#*LOVE im not writing all that again

[turrondeluxe]

THEM THEM THEM

[fraternum-momentum]

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓:

♡ Aimée likes to present herself as an 'it' girl at school. She is a known exhibitionist in town, and is rumored that she gets around.

♡ Kleptomaniac. Pickpockets people during work hours and even during encounters. It gives her a little extra cash but she does have multiple jobs. Prefers stealing things rather than actually paying for them. Has been caught before but usually with a little bit of 'persuasion', she's able to get away scot-free.

♡ A sweet talker. (turns out paying attention in English class does have its benefits) She oftentimes tries to get out of a situation by finessing people. Her mouth is probably her best asset, in more ways than one :)

♡ While Aimée doesn't outwardly harass others, she enjoys teasing and messing with them. Silver-tongued, playful and witty, she finds that she enjoys pushing peoples' buttons, and seeing how they react after a measly few words is always a fun time. And if they fall for her somehow, then that's a major plus, breaking hearts is her favorite past time ♡

♡ In private, she is actually meeker than how she shows herself to be. However, she finds comfort in this persona she's created. Everyone knows that you're easy prey if you act shy and show any vulnerability, so she's learned the hard way to always take the first bite.

♡ By being promiscuous herself, it gives her a sense of autonomy in a way. In her mind, if she objectifies herself first, then she's taking away that decision people have over her body.

♡ Her arousal is kept high at all times so she can avoid overthinking, its a way to cope from everything. Sex is a great distraction. It makes her feel good, and all she needs to do is just focus on the what was happening during the moment, and on giving the person she's with pleasure that she's very happy to provide.

♡ Can't find herself to commit to anyone due to her fear of opening herself up to others. Sex is easy. To her, it's simple. And it's something she knows she's good at. Meanwhile, feelings and emotions are messy. It complicates a lot of things. But she can't help but get attached to some people. Whenever she realizes that she's getting too close, she distances herself and quickly moves on to a new person, minimizing the chances of any feelings developing further.

♡ This is where her reputation as a heartbreaker comes from. It's not actually something she actively likes doing, but it's a way for her to get even for what they had done to her.

♡ But no matter how many times she tries to convince herself, deep down, she knows this isn't how she wants to be. She does want to make genuine connection with someone. And despite being surrounded by (mostly unwanted) attention, there's still this lingering sense of loneliness that, no matter what she does, she can't seem to get rid of.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

sleepy !

katsuki wants to go to bed, but you're kinda hungry

katsuki’s extra clingy when he’s sleepy. you know he’s sleepy because he hasn’t left you alone since he came back from his sparring session with kirishima.

it’s almost funny how The katsuki bakugou who’s so scary, who’s all sharp glares and huffs and pinched eyebrows, is hanging off your shoulders like a big fat baby.

“katsuki.” you start, softly rubbing one of his arms tightly wrapped around your shoulder. he grunts. “you can go to bed if you’re tired, handsome. i’ll come up later.” you look back at him as much as you can since he’s barely letting you breathe with how tightly he’s holding you. he huffs, droopy red eyes glaring down at the sandwich you were making for yourself like it was at fault for keeping you out of bed with him.

“ m’not tired.” he slurs, his hold tightens on you and he shoves his head into your shoulder. his hair tickles and you shuffle to the side a little. he follows.

you giggle to yourself. usually, katsuki would have some qualms about being so touchy where someone could walk in at anytime. it’s not like he was ashamed of being with you (not even close) but he has a reputation to uphold, y’know?

as if on cue, he yawns into your shoulder. you let out a light laugh and he nips at your shoulder in retaliation. “ i thought you said you weren’t tired ? what happened to that ?” you question teasingly, a sly little smile forming on your face. he mumbles something into your shoulder you can’t make out. “ i can’t hear you, love.” he groans, lifting his head up slightly but his eyes are still closed. “ s’cus yer takin’ forever. by the time you’re done i’ll be fuckin’ dead, dumbass.” he says before dropping his head back down on your shoulder like a load of bricks and you snort.

“ i’m done. i just want to go eat this sitting down but i can’t because someone won’t let me move.” you shoulder him lightly, he doesn’t budge, but grunts nonetheless.

“ jus’ eat it here.”

“ i’m not eating my sandwich standing up, katsuki.”

“ why the fuck not ?”

“ because !” you laugh “ i wanna enjoy my food !”

“ can enjoy it just fine with me here. why’re ya trying to get away from me ? s’your food less enjoyable when i’m around or somethin’ ?”

you roll your eyes but the smile on your face grows wider. “you’re such a baby.” you let out a light squeal when he pokes your side and lightly smack his arm, he huffs out a little laugh into your shoulder.

“katsuki !”

“fuck you, m’not a baby.”

“ could’ve fooled m—ow ! oh my god !” you yelp as he bites you and the fucker laughs. you huff, grabbing his arms to try to free yourself of the clutches of this absolute demon. he stops laughing then, grunting and groaning at you like you were the one inconveniencing him, while still keeping his head secure in your shoulder. the nerve of this guy.

“ katsuki.” you groan and he growls at you again, like a wild animal, like he’s daring you to try to escape him again. you sigh “ okay, okay, fine. you win, okay?” you say, admitting defeat while you can lest you have a sleepy, pissed off bakugou hanging off you.

“m’not a baby.”

