#st pov

[regeditt]

*Steve standing with Robin & Nancy, waiting on Eddie*

Robin: you look so cute holding those roses waiting for your boyfriend

Steve: i don’t look cute i look cool

Robin: awww and you even have a little bow tie on your little suit, so formal so cute all for eddie

Steve: *throws roses on the ground* THIS IS WHY I DONT GO ON DOUBLE DATES WITH YOU, ROBIN.

Robin:

Nancy:

Steve: *picks them up, clearing his throat as Eddie approaches*

Steve: hi, babe, i got these flowers for you

Eddie: you look really cute tonight

[starryeyedjanai]

@eddiemonth prompt: first concert | read on ao3

The first concert of Corroded Coffin's that Steve goes to, Eddie's a nervous wreck beforehand.

His hands are sweaty and he's wringing them as he paces outside after they get their equipment inside.

Jeff takes one look at him and sighs.

He knows how Eddie feels about Steve and he knows how important it is that they make a good impression on him. He might not understand the whole Steve thing, but he gets having a crush on someone unattainable.

Well-

When Eddie first told him about it, he thought it was just an unattainable little crush. Just something that happened because they got close after the earthquake. Steve was a new friend, someone Eddie hadn't known long enough to get used to, and he's - Jeff's not going to pretend he isn't attractive.

So he understood it, kind of. And the thought that the crush would fade once Eddie knew him for longer.

But Steve hanging around them, making an effort to get to know Jeff and Grant and Gareth, being nice to Jeff's mom- that had Jeff pausing and taking another look at the situation.

Because Steve didn't have to do any of that. He could hang out with Eddie, maybe the one freak he could tolerate, and call it a day.

But he was trying, and he was being better than he was in high school. Which, if anyone asks, Jeff would say he actually wasn't all that bad in high school compared to the others.

So Jeff looked a little more closely.

And saw the way Steve looks at Eddie, his eyes tracking him as he crosses the room. He saw the way Steve laughed at all of Eddie's jokes, even the ones he didn't understand. He saw the way Steve was always looking for an excuse to touch Eddie, putting a hand on his arm, putting a hand on his back, his arm around him, hugging him at the end of the night and the hugs lasting longer than any hug Jeff's ever had with a buddy.

He saw that and saw that this isn't a passing fancy for Eddie. He saw the way Eddie leaned into Steve unconsciously, the way he always looks for him first when entering a room, the way he lights up when he sees him. He saw the way Eddie seemed to like him more and more, and subsequently talk about him more and more, the more he got to know him.

So it wasn't just a crush.

And it wasn't unrequited like Eddie thought.

But now Jeff is watching him pace a hole in the ground and he can't exactly tell Eddie that he's 99% sure that Steve feels the same because 1. he wouldn't believe him and 2. that 1% of doubt is enough to deter him. This isn't something he can be wrong about. Even if feels mostly sure, he wouldn't ever say that he should go for it when it could turn ugly for him. This isn't a crush on some girl where the worst that could happen is that she says no.

So, for now, Jeff watches.

And Jeff hopes.

He hopes that they'll be able to see it for themselves. That Eddie will catch the way Steve looks at him and realize that it's the same way he looks at Steve.

He hopes that Steve will make a move, put those rumors of his suaveness to good use and woo Eddie.

He heads inside when he sees Gareth talking to Eddie, trying to calm him down.

He sees Steve and Robin, talking at a table near the front of the venue, and he makes a beeline for them.

"Jeff!" Steve says, smiling at him when he sees him coming over. He waves at both of them.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asks and when Steve furrows his brow and nods, he leads him away from Robin.

"What's going on?" Steve asks, looking worried.

He says, "Just, Eddie's really nervous about performing in front of you tonight. So, like, even if we suck or you don't like this kind of music, can you not say you didn't like it? Not that I think you'd be mean about it, but like-"

Steve looks at him confused. "I've listened to your tapes before. I like your music. I wouldn't- okay, I mean I'd still be here even if I didn't like it, but I do like it. Wait- why's Eddie nervous?" he asks. And Jeff hadn't planned on Steve asking that. Shit.

He says, "Because you're his coolest friend and he doesn't want to screw up in front of you."

Steve's expression softens. "I'm not- you know what? Okay. If it makes you feel better, I won't say I didn't like it."

