#// *i want to reiterate by saying i DID NOT want to be dragged. ive done my part to stay away from being involved but shit has happened

[monmuses]

okay, so this is gonna be my ONLY post to make about this bc i wasnt planning on talking about anything in regards to shit that happened in privacy, but it's being blasted publicly and my friends are getting involved so i'm just gonna make this my one and only PSA because this is irritating with what i'm learning.

if people have a problem with me, PLEASE talk to me. do not go to my friends on anon to twist words up about me. i'm learning that multiple friends and mutuals of mine are getting asks about this when they have no part in this and that shouldn't be happening to begin with. so i want to state this for anybody who has gotten shit in their inbox.

as for the situation that's happening on the other side of Tumblr right now, i have had zero part in it and i intend to keep it that way. it's not my business. for anyone who's familiar with the "drama" being talked about is being stirred by one person and i have expressed in privacy that i was not comfortable with how any of this is being handled nor did i think it was right. i don't care about the situation itself, but the anger and venomous reactions to talking about it is what concerned me. it was not about the person nor was it about the crimes and victims, i was not okay with the name-dropping and stirring of drama about someone.

i'm not taking sides nor do i plan on "stating my case" or anything like that. i'm not involved, and it's not my place to talk. it's a situation that does not involve me and should not involve anyone else because of how much it's been blown out of proportion. so please do not group my friends and mutuals together as them automatically taking sides; guilt by association is a shitty thing to assume and is not a correct way to go with situations like this.

i don't know why my name is being pulled into this mess when i've asked before to NOT be dragged, and i apologize to any mutuals who have had the displeasure of seeing this constantly being posted, but i have to due to friends getting asks about me already (for some fucking reason). if you have gotten asks and want to ask what it's about, i will GLADLY tell you in honesty and with what i've said. i will gladly talk shit out one on one and share screenshots of what i have said.

right now, my main focus is writing and doing threads here. it will NEVER be about drama nor will i post about it. this is the only time i will post because it is now my problem to address as it is involving multiple friends of mine getting harassing anonymous users spreading rumors. i don't condone that kind of behavior and i will speak up if it affects ME or FRIENDS of mine.

i will not name drop or talk about this further, but if you wish to know more, PLEASE come talk to me. if you receive anon asks accusing you of shit, i apologize on their behalf for assuming shit about you as it is not deserving to lump people together like that. but please please please talk to me if something comes up and you have a problem with me or with situations going on. thank you.

[corrodedcorpses]

Boys on Film. Part iv

Pairing: PS!Steve x PS!Eddie x Virgin!reader

Summary: It's been a year since you last saw Eddie and Steve. The last place you expected to see them again for the first time was at a club while you were out with your new boyfriend. The night does not go how you imagined it at all.

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), public sex (ish), fingering, angst, cheating (sorry)

Word count: 6.8K

a/n: I hope this kind of makes up for the ending of the last chapter but also I'm sorry in advance. (also as always a massive thank yous to my babies @andvys @wroteclassicaly @usedtobecooler @bimbobaggins69 for all of your help I love you all so much)

Taglist is closed but if you want an update on when I post the next chapter you can follow my fic account @corrodedcorpsesfics and turn on notifications🖤

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4.5

Steve and Eddie stare at your closed door that had just been slammed in their face moments ago. It had all gone so wrong, so fast. Neither of them had meant for it to go that way or to fight like that with you. All of their (and your own) long harboured emotions coming out during the fight, all of the love turning into hate in order to protect your hearts from - what you all assumed - would no doubt be rejection. 

Eddie is the first to break eye contact with your door. Scoffing and walking toward his van as Steve leans his head on the door, closing his eyes trying to will you to open it again. He’s almost sure he can hear tiny sobs coming from the other side and it feels like his heart is breaking all over again. 

He can hear Eddie behind him, pacing and grumbling out “shit”, “fuck” and mumbling “that was so stupid” over and over again. Steve is frozen in place, he knows as soon as he breaks away from your door that it’s all over, that he’ll have to face the reality of what just happened. He doesn’t know if he can do that yet. 

A loud smack, that was obviously Eddie’s palm hitting his car, finally jolts Steve out of his self pity. He finally turns to him, watching as Eddie continues to pace and mumble expletives under his breath, his ringed fingers running through his hair with so much force Steve thinks he’s about to rip it all out. 

“Eddie,” he tries, too quietly as the other man doesn’t stop. 

He glances at your door one more time before sighing and walking up to Eddie. 

“Eddie,” he says more firmly, standing next to where he continues to pace, “come on man-”

“Don't you ‘come on man’ me,” Eddie interrupts, whipping around to finally look at Steve,  “what the fuck was that, Harrington.” 

Steve flinches at the use of his last name, something Eddie only uses to tease or hurt him. 

“What the fuck was what, Munson?” Steve throws his own surname back at him with just as much venom, Eddie squinting his eyes into a glare. 

“All that,” Eddie explains, wildly gesturing to your house, “bullshit you pulled in there. ‘At least you wouldn’t have been a virgin in your twenties’,” he mocks what Steve had said to you. 

“The bullshit I pulled?” Steve almost shouts back, “What about you, huh?” He asks, a finger poking into Eddie’s chest to reiterate his point. “You didn’t break that shit to her gently at all! No wonder she went straight into ‘defence mode’.”

 Eddie just rolls his eyes at him, even though he knows Steve's right. 

The action only angers Steve more. “I wasn’t even in that stupid argument until you dragged me in with your bullshit about hanging out with King Steve.” 

Eddie visibly cringes at the memory of using Steve’s old title, one he knew Steve loathed and has done years of work to be anything but. But, Eddie couldn’t let Steve ‘win’ the argument. If he did he would have to admit that all of this was his fault. 

“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs, “the argument only turned nasty as soon as you put your 2 cents in! The shit you said was just—” Eddie pauses, remembering how Steve had teased him for not ‘making a move’ on you sooner, saying everyone thought you were Eddie’s ‘property’ during high school, outing him for scaring away anyone that dared to get close to you because he knew that weren’t good enough for you, “mean.”

Eddie whispers the last word. The only word he could come up with to express how he felt, how that whole argument transported him right back to his teenage years, something he truly thought he had gotten over from the help of you and Steve. Something he obviously was far from getting over. 

Steve’s demeanour changes, he can see the hurt in Eddie’s eyes, the sliver of vulnerability that he’s been hiding behind his rage. He understands the weight that one word holds.

“I didn’t intend for it to be mean, I just, I don’t know, it just–-” he’s taken aback, stuttering through some sort of an explanation, but there isn’t one. He was mean. 

“It’s like you wanted to hurt her,” Eddie continues, but he doesn’t mean just you, “hurt me.” He whispers so softly, he’s sure Steve wouldn’t even hear him. But Steve does.

“What? Why would I want to hurt someone I love!” Steve says too quickly in response, eyes widening when he realises what he just said, what he just confessed to Eddie. But when he looks at Eddie he only sees hurt in his eyes. 

Eddie still doesn’t think Steve heard him say ‘hurt me’, so he takes Steve’s confession as a confession of love for you, not you and him. 

Eddie just laughs with no humour, shaking his head. “I was fucking right, I fucking knew you hadn’t changed – you’re such an asshole, man.” 

The cogs in Eddie’s head turn, thinking back to how Steve had said all those things against him, no doubt finally seeing his opportunity to put a wedge between you both, so Steve could finally have you all to himself.

Steve just stares at him in shock as whatever fragments of his heart that were left break even further. He didn’t think Eddie loved him back but there was some part of him that had hoped, that had at least thought Eddie would be nice about it, gentle with his heart even if he didn’t want to keep it.  

He didn’t think Eddie would laugh in his face and call him an asshole. 

“Wow,” Steve says to himself in disbelief, “okay.” He feels the tears well up in his eyes as his chest physically aches from all of the heartbreak tonight. He doesn’t want Eddie to see him break down, he'd no doubt laugh at his misery. 

He starts to walk away from Eddie, it’s the only thing he can think to do. It’s only a couple of miles to his house, the air isn’t too cold and it’s not too late — he can easily just walk home, he thinks. 

“Steve?” Eddie questions as the other boy starts to hurry away from him, “Steve!” He tries again, an air of worry in his voice as he calls out, “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk away from me too huh?” Eddie yells. 

“Whatever man,” Steve yells back, already at the end of your driveway, stopping only when his shoes hit the road to look back at Eddie, “you basically just rejected me so, I don’t need this shit anymore.” Steve spits, mentally cursing the way his voice wobbles as he says it. He continues down the road, needing to get as much distance between him and Eddie before he can finally break down. 

“What?” Eddie says too quietly, he realises when Steve doesn’t respond, “rejected you?” he shouts this time. But still Steve doesn’t stop. 

“Steve! Would you — shit,” Eddie curses. He’s so confused about what Steve meant, he’s so confused about this whole evening but he needs to know. The tiny sliver of his heart that is holding onto hope needs to know what Steve meant. 

Eddie runs around to the drivers side and launches himself into his van. Cursing when the engine turns over way too many times before it finally roars to life. He swings out of the driveway like a madman, thanking the universe that you live on a quiet street. 

He catches up with Steve quickly, slowing the van down until he’s driving right beside him. He’s happy he never listened to you and Steve about needing to roll his windows up. 

“Steve, would you just stop,” Eddie pleads. 

“No,” is all Steve replies.  

“Steve,” Eddie pleads exasperatedly, “what did you mean?”

But Steve doesn’t answer and he doesn't stop walking. He hopes if he ignores Eddie long enough that he will just leave him alone.

And he thinks his plan worked when Eddie suddenly drives forwards down the road. But, those hopes are shattered when Eddie parks a little bit ahead of Steve and hops out. 

Steve finally stops walking as he sees Eddie running towards him. He should just turn around and walk away, circle back around at the other end of your street, it’s a longer way to walk but at least he wouldn’t have to see Eddie. But he doesn’t, his feet won’t let him move. He sees Eddie rushing towards him and his whole body aches for Eddie to just hold him as he breaks down and melts into his arms.  

When Eddie finally gets to Steve he’s quick to invade his space, cupping his face tenderly in both of his hands. Eddie searches Steve’s eyes, he can see the unshed tears threatening to spill, the hurt and the tiny bit of hope Steve also holds. It’s enough for Eddie to ask again, even if it could mean more heartache. 

“Steve,” he whispers so tenderly, it makes Steve’s knees almost buckle, makes it even harder to not just fall at Eddie’s feet and beg him to love him back, “what did you mean?”

Steve swallows, hard. He looks into Eddie’s big, brown, pleading eyes. He knows he’s about to get his heart smashed, completely obliterated when he explains himself, but he can’t stop his mouth from moving. God, he would do anything Eddie asked while he cradled his face so delicately and looked at him like that. 

“I basically just told you I wanted you,” he whispers, eye’s never leaving Eddie’s “a-and you just told me to, to get fucked.” He closes his eyes trying to will his tears to stay at bay, the last sentence coming out all wobbly as he tries to stop his bottom lip from trembling. 

“Steve…” Eddie says in a way that has Steve opening his eyes again. He’s met with confusion and yearning swimming in Eddie’s beautiful brown orbs. “You want me?” Eddie asks in disbelief, “I - I thought you were talking about her!” It comes out like a question, like a plea. 

“I was,” Steve says, and he can see Eddie’s eyes start to fall, feel his hands on his cheeks loosen, Steve is quick to grab Eddie’s wrists, keeping his hands on his cheeks before quickly continuing, “I was talking about both of you, idiot.” He says the last word fondly, with a hint of a smile dancing on his still trembling lips.

Eddie can’t help but return a small smile of his own. Steve wants him too. He leans forward to capture Steve’s lips with his own. It’s the only thing he can think to do in the moment, the only thing his body will let him do. Steve returns the kiss immediately. It’s soft, so soft that it sears their lips, all of the passion and pent up feelings and anger from the last hour coming out in the way their lips and tongue dance together so slowly. 

Eddie finally pulls back after they’ve run out of air, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I like you too,” he whispers, just in case it wasn’t obvious, revelling in the way it makes Steve smile, “I like you both too.”

Steve pulls back to look at Eddie properly, he can see the mix of happiness and regret all over Eddie’s face. 

“Oh.” Steve says. It’s all he can say, he sees the whole argument differently now, sees how stupid they both had been. He realises why Eddie said and did what he did and regrets the things he said to him. Knowing how much more they would have hurt now. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Eddie replies. 

“We're idiots.” Steve sighs. 

“Yep.” Eddie agrees. 

“Should we… go back inside?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head knowingly, “give her some time, trust me.” 

He thinks back to all the times you showed up at his trailer door, sheepishly asking if you could spend the day or the night or the weekend when you were upset. Always claiming to need space from your family after you fought. Eddie never realising what you needed wasn’t space, what you needed was him. 

But you never told him that. 

So, they do give you time. They give you a day to cool off, to sit with your thoughts before they call, but are only met with silence in return. They try again a day later — and again another day after that. They try to go over to your house a week later but you’re either not there or are pretending not to be. 

They try again and again and again until trying every day turns into every two days, which turns into trying every week, which turns into trying every now and then over the next couple of months. The last time they tried was months later when they had had a particularly rough day and just needed you. 

All of this was met with silence. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you kicked them out, but you hadn’t expected them to just leave. You had expected them to at least come back later that night or the next day. 

Not call you late the next night like that would make up for anything and you didn’t expect it to take them a full week of calling before coming over to try and see you. 

All of this just seemed to cement the idea in your head that they didn’t care about you as much as you'd been stupid enough to believe they did. 

You didn’t realise how upset and borderline distraught this had also made them. You didn’t realise how upset they were after every failed attempt. How they had both sat on the kitchen floor in their new apartment months later and cried, surrounded by half unpacked boxes after that final time they tried, and failed, to call. Because none of this felt right without you.  

And they didn’t realise how you’d done the exact same thing on the floor in your kitchen that night, cursing yourself for not just picking up the damn phone this time.  

******* 

You hold the two dresses up against your body, one at a time. Trying to decide between the black — tight, revealing and super uncomfortable or the dusty pink — a stark contrast, more modest, cute and comfortable. 

