#86 daring days

[nicarnelian]

furever with kaji!

₊˚⊹ featuring: kaji ren x gn! reader

₊˚⊹ summary: when you bring a cat to kaji’s apartment and ask his help in making a decent home for the feline, every request must come with an equivalent reward. for kaji, he thinks kisses are sufficient compensations to your requisition.

₊˚⊹ word count: 1.5k

₊˚⊹ warnings: tooth-rotting cringe fluff, grammar errors!

₊˚⊹ author’s note: binged frieren yesterday, and himmel and frieren occupied my mind, lived on it, rent free 24/7 for the past days! i’m also rewatching 86, bc shinlena are my ogs! anw, enjoy this kaji fic w cats bc i love cats (this is a shameless self-insert fic, if i think abt it) ;)))

kaji ren finds cats tolerable. well, actually, he considers them insignificant to his daily life, so he does not particularly hate them. the only moments where he would come into interaction with those little felines are when the townspeople would either ask him a favor, such as by catching them or feeding them, or when those cats would rub themselves on his feet and legs.

he doesn’t find them annoying though; he actually consider cats something that helps him calm down, shifting his attention to the little furry animals begging for rubs and pats, rather than the rowdy environment that encircled him. but, there were also times when the cats bite him out of affection, and kaji, knowing the person that he is, screams at the animal. afterwards, kaji would flinch as he watches the cat run away from him, feeling guilty as he looks down at the small strands of fur left on his pants.

after a couple of cat interactions, it would take probably another month or two when he would interact or touch a cat properly. all of these cat memories of kaji were brought up by the current situation between the two of you.

the second you knock on his apartment’s wood door, kaji unlocks it, knowing that you would be visiting him. he missed you, even though you do see each other after classes and during weekends. kaji has gotten clingy with you — the type of clingy that continues to seek the presence of the other, the type that opt to hear your voice rather than casual texts on the flat surface of his phone. but now, he kinda regrets opening the door for you. his gaze travels all around your figure, until it stops at a pint-sized, black and white animal that you hug near your chest.

he looks directly at your eyes, “why the hell is that in your arms?”

the both of you stand motionless, as no one dared to break eye contact. you wear a dumb smile on your lips as you giggle at your boyfriend’s statement. you lightly pet the small animal that leans into your touch. “it’s a kitten!”

“i know it’s a damned cat, but why the hell are you here, bringing a kitten in my apartment?!” kaji could not control the volume of his voice properly, causing him to step back as he realizes what he had done to you. you see the guilt in his eyes spreading, as if afraid of the possibility that he might have hurt you from his words. you quickly give a light smile to reassure him, letting him know it’s alright and he didn’t hurt you in any way with his words.

“well, i didn’t know where to bring it! the landlady at my place doesn’t like pets, so here i am!” you continue giving him that beaming grin of yours. kaji finds you insufferable — the way these walls he had built since he was a child quickly dwindle into nothingness when you forced yourself into his life, with that stupid, witless, yet stunningly delicate smile.

kaji notices how your face contorts to ever single emotion possible — from how your eyebrows furrow in seriousness to annoyance whenever you do your assignments , and how they quickly crumple to relief whenever he says the simplest of motivational quotes that he most probably looked up online since he was new to interacting like this.

in months of dating you, he wanted to know everything about you albeit being impossible — but, he was the type to make any possibility a reality. months into your relationship, he has put into immense effort into knowing you, and you reciprocated such actions from your boyfriend. and, it’s safe to say that both of you are still staying strong after almost a year of being with him.

you welcome yourself into his room, which kaji did not mind since he will always think that whatever that is his is also yours. you settle the cat on his chair, much to his dismay though. “hey! it’ll leave random fur!”

you pout at him, “i just need a box and some discarded fabric to make him a home for the meantime. you have some?” kaji knows how much you love cats, which is why he completely abides by your requests. but, of course, every request comes with a equal reward.

“i have some boxes and i plan to throw away some of my clothes…” he mumbles. you extend your hands at him, like a child asking for candy. kaji smirks.

he walks towards your direction, closing the distance as he draws his face near yours. you flinch at his actions due to how sudden and unpredictable kaji has become. you place your hands on his chest involuntarily, as your eyes lock on his pair of gray eyes as well. “w-what is it…?”

kaji doesn’t crack a smile, but instead, pouts. his index finger points towards the skin of his right cheek. you watch him tilt his head, as if showing the skin to you, and the words he uttered were something you had not even expect to hear in a thousand years. “k-kiss.”

you blink at him, as you could see the tips of his ears reddening from what he asked. he just asked… for a kiss? kaji ren? the boy who had always told you that you were insufferable was asking for a kiss?

“w-what?”

kaji’s face fumes into a shade of red, “n-nothing! never mind what i said, c’mere! as f-far as i remember, some of the b-boxes were underneath my bed! i’ll search for—“ kaji blabbers and stammers all over his words. am i going crazy? he, himself, could not believe he had just asked that from you.

kaji gasps when you clasp his entire face with your hands and peck the location of his cheeks that he was pointing earlier. he grabs your wrists as you continue littering his face with soft kisses. kaji feels like his world is spinning, his mind cloudy, his heart thumping so fast and his face burning red already.

you give him a final peck on his lips and smirk, “awww… are you perhaps kiss-deprived, ren? but don’t worry, i’ll kiss you anytime you want!” you beam at him, after seeing his flushed face. kaji doesn’t respond, which makes you somewhat worried.

“ren?”

his eyes stare at his room’s wooden floor, shoulders moving up and down. his bangs cover his eyes, leading you to simply call out his name multiple times until he slowly brings his gaze upwards to yours. you nervously chuckle at him, trying to break the silence between you both as he bores his eyes into you. “ren…?” you smile cautiously.

“you’re insufferable.” and, he closes the distance between your faces, kissing you harshly. it’s certainly not comparable to this kisses you’ve given him earlier, soft and teasing — his kiss is hungry, as if he’s deprived of water and your mouth is the sole salvation. it’s filthy and rough, but you fondle his lips with equal greediness.

you place your hands on both of his shoulders, balancing yourself at the height of the moment between you and kaji. you feel his tongue grazing your lips. he wraps his arms around your waist, one hand casually roaming your body until his fingers tangle with your hair and push you closer to him. it feels like forever — kissing him in a room that just encapsulates who he is: his scent, his mark, his hands that hold you tightly but not too tight, his eyes that only look at you. the entirety of kaji ren being yours and you being his feels like forever to you.

“meow!”

the both of you stop, heads snapping at the cat already purring at your entangled limbs. it’s almost involuntary how both you and kaji stare at each other and laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck. you feel his forehead press against yours as he whispers, “‘m sorry.”

“for what?” you lean your forehead against his. “nothing, just felt like it. since, you know, accidentally raised my voice on you earlier.” kaji smiles as his head finally drops to the intersection of your neck and shoulders, planting soft kisses on the bare skin.

you ruffle his head, “‘s fine. i know you didn’t mean it.” he hums in response to you.

“but for now, you have to help me make this cat’s home! i’ve given you lotsa kisses earlier, so i expect more help from you!” you poke his cheek, trying to force him to look at you. you wriggle away from his embrace, and kaji finally whispers in response to your statement.

“‘m willing to do anything for your kisses. i’m glad to do more even.” kaji smirks at you, causing you to smack his shoulder and ultimately breaking the hug. you’re glad that he’s finally trying to open up more, to talk more. you watch as he kneel towards the cat and let the cat sniff his fingers — a small introduction between kaji and the cat.

you want to savor the moment, and sure you do, because being with kaji ren feels like forever.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

A Family Affair 🔥| House of Dragon Headcanon

Being the cousin of Viserys I, Daemon, & Rhaenys would look like: 

You're the youngest of the bunch, born roughly five years after Daemon in 86 AC by one of the many offspring of King Jaehaerys I and his wife Queen Alysanne Targaryen and were raised in the Red Keep alongside your family members. Despite being younger, you were close with your many cousins, specifically Rhaenys, Viserys, and Daemon. Clinging to them like a little shadow and viewing the three more like older siblings than cousins. 

From a young age, you displayed courageous and sometimes controversial characteristics. Claiming the mighty Silverwing as your mount on your ninth name day, henceforth you were dubbed "The Daring," by the Court and the Seven Kingdoms. The nickname applying as you got older for your sharp tongue to the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, as well as fighting on the frontlines during conflict in the name of your King & Gransire. 