“you’re not a baby.” you confirm. he squeezes you a little tighter and you sigh again. “can i at least go sit down ? i’ll even hold your hand on the way there, is that good ?” you say sarcastically. you snort when he lets out a grumble and pokes at your side and you can feel the unmistakable frown he has on his face.

“ told you m’not a baby.” he complains but he (begrudgingly) lets you go to let you move around. you turn around and he follows immediately. you have to hold back a laugh at the thought of a big buff bad boy like katsuki following you around like a lost puppy. you hold back your laughter but you’ve still got a dorky smile on your face when you sit down. katsuki’s not too far behind you, he never is. he pushes his chair way closer than it needs to be next to you and your knee is pressed against his when he sits down.

“what’re you grinning about, huh ?” you turn to look at him, dorky smile still very much on your face as you gaze at him. he’s still got that horrible frown on his face but his eyebrows aren’t scrunched up anymore, one of his perfect eyebrows is lifted up questioningly and he’s sitting so close to you you’re sure you can count the exact number of lashes he has.

“nothin’.” you sing, taking a bite of your sandwich. he huffs but doesn’t pry further. instead, he leans closer to you. you make eye contact and he looks at you expectantly. you know what he wants after a second, but you’re not gonna give it to him so easily. “ did you need something?” you ask innocently. his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he’s glaring at you, he’s figured you out. he huffs for the umpteenth time today and he squints at you harder when you giggle lightly.

“ gimme some.” he says gruffly, already opening his mouth slightly like he knows you’ll share with him. and he’s right, because you do. you bring your sandwich closer to his face and he takes a bite, humming contentedly before leaning back into a more comfortable position, never too far though.

“you always take huge bites out of my food, my sandwich’s basically gone.” you tease, playfully pouting dejectedly at your sandwich, holding back a snort when he scoffs at you, offended.

“ fuck off.” he spits, but there’s no animosity in his words. he resorts to pinching your thigh to make up for it,“ didn’t even eat much, you big baby.” he says. usually he’d have something smarter to say but he’s tired now, and you originally intended to take full advantage of the situation, but you’re feeling nice today. he’s tired and you’ve made him wait long enough, in his eyes at least.

you roll your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment and take another bite of your sandwich. you eat in silence and he doesn’t say anything else after that. when you finish he practically jumps up from his seat despite his lack of energy, looking at you expectantly as if to say ‘let’s go already.” you giggle.

“ i hear you, handsome.” you coo, going over to place your plate in the sink, you could wash your plate later when he falls asleep, probably (if he somehow decides to let you go).

you feel like being a little mean to him as you stay where you’re standing by the sink and sigh. katsuki, who had already turned around to go upstairs, turns to you, eyebrow raised in question.

you hum, placing a finger on your chin “ i dunno, i still don’t feel full, maybe i should make another-"

you’re dragged by your arm towards him before you can even fully comprehend what’s happening or even finish your sentence. you let out a big belly laugh when he grumbles. he suddenly has you lifted over his shoulder and you yelp, wondering where the hell this herculean strength came from despite him being so tired.

“ m’tired of your shit, quit fuckin’ around so i can go to bed.” he slaps the back of your thigh lightly and you gasp, but you’re still giggling a little. “you know, you could’ve just went ahead with out me, i would’ve come eventually.” he scoffs like you had just told him something utterly foolish, like the concept of sleeping without you was unfathomable to him, you smile harder at the thought.

“ don’t be stupid,” he mumbles “as if i could do that.” he adds the last part quietly but you catch it either way, there’s blood rushing to your cheeks and you don’t know if it’s because you’re slightly embarrassed by his honesty or if its because he’s been holding you upside down this whole time.

when you get to the elevator, he places you back down. grabs you by the shoulders and squeezes like he’s trying to weld you to the floor and make sure you won’t move. “ we’re going to bed, now.” his tone is decided, clear. you’re not fighting him on this and you honestly don’t want to.

instead you smile, grabbing his hand and squeeze “okay, let’s.” you beam.

he squeezes back.

[darlinglute]

i think it's extremely fun to pair rook and solas together in any regard, no matter if he previously was being romanced because as clear narrative foils, having an enemies to lovers (and in tandem, bitch4bitch, hater x hater) dynamic feeds into that delicious 'whenever I see you I see myself and I hate that' and 'you are everything I hate about myself' soup.

I once saw a post with a collection of quotes that had this certain vibe, in the 'you and I are the same' (negative) way. if i had a quote to represent them it would be:

so shipping them feels very complex and interesting to think about, because, like in that one dialogue

(first of all, like c'mon) furthermore it's the cycle. rook is to solas what solas was to elgar'nan, there are several times in the game, especially the end, where they can see each other in each other. even if you dont see it in a shipping lenses (which you dont have to!) this is a juicy story.

moreover, at the end of the game if rook outwits solas by giving him the fake ritual dagger, solas not only recognizes that he was out played by 'wits alone' he also says that he's met his match. this mimics the several stories of fen'harel who uses his wits, wisdom etc to get out of a situation

(example: the story of fen'harel, andruil and anaris, solas goading them both into fighting each other so he could get out paralleling solas making rook fight the gods and in addition a thousand other enemies in order to get himself enough time to get out of the fade prison without rook getting ahead of it)

the betrayal too, i don't have much to say that hasn't been said already about the prison switcheroo, (evokes solas's betrayal of felassan yada yada) other then it's really tasty.

