to make an effort to fall in between thick leaves. And if it wasn’t because of the oscillating movement of your auntie’s chair, Joshua would´t have found it.

He has always been a good neighbor. It’s a signature part of the made up story he tells about himself every time his life changes. So there he is, standing on the porch of your house with a basket of freshly baked cookies in hand. He expects to find you there and maybe ask you a couple of questions about the Boo family and your relationship with them.

“You didn’t have to” you say, receiving the basket in your hands with guilt wrinkling your eyebrows. “Really. I feel terrible. I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“You’ve given more than enough. This is just a thank you. To you and your aunt.”

Some persistent raindrops have started to pierce through the trees.

“Come in, I insist” you say, opening the door fully even though it’s kinda messy inside. You haven’t found the time to clean up and embarrassment shows in the crimson red of your plumpy cheeks. “You won’t make it to the lodge before the rain. And I was about to make some coffee to warm up anyways.”

Joshua knows perfectly that he will be able to reach the lodge even before the next drop of rain. Despite that, he decides to enter your house and take a seat at your table, waiting for the cloudburst to stop, like any normal person. In front of him, there’s a cup of coffee. He asked for it without sugar or milk because he wouldn’t be able to enjoy those flavors if you put them in there anyways. Of course, the story he tells is different. It’s easier to explain he’s grown accustomed to preparing his coffee bitter in the rush of his night guards.

“So, California…”

Your friend Hoshi’s observation over Jun had been rude but sharp. California’s sun had rejected Joshua’s family in an inexplicable way.

“Yes, we stayed there for a short time,” he answers. For him, that is not a lie. Ten years really is a short time. “We have a condition. It makes us sensitive to the sun. So long term wasn’t an option.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for that...”

“It's okay. We just have to be careful. Forks seems like the perfect place for that.”

“Trust me. Forks can give you a lot of trouble but sunny days won’t be one.”

Joshua takes a sip of his coffee. It doesn’t taste like anything, but it’s reassuring to see you enjoy the cookies he baked but can’t taste.

“A lot of trouble?” He asks, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

Coming from California and —from what Vernon told you— previously New York, you imagine your neighbor has no idea of the consequences of living in a place like Forks.

“Well, a small town can be a vast hell if you don’t keep things to yourself,” you explain. “Forks is amazing. But there’s only a few habitants and they all get bored easily, so rumors fly.”

Joshua’s well aware of how deadly rumors can be. Especially when truth revolves around them.

“Do you have secrets to entertain us with, Mr. Hong?” you mock him, feeling a little more comfortable around your neighbor who’s not only a kind person but also a great baker.

His eyes get all wrinkly when he smiles.

“I’m afraid we’re gonna bore you all,” he answers “And please don’t call me Mr. Hong.”

“Fair enough.” You say, while cleaning leftover cookies from the corner of your mouth.

“What about you, do you have secrets?”

You laugh at the question. Maybe it’s because you know the answer damn well.

“Of course. We all do.”

masterlist | next chapter

[k-s-morgan]

Hi Morgan,

Are you doing okay?

Haven't heard from you in a while, hoping you're safe.

Another ask: How are you doing lately? 💐💗

-----

Thank you both for worrying and caring! Unfortunately, this month started very, very badly for me - some problems I anticipated, others not so much.

The health of my pigeon (the one I saved from a cat) took a turn for the worse. She nearly died. The latest Russian missile attack caught me in a vulnerable building and it was terrifying, especially since it happened after we were told that the attack was probably over. First the lights began to flicker and then the explosions began.

And to top it all, that very day, before I recovered from the attack, I got news that the department at the company where I'm working is shutting down. Just like this. No warning, no time to prepare for anything - one second, and I'm out of job. I can't convey the degree of my shock and horror. Forgetting the fact that I've been working here for 6 years, that I dedicated a lot of my soul to it, to find myself without the means of survival so suddenly in the middle of the war sent me straight into the abyss.

For the first days, I couldn't do anything. I felt sick, I couldn't eat or read or write. It's tragic to be reminded once again of how enslaved I am by the system. Without my job, I can't support my family, I can't take care of my pets, I can't help pigeons recover, etc. I haven't felt this weak, scared, and vulnerable for a long, long time.

It was six days ago. Today, I finally felt a little better. My pigeon seems to be recovering tiny bit by tiny bit, and I have a job interview ahead. That said, if you can support me on Patreon or PayPal (emberlynn48@gmail.com), I'd really appreciate it - and my huge thanks to those who are already helping me! Even if the interview is successful and I find the job quickly, I'm still obviously losing a chunk of my would-be salary because of the time lost in between. It's not downright catastrophic, my mother still has her job, so we'll survive, but it's tough. Much tougher than usual.

As for writing, I didn't touch anything for the past week, but since I saw some vague light at the end of the tunnel again, I'm gradually getting a grip on myself and diving back into my fics. I can't believe that Those Gentle Slopes final chapter is still ongoing, lol. This arc seems to be endless.

[starsarefire824]

Fic Recs

In honor of things being shitty in the tag right now and everyone in their depression era, I'm offering a few fic recs in these trying times. Hope you discover something new, friends. 🖤

the comforts that make us feel numb by passerine_in_jade.

“No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”

or, Will and Mike get high in the desert.

Well written, almost dreamy quality to it. Author to watch for me! Can't believe I only just discovered their writing.

A Wish For Something More by @waroftheposes

Seven year old Will didn't have a problem with kissing his best friend on a dare. Seventeen year old Will, however, would not do it if someone held his hand over a fire.

Or: Truth or dare at seven and truth or dare at seventeen.

They're silly and sweet and oh so confused. The writing is lovely as well. Great if you're in the mood for fluff.

On the Same Frequency by @oldfashionedmorphine

Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…

(or an AU inspired by the movie “Frequency” from 2000)

I'm only just starting this, but Frequency au?? Hell yes.

Fleeting by olliecoddle. @souverian-are-we

Mike liked Will’s art shows, albeit slightly less the higher class they had gotten. Little paintings in the corner of a cafe morphed into white walls and rich spectators poised with champagne and well-mannered criticism. Still, he had been looking forward to it. He wanted to go. But now, walking up to the glass doors, he had to admit he felt jittery.

or, Will's new paintings are a little too personal

This is one of my absolute favorites ever. The writing of course, it's ollie. But the descriptions, the entire buildup of Mike's reaction in the art gallery, the content of the painting? The entire concept is beautiful. And be sure to look up the painting Will's was inspired by. It will tell you everything.

any semblance of touch by anonymous.

“Nothing,” Will says, right into Mike’s ear. “Still feeling good?”

So good. Mike makes sure to not say it aloud this time. “I think,” Mike says slowly, heart pounding, “I need” — Will pulls back just a little, just enough for their noses to bump against each other, clumsy, and Mike bites the bullet — “one more.”

Will is still in Mike’s lap, which is maybe not very platonic of him, and the joint has smoldered its way down to the end, nearly over, all eaten up by the fire. Will swallows thickly, then leans closer, a perfect imitation of their positions from earlier. Mike isn’t sure how long it’s been, but fire has been eating away at him too, this whole time, leaving him on the brink of going up in smoke, slow and burning and so good.“Yeah?” Will murmurs, realization dawning on him, eyes wide. “One more?”

or: Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.

Utterly depressing this is anonymous because the writing is phenomenal. So alive and vivid. Not sure where this fic was hiding, but I'm glad I found it. Highlights: Mike’s inner dialogue, the playfulness between them, the lowered inhibitions finally letting them relax into the moment.

nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face) by wheelersboy @karenchildress.

Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.

jo's writing is always fantastic. she has such a unique voice and mike's struggle in this just does things for me.

When The Sun Runs Out by olliecoddle @souverian-are-we

On a dreary day in March, 1989 the population of Hawkins, Indiana dropped to four. Will Byers watched as the final family left, the bed of their truck packed to the brim and tied down with a tarp. Furniture stuck out at odd angles, and the corner flap flailed in the breeze as they turned onto the highway. Will followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared as a dot on the long stretch of pavement. Then, he got in his car and went home.

Or, Will is burning out, and Mike is mesmerized by the flame.

This was sexy as hell and all I'm gonna say is tattoos. I really enjoyed this little rougher around the edges, let down by life, closed off Will after being left in Hawkins alone with El, Hopper, and Joyce to wait for the end of the world that never seems to come.

dirty rain by henrycreel

mike wheeler is an average alpha teenage boy working on keeping tight control of his raging hormones in the wake of being seventeen years old, unmated, and a virgin who's never spent his rut with anyone before. when one of his teachers makes an innocent request of him, he finds himself spiraling almost right away. the omega sitting next to him in class is going to be his omega one way or another even if it means employing some traditional and unconventional means to show him who he belongs to.

will byers is an omega with a tendency toward anxiety and outright fear, marked by years of abuse at the hands of his father. high school should be a chance to open a new chapter for himself, but he only truly finds comfort sitting next to mike, an alpha whose presence seems to keep the usual mocking and bullying at bay. but when mike starts to cross the line from friendly classmate into so much more, will has no time to decide if he's ready to move on to a relationship of his own, to finding a mate to settle down with like his big brother already has.

mike is making the decision for both of them.

