#not quite a ficlet

[miasmaghoul]

every time im able to see swiss’ stubble through the paint i turn 10% more into liquid

dont think about dew cornering him after a show. shoving their helmets off, nuzzling swiss's jaw and ending up with black smeared all over his cheeks. tasting grease paint and sweat and the sweet undertone of swiss's vape when he shoves his tongue in his mouth. holding swiss by the face while he shoves him against a wall, scratching at his stubble with blunt nails, trying to swallow him whole. a consuming fire of desire, of bone-deep desperation.

dew grinding their hips together, swiss gripping dew's little waist and letting him steal the air from his lungs. dizzy and sweaty and hard as a rock while dew drags a hot tongue over his cheek, loving the wet rasp against his stubble. neither of them last long when things get like this, but swiss doesnt mind. especially not when dew buries his face in his throat and starts chanting his name. when his little hips start going jerky and his breath comes in harsh gasps.

swiss always grabs a handful of his hair right when dew's sounds go high and reedy, yanks him back. demands eye contact, so eager to see those patchy black smears coating his flushed face. when dew spills in his pants his eyes roll back, and swiss has the perfect view of the paint coating his fangs too. he drags the little ghoul back in for an invasive kiss and holds him tight, working out his own orgasm against dew's belly.

they come back down together, and when he can see again dew wipes his face on swiss's jacket. smears the mess even more. it drags a lazy smile to swiss's lips, makes him chuckle.

"Looks good on you," he lilts, tucking a strand of hair behind dew's ear. rubbing his thumb along a sharp cheekbone, down to dew's plush lower lip. "Pretty boy."

dew snorts, licking after swiss's thumb.

"You can make me prettier later," he murmurs, rising to his tiptoes to nip at swiss's jaw. "I stole that red you like from Lus's bag."

in his pants, swiss throbs.

[howtobecomeadragon]

Will pays enough attention to Mike that he realizes that the reason Mike is squinting all the time isn't because he's making rude faces at everyone but because he actually has bad vision.

Will points it out to Mike, who hadn't even realized he was squinting to see things. Will gives Mike a couple tests, writing large letters in his sketchpad and holding them up several feet away. Mike guesses at what the letters are and then Will tells Mike that his vision is shit and that he needs to go to the eye doctor.

Mike goes the eye doctor and can't stand the idea of putting in contacts, so he gets glasses.

Mike feels really self conscious about the glasses when he meets up with the Party next time though, and with good reason. Dustin teases him a little, El points out that he looks different. Mike starts to get pissy and Max rolls her eyes at him (which he can see quite clearly now, thank you very much). Mike is considering just walking around squinting all the time without his glasses until Will walks up to him, clears his throat, and says "They look really nice, Mike. They suit you. You look good." Will is blushing and then Mike is blushing.

Mike wears the glasses happily after that. He feels like his disgusted grimaces aren't quite as effective without the squinting though, so he compensates by just swearing more. And he is pleased with being able to gaze at Will from across the room a bit easier now.

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[starry-bi-sky]

Danielle and Danyal's meeting... very, very quickly goes very sour from, basically, the moment Danny steps into his room and finds Ellie sitting on his bed (strike one) and reading the comic books Tucker introduced him to (strike two). By the time she's looked up to address him, Danny has the door locked, and a hand hovering near the knife hidden under his shirt.

She gets her third strike when Danny, in a voice that could make the mountains tremble, demands to know how she got into his room, and she lies (with uncertainty of her decision growing in her chest) that Jazz let her in. Danny's hand shifts closer to his weapon, and he turns towards her fully, and says that Jazz would never let someone he didn’t know into his room, and who was she.

(Vlad Masters had underprepared Danielle for her meeting with Danny -- not out of any completely direct malicious intent, but he failed to mention just how... 'touchy' Daniel could be -- he failed to mention the scars littering up his arms, unhidden by the hoodie tee he meets Ellie in. He failed to mention that along with those scars, that Danny was visibly lean, capable of doing very real damage without the use of his powers.)

(He tells Ellie that he’s adopted, and that he is observant and clever, but ungrateful and has a bad attitude.)

Her final strike occurs when Ellie, trying to keep her facade of cheeriness, tells him that she’s his third cousin once removed. Immediately, Danny has his dagger pulled out, and Ellie finds herself with the cold metal of a blade pressing against her throat.

Danyal 'A.G' Fenton hasn’t killed since he arrived in Amity Park. At first it was because mother told him to keep a low profile, and killing would do the opposite of that. But, he's been slowly learning from his sister and friends over the years the value of human life. So it's become a combination of keeping his head down, and also that life has value to it.

But. That doesn’t mean he can’t kill, nor is he opposed to doing it if the situation calls for it. It just means that he doesn't do it. And ‘Danielle’ is an unknown in his room, claiming to be family to him, and appearing uncannily similar to him and his family. Either someone hired her and she was trying to pass herself off as a relative to him because that someone realized Danny was the biggest threat, or, his false death has been compromised, his mother was unable to tell him, and the league was aware he was alive.

No matter how he looks at it, this Danielle was a threat to him, his sister, his friends, to Damian, and to the Drs. Fenton. Danyal Fenton doesn't kill, but he has no problems doing so.

(Ellie, pinned under Danny’s knee and the blade to her neck, is too terrified to think of phasing out of his hold. Not that it would help, he would just chase after her.)

“You have broken into my home, dared to lie to my face, and when I demanded to know the truth, you dared lie to me again." Danny's scowl could cower even Skulker, his glacier blue eyes burning. "Your continual breath has been a favor from me, that I have graciously allowed, from the moment you entered my room, dahkil."

"So I will ask one more time," he hisses, "who. are. you."

Danielle, only a few months old, unprepared for the ice storm that is "Daniel" Fenton, and his clone in only flesh and blood, and not memories, immediately breaks. And tells him that she was his clone, that Vlad sent her to come capture him, and to please not kill her.

Danny's face twists with anger, Ellie thinks he's going to kill her anyways. Instead, he withdraws his knife and gets off her, stringing out curses in Arabic as he sheathes his weapon back into its hiding place faster than Ellie can blink.