You’d spent the last hour getting ready for your date with your boyfriend of about 6 months, Bradley. He was… nice… and fun… and, well, a good distraction. It was nice to feel needed. But, you know deep down that it ultimately won’t go anywhere.  

There’s just something… missing. A spark? Passion? Familiarity? The fact that he’s not Eddie or Steve?

You groan at yourself for even having that thought, dropping the dresses back on your bed as your eyes land on the picture on your dresser next to your mirror. It’s a cute photo of you, Eddie and Steve, faces squished together and giant smiles plastered on your faces. A photo you still can’t bring yourself to get rid of. 

You sigh and flip it over as you seem to before every date, the picture somehow making you feel guilty. As if the two people in the photo hadn’t completely broken your heart. But you know you’ll just put it back to its original position as soon as you get home again. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, before you make the mistake of going down that black hole of missing them once again. You decide to just go for the revealing, uncomfortable dress — knowing Bradley would probably like it more, praise you for showing off the curves you mostly hid from him. 

You’ll hopefully be too drunk to feel the discomfort anyway. 

*****

The club is loud and packed when you arrive with Bradley, the bass and the stench of spilled sugary drinks overwhelming. You clutch the strap of the purse that’s across your chest nervously, there’s a split second where you want to turn around, hightail it out of there and cuddle up at home by yourself instead. You from a year ago would’ve, but you’re not that same person anymore. 

“Drinks?” He yells at you over the music. He’s at least courteous enough to keep a tight arm around your waist, hugging you in close to shield you slightly from the rowdy party goers who already had one too many to drink. 

“Please,” you yell back before you both make your way to the bar. Winding through the growing crowd of rowdy people, his hand heavy on your skin, feeling out of place. 

You rest your forearms against the bar, wincing at the sticky feeling underneath. You watch as the bartenders flit around, making the various overpriced, overly sweet drinks for the other patrons who arrived long before you. 

Your eyes wander as you wait, taking in the neon signs behind the bar, the shelves of alcohol with countless cheap labels, smiling as you see two girls overly excited to see each other, the guys next to you obviously getting rejected by the girls standing in front of them, the couple that can't seem to keep their hands off each other at the very end of the bar –- wait. 

Wait.

You stare at the couple for longer than you should. Your brain taking a second to catch up with your eyes. You can only see the back of the guy as you take in his dark clothes, the chain bracelet on his wrist, the tattoos littered along his pale skin, the bats adorning his forearm, the long mop of curly brown hair- No. No no no no no. 

Eddie?

Your head starts to spin, and not just from the overwhelming atmosphere of the club. Why is he here? Why now? Why is he with a girl? You curse yourself for even thinking that last part and for the pang of jealousy in your chest. You’re here with your boyfriend, you can’t be getting jealous of the guy who broke your heart being here with some other girl. 

Even if he was your best friend for all of highschool, the only person who got you through that hell hole, one of the only people you’ve ever truly trusted, truly loved, who you definitely still love more than your own boyfriend as much as you try to pretend you don't, whose back is doing more things for you than your boyfriend has the whole time you’ve been dating, who kisses so much better than him, who looks really good right now kissing… Steve?!   

It’s only then that Eddie turns slightly, giving you a glimpse of the ‘mystery girl’. You feel like you’re gonna be sick. What are they doing? Here? Together? God they look so good. 

All thoughts fail you as you’re mesmerised watching them. The way their bodies press against each other, how Eddie has both hands lazily in Steve's back pockets as Steve's hands fist the front of Eddie’s shirt. Your cunt aches at the way their lips move together as though they’ve done this a thousand times. 

They probably have done this a thousand times, you realise. They way they are standing, so relaxed with each other, like there's no hurry to the makeout session, like they have all night.  

You're confused and hurt as you watch them. You can’t help but wonder if they’re together, they make a hot couple afterall. But you can’t help the awful feelings that that realisation arises. All of your fears from a year ago come flooding back, you were right. They never wanted you.  

Before you can fully spiral you see Bradley’s hand wave in front of your face, it’s then that you realise he’s been talking to you and you see a stressed bartender give you a forced yet polite smile, as they wait for you to tell them what you want. 

“Hello? y/n?” He asks, concerned. 

“Huh?” You reply, dumb, unable to take your eyes off of them — it’s all your brain can come up with as a response, too absorbed in the scene taking place just feet from you.

“What would you like?” He asks, like he’s already asked you multiple times. You rip your eyes away from them, focusing on Bradley’s face that’s still soft and full of admiration, as if you hadn’t been actively ignoring him. As if time hadn’t just stood still, as you watched on in what could only be described as devastation.

“Oh-- ah-- just my usual,” you say finally, glancing back at Eddie and Steve. Watching as Steve’s hand curls into Eddie's hair, it’s longer now, you realise. I wonder if it would still be as soft or if - you shake that image out of your head. “Maybe some shots? Patreon or tequila, you like both right?” You add quickly.

Bradley seems surprised but compiles, ordering one of his own. You take the small glass in your hand, bringing it up to your lips, the strong smell already paralysing, before downing it as fast as you can. You make the mistake of glancing at Eddie and Steve again as you do, finding yourself making eye contact with Steve, realising they’re both looking at you now. You almost choke on the drink in your mouth, wincing at how the liquid burns more than usual as it slides down your throat. 

You grab your drink and Bradley's hand, quickly leading him to the dancefloor. Needing to get as much space between you and the boys as possible. 

Eddie and Steve watch you take the other guy's hand with dark eyes. You spare a glance back seeing Steve’s angry eyes as Eddie whispers something in his ear. 

Angry? What does he have to be angry about? 

You weave in and out of the crowd as they stumble and bump into you, the alcohol making them stagger on their feet and spill their drinks haphazardly on the floor. The further you get lost into the sea of people the more you try to shake Steve and Eddie out of your head, determined to still have a good time despite the anxiety that has wrapped its way around your chest. 

Once you’re almost in the centre of the dancefloor, safely concealed by the thrawl of dancers, you turn to your boyfriend. You pull him in close, rocking your hips to the sound of the music and giving him a forced smile. 

You dance with him for a while, getting lost in the music as you feel the alcohol seep through your body. Although it does nothing to settle the ugly feeling deep in your stomach. As much as you try you can’t help but spare little glances around the club, not being able to stop yourself from aching for just one more glance at them. 

You finally see them, startled by the fact that they’re only a couple of people away from you. Steve is the only one actually dancing but Eddie is happily swaying with him, more than content with and touching Steve and placing gentle kisses all over his neck. Your chest tightens further at the need to tease Eddie about finally dancing, the realisation that you can’t joke with him like that anymore and the jealousy that he would come out to the dancefloor with Steve, even though he never would for you. 

As these ugly emotions swirl around your stomach you realise they’re both watching you, stealing glances the same way you are, but a lot less subtly. Your blood boils at the looks they're giving you, they seem hurt and angry and almost… sad? They have no right to. 

You turn your attention back to Bradley, you make out and grind against him, every now and then looking at them both and winking when you see them clench their jaws. 

You’re confused as you continue your show. What do they have to be angry about? Why do they even care that you’re dancing with someone that isnt them? There was a time when they could’ve had you, a time when you would’ve done anything for them but they were the ones who threw you away. They have no right to be angry now. 

Bradley leans down to whisper in your ear, you’re hopeful that he’s going to say something hot, a compliment or something, instead he lets you know he’s going to get more drinks, leaving you alone in the crowd before you can say anything else. You try to not look anxious about being alone in such a dense crowd of strangers, knowing Bradley is going to take a long time with how packed it is. 

You find some comfort knowing that Steve and Eddie are close by, although you’re not sure why. You decide to continue dancing, doing the most to look as hot and unbothered as possible, but when you spare another glance at Steve and Eddie you’re surprised to find they’ve also gone. It’s weird how their absence has made you feel more alone than Bradley’s. 

You start to leave, deciding to head outside for some fresh air before going to find Bradley where he’s no doubt still waiting at the bar. That is, until you feel hands lightly on your waist. You start to panic, until you hear the stranger whisper in your ear. 

“Hey there, little one.”

Eddie. 

Your body shudders at hearing his voice again. You have to fight every nerve in your body to not melt back into him, turn around and wrap your arms around him and cry into his chest. But you don’t, you're frozen in place instead. 

“We liked that little show you put on for us, sweetheart,” he continues as you feel his hands massage small circles in your hips as he presses himself closer to you, you can feel the outline of his semi against your ass and it takes everything in you not to moan at the feeling. 

He starts to rock you both to the music before pressing gentle kisses along your neck. So feather light you’re not sure if you’re actually imagining them, just some mean trick your mind is playing on you. You start to melt back against him, your body betraying you as it’s automatically drawn into the safety of Eddie’s chest and arms. 

You let yourself get caught up in the feeling before reality comes crashing down. You have a boyfriend, he has a boyfriend, you can’t be doing this. You snap out of the weird trance you’ve been in, pulling away from Eddie and finally turning to face him, fully preparing yourself to tell him off before you see the look on his face. 

It causes your breath to hitch as you see the pure lust written all over his face, his blown and glassy pupils staring into your soul and the possessiveness buried deep inside them that makes your thighs clench. 

You go to take a step back, needing space between you both but your back collides with another chest instead. Another set of lips brushing your ear as they whisper lowly to you.  

“Don't be like that, honey.” 

Steve. 

Your head swims at the proximity of both of them. The familiar smells and feel of them crumbling whatever stubborn exterior you were trying to portray. 

You feel Steve's hands run along the sides of your waist and down your thighs before tracing light patterns back up again, your dress pulling up at the sides as he does. He pushes against you as Eddie had, although he is a lot more worked up from your little show than Eddie was — a testament to how he always was more of the jealous type. 

“Can you feel what your little show did to us baby?” He asks like you’ve wounded them. Eddie pushing against you at the same time. “You’re so fucking naughty, getting us all worked up like that.”

“Anything to say for yourself, miss?” Eddie asks when you don’t respond right away. How could you? Your head feels like it's about to spin off your shoulders, your cunt feels like it’s about to start dripping down your thighs, they’ve thoroughly wrecked you with no more than some gentle touches, barely any grinding and a couple of words whispered seductively in your ears. 

You only manage a small moan in response, one that you’re thankful only they can hear over the loud music. 

They both chuckle at your response, knowing they have you right where they want you. Loving how fucking easy you are for them. 

Steve’s fingers continue to dance along your thighs as Eddie’s hand comes to rest on your waist again, both of them pressing into you and swaying you to the music, causing their hardening cocks to grind against you.  

Steve's fingers slide to the front of your dress, tracing up the inside of your thighs as you let out a little whimper. Steve smirks against your skin as he starts to kiss up your throat as Eddie had just before. Your eyes start to flutter shut as Steve’s fingers inch higher, so close to where you desperately need him. 

“That feel nice, pretty girl?” Steve asks, although he already knows the answer, “want me to keep going?” 

Eddie keeps his eyes trained on your blissed out face, sucking on his bottom lip as he anxiously waits for your answer. 

You nod your head slowly, words failing you as you melt back into Steve. 

“Ah, ah,” Eddie tuts, “you know the rules princess, use your words.” 

“P-please.” You barely breathe out, and Eddie’s sure he would’ve missed it if his eyes weren't glued to your lips. 

He nods at Steve, who groans as his fingers finally make contact with your dripping cunt, feeling the slick that’s soaked through your panties. 

Eddie holds your waist tighter, half keeping you upright as your legs start to shake, half shielding you from any onlookers as he continues to sway his hips, making it look like you three were just dancing.

Steve dips his fingers into your underwear, moaning in your ear as he gathers your slick on his thick fingers before rubbing your clit.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he teases, “this is all for us huh?”

You can only nod and whine in response, too far gone to be embarrassed by how close they were getting you already. No one except for Steve and Eddie have been able to get you this close this fast. 

You feel the coil in your stomach tighten further as Steve's thick digits breach your aching cunt, finding a steady pace immediately, his palm dragging deliciously over your slick clit. Eddie’s grip on your waist becomes so tight you’re sure he’s gonna leave bruises that you’re going to have to try and explain to Bradley later, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re happy that he’s at least holding you somewhat upright as your knees start to get weak. 

Eddie presses further into you still to keep you upright, so far that Steve can feel Eddie’s hard cock pulsing against his hand even through his jeans. Making Steve’s cock ache for some sort of release as he starts to rock gently into your ass. Craving some relief. 

You feel the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching as you teeter on the edge. Only able to get out small sputters of “I’m, I’m—” before you’re burying your face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as your orgasm comes crashing into you. 

Your ears ring and your vision goes white as you ride out your orgasm around Steve’s fingers, rutting against his hand while clinging to Eddie. 

When you finally start to come down from your high you’re barely aware of the music still blaring around you, focusing only on Steve’s hands rubbing soothing circles in your thighs, Eddie’s hand in your hair and their praises gently flowing through your ears. 

Suddenly, reality hits you like a truck. Completely cracking the walls of whatever weird dream you’ve been trapped in with Eddie and Steve. Suddenly everything seems too much, their touch is suffocating and grating against your skin, the music of the club is blaring too loud, rocking your skull and their sweet whispers might as well be screams in your ear. 

You need to get away. 

You finally look at Eddie, his eyes meeting yours. He knows that look. 

“y/n-,” he tries as you start to squirm out of their grip. 

“Let me go”, you suddenly hiss at him, finally breaking free and rushing through the crowd and out the door. You hear them yell after you, but you keep going, their voices being drowned out by the music the further you get away from them. 

By the time you finally make it outside you feel as if you can hardly breathe. Your chest is so tight and you struggle to take shallow breaths, you can feel the unshed tears prick your eyes as you try and will them to keep at bay. Although you’re not sure why, you’re almost certain your makeup must be a mess now, most of it left on Eddie’s collar, you doubt a couple of tears would really make much of a difference. 

You shakily reach into the clutch still thankfully secured across your chest, fishing out a smoke. You put one between your lips as you try, but fail to find your lighter. You sigh in frustration, of course you’ve lost your lighter. 

