#like. he's so particular right. about literally everything. and i think that extends to what he considers Valuable Items | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perceivedregret · 2 years

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pt 6 finally!! can also be found on ao3, user is the same over there. part 1 of Extended Hours can be found here.

because i want but don't receive, quarantine me and teach me what you mean

Robin is sitting in the center of the kitchen island with her legs crossed, muttering annoyingly to no one in particular as she inspects the tape in her hand. She cranks her finger in one of the slots before an exasperated sigh escapes her.

“Ya know, there’s literally a sticker right there. It's kinda hard to miss since it’s in big, bold, bright red letters smack dab in the center of the box. Why is it so hard to be kind and rewind?” She sets the tape down beside her with a clatter before laying back and throwing her legs out, socked heels thudding against the island's wall where her feet bounce before settling, hands low on her stomach.

Nancy lets the ladle sink down into the spiked bowl of lemonade she had been stirring, wandering over until she's right beside Robin. She rests her elbows on the counter, leaning into Robin's leg as she scoops the tape into her own hands.

"It looks like it’s only about half way through, it won’t take too long for the player to rewind it. But hey, can you check to see if I put in enough of, well, everything?" She glances back at the mix of different bottles that Steve had pulled from the liquor cabinet that surrounded the punch bowl.

Robin doesn't move, instead turning her head to look at Nancy, arm reaching out. "How does Steve not own one of those automatic rewinder thingies? How do I own one but Mr. Moneybags here has to subject us to possibly spoiling the movie like heathens. What if the frame it’s stuck on is a major plot point and bam, it’s all just ruined?"

"Bite me, Buckely," Steve mutters, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the archway leading into the kitchen. He'd disappeared for a moment to show Eddie where the bathroom was.

It's the door right on the left, just down that hallway. Left! Yea, that one, right there.

Stevie, there are like, a bajillion doors down this one hallway and you just said left and right. Can you just–

"Remind me, Robs, who broke the last one? Also, you could've checked it and had Keith rewind it back at the store. How is this my fault?"

Nancy shakes her head between them as her lips quirk to stifle a smile, already used to their bickering. She sets the tape down and reaches out to take Robin's outstretched hand into her own. She pulls at her fingers then gently massages at the palm. Robin continues, surprisingly unfazed by the contact, her unoccupied hand pointing accusingly in Steve's direction.

"It’s always somehow your fault. And honestly how was I supposed to know that the kids put an Eggo in the damn thing? They're not five! By the way, if we were working at Family Video, this tape would have been set and ready for our viewing pleasure. Just sayin'."

Before Steve can make a retort the front door opens with a bang and all three heads swivel at the sound. Argyle’s voice carries throughout the entire house, the smell of sweet fresh pizza wafting in with him.

"How's it hanging brochachos y brochachas. I come bearing the fruit of gods." Argyle rounds the corner with two boxes of pizza held high above his head, the smile on his lips full of pride.

"Pizza isn't a fruit," Robin deadpans as she pulls herself up to rest back on her elbows, hand slipping out of Nancy's grasp. She eyes the unmarked pizza boxes warily as he sets them down on the only remaining free space on the counter.

There's the sound of the front door shutting and soon after Jonathan is shuffling in with a pack of Coronas in one hand, the other hand passing a joint over to Argyle. He throws his head back and blows smoke up into the space of the kitchen's skylight before heading over to the fridge.

“Tomatoes are a fruit, Robby. There's probably more fruit in this pizza than veggies, now that I’m thinking about it." Argyle takes a long pull, the cloud of smoke thickening in the skylight before he reaches over to let Jonathan finish it off, Jonathan's arm bends awkwardly behind him to get a hold of it as he continues to search the fridge.

"Roach is yours, bro. Anyways, I made these babies from scratch right at home. D'you know they sell empty pizza boxes? Kinda wild. Still tryin' to convince the old boss man to expand. Hawkins is in need of their own Surfer Boy, pronto."

Jonathan closes the fridge empty handed, searching the kitchen with a pout. Steve chuckles as he points towards the living room.

"I got you Twizzlers, Byers, they're in ther–"

Jonathan doesn't wait for Steve to finish, just grabs Steve's face between his hands before pulling Steve's head down to plant a kiss on the top of his head, red eyes as wide as he can make them. "You're great, ya know that?" He disappears into the living room, the sound of him settling into the couch with a loud satisfied sigh following shortly after.

"Aye man, did ya want a slice?" Argyle calls out after him. He opens a box with raised eyebrows, presenting it to the other three.

Nancy shrugs a shoulder before taking a slice. "It smells good. Need to eat something since we're going to be drinking. Especially if we have to follow that list you two came up with. It screams alcohol poisoning."

"Nance, you made the punch," Steve scoffs as he grabs a slice, folding it down the middle to take a bite. "If you end up with a splitting headache in the morning, point that finger directly to a mirror."

"Ew, Steve! You're allowed to chew and swallow your food before speaking. You know that, right?" Robin takes a slice, eyes still skeptical and her nose scrunched in distaste. She shakes her head to herself, muttering fruit should not be hot before pulling all the pieces of pineapple off and eating the slice with just the ham and cheese.

Argyle picks up every piece Robin abandons, popping them into his own mouth. "Keep 'em comin' Robby."

"Wait, does that mean you don't like pies?" Nancy's voice is incredulous as she takes another bite of her slice, fingers picking at Robin's abandoned pineapple pieces along with Argyle.

Robin takes a bite, taking a moment to mull over Nancy's question before answering. "Depends. Do unbaked pies count?"

"Robin."

"Nancy?"

Eddie sneaks up behind Steve, on his tiptoes to peak over his shoulder at the slice Steve is about to take another bite from. "My brain is telling me that this isn't right but my stomach is telling me to devour it."

Steve stiffens, surprised by the sudden closeness. Eddie's chin lowers until it sits on Steve's shoulder, their bodies with just a shadow of space between them. His hair tickles Steve's neck and before he can stop himself Steve sways back until half of Eddie's body is pressed against his back.

He makes the mistake of turning his head slightly towards him because suddenly Steve's senses are overloaded by everything Eddie. He feels the warmth of Eddie's body on the half of his that he's pressed up against, can feel him from his neck all the way down to the back of his knee. The only thing that Steve is able to process in this moment is how he wants to be buried, to be covered up beneath him completely.

And then there's that overwhelming smell of mahogany and apples, with that subtle hint of cigarette smoke in his hair. He has to fight the urge to move, to slide somehow even closer. He wants to turn his head and bury himself nose first into those curls, or to that pulse point where it will definitely be that much stronger. He’s getting dizzy.

Mistake. Definitely a mistake.

Eddie's arm reaches over until it comes around Steve's other shoulder. He takes the slice from him and takes a bite, his jaw brushing against Steve's. He hums contently before unraveling himself from around him, the half eaten slice officially stolen. He settles against the opposite side of the archway, mirroring Steve who leans back against his own side.

Steve stands there frozen, staring at his suddenly empty hands. He looks up and makes eye contact with Robin. That look is back again except this time as they lock eyes with each other it finally clicks and he suddenly understands it.

He feels like he just got out of a fight and just barely came out swinging. The air is no longer in his lungs, the ants are revved up and he can't bring himself to shake them off. He's having to rewire his brain, reconnecting all those moments before, those moments where he thought he was going to be eaten alive by those ants, the ants that only started up when–

Oh.

Oh shit.

"Are you responsible for this absolute monstrous creation? I thought the kids were imaginative, that I was, but this?" Eddie pushes away from the archway, walking towards Argyle to introduce himself just as Robin hops off the counter, making a beeline straight for Steve. “Is this a Cali thing?”

"Yeah man, sup sup, I'm Argyle." He tips his head in Eddie's direction, loose hair that isn't held back from his backwards upside down neon orange visor slipping forward over his shoulders before straightening back up. "Eddie, right? I like your style bro, it screams hot goth. Think you and Eden would get along great."

Steve doesn't get to hear Eddie's reaction to that because he's being pulled away by Robin, her arm locked to his by the elbow. The yelp that escapes him as he almost trips over her feet that ram right into his as she forces him to move backwards makes everyone look back at them, eyes confused and concerned.

“Nance, can you get the movie set up? Steve and I just need to get some pillows and blankets from the guest room. Oh, and can you get my chips for me? Think I left ‘em in the car. Be right back!” Robin tugs again and Steve can’t do anything other than follow.

Once they get to the guest room Robin all but shoves Steve through the door before backing up to shut it behind her, voice a panicked whisper. “You looked like you were gonna be sick–” rough shake of her head. “We don’t have a lot of time here for you to panic over this so I need you to relax and–”

“Relax? Buckley, you knew. This whole time you knew and you didn’t tell me.” Steve pinches his nose and huffs a ragged breath. “I’ve been drowning and I had no idea why and you knew! Robs, I’ve been in your corner and pushed for you to take a chance on Nance all week and you–” He points accusingly in Robin’s direction before raking a hand through his hair as he spins in place, throwing himself face first into the bed.

“That’s not fair! No, that’s not even remotely the same thing and you know it, so don’t you even try it, bucko.” Steve can’t see her but he can hear her patter over to the drawer and pull it open harshly. “I had an inkling, I will admit to that, but honestly? The way you were acting around him I thought you knew and were just being– oh I don’t know, I thought you were just being Steve! Hot and cold, ya know, confident flirt to sudden flustered, dumb idiot.”

Robin continues to shuffle around the room, opening cabinets and the closet door. A pillow thuds onto his head and soon he’s buried beneath comforters and throws.

A beat of silence.

“Rob, what’s wrong with me?”

He mutters it into the bed, so when Robin doesn’t respond right away he thinks she didn’t hear him. But when he pulls his face away from the mattress she’s right there in front of him. She’s looking down at him, hands at her hips with eyebrows drawn together. He sighs, folding his arms underneath himself before resting his chin on his arms.

She lowers herself to a squat, mirroring his position so that they’re almost nose to nose. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? I can list a number of things that are wrong with you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve chuckles at that, turning his head to rest his cheek on his arms. “I just… didn’t realize it, ya know? Why didn’t I realize it? I’ve never felt this way over…"

“A guy?”

“Yes. Wait, no. I mean– yes and no? I’ve definitely felt things before. Tommy wasn’t even the first dude to make me realize I liked guys, if I’m being completely honest. But before, it was more of… a physical type attraction–”

“Okay okay, no need to elaborate. I get it,” Robin throws a hand out, eyes squeezing shut as a chuckle bubbles out of her. Her eyes flutter open and she looks as confused as Steve feels. “But then… what do you mean? What's so different about Eddie?”

Steve honest to god whines like a petulant child before shoving his face into the mattress again. “I would like to fucking know Robs, because all I feel when I'm around him is physical. Except with him it’s so goddamn different, it’s not the usual bullshit. It doesn’t compare to anything else, not even Nancy.”

Robin jumps because suddenly Steve is moving to rest on his elbows and he’s reaching out to grab her hands in his. All she does is nod for him to continue.

“There’s been this feeling– it’s like I’m drowning except multiplied by a hundred. And then there were these… ants? I don’t even know how to describe it but I felt this, like, incessant tingly and floaty feeling at the tips of my fingers. It would crawl all the way up to my chest until I felt like I would suffocate from it. It feels like that all the time when I’m around him.”

Robin doesn’t know how to respond but from the look on her face she’s coming to some conclusion, a conclusion Steve is struggling so hard to find. She doesn’t know how to tell him so she just squeezes his hands in hers and let’s him barrel on.

“It’s so god damn different with him, so fucking different. Like, just last night after I got off the phone with you I called him while he was still at the Vibe. I was supposed to wait for him to get home but I couldn’t. I needed to call him because I swear to god I was on the verge of losing my fucking mind. And when he finally picked up the phone….” Steve is shaking his head, eyes unfocused as he remembers that moment of utter relief.

“When I heard his voice it just… went away. I felt like I could breathe again.”

Robin tugs at his hands. “Steve–”

“Guys, the movie’s ready!” Her eyes cut away from his when Nancy's voice comes muffled through the shut door.

“Oh, we gotta get back out there,” Robin mumbles, moving to grab some of the stuff off of Steve.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Steve mutters, dropping his head to the bed one final time before struggling to dig himself out of the pile Robin buried him under. “Robin, what do I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? Shit, does Eddie even like guys?”

“Shit shit shit, Steve wait, just–” Robin scrambles to gather the pillows and comforters as Steve crawls backwards and grabs the ones she didn't pull off. He leaves a yellow throw over his head and bundles himself in it. "I’m pretty sure that Eddie’s–”

"Did you guys need help?"

They both freeze, eyes wide. Eddie's voice is loud behind the door and Steve can feel that bubbling in his chest again. Robin's face scrunches and Steve huffs a laugh and his anxiety makes his chest pang as he's able to read her. He shakes his head at her in response.

No, we won't ever have a moment's peace.

Steve grabs at a pillow from the head of the bed to hug it tightly to his chest, pulling the throw back around himself. He turns to face the door, fingertips shocked by the coldness of the doorknob. After a deep breath that does nothing to calm his nerves Steve nods to himself determinedly and opens the door.

He regrets exhaling his breath before opening it because as he breathes in again the door wafts in that scent of mahogany and apples.

Steve thinks he might die.

“Stevie. Bobby. I don’t know how to tell you guys this but you two are terrible hosts.” Eddie tsks, leaning against the door with an elbow braced by his head against the frame.

A scoff comes from behind Steve. He’s being pushed to the side as Robin moves to stand in front of him, shoving some of the blankets and pillows in her arms into Eddie’s chest.

“Robs, Robby, Bobby– can you all agree on one nickname, for christ sake.” She pokes Eddie’s arm that now holds some of the pillows and throws, mutters “be nice,” before skirting around him and towards the living room. But not before giving Steve a wide eyed glance once she’s out of Eddie’s line of sight, exaggeratingly tipping her head towards Eddie.

Steve only telepathically begs for her to stop it and doesn’t move to follow her. He can’t move because Eddie is right in front of him.

Can’t move, doesn’t want to move because he now knows that the reason he feels like his heart is going to fall out of his ass is because he likes Eddie Munson.

And he doesn’t know if he could like him back.

Eddie’s eyes were following Robin as she made her way towards the living room, a half smirk exposing one of his dimples. Eddie turns back, giving Steve a full smile that makes Steve swallow hard to avoid saying something stupid, like, I adore your smile, can I please kiss it.

“Ya know, yellow really is your color, by the way.” Eddie tips his head, considering Steve for a moment. “Yup. Your color,” he mutters before turning and heading straight to the living room, hitching the throws and pillows up in his grasp.

Steve pulls his lips into a thin line and follows him. He’s feeling deja vu as he holds his breath. He thought apricots were going to make him melt but no, the apples were going to straight up kill him.

When he finally rounds the corner of the hallway into the living room, Steve stops short.

Jonathan and Argyle are taking up one of the couches, legs tangled into each other as their heads rest on opposite ends of the arm rests. They’re tossing Skittles at each other’s faces, trying to catch the rainbow sweets into their mouths and giggling whenever one misses and they have to go searching into their hair or behind their necks to find it.

Robin and Nancy are on the recliner, which is luckily wide enough for the two of them to sit side-by-side comfortably. They’re under a large purple and pink throw, bowl of pretzels on a pillow that they have on top of their legs, their spiked lemonades in either hand.

Robin smiles nervously at Steve when their eyes meet. She glances down at the floor apologetically but honestly it looked comfortable enough. There were multiple layers of throws and comforters for padding with various pillows thrown about.

Steve doesn't care that he has to be on the floor. Hell, some nights he'll throw a pillow down in his own room because the floor just makes sense for the night.

No, the thing that makes him stop is realizing that the only space left is the floor for Steve and Eddie to share. Steve seems to be the only one fazed because Eddie collapses almost immediately into a pile of pillows, using the blanket to burrito himself by rolling around on the floor.

"Stevie, can you grab my drink before you start the movie? I left it in the kitchen." Eddie is now inching himself like a worm to a stack of pillows to lay back and watch the movie, still cocooned in his throw wrap.

Steve turns towards the kitchen and makes his way over to the bowl. He ladles two spoonfuls into a solo cup and takes a sip, nose wrinkling. Nancy has always been heavy handed with the alcohol, even for Steve's taste, but surprisingly tonight she kept it reasonable.

Which is not what Steve wants, no needs, right now. He shakes his head and grabs the half empty bottle of vodka and pours himself a generous shot and immediately knocks it back. He exhales a burning breath, completely unfazed and considers taking a second when Eddie's voice directly behind him makes him jump. Steve turns his head to look at Eddie as he leans his hip against the counter beside him.