He switches to English as she is collecting her bearings (and contemplating fleeing), and Danny paces the room like a tiger in a cage. "--of course that wretched, arrogant, peacocking little ingrate would do something so infuriating. I should have driven my sword into the shrivel of his heart when I had the chance--"

Ellie, for a moment, thinks of leaving while he is distracted. And starts to slowly creep away. But Danny notices instantly, and whirls on her. His too-bright eyes bore into her head: "Where do you think you're going."

"...I'm leaving."

And Danny scoffs at her, "Why? So you can fly back to Masters and tell him that you failed to capture me, and that I know that he cloned me?" He says, and Ellie remains silent -- that's exactly what she was going to do. "He will destroy you within seconds."

Of course, Ellie rears back in offense, and she finds the footing to glare at him. "He would not! He's my dad, he loves me!"

Danny gets in her face, glowering back with an equal intensity. "He does not." He snaps, "Vlad Masters has not a soul in his body nor a heart in his chest. He would sooner cut off the hand that helps him stand, than to take it along with him."

"If you're really made of my blood, then I will teach you only this: we bow not our heads nor our hearts to anyone." Danny's too-blue eyes narrow, and his voice dips into a hiss, "Especially not to a conniving snake like Masters. Your heart: cut it off, or cut it out. He will sooner leave you to bleed."

Then, he unlocks the door and drags her out before she has much time to act. And as he drags her down the hall he shoots Sam and Tucker a text, and they meet up at Nasty Burger. Ellie is a spitfire, but Danny has her too intimidated to leave.

"This is Danielle," he tells them bluntly as he corners her into the booth, "she's my clone. Masters created her."

Ellie is with them for a week, and somehow throughout that time, Danny manages to actually get her to like him throughout that time. He's callous, blunt, and full of sharp edges that you can cut yourself on. But when he's not spitting venom, he's fretting.

When he drags her back to the house after being with Sam and Tucker, he pulls her to Jazz's room and opens the door to tell her the same thing. "This is Danielle." He says upon abruptly opening the door, interrupting Jazz's studying as he pulls Ellie inside. "She is my clone, Masters created her. She needs clothes."

Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Ellie, in that moment, thinks that now's her chance to flee. But Jazz then squeals, and she is trapped in new arms, shaken around by Jazz Fenton, excited for a sister.

(Ellie finds herself complaining to Jazz that night, shoved into old pajamas. She's in utter disbelief that Jazz could care about a jerk like Danny.)

("He's rough around the edges, but Danny does care." Jazz tells her, combing through her hair with her fingers. "We've been working on it ever since he joined the family, but Danny warms up slowly. He's usually less stoney; I think your arrival spooked him.")

("Spooked him?" Ellie repeats, she doesn't believe it at all. "He has a funny way of showing it, he threatened to kill me!" And she turns around just in time to see Jazz's press her lips into a line.)

("He's... very protective. He'll deny if you ask him, but he worries a lot." Jazz's fingers find her hair again. "What I do know for certain though, is that he wouldn't have kept you here if he wasn't worried about you at least a little bit.")

(Ellie doubts it.)

But Ellie is indeed there for a week, and the day after her initially rocky introduction with Danny, he is a little bit kinder to her. Still kinda a bitch, but he's less harsh to her, if... almost uncomfortable around her. Flighty, kinda.

Whenever she gets mouthy at him though, he looks oddly smug about it and, infuriatingly enough, praises her attitude. He is very, very annoying. And still kinda terrifying. But hearing him shout insults via puns at someone during a ghost fight that happens that week lessens the intimidating factor,,, a little bit.

Things go about,,,, relatively,,,, similar to canon. In the sense that it ends with Ellie defecting from Vlad because she finds out that Danny was right and that Vlad didn't actually care about her. (And that Jazz had been right too; Danny, in his weird, mean way, had been worried about her as well)

Danny looks out of his depth as she talks about how he was right, and he cuts her off with a vaguely uncomfortable clearing of his throat. And gives her the most awkward, but genuine apology he can muster.

"I should've used more tact when telling you about Masters, and I... apologize for threatening you when we met. I was..." he makes a face like he's sucked on a particularly sour lemon, "worried. First about my family, and then later about you."

(Ellie will be damned: Jazz was right)

Before Ellie leaves, Danny puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her: "I wasn't kidding about what I said to you when we first met: you are of my blood, and as such, you do not bow your head nor your heart to anyone."

Ellie looks at him, thinks about the last week, and smiles like she's caught him in a trap. "What about Sam and Tucker then? And Jazz?"

Danny smiles, it's awkward and tilted, like his face isn't used to the gesture. "We bow not our hearts, but that doesn't mean we can't share."

[fazedlight]

Irish (soft season 6 ficlet)

Kara knew something was wrong.

Not dangerous wrong. Lena’s heart rate was steady and calm, and there was no one else in the apartment with her. But as Kara flew above the few buildings left to her apartment, she could see how Lena was hunched over, see the stress and sadness in her body. And it made Kara’s heart ache.

Landing in the open window, Kara stepped inside, the small taps alerting Lena to her entrance. “Kara,” Lena said, trying to hide the distress on her face as she rose from the couch, grabbing at VHS tapes spread in front of the TV. “You’re home early.”

“They put out the fire before I got there,” Kara said softly. “The winds weren’t as bad as they thought.”

Lena nodded, hurriedly placing the pile of tapes into a familiar box. Kara had flown the box back to National City herself - one of the many artifacts carried over from Lena’s mother’s home, which Lena inherited at the age of 18. Lena had only gone once or twice as an adult, until the discovery of her magic made her curious to reconnect to what she could of her mother. “Are you okay?” Kara asked.

“I’m fine,” Lena said.

“Lena.” Kara stepped forward, kneeling on the rug, gently taking Lena’s busy hands into her own. “Lena, I’m here.”

Lena paused, leaving the remaining tapes next to the TV, taking a slow breath as she dropped back to sit on the floorboards instead. “I just didn’t expect to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

Lena stared down at the floor, not quite ready to look Kara in the eye. “I was so young. There’s so much I don’t remember.”

Kara took a seat in front of her, still holding Lena’s hands. She waited patiently - silent, and comforting, letting Lena take her time to think or talk as she wished.

