#cursed ficlet

[ellecdc]

Okay after many many thoughts I think I've got it!

Barty showing up to the gryffindor quidditch after party (cause James and Sirius are great players and know what they're doing) bloody and bruised cause he overheard some butthurt slytherins talking shit about James and their girl. And he wasn't gonna let that slide.

I'm not sure if it's clear, but this is in regards to the darksun x reader were talking about yesterday 😅

oooooooof ok.......*throws this at you all and runs* NEW SHIP ALERT: I'm new to this, be nice to me hahahahaha

poly!darksun x fem!reader at a bloody Gryffindor afterparty

CW: Barty shows up bloody and bruised but he's chuffed about it, reader won't stop slapping Peter [it's not that serious], Sirius is not that serious -> pairing = james potter x reader x barty crouch jr

It had been perhaps only 25 minutes since the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw game ended and the afterparty in Gryffindor tower was already in full swing.

And what Remus meant by full swing was that Sirius was literally swinging from the chandelier, Marlene and Lily were challenging one another to a game of ‘who could spin the most times without getting sick’ (which Remus felt was a game that everyone was going to lose), and you and Peter were halfway through a very intense muggle card game called slap which did indeed involve slapping and, apparently, swearing and trash talk. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Peter muttered as he rubbed the back of his hands dejectedly.

“Gonna have to be faster than that, Wormy.” You taunted as you collected his pile of cards.

“Oi, if she has so much as one welt on the back of her hand, Pete; there will be hell to pay.” James called as he came up behind you.

You turned to look at James then, and Remus was sure your smile was nearly blinding in your excitement and energy if James’ lovesick look was anything to go by.

“Yeah, yeah Prongs; she’s sodding winning by a landslide anyways, no need to get your knickers in a twist.” Peter muttered (rather petulantly for only having lost a round of a silly card game if you asked Remus).

“I don’t think it’s Prongs you have to worry about, my dear Wormy.” Sirius called from his new home in the chandelier, nodding towards the entrance as Barty stepped through the portrait hole. 

Remus watched as both you and James seemed to melt now that your third was here. He knew that it hadn’t been easy persuading Barty to participate in such “Gryffindorian displays of pompous pride” as he had called it, but you had somehow been able to convince him to celebrate the team’s wins if not only for James’ sake. 

And, as Sirius would pretend, maybe a little bit for his sake as well. Remus didn’t have the heart (nor the patience) to tell him that was a fat chance. 

“I’m not afraid of Junior.” Pete muttered darkly as he watched you reset the game in front of them. 

“Circe’s tits…perhaps you should be, Pete.” Sirius bit out through a grimace, causing the group to all turn their attention to the Slytherin boy.

Remus wasn’t exactly sure what the Slytherin practice was when getting ready for a celebratory quidditch afterparty, but based on Barty’s current state, it seemed that ritual consisted of at least one fist fight with a particularly angry hippogriff.

“What happened?” You nearly shrieked as you abandoned your card game and you and James made for your boyfriend. 

Barty let out a breath before he broke out into a smile. “Sorry I’m late! Had to take care of something on my way here.”

Remus was sure that the way Barty was grinning at the two of you had to be horribly painful for the busted lip he was currently sporting as his teeth quickly turned a pinky/red colour. 

“And what were you taking care of? A graphorn?” James asked incredulously as you guided Barty to a stool in order to fuss over him.

“Don’t be daft, James. There’s no graphorns in Hogwarts.” Barty waved him off, eyes moving to you as you assessed his face.

“Who did you run into, Barty?” You pressed; voice taking a no-nonsense tone that had Peter and Remus sharing a nervous look. 

“Just some Ravenclaws who were a little disappointed by the end of today’s match, is all.” He offered happily; pulling you closer towards him from where you were standing between his legs by the back of your thighs, watching you adoringly as you summoned a cloth to dab at his lip. 

“That’s all, is it?” You deadpanned, clearly not buying his story.

“I hardly think you were too fussed over some comment about quidditch scores, Barty.” James chided lovingly. 

“Of course I did! I love quidditch.” Barty spat defensively. 

“Yeah, but you hate the Gryffindor team.” Sirius called from his chandelier. 

“That’s not true! I’m shagging the captain for Salazar’s sake.”

“Okay, well…maybe don’t shout that?” You muttered as you looked around in embarrassment, earning a bark of laughter from James as he rubbed your shoulders consolingly. 

“I don’t know, bubs; I don’t see you risking showing up late and bloody over discourse on match scores.” James continued, clearly finding this more amusing than you were as you angrily cast a glacius on a cup and held it to Barty’s jaw which was quickly purpling in colour. 

“Okay, perhaps they said a few other things; it’s no big deal.” Barty offered dismissively, though Remus (and likely you and James) noticed the way that his grip seemed to strengthen on your thighs at his admission.

“Yeah? Like what?” You encouraged. 

Barty let out a defeated sigh as he finally turned his gaze to you. “You know I don’t like people talking about you; either of you.” He admitted quietly. 

You shook your head in disappointment but let out a sympathetic sigh.

“Wait, what’d they say about our girl?” James said then, craning his neck around you in order to look at Barty pointedly.

“It doesn’t matter Jamie! It appears he’s already taken care of it, yeah?” You hissed as you swatted at him with the cloth that you had been tending to Barty with. 

James quickly caught the end of the cloth and used it to pull you into him, planting a smacking kiss to your face. 

“I did take care of it!” Barty repeated excitedly. “Can I have a kiss?” He asked sweetly, smiling at you expectantly as you rubbed James’ kiss off of your cheek. 

“Absolutely not.” You grumbled as you ignored his disbelieving scoff.

“Why not!?” He cried out as you stepped out from between his legs.

“Barty, I am not rewarding you for bad behaviour.” You declared as you plopped yourself down in front of Peter again, ordering him to reset your card game. 

James quickly looked between the two of you before stepping between Barty’s legs to give him his own kiss.

“You are such a simp, James Potter.” Remus taunted under his breath as to not alert you to your boyfriend currently enabling your other boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah; laugh it up now. But I get to watch you try to wrestle Pads out of the chandelier later, so I don’t think you have a leg to stand on, Moons.” 

“He can sleep up there tonight, for all I care.” Remus muttered petulantly as he crossed his arms.

Sirius wouldn’t sleep up there tonight; Remus knew it, James knew it, Sirius knew it, likely the whole bloody school knew it. But Remus would pretend he wasn’t as big a simp as James Potter, at least a little bit longer, in order to preserve what little superiority he held for the time being.

[achromatophoric]

[Forewarning: This is not a funny Incorrect Quote. Apologies in advance.]

Two people in very familiar room, having a very familiar conversation.

Enid: I can’t believe I’m actually going to miss your creepy, lifeless eyes waking me up. It won’t be the same without you.

Wednesday: So I assume you’ll be moving in with Yoko. Leaving me in the past.

Enid: Not ever. What about you? Will you—

Enid’s throat catches, an action that earns a blank stare from Wednesday.

Enid: Will you forget about me?

Wednesday: Enid… the mark you have left on me is indelible.

At that last word, a flicker of emotion ripples across Enid’s face. It goes unnoticed by the speaker.

Wednesday: Anytime I grow nauseous at the sight of a rainbow or hear a pop song that makes my ears bleed, I’ll think of you.

Enid: *stares at Wednesday*

Wednesday: E-Enid?

Something fractures in Wednesday’s demeanor as soon as the syllables leave her lips. As if, in this moment, they don’t fit, and that incongruity ignites an intense anxiety at the edges of her being.

Enid: *blinks* Thanks. I guess.

The anxiety fades from Wednesday. Her face smooths. Her stance relaxes.