"Shots already Harrington? What, is your tolerance so high you need to get ahead?" Eddie is bundled in a gray throw, hair a frizzled mess where it can’t be kept in that loose low hanging knot.

Steve glances towards the living room, eyes narrowing and his heart hammering. “Didn’t you just ask me to grab you your drink, you worm.”

Eddie scratches at his cheek, a smile fighting its way onto his lips before pointing into the living room. “Bobby said Drew forgot her bag of chips on the counter.” Eddie reaches across Steve and past the bowl, bag crinkling loudly in the quiet kitchen as he picks it up with the tips of his fingers.

He slides closer towards Steve. The smell of the spiked lemonade, apples, and alcohol is overwhelming. Eddie takes the shot glass from Steve, fingers brushing along his. He tips his head towards the bottle of tequila.

"I'll try to keep up." The murmur sends a chill down Steve's spine. He's sure the blush on his cheeks isn't from the alcohol but hopes it's what Eddie will believe. Steve doesn't break their gaze as he grabs the bottle and pours a shot. If a few droplets fall onto Eddie's fingers, neither one mentions it.

He doesn't look away when Eddie grabs the shaker of salt. Doesn't look away when his hand is taken and brought closer to the other man's face.

And now he most definitely can't look away because Eddie is tipping his head, the back of Steve's hand brought close to his lips. He licks the back of Steve's hand before shaking the salt over the wet strip, making Steve's breath catch in his throat.

Eddie licks his lips before raising the shot glass with a small intake of breath. “Cheers.” He licks at Steve’s hand again, tongue wide, taking up every grain of salt with him before knocking back the shot. His eyebrows come together as he brings the glass down. “That was actually really smooth, Harrington. Didn't even need the lime. Is this daddy’s good stuff?”

He takes his own cup of spiked lemonade by the lip between his pinky and ring finger that still holds the bag of chips before using his other hand to pick up the bottle to inspect it, corners of his mouth turning down in approval as he makes his way towards the living room.

Steve doesn’t respond, only nods his head even though Eddie can’t see him. He’s stuck looking at the wet strip. but he wipes it away before he can do something abhorrent about it. He takes his own cup and follows Eddie, stops to double back and grab a few different bottles of liquor into his arm and fingering a few shot glasses.

Eddie is already back on the floor but is seated up against the couch Argyle and Jonathan are on, the bottle of tequila between his outstretched legs. He's turned at the waist and he's got two joints in his hands, seems to be asking Argyle about his strain of Purple Palm Tree Delight and comparing it to what Steve assumes to be from Eddie's own stache.

"Uhhh, Steve?" Robin watches him warily as he places the bottles and glasses on the coffee table they moved over by the fireplace. He pulls the throw that slipped down back over his head and turns to her.

Steve takes a sip from his cup, flinches and decidedly pours more vodka in. He takes another sip and smacks his lips approvingly. He clears his throat, mutters "What's up?" and moves over to the VCR to hit play, then shuffles to the wall and turns off all the lights.

"Dudes and dudettes, it's time to get spooky-ooky" Argyle whispers, moaning like a ghost before almost falling off the couch in a fit of giggles because Jonathan dug his heel into his thigh.

The VHS is rolling and the trailers start playing. Steve considers skipping through them but decides to let them roll, giving everyone a last minute chance to get or do anything before the movie actually starts. He's about to go and settle (a safe distance) on Eddie’s right when Nancy snaps her fingers at him.

"Hold up, bring me that bottle of Morgan." Nancy reaches her hand out and when Steve doesn't immediately move back to the coffee table she rolls her eyes and motions again. "If you and Eddie are going to go overboard then I want to be a part of it."

"Wait, what are those two gonna drink," Robin asks, pointing back to Argyle and Jonathan, voice lofty. "And do I have to-"

"No no, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you wanted to drink water that'd be alright, too," Nancy places a hand to Robin's shoulder, rubbing circles with her thumb, other arm still outstretched expectantly towards Steve.

Argyle reaches behind the armrest to grab the bucket filled with ice and the beers from the floor. "We got the 'Ronas here, Robby. Don't wanna get too wishy-washy, yanno." He digs a bottle opener out from somewhere between the couch cushions and pops two bottles open, handing one to Jonathan and wedging his own between his thighs.

"Where'd you even get that," Steve mutters, slipping Nancy her requested bottle. When he finally settles down with the throw over his legs he realizes he's a lot closer to Eddie than he initially wanted to set himself up to be. He'll just blame it on the room being too dark, sinking deep against the couch.

"I think the last time we tried hard liquor after a sesh we kinda slept for, like, thirteen hours straight," Jonathan mumbles before laughing and flicking a Skittle at Argyle's chest. "Bro, remember that night."

"I can't forget that night, man." Argyle's laugh and the way he pats Jonathan's ankle before letting his hand rest there indicates there's a memory there that everyone else isn't privy to. He pulls at one of Jonathan's legs to settle further into the couch, further tangling themselves.

Eddie is watching the interaction, humming softly and slowly nodding to himself before looking over to watch Nancy and Robin. Steve follows Eddie's gaze.

"I'm not saying I don't want to also drink, I'm just– I think someone should be sober enough to make sure the rest of the group doesn't do or, ya know, say something stupid or embarrassing." Robin chews on her thumb nail before shaking her hand out and grabbing her drink. Her eyes flitter towards Steve and it’s only a millisecond, but both Nancy and Eddie start to swivel their heads back and forth between the two.

Eddie smirks, points a finger gun to Robin, rings bright in the dark room. “Wait, are you worried you’re gonna have to go another round with the Russian spies?”

Robin chokes and starts coughing around her drink. Nancy lowers her hand that had remained on Robin’s shoulder and starts patting her on the back. She leans forward, muttering around an amused smile, “the Russian what now?”

“You told him?!” Robin sputters between coughs, opting to take a long pull from her cup to soothe her throat. She groans in annoyance after a sizable swallow. She turns to Nancy and throws her hands up, her cup of lemonade swishing dangerously. She shakes her head at Nancy, mumbles out a quick “it happened once and it was an accident,” before staring daggers at the boys on the floor. “Steve-”

“No, don’t you worry yourself Bobby, he didn’t get into specifics. Stevie here isn’t one to kiss and tell. Nah, he just told me about, oh who was it,” Eddie’s eyes shine as he turns back to Steve, the current trailer playing on the screen painting his face purple. Steve can’t help but smile with him. Eddie snaps his finger guns and redirects them to him. “Bonnie Wriggly’s gummies. I sold her those gummies, by the way. You’re welcome.”

At that Steve chuckles, taking the bottle of tequila from between Eddie’s knees. “Damn Munson, what kinda drugs are you dealing to the kids of Hawkin’s High?” He takes a swing directly from the bottle and Eddie pulls it away from him, an endearing snort escaping him.

"First of all, you weren't supposed to eat them all in one sitting, alright. And I only get the good stuff worth buyin’, sellin', and usin'.” Eddie uses two fingers to pull his hair back to show off the joint he has tucked behind his ear before shaking his hair out to cover it up again. “I trust Ricky to keep the kids happy and safe.” Eddie winks at Steve, tipping the bottle to take a sip.

“Whatever, pour some more here Munson,” Robin grumbles, red solo outstretched. Eddie pulls himself forward, hips first and shuffles on his knees before bending across Steve to pour some into her cup.

Steve’s eyes almost flutter completely shut, that scent of apples clouding him. In this position Eddie’s cut off shirt rides up higher, exposing more of his torso, the battle vest long since abandoned when they’d all first arrived. He can see a tattoo of vines and leaves peaking out from his hips before it disappears back into his black jeans. Oh what he would do to be able to catalog each and every single one of Eddie’s piercings and tattoos.

He exhales slowly, eyes shutting completely as the scenario of being able to get himself into a position to be allowed to catalog Eddie takes over. He shifts uncomfortably, shaking his head to will the images away.

Eddie rocks back, sitting on his heels, free hand thrumming to some unheard beat against his thigh. He tips the bottle towards Steve. “They were smokin’ in here earlier. Do your parents not notice the smell?”

Steve clears his throat with a shrug. “They’re never around anyways. Right now they’re in a conference down south, gonna be gone a few days. I’ll just crack the windows open to air the place out ‘til then, it’s whatever."

It’s not really whatever but Steve doesn’t really give a shit. If his father comments on it he’ll just shrug and play dumb. It works every other time.

Eddie moves back and settles beside Steve against the couch, making Steve's heart threaten to beat out of his chest because now he's closer, much closer than what he had designated to be 'safe.'

The room goes pitch dark, and then suddenly everything is bathed in a bright red as the movie begins. The music is shrill and is accompanied by heavy breathing with the sound of metal sliding against metal, and it rings loudly throughout the room. Eddie leans over, the tip of his nose skimming against Steve's ear, making him shiver. He pulls the comforter up so that it bundles up at his hips, tightly crossing his arms over his chest.

"S'wondering, is it cool if we smoke in here after the movie?" Eddie's voice is low, and Steve knows it’s because he's trying to keep quiet but it makes Steve want to evaporate. "I mean, only if you're up for it."

Steve turns his head as Eddie leans back but it’s not as far as Steve anticipated him to. They're only a few inches away, and Steve holds his breath because if he gets another wave of that scent–

So instead he just nods his head, eyes glancing down to watch Eddie lick his lips. His throat clicks around a hard swallow, barely breathes out a yeah, that's fine, I'd be down before forcing his attention back in time to watch the blonde in a white nightgown trot down the dingy school hallway on the screen. From his peripheral he can see Eddie smile. He almost regrets looking away too soon because he wants to see that dimple.

No, better to have looked away. Smart, definitely smartest decision of the night because if he didn't he's sure he would have tried to close that gap.

The room is bathed in the blue hue as Tina explores the school’s boiler room and everyone gets quiet and they just watch the movie. They take their first drink at about the four minute mark. Steve raises his cup to the screen once the kids start singing Freddy’s nursery rhyme. “Creepy kids, everybody drink,” and they all do.

It doesn't take long before everyone is in a fit of giggles, but only because they can’t take the movie all too seriously. Once Freddy comes on screen they can’t help it, the guy is utterly goofy and comically gross. But everyone gets quiet once they realize Tina is dead.

But it’s only for a beat of silence.

"Oh shit, Tina’s fuckin’ dead, man." Jonathan mumbles.

"Murder!" Eddie cheers, raising his solo up and everyone else follows.

Salud! Here, here! Cheers!

And the night continues on like that. Debauchery? Drink. Someone starts screaming bloody murder? Drink. The dumb teens investigate a suspicious sound or wander off on their own? Drink.

When they had first realized the main girl's name was Nancy they collectively decided to add to their list to drink to every time she did something their Nancy would probably do, which luckily wasn’t too often.

When Glenn and Nancy are introduced, Steve can feel the girl’s eyes on him. He ignores it at first and lets their mumbling go unnoticed, but when Nancy and Robin start to kick their feet and Robin outright cackles, he can’t take it anymore.

“What?!”

Robin waves her hand out in front of her, head falling back against the recliner. “I’m sorry, but does Glenn remind you guys of someone in this room, or is it just us?” Robin giggles, finger pointing at the screen as Glenn is trying to sneak his way into Nancy’s bedroom on screen.

Nancy and Robin are leaning into each other, howling when the guy complains about climbing barefoot on a rose covered trellis to climb into on-screen Nancy's window. Steve narrows his eyes at Robin, miming himself reeling up a fish on a line, except the fish is his middle finger.

When the movie ends everyone is feeling their drinks in some capacity. Or, at least the ones who remained awake were feeling it because Argyle and Jonathan are properly passed out.

Steve blinks at them because he hadn’t realized when they had moved. Argyle has his face buried in the crook of Jonathan's neck, half of his hair covering most of his face and the rest cascading towards the floor. Jonathan’s arm that pillows Argyle’s head hangs slack at the edge of the couch and his other arm is over his eyes. From the way he’s breathing he’s definitely asleep.

Steve locks eyes with Eddie first, gauging his reaction. But Eddie just smiles fondly at them before putting a finger to his lips with a slight shake of his head. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a lighter before pulling the neatly rolled up paper from behind his ear. He raises his eyebrows in question, to which Steve sighs a breath of relief before nodding.

Steve chances a glance back at Nancy and Robin while Eddie lights up the joint. He waggles his pointer finger between the two girls, tipping his head to the other two on the couch. “Did either of you know about this,” he whispers. They both shrug, unraveling themselves from the blanket they were underneath, the bowl of pretzels long since empty and abandoned on the floor.

When Eddie takes a pull he offers it to them but they both shake their heads as they get settled onto the bed of throws and comforters, pulling pillows underneath their chest and resting on their elbows. A cloud of smoke billows up as he blows out and hands it over to Steve.

Robin's cheeks are flushed, her eyelids low. She rests her chin into her palm and watches as Steve fills his mouth with the smoke and then inhales deeply. He swivels at the hips and leans over towards the stand that's beside the couch to grab an ashtray. He puts it out and lets it sit on the edge and thickens the cloud in the air with an exhale.

"D'ya know that those gummies were the first time I got high," Robin mumbles. The other three all turn to look at her, surprised but also not entirely because it's, well, Robin. "What? I'm in marching band, okay. They don't–."

Eddie shakes and bows his head, trying to stifle his laugh. A hand reaches out to pat the space in front of him. "Oh Bobby. The band kids are one of, if not the biggest host of Hawkins High's delinquent degenerates. My customers range from all social clicks but the band kids, drama kids, and the preps are my top three."

He lifts his hand to wiggle three fingers before dramatically putting up one finger. "And I would bet my life– no, my dear, bright red Sweetheart, that those band kids are my number one."

Robin looks dazed. "Who–" she blinks slowly and tries to picture her bandmates, because seriously? Then suddenly she looks over at Nancy. "Wait, have you ever?"

Somehow Nancy's already blushed cheeks get a few shades deeper. The tips of her ears are bright red as she opens her mouth but no sound comes out. She rolls her eyes and points an accusing finger.

"Only because it was one of Steve's stupid moves, okay. I did it once and all it did was make my mouth go dry and I ended up getting an A minus on one of Kaminsky’s exams because I was too tired to study after." Nancy narrows her eyes at him and tries to taper her annoyed smile.

Steve chuckles at that and shrugs a shoulder. "I mean, it worked, didn't it?"

Nancy mutters idiot, swaying into Robin’s shoulder. She plays with the charms on her bracelet, tangling one of her ankles with Robin's behind them.

"Move, what move?" Robin's mutters, obviously lost. Subconsciously she traps Nancy's ankle with her own before she directs her question to Eddie. "What move could this doorknob have pulled by smoking some pot? Ya know, other than lowering Nance's inhibitions?"

“Okay, now hold on,” Steve huffs incredulously. He moves closer to the girls, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the two on the couch and Eddie follows suit.

He leans back, his palms to the floor beside his hips with elbows locked and his ankles crossing in front of him. “I don’t need to lower anyone’s inhibitions to make a move work, alright. It just so happens that one of them involves a toke.”

“Really, Stevie? Shotgunning is one of your moves?” Eddie says it with a monotone voice but the hint of a smile gives him away. He rolls his eyes before mirroring Steve and answers Robin with the same bored tone, but not before that smirk takes over. “It’s a way to help someone take a hit. If someone doesn’t know what they’re doin’ they can start coughing. It hurts and it’s just a waste of the hit.

“So,” Eddie takes the joint from the ashtray and holds it up in front of him. “To help avoid all of that, you can try shotgunning. One person inhales the smoke and blows it into the other person’s mouth and they inhale that. It’s weaker that way and less intense, so it’s softer on the throat and lungs.”

“Ew?” Robin's face crumples in disgust, shaking her head at the idea. “How is blowing out someone's hot weed breath into someone else's mouth a move?"

"Well when you put it like that," Nancy mutters, taking a sip directly from her bottle of Morgan. She quirks her lips, turning onto her side to rest her head in her hand. She cards her fingers into her own hair, ankle still trapped between Robin's. "It's not so much… it's the intimacy of it."

"I still don't…" Robin looks between Steve and Eddie, still not able to picture it. But then she gets that glint in her eyes and Steve's stomach whirls and not in a good way all of a sudden because he can see it, even in this very tipsy (is he drunk?) stupor, that she's plotting.

"Can you show me?"

A beat.

"Robs, I'm not doing that with you."