“In one of the tapes,” Lena said, her voice a touch deeper than normal, “She sang an Irish lullaby. I haven’t heard it in decades. The melody slammed back into me.”

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Kara said.

“She spoke to me. In Irish. She spoke to me, and I didn’t understand what she was saying,” Lena said, frustrated. “And in the tape, I spoke back, and I didn’t understand what I was saying. It’s all gone.”

And that’s when Kara stiffened, a bolt of lightning running through her as she understood. It was different in her case, of course - she had once thought herself the last to speak a language, carrying a dead culture in her soul. Through sheer luck, she was able to get her father, her mother, her people back - but the feeling of being orphaned, she understood, if in a different way than Lena. “The Luthors don’t speak Irish,” Kara replied.

“Language attrition is common in children who stop speaking their first language before the age of 12,” Lena said softly, in a tone that made Kara realize that Lena must’ve read about this a dozen times before. “I didn’t know what I was losing until it was too late.”

“Lena,” Kara said, leaning forward to give the brunette a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it sounds so silly,” Lena said. “It’s not like I have much need to speak Irish.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t mourn what you’ve lost,” Kara said, thinking back to a million conversations she’d had with Kelly about her own traumas, even if later they were reversed by fate. “You can still be sad about it.”

Lena sighed, melting into Kara’s arms, and Kara felt relieved. They sat, wrapped in each other’s embrace and breathing in the peace of the evening, Kara rubbing gently at Lena’s back until Lena was ready. “Well, I can put the rest of this away,” Lena said, pulling back, her voice steady for the first time that evening. “We can start cooking dinner.”

Kara nodded, watching as Lena gazed back - a bit mournful, a bit sad, but a certain lightness compared to before. “If it helps,” Kara said gently, with one last thought, “I can learn Irish with you? It may not be like before, but sometimes getting some of the pieces back can mean something.”

Lena looked at her for a moment, before smiling. “I’d like that.”

[slashmagpie]

“Pearl? Why are you in my house?” 

Pearl blinks up at Bdubs from where she’s sandwiched between the wall and the waterstream, curled up on herself in the narrow space. “Somebody destroyed all the lights in my base and now it’s full of mobs,” she says bitterly.

“It wasn’t me!” Bdubs cries, raising his hands.

“Well, I didn’t think it was you, but the way you just said that’s making me think—”

“No! I’d never! I swear!”

“...I believe you,” she says after a moment, and Bdubs feels himself relax. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t really feel like…” She gestures in the direction of her house.

Bdubs nods. “Oh, sure, for sure,” he says. Then, “Should we invite Joel over? His house got blown up too.”

“Ah, yeah, probably. Good idea, Bdubs.” She fumbles in her pocket for her communicator, eventually fishing it out. The screen is cracked. Her fingers shake as they tap against the glass. 

“Are you okay there, Pearl? You look a little…” Bdubs forces his hands to tremble. 

She glances up at him, face scrunching in confusion, before she lets out a small laugh. “Just the adrenaline, y’know.” She grins. “I’m red. It’s great.” 

“If it was anyone else, I’d think they were being sarcastic. But with you! With you, I’m pretty sure you’re being serious!”

She giggles, hitting send on the message and shoving her communicator away. Bdubs doesn’t feel his own buzz; it must have been a whisper. “You know,” she says after a moment, “I’m a little surprised.”

Bdubs blinks. “Surprised about what?”

“That there’s still three of us.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I’m a little surprised, too! I thought for sure Joel would die today. For sure.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Oh, no, never. But between you and me… that guy’s kind of a loose canon!” 

She snorts. “Throwing stones from glass houses, there, Bdubs?”

“Surely I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.” She pauses, eyes glancing down to where her fingers pick at a stray thread on her hoodie sleeve. “That’s kinda what I mean, though. Joel doesn’t live here, and you’re making friends with half the server, I’m surprised I’m not spending tonight alone.”

“Pearl…”

“What?” She snorts. “I know how these games go, Bdubs. People don’t stay loyal. Not for long, anyway.” She glances up at him, eyes half obscured by her hair. “People like Joel, people like you? I know how this ends.”

And Bdubs—

Well, he can’t pretend he doesn’t know what she means. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Impulse yelling as Bdubs’ arrow had found home in his throat. Can’t pretend he doesn’t remember Etho backing away when Bdubs had tried to get just a little too close. Can’t pretend he didn’t fight when he promised he’d run. Can’t pretend he hadn’t taken advantage of his broken home. 

…He can’t pretend he doesn’t remember telling Martyn about their plans, or planning to do harm to Etho. Can’t pretend he doesn’t cross his fingers behind his back every time he makes a promise, just in case.

But at the same time, he remembers—searching for Cleo in a castle she’d been too dead to return to, pushing Lizzie to her death for a life he’d never received, taking two hands in his own and vowing to face the end as four instead of two, for once, for once in his life, choosing three and being pulled apart because of it—

Bdubs lets out a breath. “Pearl, hey, no,” he says. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m your weapon.” He gets down to his knees, lowers his head before her, feels her gaze burn into the top of his head.

“Bit late for that,” she says. “I’m my own weapon now, mate. Don’t need you to attack for me anymore.”

“Well, no—but—” He looks up at her. “Pearl. I’m yours. I promise.”

“Right. And you’re Martyn and Etho’s too, huh? We can share.”

“I’m using Martyn!” he protests. “That’s—that’s all it is—I’m usin’ him because he’s the first red and he knows his stuff! And Etho—”

“I don’t mind about Etho,” Pearl interrupts. “Like I said, I know you guys have your little thing going on. I don’t care about that.”

“I set a trap in his base,” Bdubs blurts.

Pearl blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“I set a trap in his base. Tripwire hook.” He grins. “Right outside the bedroom. I—I think I got Grian, in the end? But—could have been Etho. I coulda—could’ve been Etho.” He swallows.

“And you’d have been okay with that?” Pearl asks, smile gone from her face, expression suddenly very serious.

“I—after I set it, I went up to them. Had a chat. Lied the whole time. I coulda—coulda told him. I didn’t.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” she stresses.

She sounds dubious. Bdubs can’t blame her. He feels sick, swallowing back the bile that’s building in his throat.

“I—Pearl.”

“Bdubs?”

