#not a christmas fic i swear

[steddielations]

Of course Steve’s birthday is on Christmas.

It’s like the universe aligned perfectly for his parents to ignore his existence. Sure, he got enough presents to cover both when he was younger, when his parents wanted a perfect family holiday card to send out, but it was never about Steve.

When he got older, it was so easy for them to wrap it all up in one, mail him a check from whatever city, until the cards stopped saying happy birthday at all. Steve started wrapping it all up in one too. If his parents were going to leave him alone on Christmas and forget his birthday, it’s better at the same time, one less day of the year to be disappointed.

He hates December. He hates winter. He hates being surrounded by all those pretty lights taunting him for being alone in the dark.

He sort of forgets he has a birthday, until the last couple of years with Robin and the kids. He always tells them his Christmas present can double as his birthday present. Robin never goes for that though, she only gets him a birthday present.

Now comes Eddie. He doesn’t know about the wrap it up in one deal. He doesn’t know that Steve gets all broody around the subject. He’s just sitting next to Steve on the couch, going on about the fishing trip he’s taking Wayne on for his upcoming birthday.

It sounds nice. It’s only one weekend. Steve shouldn’t feel a pit in his stomach that already misses Eddie. They’re just friends, they can’t spend every weekend together, as much as Steve likes tagging along with whatever Eddie’s doing, he has to give him space.

“Yeah so it’s nothing compared to a big Harrington bash,” Eddie teases, passing Steve the joint, “Say, am I cool enough now to be invited to your birthday rager this year? When is it anyway?”

And that’s a simple question, but Steve doesn’t know what it is about Eddie that just draws the truth out of him, that makes him give the not simple answer. He blows out smoke and all the years of forgotten birthdays wrapped in one check and a Christmas card with it.

It’s too much, he’s too much and he starts to apologize, but Eddie cuts him off with a certain intensity he gets sometimes.

“Well, starting right now, fuck that. When do you want your birthday to be?”

Steve chuckles, tries to brush it off, “What? Eddie, c’mon. It’s not a big deal, dude.”

“No, seriously. When do you want your birthday to be, Steve?”

It’s so stupid. It’s so silly sitting in Eddie Munson’s living room trying to decide which day he’d prefer for his birthday, when he’s barely holding back saying how he sort of wishes he didn’t have one at all. He thinks Eddie knows anyway, without him having to say it, so he makes it easier. Eddie always makes it easier.

It takes a couple of tries, a couple cups full of torn pieces of paper with scribbled numbers randomly chosen, but Steve Harrington gets a new birthday that night.

“Yeah, you look like more of a summer baby anyway,” Eddie says and Steve wishes he wouldn’t, it’s so hard not to love him when he does.

Steve gets to tag along on Wayne’s birthday fishing trip, or rather, he was invited, as Eddie keeps correcting.

It’s nice, it’s May, it’s quiet by the river and it gets just cool enough at night to build a campfire. Eddie pulls out his guitar, a pretty acoustic one, and he playfully strums out the chords to happy birthday for Wayne. Steve watches across the fire, he feels warm down to his bones, melting away all those cold lonely Decembers frozen inside them.

Wayne spends his birthday teaching Steve to fish. He catches the biggest one, and he hopes the Polaroid that Eddie snaps doesn’t pick up the tears in his eyes.

Eddie sidles up next to him, pretending not to notice Steve wiping his eyes. He rubs his back, whispers congratulations, “Look at you, summer baby.”

He feels the sun rising in his cheeks, bright and burning. It’s impossible not to love Eddie, not when this is the best birthday Steve’s ever had and it’s not even his own.

Steve forgets all about the new date he chose to come into the world, and as the weeks pass in a warm haze, he stops trying not to love Eddie.

It’s too late to catch himself. He’s already falling as they lie on the trailer roof, talking about everything and nothing while sunset colors melt over them, as he rides along while Eddie deals and calls Steve his summer baby in the passenger seat.

Steve’s so in love with Eddie that it burns, makes him golden inside, even the places in him that have never known anything bright.

He doesn’t want to lose that, so he tells himself he can settle for just this.

And it’s true for a while, until that date comes along, the one he forgot about, but Eddie didn’t.

Robin has a spare key to his house, she helped Eddie plan all this, that’s the only explanation for what Steve sees in his backyard when he gets off work on a Friday in July.

