#like they don't actually get together in the fic

[haologram]

araneae 🕸️ k.sy (teaser)

🕸️ synopsis: when you realize your friend (with benefits) actually has feelings for you, a tangled web of lies and avoidance ensues. 🕸️ genre: friends with benefits au ; big dummy dumb idiots to lovers because it's the only trope ever ; ta x student dynamics ; fluff, angst & eventual smut (surprise?) 🕸️ pairing: zoology ta!kwon soonyoung x marine biology major!reader | side pairings: joshua hong x sana minatozaki ; vernon chwe x roh jisun (fromis_9) ; mentions of reader x yuta nakamoto (nct) 🕸️ word count: 2.8k | full fic: i don't fuckin' know but hopefully under 20k. 🕸️ rating: 18+. minors do not interact i beg. 🕸️ warnings: mentions of knife play (none involved), alcohol, mentions of protected sex (dw it'll get freaky later), mentions of cum, loss of virginity talk, mentions of marijuana (stoner!hoshi be off the honeypacks!!), they're naked for most of this snippet. a lot of parties later in the fic, just wait LOL. 🕸️ what to listen to: good kisser - usher ; magic stick - lil' kim ; more to come.

LAST YEAR – Sunday, October 23.

You were never opposed to a nice Halloween party. Lots of thematic drinks, stupid boys dressed as Ghostface trying to explore knife kinks, and girls going all out with their glitter make-up and tinsel in their hair for the optimal fairy costume. 

You loved a good Halloween party, music blasting out of the speakers that were stolen from the AV Club by the softer version of the Beta Tau Omega brothers. Dancing with strangers in sweat-soaked facades, and waking up with smeared face paint all over your neck and shoulders from whatever disguised hook-up you'd taken home that night.

Last night's rager had to have been one for the books, because you have no idea how you ended up in this absolute mess of a bedroom – owned by none other than your close friend, Kwon Soonyoung. The same Kwon Soonyoung who also happens to TA the class you've put off taking for the last two years, and are set to start taking the upcoming spring semester.

The same Kwon Soonyoung that was related to the wife of the Dean, and the same Kwon Soonyoung that showed up everywhere stoned or ready to get stoned. The very same Kwon Soonyoung that made infused pre-rolls and edibles for nearly the entire campus…for free. Even you could see that was a horrible business call, and you were a Science major.

Soonyoung who helped people sneak kittens into their dorm rooms and make homes for them under lofted beds. Soonyoung, who taught a dance class and self-defense class back to back, so he was never free until after nine at night. Soonyoung who made hanging out seem like he was trying to get into your pants because he was just naturally flirtatious (and somehow, still absolutely bitchless.)

Soonyoung who you've kissed twice since meeting him two years ago, both times at Halloween parties hosted by his stupid fraternity. Soonyoung, who has had his hand up your skirt twice before someone interrupts you by asking if he has any weed at hand. He always does, and it's always in his car or his bedroom. He always goes, and a part of you, no matter how into it you may be, knows it's for the best. He keeps his circle small, of friends that is. You were added to the mix sometime after your first Halloween party (and first kiss together) your  freshman year, when he slammed into you in the middle of the economics hallway, breaking your laptop in the process. He'd felt so bad he took you to Best Buy that same night and shelled out two grand for a new one and even invited you out to lunch the next day.

He did not remember making out at all. To be fair, neither did you until the digital photos came back and he texted you a picture of the two of you kissing against the Beta Tau insignia on the wall. You were so embarrassed you avoided him for a week after, but he quickly forced you out of your dorm for a movie night. The two of you became fast friends, bonding over silly little things and enjoying each other's company – but it didn't stop the rumors from flying that you were a freshman stealing a guy from the sophomores. 

You remember that he adamantly denied any and every dating rumor flung your way, and even went as far as distancing himself from you for a bit – but when you tried to pull the same move he had earlier that year, he said maybe it was best for the two of you to remain friends from a distance. You didn't speak to him for the rest of the year, choosing to spend your time with friends your age and even dating a transfer student named Yuta Nakamoto, who was also in Soonyoung's year.

When word got around, Soonyoung was pissed – but didn't attempt to rekindle your friendship. He still followed you on Instagram, and still felt a bit of anger puddle in his stomach as he liked photo after photo of the two of you together, biting his tongue at the empty smile you held by his side.

This continued well into summer, and he saw the two of you take a trip to Jeju Island together, before breaking up the following week. Soonyoung heard from your friend, Nagyung, that he was transferring back and neither of you wanted to try long-distance. 

The following school year, he watched as you got recruited by sorority after sorority – eventually joining his frat's sister sorority, Alpha Sigma Delta. You hardly had to rush, the girls actively pushing you to pledge and you were far too nice to say no. 

You saw him again for the first time at the Halloween party planning, when you and your fellow pledges were tasked with helping the frat pledges in hauling in liquor. You weren't very happy about it, but Soonyoung whisked you away without a word from you, telling everyone that he needed your help with a certain task.

That task? "Can we talk?"

And you did. You talked, and talked, and talked. He even left at one point to get drinks for the two of you, returning to you fishing through his bag of pre-rolls for the ones infused with lemon balm. He smiled, telling you they were in his car, and you rolled your eyes at it.

You kissed at that party, too. It went further this time – the two of you on Seungcheol's balcony. The idea had been to go up to the roof and get crossed, but it seems a rather tipsy Soonyoung had other ideas. You didn't mind it, in fact you encouraged it – you slipped his hand up your latex dress, you let him slip your panties down your legs. "Hey, Hoshi! Do you have any pre-rolls?!" 

Just as he'd started undoing his pants.

"Fuck, I'm sorry baby."

"It's fine."

You passed out in his bedroom that time, too tired to go back to the sorority house with your sisters. You got out of clean-up, and Soonyoung left you a kimbap roll and an electrolyte drink on his nightstand, with a note asking how you got there 'haha.' 

It hadn't been fine. Again, neither of you remembered this happening until digitals were printed. And it was freshman year all over again – except this time, Soonyoung stuck around. Soonyoung defended you tooth and nail, and even dropped a few of his friends that bad-mouthed you. When you asked him about it, he shrugged, "Nothing wrong with kissing your friends every once in a while." So, here you are. Again.

The third year in a row you and your stupid friend have made out, and somehow, you're in his bed. There's no other explanation as for why your underwear is across the room, hanging off his lamp and why his head is gently laying on your chest. There's literally no other explanation.

"Soonyoung." You rasp, patting his cheek. He doesn't stir, but pouts into your bare breast. "Soonyoung." You speak louder, shaking him slightly as he peels open one of his eyes. 

"Yeah?" It takes him a moment to realize that it's you, sprinkled with glitter from his eye look last night and practically doused in his saliva.

"Oh, fuck." He just furrows his brows, rolling off your chest with a groan. He sits up at the edge of the bed, surveying the room before realizing he's got no pants on. "Son of a bitch. Did we…Yup. Yup, it's right there." His painted fingernails point at the discarded condom atop his dresser, flung hastily in a half-asleep attempt, most likely. You sigh, letting your head fall back on your pillow with a hmph. He does the same, his fingers only reaching up slightly to close the blinds with a jerk of the liftcord.

"You think it was good?" You ask with a small smile, and he snorts. "It was with you, I doubt it would've been bad."

Silence permeates the air again, before he sees your bare bottom half also covered in glitter. You have a tattoo on your hip that you didn't have when you first met. It's a stick-and-poke kitten. "Nice tattoo." "Thanks, I got it on Jeju Island." "When you and Yuta went?" "Yup." "Cool." He sits up, peering down at you with tired eyes. "What'd you see in that guy, anyway?"

"Hm?" "Yuta." "Oh. You want the truth?" It's like being nude in front of each other isn't a big deal. It's like having slept together after years of being in limbo means nothing. It's all so normal, the way you allow him to practically eye fuck you.

"I was sad you stopped being my friend." He blinks at you, watching the way you carefully pick at a thread loose in his comforter. You pull it out, discarding it behind you with a soft smile. "Does that answer your question?" "You fucked another guy because I stopped being your friend?" He asks incredulously, and you shrug. "Not just, but it was a large reason."

"You lost your virginity to him." His eyes are wide, and you shrug once more, nodding your head. "Yup." "Did he make you cum?" "Soonyoung-" "Did he?"

You sigh, patting his comforter. "Not the first couple of times, no. He got better at it, though. It was decent." 

Nodding, he clears his throat.

"Do you think I-" "Maybe. I don't know. I don't remember much, just the Pink Whitney Mingyu gave me." "Mingyu does love his Pink Whitney." You flip onto your back again, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Tucking your hands behind your head, you speak again. "Do you think I went down on you?" "There's lipstick on my tip." "What color?" "Uhh…wine red." You wipe a finger across your bottom lip, the small amount of residue a bloody, Cabernet red. "Hm. Checks out."

The air feels…comfortable.

"Wanna shower?" "Yeah." "Can I shower with you?" "Yeah, Soonie."

The two of you stretch simultaneously, before rolling to the side of the bed and standing up. He grabs the discarded condom off the dresser, holding it like a used tissue and taking it to the bin. You dig through his dresser for a towel, and he fishes out something for you to wear.

"Boxers okay?" "Hm, I prefer briefs." "On me or on you?" "Your underwear choices are your business." He holds up a pair of Spiderman briefs. You bite back your laugh and nod silently, extending your hand for them.

He disappears into his bathroom, flickering lights on and turning the shower head on. "Hot?" "Boiling." "Got it."

The both of you get in, and you close your eyes as the water pelts your back. Soonyoung says nothing as he moves your hair off your shoulders and away from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You should've asked me." He mumbles, reaching for the shampoo in the caddy behind you. Peeling your eyes open, you look up at him with a confused stare. "Asked you for what?" He shrugs, holding the shampoo bottle upside down over his hand and squirting some out. "I would've made you cum the first time." You snort, shoving his chest lightly. "Yeah, well…you didn't. It's fine." "This isn't weird to you?" "What? Showering together?" "After fucking, yeah." "Could be worse." "How?" "I could be that girl you've been flirting with since last year, wondering when you're going to text her back." "Who? Yujin?" "Yeah." "I'm not flirting with her, what made you think that?" "Stolen glances, flirty touches, you give her pre-rolls all the time." He rolls his eyes as he cards his fingers through your hair, his dull nails scrubbing your scalp gently. Your eyes flutter shut, and he huffs. "I give everyone pre-rolls." "Because you're a horrible business magnate." 

"No, because I'm nice." You smile without opening your eyes, your hands reaching out to touch his chest. His body feels good under your fingertips, you realize. "Are you mad you don't remember any of it?" "Furious." He mutters, gently tilting your head back to wash the soap out. You can't see the way he's looking at the sweet slope of your neck, just barely making out small nips of his teeth across your throat. Your necklace hangs nicely. The rest of the shower remains silent, as he carefully washes you before himself. His attention to detail is insane, the way his fingers hold the washcloth taut so he can feel every inch of you. He has to commit this to memory.

After, you're drying your hair with a random t-shirt he gave you. He remembers you told him that towels can be too rough for your hair texture sometimes. It's only when you're brushing your teeth with a brand new toothbrush he pulled from his cabinets that he speaks. "Let me change my bedsheets." "Don't wanna lay in the sin of fucking your friend, do ya?" The navy blue sheets are quickly replaced by ones with light grey ditsy floral print, and his comforter is shoved off and replaced by a few throw blankets. He watches as you change his pillowcases, only looking away when he hears his phone ping.

Msg From: Cheol [9:32am] hosh [9:32am] who is the girl in ur room and is she missing a pair of cat ears

"What was your costume last night?" He asks, and you snort. "I was a sexy witch." He smiles to himself as he picks up his phone.

Msg To: Cheol [9:33am] not missing a pair of cat ears [9:34am] and it's y/n

Your head snaps up when you hear a pair of feet thundering up the stairs, followed by silence. You give him an odd look, only to hear excited giggles down the hall and the pitter-patter of two adult men coming towards Soonyoung's room. You cross your arms as you hear the door creak open, an expectant look on your face as Jeonghan and Seungcheol's noses appear through the crack. "Hey, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here." Jeonghan remarks sweetly, and you just roll your eyes.

"He wasn't bluffing." He whispers to Seungcheol, receiving an annoyed huff from Soonyoung. "If you're done intruding on my personal business, I'd appreciate it if you left. The pledges still need to clean up last night's mess." Jeonghan gives you a wry look. "Can I say something and you don't get upset?" "If it's about sex, I will punch you in that pretty face of yours." You say pointedly, fluffing the pillow in your hand before throwing it onto his bed. Jeonghan purses his lips, nodding before sliding out from under Seungcheol. He nods his head, a satisfied look on his face. "Have a good…don't fuck too loud, okay?" Soonyoung barely misses Seungcheol's face with the charger he throws across the room, his giggle being heard in the hallway as he barrels down the stairs.

"Idiots." He huffs, running a hand through his damp hair as you flop onto the bed. "You don't mind if I stay here a bit? My head's killing me."

He lays down next to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

"You okay, Soonie?" Turning only his head, he scans your face. Tired eyes lined with thick lashes, plump lips covered by the Aquaphor in his bathroom. Slightly unkempt brows and your shoulder tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt on your frame.