Wednesday: I always believed relying on other people to be a sign of weakness. That inevitably they would lead…

— Later that night, in a room outside of the fabricated halls and too familiar rooms. —

Enid stands at a sink, having just washed the makeup from her face. She studies herself in the mirror, noting how her exhaustion only deepens the age lines. How without makeup, her scars from that night are barely visible, faded as they are by the years.

Pugsley: *clears his throat*

Enid: *turns* Hey, Pugsley.

Pugsley: Thank you again for this, Enid.

Enid: *nods mutely*

Pugsley: So uh, which day was it this time?

Enid: Just after the Crackstone incident. The day we left school. Indelible.

Pugsley: *winces* Oh. That’s why you— will you be okay?

Enid: *harshly* I’ll be fine.

A comforting hand settles on Enid’s shoulder. She looks up at the taller man. Her friend. Someone who should have been family.

Pugsley: Enid, you can’t blame yourself for this. It wasn’t your—

Enid: Can’t I? Wasn’t it? I rejected her, Pugsley. I did this to your sister. ME.

Pugsley: You didn’t know about the curse. She didn’t tell you. She didn’t tell anyone.

Enid: But I could’ve noticed! I was her best friend. When she got sick, I should have— especially once she started to forget things. When she started to forget me.

Enid: I— I should have believed her.

Enid is crying now. Through blurred vision she glares at the line of pale skin on her ring finger. A reminder of past decisions made. Of mistakes rectified too late.

Enid: *whispers* I should have believed her.

Pugsley watches his friend, wishing he could do more. He wishes that she would accept a hug. That she would not deny herself the comfort of friends, or the forgiveness of his family.

Pugsley: When you’re ready, there’s tea. Pubert already prepped the guest room, so please stay the night? Thing misses you, and his nails have seen better days.

Enid: *swallows* Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you.

With that, Pugsley leaves Enid to her sorrows. To memories that are no longer shared by the one who helped forge them. To hopes that feel abandoned. To quiet regret and indelible woe.

[natalievoncatte]

CW: discussion of death and dying.

The gun was still on her hip when Lena walked into her penthouse. She probably should have gotten rid of it, just for the sake of disposing of evidence. It was far from the only one she owned, and she wouldn’t miss it. Then again, one does not discard lightly the weapon of fratricide. She’d decide what to do with the murder weapon later; right now, there was only one thought screaming in her head.

I killed Lex. I killed my brother.

It kept repeating in her brain on an endless loop.

I killed my brother for a liar. A betrayer. He was right and I was wrong. She only-

Lena was not alone. There was a figure seated on her sofa, staring straight ahead. Lena knew those blond curls, falling in a dark river like warm honey. Supergirl.

Supergirl, not Kara. Kara was good. Kara loved her, trusted her, watched out for her, had her back. Kara kept her secrets and gave her a shoulder to cry on always had her back. Kara was good, and Kara was a lie.

Lena walked around the couch, eyes wide and lips trembling, her features pulled into a mask of morose fury. How dare she just break in here and… sit there.

“I died.”

Lena froze.

“I died,” Supergirl said, again. “The clone of me that Lex had, she was a duplicate created by Harun-El somehow. She killed me. I died.”

Supergirl’s brilliant blue eyes flashed in the twilight of Lena’s dark apartment and locked on her.

“There was nothing. No warm light of Rao welcoming me home to live in peace with my people forever. No tunnel of light. There was just nothing. I was gone and then I wasn’t. Alex said the grass brought me back.”

Lena licked her lips. She was fixed to the spot.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m Kara.”

Those two little words, those treacherous words, hit Lena like a freight train. Her knees buckled and she sagged, catching herself by an end table.

Kara met her gaze.

“There were a million reasons why I never told you. They’re all stupid and pointless. When I woke up that was the first thing I thought of. I died and I never told you.”

Lena tried to speak, but her throat had gone so dry that it was like trying to breath through a mournful of sand. She sagged further, barely able to fall into a side chair.

“At first I just didn’t know you well enough. Then I screwed everything up by being a complete ass to you, and I never even said I was sorry. But I was sorry. So I was too scared to tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me. Then by the time I wanted to tell you again, all of this had happened and I was still afraid you’d hate me.”

Kara looked down at the floor.

“But then I was dead and none of it mattered anymore. None of the things that had been important to me mattered when I was dying. You know what I was thinking as she crushed the life out of me?”

“No,” Lena choked out.

“This is it?” said Kara. “All that… and this is it? Just like that? This is all I get?”

Silence ruled the dark apartment. The back edge of Lena’s gun dug uncomfortably into her flank. Kara just sat there, looking through the floor. Perhaps literally.

“Kara,” Lena said, without quite knowing why. “I’m sure… you weren’t…”

“No, Lena, I died. It wasn’t like when Reign beat me to a pulp and threw me off a building. That was different. This was different. I can’t even say how. I just know.”

When Reign…

Lena had been there that night. Reign had beaten Supergirl into a coma, thrown her off a building and left her broken and bloodied in the street. Lena thought she’d died that night.

Wait.

That was Kara, too.

Sharp, rancid bile, harsh and acidic, burned the back of Lena’s throat. She choked it down, trembling.

Kara looked at her again.

“I have something else I have to tell you.”

Lena needed a drink. Now. She wobbled across the room to the kitchen and grabbed the nearest wine bottle, pouring herself a glass and downing half of it in one go. It was a dry red, harsh and sharp on her tongue.

“Kara,” Lena began. “Before you say anything else-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Lena wasn’t sure what she expected Kara to say, but not that. Not just… say it. She couldn’t say it. Not when Lena has been grasping that secret so hard that it always threatened to slip from her fingers, reedy to leap from her grip from being held so tight. The words simultaneously made her feel as if her heels would float from the floor and nearly drove her down to it. She leaned on the white marble countertop, trembling.

“None of the reasons I kept that secret matter anymore, either. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I’ll leave if you want me to. I just… I died,” Kara’s voice crumbled into a sob, barely intelligible, “and I didn’t tell you.”

Lena said nothing. She downed the rest of the wine.

“What do you want from me?” She finally choked out.

“I want to tell you about Krypton. I want movie nights and game nights and big belly burgers and brunches. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad I don’t know how I never did. If you want that.”

Again, Lena went silent.

“I want to make up for the shit I’ve put you through. I want to show you how much I care for you, as often and as thoroughly as I can. Dying without you fucking sucked. I want to live with you instead.”

Lena’s breath quickened. Kara’s boots creaked as she stood up, her cape billowing slightly behind her as she crossed the room, keeping a respectful distance.

“I’ll go, if you want. I just had to say it.”

Lena pressed her fingers against the countertop until they went white and her palms trembled. She felt the weight of the gun on her hip.

“Stay,” she whispered.

There is no prompt for this one. The idea just came to me and I had to write it out.

[blushweddinggowns]

Steddie Drunk Dialing Fluff

Steve Harrington-Munson was probably one of the happiest men to be alive in the modern era. He had the perfect life, against all odds. Because apparently having your late teens and early twenties ruined by demons equated to a fantastic adulthood.

He had it all. A loving family, the best friend/surrogate sister he could ever ask for, and he was married to the love of his life. And okay, yes. That had included some extremely embarrassing revelations and internal meltdowns and... a pretty brutal disownment. But he had figured it all out in the end. And here he was, a decade later with a ring on his finger and a nice hyphenated name. Not to mention how he was basically a trophy husband.

Eddie hadn't wasted a moment of the last decade. A symptom of almost dying it would seem. He went for the GED, gathered the band back up, moved across the country to chase his dreams and play in every shitty dive bar he could until they were discovered. All while dragging Steve along for the ride.