You were��highly more favored by the Court opposed to your older cousin, Daemon, aka the Rogue Prince. The vision of duty, honor, and loyalty, you were what every Targaryen upheld. So much so that some believed you should have been a contender as Jaehaerys' heir. But unlike Rhaenys and Viserys, who were the eldest grandchild and eldest male relative, you were unmarried with no children. Something you had no interest in obtaining and was your main criticism by the Court. Had you been, then the Lords of Westeros may have drawn to your favor as the future ruler of Westeros. A fierce warrior and respected member of society. 

But you can't lie, you and Daemon were more alike than what the Court desperately tried to ignore. Where Rhaenys and Viserys were on one side of the coin, you and Daemon were on the other. The only thing that made Lords and Ladies believe otherwise was the fact in public settings you two were constantly at each other's throat. Constantly bickering, exchanging childish insults, and calling the other out. To them, you both despised each other. Unaware that behind closed doors Daemon is the first person you go to when you're suspicious of someone and vice versa. And when Viserys is crowned King, naming both you and Daemon to his small council, you two know better than to trust anyone else than each other. Not blind to the cunning snake that is Otto Hightower. 

Speaking of Otto Hightower, he's not your biggest fan as you can expect, but he tolerates you far more than Daemon. Otto hates that you, like Daemon, can see through him and verbally question him during council meetings. But unlike Daemon, Otto doesn't have to worry about you causing scandal and knows you would never bring dishonor to the Targaryen name. Really you two ignore each other, and only exchange pleasantries when in public at Court. And Otto knows better than to cross you. The one time he suggested Viserys try to arrange a marriage for you, you hunted him down and made sure he thought twice before ever trying to rid you of the Red Keep ever again.

"Next time it crosses your mind to plot schemes against me, my Lord Hand, remember what happened to the last man who tried." There was rumor the last Master of Coin had been murdered, coincidently after suggesting you had no place on the small council. Otto had his suspicions, but never questioned aloud. "You would not dare." "To not, would be an insult to my name." 

As your cousins had children you became an aunt/uncle figure to them. Rhaenyra in particular loved to be around you, trailing you like a little shadow like you once did her father and uncle. She liked to stand close to you during small council meetings and accompany you to the Dragonpit or training yard. And you were quick to notice her affections for Daemon as she grew, something you brought to Viserys attention to which he brushed it off as her being young and having a silly crush. When the King named her heir, you bent the knee and swore to her as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. As for Laenor and Laena, you sometimes surprised them at Driftmark to which Rhaenys was grateful. Each time you brought gifts from Kings Landings and your travels, as Viserys tasked you with maintaining domestic and foreign affairs by visiting the Great Houses and Essos. 

You were no fool when Viserys announced his intent to marry Alicent Hightower following the death of his beloved and your cousin, Aemma. Alicent was Rhaenyra's closest friend, therefore there were times she joined you and the Princess at Court. She was a young, sweet thing, and it filled you with rage that Otto had enlisted her to seduce him in his goal to merge the houses and hopefully put Hightower blood on the throne. But most importantly, you were furious with Viserys, "She is a child, cousin, and your daughter's best friend, nonetheless! How could you do that to Rhaenyra?! Do you not see what place you've put her in?" And when you openly accused Otto of scheming Viserys was quick to shut you up like he did Daemon the year before. By the end of the heated argument, which the maids and guards feared could turn violent, you expressed your disappointment in your cousin before taking leave. Finding Rhaenyra to say goodbye, leaving her tear-stricken and taking Silverwing to head for the Stepstones to help Daemon and Corlys with the war. 

It would be years until you returned to Court, alongside Daemon following the victory against the Triarchy. Viserys welcoming you two back with open arms, and you resumed your place at his small council. You met his young children Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond, then little Daeron came along. And you were quite displeased with your cousin after observing how closed off he was with them, the children displaying happiness whenever you were near and trailing you like a little shadow. Reminding you of when their half-sister and cousins were their age.

Aemond liked to shadow you more than his siblings, as did Daeron before he was sent to Oldtown. Which is no surprise given Aemond wanted to be a skilled warrior like you and Daemon. Pleading with you to teach him how to wield a sword and claim a dragon. Helaena liked to show you her bugs, and while you didn't understand her riddles you never treated her like others in her family. You'd sit with her in the gardens or the library and keep her company in between her lessons. As for Aegon.....he was a sweet child who turned into a menace resulting in you having to knock him down a peg. You knew it was due to his mother and grandfather's influence, but that didn't excuse his behavior. While you never laid a hand on him, all you had to do was give him a look and it sent him running with his tail between his legs. 

This trait of being an aunt/uncle continued as Daemon had daughters with Lady Laena, who you visited in Pentos at least twice a year, and Rhaenyra having sons with Laenor. Again, you were no fool. It was obvious the parentage of Rhaenyra's sons was questionable due to their physical traits. But you kept your tongue silent and loved them, helping raise them as Targaryen Princes. Lucerys clung to you if his mother wasn't present. You dotted on him, as he was the more emotional one of his brothers. Especially when the topic of his future to Driftmark was brought up. "Worry not, my sweet nephew, you've a long way before taking your seat on the Driftwood throne. Until then enjoy your youth. Leave all the politics and boring stuff to the adults." 

Though the children were technically not your nephews and nieces, you viewed them as such and would go to war for them. Sometimes trying to hide them from the harsh reality of what it means to be a child born into the Royal house of Targaryen. Their future was something you feared but didn't show. And whenever you, Daemon, Viserys, and Rhaenys found yourselves in the rare company of each other, it reminds you there is no stronger bond than the blood of the dragon. 

[twinklestarss]

Campaign 1 Episode 86: Daring Days Campaign 1 Episode 87: Onward to Vesrah

[citrusses]

10 incredible fics by @oknowkiss 😘🎈

elaine's work was some of the first to grab hold of my arms and drag me headfirst into the full-on drarry hyperfixation. picking only ten fics I'm obsessed with was basically impossible--how dare someone be so talented??? if you've already read all these, go read the ones you haven't!!

9 to 5 (E, 2K)

Draco Malfoy hates Mondays.

e's microfic may is a genre in and of itself.

Hyacinth (M, 7K)

Draco receives a letter. Inside is a note from a lawyer and a single, purple petal, the same color as the hyacinths his mother used to grow. This is what happens after.

this fic broke my heart. it's so beautiful, you have to experience it to understand.

the long ways (M, 10K)

Five times Harry thought he was seeing Draco for the last time, and one time he didn’t. OR: what it’s like to fall in love, slowly and without realizing it, over the course of 20 years.

Falling in love over 20 years! Need I say more????

draco malfoy's substitute murder service (E, 10K)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities. OR: the one where Draco goes goblin mode, and Harry has a thing for monsters.

who else could come up with something this perfect, strange, apt, hilarious and tender?

a licence to kill (M, 11K)

Draco Malfoy has a licence to kill. Unfortunately, it expired last Tuesday. OR: how Draco Malfoy learned to stop worrying and love form AK-86-G

once again, the world-building this author is capable of in a fic of 11K is beyond comprehension.

any day now (E, 16K)

Draco supposes he should be grateful.  The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices. All guests–because no one is a prisoner here, the literature brags–are to be provided with shelter, food, clothing, and the guided support of a Mind Healer via a programme they call “ideological restructuring,” which is, of course, mandatory. 

funny and clever and biting and sharp and a kick to the heart. one of my favorite fics.

Historians (E, 29K)

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way.

I've made it this far into the list without mentioning that elaine writes the. hottest. sex. ever. see: how i raved about this fic when it was still anon.

À Bon Chat (E, 35K)

Draco Malfoy didn’t intend to lead a life of crime after the war. It’s just that being good had turned out so incomprehensibly boring. Now he's thirty-five, a fully redeemed member of society, the darling of the wizarding social pages, and a newly minted consultant for Gawain Robards' Investigative Research division. In his spare time, he enjoys good whisky, casual sex, and moonlighting as an art thief. His biggest score yet is fast approaching and he's got everything planned down to the minute. Everything, that is, until the unexpected appearance of a newly-divorced Harry Potter. Now that Potter's in the picture, Draco's no longer certain if he's the pursuer or the prize.