All the kids are there, Dustin Henderson is in the pool that Steve hasn’t used since ‘83, with El Hopper on his shoulders, Mike Wheeler is doing the same holding up Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield are wrestling inside a bounce house, Nancy Wheeler is manning the grill Steve’s dad bought for show, Robin Buckley is grinning ear to ear with a bright glass of lemonade, and Eddie Munson’s at the center of it all.

Everyone that Steve loves is there yelling, “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

He can’t describe the feeling that bursts through him.

The July sun isn't in the sky anymore, it’s rising inside Steve’s chest. It’s too big and too bright. This body of his that grew up alone in the dead of winter wasn’t made to feel such warmth, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

He’s hurrying back inside the house before he knows it. He feels bad, rushing out like that, away from his party, but he just needs a second. He has to lean against the kitchen counter, run his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to stop all these feelings from melting out of him.

He hears someone come in behind him, assumes it’s Robin, but he feels a hand on his back, hears a low, reassuring voice next to him that belongs to Eddie.

“Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve asked if you were okay with this. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

Steve blinks hard, brushing away the tears, “No it’s— It's fine, Eds, really.”

Eddie doesn’t look convinced, brown eyes deep with concern, he holds Steve’s elbows, “Okay well, Robin said you weren’t really a fan of your pool but that’s okay, if that’s what you’re worried about. No one expects you to get in, Stevie.”

He’s perfect. He’s everything Steve wants and needs. The light that’s been missing inside him, Eddie struck a match to it. Steve never knew his heart was so flammable and he doesn’t know how Eddie can’t see that he’s burning for him.

“No, thats— that’s not it, Eddie.”

“Is it the kiddy theme? Listen, I had trouble picking it, so I just thought maybe since it was mostly gonna be kids here and you never had a kids' birthday party then, y’know, summer, pool, bounce house, games— okay it sounds dumb now, I’ll just get everyone to leave—”

Steve reaches out when Eddie starts to pull back, hands catching his shoulders and the ends of his hair, “No, no, please don’t. This is— it’s perfect, Eddie. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“Because I—” Steve can’t hold it in anymore, it’s too hot, summer beneath his skin, he has to let it out, “Because I want to kiss you so bad right now and I can’t.”

He expects Eddie to pull back, or worse, let him down gently, like the quick press of fingertips to the flame of a candle, snuff the feeling out just like that.

Instead, Steve’s breath catches when Eddie’s hands cup his face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears Steve missed.

“Who says you can’t?” Eddie asks and part of Steve wishes he wouldn’t, because it’s so easy to love Eddie with every piece of him when he does, and Steve’s going to fall apart trying to stop.

“I shouldn’t have said that, sorry. I just don’t want to lose you as a friend, you don’t have to feel the same, but that’s what it is,” Steve lets it out, let’s it catch fire between them and just hopes it doesn’t turn them to ashes, “I want to kiss you for doing this for me, for being you. I want to kiss you all the fucking time and especially right now, Eddie, but I can’t.”

He waits for it, to be left out in the cold, for frost to cover his bones again, but Eddie’s hands stay warm on his face.

A smile lights on Eddie’s lips, the kind that Steve can feel radiating between them. He doesn’t know why Eddie’s smiling when he should be leaving, but Steve wants to keep that feeling forever.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Stevie? You can do whatever you want when it’s your birthday.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to Steve’s lips and back up again, setting off a surprised flare in his chest.

“Whatever I want?” Steve repeats in disbelief, searching Eddie’s eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

“You want that too?”

“I want you, too,” Eddie grins like it’s the easiest thing in the world to want Steve, then leans in.

Their mouths connect and it’s like something fiercely cosmic, a solar flare at the touch of their lips.

Eddie’s been sipping lemonade, Steve can taste it on his tongue. Citrusy and warm, Eddie tastes like pure fucking sunshine, all golden in Steve’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie feels like he’s at the center of the universe. He makes Steve feel like the sun, like the brightest thing in the goddamn sky is Steve Harrington.

No pretty light could compare.

Steve chases the heat of Eddie’s mouth, letting it light a fire inside him. His hands have a mind of their own, making Eddie’s messy hair even messier, then falling to his waist to pull him close and hold him while he just kisses and kisses and kisses Eddie.

They have to break for air, foreheads resting together, Steve misses Eddie’s lips already.

Their panting breaths fuse, gazes locked for a few delirious moments, half-lidded and close.

Eddie breaks the silence, laughing breathlessly, giving Steve’s lips one final peck before pulling back, brushing Steve’s hair out of his eyes for him.

“You good?”

Steve laughs then too, a rush of breath, relieved and light, “Never been better.”