A solid Omegaverse fic! <3

[rosie-b]

WIP Reblog Game

Thank you for tagging me @coffeebanana! <3

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

WIP TITLES

(I'm not sure if these wips are supposed to all be partially posted already or not, so here's a mix of fics with potential sequels and multichapter fics)

True Blue - enemies au + kwami swap (Marinette is the Peacock in this one) (it's been nearly a year since I posted the first chapter and I really thought it would be finished by now T^T)

Guilty by Association sequel (probably) - ladrien fake dating post-hawkmoth defeat

For the Sake of a Ring sequel (maybe) - lovesquare multiverse shenanigans before it was cool (unrelated to the paris special)

A Chat Walks Into an Office series (perhaps) - crack, ladrien, and gabriel realizing he's an idiot after an unexpected reveal

Growing Fangs (someday) - canon divergent future au centered on the next generation of heroes (the dupain-cheng kids) (it's been over a year since the last update bc i wrote myself into a ditch and can't get out of it hehe)

(As you might be able to tell, I don't leave most of my fics unfinished for long; I'm normally pretty good at leaving my ideas as oneshots or finishing them quickly.)

UPCOMING SECTIONS

The Gorizilla chapter!!!!! It's gonna be so fun (and an emotional roller coaster)

Ladrien with fake dating!!! The first fic was more-or-less a setup for this exact scenario. The problem: I have roughly no ideas for which direction to take this series atm

Ok, so this fic will be the battle scene from Adrien's pov, featuring many different universes' Ladybugs. I came up with one Marinette who is literally a rose and I love her so much so I'm most excited to try to incorporate her story (gonna be a challenge though)

Finishing the series. I might honestly end it where it is, but I do have a draft of Hawk Moth meeting Ladybug and explaining what happened (she doesn't believe him, of course, and she's very concerned for her partner)

Ok, after the decade-long timeskip, Chat and Ladybug will start off as the main heroes. However, they'll be forced to give their Miraculous to their kids for Reasons™, and I am very excited to get to that part and what happens afterwards (i swear i have a plan, it's just i keep getting sidetracked)

I get distracted by new ideas all the time, so the only 100% guaranteed updates are for True Blue (within a month) and Growing Fangs (before I die). BUT. I will be motivated to work on the other sequels if you guys vote for them or leave comments/tags saying you'd like to read them!

So:

10 new people to tag is a lot, so let's see: @lady-de-mon-coeur, @nemaliwrites, @marimbles, @chai-ki, @aidanchaser, @deinde-prandium, @ninadove, @fragileizy, and @hamsteriffic (no pressure, of course! and sorry if i re-tagged you)

[findafight]

WAIT OKAY I just read your supernatural st au and AHHHHH now I need that one too holy shit token human Steve!! Token human Steve!!!

Even here everyone’s just like I love him he’s a neat little guy he’s literally thrown himself around and been mortally wounded for the party when he’s literally the only human and everyone’s just like - him!!!! Selkie Robin and how they find out they’re soulmates!! Aaahh!!!! And that final line…… I am obsessed putting in my little request for a full fic when you can, pretty please!!!

Anon you're spoiling meeeee I love you I love hearing from people who like my writing/ideas!! Original post

This one is definitely something that has high potential of me actually writing too. Because like, yeah. The Party is Marge Simpson "I just think they're neat" potato meme about Steve. He's so shaped.

This has a readmore because it's actually got two different mini scenes in it. Enjoy~~~ (also note I included a bit of another non kinky kinkmeme prompt about supernatural baby sitter Steve in this!)

I imagine a scene where Dustin, early fall of '85, is complaining to Lucas and Mike about another failed attempt to get Steve Officially (as he can't actually be Pack unless he KNOWS he's pack, ya feel? Like he IS their pack but also he doesn't know so not really but yes but no...) In their pack at lunch, and Eddie, who as mentioned is a vampire that feeds off energy and is therefore The Most Dramatic Bitch Ever, overhears and is like

"Steve? Steve Harrington is part of your Pack??"

And Dustin goes "well he would if he stopped being DENSE about it!!! We've been trying to tell him-"

"you've been trying to tell him" says Mike.

"-since before Christmas last year! But he keeps thinking we're-"

"you're-"

"-talking about DnD!!"

Eddie is just a little shocked his newest sheepies have been trying for nine months to tell Steve, King Steve, of all people, that his preppy human ass is such a firm part of their Pack that they haven't given up on telling him.

Lucas pipes up. "To be fair to Steve, he was concussed before Christmas last year, and then again this summer."

Dustin shakes his head. "Need to get the guy a helmet. Protect the braincells he has left."

"did he have any to begin with?"

"oh, can it, Mike." Lucas says. "At least he knows about Robin, now. So maybe you should ask her for help. He believed her!"

Ohhh? Eddie was curious, because he had heard certain...rumours, about a Robin and her possible tie to Steve Harrington.

Dustin scoffs. "Okay, yeah, but she's his literal actual soulmate who he still refuses to date, and she transformed in front of him. But I don't want to freak him out. A seal is one thing, a wolf is another!"

"Dustin, you're basically a dachshund."

"fuck right off"

Eddie waves his hands in front of them. "Wait wait wait. Are you talking about Robin Buckley? The selkie in the marching band with Gareth?" The sheepies nod. "You're saying Steve Harrington, former captain of laundry basket sport-"

"actually pretty sure he wasn't ever basketball captain, just swim team-"

"-former Head Jock, is dorky little Robin Buckley's soulmate? Like full on, Selkie coat magic woo woo, Soulmate?"

They all nod, but it's Lucas who speaks. "Yeah. They worked together over the summer. Became, like, inseparable. She told him in August sometime I think."

Eddie does not know how to process that.

-----

ALSO!!!

I imagine Steves parents sitting him down, after his nineteenth birthday (which I headcanon as April first) and very carefully explaining to him that Monsters Are Real.

And Steve sitting there, nearly eight months into knowing that, trying to pretend he doesn't. Pretending that since Robin told him she was a Selkie and the Party told him about being werewolves, he'd sort of, kind of, become any supernatural beings' go to babysitter. Sort of.

It started with a litter of pups he stumbled across in the woods who seemed really friendly for being abandoned in the woods and welcomed the water he brought them and the ear scritches he gave, that he didn't even realize were werewolf children until a couple came crashing through the trees frantically and stopped to watch as he helped a puppy get a leaf off its paw. And the pups are waggled over to the woman and the man looked at Steve with a twitchy nose and then Steve realized they were scenting him because ohhhh. Werewolves.

And Steve went "uh. I think they forgot how to change back? Good luck?" And left. Because what else was he going to do?

So it became a thing. Little magical creatures were told that if all else fails, Steve Harrington will make sure you're safe and looked after until your parents could get to them. He amassed a Rolodex of the contact info near-human folk of Hawkins, and a reputation for being a damn good babysitter. And also somehow having a gaggle of kids around him whenever he went to the park.

So his parents go on and on about things Steve already knows about and he's wondering why they're telling him all of it and also how they know and then they mention how these things are dangerous. How they must be removed. Destroyed. Killed.

Because that's what Harringtons do, they hunt monsters in the night and keep the good, normal, human folks of america safe.

And Steve, who knows that there are supernatural creatures in Hawkins; who knows what actual monsters in Hawkins look like and has hit them with a spiked bat and an axe; who can't go three blocks before some pup or fae or gnome or whatever decides to follow him like a duckling; who little lost kids of all shapes and sizes flock to in order to get back home; sits there and listens as his parents tell him how to kill them. How to salt and burn the remains.

He grips the edge of the table with white knuckles and purposefully evens his breath. He will not betray The Party, or Robin, or any of the families who have found a safe haven in Hawkins to live their lives peacefully. And isn't it ironic, that the place the Harringtons supposedly live, the place they are barely in because of legitimate business and the family business takes them across the country, is a hotbed for supernatural activity. It happened right under their noses, and their only son and heir was at the centre of it. The Human in a Pack of werewolves, platonic soulmate to a Selkie, potential.... something to a vampire, babysitter of all the little creatures of the county.

So Steve tries to make a plan. He can't let his parents know that Hawkins is anything but a quiet human town, but he can't let them keep hurting innocents either. It's either a long con of taking up his family mantle and changing things from inside, manipulating the system like he did in highschool to his whims, or dismantling it loudly and more dramatically which could back fire.

Either way, as soon as his parents leave again (for human related business), he takes the family Grimoire, his birthright, and calls an All Party Meeting.

He slams the tome onto the table and says, simply,

"we've got a problem"

[toburnup]

howdy viooooo! As I was reading “the eye” I was wondering if your process has changed since beginning iylo? Each chapter maintains a sense of the whole, and yet they’re all so different. I’m still in awe, and am hoping you could reflect a bit on being closer to the end of the story than the beginning.

ahh this has been at the back of my mind since i received it - a fucking good and challenging question!!!

the biggest change overall in the chapters themselves is the pacing, and that really impacts how i write. more than i realized.

the first arc (hawkins) is very slow moving, it's all about them getting to know each other. the vignette style lent itself well because steve and eddie were having these fragmented interactions. they were involved but not actually integrated into each others lives even though they were spending a significant amount of time together.

in the original draft, the hawkins portion was very short (just a brief fwb-style fling). the story was always about the move to the city and the subsequent years. but then i ended up expanding on the hawkins portion, but even so, that always felt like i was writing about the past.

the second arc (the city) and specifically where we are now, feels like the present for them. they're fully part of each others lives, they have overlapping social groups, they spend free time together by choice. but that also means i can't just... skip weeks at a time like i did before, not without feeling like i'm skipping important moments. each conversation feels like it's developing something rather than healing and i'm like !! AHHH ! struggling with that a bit.

re: process, the chapters are taking significantly longer to finish. the chapters themselves are covering less time, but there's still plenty happening. they're having full conversations because they're finally starting to understand each other, so i don't feel like i can chop them up as i used to. early-iylo steve was pretty focused on himself, and he tended to notice what was important/relevant to him and nothing else, and now he's noticing more things outside of that, so conversations are LONGER because he's actually paying attention lmao.

i never anticipated this to be a year-long project, but i really appreciate people sticking with it. on getting closer to the end... i'm scared, but i think that's normal. i'm scared people are losing interest, but like. that's the nature of fandom. and i'm determined to finish this fic no matter what, even if i'm just writing for a handful of people by the end.

still can't believe this started as a oneshot. it's nearly at 200k now. oops.

