#songfic i guess

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 7)

The one thing Uzi did not mind about her transformation was her ability to fly alongside N during scavenging missions. He often had to slow down (thrusters will always be faster than manual flying), but it didn't seem to bother him in the least, especially when she was sharing her favorite songs with him over short-range.

And no, it didn't all consist of Nightcore thank you very much. She was sharing the ones she thought he would like.

Of course, N liked all of them, so she probably could blare Nightcore at full volume and he'd like it, but she was still keeping it mostly mainstream, mostly because he seemed to like singing lyrics if he knew them, which was fun!

Because he was good at it.

He nailed nearly every note so long as he was familiar with the song, and it was gorgeous, his voice smooth as butter and just high enough to reach the minor keys without sounding off.

And yes, it did make her core flutter like it was full of a million butterflies, but that was besides the point.

“Hang on, lemme give you this one.” She sent another over to him, her wings flapping above her as they both glided comfortably.

“How many do you have?!” N asked excitedly, although it was definitely in the sense that he was eager to hear all of them and not that he wanted her to stop.

“Years worth of emotional repression leads to years worth of saved angst, what can I say?” She replied, poking a little fun at herself, she pushed ahead as he opened the audio file, scanning the ground for any parts she needed.

This one was a little angry sounding, but the guitar was nice, and there was a woman singing in the background that he wished didn't sound so sad, but it was pretty, at the very least.

“Do you want me to just give you my playlist? I've kinda just been sending you singles from it this whole time.” She fell back in line with him, wings beating above her, wow, he never realized how strong they looked before.

“Yes!” He beamed, being ecstatic to listen to more, it was leagues better than anything he'd ever heard play at the manor, plus he felt as if he was learning quite a bit about her just through her saved songs.

He noted the complete lack of love songs, there were plenty of breakup songs, but it didn't seem that Uzi had either never felt that way about anyone or she may have just not liked the sappiness of them. He wasn't sure, he was kinda hoping for the latter, she deserved someone to make her happy, surely?

“Here. But we can't spend all night doing this, it not really what we're here for…” She sent him a massive folder that was going to take a bit to install, in the meantime. They both flew upwards, trying to spot things from higher up.

“No worries, what are we looking for?” He asked, just replaying the same songs he'd already listened to on repeat, just at a lower volume.

“A hardware store preferably, that explosion melted all my railguns internals… stupid J… pain in my ass even in death.” She added, sounding bitter. He didn't argue.

“Hmm, I think I saw one last night. I can send you the map data?” He offered, not noticing how closely they were flying, he could feel each beat of her wings. The urge to wrap his tail around her hit him suddenly. She wasn't in danger. What was this about?

“Sweet! Yes!” She gave him a thumbs up, and so he sent the map data to her, and she went silent looking it over intently.

And here he was admiring how she could intently focus of his map data while also flying near perfectly again, if he ever needed to revist a location he had to stop flying lest he hit something. Not her though, her mind was so lightening fast. Not just in this, but in everything.

Man his best freind was so cool. And pretty.

She… was pretty. But that was random.

“Yeah, you did pass one, this way!” She did pause in the air for a moment, but only to turn to him and make sure he was following, he nodded, letting her lead him.

Her tail swirled behind her as she kept herself aloft, it was graceful in it's own way, since she had to think more about consciously flying then he did, and so she ended up doing more spins and tricks in the air just by flying normally. It was almost like watching a dance, albeit a bat-like one.

“We're here.” He heard her shout before diving, and he followed without question, landing beside her with a metallic thud in contrast with her graceful perfect landing.

Okay, what the heck was going on with him today?

“Anything specific?” He asked, dusting the snow off himself before it melted and refroze to his chassis. Ignoring the random intrusive thoughts that seemed to be increasing in frequency and intensity.

“Small screws, wiring, oh! And capacitors! Lots and lots of capacitors.” He knew at least what two of those things were at what they looked like, so he nodded and followed her into the blasted out store after beating the snow out of his cap.

Her tail whipped around into a flashlight, pointing it at the rotten shelves and the icesicles hanging above them, a skeleton was at the counter, still in uniform, and still in the position of looking bored.

“Split up? I'll look for the capacitors, you get the screws and wiring?” She turned to him, with the absence of others she always seemed to smile, he gave her a thumbs up and beamed her one right back, before turning and wandering to the nearest shelf, leaving them both alone with their thoughts.

Uzi was already searching deep in the electronic section, trying to find capacitors that weren't completely broken or frozen, with a task at hand her mind was blessedly empty for once, enough that she was humming absent-mindedly whatever song had gotten trapped in her head.

She didn't sing, she didn't like her voice and thought it was too deep for most songs, but humming was fine, if it wasn't done in front of other people. Robo-God forbid someone hear her not being aggro for ten seconds. But here she was alone, and N was on the other side of the store, he couldn't hear her.

And even if he could, it was N. He wouldn't ever make fun of her for anything.

She smiled. At this point trying to deny her feelings was pointless, he made her feel so special, so wonderful. And he was so happy to spend any time with her, whether it be listening to her music or watching a movie or agreeing to visit a baby with her. He was always down, loving every second.

It rubbed off on her, she found herself smiling more, liking her life more, liking herself more. She was beginning to feel less like a freak and more like a person, all thanks to the lovable goofball she called her best freind.

And she wanted to call him more, connect with him more, but… she couldn't be certain he felt the same way. He was always so loving but he was like that with everyone, he cared, and that's just who he was.

So nothing he did proved he liked her like that. Romanticly. Never in a million years did she ever think she would be longing for someone, or even have a crush in the first place, but here she was, admitting to herself that… she was in love. Ew

But at the same time, the way he had been looking at her in the nursery, with a small smile on his face and his eyes digitally half-lidded. He looked… almost like he wanted to kiss her.

But that had to have been her imagination, he'd asked if she felt better right before, maybe he'd just been concerned.

With a victorious gasp she found a whole box of preserved capacitors and quickly stashed them in her bag before going off and trying to find the boy in question, core full of butterflies but also very very heavy.

N had finally finished downloading Uzi's monster of a playlist and was skimming through it while picking up his second box of screws, he doubted she needed this many, but being an overachiever never got him in trouble before.

He fingered the wiring he had in his pocket, feeling satisfied that he'd completed his task and yet still felt anything but.

He was… confused.

Uzi was his friend, his best friend. And yet the more he thought about her the lighter his core got, in a way that was new to him. Well no, that was it wasn't it? It wasn't new.

It was just attached to a new person.

But… he didn't have a crush on Uzi did he? He could form sentences just fine around her, he wasn't nervous or artificially sweaty. He just wanted to be close, to protect her. To be there when she needed him. That wasn't romantic. It was protective! Like all friends should be!

And yet he still felt unsatisfied, like he was missing something.

“Hey! Did you find what we needed?” He heard her before he saw her, bounding up to him with a crooked smirk, her tail twitching behind her and her wings folded against her back. She was cute…

He shook off his thoughts again.

“Yeah! Here!” He he presented the screws and the wire to her with a smile, his tail twitching as her hand grazed his as she took them, no that wasn't a spark you're imagining things.

“Thanks!” You ready to head back? It's going to be morning soon.” She asked, punching his shoulder playfully, a small laugh left his mouth.

“Yeah! And we can listen to music together on the way back!”

“Sure buddy.”

And with that they took off, commenting on songs and cracking jokes about the stupid ones, flying high to get home faster. With each minute he felt himself relax, whatever confusing mess his thoughts were causing right now didn't matter, they were laughing, and she was smiling. He would figure it out later.

“Is… is this song about a potato?” He asked slowly, causing her to snort before devolving into a fit of laughter.

“Y-yeah? I thought it was funny, and I rigged the teachers lounge to play it on repeat once.”

N didn't want to ask why, but he felt that it was a very Uzi thing to do.

“Hey, I might need to crash at your place tonight. Charge is low and I don't wanna pass out on the way home.” As she said that, a little low battery symbol appeared at the top right corner of her visor, showing she wasn't lying.

“Sleepover!” He shouted, making her smile again, he really liked her smile…

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but her words lacked any sort of bite. There was a brief comfortable silence before;

“Oh… this one's kinda sad.” His face fell at little as he listened. An orchestral swell being out of place in the rest of the playlist.

I am tired of this dream….

Will it ever end for me?

“Sorry, I don't have a lot of happy ones that aren't also sarcastic…” She admitted sheepishly, she probably should find happier songs now that she was thinking about it. She felt happier now, what was the harm? So long that it was only her and N that would ever hear them.

I don't have the will to know…

Can you help me see?

“Oh! Duet!” He hummed happily, that fact alone seemingly making him feel better about it.

Let my body keep you warm…

Let my essence be your breeze.

Oh. This was a love song, and a rather longing one. He looked over Uzi's playlist, this one was added only recently. About three months ago, huh that was around when prom happened.

Can you hear me calling?

Please look out for meeee…

“N! Look!” Uzi shouted and he looked up, the gas giant was being eclipsed by Copper-9s barren moon, causing the entire night sky to be lit up in a burnt umber red. But he'd be lying if he said that was what caught his attention.

Can you set me free?

Will you take my soul away?

Uzi was silhouetted in the light perfectly, sending warm oranges and reds bouncing off her features like she was gazing at a roaring fire, she was hung in the air, snowflakes falling slowly around her, the light turning them to embers dancing in the air. She was smiling, her hands reaching out to touch one of the dancing flames.

Casting me in cold

Bury me in bones

Rest eternallyyyyyy…

He felt all the moisture in his mouth evaporate on the spot, and any further thought through his processors die. If flying wasn't an automatic process, he would have fallen from the sky in shock.

She looked beautiful.

Will you take me home?

Can we see the moon again?

Dancing in the dark

Till we fall apart

I can't end this dream...

Next ->

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i'm outta my head over you Pt. 4

prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | AO3 | playlist

icymi, i retcon-ed the last little bit of chap 3 (what steve's entry to Be My Baby said from Eddie to Teddy!)

@steddie-week prompt for today: first kiss/Kiss on My List - Hall & Oates (though the part before that got a away from me a little 😅)

-------

Staying away for a bit seemed to be the best thing to do, so Steve goes back to the hospital a couple days later, coming back in the early morning this time to try avoiding stepping on Wayne Munson’s toes.

He looks in on Max first. She’s still asleep, so he quietly sneaks around the room, straightening things up, and picking up discarded popsicle sticks and cotton balls from whatever game the party’s made up as an excuse to throw them around.

He straightens her blankets, pulling them up a bit higher to make sure she stays comfortable, and sneaks back out the open door.

Steve really wants to check in on Eddie too, but doesn’t want to incur the wrath of the older Munson if he catches wind of him being there.

“I’ll just look in, make sure he’s okay, and leave.” Steve rationalizes, mumbling to himself as he walks the familiar path from Max’s room to Eddie’s.

He hears music playing softly as he approaches, the tail end of one song and the beginning of another that is definitely not something he would’ve associated with the bold and brash metalhead currently laid up there.

Steve peeks around the doorframe and finds Wayne there already, sitting beside the tapedeck Steve had brought for them to play music for Eddie.

He’s got a pair of glasses sitting low on his nose, scowling down at a small worn book in his lap. Steve recognizes the cover immediately. It’s the copy of The Hobbit Dustin had left there.

“Damn it Ed, you couldn’t’ve had an easier favorite to read?” Wayne grumbles aloud.

Steve laughs without thinking, and Wayne’s sharp gaze snaps up to him in an instant.

“Oh shit, sorry, Mr. Munson.” he steps into the doorway a little more, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll just…yeah.” 

He’s turned to leave when Wayne’s voice stops him. “Harrington.”

Oh boy.

“Yes sir?” 

“Lemme talk t’ya a second.”

Steve enters the room; the itch to immediately go to Eddie’s side is strong, but he stops himself short a few steps away from the foot of Eddie’s bed.

Glancing down at his friend, he’s shocked and delighted to find Eddie’s breathing tube is gone.

“His tu—” Steve starts, but stops himself. He’s there to hear what Wayne wants to say.

“Came out last night, actually.”

He nods gratefully at the offered information, but when Wayne doesn’t say anything, Steve starts, “Mr. Munson–”

“Wayne.” Wayne cuts him off. “I need to apologize.”

Steve blinks at him in shock.