Cat and mouse Drarry! Art thieves! Such a true delight of a fic.

The Waiting (E, 43K)

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

I can't do justice to this fic with my words (even though I, at one point, tried to). i stayed up all night to read it, crying silently into my pillow. it's an all-time favorite, it is a fandom classic, if you haven't read it i am begging you to (and dm me so we can scream)

The July Tree (E, 51K)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love.

The rec post I wrote for this fic two years ago is as true as it ever was.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Better Man: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @lostinwonderland314 @fallout-girl219 @wabi-sabi1090 @morgthemagpie

Companion piece to:

One Night Stand (NSFW) - It was never meant to be more than a one night stand.

Old School - Richie and you prefer to do things old school.

Safe With You - Richie still has nightmares about how he found Michael.

Joy - The stabbing leads Richie to confront some of the doubts he has about himself.

All The Good Ones Are (NSFW) - Richie has never thought of himself as one of the good ones.

Happy Anniversary - Richie fucks up your first wedding anniversary.

Gift (NSFW) - Richie has always thought of you as a gift.

86 - Richie 86es a patron at The Bear.

It’s Saturday and Richie’s busy with the service when you pop in to pick up the takeout Carmy usually prepares for you. It’s a form of penance him and Richie worked out for fucking up your wedding anniversary. He has to make sure you’re fed every Saturday evening for the next three months to make up for monopolising your husband on what Richie deems the most important day of the year.

“Hey baby.” He greets you with a fierce kiss, one that you feel all the way down to your toes. “I can’t stop for too long.”

“I don’t mind.” You murmur with that sinful smile of yours as your fingertips straighten the lapels of his suit. “As long as you’re not too tired when you get home.”

“Never.” He whispers as his forehead comes to rest against yours. “I’m never too tired for that.”

It’s as you draw away that the expression on your face changes. Your shoulders tense and your eyes linger on something over his shoulder.

“Joy?” He questions, following your gaze as your grip on his sleeve tightens.

“Richie.” You whisper. “What is Peter doing here?”

Richie has never actually laid eyes on your ex-husband. You’d cut off all contact after you divorced the son of a bitch. He’d sent you a bottle of champagne shortly after the two of you got married with a card that said. “Don’t fuck it up this time.”

Richie had taken you out to the wasteland where his father had taught him how to shoot, before watching you blow away a thousand dollar bottle of champagne with his 9mil. It had been both cathartic and exhilarating.

Peter smiles at you from his seat, raising a hand up in greeting and something ignites inside of Richie, something furious and vengeful.

“Sugar.” He says with a dangerous lilt. “I thought we 86ed him?”

Sugar’s fingertips runs down the appointment book before it lands on the notation.

“I called him up myself.” She tells the both of you. “He must have rebooked under another name.”

“That deviant motherfucker.” Richie spits out, his eyes full of murder.

“Richie.” You say softly, tugging on his sleeve and he tilts his head towards you. “It’s ok.”

Your words should placate him but they don’t because he knows that Peter has done this intentionally, that it’s a way of fucking with your boundaries, encroaching on your territory. Your ex, he used to play mind games with you, gaslight you. Richie knows his presence here tonight is just another version of that, a way of showing you he still has control.

“I’ll see you at home.” You say, pressing your lips to his cheek.

It’s only as he watches your car exit the parking lot that he realises you’ve left behind the food that Carmy made for you. He tosses it in the trash before returning to work, waiting for his opportunity to confront that that fuckhead.

It’s when Peter stand up to use the bathroom that Richie accosts him. He grasps the other man by the scruff of his neck before he hurls him down the corridor and through the back exit.

“How fucking dare you.” Richie erupts when they break out into the alleyway. “How dare you come here and pull this shit. I should wipe that smug fucking smile right off your face.”

“And end up with a jail sentence?” Peter says, tilting his head to one side. “That would really fuck shit up for you and Joy wouldn’t it?”

“How the fuck do you know…”

“About your suspended licence or your aggravated assault charge?” Peter finishes as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “You think I wouldn’t check up on the man my ex-wife married?”

“That’s some fucked up shit right there.” Richie says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know she told me you had issues with control but this is next level.”

Peter shrugs his shoulders.

“I like to see who my competition is.” He remarks and Richie shakes his head with a sardonic smile because he knows what this is about.

Peter had never expected you to leave him, you’d played the good wife for such a long time and then one day you’d had divorce papers delivered to his office. The final straw had been when he’d had lingerie sent to you. It was two sizes too small and had been addressed ‘To Emily’.

“This-” Richie says gesturing between the two of them. “-is not a competition. You treated her like dirt, like she was absolutely nothing.”

Peter laughs then and the sound grates across Richie’s nerves as he pushes past Richie, barging against his shoulder.

“Women like Joy, that’s how they like to be treated.”

Richie’s hand catches his arm, his hand squeezing so hard that Peter winces at the sensation as the fabric of his designer suit creases underneath Richie’s fingers.

“Play all the games you want motherfucker, but that woman is never coming back to you.” Richie tells him with a ferocity in his eyes. “You and I both know the better man won.”

Love Richie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[m3-kk]

TCF NOVEL SPOILERS- My TCF notes

Hmmm it’s been a minute since I posted any of my TCF notes about the chapters.. so here ya go! THIS US PART 2 SHAWTYS!!

Ch. 1- YESSS CHAPTER 1!! Not the Kings Palace going kaboom 😶 Cale needs to rest!!! Slacker chan!!!

Ch. 5- AHHHHHHHHHH LEE SOO HYUKKKKKKKK LETSS GOOOOO! BLACK HAWKK OOO

Ch. 6- His name is now Sui Khan 😮

Ch. 7- 🍪 Cookiess! So we have to travel different dimensions now? Cale needs a break 😭😭

Ch. 8- World with the white mages = Xiaolen Planet

Ch.9- YAY DIVINE ITEM MIRROR LAPTOP THINGY! We are definitely going to like the other worlds people evil smirk 😏

Ch. 10- HAH CALE HUNG UP ON DUKE FREDO LOL! Sooo Cale is a god. 😀

Ch. 12- Dead mana is purer AND Cale’s power is more efficient here? Interesting..

Ch. 13- Hey we have a spare world tree!

Ch. 15- Mary is registering as a candidate to be a necromancer empress GO MARY!

Ch. 16- AW HER FAKE NAME IS “Heni Wishrop” HENI STANDS FOR HENITUSE!

Everyone thinks our Mary is powerful hehe!

Ch. 21- Working with Zero & the 4th Prince for the Harmony test :D

Ch. 22- OOooo Black Rain 🌧️

Ch. 24- Now we actually need to kill those hunters. How dare they lay a finger on our family. Let’s flip them over immediately.

Ch. 25- Yay! Hong & On <3 Let’s go to the infected area! 2nd Princess?

Ch. 26- the 2nd imperial princess has been converted to Caleism hah m! Tree-bush monster ye fire, destruction, protection!

Ch. 27- Are you human? HAHAH CALEE

Ch. 28- That Marquis guy is smart. Cale really is acting like a purifier so funny!

Ch. 31- Blood Message! How scary!

Ch. 34- Attacking the bad guys >:]

Ch. 36- BURNNNNNNN 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Ch. 37- 50% power to get 2,500% as a result! SO EFFICIENTTTT WEEEEEE

Ch. 38- THE HUNTER WHO HUNTS HUNTERS! GO CALE SO POWERFUL HA!

Ch. 39- Cale.. not everyone is a super powerful ultimate other worldly being like you! I feel bad for Goldie Gramps 😭

Ch. 40- In Prison with the fam 😜

Ch. 41- We are going to loot!! Goldie Gramps is angry and that dragon is timid but crazy. I love our family! CHAOS LOVE

Ch. 42- DESTROY THE ESTATE MWAHAH

Ch. 43- So sad that we couldn’t loot 😭🥲

Ch. 44- Ooo Opening the safe ����

Ch. 54- ooo revealing us to the empire?

Ch. 58- Choking? Reminds me of Adin

Ch. 63- HAH I KNEW IT THE FAKE WT IS STAYING YOOO

Ch. 64- INFOOO! Not the Patriarch blowing up that’s crazy! We could’ve gotten so much more info! But oh well! Five Colors ooo!