[bunnieswithknives]

Thinking about his brain

[mythalism]

genuinely curious how the writers and larger dragon age audience would treat thom rainier if instead of being appropriately* repentant and putting himself in prison he blew up a major orlesian government building to instigate a chevalier rebellion or tried to have someone do some necromantic blood magic ritual involving uncertain danger and possible sacrifices to bring the innocent children he ordered killed back to life

[lucabyte]

I don't know how everyone isn't also always constantly thinking about how burial rites seem to be potentially one of the few things Siffrin instinctively remembers about their culture. But rest assured. I am in fact always thinking about it.

Textless version where they're just hanging out. It's fine!

[beeduoo]

i really like that one tiktok

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

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

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery

[deoidesign]

For my birthday... read my webcomic! It's literally free! (Unless you want books. Those are not free)

It's beautiful, it's gentle, it's funny, they're canonically t4t and gay... And it's about time traveling vampires solving supernatural mysteries!

I've spent thousands of hours writing and drawing it, and it's really good! I'm not biased!

It's on hiatus right now and coming back in 2 months, so it's the perfect time to get caught up

[light-koe-pinsky]

Ok but God having a lightbulb for head making it easy to break whenever someone's had enough of "his" bullshit but the back of his throne being full of new fresh lightbulbs, leaving it to the people/creatures, even the ones that broke him in the first place, to replace it if they find the mercy and humility in their hearts to do so has to be one of the hardest and most creative metaphors for hope Ive seen in a Groening show

[cod-thoughts]

I know, how I feel when I'm around you

Word count: 5.1k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik

Tags: Established Relationship, slice of life, just them being domestic as fuck, fluff, they're so in love <3

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: This is a gift for @nekrosmos Happy valentines day !!! You're really such a kind soul in this corner of the internet, insanely talented in all aspects seriously why can you draw and write that well excuse me?? The way you encourage people and leave comments/tags on peoples stuff is absolutely insane in the best way possible <33 along with this im virtually gifting you a bunch of freshly baked cookies and some flowers. Thank you for sharing your work with us and happy valentines day bud i hope its a good day for you <33

The flat was wrapped in the slow, golden hum of afternoon when Price stirred, the warmth of sleep still clinging to his skin. The scent of coffee curled through the air, mingling with the faintest trace of something sweet, and the distant sound of music—low, familiar soft rock—drifted in from the kitchen.

The sheets beneath him still carried the remnants of body heat, the space beside him long since gone cold. He turned slightly, pressing his face into Nik’s pillow, inhaling deeply. The scent there—warm, familiar, something clean with the slightest hint of spice—was grounding, safe. It settled something in his chest, the kind of quiet comfort that came from knowing exactly where he was and exactly who he was meant to be with.

He stretched, wincing slightly, feeling the pleasant ache deep in his muscles. A reminder of what happened earlier, when they had stumbled through the door, tearing at each other with hands and mouths, sinking into the desperate kind of closeness they had been starved of for weeks. That had been rough, urgent, and now his body bore the proof of it.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he rolled onto his back, letting out a low, contented groan. The soreness was a good kind, the kind that settled deep in his bones and made him want to stretch into it, made him want to chase it all over again.

Then, from the kitchen, the unmistakable clink of a spoon against ceramic.

Price cracked an eye open. He could keep lying here, wrapped up in the last traces of sleep, but the source of warmth and scent had moved. And he had never been much for staying in bed alone. Better to follow.

The cool floor met his feet as he stood, stretching once more before reaching for the first thing within arm’s length—a soft, worn t-shirt he must’ve tossed aside last night. He pulled it over his head, running a hand over his beard before ruffling his hair absently. Nik had once told him he looked downright domesticated in moments like this. Price had scoffed at the time, but right now, walking towards the scent of coffee and the distant hum of music, he understood what Nik meant.

Nik was sitting at the kitchen counter, pen moving in smooth, sure strokes as he wrote, his attention split between the two cookbooks splayed open around him. A fresh cup of coffee sat within reach, the steam curling lazily above the rim. Their mail was laid out beside him, mostly ignored, and the soft music hummed in the background.

The whole scene was so effortlessly Nik. A careful balance between order and chaos, planning and instinct. He looked as he always did—composed, intent, his focus shifting between his notes and the open pages in front of him, the kind of quiet determination that made Price certain he’d already memorized half the bloody recipes and was just double-checking for the sake of it.

Price leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, taking in the sight.

“Started without me?”

Nik looked up immediately, and the way his gaze lingered—just for a second—before his lips curled into a slow smirk was answer enough. The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable, dark and knowing. “You looked too peaceful to wake.” He reached for the second mug on the counter, sliding it across smoothly. “But I saved you a cup, Captain.”

Price pushed off the frame, stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, taking the offered mug. The first sip was rich, slightly sweet. His brow furrowed, lips pursing slightly. “You put cinnamon in this?”

Nik took a slow sip of his own coffee, watching him over the rim. “You like it. No need to lie.”

Price grumbled, but didn’t stop drinking it.

Nik chuckled, setting his pen down, stretching back slightly, all slow, effortless ease. The kind of movement that came with knowing exactly how to take up space without ever needing to try. “How are you feeling, my love?”

Price made a vague sound into his coffee, but then stretched again, rolling his shoulders, shifting his weight just enough to make a point. “Bit sore. Can’t imagine why.”

Nik’s smirk deepened. “Perhaps I was too enthusiastic in welcoming you home.”