"Kitty?" You grimace at the pet name, one he christened you with when the two of you met. He'd been dressed up as a cowboy, and dancing with a skeleton that was stolen from the comparative anatomy students (with the help of Junhui, of course.) He also had a lit joint between his fingers, one that sprinkled ash over your newly healed shoulder tattoo and made you yelp in pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry, kitty." He quickly put it out in a nearby ashtray, dusting your shoulder of any ash residue. "It's fine, it's fine. Just…can I get a hit?"

"Yeah?" He sits up, leaning against his bed frame before looking down at you.  "Would it be weird if I asked to try again?"

You glance up at him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "Try what again, exactly?"

He clears his throat, a beet red blush coating his cheeks. "You said Yuta didn't make you cum. And we don't know if I made you cum. So…can I have a redemption round?"

You've sat up at this point, a small laugh falling from your lips as you push your hair back, "You want to fuck me?"

"I can just go down on you, if, uh…if that's what you'd prefer." He stutters, mentally cursing himself. You glance at him, eyes scanning his face. "And we're still friends after this? You won't dump me?"

"I won't. I promise. Cross my heart, kitty." He holds his pinky finger out, insinuating you link yours. Sighing, you do just that. "Fine. Hop to, I want breakfast."

haologram © 2024 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

waittttttt your brain is so bodacious vampire frando sounds so interesting

if you’re comfortable/want to, tell me more ? 👀

ok i rly was supposed get some stuff done before fp1 later, but since you are ENCOURAGING me...

NORPINTO-FRANDO VAMPIRE AU

lando has been a vampire for like. a relatively long time by human standards. make of that what you will

he lives in an apartment, what we do in the shadows style, with... carlos and oscar

lando generally tries to be really clean with his feeding and take only enough blood out, so that the folks he bites wake up with a headache and minor anaemia

however. he drags unsuspecting graduate student franco into an alley and bites him, but gets distracted because franco TALKS the whole time.

turns out franco is like. a literature student who has always had an overactive imagination. he quickly puts the dots together and is like "OH, MY GOD, ARE YOU... A VAMPIRE" before lando is like "shush this won't take long if you stay still" and sinks his fangs into franco

franco yaps at length about how "at home in argentina there are witches and el familiar, in fact the idea of good and bad is very fluid in argentina and there is intercreature harmony, and oh! do you maybe know some of the witch clans from catamarca or salta?" and lando is like "??? how do you know all this ???" but by then he also realises his teeth have been in franco's neck for way too long, and oh shit franco is passing out and ahhhh---

franco is accidentally turned 🧛

lando is like "CRAP what do i do with this baby vampire wth ???" and he fireman carries him back to the house to try and figure it out. he spends half the time googling how to un-turn a vampire because oscar told him that like, google can tell you lots of stuff now

blablabla franco cannot be un-turned, so the rest of the fic is probably lando teaching franco how to do Vampire Things.

except franco just TALKS the whole time through EVERYTHING, including: how to feed, how to fly, how to stay out of trouble with the supernatural creatures international tribunal etcetc.

franco asks a lot of questions like "is it true you hate garlic" to lando and oscar is like "no he just hates fish, that's different".

carlos is like "i didn't know ur new sire speaks SPANISH" and then he actually gets rly excited to have a yapyap friend too

at some point oscar gets sick and tired of people not doing the dishes when they're supposed to in the house, so he turns into a bat and flies off in a huff

anyway idk how it ends but franco enjoys being a vampire somehow and they have a little vampire coven and lando gifts franco a little onyx hellhound figure to remind him of home

franco definitely asks lando "can i fly to argentina faster now" and lando is like. "no. you definitely need a rest stop somewhere further north like... mexico or smth, pls don't attempt that, also we have heavy regulations now because of the huge volume of air traffic in the sky so, pls just take a plane. here have the keys to my jet and tell them the code is ln4, they'll take you anywhere."

franco: YOU HAVE A PRIVATE JET WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO? WHY DO WE LIVE IN SUCH A DUMP?

lando, carlos, oscar (altogether): oi/hey/excuse me mate this is our dump 😠

edited to add: a carcar moment, and part 2

[viktoriaashleyyx]

This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet.

We are headed to the House of Wind to confront RhySAnd and we see more of Sky's past as she taunts RhySAnd with it.

Tw: Discusses RhySAnds SA of Feyre UTM, magical violence.

((Thank you for being patient with me. Moving sucks, but things are starting to settle down now))

Ch 1

Ch 6 >> Ch 8

Chapter 7:

Today is the day we were heading to the House of Wind. I had sent a letter to Rhysand offering to meet him, that Tamlin will join me, it took him a few days to respond. Lucien was back on his feet feeling good as new.

After putting on one of my dresses, I sat at the vanity as Tamlin braided my hair, he was getting better at it. This has become almost a morning ritual for us. Brushing and braiding each other's hair as we discuss what's on our mind. Today we were both silent, we didn't want to do this, but at least we will be together.

When we were both ready we joined Lucien in the dining hall for breakfast.

“I almost want to go with you, just to see the look on Rhysands face as I walk in there unscathed.” Lucien admitted.

“I'd rather see the hate in Feyres eyes when I tell her you're dead by Rhysands hand,” I teased.

Lucien chuckled, Tamlin wasn't amused.

“You could go in disguise.” I joked, “have Tamlin turn you into a Raven and perch on my shoulder if you're so nosey.”

“Don't tempt me with a good time.” Lucien was going with it.

“No,” Tamlin huffed.

“Please, imagine how badass I would look walking in with a raven on my shoulder.” I whined. Still teasing, trying to lighten my nerves.

“I'm okay with that.” Lucien shrugged. Tamlin just groaned.

♡♡♡♡♡

“No, not a red raven, they're gonna recognize him. A normal raven.” I ordered.

“I can't believe we are actually doing this.” Tamlin sighed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

I portaled us to the door of the House of Wind, held Tamlins hand, and knocked. He was nervous, he had never been to Velaris before, but, thanks to my brother, the secrecy of this city has faltered.

“There's my baby sister! Can I finally get that hug?” Rhysand tried to embrace me and I put my hand on his chest pushing him back.

“I don't like to be touched.” I said dryly. “See how easy it was for me to show up on the OUTSIDE of your house and KNOCK?” I judged. “Show us to where we are having this meeting.”

“So bossy,” Rhysand teased, “you're not even the slightest bit happy to see me?”

He led us to a large sitting room, Tamlin and I sat on one couch, well, I perched on the edge, (how do the other illyrians sit here comfortably?) Rhysand and Feyre on the other, with who I assume to be, Feyre's sister and either Cassian or Azriel, I couldn't remember, the one with long hair, sitting in the corner, obviously eavesdropping. “Why would I be happy to see you? The last time you threw Lucien's dead body at me.”

Rhysands face dropped, he expected me to be more subtle. Feyre's face lined with shock as tears welled up in her eyes. “What? What is she talking about, Rhysand? You told me he left to stay at the Spring court.”

“Well? It was obviously a cry for attention, now you have it. What do you want from me?” I said coldly, cutting her off.

“I just want you home, where you belong.” Rhysand said, annoyed that he will surely have to weave another lie to Feyre later.

“I am where I belong. Is that all? You just want another prisoner to add to your collection?” I noticed Feyres sisters' ears perk up. She had no walls built up to protect her mind, odd for someone living in a house with daemati.

“You wouldn't be a prisoner.” Rhysand snapped.

I laughed, “no one generally chooses to stay in your company, brother.” Feyre still had pain on her face, lost in thought and trying to hold it together just long enough to finish the meeting. Hmm, it seems she might still have a heart after all.

“I would just like to show you around Velaris, catch up and show you what I've accomplished in the past years.” Rhysand admitted, trying, and failing, to stay collected.

“Velaris has always been perfect and protected, as done by our grandfather. If you want to impress me, show me how you have improved the lives of the people in the Hewn city and illyria.” Velaris citizens were safe, well cared for and ruled justly. Illyria has been used as my family's own personal warrior farm, and the Hewn City citizens trapped since long before I was born. “Tell me, do the majority of Illyrian citizens still live in tents?”

“We are doing our best in illyria. It's not as easy as you think.” Rhysand replied with a slight hint of attitude. He wasn't used to someone calling him out on his fallacies.

“Huh, I would believe that 500 years is plenty of time for the most powerful high lord.” I said mockingly. He loved to spit that phrase unto himself, a gross display of arrogance was all it ever was. “Tell me, how many mansions do you have now?”

“Six,” Feyre whispered, deep in thought, she seemed like she also had not heard anyone question him.

“Gross.” I replied bluntly. “Mother isn't going to be happy to hear about this.”

“Mom is alive?” Rhysand gasped, a light flickered in his eyes, Feyres jaw dropped slightly, the other Illyrian stared at me. “Where is she?”

“She lives amongst the warrior women of Brokilon, a forest warded well against anyone who wishes it or its inhabitants harm. I don't mind telling you this because there is absolutely no way for you to get there without my help. It's located in an entirely different realm. I needed divine intervention to return, something you would never be able to hack.” Every eye was on me, as they tried to make sense of it. “Our sister and I visit her regularly, she doesn't ask about you much.”

“Sister?” Rhysand seemed to finally be speechless. That last line stung.

“Yes, Yennefer. Half human, half Illyrian. She is an insanely powerful mage. She looks like us, violet eyes, black hair, but no wings. She had a slightly easier time in that realm considering they kill ‘Pointy ears’ on sight there. Think of what I would look like masquerading as a human, and that's her.”

“A mage?” Feyre questioned.

“Yes, in that realm magic is pulled from many sources, not just the earth, and they use that magic to.. mutate(?) humans into immortals. Thats where I learned the portals.”

“How did you and mother get there? How did you survive?” Rhysand pressed. I am not going to lie, I am enjoying the attention.

“When Tamlins father raised his blade to strike me,” I gripped Tamlins hand, I didn't blame him for breaking when the information of my location was tortured out of him. “I panicked. I held mother tight and reached out for any escape, and when I opened my eyes, we were in a forest I had never seen before. An Ash forest. I learned later that the power I grasped was chaos, not the power of the land.”

“Don't forget it was Tamlin who had you killed. He locked Feyre up and he hurt her.” Rhysand spit.

“He didn't ‘have me killed’ if I am currently sitting here, Rhysand. Mother and I are both alive, that is more than I can say for my predecessor, the last Lady of Spring” I retorted with a too sweet smile. While we hadn't exactly made it official, how could we with an empty court, this is the first time I have claimed that title. I wanted to turn to see Tamlins reaction, but I didn't want to lead on how significant this was to the others in the room. Tamlin showed his approval by softly moving his thumb over the back of my hand.

“And fair, yes, both Tamlin and Feyre made mistakes, that is not my place to comment on. Keep in mind, though, WE are the ones that wanted to stay away. You drug us here. Tamlin apologized, she didn't accept, and since then he has mostly kept to his own court. You and your brutes are the ones that keep going to him. Tell me, did you ever apologize to Feyre for what you did to her under the mountain?” I could see out of the corner of my eye, Feyres sister was shocked. She obviously didn't know what all the other High lords and courts witnessed. Rhysand and Feyres eyes both narrowed at me.

“If there is anything that is not your place to bring up-” Rhysand started.

“You did it so publicly,” I cut him off, “all the other High lords in Prythia became unwilling participants to your weird exhibitionst kink. You even admitted you did it to hurt Tamlin.”

“What did he do?” Feyres sister demanded through clenched teeth.

“Nothing Nesta. Mind your business.” Feyre snapped.

“He drugged her, and made her the nightly entertainment for all the courts under the mountain as she was stripped naked and forced to dance for him. If you knew she was your mate, why would you treat her that way?” Directed to Rhysand, then back to Feyre, “why cant your older sister know? Everyone else in Prythia does.”

“He did it to protect me.”

“Is that what he told you? You deserve better, babygirl.”

Rhysand was losing control. Both Lucien and Tamlin had the metal shields up that protected them from Rhysands daemati powers. So what does any self centered brat do when they are losing control? They change the subject, hoping to garner favor.

“I still remember you, bowed down kissing my boot and begging,” Rhysand taunted Tamlin.

I heard him take a deep breath, Lucien's talons gripped into my shoulder and I tried not to flinch at the pain. I retorted quickly, “what for? Oh that's right, it was to convince you to not sell Feyre out to Amarantha. Or should I say ‘Claire.’ Right? I wonder if your love for your mate is strong enough to entice you to do the same, dear brother.” Feyre began to choke.

Nesta was angry, confused, trying to process everything she just heard. Shock lined the Illyrian males face too, he hadn't heard either.

“Let her go.” Rhysand snarled at me, unmoving. His eyes void of any emotion.

“Ah, ah,” I sang, pointing a finger down to my boot. “You know what I want.”

“I will never bow to you,”

“Quickly, she's fading fast.”

Nesta cried out and bowed herself. The illyrian brute holding her back, Rhysand remained still, not breaking eye contact. I sent a message to her mind, Feyre will not die, I promise.

“Enough, Sky.” Tamlin growled at me.

I released my grip on her lungs and she took a heavy breath, fear, anger and confusion in her eyes.

“Let it be known, Feyre, that your ‘mate’ wouldn't even move a muscle to save you, but Tamlin questioned even me.” I said to her softly. “It seems you have a lot to think about.”

“Let's go,” Tamlin hissed at me. Uh oh, I am in trouble. I opened a portal home and we left.

♡♡♡♡♡

“We don't hurt people, Sky, that's not who we are.” Tamlin was angry. He shifted Lucien back to normal.

“I was in full control the entire time, I was not going to let her die,” my response was cold.