Ch. 65- HAHAH THE GOD OF DEATH IN THE GROUP CHAT HAHAH I LOVE HIMM HEHHEHE (I love this chapter)

Ch. 66- AWWW Chatting with fire of Purification in puppy form!

Ch. 67- This is so cute I’m glad we get a lil’ rest just chatting with the nice puppy ❤️ I love!!!

Ch. 69- Almost the end of this arc!

Ch. 71- HOME WITH THE MONEYYYYY

Ch. 73- Ron, Beacrox! I missed uuuu!

Ch. 75- Aw the Henituse Fam! Billos!

Ch. 76- You get a mine, you get a mine. EVERYONE GETSA MINE!!

Ch. 78- YOU HAVE BEEN PROMOTED YOU ARE NOW ONE OF MY ELITE EMPLOYEES!

Ch. 79- @CP we have a mommy on our side? Mummy’s boy emperor as well???

Ch. 81- CENTRAL PLAINS?! The sworn brother goodbye was cute.

Ch. 83- We meet CP’s clone?? Cutie??

Ch. 85- The disrespect! They can’t pronounce our Cale Henituse’s name!

Ch. 86- NEW NAMES LETSGOOO

Ch. 90- YOO we got a golden plaque!

Ch. 91- Cale ignores Toonka but not Roan!

Ch. 93- We found the living jiangshi!

Ch. 94- enlightenment is crazy****

Ch. 97- Talking with the Sword Sainttt

Ch. 100- Purification! Chapter 100!

Ch. 101- One word, blood. SHITTTTT NOO

Ch. 102- AWKWARD! Yay Choi Jung SOO

Ch. 106- LET HIM EATTTT

Ch. 108- So many ally’s yay !!!!

Ch. 112- We. Are. Going. To. EATT! (a elixir)

Ch. 113- 70% shield 53% water

Ch. 116- The Alliance leader is being bitchy SHOW EM’ WHOSE BOSS! (Roan misses Alberu)

Ch. 118- Don’t hurt our Cale! Please!

Ch. 119- Aw I love when Choi Han & Beacrox talk together about family

Ch. 121- Ah the god ole trash bastard days

Ch. 123- Green Forest Bastards try and mess with us?! Angry Cale! >:(

Ch. 124- OO Cale is the BOSS MAN

Ch. 127- 68% then 72% of fire!!

Ch. 128- Pfft Caleism has a poem now lol.

Ch. 129- HUHH Big complicated lore??

Ch. 131- WOAHH The Heavenly Demon is a smart cookie fr fr wow intelligent!

Ch. 135- The Left Guard is so cute awe

Ch. 136- Oh no the Heavenly Demon ain’t doing so good :[

Ch. 137- Helping out the HD again. Spy?

Ch. 139- Aw Choi Family spars. I love it

Ch. 141- HD is being healed yay

Ch. 142- I was so concerned about Cale the whole time! Bloody Battle

Ch. 146- (I hope everyone at home is ok)

Ch. 151- TALKING WITH ALBERU YAYAYAY

Ch. 152- Pinnacle Demon is poison crazy

Ch. 153- We going to destroy things now?

Ch. 154- YAY DESTRUCTION DESTROY

Ch. 155- FINALLY FLIP THINGS OVER KYA

Ch. 157- OO WATER AP FOUND SOMETHIN

Ch. 158- OMG DRAGON LORE?? YAHOO

Ch. 159- “Raon’s lackey” I got the chills!

Ch. 160- OOOooo I’m hooked! Dragons<3

Ch. 162- Oh DAMN! We got a mf jackpot! Water is 300 percent stronger than the OG. No blood shed! Dragons are great!

Ch. 163- HAHA LOOTING ANCIENT STUFF

Ch. 165- Scale+Crown+Crown=Red Crown

Ch. 169- Shit is going down! TSUNAMI!

Ch. 171- How dare she think to threaten us, she shall die by Choi Hans sword.

Ch. 176- Old man Baek describes Cale’s world and “reads” him

Ch. 183- I love that we can run wild!! 😜

Ch. 185- THE PRIESTESS the youngest daughter of Orsena!

Ch. 186- The Dominantung Aura

Ch. 187- Our little Han got stronger (I’m so fucking proud of him 🥲)

Ch. 188- We killed her.. Last words?

Ch. 189- The Formation Collapsed!

Ch. 190- Raon’s MC moment. (Cute bond)

Ch. 191- Using water AP to Max! Or not?

Ch. 192- the Punto Banhui and Tears💧

Ch. 195- You got games on your phone?

Ch. 196- Everyone wants Cale to be a god

Ch. 199- WE LEFT!!! NOW WE ARE HOMEE

Ch. 200- Awww so cute at Alberu’s casa

Ch. 201- That actually so funny 🤣

Ch. 202- Zoom Call with Ahn Roh Man talking about gamess. Similarities?

Ch. 206- Aw it been a bit since we chilled

Ch. 209- Speech ruined! (So every time Cale has to do a speech it’s interrupted)

[werepuppy-steve]

may fic rec

a monthly rec list to help me handle my tbr

<- april fic rec ❀ more fic recs ❀ my ao3

King and Prince - M, 19/?, WIP (ao3) @apomaro-mellow

tags: royalty au, demon king eddie, slow burn, kidnapping, enemies to friends to lovers

Eddie is in the middle of a feud with an opposing kingdom. Running out of options, he decides to kidnap their prince.

supportive uncle wayne - G, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: title says it all, post canon, good parent uncle wayne

Wayne first saw Steve Harrington when he was on a class field trip to the plant. He couldn’t have been older than 9. Eddie hadn’t come to live with him yet. He only saw him for a minute, but it only took a minute to see that the boy had dark circles under his eyes that rivaled his own.

Sharing Smokes Outside the Snow Ball - T, 1.5k, complete (ao3) @augustjustice

tags: future fic, post canon, single parent steve, single parent eddie (he's raising his cousin's kid), pre-slash

It's the Hawkins Middle School Snow Ball...of 1999. Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have some catching up–and reminiscing–to do.

linguistic phenomenon - M, 2/2, complete (ao3) @dodger-chan & @sharpbutsoft

tags: hellfire, the linguistics of the word 'suck', talks of blowjobs

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing. “I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.” Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

(asking to have) you on their skin - E, 2.6k, complete @starrystevie | rogersharringtons

tags: mutual masturbation, truth or dare, handjobs, dirty talk

"truth or dare?" steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up. they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid. "...truth?" steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

Between The Lines - M, 2.4k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: protective steve, misunderstandings, established relationship, shovel talk, good parent wayne

“We need to talk.” Wayne wonders if this is the tone of voice the kid uses to fight the monsters they don’t talk about. “Say again?” ——— Or: Eddie gets hurt, so Steve and Wayne participate in…something of a shovel talk.

the anatomy of a home run - E, 5.7k, complete @tboygareth | hxneyfarmer

tags: established relationship, baseball terminology, bottom eddie, top steve, virgin eddie, barebacking, creampie no condom nation

Eddie doesn't know shit about baseball. He does know a few good euphemisms.

Pool Day - T, 1.9k, complete (ao3) @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

tags: post canon, pool party, pre-relationship

It’s a clear, warm, sunny day in the late summer of ‘86. The whole ‘other dimension survivors’ party is in attendance at Steve’s place for the day; Hop, Joyce, Karen, Claudia now, and even Wayne are staying inside in the A/C, the kids are in the pool, and all but the one of the ‘older kids’ are lounging around on the Harringtons’ sun chairs. Argyle in particular is soaking up the UV rays. Jon is burning to a crisp under his and Nancy’s umbrella. It’s Eddie, however, that’s been in the pool practically all morning, and is currently hyping himself up to do… something.. off Steve’s creaky, probably dry-rotted, diving board. He does look good up there; drenched head to toe with his hair pushed back from his face like that. If he wasn’t covered in pool water, Steve would want to lick him.

A Punch In The Dark - T, 10.3k, complete @roguenancy | tentones

tags: post-s4, pining, fall festivals, first kiss, accidental injury, scare actor eddie

Eddie smiles through the blood. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary and not the nerd that just got decked, he nods. Then he throws his head back and howls in laughter. It’s a harsh sound in the too-small hallway. It bounces off the walls, making Steve wince as something coils inside him. “Fuck, Harrington! I pegged you as a hitter, but I never imagined you’d be such a screamer.” Or: Eddie Munson gets a job working at a haunted maze during the fall festival, and over the course of a single night, Steve Harrington's life turns into a series of struggles.