“That loud curly-haired kid of yours really gave me a what-for this morning.”

“Dustin?” Steve whispers.

“That’s the one.” Wayne nods.

“Mr. Mun–Wayne, I’m so sorry, Dustin can be a bit much, whatever he said to you I promise was just said because he cares about Eddie so much..”

“I know that,” Wayne nods, “Really cares about you too, y’know. Nearly tore my head off for darin’ t’say somethin’ bad about your family.”

“To be fair to Dustin, my family deserves it.” Steve jokes, but immediately kicks himself for interrupting.

Wayne nods, “That they do. I’m glad you know this already.”

There’s a weighty pause while Wayne stands, Steve stays frozen waiting for Wayne to continue.

“Your kiddo told me you were the one to get Eddie out of there. Back here to the hospital.” He continues after Steve nods, “Now I realize that was you there in the next bed over when they first called me, but t’be fair, I wasn’t worried ‘bout much else but Eddie.”

“I understand.” Steve nods.

Wayne takes one long step forward to place his hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve looks up to meet his eyes.

“M’sorry I snapped at you, son.” Steve’s stomach clenches. “Thank you fer bringin’ my boy back to me.”

“You’re we–OOF.” The rest of his response is cut off when his face is suddenly pressed into Wayne’s shoulder. The elder Munson smells like asphalt and cigarettes, the sharp smell of grease stings the back of Steve’s nose

He chooses to blame that for the tears that spill over onto the man’s jacket, and if Wayne notices the wet spot, or the tears that stain Steve’s face after releasing him, he doesn’t say anything.

They sit and talk a bit, Wayne explaining his modified visiting hours due to his work schedule was likely why they hadn’t really crossed paths until Steve accidentally stayed late (“Shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?” Steve asks him, “Probably, but this is more important.”), he tells Wayne what he’d taken to doing for Eddie while he was there in return (“I thought chapstick would be a bit too far for me,” he says as he hands Wayne the new tube of chapstick that’s been haunting the front pocket of his jeans, “but I couldn’t stand watching his wrist get rubbed raw by that damn cuff.”), then move on to Wayne’s personal mixtape he’d been playing whenever he’d visit.

“Even you know it’s not Ed’s particular brand of tunes, but this is our…default tape. Always got it playin’ when we clean the trailer, or while he’s paintin’ somethin’ in the living room while I read the paper.” Wayne shrugs, “Thought it’d bring him some comfort.”

They both fall quiet after that. It’s still relatively early in the morning, and they’ll have a few more hours before the party (sans Dustin, who was off to a previously scheduled, school-sponsored trip as of this morning, hence why he was in so early to say goodbye to Eddie and and to berate his uncle) descends, so they sit in the comforting lull of the day to the Munson Background Music. Wayne moving onto his paper, Steve picking up and attempting (once again) to get into The Hobbit.

He’s gotten through a whole five pages (Five! A new personal best!) when Wayne clears his throat, trying to grab Steve’s attention.

“Now don’t take this the wrong way son, but I gotta ask; it seems t’me you’ve got some…extra feelings for my Eddie.”

Steve freezes.

“No, no, none of that, Steve. I’m asking you both as a concerned uncle, and as a protective one.”

Steve gulps audibly. “How do you mean?” 

“C’mon son, you see anyone else here for ‘im as much? Believe you me, your curly-haired number one fan really handed it to me today. You’ve been here with Eddie more than I have.”

Steve feels his face burn in embarrassment, both for Dustin’s antics on his behalf, and for the current path this conversation is taking.

“Not to be cliché, but I gotta ask, What’re your intentions with my nephew?” Wayne’s eyes crinkle heavily in tandem with his warm smile.

Because the universe hates him, the chorus of the song currently playing cuts through the brief silence between his question and Steve’s not-yet-formulated response.

“ So won’t you, please (Be my, be my baby)? My one and only baby? ” Ronnie and her Ronettes croon, much to Steve’s dismay.

Steve chuckles, half humorously, “Ronnie said it best, Mr. Munson.”

After Wayne’s good-natured laughing fit is over, he says “Best of luck t’ya, Harrington. Just know I’ve got a shotgun in my closet back home.”

“Don’t worry, if I ever hurt your nephew, Dustin will sick Nancy on me. And she’s got a few.”

They fall into conversation again after that, and Steve finds out a bit more about the man, the myth, the legend that lays unconscious in the bed between him and Wayne. Eddie’s favorite color is either black or navy blue, he loves cinnamon-sugar on toast, about half the mugs in the Munson trailer are ones he’s collected, and (possibly the most important piece of information Steve’s ever known) Eddie’s full name is Theodore Wayne Munson.

“No way, Theodore??” Steve can’t contain his grin.

“Theodore.” Wayne nods with a smirk. “His dad hated it, started calling him Eddie basically from when he was born. Rationalized it bein’ short for Theodore, like a Ted to Teddy to Eddie type thing.

“Was his mom that named ‘im that, after her dad. She died when Ed was real young, so he’s been ‘Eddie’ all his life.” Wayne shrugs.

Steve goes to say something else, but is interrupted.

“Oh good, you’re both here.” Hopper grunts, stepping into Eddie’s room.

“Hop? What are you doing here?” Steve asks.

“You here to take that damn cuff off, Chief?”

Hopper comes up to the foot of Eddie’s bed and leans onto the plastic footboard, speaking low to only the two of them. “We’ve got a plan. We’re going to officially clear him today to the public, so yes, the cuff will be off later today but…” he pauses, looking between the two of them.

“Owens figures Eddie’ll be waking up sooner than later and when he does, he’ll need a place to lay low. You both know exactly how this’ll play out with the public, so Steve, we were hoping you’d be willing to take Eddie in in the meantime. If Wayne’s alright with that.”

“You don’t want him to be easy to track down.” 

“Most folks wouldn’t expect him to be staying with Steve...” Wayne says in understanding.

“Exactly.” Hopper nods, “But what about your parents?” he directs back to Steve.

“Honestly? No worries there. They haven’t been around much at all in the last year; I think they are about to cut their losses and just sign the house over to me.” he shrugs.

He ignores both Wayne and Hopper's concerned looks and continues. “What will I need to do to help him? Is he going to do physical therapy? Do his bandages need to be wrapped any different than mine?”

Dr. Owens comes in then, “We’ll know more after he wakes up, Steve, but yes, physical therapy appointments are likely in order to build back up his abdominal strength.”

“Honestly don’t think there was much there t’begin with, doc.” Wayne says, poking fun at his nephew as easy as breathing.

-----

A few more days pass, and Steve goes back to work. Having taken time to heal himself, and make sure his people were safe and sound after taking care of Vecna.

This is about when he gets the idea in his head about making a mixtape for Eddie himself. Music is such an important thing in Eddie’s life, and Steve wants to be sappy, okay? Mixtapes are a romance cliché he hasn’t delved into before and what better person to create one for?

Steve gets the call Eddie’s awake on a Wednesday. Family Video’s least busy day. 

“Family Video, this is Steve, How can I help you?” He drones.

“G’morning son, y’able to get to the hospital?” Wayne sounds like he’s smiling, but his stomach turns to lead anyway.

“Wayne?”

“Eddie’s awake. He’s ask–”

Steve doesn’t let him finish. “I’m on my way!” 

He slams the phone down on the receiver, yells “Gotta go, Ryan!” to his coworker in the back office and books it out the door without waiting for a response.

Breaking multiple speed limits on his way, Steve arrives at the hospital in record time. Deciding the elevator was a waste of time, he sprints up the two flights of stairs to Eddie’s room. 

Wayne’s outside the door talking to Hopper when he finally skids to a stop.

“He’s awake? Did someone tell Dustin? Gotta ask Will to help, he should be able to operate their crazy radio–Cerebro!” He snaps his fingers when the name comes to him. “Or maybe El can reach out an–” 

“Steve, calm down.” Hopper shushes him, “Yes, Eddie’s awake but still kinda loopy from the drugs. He’s been in and out for the last couple hours. And yes, I’ve called Claudia, she’s contacting Dustin’s camp to give him the news.”

He smiles, sagging in relief. “Can I see him?”

“Sure, go on in,” Wayne chuckles, stepping back from the door for Steve to pass.

Rushing forward to Eddie’s side, Steve sees the other man shifting; stirring as if waking up from a nap, not a coma.

“Hey Eds,” he chuckles after a particularly funny-looking stretch. “You good, man?”

“Stevie! Steviesteviestevie’s here! Wayne, Steve’s here!”

“I see that, now stop wriggling around. You’ll pull yer stitches.” Wayne calls, then goes back to his conversation with Hopper.

“Ohyeah, I’m Frankenstein now.” Eddie tells him with all the confidence in the world.

“You are, are you?” 

“Yeah I got all new skin and stitches.”

“...Are you talking about your skin grafts?”

“Uh, ya. Pay ‘tention Steve-o.” Eddie attempts to poke the end of Steve’s nose, but misses completely, poking a cold finger into his eye instead.

“Ow??”

“Steve? You okay?” Eddie looks like he’s about to cry, none the wiser to the bruised eyelid he just caused.

“Yeah, yeah, hon, I’m fine. You just poked me is all. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie breathes, sagging into the pillows under his shoulders with a sigh and a smile. “You called me ‘hon’.”

“That I did,” Steve says with a chuckle, “That okay?”

Eddie’s still smiling, closes his eyes and says, “No.” then promptly falls asleep.

“...What?”

-------

“You told Steve my full name?” Eddie accuses Wayne as soon as he steps through the door later that night (early that morning? Whatever..).

“Why’re you up?”

“Answer the question, old man!”

“Yeah, I did. Seemed pleased as punch t’have learned that lil’ bit of information.”

“I can’t believe this. He called me Teddy!” Eddie waves the scanned page in his uncle’s face.

“That’s cute.” Wayne toes off his boots and wanders into the kitchen for coffee. His bedtime staple.

“Cute?! You’re giving away my secrets!”

“You just now finding out about the Teddy thing? That was weeks ago, Eds, did he not call you that the whole time you were stayin’ there?”

“No??”

Wayne just shrugs in response. 

“Wait…” Eddie scans through the one memory he tries to keep wrapped up tight, lest he agonize over it 24/7, “He did once; he was running late for work one day…”

-------

Eddie is packed up and ferried off to Steve’s a couple days later; he’s still sore, still recovering, but at least now he can be out of the hospital and he’s past the biggest threat of infection.

He’s got a schedule of PT appointments he’ll have to make; a schedule of which Steve made sure to get into Keith’s hands before Eddie came home and ensuring he’d get Steve’s work schedule swapped around to accommodate (He did, after a thorough berating by Robin).

“This’ll be fun, huh Stevie?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the re-dressing instructions for his various wounds in his hand.

“Oh yeah, loads.” he responds sarcastically at first, but gives him a smile immediately after. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, Eds.”

He reaches over and pats the top of Eddie’s leg, then turns back to the road, pulling away from the curb none the wiser to Eddie’s burning red face.

They ride along in comfortable silence, the radio playing the local rock station at a low volume. 

“You ready for the chaos when Henderson gets back?”

Eddie scoffs, “I’m surprised he didn't manage to convince Claudia to pick him up, honestly.”

“Maybe he’s planning his escape to the bus station as we speak.” Steve laughs.

Eddie’s quiet long enough for Steve to look away from the road over at him. The sun through Eddie’s open window makes his dark brown, almost black curls glow gold at the edges; Steve finds himself wanting to kiss him more than anything.

But his face is contorted in worry, and he’s chewing on his already stubby fingernails.

“Eds? You alright?”

“Huh? Yeahyeah I’m just…panicking.”

Steve glances back to the road briefly, “About what?”

“He’s going to hate me.” Eddie blurts as soon as the ‘t’ leaves Steve’s mouth.

“No he’s not, Ed–”

“Why shouldn’t he? With what I put him through down there?”

“Hey, no, none of that.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. His fingers are going to start to bleed if he doesn’t stop.

“Eddie, look at me.” Steve grabs his hand away from his mouth, ignoring the feeling of wet fingertips as he laces their fingers together.

“Gross, man–”

“Eddie, that boy loves you so goddamn much. He may be a little passive aggressive about it for a while, but I know he’s glad you made it out of there. That you’re here with us.”