As much as Steve had believed in him, neither of them had been prepared for his music career actually taking off. Especially not to the level it did. It was undeniable that his husband was an A-Lister, despite how universally hated he was by half the country. You don't get many out and proud metal front man who loved parading around his high school sweetheart at every social event he could. But Europe loved him, as did the entirety of gay, rebellious youths world wide.

It was so stupid. There Eddie was, painted as an insane freak who was fake-married. With tabloids running story after story about his secret children, his drug addiction, a wife from another country, anything that they could think of. All while Eddie spent every free moment at Steve's side, always opting for a night in with his baby when given the choice. And when he wasn't doing that, he was busy playing surrogate fun uncle to the kids, who were definitly not kids anymore. But that didn't stop them from all getting together for Dungeons and Dragons once a month, hundreds and hundreds of campaign hours on everyone's belts. And that was his life. Spending time with his family, forcing them on hikes and runs, volunteering, working occasionally to help Robin with her translating work, all while coming home to the sweetest thing that ever existed.

God, did Steve love that man. Reminiscing about the love of his life while he was on tour was not helping his fretful sleep. He just... really had given him everything. He loved him so much in fact that he was only slightly pissed when he was woken up at three a.m. from the phone ringing off the hook.

Steve reached for it blindly, still half-asleep when he mumbled, "Mm-Eds?"

"Steeeeeeeeeevie," Eddie's voice slurred back at him, "Baby booooy. How's my baby boy? I miss my baby boy."

Steve smiled despite himself, yawning into the phone. Eddie was lucky he was so cute, considering how the love of his life who could not remember what time zones were, "He misses you too. And he's a little tired right now babe. What's up?"

"Day drunk," Eddie sighed, "Guys, morning show, mimosas, hotel room to sleep it off. Missing you."

"You won't be missing me for long," Steve softly laughed. Though... hearing his voice was quite the reminder of how cold the bed suddenly felt, "Just... one more week. That's not too long right?"

"Too long!" Eddie groaned, dramatic, "I miss you now. Why can't I see you now? Wait-Can I see you now? Cause planes and trains and-"

"And no," Steve interrupted with a chuckle, "You'd only get me for a few hours before you'd have to leave again."

"Worth it," Eddie mumbled out, his voice a little muffled as he tumbled around in his hotel bed, "Want my baby."

The pathetic tilt to his voice was enough to make Steve's heart clench. God he was too precious. Suddenly a red-eye in the middle of the night for a two hour make-out session didn't sound like such a bad idea. But he could be the strong one for tonight, "You have me sweetheart. Want me to stay on until you fall asleep."

"Yes please," Eddie sighed, "Love your voice. It's so... nice. Like... audible perfume. Like poetry or something."

"Oh baby you are wasted," Steve said as he laid back down, nestling the phone to his ear, "Please tell me you drank some water before laying down?"

"... maybe?"

"Babe."

"I knoooow. Keep nagging me though. I missed that too."

"Is my bitching your bed time story?"

He could hear Eddie nodding, rusting against the fabric, "And it's the best. Keep going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but he did what he was asked. Saying every silly little grievance he could think of. He whined about how cold it was in bed without him, how Eddie had promised to take out the trash before he left and forgot. Again. How he hated how quiet it was without him, how much he missed hearing his voice trailing in and out of every room.

And Eddie listened, mumbling out a few sleepy m'sorrys and I love yous along the way. Until all Steve could hear was the slow, steady sound of his breathing. But he didn't hang up. Not when that was one of his favorite sounds in the world. And the perfect thing to fall asleep to.

Steve smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, a little amazed that Eddie could still make him feel so loved, from hundreds of miles away.

But one thing was for sure. He still had to be the happiest man on earth.

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble

Prompt: Creation

If the spare room was Eddie’s — filled with amps and guitars and DnD books, desk piled high with half painted miniatures, and notebook upon notebook of his scratchy handwriting — then the garage was Steve’s. One half for the beemer, still in good condition, meticulously kept. The other half for his home workshop. A large workbench, a pegboard filled with tools hung in place, cupboard upon cupboard filled with anything he might need.

When they first moved to the city — into a shitty apartment with Robin — Steve said the freedom made him feel lost. For the first time he had the time and space to do whatever he wanted. No parents telling him what to do, hanging over his shoulder. No people who knew him, no people with preconceived notions. So Steve tried things out.

Joined a casual basketball team, took some night classes at the local Y and at the high school. Said the cooking classes were fun, but he liked cooking at home better. Wasn’t a fan of the knitting, but said it was fun to give it a go. The woodworking class however? Steve took to like a duck to water.

He was fixing cupboards and the loose board on their back deck. Made a birdhouse for that large tree in their backyard. Replaced both their bedside tables with his own handmade ones. Eddie could see how happy it was making him.

And then Steve started getting weird with it. Making odd little things he thought were funny, just because he could. Because they made Eddie laugh.

“Will you and Chips be alright if I lock you in here for a second?” Steve asks, leaning on the doorway  to the spare room, gesturing to the ginger cat currently plastered to Eddie’s side. “I’ve got a surprise.”

“A surprise huh,” Eddie replies, raising an eyebrow, as he turns to face his boyfriend. He’s still wearing his workshop apron, goggles pushed up onto his head, and he looks like he’s buzzing. Steve’s made something. He’s been holing himself in his workshop all week, spending hours there in the evenings, and decidedly not telling Eddie was he was doing in there. And now, Eddie’s assuming, it’s finally done. He’s also sort of buzzing about it. “Me and Chips will be fine.”

“Cool,” Steve says, already starting to close the door. He’s biting back a smile. “I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here,” Eddie calls, shouting so Steve can hear him. He swears he can hear his boyfriend laugh, ever so faintly.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come back — without his apron and goggles this time, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Get up and close your eyes,” he says. Holding out his hand for Eddie to take. “Come on.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie laughs, easing Chips off of his lap and getting up from his spot at the desk. He takes Steve’s hand, calloused and warm. It’s comforting as he closes his eyes, and trusts Steve to lead him to wherever this surprise is without running him into walls. Chips meows at them as they walk, the bell on his collar jingling as he trots along side them.

Steve lets go of his hand, leaving Eddie in the dark, but he can hear his socked feet pad on the floor.

“Open your eyes, Baby,” Steve says, joy leaking through into his voice. He sounds like he’s bouncing in place. So Eddie does, blinking against the light, and sees Steve standing next to one of the most cursed things he’s ever seen.

“Ta da!” Steve exclaims, holding his hands out to show off his newest work. “My creation!”

His creation is a long wooden pole, square and sleek, with a round base painted black. The part Eddie can’t stop looking at, however. Are the hands. Wooden hands with adjustable fingers, affixed to all sides, littering the top half of the pole. Some have the fingers laying flat, one or two are flipping him off, one in the standard ‘rock on’ symbol.

“Oh my god,” Eddie exclaims, understanding exactly why Steve was sounding so giddy. This is hilarious. It’s everything. He wants it in their house forever. “What is it.”

“A coat rack made of hands.” Steve says simply, shrugging casually, as if that was a normal thing to say.

Inspired by this video by Evan and Katelyn on Youtube

[yournowheregirl]

welp, this one has gotten out of hand (over 3k... yikes) but here we are! part 3 of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (only 2 more parts after this!) 

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 3: coat of many colors

Only a few weeks later, Eddie starts to slip up.

Any other day he’d wake up to the sweet, sweet sounds of his favorite Dio album, but one morning he grabs an old Johnny Cash album that Wayne sometimes listens to and puts that one on instead. 

It’s nice, and even though it’s apparently recorded at an actual prison, it still feels like home (Eddie tries not to think about that too much).