Price huffed a quiet laugh, taking another sip. “That what we’re callin’ it?”

Nik only shrugged, gaze still keen, amused, appreciative. There was something about the way Nik looked at him—like he was something to be admired, like he was something worth lingering on. It was heady, that kind of attention, something Price wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to, something he never wanted to lose.

“Enjoying the view?” Price asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Nik didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

Price rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, he let his gaze drift down to where Nik’s hand still rested against the edge of his notebook, fingers ink-smudged at the tips from flipping through pages. His other hand rested against the counter, broad and steady.

For a moment, Price just looked.

Nik—mussed hair, soft t-shirt, relaxed posture, the slow, meticulous way he wrote out the grocery list, cross-referencing books, occasionally tapping his pen against his lip as he considered something.

He was stunning like this.

Price didn’t even think before he moved, stepping behind him, hands landing firmly on Nik’s shoulders as he leaned down, lips ghosting along the curve of his neck. “Y’know,” he murmured, voice low, lazy, “We could just stay in bed. Forget dinner. Just us. Right here.”

Nik exhaled a soft laugh, but Price felt the way his shoulders relaxed slightly under his touch. “Tempting,” he admitted, setting the pen down, tilting his head just slightly before turning around to face Price.

Price took the opening, settling in between Nik’s muscular thighs, trailing his mouth along the warm skin of his neck and collarbones.

Nik hummed, his hands sturdy, warm, and large, smoothed over Price’s sides, settling firmly against his stomach.

Price barely had time to register it before Nik squeezed gently, thumbs pressing into the muscle and fat there, slow, almost absentminded. Price looked down and it was absolutely unfair how much of his broad frame Nik’s hands could hold. Nik’s hands traveled up then back down, mapping out his torso, deliberately slow before pausing just under his sternum. “But you need to eat,” he said, low and thoughtful. “I have to fuel my Captain properly.” A pause. “For missions, of course.”

Price scoffed, shifting, just enough for Nik’s hands to dip slightly lower. “Sure it’s just for missions?”

“Of course.” Nik’s hands suddenly shifted, catching Price off guard as his grip tightened around his waist. “Which is why we need to get going, lyubov moya.”

Before Price could argue again, Nik moved.

One second, Price was standing there, digging his heels in, perfectly content to make a case for staying right where they were—the next, he was slung over Nik’s shoulder, the world tilting with an undignified oof as Nik hoisted him up in one clean motion.

“Nik—put me the fuck down—”

“Time to get dressed,” Nik said easily, completely unfazed as he carried Price towards the bedroom. “Before you try to seduce me out of feeding you.”

Price’s bark of laughter nearly drowned out Nik’s own amused huff. He let his head drop against Nik’s back, the warmth of him grounding in a way that was entirely unfair. His body fit against Nik’s like it belonged there, like being carried around by this man was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Nik chuckled, patting Price’s arse for good measure. “You love it.”

And Price couldn’t exactly argue against that now could he?

By the time Nik finally set him down in the bedroom, Price was already plotting revenge. He landed on his feet with a slight stumble, quickly regaining his balance as he shot Nik a sharp look.

"You’ve got some nerve, Nik."

Nik, utterly unbothered, simply stretched his arms over his head, smirking. "I have no idea what you mean, Captain."

Price narrowed his eyes, but he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching. He wouldn’t give Nik the satisfaction of a grin—not yet, anyway. Instead, he stepped past him, tugging open the wardrobe and rummaging through the clothes inside. His muscles still ached in that pleasant way, every movement a quiet reminder of the hours spent tangled up in each other earlier. A reminder that if he played his cards right, he could make this evening end the same way.

Nik, for his part, seemed to sense the shift in mood because he hummed low in his throat, stepping up behind Price.

"Here," Nik said, reaching past him, his fingers grazing Price’s waist in a way that felt entirely intentional. "Wear this."

Price glanced down at what Nik had pulled out—a dark jumper, one of the nicer ones, along with a jacket to match. It was a small thing, but the fact that Nik had picked out his clothes made something warm settle in his chest.

"You dressing me now?" Price mused, eyebrow raising.

Nik grinned. "If I let you do it yourself, you would wear something that makes you look like you just got out of bed."

Price scoffed but took the clothes anyway, stepping into them without further protest. The fabric was soft, still carrying the faintest trace of Nik’s cologne from where it had been folded beside his things.

Nik, meanwhile, had already changed. Nothing particularly fancy—just a well-fitted sweater and a comfortable coat—but somehow, the bastard always looked effortlessly put together.

"Not bad," Nik said, surveying Price with an approving nod.

Price huffed, pulling on his boots before running a hand through his hair once more. "You act like I can’t clean up well."

Nik leaned in slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No, I just prefer you without clothes,"

Price rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his neck as he stepped past Nik and towards the door. "Come on, let’s get this over with, and maybe you can make good on that."

Nik’s chuckle followed him down the hall, the sound rich and warm.

---

The air outside was crisp, the kind that nipped at any exposed skin but wasn’t quite cold enough to be uncomfortable. The lingering warmth of the day still clung to the pavement, the last hints of sunlight casting a soft, golden hue over the city streets.

Price tugged his jacket tighter around himself, glancing sideways at Nik. The bastard looked entirely unbothered by the cold, walking with the kind of confidence that made it look like he belonged anywhere he went.