"Okay," Jeff says, nodding, relieved. "And don't, like, mention I said anything."

"'Course," Steve says with a smile. "You're a good friend, Jeff."

Jeff grins at him and walks him back to his table. That 1% is looking awfully less and less with every conversation Jeff has with Steve.

The manager waves him over and tells them they can start setting up on stage, so he goes to get the others.

-

The show is good, once Eddie snaps out of his nerves.

It's actually impressive, seeing him with shaky hands as they get ready to start and then seeing him turn it on seamlessly like he was never nervous in the first place.

They play and Jeff watches the way Eddie keeps looking at Steve, keeps looking to make sure he looks like he's enjoying himself.

And Jeff sees Steve smiling the entire time, singing along to the cover songs they do and also to one of their original songs.

At the end of the night, after they get their stuff back in their van, he sees Eddie and Steve talking, standing close, one of Steve's hands playing with the hem of Eddie's shirt.

And he knows they'll get there eventually, even without his help.

They'll find their way to each other and see what Jeff sees.

He's sure of it.

As he gets in the driver's seat and looks over at Grant, he can only hope he'll get that too one day.

[kaffkanya]

what do you guys think about amok time and im your man by mitski

[ghostlycleric]

The phone booth scene is so special to me.

(Pic from longbttms’ vol. 1 scenepack on Youtube)

Mike holding the phone for Will? Basically throwing it at Jonathan right after? I NEED to see whats going on in Mike’s head.

The camera literally spins slowly around the phone booth throughout the scene, and they specifically have Mike hand the phone to Jonathan when his reaction is in perfect view. He straightens up his posture, borderline tearing his hand away from Jonathan.

Just before that, the camera is in perfect view of Mike holding the phone for Will. He leans in, and he like carefully puts the phone up to his ear. Will tries to hold the phone, probably expecting Mike to let go, but he doesn’t.

They make sure that within seconds the viewer knows thats a mikeandwill thing and not a Mike thing. Will’s hand lingering on Mike’s too UGH WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS

Little moments like these are my favorite. Just subtle moments where you can see how well they work as a team. Their season 5 scenes are going to be so cute.

[rabid-reads]

[bumblingbabooshka]

[Tuvok & Janeway: Control, Distance, Duty & Connection.] Sources: St Voyager Transcripts / Mitski 'First Love Late Spring' / Disco Elysium

[thefreakandthehair]

Three o’clock in the morning.

Eddie stands, both hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and shuffling from one foot to the other, on the sidewalk outside his building at three o’clock in the morning. Other disheveled, frustrated neighbors stand beside him, still unaware that they'd been pulled from their beds and couches because he’d been too lazy to walk down the three flights of stairs to smoke outside. 

It’s three o’clock in the fucking morning and Eddie wants nothing more than to get in his van and drive away, abandoning every item he owns in the process. Especially when the guy across the hall– the same one with floppy brown hair and gold flecks when the streetlight hits him just right– marches straight towards him. Tousled and sleep-rumpled, he’d look as cute as he does every afternoon coming from what Eddie assumes is work if not for the knowing look of disdain and annoyance coloring his expression. 

read the rest of you filling my cup, the sun coming up, 1.8k, mature on ao3!

[rizz-penguin]

It's 2am I should be in bed but instead I'm thinking about qcard

[makeadealwithdean]

endless billy 1/? - Stranger Things 2x02 - “Trick or Treat, Freak”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

yay!! the gift has been gifted, so here's the little ficlet i wrote for @thefreakandthehair's wedding gift zine!!! congratulations Lex!!!!!

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,313 | rated: G | on AO3: it started with the oven

It started with the oven.

Well, with him complaining about the oven, to be specific. The house those government folks put them up in after everything happened last year was new to them o’course, but nowhere near brand-spankin’. Still had some issues to work out.

“Sorry boys, roast might be a bit crispy on one side. Damn oven is acting up again.” 

Wayne didn’t notice it that first time, but Steve immediately perked up, the look completely throwing off his attempted casualness about what he said next.

“I can help you fix it if you like.”

Without even looking at his nephew, Wayne knows they’re both giving Steve twin looks of confusion.

“You know how to fix an oven? How in the hell do you know how to fix an oven?” Eddie asks, half incredulous, half actually curious.