[hils79]

Hils Watches The King's Avatar - Ep 40

It doesn't feel like 5 minutes ago that I started this drama. It's so very bingeable.

It's been a real journey. None of this has been what I expected beyond the very basic concept of 'it's a drama about esports'. There have been so many wonderful surprises. There are characters that I hated that I now love, characters that I loved that I now love even more, and more ships than I ever expected to ship.

While I'm at it I want to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has popped up in the replies to my posts or in my asks to either answer my questions or just yell about their favourite characters. I can tell this drama (and the novel and donghua) are so well loved and liveblogging this has really felt like a community experience. Thank you for not laughing at all the stuff I got wrong and for not making fun of me for shipping everyone. It's really been so wonderful and I almost don't want to press play on the final episode because I don't want it to be over.

But I need to see what happens so let's go!

Ah, okay. I misunderstood what happened at the end of the last episode. I thought they'd lost the game but no they could still win they just didn't have enough points to win the championship.

Is there going to be some loophole like the whole 'oh the ref's watch broke so actually you won'

HAHA! I fucking knew it! They got an extra two points for beating a league record. Because apparently that is a rule that has never been mentioned until now.

Eh, whatever. There was a nice moment with the fans before the found out they'd won

Ye Xiu finally gets the hug that he's needed since episode 1

Good lord how is there 30 minutes left? What's going to happen now that they've won?

God I hope Sun Xiang punches him

Except of course he won't because he's all grown up now. Also, typically it's the coaches/managers that get fired when a team does badly. I hope he gets booted

Love Shaotian dragging Wenzhou to his feet so he can cheer

Remember when their entire fanbase was just this guy. I'm definitely not crying at all

Look at that little half smile. He's grown so much considering they only lost on a technicality. I do think he's at least a little bit happy for Ye Xiu as the better player (for now)

GDI I can't believe I'm crying over Sun Xiang AGAIN

LOL remember when I thought he was going to be the antagonist of the drama when I watched the first episode. How wrong I was

Haha yes let's have a little joke about the time when I nearly banned you for life in the middle of an important game and caused your team to lose as a result

I have in no way been thinking about writing some King's Avatar fic with one based on the fact that Ye Xiu passes out after one drink

HAHA! Mo Fan pretended to pass out too so he doesn't have to talk to anyone. He is such a mood

Oh shit! I did not see that coming!

Oh no he looks so sad to see his former team like this, and it's understandable. He built that team from the ground up and put so much time and work into making them the legends they were

Yes, good. Baozi is cuddling one of his boyfriends as he should

Ah, yay, I'd forgotten about the team graphic. Time to add one more person right before the end

And finished! That was wonderful! Definitely in my top 5 dramas that I've watched this year. Might even be the number one, actually. I definitely should have watched that years ago when people first told me to give it a try. But, you know, I firmly believe you find things when you were meant to find them. Now was good.

I'll be starting a new drama tomorrow. If you were just here for my King's Avatar posts it's been lovely to have you. If you're sticking around for other liveblogs I'll see you tomorrow for more yelling :D

[ughgoaway]

Heyyyyyy! I’ve been off tumblr since the holidays and just wanted to check in and say hey! How’ve you been? Happy new year!

I was using the sunflower emoji to sign off my previous asks (I always signed off with three emojis) and noticed over the break someone else adopted it (literally no worries at all — I can’t even keep track of what’s claimed and what isn’t lol) so I’m going to adopt 🔮🔮🔮 from now on lol.

Anyway just wanted to let you know the most recent blurb w/ Annie meeting her brother is eeeeverythinggggg to me and I need more. It was nice coming back on tumblr and catch up on the blurbs I missed. The teacher!au is one of my favorite fics I’ve ever read and I’ve missed the little family!!!

Also — I saw you’re post about how you’ve always thought Annie to end up with a character from another fic on tumblr and it just got me wondering what Mattys reaction would be to Annie dating/getting into her first relationship when she’s older. lol I can see him being really excited for her but also freaking out and wonder what you would think?

Lots of love!! - 🔮🔮🔮

hi my love!!! oh it's so great to hear from you!! this year has been a little shit so far, but its getting better for me! how about you???

I'm so sorry about the emoji mix up! although, you have chosen a very good replacement imo. for future reference for everyone, I have a list of claimed emoji anons in my pinned post so people know what's taken and what's not :)))) (i'll add you to it now <3)

omgggg I'm so glad you enjoyed the blurb, it was so fun to write. I love thinking about their little family growing :)))) it's so lovely to have you back and I hope you enjoyed your catch up!!! teacher au is one of your fav fics ever??? I am actually gonna cry??? oh I love youuuuuuu!!!!

oh yes... Matty's reaction would be interesting to say the least.

(rambles below the cut as usual <3)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

I think he would start off just in complete denial. He refuses to believe that his little girl has a CRUSH?? or even worse, SHE'S DATING SOMEONE????

obviously, he wants her to be happy and find love, but in his head, she is a BABY. like, no, she is not 14 years old. She was born yesterday, actually.

Annie tells you about it first. I think she wants your help her break it to her dad because she knows he will have... mixed feelings. so you sit down together to tell him, and it's just... silence for a good few seconds.

"Huh? no, no. say it again, think I misheard you, sweetheart. "

"I said I have a boyfriend"

"Oh. okay, definitely heard you right then"

but being the good dad he is, he puts on a brave face for her, "That's great peanut! what's his name? how long have you been together?"

Annie gets all shy and blushy when she explains, she doesn't give his name, but she does tell him they've been together for a month now. matty nearly does a spit take at how long he's been unaware, but holds it in and just coughs awkwardly instead.

"I'm so happy for you baby, just make sure he treats you good, yeah?"

Annie nods and assures her dad she won't let him be a dick to her (matty would normally scold her for swearing but he can't muster the energy right now), and she runs off giggling upstairs because the boy in question has just rung her.

and he is genuinely happy for her, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make him feel ancient, "dating. she's dating. oh god, I think I'm officially old. i have a DAUGHTER who is DATING???"

you comfort him and laugh lightly at his reaction, which only makes him groan and bury his face in your neck. "m'sorry baby, your reaction was just too funny. from what she's told me, he seems lovely. even writers her notes in class"

matty then shoots back and eyes you suspiciously, "Wait. you already knew? she told you before me?" his voice is squeaky as he processes the betrayal.

"Sweetheart, you can't blame her! girls always tell their mums these kind of things first. she just wanted my help to tell you anyway." That soothes matty a bit. The fact that Annie wanted to share this part of her life with him at all was something he valued massively.

"Wait. she said he sends her notes. Did she show you any?" You nod, and matty immediately starts grilling you for information.

"I can't tell you anything, Matthew, girl code!" Of course he pouts and tries to get you to crumble by pressing kisses up your neck. but you stay firm (mostly) and don't tell him ANYTHING.

now, who is Annie dating? I like to think it's someone with a connection to the boys, not baby hann - those two are more like cousins. and in this universe, George and Ross aren't parents yet. so maybe a nephew from one of them?

I think her and George's nephew could be VERY interesting... especially when those two find out about the romance lmaooooo

[sirensorisons]

i can't believe it's finally happening.

in early 2012, i picked the hunger games up off the shelf at my school library on a whim. my eldest sister hates reading, but i remembered that this was one of the few books she'd actually enjoyed, so i figured it couldn't be bad. not long after i finished reading, i learned that it would be adapted for the big screen.

on a school trip in april, me and so many of my classmates were caught up in hunger games mania. we tried our hand at being katniss with archery and pretended to be tributes in the woods. i wrote a couple chapters of some horrible self-insert fanfiction that's been lost to time, where my oc was bffs with some of my favorite characters: annie cresta and finnick odair.

throughout middle and high school, i made note of the release dates for every hunger games film, and i went to see catching fire and mockingjay part 1 in theaters. i revisited the series with a keener eye when i was a little older, and i began to understand the true literary genius of it.

for my last high school english assignment in 2018, we were allowed to do anything we wanted. earlier that year, our teacher had said something disparaging about the literary merit of the trilogy, so i decided made a short video about the series, fan films, and 1984.

on june 17, 2019, i learned for the first time that suzanne collins was working on a prequel, set to release on may 19, 2020. i learned at the same time that a movie adaptation was already in the works. i was skeptical when i heard it would be about president snow, but this series had captured my heart seven years prior, so there was no way i was passing this up. i preordered the book as soon as i could.

when it came in the mail on my twentieth birthday, i read the ballad of songbirds and snakes in that single day, for twelve hours straight. when i finally put it down, i'd managed to give myself a nasty eyestrain headache, but i was so, so happy.

i followed the production of the film with interest, as closely as i could with information made publicly available by actors, producers, and fans. i was always excited to share what i'd learned with my parents, and eventually, we were calling it my movie.

last year, in the last few days of august, i embarked on a mission to write a canon-compliant fanfiction about another one of my favorite characters, johanna mason. i posted the first chapter of "as long as i'm burning" in september, and i would write nearly 150k words between then and this past march.

although the fic has been on hiatus since then due to my copious mental issues, alaib and the canon series have been at the forefront of my mind all year. i started to regularly edit the hunger games wiki in may, and i've made over 2000 edits since then. last month, i even made my own private wiki for alaib on miraheze.

i cannot express how much this series means to me. the book release for tbosas genuinely kept me alive in some of my darkest days, and the movie is keeping me going every day even now. i love the world, its characters, and its commentary on our world. i love its message of hope and recovery in such cruel, dire circumstances. i love its love for kindness, freedom, and justice.

and i love that i get to share it with all of you. because even though i had nothing to do with its creation, tbosas feels so deeply personal to me. in my heart it's my movie, and i can't wait for everyone to be able to see it.

i've queued this over a week in advance because i don't expect to be nearly so coherent the day of. at time of posting, i should be heading into the theater, and the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes will be beginning any minute now.

this has been such an incredible journey. i'll see you in a few hours.