“I thought it was great,” Lucien muttered, eyes wide, but not meeting ours.

“If you are jealous of her–” Tamlin accused.

“JEALOUS? of her?” I cut him off and raised my voice, “I am angry with her. I do not give half a fuck who you had in your bed while I was gone, Tamlin, what I do care about is her destruction of my court. You, and her, were so incredibly toxic together it ended with entire cities burnt to ash, my people lost their homes because you two couldn't talk to each other. That is where my frustration starts and ends. My people, families, children, entire lives uprooted and destroyed. People shouldn't have to suffer because their leader is going through a break up. Childish nonsense caused me to return home to an abandoned court..” my voice softened, ever so slightly, “you are doing the work to rebuild and correct your mistakes while she is gallivanting around the night court like the sun shines out of her ass. She shows no remorse, no empathy for the people she destroyed. I cannot express how little I care that you enjoyed the taste of her.”

His stance softened and he whispered “I'm sorry, Sky.”

“Don't ever question where my loyalties lie, again.” I spit. Lucien reached a hand out to me, and I turned and stormed off to compose myself.

♡♡♡♡♡

I found myself outside my old gallery, a room I have dreamed of returning to for 300 years, I opened the door and creeped in.

It was obvious that others have used this, Tamlin admitted as much, admitted that Feyre would paint in here. I carefully studied the art laid out around the room, the paints and brushes strung out and left to dry. I felt a twinge in my chest, was it jealousy? No, I didn't seriously expect an entire room left empty for so long, did I?

And then I found hers. Much simpler art than the realism I painted in, lots of abstract splotches and lines, and crudely drawn pictures. It was beautiful in its own right, obviously done while she was a human. A human. Turned Fae, after the atrocities of Amarantha. Still a child by Fae years, forced into Prythia, forced into marriage after marriage. I know as well as anyone what a prison a crown truly is, her youth, her freedom, stolen from her by tradition, power, and lust. I had been treating her as the High Lady she chose to be, I wonder if that decision was made with her properly informed consent, or just pushed on her by my brother.

♡♡♡♡

An hour or so later, I headed out to find Tamlin. My head was clear now and we needed to talk.

He was in his study, hunched over his desk, head in his hands. It was dark now, the moonlight was the only thing illuminating the room. “Tam?” I creaked the door open and entered slowly. He didn't respond.

I walked over to him and laid a gentle hand on his back. “My love,” I whispered, “can we talk? I'm sorry I blew up today.” He slid his chair out and pulled me onto his lap, holding me in his arms as I nestled my head in his neck.

“I love you, I am sorry I upset you.” Tamlin whispered. “I just didn't expect that today. I shouldn't have accused you. I don't, honestly, think that low of you, I was just angry.”

“I shouldn't have hurt her like that. I used her to shut my brother up the same way he used Lucien. Tensions were high today. I wanted to just stay away but my brother is so spoiled he can't take no for an answer. I'm sorry, I understand that seeing her in pain is not easy for you.” He just held me tighter, and I kissed his neck.

“I don't like leaving Spring.” Tamlin admitted quietly, “It just makes me feel sick every second I am outside my borders.”

“You're gonna have to pick one,” my voice soft and sweet, “either you swallow your worry, or your unease. I need to be able to leave if we are going to rebuild.” I lifted my hand to caress his cheek, slowly brushing his golden hair behind his ear. He laid a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“So, Lady of Spring, huh?” He smiled sweetly down at me, I sat up and turned slightly to look him in the face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I breathed leaning in closer, our lips almost touching, “unless you object?”

He pulled me in closer and kissed me deeply, “I would never object to that.”

Tag list: @ladythornofrivia @rcarbo1 @rin-u-pos @knoxic @lilah-asteria @littlefantasylover

[lala-blahblah]

I absolutely cannot sit down and write a nice version of this bc my brain says no, but i would like to let you all know I'm thinking of a fanfic where older Edgeworth is moving back to the US (or japan, whichever universe you subscribe to) and runs into Nick in the store while buying mass produced art to hang on the walls of his new house.

And Nick is like "dear god do you want your house to look like a dentist's office. Please do better" (in a friendly way, they are too old for rivalry at this point) and so Nick invites Edgeworth to come over and take any of his old artwork from college, since it is just sitting in a portfolio in a closet somewhere. And Edgeworth agrees to come over and look through Nick's old stuff together. There are themes of 1) growing older and like reflecting on the past and 2) Nick's character trait of finding meaning in challenges vs Edgeworth's tendency to stick with what he does well. In my head I imagine that Nick was good at art and it came somewhat easily to him and that bored him, and he was drawn to law in part because it was hard and it excited him and made him want to try harder. And i think tying that in with fatherhood, like it being unexpected and hard but something he thrives at because he feels good when there's a challenge. Potentially also touching on how like, when he lost his badge he felt very listless and depressed because he wasn't being challenged anymore, there wasn't anything to drive him and motivate him. And I think Edgeworth would be impressed by seeing Nick's old pieces (I assume he hasn't seen much of his art before) and wondering why he didn't choose to pursue art further. He also thinks about how art had always put him off personally because he couldn't get it "right" right away, and on the other hand how the structure and logic of law came easily to him, which led him to become a lawyer. I think he measures his self worth by his success in his field because he never had the support to believe he had intrinsic value as a person and maybe wasn't so good at making emotional connections with people. So that big contrast between them is so interesting... I think Edgeworth would be jealous of Nick's bravery in pursuing something he was bad at without giving up and Nick would be jealous of Edgeworth's success in law, but in a subdued way as they've grown older.

A far as actual scenes in the fic, I think I would use Nick's art as a conduit for my own agenda to have them talk about topics that are of interest to me... I would like Edgeworth to feel out of his depth for once and for nick to be the confident one as he talks about something he is well versed in, and for edgeworth to have to face that discomfort and also be a little impressed intellectually with Nick. I think I would do that by having them look through some abstract art Nick did (my intro painting classes were all abstract so we could focus on color mixing and getting comfortable with the medium). Edgeworth compliments Nick on a painting with a bunch of colored squares in gradient clusters and then gets embarrassed when Nick tells him those were just color mixing swatches. Alternatively, in my mind they are both asexual and I think even though this feels like a hallmark cliche I would have Edgeworth flounder and be very embarrassed over Nick's old figure drawing piece. I feel like Nick would be like "no you don't understand it's all very professional and normal when we draw them, like it's just about learning the shape language" and Edgeworth would be like "this is very improper and I don't know how to react can we please not look at naked people!". I don't think i would do both, but something to upset the power dynamic for a moment would be interesting! Nick is always the awkward one I want to see him shine for just a moment enough for edgeworth to go "wait what... i've known him for so long but perhaps i don't really know him at all..."

I would want Edgeworth to end up taking a series of 3 canvases Nick did in an oil painting class that were still lifes of objects the teacher had set up around the classroom. I headcanon that Nick actually far preferred drawing people to objects and rebelled against the assignment by hiding his reflection in one of the objects in each drawing- the top of his head is hidden in an ornament on a christmas tree, his eye is reflected in the shine of a china vase, etc. So it's a little secret, and Edgeworth kind of likes that... it is sweet in a way to see a much younger Phoenix captured in time like that. Something Edgeworth will be reminded of when he sees the paintings but nobody else will catch onto

I would want to layer this with a fatherhood storyline... I think i would frame it as nick inviting edgeworth over to dinner with him and Trucy and Edgeworth stepping into this domestic family life as a visitor and witnessing how its transformed Nick, like seeing him from a different lens. I think after they pick out paintings and have dinner they sit around talking. Trucy had been sitting with them, earlier she showed off some magic tricks and gave Edgeworth a picture of hers from the fridge to add to his new art collection (it's a rainbow dolphin and a sea turtle wearing top hats. Nick says she's in her Lisa Frank era). But she's been quiet for awhile and Nick realizes she's fallen asleep and it's like 11. He's like, crap, i screwed up i should've paid attention and gotten her put to bed, I'm a bad father and I have an audience for this failure. And on top of that, I already failed at being a lawyer, no matter what I try I always disappoint everyone. It's an unexpected moment of vulnerability there... like he's seemed so put together and grown up to Edgeworth this whole time like a whole different person, but he's not a different person he just has different sides to him. And this moment is one where edgeworth can be like hey, no, you're a great dad, and I'm impressed by you and everything you achieved. And I think that could lead into vulnerability from Edgeworth about his relationship with his dad and how he misses him/how he feels like he hasn't really been loved by anyone since his dad died, and how Trucy is lucky to have someone like Nick in her life.

Nick excuses himself to carry Trucy to bed and Miles starts cleaning up the kitchen. I would give a moments pause here to talk about the strange intimacy of going through someone else's kitchen cabinets and drawers, you feel like a stranger there trying to put yourself into someone else's shoes to understand how they live in this space. Maybe he guesses the right drawer for the silverware first try and he feels a little spark of connection. like "we are different in many ways but we are alike enough that we look in the same place for our spoons". Details on the kitchen too about the kid safe plastic bowls and knives that indicate a child is part of the household, that the household has been built around the child, in fact. Edgeworth lives alone and I imagine things are kind of fancy for him (he's a man who wears a cravat so he probably has fine china right). It's completely different from this shabby mismatched cutlery that Nick has, but this kitchen has personality. Maybe he wouldn't mind having a kitchen like this so much. This is a hint at him being lonely, being included in this family unit just for a day has given him this curious sense of longing, for what he isn't sure... does he want kids? Does he want Nick? Does he just want to be part of a family? These are confusing questions and he would much rather not feel anything at all, but unfortunately it is late and he did have a glass of wine with dinner so emotions are Happening.

He hears Nick sigh tiredly as he comes into the kitchen, and Edgeworth starts to ask him where his tupperware is when suddenly Nick is wrapping his arms around him and Edgeworth is Very Tense because he's never good at knowing how to act in situations like this and he and Nick have never been on a hugging level before and he's not sure what this is even for. Then Nick is like "I keep thinking about what you said earlier, about feeling alone ever since your dad passed away. I didn't know, that's such a long time to feel alone. I don't want you to think you're on your own". Edgeworth relaxes a little bit because now he knows what the hug is for and what he's supposed to feel from it. Its very kind of Nick to worry but its unnecessary and he says so. He has colleagues he's friendly with and people from law school he keeps in touch with, he's alright. And Nick says he knows but he also knows it's difficult living the way they do, and what he means is single and in your thirties. Because everyone else is getting married or living with a long term partner or at the very least dating and their lives are focused on that relationship as the center of their being. And when you don't have that, not only is it harder to relate to the people around you but it is harder to feel like you matter in people's lives, because they all prioritize their partner before their friends. And maybe their situations aren't exactly the same (Nick has a daughter while Edgeworth lives alone) and maybe their choices were made for different reasons (Nick used to date and didn't mind it but didn't see a need to prioritize it. Edgeworth found himself unable to distinguish with certainty whether or not he was actually romantically interested in people, and rather than make the wrong choice he decided he would rule out error by choosing no one at all). But regardless, they both know first hand the isolation that comes with trying to carve a path for themselves that does not include a life partner in a world where everyone else comes in pairs. And Nick is reaching out across that emptiness saying hey, we might both be building different lives, but there's room for you to be a part of mine if you want.

Outloud, Nick says "Really, Miles. You aren't alone in this." and Edgeworth says "Well, Phoenix, neither are you". And he stands there and lets his friend hug him, and it doesn't feel like butterflies but it does feel solid and warm and good. And he doesn't even worry about whether he's supposed to let go by now or not, because it's nice, not being alone.

They stand there in comfortable silence for a long moment before Nick speaks again. "hey, remember when you used to hate me? And look at us now." Edgeworth turns his head sharply. "I never HATED you, Wright. I simply thought you were foolish and a waste of my time." He realizes a little too late that this is probably a rude thing to say to the person that just gave you a pep talk, but Nick just laughs, his head still resting on Edgeworth's shoulder. Looking at him from this angle, face almost fully hidden, Nick could be any age at all. It's easy to imagine for a moment that he's the same nervous version of himself that stood across from him in the courtroom for the first time all those years ago. The only thing breaking the illusion is the subtle streaks of silver that cross his temples. Not entirely sure why he does it, Edgeworth kisses the top of Nick's head. He feels odd about it the moment he does so, realizing it comes across not as a platonic or romantic action but as a gesture suited for a dog or pet of some kind. Nick looks up, looking confused but not displeased. "What was that for?" "It was a thank you I suppose". Miles steps away now, still uncomfortable with perceived failures even if those failures are just in social interactions, and begins to gather his things while Nick gets down a tupperware from a cabinet. "Thank you, for the dinner and for the paintings." Edgeworth continues. "I'd like to repay the favor once I get settled into the new house. Trucy's invited too, of course". As he says it, he realizes he genuinely is looking forward to seeing them again. Nick walks him to the apartment door and they say their goodbyes while Edgeworth tucks the paintings (and Trucy's dolphin drawing) under his arm.