The streets were busy without feeling overcrowded—just enough people milling about to fill the space with a low hum of conversation. A street vendor nearby called out cheerfully, the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting through the air, mingling with the faint trace of coffee from a café a few doors down. The city was alive, but in a way that felt comfortable, familiar.

Nik’s eyes flicked over to him, lingering just a second too long.

"What?" Price asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nik shrugged, expression infuriatingly neutral. "Nothing."

Price huffed but let it slide, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way towards the market.

As they stepped through the doors, the market was much warmer than the cool air outside, the scent of fresh produce, baked goods, and slow-cooked meats filling the air in a way that made Price’s stomach tighten in anticipation. Overhead, bright lights illuminated the aisles and different stalls, casting a soft glow over neatly arranged displays of fruits, vegetables, and cuts of meat lined up behind glass.

Nik, as always, moved with purpose.

Price watched, amused, as Nik examined the butcher’s selection with the kind of scrutiny he usually reserved for high-value targets.

"Bloody hell," Price murmured, arms crossing over his chest. "Forget how much you like running this like an op."

Nik didn’t even glance up. "You would rather I pick at random?"

"I’d rather not starve while you analyse every cut of meat in the shop."

Nik ignored him, murmuring something in Russian to the butcher as he pointed out his selections.

Price took this as his opportunity.

With Nik distracted, he veered off toward a nearby aisle, his gaze landing on something far more important than whatever ‘perfect cut’ Nik was debating over.

The snack aisle.

Nik would argue he didn’t need it. Nik would insist that the tactical addition of biscuits, crisps, and maybe a pack of chocolate-covered raisins was unnecessary.

Price disagreed.

He had just slipped the first pack of crisps into the basket when a voice came from behind him.

"John."

He turned slowly, already knowing exactly what he was about to be scolded for.

Nik, holding the basket, gestured with his chin. "What is this?"

Price raised a brow. "Tactical addition."

Nik sighed. The kind of exasperated sigh that said ‘I love you, but you’re impossible.’ "We are not here for this."

"You say that," Price said, casually adding another pack. "But I say we plan ahead."

Nik gave him a flat look before just shaking his head and walking off, mumbling something about impossible Englishmen.

Price, smug, grabbed another pack for good measure.

---

The queue moved quickly, and Price busied himself by checking over the total as the cashier scanned their produce, while Nik loaded their groceries into some bags.

The cashier—an older woman with sharp eyes and an easy smile—had been chatting amicably, making the usual small talk about their dinner plans.

Nik, ever the charmer, engaged just enough to be polite, while Price mostly let him handle it.

And then it happened.

"How long have you and your husband been together?" the cashier asked, smiling warmly as she handed Nik the receipt.

Price stalled out completely.

His fingers, mid-reach for the bags, twitched ever so slightly.

Nik, the absolute menace, didn’t even blink.

"Mm," Nik hummed nonchalantly, tucking the receipt into his pocket. "A while."

Price blue-screened.

His brain short-circuited so hard that, for a terrifying moment, he genuinely thought he might have forgotten a major life event.

Husbands?

Husbands?

What?

The cashier, utterly oblivious to the existential crisis she had just triggered, simply smiled at them both.

"That’s sweet. Special occasion tonight?" she asked, still cheerfully beaming.

Nik smirked. "Ah, something like that."

Price felt himself buffering.

His heart had definitely skipped a beat—he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. His face burned, warmth creeping up the back of his neck, and yet his entire body had forgotten how to function.

Nik, ever the bastard, just nudged him.

"What do you think, mishka?"

Price panicked. His mouth opened. Nothing came out. His jaw worked uselessly before he let out a strangled sound, something between a grunt and a choked cough.

The cashier, completely misinterpreting his silence, laughed lightly. "Oh, don’t tell me he forgot it's your anniversary or something!"

Nik made a quiet, amused sound. "No, no. He would not forget."

Price was going to keel over.

"Right, well—" he finally managed to get out, clearing his throat as he straightened his shoulders. His voice came out gruff, far too casual for the absolute existential crisis happening in real-time behind his eyes. "Best get these home before it gets too dark, yeah?"

The cashier beamed. "Of course! You two have a lovely night."

Nik just smirked, tipping his head. "You as well."

Price all but shoved the trolley forward, practically marching them out of the store as Nik strolled lazily beside him, completely at ease.

They walked in silence for about half a block before Nik finally chuckled.

"You alright, captain?"

Price exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face as they slowed at a crossing.

"She called us husbands," he muttered, as if needing confirmation that it had actually happened.

"Mhm," Nik hummed, not the least bit bothered. "She did."

Price blinked at him, the weight of that settling in his chest in a way he hadn't quite expected.

Nik was watching him, eyes dark and warm, amusement still curling at the edges of his lips.

"You bastard," Price hissed, his ears burning.

Nik chuckled, slinging an arm around his shoulders, utterly relaxed. "You looked so shocked, I did not want to ruin her fun."

Price let out a strangled noise. "Her fun? Nik, she—she thought we were married."

"And?"

And?

Price stared at him. "That’s—Nik, that’s not—"

Nik raised an eyebrow. "Not what?"

Price’s mouth opened. Then closed. His brain refused to supply a proper answer. Nik just smirked, squeezed Price’s shoulder, and leaned in slightly.

"Something to think about, no?"

Price made another strangled noise as they walked home, choosing resolutely to think about that later.