[naranjapetrificada]

I just wanted to comment on seeing a favorite author suddenly write something that feels way out of left field. I'm from SPN fandom. I've seen Destiel writers who write them beautifully and understand every facet of the canon and characters perfectly turn around and write graphic Wincest. Some of these authors do this to, in their words, challenge themselves to write something so against canon just as well as their main pairing. Some others do so just because the actors are hot, even though it'd never be canon and squicks a lot of people out.

There's the very rare author who does this because they actually ship Wincestiel and started with just Destiel in order to ease readers into the Wincest side of it. I have even seen an untagged graphic incestous sex scene in the middle of otherwise wholly Destiel-centered fanfic. I've lost a formerly favorite author that way and haven't been able to touch even their works in other fandoms because of it.

Basically what my rambling boils down to is that I get how it feels to see something like that out of the blue from a favorite author. I am wholly on the side of ship and let ship and authors writing whatever they want since in the end it's just a story, but I am even more firmly on the side of tagging properly. Missing scene and canon divergent do coexist but they are not synonymous. If Ed and Stede suddenly are banging Zheng on the beach, that's canon divergent at the least since that would never happen in canon. Just like Sam and Dean suddenly going at it while Dean's nearly suicidal over a dead Cas would never happen in canon and it should be labeled that way!

So yeah, all that's basically me agreeing and nodding along with you about being weirded out when that happens.

Thank you for reaching out anon, because I was honestly starting to Feel Ways about it all. It also makes me feel like it was worth discussing in public, which is a habit I have developed over the years after being burned when discussing things in private in fandom spaces.

Believe it or not, when I first started trying to make sense of it all my first thought was that it was an experiment or a writing exercise like what you describe. I've seen that kind of thing before and not batted an eye, but it's usually acknowledged as such in an author's note or something. Last time I checked that wasn't the case here.

I should also say that I've regularly seen and scrolled past non-canonical ships of all kinds, in this fandom and others, but it's like you said, how something is presented matters so much. Also also I should make it clear that I'm less bothered by the more recent trio example than I was the Stizzy one, because presenting Stizzy as anything but canon divergent raises uncomfortable questions about race and gender stuff that can't be ignored. Or at least it can't be ignored by me.

But like I said I guess this is my fault for taking things by author instead of on a fic to fic basis. Subscribing to an author: not even once.

[apollos-boyfriend]

I run until I begin to understand (what holy men really mean)

the handwriting within is familiar, almost as if he's seen it before. that can't be, though, as the leather-bound journal looks to be nearly 50 years old, at least, and from the sheer amount of dust and cobwebs he'd shaken from it, it must've been hiding back here for at least half as long as that. most of it is written in a shimmery purple ink, although certain parts have since been crossed out with a deep black, rendering them illegible. the front page only reads, "captain's log." there are no dates, only days, resetting once after day 100 and ending abruptly after day 110.

tubbo realizes the crossed out sections must have once been names, and can't help but wonder if that was the doing of the original owner, or another person entirely. there is one name—or, more accurately, one title—that hasn't been crossed out, almost as if the person who did it didn't have the heart to go through with it.

"My Lady," it reads, causing something ineffable to tug on tubbo's heart.

OR:

tubbo has never considered himself a religious man. maybe, at the start of it all, he could've been, but after all the war and bloodshed he's seen, he can't find it in himself to believe in anything but a cold, uncaring void. when he stumbles into an old, tattered journal in the depths of eret's archive, though, he begins to reconsider that stance, setting out to return it to its original owner, and maybe get some answers along the way, even if they don't end up being the ones he was looking for.

[send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it]

[coconutcordiale]

Yay! Congrats on the 1k, babes!! You know I love your writing so I’d love a drabble. How about for the closer prompt? BB x reader or hangster. I love them both. ❤️

hours don't turn into days (pt one)

full fic on ao3

pairing- rooster x hangman

synopsis-

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

or, bradley's struggling post-mission and hangman keeps calling him for some reason

warnings- 18+ explicit sexual content (blow jobs, anal sex, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, orgasm delay), angst, anxiety, bradley bradshaw's bummer of a life

length- 7.7k

an- MONTHS LATER i'm so sorry ash hahahaha

i'm back!!!! school is still kicking my ass so i can't be as active as i used to but i'm baaaack kinda. i've been posting this on ao3 (the chaps are split up nicer on there but i'm lazy so it'll be 2 parts on here) but since i finally got to the point that kicked off this whole fic - the lovely ASH requesting "make me" with hangster i figured i'd post the first few chapters on here as well. linking the fic on ao3 if you'd prefer to read there. fair warning....i've not scratched the surface of the angst that is planned for this one

Me carrying this mess Is tearing me to shreds I’m so far away from what I need From here it’s hard to breathe

hours – again&again

Bradley’s been measuring his life in hours since the moment he added up the first page in his logbook. He still remembers the excitement of penciling in that 11.4 of flight time into the bottom, already feeling as cool as Maverick, already one step closer to flying as close as he could to a mustached blonde guy and his bright Hawaiian shirts.

It took three hours for him and Mav to talk, actually talk, and hash things out, tears falling as they soothed old hurts and cautiously built new promises. Took them half that to even start.

Took one hour before he left his mother’s bedside, to believe she was gone, but Bradley tries his best not to think about that hour.

All that to say, it’s been nearly a thousand hours since Bradley came back to his stale East coast house that’s never really felt like home. A thousand hours since Hangman showed up in Virginia Beach, seeing as the Navy’s favorite way to say thank you for saving the lives of fellow pilots and surviving the un-survivable is to uproot someone's life and toss them across the country with little to no afterthought.

Phoenix got reassigned to Oceana too, but Phoenix’s presence across from him in the dim lighting of Haddy’s Bar isn’t trying to make Bradley lose his mind.

The problem with being near Hangman post mission – in light of the tenuous truce they’ve struck, with the debt Bradley feels like he owes him – is that no matter how many decent interactions he has with the guy, that flighty feeling in his stomach every time he sees him out of the corner of his eyes never seems to go away.

Must be his anxiety.

“Bradshaw.” Phoenix’s voice is sharp, slicing through the haze in his mind. She waves a hand in front of his face, annoyed. “Bradshaw.”

Bradley shakes his head, clears his throat. “Sorry, zoned out. What were you asking?”

She rolls her eyes, albeit mostly fond, he thinks. “You ever gonna bring the Bronco out here? You’ve been stationed here for, what, two years and you’re still keeping your most prized possession in California?”

Bradley blinks. Two years. He didn’t realize it had been that long and opens his mouth to admit it when he glances up, words dying on the tip of his tongue as he catches sight of blonde hair moving across the bar, amidst a group of pilots Bradley recognizes as VFA-37.

He wonders how Hangman feels about trading out the Vigilantes for the Ragin Bulls, wonders if Hangman insists on wearing his khakis because he knows how good he looks in them.

Then kicks himself for wondering.

Hangman grins when he clocks them, sauntering over like the cat he clearly was in a past life. “Bradshaw, as I –”

Phoenix shakes her head in disgust. “Nope. Not this again.”

Hangman mimes zipping his lips. The fact that he actually shuts up is a testament to how much the dynamic has changed since the mission.

Bradley tries, really tries, not to look but he can’t help the way his eyes flick to Hangman’s lips where they’re turned up slightly, a miniature version of his signature smirk. Phoenix’s derision is the only thing keeping him from saying something stupid at this point.

It doesn’t go unnoticed if the glint appearing in the other man’s green eyes is anything to go by.

“Hangman.” He nods, somewhere in the realm of normal, he thinks.

A blonde eyebrow quirks, telling him he wasn’t even close. “Cool shirt, birdie.”

Bradley wants to protest the obvious sarcastic slander of his muted yellow and white shirt, which is frankly pretty tame but can’t be bothered to put any real heat into his tone. “I see you’re still allergic to civvies."

Hangman lets out a chuckle, his face bright and open for a fleeting second before schooling his features back into something more familiar. “How could I not be, when I make khakis look this good?”

Bradley’s gaze leaves Hangman’s face yet again to rake up and down his form, almost involuntarily, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he barrels through his last remaining shred of subtlety.

Hangman looks like he might have some choice teasing about that little display, but his squad is waving at him with extra beers in their hands, trying for the blonde’s attention.

“Sorry to cut and run.” Hangman tilts his head in the direction of the pool table they’ve taken over towards the back. “But I’ve got some fuckin’ new guys to put in their place.”

Bradley decidedly does not stare at his ass as he saunters away. “How is he not the FNG in this squad?”

Phoenix snorts, ignoring his whining as per usual. “Glad to see him saving your life hasn’t spared the rest of us from being subjected to your shameless sexual tension.”