He gets halfway down the hallway when he hears Nick calling after him. "Hey! Miles! Take an art class with me sometime" Newfound friendship or not, Edgeworth just looks at him in disdain. "what, so you can show off your superior art skills? No thank you, Wright" "No, for fun. You can make things of your own to hang on your walls. We can do something I've never done before so we're evenly matched. Like printmaking? Origami? Um, pottery?" Edgeworth bristles at the suggestions but takes a moment to acknowledge why he's feeling that way; again, it's that fear of failure. But he's enjoyed himself today and deep down he thinks it could be fun to try something new, not with the goal of being perfect at it but with the goal of spending time together. Nick surprised him today. Maybe he can surprise himself. "... I would consider pottery" Edgeworth admits. And Nick looks really happy about it. "Great. I'll book us a session then. It'll be fun, you'll see. Edgeworth shakes his head, but there's no malice behind it. "Have a good night, Phoenix" "You too. Get home safe Miles".

Edgeworth gets home a little before midnight and props the three canvases against the moving boxes still stacked up in the foyer. Tomorrow, he'll figure out where he wants to hang them. Right now though, he walks over to the bare fridge and carefully pins up Tracy's dolphin drawing. There's a lot more work to do, but it's already starting to feel like home.

[verecunda]

There are certain shippers in certain tags who seem intent on setting themselves up for a fall, and... oh god, I just can't be doing with it. Why can't shipping just be a fun wee bonus, a fun game of "what if?" on the side? Why do some people insist on making it the be-all and end-all of their enjoyment of the actual material, and building up their hopes on whether Character A and Character B kiss or not? (Especially when the source material isn't romance-focused!) The result is always the same, and it's always ugly, and no one ever seems to learn from it. I'm seriously considering blocking certain blogs, which I don't really want to do, because I do like reading some of the shippy meta, but fuck, I just can't be bothered going through this particular rodeo yet again.

Why does it matter if it's canon or not? People, that's why we do fic and art and all that in the first place - to explore the roads not taken in canon.

I'm seeing people saying things about feeling "anxious" about a series finale in case Ship X don't get together, or being "traumatised" because the actors of Ship Y have been saying in interviews, "We love the whole idea of people shipping these two, but we don't know if they're actually going to get together." And if this isn't just glibness, and they are genuinely feeling anxiety and trauma over these things... I'm sorry, but they need to stop. They need to get off the fucking computer and get some help, because it's not healthy to invest that much of your mental health in something that isn't real.

[sjywrites]

could i req a cute fluffy fic with a jealous ssera member? whoever you want!

༊*·˚ WHO'S THAT?

𝓙ealous! 𝓗uh 𝓨unjin x 𝓖n!reader. 𝓖enre. fluff. 𝓢ypnosis. yunjin is a lil jealous, and she wants you to herself <3 𝓦𝓒 . 385 𝓒𝓦 . one kiss, nothing else!

𝓝ote this is my first ask omg anon I'm gonna kiss your brain

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idol/s act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

More under cut!

Yunjin is usually not a jealous person, but the way that guy is all over you, making jokes you laugh at, touching you just a moment too long for it to be friendly makes her blood boil. She knew you didn’t notice he was flirting with you, but her eyes twitched at the thought of him knowing you had a girlfriend. I mean, it's pretty obvious you two were together, you pulled up to the party hand in hand, smiling at each other the whole night. Who could have missed that? Yunjin wasn’t sure what to do, it would be pretty embarrassing to admit she was jealous over a guy you wouldn’t even consider dating in the first place. She knew you were just trying to be friendly, oblivious to his clear motive to get you in bed.

Yunjinnie: Hey, can we go?

Y/N <3: Why? Are you okay?

Yunjinnie: Yes, it’s just… I don’t have a good feeling about the guy you’re talking with.

Y/N <3: Any particular motive for that?

Y/N <3: Did he do something to you?

Yunjinnie: No, I just don’t like him talking to you…

Y/N <3: Babe… Are you jealous?

Yunjinnie: What no!? I just…

Y/N <3: Okay baby I get it, I won’t talk to him more

Y/N <3: In fact why don't you get over here and introduce yourself as my gf? Would that make you feel better?

Yunjinnie: It actually would.

Yunjin walks over to you, glaring at the guy obviously flirting with you. She grabs your hand gently as she introduces herself,

“Hi, I’m Yunjin, Y/Ns girlfriend. Who are you?”

Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, obviously staring at the guy in front of her. The guy looks a little nervous when he answers her question, “Oh! Uhh, I uh, gotta go. I have to uh, find my friends. Bye!” He kind of sprints away from the both of you, almost falling over a few people on his way. Finally leaving you both alone, Yunjin relaxes. “See, nothing to be jealous over.” You say smiling up at her. “I’m not sure that’s how it works baby, but whatever you say” She smiles right back at you, slowly leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

and everyone cheered!! I'm so happy you guys actually like how I write I'm gonna cry, big MWAH to all of youuu

[woozivrse]

um hi here are little bits of wips :3 all of them are like, kinda abandoned rn but i'm trying!!

popular! seungkwan x introvert! reader

digging through his bag, seungkwan pulled out a jacket for you. “here, wear it. if you're going to be here to keep me company then you will do it warm!”

“but won’t you be cold once you’re out of practice?” you held the jacket in your hands.

how svt cuddle, hoshi!

hoshi loves loves LOVES nuzzling into you. doesn't matter where, the neck? nuzzle. the top of the head? nuzzle. he also likes laying on top of you, he treats you as a personal pillow at all times, though it's usually just his head on you so he doesn't hurt you.

summer camp! (i don't actually have any ideas for this, so send some in if you have any!) it's all of svt but im considering making it a series where all the boys have an individual fic?

you looked fondly on the clearing, recalling so many memories from your childhood. soon, the campers from the city would be pouring into the field, excited–or maybe, just a little peeved that they had to be separated from their family and friends– for the start of the summer.

wonwoo x implied aromantic! reader! (this is pretty self indulgent tbh. also, not all aromantic ppl never end up in relationships! it's a spectrum)

books and other hobbies occupied your attention. it's not like you never noticed cute people, you had eyes of course, but you chalked it up to just aesthetic attraction and not romantic. and when your college literature class first began, you assumed it was the same thing. jeon wonwoo was, objectively, really cute.

girl group stan! seungkwan x boy group stan! reader— smau! (heavily HEAVILY wip. don't expect this anytime soon)

reader: “WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT [IDOL] HUH???”

seungkwan: “JIHYOS BETTER. JEALOUSY IS A DISEASE GET BETTER SOON😘”

legally blonde au! elle! dk x emmett! reader, based more on the musical than the movie!

“sorry! i- that came out wrong. i don't mean to judge but, for a girl? who doesn't even like you?”

“it's love!” he argued. “i love her and she loves me,”

“...you sound insane, you know,”

“i know…” he sighed, holding his head in his hands, “just, we dated for years before this, we were together since senior year of high school!”

college au! both reader and dk are leads of the same musical! dk x reader (yes this is also legally blonde based PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE I WAS IN A PHASE) (also, HEAVYYYY WIP. NOT CURRENTLY BEING WORKED ON)

soulmate au! no one rn actually x reader! (this is the final boss of all my wips i started this back in october of last year so we'll find out if it makes it out of the trenches)

he grabbed your wrist, your compasses calming down at the touch.

“found you,” he grinned, eyes bright and breathless.

and that's it! feel free to come talk to me about your favs, maybe they'll make it out of the trenches<3

[randomized-sims23]

Aftermath Of The Attack

(small spoilers for yesterday's SAMS episode, also have a follow up fic to the event (could also be considered a followup to this one))

——————————————————————————

Sun was at the house playing with Jack, Dazzle and even Molten had joined in with them, when he heard muffled shouting near the door. Looking up he saw Monty and Solar. Monty was carrying something that he quickly realized was Moon.

As he stood he asked Jack, Dazzle and Molten to go up to their room for a bit, the three agreeing and going up as Sun went to open the door.

“Monty? Solar? Moon, what's going-”

“Ask questions later, move.”

Sun stepped back as Solar and Monty rushed inside to the couch, Sun following.

“Guys what's going on?” He stopped and looked down at Moon.

He was curled up tight, the back of his head lightly smoking and his whole body shaking. Sun could feel a faint wave of negative energy coming off of him.

The feeling made him grip the back of the couch as he asked again.

“What happened to him?”

Solar left to get something cold for Moon's head, leaving Monty to answer.

“I don't know entirely but I heard screamin’ from Parts and Service. I went to check it out ‘n found Nexus holdin’ him down. Threatened to shoot ‘im if he didn't step off and he left. I don't know what the bastard did to ‘im but he nearly broke his circuit board in half. I think the bastard tried to kill ‘im.”

That made something tighten in Sun's stomach. This was twice now that Moon had encountered Nexus, but this is the first time he's actually hurt him so badly.

“Is Earth here? Or Lunar?” He heard Monty ask.

He managed to shake his head no, stuck in his thoughts as he stared down at Moon, shaking horribly like he was freezing.

“Luckily we managed to hold ‘im down long enough to saulder the board together again and had to repair a little in the cylinder thing.” Monty said.

“And he kept screaming “I'm sorry, I'm sorry Johnathan. No idea why though.” Solar mentioned as he came back with a cold cloth.

Sun swallowed hard as he sat down next to the couch.

“Johnathan was one of the few kids that wasn't scared of Moon. He took a liking to the kid. He found out things weren't good in his home and one night he snuck out, followed him home to see what the problem was…whatever happened there Johnathan never came back to the daycare. He never left that house alive again…I don't know if Moon killed him, or someone else did. But it's torn him up ever since. Not as bad as it used to but it still bothers him now and then…”

“So that's why…” Solar muttered to himself..

“His system is cooling down a bit…his battery's pretty low too…”

“S…un…?”

He looked over to Moon, his brother trying to weakly reach for him.

Sun moved to kneel in front of the couch and placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and comforting. He saw now that Moon's eyes were completely dark- had the encounter left him blind too?

Trembling fingers lightly grasped his wrist, the shaking easing a bit when they did.

“S…ta…y…”

Then he completely shut down, body relaxing a little as he did.

Sun sighed, staying for a moment before going to get the portable charger.

“Someone…hurt Moon?”

Sun looked to the door of his bedroom, Molten standing at the frame.

“I thought I asked you to stay with Jack and Dazzle.”

“They are…napping. Who hurt him.”

Sun sighed. “Molten, you can't go after him. As much as we'd like to see someone hand his ass to him, if you tried he'd kill you easy. Not to mention the dragon…we aren't entirely sure where he even is anyway so trying to find him right now would be pointless.”

“But Moon will be fine,” Sun said, more to reassure himself than anyone else. “We'll make sure he's OK, Molten. For now just stay with the others. If they ask just…tell them Moon isn't feeling too good right now, ok? Please?”

Molten was quiet. He made a promise to himself to protect his friends, his family.

“Fine…but will you…tell me…if you find…anything?”

“I don't know. Maybe? That might be more for Moon or Solar to decide though. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it though. For now just go on to your room, alright? Moon will be ok, he just needs to rest for a few days is all.”

Sun left the room, coming downstairs again. Solar had already covered Moon with a blanket, while Monty was trying to explain to Earth, in the best way possible, what had happened.

Telling Lunar would be trickier, to try and not let him get too worked up.

Sun hooked Moon up to the charger and sat by the couch again, watching Moon silently as he charged.

“Next time you meet him, I'll be there. Maybe this time I can protect you from him…”

-end-

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

1. Prologue

This is a Christmas story. It begins—

—in December, in London, and with the whole of AFC Richmond spilling out from a theatre in an animated gaggle of waving hands and raised voices.

“Nah, you’re wrong, bruv,” Isaac told Jamie emphatically. "This shit's way better than Mickey's Christmas Carol." 

Jamie rolled his eyes at that insane opinion and set out to explain how Isaac was as wrong as wrong could be (but respectfully, like), while behind them Moe was explaining something about capitals to Thierry and Bhargava handed Dani a tissue.

After Ted had shown them Scrooged for their last team movie night, a heated debate on the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol had led to a seven night movie marathon ending with Isaac taking them all to The Old Vic for the stage version. 

Jamie, something of a theatre expert thanks to Keeley, had helpfully informed everyone that talking to the characters or shouting suggestions during the performance was not allowed, because even though that was still a fucking stupid rule – just imagine someone trying to introduce that to football games, the fans would riot and they’d be right to – that was the sort of thing Jamie did now: he was helpful. Was a team player. Gave useful tips to people before they made fools of themselves, rather than gleefully afterwards. It wasn’t always as much fun, no, but sometimes good in a different sort of way. And it wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway; the team had made that plenty clear when he returned to Richmond.

“All right, lads, I’m off,” he called to them now, giving up on trying to convince Isaac of the errors of his taste. Too cold for it. “Got me car over by Park Plaza.”

“See you tomorrow, boyo,” Colin said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good night, Jamie.” Sam’s smile was still just this side of tentative, but it seemed sincere enough and Jamie couldn’t help but smile back. He was all right, Sam.  

With less than three weeks until Christmas, the London night was chilly as Jamie made his way through it. No snow, naturally – though not unheard of, a white Christmas in the English capital was uncommon indeed. Not that chances were much better up in Manchester.

Manchester. The thought of it brought a small frown to Jamie’s face. He knew he ought to go up there after the game on Boxing Day, to visit Mummy and Simon. Before he was loaned to Richmond he’d always spent Christmas at home; last year, he’d blamed the distance and the fixtures for not being able to make it.

It hadn’t been a lie, but hadn’t been the whole truth either. Secretly, Jamie had been relieved for the excuse to stay away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mum – he always wanted to see his mum – but he hadn’t known to deal with the crushing weight of all the things he couldn’t tell her; of all the things he didn’t want her to know. It had sat heavy and silent between them, a barrier that only seemed to grow higher and higher as he was sent back to City, as he fled City for Lust Conquers All, as he begged his way back to Richmond.