“Here, let me.” You hear someone whisper, before you see the flicker of a lighter in front of your lips. You don’t have to look up from your clutch to know that it’s Eddie. Your eyes meet his timid ones as you lean forward, using the flame to light the end of your cigarette. 

“Thanks,” you mumble before looking beside Eddie, realising Steve also followed you out here. 

You all stand in awkward silence, Eddie busying himself by lighting his own cigarette. 

“I– ah,” Steve finally breaks the silence. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he needs you to hear, but the words won't form, instead he opts for, “didn’t know you smoked.” 

You snort half a laugh, shaking your head. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn't that. Sorry would have been a good start… but at least you’re talking, you guess. 

“There’s a lot you both don’t know about me anymore,” you reply, deadpan. You see them both visibly flinch at the implication of your words. It's been over a year since they last saw you, you've had a whole year's worth of experiences without them, would they even recognise the person you'd become? 

You bring your smoke back up to your lips, thankful for the distraction it provides and for how it's almost calming most of your nerves. 

It doesn't, however, distract you enough to not feel their hungry eyes on you. You're surprised your dress doesn't have holes burnt into the fabric with how hot and heavy their gazes are. You adjust your dress with your free hand trying to pull the fabric down, cursing yourself now for wearing the revealing dress. 

You don’t want them to see you squirm, you need to keep up this teasing, nonchalant act you were trying to portray, you couldn't let them know how much seeing them again was hurting you. 

“See something you like?” You slur seductively at them, not shying away from their eyes. Even as your palms sweat and your heart rattles in your chest. 

They both chuckle and shake their heads, not in disagreement but at the absurdity of your question. Of course they did. You looked stunning, confident. In a dress you usually would be too shy to wear. It was nice to see you like this, but it was also weird. 

Not weird in a bad way, it just hurt. It hurt them to see that you finally seemed to be growing into yourself and hopefully finally seeing how beautiful you were. Except it was without them. 

“You seem… different,” Eddie finally managed. He couldn't think of a better way to put it. Not better, not worse, just different. But that's what heartbreak will do to a person. 

“I am different.” You say back, no hidden meaning behind it, like it’s that simple. 

They were different. You were different. You’d just grown away from each other. You’d all changed and grown in the year that had passed, in the year that you had all ached for each other. Now here you were, and it felt like you were talking to strangers. 

You had a picture of them on your dresser that you saw everyday, and yet it felt like those two men were different from the ones that stood in front of you now. 

It makes your whole body ache. 

You want to fill the silence, distract yourself from the heavy feeling. You want to mess with them, annoy them, make them even more jealous and angry and hurt than they’ve already seemed to have been tonight. 

“Trust me,” you say finally, “I’ve had lots of experience since you last saw me.” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, trying to joke around with them as if it’s no big deal. 

You see their jaws clench. Eddie fights the urge to scoff at you, to roll his eyes, to scream in your face. Steve is a little better at hiding his distaste at what you’re insinuating. Both knowing they have no right to feel as hurt and betrayed as they do right now. 

You’re not theirs. 

“Well, they must be some lucky guys then.” Eddie tries to speak sincerely. It comes out like venom. 

“Hmm,” you hum, revelling in their reactions. Trying to think of what else you can say to rile them up like this. “And girls,” you say with a wink. 

Lies, it’s all lies. 

You had drunkenly kissed one girl out the back of a club after too many drinks. She was nice and soft and tasted like vodka and raspberries. But that was it… just a kiss. 

The furthest you’d gotten with your current boyfriend was some grinding and heavy touches. Always stopping before it got too far. He was always respectful of that, something you appreciated. 

They look at you stunned. You could see their brains working a mile a minute. You could tell they were imagining something much more lewd than reality. Victory. 

Desperate for this conversation to be over before they pried and realised you were talking all of your experiences up to be something much more, you stomp out your cigarette. Giving them a small smile that said ‘are we done here?’ as you started to walk away. 

Before you can get too far you feel a hand desperately grasp your arm. You know it’s Steve before you even turn around. 

You see his mouth open as he struggles to find the right words to say but you don’t want to hear it. You can’t. 

“Don’t,” you interrupt, before he can even say a single word. His mouth closes as his hand reluctantly lets go of your arm, brushing the skin of your forearm as he drops his hand. You curse your body for the goosebumps that appear along the trail of his fingertips. 

You’re about to turn around again when you decide to ask them just one thing. Something that’s been weighing heavy on you since you first saw them at the bar. 

“So, um,” you start tentatively, rubbing your hand over the arm that Steve had just touched, unsure if you’re trying to warm yourself up or wipe away the memory of his fingertips, “how long have you been dating?” 

They share a look before Eddie slowly mumbles, “a little over a year.” 

A little over a year. 

The same amount of time since your fight. The guilty looks on their faces let you know it was very shortly after they broke your heart. So while you were alone, completely breaking and having to put yourself back together again all by yourself, they were just having the time of their lives? Starting a new and exciting relationship? Typical. 

“Of course you have been,” you scoff. Turning abruptly and stalking away from them as fast as your stupidly uncomfortable heels would let you. 

“Y/n wait! It’s not like tha–“ Steve calls after you, desperately trying to catch you before you run off once again. Like he’s worried this time you’ll be gone for good.

“Just leave me alone!” You practically yell. You feel bad for raising your voice and how it makes them flinch but finally, they let you go. 

*****

Taglist: @pxrxcxa @eddiemunsonfuxks @translatemunson @bandofoxxking @munsonsbaby @corrodedhawkins @chainsawmunson @divinelyruled @parkermunson @bimbobaggins69 @eddiemunsonspantschain @hammity-hammer

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[writingquestionsanswered]

hi, first of all just want to say that your blog is very helpful to me. if i ever need help with something, i always check to see if you've posted about it before.

anyway, onto my question. i have two characters who are best friends and theyve been arguing up to a point. ive gotten past that point and now theyre reconciling. i have their individual problems they had while fighting with each other, but my problem is i dont know how to go about making them apologise to each other. i tried writing some dialogue and parts of the scene, but it all feels very forced and unnatural. i was wondering if you might have some ideas on how to make the reconciliation scene more natural?

Writing a Reconciliation Between Friends

The key to writing a natural reconciliation scene is to find a natural way into the reconciliation. If the reconciliation feels forced/unearned there's not much you can do to make the actual moment feel right.

Step #1 - What Changes? Before two people can reconcile after a falling out, something has to change. For example, one or both of them need to have a change of heart... as in realizing their original position was faulty, that they were both right or both wrong, or that the friendship is more important than the point of disagreement. Or, maybe they're reunited by something bigger than the fight, like an illness, natural disaster, or a common cause.

Step #2 - Illustrate that Change for the Reader. The next step is to "show the math" of that change for the reader... show what the change is and how it shows up in the heart/mind of the character/s, then how that translates into a desire to reconcile.

Step #3 - 3... 2... 1... Contact! Now one character needs to reach out to the other in a meaningful way. Or, maybe they end up face to face unexpectedly. Either way, contact needs to happen. If one is reaching out to the other, this is more about testing the waters to see if they're open to reconciliation. If the person reaching out owes the other an apology, that should be part of it, but otherwise this isn't a time to rehash what happened. If they end up face to face unexpectedly, this will probably be an awkward moment where they both feel obligated to make small talk, but that can be an opening for one or both of them to apologize, say they're missed, and see if they're open to mending fences. Again, as long as you've done steps one and two, this should feel natural no matter how it plays out, because you did the work to make it earned.

Step #4 - Talk It Out... Carefully... If both are open to reconciliation, there will be some measure of talking it out. Again, this shouldn't be a rehashing of the original fight--both should be careful not to dredge up past arguments--this is more about clarifying what changed (if it makes sense to do so), apologizing (if necessary), reiterating what was missed/lost with the parting of ways, and extending forgiveness.

Step #5 - Rebuild the Friendship - There will need to be some rebuilding of the friendship, and maybe a lot if the fight was really bad. It could be as simple as just easing back to the original comfort level (which may happen fast), or it could require learning to trust again. It may also require an examination of the original problem if it's something that isn't fully resolved with the reconciliation. Like, if the original fight was due to ideological differences, they will need to talk about it and maybe lay down some rules/boundaries so it doesn't become a problem again.

Depending on your characters and the needs of your story, steps 3 - 5 or 4 & 5 could all occur in one conversation. You don't necessarily have to drag it out over multiple scenes/conversations. Again, it just depends on what needs to happen in your story. Making sure the reconciliation is earned is the important thing, then making sure you clarify why reconciliation is possible is the next most important thing. Finally, making sure you show that things are smoothed over will bring things full circle.

Have fun with your story!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[ashleyswrittenwords]

Of Gods and Goddesses (IV)

Note: I finally revisited this one. Here is the final installment of OGAG! This is dedicated to my burning love for HyLink. A final thank you to @royxhe for the inspirational fanart!

First Chapter

Previous

---

Of Gods and Goddesses

Hyrule had been torn to pieces by Demise’s hoard. It had been years since Hylia’s descension and the Hylians were cornered. Refugees from all walks of life met at a single point to defend both the Triforce and their survival. The goddess of light was at the forefront, organizing forces and splitting resources to sustain the camps. It would be wildly convenient if her sisters would return, but they never did. Hylia was left alone to pick up the pieces. All the while, looking forward to the day she would drive a blade through Demise’s dark heart. Her people were calling him a demon king and refused to refer to him as any sort of god.

Then one day, one of her commanders approached her with word that a man with the Triforce imprinted on his right hand was found. She rushed to the entrance of her tent and threw aside the drapes. Lightening boomed through the sky and she found him knelt in the pouring rain, knees sunken in the mud. Sandy blond hair was soggy, and his forest green attire was drenched by the travel. From what the commander had said, he was from the frontlines.

The man refused to do no less than bow in reverence before her until she demanded to see his hand. The wavering words and the sight of the triplet triangles made their eyes meet for the first time. However, to Hylia, it felt like the countless time she had seen those blue irises.

“Alikah?” she breathed out in disbelief.

His expression twisted in confusion but held an odd air. The man couldn’t quite place her. He knew who the goddess was, of course, from the tales and legends. But this was altogether different.

“Actually, Your Grace. My name is Link.”

Alikah’s death echoed pain through the years and her heart seized. Eyes wide with a tight grasp around his hand Hylia knew it was him, although now in a mortal form. It had been over 25 years since she felt him take his last breath. Usually that span of time would be nothing, yet each morning felt empty and each night lonely. It had been so long and here he was, albeit different. He didn’t have a godly glow around him, nor the perfections that came from being holy, but this was him. Alikah’s eyes, his voice, his hair, his mark that he had tattooed on his back was in her hands.

Even so, he did not recognize her. She was to him as she was to the rest of the mortals. Hylia could see it in his face. The mother goddess and the light of Hyrule.

Biting down a wave of grief, she released his hand and it fell to his side. Link returned to kneeling and she realized what Alikah had meant. He wasn’t useful as a god and there were strains in her chain of command. They revered her, but when it came to drawing out battle plans they refused to speak their minds. Having their own at the table beside her would potentially change the course of this war.

With a steady breath, she pulled the sword from her side. The master sword had been her companion since the beginning and she was no stranger to Alikah. He had wielded her once before, and he would have to unwittingly do it again. His eyes flickered up to hers as she held it out, “Link, I must ask of you to give more than just yourself. To wield my sword and stand by my side until the Demon King is defeated.” Hylia forced her voice to be strong, but the implications of forcing a mortal to endure conquering Demise… is this what Alikah would have wanted?

“You’re free to walk away. I will not hold you to this,” she finished. His eyes fell from hers and all that could be heard was the rain falling around him. When he finally spoke, all she saw was resolve.

“If it means protecting this land and your people,” Link spoke as surprise filled her, “I wholeheartedly accept, my goddess.”

My love…

Then, it was done. He took the Sword that Seals the Darkness gingerly from her grasp and the crowd that formed around them watched in awe as the chosen hero accepted his destiny from the goddess of light.

  Time went by steadily and the war dragged on longer with it. It wasn’t like the War of Old where centuries went by without a notice. Each year was grueling and tore at Hylia whose army beat down on Demise’s hoards. It didn’t matter how efficient they were, the monsters regrouped greater in both strength and number. She felt that every life that fell was by her own hand. Even still, she had to keep positive. The Hylians depended on her and saw hope in her being. If she were to lose face before her people, she feared all would be lost.

Hylia found comfort in wearing their clothes and actively participating in their customs when war wasn’t immediately called for. As she charted out where each battalion would move next, she wondered what Din would say at her discolored and seemingly bland skirts. It made her smile despite the weight on her heart. Even the generals have insisted on more elegant apparel. She had expressed her profound disapproval of the notion. Why would she wear anything different than the people that fight for her?

The opening of her tent shifted, stilling her quill. A head of blond hair popped through and the rest of the man followed.

“Ah, Link,” she smiled. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

The sword on his back glowed warmly as it always did in her presence. It was rather late in the night and she hadn’t expected him. He nodded in her direction, “Your Grace.”

She glanced around, “Please sit anywhere.”

He did, drawing a chair to her desk and looking curiously at her plans. These past few years were cruel, but Link’s presence was a great help. His prior years climbing the ranks until his mark was found out gave him an edge that many generals did not have in the fight against the demon king. The man knew the varied monsters and strategies to take them down. His expertise only solidified Hylia’s conviction that he was the rightful one be by her side. Not to be forgotten was their growing friendship.

“I had a premonition last night,” Link said in that quiet voice of his. He didn’t speak loudly and the only times she had seen him upset were in the manner of his words, not his volume. She straightened, fully taken with his speech. “A premonition?”

Link’s hands rested on his knees, thumbing the seams of his trousers. “I have no other explanation for what it could be,” he looked up at her then. In his eyes there was a pleading. “Hylia, if I were to die… what would happen?”

A pregnant silence settled so softly that she hardly noticed how much he sounded like a god who was killed nearly three decades prior. Her gaze left him to rest on the melting candle before her. It wicked away at the wax and she wondered if the appropriate action were to cry. Though, she decided against it. Whatever stirred within her had to wait.

“You won’t. I do not think I could bare a pain like that again.”