“It’s just regular tension because we don’t like each other very much. You only think it’s sexual because we’re both attractive.”

Pure glee immediately takes over her wry expression. “So, you do think he’s hot.”

“Christ,” Bradley sighs, the word coming out more clipped than Phoenix probably deserves. “Yes, Tash, I have eyes.”

Eyes that can currently see the line of Hangman’s throat as it works to swallow half of his beer in one go.

“Don’t bite my head off, Bradshaw,” she chastises. “I was wary when I heard he was coming to Virginia too, but insufferable horniness aside it does seem like things have changed between you two. For the better, I’d say.”

“Sorry,” Bradley says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t know what his angle is lately. Maybe he wants to feel better about being such a dick for so long. Maybe I’ll feel better when he’s done.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow, and he tries not to balk at the contempt she manages in one minuscule expression. “Yeah, because you’ve always been your most cool-headed with him.”

Bradley makes a face. “Fine, I could probably stand to stop being a dick to him too.”

“There may still be some hope for you yet.” She tips her empty glass toward him. “Now extend that newfound graciousness in this direction and get me another beer.”

+

As nice as it is to have Phoenix on the same side of the country with him for once, Bradley still feels off-kilter.

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

The issue is on the ground. And it’s always worse just after a hop, just after he’s pleased to finally have his head clearing, crossing his fingers that it’ll last.

He must be obvious because Hangman lingers after getting ready for a flight of his own, leaning against the locker next to Bradley’s, arms crossed but relaxed as ever. “Y’all looked good up there.”

Bradley nods, curt. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches out between them, only muffled voices moving down the hallway outside the locker room and the plink plink plink of the dripping showers to be heard.

“You good, Bradshaw?”

“Peachy,” Bradley responds gruffly, slamming his locker door with a little more force than is probably necessary. He’d feel bad for his complete shutdown of Hangman’s attempts at friendliness, for doing the exact opposite of what he promised Phoenix he’d do if he could string together a single coherent thought.

As it stands, his brain feels like it’s been in a blender on high, so he nods goodbye to the blonde and makes his way to his car without registering a single other face he passes.

When he gets tired of aimlessly wandering around his house and only half-finishing tasks, he runs. Black New Balances pounding the pavement, lungs burning. It could be three miles or thirteen, he has no idea. It should tell him something about the state of his brain that a man who previously avoided cardio – as much as anyone in the military can actually avoid it – has no idea if he just ran a half-marathon.

It would tell him something. If he were at all interested in listening.

When he finally looks up from the cracks in the sidewalk a new problem becomes apparent; he has no idea where he is. His legs are starting to feel like jelly, putting a mark in that half-marathon column.

Bradley pulls up Uber, not even bothering to consider running back home. It’s twenty minutes out and he tries not to grumble too much about having to wait. It’s his own fault anyways.

Just when he’s looking for a way to bide his time on his phone, Hangman’s name flashes across his screen.

Why the hell is Seresin calling him?

“Hello?” Bradley asks tentatively, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Rooster,” Hangman drawls.

“Yes?”

“What’re you up to?”

“What?”

“Currently,” Hangman says, enunciating every syllable, slowly like he thinks Bradley might be stupid. He probably has a leg to stand on; Bradley feels pretty stupid right now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Bradley rubs the back of his neck awkwardly even though Jake can’t see him, “in Mount Trashmore Park.”

Hangman snorts. “Doing what? Watching your brothers and sisters fly around?”

“Ran here. Waiting for an Uber back home but it’s a ways out.”

“You ran there.” It’s not even a question. His tone is clipped, dry, and flat. Bradley can practically hear the judgmental curl of his lips through the line.

He grunts. Why doesn’t he just hang up? “Yep.”

Bradley hears the other man exhale, wondering if he imagines the amusement that comes across as just a little staticky. “You know, most people run in a loop. I know you’re new to this whole cardio thing, but it makes it easier.”

“Thanks, never thought of that before,” Bradley deadpans. “Did you just call to give me unsolicited personal training advice or was there something you needed?”

“Cancel your Uber, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bradley stares at the phone in his hand quizzically for a good thirty seconds after Hangman ends the call. Weighs his options. It’s easier not to argue, honestly, as stubborn as Bradley is, he knows Seresin can be just as much of an immovable object when he wants to be. He cancels the ride after a little deliberation, left to the muddled nonsense that’s made up his brain since the mission.

The breeze feels nice on his face, at least. The leaves always look pretty this time of year. It’s something he misses, when he’s home in California, the only downside to eternal summer sunshine.

True to his word, Hangman’s unnecessary F-150 pulls up eight minutes later.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks in lieu of a greeting after Bradley’s buckled his seatbelt, magnanimous like he thinks he’s doing Bradley a favor.

Bradley decides to ignore the fact that he kind of is.

He aims to keep the crisp air out of his voice, trying his hand at Hangman’s brand of measured casualness. “Talk about what?”

Hangman rolls his eyes. Bradley refuses to let his hackles raise, unclenching his fist where it lays next to his thigh one finger at a time.

“You’ve hated running ever since I’ve known you. I have quite literally never witnessed you run by choice.”

“It’s bad for me to start taking care of my cardiovascular health?”

The blonde sighs, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, jade gaze on the road in front of him. Bradley finds himself wondering how much energy it’s costing him, to skirt this close to compassion. “You live at least ten miles from here.”

“So?”

“This is kind of a shitty area, dude.”

Bradley shrugs. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Hangman lets out a frustrated huff. Bradley knows he’s being deliberately obtuse but can’t find it in himself to care, so he looks out the window, counting the cookie-cutter houses as they drive by.

“Look – I – you don’t have to talk to me,” Hangman says when they pull up in front of Bradley’s little craftsman house. It's clear this is even more uncomfortable for him than it is for Bradley. “There are definitely better options. But you should talk to someone. It’s obvious, it’s been obvious, that something’s off with you.”

“My flying’s fine,” Bradley responds tightly. Great, actually. Better than ever. The only thing that feels right these days, he doesn’t say.

“Your flying isn’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

Bradley fights a full-body cringe. They’re treading far too close to something Bradley has been professionally avoiding since the mission. Since before, if he’s being honest. Introspection has never been where he shines.

“Thanks for the ride,” Bradley says pointedly, getting out of the car determined to remain steady on his feet in front of the other man even though his legs feel like they’d give out underneath him at any moment.

“You’re welcome, Bradshaw. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Only after Bradley shuts his front door behind him does he realize that Hangman never told him why he called in the first place.

The word maybe was beginning to annoy me, because the only thing that was fixed was that maybe would be with me forever.

- Markus Zusak, Underdog

Even at the height of their antagonism, Bradley has always been able to recognize that Hangman’s attractive. Everyone knows he’s attractive. Hangman knows he’s attractive, with his broad shoulders and a slim waist, that dimple that everyone’s eyes are drawn to whenever he wants them to be.

It’s not Hangman’s fault, not really. The guy’s magnetic; always has been. It used to grate on Bradley, the ease at which Hangman carries himself, the way he makes everything look natural – it’s never once failed in its mission to make Bradley feel inadequate.

Until now. Now, he watches pink lips curl into a smirk and all he can think of is biting them red.

He just doesn’t remember ever looking quite this much. Hangman’s always been on the periphery of his radar but lately, it’s more like Hangman’s a flame and Bradley the moth doomed to its death. Bradley makes a point not to sleep with coworkers, and it truly is a terrible idea in this case. Even though they’re on different squadrons it’d be reckless to upset this new balance they’re coming to. Not friends, exactly, but a sort of peace treaty, nonetheless.

A peace treaty that Bradley considers lighting fire to every time Hangman bends over the pool table to reach an impossible shot.

Maybe he just needs to get laid. Celibacy is clearly fucking with his head.

Because none of his internal crisis seems to matter with the way Hangman’s drawl gets a little syrupier as he straightens up so he can look down at the redhead in front of him, laughing as she meets his sarcasm with quips of her own. Red nails, a shade brighter than her hair, wrap around Hangman’s arm, inching underneath where the sleeve of his uniform strains against his bicep.

Bradley looks away. Tries to focus on Phoenix and her new backseater Cage across from him at their high top. Fails. Why did he choose to sit so close to the pool table anyway?

She’s beautiful. Her laugh is lyrical and gorgeous, but it settles uncomfortably underneath Bradley’s skin. He’s refusing to think too hard about why that is.

He knows he’s getting more and more unbearable to be around, quiet and sullen and surly for no apparent reason. He’s only had two beers but figures it’s time to go home as he ambles to the bar; before everyone gets a glimpse of the real, moody Bradley they’d probably rather not know.

“Close me out instead?” He asks when Isaac makes his way over, holding up an unopened beer in silent question.

Isaac’s eyebrows raise but he nods, taking Bradley’s proffered card without any questioning.

“Gonna head out,” Bradley tells Phoenix and Cage when he returns empty-handed.

“I want to give you a hard time for bailing so early when we have a full day off tomorrow, but I know your students were a pain in the ass today, so I guess I’ll let it slide,” Phoenix grumbles. “Plus, old men need extra beauty rest.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, tone dry, even though the smile twitching underneath his mustache carries nothing but fondness. “Back in my day, we went to bed at a reasonable hour but thanks so much for the mitigated support, Tash.”

Phoenix tilts her beer at him. “Anything for you, birdie.”

Bradley tries not to clench his jaw at her use of Hangman’s nickname for him, adding his visceral reaction to the list of things he is adamantly not-thinking-too-hard-about.