He lets himself smile at Steve’s words. “I’m only here ‘cause of you.” he says in a small voice.

“I just didn’t want Dustin to be sad.” Steve states, matter-of-factly and turns all his attention back to the road. 

Eddie snorts in laughter at that, and Steve’s face pulls up into a smirk.

He’s still holding Eddie’s hand.

-----

The plan is for Eddie to lay low for a couple weeks at minimum. 

Luckily for them, Hopper coming back lent credence to the claim that he was trying to help track down the Creel Murder copycat killer, being as the original killer was from Hawkins and all. 

The government pulled their strings, declaring Eddie a free man and a hero for saving a young Mr. Henderson when, while being held hostage at the Creel House, he’d taken a majority of the killer’s wrath and kept Dustin safe from the crumbling rubble when the earthquake hit. 

It was flimsy at best if you looked at it too hard, but luckily for them, it seemed like the people of Hawkins would much rather ignore their shortcomings when it came to the witch hunt than face them.

It only ended up taking about those two weeks for Eddie to get much stronger, and for things to blow over enough for him to go home.

But damn does Steve wish it was longer.

Not the…hiding from a mob thing, or healing from horrible wounds thing.. But the ‘having Eddie that close’ thing, the ‘comforting presence after a particularly bad nightmare’ thing.

Steve was falling harder and harder every day. Doing his damndest to make Eddie blush just a bit pinker every time his hand lingered on Eddie’s just a bit too long, every pretend need to brush his hair away from his face, and the particularly great ‘Oh, don’t worry if you can’t reach up enough to wash your hair, Eddie, I’ll help. I won’t look anywhere else, promise…unless you want me to’ he’d said (in much more eloquent terms) with a flirty wink

It was sickeningly domestic, and he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Even in the times they’d get frustrated with one another; Eddie sick of having to be helped with every little thing and having to deal with the constant pain, or Steve also dealing with his own wounds and having to deal with a couple of Eddie’s fits of anger at having to be helped.

Kudos to Eddie though, he really pushed through his PT, did everything right, listened to what Steve and his doctors told him, he was healing fast. 

On the second to last day of Eddie staying with him (though he didn’t know it at the time), Eddie was up before him. He’d snuck easily past the open door to the living room from the hall under the stairs, and into the kitchen.

Steve woke up to the smell of eggs and toast and wandered groggily into the kitchen himself.

Eddie had stretched the toaster from its usual spot in the corner of the counter to right next to the stove and had perched himself on a stool from the island so he could cook.

“Eddie?”

“Stevie, hey!” Eddie says, turning a bit to smile at him as he enters. “I hope you don’t mind scrambled, I don’t quite have the muscle movements to flip anything yet.

Steve blinks twice. Fuck. He’s in love.

“I’ll take anything you give me, Eds.” Eddie’s face turns fully scarlet at that. “Need any help? I’ll make some cinnamon toast if you’d like?” He asks, already pulling the toaster away from the stove with one hand and reaching for the cinnamon sugar with the other.

“Y-yeah, that’d be great Sweeth–Stevie.”

Steve feels his own face go scarlet at the slip, but doesn’t call attention to it. “Cool.” he says, like an idiot.

Eddie hums as they work, some song Steve doesn’t quite recognize, and soon they have two plates of breakfast.

“Thanks Eddie, this looks great.”

“You’re welcome Steve-o, I put some cheese in there too.” His smile is perfect.

“What’ve you got planned today?” 

Eddie launches into the campaign he’s been planning for the party, what he’s still got to figure out, whether or not he’s going to delay starting in order to make them all a figure of their characters, but then if he did that he’d need them all to give him their character sheets well beforehand and Mike is horrible about not making a character till the very last second..

Steve’s so entranced listening to him, he doesn’t realize what time it is until Eddie stops himself.

“Hey, don’t you have the opener today? It’s already 9:30.”

“Aw shit..”

Steve races up the stairs to his room to the tune of Eddie’s cackle, starting the shower first, then grabbing up whatever clothes he can find that’re clean.

He jumps under the warm spray and showers as fast as he possibly can, jumps back out, focuses on drying his hair as much as possible while trying to yank the denim of his jeans over the still-wet skin of his legs, pulls on a polo, shrugs on his vest, grabs up the stupid styling mousse he doesn't like to use all that often (it makes his hair sticky and he hates it, okay?) and whips his hair into shape.

Good enough.

He bolts back down the stairs, pulls on his socks, then shoes, fuck! Where are his keys??

“In here, Stevie!”

He peeks into the kitchen and Eddie’s got both arms outstretched in front of him where he’s still perched on the stool.

In one hand: his keys, in the other: a brown paper bag.

Eddie made him a lunch.

Can you fall more in love with someone that quick after doing it the first time?

“You’re a fuckin’ lifesaver,’ Steve reaches out with both his own hands, enveloping them over Eddie’s. 

He pushes them wide, steps between Eddie’s legs, kisses him quickly, then, just as quickly, is gripping onto the bag and his keys, and stepping backwards toward the door.

“Take it easy today, okay Teddy? You already did a lot, so just relax. See you later!” Steve admonishes the other man teasingly and spins out the front door.

It takes hours.

Hours for Steve to realize what he did.

“Oh no…Oh fuck! ” he yells, dropping the tape in his hand and abandoning the returns cart where it stands.

He books it to the front counter and launches himself over it, knocking a whole stack of already organized tapes off it in his wake a la Dustin Henderson.

Old Ms. Wilson turns her nose up at his antics and leaves without any preamble, and he’s mercifully alone in the store.

“C’mon, c’mon, Eddie please pick up…”

“Harrington residence!”

“Eddie! Eddie, I am so so sorry! I swear, I didn't even realize what I did until just about..hm.. 20 seconds ago? It doe–” Well, better now than never. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, we can just forget it ever happened if yo–”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries Harrington,”

“Harrington?”

Eddie continues on like he didn’t hear him “I know it was just a mistake; I should be out of here soon anyway so..”

There’s something off about his voice. “Ed–”

“So just forget it ever happened, ‘kay? Ooh, bring back Star Wars when you’re off, yeah? Thanks, Steve, you’re the best.”

The dial tone sounds in his ear.

Wow.. okay, that’s…fine. He’ll just stick to being hopelessly in love on his own, then.

-------

-------

“You mean to tell me,” Wayne’s got his eyes closed and his thumb and forefinger pinched over the bridge of his nose. “That that boy kissed you full on yer mouth. And you thought he was 100% not in love with you?”

“Well I know now that’s not true.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child being scolded. “He didn’t exactly sound all that excited about it when he called me.”

“I can’t believe I’m the one t’hafta tell ya this, but from what you said, in your own retelling , was Steve called hours later, ‘cause he didn’t realize he kissed ya, said ‘I’m sorry, it doesn’t have to mean anything.’...and you pushed him away.”

“That’s what I just said Wayne! I know now ‘cause of this tape but–”

“You’re hopeless. Bless that Buckley girl, oth’wise you’d still be…what’s she call ya? A Doofus about him.”

"...shut up.."

-------

Part 5 here!

tagging: @hellomynameismoo and @messrs-weasley 'cause they both asked so nicely!

[girlinthetardis04]