"I don't think that's a smart idea, Bobby."

Steve and Eddie respond at the same time. They lock eyes but then immediately avert them. Eddie starts to pick at his already chipped nail polish and Steve is suddenly very interested in the texture of the comforters.

Robin scoffs. "I didn't mean with me." She flops onto her back and sighs. "Nance, they don't want to show me the move." She pouts, and Nancy chuckles as she reaches a hand out to cup Robin's face, thumb hovering over her lips.

"Robs, it's just how Munson described it, there’s nothing more to it." Steve hopes his voice is coming off as nonchalant. Robin taps a finger to her chin and Steve knows she isn’t done. His stomach is in knots because he knows what she's doing and it's making him dizzy, the kind of dizzy he can't blame on the booze.

"Okay, but, like, what if I'm… I don’t know, what if I’m with someone and they try to do the move on me? What if I don't see it coming? I feel like I should know. Don't you think I should know? Seems like everyone at school already knows. You three know, those two probably also know. Like–"

"Think you’d be fine, Bobby." Eddie lolls his head to the side and rests it on his own shoulder. "'Sides, it would be hard to miss. Pretty sure you'd see it coming if someone tried to pull that on you. Also, you could just say no, considering your initial reaction to it was ‘ew’."

"Why don't you two just show her."

Silence.

"She learns from seeing and doing. Help her get through the– oh what does Dustin call it?" Nancy rocks forward once and removes her hand from Robin's face to snap her fingers. "The curiosity door. You two swung it wide open and now she’s locked out. Just– walk her through it so her curiosity doesn't kill her."

"Why are you two so hung up on this?"

"It's really not that big of a deal."

“Did you just insinuate I’m like a cat?”

They all speak over each other but Robin continues to question Nancy in a hushed tone and ignores the other two because “I feel like I give off more puppy vibes.”

The two lock eyes again but don't look away this time. Steve feels as if he’s in a bubble, Robin and Nancy are suddenly so far away. Eddie thrums his fingers and considers Steve for a moment. Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t want to burst this thin veil of absurdity because are they about to…?

He feels as if he’s going crazy, like he’s on fire.

Eddie is the first to speak.

"Who'd receive?"

Steve is officially ablaze. His breath stutters, he tries to respond but chokes on the words. He clears his throat. “I’ve never been on the receiving end of a shotgun, so I don’t…” He hopes Eddie heard him because he can’t get himself to speak any louder.

Eddie hums that low note that makes Steve’s heart skip a beat and then suddenly starts to move. Steve doesn’t understand how there isn’t smoke coming out of his own ears because he’s burning up.

Eddie picks up the ashtray with the tips of his fingers to clear the space between them. He shuffles closer to Steve until he’s close, too close but still not close enough. He mirrors Steve again except now they’re shoulder to shoulder, hips barely touching. He settles his hand beside Steve’s, just the tips of his fingers blanketing his.

Steve’s body is on high alert because Eddie is way beyond the designated safety line. Except that line doesn’t even exist anymore, it had been absolutely decimated the moment they didn't look away the second time they locked eyes.

Eddie lights the rolled up paper, takes a pull and then inhales. He doesn’t move towards Steve, instead blows it down between them so the smoke shrouds them. He flips the joint.

“Here, you can–”

“Can you–” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper as he interrupts him, yet he doesn’t finish saying it. He just stares at the damp end that faces him and waits. But when Eddie doesn’t move, he lets his eyes travel up. His gaze trails up his arm, to his neck and then his jaw. When he gets to Eddie’s lips he forces himself to look at his eyes and hopes, begs without saying anything more that Eddie understands that he wants him to be the one to do it.

Eddie’s face is unreadable as he searches his face. Steve starts to doubt himself and the entire situation, thinks he might have messed this up. He parts his lips to just say never mind, forget it, to fix this before the bubble outright bursts but then Eddie nods.

If they weren’t so close Steve is sure he would have missed it. It’s so subtle but he nods and Steve might actually combust with relief.

Suddenly the fire is in his gut and his fingers that touch Eddie’s twitch. He’s lightheaded and it has nothing to do with the booze. A breathy chuckle escapes him and he finds his words again, feeling a bit confident. “You wait any longer to do this and that thing’s gonna go out, Munson.”

He nods again but it’s impossible to miss this time. “I gotcha Harrington.” Eddie says it low, low enough for only Steve to hear. He pulls away with a smirk and brings the joint towards his lips and takes another pull. He inhales slowly as he leans away to put it out on the ashtray again. He holds his breath and moves back.

Steve shifts, sliding his right foot up and extending his arm to rest it on his knee, his other hand moving just a bit until his hand is almost completely blanketed by Eddie’s. Eddie raises his other hand to the side of Steve’s face. His fingertips ghost over Steve’s skin and Steve can’t help the shiver that sends a chill down his spine.

His body is screaming for him to move, to get back to safety, no to move closer but, fuck, he can’t fucking think. He can’t think because the apples, oh god those apples. His mouth is watering and all he’s able to process in this moment is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

Eddie’s thumb is at Steve’s chin. He pulls at him, his hand no longer a ghosting touch but a searing brand. He gently applies pressure with his thumb to get Steve’s lips to part, bringing Steve’s face closer to his.

Steve’s gaze is fixed for as long as he can onto those chocolate brown eyes until he can’t fight it and they slip down to Eddie’s lips. They get closer and there’s nothing left for him to do but huff out the final short breath he had in his lungs.

There are no ants, there is no anxiety, there is no doubt.

Steve’s eyes have already slipped closed but he can feel it when Eddie is right where he needs to be. He sways forward, lips so close that if he opened his mouth anymore–

When Eddie finally exhales Steve has to fight every single impulse to reach forward and get directly to the source. When the smoke passes his lips and into his lungs he stifles the moan that wants to escape him, but barely. Instead he bends his arm, tries hugging it to his knee in a last ditch attempt to keep himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to feel him, but he fails.

His hand wraps around Eddie’s bicep and squeezes so tight that Eddie’s arm shifts and his hand slips farther into Steve’s hair, thumb now resting high on his cheek. There’s a flitter of hesitation, his fingers twitching but then Eddie reaches farther, seizes a fistful of his hair and pulls.

Steve’s breath hitches and he can’t take anymore in. His lungs are on fire, not because of the smoke but because the air in his lungs was just in Eddie’s and Steve can’t get enough. Steve’s hand that’s encapsulated under Eddie’s hand balls into a fist and Eddie can only just capture his wrist to steady himself, but not before he slips forward, his bottom lip bumping against Steve’s top lip.

His grip on Steve’s wrist tightens and a gasp escapes him. Steve tries to swallow the sound but there’s no more room in his lungs. He doesn’t exhale just yet, because if he does then this moment ends. No he can’t just yet, he needs a minute, needs an eternity to collect himself before he does something stupid like let himself melt forward.

When Eddie’s grip in his hair loosens Steve exhales slowly, smoke diluted and adding to the current billow. Steve pulls back slightly, eyes slipping open and–

He realizes he's fucked up. Royally, completely, and utterly fucked up because Eddie is so fucking beautiful. Cheeks red, lips parted, pupils completely blown, and damn it. His face is framed by those strands that he can’t pull back into that low hanging knot, eyes dazed, bottom lip being pulled in to bite on and–

Steve is so fucked.

“I missed it.”

“What happened?”

The bubble pops.

Steve’s head snaps back at Robin and Nancy’s voices, eyes blinking away the fog. Eddie blinks with him, eyebrows coming together as he just continues to stare back at Steve. He’s searching his face again and it makes Steve's stomach flutter, makes the ants tick up again because he can’t read him, doesn’t know if what he’s finding is good or bad.

The room is completely silent. Robin inhales, about to continue when suddenly there’s a knock on the front door and everyone’s head snaps towards it because who the hell is knocking at this hour?

The voice that comes through the front door is muffled but unmistakably panicked and familiar. “Eddie?”

“Chrissy?” Eddie mutters, sobering up almost immediately as he pulls away entirely and makes his way over to the door.

Steve looks over to Robin and Nancy and their faces reflect his same confusion. He shakes himself, completely over the moment and follows suit, a few steps behind Eddie who’s already opening the door.

“Babe, what are– did you walk all the way over here?” Eddie steps out, hands on Chrissy’s shoulders. He whips his head left and right, doesn’t seem to find anything in the night before ushering her in and shutting the door behind him. “The hell, Chris are you okay? What happened, I thought you were having dinner with your family?”

Steve hears the sob that escapes her and he’s suddenly wide awake, brain fog completely cleared. Her face crumples when she sees him. “I’m so-sorry I didn’t mean to crash you’re– but I just– I-I remembered where your place was because of the p-parties you threw and I, just, I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t go home. I can’t.”

“Stop, stop, don’t apologize.” Steve’s tries to hide his concern and just tries his best to keep his voice soft as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks up at Eddie and Steve is taken aback for a moment because he’s never seen him upset before, let alone angry. When Chrissy hiccups on a sob, his face softens and he turns her, holding her tiny body close to his.

Steve can hear Nancy and Robin shuffling up behind him. He turns and blocks Eddie and Chrissy from their line of sight as much as he can. Robin’s eyes are saucers and she stumbles as she gets close, the throw around her shoulders. “Did he just call her babe?”

Steve shakes his head at her because now really isn’t the time. “You and Nance take my room tonight, okay? Parties over.” When Robin opens her mouth to say something, Steve raises a hand to gently lift her chin. “Not now, Robs. I’ll make pancakes in the morning.” He flicks her shoulder and points towards the stairs.

Nancy tips her head to peak past Steve’s shoulder before putting her arm around Robin and leading her upstairs. Before they disappear completely Robin spins and leans over the banister. “Steve, come up when you’re done with, well, when you’re ready for bed. Okay?”

She doesn’t move until Steve nods. She smiles tightly down at him before turning back, arm around Nancy’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have spun so fast, I think I’m gonna be sick.” He shakes his head at her, rolling his eyes endearingly before turning back to Eddie and Chrissy.

He doesn’t know what to do or say, so he just watches them for a moment. Eddie is having a silent conversation with her, muttering into her hair as she sniffles into his shoulder. Steve waves a hand to catch Eddie’s attention.

When he does he points back to the kitchen, motioning for them to follow. Eddie nods, giving Steve an apologetic smile but he waves him off. Eddie takes a step forward, making Chrissy have to stumble along backwards with him. His lips quirk as he takes another step and she yelps, and soon they’re both giggling as he drags her towards the kitchen, her feet dragging between his legs.

Steve pulls out three water bottles from the fridge, clearing out some of the mess on the kitchen’s island for Chrissy and Eddie in case they want to take a moment to calm themselves before he offers them his guest bedroom.

He sets two bottles down in front of them, and Chrissy mumbles a shy thank you before taking a few sips. “I’m really sorry–”

“Please, don’t. It’s… I’m just glad you felt safe enough to come here. That Munson was here for you, ya know?”

“It’s just,” Chrissy huffs and rolls her eyes, annoyed but seemingly with herself.

Steve rests his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “It’s not Jason, is it? He didn’t–”

An annoyed scoff escapes Eddie. “No, it’s not that meathead asswipe. This one came to her senses after her date with him last week and broke things off, finally.”

Chrissy shoves at him playfully, her laugh still heavy with the residual pain. “Shut up. No, no, it’s just my mom. I had a fitting for this year’s new cheerleading uniforms, then we went out to dinner and she just…” Chrissy’s eyes roll up and she stares up at the ceiling. Her eyes well up with tears, and she pulls her lips into a tight line. She inhales slowly before blowing out a shaky breath, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “My mom fucking sucks, sometimes, ya know.”

“Yea, moms can suck sometimes,” Steve mumbles. He knows well enough how much mom’s can suck. He takes a few sips from his own bottle of water.

Eddie slings an arm over her shoulder, pulling her in. She hugs his side, wiping away her tears with her shoulder. “I’m-”

“You apologize one more time and I’m going to make you sit through an entire DnD session and you will have to participate. You’ll have to make a character sheet, pick out which dice set of mine you’ll want to use, dress up, talk in-character the whole time– I mean, everything.” Eddie deadpans. When she laughs, Steve and Eddie chuckles along with her.

She sniffles a few times, before using her sleeve to wipe at her nose. She leans back and bumps her shoulder against his. “I love you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes leaning close to kiss the top of her head. “Yeah, you too.”

And that’s Steve’s cue–

He claps his hands once before remembering the other two are still on the couch. He winces and looks over, but thankfully they're still dead asleep. “You two can take the guest bedroom.”

“Oh, that’s not–” Chrissy starts but Steve waves her off again.

“Chrissy, I don’t know you all that well and I know women are very capable of making their own decisions, but I can be pretty persuasive. Well… unless you’re Robin. Or Nance. Or even Max, actually, now that I think about it.” Steve laughs dryly, running a hand through his hair and taking another sip of his water. “No, no– jokes aside, I insist. Please, it’s this way” He motions for the both of them to follow.

“Come on, Chris. I can’t drive right now, anyway, none of us can. I’ll take you back to mine after we pick up Max from Byer’s place. I won’t take you home until you’re ready to go. Yeah?” He reaches out a hand and she takes it with a small nod.

Steve leads them down to the same room where he and Robin got the blankets and pillows, standing clear to let them through.

Chrissy stops short. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Steve’s lips quirk. “Eddie can show you, he knows where it is.” Eddie chuckles at that before leading her towards it. When he returns he stops at the door and leans against, facing Steve. He crosses his arms and stares down at the floor before looking up and Steve has to avert his eyes.

“I’ll let you two, uh.” Steve clears his throat, pinching his nose as that prickling sensation starts behind his eyes. He blinks once and clears his throat again. “I’m makin’ pancakes in the morning, if you two are still here when we all get up.” He raps his knuckles on the doorframe and turns.

“Wait, Steve?” Eddie reaches out, fingers wrapping gingerly around Steve’s wrist. Steve bites his lip and wills himself to stay calm because Eddie’s touch burns.

He doesn’t fully turn to face him, just barely turns his head towards his shoulder to respond. “Yeah, Munson?” When Eddie gently tugs on his arm Steve can’t help but move with it. He holds his breath as Eddies pulls away from the door frame and lets his grasp loosen so that he can drop his hand lower and tangle his fingers with Steve’s.

“I just wanted to say thanks for tonight.” Eddie gets close and Steve shutters a breath. “And that I had fun.” Steve wants to avert his eyes but in his attempts to avoid looking into those eyes, he’s now watching their hands, fingers entwined together and it makes his heart ache.

So, so fucked.

He looks up and wills himself to play it cool. “I’ll be sure to invite you to the next one, then.” Steve’s smile is small but it’s all he can muster. Eddie's grip on his fingers tighten and he shifts, like he’s about to step closer but a door shuts behind them and Steve jumps and pulls away.

“Good night, you two.” Steve doesn’t look back, swings by the kitchen to grab two more bottles from the fridge before taking the steps two at a time to get to his room.

When he shuts it he closes his eyes and rests his head against the door. He doesn’t move or acknowledge the squeaking of the floorboard as someone gets off his bed. And when arms wrap around his middle and he’s hugged from behind he just lets his head fall back to rest on top of Robin’s.

“I’m fucked.”

It’s all he says but he feels Robin nod her head against his back in agreement. “I know.”

Steve sighs, pulling her arms away from him to turn and look at her and Nancy who sits on the edge of his bed, her eyes sad. “You really like him.” It’s not a question, because of course Nancy knows. Steve swallows hard, eyes slipping shut and can only nod once. He covers his face with one hand.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Can I just…” He points back to the door and peaks at them through one eye but both Robin and Nancy shake their heads at him. Nancy pats the space on the bed and Robin pulls on his arm, dragging him towards the bed. “Guys, I’m so exhausted I just want to go to sleep already.”

“Come on dingdong, be our little spoon for tonight.” Robin pulls harder when Steve starts to resist, but he doesn’t for long. Nancy crawls back to the right side of the bed, pulling back the covers and shutting off the lamp. Robin pushes Steve towards the left side and directs him to sit.

She crawls up onto the bed until she’s behind him, settling in comfortably with Nancy before she pulls on the back of his shirt to guide him down, and he lets her. They don’t throw the cover over him, knowing he doesn’t like to share one. Nancy settles underneath it while Robin adjusts the throw to cover her and Steve below the waist.

A sigh escapes him as he shuts his eyes. “Rob. Nance. This is so weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Robin mutters, looping her arm under his, settling against his back. Shortly after another arm is reaching around and it’s only far enough to reach Steve’s waist, but it’s enough.