Eddie smiles, taking Steve’s hands in the warmth of his, “C’mon then, summer baby. Don’t wanna miss your birthday party.”

They go back outside and Eddie stays close by Steve with a pretty flush high on his cheeks. Steve’s face feels sun-kissed too, and judging by the look he gets from Robin, it shows.

It should be stupid, having a birthday party with a bounce house and a bunch of screaming kids. Maybe it is a little, but it’s still the best birthday Steve’s ever had, and it’s actually his own this time.

He spends the better part of it trying not to cry, especially when he opens the few presents they got him. He’s not used to everything being about him, but Eddie’s arm stays around him, giving him encouraging squeezes, bursts of warmth that keep him going.

Steve’s not forgotten in the shadow of something bigger, wrapped up in one so it’s easier to forget he exists. No, it’s like nothing’s more important than him that day. He doesn’t need it, and it’s hard to let himself have it, but it’s nice to get a day that’s his.

When Christmas comes later that year, Robin still gets Steve a birthday present, there’s no arguing with her. Then Eddie tries to pull the same thing, and Steve’s not having it.

They’re both in their flannels on the couch, Eddie throwing his legs over Steve’s lap and trying to push the extra gift into Steve’s hands.

“C’mon, Stevie, I swear it’s not a birthday present. It's just because.”

“Uh huh, sure. Just because what?”

Eddie shrugs, rests his arm around Steve’s shoulders and presses the words against his cheek, “Just ’cause I love you,” he says like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love Steve.

Steve thinks he knows what to call that feeling now. The one that makes December easier because he’s got his own summer sun pumping warmth through his veins now.

It's love.

Eddie loves him.

Not just on his birthday, or on Christmas, or only on occasion, but everyday. Eddie loves him everyday.

ao3 link

[ellionwrites]

Don't you think it's funny cause actual canon gay characters in BL manga will say "I love you" but only the shounen bromance can spew out some of the most romantic shit akin to a 19th century poet writing a letter expressing his surpressed love for his lover 😭.....

I stg I was planning on posting about this, but since you dropped me an ask:

Being a fanfic writer is SO DIFFICULT when your “non-canon” ship already says the most romantic shit to each other.

[sunshinediaz]

wip wedneday 🫧

for the last two months the only stuff (besides piss kink) i've worked on has been christmas fics and i can't wait till i'm done with them so i can go back to my other wips because i miss them so bad 😪

have a lil snip from another bad things happen fic, where buck's hurt and eddie's to blame (not really)

Eddie drops to his knees and crawls toward the edge of the cliff. He finds Buck immediately, sprawled out on a fat slab of rock a dozen or so feet above the hikers, who are standing on their tiptoes trying to reach Buck. Ravi shouts for them to stay where they are, to not put anymore strain on the half-rotted log they’re balanced on, and they listen to him, cowering and feeble.  There’s no blood, thank God—thank fucking something, at least, that’s greater than Eddie because if it was him in charge nothing bad would ever happen to Buck again—and he’s breathing, too, clear and deep and full, but he isn’t moving.  “Buck! Can you hear me?” He’s so loud his voice cracks halfway through. “Buck! Answer me!”  Buck rouses around and lolls his head to the side. He reaches for his walkie with a slow, shaking hand, and fumbles with the call button a few long moments before whispering, softly, “Eddie,” and then he laughs like it’s funny, like him getting fucked up again is something hilarious, and Eddie wants to shake him till he gets it through his brain that he is not the only one that has to hurt.  He wiggles his fingers in a tiny wave. His hand drops down against his tummy and doesn’t move again and Eddie’s heart shoves up in his throat, choking him so badly his eyes burn with tears.   Eddie throws his leg over the edge, ready to climb all the way down to Buck so he isn’t alone, but a hand grabs his shoulder and jerks him back. He figures it’s Ravi since he’s the closest, but when he looks he sees it’s Bobby—and he can’t fight Bobby, he won’t fight Bobby as Bobby pulls him away from the cliff and toward the engine, except he has to be here, he has to go down there so Buck’s not alone, he can’t be alone, not anymore, not ever again, but Bobby doesn’t listen even when he starts screaming. 

tagged by @jeeyuns, @hippolotamus, @thewolvesof1998, @exhuastedpigeon, @callmenewbie, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @loserdiaz, @jamespearce9-1-1, @try-set-me-on-fire, @daffi-990, and @wikiangela mwah mwah

tagging @devirnis and @spagheddiediaz if you wanna share ✨

[ninadove]

It’s fucking brutal out here folks

[neverwasreddie]

“Incoming, Spaghetti-o.”