He was quick to reiterate her words, like he knew something she did not. In his seat, Link leaned forward, “Again?”

Hylia searched his face. He looked so much like him. A wilted, weak part of the goddess wished to make him hold her as Alikah did. Another part desperately tried to separate them only to see their mannerism, their words, and features grow so similar that they melted together in her fantasies; causing her to start the process all over born from the frustrations of her own inadequacy. Even now, she could see that in his patient waiting the man was picking apart her words and trying to read her as she read him.

If her hunch was correct and he was the reincarnate of Alikah’s wish, there was danger in speaking too much. Hylians simply weren’t built to carry the soul of a god. If, for whatever reason, the memories of Alikah were to surface there was no telling what would happen. It was easier for Hylia to avoid talking about him altogether – no matter how much it hurt.

She wore a plastic smile and folded her hands in her lap. “I misspoke.”

His body seemed to sag at her words. It concerned her. “Link,” she reached for his hand and he did not stop her. “If you want to walk away-”

“No, it’s not that,” Link interrupted, curling his hand in hers. “I need to know if… if you would be able to endure.”

As it was, the strategy was to incapacitate Demise. At best he would be dead. Link was the driving force. Once they pushed through the hoard, the demon king would be forced down by the chosen hero. With her light, Hylia would then plunge Demise into light. If she was able to reach his heart, his life was as good as over.

If the goddess could labor both, she would. Forgoing the downfall of Demise was her ultimate goal, but if she were to slip and succumb to his darkness at any point there wouldn’t be enough power vested in her to make one final act to save her people. After all, Demise was an ancient god in himself and it took an army of immortals to vanquish three of his kind.

“Unfortunately,” she started, “even I have limitations. The future would be uncertain.”

They grew close, she found comfort in his trust. Link’s forehead brushed hers. A sad smile graced Hylia and her voice dipped into a whisper, “But you must know already that when it comes to it, I will give myself for you and this land.”

“In all of your plans, do you see yourself staying with me?”

The question was plainly stated, but it had brought back the aching. She was certain that without the dark reign of Demise, the people would be able to cultivate the land once more without her. Everything her sisters gifted them would remain. It had given her hope that when she uses herself to bring the god of darkness to his own demise, they could continue without her.

Never did she afford herself a dream where she survived.

“It would be a lie to say I haven’t tried.”

Alikah had told her that Hylian culture had many odd customs, although she found nothing odd in the way Link pressed his lips to hers. As his hand threaded through her hair, she realized that he had hid more than she thought.

  The demon below her screamed has Hylia’s light burned it from the inside. Around them, the hoard was thinning as they cut through the monsters. Black blood coated her armor as she waved the battalion forward. It was a smaller group of men and women, but their loyalty to the cause was of gold. Link retched the master sword from the head of a Hinox. Her feet touched the ground beside him.

“He’s inside,” she said gravely. A spiraling building was before them. Above that, thick clouds swirled and drowned out the daylight to create perpetual night. Link stared up with a grimace, “To think someone would want the world like this.”

Wind was rushing by them with a fierceness. The dark hurricane had been roaring since they broke through the second wall of monsters and now it was almost deafening. To Hylia, there was no doubt in her mind that this was where the portal lies – and with it the creator.

Link then turned to his soldiers and barked out orders to keep any incoming hoards away while he and the goddess confronted the demon king. They followed suit, taking defensive positions as Link and Hylia walked towards the entrance of the dark tower. This was it. This was what years of violence had led up to.

Hylia hummed, “Most of this is an illusion. He’s expecting us.”

She willed her power to course heavier through her veins. With it, any petty illusion that she used to blend in with the Hylians slipped away. Golden hair softly wavered around her in a halo and if you looked in her eyes, you’d see heaven.

Wordlessly, the hero and the goddess walked along the drawbridge. Below them were serpents in the moat that moved in the same manner as water. The walls were lined with torches and the sickening scent of death. It opened up into a cavernous throne room where a single sword laid in the center. Everything was the color of coal, yet the weapon still burned darker. Link voiced his curiosity and began walking towards it.

That was when Hylia realized she couldn’t feel its presence.

“Link, don’t!” she shouted, making him twist around in confusion. It was an enchantment. While the hero’s back was turned a sharp void shot from the sword and the goddess leapt, creating a wall of light as she did. The blast hit the wall and sent shocks through her magic. The darkness withered her light into faint sparks.

A laughter haunted through the room in several directions as black sludge melted the sword. From it an arm emerged, curling against the stone floor before birthing a twin. In long drapes, a cloak stood from the darkness. The whisperings of black magic plucked at Hylia’s consciousness for this was its father. In Demise’s grasp was a jagged weapon. Orange flames licked down his face, matching the fire in his eyes.

Blown back from the force of power, Link steeled himself at Hylia’s side.

“You been locked in your own dimension all this time,” the goddess stated bluntly.

A crooked, mangled smile spread itself on his face, “Always the clever one of your sisters. Why should I waste away on the Surface when I could be saving myself for you?”

The god walked a thin line around them slowly, eyeing Link with some curiosity. “The Almighty has assorted with dirt for so long. I wondered if perhaps you would simply guide me to the Triforce yourself. How is it living with rodents?”

“It will never be yours.”

Her words made him laugh.

“You’re living in a pipe dream, Hylia. Though, there is still time to leave everything for my good graces. I wouldn’t mind a pet,” he left her for Link. “But it looks like you’ve adopted your own to send to the slaughter.”

Light burned in her hand and in her palm formed a hilt up to a sharp point. Her feet tapped on the ground in a quick burst as she jumped through the air for her sword of light to meet his. It clashed and sent shockwaves. With a spare hand, she pressed it to Demise’s chest. Before she could gather enough power, he gripped it in his own and twisted it. She bit down and gripped his forearm in a vice, flinging him into the opposite wall. The goddess needed to buy time.

Demons poured through the hole in the wall Demise made. Link and Hylia looked upon each other. Their defenses outside the fortress had fallen. In a desperate attempt, she visualized a boxed room in her mind and made it so. As the vision became reality, the shield started at her feet and crawled along the floor like spilling water. The demon king growled, already recovered and sped towards Hylia with red eyes. She braced herself for the impact.

A different clash was heard; it was familiar. The master sword whispered in her mind and she saw Link’s red mantle, now long muddied by the journey, in front of her. His feet slid on the ground from Demise’s force but stayed upright. The shield around them was almost complete. She could feel Demise fighting it and pushing his own poison to will her light away. Distracted by the Hylian, the shield was positioned.

Demise was trapped.

“You insolent-!”

The master sword slipped in a grating sound against the spiked tips of the dark sword. Link ducked out of the way. Enraged by his actions, Demise suddenly doubled over into a hunch. Screams tore through his throat, knocking back the goddess. Before her eyes, he grew in a mangled fashion. Spores burst from his back and his veins split. Screams turned to laughter.

“He turned himself into one of them,” Hylia couldn’t look away, horrified. “I have to stop him.”

Link shouted her name, but it was too late. The goddess started out in a sprint and sent a charge through her sword. With enormous strain, she stabbed into the god’s back only to watch the wound heal. Each attempt let darkness infect her sword just as the void did her wall of light. The whispers of fear adhered to her as she tried to evaluate what to do. He was merging with his demons.

With all her might, she drew her light cleaver upwards and slashed deeply into his back. The swords dragged down with the sickening noise of wet flesh flaying. It shattered in her grasp. She thrusted her now empty hand into the bloodied tear before it could regenerate and bellowed as light burst from her fingertips. Her power drained slowly as if he were absorbing it.

Suddenly the world went sideways as Demise roared over her in more voices than one. In a blast, she hit her own shield and then the floor of the throne room. The goddess could hear her chosen hero scream her name and the wet, sinking footsteps of a monster coated in his own blood.

“Do you think I would suffer through isolation for millennia to squander at your feet?” it said through scratchy and inhumane noises. “I find happiness in your misery, goddess of light, and I will perpetuate it longer than you have mine.”

Unable to recoil from the coldness that dripped on her, it took everything to keep the shield steady. In the least, she had dislodged whatever kept him healing. Another set of footsteps and then Demise let out the awful yell that deafened her. Hylia opened her eyes to find Demise being sunk to the ground by the master sword. Her weak heart leapt and she forced herself to her feet, swaying from the drain of lifeforce.

“Damn you, Alikah!” the demon king growled. “I will take the pleasure of killing you twice!”

As the tip of the blade evaded Demise’s monstrous arms and touches what was left of his chest, the corrupted god pierced his own sword into Link’s abdomen. Link plunged the sword deeper, ignoring Hylia’s screams and the pain that would inevitably kill him. Even so, she couldn’t get to him fast enough. His hands slipped from the hilt and the master sword wavered in the chest of their enemy, Tears poured from her eyes as she fell to her knees in front of him. With a broken cry, she willed the sword to stay, knowing it wouldn’t hold him for long. Tears fell from her cheeks as Link gasped for air. The shield had shrunk around them and Demise’s hoard pounded on it.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, pulling him into her lap. “This is all my fault.”

Link denied her with a slight shake to his head, then with a withered voice, “You don’t have enough left in you, do you?”

He grasped her wrist; her pulse was faint. Without heaven’s source, she was limited. After years of putting protections of villages and crops, this was what she was left with. A nod confirmed his fear. She wouldn’t be able to vanquish the life of a god so easily, instead she would need to seal him away and nothing was permanent. The sword shook again.

“It’s okay,” Link smiled weakly. “I’m so proud of you.”

And she saw Alikah again, instead he was dying with red blood in place of gold.

She took his face in her hands, “I want to see you again.”

“I would happily die if it meant I could know of your smile in another life,” he said. Hylia felt herself faulter as golden light surrounded them both. He was slipping away; a god’s soul was dangerous to hold onto for long. The demon king hoarsely screamed out curses as words melted from Hylia’s lips.

The light was blinding now. Around them, the Surface groaned and shifted. Link’s fingers lacked the warmth they once held. The green of his tunic was beginning to match the dark scarlet of his cloak. Far away, where they met, land was being uprooted.

Along with it, the Triforce.

Hylia was giving herself to the darkness and the darkness with giving in to her. The curses of Demise faded with his demons.

She wasn’t there anymore.

When the goddess opened her eyes, warm breeze hit her cheeks. She sat under an oak tree in a field of grass. In her lap with a languished grin, Alikah stared up at her. No longer was he bloodied. Hylia ran her fingers through his hair, “We lost.”

“Though, you’ve succeeded them.”

“The world will change drastically.”

“And they will still prosper because of you.”

She sighed, sinking deeper into her seat in the grass. Her sisters had influence in this place. There was truth in his words and despite her body not surviving, she felt comfort.

“Our destinies have become intertwined, my love,” she brushed blond bangs from his eyes.

Alikah’s smile softened, “Then I will see you again.”

[yayneloveart]

Good Omens/Lucifer 2

(wow, this thing blew the fuck up. i know this isnt the only Good Omens/Lucifer fantic (Ive made my way around AO3) so I have no idea why this is going nuts. @hairdryertrash even asked me to tag them so they would see the next part asap)

‘Lucifer, you can’t just tie up our witness,’ Chloe sighed.

‘If I hadn’t, he’d still be running,’ Lucifer justified himself.

‘Look, what is this all about?’ Crowley asked from where he sat on the floor. ‘Is this about Adam? What I did to Ligur? What happened at the airfield?’

‘I’m over all that,' Lucifer said dismissively. ‘All in the past.’

'Who told you where I was? Was it Hastur? Beelzebub? Zozo? It was Gabriel, wasn't it?'

'I haven't talked to Gabriel in millennia, I left that up to Beelzebub.’

‘Then why are you here on earth coming after me?’

‘I told you, I’m living here on earth and consulting the LAPD.’

Crowley leaned over to see around Lucifer to the officers standing behind him. He gave Decker an inquisitive look and she nodded at him. He looked at the other officers and they all gave their own affirmatives.

‘I can’t fucking believe this,’ Crowley slowly stood up and the ropes suddenly slid off him.

‘I guess it was a bad idea to tie up a snake. You are a wily one.’

‘And you’re not my boss anymore, so once I’m done here, you can stuff it.’

Lucifer just looked at him in utter awe as he walked past him back to the detectives. Dan did a very bad job of hiding his glee as he told Crowley to come with him to the station to record an official statement.

‘So... another brother?’ Chloe asked.

‘Yes, one of the younger ones, and the least predictable. And a little shit.’

‘You two can catch up after we get started on this case, right now we need to find a killer.’

‘Did you hear him? He told me to stuff it! That little brat!’

With Chloe driving, they arrived back at the precinct after Dan and Crowley and they were already recording a statement when they walked in. Lucifer settled with bitching about his family at Chloe as they watched from the two way mirror.

‘Out of all my siblings, I would think the one who followed me into Hell would have more respect,’ he huffed. ‘He’s even one of my most decorated followers, but no, he had to go and stab me in the back and now hes telling me to stuff it!’

‘Look, I don’t know what you two have been through, but we need him and his statement right now to find this killer,’ Chloe carefully explained.

‘What could he have seen, anyways? He has horrible eyesight!’

‘Wait, you didn’t actually see the killer?’ they heard Dan say to Crowley.

‘No, I got terrible eyes. That’s the reason why I need the glasses, they’re all screwed up. I do have a sharp sense of smell, though.’

Dan sighed audibly, ‘Okay, what did he smell like?’

‘Hes half lying,’ Lucifer commented. ‘He does have bad eyesight, but the glasses aren’t for that. When he fell, dear old dad decided to curse him by turning him into a snake. He can take a human-like form now, but his senses stay the same, and his eyes stay... snaky.’

‘So wait, you were being literal when you called him a snake before?’ Chloe tried to clarify.

‘Yes. Specifically, the snake that convinced Eve to eat the apple.’

‘I thought that was supposed to be you?’

‘Not really, I just told him to go cause some trouble, maybe screw around with that stupid ‘Tree of Knowledge’ dad planted in that stupid garden.’

They turned back to the interview with Dan having a hard time taking Crowley seriously.