“I uh…had to figure it out once when ours went out…”

Wayne could hear the rest of that statement clear as day, though Steve stayed quiet after that. “It was either that, or go hungry.” Those goddamn Harringtons…

“Sure thing son, let's let it cool down and we can take a look at it.”

By time dinner is over, Eddie’s disappeared, back to his room to do god knows what while he and Steve pull the oven away from the wall.

The longer they work, the quieter Steve becomes. Knowing what he knows now, it was the nerves about what he wanted to ask, but to the Wayne in the moment, it was just nice to get some help around the house without also hearing loud complaining.

Steve tells Wayne what he’d done before to fix his, and Wayne gives him a couple other tips with other potential problems, and soon, the oven is once again able to heat evenly.

“Looks good, kid,” Wayne says, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder once they’ve got the thing pushed back where it goes.

He turns to put away his tool box, leaving the young man to do whatever it is he normally does with his nephew (gross), when Steve’s voice stops him.

“Wayne?”

“Hm?” 

Steve falls quiet again, so Wayne turns, taking in Steve’s uncharacteristically anxious demeanor and now pale complexion.

“I–” Steve looks him in the eye, but only briefly. His gaze drops to the dirt on his hands, which he brushes off. “Nothing, just–thanks.” he finishes with a small smile, heading down the hall immediately after.

Wayne shrugs, going back to his toolbox. Odd. But whatever; glad to be of help with…whatever it was he helped with.

—

The next time, it was the front porch.

Luckily not ‘cause of anyone fallin’ through or anything, just about high time he got those front few planks replaced before someone does.

He says as much to his boys at dinner a few weeks after he and Steve fixed the oven, and Eddie volunteers himself for moral support.

“You just wanna see me shirtless and sweaty.” Steve accuses.

“Correct. Moral Support.” Ed sweeps his hand out and leans back in his chair.

“Do I hafta be shirtless too?”

Both boys loudly protest in answer, fake gags and all.

He and Steve get to work tearing out the old rotted boards a couple days later, and as expected, Eddie makes himself scarce within an hour. Something about “You guys workin’ this hard is making me thirsty. I’m gonna go grab milkshakes.”

“Moral Support my ass...” Wayne mumbles, shaking his head fondly.

Again, not long after Eddie’s gone, Steve’s easy conversation peters off; and again, Wayne just assumes he’s not quite used to being around him alone, or that he just prefers comfortable silence over chatter (something Wayne himself can appreciate).

He does come back in, however, after a long lull. “Wayne, I wanted to ask…”

Wayne doesn’t find out what Steve wanted though, as Eddie’s van rattles up the road at that moment, the promise of a cool treat too good to pass up for chattin’ with his boyfriend’s Uncle.

Though, as he watches Steve help Eddie out of the van, grabbing the milkshakes (and a quick kiss) from his boy, Wayne thinks he already knows what it is Steve was gonna ask.

And what his answer would be.

—

The third and final time was definitely the time.

This time, there was no pretense. Wayne and Steve weren’t already working on something together, no current excuse to talk without Eddie nearby. It was a Thursday evening and Wayne was alone at home about to head in for a shift.

Opening the door to a knock was weird though. Steve basically lived here, so opening the door to his wide-eyed, pale face was a shock.

“Steve? What’re knocking for, boy?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just–I’m–”

“You ‘right, son? C’mon inside now..” Wayne coaxes the kid inside, and Steve takes his shoes off automatically, lining them up along the messy pile of Eddie’s shoes just inside the door.

“Eddie’s at the Emersons’ y’know.” Wayne says, plopping back into his previously abandoned armchair.

“Y-yeah, I know, I just dropped him and Henderson off there for their game.”

They both fall quiet then. 

Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously, and Wayne waits patiently.

…Okay, maybe not that patiently.

“Now look, Steve, not that I don’t appreciate spendin’ time wit’cha, ‘cause I do, but it seems t’me you came here for a reason.”

Steve’s gaze snaps up, mouth agape. “How’d you–nevermind.” he clears his throat and continues.

“Mr. Munson–”

“Nope, none’a that, not even for this. M’name’s Wayne, son.” He enjoys throwing Steve off sometimes, alright? Sue him.

All the breath in Steve’s lungs seems to escape at once and he smiles slightly, visibly relaxing just a tad. 

Good.

“Wayne, Eddie and I have been dating for over a year now…obviously…you know that..”