“I learned my lesson, Pearl. I learned—don’t put all your eggs in one basket! Because—because either they die, and then you get left alone, or—or it gets you killed, and you die. You gotta—I have two hands. I can be loyal to multiple people. But then I learned—when you do that? People aren’t loyal back. They don’t trust you anymore. Nobody else…” He laughs. “I feel like I’m the only one who can trust people like that anymore!”

“So…” She frowns. “So you’re making friends with everyone so you don’t get betrayed or left alone?”

“Exactly.” 

“And you know none of us are gonna trust you for doing that.”

He swallows again. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re doing it anyway?”

“Well, what else—what else am I supposed to do? I can’t… I can’t go back, Pearl. That’s… I can’t go back. You know how it is.”

“…Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m—I want you to win, Bdubs,” she says. “Out of everyone—I want it to be you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So… You better not make me regret this.”

He blinks at her. “Regret what?”

She bows her head to him. “I’m your weapon,” she says, an echo of his earlier words. “And a bit more of a dangerous one at that.” Her smirk leaks back into her words as she glances up and winks at him. “So use me well, alright, Bdubs? I want you to win this.”

Bdubs’ heart is in his throat. He swallows it back down. It burns.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. 

The door slams open, startling them both out of their skin.

“Hey guys—uh. What are you doing?”

“Oh, for—Judas Priest, Joel, learn to knock!”

“You invited me over! Or, Pearl did—hey Pearl.”

“Hey,” Pearl says. “Come on in! Sleepover at Bdubs’ time.”

“I can’t believe this is the last of our bases left standing. It’s, like, the worst one.”

“Hey!” 

“There’s no space in here!” To punctuate his statement, Joel slumps down against one wall, kicking Bdubs in the ribs as he does so. Bdubs grunts. “See?”

“It’s definitely not the most spacious…” Pearl acquiesces.

“Anyway. What were you guys doing before I came in?”

“Swearing loyalty,” Bdubs says. 

“Oh.” Joel blinks. “Do you need me to do that? Because I’m a Mounder for life. Loyal to the end.”

Bdubs and Pearl glance at each other.

“Somehow I actually believe him,” Bdubs stage-whispers, and Joel squawks in offence as Pearl barks out a laugh.

“No, I think you’re good,” she says. Leaning her head back against the wall, she says, “This is probably our final night.”

The three of them are quiet for a moment.

“Well,” says Joel. “We gotta make it to the end then, don’t we?”

He’s looking at Bdubs. They’re both looking at Bdubs. 

Bdubs nods.

“May the best Mounder win,” he says solemnly.

Joel grins.

[theminecraftbee]

So, here's the thing:

Tango knows that Zedaph is this close to staging an intervention.

He lies against the wiring for Decked Out and stares at the ceiling. He should probably be more concerned about that. Early-season Tango would be concerned about that; a situation getting bad enough that Zedaph, of all people, is ready to stage an intervention is normally a sign it's gotten pretty dang bad. But he's close. He's so close. And it's not like he's worried, not anymore.

He'd been worried, once? Like, he'd been scared, at some point of what the Frozen Citadel was starting to do to him. But now that he's there--

If he's asked, Tango will say it's mutualism, and not elaborate, because if anyone stages enough of an intervention to stop Decked Out from finishing what it's started, he's probably going to scream. He's probably going to always wonder. Worst of all, he won't finish the game on time. So like, so what if it's eating him a little? Or a lot? Or basically completely, given that he's pretty sure the damage is irreversible at this point?

Anyway, it doesn't matter. Start of the season Tango probably would care more, but like, it's mutual. Decked Out gets to eat Tango. Use him as an appropriate game piece. Sometimes as a processor. To do repairs. Whatever. It's important for the whole process. And Tango gets a sick game. Which, for some, sounds like an absurd trade-off, but it's not just the game, okay?

It's not just--

If it were just "I need to let my accidentally very sentient and very large base eat me to finish the game", he might do it? But he wouldn't, like, be actively conspiring to hide the fact that he's starting to be physically incapable of breathing like, normal oxygen and stuff. He wouldn't be conspiring to hide just how literal the shop item allowing you to control the gamemaster is. He wouldn't be trying to hide how close he is to just--being another part of Decked Out. Not being a "Tango" as an individual, but being a part of the machine. Basically a really fancy redstone component.

If it were just "he's really proud and he'd be sad if it took longer", he wouldn't have hung a sheep on the outside of the building to make sure some part of Decked Out knows that Zedaph is its friend, once there isn't a Tango to remind it of that properly. He would have asked Zedaph to actually do that intervention he's planning.

He didn't. He acted like he had several more weeks than he probably did. But it's fine. Decked Out ate the fear, anyway, so he can't feel it, and whatever sense of desire to like, not be redstone component was probably eaten also, and. And.

He's not sure how to describe it in a way that doesn't make him sound insane, but--

It's so close. Decked Out is so close to eating him completely. And that should be terrifying, if that weren't the first thing that got dissolved away, if he hadn't been scared since forever. Maybe, somewhere, there's part of him that is scared. There's a lot of him that knows he should be.

But those moments, the ones he's having more and more, where he forgets he's Tango. Where he forgets he's anything but part of the machine. And he's part of something big, and great, and he has a specific use, and he's aware for all of it but not aware of being himself, and he can feel exactly how he's important to the great machine and he does his job and absolutely everything else fades away entirely and he is the Game Master and even that's not an individual identity it's part of a whole it's part of something beautiful it's part of something so, so alive while not being alive at all and, and then--and then he's not done being eaten yet. And the Tango comes in. The fear, the insecurity, the, the flaws.

And he'd just lie there, and he'd feel it. The almost-just-a-part. The sense of just--being, and not being anyone in particular, but being. The lack of self. He'd feel the voltage from the redstone wires and try to capture it again, and be unable to, not on his own.

Not while he's left as Tango, at least a little bit uneaten.

So. Uh. He told you he didn't know how to describe it without sounding insane. But he'll never forgive himself. Never forgive himself if he doesn't find out what happens when it's done. What it's like to just--be a part of Decked Out and nothing else. What it feels like to give in completely.