When Bradley tosses a lazy salute in goodbye over towards Hangman and Red, something unreadable flashes across those sharp green eyes but before he can make heads or tails of it, it’s gone. He’s out the door and driving home in a daze moments later anyways, hoping the couple of beers he’s had will shut his brain up long enough for him to fall asleep.

+

Bradley's cursing the country station he’s had on in his car as of late, wondering which stupid song convinced him beer was the answer to the muddled nonsense that's been making up his brain. As he stares up at the ceiling fan and its endless circles, trying to decide at what point he should just give up on going back to sleep and do something productive, he hears his phone buzz, a text from Hangman lighting up the screen.

You up?

Bradley snorts in amusement as he replies, think u have me confused with that redhead from the bar

He watches the three dots in their message thread appear and disappear a few times, brows furrowing as he sends another text, u need a ride home?

Maybe they’re not friends but Bradley probably owes him one after the whole park debacle.

Hangman calls him almost immediately after the text shows as delivered and Bradley’s so confused, he picks up on the second ring.

“You good?”

The shaky exhale across the line answers that but he hears the blonde’s voice a moment later. “Bradshaw, you know the answer to that.”

It feels like a deflection in his ears; Bradley decides not to call him on it because he's nice like that. Or because he's really too tired to be throwing stones. Glass houses and all that. “What’re you doing up? Need a ride or something?” Hangman doesn’t sound drunk, but Bradley feels the need to offer again anyways.

“Could ask you the same thing. No, went home not long after you did.”

Bradley’s a little surprised by that, trying to shrug it off before speaking again. “Sleep and I haven’t been on great terms lately.”

Another shaky exhale. “Yeah, same.”

He could just hang up. Should hang up, probably, and do breathing techniques or count sheep until his mind shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep.

What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Think I’m gonna go to CVS for snacks. Want to come?”

“It’s two in the morning.” There’s the barest hint of amusement coming across the line now and Bradley barely resists feeling too proud about it.

“The one on Booth is open 24/7.”

Hangman huffs out what could be an actual laugh or what might be an extreme form of judgment. “You would make me get out of bed for sour straws in the middle of the night.”

“Says the one that called me. You wanna come or not?”

Hangman grumbles something unintelligible before Bradley can hear the rustling of sheets, what he assumes is the other man getting out of bed. “You better be picking me up.”

+

When Hangman walks out of his house, he can see the blonde looking at him like he doesn’t fully believe he’s there, dark circles prominent underneath his usually flawless golden skin. It shouldn’t be this obvious in the dark, with only the streetlights and full moon to give Bradley enough light to see him.

He wracks his brain trying to remember if Hangman looked this gaunt earlier at Haddy’s, but he’s tired enough to acknowledge that he was a little focused on the way the other man’s khakis stretched over his ass and not so much on his face.

They drive in a comfortable silence that always feels right for this time of night, both humming along to George Strait playing on the radio. Bradley succeeds in keeping his eyes mostly on the road, if only because the pensive way Hangman's staring out the window is freaking him out a little bit.

Four seconds after being under the headache-inducing fluorescent lights of CVS, Hangman wanders off mumbling something about moisturizer that Bradley doesn’t have the mental capacity to needle him about at the moment.

Chips and Nerds gummy clusters, he repeats the other man’s request in his head, because Hangman snacks like a ten-year-old let loose without parents. He throws trail mix into his basket because he’s an adult in his thirties. Even if he is at a drugstore in the middle of the night; with his only company a weird sort of-work-friend and high schoolers whose fake IDs haven’t come in the mail yet.

He slows to a stop in the packed chips aisle, swallowing reflexively as he takes in the selection.

It’s absurd. There must be fifty different kinds of chips in here.

Bradley’s eyes flit left and right, hand halfway to the nearest bag of Doritos. It drops back by his side, fingers flexing against his worn jeans.

His throat is drying, bright colors in myriads of packaging blurring at the edges of where his vision is starting to tunnel. Fluorescent lighting flickers overhead, the floor beneath his Converse shiny and speckled with black marks with absolutely no rhyme or reason.

This is where Hangman finds him, the other man stopping short with undoubtedly overpriced moisturizer in his hands, blonde eyebrows creeping towards his hairline.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I –” Bradley clears his throat, trying to blink the glare out of his eyes. “Wasn’t sure what kind of chips you wanted.”

Hangman plucks a bag of salt and vinegar off the shelf, seemingly at random. “These are fine.”

“Right.” He manages, words scraping against the sandpaper in his throat. “Didn’t get your candy yet, either.”

Hangman gives him a look that’s far too knowing for Bradley’s liking but thankfully doesn’t comment on it, stalking to the candy aisle while Bradley follows him like a lost puppy.

They pay the uninterested cashier who checks them out without even bothering to stop texting her boyfriend before heading back to Bradley’s car, tracing his path back to Jake’s on autopilot.

Hangman is staring straight ahead out of the windshield, measured indifference painted across his angular features. “You wanna come in? I have episodes of Bachelor in Paradise to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Bradley croaks. “Should’ve known you’d be into that crap.”

It must sound even more of a pathetic attempt at snark than it feels because Hangman doesn’t even bother to defend his choice in TV shows, doesn’t take the obvious shot at Bradley’s usually vintage taste.

They settle on a shockingly comfortable grey couch and Jake nods off twenty minutes into the show with his hand still in the bag of trail mix, head lolling onto Bradley’s shoulder. If Bradley’s brain finally shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep only when he can hear the even rhythm of Jake’s breathing and smell the faint spiciness from his cologne, well, that’ll be between him and no one else.

Tell me where it hurts, she’d say. Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where. But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The first thing Bradley thinks when he wakes up with a crick in his neck is that his mouth tastes horrible.

The second is that he’s not sure he’ll recover from the glimpse he catches of Hangman, tiptoeing past him from what’s presumably the bathroom to the kitchen, towel slung low around his waist and hanging on for dear life.

Jesus Christ, Bradley grumbles silently. How hard is it to put on pants when you get out of the shower and not waltz around with maybe-maybe not-friends-probably-still-just-coworkers in your living room? Some of us need our brains in the morning. To think.

“Hey – uh – sorry,” Bradley croaks, easing himself up into a sitting position and trying not to audibly groan since he’s far too old to be sleeping on peoples’ couches. Judging by Hangman’s facial expression, he’s not very successful.

Hangman has a weird look in his eyes. If Bradley didn’t know him any better, he’d think there was a softness there.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Hangman hums noncommittally. Bradley’s brain is still working at half-speed, trying to figure out how strong his coffee needs to be to combat whatever died in his mouth.

“Breakfast?” Hangman asks, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he’s in. “There’s a spare toothbrush or two in the hall bathroom, under the sink.”

“Never took you as the morning-after-breakfast type, Seresin.”

Hangman narrows his eyes, but Bradley doesn’t miss the slight flush rising to his cheekbones. “I’m a fucking gentleman. Shut up.”

Bradley grins, fighting the urge to whistle as he gets up to head towards the bathroom. He’s just glad to have recovered quicker than Hangman for once. When he gets back Hangman is thankfully wearing shorts and standing at the stove pushing egg whites and spinach onto plates with a spatula. Bradley bites down on a joke about his gym bro breakfast since Hangman’s being nice enough to make him food, settling on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Black?” Hangman tosses over his shoulder as he finishes plating.

“Huh?” Bradley asks eloquently, willing his eyes away from Hangman’s back dimples.

Hangman shoots him a look. “Black coffee fine with you? I don’t think I have milk.”

“Yeah, however,” Bradley responds. He’ll blame staying up far too late and sleeping on a couch for how slowly his brain seems to be functioning. “Thanks.”

Hangman waves it off, mumbling something that sounds like it’s nothing before setting Bradley’s food and coffee down in front of him, then circling the counter to sit next to him.

“What got you up so early?”

“Gym,” Hangman mumbles around a mouthful of omelette. It’s disgusting but Bradley’s more nauseated with himself for not being put off by it.

“You got up and worked out already?”

Hangman grins, nudging Bradley with his shoulder conspiratorially. “Yeah, some of us actually like it. Unfathomable, I know.”

“Hey I like it sometimes,” Bradley insists. Faced with Hangman’s skepticism he amends, “Okay, I mostly work out so I don’t hurt myself throwing heavy things around, not because I like it.”

Hangman looks him up and down out of the side of his eyes at that, more subtle than Bradley ever is, but noticeable enough that Bradley fights not to fidget in his seat. One second longer and Bradley’s going to start getting some real idiotic ideas, so he changes the subject. “You going to Rebound’s wedding today?”

Rebound’s an okay guy, one of the pilots on Hangman's new squad. Bradley’s known him since they were both in Pensacola for API. They get along, but Bradley gets along with almost everyone he meets. Present company excluded, at first.

He’s not particularly looking forward to the wedding for some reason. He knows Rebound tends to act single on deployment regardless of relationship status, and Bradley has never understood why you’d bother getting married if that’s not the life you want. He doesn’t know what’s worse – that Rebound might be marrying a girl only to get a boat boo the moment he steps on another aircraft carrier or that he might’ve finally grown up well before Bradley has bothered trying.

Hangman snorts, pulling Bradley out of his selfish deliberation. “Yeah, have to. Only narrowly avoided being a part of the wedding party.”

“He wanted you to be in his wedding, and you’ve known him, what, a month?” Bradley knows the flare of possessiveness that’s flashing through him is not only misplaced but also completely irrational. Rebound’s getting fucking married today, what is his problem?

Hangman blanches. “Don’t act so surprised, Bradshaw.”

Bradley swallows the sorry that wants to leave his lips. “Everyone being obsessed with you is the least surprising thing to happen this week.”