Some time passes by and Nancy’s grasp on him goes slack. The room is silent long enough for Steve to think they’re both asleep, but when he shifts Robin’s arm tightens around him. He pats her arm, exhaustion just about to take him under. “M’not going anywhere,” he mutters, but she doesn’t loosen her grasp.

“Steve.” Sleepy grunt. “If I would have known about Chrissy, I would have said something sooner.” No response. “I just, I honestly thought that he…” Her voice trails off, unable to put it into words. Whatever it was, Steve doesn’t know, can’t care right now. He’s exhausted, too exhausted to want to analyze the hurt right now and all he wants is to sleep it off.

“I don’t know what I thought, but Steve, that feeling? In your gut, or, maybe in your chest?”

His eyes slip open and he stares into the dark room. Small sigh. “What about it?”

“Just… don’t let that kill the before feelings. Before you realized that he’s not…” Another squeeze before she lets her arm go loose around him. “Don’t let that slip away, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie au #steddie centric with a side of the other fruits #mentions of ronance and jargyle #spicy six #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #extended hours #fic continuation #my*stuff #also im a fan of hellcheer! this just isnt that fic (:

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sketching-shark · 1 year

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While I'm somewhat knowledgeable about JTTW, I don't dislike Monkie Kid doing it's own thing and telling it's own story. It allows for a lot of creative liberties when the show isn't shackled to the OG classic. However, I would say the change that is starting to become annoying, and that some fans are starting to take notice on, is SWK's portrayal. Again, I dont mind him being this flawed hero character that makes mistakes. But his flaws are starting to become...overwhelming. Like can anyone recall the last time he did something good or right in this series? Everywhere I turn, the show just points out the pain he causes people. The label of "hero" kinda doesn't fit anymore. And I feel like the writers keep digging a deeper hole with him. He's made so many bad decisions that I hesitate to call him a good person anymore. I think this is also because they use villains from the book instead of creating new villains for MK. So everything ends up being Wukong's fault because those OG villains are tied to him. And I question if this will continue to be the case until the show ends. Anyway, I'm just glad other fans are noticing this particular writing decision and criticizing it.

Monkie Kid spoilers & me being perhaps too mean & ungenerous to a cartoon monkey below so you know keep reading at your own risk aegesfaewf:

Well anon given that one of my favorite JTTW retellings is Monkey King: Hero Is Back on one hand I really have no right to criticize massive changes to the og classic in stories heavily based on Xiyouji sdfrae. ON THE OTHER HAND, when a good portion of those changes pretty consistently have the consequence of the great sage himself being characterized more and more as a stupid failure at best and a selfish asshole at worst (especially in the context of this characterization happening in a goofy lego show about going on fun adventures) it's like...what is sparking these writing decisions. Said this before, but yea for the past few seasons Monkie Kid's story lines has been in this loop of "some villain makes an appearance-->SWK ends up making the whole situation 1000 times worse even if inadvertedly-->Qi Xiaotian gets a lot more trauma-->villain gets exploded at the end which apparently means everything's okay now." And the entire time every character from Long Xiaojiao to the Six Eared Macaque to Li Nezha has some extended scene that's all about them stating with great conviction what a horrible person the Monkey King is. And then the show does very little to refute that. Everything he does, even if he's trying his best to do what he thinks is the right thing, just ends with giving the villain d'jour a massive power-up right up until it's time for the big explodey climax. Qi Xiaotian now seems to have gotten nothing out of being tudi to the Monkey King except having his friends put in mortal danger & routinely getting the tar beaten out of him from yaoguai who have a grudge against Sun Wukong & having his abandonment issues made worse. There is at this point literally not a single character whose life was made better from the monkey king being in it and many whose lives were objectively made much worse as a direct result of interacting with Sun Wukong. And so far, as others have pointed out, the ONLY TIME we got a flashback from SWK about what happened from his perspective was about him screwing up with the samadhi fire ritual and being responsible for the 4th ring getting created. So at this point, especially since only the audience has gotten the barest glimpse of the torture headband & some hint of what turned the Great Sage Equal to Heaven into what's essentially a perpetual screw-up...like why do any of the other characters, especially the members of SWK's former sworn brotherhood, give a single fig as to whether he lives or dies? Heck it wouldn't surprise me if at least a few of them celebrated SWK getting trapped in ink hell world because A) he's seen as responsible for trapping them in there for thousands of years in the first place B) they've finally dealt with the immortal evil betrayer who was responsible for ruining their lives and being an uncaring heaven's lapdog, and C) now he can't blunder around screwing everything up so badly that all of reality gets put in danger. So you know, SWK in ink hell world is a good thing either way!

IDK, I'm probably being too mean about this. Given the actions of other characters Sun Wukong can't be blamed for everything. Maybe things will later on be explained for why he acts the way he acts in a satisfying manner. But at this point the lego show really does seem to be going out of its way to paint Sun Wukong as someone everyone very justifiably despises, and personally I think if a writer for Monkie Kid felt compelled to go on twitter to try to make the Monkey King hate die down a bit then Flying Bark really needs to have a sit and a think as to why a not insignificant portion of their audience was primed to believe the absolute worst about Sun Wukong!

#monkie kid spoilers #monkie kid #anon answered

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incarnateirony · 2 years

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The heavily expanded, pinned masterpost of all the ways these dumb motherfuckers lost the plot literally years ago on production.

(links included to extended discussions of basic history reminders the world outside of patrick and the wincel bubble are largely aware of short of late fandom comers after S13 at latest; history he's all incredibly ignorant to)

(cut for length)

truly the funniest denial of the existence of or ability to fan pitch concepts is like

ok let's pretend. for a hot second. That any packages or emails or communications never made it. And it's all just. One Big Giant Fucking Coinkidink And We're Crazy.

Ok but. Bear with me here. If this is so obvious that even people that were banned from a server for some insane fandom drama coup that are still salty as fuck recognize what's going on because they were heavily involved, like our proverbial old bible keeper coming back to the server like--

ok hear me out but. Imagining. Nothing ever made it.

...doncha think it's kinda weird that we nailed it that close as a fluke so powerful even the Salty Banned Ones return? Like

you get that means we. Have a pretty good idea. Of where their heads are at least. Fucking... right? If this shit was any further up my ass I'd say they're subscribed to my youtu-ohw- how long ago was season 13 again? and oh man just wait until you hear who loves to read my mythos meta that you'd deny from a master post I know for a god given right from at least one person onboard that they're freaking obsessed with and share around. idk whatever dude, cope. there's been years of an ongoing rent-free fucking timeshare of fandom and authors in each other's headspaces and you're just fucking now figuring this out or hearing about the Wayward Daughters movement. just search the fucking tumblr tags or google it or something you oblivious numpties. You were apparently too busy peeing your pants crying everything was "just subtext" or "just meta" to realize fans and authors have been talking about a lot of shit for a long fucking time and already put shit on TV collaboratively.

Just. Tossing that the fuck out there for Patrick's remaining desperate followers to wrap their fucking skulls around.

and none of this, NONE OF THIS even brushes the surface of the actual history of reliable leakers or holders of generalized knowledge vs the people who have made a career out of being wrong for upwards of 7 years.

Somehow this dumb motherfucker can't figure out that even if it's all a coinkidink me knowing from the goddamn jump what the wholeassed intention was the second the season launched and who's pissed about what being cut might in the very least give me a rough fucking indicator of what jensen's looking to fix with Dean in the Winchesters. While ofc, Pat screamed to argue with me that it wasn't about letting go of the past bc Jensen was TOTES PERFECTLY CONTENT WITH THE ENDING before he got bricked in the face by the ET promo. He never gives up.

the funniest reality is they've spent so long trying to argue against the actual canon being the canon, and so poorly understand the canon, that they don't even understand fans have built in a metric fuckton of things into this show or attempted spinoffs over time. Like, those fans were literally talking to the authors about what the fuck they were doing all around and you guys didn't even apparently realize this during Wayward? And you literally crowed against everything like... people.... deadass... knew????????????? just because you could manage to piss off some 14 year olds that didn't know better. Fucking hell.

"NOBODY CAN KNOW WHAT THE AUTHORS WANT" no man, you're just the dumb motherfuckers that didn't. You were the illiterate bastards at the edge of the room that even the show authors looked at like that fucking red solo cup party pic.

hell i'm sure they'll try to blow that into some shit to salve their egos and feel large but no like not even as a particular anti threat or opposition or anything it was literally like "wow we're all collectively impressed people this stupid, stubborn, or tv illiterate exist, we kind of want to fucking study this like a bug."

A fucking fandom of shrieking cicadas oblivious to how loud and annoying the neighborhood considers them because they're too busy siren calling for weird fandom porn rights in canon discussions while being dragged all across the wholeassed internet and kingdom come by bluechecks ranging from media to psychologists to talking cats about that very shit and they're still making fucking confused cow sounds why the con markets got bleached.

And you know what? We didn't want credit any more than Wayward's folks did. Hell we were gonna keep it perfectly quiet so you couldn't fuck it up this time like yall did Wayward while claiming you didn't believe me until people that are my own antis now figured out what the fuck was happening. We were absolutely happy to leave you dumb motherfuckers in the dark.

But since it's out there now, yeah. Get the fuck out. We're the warriors that built this town. From dust.

Genuinely funny that these rubes are so fucking basic they can't draw the two point line between the How Wayward Happened dot and the Who And What I Talk About On My Fucking Blog From What Angle fucking dot. jesus christ. Don't even try to add the third data point dot of How The Winchesters Happened, you'll fucking shatter their mental capacity. Like there's a common fucking denominator here that I can't believe you guys haven't fucking figured out I have literally been posting about some of this since season nine, are you ok.

Oh wait considering you dumb motherfuckers were oblivious for years to the Literal Line Of Toy Ships At Wayward Cocktails that Berens specifically selected what from when while winking about not supposed to pick favorites all those many, many different years ago. You argued he was somehow on the wincest side because you were so fucking unplugged.

It all makes sense.

You guys genuinely don't know what fucking happened with Wayward. Omg.

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otherworldlygate · 11 months

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Today is the day I finish some outlines I hope. Current progress is something like this (under a readmore to save your dashes):

Swallow the Ground: This is the sequel to Break Open the Sky, and is 90% outlined. I just need to wiggle in a tertiary plot that I'd like to carry into the third story in the series. Outline is sitting around 6,200 words and the story takes place over a full calendar year. The main plot is about Regal, Zelos, Sheena, and Raine trying to compile enough evidence against Sybak to have it shut down, with some help from Kate, Presea, Genis, Viscount Alaric, and a half-elf informant who lived most of their long life in Sybak and has plenty of evidence to spare. The secondary plot is the romance, which focuses most heavily on Raine's struggle as an asexual woman who never really processed her past relationship trauma. Even though Regal told her he didn't care how long it took for them to figure things out/things to progress between them, she still feels pressure to be ready before that one-year anniversary hits. She does a lot of conflating love and sex in the "if I love him enough I should be comfortable having sex with him" sense. As far as a tertiary plot goes, I'm thinking something along the lines of exspheres and the exsphere mines—something to draw Lloyd and Colette into the third story in the series more directly.

Balacruf Mausoleum Fic: The completion status of this one is hard to define. The trauma of the accident is entirely outlined, but this is the kind of story where it's difficult to figure out where to go afterward because there isn't a big catch-all solution to the issues that plague the characters. The outline is about 6,100 words long right now.

I do think any story centering on certain characters in ToS probably tends to struggle with a similar issue to what I'm looking at here, which is more or less difficulty finding a good/believable stopping point because the grind never ends. Think about Lloyd's journey to gather all the exspheres or Zelos's responsibilities in Tethe'alla in the post-game: it feels like there's no stopping point in their lives because the characters will never get a real break. In the case of this story, Raine and Regal pay pretty heavy prices for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when the Balacruf Mausoleum caves in on them. While Raine is at least logically free to do whatever she wants after this is over, Regal has to return to his life in Altamira and all the responsibilities that wait there for him while continuing to deal with his share of the consequences. Like Zelos and Lloyd, there isn't really a point where he gets a break; too many people depend on him.

This also isn't the usual kind of story for me. Sure, I love torturing my blorbos, but I don't usually delve into trauma-bonding or magic, and one of the big plots of this story is centered on the idea of what might happen if Raine severely over-extended herself as a healer as a "last stand" kind of thing and accidentally formed a very literal link/connection with the person whose life she was trying to save. And because I'm writing it, of course, this device skews toward having far more downsides than upsides, and it's almost made worse with the trauma-bonding. So while Raine is logically free to go her own way once the dust settles (so to speak), emotionally it becomes a much more difficult decision for her.

But where does a story like this go, other than smack into the daily grind of the characters as they try to untangle everything? And this, I am finding, is quite difficult to outline.

Declining!Tethe'alla: Character backstories are 90% complete and part of the journey arc is outlined. Sitting at 6,300 words. I don't really know what else to say about this one except that there were at least 10 ways to write any particular character arc, and I went with what seemed most appealing to me/what worked best in tandem with other character arcs.

Here are some small tidbits: Seles is Tethe'alla's Chosen of Regeneration. Zelos is the one tasked to carry on the mana lineage. Both Mylene and Seles's mother (named Carina in this story unless she has an official name) are alive. Sheena is a celebrated hero/summoner. Colette is Sylvarant's Chosen of Mana and Lloyd is her right-hand man/bodyguard/sidekick/bestie. Anna is alive. Regal has been at a human ranch for half his life. Raine and Genis are Sybak's property. Presea's story is similar to the game but somehow 10x worse.

A few characters were aged up for the sake of a better/more interesting/more believable storyline. Several relationships from the canon are also altered or changed in some way (including Raine and Genis's).

Speaking of Raine and Genis, I really wanted to avoid them being in Sybak because I feel like everyone jumps to that, so I toyed with the idea of Raine as a Desian (thanks @ciryze LOL) and while this would grant me some great storyline stuff between my blorbos if they were both at the same ranch (rapport before they meet the others!) I felt like that sort of story had a lot of short-term strength, but not enough staying power for the rest of the tale I wanted to tell. It also makes Genis a tough character to write.

Also, it's probably worth mentioning that I don't think many people actually want to read my take on Raine as a Desian; it wouldn't be that dark or interesting lmao. (I might have a one-shot brewing for this, though.)

Anyway, as it turns out, it's exceedingly difficult to ensure all these characters meet without some outside influence. While it's true that Raine and Genis could meet the Chosen's Group by pure coincidence, I would prefer a story that felt a little more intentional, especially for characters who will matter even more in a story where the Chosen herself is a half-elf. So I went with Sybak. But oops, it's not the Sybak you know and love!

The most difficult part about outlining this story is definitely getting all the characters together in a timely manner and not boring the shit out of my audience. We all played the game, after all, and we know what the Chosen's journey entails and how it should theoretically end. The second most difficult part is purely logistics-related: which human ranch goes where, which grand cardinal oversees it, how to weave in so many varying perspectives into one story, what the fUCK to do with Kratos other than let him show up, do nothing, reveal nothing, then leave, the order of the seals, and so on.

And then the third hardest thing is being nitpicky about character stuff. Let's use Regal for an example. So if he's been at a human ranch for the last 18 years, he should be long dead. He's not, so I had to figure out why. Through pure spite (or any other strong emotion) he doesn't let his exsphere awaken? He's too physically useful to be thrown away? He's not allowed to die too easily because he has to pay for the sins of his family? The Desians are intrigued by his ability to heal and use a little magic even though he reads as human to them? He has elven blood way back in the bloodline and the Desians take a small measure of pity on him? Is it possible he is being used in an experiment like the Angelus Project? Multiple of the above?

And then bigger questions, like which cardinal is most likely to have allowed this to happen? And where should this ranch be located so that the main characters can run into Regal at the right time?

We can't forget the emotional stuff, either! For example, after 18 years of mistreatment in a human ranch and seeing so many humans die at the hands of half-elves, how does Regal react to the literal Chosen being a half-elf? What about Raine and Genis, who were exploited by humans for the last 14 years?

And this isn't even getting into the backstory of his family, or George's role in anything. And this is just Regal! There are a lot of other characters, and I feel exceedingly picky about all of them.

I'm maybe 20% through this outline because there's just so much to consider.

One-night Stand Fic: The happier outline is 1,800 words (while the tragic version is 4,600) but it's maybe only like 30% complete. I think I'm going to go with the happier story because my blorbos need a break and there's something to be said about the consequences of a one-night stand being terrible enough on their own.