Therefore. Zedaph. Intervention. Pretend he's better than he is so Zedaph doesn't do that. It shouldn't be long now. The amount of time he's aware and Tango is--less. The amount of fear is--it's entirely gone now. The amount he thinks "gee beginning of season Tango would say this is a bad plan" is almost zero.

The game is almost ready to open.

If he can just hold out that long, then there won't be anything anyone could do.

They'll be too busy having fun with the game, anyway. With any luck, no one will notice.

[the-modern-typewriter]

HEY love your writing! can you write a short story starting with “I hate sandwiches” and ending with “I hate sandwiches” :)

"I hate sandwiches."

I told you that the first time we met; you smiled, leaned in, and told me that was because I wasn't doing it right. But, that was okay, because you'd show me how.

First - good ingredients. Proper bread, that didn't limp around and crumble in your hand when you asked it to carry the weight you needed. Fillings that nourished your soul and strengthened your body. It had to taste good.

Second - balance. It was all about balance, you said. Not letting the flavours overpower each other. Not giving too much, or too little, in any particular bite.

"Too much cheese for me and my lactose intolerance might be just the right amount for you," you said. "That brings us to my third tenet of sandwich making."

"Oh?" I was already entranced, less by sandwiches, and more by you. Your hands worked deftly on the bakery counter and I lost all thoughts of walking away.

"A good sandwich is tailored. It is one of a kind. It is made with care and attention for the person it is intended for."

"And there was me thinking a sandwich was supposed to be low effort," I replied.

"It's easy," you said, "when you know what you want."

You handed me a plate.

Like a fairy's bargain, I was sold with a bite.

You made me a dozen sandwiches over the years; tucking them in my lunchbox, dashed off with a kiss on the train, on a lazy Sunday morning with tea and blankets and rain outside the window.

"The perfect sandwich," you said that first day, "is like the perfect relationship. It a holy grail of a sliding scale, going from terrible to paradise. But you don't write off sandwiches just because you haven't found the right one yet."

I stand at the kitchen counter. The sandwich sits before me, untouched and utterly perfect. It is a masterpiece.

But you are gone.

The tears burn my eyes, then. They throw off the balance. They wet the bread, leave it soggy and changed from what it once was.

From what we were.

So I say it, just to spite you. Like you could hear me. Like bread and butter alone were enough to summon you home.

"I hate sandwiches."

(But you are gone)

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.” 

[wormdebut]

STEDDIE MICROFIC JULY: STEVE NO FUN HARRINGTON

@steddiemicrofic | Word: Pool | Word Count: 442 Rated: T (for swears, it’s a Worm Drabble of course there are swears) | CW: none

——

“You’re literally no fun, Steven.” Dustin sniped turning on his heel to go jump back into the pool.

“Yup that’s me, Steve No Fun Harrington. Use my pool, eat my food, play your stupid dumbbells and dingbats game in my living room, but god forbid you have fun.” Steve mumbles under his breath reaching for his beer.

He almost knocked the damn thing over when he felt a hand clap his shoulder, hot breath next to his ear, “Dumbbells and Dingbats huh? Better not let their DM hear you talk shit, baby, I hear he can be a little mean.”

Steve leans his head back to knock into his very hot boyfriends chest. Eddie and Steve has just kinda…fell into each others space after everything in March and four months later, Steve had absolutely zero complaints.

He juts his bottom lip out looking up at Eddie. He probably looked ridiculous, but Eddie looked at Steve like he hung the moon and Steve was 100% sure he returned that gaze whenever he had the chance.

Eddie laughs placing a quick kiss on Steve’s nose.

“What’d Henderson do this time?” Eddie asked as Steve sat back up his chair.

“How’d you know it was Henderson?”

Eddie dramatically plopped into the seat next to him, looking at him with a raised brow and a smirk. “You trying to tell me it wasn’t?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, Eddie always had a way of mellowing him out. “You know how it is, they just want me in the damn pool and I don’t wanna be in the damn pool Eddie.”

Steve watched as Eddie face shifted, inquisitive. He knew Eddie wanted to ask but Steve also knew that he wouldn’t. They knew each other well enough at this point to leave certain things unsaid.

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but was met with a chorus of greeting from the kids before he could.

Eddie waved them off, telling them he’d join them in a few, before turning back to Steve.

“Do you wanna just come sit at the edge? It is pretty fucking hot Stevie, and you’re already smokin’, so maybe dipping your feet in wouldn’t be such a bad idea?”

Steve laughed, Eddie was a ham and he loved it.

Loved him.

Eddie stood up, running a hand through Steve’s hair, “I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

Steve looked up at him again, he was sure there were hearts where his eyes were supposed to be. “Promise?”

Steve let himself be pulled up, Eddie placing a quick to his lips before dragging him to the edge of the pool.

“Yeah baby, I promise.”

——

[becauseplot]

Penciled Lines

(Cross-posted on ao3, if you prefer to read it there. Reblogs still appreciated!)

Missa wakes up, and he thinks he might be doomed. This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it should.

Missa is awake early—by his own metric, anyway. His nocturnal nature causes “early” for him to mean “early night” and not “early morning.” Regardless, “early” means that Philza is not asleep yet, still going through his nightly rituals. “Early” means that Philza is sitting up in (his? their?) the bed, pillows propped up behind him, notebook in his lap, sketching away.

And when Missa wakes up to the soft scritch-scratch of a charcoal pencil on textured paper, his forehead just so happens to be brushing Philza’s hip.

Missa can hardly breathe.

Oh no.

He knows that if he gives any indication that he is awake, Philza will stop sketching, close his notebook, shift himself over until he is politely seated on his side of the bed, and greet Missa with a friendly smile. Philza has done it before, when Missa wakes up early. That’s how Missa knows he’ll do it again.

Thus, Missa can hardly breathe—his breaths have to be the slow in-out of sleep. He can’t so much as twitch, either. He has to keep quiet and play dead or else he’ll be found out. Seen. Caught living the lie.

“Husband,” Philza calls him. They’re not married. They share a bed. They’re hardly ever in it at the same time. They have a son and a daughter. Neither of them know Missa very well. Philza has had an extra set of armor and a skull on his backpack for months, waiting for Missa. Missa doesn’t even know Philza’s last name.