“Is that what you two’ve been doin’? I thought you two were just the best of buds.”

This time, Steve actually laughs. “Shut up, I’m nervous, okay?”

“I know y’are, kiddo.”

He takes another settling breath, much calmer now, and continues. “I love him, Wayne. More than anything in my life.

“I know it’s not for real, I know, but I want him, and you, to know that I mean this to be forever. That if I could, I would marry him tomorrow.” Steve chuckles to himself at that, “Probably would’ve months ago, to be honest.

“All this to say—to ask! Ask…” he shuffles nervously again.

‘You got this, Steve, you’re almost there.’ Wayne thinks encouragingly at him.

As if he could hear him, Steve steels himself, looks Wayne in the eye, and (finally) says:

“Wayne, I would like your blessing to propose to Eddie.” He takes another short breath and presses on. “And I don’t want to hear anything about “Why’re you askin’ me, he’s not my kid.” or some crap, either. You’re the most important person in his life, and always will be. It may not be important to you, but it is to me… That you approve, I mean.”

Okay, he knew it was coming. But the added impassioned (and unnecessary) speech that came with it was a surprise. As if Steve was willing to fight Wayne for thinking Wayne wasn’t important to Eddie. 

He stands, hefting himself out of the sunken springs of his chair, and immediately pulls Steve in for a hug.

“Good speech, son.” he says, squeezing the kid tightly for a moment before adding on, “Though I don’t think there was a single question mark in that whole rant o’yours.”

Steve laughs into his shoulder, beaming his wide bright smile when they separate.

“Do I have your blessing or not, old man?” he snarks, pulling a bellowing laugh out of Wayne.

“That’s more like it!” He claps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. “And of course y’have it, Steve…

“I’d be proud to call you a Munson.”

you can read this one and the whole rest of the collection here!

[lunabug2004]

I just remembered something. Not sure if I remember it correctly but I'm gonna share it anyways 😂.

I'm pretty sure I watched a YT video a long time ago of a therapist watching the Mileven bedroom fight from s4. I don't believe he had much, if any, context. And he said that Mike was trying his best to reassure El until she brought up him not saying I love you, and then he got defensive. And I remember him also saying that he was impressed by his attempt to comfort El because he's a teenage boy and usually they aren't really good at being empathetic. And he also said him not being able to say I love you is actually a pretty common thing for couples their age and he wasn't surprised that Mike got so defensive over it.

So a therapist -- someone who knows human behavior better than the average person -- said that Mike did an overall good job during the confrontation for a teenage boy.

Now adding all the trauma onto that, I'd say Mike did a pretty dang good job. Just wanted to share this 😂.

[ilovetulips]

steve harrington is the biggest attention whore when it comes to affection.

you are lying on your bed with him, a book in your hands as he falls asleep next to you.

or so you thought.

while scanning the words on the yellowed page, steve prods your arm multiple times. when you ignore him, knowing it was his desperate attempt at getting your attention without saying your name, he redirects his pokes to the flesh of your cheek.

he lets out a desperate whine at your ignorant bliss and rolls over with a “hmph”. small mutters and mumbles sound from his mouth as you hide the grin pulling at the corners of your mouth. you haven’t failed to notice him looking over his shoulder at you, just to see if you’re looking back.

“y/n.” it’s quick, you would’ve missed him say it completely if you weren’t paying attention to him.

“y/nnnn.” he drags out the end of the word completely, while rolling over to look at you again.

deciding to see what he wants, finally, you set your book down and look at his warm eyes.

“steve.” it’s hard to believe someone could be so happy hearing their own name, but the heart-warming smile that graces his features delicately gives you no choice but to smile back.

he shuffles closer to you, planting his head in the nape of your neck and kisses it gently. “missed you.” he speaks into your skin, the words echoing throughout each fibre.

“it’s been 10 minutes.” you kiss the crown of his head, weaving your fingers through the boy’s impressive head of hair and rubbing his scalp while he makes a relaxed “mmm” that vibrates your body.

“too long. way too long.” he finally peeks up at you, before peppering kisses all over your face, erupting small hiccups of giggles from your chest and pathetic attempts to push him away.

he looks down at you, smiling back breathlessly.

“you’re so pretty.” he says, leaning back down to shower you with passionate pecks all over again.