Now things were better, with him and with the team (and from his dad there’d been nothing, not for months now, and maybe this time—but no. Jamie didn’t want to think about Dad now), and it was time, really, to man up and make it up to Manchester. To come clean to  Mummy and have things go back to normal.

Jamie had no fucking idea how to do that. The idea of disappointing her left a sour taste in his mouth and his stomach churning.

Still frowning, Jamie unlocked his car and slipped into the driver’s seat. The Tube would have been quicker, but he hadn’t been in the mood to be recognized tonight. It was all right if people wanted to talk football, but at least one out of three still wanted to yell at him about Amy. Which was really unfair, because nothing on that show had been real, had it, and Amy knew that.

Amy had known that, right?

Didn’t matter now. Stupid shit, over and done with. Jamie Tartt had other things to worry about.

He pulled out of the car park, turned right, and began his journey home.

---

This is a Christmas story, and maybe it begins here too—

­—in a house in Chelsea, on that same December eve, and with Roy Kent keeping an eye on the oven and the time, while over by the table Keeley and his niece were adding increasingly intricate details to the gingerbread dragon-unicorn-princess-whatevers they were making.

Outside, an Aston Martin passed by on its way from Waterloo to Richmond. Roy would have recognized the car, had he seen it, and Keeley too (rather intimately), but the kitchen window was facing the other way and neither of them did.

“Look, Uncle Roy, this one looks just like you,” Phoebe exclaimed, proudly exhibiting a cookie man with curious antlers and a dour expression that did indeed make him look rather like the retired player.

Keeley laughed. “Ha! Yeah, it does!”

Roy growled. It was his fond growl. It was all right this, Keeley and Phoebe and the gingerbread covering every surface in the kitchen; all right in a way not a lot of things had been since he ended his career by sending Jamie Tartt flying to the ground half a year ago.

As for Jamie Tartt… He drove past the house without looking at it twice. He’d never been inside Roy Kent’s home; never known exactly where he lived.   

That would change, before morning broke on Christmas Day. Because this is a Christmas story, and those always come with miracles.

[flowercrowngods]

it's yearning steddie get high with the others and make out about it hours (smut-ish)

Eddie hates being reminded that making promises to himself, and only himself, is pretty much useless if the only person holding him accountable to stick to his promise is one Eddie fucking Munson. Because that guy can’t be trusted. 

Especially not when it comes to Steve and his stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect dimples, his preppy fucking everything, and — perhaps most importantly — the breathy note his voice gets when the boy replaces his beautiful piece of brain with Eddie’s finest weed. 

Steve in all his sober glory is unbearable at best, sure, that’s old news. But high? When the pained frown he’s not even aware of until he complains about a headache smoothes out and the tension in his shoulders disappears? When his scars no longer pull at every movement and he can hold himself again in the way he used to before everything — broad movements with a clumsy little edge to them that have Eddie’s heartstrings play rope skipping with his sanity.

That. That’s it. That’s it for Eddie. 

And it’s no surprise that it’s also what leaves him helpless in the face of Nancy hopefully suggesting they get high again tomorrow night; all of them. Offering Eddie the chance at getting to see that tension fall away again, and that pale smile be replaced with an easy, genuine, lingering one — dreamy and so fucking pretty. 

Luring Eddie with the most beautiful insanity.

So he says yes, despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not after what happened last time. With Steve all the way up in his space, brushing his hair behind his ear with wonderment, trailing his hand down that lock until he forgot what he was going to say. What he was going to do. 

Forgetting, too, that Eddie was sober, because he wanted to watch Steve without getting caught — but Steve, all high and sweet and tactile, apparently decided to do the same. He looked. And touched. And smiled and breathed and stayed right there. Fingertips dancing around the frayed ends of Eddie’s hair.

Something shifted — first between them, then around them. And then between them again when Eddie stepped back and turned away, in desperate need of a cool drink to stave off the feeling of being caught, of being trapped, of being so fucking gone on the prettiest god-damn boy in all of Indiana. And of having said boy look at him like that. 

They shouldn’t get high again. They shouldn’t. 

But he knows it helps with the pain like their meds never do; he knows it helps Nance sleep better, breathe better, exist in this post-apocalyptic world that doesn’t even remember the apocalypse, whose only reminders lie in the scar tissue of some teenagers and some graves that nobody knows are empty. 

He knows that if he says no, they’ll find someone else to provide; and he doesn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit. 

So it’s not even the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile that gets him to agree, nodding at Nance with an easy smile, saying, “Sure, let’s do it.” 

But it is the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile, his breathy voice, his tactile nature that comes out even more when he’s high out of his mind like he knows he’s floating and needs someone to anchor him, and the memory of that stolen little moment, that makes Eddie curse himself to all hells once Nancy’s blooming smile is out of sight and he’s free of judgment to kick the kitchen counter beside him with a hearty curse. 

He can do it. He can. All he needs to do is not stay sober this time, take the edge off and get out of his head about all of this, because he’s actually far less likely to do anything stupid under the influence, and also not look at Steve All Eyes On Me Harrington. 

Easy. 

Right? 

Totally. 

Except, as it turns out, ignoring Steve is both easier and harder than Eddie expected. The thing is, he’s good at diving into any conversation with just about anyone, making it larger than it needs to be until everyone in the room will give him funny looks but still roll with it, because Eddie Munson is just Like That, right? 

But Steve doesn’t give him funny looks. Oh, they’re far from fun. There’s something in there that reminds Eddie of a kicked puppy in those fleeting moments that he lets his eyes meet Steve’s, never letting them linger, never letting them take him in and hold him and bask in the sunlight that is stored in those… Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. And that pretty, pretty face. 

A face that shouldn’t look so sad. 

He wants to ask what’s wrong, ask him if it’s a bad pain day, ask him if he didn’t sleep last night either, or if something happened. But how is he supposed to ask, to let any words come out of his mouth, when Steve just won’t look away. When he’s looking at Eddie like that again, when the little something that has shifted between them suddenly becomes massive enough to steal all the air away from his lungs and make his arms tingle in a way that he knows will only get better if he gets to wrap them around Steve. 

He can’t. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t look away either, and he knows he’s already lost. He knows he broke this promise he made to himself. 

But it’s fine, maybe, if the slight twitch in the corners of Steve’s lips is anything to go by. Like he, too, wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows Eddie is the same. Like his heart is racing, too, and he tried not to look but they’re so stupid and looked anyway and now they can’t— 

“Guys?” Robin interrupts their little moment, the bubble bursting with a loud snap of her fingers that makes Eddie physically flinch. 

He looks at her, spooked to shit and gasping because he does not do well with sudden loud noises or the impromptu bursting of bubbles — not after everything that happened. 

“Shit, sorry, oh my God!” Robin’s there immediately, reaching for his hand, Nancy laying hers on his shoulder, Jonathan making himself known with a gentle little, “You’re fine, man.” 

Eddie regains his footing and breathes away the panic, thinking that maybe getting high today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He hands Robin the baggie and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making himself a little smaller by muscle memory alone. 

Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades — reassuring and warm. Like a flower, Eddie rises to follow it. He catches Steve’s smile out of the corner of his eyes and wants to rest his face against it. Wants to feel it against his skin. Wants to feel it shift into something deeper. Something real. 

God, he’s so hopeless. 

Good thing that Robin’s got the blunt under control, because Eddie does not trust his hands right now. 

They grab the snacks and drinks and head outside to where Steve and Robin laid out pillows and blankets on the lawn, framed with dimly glowing white Christmas lights that Robin insists upon whenever they do this. Makes it feel a little less fucked up for her. Like we’re doing this because we want to, and not because we need it to sleep or to cope with the pain or whatever, you know? Put pretty lights anywhere, and it’s a choice. 

Eddie has to admit that she has a point there, but the truth is he’ll smoke anywhere, fairy lights or no. Although there’s something, a capital-s Something about watching Steve framed by a thousand little lights smoothing out the worry lines on that beautiful face and making him seem all the more angelic for it. 

Eddie actually called him angel once — the first time they did it like this. Made Steve smile like nothing else Eddie’s said to him since. Or anyone else for that matter. If he were any better at feeling the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he’d call him that again. Make him smile like that again. 

But the ground is shifting and air is always scarce these days, with Steve’s hands on his body so fleetingly, so accidentally leaving marks on scar tissue, making Eddie wish he could feel more of Steve’s warmth there. 

Making him wish he could ask. Touch me higher. Lower. Longer. Make it last. Make it count. Let me feel it, just for a second. Let me feel it where they didn’t steal chunks of my skin and my soul and, apparently, my sanity. 

Argyle is the first to spread out on the blankets with a hearty groan that leaves everyone with a fond smile, gathering around him in a semi circle of amusement. He makes grabby hands at Robin, or maybe at the unlit joints she’s safekeeping — but either way, she follows suit, cuddling up to Argyle and in turn making grabby hands at Steve, who does as he’s told and laughs in that gentle, melodic way that they so seldomly hear these days. 

Steve’s eyes fall on Eddie then, but a surge of worry and panic overcomes him, half expecting Steve to follow Robbie’s and Argyle’s example and reach for Eddie next. Or not reach for him. Either way, Eddie doesn’t want to find out, his heart beating in his chest at the endless possibilities stowed away in his overactive imagination. Instead of waiting for Steve’s next move, he sits down right here at the opposite end of the blanket, reaching for one of the pillows so he can hug it to his chest and have something to hold on to, just to keep his hands busy. 

“Just don’t crush the goods there, birdie,” he grins, watching Nancy and Johnathan find a place to sit, too. He scoots over to make room for them, moving further from Steve in the process and feeling the distance in his chest. It’s so stupid. Fucked up, really. 

“Oh, the goods are plenty safe, my dude,” Argyle says, earning himself a giggly groan from Robin that sounds a lot like, Gross!

Jonathan throws a pillow in Argyle’s face, which he deftly catches with just as salacious a grin. 

Eddie tunes them out for a moment as he catches Steve’s eyes boring into him. He cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head, silently asking him what’s up in way less magical a way than he has with Robin. 

He doesn’t really expect Steve to react in any way other than maybe a shrug or a brief, reassuring smile that really has no meaning other than, I’m fine, except for all the ways you know I’m not. 

But Steve doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t shrug. He keeps his eyes on Eddie and fucking pouts. Looks like he’s not even aware of it, his eyes a little glazed already, seeming far away. Far away and right here and looking so fucking sad about it. About the few feet between them and Eddie being all the way over there. 

It’s a bit like the moment they shared earlier, with Steve looking so sad and Eddie wanting to do something about it. He couldn’t then. But now… 

Eddie’s breath hitches a little as he mirrors Steve’s position, falling backwards and leaning on his elbows., never once dropping his eyes. Stretching out his legs until he can nudge Steve’s ankle with his foot. Watching as those eyes snap down to the briefest contact in surprise, watching as Steve looks caught. And watching, too, as his lips twitch and his foot slowly, incrementally moves closer to Eddie’s like he can’t help it. Like he needs to touch him. Always, always needs to touch him. 

And Eddie can feel it there, so he doesn’t move away. He wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and for Steve to do the same. He wants to breathe him in, wants to live in a Steve-filled world and feel welcomed in it. 

But he can’t. Because they’re not like that. And because this moment is not like that. And Steve is… Well, he is like that, he’s pretty sure. But maybe not for Eddie. Maybe not like that. 

Steve’s foot is warm against his, pristine white baseball socks so stark a contrast against Eddie’s;  threadbare and black, with more holes than fabric these days. He can’t really help the wave of embarrassment that washes over him, or the urge to pull back his feet and hide them in his shoes again. Sacrifice the warmth for safety.

But then Steve seems to notice just a second after Eddie does, and he smiles. Huffs a little with it, like it just bubbles out of him. Eddie wants to lean across the blanket and chase it. Chase the fondness and keep it there forever. 

And that’s another thing about Steve that is so very fucked up: he doesn’t let Eddie hide. He doesn’t let him trade warmth for security, because — smile in place — Steve slowly moves his feet along the side of Eddie’s like he’s playing fucking Connect the Dots with the holes in his socks. It’s ridiculous. 

It’s ridiculous, and Eddie is helpless. He’s so gone, a hundred percent. He’s so fucked up over that silly boy and the way he smiles at the most lamest of things. 

It’s not his fault that he leaves his feet where they are, the warmth of Steve’s slow, teasing touch shooting electricity up his legs that leaves him with goosebumps and a sudden case of uncomfortably tight jeans.

He’s glad there’s still a pillow in his lap. And he’s glad, too, that the night is dark enough, the fairy lights not bright enough, to reveal the flush rising to his cheeks as it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done stay like this. To have Steve looking at him like this. Eyes hooded and intense. Like he sees right through Eddie. Like he likes what he sees. 

With a dull click, Robin’s Zippo pulls him back to reality in what must be the gentlest of ways, and Eddie manages a smile as he watches her gently place the doobie between Steve’s lips before she lights it, one hand on his cheek. Their faces light up, leaving the rest of the world in the dark, and Eddie is struck with how good they are together. 

There’s something in the way she lights the joint for him, some kind of love language from the girl who burnt down the hell dimension below them and left it in ashes, and the boy who held her hand through it. 

She holds his eyes as the flame dies and something passes between them as Steve slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Takes that first hit. 