The cold air hit again the moment they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the shop. Price adjusted his grip on the trolley, letting Nik guide them down the pavement at an easy pace. The streets had quieted just slightly as the sky darkened, golden hues giving way to the deep blues of early evening.

The city had settled into that familiar lull—lights flickering on in shop windows, the occasional chatter of people heading home, the distant hum of a bus engine groaning as it pulled to a stop nearby. The smell of roasting meat and something fried drifted out from a takeaway shop down the road, mingling with the crispness of the evening air.

Nik had one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other gripping one of the bags, walking with that same relaxed confidence. Price, still reeling slightly from the exchange in the shop, kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

Nik looked entirely at ease, as if the cold didn’t touch him, as if he had all the time in the world to stroll back without a care. His gaze flicked lazily over their surroundings, sharp but unhurried, and Price had the distinct feeling that if anything out of place happened, Nik would clock it before he even had the chance to notice. Years of instinct, second nature now.

“You’re quiet,” Nik observed, voice low but easy.

Price exhaled, shoving his free hand deeper into his coat pocket. “Long day.”

Nik hummed, unconvinced. “Mm. And yet, you still had enough energy to sneak half the shop’s snack aisle into our basket.”

Price smirked. “Tactical additions.”

Nik huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but there was something fond in the way he did it.

“What about you?” Price asked, tipping his chin toward him. “What have you been working on lately? Haven’t seen you buried in your schematics in a while.”

Nik shot him a sidelong glance. “You are suddenly interested in my engineering?”

Price shrugged. “I like to know what you’re tinkering with. Especially if it means you’re gonna disappear under that helicopter for hours again.”

Nik chuckled. “You sound jealous.”

“Not jealous,” Price muttered, shifting his weight as they walked. “Just making sure I don’t have to drag you out of there when you forget to eat.”

Nik clicked his tongue, his smirk deepening. “You do that anyway, lyubov moya.”

Price grumbled something under his breath, but Nik only looked more amused.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of the city filling the space between them—car tyres rolling over damp pavement, the distant murmur of voices as people stepped out of pubs, the rhythmic tap of their boots against the concrete.

“And you?” Nik finally asked. “Have you been reading anything good lately?”

Price scoffed. “You’re the one with the library in the flat.”

Nik smirked. “Yes. And yet, you still steal my books. So, which one?”

Price didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, thinking. “Been picking through that history book you left on the table.”

Nik raised a brow. “The one on Cold War espionage?”

“Mhm.” Price took a slow breath, his shoulders rolling slightly. “A bit dry in parts, but it’s interesting. Bastards were creative, I’ll give ‘em that.”

Nik huffed. “That is one way to put it.”

They turned the final corner, the sight of their building coming into view ahead. The golden light from the windows made the place look warmer, more inviting, like it had been waiting for them to come home.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the warmth of home wrapped around Price again—the lingering smell of coffee from earlier, the faintest traces of Nik’s cologne that always seemed to cling to the walls, the soft hum of the heating as it kicked on to ward off the night chill.

Nik wasted no time unloading the bags, moving through the kitchen with that same quiet efficiency. Price hung back for a moment, watching him, watching the way he moved like he belonged here in every sense of the word.

Nik’s hands moved without hesitation, pulling out ingredients with the same kind of precision he used when handling weapons. The roll of his shoulders as he reached for the cutting board, the way he shifted his weight slightly as he inspected the vegetables—it was all so calculated, so deliberate. Price had seen him work a battlefield with that same sharp focus, but here, in their kitchen, it softened just enough to make something in Price’s chest clench.

He shook himself from the thought, stepping in to help.

Nik glanced at him, lips twitching. “You sure you would rather not sit? You have done so much work today.”

Price snorted, nudging him with his shoulder. “Piss off. You still need me.”

Nik made a thoughtful noise, watching as Price began stacking the vegetables onto the counter. “Mm. Suppose I do.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. Not in a bad way—just in a way that made Price’s fingers still slightly before reaching for the knife. It was simple, the way Nik said it. Natural. Easy. A statement of fact.

The sound of a bottle uncapping had him glancing up just in time to see Nik pouring them both a drink, setting a glass beside him before taking a slow sip from his own. The rich, amber scent of whiskey filled the air, blending with the first hints of butter melting in the pan.

"I thought you wanted to help, Captain?" Nik teased, one eyebrow raised as he stirred the sizzling garlic.

Price hummed, swirling his glass. "Reckon I could be convinced to get my hands dirty."

Nik huffed a laugh, nudging a knife and a few tomatoes toward him. "Then you can cut these."

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, taking a steady sip of his drink before setting to work. The kitchen filled with the familiar, rhythmic sounds of cooking—the sizzle of oil, the scrape of a knife against the cutting board, the low, absentminded hum of Nik’s voice as he worked.

They had done this countless times before, and yet, there was something about it tonight that settled differently in Price’s bones. Maybe it was the warmth of the whiskey, maybe it was the way Nik had looked at him earlier, or maybe it was just the quiet understanding that filled the air between them, the kind of thing that didn’t need words.

As they worked, Price’s hand brushed against Nik’s—once, twice—until finally, instead of pulling away, Nik let his fingers linger for a moment, warm and steady. It was such a small thing, but it made Price’s breath hitch slightly, made something shift under his ribs in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Nik smirked like he had noticed, but didn’t comment.