[wayliparker-co]

call me when you get a second - chapter four 🫧

never change me and you

Max raises her eyebrows at the two of them as they approach. “Ready, lovebirds?” She says, leaning back against the door so it opens, just a crack. It’s obvious that she knows what their answer is - she’s already practically forcing them out of the diner, for God’s sake - but they give her a nod anyway, lest she rip their heads off for not gracing her with an answer.

The evening air is heavy with late summer humidity, hanging over them like a tangible thing, and before Will pushes him away in an effort to stay cool, Mike leans over to whisper into the shell of his ear, “Wanna come over tonight?”

Will jerks away, cheeks bright pink, and Mike doesn’t think his question warrants that kind of reaction, but he supposes it may have been a bit out of the blue. Will looks at him for a moment - eyes bouncing just about everywhere on Mike’s face before settling, for just a split second, on his eyes - and then a shy smile grows on his face as he ducks his head down and away from Mike. It’s quiet, almost silent, so Mike can see more than hear the word okay on his lips.

playlist🫧

[pisboy]

"teen girls need music to relate to" noooooope. dad's shitty metallica CDs

[gayofthefae]

Hey so you know that the playlists are my Byler Bible. Just remembered that THIS Mike:

Was singing

"And I want you. And I want you. And I want so, it's an obsession."

He also describes his love for Will as a religion. If you even care.

[jomiddlemarch]

and is there honey still 

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like kissing Faith.

This realization, occurring a moment after the kiss ended, Jem’s hand still at Mary’s slender waist, her normally pale cheeks as pink as a rare mayflower, was followed immediately by the understanding that he’d never be able to tell anyone. There was no confidant he could trust with such a secret, even if he could bring himself to so violate the rules of gentlemanly behavior. It just wasn’t done and that was before he considered speaking of kissing Mary Vance, who was accepted as Miss Cornelia’s adopted daughter, but whose personal history was never quite forgotten.

Susan, should she ever hear of it, would be scandalized beyond comprehension. 

Jem would never eat another slice of her strawberry pie.

His friends and siblings would be confused, Faith put out, her pique covering any feelings of betrayal, for all that there was nothing binding between them.

Mother would be disappointed and Dad would shake his head.

The expression in Mary’s eyes, those queer eyes he now saw were the color of moonstones, told him she understood it all. 

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about,” she said. Faith would have tossed her head making such a remark, her golden-brown curls shown to advantage, but Mary only looked at him steadily and let the hand that had been on his shoulder drop to her lap.

“You hold yourself too cheap, Mary,” Jem said. 

“That ain’t—that isn’t possible,” she replied. “Anyway, what’s a kiss amount to?”

It was a good question, one Jem had thought he’d known the answer to, just as he thought he’d known the answer to the question she was laboring over at her desk in the empty classroom, a piece of paper scribbled over and crossed-out, grey smudges on the foolscap, on Mary’s white cuffs. She would’ve laundered them herself, being Miss Cornelia’s daughter not relieving her of her housekeeping duties, chores she’d call them though Jem knew none of his sisters had ever helped even pinning clean clothes to the line.

He supposed a kiss could be an ordinary thing, a peck on the cheek or the lips, a greeting, friendly and inconsequential as a wave, a forgettable gesture of a mild affection.

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like that.

He could say, in all honesty, that he hadn’t planned it. He’d been pointing out something in her writing, a tricky bit she’d gotten tangled up in, and she’d been peering down at the page, trying to make it out. When she’d perceived her mistake, she’d looked up at him, her expression one he’d never seen before, victory and pride and delight all swirled together, altering her face from one he’d recognized without being aware of it into one he’d been startled to discover. Without a word, without a thought, he’d leaned in and kissed her parted lips before she crowed over her achievement or thanked him, the caress impetuous, a whim, irresistible.

She was irresistible. He’d grazed her lips with his own and in the space before the next heartbeat, he’d cupped her jaw with one hand and let the other drop to her waist to draw her close. He felt the most tremendous desire for her possess him, everything else dropped away. She tasted, quite impossibly, of honey, though that was perhaps because he had always liked honey best, and she was warm in his embrace, coming closer when his hand at her waist reached around her back, sighing a little when he stroked her cheek and angled her head to be able to kiss her more deeply. Every second, his desire for her ratcheted sharply upwards and she met him, her hand clutching his shoulder, her sharp tongue sweet in his mouth. She kissed the way a fast girl kissed but there was a terrible innocence to her response that made him know she’d never kissed anyone else, whatever she might have intimated to his sisters and her friends.