Eddie’s smile falters as he watches, the glowing cherry coming to life and lighting up Steve’s face, revealing that relaxed little smile on his lips as he holds it in for five, six, seven before exhaling  around it in a slow, drawn-out way. He blows it in Robin’s face like he always does, and Robin laughs and shoves him back, like she always does. 

And Eddie wants to trade her place. Like he always does. Eyes transfixed on Steve as he takes the next hit and pulls the joint from between his lips. Holding his breath again. And Eddie wants to be held like that. Wants to fill Steve’s lungs like that, wants to leave an aftertaste that is both sweeter and biting as he does to Steve what that first hit does to him. Leaving him all soft and gentle and so, so at ease, his eyes droopy and all those lines of pain and worry smoothed out by him. Eddie. On his lips. In his mouth. Fuck, anywhere, really. Everywhere. 

He follows Steve on his exhale, his head getting a little dizzy with the lack of air, but still he is slow to breathe in again. It feels strangely intimate, watching him like this. Watching as that tension falls away and he hums a little around the bud — relaxed and relieved and appreciative. It feels like they’re the only people left in this town, in this state, maybe in the whole world. 

Eddie wants to stay alone like this forever, chase Steve’s breath and wish it would hit his face like that, caress his cheeks until the air around them claims it and erases all traces of Steve; but not from Eddie’s skin. Never from his skin. 

But they’re not alone. And Steve opens his eyes. And Eddie is caught. 

Still he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as Steve blows out the smoke, sweet and earthy in the air between them as it slowly finds its way to him across the blanket. He imagines that he can feel it as the smell grows stronger, imagines the smoke to feel warm against his cheek as he breathes it all in, holding those hazel eyes in the dark that refuse to look away from him. 

It’s like that moment the other day in Steve’s kitchen when he was so close Eddie could smell all of him, frozen as he was, rooted to the spot — too scared to move and reveal himself, reveal all of himself, all the ugly truths and dreams. His wishes. His desires. 

Why do you keep looking? Eddie wants to ask. What are you looking to find? Am I just an experiment to you, are you looking at yourself through my eyes? Say something. Anything. 

But Steve doesn’t. He never does. Steve Harrington isn’t really the type to just say what’s on his mind, too used to Robin by his side to just read it all and react in her own way. Too used to Dustin, who’d do the talking for him. Too used to just letting his eyes, his arms, his posture convey his message. 

Too used to people knowing him. Getting a good read on him. But not Eddie, because Eddie never learned how to fucking read people like Steve Harrington cast in pretty light and relaxation. Angry, he can read him no problem. When he’s pissed, when he’s annoyed, when he’s sad. Tense. Worried. 

But not this. Never this. This intensity, this steady gaze resting only on him. He never looks at Robin like that, and he doesn’t fucking look at anyone else lately. 

It’s driving Eddie insane. 

It’s too much. 

He snaps when Steve passes the joint back to Robin, and sits up to pull his feet back to himself, covering them with his hands to pretend the warmth is still there. Frowns at the holes in his socks, feeling more exposed than ever. He curls in on himself a little, pretending to be very fascinated with a little thread that’s come loose in the blanket beneath him while the others hold casual conversation around him. 

This was a bad idea. He’s so fucked. 

Part of him debates if he should leave, if he should just call it a day and bid them goodnight. The other part of him wants to just close the distance between him and Steve and settle in beside him so the weight of that gaze won’t fucking wear him down any more. 

But knowing Steve, that wouldn’t work. 

Knowing Steve, nothing works. 

Feeling pathetic and small, Eddie lets himself fall to his side, hiding his face behind Nancy, whose hand comes to rest in his hair, combing through it just a little bit. Allowing him to collect himself. This isn’t new, and they don’t really question when Eddie just randomly lies down anywhere, or if he just stops talking all of a sudden. 

It’s why they do this, after all. No judgment. No questions. Just the sweet, sweet release of Mary Jane. 

It helps, having her hands in his hair like this, grounding him. It helps, finding no question or worry in her eyes as she looks down at him with a little smile — her way of including him in the conversation. He smiles back, just a little bit, and closes his eyes to better focus on her hand rather than the moment. She chuckles when he begins to purr, and then the smile stays a little longer. 

After a while, when she offers him the joint, Eddie shifts to lie on his back and gazes up to find the clouds have cleared and revealed the night sky behind them. It’s pretty, the summer sky, and he takes a long drag trying to think of nothing else. A hot wave of smoke hits his lungs, and it tickles a bit just like it always does, but the urge to cough it back out has been gone for years. These days, his lungs allow the warm embrace of the smoke and allow him to hold his breath as long as he wants, feeling a pleasant buzz after the fifth drag. It’s the good stuff after all. Munson’s Finest. 

He passes the joint back to Nancy, too comfortable to get up and pass it to anyone else, trusting her to do it without complaint. She does. She’s an angel like that. Puts her hand back in his hair and plays with his overgrown bangs a little while Eddie just stares up at the sky. 

Steve’s talking, but the words don’t really translate. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is enough for Eddie to sort of drift into a pleasant sphere of nothingness, his chest tightening a little with it. Always, always tight when he hears that voice. Like his heart has grown three times its size and his ribcage didn’t get the memo that Eddie Munson is hopelessly, helplessly, endlessly gone for a boy who refuses to look away. 

The thing is, Steve has always looked. Always. Even in the Upside Down. The first time, and the second. And then, the third. And Eddie wants it to mean something. Wants it to mean everything, or at least carry that possibility. 

But there’s no way to find out. There’s only him and the stars and Nancy Wheeler’s hand in his hair after his life took several wrong turns that left him with more scar tissue than skin these days, and the horrible realisation that, after the world ended and rebuilt, he can fall in love. That he can want. That he can have these cravings that he’d always heard everyone else talk about, wondering if that was just another layer of freak to him, or if he was simply Like That. 

They’re lonely realisations, he finds. Alienating, in a way. Because not only does he not know how to navigate Harrington, no, he’s a riddle even to himself right now. 

All he knows is that he wants to touch. To hold. To kiss. To crawl into him, on top of him, beneath him, and pull his own name from those lips in tiny little gasps that have nothing in common with the frantic gasps of panic after their first stint with the hell dimension. He wants a do-over. He wants a chance. A real fucking chance to have all these smiles, all these looks mean something. 

Arm outstretched, he reaches for the blunt again, taking it from whomever has it right now, aiming to shut off his brain a little more. Not to suppress it, but to shut it off. Even if that means he has to finish this thing. It’s fine. They have more. They always have more, because Jon and Argyle have an unreal fucking tolerance. 

With a chuckle, Nancy bypasses his hand and puts the joint between his lips and ignores his indignant hum. 

“Treat yourself”, she says, her voice wonderfully slow and lower in pitch. “I’ll be right back, yeah?” 

“‘Kay.” 

The warmth of her hand leaves his scalp, and with her body gone — getting up in way too swift a motion even for sober people — the night air seems a little colder. Eddie shivers a little, refusing to look at anyone, and just takes drag after drag, deciding he’ll finish this one. It’s his weed after all. 

By the sounds of it, Robin is already lighting the next one. Good girl. Smart girl. Best fucking girl in the whole wide world. 

Thick clouds of hot smoke waft through his lungs and all the way through his body up to his brain, leaving his arms and legs with a tingling feeling and his head with a pleasant buzz and tunes out most everything else around him. It’s great. It’s good. It’s wonderful. 

It’s why he doesn’t realise that the air is warm again and a body shielding him from everyone else until there’s a hand in his hair again. He opens his eyes to snark at Wheeler, but— 

It’s not Wheeler. It’s Steve. Knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top as he smiles down at Eddie. 

Neither of them says a word, but Eddie’s breath hitches. Stops, stutters. Just like his heart. And yet all he can do is stare up. Wonder if it’s real. Wonder if it’s real. 

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, fingers barely touching Eddie’s skin as he sort of plays with his hair. 

After a beat or two, Eddie nods, careful not to move too much. Careful not to chase those fingers and all the things they could mean. 

“Good.” 

And then Steve pulls the joint from between Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wants to warn him because this one’s close to the end and bound to be stronger, but it doesn’t seem to faze Steve as he just sucks in the smoke like it’s the first lungful of air he gets after a long day stuck inside. Smiling around the bud as it dies between his lips, he presses it into the grass beside him, extinguishing the last of it. 

He exhales, and Eddie can make out a tiny cloud of smoke against the night sky, watching as it wanders toward him. He waits for Steve to say something. There is what feels like intent in the movements of his hand, in the sudden appearance by his side, and in the way he— he fucking looks at him again. The sky is full of stars, the backyard full of fairy lights, and Steve Harrington is looking at him. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks at last, breaking the silence, wondering if his voice always sounds so small, so quiet, so endlessly tiny. Wondering if Steve even heard. 

But he did, because he smiles again. He did, because his hand stills. Touches Eddie’s skin. His scalp, his temple. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking from Eddie’s eyes to his own hand with something akin to wonder. Or marvel. 

And Eddie shivers again when that hand travels down. Caressing his cheek, definitely with intent. Electricity shoots through his body again, and the intensity in Steve’s eyes leaves him with goosebumps. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare. Barely even swallows as Steve bites his lip absently and moves on, trailing from Eddie’s cheek down to his... 

He’s touching his lips, and Eddie doesn’t breathe. Steve runs his forefinger along Eddie’s bottom lip, and in another world would he open his mouth and nip on his fingers or gasp at the touch and be better at this, be so much better at everything. But in this one, he lies motionless as Steve just fucking… explores. 

And his touch is so light, it’s so gentle, so sweet on the rough scar tissue, and yet so absent, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He could pull back his hands now and claim that Eddie had something there. He could pull back and live his life unchanged. Leave Eddie behind in this state of paralysis, changed irrevocably, and be safe. 

But that’s not what Steve does. 

Steve was never one to choose safety over bravery, and he has the scars to prove it now. The permanent stiffness of his back that barely lets him feel anything these days. The set in his jaw when he breathes through the pains phantom and real, the crease between his brows when the memory pains flare up. 

But his back is hunched in comfort now rather than in pain, and his shoulders are at ease. His lips are lightly ajar around a barely-there smile, and the skin between his eyes is smooth. Eddie wants to reach out and trace it, wants to caress it in the hopes that it’ll stay smooth forever. 

He’s so pretty. Golden light catching his skin in all the right ways, leaving him positively glowing with that look he gives Eddie. That look. 

Eddie’s never felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Laid bare, ready for dissection and willing to be taken apart in the hopes of letting him find what he wants and take it. Rip it right out of his chest. Now that he has Steve’s hand on his skin in the lightest of touches that’s anything but fleeting, he knows he would let him take anything he wants. Knows he would be helpless to stop him. 

Helpless in the face of that gaze that trails down to his lips now, if only to follow his fingers. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, barely moving his mouth at all around that single syllable. 

Golden hazel eyes flit back to his, and they widen a little. Like suddenly it’s Steve who’s caught. 

What are you doing? Eddie wants to ask. What are we doing? Don’t stop. Never stop. 

But words are for moments lighter than this one. Words are not meant for a world that’s changing. 

Maybe that is why Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tipping it up and turning his face toward him in a gesture so tender it’s almost possessive. Electricity shoots through Eddie again and the air between them is sizzling with it, sizzling because Steve is moving, shifting, dipping his head, his hand coming to rest on Eddie’s throat to keep him from moving away — except there is no force in his touch, and Eddie could still run. 

He could. He should, maybe. Like last time. 

But he is suspended in time, chained to the ground by the weight of Steve’s gaze and the hand on his throat, and his heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he is sure Steve can feel it. Imagines that those fingers move to find his pulse. Imagines that they find their home there, imagines that they hear the tales of stolen hearts and desires that leave his blood rushing. 

Imagines that Steve falters a little, hovering just above Eddie. Dreams of it all, dreams that this is real and that he can have this, just for tonight. He nods, and it’s a tiny little thing, far from enough to ruin this moment or wake him from his dream.

But then Steve captures his lips with such care that Eddie snaps back into his body and realises that this is no dream. Steve is kissing him. Hovers above him with one arm resting in the grass above Eddie’s head, his other hand pulling Eddie’s face towards himself and being oh so gentle about it. 

A whimper escapes him when this new reality settles inside his body, leaving him reeling and pulled towards a world of possibilities as those lips, those warm lips, rest so indulgently against his. 

No longer chained, Eddie carefully lifts a hand to Steve’s head, because Steve can feel him there, too, and because he doesn’t want this to end. Because he needs to touch. All night, all week, all this time he has needed to touch. To cradle. To hold. 

To keep. 

Steve hums, and those lips pull into a smile before closing around Eddie’s bottom lip. The first touch of Steve’s tongue has jolts of electricity and arousal zinging through Eddie’s body again, lingering this time and making a home in his legs that begin to tingle with want. 

Eddie opens his mouth, tilting his head a little to get a better angle, and is rewarded with the careful, addictive touch of Steve’s tongue against his. It makes Steve smile again, just for a second — but long enough to make Eddie’s heart jump. 

He chases those lips when they pull back, capturing them with a little hum as he realises he comes more and more unchained, regaining feeling and control over his body, his mind, his scared little heart. Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pushing Eddie’s head down into the grass again with an urgency that Eddie is beginning to understand matches the hunger he’s feeling. 

The hunger that is reserved only for Steve. It leaves him breathless, leaves him with the sudden need to gasp for air, but then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth again and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe ever again. 