On a late night when Wayne’s still at work, he fishes his old acoustic guitar from underneath his bed and starts strumming away random chords that sound like the country songs his momma played when he was little. Sometimes he still remembers the lyrics, softly mumbling them even though there’s no one around to hear them. 

It’s nice, it doesn’t sound as sweet as when his momma played it for him, but it still feels like home (Eddie actually thinks about it a lot this time).

And it’s not like he’s abandoned his usual music or anything. He still has his Judas Priest tapes in the van because his driving would probably even more reckless if he drove without any music (and isn’t that saying something). And he still loves his sweetheart more than anything, she just has to deal with sharing him for a bit.

Not a lot of many people notice it, at first. Mostly because he still keeps that part of himself hidden, safely tucked away in the comfort of his own bedroom. 

But Wayne notices, because of course does.

“Whatcha wearin’ there, son?” Wayne asks, never looking up from where his eyes are glued to the morning newspaper. 

Eddie’s halfway out the door already, car keys jingling against his rings when his uncle speaks up, turns around in the doorway. “Uh…” 

He looks down at his clothes - what is he wearing anyway? Ripped jeans - all fine, nothing new. White t-shirt - okay, not his usual color but not that strange. Forest green plaid button down and beat-up leather boots that both actually belonged to Wayne at one point - yeah, that must be it. 

“Yeah, I mean I know they’re yours… You want them back or somethin’?”

Wayne chuckles and closes the newspaper, leaning back in his chair. “No, no. Not at all. Just surprised you’re wearing it. Ain’t you meetin’ the kids?”

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie frowns. “Should I… not be wearing this?”

“Wear whatever you want.” Wayne shrugs. “It’s just nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, nice. Nice to see you bein’ comfortable wearing that sorta thing again.” Wayne says. “Lord knows you wouldn’t be caught dead in it years ago.”

Eddie thinks back to when he first came to Hawkins, with an almost empty suitcase and ratty old teddy-bear in his hand. He didn’t have any clothes that were fit for the cold Novembers in Hawkins, more used to the mild Tennessee winters, so Wayne did the best he could and dressed him up in the warmest thing he had on hand at the time. A warm, blue flannel that Eddie’s small frame almost drowned in.

Not that he cared about it at that point. He only cared about how warm and soft it felt.

Which was fine up until the point that the other kids at school started caring about their clothes and how they looked and they started laughing at Eddie’s clothes. Making fun of how poor he was that he couldn’t even afford a decent sized shirt. Teasing him in the locker room about the holes in his socks. 

He decided then and there to swear off all the clothes Wayne picked out for him and changed his style up completely. His classmates were gonna bully him anyway, but he’d be damned if they insulted Wayne in the process. 

“Well, yeah. Guess I’m goin’ back to my roots.” Eddie shrugs.

“Noticed that as well.” Wayne is smirking now, way too pleased about the whole situation and gestures to his mouth. “Your accent, Ed. Any minute now and you’ll be talkin’ like Miss Parton herself.”

Eddie’s face heats up - if only Wayne knew what he’s been up to in his spare time “Shut up, old man. You’re gonna make me late.”

He drives a little faster than normal to the Wheeler’s house, because Wayne really did keep him a few minutes too long, but he still ends up relatively on time for Mike’s birthday party. Everyone’s already in the decorated basement (balloons and garlands and all) and Mrs. Wheeler is snapping pictures left and right, much to Mike’s obvious dismay.

Mike’s face does light up when Eddie comes stumbling down the basement, present in hand.

“Happy Birthday, mini Wheeler.” Eddie says, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, not fair! We were friends way before you befriended my sister.” Mike sighs.

“Eddie’s just got good taste.” Nancy smirks before turning back to her conversation with Max and El.

“She said it, not me.” Eddie laughs. “Now open your present.”

He’d bought Mike this older copy of a D&D manual. It’s a first edition that Eddie randomly found one day in a thrift store and considering the grin on Mike’s face, Eddie knows he made the right decision. 

Behind them on the table there’s a bunch of already-opened presents but one sticks out to Eddie - a beautifully depiction of the Party members, including El and Max, painted onto a notebook.

“Nice notebook.”

“Isn’t it the coolest? Will made it for me.” Mike gushes. “He always knows what kind of present to get me. He’s such a good friend.”

Eddie bites back a laugh. Poor Mike, so tragically oblivious to what’s staring right in front of him, bowl-cut and heart-eyes and all. But since he can’t actually laugh Mike in the face, he just smirks and pats Mike on the shoulder.

“Oh Michael… Bless your tiny lil’ heart.” 

Mike just beams at him, once again blissfully unaware of the little back-handed compliment that just escaped Eddie’s Tennessee mouth and runs off again to join the party. Not noticing a thing.

But apparently someone does.

“What was that?” Steve asks from where he’s standing behind Eddie.

“What was what?” Eddie replies automatically. He doesn’t turn around just yet, slightly terrified to find out Steve’s reaction. Not there’s any malice to be heard in his voice, but Eddie’s learned to be careful even when everything seems to be safe.

“That… the whole bless your heart thing.”

“That’s a just saying.” Eddie shrugs.

“But the accent… where did that come from?” Steve stammers.

That comment finally makes Eddie turn around only to find Steve staring at him, jaw slacked and cheeks tickled pink. And well, isn’t that interesting. 

Eddie grins as he takes a step closer to Steve, head cocked to the side. “Didn’t you know? I ain’t from around here.” He’s really laying the accent on thick this time, just to see how Steve will react. 

It pays off beautifully because Steve just stares at him again, his face turning an even deeper shade of pink that contrast with the tight yellow t-shirt he’s wearing. Eddie’s stomach bubbles with giddiness at the sudden power he’s holding over Steve, making him all flustered like this.

God, he really shouldn’t be flirting with his very-much-straight crush but it just feels so good.

“Where- where are you from then?” Steve clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Tennessee, baby. Born ’n raised.” 

Steve opens his mouth and closes it again, does it a couple of times actually, like he’s a goddamn guppy. It’s, frankly, adorable and Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. He lowers his gaze, his hands moving through the air like he’s unsure what to do with that.

“I’m just… I’m just gonna talk to Robin for a sec. Be right back, okay?”

Eddie watches as Steve disappears in between the kids, sees how he frantically talks to Robin before dragging her upstairs, clearly in need some alone time.

Huh. Weird. 

-xxx-

Eddie comes clean about his roots to the rest of his friends a couple days later and to his surprise, no one really seems to bat an eye. Sure, there are few laughs here and there but it’s never bad. A couple of questions (mostly from El) about where he grew up and that’s that.

Or so he thinks.

Because he also told Steve, Robin and Nancy about the fact that there’s a country bar just a couple miles from Hawkins and that he’s being going there almost every week just to feel a little at home again. And now, they obviously want to come with. 

Eddie’s feeling slightly nervous about it - this is still on a whole other level than just wearing one of Wayne’s flannels and bringing out his drawl every once in a while. This is about who he is, how he was raised, and he’s not really sure how things’ll go down if his friends react weirdly about it.

Pat is surprised to say the least when Eddie strolls into the Off-Road next Wednesday with Robin, Nancy and Steve in tow. Robin swore up and down that they should dress the part even though Eddie told her it wasn’t necessary, but there they are anyway, plaid shirts and all. 

It’s slightly embarrassing to be honest, but Robin seems to enjoy making him suffer (well, that was until Nancy took off her plaid shirt and tied it around her waist to show off her tight black dress underneath and Robin almost had an aneurysm. Ha, how’s that for payback?). And besides, Steve’s looking unfairly hot in that light blue flannel so who’s Eddie to complain?

“Well, well, well. Looks like you got some friends after all, Ed.” Pat grins. “Welcome y’all.”