I have been hit with the Blorbo Disease, so have this mediocre snippet 🤭

For context this takes place halfway through the AU, when they reunited with the Ithacan peeps, and they're catching up.

~~~~~~~~~~~⛵~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Agamemnon is dead?!" Eurylochos couldn't help but blurt out his distress at the news.

Penelope nodded from her seat next to Odysseus, whose arms were coiled so tightly around her shoulders any onlooker might worry they'd fuse together. "Believe me, I wish I could say it was a surprise. But you don't know how Clytemnestra has been since... You know. Before the war. I don't think there hasn't been a day in these ten years where she hasn't thought about it."

The rest of the conversation faded away into an indistinct buzzing for Cassandra, who hastily excused herself from the dinner table.

She rushed over to the parapet of the ship, desperate for some fresh air; yet, no matter how many deep breaths she took, it felt as if there was nothing but a vacuum in her lungs.

This wasn't meant to happen. She wasn't meant to be here. She wasn't meant to be alive. She had seen it, countless times. Agamemnon, torn to pieces. Clytemnestra, manic and covered on blood. Herself, laying on the floor, cold, lifeless, bloodstained-

A gentle hand firmly placed itself on her shoulder.

"You can relax, my friend"

Ah, of course. Polites. In the early days of sailing, he had been her only solace (aside from her dear sister in law) amongst the greek soldiers. Cassandra sometimes wondered if Helios himself hadn't fashioned a ray of his sun into a person to make Polites. There truly was no other explanation for how a man that had just been through a decade of bloody war could be so open and welcoming to everything and everyone the world threw at him.

"You seem troubled, Cassandra" he leaned on the parapet next to her "or, more than usual, I suppose"

Cassandra sighed. There wasn't a chance she'd be believed, but perhaps it would do her some good to let it out.

"I wasn't meant to be here, Polites. I wasn't meant to be on this ship."

Taking a deep breath, she turned around so she was no longer faxing the open waters.

"I was to be Agamemnon's prize. I was to be taken back to his palace, and..."

Her throat nearly dried up at the mere thought.

"And I was meant to die there. Killed by Clytemnestra. I saw it, Polites. Countless times"

Polites couldn't help but furrow his brows. Whether in confusion or concern, Cassandra wasn't sure. "I had years to come to terms with it. Years to accept my fate. But now..." She brought a hand to her cheek, drying her tears. When had she begun crying?

"For the first time in my life, I... I don't know what will happen next. I wasn't meant to live this far. I-"

Her hands were shaking, something she only noticed once Polites had taken them into his.

"How... How do you do it, Polites? Never once have I seen you troubled, or defeated, no matter what the Gods throw at us. How?"

Polites merely shrugged, with that smile that never seemed to leave his face. "I just... try to greet the world with open arms."

Cassandra shook her head.

"I do not understand"

"Well...I just spent the last ten years of my life fighting. I looked around and realized how tired I was of the war and bloodshed. I thought to myself 'is this how we're supposed to live?'"

He frowned, reminiscing about the conflict. The battles, the blood, the clashing of swords...it was too much for anyone.

"Why should we take, when we could give? We're not at war anymore. We can stop and lower our guard."

He gestured to the empty deck of the ship, and the waters surrounding him and Cassandra.

"Here, we have a chance for some some adjustment, I'm telling you."

He gently pulled Cassandra along as he wandered across the deck to sit down on an old empty crate, patting the empty space next to him for Cassandra to sit as well.

"This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms."

Polites gave her a kind smile, softly cupping her face in his hands. Cassandra unconsciously leaned into his touch, too captivated by his words to notice.

"I see it in your face, there's so much fear inside your heart; so why not replace it, and light up the world, here's how to start: greet the world with open arms"

Cassandra leaned onto his shoulder, too drained by all the emotions of that evening to keep herself upright.

"...greet the world with open arms..."

She carefully rolled the worlds off her tongue, as if trying to grasp some hidden meaning.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and in a few moments she slumped over Polites's shoulder.

He chuckled, covering the former princess of Troy with his cloak to shield her from the cold night air. He leaned his head on hers.

"You can relax, my friend."

[nifflermini]

No, Really, how is ketchup made?

Author's Note: Just an idea that danced its way into my head. I just want to see if it works.

Warnings: None!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I have an idea." You announced plopping down at the lunch table. You pulled your hair out of its ponytail, grinning like a mad woman.

Bokuto stared at you, mouth about to take a bite of his sandwich. "Good or Bad?" He asked, forgetting his sandwich entirely.

I shrugged. "Who knows, but just meet me in the culinary classroom, kay?" He nodded, as you took a bite out of your apple.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just like he promised, he met you right in front of the classroom. Usually, his memory is pretty bad. but you knew he'd remember this one because this is where we first met. "Hey hey hey! What was this idea of yours?" He asked and you smirked, shrugging my backpack off my shoulders, to get the whole reason for this little meet up.

"Do you know how ketchup is made Bo?" you asked, while unzipping your bag. It was quiet for a little bit, while you reached for the two food items hidden in your bag.

"Uh-stepping on tomatoes?" You smiled, hand grazing against a smooth surface, and pulled it out.

"While that's a great theory, I want to test it." You suggested, pulling out the second bag of tomatoes, smirking at him.

"How did you get those?"

My mom works at a restaurant, remember?" You smirked at him. "Are we gonna figure this out or not?" You asked walking near the cupboard where the food processor and the blender, quickly finding them and getting to work setting them up near the stove. You knew heat had something to do with it, but what else? You reached for the microwave, coming in contact with something warm, and looking up to find Bokuto doing the same. HIs face turned red.

"S-sorry." He mumbled, and you tilted your head, confused. Why was he blushing?

"It's fine! You can use it Bo, I forgot to smush my tomatoes anyway." You explained, turning back around to find a bowl. You were too busy blending the tomatoes to notice Bokuto staring at you with a lovesick smile on his face.

And both of you were too busy figuring out how ketchup was made to notice the bell for class had rung.

You two spent hours in the culinary lab trying to figure out how ketchup was made. stuffing tomatoes into blenders and mixing things with other things. You set a timer, to see if your latest attempt at ketchup was closer than the rest. Once it went off, you squealed, hopping a little.

"Bo! C'mon, come look!" At some point, your separate attempts had merged into one, and he bolted over to see if this one was any closer. The goop was smoother than the others, but still wasn't the same consistency. You pouted, turning my head to share your disappointment with Bo, but his face was way closer than you thought, and your cheeks heated up, as you lurched back, almost losing your balance.

Lucky you, he caught you minutes before you would've hit your head.

Unlucky you, at that exact moment, the door swung open to reveal the principal.

"What are you two doing in here?" You and Bokuto looked at each other, then back at the principal, starting to explain at the same time

"Well, you see, I wanted to know how ketchup was made-"

"I don't know how ketchup is made! Or how it works! Or why it exists-"

"So we smushed the tomatoes-"

"I mean, who decided we needed to put tomatoes on food, that's just a weird thought, right-"

"-and it was just something i thought about, and i had extra tomatoes-"

"And i just needed to know, why put them in packets, how did they even get in packets?"

"-Tomatoes can't taste that good, they just can't!"

"STOP!" You both shut up pretty quickly. "Clean this mess up, and then get to your club activities!" You winced. Had you boht missed the entire day? It was worth it to spend time with Bokuto, but you hadn't realized the time had passed so quickly.

"Neither of us heard the bells?"

Bokuto helped you to your feet, as you both rushed to clean up the mess you had unwittingly made.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So... you missed practice because you were on a date?" You shook your head, the words causing your stomach to do all kind of gymnastics as your face heated up. Yearbook was always fun, but it was filled with a lot of your friends. Most of which knew you like the back of their hand. The events that happened next were unsurprising.

"No, I was just hanging out with Bokuto, that's all-" You tried defending. But this time, no one was willing to put up with your BS.

"Oh, Bokuto, the one loud guy you always sit next to in the cafeteria?"

"Well-"

"Bokuto the guy we know good and well is one of your best friends because you never stop talking about him?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Bokuto the guy that is one of the only reasons you check your phone?"

"..."

"...He's not the only reason..." You muttered.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bokuto had been at practice for 10 minutes and his... everything was way better than usual.

"You're in a good mood." Akaashi noted, and Bokuto turned to face the setter, with a smile.

"Yeah, before this, I was with Y/n, and we were making ketchup, but it didn't look like ketchup, it looked more like tomato sauce, but we tried putting sugar in it and it didn't work. But that's okay, because Y/n was trying to reach the top shelf, because we were trying to put a little bit of salt in it, and that wasn't working, but I got to lift y/n up to reach the shelf!" Bokuto was smiling like a lovesick idiot, and the entire team exchanged knowing glances.

"What?" Bokuto asked after a few minutes of silence, looking around at everyone.

"When are you going to finally tell her you like her?" Akaashi deadpanned.

"..."

"..."

"....Huh?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello all! No, I'm not quite sure what this is, but this is very (VERY) loosely inspired by "Troublemaker" by Olly Murs

No there was not much thought put into this, but there was a lot of love, because it's Bokuto, how can i not love him?

Anyway, the point was to listen to the song four times, and then get a story out of it in those four loops. I might do this with some more characters, so leave some song suggestions, and I'll see what I can come up with!

Love you all, and have a great day!

[ana-cantskywalker]

sabezra + start over again by new hope club for the drabbles?

I try to respond to an ask in a reasonable timeframe challenge (level: impossible)

Legally this isn’t a drabble (I only very recently learned what a drabble technically is and this ain’t it) I don’t even think it can be considered a microfic anymore. It absolutely got away from me and is kinda massive considering the prompt.

Anyways, I hope you like it!

Setting: Modern au, they are in college (idk the details just college)

-

He was an idiot.

He’d been told that before but now he was sure of it because only an idiot would do what he’d done yesterday.

It had started out going extremely well for him, after taking nearly three years to work up the courage to do so, he’d finally told Sabine how he felt. How he saw his best friend as more than just a best friend, how he wanted them to be more.

And she hadn’t killed him surprisingly enough.

He thought such a heavy confession would ruin what they already had, which is why he’d taken so long to admit it, but she took it well. She didn’t hate him for one, and she even agreed to go on a ‘date’ with him. Not a real go to a nice restaurant type of date, but something slightly more intimate than their usual hangouts, to see if it would be a dynamic they might want to pursue.

He didn’t really know why she’d agreed, he wouldn’t dare hope it was because she reciprocated even if she wouldn’t admit it, but maybe…

They’d agreed on a picnic in the park near his house, casual but not anything like what they would normally do together. All their cards on the table, but without the pressure, the stage was set to be a perfect day, and he’d been thrilled.

That is until he had to go and kriff it all up.

His first mistake was being chronically late, not on purpose of course, but late nonetheless. She had to wait for him for nearly half an hour, it was a miracle she hadn’t just left, and maybe she should have. And then he had to go put his foot in his mouth when he tried complimenting her, he couldn’t even remember now what he’d said, just that it had sounded like a borderline insult.

He should’ve just told her she was beautiful, because kriff, she was.

Then, the cherry on top to the disaster of a date was when he knocked over his drink and spilled it all over her dress. Like an idiot.

It hadn’t ended with her yelling at him like he probably deserved, but it had been three days ago and she hadn’t so much as texted him. They usually talked every day. She was rightfully upset and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He needed to, his relationship with Sabine, friend or otherwise was one of the most important relationships he had. Also if he didn’t Tristan was going to kill him the next time he saw him.

The sound of a door closing snapped him from the doom spiral he was having face down on the couch. Looking up he saw his roommate Zeb walking in. The older boy gives Ezra a disapproving once over, “You still moping?”

Ezra doesn’t dignify him with a response, so he keeps going. “You know moping here on the couch isn’t going to fix anything.”

He rolls his eyes, “Thank you for that astute observation, Zeb.”

Zeb pushes through their tiny living area towards his room, “Fine, if you want to sit here in your misery then do it, just don’t bother me about it. But, if I was you, I would go apologize.”

With that he’s gone and Ezra sits up, he was right and Ezra hated it. He’d known for the past three days that was what he needed to do, he was just terrified of the response he might get. What if she chewed him out and never wanted to see him again.

Well, maybe that was a little extreme, she had every right to be upset but he might have been making the situation more drastic in his head. He had been known to be dramatic over things on occasion.

As he is pondering the extent of his dramatization of events, his eyes land on a picture stuck to the fridge, he could barely make it out from where he was, but he knew what it was of. It was a picture he and Sabine had taken when they went to the amusement park outside town last Summer. It was one of his favorite memories, not just with her, but ever. Was he really going to ruin that over his stupid cowardice?

No. He wasn't.

He was going to make things right.

-

The trip to the coffee shop where Sabine worked was quick. It was the prime spot to run into her for two reasons. One, because it was currently her work hours and he didn’t want to wait. Two, because if he risked waiting till later and trying to go see her at her and Tristan’s shared apartment, there was always a chance he would be there and she wouldn’t, and he didn’t fancy getting punched in the face today.