Eddie’s barely though the door, his hands still tugging at the scarf looped around his neck, before Richie is chucking the crudely wrapped box at his chest. His hands are shaking so badly it’s a wonder his aim is as on-target as it is.

Eddie, on the other hand, whose hands are still gloved up, is not as dexterous. “Rich!” he yelps, fumbling with the package. “Warn a guy, c’mon!” 

Richie mourns all the vines he knows are sitting unopened in Eddie’s inbox, because it’s the perfect moment for an I could’ve dropped my croissant! reference, but he lets it slide for now, snatching the gift away from Eddie so he can properly disrobe. 

Or at least take off his winter gear. Richie doubts he’ll ever get a chance to see Eddie fully disrobe in front of him, but hey, a guy can dream. 

“Sorry,” he says lightly, shoving the box into Eddie’s hands as soon as he’s carefully placed his coat, hat, mittens, and scarf into their (their!) coat closet. “Take two.” 

“We said no presents this year, you dingus, I would’ve gotten you something nice --”

“Don’t complain until you opened it, man, it’s a handmade Tozier original.”

“So patented, name-brand trash?” Eddie lifts an eyebrows skeptically as he peels off the dollar-store wrapping paper and lifts the lid of the cardboard box cautiously. “Whatever kind of stupid prank is gonna pop out of here, Richie, so help me God if it’s a clown --”

“I’m not that much of an asshole!” Richie cackles, a little manic-sounding to his own ears. 

“Is this --” Eddie grimaces as he lifts the tissue paper out of the box. “Jesus, Rich, when you said Ben was teaching you woodworking I thought you were just being a fucking creep --”

“Oh, I was, don’t worry,” Richie agrees loudly, shoving his hands into his pockets so Eddie can’t see how bad they’re still shaking. “The woodshop lessons were just an added bonus.”

“If I get a splinter from this --”

“This is the thanks I get for a hand-made present? For dismantling the Kissing Bridge and risking a vandalism charge to get the finest lumber Derry could offer --”

“This is wood from the Kissing Bridge?” Eddie mimes a gag over his arm. “Christ, Richie, am I gonna get -- fucking ringworm from this, or something? Jesus, if you wanted to commit a crime to get some cheap wood you could’ve just chopped down a tree from the Paul Bunyon courtyard or --”

“EDDIE.” Richie grimaces, slicing a hand through the air in a very Eddie-like gesture. “Could you just look at the gift, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie drops his gaze down to the box in his hands, immediately snapping his head up to look at Richie again. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“You made this?” Eddie carefully, as if it’s precious, lifts the hand-carved wooden picture frame out of the box. 

Richie knows it’s a little shoddy. He’s not great at working with his hands, which is why he went into fucking comedy as a career, and the detailing in the pattern around the frame is uneven and potentially looks like a child’s art project. 

But the picture in the center, of 11-year-old, pre-clown Eddie and Richie, arms around each other and ice cream cones clutched in their fists, is a priceless original, carefully mailed from Maggie Tozier in a padded envelope to ensure its safe arrival to Richie in time for Christmas. 

“Rich...”

Richie shuffles his feet, suddenly burning under Eddie’s attention and unsure of what to do with all that light and warmth. “Merry Christmas, Eds.” 

Eddie takes a step forward and throws his arms around Richie, the cardboard box and tissue paper falling forgotten to the ground while Richie feels the press of the picture frame against his back, clutched tight in Eddie’s grip like he never wants to let it go. 

If he doesn’t turn it over right away, if it takes a while for him to notice the carved but faded letters on the back of the frame (R + E), well...Richie’s been waiting over 30 years for Eddie. He can wait a little bit more. 

[keysmashingfantasies]

loves you and fucks you like they hate you: karube, hatter, kyuma, ann, aguni

hates you and fucks you like they love you: chishiya

loves you and fucks you like they love you: arisu, usagi, kuina, tatta, chota

hates you and fucks you like they hate you: niragi, last boss

[scary-lasagna]

The Christmas Express of the Underrealm, Pt I.

The sun has long since set over the rooftop of the manor, and clocks throughout the resident's rooms eagerly ticked down to midnight, for when Santa would arrive and chuck presents lovingly under the giant tree set in the middle of the foyer.

Slender made sure to simmer the fireplace early, so it would be cool enough to travel down, yet still strategically hold a bit of toasty warmth in contrast to the bitter cold and snow Santa would be facing throughout the night. The tall man ushered everyone off to bed early, clearing out the most populated rooms, and even wagging a finger at Jane for attempting to hide in her designated reading nook with [Y/N].