‘Look, a meth lab has a very distinctive smell, and lets say I’ve spent time in areas that housed a few,’ Crowley explained. ‘Phosphorus, hydriodic acid, cough syrup, basic ingredients and the man reeked of them. Now unless he was just an amateur alchemist with a head cold, your victim was caught up in some serious drugs.’

‘Alright, so you picked up on the smell of meth making ingredients,’ Dan reiterated. ‘Anything else?’

Crowley thought for a minute. ‘I could smell a bit of cologne. It was too faint for him to be wearing it, so he must have spent an extended amount of time with someone else wearing it.’

‘Would you be able to recognize it out of a line of other similar colognes?’

‘Yeah, it smelled bloody awful. Whoever was wearing it cared more about the name on the bottle than the smell.’

‘Wow, if Crowley is being honest, then he’s giving us a lot of great details,’ Chloe said.

‘Hes still a little shit,’ Lucifer mumbled.

After the interview Crowley tried to sneak out of the precinct without Lucifer seeing, but at the last second Lucifer grabbed him from behind and dragged him back inside.

‘You’re not getting away that easy!’ Lucifer yelled as he put his arm around his neck and held him in place.

‘Lucifer, just leave him alone, we have work to do!’ Chloe tried to break up the fight.

‘Let me go! I don’t serve you anymore!’ Crowley struggled to groan out.

‘But I want to catch up, brother, especially after our last meeting!’

‘Let me go you giant twat!’

‘They remind me of my brothers,’ Ella sighed as she joined the other officers watching them fight.

‘For once I’m happy I’m an only child,’ Chloe commented as she backed off, waiting for the dust to settle before chewing Lucifer out.

‘Oooh, whats that?’ Lucifer caught a glint of something gold on Crowley’s finger. He let go of his neck and slipped the ring from his finger while he was caught off guard.

‘Give that back!’ Crowley shouted as he lunged at Lucifer, but Lucifer gripped Crowley’s hair and kept him at arms length.

‘This is a wedding ring, isn’t it? Did you get married?’

‘No! I bought it at a shop in Rome, I just like it!’

‘My ancient language skills aren’t the strongest, but I think I see the phrase ‘I Love You’ written in several of them. Is that Sanskrit?’

‘Give it back!’

‘If its just a random ring, then why are you freaking out over it-’ and Lucifer yelled in pain as Crowley freed himself from Lucifer’s grip and bit down on his hand, hard. ‘You bit me! You bloody bit me!’

‘You had it coming,’ Crowley picked up the ring from where Lucifer dropped it and replaced it on his hand.

‘I have a first aid kit in my lab,’ Ella announced as she took Lucifer by his injured hand and led him into her workspace, Chloe, Dan, and even Crowley following behind. ‘Wow, that is some gnarly bite you got there, Crowley. I would hate to be your dentist.’

Ella looked over the bite, most of which was two large holes where she guessed his unusually large canines sunk in. If she didn’t know better, it looked like a very large snake had bitten him. She looked up at Crowley and saw a look of satisfaction.

‘Do we have anymore information on our vic, Ella?’ Decker asked as she watched her clean the wound and disinfect it.

‘Oh, yeah, an officer talked to his wife and we got more basic information. Turns out, Weisser was working as an intern for a political campaign, and as far as we know has no history of causing trouble. Not even a parking ticket.’

‘Maybe his killer was part of the campaign,’ Dan suggested. ‘If Crowley is right about the killer smelling like a meth lab, then maybe the killer worked for the campaign and used it to launder drug money.’

‘And Weisser could have found out about it and was taken out before he could talk to the police.

‘Well, who is the campaign for?’ Lucifer asked as Ella finished taping the gaze in place over his wound. ‘We can see if any of the higher staff have any connection to drugs in the city.’

‘He was working for Thaddeus Dowling’s campaign for California Governor.’

[yn6k]

hi shine! i wanted to know your thoughts about the book of us: gravity album? any personal favorites? least favorites?

sorry this is so late! i wanted to take my time to answer it because i do have a lot of thoughtsTM hahaha more (like a LOT more) under the cut :) 

so on first listen of the album, or honestly even just from the album spoiler haha, my ears instantly focused in on cover and how to love! so i’ll probably have the most to say about those songs + time of our life since ive listened to them the most!!for me: love how its in compound meter! always love me a good 12/8 or 6/8 or whatever it is haha its felt in three basically lskj i dont have a lot to say about this song? i think the focus is more on the lyrics? but musically i cant really identify anything that really sticks out to me alkdj like typical poprock i really dont know what to say maybe theres more interesting things going on underneath that im terrible at picking out (like in the chord progressions) fav part is def the prechorus^^time of our life: its so weird talking about this now bc ive gotten so used to the song that lkj some of what im saying (like the changes i would have done) feels /wrong/ but ahaha still here are some of my thoughts^^ FIRST OF ALL WONPILS PIANO SOLO >>>>> i just really love listening to it and i think an underrated part of his solo is the i think synth drums underneath them and how it creates this driving motion for the song and so like even tho the song starts kind of bare we can go straight into that hype instrumental intro instead of like having only his solo be the intro and going straight into the more mellower verse or smth along those lines? hahaha i think on first listen the first thing that stood out to me was how the chorus sounded like an extension of the verse?  like the chorus wasnt very obvious and im not sure why in terms of like chord progression music theory, but in terms of instrumentation i think one of the reasons is because that driving quarter note drum thing we get in the chorus only resolves in the second half of the chorus instead of sometime in the first half of it. so it almost gives off this sense that we might be building up to something greater but we arent? really like all of this energy from the drums piling up for seemingly no reason and also the effect that it has on really accentuating the opening lines of the chorus dissipates imo the longer that drum rhythm plays out. like the whole “a page of beautiful youth” part that opens the chorus is mostly all quarter notes and i love how we have the quarter notes within the actual drum line to back that up but then two things after that happen: 1) we get i guess a reiteration of the opening melody in the chorus with the “let’s write it together” which i feel like having the drumming driving with those same quarter notes underneath it makes the intro of the chorus feel a bit less special and memorable? and 2) and after that line plays out, the melody becomes a bit more loose in in terms of its rhythm (the ‘i want to fill it with our memories’ part) the melody doesnt have those same impactful quarter notes anymore, but u still have the drum playing it so its kind of? like a why? at that point like i personally feel it takes away from the support it gives to the earlier melody that was obviously more driving quarter notes. i kind of wish that driving forward motion in the drumline was resolved within the third measure of the chorus with like a singular drum hit into the release (like going from here to something like here but with a drum hit in between as a transition or smth? hard to explain lks i actually had a made a video a while back kind of experimenting with the sound but idk how to upload it to here) but!! i am a fan of having those driving quarter notes coming out of the bridge i love the usage of it there and would not change a thing! i think it fits because we are actually building up to that release in the instrumental, it feels a lot different than the chorus which just feels like it drags on for a bit too long. but i would also would have liked if we had a bit of an instrumental pause or something like right after sungjin says ‘dont worry about a thing’ like after that ‘ma’ a brief pause or like even the omission of the downbeat that the drum is giving like /something/ missing before we get back into him singing ‘leave everything to me’ idk i feel like that change would have been interesting and way to build up tension again in a way?? anyways to circle back to my original point about the chorus feeling like an extension of the verse..i lowkey feel like maybe day6 felt that a bit too? laksdj and thats why we got that drum intermission bw the end of the prechorus and the start of the chorus but thats just a theory idk how true it is like honestly to me it felt slightly out of place and kind of a random transition? i dunno i could be wronghere are some misc. things not in too much detail since i think talking about one song has already gotten too long alksdj but sungjins part in the prechorus i think could have been sung a bit /gentler/ than his usual throaty approach for day6 songs idk. love the vocal layering in the chorus! maybe my headphones are terrible and maybe im biased (a bit of both or neither who knows) but laksdj i kinda wish youngks bass part was a tad bit louder he has some cool parts that often get overshadowed by the electric guitars + vocals i think (like here! the sound is so tiny in the studio i wish they had brought it out a bit more because when it is brought out it like here sounds gorgeous…that sound actually might be a bit overpowering actually haha but some happy balance bw those two). also totally random but i love the way jae says ‘한 페이지’ its just satisfying to listen to like he slurs the words a bit? whereas sungjin in his part is more staccato and lkj i think i prefer the legato connection of the words to the staccato one. also thank god they brought back the piano solo for the bridge laksjhow to love: SHE!! was a favorite/look out for since the album spoiler and she did not disappoint. wonpil said it was motown influenced? love that for them;; the chord progressions are funky and fun to listen out for! love how we get a bit of instrumental differences between the first and second reiteration of the first part of the verse?  (the introduction of this electric guitar kind of in ur left ear if ur wearing head phones thats not there initially but then also this part in the electric guitar in the right ear which isnt there also again in the first reiteration just to keep it different and not redundant! i love the prechorus, introduction of strings for chorus stellar (but im strings biased) but its just so fun to follow how its similar and different to the vocal melody also whats a day6 song without some sort of chanting! love how the rhythm in the melody follows the drum part into the chorus all three times that it happens! the bridge is funky love it haha and also just love how at the end they switch up the ‘cause im ready’ and have sungjin jae and wonpil each sing one of those and then have youngk end with the ‘ooooh’ i thought that was adorable. ok keeping it short thats all i’ll saywanna go back: not to be a svt stan but holiday is that you? hahah jkjk its just a similar genre its like holiday meets maroon 5 haha i actually enjoy a lot of the song the chord progressions in the verses are interesting but also the prechorus is really pretty sounding but lakjd i honestly wish the tempo was just a little bit faster in the chorus i feel like its dragging a bit its hard for me personally to stay engaged with the song because of the murky feeling i personally get from the chorus. also the transition into the second verse is kinda ?? idk ahahaha but yeah main thing is just i wish the tempo was even just the tiniest bit faster for the chorus specifically i feel like verses are fine but just the chorus could have afforded to been a bit faster…but maybe this is just a personal experience cover: this is my personal favorite from the album! musically i just love the sound of the chord progressions in the verses? also the chorus! she! the vocal melody how it goes down but then u hear that piano in the background go up *chefs kiss* art! and i love the changes in the instrumental they introduced for the second verse! they added the bass i believe as well as another electric guitar part that isnt that muted plucking thing that we got in the first verse! AND THEN THE BRIDGE!!!!!!! THAT!!! IS!! A!! BRIDGE!!!! its so stunning and incredibly climatic and beautifully executed!!! i believe thats the first time the drums proper actually come in can you believe it (there are percussion sounds before but i think its a tambourine + a shaker/maraca? essentially not the drumset);; the tension that just the introduction of drums really brings to the piece ahhh and also the chord progressions really take u for a ride the first time u hear it and u dont know what to expect;; and then we get out of the chorus with ‘because im weak and not cool’ as a deviance from the earlier lyrics of ‘my weak and not cool side’ then DRUMTRIPLET!!!!! LAST CHORUS!! MORE DRUM TRIPLETS!! so wonderful the pOWER really the whole song is a huge crescendo ?? kind of influenced by the fact that they keep layering instruments which i absolutely LOVE like its beautiful haha but then the last chorus is just the quickest decrescendo ever as a way to fade out from the song but now with all the instruments (love how the last line really like enforces its importance and lyrical difference from the earlier ‘in the end i was seen’ by having that drum just punch it into u with every hit of the bass drum haha) also like how its not a true circular ending (but it kinda is) like there are instrumental and lyrical differences from the start and the end one thing i kind of wished they experimented with was like maybe mixing up some members voices in the chorus? like i tried a youngpil one myself haha where wonpil sings this part, then youngk, wonpil, youngk (again i hve a video for this but idunno how to upload to this ask) but its not like the song to me suffered from having singular member choruses i just thought it might be kinda cool haha anywhos im biased i love this song and laksj didnt even go into the lyrics rip anyways moving onbest part: i think its really cute that they composed this to be specifically be enjoyed in concert! i really like the best paaaaaaaaa aaaart like that swoop they do and the layering of the vocals i also think its super cool how some of the instrumental drop out towards the end of the chorus but alskj another ‘wanna go back’ transition into the second verse are they experimenting with this transition or smth?? but it just feels like inserted bc they couldnt think of a better way to transition into second verse which?? just kind of awkward akjl idk but maybe they have a reason for it i dont know! but yeah haha again musically im not really sure what to say kinda like for me it just feels like standard pop rock which isnt a bad thing just a /thing/ ahaha 

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[33] Glitch in the System - Policy of Truth (Venganza pt. 4)

Sorry we’re a bit late. Hopefully it will be worth it!

In case you missed it, here is Part One, Part Two, and Part Three!

Reconciliation happens. _

“Amélie.”

Through the unfathomable depths of sleep, a voice called a dust shrouded name. It echoed across vast, empty space, its origin leagues above and away until it reached her: a whisper, drifting past on a slow-moving current. Though the tone and timbre were familiar to her, they were only so with the transient familiarity of childhood memories: there, then gone, then presumed forever passed both in time and relevancy.

“Amélie.”

She struggled to place with any certainty the provenance of this one-word demand for rejoinder. It was not warm. It was not ragged. It was not firm. Of the voices most familiar to her, this was not among them; yet, she felt it like a lash all the same, dragging her from the sprawling black into a light she didn’t notice until it was suddenly, blindingly there.

“There you are.”

Widowmaker, thrust violently back into consciousness, blinked hard against the light. At first, that’s all there was: searing, artificial fluorescence that felt to her torpor-addled eye on par with the sun itself. With the passage of seconds, shadows, then shapes crept into existence, their edges ephemeral though their subjects were inarguably real.

Then, no more than a minute later, there was pain.

Universal, consuming pain snarled white-hot fire with every breath and beat of her heart, so furious at its own existence she thought, for a moment, she could discern with horrifying acuity the presence and location of every nerve she possessed. The initial onslaught gave way to awareness of a few exceptionally tender areas: waist, side, and shoulder, where honed agony coursed mercilessly across nerves frayed by, assumedly, hours of much the same. Through the fog of dawning consciousness, she recalled - albeit vaguely - a dry elaboration on that prolonged sort of suffering:

“Colloquially, we refer to this as ‘quantitative pain’: frequent and durative exposure to deleterious physical stimuli lasting minutes, hours, days, and so on.”