However, that still wasn’t out of the question with Sabine.

The bell above the door rang as he entered, and he was greeted by the familiar smells of coffee and pastries. It was quiet inside, only a few customers sitting at tables and no one in line at the register. Behind it sat Sabine, hunched over what he could assume was a sketchbook, golden eyes narrowed in concentration, purple and pink hair framing her face. She really was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He cautiously approaches the counter, and she doesn’t look up, even when he reaches it, clearly not noticing it was him. Without so much as a glance she asks, “How can I help you?”

He clears his throat, pushing down the nerves in his stomach. “Could I have a hot chocolate please… and a second chance?”

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, shock written on her face, “Ezra-”

He cuts her off, which probably wasn’t the best idea in terms of trying to make it up to her, “Sabine, I’m really sorry about the other day. I messed up completely, and I know you’re probably really mad at me because I was a total idiot.”

It all comes out as one big word vomit, and he looks at the ground, embarrassed both because of why he had to apologize in the first place, and also because of his delivery of said apology.

“Yeah, you were kind of a total idiot weren’t you?”

When he looks up, instead of the disapproving scowl he’d been expecting, he finds a mischievous smirk. He could cry from relief at the fact that she apparently didn’t hate him.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Could we start over?”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

More songfic angst, but this is more canon-compliant...sorry. But this song just fits. Inspired by @strawberryspence's initial post with Steve becoming a musician with dead Eddie as his muse.

Steve Harrington of the Corroded Coffin is known for many types of songs. He sings rock ballads, slower solo things, yells to some old school metal with his bandmates even. He is charismatic, kind, smiles at all his fans and friends, contributes to charities, both with money and his time.

But he's very reserved and no one really understands who he really is, what he is like behind his carefully crafted mask. No matter how many times interviewers ask, he just smiles and deflects. Sometimes mentions his hometown of Hawkins, the mysterious Indiana town that was home to many tragedies and never fully healed from it.

March is a strange month for the Corroded Coffin. It seems that no matter what is happening in the world of music, all the members are simply gone for a few weeks. "Personal reasons", that's what they say.

It isn't until 1996 that the fans learn something about not just Steve Harrington, but all of the Corroded Coffin members. They are all shocked to hear that CC will play at a huge music festival - in March. This is the first time the band members are seen in public on this date and when they walk onto the stage, there is something slightly off about them. Something tense.

Steve clears his throat and looks at his friends, as if seeking their permission. Then he leans into the microphone. "Good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming. We, uh...we have something different for you today. Something special that we wanted to share because it's...it's time. It's been ten years and thanks to all of you, to your support, we don't need to stay silent anymore. So...we have a new song for you, but it's not just for you. It's for a man we all knew and admired."

He straightens his spine and takes a deep breath, his fingers running restlessly on the red and black guitar he always uses, ten years and this is the only electric guitar he's performed with. "The man we wrote this song for was our friend. He was odd and eccentric, loud and some people found him obnoxious. But he was the bravest, kindest and most creative soul I've ever had the privilege of meeting."

The other Corroded Coffin members are smiling now, a bit pained but smiles nevertheless, nodding to Steve's words. The drummer, Gareth, is clutching his wrist, over a bracelet he never takes off.

"Corroded Coffin was his. He...he should be standing here, in front of you. Not me. The guitar you're asking about all the time? It was his. And while I never had the pleasure of hearing him perform, I've heard he was the best. He got all of the guys together, suggested the name, always hounded them to practice."

Jeff chuckles and shakes his head. "He could be really persuasive."

Steve continues, his voice stronger now. "He loved life more than anything, he found magic in the most mundane of things. He also smoked like a chimney and ate cereal by handfuls, no milk, no bowl." He laughs at this, the wrinkles around his eyes harsh in the stage lights. "He was a menace. But he saved my life and the lives of people dearest to me. He was brave, almost to a fault." Steve's voice drops at this, becomes colder, clearer. "But that's not what the world knows him as. So today, in front of all of you. Let me tell you the story of the man who brought us here - Eddie Munson."

The crowd grows restless now, some people recognizing the name, others blinking in confusion. But Steve presses on, doesn't give them a pause. "Eddie was from our hometown of Hawkins. He failed his senior year twice, but that only shows you that schools don't have it all figured out because that man was smart. There was a series of murders in Hawkins, in March of 1986. And Eddie was blamed for it because...because he liked metal. And Dungeons and Dragons. So of course, in the eyes of our lovely town, he worshipped the devil. He was the weirdo, the outcast, and that was enough to start a manhunt for him."

He turns back to his bandmates, taking in their faces. The paleness, the tightness of their lips. The injustice burns to this day.

"Eddie didn't commit those murders. He was there when they happened, he saw them, but he was paralyzed, terrified. No one should ever see the things he saw. He couldn't have saved anyone then, and we think that's what haunted him. That's...that's why..." His voice breaks down and he shudders, raising his hand at the increasing noise from the audience.

"That's why, when the Red earthquake of 1986 hit Hawkins, Eddie didn't run. He stayed behind. Saved me, my friends...and died for it, knowing he'd be blamed for everything in the end. Like he still is. We pleaded with the police, asking them to reopen his case, to clear his name, but...Eddie was dead. And the story was pretty convenient. They refused to listen or do anything and we felt...helpless. Paralyzed too."

Steve looks directly at the audience now, his voice ringing out over the sudden silence. "But we are done being silent. Thanks to all of you, we have a voice now. We can tell the truth. And the truth is - Eddie Munson was innocent. He died a hero and is still paying price for small town prejudice. So Eddie," he points upwards, to the heaven, "this one is for you. For you and for your uncle who still believes in you to this day, who loves you just as we do."

The song they play makes it to national news. It sparks many controversies, critique, but it can't be silenced, too many people heard it. Radio stations want to play it, along with a summary of Steve's speech.

Eventually, after years and months of silence...Eddie's name is cleared. The public pressure forced the Hawkins PD to reveal they had nothing tying Eddie to the murders, no direct evidence. It feels like too little, too late, but it's at least something.

And in a new trailer in Hawkins, Wayne Munson sits on his couch, clutching a tape case in his fingers and listens to the song that brought his boy's voice back.

Two packs of cigarettes a day The strongest whiskey Kentucky can make That's a recipe To put a vagabond on his hands and knees I watched it all up close I knew him more than most I saw a side of him, he never showed Full of sympathy For a world that wouldn't let him be

That's the man he was Have you heard enough?

What a shame, what a shame To judge a life that you can't change The choir sings, the church bells ring So, won't you give this man his wings? What a shame, to have to beg you to see We're not all the same What a shame

There's a hard life for every silver spoon There's a touch of grey for every shade of blue That's the way that I see life If there was nothing wrong Then there'd be nothing right And for this working man, they said, could barely stand There's gotta be a better place to land Some kind of remedy For a world that wouldn't let him be

That's the man he was Have you heard enough?

God forgive the hands that laid you down They never knew how Much your broken heart can break the sound And change the season Now the leaves are falling faster Happily ever after You gave me hope through your endeavors And now you will live forever

What a shame, what a shame To judge a life that you can't change The choir sings, the church bells ring So, won't you give this man his wings? What a shame, to have to beg you to see We're not all the same What a shame

[stardusted-bookworm]

It ain't the being alone.

She'd been alone all her life. Had grown comfortable with it. Had known loneliness like an old friend. Had known. For never had loneliness wounded her the way it did now. She now knows that loneliness had left her long ago and had not been her companion since he walked into her life.

It ain't the empty home, baby.

She looks around at the house they'd called home. She is haunted by a memory. A memory of the rafters being filled with laughter and joy as he waltzed her around their dining room. A memory of the smell of spiced meats and mouth-watering dishes. Memories of endless hours of talking, of enjoying each others' companies as the fire crackled and the rain poured down outside.

These memories fade, leaving her in the cold, desolate house she had built for them. Portraits smile at her from the walls, cruel remembrances of a time no longer present. The fire no longer crackles. The stove no longer houses their cooking. And the floors remain un-danced.

You know I'm good on my own.

As she stares at a dent in the wall, she also remembers the endless fights. Him complaining that she was always gone. Shouting that she was never around. Her yelling back that she was around. All the time. That she should be allowed her own time and space. That she shouldn't need to be so firmly attached to him at all times that they fuse into one person. They had been born separate for a reason.

She remembers the silence after that. Should've predicted what came next.

You know it's more the being unknown.

He did not speak to her again, except for short words, curt answers. He was never in the house unless it was to sleep, and somedays, he did not even return for that. He no longer remembered the secrets they had shared with smiles. He no longer cared to remember her favorites, her laugh, her song. It was as if he was methodically un-remembering her.

And oh, how her heart broke at that.

And there are some people, love, who are better unknown.

She presses a hand to her chest, surprised to see it come away clean. The pain of her heart is so acute she believes she should be bleeding.

For it was not just the un-remembering. She had found out later, after he had left for the last time, that he had found someone new. Had wooed and courted this other with as much fervor as he had her. Had made them laugh, had danced with them, had enjoyed their company as ardently as he had with her.

It was then her heart cleaved. Was rent in two. Never to be mended. To be removed completely from his memory... to be treated as if she had never existed... No, there was no coming back from that.

It would've been better if she had never met him, she thinks to herself. For the good did not outweigh the bad.

She thinks back to how often he would dismiss her. Would not share in her excitement the closer they got to the end. Was it her fault? Should she have tried harder?

No. Her resolve hardens. The blame is not hers to carry. Not when he left the way he did. Not when he abandoned her before she even knew it was over.

She stands and looks at the match burning in her hand. She lets it fall to the ground and walks out of the burning house, burning the memories of him with it.

Nothing would grow on that patch of land again. She had ensured it. Had coaxed her magic back to her after years of suppressing it to make him happy. Never again would she debase herself the way she had allowed him to debase her.

She is the most powerful witch of her age. And the world would remember her power once more.

Starting with him and his pretty new bride.

[windfighter]

Möt mig i Gamla Stan

Det var ett sammanträffande att de sågs i Stockholm.

Kouji var där och hälsade på en vän efter att ha tagit fotografier uppe i fjällen. Varför Takuya var där visste han inte, men han kunde ana.

”Hatar fotboll”, muttrade Balder och trängde sig fram mellan människorna som stod samlade i baren. ”Varför skulle vi hit av alla ställen?”

Kouji följde efter. Han tyckte han kände igen några av personerna, men det var knäppt, han kände ingen i Stockholm. Förutom Balder.

”Jag gillar den här baren”, svarade han. ”Deras öl är god.”

”Fattar fortfarande inte att du är en öl-drickare.”

Balder vände sig om, händerna i sidorna, och såg på Kouji. Höjde ett ögonbryn.

”Du klagar varje gång vi går hit”, sa han.

Kouji skrattade, la en arm över Balders axlar och förde honom vidare mot bardisken.

”Jag klagar på karaoken, inte ölen. Kom igen, vad vill du ha?”

Balder slet sig loss. Kouji var lite orolig att han skulle tappa bort Balder i folkmängden. Nästan alla där inne var längre än Balder var. Balder satte händerna bakom huvudet.

”Mumin-dricka.”

”Du är en sån unge.”

Balder puttade Kouji innan han tog tag i Koujis hand.

”Fanta. Jag dricker fortfarande inte alkohol.”

Kouji himlade med ögonen.

”Du får nöja dig med Piña Colada.”

”Bara den är alkoholfri.”

Balder släppte Koujis hand och försvann bland folket. Kouji fortsatte till bardisken, beställde deras drinkar och gick för att hitta Balder igen. Det var då han såg honom. Takuya. Mitt i en samling av fotbollsfans. Koujis hjärta slog ett extra slag. Takuya hade inte sett honom. De hade inte setts på två år. Koujis händer skakade, öl spillde från glaset. Takuya hade fortfarande inte sett honom. Det hade varit deras största bråk. Deras slutgiltiga ord.

”Det är slut.”

Skilda vägar. Kouji hade packat sina saker och åkt hem till Japan. Han visste inte vad Takuya hade gjort. Livet gick vidare, jobben fortsatte komma in. Kouji hade knappt tänkt på Takuya.

Bara under nätterna, när det var mörkt och kallt och han var ensam.

Han svalde och slog undan blicken. Letade upp Balder istället. Han satt i ett bås, en av Takuyas lagkamrater bredvid honom, armen över Balders axlar och handen på Balders bröst. Balder såg ut som han skulle dö på platsen och Kouji gick snabbare.

”That’s my partner your flirting with”, sa Kouji när han kom närmare.

Han satte drinkarna på bordet. Balders kinder var röda och Kouji korsade armarna över bröstet. Takuya’s lagkamrat som Kouji inte kom ihåg namnet på flyttade en bit åt sidan och tog bort armen från Balder.

”We can take it outside if you want to”, forsatte Kouji.

Balder sträckte sig efter sin drink, tog en klunk av den. Fotbollaren lyfte händerna och reste sig upp.

”Just thought she looked lonely”, sa han.

”He was just waiting for me.”

”Kan försvara mig själv”, mumlade Balder.