Like, imagine having to tell the friend that you banged a couple of months ago on a whim that uhhhh there's a baby now. There's something particularly bad about Raine being the one who has to get up the courage to say something, too; the world is prejudiced and while logically she's certain Regal will take the news in stride/take at least some responsibility, it's still a scary conversation to have.

Like, he is her friend, and she likes him, but this is a life-changing thing to announce. There is no way for her to know with 100% certainty how he will react to it. He has literally all of the power here.

What a terrifying situation to be in. And also to have to sail to Altamira when already suffering morning sickness? Hahaha. RIP.

#ruin mode: engage #wish me luck today lmao

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the-single-element · 1 year

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Good morning.

We’ve passed the halfway point of our Lenten journey. Like any journey, it’s natural, at this phase, to feel a rush of excitement - to exclaim “we’re halfway there!” And so it’s a joyful day, at least, comparatively. It’s one of the two days of the year that the liturgical color is rose (that is, pink), where the solemnity of violet seasons - penitent, contemplative seasons - is cut with the hope of joys to come.

In this particular moment, we turn again to John’s good news, for the second of our three Signs: the story of Jesus giving sight to a man who was born blind. Indeed, all the readings today have to do with sight, both in the literal sense, and in the metaphorical sense of “how you perceive the world”.

Of all the Gospels, John’s good news is the account that most consistently shows Jesus misunderstood by his contemporaries. His statements get interpreted literally when he’s speaking in metaphor, and metaphorically when he’s being literal. People come into encounters with him with the wrong assumptions about what they’re going to find there - primed by the world they were born into and grew up in - and so they try to interpret what happens according to those assumptions, and get hopelessly confused.

And so, before long, Jesus meets a man whose literal blindness is a mirror to that metaphorical blindness - a beggar who was “blind from birth”.

Jesus’s disciples assume that the blindness is proof of sin - punishment for sin. Jesus sees that blindness, rather, as a call to action - work to be done, before it’s too late - and so, he gets down to business. He works with his hands - going against his era’s mainstream interpretation of what’s included in the commandment of “Sabbath rest” - and sends the man to go wash his eyes.

And that’s where the real meat of the reading begins. An extended argument about what has just happened gets kicked off, between onlookers, the religious authorities, and even the beggar’s own family, with this cured beggar himself caught in the middle, more a prop used by the arguers to further their argument, rather than a participant in his own right. John deliberately muddles the waters here with an anachronism: a level of... open opposition to Jesus’s message (people being “expelled from the synagogue” for acknowledging him) that as far as we know didn’t begin until decades later, when the rifts between Christians and Jews were becoming unmendable.

The intended effect, I think, is twofold. First, to draw a parallel between the controversies of Christ’s time with those of John’s own day. Second, via those controversies, to contrast the behavior of powerful religious leaders blinded by their priors, by their preexisting assumptions, against someone (whose blindness from birth on one level represents having no priors at all) simply telling the truth about what happened to him.

Jesus’s repeated argument in John’s account is that we should trust our own eyes. But that means recognizing that there are things your current worldview does not yet see - which the only way to see is to recognize your preexisting blindness.

(That’s how Samuel found David in the First Reading - by discarding his presumptions about what God’s anointed would look like.)

And once you’re willing to lay those presumptions aside, the proof is in the pudding, and you can recognize the true doctrine by the fruit it bears.

(Paul reminds us as much in the Second Reading, urging us to live like the whole world is watching, since, after all, it is.)

Where can we begin? Well... this is a journey! Each step is preceded by its prerequisite steps. Last week, for example, we spoke of the power of reconciliation. It’s as easy as breathing, once you’ve labeled someone as an enemy, as sinful, to start discounting everything they say; there is no better place to start reconsidering our assumptions than “that person I thought was my enemy - were some of their criticisms valid? What did I miss when I was rejecting what they were saying, when I was instinctively taking the opposite position to them on everything?” The blind man of today’s Good News experienced the sharp end of this - asked for his opinion, only for it to be ignored because he born blind (and thus “sinful”).

But that’s far from the only place we can go wrong, right? Sometimes it’s the opposite: there’s someone you respect, so when they say something, you just assume it’s true. Or you live your whole life in a particular area, where things are a particular way, and so you don’t realize that in other places or social circles, things might be very different. In all of these cases, the openness of a little child is required - the openness to changing our minds, the neuroplasticity and curious mind of youth, which can see something that doesn’t make sense, and - instead of dismissing it as nonsense - will keep asking questions until it does, and, if necessary, go back and revise what it thought it had learned before.

So we are called, at this turning point of the Lenten journey, to reconsider those things that we had always just assumed. To think about whether our justifications for our old behavior actually make sense. To help bring about our metanoia, our own change of direction, by seeking out those truths that had been hiding in our blind spots. If we can do that, then we’ll be able to see as we’ve never seen before, and maybe, by that light which was in Jesus then and is in us now, we’ll catch another glimpse of the world to come, for which we still hope, and towards which we’re still journeying.

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mariacallous · 2 years

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The journalist Shura Burtin went to Ukraine last May. He spent two months traveling from one Ukrainian city to another, and interviewing dozens of different people, as he tried to understand their wartime experience. This translation is first in a series of extended excerpts from the panoramic reportage he brought back with him. Burtin himself describes it as “a cloud of voices” that took shape in his mind as he arranged his notes. He leaves these Ukrainian voices anonymous, connecting his decision to one particular interview: “A rock musician named Lyosha, who became a partisan during the Russian occupation of the Kyiv region, said to me: ‘So many people, so many stories have entered my life — and they all seem very similar.’” Shura Burtin thinks that the authorship of the stories gathered here is not all that important: they belong to the atmosphere of today’s Ukraine.

I spent the whole week looking forward to celebrating Bartender Day — February 24. It was going to be a grandiose cocktail night: 15 liters of cocktails to compose! And then… “What? Why today? Why couldn’t this shit happen tomorrow?” People started calling me, one by one: “Victor Ivanych, is the evening canceled?” “I don’t know, probably.” I was going to celebrate at my friend’s establishment. Two weeks later, I went there to take back the liquor. And he says to me: “Sorry, I’ve got the troops here, don’t come in — everything has been expropriated for the army, for the victory.” Talk about selling a friend for a pinch of snuff — for six cases of whiskey, to be exact.

***

I said to him, this is plain stupid! Screw going there, it’s suicidal. And the commander says to me: “Just follow the order — or keep loafing under the blanket, that’s fine.” I say to him: “Good, I’ll lie down under a blanket. You were sleeping — and I had to sit up, because there wasn’t enough room here. Why shouldn’t I lie down, too?”

You could sense that death was in the air on that day. I could see the mortars working away, way too close. And they say to me: “Uncle Venya, don’t even get started.” I make two steps — and a bomb explodes right before my face. We jump into the vehicle, realize that Ptitsa is wounded, but Nikitos is a real sport, a clean worker: tourniquet, Nalbuphine, IV… We dragged him into the car, floored the gas pedal — flew along without thinking, all because he was our friend — God forbid we might lose him. These are completely different feelings, driving someone — and driving a friend. Someone else might die, alright. But with him — this is how we talked to him: “Either we take your weapons, or we have sexual intercourse with you.” We talked to him that way to keep him awake, you see, so that he wouldn’t pass out.

Later, the commander says to me, “Are you angry with me?” And I’m like, “What am I going to tell you? I don’t want to talk.”

* * *

The house was on fire, and I was trying to save the documents. I put everything down on the lawn and said, “That’s it, I’m just going back to get my son.” I started running, and suddenly my neighbor comes out: “I’ll go get Andrii, just go into my house.” I turn around — and see this scene: my bags are standing there, with my white makeup bag and my wallet on top. Andrii’s proof of disability is in that wallet. My other neighbor leans over, takes the wallet, and shoves it under her jacket. I call to her, “Hey, what’s that you got there?” I try to take it away, but she keeps pressing it to herself, saying, “Don’t you understand, my windows are all broken, how am I going to pay for them?” And I’m like, what about me? “You don’t need anything anymore.” “You think there’s money in there?” “Yes.” “There’s no money, just utility bills.” “And where’s the money?” “In the house.” “You say you left the money in the house? Go get it, quickly!” To think that I grew up with this woman…

* * *

Someone from our village outside of Kharkiv got ahold of me. They said that the Russians were there, and that they took my family friend and some other men, five people in all. No one knew where they were. The men they took, but they hadn’t yet seen the girls. So I went there on foot. Someone had sent me a photo showing the freshly buried mines and where to look for them. I knew that the rain would wash them away, and you’d never find them again. Together with the volunteers, I drove to the edge of our positions, and then walked, for ten kilometers. It was a risk, of course — the mines could have been anywhere. I came — but the people were all afraid to go. I had to persuade them to come with me. I led 15 people out. They all followed me. Since I had managed to get there, there couldn’t be any mines on that path. The space between the mines isn’t very big, but my footprints were still visible. It was all getting muddy in the rain, but they walked behind me, stepping right into my footsteps, step by step. I got there in an hour and a half, and they walked for two and a half hours. It was very hard, with nine children, the smallest one just eighteen months old — the poor children were crying, and there were things to carry, too. We were in the gray zone when, suddenly, I realized that we could all be seen through a thermal imager. Fifteen little dots — looking just like some enemies that should be mown down from a machine gun… That’s how we walked, for ten kilometers, until we met with my volunteers, who had been waiting at the end.

* * *

Vivid impressions? Sure, I had some vivid impressions. Effervescent indeed. Once, I watched a sunset with three suns — it looked that way, because two houses were burning on the horizon. Pillars of black smoke, those blood-drenched houses, and an ambient sound: all kinds of weapons blasting all at once — the artillery, the tanks, the mortars, the machine guns — Shivaratri, the song of the Absolute. Talk about a rave. A howitzer blast sends your jaws vibrating. What a deadly ecstasy I felt. I haven’t taken mushrooms in twenty years, but it’s exactly like a good dose — and, by the way, you can keep and aesthete’s frame of mind, if you like. But all your ideas of yourself — “I’m an artist, I am this, I do that” — it all just vanishes, and you meet your real self…

There was a well over here. Ten or fifteen people came out for some water, and out comes a drone. We just stepped away from the well, and kaboom! — because they see any kind of gathering and just blast it, no matter what it is. I came out and looked around. No more well. Up in a tree, a punctured water bucket. Tanks blasting at the cross-roads, bombs whistling across the yard… And whenever it grew quiet, for just a second, the birds were just twittering away, very loudly.

***

My parents spent a whole month in their Saltivka. No windows, the walls are all shaking, no one’s getting any sleep — and my dad says, “I’m going to go and water my seedlings.” They just couldn’t leave their personal space. They left only when all the utilities had been disconnected — light, gas, water, everything. When the house finally lost all signs of being habitable, something clicked inside of them. But many people remained — to cook outside over the grill. When I came to pick up my parents, there was this guy in their building — a guy with a rat. Someone had left behind a cage with a pet rat in it. So there he was, skinny, chain-smoking in the entryway… He came outside with us and said very sternly: “There will be no electricity until the seventh!” As if it were a sinking ship and he the captain — like, don’t come back for me, I’ve got the rat, it’s all under control. I had a physical sensation that a person couldn’t survive there for more than an hour. But some people got used to it. They developed a totally different threshold.

* * *

We have this commander named Vlad: he came to fight together with his son. Their house was shelled, and he got hit by a shard — it came in below his lower lip and exited somehow, without touching anything vital. We couldn’t evacuate him, so I stitched him up right in the basement. Headlamp on, thread and needle, needle-holder… Later, he came to a clinic, and they’re like, “who stitched you up so well?” And he says, “this one medic, in the basement.” And they were like, “no way, seriously?”

***

The risk of dying was much greater, but I didn’t feel any fear. You just want to finish some things you’ve been doing. You realize at once what’s really important in life and what’s just some rubbish that’s not worth your while.

“What’s the most important thing, then?”

“Probably that I didn’t swim or sunbathe enough.”

***

Our family’s best friend, uncle Borya, lived in this apartment. He and his family didn’t go down into the basement, and just stayed in the apartment all the time. Once, the neighbors asked them to come out for some reason, and just then a bomb went straight into their window. A fire broke out in the apartment. They had a neighbor with a car, I don’t know why he hadn’t left yet. He got them into his car, and they all drove off, towards the “DNR.” The car had a sticker on it that said “Children.” Some Ukrainian troops stop the car, get them all out by force, put them on their knees, put guns to their heads, cursing at them: “Where are you going? We’re going to die here, and so will you. Where are these ‘children’? Why the hell do you have that sticker?” Natasha, with her voluptuous forms, says to them: “I’m pregnant! The child is inside!” Then there was a blast nearby, the soldiers all hid — and these guys jumped into the car, and floored the gas. The soldiers tried to pursue them — that car was too good.

***

Without calcium, I turn into a Pinocchio, an unmoving log. One of the final stages is when your heart and breathing stop, simply because your muscles stop working. My neighbor, too, needs calcium. We went together. All the pharmacies have been looted. There’s calcium out there somewhere, in might be in someone’s home, but here we are — we need it and cannot find any. So many people died because they couldn’t get their medications. People would give us their expired leftovers, whatever they could find at home. We needed calcium, and they needed some food. Not money. Sometimes vodka, or cigarettes. We don’t smoke, but we had some cigarettes that some friends had left behind.

For a while, I took 100 mg a day. That was frugal. Then I started to ration more: 50 a day, 30, 25. We had a choice: either we stay, and then one of us just rolls the other into a rug — or we have to try escaping together. We couldn’t wait till the last dose — I had to be able to walk, and we had things to carry. I had just 50 mg left in the vial.

***

There were lots of spies around at the time. The Russians have plenty of money, so they had planted them maybe a year in advance — they all rented apartments and just sat there. I have personally seen one serious, well-prepared agent. Some of them had this cover story: they pretended to be idiots. Around seven people had been caught in different places — all with the same cover story. This one guy got caught wandering around, looking for positions and trenches. His clothes are all inside out. He mumbles something unintelligible. You just can’t tell if this is a real psycho or not. “Let’s check his teeth.” We check: he has perfectly white teeth. And these old, worn-out sneakers. We take off his sneakers — and see clean feet, with well-groomed toenails. We question him — turns out, he is maximally prepared, a very tough guy. He is trying to act like a psycho, but he’s really strong, and obviously prepared in case of torture. Doesn’t say anything at all, just moos. So they say to him, “That’s it. We’re going to the basement, and we’ll shoot you there. What’s your last wish?” And suddenly, he says in a normal voice: “Can I just breathe some fresh air by the window?”

***

I have long made this a habit: if you can’t change a situation, just accept it. And booze really helps with this. I hear this roaring once. I come out — and there’s a plane overhead, bombs falling along the Dnipro, then a bunch of blasts… I took a bottle of cognac, drank it all, and went back to sleep. Otherwise, I would have just sat there, all in a panic. It’s really strong stuff — when you see a plane overhead and hear a blast. Puts you right in a split second. This depression I had before — it went away at once, as if someone poured cold water over me. It’s a huge adrenalin shot, sobers you up like nothing. I look in the mirror and see these huge pupils, you might think I was on acid, and brisk as day!

***

In the early days, the mayor of Mariupol would say, “Everything is fine, the city is defending itself, there’s enough food.” I realized it probably meant that the food must be running out — time to stock up. Then he says, “Water supply is fine, there aren’t any disruptions.” I realized it’s time to save up some water. “Everything is fine, the transportation is working, stores are working regular hours, listen only to the official news.” The official news only said that we’re doing great, that we’re fighting, defending ourselves… And then the news just stopped. Only the mayor kept reassuring us, but clearly from somewhere far away. It was early March, and they were gone already, leaving us for the slaughter — like a living shield, like meat — that’s exactly how it felt. He said, “I’m just a manager, I have nothing to do with the military.” Very well, manager. Here’s a list of bomb shelters. People look for a shelter on this list. They come, and find that it’s being used for storage. Another one is closed. The third one is filled with garbage. They break down a door — but the owner comes and welds it shut again. Nothing is prepared in advance, there’s no water — not to even mention food. Our neighbor spent three days outside, in the wind, sitting on bare concrete without as much as a chair. Civilization has ended. Since early March, we’ve been living as primitives.