Philza is a good man and a good friend—and Missa doesn't deserve him. Still, he takes what he can get. Curls around it. Hoarding every innocent kindness Philza extends like a starving creature: the generosity of a backpack fully stocked with equipment; the trust Philza places in Missa to watch the kids when he’s asleep; and now, the courtesy of not moving his hip from Missa’s forehead to ensure his “sleeping” isn’t disturbed. Missa clutches all of these little offerings in his greedy claws and hugs them into his chest, even as the guilt eats away at him.

Because, regardless of the lack of mutual feeling, he loves Philza. He loves him so, so much, and that is why he is doomed. He can’t afford to lose what little he has. He can’t cross that line. 

So Missa lies beside Philza, forehead pressed against Philza’s hip, pretending to sleep so he can imagine that they’re not just lying in bed together, but lying in bed, together; and later, when Missa truly wakes, he will sit on his side of the bed and look at Philza’s face soft with sleep and think about how lucky he is that he still has a side-of-the-bed to begin with.

Missa doesn’t mean to drift off. When it starts to happen, he’s hopelessly torn between shaking himself awake and thus giving himself away, or remaining how he is, silently fending off the inevitable. In the end, Missa clings to that scritch-scratch sound of Philza’s pencil on the paper for as long as he can before the fog at last pulls him under. 

Eventually, he dreams. In fact, he dreams of the calloused fingers he dreams of every night, hands like his own, an artist of Death, cradling and shading the contours of his face—a softness dashing charcoal across his jaw, and over his cheekbones, and perhaps on his lips, too, if he’s lucky. Defining every edge of him.

~*~

A deep sigh. Phil stops sketching as Missa shifts in his sleep. He tilts his head up so that the tip of his nose is now just nearly brushing against Phil’s hip. The motion disturbs the wild splay of his dark hair, revealing more of his face: eyelashes, cheeks, warmth. Tender blush of something Stygian and otherworldly. New.

Phil’s lips tilt upwards. He turns to a fresh page, and he starts again.

[greenieflor]

Demisexual!Steve is everything to me so have some of whatever this is

Steve didn’t really get the appeal of sex. He never had. It was fine in middle school, he would laugh at the stupid jokes Tommy H made and parrot back some version of his own, not quite understanding what he was saying. That didn’t matter, though; it made people laugh and clap him on the back. Then they got to high school. Tommy and Carol had been together “long enough to ask her, dontcha think?” Steve didn’t quite know what Tommy was going to ask her, but figured it didn’t hurt to agree. Now, Steve wasn’t stupid, he knew what sex was. At least, in the abstract. When he had asked his parents at age nine where babies come from, all he got was an “ask your mother” and a “oh you’ll find out when you’re older.” His health class sputtered through a quick, and frankly kinda gross, biological explanation and that was it. So yes, Steve knew what sex was, he just didn’t get the appeal. He figured one day, when he was married he would have sex- he did want six kids after all. But outside of some future marriage, Steve really couldn’t be bothered to care about sex. 

As high school progressed, Steve went on more and more dates. He enjoyed flirting and was pretty damn good at it. He learned to be good at other things, too. How to unhook a bra in one move, where to kiss a girl’s neck to make her go wild, even learned how to like having sex. But despite the growing number of notches in his bedpost (and his growing reputation as a bit of a slut) Steve Harrington still didn’t get it. Until he met Nancy Wheeler. With Nancy, it was different. It took them a little longer to fall into bed together, Steve was surprised at how much he wanted it with her. He had never actively wanted to sleep with someone like this, and it had never taken so long for it to happen. When they did sleep together, Steve finally understood. He got what people meant when they talked about sex. Up until this point he had enjoyed it, sure, it felt good and was kinda fun, but he hadn’t felt the desire, the emotional release that came with sex. After the dust had settled from Nancy breaking up with him, Steve figured he had cracked the code. He started taking more time with the girls he went out with, waiting until the third or fourth date to take them to bed. It just wasn’t the same though. He felt like he was back at square one, just going through the motions, except now he knew how good it could be. He knew how great it could feel and he just didn’t understand why he couldn’t get that back. He graduated, got the job at Scoops Ahoy, and soon after meeting Robin thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found it again. That feeling of wanting. But it wasn’t quite the same. There wasn’t that same heat when he looked at Robin. After their conversation on the bathroom floor he knew why. He loved her, maybe more than he’d ever loved anyone, but it wasn’t the same as when he loved Nancy. As we have already established, Steve wasn’t stupid. He just didn’t care too much about school. But after Robin came out, he ended up reflecting heavily on who he was in high school. The things he laughed at, the slurs he had thrown just to fit in. So, on a day off, he drove down to Indy to go to their library, already knowing that the Hawkins library would have jackshit on queerness. He was nervous about asking for help, he never really paid attention when Nancy would tell him how the cataloguing system worked at the library, but he recognized the pink triangle pin one of the librarians had from something Robin had shown him a few weeks before. He finds what he’s looking for deep in the stacks and takes a few books to a small table tucked away in the corner and starts reading. And reading. Steve devours the books he pulled, barely noticing the growing headache or setting sun until that same librarian comes over to tell him they are closing in twenty minutes and “did you find what you were searching for?” “Yeah. Yeah I think I did.” Steve waits. He thinks. Looks back on his past relationships and wonders. He talks to Robin, but neither of them have the right words. Summer was over, his kids were in school and suddenly all they could talk about was this Eddie guy they played D&D with. Steve, despite his growing jealousy, has to admit he respects the guy a bit. Anyone who looks out for his kids is good in his book. And then spring break happens. A month later, Eddie is finally released from the hospital and Steve insists on taking him back to his house- his parents left a long time ago and made it very clear they had no plans to return. Steve checks Eddie’s stitches every day and the two start to grow closer. Love never sneaks up on Steve, it hits him all at once. Eddie had been living with him for a week when he was finally up to DMing a short game and seeing all the kids again. The house was filled with noise and laughter for the first time in years and Steve thought he couldn’t be happier. The night came to a close and the kids started heading home and suddenly it was just Eddie and Steve, sitting side by side on the couch with the debris of the night spread around them. Eddie collapsed into Steve’s side, letting out a sigh and a “god I love those kids but they are so damn loud.” And that’s when it hits him. He loves Eddie. Has for a while now, probably. And that is what was missing from all those attempted dates in high school. That’s what he had with Nancy that made it so different. What made it hurt that much more to lose. But he still didn’t have the right words. So he smiled, brushed a lock of Eddie’s hair behind his ear, and pulled him into his side. They could find the words together.