It's been long since Splendor tucked Sally into bed, and answered most of the Santa-related questions he could. Most of which he pinned on asking Slender tomorrow morning when she opened presents.

The pink walls and frills of her room only stared back at her as she kept her eyes overly wide to struggle to stay awake. The princess canopy made this more difficult, willingly placed there to create a mock sense of snoozy comfort made for a princess. Butterflies and other whimsical insects littered the bare spots of the wall around posters and self-painted portraits of herself and those she claims as her family. Vintage and modern toys alike neatly lined her rather large windowsill, along with paintbrushes used for her lovely portraits, getting the best view of when Santa comes along with his reindeer.

The 8-year-old crossed her fingers together and rested her intertwined hands on her stomach as she patiently waited… She looked over at the window, her toys still keeping an eye out for her as she pretended to sleep.

And waited.

She hummed an old tune to herself, attempting to smartly keep her mind busy enough to stay awake.

…And waited.

Sally lay in her bed, being very careful to not rustle any sheets, while breathing slowly and quietly. After all, how else could she listen for the ringing bells of Santa's sleigh? It might only be a quarter after 10, long past her bedtime, especially on Christmas Eve, but if The Great Claus were to travel across the realm, his sleigh would have to be the size of an ocean liner, and a total of three days to do it. Things just weren't adding up this year. So Sally decided she'd stay up to face the truth, and wondered quite a lot why she was still hearing footsteps outside of her room.

Why were people up if it's almost midnight? They're supposed to be in bed! Everyone knows that, it's literally in the song. Someone grumbled something about a cabin. It sounded like [Y/N]. The footsteps faded down the stairs.

He knows when you're sleeping and when you're awake, so it's only implied that you have to be sleeping by the time he gets here, or you'll be placed on the naughty list last minute!

What silly rules those are. Maybe Sally wanted a glass of water at midnight, would Santa deprive a dehydrated child of water just to put presents under the tree?

Her thoughts ceased to a screeching halt as her door popped open, a pencil-thin light peering into her safe space.

Holy SHIT is that Santa?

Sally shot up like a rocket, quickly peering through the door crack. It widened, revealing a shape that was nowhere near the size of a big jolly fat man and eight reindeer. Well, nine, if you include the weird outcast with a red nose.

In fact, it was a much, much smaller frame. Probably the shortest adult she's ever encountered.

"Ben, what do you want from me? I'm trying to sleep here." Sally huffed and plopped her head back into her pillow in aggravation. There's nothing that could be more important than the arrival of Santa.

Nothing.

"I just had a feeling you were still up, is all." Ben leaned on the doorframe for a second, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, why not? You already ruined it." Sally gripped her covers and turned over with a haste that was too overly dramatic to imply anything short of spoiled annoyance.

"Ruined what?" Ben took the invitation with ease, and sat on her bedside. "It's not even midnight yet." He glanced at the ticking clock on her bedside to make sure, and sure enough it was still counting down to 10:30.

"Well, you and everyone else are up, which means Santa isn't going to come!" Sally threatened the verge of tears now, with so much frustration in a tiny body like hers, the only way of release is through waterworks.

"Ooohh, so you don't know?"

Sally roughly turned her head toward Ben, yet her body lay still. "What?" She pouted.

"All of those myths are outdated. Santa's really with the times now," Ben shrugged smugly, "and it doesn't matter whether there are people awake or not, he knows how to find a way to sneak past them and place presents under the tree. They're invisible until morning, so even if a kid sneaks down to peek, they won't be there!"

Sally supposed that made sense. But she didn't admit it. After all, why would Splendor lie about having to stay in bed until morning?

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't be sleeping though." He gave her a pat on the shoulder, and attempted to leave, but Sally had one last thing to say.

"I'm not sleeping tonight. I'm listening for the bells on Santa's sleigh."

Ben smiled, and nodded knowingly at the door frame. "Wake me up when he gets here, then."

The door clicked shut, and Sally sank into her mattress with great comfort. She blamed her sleepiness on the canopy, and weakly shook a fist toward it with a sleepy groan.

Her eyelids held too much weight to keep prying open, and slipped, and fell into a cozy and warm darkness of slumber.

[sciderman]

so spotify wrapped came in and candyman is my most listened to song of the year and it's solely because of the spideycablepool fic (i listened to it en loope while writing it)

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie is a roadside magician and Steve is his eye candy assistant that rakes in all the tips.