* * *

The road from Makariv was littered with shot cars. In the village next to our own, 64 people had been shot. That’s Motyzhyn and Kopyliv, two villages glued together. Those devils expected to be greeted with flowers — and instead, all they got was a torrent of hatred and a gun muzzle sticking out of every house. They came to the village council for lists of servicemen, territorial defenders, anti-terrorist troops. The council head wouldn’t hand them the lists, so they killed her.

There was a gigantic Russian grouping in Haivoron. They came in and said, on day one: “If you aren’t partisans, don’t take pics, don’t shoot video — you’ll live. If you start throwing bottles — well, you know what I’m saying.” There was an “elite” community next door: all cops and justices. They all ran off, right away. Their houses were all looted.

***

When you’re on the frontline, you’re totally afraid that someone might let you down. “What if they leave us? What if they forget about us?” It’s a constant feeling. Then you come back, look around, and everything is fine, you shouldn’t have worried. I’m not especially brave anyway, and I had a really hard time in the war. Nothing could be more frightening than that. Or you just sit there, waiting for an assignment — and it’s so boring, my god — you think, I’m so sick of it, I could be doing this and that… And there’s that guy I know, posting stories about how he’s hanging out in Lviv with his girlfriend.

***

It all felt terribly stupid and unnecessary. You couldn’t have imagined a Russian invasion before 2013. Ukraine was Russia’s vassal state, interpenetration was huge. Pro-Russian politicians controlled entire regions, and big factions in the Rada, too. Russians controlled a large part of the economy, they employed a lot of people. However crude, Soviet-like, and corrupt, this was soft power. People had normal attitudes towards Russians, and those could have been improved. Even the Maidan itself wasn’t anti-Russian, no one gave a shit about that, the topic was different. So, everyone now feels this enormous injustice. Yes, we thought of Russia as an aggressor, because of the Crimean annexation and the Donbas war. But no one had hated Russians as a people — the people and the state were still separable. Everybody listened to Russian rap. Slava KPSS’s album was the top album of 2021.

***

Number 69 on our street caught fire, and a grandma had to jump from the fourth-floor window. She had come from East Mariupol to visit her son, and he went somewhere with his wife. She was alone in their apartment. She jumped onto the blanket — there were the Ukrainian troops holding it, and some neighbors helping, too. But she fell and hurt her legs, because a blanket is still a blanket. She hit her head, too, and there was a burn on her hand. They put her in another apartment. Then, the neighbors all went down into the shelter and left her upstairs. Suddenly, we hear a cry: “Help!” I come inside and call, “who is there?” And there she was, lying on the floor. It was –10 C outside, and all the windows had been shattered. We lifted her onto the sofa — and she fell down again… We’d go there to feed her, to give her some water. She was alright, she could have survived if someone could have taken her to a hospital. But who was going to take here there? They were shelling constantly — four people would have had to risk their lives for her sake. She died on March 8. She just grew cold, and stopped calling. She went silent, and we didn’t go in there anymore. It was too frightening, and we’d already seen enough.

***

Here’s a street corner. Behind the corner stands a tank. You have a machine gun, you look at the tank. The tank shoots directly at the house behind you. There’s a man by the house, the wall begins to fall right over him. He stands there, speechless — me, I’m speechless, choking, someone grabs me by the vest and drags me away. Everyone looks totally terrified. No one had prepared us for anything like this.

Some people are just morally destroyed. A direct hit from a tank — psychologically, it’s a very big thing, you start being afraid of every rustle. You just scurry about hiding all the time, you don’t lead a normal life. When people come to our unit, they act really tough — we’re like this, we’re like that… After the first shelling, they’re all like, that’s it, we’re not going there again. We don’t need people like that, they’re just written off. Most of them are already in Kyiv, doing other jobs. A person wants to be useful but he doesn’t want to fight — he might stand at a checkpoint at most. There was a particular category of soldiers who would always say, “Come on, let’s go, let’s kill some Russians!” They were usually the first to flake out.

***

Executions and cruelty to captive soldiers — you look at it differently from inside the army. Not that you’re ready to do it yourself, but it’s normal. Any of our soldiers knows that he will not be captured, and that your side doesn’t take prisoners in some situations. A Russian armored formation was coming past our checkpoint. Fighting broke out, and that formation was destroyed and burned, because Ukrainian special forces were right there. They got a wounded soldier from one of the vehicles and carried him to their positions 500 meters away. Every time I heard our officer tell this story, people would ask him: “Why didn’t you finish him off?” To be honest, it all depends on the unit. You can be captured and people will treat you well, or they might torture you or shoot you, it’s sheer luck. But following the Geneva Convention is more of an exception.

* * *

I’m watching the news, and there’s a Russian woman being interviewed in the street. “Of course I feel sorry for those people, but this is necessary…” She looks all sad, and her kid is there, out for a walk with her. I’m a pacifist, you know — but there’s nothing left of my pacifism now. I think to myself, you bitch, if ten soldiers were to f*** you non-stop for a week and then shoot you, what would justify it? These are such basic things — do you not understand anything at all? You cannot feel any pain until someone beats you? “It’s probably necessary…” And if someone killed you? Maybe you, too, should be written off?

* * *

For the first 15 minutes, I just sat there trying to wake up. My child was sleeping, of course. I never get up this early. I remember that when I sat up in my bed, I looked out the window, and it was still dark, the daybreak was just beginning a little — and I felt that this wasn’t my apartment but some other place. When we were leaving, I didn’t feel that we’re leaving Kyiv to go some place in particular, I just sensed that I must drive in that direction. We got to Lviv. I sent everyone to bed, opened a bottle of wine, and went outside. I looked into the sky — and saw the air defense blasting. The siren was sounding, but I had no instinct for flight. You’re not yourself, and this isn’t your body.

* * *

The village was full of people who had just evacuated out of Kyiv, without expecting to be surrounded, and so soon. I started to meet other people wandering about the village and looking for kindred spirits. We all felt lost. When we got together, there were 15 of us at first, then 40. We organized into units. There were six machine guns, and not a single bulletproof vest or helmet. We called ourselves a “bum crew.” Only later, we received some basic weapons.

Our backbone was five or six people, all very different, most of them complete bumpkins with lamentable manners. But there was no one better at that moment. There were such high spirits: if we go, let’s go, if we die, let’s die. There was this completely sincere feeling: You need something? Here you go! It was an amazing feeling, but eventually it crumbled. Some people couldn’t go on, and left. Some began drinking; lots of people now drink. One guy drank himself delirious, he started walking around and shouting, “Give me a Russian soldier!” He wound up shooting a woman next door — she was only wounded, but he freaked out and shot himself.

* * *

We began to work on March 4, only receiving patients with acute pain — free of charge for the territorial defense and the AFU. The other dental offices — we have two or three of them in town — were closed. There was no transportation. I would pick up the doctors around town in the morning, and drive them back in my car before the curfew. This young guy from the territorial defense, 30 years old, comes in. A normal guy, even polite in places, with a short beard. We’re talking, and then a siren goes off, and there’s a blast in the distance. I look up at him and say, “I’m signing you up for an appointment.” And he goes: “Show me your portfolio first.” And I sense that I’m losing it. “What did you say?” “Your portfolio — show me your past work.” I say to him, “Are you out of your f***ing mind? I’m f***ing driving around the city gathering dentists just to deal with acute pain!” “You shouldn’t talk to me that way!” Well, we didn’t get into a fist fight, but it was quite a shouting match. He left and slammed the door. I don’t know why I hadn’t been able to control myself.

* * *

A woman from Rubizhne came to our place. She talked about what happened there when the frontline drew near. She was there in a basement with her two grandchildren. They had nothing to eat for several days at a stretch. She said that you had ten minutes to run somewhere to find water, or to get into somebody’s bombed-out house for a box of pasta or a few potatoes. She said that people ate dogs. Then they found someone who could get them out for 4,000 hryvnias per person. He got there and signaled — “Time to go!” Her son-in-law had just left to look for some food — and they all took off, just abandoning him there.

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nsheetee · 3 years

Text

Awaken

Pairing: chenle x reader Genre: friends to lovers AU, fluff, mature content Length: 6.4k Summary: When Chenle invites you on a last minute trip to his family’s home in China, you’re excited at the prospect of a small vacation and about spending time with your crush. Surprisingly, Chenle’s extended family is there as well, and a series of events quickly awaken something new in both of you. Warnings/Details: female reader, explicit sex (breeding kink, unprotected sex [please stay safe], creampie) disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. the characters and events are not a reflection of reality or meant to offend in anyway.

“What do you mean you can’t come? We were talking about this literally last night, and not even 12 hours later, you can’t come?!” Chenle practically screams into his phone as he stuffs random pants and shirts into his open suitcase. “Explain yourself, Park.”

“My mom suddenly wants me to come home.” Jisung sounds apologetic and slightly timid, “She said she’s cooking dinner tonight for our family and if I’m not at the table she’ll cut my tongue off. I know she won’t actually do it, but... I don’t want to test it.”

Chenle sighs, sounding bothered by this predicament, but Jisung knows his best friend isn’t going to be that sad about his absence. It’s not like Jisung has never been to Chenle’s house in China, and although he loves the place, he knows this won’t be the last opportunity for him to fly there. When Chenle sighs once more, this time just to be annoying and show how irritated he is, Jisung speaks again.

“Don’t be like that. You love visiting your family, just think of it as an opportunity to spend more time with them.” Jisung hears Chenle fall onto his bed on the other side of the line.

“I do love to visit, but my whole family is either younger than nine or older than thirty-five. I just want someone that’s my age to be with me if I feel lonely.” Jisung pouts at that. Chenle is an outgoing person and loves to be around the people he’s comfortable with, so hearing that he gets lonely without his best friend makes Jisung’s heart hurt a bit. However, an idea suddenly pops into his head.

“Hey, you actually do have another friend our age, and I bet she would love to go to China with you.” At the mention of a ‘she,’ the only ‘she’ both Chenle and Jisung know at the moment who would want to hang out, Chenle sits up straighter on his bed and his heart rate speeds up.

“Oh, ___?” He tries to sound nonchalant, “I’m not sure. She would be meeting my family, won’t she think that’s weird? And what if she feels uncomfortable? It’s not like she can just go home—”

“There are lots of what if’s, Chenle. All I know is that she finished her finals and is on break, and probably deserves a small vacation for her hard work.” Jisung pushes, suddenly excited that he can’t come on the trip if it means Chenle can get closer to you. “Just ask her. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“If she says no, it will hurt my pride. So, that’s a lie.”

“Chenle.” Jisung replies flatly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll ask.” Chenle plays with the hem of his shirt, thinking about how nervous he got over this trip just by adding you into the equation. With some last goodbyes and a promise that Chenle will update Jisung about everything that happens this weekend, the call ends. Chenle fidgets through his phone, procrastinating calling you, but when every single app is checked and there is only the phone icon staring back at him, Chenle sighs and finds your contact, pressing the call button.

After meeting you through Jisung, you and Chenle quickly became close friends. You’re both easy-going, prefer staying up late at night, and okay with being lazy at home, so hanging out together is easy to do. It also doesn’t hurt that you’ll eat literally anything Chenle cooks, boosting his pride tenfold when you praise him endlessly for his cooking. Actually, one night at his house after he made dinner and you shared a bottle of wine on the rooftop of his house while looking at the night sky, wishing the light pollution didn’t erase all the stars, that’s when he figured it out.

You’re important to Chenle. So, so important.

He knows he has feelings for you, and that he cares about you deeply. He is aware of your presence whenever you’re in the same room and gets that longing feeling in his stomach when your attention is taken away from him. There is no doubt that Chenle is in the middle of falling head over heels for you, but he always feels the need to keep a few steps back.

He walks on a tightrope, on one end is friendship and on the other is love, and he’s stuck in the middle. You’ve given him hints of attraction and subtle nuances in your words that could possibly mean you have feelings for him as well, but nothing concrete enough that gives Chenle the confidence to walk further along the tightrope.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip can bring you two closer to the end of this balance beam.

“A trip?” Chenle hears excitement in your voice after he explains what happened with Jisung, and he feels hopeful, “That sounds like fun!”

“Great. I’ll pick you up in three hours.” Chenle feels giddy and nervous at the same time, his leg bouncing up and down to portray all of his feelings.

“Oka— Wait. Three hours?”

“Bye!” Chenle abruptly ends the call before you can ask anything else or change your mind, throwing his phone to the other side of the bed. He takes a few deep breaths and then stands up, continuing to pack his things. This time with more skip in his step that’s fueled by the promise of your presence with him for the whole weekend.

It’s already nearing 6pm when you arrive in Shanghai. You follow Chenle closely as he leads you through the airport, looking really confident about every turn he makes as he weaves through the busy and tired looking people. However, you’re both thrown off your path when a large window on your right catches your eye, the night view of the city of Shanghai making you stop in your tracks and swerve to take a closer look.

Your hands smudge the clean windows as you lean in and stare at the enormous city, the sparkling lights and tall buildings look like you just took a flight to the future, not just a few hours south.

“It’s pretty…” You trail off, not really talking to anyone in particular. Chenle, who followed you to the window and also stares at the view from beside you, smiles at the comment.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing…” You sound like you’re in a daze, which makes Chenle smile wider.

“I should show you the view from the balcony in my room. It’s ridiculous.” Chenle nods and gives the view one more glance over. His words bring you back to reality, making you shiver.

In Chenle’s bedroom… where so many things other than watching the night sky can happen.

You heat up in embarrassment at the dirty thoughts, yelling at yourself in your head for thinking like that when Chenle probably meant it in the most innocent way.

“We should probably get going..” Chenle seems completely oblivious to your predicament, yawning as he turns around and continues walking through the airport. You follow him, lightly biting the inside of your cheek as your previous thoughts fly through your mind again.

The Shanghai airport is crowded, almost over-crowded. After traveling further through the airport, it gets hard to follow Chenle’s leather bucket hat that bobs through the sea of people and you have to grip onto his backpack so that you don’t lose him. He feels the sudden weight on his bag, turning around to see you struggling.

His hand finds yours, making you release the grip on his zippers and instead intertwine with his fingers, turning to look forward and once again leading you to baggage claim. Your hands start to sweat and you feel embarrassed, but Chenle doesn’t seem to mind as he squeezes your fingers softly and glances back at you to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t let go of your hand until your luggage arrives, and when he does release your hold, you feel very cold and empty from the lack of Chenle’s touch.

“Mom, I’m home!” Chenle yells into his house, dragging his suitcase behind him and taking off his shoes, “I brought a friend.” You both leave your things at the door and Chenle hands you some slippers, then you follow him through the house in search of his mother. You find her in the kitchen, stove on and several pots and pans cooking food at once.

“Chenle!” She exclaims after seeing her son, and then her eyes fall on you.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” You politely greet her, slightly unsure of what her reaction to you will be.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be bringing your girlfriend here.” She laughs gleefully and leaves the stove to come closer, almost jumping on the tile floors over to you.

“Oh, we’re n-” You begin, but Chenle cuts you off.

“Jisung couldn’t come, so I brought ___ here instead. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” She smiles, which makes you relax a bit, “You’ve never brought anyone here other than Jisung, I was beginning to think you don’t know anyone other than him.”

It’s your turn to laugh, covering your mouth as you glance at Chenle to see him roll his eyes with a sour look on his face. Before he can retaliate, his mom cuts him off.

“Well, since you’re here, could you set the table? I’m running late on dinner and I need extra hands. Get out eleven plates and those high chairs we keep in the closet.” She quickly makes her way back to the stove after warmly rubbing your arm, moving faster than your eyes can follow as she adjusts spices and stirs.

“Why so many?” Chenle asks.

“Your aunts and uncles are coming over today.” At that information, you turn to face Chenle with an unsure look painted on your face.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” You step closer to him and whisper, “If you’re having a family dinner, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Of course it’s okay. Don’t even worry about it.” Chenle gently grabs your shoulders and turns you around, forcing you to walk out of the kitchen and back into the foyer. You collect your luggage and head upstairs.

Chenle’s house has an impressive three stories with several bedrooms, an office, and a lounge room in the top two floors and the rest of the important rooms on the first floor. You didn’t see much of the backyard, but you caught sight of several trees that surround the house, making the area more private. Considering this place is close to the city, you’re amazed at how all of this belongs to Chenle and his family.

His room is on the third floor, and you take a look inside when he sets down his things on his bed. The balcony he mentioned earlier is covered with long white curtains and his bed is wide, taking up a good chunk of space. On the other side of the room, a TV hangs on the wall and there are several gaming consoles hooked up. Overall, a normal guy’s room.