He loses himself in the wet slide of their tongues that feels so sensual it’s almost obscene, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair and keep him right where he is while Eddie himself lies boneless, all the blood rushing down, down, down. Every nip of Steve’s teeth as he devours Eddie so entirely and yet so innocently, so sweetly, so carefully, and every time he sucks on his lips or his tongue results in another wave of intense arousal. And Eddie is stuck in the riptide of it. 

It doesn’t take long for the first moan to break the silence, a gasped little thing, almost like an afterthought, and he’s not sure if that was him or Steve; but he doesn’t really care either way, because he’s so hard, he feels like he can come from just Steve sucking on his tongue alone. 

And isn’t that an enticing thought. 

“Steve,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, or if that’s really all he needs to say. All that’s left to say. Steve, Steve, Steve. 

The only response he gets is a breathy little, “Fuck,” and it sounds like a revelation. Like an epiphany. And Eddie wants to hear it again, wants to swallow all the little noises and murmurs and everything Steve will give him. 

“You’re so—“ Steve begins, interrupting himself with another deep, hungry kiss. “Fuck. You’re…” 

“Yeah?” Eddie counters, breaking the kiss by pulling on Steve’s hair a little. “I’m what?” 

Steve hesitates, panting breaths dancing over Eddie’s skin and he smells so fucking good. Eddie wants to lick the aftershave and perfume and sweat off his neck and keep the taste on his tongue for days. Dark, blown eyes wander over his face, and the hand that was on his throat comes up to rest on his cheek again in a gesture so gentle that it almost gives him whiplash. The hunger is gone — or, not gone, but unimportant now. 

Steve smiles, hazy but genuine and so, so sweet, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s no doubt swollen lips. 

“Been wanting to do that forever.” 

Eddie’s heart jumps, falters, falls. Just a little. Just the rest of the way. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna kiss you forever.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie breathes, voice barely there because his breath has well and truly been taken away, and this moment feels so fragile. So easily broken by quick movements or thoughts that are just a little too loud, just a little too soon. “‘M not gonna stop you.” 

Steve’s eyes snap back to his, and there’s something in there that not even the weed could ease away. “Yeah?” 

Eddie nods, frowning a little, wondering what makes him so unsure. 

“Cool,” Steve says, and it’s almost nonchalant and definitely charming in that way he always is. Makes Eddie laugh a little, his other hand coming up to wipe a strand hair out of his eyes. “So…” He trails off. 

“Hmm?” 

“Wanna stay here? Or go inside, or…” 

And then it’s not arousal that overcomes him but worry. And guilt. And a bit of fear, because that’s not what this is for him. Not like this. Not when they’re high, not for the first time. 

He swallows, schooling his face to cooperate and not give it all away right now, not give away how helplessly gone he is for that boy and how he would do anything Steve wants, how he would take anything he can get and try to make it be enough. But instead of choosing the easy thing and betraying himself, he moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his cheek, melting at the way Steve leans into it, moving his face to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm. 

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is shaky again. And small. So, so small. “That’s not what this is for me. I don’t… I wanna kiss you forever. And more. Much more. But not… I don’t—“ 

“Not while we’re high? Inebriated?” He says the word with a chuckle, referencing the way Robin will always use big words when she’s hammered. There’s a gentle sort of understanding on his face after the chuckle, though, and Eddie melts a little again. “Wanna do it right, hmm? Wanna treat me right and make sure I won’t regret it, angel?” 

Eddie whimpers at the sudden use of that nickname, because he’s not, but he does. He didn’t realise until Steve said it how scared he was — is — that Steve will regret this. The kiss. And anything that might follow. 

Not trusting his words right now, he can only nod, wondering if his eyes are as blown as Steve’s are. If Steve thinks he’s pretty, too. 

“God, you’re unreal,” Steve whispers, coming down again to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead, brushing them down to the tip of his nose. He leans into those kisses, tips his chin up to chase it, but Steve pulls away again, his thumb tracing the pout he leaves behind on Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie grumbles, watching the delight on Steve’s face and deciding that he’s addicted now. Fuck the weed, fuck everything else. Steve can get him just as high. 

Along with that thought, reality works its tendrils into Eddie’s consciousness again, and he looks around the backyard around them — but there’s only him and Steve out here on the blanket, framed as they are by the fairy lights. 

“Hang on, where are the others?”

Steve huffs, his face shifting into an expression of fond amusement and gentle annoyance. “Last time I checked, Robin and Argyle were raiding the fridge, Nancy was lying on the living room carpet, marvelling at how soft it is, and Jonathan was just kinda spaced out on the couch with a bowl of chips. Don’t think they’re gonna come out here again in the next half hour or so.” 

“How convenient,” Eddie grins, wondering just how obvious the two of them had been all this time. Wondering, too, if it can really be that easy. If he can have this. If they can; after everything they went through.

“Hmm,” Steve hums, his body shifting so he’s half lying on top of Eddie now, positively vanishing any and all thoughts Eddie could have spared anyone else. He would worry about the hard-on he’s sporting, but it becomes obvious very quickly that Steve has the same predicament. It’s enticing, feeling him against his thigh like that, and Eddie has half a mind to do something about that, especially when Steve keeps shifting against him. “So. Do you wanna make out some more before we light the next baggie? It’s fine if not. We can just… I don’t know, cuddle or something.” 

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling on his hair a little bit to underline his deadpan. “What about I wanna kiss you forever was unclear?” 

“Hey, I said that first,” Steve retorts, digging his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making Eddie squeal and squirm right into his arms. “I also kissed you first,” he continues, sounding so damn smug about it. Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. “So I’m winning.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Steve all the way on top of him, his hands finding his way to those magnificent thighs, so firm underneath his grip. “‘M feeling pretty lucky right now.” 

“You think you’re so smooth,” Steve hums, dipping his head to hover just above his lips. 

“Is it working?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

They’re both laughing when their lips meet again, but that doesn’t deter them from kissing and tasting and swallowing moans like they’ll find new purpose in each other. Like they’ve already found it. 

Just like Steve’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together and pressing him further into the grass. Eddie holds on tight, not ready to let him go anytime soon, and marvelling at how sensitive his hand has become. 

There is no urgency in the way Steve slowly begins to move against him, grinding their crotches together in slow, sensual motion like waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. Eddie meets him right where they both need it most, not once breaking their kiss even when it becomes open-mouthed panting and moaning that the other is trying to chase and swallow and keep only for himself. 

“You feel so good,” Steve rumbles, catching Eddie’s tongue between his teeth and pulling a high-pitched whimper from him. “So fucking good, Eddie.” 

“Don’t stop, Stevie, fuck.” He’s panting, his legs tingling with want and need and a weightlessness he’s never known before. “I know I said— We can stop. We can stop, we can, but— fuck, I’m close.” 

“Yeah?” Steve taunts, and oh, there’s purpose now in the the way he’s lifting his chest off Eddie, putting his weight behind the way he’s grinding into him. “You gonna come in your pants, baby? While the others are still inside? Means you’re gonna do this with me again later, right? Try again when we’re not high, hmm?”

“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, working his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to keep him from stopping. “God, yes, I wanna—“ 

“I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing the words right out of his brain, chasing his own pleasure, too. “God, you’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, Eddie. Wanna come with me?” 

“Uh-huh,” Eddie can only nod and moan around all the words he wants to say, all those cheesy fucking words that leave him all the more vulnerable for how true they are. The tingly feeling builds in his legs, climbing to his core, and he wonders for a split second if Steve can really make him come like this — worries that somehow it’s not enough and that he’ll ruin this, that he’ll fuck it up and make it awkward between them because he doesn’t actually have any idea how his body works when someone else is taking the reins. 

But then Steve kisses him like that again, sucking his tongue into his mouth, holding his hand and groaning when Eddie moves in just the right way, and the sizzling pleasure finally finds its release. 

Eddie comes with a broken groan that Steve swallows greedily, panting into his mouth as, shortly after, his hips begin to stutter in their movements and he follows Eddie off the brink of this beautiful madness. Steve was always beautiful, there’s no question about that. But like this, face slack, kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips open around a silent moan as he grinds his trapped cock against Eddie’s, wrecked with aftershocks as his orgasm washes over him? He’s a fucking revelation that makes Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, over sensitive as he is  and yet so helpless against Steve’s aborted little motions. 

Getting high on weed doesn’t compare to getting high on Steve. It’s a high Eddie wants to chase forever, and he starts by wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him down onto his chest again, just to hold him. Steve purrs as Eddie’s hand finds its way into his hair, combing it away from the sweaty skin it sticks to. He cages him with his legs, too, tingly as they remain on either side of Steve’s body. 

It’s stupid, maybe, and a bit much, but he wants to keep Steve like this for a little longer. Putty in his hands, his weight on top of him grounding him after that high, and allowing them both to come down slowly. 

“Man,” Steve says after a while, just letting that word hang in the air as he regains conscious thought. 

Eddie hums, prompting him to say what’s on his mind even though he’s scared he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Still, it’s only fair to let Steve say what he wants. 

“I like you so much.” 

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the but. For the regret. But none follows. That’s really all Steve’s saying; and soon Eddie can’t fight the wave of giddiness that overcomes him. 

He hugs Steve a little tighter, not entirely ready yet to look him in the eyes and face this new reality they’ve kind of just created, needing to be a little scared for just a bit longer. But still he laughs, because scared is no longer all he’s feeling. There’s so much more now. So much more. 

“I like you so much right back.” 

Now it’s Steve who hums, shifting to lift his head and look at Eddie, but Eddie closes his eyes before Steve can catch them. 

“Said it first again.” A hand lands on his cheek again, just above the ugly scars that Steve doesn’t seem afraid to touch. “So I win.” 

And Eddie is looking now. Dares. If only to drive his point home when he says, “God, you’re so fucking lame.” 

“Is it working?” Steve grins, and Eddie never stood a fucking chance. 

“Unfortunately.” 

@izzy2210 here you go darling hehehe 🤍

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Dead Soulmates

This is probably the only soulmate au I'll ever do so enjoy

Soulmate au where your soul mark turns black when your soulmate dies

Danny and Jason are soulmates. The problem? Both of their soul marks are black. Sure, they came back, but not in a typical way, so each thinks the other is dead

So what do we get? Longing. Two guys longing for a love they thought lost to them, thinking tenderly of a future they don't think they could have, even without the added craziness of their lives. Standing on rooftops, smoking in the cold november air, their breath indistinguishable from the smoke, their spent cigarettes flicked off the edge like discount shooting stars, lamenting their fates, probably to each other for the dramatic irony of it all

they both get it. The quiet kind of grief, longing for somebody they never got the chance to know, thinking about how things could have been different, how the should have been different. That understanding is what draws them towards each other

and then? Jason sees Danny's mark, Jason shows his own, they stare at each other, silent for a moment, before arms wrap around the other, lips pressed together, and quiet tears fall like rain to the rooftop beneath their feet

longing, angst, and then happy ending

and you can thank this song for inspiring the mood for this

[sulky-cabbage]

AU: Where Sukuna Wins

Part 1

Part 2 here

Imagine an alternate universe in which Sukuna triumphs, dominates over Japan, and endures a lonely existence for many centuries, while allowing some humans to live.

They hold a grudge against him, of course, and want to kill him. They train at Jujutsu High and have some great fighters that occasionally provide Sukuna with some entertainment. 

They are so desperate for salvation, they can only find solace in prophecies about a figure with powerful blue eyes that will defeat the king of curses and rescue Japan.

And do you know what Sukuna does in response to that? One might expect him to go full Pharoah mode and kill newborns, but NO!!

HE DOES THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE !!

Whenever he ravages a village and devours the women and children, he ALWAYS spares the blue-eyed infants.

All the curses know better than to kill an infant with blue eyes. The last time a curse did that, Sukuna made sure to make an example of it.

Killing a member of the Gojo clan is also off limits, as well as anything that could delay the reincarnation of this certain person.

These humans are not the only ones waiting for salvation.

Sukuna is also WAITING...for his wretched existence to end at the hands of this person.

The ONLY one worthy of having the honor to do so.

[the-ace-with-spades]

An AU where Jake didn't go to USNA but got a scholarship for football at the same uni Bradley got a scholarship for baseball.

They're both part of NROTC but Bradley is a second-year midshipman and he's one of the very few midshipmen who are not mentoring anyone in the program dunno how nrotc works I'm guessing similar to our military youth programs, bear with me

He's instantly intrigued — Bradley seems to be the most unavailable person in the whole program, never really engaging for after-training outings or parties, never making small talk and never trying to even make connections that would help with networking once they were commissioned.

So Jake kind of observes from afar for the first few months and he realizes Bradley is exactly the same outside of NROTC too.

Despite the lack of engagement, every single instructor and coordinator from the program seems to know him. More so, most of them don't even comment on his lack of extracurricular engagement or mentorship, but even send him off for extra trainings that are typically only awarded for being exceptional.

They live in the same student building but on different floors. Bradley is an RA for his floor and the female-only floor above, something Jake only discovers when his own RA is kicked out and his heating problem is delegated to Bradley.

Bradley is also a TA (which is very unusual for a sophomore) for one of the physics professors — Jake is studying mechanical engineering and Bradley is doing aerospace engineering and he sometimes sees Bradley assisting, even if it's mostly for different majors.