Something indecipherable flashes across Hangman’s face at that but he tries not to read into it much.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” Bradley says awkwardly when they’ve finished eating and making fun of people they work with. “Thanks for breakfast, and for letting me crash, seriously. You didn’t have to.”

“Anytime, Bradshaw,” Hangman answers, clearly not intending to say anything more.

So, they’re not talking about it, then.

+

Bradley tugs at his choker whites where they feel too tight across his collarbones, already regretting wearing them, regretting coming to this wedding at all.

His back is always stiff in a church pew. The hardwood digs into his thighs, the angle of the seat twinging his back. He doesn’t know how people do this every week. Maybe believing in God makes the seats more comfortable.

Hangman settles himself down next to Bradley with the grace of a much smaller man and Bradley tries his best not to react. He looks relaxed on the uncomfortable wood, because does he ever look uneasy? No. Probably grew up in chapels like this one, down to the dusty windows.

“Don’t know why everyone insists on getting married in a church,” Jake mumbles out of the side of his mouth like he can read Bradley’s discomfort. “Rebound isn’t even Christian.”

Bradley snorts. He agrees but is a little surprised Hangman does too. “Not a weekly attendee? Thought you would’ve practically grown up in a place like this.”

Hangman’s eyes slide sideways, disapproval of Bradley’s intelligence clear on the curl of his pink lips. “Churches in the small towns of Texas don’t usually look kindly on my interest in dick, Rooster.”

Bradley freezes.

Hangman’s brows furrow.

“Sorry – I thought you were – I mean you and that guy Matt…” Hangman trails off. “Anyways, I thought you knew. Or I didn’t think you’d care.”

It’s almost funny, seeing Hangman trip over his own words for once. Almost.

Might be if Bradley wasn’t so busy making a colossal ass of himself.

If Bradley hadn’t thought Hangman was straight for the better part of the last decade and wasn’t currently having his entire world flipped upside down, it’d be hilarious.

“No.” Bradley clears his throat. “I didn’t know, but of course it’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine.”

Hangman nods tightly, pursing his lips like it’s anything but. He’s right, on some level, but not for the reason he thinks he is.

+

Fine. The word of the day for Bradley.

The ceremony is fine. It’s all fine and cheesy and forgettable with 1 Corinthians being recited at the altar. It makes Bradley’s skin itch, the talk of the future and building a life together when he himself can barely understand what’s going on in his life day to day.

Fine despite putting his foot in his mouth with Hangman earlier. Who seems to appreciate Bradley buying him a tequila soda in silent apology (because really, Rebound, a fucking cash bar?) and sitting down at an empty table with him on the outskirts of the dance floor, anyways.

Jake repays him with a running commentary of who he thinks will end up going home together, both men with eyes on their friends and coworkers acting rowdy and generally making an ass of themselves. It’s amusing at least, even if Bradley can’t put his heart fully into it. He’s willing to put money on Jake’s predictions being dead on.

Someone convinces the band to play Taylor Swift. Bradley tries not to wince.

Jake snorts a laugh into his drink. “Not gonna laud us with Jerry Lee Lewis renditions tonight?”

“Pretty sure Big Ray & the Kool Kats wouldn’t look too kindly on me taking over just so I don’t have to hear ‘Love Story’,” Bradley responds wryly. He has no idea if that’s the band’s actual name and can’t be bothered to check.

“You would hate T-Swift, pretentious hipster,” Jake grumbles.

“I don’t but her songs always get stuck in my head for weeks on end and then-” Bradley cuts himself off when he sees Cage beelining for them, holding his breath to see if the WSO makes it all the way to them without knocking anything over.

“Hey,” Cage says as he plops down gracelessly across from them, the stunning conversationalist that he is.

Despite feeling out of it, Bradley fights a chuckle. He’s known Cage since well before he started flying with Phoenix, and in all that time his alcohol tolerance has somehow never increased. Hangman opens his mouth to say something but stops when he clocks the minute shaking of Bradley’s head, Bradley is well-versed in the face drunk Cage makes when he’s about to say something amusing and stupid.

He doesn’t disappoint. “D’you think that girl over there likes me?”

Jake squints. Bradley tries not to get sidetracked by the little crinkles around his eyes.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, buddy,” he advises when he regains focus.

Cage’s eyes get comically large. “I would never, Rooster. You would though. Because your ass is dumb. A dumbass,” Cage slurs. He must be hanging onto the clever comebacks for tomorrow. “I might be drunk.”

“Wow, really,” Jake replies, drier than the Sahara. “We couldn’t tell.”

“But you guys don’t get it. Look at you,” Cage laments, turning directly to Jake. “Those cheekbones could cut glass. You could have any girl you want. And Rooster doesn’t love love, not like I do. He doesn’t want the white picket fence. I’m jealous. I wish I wanted to be alone forever.”

Bradley blinks.

Cage isn’t exactly right but he’s not entirely wrong, either. And Bradley shouldn’t be surprised that’s what his friend thinks of him. He’s always shied away from serious relationships, always had a hard time opening up to people enough to get them to stick around. Emotionally unavailable, more than one previous girlfriend has shouted at him in frustration.

He thinks of his mom, eyes far away and glassy for most days of every June that Bradley can remember. Thinks of the wedding ring she never could take off, the way she would always run her thumb across it without realizing it. He can still picture how stiff her smile seemed at his aunt’s wedding, can still feel the resentment that burrowed its way into his chest throughout the ceremony.

He feels defensive all of a sudden, like he has every time a partner has begged him for a shred of vulnerability, like even though he was already pushing himself it still wasn’t enough. Cage gets distracted again before he has to respond anyways, stumbling up and to another group – presumably to find someone more supportive of his quest for the love of his life.

“Need some air,” Bradley mutters to Jake, words scraping his throat like sandpaper.

He makes it outside, facing the ocean. It should calm him down, should be familiar enough to quell the anger simmering beneath his surface, bubbling up to swirl and mix with the little tinge of grief that never seems to fully go away.

Should, but doesn’t. The ocean air tastes different in Virginia. It always has.

He hates it less than being stuck somewhere like Fallon, or even Lemoore, but the humidity of the East Coast has always settled under his skin wrong, lungs fighting for their lives in a steam room.

He doesn’t have this guy in him, hasn’t for a while now. Likable Bradley: the guy that buys everyone a beer and doesn’t leave the dance floor. The person who can play Jerry Lee Lewis and sing his heart out, waltzes into a bar, smiling and happy. The person that’s easy, that gets along with everyone and rolls with the punches. He doesn’t have it in him to play the part. Not anymore.

He feels his chest tightening, bile rising.

Bradley leans over the railing, eyes fixed on grains of sand below. For a second, he’s back home in California, steps away from his childhood home, Fleetwood Mac drifting from the open windows, those old red gingham curtains flowing in the wind. His mom humming under her breath in the kitchen, wooden spoon gently folding whipped egg whites into sifted flour for the signature Carole Bradshaw angel food cake.

Jake appears at his elbow, because of course he does. Because he’s everywhere, all the time, his laugh always distant but just within Bradley’s earshot, that smirk painted on his face like he knows a secret no one else does, at the edges of Bradley’s vision. His eternal tan glowing insistently against his dress whites.

“Sorry,” Bradley grits out. “Not in the mood.”

“He’s drunk,” Jake offers, even and calm like always.

“I’m not mad at him.”

“Evidence to the contrary,” he answers, hands out in a sweeping motion displaying their location, waving over where Bradley’s gripping the railing like he’s trying to crush the wood out of sheer force of will.

“Leave it alone, Jake,” Bradley warns, closing his eyes.

“Make me.”

Seven things flicker like a movie behind Bradley’s eyelids. Maybe not deadly but definitely all sins.

When he opens his eyes Jake’s eyebrow is raised, but there’s heat fighting its way through the snark. “Gotta stop bottling it all up someday.”

Bradley turns and takes half a step closer to Jake, moving like he’s going to box him in against the railing but stopping a little short, giving the other man plenty of time to tell him to fuck off.

He doesn’t.

“You’re angry about something. Death grip on the yoke and frozen in a spin.” Jake tilts his chin defiantly but doesn’t move, eyes locked on Bradley’s, challenging.

Bradley leans in closer, crowding Jake against the railing, hands going to his waist to mar his pristine, white uniform. He slots a thigh in between Jake’s so he can watch green pupils blow dark until there’s only the thinnest line of color left.

He doesn’t say anything. Knows he doesn’t have to.

“Come on,” Jake goads, that infuriating smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you have to work out – you know I can handle it.”

“That what you need?” Bradley growls when Jake pushes against his hold, fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Need me to hold you down and make you take it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t need it too,” Jake sasses back, fire still burning under hooded eyes. “Like you don’t need someone to help you feel like you’re in control for once.”

Figures. Of course, he’s a brat who won’t make it easy on Bradley.

He shifts his thigh against where it presses against the blonde. “How’d you get here?” Jake’s eyes flutter closed, teeth raking over his bottom lip. Bradley squeezes his waist, trying not to preen at how responsive Jake already is. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Took an Uber,” Jake breathes out, eyes reopening slowly and recentering on Bradley’s face.

Bradley doesn’t kiss him, not yet, not here. Doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. “Let’s go,” he says instead, hands regrettably leaving Jake’s sides so they can make their way to the parking lot without drawing too much attention.

They’re quiet in the car again, but amusement floats from Jake's side of the car as Bradley drives a little faster than normal, his braking at stoplights a touch jerkier, entire body brimming with tension.

Bradley’s self-control cracks the moment he follows Jake through his front door.