After Eddie introduces everyone, Robin starts talking Pat’s ear off, overjoyed with the fact that she’s finally meeting another queer woman, asking her all kinds of questions about growing up queer and how she met Tish. Eddie smiles, feeling happy for his friend. 

On the other side of the bar, Steve and Nancy are hunched over the jukebox, arguing about the next song to play.

“Is that him?” Tish asks as she puts down his beer - Eddie figures he might as well take advantage of the fact that Nancy’s driving tonight. She nods to where Steve is clearly losing the argument with Nancy. The way he’s bending over the jukebox in those tight Levi’s is making his ass look insane and Eddie lets out a strangled sound.

“Yeah, that’s him alright.”

Tish lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Eddie. You’re screwed.”

“Why, geez. Thanks for that boost of confidence, Tish.”

Tish just winks at him and disappears back into the kitchen. Eddie just sits and sulks for a bit, head rocking along to the song that Nancy picked out until Robin suddenly slides into view, eyes filled with mischief that Eddie doesn’t care for one bit.

“So… A little birdie told me you’ve been singing Dolly Parton songs here on the regular.” Robin says in a sing-song voice.

Damn Pat and her blabber mouth.

Eddie narrows his eyes at her. “And what about it, Buckley?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you might wanna play a song for us tonight?” Robin asks. She clasps her hands together and pouts when Eddie rolls his eyes at her. “Please? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And how exactly do you propose to do that?”

“Well… I can’t really say. Not yet anyway.” Robin smiles awkwardly. “But I promise you’ll be happy about it once it works out. Please?”

Eddie sighs - he’s never really been able to resist someone begging and he’s not gonna start now. He finishes his beer in one swig and makes his way over to the stage, taking the now-familiar acoustic guitar from the wall.

His friends sit down at a table close to the stage, staring at him with eager excitement as Eddie tries to think of a song to play. He feels strangely nervous. They had seen him play before, been to a few of Corroded Coffin gigs and he even sang the Beatles’ Blackbird for Nancy’s birthday but this still feels scarier, more intimate. 

And the thing is, he can’t really go with one of the songs he played her before because one wrong look in Steve’s direction and he’d be fucked for life. Or even worse, a love song - that’d make for a real awkward evening. So, he finally settles on a song that’s neither of those, but still a song that’s very close to his heart.

“Back through the years, I go wonderin’ once again. Back to the seasons of my youth…” Eddie sings softly, though his drawl rolls out of him with full force. 

He can’t help it, it’s the only way he knows how to sing this song because it’s the way his momma sang it to him every night before going to bed. Tucking him in tightly underneath the duvet, covering his face with kisses until he couldn’t stop giggling. Her voice soft and warm as she sang him to sleep.

“There were rags of many colors, every piece was small. And I didn’t have a coat and it was way down in the fall. Mama sewed the rags together, sewin’ every piece with love. She made my coat of many colors, that I was so proud of.”

He thinks of Wayne. Thinks of the clothes Wayne gave him while growing up. How he wore them to school with pride, excited to have clothes to call his own. To have a home and someone taking care of him, not because Wayne had to but because he wanted to. 

“So with patches on my britches and in holes in both my shoes, in my coat of many colors, I hurried off to school. Just to find the others laughing and are making of fun of me, in my coat of many colors my mama made for me.”

Thinks of his classmates laughing at his accent, at the way he dressed, at his amazement of seeing snow for the very first time. Remembers going home to Wayne with tears in his eyes, stuffing his plaid shirts into the deepest corner of his closet and trading it for plain black tees instead. Remembers staying up late when Wayne was at work to practice his speech pattern by watching old tv-shows and repeating the lines. 

Looks up at his friends. Realizes how he’s showcasing all those parts he hid away for years and is for once, rewarded for it. They’re listening intently, proud smiles on their faces. Nancy and Robin are leaning against each other, their fingers finding their way to one another.

Glances over at Steve, whose hands are folded underneath his chin as he looks at Eddie with a gentle smile, his eyes soft and almost like honey underneath the warm ceiling lights of the bar. He barely blinks, eyes glued to Eddie and Eddie only. It’s a bit distracting, if Eddie’s being honest. He feels his cheeks heat up and he almost misses a chord at one point, realizing then and there why he didn’t pick a love song in the first place. 

He needs to sing, not melt into a puddle of goo underneath Steve’s gaze, goddammit.

“Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be. In my coat of many colors, my mama made for me. Made just for me…”

The song softly fades away and Eddie mumbles a quick thanks into the microphone as his friends and the rest of the the bar burst out into applause. He shuffles over to the table  where he’s met with Robin and Nancy beaming at him and pulling him into a tight hug.

“That was so good.” Nancy gushes.

“Yeah, it was amazing! You should switch music genres, if I’m honest.” Robin nods. “Change Corroded Coffin’s name into Corroded Cowboy or something.”

Eddie chuckles. “Not sure if the guys are gonna like that. But thanks, girls. Means a lot.”

Steve stays strangely quiet in between Robin and Nancy’s stream of compliments, just fiddling with the coaster in between his fingers. It’s not until Nancy drags Robin to the dance floor when an upbeat song starts playing and Eddie slides into one of the empty seats they left behind, that Steve speaks up.

“You have a really nice voice, you know that?” 

He says it so softly that Eddie can barely hear him over the bluegrass music on the speakers. Still, it’s enough for Eddie’s cheeks to flush pink.

“Thanks.” Eddie replies, ducking his head to prevent Steve from seeing his flushed face. 

“Seriously, man.” Steve says. “Think about Robin said. I mean, I love hearing you sing and scream about the world’s injustices with Corroded Coffin as much as the next person but…”

Eddie’s heart starts beating out of his chest because holy fuck, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing.

“But these songs seem to come so natural to you, y’know?” Steve glances up to meet Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “You make it seem so…”

“Easy?” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles and there’s something in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite decipher. A secret that only Steve seems to know. “Yeah, exactly. Easy.”

Eddie feels the flush on his face deepen underneath Steve’s gaze and he needs a way out before he starts doing something incredibly stupid like drag him to the bathroom just to see what happens when he calls Steve darlin’. 

“You want a refill?” Eddie says quickly, gesturing towards the empty beer bottle on the table. “My treat.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Eddie.”

The sound of his own name rolling off Steve’s tongue almost makes Eddie  stumbles as he stands up  makes his way towards the bar. Smooth, Munson, real fuckin’ smooth.

“Two beers please.” Eddie tells Pat, drumming his ring-adorned hands on the faded wood of the bar.

“Here ya go.” Pat says, handing him the drinks. Eddie’s about to turn back, when she stops him. “Ed, I don’t mean to mess with your head or anythin’… But are ya sure that boy’s straight?”

Eddie snorts. “What’d you mean? ‘Course he is.”

“Well, I won’t be so sure about that, kiddo.” Pat says with a knowing smile. “I’ve been seein’ the way he looks at you tonight and well… let’s just say it’s the same way I look at Tish every morning I wake up next to her.”

Eddie looks up to where Steve’s chatting with Jack, one of the older regulars who’s an actually banjo player in his spare time. He just watches them for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips, the one he always gets when he’s looking at Steve. 

Steve looks up and their eyes meet, a bright smile appearing on his face as he wiggles his hands in the air to wave at Eddie. He seems so happy and he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Christ, Eddie’s so in love with him.

“That. That look right there. No one looks at their platonic friend like that. Not when there are other feelings involved.” Pat says firmly. “You might wanna start re-thinkin’ this whole situation, Ed.” She adds cryptically and returns to where she’s drying off another glass.