Twenty-one - E, 7.2k, complete @itcanbepalped

tags: alpha eddie, omega steve, heat sex, first time, eddie's soft and a lil mean too, overstimulation

Eddie is twenty-one and he finally gets to rail Steve like he’s always wanted to.

don't you hear me howling, babe? - E, 4/5, WIP @occasionaloverboy

tags: post canon, grief/mourning, vamp eddie

In the fall of '91 Steve comes home - and the past finally catches up to him.

What Glows In The Dark - E, 5.5k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: modern au, roommates steddie, prank war

“Steven,” Eddie breathes venomously. He gestures to the condom-scattered floor. “Would you like to explain to me why I had a guy leave my room unfucked half an hour ago?” (The prank war had started innocently enough, but it quickly devolved into a game of cockblocking, which in Eddie's opinion, is The Worst Game Of All Time.)

Free-Use Health Care - E, 2/2, complete QueenOfSwords1312

tags: omegaverse, omega steve, alpha eddie, heat clinic, mutual pining, true mates

Heat and rut clinics have been in-operation in Indiana since the mid 1800’s, but the new one that opens up just outside of Hawkins in 1987 is the first one that’s strictly a heat clinic. It’s considerably progressive for its time, the first of its kind to cater entirely to unmated omegas who would prefer not to risk an accidental bonding at one of the regular clinics. Honestly, it sounds like a dream to an unmated omega like Steve. —— Or: Omega Steve uses an omega-forward health clinic to help with his heat and learns quite a bit about himself along the way.

When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name - E, 5.1k, complete @sidekick-hero

tags: established realtionship, mirror sex, married steddie

"Beautiful," he whispers again, and Eddie grabs his hand and brings it to his lips, kissing every fingertip before taking two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking them gently while holding Steve's gaze. The light of the setting sun has almost disappeared, leaving a dim twilight that barely illuminates their bodies. Steve doesn't think he needs any light for this, he knows Eddie's body by heart, all his senses so attuned to him that the absence of one of them wouldn't make much of a difference. But then he happens to look past Eddie to the ceiling, and what he finds there makes his heart stutter in his chest. A full-length mirror adorns their ceiling, reflecting their image perfectly. He can't believe he hadn't seen it before, too caught up in his husband it seems. But now that he's seen it, he can't look away, can't stop drinking in the way they look in the faint light that still filters in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Or: Even after almost a decade together you can still discover new kinks.

safe under you - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: domestic fluff, sleepy steve, wedding vows

Steve purses his lips and tries—fails, but tries—to peek at the notebook on level with his temple. “What’s got you so invested, then?” he finally gives up trying to turn and read where Eddie’s hasn’t even bothered trying to hide, not least because there is nothing there, and just asks. And Eddie could dodge it. Steve would respect it if he did. But he…he doesn’t. Generally speaking he doesn’t hide anything from Steve. Big or small. Their life is a shared thing from top to bottom and Eddie loves that about them so fucking fierce, so. He just sighs and admit it. “My vows.”

Livin' in sin is the new thing - E, 2.1k, complete @hornedqueenofhell

tags: transmasc steve, cunnilingus, period sex, established steddie, kas as his own entity inside eddie's head, kas has a crush on steve

Kas purrs for him and leans into the touch as his tongue leaks drool all over the towel, Steve tugs him closer and spreads his legs wider. The purr shifts into a deeper growl as Kas’ tongue licks over him once, twice more, before delving between his folds.

Move fast, baby, don't be slow - E, 1.3k, complete @hornedqueenofhell

tags: established steddie+kas, threesome, switch eddie, dom steve, sub kas, spit kink, spit roasting

“He wanted you so bad princess, all growly and possessive over ‘our mate’. Thought I couldn’t see him fantasize about you fucking him.” Eddie purrs, watching Steve palm himself as he bites down on the spot between Kas’s shoulder and neck to leave a mark. “That what you want sweet pea? You wanna be a good boy for us?” Steve calls out teasingly, watching Eddie make out with his not twin was never a kink he expected to have but the sight was unparalleled.

deck of cards - E, series, complete @wynnyfryd

tags: robin+eddie meet cute, misunderstandings, fluff, robin has two hands let her have two platonic soulmates

“Ask me anything,” she says, bracing herself for a hard hitter. Eddie leans in, eyes too intense again as he holds her gaze. After a moment he says, “Be honest.” Robin gulps. “Promise.” “…Did you eat stale popcorn out of the popcorn machine in the lobby?” A horrible, startled snort-laugh explodes out of her so forcefully it kinda rattles her sinuses. “I meant you could ask a real question!” “Oh, that’s a very real question. I don’t think I can be friends with someone who’s too prideful to admit they scarfed down a handful of that buttery garbage when no one was looking.” “I totally did,” she admits on a laugh, and Eddie laughs, too. “I know, I saw you do it.” --- Steve, Robin, and Eddie kill time in a bar.

i could tell that you'd be on my mind tonight - T, 5.8k, complete @anniebibananie

tags: author eddie, writer steve, modern au

The room clapped, and Steve watched as a man stepped out from somewhere behind a nearby bookshelf to approach the microphone. Edward Munson. Steve wasn’t sure what he’d expected him to look like, probably some balding middle-aged man with a beer belly, but it was just… a dude. A guy, probably around his age, with dark hair pulled into a low bun, fingers stacked with rings, wearing a Metallica shirt with dark jeans and thick combat boots. He was, well, he was kinda hot honestly. Maybe Steve did understand why so many people were sitting in the crowd to get a glimpse of this dude. When Steve gets dragged along to an event for the author of the Vecna's Curse series by Nancy and Dustin, he isn't expecting anything to come from the night. He's definitely not expecting Eddie Munson.

Crave - M+E, series, WIP @eddies-artofsuffering

tags: modern au, coffee shop au, baker eddie, bookshop worker steve, flirting getting together, CWP (crack with plot)

At noon, as expected, the doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open as Hot Steve walks in. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag on his apron, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter. It’s go time. - Or: a stupid coffee shop AU in which Steve takes his break from his bookstore shift at noon to come to Café Byers every day, and Eddie loses his mind every time.

If It Has to Happen, Let It - T, 4.1k, complete (ao3) @steviewashere

tags: sickfic, hurt/comfort, emetophobia, migraines

"Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea. — He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. — Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is." OR Steve has a emetophobia and a bad migraine, Eddie helps him through the worst of it

because i care about you - G, complete @pearynice

tags: sickfic, established relationship, fluff

Steve is sick. Which might as well mean Eddie’s entire world is ending. 

[queerofthedagger]

you can leave (don't go far)

[Steddie; no warnings; ao3]

---

At the one-month mark of dating Steve, Eddie starts a list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next:

— 1. If you hurt him, I will find you and make you regret the day you were born this side of the dimension. Yes, this is a threat; no, you don’t need to understand it beyond: be good to him.

It isn’t a serious, sentimental reason that makes him start writing, is merely something born out of a little too much whiskey, band practice, and contemplation of Steve’s—everything, really.

It grows, though. For reasons that Eddie is aware of but tries not to think too much about, he does not tear the page out of his notebook the next morning, doesn’t cross out the words or burn them in the kitchen sink.

So this is how it starts; a threat of bodily harm because Eddie does not think he could bear ever seeing Steve hurt again. A message to a stranger because Eddie does not entirely trust himself to be the one who will make Steve happy for the rest of their days, no matter how badly he wants to.

---

— 2. He will always love Robin more than you (although in a different way). Accept this; it is a good thing.

The summer of ‘86 is dwindling, fall stretching its spindly fingers across the golden Indiana fields, and if anyone were to ask Eddie, he would say that things between him and Steve are good. Great, even, better than he had dared to hope for, back in summer when he had kissed Steve for the first time, half-certain that whatever Vecna and his bats had failed to accomplish, Steve would finish any second now.

He hadn’t; instead, he had kissed Eddie back as if it was the first breath of fresh air in years, and somehow, Eddie had been allowed to keep him. They don’t go shouting it from the rooftops, but their friends know. Wayne knows. The people who matter know, are happy for them if, perhaps, sometimes a little exasperated with their utter inability to keep their hands to themselves.