“You’re next door…” He mumbles and leads you to the room next to his. The layout is a mirrored version of his room, only the balcony is replaced with large windows and the room is more generic looking rather than lived-in like Chenle’s. You set your things down and glance out of the window; you’re met with the canopy of trees that grow in his backyard.

“And your bathroom is right here,” Chenle’s voice brings you back to the room, showing you inside the bathroom, “And if you need anything, my room is right through here.” He opens a door in the bathroom to reveal his room on the other side. You nod and walk over to the bed, plopping down on the soft covers.

“Your house is amazing. I feel like I’m staying at a fancy AirBnB… but I don’t have to pay for it and there’s a family staying here too.” You both laugh at that, but your comment has you questioning your stay here some more.

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to be here? I don’t want to take your time away from family.” You bite your lip and look up at Chenle, looking for his honest answer. You’d hate for Chenle to not spend all the time he can with his family while he’s here, considering he can’t visit often.

“I am 100% sure that you’re okay to stay here. I think everyone will l-love you.” Chenle clears his throat after his stutter, hoping you wouldn’t question his sudden nerves surrounding the topic of love.

“Okay.” You nod and rub your hands over your thighs to rid yourself of anxiety. You only keep asking because you hate to be an intrusion. But if Chenle is sure that your presence here is okay, then you’re going to enjoy this vacation to the best of your abilities.

“You get settled, I’ll go help my mom. I’ll get you when dinner is ready.” Chenle turns around to leave the room, but you stop him.

“Oh, I can help. It’s the least I can do, and it seems like there’s a lot to get ready.”

“But you’re a guest—”

“I don’t mind.” You smile and leave the room first, looking over your shoulder as if to beckon him to try and stop you. Chenle doesn’t, partially because he wants to spend any second he can with you, even if it’s just setting the dinner table. But he also doesn’t stop you because that would mean grabbing onto your hand and pulling you back, and Chenle almost had a heart attack at the airport the first time he did that. Thinking back on it, the action felt natural but it still startled him, and he can’t get the feeling of how your soft hands feel in his own out of his head.

“Hey, wait up! You’ll get lost.” Chenle calls out and quickly follows you out of the room.

Chenle’s family loves you. In fact, Chenle thinks they love you just a little too much.

From his mom cooing at you as you help Chenle properly set the table to his aunts and uncles endlessly talking about your hobbies and school, it seems like you’re the life of the party tonight. However, that’s not what catches Chenle’s eye.

As he’s carrying some drinks to his dad and uncles who decided to sit outside after eating, Chenle passes by the living room to see you and his nieces and nephews playing. You’re reading a book to one of the younger kids while the others are coloring next to you and constantly showing you their art, seeking your approval or ideas on what they should draw next. Chenle’s two older nephews are playing tag around the table, and overall it’s just a whole ruckus. Chenle only has a chance to glance into the room for a second before continuing his trip outside to deliver the drinks.

As he’s coming back in, he’s startled by his older nephews who took their game of tag out into the hallway, almost running into Chenle.

“Woah, woah, woah. You shouldn’t be running in the hallway, get back in the living room.” Chenle ushers the boys back and once all of them are in the living room, he shuts the doors completely to keep anyone from going back out. His eyes land on you, you’re in the same position as you were before, but now you look up at Chenle and give him a warm smile while patting the spot next to you.

Chenle sits with his legs crossed while facing the same direction as you, looking over his niece's artwork and complimenting their scribbling, and then leaning back against the couch to mirror your position.

“I guess it’s more fun to play with the kids than with the adults?” Chenle asks, making your attention move from the TV screen where a kid’s movie is playing to meet Chenle’s eyes.

“Don’t you find it fun to play with kids? I think there’s never a dull moment with these guys.” You laugh and motion around the room as if to make your point.

“So, you like kids?” Chenle asks.

“Yes, a lot.” You nod, watching him look away and nod at your words. “What about you?”

“My nieces and nephews are… a bit too wild for me.” He admits, “But I like kids. I would like to have my own kids in the future.” Chenle speaks without really thinking about his words, just talking to you about anything is nice. When he realizes what he said at the end, his eyes glance over at you to gage your reaction.

“Same here. There’s some special sort of happiness that comes with having kids. I see it all the time on mothers’ faces, and I always wonder what it feels like. I bet you can’t really find that kind of feeling anywhere else in the world.” You muse, and Chenle quickly agrees with your sentiment, involuntarily gulping as the thoughts in his head rampage.

Could you get anymore perfect for him?

You look down at your thigh, for some reason not being able to look at Chenle in the eye. “I think… You’ll be a really good father, Chenle.”

Just from your simple words, Chenle’s heart begins to pound in his ears and warmth spreads through his chest. He watches you shyly look up at him, not being able to do anything but stare at you for fear of his body moving without his control.

“Can you please read again.” His youngest niece breaks the staring contest between you two with her question, pulling your gaze away from him. When your attention is on his niece, he quietly slips out of the room and stumbles up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He paces around his bed, his hands running through his hair as he tries to figure out

what just happened. You said you like kids. You said you would like kids in the future. You also said you think Chenle would make a good father. Are you purely giving him compliments or… could you be hinting at something else?

Why does Chenle feel like his heart might explode any second if he keeps thinking about you. On second thought, he looks down, his pants might be the thing that explodes. Chenle sighs, slightly embarrassed that he got hard by just thinking about you.

You looked so cute playing with his nieces and nephews, so kind and genuinely warm hearted to them that it melted Chenle’s heart. He wants to see it again. He wants to see you reading a book to them and changing your voice for every character, listening intently as they tell you story after story, rubbing their backs gently as they color.

Chenle wants to see you like that with his kids.

His own thought scares him a bit, and he sits down on his bed while trying to calm his breathing. He’s even more surprised at the shot of pleasure that runs through him at his own idea. He feels his stomach turn pleasantly at the thought of a little you and him running around, you showing your love to both Chenle and your child.

Warmth grows in Chenle's heart; he wants it so bad.

He can imagine the picture so clearly in his head that it hurts him to think about it, since he knows he’s far from that point in his life. That doesn’t stop him from getting turned on, though. He digs the heel of his palms into his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to think of something —anything— else. Why is it that whenever you’re around, he can’t think of anything, but whenever you’re not around, he can only think of you?

‘It’s useless’ he sighs, scooting up on his bed and moving his bedsheets away.

Sitting against his head board, Chenle grips his sheets in one hand and his other slides down his stomach, tickling him slightly, and over his crotch. Swallowing thickly, he closes his eyes and focuses on his warm hand stimulating his member. He can’t help but let out a soft sigh at his own teasing, but soon has had enough and quickly pushes down his pants and boxers to let his dick spring out. Using some precum that glistens as it runs down the side of his dick, he starts pumping his shaft, eventually getting fully hardened.

His wrist turns every time he reaches the end of a pump and he slides down the headboard as his eyes flutter from the pleasure. Chenle is good at staying quiet thanks to the years of practice in his full house, but he can’t help the whines he emits every so often when his fingers move over his tip.

But soon, Chenle turns frustrated. He’s doing all the things he knows his body likes, but his orgasm is just too far away still. He becomes impatient, starting to shift his hips around and rub his length faster as sweat builds on his forehead, but it only hurts his wrist and makes him itch for his orgasm more.

Every time Chenle thinks of you while getting off, he feels a bit guilty.

He hopes you don’t mind it, but you hold a place in his heart and Chenle is very attracted to you, it’s impossible to think of anyone else when he’s in this position. So, Chenle takes a breather, and when he continues his stroking, he thinks about your tiny hand replacing his instead. His eyes immediately roll to the back of his head and he finds it hard to keep himself sitting up.

Chenle’s head is tilted back, his jaw dropping open bit by bit as he moves on to thinking about your warmth mouth around his cock, the way your face would look as you glance up at him and kiss up his thighs before sliding his member through your lips again.

Chenle has to shove the duvet he has been gripping into his mouth to stop the moan that almost leaves his throat, his eyes screwing shut as he imagines how good your wet pussy would feel around his dick, sliding in and out as you chase your own release. He loses composure when he imagines what your pants and moans would sound like in that situation, what your nails would feel like gripping onto his shoulder for dear life, and what the flesh of your hips and waist would feel like under Chenle’s hands as he drives you harder onto his cock.

Chenle eventually starts thrusting his hips up into his hand, desperately chasing his high to the very highest peak. Chenle has thought about you many times while jerking himself off, but this time around, the thing that makes him tip over the edge is the thought of his cum shooting into you. He lets himself fall into the pleasure, seeing stars at the thought of his seed filling you up. He milks himself as strings of cum land on his thighs and pants, going to the very last stroke until it almost feels painful.

He limply falls over on his bed, breathing heavy and ears slightly ringing from the intensity he brought upon himself. When the feeling goes away he opens his eyes and listens to the sounds of the commotion downstairs, his mom and aunties playing with the kids, and the cars that drive by outside his balcony. When he looks over at the bathroom door, his heart drops all the way to his stomach and his head turns fuzzy from panic.

You’re right there.

Maybe you think he doesn’t see you, half hidden by his bathroom door, but he sees your hand resting on the handle and he hears your heavy breaths all the way from across the room. A part of him wants to dig himself into the covers and never come back out, but he pushes that embarrassment away so he can think clearly. You’re just standing there, no doubt just saw him come, why aren’t you leaving?

“___,” Chenle calls out, his voice lower than you expected and making you flinch behind the door. “Come here.” He says it softly, but in a demanding tone, so you open the door all the way and look at him. A mess of sheets surrounds him and his hair sticks to his forehead from sweat, all of this is illuminated by the dim moonlight coming from the balcony. Taking small steps to him, you don’t know what to do with your hands or where to look, but Chenle makes it easy when he pulls you down on the bed next to him.

“Did you like what you saw?” His question startles you, “Tell me the truth.” He adds on. You nod, a question of your own coming to mind.

“Why did you say my name when you were doing… that?” Chenle’s eyes widen, not aware of your name slipping through his lips. “Tell me the truth.” You say back at him.

Something in Chenle tells him that things won’t be the same way between you two after tonight no matter how he tries to amend this situation, so he thinks he might as well take it as far as you’ll let him.

He leans into you slowly, lips sliding past your cheek and teasing the skin there, stopping to whisper into the shell of your ear. “Because I was thinking of you, why else?” He likes how you shiver, he likes seeing the goosebumps on your shoulder from his words. Scraping up as much courage as he can, he leans all the way in and places a hot kiss below your earlobe. He waits for you to push him away, but you only grab onto the front of his shirt for leverage, so Chenle continues. He presses slow and open-mouthed kisses down your neck, almost too slow, until he reaches your shoulder where he bites down gently, raising a sharp gasp out of you.

You push him away and look at his eyes. Chenle is afraid that you’ll tell him to stop because this surely means he screwed up, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the next words that come out of your mouth.

“Tell me what you were thinking about. I’ll make your dreams into reality.”

Chenle’s jaw drops slowly at that, looking over your face for any signs of a joke. But fire burns in your eyes and the hand that’s holding onto his shirt pulls him in, lips crashing together in your very first kiss.

It’s hot, the room and the kiss and the way your hand falls down to chest and stomach to reach his dick, once again twitching from just the slight sting your nails give him as they travel across his body, not to mention the way your tongue slides into his mouth, exploring every corner. The kiss is wet and messy, but neither of you care right now.

“Was it like this? Hm?” You pull away while tilting your head, somehow looking innocent as you start to pump his dick, the same way he did not too long ago. Chenle shakes his head, pushing on your shoulder to get you to sit on the floor. As you slide onto your knees Chenle grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, wiping his hands on it, and throwing it behind him, not caring about how dirty it will be after.

When he looks down at you between his legs, your little hands moving his pants and boxers all the way down his legs, he thinks he must be dreaming. It has to be fake, you look too good with his spit covering your lips and your hands spread out on his thighs, looking up at him curiously as if to ask for what he wants next. This has to be a dream, but when he feels your soft hair bunching up in his hand and the first touch of your puffy lips on his sensitive tip, he knows this is anything but a dream.

He’s all too excited when his hips push up into your mouth and his hand tightens in your hair. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t help how good you’re making him feel. His toes curl, his mouth releases little whimpers and pleas filled with your name, probably the most vocal he has been in his entire life.

You don’t mind the roughness from him, you like it actually, the wetness building in your core proof of that. The sight above you, Chenle’s head tilted back and the outline of his abs flexing every time your tongue swirls around his dick is more than enough to get you heated, desperate for some friction between your legs. Just when you think Chenle is going to cum, he pulls you away from him, surprising you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, suddenly afraid you did something wrong. He groans, his eyes squeezing shut hard enough that the dimples under his eyes come out. He lets you stand up, but grabs the back of your thigh to pull you closer to him.

“I should be good to you, I can’t let you sit on the floor and suck my dick all night, as much as I would like that.” That makes you chuckle a bit. Chenle smiles, moving your shirt up and peppering kisses over your stomach, right above your waistband. You remove your shirt, feeling Chenle’s hands play with the buttons and zipper of your pants.

“What’s next?” You ask after he slowly slides your pants off of your legs and throws them behind you. He looks at you, his eyes conveying how nervous he feels by your question. He’s not sure how you would feel about the next part of his fantasy.

“Can I come in you?” He asks so fast that you almost don’t register his words, but when you do your eyebrows quirk up. When you don’t say anything, Chenle continues, “I know this is kind of wild for our first time together, but I promise I’m clean and—”

“Sure.” Chenle shuts up at that, his eyes wide as he tries to read your face through the lack of good lighting. “I trust you. Do you trust me?” When Chenle nods, you climb onto his lap, your lips meeting again in a softer kiss than before. You grip the strands of his hair in the back of his head as you gently sit down on his thighs. Chenle immediately grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, chest to chest and hips against hips so that you can feel his dick pressing against your center, raising a strangled gasp out of you.

Chenle takes that moment to slide his tongue in your mouth, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you against him while his other hand moves your hips against his own. His dick rubs against your center, the slickness that has seeped through your underwear making Chenle shake with pleasure. He kisses down your neck and chest to leave hickies on the top of your breasts while continuing to grind up into you, starting to feel obsessed with how you sound every time his dick rubs against your clit.

You’re in the middle of taking off your bra when his hand that was moving your hips moves to your front as he runs two fingers over your covered slit. It surprises you and you let out a moan, forgetting about your bra and covering your mouth to stop yourself from getting any louder. He moves your panties to the side and slides one finger in to test the waters, you clench around him instantly and sigh in relief at how he curls his finger in you.

“Relax,” He mutters and removes your bra all the way for you, his hand once again finding a palace at your waist to steady you on top of him, “I got you. You’re safe with me.” He mumbles against your shoulder between kisses as you get adjusted on top of him. Your nails that were gripping into his shoulders relax a bit, and he adds a second finger to stretch you out some more. Your shaky breath tickles Chenle’s ears when he does so, but eventually you start grinding down on his fingers.

Chenle takes a moment to watch you grind onto his hand, your eyes shut as you’re completely lost in your own pleasure. You even look pretty like this, how is that fair? Chenle can’t help but express his feelings in the form of kisses over any part of your skin he can reach. You’re pretty sure he has kissed everywhere by the time he pulls his fingers away, making you turn your attention on him.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He gives you one last chance to back out, but you nod your head in agreement, your head cloudy from pleasure and your whole body begging for him to fuck you already. He nods too, guiding his dick into your hole and letting you slide down him inch by inch. Every move downward sends his mind blank and his stomach tightening, watching how he disappears into you and twitching from how tight you are. You keep clenching around him and it’s driving him completely insane. He leans back on his hands, breathing deeply to keep himself under control.

When you’re sat all the way down, Chenle takes your hand in his and intertwines your fingers together to place your hand against his cheek. You’re not sure if he even realizes he does this since his eyes are still shut in pleasure, but the gesture makes you smile a bit.

When Chenle thrusts up into you, your smile drops. Fuck, that feels good.

Chenle releases your hand and instead takes a hold of your hips keeping you steady as he thrusts up into you in a steady rhythm, drawing out unstoppable groans and moans from both of you, not caring about who’s hearing you two. His hips slap against yours with every move, sending you closer and closer to your high as you hold onto each other. When he stops for a moment, no doubt tired from all of the work, you continue to roll your hips against his.

“Ah—” He groans at your movements, “Oh my god, ___, don’t stop.” He moans. If you thought Chenle’s singing voice sounded heavenly, then you think the voice he used to moan your name might be out of this world, filled with so much feeling and lust that you don’t think he can even register what he’s saying anymore.