Fotbollaren muttrade några välvalda grova ord på Italienska innan han vände och gick därifrån. Kouji skakade på huvudet och satte sig mitt emot Balder. Balder log osäkert.

”Han var inte så farlig. Jag ville inte vara oartig.”

”Du var obekväm”, Kouji rykte på axlarna. ”...Takuya är här.”

”Huh.”

Balder flyttade sig mot väggen, lutade ryggen mot den och drog upp benen på bänken. Kouji gjorde detsamma.

”Hur känner vi för det?” frågade Balder.

Kouji ryckte på axlarna igen. Han visste inte riktigt. Han drack några klunkar öl och såg ut på folkhavet. Balder tittade mot scenen.

”De tänker köra karaoke”, sa han med ett skratt. ”Ska vi också gå upp?”

”Jag sjunger inte framför folk.”

”Antar att jag inte räknas som folk.”

De tystnade. Lyssnade på människorna omkring dem, personerna som uppträdde. Kouji beställde in en andra öl när hans första tog slut. Takuya sjöng en låt och till och med Balder skakade på huvudet.

”Inte en ton rätt. Jag menar, jag sjunger också hellre än bra men…”

”Takuya har två saker han kan, sjunga är inte en av dem”, sa Kouji med ett skratt.

”Springa och knulla”, svarade Balder och nickade.

Kouji rodnade, sträckte sig över bordet och slog Balder i bakhuvudet. Balder skrattade och de satte sig till rätta och lyssnade vidare igen.

Kouji tittade inte mot Takuya. Han tittade inte mot Takuya med sådan intensitet att Balder märkte det.

”Gå och säg hej.”

”Aldrig i livet. Han kan inte svenska.”

Balder skrattade.

”Fortsätt vara kärlekskrank då. Se om jag bryr mig.”

Balder brydde sig alldeles för mycket och Kouji lät bli att svara. De satt i tystnad. Kouji drack upp sin andra öl. Balder var forfarande inte klar med sin första drink. Takuya sjöng ytterligare en låt och Balder ställde sig upp.

”Jag tänker sjunga nåt.”

”Du kommer dö när du kommer upp på scenen.”

”Finns värre sätt att dö på.”

Balder gick upp på scenen. Kouji beställde en whiskey och lutade sig tillbaka för att lyssna. Balder sjöng lite bättre än Takuya i alla fall. Inte rent, men inte falskt nog för att göra folk döva. Han hade valt Believer av Imagine Dragons och Kouji skakade på huvudet. Han kunde inte förstå varför nån skulle välja att sjunga en låt som betydde så mycket inför en sån här publik.

Å andra sidan kunde han inte riktigt förstå varför varför man skulle upp och sjunga inför publik till att börja med.

Balder avslutade sin sång och bugade för publiken, som skrattade och applåderade, innan han gick tillbaka till båset Kouji satt i. Kouji höjde sitt glas.

”För ett lyckat uppträdande”, sa han.

Balder höjde sitt eget glas.

”Yeah, sure. Skål för ett lyckat uppträdande.”

Han satte sig ner och tog ett par klunkar av Piña Coladan. Funderade. Kouji ville inte veta vad Balder funderade på, men var rätt säker på att Balder skulle avslöja det vilken sekund som helst. Kouji hade rätt.

”Du borde också sjunga nåt”, föreslog Balder. ”Det är kul.”

Kouji övervägde, men svarade inte, och Balder släppte samtalet. De drack sina drinkar, lyssnade på andra som sjöng och pratade om djuren de hade sett på Skansen under dagen. Kouji undvek fortfarande att titta mot Takuya.

Men alkohol gjorde något med folk. Fick deras hämningar att släppa, fick ljuset att se lite annorlunda ut, musiken att låta varmare, människorna mjukare. Kouji var inte immun. Balder såg mot honom, som om han visste vad som höll på att hända. En del av Kouji visste också, men han ville inte erkänna det. Hans drink tog slut och han reste sig upp. Kroppen kändes varm, nervös. Som om han skulle spricka om han inte…

Men Takuya var omringad. Om de visste vem Takuya var eller om de bara blivit charmade av honom kunde Kouji inte avgöra. Takuya hade den effekten på folk. Det var inte därför det hade tagit slut, Kouji hade aldrig känt sig åsidosatt, avundsjuk eller igorerad. De hade båda behov den andra inte kunde fylla, men de hade alltid kommit tillbaka till varandra. Alltid redo att släppa allt för den andra.

Kouji kunde knappt komma ihåg vad som hade varit spiken i kistan den här gången. Takuya hade sagt nånting. En mening som hade förändrat allt, men bara för att Kouji hade låtit den. Koujis händer skakade och han gick mot bardisken. Men hans väg bytte riktning, hans fötter förde honom mot scenen. Hans steg ekade högt i hans öron när han gick upp på den. Takuya såg mot honom och han såg på Takuya för första gången på kvällen. Takuyas ögon vidgades, förvåning över att se Kouji där. Men det var ingen ilska i dem, ingen besvikelse, ingen sorg.

Vilka känslor syntes i Koujis ögon? Han hoppades Takuya kunde se dem, hoppades Takuya missade dem. Han tog tag i mikrofonen, svalde och tog ett djupt andetag. Musiken började, texten på skärmen ovanför scenen. Koujis hjärta slog dubbla slag och han började sjunga.

”Smaken av kyssar som dröjer kvar, dröjer kvar. Luften vibrerar av du och jag, du och jag här.”

Kouji försökte titta på allt utom Takuya, men plötsligt var Takuya det enda som existerade i hela världen. Koujis blick var fast, som klistrad. Hans röst darrade, tog tonerna snett på ett sätt han inte brukade. Takuya sa nånting till en a personerna han var med, till en av sina lagkamrater. Koujis kinder var heta.

”Jag behöver dig! Möt mig i Gamla Stan nu ikväll, nu ikväll. Jag väntar i Gamla Stan, behöver dig hos mig ikväll.”

Hans mage värkte, slog kullerbyttor. En drink för många, rädsla. Vad skulle Takuya säga, göra, känna? Kouji visste inte ens vad han själv kände.

”Rädslan jag bar är sen länge död, länge död.”

Två år hade han haft på sig att smälta Takuyas önskan, förslag. Det som hade ändrat allt. Han var redo att testa nåt nytt, att ta ansvar på en ny nivå, så länge Takuya var vid hans sida. Han hoppades att det inte bara var alkoholen som fick honom att känna så, att han inte skulle ändra sig när morgonen kom.

”Stoppa en taxi, kapa ett tåg eller spring allt du orkar hit, bara ta dig hit. Möt mig i Gamla Stan, nu ikväll.”

Takuya gick närmare scenen. Kouji’s mage kändes tung, hans kinder brann. Vad skulle han säga? Vad skulle Takuya säga? Skulle de börja om igen, skrika, kyssas, älska? Hata? Kouji tog ett steg bakåt. Varför gick han upp på scenen?

”Som en skugga av den jag trott jag va’, nu börjar jag förstå, jag behöver dig.”

Koujis röst darrade. Han tog ett fastare grepp om mikrofonen. Hans hand darrade också. Takuya stannade. Såg på honom. Kouji sjöng refrängen, outrot. Folk applåderade, hurrade, och Takuya gick mot scenen igen. Kouji backade. Släppte mikrofonen och flydde.

--------

Kouji disappeared. Away from the stage, into the crowd and out. Takuya tried to hurry after him, but hands grabbed at him, held him back.

”I don’t have time”, he said. ”I need to…”

”Where are you going, handsome?”

Takuya broke free, but someone else grabbed him. It was useless. Kouji had probably gone up in smoke by now if Takuya knew him. Two years without a word, then this. Takuya let out a sigh. It was his fault, he shouldn’t have said anything. But Junpei and Izumi had seemed so happy with their kids and Takuya always spoke before he thought.

”When are we getting some?” he had asked. Like an idiot, and Kouji had exploded. And Takuya exploded. And then it was over. Kouji deserved better and Takuya hadn’t tried to hunt him down, contact him, reach out. But the nights had been lonely, the days had been cold.

A hand grabbed Takuya’s and dragged him towards the door.

”He’s a fucking idiot”, the owner of the hand said. ”Bet you don’t even know where Gamla Stan is.”

Takuya shook his head. The handowner shook theirs.

”Absolute idiots. The both of you. He’ll be at the harbor, probably thinking about joining one of the ships.”

Takuya was pulled into the night. His jacket still left inside. He wouldn’t see that one again he guessed.

”This street down to the water, then to the left. He’ll be easy to miss.”

They gave him a shove. Takuya turned towards them.

”Who are you?”

”Balderdash, my friends call me Balder. You may call me Your Majesty.”

Takuya snorted. Balder put a hand over his face and shook it.

”Go. He’s waiting for you.”

[a/n: If I knew Japanese I’d change the language AGAIN here, but alas I do not so English it is]

Takuya went. The night was warm. Loud. Lots of people still out and about. It was the middle of July, the height of summer. There had been a friendly game of football between Sweden and Japan, which Sweden had lost, and which was the reason Takuya was in Sweden. The thought of meeting Kouji there? Hadn’t even crossed his mind. Why would Kouji be in Sweden of all places?

But Kouji was here. Waiting for him, if Balder was right. Takuya hurried his steps, down the street, too the water. The water was still, a few boats crossing it. Takuya turned left and started running. Would he recognize the harbor? Boats were parked all along the sidewalk and he felt like he was already there.

The sidewalk got wider, opened up to almost look like a townsquare. There was a statue in the middle of it, a shadowy figure next to it. Looking out at the boats, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Takuya slowed his steps. Kouji. What was he going to say? What would Kouji said? Kouji turned towards him, hands in his pockets, and Takuya stopped.

”...Didn’t know you knew Swedish”, he said.

”It doesn’t come up in conversation often”, Kouji answered.

He seemed nervous. Kicked the ground. Takuya put his hands in his pockets.

”I don’t know Swedish though”, he said.

Kouji laughed, but it died out again.

”I shouldn’t have”, he said. ”I’m a bit drunk.”

Silence. It seemed to stretch into eternity. Takuya scratched his arm.

”Sorry”, he said. ”I shouldn’t have… I should have thought before I spoke.”

He wasn’t sure Kouji remembered the fight, what had led up to it, but Kouji shook his head.

”I shouldn’t have shot it down”, Kouji answered.

He walked over to a edge of the harbor, sat down. Takuya sat down next to him. A swan crossed the water, disappeared under a bridge. They had never been nervous around each other before. Takuya didn’t like it, but what if he scared Kouji away for another 2 years?

”I never needed a kid to be happy”, Takuya said. ”I was happy with you. With how everything worked between us.”

”Yeah…” Kouji looked at the water. ”Did you mean it though? Did you want one?”

Takuya considered. He wasn’t sure. It had always been a goal in life. Get married, have kids, be a good member of society. Junpei and Izumi seemed to enjoy it. The kids were great. Takuya looked at his hands.

”I should, shouldn’t I?” he asked.

”We never did what we should”, Kouji answered.

He was right. Kouji was always right. Takuya looked at the sky instead. Cloudy, the moon peeking out between the clouds.

”I think I do”, he said. ”Eventually, when my career has calmed down. Or if you stay at home for longer. Not right now, but later.”

”I don’t think I would be a good parent”, Kouji said. ”I don’t know how to.”

”I’m not sure anyone knows.”

Silence again, but this time it felt calmer. A cloud covered up the moon and someone walked past behind them, singing loudly into the night.

”What does this mean for us?” Takuya asked.

”I don’t know”, Kouji said. ”I’ve missed you. If you want to have kids… I could try?”

Takuya shook his head.

”No, I… don’t mind never getting kids. It’s fine. If you don’t want kids…”

”Not right now”, Kouji said. ”I’m not ready, if I’ll ever be.”

”That’s fine.”

Takuya stood up, held a hand out to Kouji.

”Are you coming back home?” he asked.

”I’ve got a trip to Finland coming up”, Kouji stood up as well. ”Maybe after that.”

”That’s all I ask for”, Takuya answered.

He grabbed Kouji’s hand, pulled him closer and got up on his toes, kissed him. Kouji wrapped his free arm around Takuya.

”I’ll see you at home then”, Takuya said.

Kouji smiled. Let go of Takuya and nodded.

”I’ll see you at home.”

He left. Takuya watched as Kouji walked along the harbor, crossed a street and disappeared among the bushes and trees of Kungsträdgården. He felt lighter. Kouji was his again. He smiled and made his way back to the hotel. The world was brighter, the moon once again peeking through the clouds, and the future was once again shining.

[detritusanddross]

and they say there's a heaven (for those who will wait)

Warrior Nun 

Avatrice

450w

--

This time, when they said their vows, it was at the top of the steps in the chapel at Cat’s Cradle, surrounded by the proudly cheering members of the family they had gathered through their long fight—the family they had chosen.  

In the end, it took them almost five years to make it back to where it all began; through multiple dimensions, a holy war that spanned continents and a god they had to kill for trying to keep them apart. 

“Ava?” Camila’s finger hovered over the green triangle on her phone that was plugged into the sound system in the dining hall. 

With a shaky breath, Ava looked across the large space to where Bea was dictating some final instructions to Yasmine and Dora about where to move a table. How is she always so beautiful? The tears in her eyes hadn’t fallen yet but when Bea sensed her staring and turned to catch her gaze, she gave a somewhat watery smile back, lips quivering with the strength of a love that had never for a moment—despite time or distance—dimmed. 

She nodded slowly to Camila, eyes still fixed on Bea, who’s head shot up at the roof with the sudden intrusive volume of piano keys coming from the speaker. A frown of disbelief pinched her face and her mouth dropped open as she glanced back at Ava with wide eyes and a look of exasperation that said, really?

Ava pressed her lips together, cheeks dimpling and eyes shining with impossible to contain glee. Her face was painted with clear lines of mischief and she bit her lip and skipped towards her wife across the makeshift dance floor as first a snare, then a cymbal, then a drumbeat joined the piano.

Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait.

“No,” Bea’s voice was flat but her eyes were soft and shining as they rolled at her wife and she took Ava’s hand without hesitation, letting her pull their bodies together even as she shook her head.

You Catholic girls start much too late.

“Yes,” Ava grinned as wide as she could, felt her face splitting almost in two at the joy of the moment and she gripped Bea tightly before spinning her away and shuffling her feet a little too fast for the beat. 

Aw, but sooner or later, it comes down to fate.

“I can’t believe you picked this for our first dance,” Bea’s voice was far too gentle for her to be hiding any animosity, so Ava just laughed and pulled Bea back into her, leaning forward to whisper against her lips.

“I might as well be the one.”

And Bea melted into her kiss as she always would. 

--

[bitwynn]

so, as a person who is about to drown in their midterms and missing writing about their Crack Taken Seriously SAGAU Songfic!AU story, i got bored and decided to generate character prompts.

i think i ended up just making more work for myself because i really wanna draw these as tiny comics AHAHAHAHA

if you wanna generate your own quotes, i used ScatterPatter's Incorrect Quote generator! <<this is the link lmao

[tirednotflirting]

this could be heaven (if heaven was an actual place)

hello there! it’s time for the 2022 5SOS Song Fic Fest ( @5sos-fic-fest )! it’s here! we did it!

firstly! many many thanks to @allsassnoclass​ for organizing this event! this was so fun and i’m very very appreciative for your support and for keeping all of us organized lol.

this fic is inspired by the song Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa by FINNEAS. (it’s a good one! go listen!)