So when Robin appears on Eddie’s doorstep on one early September evening, the sky a riot of pink and orange behind her, he isn’t remotely prepared for anything but a friendly visit.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, and waits just about long enough for Eddie to sit down at the rickety kitchen table before she adds, “It’s about Steve. About both of you.”

“Did something happen, is he alright? I thought—“

“He’s fine,” Robin cuts in, an apology flashing in her sharp eyes before it’s all unyielding resolution again. “It’s getting serious between you two, right?”

Even with the reassurance, the dread settles in Eddie’s stomach, his fingers fiddling with his rings.

It is, though, the initial infatuation giving way to something solid. Something a little terrifying, if Eddie is honest, but worth it. So, so worth it.

“Yes,” he says, holds her eyes, still not sure what the purpose of this is. As much as he likes her, he doesn’t have whatever freaky intrinsic understanding she and Steve share. He’s fine with this, most days, but right now it feels like she knows something he does not, and he has never handled that feeling particularly well, so— “I don’t see how that is any of your business, though.”

He knows it’s a stupid thing to say the moment he does, not that it is of any use by then.

She smiles, somehow both mirthless and understanding. “Look, Eddie, I like you. You know that I like you, right?”

She actually waits until he offers her a jerky nod in response. He kind of wants to crawl out of his skin.

Finally sitting down across from him, she leans her elbows on the table; he has the distinct impression of being an insect pinned to a board.

“See, Steve is… He is serious about this, has been from the start. And while I wasn’t around when the entire thing with Nancy blew up, I still picked up a great many of the pieces. It’s taken some considerable time and effort, and as much as I love Steve, as much as I am willing to pick up his pieces, over and over, until the end of our days, I would prefer if he didn’t have to shatter in the first place.”

It isn’t exactly what Eddie expected, but now that the words lie on the table between them, he isn’t actually surprised.

He smiles, can’t help it. “Are you giving me a shovel talk, Buckley?”

Her posture doesn’t change, and neither does her expression. “Yes. I like you, as does everyone else, but I’m not above bribing El into making you disappear, no matter what baby Wheeler or Dusty-bun have to say about it. If you’re not serious about this, now is the time to get out with your pretty face intact. Last chance.”

Eddie thinks of the start of a list, still at the back of his notebook. Thinks of Steve’s tired eyes and the walls he builds, and how Eddie has been taking them down slowly, carefully, brick by brick. How Steve lets him. Thinks of how Steve touches him, fingertips dancing across skin with a gentleness that Eddie still isn’t sure he deserves, and how even among lingering suspicion and Hawkins’ cage and the suffocating need to get out, every single day with Steve is like finding true north.

He thinks of his fear and his uncertainty, of how a part of him still expects Steve to wake up one day and finally realize that Eddie isn’t worth all this, that he still wants the Winnebago and the six kids and the sticky-sweet picket-fence-life more than he wants Eddie’s chaos and Eddie’s music and all of Eddie’s stupid, annoying idiosyncrasies.

Thinks of fear and jumping and outrunning the past, of the fierce protectiveness in his heart that is also shining back at him from Robin’s eyes.

He smiles. “I can’t promise to never hurt him, Buckley, we both know that. But if I ever do it on purpose, you have full permission to get El to snap my neck and dump me in the quarry.”

He means it, too, is the thing. She keeps looking at him, the old kitchen clock ticking in the background, steady. Eventually, she gives him a sharp nod before her features soften back into familiarity.

“Good,” she says, and she’s already getting back up again while rummaging through the pockets of her jacket. “Here, you’ll need these even if Steve is too proud or stubborn or—well. You know.”

Moments later, he is alone again, with a list crammed onto a single sheet of paper in Robin’s looping hand. It is a careful, organized collection of: what triggers Steve’s migraines. What helps against Steve’s migraines. What helps after nightmares. Random things to avoid due to assorted trauma. What to do when he ties himself up in knots over the kids or his parents or any of the things he worries about too much.

It goes on, is, Eddie realizes, a complete run-down of every little piece of knowledge Robin has on how to take care of Steve.

Eddie has no doubt that she herself does not need it written down, that she has accumulated all these little pieces of information naturally because she is the one person that Steve has no hope of fooling.

Whatever misplaced strands of prickling jealousy had still been tangled around Eddie’s heart finally dissolve. He takes the list and adds it to the page in his notebook that has another one already started; just in case Robin ever has to make good on her promise.

---

— 3. He is the most self-sacrificing person you will ever meet, but he is also still a bitch at heart; don’t take it personally (in fact, sometimes it’s fun to encourage him, but don’t tell anyone).

See, the thing is, Eddie has never been particularly great at following instructions—probably would have had fewer troubles finishing school if rules came easily to him.

So when Steve goes down with a bad migraine, Eddie does not, in fact, do as Robin’s list tells him and leaves him alone.

Yes, sure, at this point, he can gracefully take his second place, can easily admit that she would know best, especially after those post-Starcourt days where migraines had been a far more regular occurrence, but—

But. Failure to deal with instructions aside, it also simply feels wrong; to heed the signs, stock up the kitchen, and leave Steve to his silent suffering.

So he pushes. He knows he shouldn’t but he does, asks, “Are you sure you’re alright, I can move the DnD session—“

He should know better even without Robin’s list, really, but then, Eddie has never claimed to be a smart man. Especially not when it comes to Steve.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Just a long shift and—“

“Oh come on, that’s bullshit,” Eddie snaps, stepping closer. He freezes when Steve steps back.

“It’s not bullshit, I’m fine. I don’t need you to hang around here whining that you missed nerd night—“

“—that’s not—“

“Not to mention that it’s not as if there is anything you could do. Last I checked, you had neither superpowers nor sudden mind-reading skills, so how about you let me decide whether I’m fine or not? I’m not one of your made-up damsels in distress, you do know that, right?”

Eddie watches as regret washes across Steve’s face instantly, but it only marginally lessens the sting of it. He grits his teeth and grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair.

“Fine, deal with it on your own then.”

“Fine,” Steve bites back; pain always makes him more bitchy, not that he lacks the skill on the best of days.

Eddie isn’t pissed enough to slam the door when he leaves, but it’s a close thing.

---

The little anger Eddie could muster up has drained away once he drops the kids back home that night. He is itching to check on Steve, to apologize, to convince him to let Eddie take care of him, damn his stubborn pride, but he doesn’t.

It takes almost two days until there is a knock on the door of the trailer, Steve looking washed-out and tired and, most of all, sheepish.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped—“

Eddie pulls him inside, kisses him lightly as soon as the door is closed. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I should have known better.”

Steve’s brows furrow, even as he keeps leaning into Eddie, as if the mere prospect of stepping out of his space physically pains him. “You couldn’t have known that I turn into an asshole who snaps at his boyfriend when he wants to take care of me.”

Shrugging, Eddie kisses him again, stays close, nose brushing along Steve’s. “Call it an inkling; now come on, you can make it up to me by listening to the retelling of the absolute disaster that the session was.”

There is a moment where Steve keeps looking at him, eyes dark and serious and fingers digging a little more firmly into Eddie’s sides—as if he isn’t entirely sure that it can be this easy.

In the end, though, he nods, smiles a little. Follows Eddie into his room, already asking all the right questions, and Eddie vows right then and there that it will always, always be exactly that easy.

---

— 4. His parents are absent more often than not and his father is a bastard, but he will still miss his mother on her birthday. Don't try to distract him; if he trusts you with this, simply be grateful (muffins help; so does whiskey).

It isn’t on Robin’s list, so when early February rolls around and Eddie wakes to an empty bed, he doesn’t think anything of it, at first. Later, when he finds Steve staring into space in the kitchen, when the smile once Steve notices him is brittle around the edges, when Steve’s coffee goes cold and the house stays silent and the space between them seems to twist and grow, he thinks it’s another migraine.

He runs a careful hand down Steve’s arm, presses his mouth to his temple. “Want me to leave?”

Steve frowns, turning to look at Eddie. He seems as if he is about to say something but clothes his mouth again, fingers tangling in the front pocket of Eddie’s hoodie. “No, I just��stay?”

Perhaps the most devastating part of it is that he sounds uncertain about it, the hesitation in his voice settling like pins and needles beneath Eddie’s skin.