It was such a casual definition, delivered with practiced, clipped eloquence so far removed from the topic question it may as well have been a poetic recitation of Shakespeare.

And then it - recognition - hit her, hard and mercilessly with the first wave of nausea. Which, specifically, left her retching into the stainless steel kidney dish held before her remained poignantly ambiguous.

“Are you very well done?” that same voice asked, suffused with indifference, if not inconvenience. Fighting against the pall of sleep threatening just beyond the edge of her vision, Widowmaker dug into what little reserve of will she possessed to take in her surroundings: empty cots; many-armed surgical assistance bots; glass front cabinets and shelves well-stocked with a remarkable gamut of implements; Moira.

There was the nausea again.

Moira O’Deorain loomed at her side, a brutalistic composition of angles and shadow supporting the tray in one gloved hand. Widowmaker forced herself to meet the geneticist’s mismatched eyes and found, predictably, the sort of expectant impatience more frequently reserved for misbehaving or unruly children.

“Well?” Moira asked, single eyebrow raised as if to underscore how terribly bothersome she found the situation.

“Oui,” the sniper managed, voice barely touching a whisper. For a word that required so little, Widowmaker found the effort to produce it nigh gargantuan. Even the smallest movement of her jaw provoked a fresh jolt of pain that started somewhere along the right side of her skull and radiated outward. That, in turn, resulted in a reactive wince that only started the entire cycle of discomfort anew. Closing her eyes, the sniper took a leveling breath - also excruciating - and focused her attention on simply staying awake. This was, essentially, an intake evaluation, and nearly a decade in Talon’s employ taught her that cooperation now meant Moira could do her job, ensure a speedy recovery, and depart. The faster the sniper shouldered through this grisly reawakening, the faster she’d be on her feet — and the sooner Moira would be gone.

“Delightful,” the other woman murmured as she dropped the half-full dish into a nearby wastebin, its brief but useful life concluded with a weighted thud. Moira removed herself from the sniper’s bedside, repairing to the broad island at the center of the room. In addition to the consoles which allowed one to manually control the assorted bots positioned about the room as needed, its surface was covered by a neatly arranged grid of printouts, x-ray negatives, and charts. “Now, then,” she continued, plucking one of the documents from the table and slipping it beneath the clasp of a clipboard, “on a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”

Widowmaker stared, torn between compliance and the ache caused by the mere thought of response.

“Amélie,” the doctor intoned expectantly.

“Huit,” she hissed, forcing the syllable between her teeth with as little extraneous movement as possible.

“English, please.”

Again, she gawked at the other woman’s effortless detachment; this time, Moira glanced over the edge of the clipboard and met her gaze.

“Eight,” she grimaced.

Plucking a pen from the breast pocket of her lab coat, Moira popped the cap off with her thumb and took a few, quick notes. “Speech causes discomfort,” she noted, less a question than a statement of observable fact. “Unsurprising.”

As the other woman continued with her notation, Widowmaker peered downward and noticed, for the first time, the sling secured about her right arm and the intravenous port lodged expertly in the back of her opposite hand.

“Dislocation,” Moira said, her voice pulling the sniper’s attention back to herself. “Shall I go on? Just blink if yes.”

Widowmaker complied.

“Dislocation of the right shoulder,” the geneticist reiterated, stepping away from the island toward one of the cabinets lining the med bay’s far wall. As she continued, she set about procuring a handful of objects which she set gently on a rolling instrument stand. “Ribs three through five broken on right side. Perforation of the abdomen, right side. Nifty little fact—,” she paused, scooting the tray over to the sniper’s cot, “once a knife passes the abdominal wall, it rarely moves fast enough to penetrate the bowels. Lucky you.”

Lucky, Widowmaker thought with a note of bitter amusement, was about the last thing she felt.

Plucking a pre-measured vial and syringe from the stand, Moira pressed the needlepoint past the vial’s opening and recounted the sniper’s injuries as if they were items on an otherwise mundane shopping list: “Extensive fracturing of the skull, right side. Significant blood loss - remarkable, really, given modified heart rate and blood pressure. Grade three concussion. Which reminds me—,”

Widowmaker braced herself for the inevitable.

“—where do you live?”

Inhaling slowly, the assassin steeled herself against the portentous burn of muscle and bone preceding her reply.

“Presently: Venice.”

“What is your name?”

“Widowmaker.”

Moira’s silence succeeding her reply was cold enough even for her to feel.

“What is your name?” Moira repeated, emphasizing each word independently. Widowmaker met and held the withering, imperious glance offered her for a long minute as nausea welled in the pit of her stomach, bleeding into a pain all its own. At last, she relented, averting her eyes.

“Amélie Lacroix,” she said, spitting the name like bile.

“Perfect,” the doctor nodded. Tapping the side of the syringe to ensure the absence of any stray bubbles, she leaned over the injured sniper and slid the needle into her temporary IV port, depressing the plunger with measured force. “We’ve most of the extensive work out of the way already. An intensive regimen of nanomachines, rest, and physical therapy and you’ll be operational in a few weeks. Now, count backwards from one hundred and we’ll get started.”

Somehow more exhausted then before, Widowmaker merely closed her eyes and obeyed.

Consciousness treated her somewhat more gently the second time around, creeping across anesthetic-fulled synapses with the heavy silence of a winter storm. The pain, too, was noticeably subdued - by all meant present, but denied a pivotal ounce of acerbity by whatever monumental cocktail of palliative medicine Moira supplied her. What fire still burned - and there was still quite a lot of it - did so beneath a thick swathe of ash, smoldering persistently while it awaited the inevitable come-down.

Though this was better, it was by no means “good”. Widowmaker understood the fragility of the human form well enough to accept there was no simply walking away from the extensive damage she had incurred. Even with all the nanotechnology and sedatives at Talon’s disposal - even with Moira - bones needed time to mend, muscles needed time to knit, and bodies, to her chagrin, held onto trauma with impressive vehemence.

It was going to be a long few weeks.

The med bay was empty now, though evidence of Moira’s sudden and unwelcome apparition remained: a few cardboard boxes tucked against the side of the room’s center island; her coat flung haphazardly over an otherwise unoccupied cot; a collection of folios and scholarly periodicals stacked atop an unmarked industrial steel crate. Most conspicuously, Widowmaker noted with with quiet alarm the absence of the handful of medical personnel Talon kept on retainer. The implications of their absence were disquieting at best.

“—not going in there, Sombra. That’s an order.”

“I just want to see her.”

“You’re the reason she’s in there. ‘Fist says you’re not going anywhere near her until you’ve debriefed.”

Conversation from the hallway beyond the bay filtered through the double doors. Widowmaker canted her head in its direction, constraining the movement to little more than a slight tilt to subvert the threatening ache along the back of her head and neck.

“Please, Gabe,” Sombra begged. Beyond the doors, she and Gabriel argued, voices ineffectually and erratically hushed as their independent attempts at assertion caused them to raise, then lower their voices in turn.

“Listen to me,” Reaper said, a hint of focused compassion softening his tone just so. “You don’t want to see her; not right now. It’ll only make whatever you feel worse. I promise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Believe me, I do.”

Frowning, Widowmaker averted her gaze as a ghost of a memory came clawing back from the depths of her mind. Though time ensured the loss of detail, she recalled another act of incidental eavesdropping nearly a decade old, conducted similarly from the surface of a med bay cot. Then, she listened in a mix of confusion and curiosity as Moira proclaimed gleefully the success of the first phase of her “experiment” while Akande listened, peppering her with questions in trademark stolidity. That encounter predated the self-awareness that would ultimately allow her to draw the correlation between states of physical agitation and the specter of emotion - in that case, anger; this time, she understood the elevated thrum of her own pulse as irritation. She was right there and so palpably, existentially tired; moreover, Sombra and Gabriel’s conversation not only reignited the initial suspicion she’d harbored regarding their mission, but lent that suspicion a substantial amount of agonizing, undeniable credence.

It felt like a punch in the gut and, frankly, her gut had seen more than enough. As that irritation coalesced into the burdensome, leaden weight she attributed to sadness, Widowmaker simply settled back against the unyielding cot beneath her, swallowed the whine borne of the meeting of rigid surface and tender injury, and let her gaze drift aimlessly across the unremarkable surface of the ceiling above. Either this unwelcome moment would end or sleep would claim her anew; either was infinitely preferable to the present.

“You’re really going to stop me? You want to fucking try?”

Somewhere down the hall, the grating croak of metal on metal proclaimed the opening of a door.

“This is all very riveting,” Moira interjected, the tail end of her words trailing off into a yawn. “But you’ve been here twenty minutes and I do enjoy sleep on occasion. Could you please take your nattering anywhere else?”

A long, loud silence followed, stretching on for what felt like a year.

“Just… tomorrow. Okay?” Gabriel said at last, his tone somewhere between exasperated and plaintive. “Talk to Akande and you can see her tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Sombra grunted.

As the sound of light footsteps carried the hacker away, Widowmaker cast a sideways glance to the door, equally relieved and surprised Sombra didn’t further push her luck. While Moira provided Gabriel a brief update as to the implementation of regenerative nannites to expedite healing, Widowmaker felt that same shadow of déjà vu come worming back and, with it, the desperate wish she could be anywhere else.

“I might be so bold as to suggest now would be an optimal time for any necessary or supplemental recalibration,” the geneticist added. Widowmaker, unthinking, snapped to attention and ran headlong into a wall of wrenching discomfort so instantaneous and harsh she couldn’t even conceive of stifling the yelp that flew past her lips. With its dissolution, so, too, did the conversation in the hallway beyond peter to still nothingness.

“You know, maybe that isn’t one of your finer ideas,” Gabriel replied, heaping snide emphasis on “finer” in a way that made the convalescing assassin grateful for his beautifully unflinching capability to inform others of what he perceived as idiocy.

Moira’s retaliatory quiet spoke volumes to her displeasure. “Later, then,” she sniffed. As the shutting of her door echoed along the corridor, only Gabriel’s palpable disdain remained.

Though she couldn’t see him, Widowmaker could picture perfectly his expression: feigned indifference betrayed by the faintest upward curl of his lip, eyes narrowed on the doctor’s door as she disengaged with all the consideration regularly afforded an ant. She recalled that look so well, remembered the first time she saw it and recognized in Gabriel the same, seething dislike of Moira she harbored. She and Gabriel were things to her: “investments” and “experiments” that, while valuable on paper or display, were always precariously at risk of obsolescence.

Gabriel sighed, loud and heavy and sounding as tired as she felt. Despite the pang of dejection it caused her, Widowmaker wished, briefly, that Sombra were there lobbing witty rejoinders at Moira’s back. Shelving that desire for some future slight she knew would inevitably come, she returned her attention to the ceiling, idly tracing its contours until sleep graced her with its blissfully uneventful presence.

Tomorrow, as fate would have it, did not include a visit from Sombra; nor did the next day.

Widowmaker thought little of it: if it wasn’t Gabriel disallowing her visitation, it was Akande. If it wasn’t Akande, the sniper hardly found it unfair to assume of Moira some insistence her investment be left alone.

Truthfully, she didn’t mind. Those first few days confined to the med bay were far from her best. Though she was by no means a stranger to the heavy toll Talon’s line of work exacted on a body, Widowmaker was frankly astounded at the extent of her injuries and the resultant pain they caused her. Her frustration was compounded by the innate restlessness which governed her existence, now amplified by the frequent bouts of inactivity required of recovery. The result was a compound mixture of persistent discomfort and irritation that only fed the perpetual motion device of her anxiety. Everything hurt, and every day that passed amounted to another week of training to reattain the standard of conditioning she maintained for herself. Every second, every minute constituted the erosion of some degree of skill or finesse; that belief, like everything else, left her hopelessly cagey and acutely aware of the slowness with which her body seemed to respond to and incorporate the nanites implemented to facilitate rapid healing.

By all means, they were working. They just weren’t working fast enough.

On the fourth day, Moira begrudgingly cleared her for release from both the med bay and direct supervision, with the caveat she remain in bed the rest of the week.

“Small breaks here and there,” she explained, shouldering the bulk of the assassin’s weight as she guided her to her room with a tangible air of inconvenience. “Stretches, short walks; nothing more. If I so much as see you thinking about thinking of more, I will personally break your legs to ensure the rest of you mends.”

“That is very reassuring,” Widowmaker replied sarcastically, wincing at the dull ache bookending the statement.

Between the return to her own space, the assumption of increased autonomy, and the not insubstantial regimen of pain suppressants, she found herself capable of focusing on subjects beyond her own body for the first time in days. Unfortunately, that meant she inevitably returned to the mission itself and, consequentially, Sombra.

While restricted to the med bay and Moira’s constant attention, Widowmaker had neither the time, space, or bandwidth for any substantive consideration of what had happened; between the pain, the barrage of exams, and the imperative for rest, her thoughts were, while not exactly occupied, precluded. Now, with her wits at least somewhat about her and a sudden excess of free time, she met head-on a snowballing jumble of guilt, frustration, confusion, and hurt with which she was entirely unfamiliar: something deep, profound, and aching. With that came the questions: what, exactly happened? What went wrong? Why?

Combing through her memories for the first time in days, she pieced their mission back together bit by bit until there was only negative space left to fill - the skeleton of an event, devoid of the meat and flesh that gave it shape. What she could remember, she did with vivid detail: Sombra, leading them in an unremarkable infiltration; Sombra, leaving them behind; Sombra, surrounded by armed men; Sombra, suddenly there but so excruciatingly late. Every attempt at filling the gaps begat the same questions in the same sequence, the absence of any answers only serving as fuel for her frustration. Exhausted by the cyclicality of her own thoughts, Widowmaker sought distraction and found it in the small stack of books resting on her bedside table, topped with a hand-written note from Akande that simply read, “Take it easy. That’s an order.”

With the shadow of a smile, she tucked into the topmost paperback - an ancient-looking copy of Flaubert’s Salammbô - shouldering through her disquiet with pointed intentionality.

Hours passed, mostly uninterrupted save for the sporadic catnap, until the tinny grinding latches and plates made apparent the slow turn of the doorknob.