That was the thing about Nik—he always noticed. He saw the way Price had been watching him, saw the way his shoulders had eased the moment they stepped back into the flat. He saw everything, and he never needed to say a word.

The scent of seared steak filled the kitchen as Nik flipped the meat with practiced ease, the edges crisping into something golden and perfect.

"Here," Nik said suddenly, holding out a spoon with a careful dollop of the sauce he’d been reducing. "Try."

Price leaned in, the deep, savoury richness hitting his tongue immediately—just the right balance of heat, something smoky, something that lingered.

Nik watched him expectantly.

Price swallowed, licking his lips. "Not bad."

Nik huffed a quiet laugh. "You’re impossible to impress."

"Hard to be impressed when everything you make is good," Price murmured.

Nik took a spoonful for himself, closing his eyes as he tasted it. The satisfied noise he made was absolutely sinful and completely exaggerated yet it still sent a sharp jolt down Price’s spine all the same.

Price inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "You’re doing that on purpose."

Nik cracked an eye open, all innocence. "Doing what?"

Price shook his head, biting down on a grin. "Nothing."

Nik’s smirk lingered as he turned back to the stove, his hands moving with the same practiced ease that Price had seen on countless occasions. It was a kind of control that translated across everything Nik did—whether he was cooking, fixing his helo, or handling a rifle, he always worked with the same quiet, unshakable confidence.

Price leaned against the counter, pretending to busy himself with his drink, but he couldn’t help watching Nik move. The way the muscles in his forearms flexed as he reached for the salt, the way his fingers tapped absently against the pan as he waited for the sauce to thicken.

By the time the steak was resting and the last of the side dishes were plated, the kitchen had turned comfortably warm. The steam from the food curled into the air, rich with the scent of butter and garlic and something deeper.

Nik grabbed the plates, nodding toward the table. "Go sit."

Price snorted. "What, you think I need an invitation?"

Nik smirked. "I think you will stand there all night staring at me otherwise."

Price opened his mouth to argue, but—well. Nik wasn’t entirely wrong, was he? He rolled his eyes instead, shoving down the warmth creeping up the back of his neck before moving toward the table.

The dining table was cluttered, as it always was—scattered books, half-folded newspapers, a notepad with Nik’s half-finished schematics. Price swept a few things aside, making room as Nik placed their plates down with practiced ease.

They sat across from each other, mismatched chairs tucked around the wooden table, the meal between them still steaming.

Nik had gone all out, as usual. The steak had a perfect golden crust, sliced thick and resting beneath a drizzle of sauce, while the roasted garlic mash sat beside it in neat, whipped swirls. The salad was a simple contrast—fresh tomatoes, crisp greens, a light dressing that cut through the richness of everything else. It looked damn near perfect.

Price grabbed his fork, giving Nik an approving nod. "If this is your idea of ‘fueling’ me, I might let you keep doin’ it."

Nik hummed, already cutting into his own steak. "Good. Would be a shame if you wasted all my effort."

They dug in, exchanging only a few murmured remarks between bites.

The first mouthful melted against Price’s tongue, the perfect blend of smokiness, richness, and just a hint of heat from whatever Nik had worked into the sauce. It was the kind of meal that slowed a conversation, made them pause between words just to enjoy it properly.

Price huffed quietly. "You really are too good."

Nik raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Price gestured with his fork. "Everything you make, it tastes too good. Makes it hard to pretend I can cook better."

Nik smirked, sipping his drink. "That is because you cannot cook better, mishka."

Price scoffed but didn’t argue.

After the last plate was scraped clean, Price made a move to clean up, rolling his shoulders as he reached for the dishes.

Nik, predictably, was already stepping in.

"I’ve got it," Nik said, nudging him towards the living room. "Go sit. I’ll bring you tea when I’m done."

Price scoffed. "What, you think I can’t wash a few plates?"

"I think," Nik said, placing a firm hand against his back and steering him towards the couch, "you need to let me take care of you every once in a while."

Something in Price’s chest twisted slightly at that, the quiet certainty in Nik’s voice settling somewhere deeper than he expected. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way Nik said them. No hesitation. No question about it. Just the simple fact that he would take care of Price, whether Price let him or not.

Price exhaled sharply, but he let himself be moved, sinking into the couch with a quiet grunt, one arm draped over the back as he listened to the sounds of Nik cleaning up in the kitchen.

The warmth of the flat, the weight of a good meal, the slow buzz of whiskey still lingering in his veins—it all made his eyelids feel heavier than he realised. He let his head tip back slightly, blinking slow, feeling the faintest pull of exhaustion settle into his limbs.

Nik moved around in the kitchen with practiced ease, the soft clink of plates and the gentle rush of water filling the space. After a few minutes, the sound of a kettle boiling replaced it, the low whistle blending into the soft hum of the heating system kicking on.

Price barely registered the exact moment Nik joined him, just the quiet shift of the couch as Nik settled beside him, his large hands wrapped around a mug.

He blinked down at it, fingers curling around the ceramic. The steam rose lazily from the surface, the faint and familiar scent of honey and black tea curling into the air between them.

Nik scooted closer towards Price and wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, slowly guiding his head to Nik’s warm shoulder with his palm. Price could feel Nik’s fingers softly scratching at his scalp around his temple, easing the tension there. Price murmured something—something he meant to be grateful, but it came out more like a tired grumble.

Nik chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Sleep, lyubov moya."