You feel your orgasm approaching all too fast, and when Chenle’s hips start to move again, you think he might be close too. That’s when you lean into his ear, the same way he did to you when he started all of this just a while ago.

“Come in me, Chenle.” You beg him, and his hips move faster, the grip he has on your hips so tight you’re sure there’s going to be bruises. You can’t think about it right now, though, as his cock moves in and out of you mercilessly and your name tumbles out of his lips once again.

Your orgasm breaks open throughout you, spreading like a wildfire through your nerves. You’re sure you can feel Chenle all over you and all around you as you come, pleasure filling you up from your head to your toes. As your muscles flutter around him, Chenle lets go too, white and hot springs of his sperm shoot into you. He continues to fuck it into you, slowing down when he feels both of you almost topple over from fatigue.

He slowly lays down in his bed, careful when he rolls you to the side. Sliding his dick out, he watches his white seed flow out of your pussy and down your thigh, his lips opening in awe and surprise at how much he likes the sight.

“Are you okay?” He asks, suddenly realizing the redness around your hips and waist from his own hands.

“Oh, I’m great. I’m wonderful, actually.” You sigh out, your eyes closed as you are still trying to get over the orgasm Chenle gave you. Your words make him chuckle, a bit of cockiness peaking through.

“Huh, I guess I’m that good, yeah?” Chenle makes sure to send you a closed lip smile, and you peak an eye open to hit him gently against the arm before retracting and falling limp again, both of you not able to control your bubbling laughter.

Chenle always imagined what the other side of the balance beam would look like— how it would feel like. Now, as he looks at your messy hair, your shining skin under the moonlight, and your quiet mumbles about random things as you cuddle under the blanket, he thinks it may feel just like this.

Later, after you and Chenle cleaned up a bit and got situated under the covers with you laying your head on his shoulder and him tracing stars, hearts, and the Chinese characters of his name on your back, Chenle gets a phone call.

“Hey, how are you? How’s it going with ___?” Jisung asks on the other side. Once you hear his voice, you perk up and tilt your head to look at Chenle with a raised eyebrow.

“Everything’s good, really good, actually. How’s your family?” Chenle asks back, stopping his tracing for a second to flick your forehead gently, making you slightly scowl at him.

“Good, my mom didn’t cut my tongue off, as you can probably tell.” Chenle lets some air out of his nose in the form of laughter at Jisung’s joke.

“So, why did you call?” Chenle hums into the phone, burying himself closer to you under the covers.

“Don’t you remember? You said you would update me on anything that happens while you’re over there. Did something happen?” Jisung asks and Chenle can’t contain his smile as he answers.

“Park Jisung, I’m so glad you couldn’t come this weekend.”

“What? What does that mean—”

“I’m hanging up now.” Chenle ends the call, throwing his phone somewhere on the bed and wrapping his arm around you, cuddling closer to you and finally falling asleep.

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mad-madam-m · 2 years

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T&B2 Thoughts: Episode 2 – No one knows the weight of another's burden

Extended thoughts on episode 2 below the cut!

- I'm still bitter we didn't actually get to hear how everybody became a hero. We know Barnaby's and Kotetsu's stories; I want to hear all the others!

- I love how the OG First League heroes are really trying to reach out to the newbies and help them out, even if Subaru and Thomas don't want the help. It's a really stark contrast between the rookies and the veterans, but it works, for the most part. We know what all the First League has been through in the past three years—even Ryan appears to know more of it than you would think—but these kids don't, so they haven't had the chance to build up the same bonds.

- On that note, when Subaru bulldozes through Barnaby's past with all the subtlety of a battering ram, you see the change in literally every single person in the room.

They are all 100% ready to throw down right then and there because this is a topic that you don't touch with a 10-foot pole. We've seen how protective Kotetsu is of Barnaby, but now we get a chance to see that the rest of the heroes are equally protective.

- And surprisingly, it's not Kotetsu who steps up to tell Subaru to knock it off. Ryan beats him to the punch.

Which shocked me, because he was so self-involved in The Rising, but he actually respects Barnaby as a fellow hero, clearly gets that this is a sensitive subject, and is ready to rip this kid a new one over it.

- Speaking of Barnaby's past, we get the photos in his apartment this time, where all he's managed to do is turn the Maverick one around so he doesn't have to look at it anymore.

He's trying to move on, but he went through some horrible trauma at the hands of someone he trusted for most of his life, and I'm glad that the show isn't glossing over that.

- I do love that Kotetsu's first instinct continues to be to help out the new heroes, but he's less impulsive about it now. He holds back on the meddling unless it's 1) wanted or 2) will actually do the most good. And he and Barnaby actually talk and listen to each other.

- The entire conversation in Yuri’s office at the end is just so much on so many levels. You have Yuri asking Barnaby and Kotetsu, seriously, what they think about the whole buddy thing, because they're the ones who have been partners the longest.

You have Kotetsu so casually saying that it's easier to work together than to work alone, and Barnaby's visible surprise at hearing that.

You have the second time in this episode that Kotetsu is silently checking on Barnaby, assessing how he's doing, and then casually leaving the room in order to give Barnaby space to talk.

You have Barnaby talking, seriously, about how everything that Maverick did to him affected him and still affects him to this day, even as he's striving to move on. And that's a conversation he's having with Yuri, who made the comment about Barnaby having found peace after Maverick's death in The Rising and Kotetsu absolutely reamed him for it.

Yuri is hearing now, firsthand, that Maverick's death did nothing to bring Barnaby peace, but that Kotetsu has helped him smile again.

- And then, as if that weren't enough, the scene outside afterward is just the most...quietly caring thing. Barnaby brings Kotetsu a water as an apology for keeping him waiting, and Kotetsu immediately hides the waters that he bought for them so he can accept Barnaby's. He jokes that he didn't know Barnaby ever thought about him, to which Barnaby fondly replies, "You're oblivious."

And of course, Barnaby sees the waters that Kotetsu tried to hide, and he smiles, again, because this is exactly what Kotetsu is like. He's ridiculous and bossy and also so, so caring and thoughtful and considerate of people in general but really of Barnaby in particular. And Barnaby is so much more open about accepting that consideration now and returning it. The first episode ended by showing us how well they fit as work partners, but this episode ends showing us how well they fit now outside of work, too.

- And you know, since things are going so well...

- OUROBOROS IS BACK.

#Tiger & Bunny #Tiger and Bunny #Kotetsu Kaburagi #Barnaby Brooks Jr.#Kotetsu x Barnaby #TaiBani #Tiger & Bunny 2 #TB2 spoilers #M watches TNB #M writes meta #M rambles

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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years

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A/N: I loved doing this one guys, and I hope you love it too. Might do a part 2 not sure yet, as always commissions are still open until 3/10 message if your interested- price list is here

- Okay this is the ship guys this is it-

- This is like Hades and Persephone type of love

- Everyone thinks that Regulus is someone to be feared because of his family, and everyone knows they dabble in the dark arts

- And everyone is so caught up in his family-

- In the estate, and those dark rumors, and their dark magic-

- That no one see’s Regulus is just a boy-

- A lonely boy with no real friends, not really

- It’s worse now that Sirius has been disowned

- He’s got people around him, boys who’s parents are aquatinted with his

- But they don’t really like him

- They just hang around because they want a flicker of his power

- Of that ancient dark magic everyone’s convinced he’s got

- Everyone except you that is

- You’re this beautiful, cheerful, precious thing

- He meets you when you’re lost, looking for the bathroom

- “Sorry to bother, but do you know if it’s down the hall?” You ask, he’s seen you a few times; in class, or around the corridors

- Playing gobstones with your ever growing group of friends

- He would be jealous if he wasn’t so surprised that you’re speaking to him at all, aren’t you a muggle born?

- Shouldn’t you be afraid of him?

- Just like everyone else?

- “It’s in the next hallway, that one is moaning Myrtle’s bathroom” he says quietly

- He watches you nod enthusiastically

- Looks like you’ll be on your way now, probably for the best, he wouldn’t want his parents to know -

- “Would you mind showing me?” You ask

- And it’s awfully pushy, but somehow Regulus can’t turn down that bright smile of yours

- You talk to him so easily, like you’re not afraid of him at all

- And it irritates him a little.

- Honestly, even the professors are a little afraid of him

- Everyone is

- So why aren’t you

- “Do you-“ he stops in the middle of the corridor, and you walk a few steps forward before realizing he’s not beside you anymore

- “Do you know who I am?”

- You must not, that’s the only explanation

- When you find out you’ll go as pale as the moon, and afterward you will regale the tale for your many friends, how you barley escaped the fearsome Regulus Black, right before he was about to curse you with his dark magic.

- But you only offer a quizzical expression and a smile

- “You’re Regulus Black”

- You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

- It only makes him upset, but he doesn’t know why

- In fact since the moment he met you there’s been this burning irritation lingering in the back of his mind, and he just can’t seem to pin point why

- But regardless of the reason, it seems to be boiling over right now, in an empty corridor in the middle of the night

- “Shouldn’t you be afraid? I could curse you right here if I wanted”

- But the smile on your face remains

- “Maybe, but you won’t” you muse

- He laughs

- “Why because you think I’m afraid getting expelled?”

- Honestly his parents would welcome him with a feast if he came home for attacking a muggle born

- It would be a sign he wasn’t going to become like Sirius after all

- Because that’s the worst thing a person could be according to his parents-

- A blood traitor

- But instead of quaking in your shoes you flash him a quizzical smile

- “Nah, I just don’t think you’re that kind of person” you shrug

- The words echo in his mind long after you’ve said them

- And though he’s looked at you before

- He’s only really looking at you now, the easy way your lips curl into a smile, the sparkle in your eye, the glow around you-

- Like you’re made of sunlight

- Like you breathe life into all things wherever you go

- Like an ancient witch he heard of , heralded as the goddess of spring

- Like Persephone

- Ah, so that’s it

- It’s not that he hates you

- It’s that he envies you

- Because seeing how natural it is to see you do good, makes him hope - it makes him yearn to be like that too

- To be more than an heir to his family’s dark legacy

- “I could be wrong though” you shrug, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been right about something

- But still, you just don’t buy that the shy kid in front of you is some evil prodigy bent on destroying the world

- “No” Regulus’s voice cracks, and it’s soft, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

- But your turn to him, eyes jumping from one of the many paintings in the corridor to his pale face

- His eyes seem glossy as they look into yours, and it’s not just because of the light from the torches

- “No, I’m not that kind of person” he says with a bit more strength this time, and you grin

- And while you feel that there’s something important about the moment, you don’t realize the monumental significance this chance meeting holds for Regulus

- “Oh, we passed the washroom” he realizes after a moment, he was so caught up in talking to you he hadn’t realized

- “Ah, that’s okay I didn’t have to use the bathroom anyway” you say with a wave of your hand

- Huh?

- Noticing his expression you get a sheepish look on your face

- “Well I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you’re always with people-“

- Yeah he’s sure his “friends” would give off an especially murderous aura if you ever tried to approach them

- “So when I saw an opportunity, I just took it” you admit with a slight laugh

- “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the ‘Dark Prince’ “ there’s a teasing flint in your eye, and the nickname alone is enough to make him flush red

- “And what’s your assessment?” he manages to ask, a smile stretching across his face

- “Very underwhelming, I came expecting several hexes and a duel, and all I got was a cute boy with pretty eyes”

- This time he really does flush bright red, eyes trained on his shoes

- You laugh, you were mostly teasing

- But he is quite cute isn’t he?

- What’s everyone so scared of anyway? He’s like a shy kitten

- He watches you walk to a particular portrait, whispering a word before it swings open

- “Well see ya around Mr. Dark Prince” you say, sending a teasing wink his way

- Regulus is glowing red, even when he’s tucked in bed, in his common room hours after the meeting. the mere memory of the words you said send his heart racing again

- “They said I’m cute” he’ll recall with a goofy smile spreading across his face

- After that, things are brighter for Regulus

- You pull him into your group of friends, quite literally

- “I-I don’t think this is a good idea” he manages, catching the terrified glances of passerby’s as you tug him forward by his arm

- What a sight you must be, the literal personification of spring pulling the Dark Prince himself by the arm through the castle

- The aforementioned Dark Prince having a rosy tinge on his cheeks, which most of the other students misplace for Fury instead of what it actually is:

- Embarrassment with a healthy dash of attraction to aforementioned personification of spring

- “Nonsense, everyone’s dying to meet you Reg”

- When you use his nickname his flush darkens

- No ones ever called him that-

- No one except Sirius and Andromeda

- He likes the way it sounds coming from you

- And you’re right, your friends accept him into their fold immediately

- “You know any curses?” One of your friends asks, it’s in a jovial manner that anyone could tell they’re just teasing but Regulus flinches

- “No, not really” he admits, not any he’s good at anyway

- He did see his parents do something akin to a sacrifice when he was younger with an alter in the full moon, but he really wouldn’t know where to start with that

- “What about gobstones, you know the rules to that?”

- Regulus nods

- “Well lets play then!”

- Before he knows it, it’s like this was always his life

- Laughing with you in class, games of gobstones with your friends and trips to Hogsmeade on the weekend

- Regulus didn’t know that he was yearning for this

- How often had he wished for something like this,

- A place that feels like it’s full of sunshine, where everyone feels accepted, and no one has to feel sad

- This is the happiest Regulus has ever been

- But all dreams must come to an end

- The end of the semester comes around, and he has to go home for Christmas vacation

- You’re standing side by side on the train platform waiting for the train, your trunk lying next to you

- “You’re not taking anything back with you?” You ask

- Regulus shrugs

- “There’s no point, everything I need is at the manse”

- You’ve always been a bit curious about what the Black manor is like

- Probably something grand, large library’s, they probably have one of those record players with the gold horn thing

- And a ballroom

- It probably makes Hogwarts look like a pile of dirt

- But the way Regulus’ face darkens when you ask him about it tells you that- yes they probably do have a ballroom, but there’s other things too, things that are far less pleasant

- And when he starts talking about his home life, how it’s worse - lonelier- Now that Sirius is at the Potter’s all the time, and there’s no one around to stand between him and his parents

- He notices your heartbroken expression and rushes to comfort you

- “It’s not so bad, Mum’s got her tender moments every so often and-“

- “Regulus” you cut in, and the sound of his whole name leaving your mouth makes him stutter to a stop

- “You’re supposed to feel safe and loved all the time not just sometimes”

- It’s such a basic thing, but when Regulus hears this, he feels like he’s being allowed something

- He feels, for the first time, he’s allowed to be safe and happy

- He’s allowed to be good

- “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas? It’s probably not as grand as you’re used to-“

- You fidget awkwardly, maybe it’s silly, the prince, Regulus Black, himself sitting on your worn sofa, holding yarn while one of your family member’s knits

- You can picture it though

- You can picture a big smile across his face, indulging the younger children in your extended family in their requests for piggyback rides and for him to participate in their games

- “I want to,” he says, really the fact that you’re offering is enough, more than he could ask for

- “But I can’t”

- And it’s the truth, after Sirius, he can’t make any mistakes, his family won’t stand for it

- He especially doesn’t want to think what would happen to you if they found out he had been spending all of his time with you, a muggle born

- He doesn’t want to think what curses they might inflict you with

- He doesn’t want you to ever be hurt because of him

- “You’ll write to me?” You say it with the fervor of a demand, and it makes a smile curl onto his mouth

- “Everyday” he promises

- And things are exactly as they always were at 12 Grimmauld Place, his mother is distant, only livening up when one of the other ladies shows up for tea

- His father is squirreled away in council meetings

- His cousins are no fun, not really, and Andromeda’s not around anymore since she ran off with Ted

- He likes Ted, though he would never admit it to his family

- Ted is a lot like you, someone with an infinite amount of kindness

- He wonders how they’re doing

- He wonders how Sirius is doing

- He’s probably happy, he always looked happy when he was with his friends

- And so- with a picture of you discreetly kept on his desk, he writes three sets of letters

- The first is for you, to assure you he’s fine, and live vicariously through your spring, through your lovely Christmas moments and imagine himself there too.

- The second for Andromeda, to ask if she’s doing alright, and to tell her he misses her

- And the last, is for Sirius

- Asking how he is, and hoping he’s well.

- And to say that he understands what Sirius was saying all those years, in their childhood and then into adolescence, Regulus understands now-

- And he wants to be good too

#harry potter #regulus black imagine #regulus x y/n #regulus black headcanon #regulus black x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #marauder headcanons #marauder imagine

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