Update: wrote some ace!eddie!

[artiststarme]

Despite popular belief, Eddie was not a procrastinator. Sure, he might’ve been held back twice due to not turning assignments in on time (or at all) and a few jobs may have let him go because of his tardiness but he was not a procrastinator. He just had a bad case of ADHD that fucked with his internal clock.

As long as it was something he was hyper focused on or even mildly excited about, Eddie was on time or significantly early. He always got to school hours before every Hellfire meeting to set the drama room up exactly how he imagined so the rest of the club could enjoy it. He’d spend weeks focusing on a campaign so fun and disturbingly gruesome that it would leave the rest of the crew staring at him in befuddlement of his evil-minded tales.

When he started dating Steve, he would arrive to all of their dates and plans sometimes hours in advance just itching to start what he knew would be the highlights of his week.

And it was after he started dating Steve that he realized what was truly a procrastinator. Steve would leave for work ten minutes after his shift started to begin his fifteen minute drive, nearly gave Eddie a conniption fit every time. He’d arrive at their dates thirty minutes after it was set to start so Eddie had to get crafty with the math and plans to fool him into arriving on time. And when Steve finally started taking college classes, Eddie had to haggle him more than Uncle Wayne had ever bothered him just so he could turn his assignments in reasonably late!

However, even despite his procrastinating habits and his frequent tardiness, Eddie fell in love with him. He fell fast and well in advance, four hours into their first day of not hating each other to be exact. Steve, like always, nonchalantly took his time and only realized what everyone else already had months later after they were already dating. But Eddie was patient and he got his reward in the form of a mean boy turned golden retriever slash knight in shining armor that he’d have for the rest of his life. And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

(Although if Steve wanted to be on time for once in his life, that certainly wouldn’t hurt Eddie’s feelings.)

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 5

part 4 | frosting

🍄 | could we? wood we?

“Oh look, a mushr-ooph!”

And then what was a breathless morning became a breathless morning smeared in mud and leaf-tangled hair and a pout the size of Metropolis sitting on Kara’s lower lip.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the outdoorsy one?” Lena laughed, and sure, her rosy cheeks and amber scarf hung around her neck and loose curls tumbling over her shoulders helped temper Kara’s flare of frustration at another thing gone wrong. And sure, maybe Lena was extra glowy because of the warm fall colors and that fought Kara’s own annoyance of slipping and tripping and falling - again.

But only barely.

Because while Lena was being her perfect, soft, perfect, kind, perfect self, Kara was powerless and awkward and now inelegantly in those same fall colors and pouting.

It had been a great idea a week earlier; maybe even the best idea Kara Danvers had ever had: a Saturday-morning hike with her very best friend to an outlook of the city painted in an autumnal palette followed by a stop at an apple orchard for some cider and cinnamon sugar donuts with that same very best friend, all ending with a viewing party of David Attenbourough’s soothing narration back at Kara’s tucked in close to - you guessed it - Kara’s very - very - best friend. It was flawless. It was perfect. It was exactly how Kara wanted to spend every Saturday for the rest of her life. Heck, every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and… well, every day.

Except when she planned it a week ago, Kara hadn’t expected it to drizzle or that a National City crisis would burn out her powers.

So pout she did while Lena cautiously toed down the steep hill, dressed in warm flannels and a deep green jacket and gosh, she looked so pretty. How did she always look so pretty?

“Come on, there’s still a whole hill to climb,” a pair of pretty, unpainted lips said and Kara blinked out of her dazed stupor.

“Or maybe we can just call it quits and get cocoa and a couple sticky buns at noonans?” Kara asked hopefully, tucking her pout away.

“I can’t believe my ears,” Lena huffed, offering an outstretched hand. “Is Kara Zor El quitting on me?”

“No,” Kara huffed like a petulant child, climbing to her feet. The lower lip threatened to perch again. “It’d just be nice if, you know-oah!”

Words were ripped out from under Kara with the same slipperiness that sent her sprawling moments earlier. Only this time, she was met with a very different set of tangled limbs and breathless huffs because this time there was a flannel-clad Lena to negotiate.

And that negotiation might have felt exactly like the Princess Bride tumble if the Princess Bride tumble had been Buttercup (Lena) and Westley (Kara) tumbling together down a smaller hill covered in damp leaves with Buttercup (Lena) landing on top of Westley (Kara). 

Except there were some key differences. The biggest, Kara would argue, was that Lena was way prettier than Robin Wright. The next biggest was that their tumble was objectively far more romantic because Lena was laughing and tucking her face into the crook of Kara’s neck and holding tight at her waist even after they’d rolled to a stop and maybe Kara wanted to stay like this forever and ever, wet ground be damned.

Not that Kara romanticized things about her friend - her best friend. The word had never crossed her Pulitzer-prize-winning mind. This was simple platonic adoration. 

Because how could she not adore the dimples blossoming across Lena’s cheeks, or admire her laughter reverberating through their entwined form, or cherish the freckle peeking out from her disheveled scarf, or revere the way her lips looked so soft and pink, or delight in the lock of hair that her own hand reached up and tucked behind Lena’s ear.

And yea, maybe since her hand was already there, Kara let the pad of her thumb brush the smudge of dirt that sat along Lena’s creamy cheekbone because how could she not? And sure, maybe that gesture - that platonic gesture made time slow and Lena quiet with a sudden eye-locking focus before letting out a quiet, breathy sigh that made Kara feel things in ways that were certainly not platonic but definitely not not good feeling. 

And maybe it wasn’t fair that Kara was friends with the most perfect person in the whole world because maybe, just maybe, she wanted to romanticize the idea of tumbling down a hill together and landing tangled and breathless and watching with slow, agonizing curiosity as Lena’s lips drew closer (or was it Kara’s that leaned nearer?) because then if she did that - if she romanticized that, it might mean that maybe, just maybe they could, maybe they would-

“My hero,” Lena grinned, her cheeks rosy and breath warm against the chilly air.

And then there was the crinkle of leaves.