He couldn’t say why he’d broken away. 

A sound in the hallway or her sudden stillness when his hand grazed her breast, the need to breathe, the pounding of his heart felt throughout his whole body. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Mary went on when he was stayed silent.

“Are you sorry?” he blurted out, and hearing the words he became suddenly terrified that he’d transgressed, become that monster Reverend Meredith always warned of in his gentle way, a man consumed by his appetites, greed and lust. “Oh, God, Mary, have I made you do something you didn’t want—”

“As if you could!” she said, wry again, Mary Vance again as he’d ever known her. If she’d wanted to, she would have slapped him, he was sure of that. “There’s no person living who could make me do what I didn’t want and certainly not you, Jem Blythe.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” he said, chastened, still too close to her. Still tasting the honey-sweetness of her lips, feeling the sound of the quiet moan of hers he’d swallowed in his throat.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she offered. “Or ever again. It could be just something that happened once, like as if you’d knocked over my inkwell, and we can forget about it. If that’s what you’d like. To be easy about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he repeated, agreeing. An inkwell knocked over would leave a stain, one endless scrubbing would never entirely remove. “But I won’t forget. I shan’t.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said, her old tone mixed in with a new softness. He’d mussed her hair and some of the loose strands caught the light, a far cry from the usual trig appearance Miss Cornelia insisted upon. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see this Mary again, but it might be enough, to have seen it this one time. It was more Walter’s way to say he’d carry it as a talisman, but Jem felt it without saying it, that to have this moment might serve him well in the future.

“Mind you turn that paper in,” he said. 

“Mind yourself, then,” she said and turned away.

He wouldn’t see Mary alone for another ten years. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” Mary said, sitting down beside him, facing the water. She tucked her skirt around her and made no effort to conceal her sturdy, scuffed boots. It was a cool evening, cooler by the shore, but she didn’t have a coat or even the old wool shawl she’d refused to give up before he’d left for France. He shrugged off his own coat and offered it to her. He’d be warm enough in his heavy jersey, one the fisherman down at the harbor wore when the wind picked up.

“Not Rainbow Valley?” he said.

“Why would you go there? You’re not a child anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, unless I miss my mark,” she said. 

“No, you’re right,” he said. “Not for a long time.”

“You don’t have to talk to me about anything. Not about the War or Walter or being a prisoner,” she said. She said it without any particular tenderness, which was the most consoling part. He recalled, very dimly, that before she had come to Miss Cornelia, she’d lived through her own horrors, yet spoke of them rarely if at all.

“Don’t have to tell me about any French girls either,” she added and he laughed. 

It was the first time he’d laughed since he came home. Since he came back to the Glen, anyway, and called it home without being able to fully mean it.

“Not much to tell there. I mostly saw nuns and the Red Cross nurses are awfully brisk, whatever their nationality,” he said.

“I’ve always thought Cornelia would make a good nun, for all that she’s married,” Mary said.

“Perhaps,” Jem replied. The waves kept breaking on the sand and it was dusk, romantic if you wanted it to be. Mary had his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Jem felt scoured, raw and empty.

“Why’d you come, if you don’t expect me to talk?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

“I guess because you need someone who doesn’t expect you to talk but who’s willing to sit nearby, without fussing over anything,” she said. “I’ve plenty of handwork and housework to deal with at home. I’m perfectly content to sit and be idle and there’s nothing you can say or not say that can hurt me. I’m not hurt the way you are, I can bear whatever you need—”

“They can’t at home,” he said. Mother, with grief in her grey eyes and grey in her auburn hair, and Rilla, grown into a mother before she was a wife, Dad with something more broken inside him than any of the rest. Susan and Dog Monday and the letters from Di and Nan, blotted and halting. Una, who might as well be one of the French nuns who tended him, all of them mourning Walter and trying to rejoice at his return. Jem, trying to keep them from hearing any of his nightmares, biting his tongue when they spoke at a meal of the future or the past.

“I know,” she said. “Faith Meredith’s married a Brit. Officer, Lord Something Hoity-Toity of Fancy Abbey-on-High.”

“I’m happy for her,” Jem said tiredly. “We were childhood sweethearts, that’s all.”