Price barely managed a small smile before the warmth of Nik underneath him, the steady sound of his breathing, and the gentle, absentminded stroke of his fingers through his hair pulled him under completely.

There was no need to fight it. No need to overthink anything. Not when Nik was here, solid and steady, warmth radiating from his side like a quiet promise.

Safe. That was what this was. That was what Nik had become.

Price let his body sink into it, let himself be drawn into the deep, dreamless pull of sleep, his last conscious thought a simple one—

Nik. Always Nik.

[rookflower]

ok, new apprentice pov officially confirmed!

[babyloniastreasure]

something that kind of bothers me about modern feelings toward the epic of gilgamesh is how it's been COMPLETELY watered down to being "gay". Bear with me as I explain.

this is more of an extreme example, but I see this take all the time (not the yaoi part. the gay lover part). it's boiled down to the fact that it's gay over literally anything else in the epic. Gilgamesh's lament to Urshanabi about Enkidu's loss is overshadowed by the fact that Gilgamesh is mourning his gay lover. Gilgamesh is on a journey because he lost his gay lover. Gilgamesh and Enkidu were gay.

Now I understand that with a modern lens, people tend to lock on to how unabashedly Gilgamesh mourns Enkidu, because it's gay and because it's the oldest written epic in human history. People feel deeply connected to the idea that people like them have been around since the dawn of literature. But placing exclusive focus on the nature of the relationship as gay, rather than why the relationship or its loss was important, erases the story the epic is trying to tell.

The Epic of Gilgamesh is a story about love, yes, but it is not a love story. It's about the fear of death, coping with loss, and desperation to stave off the inevitable. It's about the bonds of friendship, about hardship, coming to terms personal change and losing pieces of yourself as you learn and grow. It is about consequences, arrogance, death, second chances, mourning, yearning, loving and LIVING. The Epic of Gilgamesh is about the entire human experience and one man's struggle to accept it. What does it mean to have lived? What does it mean to have loved, and lost? What does it mean to die, and to be remembered? What does it mean to be human?

It is perfectly okay to find appreciation for the Epic because of Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship. But also understand that the world's oldest story is not about two gay men who loved each other. It is a story about being alive.

TLDR;

[chateautae]

hi <3

my lovelies are you still here? i'm thinking of dropping something 🥺

[uhhlifeig]

The Dorm Room - Nov. 23 - word count: 666 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius Black sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the frame so hard his knuckles ached. 

Across the room, Remus stood by the window, stiff and unmoving, his back turned. James paced furiously, his footsteps heavy, while Peter hovered uncertainly, wringing his hands.

The oldest boy felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” The werewolf’s voice was low, sharp, and sudden- worse than if he’d screamed. 

“I- I wasn’t thinking,” he managed, voice cracking.

“No,” Remus snapped, spinning around to face him. His amber eyes burned with anger. “You weren’t. Because you never think, Sirius. You just act, and everyone else has to deal with the fallout.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried again, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for it to-”

“To what?” The dirty blonde cut him off, taking a step closer. “To almost get Snape killed? To put me at risk? What exactly didn’t you mean, Sirius?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the room.

James stopped pacing, turning to glare at him. “Hurt him? You didn’t just hurt him, you betrayed him!”

“I know, I know,” Sirius said, his words tumbling out too fast. “I wasn’t thinking- I was just so angry at Snape, and-”

“Don’t,” Remus interrupted, his voice icy. “Don’t you dare try to justify this.”

“I’m not! I’m not trying to justify it, I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, and I-” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I’m sorry.”

The other boy’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll make it right. Just tell me what to do, Moony. Please.”

“What to do?” Remus repeated, his voice rising. “First, don’t call me that. You don’t deserve to. Second, how about you stop acting like this isn’t who you are?”

Sirius froze, his heart plummeting. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re no different from your family,” The werewolf spat, his voice filled with venom.

The words hit Sirius like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. “I’m not like them.” 

He was trying to convince himself. How pathetic was that?

“Aren’t you? Lashing out, hurting people, thinking the rules don’t apply to you. That’s exactly what they do, isn’t it?”

“I’m not like them,” the noiret repeated, voice wavering.

“Stop saying that,” Remus snapped. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than them when you pull something like this. You don’t get to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending!” Sirius shouted, his voice cracking. “I’m not like them. I’m not.” He whispered the second part to himself, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Remus shook his head, turning away. “You are. They would be proud of you, Heir Black. We're over.”

Sirius staggered back, his legs hitting the bed. He sat down heavily, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

“You don’t get to play the victim here,” James said out of nowhere, his voice sharp.

“I’m not.” the dog animagus said. He looked at Peter, who avoided his gaze, and then back at his ex-lover. “I just- I messed up, okay? I know I messed up, but I’m not like them.”

“You are,” Remus said again, without turning around.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, mind spiraling. 

He hated himself. Of course he did.

He hated the way he always ruined things, the way his anger always got the better of him. Hated the way his ex-boyfriend looked at him now, like he was nothing to him.

“I’ll go,” the oldest boy said suddenly, voice hollow.

Remus didn’t respond.

The silence stretched on, suffocating, until Sirius finally stood and stumbled toward the door. He didn’t know where he was going- he just knew he couldn’t stay there any longer.

“Good riddance,” he heard from his ex-best-friend as the door closed. “I hope he suffers.”

pt. 2, pt. 3

@estellethewriter sorry i havent fed you in a while but you can have a Prank fic as payment!