special thanks go out to @reveriesofawriter for reading like three different versions of this silly little story and also convincing me at least a few times that i was indeed capable or writing this. meghna ilysm, idk how i got so lucky to know you. also many thanks to @kaleidoscopeminds <3 somehow the moment i was questioning whether or not i should participate in this event, meg showed up in my dms to encourage me to sign up. she’s got super powers i stg. meg ily your support in all things means more than i could ever express. also - shout out to my roommate who let me read bits of this out loud to her to check for flow. she’ll never read this but bless her.

here this is on ao3 if that’s more your jam

happy reading :)

Michael is still getting used to not waking up alone.

Before, when he was off tour, he’d wake around 9. Though all of the health Tiktoks he’d get on his For You page (and his mother) would advise against it, he typically would immediately pick up his phone and scroll through the notifications that had gathered while he slept. Usually dumb things on Twitter and Instagram, late night DMs of dog videos from Calum, emails also from Calum related to something the PR team needs Michael to do. Eventually, he would climb out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen to wake up his coffee maker. 

While the coffee brewed, he would feed the dogs and turn on a podcast likely suggested to him by Ashton (he was big on podcasts for a while). He would let the dogs out to the backyard before sitting at the island with his coffee to continue listening to the podcast. His second cup would be accompanied by a scroll through his news app to check up on what was going on in the world. After he felt caught up, he would retreat back to his room, get dressed, and text Calum or whoever he was writing with or his manager, all depending on what was to be done that day. He didn’t spend all that much time with his mornings; there was always something to be done and he didn’t want to get behind on things.

But still, it was a mindless routine. His mother or Ashton would shake up the routine every once in awhile by sharing some tip they had heard or read somewhere that would have Michael adding in a glass of lemon water before the coffee or a gummy multivitamin that he kept on his nightstand to make sure he didn’t forget to take them. But ultimately the routine stuck to the same general pattern until Michael went on tour and would have to relearn the whole thing upon returning to LA so many months later.

That all changed after Luke became a part of Michael’s world.

It depended on the day of the week. He taught early morning labs on some weekdays and it made more sense for him to stay at his place closer to campus to get to those since sweetheart, I love you but rockstars live too far from the campus. This particular morning was a Tuesday, which meant Luke wasn’t due on campus until a meeting with his advisor at 3PM. That meant they could sleep in. That was the first change to Michael’s routine: rising a bit later in the morning. But the purple painted below Luke’s baby blue eyes worried him more than he would ever let him know, so they slept in a bit.

The ridiculous sleep schedule was one of the first things Michael learned about Luke. Though it had taken a week for him to respond to Michael’s first messages to him after being set up by Calum and Ashton (It’s not my fault they decided to set me up with their hot musician friend the week before my qualifying exams, okay?), Luke’s initial suggestion that they meet for dinner at 10PM was the first of an endless number of times he would make Michael laugh. It was the lack of predictability of their schedules that made their amateur match-making friends first think that they might make a good pair. Six months since their first date at the diner across the street from campus and everyday Michael thanks his lucky stars that his best friends love getting in the middle of his business.

On this Tuesday, something stirs Michael closer to around 9:30. They’ve managed to remember to close the curtains for once so the room isn’t too bright and Michael is grateful to not wake up to the blinding mid-morning sun. He hears a scratch at the door (the dogs are still getting used to routines a bit later than they like). Michael turns his gaze to Luke, worried that the sudden noise will wake him. 

Luke faces toward Michael, his chest pressed against the mattress and the blanket and sheets pushed down to the dip of his lower back. Michael’s eyes catch the constellation of freckles dotted along his back and shoulders that’s grown from summer afternoons at the beach with the dogs. If Luke were awake, Michael would probably trace a fingertip between them but again, his brilliant boy needs the rest. Blonde curls are splayed out on the pillow and half covering Luke’s face in a way that should look messy but somehow still looks like a piece of art. How Luke manages to look so angelic while unconscious is a mystery Michael thinks he could spend the rest of his life trying to solve and still come up with nothing. 

Chapped lips puff against the pillow at a slow tempo and Michael figures there’s no way Luke is close to waking. He gently slides off the mattress to keep the beat steady and shuffles across the carpet to the door. He hears a quiet whine behind him and turns. Luke has lifted his head just slightly from the pillow. His eyes are hidden behind the hair that’s fallen in his eyes and his bottom lip is pouted in Michael’s direction. Michael laughs quietly and walks back toward the bed. 

“Sleep for a few more minutes,” he mumbles through a kiss pressed to the top of Luke’s head and the tip of his scrunched up nose. “I’ll have coffee waiting on the patio.” Luke hums something that sounds like agreement to the plan (he rarely gets any argument from Luke when the promise of coffee has been made) and drops his head back to the pillow. Michael waits in the doorway for a moment, smiling at the scene of this boy he’s fallen so hard for even after just six months tangled up in his sheets. He pulls his eyes away and gently closes the door behind him, only just barely fighting against the temptation to crawl back into bed and let the whole day slip away from them under the cover of bright white blankets and sheets.

Michael shuffles down the hall and through a morning-sun soaked living room. The kitchen is lit up from the big windows over the sink, the light bouncing off of a flower vase sitting in the window sill painting the countertops with a pink glow. Michael starts brewing a pot of coffee, the dogs’ nails clicking against the kitchen floor behind him. Moose spends the whole thirty seconds it takes for him to dump a cup of food in her bowl whining and looking up at him with pleading eyes. He laughs quietly to himself and pets the top of her head before he returns to the coffee pot. Michael has taken a pause on the morning podcasts; he’s found that starting his days with quiet is more effective in lifting his mood. He likes not having to pause something when Luke eventually comes out to join him. 

He is comforted by the sound of the dogs eating their breakfast and the coffee dripping into the carafe. He remembers the first time he felt that, how he got so worried that he was settling into some kind of domesticity too young. When he raised the concern with his mom, she only laughed, saying she had felt the same thing at his age. He thinks about how his parents have spent their mornings for the last thirty years. 

He reaches into the cabinet above the coffee machine for a couple mugs (his, from a radio station in Cleveland, and Luke’s, bright red and reads Trust me! I’m an engineer.). He pours them each a mug (adding a couple spoonfuls of sugar to his own) before heading out the sliding glass door onto the patio. He’s found that the fresh air wakes him up probably even more than the coffee, if he’s being honest. It’s late September and living in LA means the tile under his feet is still warm despite autumn arriving a few days before. The dogs run around his feet before chasing each other into the grass and around the pool. Michael smiles, squinting against the light and takes a seat on the couch after setting the mugs safely on the coffee table. 

As he drinks his coffee, he finds himself trying to somehow savor the moment more than he normally does (he’s gotten a lot better at being present just in general, his therapist would be proud of him). He leaves for a short tour in a couple days and as much as he loves being on the road, he finds he misses the mornings most when on a bus for weeks at a time.

When he was away in June and July for a summer tour, he was reminded for the first time in a while of why he had spent so long guarding his heart from something like what he had with Luke. It was a tour with six bands Michael had spent the end of his teen years traveling across the country with during Warped Tour. It was like traveling with family, and yet Michael found himself missing someone other than his mom on tour for the first time pretty much ever. When he talked to Calum and Ashton about it one night in the parking lot before bus call and asked if they thought he was too into Luke and I don’t know guys, maybe this isn’t good for me, maybe we need to take a break. Calum had only rolled his eyes but Ashton smiled kindly and patted him on the back to tell him it was the exact way he had felt about Calum out on his first tour and then handed Michael his phone already dialing Luke.

Realizing his heart didn’t belong entirely to himself anymore was an adjustment but after six weeks of almost nightly phone calls (sometimes Facetimes when Michael found himself missing Luke’s too big smile and California skies and eyes to match it) and the trip Luke made to the Chicago stop (Michael, I want to visit the Bean), he thinks he knows how to go about things this time around. (It’s another thing his therapist would probably be proud of him for.)

It’s the Chicago trip that Michael is thinking about when he hears the back door slide open and a moment later, a pair of lips pressing against the bedhead he’s yet to bother taming. Luke joins him on the couch, immediately moving to fold his long legs up under him and settle under the arm Michael holds out. His hair is tied back in a tiny bun and he’s wearing one of Michael’s old stretched out t-shirts that’s threatening to fall from his shoulder. Luke looks so good in the mornings, it should be criminal. He takes a sip of his coffee and hums to himself, delighted at the taste.

“Good morning,” Luke says in a voice still gravelly from sleep, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. He presses another kiss against Michael’s jaw and drops his head against his shoulder. Michael lets his fingers tangle into the curls at the back of Luke’s neck while taking another sip of his coffee.

“Sleep alright?” Michael asks with a laugh when he hears Luke yawn. Out in the yard, South settles in for a nap in the sun. Moose continues to run in circles around the smaller dog.

Luke leans forward to set his mug on the coffee table. “Like a baby,” he replies, and leans back into the couch. “I’m going to come over here and steal all your fancy pillows while you’re out on the road. Costco pillows are like bricks to me now.”

Michael laughs. “You could just stay here while I’m gone, you know? Calum is going to be here to watch the dogs but I don’t think he’d mind the company.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luke says with a wave of his hand. “We’ve already planned slumber parties so we can gossip about you and Ashton while you’re on the other side of the country.”

“As long as Moose gets her special treats, the place is all yours.”

“Thank you, honey.”

They sit in the silence for a while, the jingle of the dogs’ collar tags and the windchime around on the front porch a delicate soundtrack as they finish their coffee. Luke moves to stretch out along the couch when Michael gets up to leave their mugs in the sink and grab his journal. 

The remainder of their morning routine continues from there. Michael does some journaling, scribbling down some lyrics in the margins until he finishes up the prompt he had been working on. After a few minutes, Luke stands and wanders into the yard. He stretches and runs around with the dogs for a while (his bright laughter when the dogs run between his feet the music to go along with Michael’s doodled lyrics). Eventually, he returns to the patio and drops back onto the couch, his head dropping to the pillow on the opposite end of the couch from Michael.

Michael pauses in his writing and turns to look at Luke. He’s lost the hair elastic that had been holding the bun at some point and his hair looks something like a tiny lion’s mane the way it fans out against the pillow he’s resting on. His fingers are pulling at the bottom hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing in a way that just after they met earlier in the year, Michael has always interpreted as a nervous habit. He remembers being worried he was making Luke nervous somehow only to find out it’s just what Luke did when he was working through some puzzle or idea in his mind. Michael studies his face now, the way his nose will scrunch up just the slightest bit, the small lines forming between his eyebrows. Luke’s eyes don’t stray from their gaze up at the ceiling as he reaches a hand up to scratch at the pale stubble on his jaw. It’s like he’s tracing out invisible constellations on the ceiling of Michael’s back patio. 

Michael lifts a hand and gently pats at Luke’s ankle, a silent back in a minute with more coffee. As he heads for the door, he can’t be certain if the quiet buzzing he hears in between the windchime is the hummingbird visiting the feeder outside the kitchen window or the racing of Luke’s mind. He settles on the possibility of both and opens the sliding door. 

He leans against the island as the coffee maker whirs back to life and looks back out to the patio. Luke has sat up in preparation for more coffee and even from the far side of the kitchen, Michael just catches Luke’s dimple as he lets the dogs climb all over him on the couch. 

He thinks back to his parents again, about one particular picture that’s hanging in the dining room back home in Sydney. It’s the two of them, probably about the same age Michael is now, Michael’s dad laughing at something and his mom smiling fondly behind her mug. Growing up, his mom had always told him that that’s what love should be; someone who never stops bringing you joy, who never stops making you laugh. Michael spent a very long time thinking that it would be okay if he never found that romantically, that it wasn’t something he needed.

He thinks about the lockscreen image on his phone, a picture Calum had taken when the four of them had gone out for brunch in Chicago before Luke and Calum had needed to head for the airport. In the picture, Michael is wearing one of Luke’s hoodies and has an arm around the back of Luke’s chair. Luke’s eyes are closed in laughter and Michael is smiling as he reaches for his coffee with his free hand. 

Michael never intended to share his heart with someone else. But as he fills the coffee mugs again to head back outside, he finds himself making a mental note to print some pictures for the frames in his dining room.

+++

It’s their last night in Paris.

They had started the day ambitious, intent on trying the fancy place a couple blocks from the hotel for dinner but after a day of sight-seeing, they both knew that they were lacking the patience and energy required to get changed and be in public any longer. Michael had been trying to think of a way to make the suggestion to stay in to Luke in the back of their Uber when Luke lifted his head from Michael’s shoulder to shyly suggest that they chill that bottle of sparkling wine they had picked up the day before and order room service instead. Over three years together and it still sometimes surprises Michael how in sync they often are.