“I know. Just wanted it said so you’d know I know,” Mary replied.

“If she’d waited, I wouldn’t have wanted her. I wouldn’t want her to have me now, as I am,” he said. “Befouled, diminished—”

“Walter’s dead, Jem. You don’t have to speak in his voice,” Mary said. 

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. If you don’t think I’d remember, after all those afternoons, those walks and rambles, listening to him, well then. You’d be wrong. I remember,” she said.

“I want Faith to stay as she is. Beautiful, golden, untouched, a lovely memory from my splendid childhood,” Jem said.

“Good Lord, she’d far better off than I thought, even without taking a castle into account,” Mary exclaimed. “Maybe her Lord Gawain-Excalibur-Avalon actually treats her like a women. A person.”

“I didn’t know you liked the Arthurian legends,” Jem replied, taken aback by Mary’s remark, choosing to deflect.

“I liked the sword. And the Lady of the Lake with her own place,” Mary said.

“I thought it would be like that, the War, knights going out,” he said. “I knew there’d be wounds and death, but I thought there’d be honor—"

“You always were a bit of a fool,” Mary said. “Stands to reason though, the way you were raised.”

“We had a—you’re right,” he said, realizing he did not have to defend his parents or Ingleside. “Mother was so careful for us to be well-loved. To live in a world where we might imagine ourselves heroes or able to speak with the fairies—you would have done better than I at the Front, Mary.”

“No one would do better,” she said. He braced himself for her to talk about his medals, his valiant efforts in the prison camp, how he tended those around him with what little he had. How many men had died in his hands, their blood the scent in his nose as terrifying as gas. “You lived.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Come here, then,” she said, shifting to kneel facing him. The moon had risen and it suited her, her eyes gleaming like opals, her hair silver, the shadow soft around her bare throat. She reached a hand to touch his cheek, rough with the whiskers he hadn’t shaved for the past few days. “Come here, James,” she said and the sound of his name startled him enough to move closer. To let her draw his face to hers for a kiss.

For a moment, he was seventeen again and Walter was alive, the fields of France green, the chestnut trees in leaf. Then he heard a wave break and felt Mary’s hand move to the nape of his neck, her fingers callused, and he tasted salt mixed with honey. She beckoned him and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly, trying to lose himself in her embrace. Letting her find him.

They were alone with the moon and the sea. There was no hallway and Mary kissed him well enough there were no memories, not of France or Germany or Holland, not of the ship or the train or the graveyard with the stone too white, the wilting mayflowers at its base. There was nothing Mary would not do, no end to the comfort she would offer. His hands were at her waist and her breast, eased beneath her skirts, and she coaxed him on. When he brought both back to cup her face, she’d smiled under his lips. When he lay back against the sand and brought her to lie next to him, her head resting upon his chest, she’d come with him.

“I should have asked, Miller Douglas?”

“He married Ada Parker six months ago. I didn’t shed a tear, except that they should be happy,” she said. “To be honest, I didn’t fancy being a shopkeeper’s wife, but I would have made the best of it.”

“I’m alive, but I don’t know what I have to offer,” Jem said. Mary thumped him on the chest, hard enough to notice, soft enough to be nothing more than a scolding.

“You’ve yourself and I’m myself. You don’t have to offer me anything,” she said.

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” he said.

“Then remember me. This. How it was, how it might be,” she said. “Grieve and suffer and if you want, I’ll be there for it. Or you can come round in a while, when you’re sorted out. I’m in no hurry. I’ve an idea of how to run a doctor’s house, no offense to your mother or Susan, and I’d like to try it out some time.”

“Will there be much pie?” Jem asked.

“There will be honey-cake, pots and pots of clover honey ready to drizzle. That’s your favorite.”

“Call me James again,” he said.

She propped herself up on his chest so he could see her face, the curve of her lips, her silvery hair hanging loose around her cheeks.

“I believe you meant to say, please, James. Mind yourself, then.”

Tagging @gogandmagog who posted this:

DIANA, teasingly: “You, anyhow. I saw you kissing Faith Meredith in school last week ... and Mary Vance, too.”

JEM:- “For mercy’s sake, don’t let Susan hear you say that. She might forgive it with Faith but never with Mary Vance.” From The Blythes Are Quoted

And @freyafrida who wrote "also want to write jem/mary fic now although i have zero ideas for anything apart from the ship"