A tingly feeling spreads all over Eddie’s body, a shiver running up his spine. It should feel nice, it does feel nice, but at the same time Eddie knows it’s actually the worst feeling in the world.

Hope. 

tag list: 

@solosnail @gothbat99 @unclewaynemunson @legitcookie @henderdads @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinisthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @magpiemuseum @mightbeasleep @maya-custodios-dionach @theokatz @this-earlobe-is-naked

[queerstudiesnatural]

i think. cas should lose his memories again after coming back from the empty like he did in s7. and dean is heartbroken but he takes it slow and he tries to get cas to remember the little things, and when that doesn't happen he just tries to make him comfortable and be a good friend even though it's tearing him apart that cas doesn't remember him, especially after what he said right before he died (which he doesn't bring up with cas because what would be the point? more pain? no thank you). and cas is sorry, he wants to remember, he can see how hurt dean is, and even though he doesn't remember dean he still wants him to be happy. like some part of him knows how important dean is to him, even if he doesn't know why. and they develop a whole new, more tender, more fun relationship. they watch movies together and try to figure out what kinds of movies cas likes. they decorate cas' room. dean teaches cas how to cook (although cas finds that the food always tastes better when dean cooks it). they're both careful not to accidentally do or say anything that could hurt the other, not like they're walking on eggshells exactly, they're just more considerate. until one day dean can't take it, he's particularly tired and he breaks down, says he misses his cas, says it's not fair, cas can't just say something like that and then leave him, and then come back broken. come back not feeling the way he did before. it's just not fair. dean has had to rewrite his entire history with cas in his head with the knowledge that cas loved him, it's changed everything he thought he knew, and now that's gone too. and cas holds him and he says he loves him now. he doesn't remember the way it was before but he loves him now, and he knows it's not enough but it has to be, because that's all he's got to give dean. and dean is still mourning his cas but he loves all versions of cas, and the one in front of him is no different, and they kiss, and with the power of true love's kiss cas gets his memories back the end

[billdenbrough]

cannot possibly express enough how strange this one is. ok. @naturecalls111 prompted me (technically for microfic monday, but it was quickly determined to be untenable) kevaaron + frogs. there was an additional, informal element to the prompt she wanted that rocketed it from 488w (already egregious) to 1.6k (don't look at me), but i'm already wrestling with my psyche enough abt this one lmao. we'll leave that part to be a surprise so i don't have to think about it anymore HAHA. i guess. anyway. kevaaron + frogs, for mina.

“This is your fault,” Aaron says.

Kevin is affronted. “How could this be my fault!”

“Nobody cares enough about what I do to curse me,” Aaron points out, huffy. As huffy as a frog can be, anyway. “But you? Absolutely. You’re also really annoying.”

Kevin sulks.

“How sure are you?” Neil asks, following Nicky into the room. “I mean. Frogs?”

Nicky gives him an incredulous look, then snatches Kevin off the desk. Kevin makes the world’s most indignant croak, which everyone rudely ignores, except Aaron, who rolls his eyes.

“He has a queen mark,” Nicky exclaims, brandishing Kevin at Neil. “What kind of frog has a tattoo?”

Neil stares at it, then sighs. “Okay. Sure. Why not. So it’s Kevin. How do you know it’s Aaron with him?”

“Kevin wouldn’t leave without him, so it had to be one of us,” Nicky explains. Kevin thinks this is an optimistic reading of his character. “Which already probably meant Aaron, but I’ve confirmed he’s the only one also missing. So.”

“How did this happen?” Neil muses, sitting down on Kevin’s bed. His bed is right there. Kevin strongly considers kicking him. Except he doesn’t have the right feet.

Almost immediately after he has that thought, his mouth opens—without his express permission—and his tongue goes flying, a projectile aimed right at Neil’s face.

Neil barely manages to dodge, throwing up his arms and falling backwards quickly enough that Kevin’s tongue narrowly misses his skin. (Thank God.) 

Nicky squawks, dropping Kevin, who thankfully lands on the desk. Aaron is watching Neil with interest. And Kevin—

Kevin is just pleased his aim and ability to forcibly correct Neil’s behaviour is still intact.

“Oh, gross,” Nicky complains. Neil looks relatively unruffled, though he shoots Kevin a slight glare before moving to his own bed. Thank you.

“Yep, that’s Kevin,” Neil mutters. “I wonder how Aaron got wrapped up in this.”

Nicky cocks his head.

“Assuming turning people into frogs is a real thing—which, okay, yeah—then I have to assume it doesn’t happen randomly,” Neil says. “And as annoying as Aaron can be—” Aaron rolls his eyes. Again. “—It’s gotta be Kevin, right? The reason?”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Nicky says immediately. Which is so rude.

“Maybe they were together?” Neil muses aloud.

“Or it’s like a fairytale,” Nicky says. At Neil’s confused—and slightly judgemental—look, he elaborates, “You know, like, The Frog Prince! Or The Frog Princess! Or—that movie coming out, the Princess and the Frog!”

“This is too many frogs,” Neil mutters, but looks attentive. “So what’s the common theme? Other than frogs.”

“You know, normal fairytale stuff,” Nicky says, waving his hands through the air. On the desk beside Kevin, Aaron has gone still. It’s weird that Kevin can tell—it’s not like Aaron was especially mobile in the moments prior, after all—but paying attention to Aaron isn’t that big of a surprise, these days. “True love’s kiss, all that.”

Neil goes still too.

Aaron is looking at Kevin, gaze watchful, eyes intent.

Kevin looks away. Unfortunately, this means he’s looking at Neil, who is observing him with a calculating expression. At least Neil can’t expect a response, Kevin thinks. Small victories.

“Well,” Neil says. Kevin assumes he’s talking to Nicky—as strange as Neil is, conversing with a frog is probably out of even his realm of behaviour—but he’s still looking at Kevin. Ugh. “That might explain it.”

“Huh?” Nicky asks.

Kevin cannot look at Neil anymore.

Aaron is still looking at him.

“Neil frequently has bad ideas,” Kevin says, a pre-emptive defence.

“I don’t disagree,” Aaron says. It’s fucking weird. He’s a frog. Green and disproportionate legs—maybe he should try keep those when they get back to normal, Kevin thinks, suddenly daydreaming of a genuinely tall defence line; and then his thoughts shift a little to the left, Aaron’s knobbly knees but now they’re green and his calves are endless, pressing against Kevin, and wow, okay, Kevin is shelving that one before he gets too anatomically-confused, what the fuck—but still so Aaron. It still feels the same, him looking at Kevin, and now there’s something in Kevin’s throat to swallow past. He’s not even sure if he still has a throat, technically.

Neil and Nicky are still talking in the background, a buzzing noise that Kevin can’t focus on.

“Fairytales aren’t real,” Kevin says.

“We are frogs,” Aaron enunciates. Which is a reasonable counterpoint.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin mutters.

“Kevin,” Aaron says. This is going to do something insane to Kevin’s dreams, he thinks, dismayed. Aaron croaking his name, and it being completely understandable. Life is so hard.

“Ugh,” Kevin says. His tongue goes flying past, apparently the frog equivalent of throwing one’s arms up in exasperation.

Aaron watches it go past, then looks at Kevin. If they were normal, he thinks Aaron’s eyebrow would be raised, or face tilted to the side, or something to that effect. People don’t think of either twin as especially expressive, but Kevin knows Aaron’s face, has mapped all its mountains and shifting planes. He misses it, suddenly, fiercely. More than the consistent pulse of exasperation and disbelief at their situation, the underlying desire to get back to normal. It’s an active, immediate thing: he wants to see Aaron’s face again, a deep-seated ache.

“Careful,” Aaron says. “If you keep throwing that tongue around, I won’t let you put it in my mouth.”