They pass a couple of the guys from Michael’s band and crew in the lobby (Ashton and Calum missing because there was something Ashton had needed to ask Calum at the bistro where they had their first date on Michael’s 2016 European tour). Michael waves to them while Luke asks for the ice machine location at the front desk. As they wait for the elevator, Michael intertwines his fingers with Luke’s, smiling at the way Luke never fails to squeeze their palms together every single time Michael holds his hand. It gives him butterflies that he was certain had all flown away when he was still a dumb teenager traveling across the country in cramped vans and kissing boys in the alleys behind shitty bars that had barely even let a teenage punk take the stage. He lifts their joined hands up to his lips as the elevator chimes its arrival. 

Their room is golden from the light pouring in through the open curtains as the sun starts its fall toward the horizon in between the buildings they can see from their balcony. They tend to be messy travelers (it makes Ashton anxious whenever he has to stop by for an allergy pill or Michael's Switch charger) and this trip is no exception, their clothes all mixed together between two open suitcases in front of the bed. It's not often they're allowed so much time in one spot but between some additional promo for the new single and actual begging with his booking agent, the band and crew (and partners with airline miles burning a hole in their pockets) got four whole days in Paris. Michael's been highly reflective for a number of reasons on this trip and thinking about how far he's come in his career, to be able to have that flexibility in his touring schedule, isn't lost on him. 

Luke doesn't wait for Michael to follow him before continuing through the entryway and launching himself onto the bed. Michael leans against the wall, a smile pulling at his lips at the sight of Luke wiggling out of a cardigan Michael is pretty sure was pulled from his own suitcase. He's been grateful to have Luke out on the road, though he's especially happy it was this week he was able to make it out rather than a week of back to back dates. As much as he loves being able to see his boyfriend standing side stage night after night, he felt that Luke needed the rest. It's been a long semester for him, finally nearing the end of his studies. Michael knows Luke loves the work (he has a habit of reminding him even in his sleep on his most restless nights) but he sent his advisor a last, final draft of his dissertation for edits a couple hours before boarding the flight to France and the weight off his shoulders is almost physically obvious. 

Michael tosses his hoodie toward the couch and grabs the room service menu before taking a spot beside Luke, Michael’s head dropping to rest against his shoulder. As the sun continues its daily descent, the sky painting their room in shades of orange and pink and purple as it goes, they call out anything that catches their eye to each other until Michael grabs the phone from the nightstand and dials for the room service line. Luke shuffles around and settles his head against Michael's lap and whispers last minute additions to their order as Michael smiles in between items to the person on the other end of the line. Luke doesn't move once Michael hangs up so he spends a few minutes running his fingers through Luke's hair fluffing up the curls that spent most of the day squashed by a beanie. He senses that the action is likely putting Luke to sleep so he asks him to lift his head back to the pillow, announcing that he needs to shower before food shows up. 

Luke sits up for a moment and presses a kiss against Michael's jaw before dropping his head back to the pillow. He mumbles a promise to not sleep through the food being delivered as he reaches for his phone to set an alarm. Michael laughs but by the time he reaches the other side of the room and turns back toward the bed, Luke is already asleep again. He leans against the wall beside the bathroom again and smiles at the scene before him. Their somehow lived-in hotel room is bathed in indigo as the last moments of the day fade from the Parisian sky with Luke nestled into the center of it. The whole scene is a combination of so many things that Michael loves: music, touring, this gorgeous city, the person he so head over heels for that he gets to share all of it with.  

He sometimes wonders if he should be worried, doing the long distance thing for as long as they have. Maybe he shouldn't be as comforted as he is by how well they work with Michael on the road and Luke as busy as he is with school but somehow it works for them. It's not something he's ever experienced with any other relationship in his life that exists outside of others in the industry. Up against everything that should make it all fall apart, they stand steady. He's never been religious, barely even spiritual if he's being honest with himself. But something about the view his eyes are taking in right now, Luke and their life and the skyline just beyond the balcony, feels like Heaven. Or whatever Heaven is meant to be.

-

A few hours later, Luke is twisting off the wire cage from the bottle of wine they had picked up. They're out on the balcony and the air is just on the cool side of a late summer night, perfectly comfortable with a hoodie tossed on. Michael doesn't bother closing the door when he comes back to join Luke with a couple of flutes he found hiding beside the mini-fridge. He smiles at the concentration shown on Luke's face when he carefully drops the cage on the table between them and starts twisting the cork. Michael places the flutes on the table a safe distance from where Luke is sitting right as the cork pops! into a potted plant next to Michael. Luke's laughter fills the air around them and he reaches for one of the glasses.

Michael watches Luke gently filling the glasses and finds his chest filled with an emotion he's been feeling every few hours since he woke up that morning. He's still doing a pretty good job at being present but he can't help the way he allows his heart to start longing for the boy across from him even before he's left to get back to the lab and the hallways of the university building Luke pretty much lives in when he's not with Michael. It's like there's a weight of something dropped onto his chest the moment Luke steps onto another flight away from him. It's a feeling Michael has had described to him from just about every person he's met on a tour who has a partner back home they’re waiting to get back to. It's a feeling Michael was hesitant to believe he'd ever experience himself. Now he's filled two albums just trying to describe it.

Luke leans across the table and sets a glass in front of Michael. He sits up for a moment himself and presses his lips to the corner of Luke’s mouth in thanks. As he settles back in his chair, his mind is pulled back to where they are right now: together, on a balcony in one of his favorite places in the world, in love, drinking horribly expensive bubbles. Beneath the table, Michael taps a slow beat against Luke's ankle with his foot. He feels floaty, like he's drunk on the moment before he's even sipped from the glass in front of him.

They talk about their plans for the week in the same kind of way that they would while making Sunday dinner back in LA. (In their kitchen, a title the space received about six months ago once Michael finally got the guts to ask Luke to move in. At that point, Luke had taken over a third of Michael’s closet, his entire bathroom counter, and was on a first name basis with every mail person that stopped by the house. Luke found the formality cute though and made a big show of changing his address in the university records when his lease ended the following month.) Michael and the band are headed onwards to Germany the following evening. Ashton had preemptively conspired some sort of reason to convince Calum to continue on with them to the Berlin show so they can be disgustingly in love and engaged for a solid 36 hours before Calum follows Luke home to LA. Luke has some meetings at the end of the week and needs to schedule a conference room for his defense at the end of October. Michael reminds him that the dogs have their checkup at the vet Friday afternoon and Luke runs inside for a moment for his phone to add that to his calendar because he had in fact forgotten. He returns with a quilt from bed and the slice of chocolate cake they had ordered earlier.

Michael shifts his chair closer to Luke so they can share both. It doesn’t get much better than this, he thinks, as Luke steals a kiss in between a bite of cake and a sip of wine. But then, he supposes, the city reads his mind somehow and the Eiffel Tower starts sparkling between buildings in the distance just behind Luke. 

Yeah, Michael thinks when Luke turns to see what Michael is looking at and gasps, pretty close to Heaven.

+++

They have three hours until Michael needs to be back at the bus and four until Luke needs to be checked in at the airport. But the previous night, drunk on chocolate cake and sparkling wine and each other, they decided they needed to visit the Louvre. Michael had bought the tickets online and texted his tour manager the plan with Luke kissing down his neck and laughing in bed.

They had to be strategic in their plan for this visit, knowing they were limited on time. Luckily for them, it’s gorgeous outside, meaning that the museum is a touch less busy than it might be on a rainier day. 

Luke decides they should finish their visit with the Mona Lisa since it’s likely to be one of the busier galleries and because he thinks it’ll be a cinematic way to finish off the trip. His labmates had been insistent that he tell them everything about his trip upon his return home, going so far as to schedule an additional meeting just before their lab meeting that week to catch up. He smiles to himself as he lets Michael lead him to the next gallery on their list, thinking about the chocolates in his suitcase he’s brought to share with Ellie and Jacob in their lab’s tiny break room.

Before he knows it, Luke is looking up and there’s a small crowd gathered around the center of the last room on their self-guided tour. They take a spin around the room first, admiring the other pieces gracing the space. Luke loves a museum day, but even more than that, he loves a museum day with Michael. He loves watching the way Michael will drop Luke’s hand to lift it to rest his chin in, his eyes slowly panning over a piece and then reading the card beside the frame, his fingers adorned with chipped black polish scratching at his beard. Luke loves art but there’s something about watching an artist love art that fills his chest up with a feeling he can’t even describe.

Finally they make their way to the room’s centerpiece, Michael’s eyes wide and maybe a touch watery as they take in the view. He’s been quiet in this room compared to most of the others. He reaches his hand back down for Luke’s, his eyes not leaving the piece in front of him. Luke keeps looking between the painting and Michael looking at the painting. He’s struck speechless, whether from the art or Michael, he’s not sure. He’s looking up at the piece again when Michael squeezes his fingers to get his attention.

“Not to be a dork but can you take a picture?” Michael asks shyly.

Luke smiles. “Of course,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Also you took like 60 of me with the Eiffel Tower, you are not a dork.”

He snaps a couple shots of Michael smiling just to the left of where the piece hangs several feet behind him, his cheeks pink and hair almost falling in his eyes.

Michael plucks the phone from Luke’s fingers as they step away, letting the people behind them take their turn in front of the painting. “How do they look?” Michael asks as he navigates to Luke’s photo app.

“Perfect,” Luke says. He reaches for Michael’s free hand as they head for the hall that will take them back toward the museum lobby. “Though she’s got nothing on you, honestly.”

Michael laughs brightly as they reach the stairs back to the Pyramid. “Now who’s the dork?” he laughs and lifts their joined hands to his lips. “Thank you for coming with me. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Luke echoes, and they step out into the light.

*

[chirpybirdy]

can someone listen to erik koskinen's song Both of Me and tell me if these lyrics look right? spotify claims to have them but i dont have spotify lol

------

i know a girl they call baby and she's on my mind i could stay yeah but maybe i would leave this time and i ain't living with a woman for a year or two or three it could drive me out of my mind yeah the both of me yeah the both of me

yeah i'll plant a little garden and see what grows fix up that paper shack that's where my money goes and i'll come back for a visit for a day or two or three this town could drive me mad yeah the both of me

i think ill take that job up north my pa's there working four to twelves with three days off and it don't pay shit but i don't care you don't need much money up there yeah right and i know someone will buy me a beer and plenty of women that'll jabber in my ear all night

my momma kinda thinks i'm a bad man well maybe momma i am

and ill go fishing after midnight with the moon up high and take my date shooting turkeys yeah it's christmastime well it ain't poaching when its dinner and i've got mouths to feed and i'm just stocking my fridge for the both of me

i think ill take that job up north my paw said they're working 4 to 12s with three days off and it don't pay shit but i don't care you don't need much for living up there yeah right and i know someone that will buy me a beer and plenty of women that'll jabber in my ear all night

my momma kinda thinks i'm a bad man well maybe momma i am

i know a girl i call baby and she's on my mind i think i'm kinda going crazy out of my mind well you can piss on those cold nights i don't care what you say cause right now shes cooking dinner for the both of me yeah for the both of me for the both of me yeah for the both of me for the both of me

[officersnickers]

uh-oh guys 🤡

[donttouchmeimwriting]

"I promise I'll stay - it's such a beautiful lie - tomorrow can wait and I'll be dreaming with you - I cry for the end" Entropy (this credit says David Chappell but other sources say Dos Brains/End of Silence so I'm not 100% sure)

I had a difficult choice to make and, however deeply I regret leaving her behind, I would do it again. If I went back for her, countless others would have died. These are the decisions a leader must cope with.

"Au-delà de l'espace et du temps, oú que tu sois, je déploierai mes ailes pour te trouver - m'envoler vers toi"

("Beyond space and time, wherever you are, I'll spread my wings to find you - fly to you") M'envoler Vers Toi by Phil Rey and Felicia Farerre

I lost everything that day - my home, my future, the love of my life...but most tragically I lost my faith in others. Do you know what it's like being promised so much and having it all torn away just when you think it's safely yours? I'm simply taking what I am owed.

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

guess who's writing a songfic with the actual lyrics pasted in for reference and stuff for the first time ever and is trying to figure out how it works~ (no, actually do guess, that's the whole point of this-)

.