Glancing over the top of her book, Widowmaker met Sombra’s eye with catlike disinterest.

“Hey,” the hacker greeted her, gaze faltering. “How’re you doing?”

Closing Flaubert over one finger, Widowmaker scooted back against the headboard with deliberate gentility, righting herself against the headboard. The carefully-stitched incision along the line of her stomach screeched its dissatisfaction in a rolling wave of pain, gone as quickly as it appeared. “I am not dead,” she replied shakily, resisting the urge to shrug still-sore shoulders. “It is a plus.”

She watched Sombra, normally so self-assured, lingering behind the just-cracked door with all the cowed hesitancy of a child fully aware of their own misbehavior. That hesitant aversion - to her and to the uncomfortable situation before them - was so deeply contrary to the Sombra she knew that she almost invited her in out of pity alone. Pity, however, did not inform her invitation or the wave of the unbound hand signaled it; instead, it was that same, unfamiliar sorrow she struggled to identify and the want to see it addressed.

Closing the door behind her, Sombra crossed the room in a few, timid steps, scooting the sniper’s desk chair ahead of herself and positioning it adjacent the bed. Sitting heavily, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and immediately blurted out the most graceless, albeit perceptibly sincere “I’m sorry” Widowmaker had ever heard her supply.

Taking a leveling breath, she dogeared her page and set the book on the mattress beside her, smoothing thin fingertips over the surface of her duvet as she considered her response. Widowmaker studied the woman before her, still in bedclothes despite their being well into the afternoon. Clothing aside, Sombra looked as if she hadn’t slept in days - and if she had, it certainly wasn’t restorative. One look was all that was required to see that Sombra had done her share of suffering, and even Widowmaker wasn’t cruel enough to add to it.

“I accept your apology,” she said at last. “Whatever you did, I do not think this was the outcome you intended.”

“It isn’t,” Sombra replied.

“What was your intent?”

Hanging her head, the hacker sighed, inhaled slowly, then sat back in her chair. “I arranged a meeting with Matin. I’d been fucking with them since the first mission we blew, and offered to stop in exchange for the virus they dropped on me. They finally said yes, but I didn’t trust them not to fuck me over. There’s only one of me; I needed backup. So I sold it to everyone like a takedown and left out the rest. I wanted that virus, spider. Bad.”

The truth felt like a slap in the face, raw and sharp.

“You lied,” Widowmaker said matter-of-factly. There was that peculiar mess of unnameable affectivity, buoyed by the sudden understanding of what went wrong. Finally, she could attach a name to it: betrayal.

“I lied.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the sniper closed her eyes as the sting of Sombra’s admission washed over her. “We would have helped you. I would have helped you.”

Sombra looked askance of her, violet eyes settling anywhere but on her.

Widowmaker frowned. “I understand. You lie. I expect there will always be secrets. But on assignment, Sombra? Do you not trust me? Have I misinterpreted… this?” She accompanied the question with a wave of her free hand between them.

“I trust you,” the spy muttered.

“Do you?”

As she pulled her knees into her chest, Sombra offered a single, plaintive nod. “I do. I just— I’m used to working alone, playing everything close to the chest. I have to do it that way; I can’t not do it that way. It’s how you stay alive, doing what I do; it’s how I stay alive.”

“I do not care if you lie to me every single day for the rest of my life as long as it causes no unnecessary danger,” the sniper explained. “This was incredibly unnecessary.”

Again, Sombra nodded her affirmation, this time lifting her gaze to meet the other woman’s. “I’m sorry I’m such a shit.”

Widowmaker pursed her lips, her expression softening incrementally. “You did a shitty thing. It is not what you are.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

“Look,” the sniper said, extending her hand to Sombra. She accepted it with some hesitation, eyeing the gesture with due suspicion before lacing her fingers through her own. “No amount of making you feel bad fixes this. You fix it by not doing it again.”

Though the hurt lingered - and Widowmaker suspected it would for some time - the clear sincerity of Sombra’s apology and the emotion informing it allowed the sniper a modicum of quiet, internal reconciliation. She couldn’t say she felt better, or that the situation was improved by any observable metric, but this was a start: a place from which to move forward and a foundation upon which she could allow Sombra to rebuild her trust. Nothing was ideal, but, then again, few things ever were for spies and assassins.

“I’ll do my best,” Sombra agreed.

“That is good enough.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[moon-minghao]

‘gentle hands and quiet hearts’

@hungline requested: friends to lovers au for junhao (slight angst)

words: 3780 

cw: violence, underage drinking and smoking, minor homophobia 

summary:  and maybe junhui is saying something more, but minghao isn’t listening. he can only think about jun’s hands, long fingers carding through minghao’s damaged hair, and he can only think about how something inside of him doesn’t want it to stop. he wants junhui to keep touching him. the thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

[or, a play told in nine parts]

I.

xu minghao is seven when he first meets wen junhui. they are two kids at the park, sitting next to each other because they have no one else. they become close in the quick, confident way that children always do: it only takes a few conversations about their families and favorite superheroes before they are inseparable, ‘friends forever’.

junhui is two years older than him, quiet but cocky in a way that minghao subconsciously tries to mimic whenever he talks to other kids. once, they spend the whole day at the creek in the woods behind minghao’s house, and junhui convinces him that if he swims too deep he’ll be taken by evil river monsters that eat young boys. he says it just to make sure that minghao doesn’t end up in over his head and drown, but his plan works too well and minghao refuses to wade into anything deeper than his ankles for weeks.

II.

minghao doesn’t know the name of the boy who has hit him.

he only knows that the slap stung, that now he is standing in the street and that a gang of older children who he does not know but apparently know him are watching as his eyes well up with tears.

it only takes a second before minghao punches the boy back across the jaw, and then they are fighting. minghao knows he is going to lose; the boy is much stronger than him and the crowd that has circled around them is not on his side.

the boy keeps calling minghao names, poison words that he has heard before but doesn’t quite know what they mean, and all of a sudden minghao can’t hear anything because he gets punched in the gut, hard enough to make him double over and gasp for air. he takes a second, a quick second to glance at the kids surrounding him. he can tell that there is someone trying to break through the crowd and get to the front, the way the people are shifting to allow the person through.

minghao doesn’t see much after that, because the instant that he looks away is the instant that the boy knocks him out.

it’s quick, the time where all he can see is darkness, but it’s long enough to be a clear sign that the fight is over. the boy who’s name minghao does not know has won. by the time he opens his eyes, the crowd is slowly starting to disperse.

“minghao?”

he turns his head slowly to the sound of his own name. he knows that it’s junhui who called out to him, even before he sees his concerned face.

“ah. hey junhui.”

junhui rushes forward and yanks minghao up, before turning to the boy who gave him a beating. at fourteen, jun is tall and broad-shouldered, just enough to appear threatening to strangers.

“if you’ll kindly excuse us, you bastards.” jun is quiet and cold, and the left over crowd parts as he drags minghao away from the scene.

they walk all the way to jun’s house, all the way to the upstairs bathroom.

minghao sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching as jun pulls gauze and a washcloth from the wooden cabinet beneath bathroom sink. soon, jun is kneeling in front of him, washing off minghao’s split knuckles.

“did he break your nose? shouldn’t it have stopped bleeding by now?”

“i don’t know.”

“what happened?”

“i don’t know. those kids have always hated me. today one of them sort of attacked me, i guess.”

junhui nods. his hands are gentle as they wipe the blood away, eventually he begins to clean up minghao’s face, too, telling him to tilt his head back while he bandages up his nose.

“only a coward picks fights with people that are younger and less experienced. did he hurt you anywhere else?” jun asks. his hand is still resting on minghao’s cheek, now just a reassuring touch.

“he probably bruised my fucking ribs,” minghao says as he reaches up and pushes jun’s arm away, “but you can’t really help me with that.”

a silence settles over them as junhui puts the supplies back where he found them. jun keeps looking at minghao, and minghao just keeps his eyes trained on the ground, occasionally lifting up his fist to re-inspect his split knuckles.  

III.

minghao is fifteen when he first hears the rumors. like all stories started by upperclassmen, it takes a while to get to him, whispers that started weeks ago eventually falling onto his ears.

“did you hear about wen junhui?” a girl asks her group of friends. minghao, who is putting his things away in his locker, stops short. he’s curious about the gossip this girl is spreading about his closest friend, wonders if jun got a girlfriend and hadn’t told minghao yet. the idea unsettles him.

another girl responds, “the eleventh grader? the handsome one?”

“yeah. people are saying he’s a total pansy. he’s turned down every confession he’s ever gotten from girls. and you’ve seen the way he is with jeon wonwoo.”

“or with xu minghao.”

“i’d definitely believe that…” this time it’s a guy speaking, and minghao quickly stops listening.

he grabs his books and walks to class.

that afternoon, when he’s walking home with junhui, he can’t stop himself before asking, “have you heard what kids are saying about you?”

jun looks surprised, he exhales the smoke from his cigarette before turning to minghao and shrugging.

minghao realizes that he doesn’t know how to reiterate what he has heard without it sounding like an interrogation. he’s not here for answers, doesn’t care either way, he just wants to let jun know. so he picks apart the rumor in his head, and finally latches onto a detail to exploit.

“they’re saying that you’re fucking wonwoo.”

at this, jun half chortles and half chokes, red creeping up to his cheeks, “wonwoo? like, jeon wonwoo?”

minghao nods.

“i can assure you, i am not fucking wonwoo.” junhui says it quietly but incredulously, still blushing. suddenly minghao wants to know more, and so he mentally prepares himself to be the cat that curiosity kills.

“do you want to fuck wonwoo?”  

“look, kid,” junhui starts, and that’s when minghao knows he’s gone too far. junhui rarely acts like his elder, too shy and too afraid of any sort of power. “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

minghao watches jun quicken his pace, and is reminded once again that jun is all sharp angles and dark eyes, long hair tied back and cigarette smoke. he looks like the opposite of what he really is; kind and gentle and honest.  

“yeah. i suppose i don’t.”

IV.

“trust me, hao, you’ll look super cool when this is over with.”

minghao laughs. junhui had somehow convinced him that he should dye his hair blonde, and now they are sitting on minghao’s bedroom floor with bottles of dye surrounding them. minghao is trying to read through the instruction packet and junhui is sitting behind him, rubbing the bleach into minghao’s hair. they’ve been working their way through a six-pack of cheap liquor, and now they are full of childlike giggles, minds hazy.

“my eyes are killing me, junnie, please tell me it’ll be done soon.”

jun nods. “it is. go wash your hair out and then come sit back here.”

he does as he is told, keeps his eyes shut tight as he steps quickly into the shower. by the time he gets back, junhui has cleaned the room slightly and has opened another beer. jun pats the space in front of him and minghao sits again, not asking any questions.

before minghao really comprehends what is happening, junhui is brushing out minghao’s drying hair. he keeps switching between his fingers and a small hairbrush, and in any situation minghao would be mortified, but he’s just drunk enough to allow it for a few moments, junhui mumbling about how he does look cool, really really cool.

and maybe junhui is saying something more, but minghao isn’t listening. he can only think about jun’s hands, long fingers carding through minghao’s damaged hair, and he can only think about how something inside of him doesn’t want it to stop. he wants junhui to keep touching him. the thought makes him sick to his stomach, adding onto the butterflies he is desperately trying to ignore.

he shifts away and turns around, putting some distance between himself and junhui, who drops his hands and starts sipping on his drink. minghao is too busy pretending that his heart doesn’t ache at the loss of closeness, of contact, to notice that jun is staring at him.

“everything alright?”

jun’s voice is soft and minghao’s heart drops, a sensation that makes him feel more nauseous.

“yes, i’m fine, just had too much to drink.”

“poor lightweight hao hao” he teases, then reaches forward to press the back of his hand against minghao’s forehead.  the gentle touch and the way that junhui is looking at him turns the butterflies into lions and he barely makes it to the sink before he starts vomiting.

V.

he is sixteen, now, and junhui is going away for college next year. in a few months minghao will be left all alone, but they have become skilled in the art of not talking about the things they don’t want to. so, his best friend is leaving soon but really all he can think about is how he’s lost his cigarettes.

“junnie… do you have a pack?”

minghao asks, quietly. they are standing outside under a street lamp, next to the park where they first met, but everything is darker now, bathed in the dim, blinking light.

“yeah, hold on a second.”

in a few moments, jun is pulling out a cigarette and handing it to minghao, who perches it between his lips and starts to search for his own lighter. junhui watches, half amused as minghao goes through his pockets, then his book bag, then back through his pockets again, until eventually groaning.

“i got it, i got it.” jun says before minghao even has the chance to ask. he pulls a lighter out of his back pocket and steps forward.

minghao feels his heart drop again, a feeling he has gotten used to but doesn’t understand or want. junhui holds the flame up to the end of minghao’s cigarette, using his other hand to block the wind that wasn’t all that strong.

they get closer, eyes meeting for a split second, and junhui wants nothing more than to pick the cigarette out of minghao’s mouth and then close the gap between them, but he can’t tell what minghao is thinking, so he waits, cautious and hopeful. minghao looks away and steps back.

“thanks.”

“no problem.” jun responds quickly, leaning back against the fence and taking a deep breath. a car passes by and junhui wants to scream, because minghao is always so so close, but never quite close enough.

VI.

it is raining out, softly but persistent, and minghao is doing school work at junhui’s desk. jun is sitting in his bed playing a game on his phone. his room hasn’t changed much over the years, minghao thinks, it’s still the same off-white walls, creaky desk and messily written stick-it notes on the walls.

minghao is trying to do math, which never really ends well, and he want to bang his head against a bunch of bricks but instead he sighs, and turns to where junhui is.

“calculus is a bitch.” minghao states, making jun chuckle before he sits up, crossing his legs on the bed in order to create more space on the mattress.

he waves minghao over, flashes a smile. “c’mere. i’m sure we can work out the issue.”

the younger boy nods, standing up and grabbing his textbooks and worksheets to go sit opposite junhui, laying out the schoolwork between them. he points to a problem with his pencil, launching into an explanation of his calculations thus far.

jun takes the pencil from him, and sets to work teaching about the errors. he keeps looking up at minghao, who is desperately trying to keep up. it doesn’t help that junhui talks so fast, and by the time he’s done explaining, minghao is completely lost.