And then there was a ghost of Lena’s warmth.

And then there was a hand extended toward her.

“Come on Supergirl, we’ve still got a mountain to climb.”

And maybe Kara didn’t know how to say what she wanted, because of course it would be silly to ask Lena to stay and to sit in the damp leaves and to feel the cold creep up while the sun rose and climbed and set on them. 

So she didn’t say any of that. Instead she accepted Lena’s offered hand and swallowed hard against the uncertainty in her throat and carefully climbed the thirty-seven steps back to the safety of the trail.

Kara’s feet wavered once there, her whole self unmoving except for the way her eyes glanced between where they came from and where they were meant to go. And then she glanced back down the hill to where they’d unexpectedly tumbled and wondered why they couldn’t just keep down that path.

“You ok?” came Lena’s voice, having closed the distance with her brow furrowed in concern. “Did you hurt anything?”

Kara shook her head and pressed her mouth into a smile. “No, just thinking.”

Lena eyed her, a silent ‘about?’ lobbed, and if Kara looked hard enough she might have seen the cautious hope in the way Lena watched her. And if Kara had looked hard enough, she might have seen that cautious hope flicker and dim when Kara patted her own stomach.

“Do you think there are snacks at the top?”

And, already well-practiced, Lena broke into a smile, a small eye-roll of affection bringing a smirk to Kara’s own face.

“It’s amazing that even without powers you’re still this hungry,” Lena replied, taking the lead along the battered, well-worn path.

“It’s a gift?”

“Or curse,” Lena said with a quick backwards wink that made Kara want to tumble all over again. 

Instead she followed.

“We’re still stopping for donuts though, right?” Kara called, hurrying to catch up. Always trying to catch up.

- - - - - - - - - part 6 | cuddles

[fazedlight]

"If you ever need me, all you have to do is call."

So many false starts, so many false hopes - so many times when Lena thought they would finally get Kara back from the Phantom Zone, only to be denied.

Lena didn’t believe in God, but she found herself praying to Rao. Something, anything to get Kara back. Even if she didn’t believe in Kara’s god either, she would leave no stone unturned, no avenue untried. I just need her back, she would plead up to the night sky.

An answer never came. All she had was her scotch, the dim lights of the city, and Kara's words. "If you ever need me, all you have to do is call."

So she fell to another desperate attempt - drunk and borderline tears as she opened the superwatch, tapping at the proud crest concealed inside. “Liar,” she whispered, choking back tears, knowing it was her own damn fault that Kara couldn’t answer. “You said you would be here. I need you here.”

For the first time, she got an answer. “You gotta stop doing that,” came the gentle rumble.

Lena jerked back from her balcony, turning her head upwards to where she saw a figure in the dark sky. Shadows of red and blue, a blazed “S” that Lena knew was something else entirely. Fuck, Lena thought, resetting her watch before shuffling it back into her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I forgot you could hear it too.”

Kal landed on the balcony, a respectable distance from the Luthor, eyeing her closely. “You’re hoping if you activate it, she’ll come back?”

“It’s foolish, I know,” Lena said, her knuckles white around her glass of scotch.

Superman stood silently for a moment - his uncertain posture just all too familiar, too resonant of the woman she was in love with. Awkwardly, he placed a hand on Lena’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll find her. I learned years ago to never underestimate you. ... And that was before my cousin gave me an earful.”

Lena scoffed. “Your memory may be a little different from mine,” she muttered, as she took another sip of scotch.

“You know I got to keep my memory after the Crisis, right?”

That got Lena’s attention, as she raised her head to face him. “Well,” she said, trying not to choke on her rising tears. “You may not have caught up to her recently.”

“I know enough,” he said gently. “And I know that you’re the one she couldn’t let go.”

Lena opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that - the one she couldn't let go - but his hand left her shoulder, and with a snap of his cape he was gone.

And she found herself staring again at the night sky.

********** This is a modified excerpt from my Lena Luthor character study, that I think works as a standalone ficlet too.

[kitsunespawz]

In the beginning there was light. Light was everywhere, and everything, and it was all of it at once.

And because it was everything and everywhere, it was alone. Light was lonely.

So in an attempt to not be so alone anymore, it condensed itself into hundreds and thousands of suns, scattered across the new nothing as stars. And although there were many of it now, it was still just Light, and it was still lonely.

But in the abcence of Light, Void got born. Void was where light wasn't, and together they were everywhere, and everything, and all of it at once.

Light and Void would proceed to simply exist as everything for centuries, until Light and Void got tired of being everywhere, and being all of it at once, so they decided to create.

First, they decided not to be everything all at once, and simply like that, Time was born.

Now Time was all at once, and it shared their desire to create.

Secondly, Light and Void and Time created an absence of Light and Void and Time, filling it with their wishes and dreams and desires. Light made the core, forming it to a fiery ball of energy, not unlike it had formed itself into all those centuries ago. Void supplied a solid core, made from something it was not. Time gave the construct a nudge, and the first planet was born.

It was a barren, lifeless thing. But thanks to the nudge of Time, and the watchful eyes of Light and Void that were everywhere around it, the planet slowly gained a watery coat, and on the places there was no water, plants began to grow.

Happy with their success, Light and Void and Time began to experiment what else they could create.

This time, Void made the core, and Light coated the surface in fiery lava. When Time gave it a nudge, the hostile surface proceeded to sprout hostile plantlife and inhabitants.

The third planet they created, Time wanted to create the core. And despite the best efforts of Light and Void, all they managed were broken, barren chunks of floating stone, only housing stalky purple fruit and nothing else.

The three planets began to grow their own consciousness, and began to fill the Void, in groups of three, keeping company to Light and Void and Time that were everywhere, and everything, and all of it at once.

They were Overworld, Nether and End, and they were siblings, and they loved their parents Light, Void and Time dearly.

They loved them so much, they gifted Time a Dragon housing in the End, Void a three headed hostile skeleton creature being found in Nether, and Light a Protector hiding in the deep caverns of Overworld.

And with the three creatures, more life came to the three siblings.

Until eventually Light, Void and Time returned the favor, and created something to explore Overworld, Nether and End.

They made it by combinging Light and Void, a balance between both, and Time gave the construct life. And thus, the first players were born.