Kevin chokes. His tongue tangles itself on the way back into his mouth, his eyes bulge, and he makes a sputtering noise. Neil and Nicky don’t even pause their discussion.

If there’s a way for a frog to look calm in the wake of their friend (?)—also a frog—almost dying in response to an implication of flirtation, Aaron does.

“Aaron,” Kevin wheezes, once he’s got his tongue safely back inside his mouth and has reminded himself how to be a person.

“Kevin,” Aaron returns. He sounds so calm. So sure. And Kevin still knows him, down to his bones, but in this body, he can’t figure out his tells as easily. He can’t watch the movement of his knee, the furrow of his brows, the curling of his fingers into a fist. There’s no jaw to tighten, no hair to run his hands through, and while he still has eyes, they’re not ones that Kevin has memorised the way they soften.

“Is that a joke?” Kevin asks.

“We’re frogs,” Aaron reminds him. “We’re already the joke.” Before Kevin can decide how he feels about that, Aaron says, “Kissing you? Sure. Why not. Worth a shot.”

“Why not,” Kevin echoes. “Worth a shot.”

Aaron looks at him again. Kevin thinks maybe this is what it looks like for a frog’s eyes to soften, but who knows? Maybe he’s just looking for what he wants to see.

God, this whole thing is fucking ridiculous, but maybe the most unsettling part has been realising how much he misses seeing Aaron’s face. He’s gone longer without seeing it, obviously, it’s just—he’s never had to look at Aaron without it being Aaron. He can’t explain it better than that.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” Aaron says suddenly, “if it were a fairytale.”

Kevin blinks. (Oh, that was weird.) He thinks that over.

“Oh,” he says, then smiles. He thinks he smiles. He’s not really sure what his mouth is doing. It’s unnervingly large in relation to the rest of his body.

“Oh,” Aaron echoes, but he hops closer. One hop. Two. His legs are very strong, Kevin notes, but then he stops thinking about it, because Aaron is really close.

Kevin cannot believe he’s maybe—probably—almost certainly—about to kiss Aaron for the first time. And they’re fucking frogs.

Kevin hops that last step, moving in closer.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes again. Kevin has never seen a frog do that before, though jury’s out as to whether that’s because normal frogs can’t, or because Aaron Minyard brings a level of exasperation previously unknown amongst the species.

Kevin leans in, and kisses him. It’s the weirdest sensation he’s ever had—their bodies are approximately 30% mouth right now, which is a lot to deal with—but then Aaron’s mouth is open a little, and Kevin’s weird, powerful tongue darts in and tangles with Aaron’s.

This is fucking insane, Kevin thinks, and then there’s a sudden whoosh of air through the room, and suddenly the desk crashes and he and Aaron are sprawled across each other on the floor.

Human.

And naked.

“Oh my god,” Nicky says. “You’re back!” And then, tilting his head at Kevin, “And naked.”

“We’re leaving,” Neil announces, grabbing Nicky by the elbow and tugging him out of the room. His expression is dismayed. “I don’t want to see you today,” he says over his shoulder, which Kevin would like to apply to Aaron, but probably mostly means him.

Aaron is beneath Kevin, which luckily means his modesty is protected, given his usual hangups (Aaron and Neil often tell Kevin that it’s not that everyone else has hangups, but that Kevin is entirely too open with nudity; Kevin largely ignores this); unfortunately, it does mean Kevin landed on him, and now he’s groaning.

Kevin gets off him, then looks at him. At his face. God. He missed that face.

“Why are you staring at me?” Aaron grumbles.

“After everything that just happened, that’s your question?” Kevin asks, incredulous. Fucking fond, because of course it is.

“Everything else has a root cause of you being annoying,” Aaron says. “This—”

Kevin leans in, cupping Aaron’s jaw with one hand.

Aaron shuts up.

“Take a guess,” Kevin says. His voice is – soft. Too soft to hide behind.

There’s so much going on Aaron’s face, eyes quick, expressive, roving all over Kevin’s, taking him in, figuring him out. Then his expression clears.

“You’re so annoying,” Aaron says, and then he surges up and kisses Kevin.

It’s much better, Kevin thinks, getting to do this as them.

[axleboost]

Naruto Fanfiction | Life Without Kurama, Chapter 7

What are Orochimaru and Kabuto up to in the linked chapter? Take your best guess. >:-)

[stardust948]

3 Inch AU

Prequel to this post

Zuko rubbed his aching eyes, praying what he thought just happened didn't. That a bright light did not flash in the middle of his and Azula's spar leaving his body sore and head aching.

He forced himself to open his eyes and found himself in the middle of a strange spirit forest. Great. First the body switch fiasco now this! Why were there so many spirits hanging around the palace?!

"Nice going dum-dum." Azula spat. "You angered the spirits again!"

"Again?! That was your fault! Both times!!!"

"As I recall, no one knows what angered the last one, but you pushed me onto this spirit and now we're 3 inches tall!!!"

"What?!" Zuko shot up.

Azula pushed the vegetation back revealing an oversized throwing star Mai gifted her. The very one Zuko knocked out of her hand when their spar turned into a messy free for all.

Zuko's heart sank.

"Like I said, 3 inches tall. Thanks a lot."

"None of this is my fa-"

A shadow fell over them seconds before a huge bird swooped down. The siblings barely had time to jump out of the way as the bird snatched up the throwing star. The two shared a frightened look. They had to get out of the garden or they'll surely be next.

A brief silent truce was formed as Zuko and Azula began the trek. Thankfully, they were relativity close to the walkway before they were shrunken. After scaling the huge steps, the ground trembled as a massive figure in deep red robes passed by. The siblings gasped.

"DAD! HELP US!"

"WAIT! DOWN HERE!"

They quickly chased after him, but it was no use. Ozai tuned out their now shrunken voices, assuming it was a chorus of summer insects. And there was no possible chance of the siblings catching up to him on foot.

Azula grabbed Zuko's wrist. "Agni's Arrow!"

Zuko skidded to a stop then spun his sister around. Azula produced fire jets from her feet to build momentum. After counting to three, Zuko released her. Azula shot through the air at breakneck speed straight towards her father.

This better work for they were both done for.

~*~

The palace was quiet. Too quiet.

That alone put Ozai on edge. He swore he heard his children out by the garden earlier. It was just another sibling spat but when he decided to check on them, the garden was empty.

A part of Ozai hoped the children settled things on their own and left without a big fuss. The rest of Ozai knew that was wishful thinking. So, he walked the perimeter just to be sure.

Ozai let out an annoyed sigh. The humming bees were a lot louder today. He'll have to talk to the groundskeeper about that least they overrun the whole garden.

Something landed on his shoulder. Ozai tsked and brushed it away. It seemed the infestation already began.

"Dad!!!"

Ozai stopped dead in his tracks.

"Azula?"

It was so faint. Maybe he was hearing things.

"Down here! Hurry!"

A small blue flame shot from his arm. Ozai glanced down and saw his daughter dangling from his sleeve.

"What the-"

Ozai quickly scooped her into his palm before she lost her grip.

"A-Azula?" Ozai gaped at his now tiny daughter trying to get her bearings. "What... how...?"

His eyes widened. If Azula was like this then...

"Where's Zuko?!"

Ozai lifted his feet as horror gripped him. Cool relief washed over him when he spotted a small figure running towards him.

"Dad!"

Ozai knelt down and lowered his hand for Zuko to climb onto. Now that his children were safe, Ozai calmed down enough for his mind to piece together what happened.

"Don't tell me-"

"Spirits." the siblings answered at the same time.

Ozai groaned. "Not again."