“got it?”

“uh, yeah. i think so.” minghao lies. he takes the pencil back and sets to work on the problem again, no less confused than he was five minutes ago. he tries to solve it for a few moments, until he groans, throwing the pencil down in a show of dramatics that junhui appreciates.

“this is ridiculous and stupid. this is ridiculously stupid.”  

he sounds so frustrated that junhui says no snarky comment in return. they sit in a noticeable silence, but they are both used to this sort of lull in conversation. junhui shifts, ever so slightly, so that their knees are touching. minghao looks down at the contact. junhui doesn’t move back.

minghao thinks that maybe he should go back to the desk, to stop whatever junhui was planning before it even started. leaving the bed would be a clear sign that he doesn’t want this, but he doesn’t know what he wants. he doesn’t think he ever has.

he stays still, reasoning that all jun did was reposition himself. it was nothing to over analyze, he thinks, but a second later he is proven wrong.

they make eye contact when minghao looks back up, and it’s the same as when they were standing outside months ago, except now there are no cars rushing past and junhui is tired of waiting.

junhui shifts forward even more, laying the gentlest of hands on minghao’s cheek before connecting their lips. the kiss is soft, and to junhui it feels like heaven but to minghao it feels like absolute chaos, panic flooding through him as the blood pounds in his head. it feels too much like a confirmation, (him kissing a boy, him kissing junhui, him wanting it to keep going, wanting junhui to keep his hand, warm, on the back of his neck) for minghao to handle, and he shoves junhui away harshly, trying not to be sick. he stands up, stumbling away from the bed.

“what the fuck-”

“i’m so sorry.” junhui cuts him off. he sounds so quiet, that minghao stops short. he doesn’t want to fight, this he knows for certain.  “i should have…” he trails off.

“it’s alright.” minghao says. there is another stretch of silence, he’s still standing there, and jun is   still sitting with crumpled math homework in front of him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” jun’s words hang in the air, the question feeling unwarranted and abrupt but minghao nods anyway. he’s staring at junhui but junhui is staring at the ground, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

VII.

the drive is short, ten minutes at most, but it feels like decades. minghao keeps looking at junhui, who refuses to look back. he is trying to read jun’s expression but for once in his life he doesn’t have a clue what the other is thinking.

junhui has always been quiet, he knows, ever since they were kids, but this sort of quiet feels different. entirely unfamiliar.

minghao is smoking, hoping the nicotine will calm him down. the same words that have been repeating in his head for months now are louder than ever: he can’t like junhui like this, can’t love junhui like this, he doesn’t feel anything more than a strong bond of friendship, he can’t, not like this, wrong, wrong, wrong.   

“i’m sorry.” jun says again. he feels horrible, like he’s just ruined everything with one of the only friends he has ever had, and apologizing is the only thing he can think to do.

“stop that. you just kissed me, it wasn’t like you punched me in the face.” minghao tries to be funny but he falls short on the delivery, since he’s realizing that if junhui had just punched him in the face then at least he would have known how to react.

“i guess.”

they get to minghao’s house and minghao resists the urges to either rush upstairs to his bedroom and spend the rest of his life hidden under blankets or burst into tears in the passenger’s seat in his own driveway. instead, all he does is give the quickest smile he could manage to junhui before getting out of the car.

VII.

minghao can’t sleep. he keeps replaying the events that happened hours ago over and over again in his mind. his chest hurts but not as much as his head, this is confusion worse than calculus. he is desperately trying not to think, playing music as loud as he can without making himself go deaf, and he’s smoking his way through an entire pack, one that he stole from junhui earlier in the day.

he’s kissed people before. a girl at a school dance, a different girl during a game of spin the bottle, and now, to add to his repertoire, his best friend, sociable and handsome senior wen junhui.

the thought almost amuses him. he wants to brush this off, he is certain that jun wants to act like this never happened, too, and if they tried hard enough, they could pretend that it was nothing. a quick press of the lips, an experiment. but he knows that this has been building up for too long to be a split second decision. he thinks of hands in his newly dyed hair, or of dark brown eyes boring into his as they stand at the side of the road. he thinks of gentle words reaching his ears as blood gushes out of his nose.

he turns his music up a notch louder, and rolls over in bed, for the millionth time.

him and junhui don’t text or see each other for two days. in those two days, minghao doesn’t sleep, and he thinks he’s sick. in those two days, he also realizes that he would do anything for his best friend.

do anything for another kiss, to feel the butterflies again, to feel jun’s hands in his hair again. to feel jun again. he can work everything out later, just needs this now.

so it’s two thirty a.m. on a friday night, or a saturday morning, and he messages junhui again.

m: hey

j: hello

jun’s reply was quick. minghao wonders how well the other boy has been sleeping.

m: do you want to come to the creek with me?

j: you mean the one behind your house?

m: yeah. it’s warm enough to swim in.

j: be there in fifteen.

minghao smiles. it’s almost scary, how junhui asks no questions, doesn’t care if minghao forgives him or not, he just agrees.

true to his words, junhui is standing in the front yard in fifteen minutes. he looks exactly like he always does, loose shirt and tight jeans, dark hair pulled back into a small bun. minghao’s stomach turns, and he imagines that the thoughts that fly through his head are similar to the ones that school girls think of when they are going on their first date.

he slips downstairs with little regard to the amount of sound he is making, knowing his parents won’t care, that they never have. and he walks out the front door.  

VIII.

his eyes have adjusted to the darkness by the time they reach the stream. the forest is the same as it has always been, moon and starlight shining through the treetops above them.

conversation on the way there was scarce and things are definitely awkward and stilted, junhui occasionally telling stupid jokes and minghao laughing because he knows jun wants him to. but now they are standing at the edge of the water, and minghao doesn’t want it to be so silent anymore.

“i’ve been dying to swim recently.” he lies, stripping off his shirt and shoes.

“ah, getting scandalous are we?” junhui says in response as he does the same.

“shut up.”

junhui is quick to take his own jeans off and go into the deep, pulling the elastic out of his hair and sighing in the freezing cold water. the rocks hurt his feet but he doesn’t really mind. minghao rolls the ends of his pants up, but doesn’t go in past his ankles. maybe it’s because he’s too busy thinking about how to bring up an impossible topic, or how to communicate to his best friend that he wants him closer, or maybe he’s still afraid of the evil river monsters that eat young boys, of getting in over his head.

“junhui.”

“yes?”

“come here.”

jun is there in a matter of seconds, standing in front of minghao. he doesn’t look very happy, though minghao supposes that the other boy never does. minghao swallows hard and steps forward.

he’s never been very good with words, so instead he mimics what junhui did to him days ago. he rests a hand on junhui’s cheek and steps forward, leaning in slow enough so that jun could stop him if he wanted to. but he doesn’t, so they kiss slowly, rough lips with soft intent. jun pulls away after a while though, pulling them back to reality.

“minghao, you know we don’t have to, i mean, i wouldn’t…” junhui blushes as he tries to explain.

the younger boy nods, “yeah, i know. i’ve just been thinking about it for a while, and i think i want this. i mean, you just caught me by surprise.” which isn’t entirely true, but it was as much as an explanation as he could possibly give.

and then junhui smiles, wide and bright, eyes lighting up. he hugs minghao tightly for a few seconds, before he can stop himself.

they kiss again and again and again, and junhui is more relieved than minghao could possibly understand.

“jun, how long…” he hesitates, trying to find the right words. luckily, junhui meets him halfway.

“i don’t know. since forever. since we were children. since that kid beat you up in the middle of the street. you’re hard not to love, xu minghao.”

IX.

swimming in the middle of the night wasn’t their best idea. in a matter of days, junhui gets sick. physically, he feels worse than he has in ages, but it’s alright, because minghao is there, (which jun appreciates, even though all minghao does is tell him how stupid he is for getting so ill).

it’s okay, because minghao is there. (and there are no more secrets). 

[somedaypast-thesunset]

i actually commend him today. a legitimate issue between us is the fact that the weed we have ends up being shared between us but no one knows who smokes what amount or when and its just like stoners arguing about a weed bag which is asinine after awhile - its your word vs theirs. but i did smoke his weed this weekend / this week. im smoking it now. to be fair, its one of the ways i help create equality - for a long time i did not get what i want, and i dont really think i am so this is something ive done but its time to mature out of it and set a better example. its a very uncouth/unclassy thing to do. he was angry this morning and reiterated thst hes told me a number of times and that this is a giant inconvinience to him and it means i have to see him etc. but i also felt like it was a very controlled response to a legitimate thing i am doing to him in some ways. it wssnt like this random outburst of emotion - it felt much more straightforward and i feel that there were things he had to take into account - the fact that i do buy weed and it gets mixed in with his. or the fact ive given him 40$+ since the beginning of may and have paid for a nunber of things. the fact i continually offer him money or weed replacement. he repeated thst it was an inconvinience and that he didnt want to worry about it so stop smoking it. and fine - this time it feels different because hes not adding on "but i dont really care about it" - or watching as i smoke it and saying nothing. i can even appreciate that this comes at a time when im more likely to be able to afford my own in the future. which is why i dont believe its a huge issue to just pay it back. i told him i could just drop it off in the mailbox - which honestlt is more convinient for me because after three days of sitting st his house in the evening, im actually ready to just chill at home. or do other things. i appreciate that he used his time on projects and that i downloaded a dozen movies - the fact i have them honestly settles my anxiety because i know i dont have a lot of options. today is a studio day at the gallery, i have a cleaning job i feel well eniugh for out of the city and i havent seen our mutual friend since the weekend. i also promised to have drinks with another friend if she needed it. so i was naturally inclined to be distracted by things not involving him to begin with and taking a walk up to his house in the evening is just nice to enjoy the weather and go for a walk, or maybe get a drive from our mutual friend. what i dont appreciate about him is that he. reates these scenarios as giant ones that are end of his world. its an exaggeration thats really unnecessary but i know its becsuse alot of people have taken advantage of him. so ive always tried to give to the best of my abilities if i choose to take from him more than he is giving willingly. instead of dragging it out - i apologized. he told me sorry was not much because i did it anyways and continue doing it. i told him the only thing i can do is apologize and bring him back something in return, which could be done casually and without fanfare. it shouldnt be unusual to say something like, " oh will you be home? should i drop it off somewhere? ". he decided to drive me home before getting ready for work which i also appreciate because it meant that he was choosing to end the conversation without making a huge scene. it wasnt leading to this is break uo im not seeing u fuck u etc. it didnt include this so to me it felt like it was actually serious. like i could take this at face value and accept it as is and any further consequences from it. he just choose to end it. and our car ride was silent, which was fine - theres nothing else to say. i understand i did a thing that bothers him on legitimate levels and i can only be sorry for it and pay back whats owed. its very basic. but what i also appreciated was that when we got to my place i told him that i was sorry i continued to smoke his weed and i was sorry he was angry; not in a condescending way but just an apology that an action of mine caused him to feel anger in the day and that i would drop off weed in his mailbox tonight; he just needed to trust that i would pay him back. he said alright, give me a kiss, i have to go. which is very.. amazing. as we drove i kind of apologized to nyself that i was involved in an anxiety provoking situation in the morning and that i was causing harm to the success of my day but it wasnt the worst thing. so to end it on a peaceful note instead of no fuck u i dont want it i dont want to see you... im really grateful. i might even write a note with my drop off and like.. applaud him for making an effort not to be sooo... like he hss been. i dont know, this was very easily an opening for him to be like fuck it im done this is the last time its not worth it we just went through this. but he let it be and he wanted to trust in some ways that id pay him back and i wasnt ungrateful and i wasnt trying to take advantage of him and not acknowledge what i was taking. i am not an enemy. and after such a battle where nothing has been spoken about it since or ever came to a real conclusion.. its truly amazing this is how we are operating. i dont feel negativity. there are certain things i need to do in life anyways and i feel like by him not exagggerating this to a "break up" and dragging in all these random delusions of how i act and what we are that its actually taking seriously the probability of us remaining together. and if we are remaining together then this is not okay. temoorarily? whatever, minor expense. long term? not okay. and just this like little bit makes me feel better about things because i came to realize that there is absolutely no trust with him. he has also been hurt so many times that he operates at full protection mode all the time. when i said thst he hsd to trust id pay him back, as the words came out i realized they carried a heaviness. he did not trust i would pay him back. he did not trust that i wasnt taking sdvantage of him or trying to take up all his time. but ive never done this. to get here, its taken consistency. despite my overall instability, i am probably the most consistent thing in his life right now besides his mother. and my reactions have remained consistent and i really do want to control my habit at that level and stop smoking it now. i am truly amazed. i think after the last bit and the fact no one is talking about it made him realize hes here to stay. its "not a relationship" is now a joke, a funny belief of the past. it is love because i stood and took your abuse; not purposeful abuse, but being side swiped by an inability to control themselves. and i think hes smsrt enough to know that we are equals. he has had to carry me and stand thriugh and put up with anxiety because of me and i have done the same for him in times that are mentally very hard and even physically hard. i think its easy to say this is my boyfriend. this is my girlfriend. this is a relationship. but what does that even mean? my partner in life. to me, for the first time as an adult, i believe this might be setting ground work for a defining relationship in my life that is so enormous in what it could be that it simply cannot be done in fast forward. to be fair, i actuslly dont reallllyyy want to live with him right now. the comfort and safety of being able to leave when hes unbareable is so much better than being stuck. but what if that changes? what if his methods of expression become bareable? ive never seen someone grow. to make choices above the base one. but i know it happens. and to see this choice is inspiring and makes me want to make better choices. i feel about as bad for smoking his weed as he does for all the times he told me this isnt a relationship. i dont have guilt, unfortunately. i doubt he does either. but it can stop. on both sides it can stop and once it does, it doesnt need to be discussed or held on to. im hoping to watch a movie & get ready for my cleaning job but im 95% thsre - 5% wants to stay home and sleep but i want to atleast try to live my idealized version of the day becsuse i was given an idealized resolution this morning.