He steps closer, watches Steve’s face for the dismissal that never comes, and loosely wraps his arms around him. “Of course,” he finally says, exhaling carefully when Steve’s forehead comes to rest against his collarbone.

It’s a gamble, to ask, but Eddie’s always been willing to risk too much when it came to Steve. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t answer, long enough that Eddie accepts that he won’t actually get one.

The light shifts in the kitchen, the February days still short and tentative. Eventually, Steve huffs, though, as if he is annoyed with himself. “It’s my mom’s birthday. She’s… Back when I was a kid, we used to spend the day baking and watching stupid movies and—I mean we haven’t done this in ages, it’s not like it matters but—“

“Of course, it matters,” Eddie says, with more vehemence than he means to. “Sorry but—if it matters to you, it matters. There’s no use in beating yourself up over it.”

Steve grimaces, toying with the loose threads on Eddie’s hoodie. “Yes well, I’d like it to not matter, though.”

Humming, Eddie looks through the dimly lit kitchen, this quiet sanctuary that isn’t really theirs, at the end of the day. “Let’s override it, then.”

“Literally what are you—“

“We’re going to bake something. Or well, you tell me what to do and do most of the work while I look pretty and snack on the dough. We’ll make something simple, and then we’ll watch a bunch of stupid movies you can pick and—“

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to, though. If you do, anyway—we can do something else if you’d like. Anything but go hiking, that is, you’re not getting me to—“

He’s cut off when Steve kisses him, hard enough that Eddie staggers a little with the force of it.

It’s good, though; they make muffins that Eddie drowns in frosting and sprinkles, watch enough Monty Python to make Eddie’s brain leak out of his ears, and fall asleep on the couch once the sugar high fades, afternoon melting into evening.

If Eddie opens Robin’s list back up the next day to make sure he doesn’t forget to make a tradition out of it, if it ends up on two lists because for all the love threatening to crack his ribcage open, Eddie still does not trust himself regardless, not fully, not enough, well—

Then that is no one’s business but his own, is it?

---

— 5. Always, always put him first; he deserves someone to do that, for once. I am too selfish to give him up and too selfish to not ask for more than everything, so if I do have to let him go one day, you'll better make it worth it.

“Are you really sure about this?”

It is the umpteenth time that Eddie asks this, and Steve merely rolls his eyes. Leans over the open door of the Beemer to kiss him once, still not bothering to answer.

It’s sweet, the way it all has been sweet; the pipe dreams of getting out of Hawkins, the even bigger pipe dreams of large cities and small gigs for the band. Eddie’s future has always been one big pipe dream, and then came Steve Harrington, determined to spin them into something real and solid.

Because of course, he does; he is the most self-sacrificing person Eddie knows, and no matter how often he asks—what about you, your six kids and the Winnebago and all those sugary dreams that should be far more attainable than whatever Eddie dares to hope for—Steve always smiles. Always kisses him, easy, and says that it’s fine. That he’s happy wherever Eddie and Robin go, and isn’t it lucky, how they seem to agree, for once in their lives, that San Francisco is a good choice.

Perhaps the worst thing, Eddie thinks as he drops into the car stuffed with what little they own, is that he believes him, too.

He presses his fingers to the warm skin of Steve’s neck when they drive past Hawkins’ exit sign for the final time, and he prays and prays and prays that one day, he can make it up to him.

---

The plan was never for Steve to come across the list, at any point.

More than once, Eddie had been this close to throwing it away, to scoffing at himself and his sentimentality, his fear, the way he sometimes still looks at Steve, sun-kissed and happy, and cannot believe that he is allowed to keep this. That he won’t fuck this up.

He never does, though, always stares at the points, the few there are, and thinks that if one day he does have to let Steve go, he wants—

Well, it’s complicated. No one will ever see that list, least of all whoever Steve will love that isn’t Eddie.

Eddie will know that it exists, though, that he wrote it and what it says. He’ll remember the time that he wished Steve happiness even if it wasn’t with him. He cannot allow himself to forget this, even if—if—despite his trying and holding on and all this overwhelming, aching, solid love, the most important thing in his life does implode, one day. 

Which is, of course, why Steve has to find the list eventually. He has a knack for it, Eddie likes to joke, to always get into the places he should stay far away from, find the things he is not supposed to see, without any fault of his own.

It’s particularly stupid because it’s Eddie who throws him the notebook, meaning to show him some notes for a campaign for when the kids visit.

In his defense, he does have a lot of notebooks. He really should have thought of it anyway, though.

He doesn’t notice that anything is off for at least five minutes either, still thumbing through the Monster Manual and keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

It’s only when Steve fails to laugh at one of those really dumb jokes that he never fails to laugh at that Eddie finally looks up.

There is nothing particularly obvious about the sight; Steve sitting on their couch, brows furrowed, random black notebook lying on the coffee table in front of him. Somehow, Eddie knows, though.

He has the dumbest urge to snatch the notebook away. To claim that it isn’t like that, tear out the page and burn it in the ashtray, pretend it never existed in the first place.

Instead, he keeps very, very still. It is the first time in a long time that he has no idea how Steve is going to react to something, isn’t sure at all whether he will get a stupid joke and teasing for being a sap, or hurt for thinking that they won’t last, or—

He doesn’t know, is the thing, and it makes him itch with the urge to do something. Anything.

In the end, though, Steve merely closes the notebook carefully and looks up. His expression is soft, a little exasperated, and anything Eddie might have wanted to say tangles and sticks and stays in his throat.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, voice quiet. He gets up and walks over to where Eddie is sitting at their desk, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

“But you love me?” Eddie can’t help but ask, leaning his head back until he can look at Steve, upside down and still obnoxiously pretty.

Steve huffs, and presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s mouth, his nose, his forehead. “But I love you and, for what it’s worth, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie says, and he thinks all the love and the warmth and the tenderness must show on his face because Steve kisses him again, again and again until Eddie’s neck hurts and his lips are bruised.

Which, really, if he had known that this was the reaction he’d get, he would have shoved the list at Steve ages ago.

---

Eddie thinks that is the end of it, the gentle teasing Steve levels at him about his attempt to be threatening notwithstanding.

He isn’t even sure when Steve does it, but one day Eddie opens the godforsaken notebook again and finds a loose scrap of paper tucked between his and Robin’s list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next (Steve ’s Version):

Learn to love his music and the campaigns he writes; you don’t have to become either metalhead or nerd, but if you do not love his enthusiasm, I know someone with a wicked aim.

He gets nightmares, and he will not tell you what they are about. Even if you knew why he had them, it wouldn’t change anything; just be there, make sure there is always a small light on somewhere, and if all else fails, reading from the Lord of the Rings helps.

He is a package deal; even if I have to lose him, he has a family that loves and needs him, and neither you nor I will be the reason that he has to go without them. We also share joint custody of a bunch of really annoying kids; be nice to them or see the point about someone with a mean aim.

Defend him; he will pretend that the vitriol doesn't get to him, but he deserves better, anyway.

If you hurt him—run. I'm probably just waiting for an excuse to try and win a fight against you.

“I think if we asked Robin about it, she would tell us that threatening bodily harm to possible future partners falls into the more concerning areas of codependency,” Steve says from the doorway. “But to be honest, I really don’t care; I think it’s sweet of us, actually.”

Eddie laughs, the sound a little wet. He skims the list again, then a third and a fourth time, before carefully setting it back into the notebook, and the notebook aside.

“Come here?” he asks, watching as Steve walks over to where Eddie is still sitting on the sofa, his heart like a war drum inside his chest.

He pulls Steve down to him as soon as he can reach him, and pours all the things he wants to say but doesn’t have the words for into the following kiss.

“For what it’s worth,” he says when they break apart, just far enough to lean their foreheads together, “I think it’s very sweet, too. Very poetic of us, even.”

Steve laughs, the low sound wrapping around Eddie’s bones. “Right? There's a very simple way to avoid that, after all.”

Eddie smiles, presses the curve of it against Steve’s jaw, and breathes him in. “Is there, now?”

“I simply have to make sure you’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

If anyone were to ask Eddie, that is an absolutely perfect solution; he bites his agreement into Steve’s soft mouth, makes a vow out of it, and marvels at the way Steve answers as if he understands it, too.

He’s simply not going to let go; after all, Eddie is exceptionally good at holding on.