[livingininsomnia]

If you were awake, you’d never allow him such an indulgence— to rest his head upon your lap as you rest upright upon the couch.

But you are dead asleep, and Silver is cannot resist sitting at your feet and resting his head against your thigh.

Just for a few precious moments.

[steddiejudas]

STWG Daily Drabble 9/27/23

Prompt: horse

“You did what?” Steve’s voice echoes off the empty stable walls. His hands find their home on his hips as he looks down at Dustin wearing a shit eating grin.

“I said, we bought a horse!”

“And who exactly is WE? Because from where I'm standing it’s just you, me, and an empty stable. Oh please for the love of god tell me you didn’t buy a whole stable too?”

“Relax, Steve. You don’t even have to do anything, that’s what stable hands are for.”

“You’re not exactly easing my conscience, shithead. Did you use the emergency card to buy a horse?”

“You said whatever I needed!”

“Why do you need a horse?!”

Dustin shrugs. “For horse things.”

“Horse things. Okay.” Steve runs a hand down his face. He doesn’t know what ‘horse things’ are or how much this is costing him, but he’s pretty sure he won’t like the answer to either. “So where is it anyway?”

“I think the stable hand took him out.”

“Please tell me I’m not also paying this stable hand.”

A voice from behind Steve cuts him off. A beautiful man with wild curls pulled back into a ponytail wearing leather and thick denim leads what he assumes to be Dustin’s new horse into the stable. It’s a beautiful black stallion. His coat shines, clearly having just been groomed.

“Sorry handsome, no free rides.” The man slowly drags his gaze over Steve’s entire body, causing a blush to creep up Steve’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe one free ride. Just for you.”

“Steve, this is Eddie!” Dustin says.

Steve steps forward, tentatively reaching a hand out to brush down the length of the horse’s docile face. “Nice to meet you Eddie,” he coos. “You’re a sweetheart aren’t you?” Behind him Dustin snickers.

“What, shithead? So I like the horse. That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“Well I don’t know if i’d call myself a sweetheart,” the man says. “But it’s nice to meet you too.”

“Uhhh, the horse’s name is Steven. That’s Eddie,” Dustin says, gesturing to the man.

“Yeah I uh, I got that.” Steve reaches a hand out to shake Eddie’s, transfixed by the man’s beauty that for a moment he almost misses that— “Wait. You little shit, you named your horse Steven?”

“Of course not! I just bought the one that already had your name. We can call you human Steve if it’s too confusing.” Dustin and Eddie double over in laughter.

“I hate you both.”

Eddie winks, still holding Steve’s hand. “Whatever you say, human Steve.”

[revelisms]

Don't you want to be—

(what what what, darling?)

—mirror to some piece of this: moon-slash of his wretchedness, recklessness, fawning fingers pleasure-peaked sharp-tongued wickedness—

(why why why, darling?)

—hair slicked back and smile perfect.

His silks feel like death-robes, his pulpit a coffin, his congregation a stew of want and need. His own needs selfishly curtailed and forgotten. Drowned in skin sticky with sweat and voices biting nothingness in his ear: in his brother's cracked-open wines and the slam of his foot on the gas pedal, fueling life into an engine that screams, a vile communion with the hoarse shattering of his own.

At the cliffside, pomade wind-tussled from his hair, layered instead with salt-grime and smeared tears, he smokes.

His mother's own habit, sourly inherited.

The scent is nostalgic the way celluloid film loses its stain: bitter, half torn, stuffed in the pockets of his mind, nonetheless. The same brand of cheap woody tobacco he smells on her when he's close enough to lay his head on her shoulder.

Not that she offers.

Not that he asks.

The sun is dipping on the horizon: a blood-orange half-moon slurped down by a dead sea.

He ticks his thumb over the paper rolled between his knuckles. Watches the ash flutter like polluted snow to his feet. Through his lungs breathes a soldier's quiver, weighing him down like lead: sighs out black magic, white-eye light, the taste of empty pleasure on his tongue, a throat-trip of rusted ambrosia.

He looks not to the heavens—but to the red-soaked sea, below: to the black gate of Olde, the Beneath, the Beyond: wings of skin, not of feathers, beasts gray and fanged, and violet spellwork unspoken in his hands.

In thirteen months' time, the adopted darling will succeed him. The little copper-haired boy he still sees, sometimes, with both eyes that watery ocean-blue. The child his mother wrapped her arms around, without question. The heir his father, in spirit, will learn to accept—after he's carried out his head on a spit.

Him, the doomed Failure from the start.

Him, the one they've all watched and waited to fall.

He hears reason in the memory of Ghoul's—Omega's—his—otherworldly grumbling: that it is one path of countless.

A curse that this eye can see them, at all.

But he feels sureness in his bones, more than any sureness he's known before.

All their days are numbered.

(and yours?)

The stubbed end of a cigarette rolls between his fingers. Against the points of them: a purple spark. The paper folds upon itself, blackened and writhing: burns and burns in hellfire and ash.

A year, if he's lucky.

A smile twitches on his mouth: paintless and crooked.

And, oh—will he give them a show.

terzo, on premonitions / creator, brother, son

[silversnowblossom]

Alhaitham steps into the kitchen and snags Kaveh’s coffee, not because he can’t get his own—the coffee maker is really only a couple feet away—but because it’s far more entertaining watching Kaveh splutter in annoyance.

“Stop stealing my coffee,” Kaveh grumbles blearily, blond hair askew, and Alhaitham’s about to roll his eyes and keep sipping at it anyway, maybe offer a scathing remark about his roommate’s typical unkemptness in the morning, but—

Instead, he finds himself saying, “okay,” his body moving to set the coffee down without any conscious input on his part. 

He’s not the only one surprised. Kaveh blinks at the coffee, then squints at Alhaitham. “Are you alright? You’re being awfully compliant today. That’s not like you.”

“I’m fine,” Alhaitham says distractedly, trying to figure out what just happened. 

“Hm. If you say so.”

-

By the end of the morning, Alhaitham has concluded two things.

One: he's under a compulsion to obey any command given to him, whether the speaker intended for it to be an order or not. 

And two: he can’t tell anyone about his condition. Not intentionally, anyway. He’s tried, with Kaveh, because as much as they bicker, there’s no one Alhaitham trusts more. He’d opened his mouth and his words lodged in his throat, unable or unwilling to escape. He’d tried to write it out, but his muscles locked, refusing to let him. 

Kaveh's just going to have to figure it out himself, he supposes. It shouldn't be too hard.

Figuring out how this happened and how to resolve it on the other hand...

Well. This is going to be a headache and a half, Alhaitham can already tell. 

[peppered-moths]

here is a lesson that scott learns often: the love is never worth it.

here is a lesson that scott forgets often: that doesn't mean it was never there.

so no. he does not care about jimmy. they've been enemies longer than they were lovers. jimmy dies, and scott survives. such is the path of fate.

scott has never been much for fate, even if it's not his own. so he vows; i will let you kill me. i will not let time take you away (from me) so soon. he spreads his hands, makes a mockery of golden wings. do it. there is coal dust in his throat.

smajor1995 hit the ground too hard.

it's not love; maybe it never was. it's holding on, instead, to the one person who at least thought they cared about you. scott dances on a beaten path, forever chasing after what used to be. poppies and promises, red blood on the sand.

it is memory. rote, unchanging, to run to each other. that doesn't make it anything. that doesn't make it love.

(but maybe it's love when scott sends an arrow through jimmy's chest, a fierce grin on his face. maybe it's love when jimmy screams for him, begging save my life, save my life, please. maybe it's love, watching him die only a few minutes later.)

(maybe it's love to be breathing at all.)

(the canary stops singing. the world stops spinning.)

[jaegonsmoon]

will i ever be free—