“Off,” he mutters against Jake’s skin, fingers working open the buttons of his uniform as he presses him back against the door, using his slight height advantage to tower over him and slot their lips together.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost all that famous Bradshaw patience,” Jake pants when Bradley comes up for air.

Bradley shoots him a dark look, one hand moving to Jake’s jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t be a brat or I’ll have to show you how patient I can really be. String you out all night, bring you to the edge again and again but never let you go over.”

Jake’s head thumps back against the door at that, a high-pitched whine leaving through gritted teeth as he presses into Bradley’s grip. “Bedroom now, Bradshaw, come on.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow, hand frozen in place around Jake’s neck, thumb rubbing across his pulse point but otherwise refusing to move.

“Please,” Jake whines.

“There we go. Was that so hard, sweetheart?” Bradley finally lets up, allowing a modicum of space between the two of them.

“Sadist,” Jake tosses over his shoulder as he heads towards the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of his uniform before Bradley can even react.

Bradley would be impressed by how fast Jake undresses, quick and efficient like only Hangman can be, if he weren’t busy taking in the strong lines of his back, the muscle rippling beneath his golden skin as he turns around to lay on the bed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” Bradley murmurs. “Perfect all over, aren’t you?”

Jake lowers his eyes at that, a flush rising up his chest. Bradley divests himself of his own clothes while Jake twists to rummage in the nightstand drawer for a condom and lube.

Bradley shoulders Jake’s legs apart with a little more force than is strictly necessary, probably, but the way Jake’s eyes glaze over whenever he gets manhandled makes it hard to resist. He warms up the lube in his fingers, kissing down Jake’s stomach and nipping at the Adonis belt on his hips. Jake tangles his fingers in Bradley's curls and Bradley feels his cock jerk in response.

He mouths at Jake’s cock where it curls up against his stomach, leaking precum on the stark lines of his abs, light and teasing. When he finally licks a stripe up the shaft and takes the tip into his mouth Jake groans, hips jerking.

Bradley takes as much of Jake’s cock in his mouth as he can at the same time he slides one finger in his hole, all the way to the knuckle. Jake tenses before forcibly relaxing and Bradley slides his lips over Jake again, relishing in the breathy noises leaving him without his permission as he can’t seem to decide whether he should fuck himself down onto Bradley’s finger or up into his mouth.

He hums around the length and darts his eyes up to look at Jake where he’s writhing on the pillows, head thrown back against them. He gets a good rhythm going, adding another finger and pressing down on Jake’s prostate on every other pump in to hear his whines rise another octave.

When he feels Jake’s abs start to tense, when Jake is whimpering yes and fuck and Bradley in a continuous loop, he pulls off, trying to hide his amusement at Jake’s now indignant protests.

“Bradshaw, what the fu-” Jake starts before Bradley moves up to kiss him quiet.

“Always so mouthy,” Bradley teases, moving down to nose underneath Jake’s jaw, to drag his teeth along his collarbone. “Be good and you’ll get what you want.”

He latches onto a nipple and proceeds to wind Jake up again with his fingers. Brings him to the edge one, two, three more times until Jake is a whimpering mess, tears leaking from the corners of his pretty eyes.

“Fuck me, let me come, something, anything, please.” Jake’s begging now, words starting to slur together with desperation.

“All right, princess,” Bradley coos, gently wiping tears from Jake’s cheekbones with the pad of his thumb rolling the condom onto himself with his other hand in a feat of coordination he never thought himself capable of. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Jake’s eyes are completely glazed over, staring up at Bradley hazily and unfocused. Bradley has to grip the base of his cock tightly not to come at the sight.

He could probably stand to be gentler but at this point, Bradley doesn’t give a single fuck. He lines himself up and pushes in, slowly as he can manage, groaning when he bottoms out. Jake’s hole stretching even further around his length has his eyes crossing, ears ringing and he knows he won’t last long, watching Jake having keyed him up past the boundaries of his willpower. He wraps a hand around Jake’s cock, stripping him in time with the building pace of his thrusts, Jake getting louder and louder even more rapidly than before.

Jake clenches around him as he comes with Bradley’s name on his lips, making Bradley’s eyes roll back in his head at the force of it, at the way his legs wrap around his hips as he arches in pleasure. Bradley’s own orgasm snaps through him, with Jake whimpering from overstimulation but somehow still asking for more.

He barely manages to hold his weight and avoid crushing Jake, pulling out as gently as possible and tying off the condom, tossing it into the trash can underneath the nightstand letting himself collapse next to Jake.

“You okay?” Bradley asks quietly, clarity having made him a little self-conscious about acting like a neanderthal.

Jake nods against Bradley’s chest and when Bradley leans back to look, he’s smiling up at him with his eyes closed, blissful.

Bradley eventually finds the strength to go get a washcloth and clean Jake up, throwing it in the direction of what he thinks is the hamper before pulling his boxers back on. He hopes Jake doesn’t mind him spending the night again, because the drinks from the wedding are catching up to him and his eyes are practically slipping closed already as he flops back down onto the bed.

He’s halfway asleep but he thinks he feels Jake curling into his chest before he slips under.

additional an-

mt trashmore is a real park in VB, have been informed it's in a nice area hahahah oops sorry the name is funny

cvs scene inspired by the cereal aisle scene from the hurt locker, though the intents are way different have to give the shout out because that scene is straight up brilliant

f/a-18s have a stick instead of a yoke but i'm not gonna write death grip on a stick for obvious reasons lol

thanks for reading!

[grey-edges]

Scorbus Fic Snippet

I’ve been going through some of my old wips as i’ve been writing scorbus again and found this scene and thought i’d share it since i’ll never actually post the fic

context: it’s their 7th year and they’re sitting in the quidditch stands watching gryffindor’s practice

After several moments of comfortable silence between the couple, Scorpius broke it. "I don't mean to ruin your mood, but I can't help but think about it," he sighed and Albus pulled away slightly in order to see Scorpius' face while he was talking. "When do you think you'll be ready to tell your parents about us?"

Albus frowned slightly and sat up properly, fiddling with his hands in his lap, "I dunno... When the time feels right, I guess?"

"But when is that going to be?"

Albus was quiet as he thought about it. He knew it was harder for Scorpius. He had always been sure of his sexuality, it was never really a question for him. As soon as he had heard the term bisexual, it had stuck with him and he'd proudly tell anyone who asked. Albus on the other hand had battled with his feelings and attraction for a few years.

It started around fourth year when he realized how much he needed Scorpius in his life and how little he actually liked any other girls. That's when Scorpius came out and told Albus all these new terms. He did a lot of searching and fighting with himself and nearly two years later he was able to come out to Scorpius who was completely understanding and accepting. It didn't take long after that for them to start dating. January would be the mark of their one year anniversary.

"Maybe this next holiday I will, in person," Albus shrugged.

"Really?" Scorpius perked up, "You would tell them that soon?"

"I mean I'd have two months to think about it, but maybe. If you want me to."

Scorpius sighed, "I mean of course I want you to - I want you to be able to be yourself around your family - but I don't want to force you out of the closet if you're not ready. I saw how you reacted this morning to the possibility of being outed..."

Albus ducked his head into his hands out of uncertainty, "I don't know Scorpius. Part of me just wants to stay in the closet the rest of my life. It seems so much more simpler, I wouldn't have to be the ultimate disappointment that my family already believes me to be."

"You're not a disappointment, please don't say that," Scorpius reached out a comforting hand and rested it on Albus' back. "You don't mean that - staying in the closet, I mean..."

"I do though," Albus sat back up, looking at Scorpius with a pained expression, "I'm not brave enough. Maybe if I had just been a Gryffindor like my parents had wanted..."

"Stop," Scorpius said sternly, "You don't have to be a bloody Gryffindor to be able to be yourself. Slytherin can be brave too. Albus you have to be brave. You'll be miserable for the rest of your life if you aren't true to yourself." He gripped Albus' arm with one hand and gently turned his face towards him with his other. "Is this your anxiety talking?"

Albus avoided eye contact, looking down at Scorpius' chest, but still nodded somberly.

"Look at me - listen to me," Scorpius practically begged, both of his hands going to Albus' cheeks. Albus finally looked up at him, making eye contact. "Your family loves you, Albus. All of them do even if you don't think so. I can't tell you how they'll respond, but I know they'll love you regardless of your sexuality." Scorpius paused, making sure Albus was listening, which he was.

"If that doesn't mean anything to you, then I want you to know that this version of Albus - whatever he is doing," Scorpius gestured to Albus wildly, "Is not the Albus I fell in love with." Albus frowned deeply, realizing how he was hurting Scorpius with what he'd said. "The Albus I fell in love with would not want to live the rest of his life in misery. He's a selfish prick who will do whatever he wants to be happy," he smiled fondly and Albus chuckled at his selfish comment softly.

"He is ambitious and brave - brave enough to travel backwards and forwards in time in order to save our friendship - that is who I fell in love with. If telling your parents that you happen to fancy guys over girls is scarier than getting stuck in the past, then you've got your priorities mixed up," he finished teasingly.

Albus couldn't help but chuckle and lean into Scorpius' hold on his cheeks, "I'm sorry. You're right. I get irrational when my anxiety is high..."

Scorpius sighed and dropped his hands, his arm slipping around Albus' neck and pulling him close again, "I know. That's why I'm here to keep you in check."

Albus tilted his head up, to look at Scorpius, "Thank you," he pouted his lips slightly, asking for a kiss. Scorpius smiled and quickly pecked his lips and pulled away before anyone else across the pitch could notice them.