Jake's fascination grows even more because he doesn't get it — Bradley is unavailable to anyone but he's also so nice. Most of the students in the dorm he's coordinating like him, which is not really something that happens with RAs, he's respected both by the midshipmen and their instructors and seniors, many of which keep on friendly jabs with him or extend invitations to outings despite Bradley's repeated refusals. He is incredibly nice to the actual few students who come for help from him as a TA, from what Jake heard, and he's got a good few girls crushing on him, some of which are pretty popular in the uni circles.

Despite that, he doesn't seem to have any friends. Jake doesn't see him at parties, or going outs, or study groups, or even of some midshipmen-organized extra trainings. It's like he's keeping everyone at arm's length.

Finally, he has an occasion to start something with Bradley when he goes downstairs to the mail room. Technically sorting the mail and putting it in the right boxes outside of the mail room is the porter's room but the porter seems to be there maybe four hours a week so usually they just break into the room and look for their own shit in the mess.

He goes downstairs and Bradley is sitting on the floor with a list of the students in the building and a stamp with red RETURN TO SENDER, sorting through piles and piles of mail.

"I didn't think it was part of your job."

"It's not," Bradley answers. "Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Seresin, right?"

Jake doesn't squeal but oh god, Bradley knows his name. "Yeah."

"Your parcel is in the ready pile," he says, pointing his thumb parcels near the door.

"You want some help?"

"You've got nothing better to do on a Friday night?"

He could've asked the same question. "I have three assignments I need to procrastinate on."

Bradley gives him a long look but finally says, "Fair enough."

They stay in silence and Jake doesn't know how to start a conversation. Bradley seems focused and aloof and just, once again, so unavailable.

The opportunity arises when he is going over the stack of parcels in the corner of the mail room.

"Your name is Bradshaw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Those are for you."

"They're not."

"I mean, there's no room number but it does say Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley is quiet for a minute but gets up from where he's been sitting on the floor and slowly walks to stand next to where the boxes are stacked on itself.

Without hesitation, he stamps both of them with RETURN TO SENDER.

"You aren't even going to check what's inside?"

He gets quiet again, looking at the stamp on top of the parcel far longer than needed, before he says, "I don't have any family left, whoever sent it isn't anyone I'd like to get anything from."

Jake bites down apologies — Bradley doesn't seem to be the type to need pity.

"It can't be returned to the post," Jake points out. "No return address."

Bradley sighs and takes out a pen from his pocket, leaning over the boxes.

He doesn't mean to snoop but he catches Bradley writing P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky in the addressee line and San Diego a couple lines lower. So obviously Bradley knew who it was from.

Some things change after that evening — Bradley answers his hi when they see each other at training or waves back when Jake sees him in the lecture hall or brings his mail straight to Jake's room and chats with him for a few minutes at his door.

But most things don't change — he still refuses to join any going outs, even if it's Jake asking him, still doesn't talk much to anyone, still refuses simple invitations to grab lunch together in the cafeteria or go to a movie later that week. Still seems to be using a Don't have time or If you don't need me, I'm going as frequent excuses. Still seems to be entirely unavailable to anyone who wants to catch him outside of his strictly obligatory settings.

He's talking about this with his mom, using the phone booth outside of their dorms, because he's never had trouble making friends with anyone (even if he admits he could make more than friends, with Bradley, eventually, maybe, wishful thinking aside) and his mom tells him, "He sounds really busy, baby, he probably doesn't have time for friends."

"How can you have no time for friends? It's college."

"Jakey, he isn't like you, he doesn't have any support from his family, he's probably struggling to stay afloat with the scholarships requirements and the college job and studying and military training on top of it."

"So what? There's no way to—be friends with him?"

"I think you'll have to fit into the free time in his schedule, baby. because that's the only kind he has."

It takes some time but he does realize that Bradley's time is truly limited. His days are packed tight, on top of what Jake already knew — the TA job, the RA job, the baseball scholarship and the NROTC training — he also works in the local garage one day a week. He literally has a few hours he can actually spend with someone during the day and Jake slowly tries to use them up.

Brings him coffee for the early morning walk-in tutoring he hosts at college, eats lunch with him when they have a training break, even as Bradley does his assigned reading and only half-pays attention to him, comes downstairs to the mail room every evening Bradley sorts through it, brings him cupcakes from the cafeteria on the lunch break between lectures, even though Bradley spends it alone in the professor's office, making lesson plans or marking papers. Visits him in the garage he works at and keeps on constant chatter as Bradley gets covered in black oil and stinks like fuel.

Slowly, he can see Bradley smiling when he sees Jake. Can see Bradley sharing his homemade divine lasagna and chicken soup made from scratch with Jake. Can see Bradley joining him in the gym, not just staying on the outside of the group. Can see Bradley chatting back as he continues to do what he's doing, no longer just letting Jake run his mouth.

There's a bit of a hiccup when Jake offers Bradley to join him on Christmas break in Texas — tells him they can drive if Bradley doesn't want to pay for plane tickets they can make a road trip of the thing and all. Only another call to his mom makes him aware that Bradley probably can't afford either and, as his mom doesn't hold back and points out Bradley won't react well if he offers to pay for it.

So instead, Jake stays for most of the Christmas break in the halls. Apparently, Bradley is organizing a small Chrismas dinner for anyone from the halls who is staying over (a total of seven people), so things get a bit busy — the spare time Bradley has is, well, spare. When he finally has the time, he is working in the garage or finishing his assignments — Jake sometimes forgets, with all the things Bradley does to stay afloat, that he's actually still a student — so he mostly trails behind him and chatters when he thinks it won't annoy Bradley too much.

Bradley offers to drive him to the airport. It's the first time he's offered to take a good chunk of his time and make it free by rescheduling things, just for Jake.

He even parks at the airport and walks him all the way to the security check line, not just leaves Jake in the drop-and-go area.

Jake gives him a small Christmas gift — a key chain with A4 Skyhawk he bought when he visited the aviation museum in Horsham with some of the other midshipmen. They both want to go into the aviation pipeline once graduated so it seems like something Bradley could like, even if it's a bit silly.

He wasn't sure, if Bradley would actually take it — he's been reluctant to take many things, every single lunch or coffee Jake got him had to be either repaid or covered by Bradley the next day.

But Bradley hugs him. Puts the key chain on his car keys ring.

When Jake comes back, he's expecting progress because, you know, Bradley's been warming up to him. Instead, Bradley seems to be dead on his feet, getting annoyed quicker than usually, going as far as telling Jake to 'keep quiet for a goddamn minute'. It all kind of becomes clear when he is car pooling with the guys for the NORTC training and sees Bradley, honest to god jogging the three miles from the halls to the training site, military backpack with his uniform and gear towering over his shoulder — it's five in the morning.

"You doing a new training regime or something? Running everywhere instead of driving like a normal human being?"

He doesn't look at Jake as he says, "The Bronco broke down."

"I mean, that car is older than you," Jake points out, trying to tiptoe around the issue and get Bradley to admit what the exact problem is — he never does, if you ask directly, Jake knows by now. It's like asking for help isn't in his nature.

"It's not safe to drive," he explains. "I can't brake in time anymore, the brakes are about to give out completely."

"Can't you fix it?"

"I need a new drum brake master cylinder," he says. When Jake stares at him, he adds, "It's gonna cost around two hundred bucks, which I don't have."

"I could lend you the money," he offers.

"I don't want your money," Bradley says, just like he thought he'd — taking any offered help from anyone isn't in his nature either.

So Jake tries to work around it — asks his dad and his uncles if there's anyone they know who could maybe give him the right master cylinder for free or at a very discounted price. When they finally find a guy who has a collection of spare parts for the early Broncos but no Broncos anymore and is willing to send the cylinder as long as someone pays for the postage, he writes down his number and promises his friend Bradley is going to call soon about that.

And thank the fucking god, Bradley accepts this kind of backhanded help.

Bradley fixes the Bronco on the hall's parking lot. He jogs from the garage with a borrowed jack lift strapped to his back, pops the car on it and the other one he already has in the trunk so the wheels are up, pops the tires off and pops the front mask up and gets his white tank and plaid shirt covered in grime. It's already dark by the time he takes the jacks away and sits behind the wheel.

Jake's spent the whole time uselessly chattering to him as he always does — he has absolutely no idea about cars — but he lets himself be waved into the passenger seat.

Bradley drives out of the parking lot, down the empty road to the campus and brakes so hard Jake has to hold himself up against the dashboard.

"Better than new," Bradley says and Jake's never seen him grinding as widely and as honestly as he is now.

He is sweaty and covered in oil and stinking a bit, but his curls are flopping on his forehead and the ratty mustache he's been growing lately is out of order and he's looking at Jake with those big brown cow eyes — he just can't not kiss him.

So he leans over the console and kisses the smile on his face.

The leap of faith pays of because Bradley keeps on kissing him — he pulls the hand brake on and lets both his hands settle on Jake's waist and things continue until Jake is being guided onto the backseat over the console and being kisses again and again, and Bradley's hands go lower and lower.

They get each other off and then go back to the halls. They don't talk about it but now any time they're alone — in the lecture hall, in the mail room, in Jake's or Bradley's room — he can just lean in and kiss him as much as he wants to and still get the brightest of smiles as a reward.

They're back in the mail room and maybe Jake's just spent twenty minutes trying to crawl up Bradley's lap (to no avail) when he notices — Bradley got another package, this time PLEASE AT LEAST LOOK THROUGH THE THINGS BEFORE SENDING IT BACK written in bold marker on top.

Bradley curtly tells him to just stamp it with RETURN TO SENDER. But he can't help himself — he gets his keys out and cuts through the tape on top, opening the giant box.

"Jake—"

He takes out the first thing that's on top of the pile inside — a stuffed goose the size of over half of Jake's torso. It's a bit grayed up and smells like dust but it's also so cute.

"That yours?"

Bradley gets up from where he's sitting so quick — a second and he's next to Jake, taking the plushie out of his hands. "Ducky—"

"Ducky? That's a goose, isn't it?"

Bradley is honest to god red in the face but doesn't let go of the goose, bringing it closer to his chest and it's freaking adorable. "I was two, I couldn't tell the difference."

"So," Jake says, feeling like he's defusing a bomb. "You still wanna send it back?"

"I—I don't know."

"Maybe—Maybe I could help with that," he offers. "If I know the details, or at least some of them."

It takes him a minute but when Bradley finally starts talking, everything just spills out of him. He tells Jake about his dad, and about his mom, and then about his other dad and pops. He doesn't get too into details but they come around back to his last year in high school and how his dad pilled his papers and they haven't talked since Bradley found out and left the house with a bag and his car and nothing else.

Jake says, "That's just stupid."

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows he's said the wrong thing even if it was honest — he can see in real-time as Bradley rolls back into himself, closing off in less than a minute and suddenly there's so much distance between them.

He angrily writes down the same P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky and San Diego address on top and chucks the goose plushie back inside.

"I guess I'm stupid then," he says quietly and a blink and he's out of the mail room. He's not answering when Jake knocks on his room door.

Jake doesn't have the heart to actually let that package go back to P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky, or Bradley's dad and pops. So he brings it into his room upstairs.

He doesn't mean to go over the things inside, not too much, but he thought he could at least grab the goose — Ducky — and give it a wash. When he reaches inside, there's a goddamn plushie of a Spitfire in there, its tag saying RAF Museum, London, and Jake can't help looking for more.

There are photos and polaroids, three people commonly on all of them with a baby Bradley. Old Hawaiian shirts, a leather jacket, knots of seashell jewelry, a few rolled-up posters, a whole notebook with handwritten recipes, birthday cards.

He doesn't look any further but instead takes the return address from the box and writes up a postcard to P.Mitchell & T. Kazansky saying he'll force Bradley to keep it all.

Problem is, Bradley isn't talking to him, no matter how hard he tries. He thought he'd be like that for a few weeks at the most and then forget but he's worse than he was before he and Jake met in the mail room for the first time — doesn't even say a word to him when Jake tries to start a conversation, he's gone so far as to change his complicated schedule completely so Jake can't see him outside of NROTC and his TA role.

He calls his mom again.

"Jakey, honey," his mom says, with a tone that suggests he's an idiot. "That boy bared his soul to you and you said his feelings were stupid."

[bitchthefuck1]

you know what, I actually will talk about this because it's bothering me. The issue with focussing so heavily on syd and carmy's potential for a romantic relationship isn't that there's something inherently unintellectual about romance or whatever, it's that a lot of people seem incapable of doing that without immediately flattening the story and ignoring or intentionally misreading any and all nuance for the sake of that romance. Every scene suddenly becomes about how it impacts their relationship, every analysis is done through a romantic lens, every frame or line of dialogue becomes about finding some easter egg or hint that "proves" these people should start dating. Their dynamic is absolutely a fundamental part of this show, but if you can only see it as a will-they-won't-they, you miss so much of what the story is actually trying to say with these two.

There are good versions of this story where their relationship is romantic and there are good versions of this story where it isn't, but as soon as you decide them being together is "the point," you lose the ability to actually judge the story for what it is, not what you want it to be.

[everrgrreeen]

This song is so Layla x Warren coded that it wouldn't leave me alone til I made an edit with it.

Even after almost 20 years since this movie came out (and I saw it in the theater), there's not a single person who can convince me that he didn't end up falling in love with her.

[thatonegayship]

I loved the cowboy comic so much that I wrote a oneshot for it. https://archiveofourown.org/works/50934235 🥺 your art is BEYOND amazing, ty for the food

INCREDIBLE!!!!!