Sometimes while they’re traveling, Eddie will pull a sunflower (Steve’s favorite) out of his sleeve. It undeniably makes Steve feel special - he always wants to say thank you, it’s beautiful. But it simply comes out as:

‘You don’t have to do this. You’re not performing right now.’

And Eddie fights the urge to say, you’re the only audience I’ve ever needed. Instead, he’ll reply:

‘I just need the extra practice. Don’t want to lose the magic.’

Other times, Eddie will ask Steve to pick a card out of a pile. Steve catches on rather quickly that he always seems to pick the Jack of Hearts. After the fifth time this occurs, Steve asks:

‘Why do I always get this card?’

And Eddie fights the urge to say, because it represents my heart and I want you to keep it. Instead, he’ll reply:

‘Just a coincidence, I guess.’

December is their busiest time for performing and they land a gig with a local circus on Christmas Eve. After the last performance of the night, Steve packs up their props while the crowd filters out of the big top tent. The place is empty, the spotlights are cut off, and it’s just Eddie standing center stage.

‘Everything’s packed up, we can hit the road,’ Steve calls out from the stage wing.

But Eddie motions his head for Steve to join him on stage. ‘Not yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.’

‘Let me guess… sunflowers?’ Steve approaches him, rolling his eyes at Eddie’s usual antics.

‘Better than sunflowers.’ Eddie playfully grins and works his sleight of hand.

And it is better than sunflowers.

It is so much better than sunflowers.

Because Eddie pulls out mistletoe.

He opens his mouth, ready to explain the customary rules of mistletoe - but he doesn’t even have the chance. Steve’s lips are already on his.

The kiss is just like the snowflakes that gently descend around the tent. Powdery soft. Pure-white devotion. Simple but rare. Not long-lasting, but nevertheless memorable.

It’s a kiss that communicates unspoken affections. There’s no words that either of them have to fight off anymore. They can say whatever they want.

And just for now, right in this moment, they only need to say one thing.

‘Merry Christmas, Eddie.’

‘Merry Christmas, Steve.’

[natsuki208]

Hello, friends. I’m planning on doing a Black Butler Christmas fic that takes place in my Dadbastian AU. The only problem is that I can’t think of a perfect title, do any of you have some ideas? 🥹

[27-royal-teas]

you ever think about... peterick cuddles? bc thinking abt that makes me happy

I do ….. im thinking about them now…… thank u for this visual imagery …. <33

[get0sfav]

be honest do you guys like my writing...

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Advent Ficlets 2022, Day 20

Home

In Afghanistan, John had a recurring dream about being home. Though he knew, in that way of dreams, that he was home, it was no place he had ever been in the past, and not one he recognised. It was cool in the daytime and just warm enough at night. He understood all the words. There was food when and where he wanted it, just what he wanted—a full English, cheese toasties, digestive biscuits, lamb vindaloo with jasmine rice—always enough, never eaten in a hurry or standing on his feet. The bed was soft, the shower was warm, and his hand didn’t shake.

In some daft moment, he decided it must be real place and he would find it if he ever made it back to the world. In suicidal ones, he feared he never would. He fell asleep longing for the dream to come, because it was the first and only time in his life he had the sensation and sense of home. People would rhapsodise about the idea of home—in folk songs and television adverts—and John reckoned it was a shared delusion the rest of the world must have decided to indulge, because he’d never felt it, had lived a lot of places but never felt connected to any. Never felt completely accepted, perfectly safe, totally at home.

Glancing across the room at Sherlock’s elegant profile, unguarded and studious, John was nearly overcome with a bizarre urge to hold him hard and drag him somewhere, burrow down with him, the two of them together alone, sharing air, underground. The feeling took him by surprise, and he laughed a little, aloud, at the wildness of his emotion. Sherlock turned toward him, smiling, eyebrows bent into question marks, and John knew he was home.

[braingobrrr]

struggling not to make my halloweeny fic christmasy. send help

[thedeathwitchescats]

"Neil didnt like saying Andrew was wrong about many things. But letting Andrew believe the lies his head spun for him, letting Andrew believe that Neil was fake and that he didnt deserve happiness- That was worth it. Telling Andrew just how wrong he was about Neil loving him was worth it."

[ahalliance]

stanford university had a gender clinic/transgender research and health program from the 70s onwards . stanford is in california . hills valley is in california . doc brown has ties to caltech and no doubt other californian universities . marty mcfly is a trans . do you see my vision here