[slafkovskys]

i know jack and quinn are actually so happy a majority of angels pregnancy will be occurring over offseason and when the baby is born, they can wear a playoff jacket the next year

sorry i’m getting ahead of myself

- 🧸

i said i was going to wait, but i couldn’t

“oh, you wanna go to your dad?” angel mumbles as her daughter reaches out for quinn. he chuckles, taking the little girl and pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand when she grips his chin, “fix her shirt, quinny. her belly’s out.”

“and we can’t have that, can we? does your mom know you’ve spent half your life in vancouver?” he jokes, pulling down the dark gray sweatshirt she was wearing that proudly displayed an 86 on her back and daddy written above. her brother was wearing a matching one, wherever jim had taken him in their suite, and angel even had a matching one as well, but she hadn’t been able to make herself wear it. cheers sound from the arena cause the two to share a look, “looks like we’re missing something.”

“and i want my other baby,” she announces, leading the way for them to where jim and a few other members of the boys family had gathered in their seats. she spots jim holding his grandson and she smiles, taking the empty seat beside him, “may i?”

“if you must,” he sighs, handing the almost seven month old over. a squeal sounds from behind them and jim leans his head back to find quinn with their daughter, “can i steal that one?”

“just be careful with her headphones. she’s been trying to take them off all game,” quinn hands his daughter to his father, watching with a proud grin as she bounces on his knees excitedly.

angel hums, watching the jumbotron as the devils take the ice again for the second period, “she was doing that in vancouver too. it’s weird, this guy’s the one who usually doesn’t like things on his head.”

vancouver had clenched their spot in the playoffs early, but a game five loss had sent them off as quickly as they came. after a swift locker clean out day, both quinn and angel were booking it to new jersey with the twins for what was sure to be a nail biting game seven.

jack had been all too enthusiastic to pull her into the foyer for a quick makeout session before being chastised for trying to wake up the babies to see them in their devils gear for the first time. with a pout on his lips as his own mother joined in on the chiding, jack swore they looked cute in their canucks sweaters, but “my kids look better in devils colors.”

quinn narrows his eyes as he sits one of the car seats on the counter, “and my kids look good in canucks colors.”

“and if you two even think about saying anything else, my kids will be wearing beige to games from now on,” the hands on her hips and the raised eyebrow daring them to say more ends that argument just as quickly as it had begun.

“have i ever told you that you’re my favorite child,” jim questions her as the baby he was holding grabs onto the strings of his jacket. quinn snorts behind them and she smirks,

“once or twice,” she stands her son up on her legs and points down to the ice, “look, daddy’s on the ice.”

they all watch as jack gains possession of the puck and shoots down the ice. he passes it off as he inches towards the goal, only to regain possession a moment later and lining up for a shot that glides right over the goalie’s shoulder. everyone shoots up as they realize the puck goes through, jack putting the first point on the scoreboard two minutes into the period.

she bounces her son in her arms as jim shakes their daughter’s hands, eyes trained on the jumbotron as the players on the ice surround her partner. something pangs in her chest as she catches sight of the other hughes jersey on the ice, who sends a pat to the head of his brother before skating away. she blinks before pressing a quick kiss to the baby’s soft cheek, trying not to let thoughts of him consume her. thankfully, ellen makes her way down the stairs and takes a seat beside her, pulling out her phone, “i wanted to show you the pictures i took of the boys and the babies before jack left.”

she sniffles, leaning closer to the woman, “please.”

[dracognition]

for the tropes mash-ups, 86 and 100?? please?! (or whatever takes your fancy!)

86: i didn't mean to turn you on + 100: accidentally saving the day send me a trope mash-up!

Really, it only happened because he was on edge about Malfoy touching him so much.

"You are going to a ball hosted by--and I'm not sure if you're aware of this--an actual prince," he said, tapping his wand against Harry's waist to adjust the size of his shirt. "And you're embarrassing the Ministry by dressing like this; I've always said so." His free hand was wrapped around Harry's wrist, apparently to make sure he didn't run, but his grip was firm against his pulse point and unexpectedly warm and all Harry could do to not lunge at him was focus on anything other than his long fingers or the soft curve of his mouth.

So he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling and catalogued sounds: the rustling of his suit as it readjusted itself, the pleased hum Malfoy made when he was satisfied, the soft footsteps padding across the room--

--Wait, Harry thought, and aimed his wand toward the noise. "Stupefy," he said, still staring at the ceiling. He heard a grunt and a thud and felt Malfoy backing away, and after a moment spent collecting himself he followed.

"Oh, hey," he said, peering down at the man he'd just knocked out. "This was the guy who was targeting the prince, wasn't it? That's convenient."

Malfoy's eyes were wide. "You didn't even look," he said. "That--was irresponsible."

"I knew where he'd be," replied Harry defensively, and Malfoy swallowed. He glanced down again, wordlessly cast a Full Body-Bind, and glanced back at Malfoy, who was now staring at him with an expression Harry didn't dare parse. "Er," he said. "D'you reckon we should get going?"

"Threat neutralised," said Malfoy, his voice low and rough. "We could probably just call in and skip the event."

Harry frowned. "But you like those stupid parties."

Malfoy stepped forward, his cool fingers reaching up for Harry's jaw. "I can think of better ways to spend my time," he said, and Harry was about to ask what could possibly be better to him than kissing some prince's arse, but then Malfoy leaned in and kissed him so hard he stumbled back and Harry suddenly wasn't too bothered about the ball either.

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven not Forgotten | Part 9

It was an interesting kind of chaos, what happened in the following moments. Joyce collared a passing nurse, Jonathan ran out to call the house, Hopper kept Lucas from leaping at the love of his young life because “watch out for the wires, kid” she was still hooked up to all kinds of life saving machines, and then most of them were shooed out so the professionals could do their work.

El couldn’t be moved, fully prepared to wreck anyone’s day who even dared try to move her, and Lucas had been there from dawn till dusk, ignoring established visiting hours and all kinds of flak from staff to just be there. They were the only two allowed inside while the professionals made sure Max would stay awake.

That she wouldn’t slip back under.

Then came the hoard.

They’d routinely ignored how many visitors were allowed to a single room. It was ridiculous, the hospital staff both hated them and felt endlessly endeared by them. They’d survived some kind of classified hell and clung to each other both through it, and after it. It didn’t matter that Max’s actual parent was still absent, that she, like others, hadn’t come back yet, or that El had shaken her head once when someone had asked her if she could find Susan.

It didn’t matter, Joyce had loudly declared “I’m her mother now so let me see my GODDAMN DAUGHTER… PLEASE!” When someone had tried to stop them on the first day.

Arguing with Joyce Byers? Not a fun thing to do. She was always so polite about it you couldn’t even be mad at her.

The whole house filled that hallway though, even though they couldn’t do anything, even though they couldn’t go in, even though they couldn’t help, just being there, knowing that behind that door, she was awake despite all odds, was enough to keep them all there. Obstructing hallways. Being general nuisances, and waiting.

Just waiting. Waiting long enough for Eddie to gather just enough courage to sit down beside Steve who’d taken a seat on the floor, not for lack of available seats, just that his seat was to the left of the door to Max’s room, the closest he could be without being inside that room.

“You know there’s chairs, right Munson?”

“Mmn I know, but… I was part of the whole… save Max plan, so I think I’ll stay right here, second to closest to the door.” Steve let out a single breath of a laugh through his nose. Just one little puff and a curl of his lip to show he found that amusing. “Are… are we okay, Steve?” Probably not the best time to bring it up but impulse control was never his strong suit. And people weren’t paying them as much attention as most would usually pay to him while he was around other people.

Attention focused elsewhere on pacing or on entertaining themselves while they waited.

“Why wouldn’t we be okay?”

“God isn’t that just a question and a half. I dunno, Steve, you tell me since you ditched me the first chance you got back at the house. I know we weren’t on the greatest of terms back in ‘86 but like… I’m pretty sure we bonded at least a little in the Upside Down so… I know there’s stuff I’m missing… your agent Stinson, whomever the fuck she was, she got those photos from somewhere… shit like that isn’t just easily doctored I know that an—an I know—I know I wasn’t dead, so… if I hurt you, or I hurt the kids, or I don’t know… if I did something that I can’t remember I just—look, Eleven, your superhero kid, is weirdly comfortable around me for being a total stranger alright? So I know I’m missing huge chunks of a story, but I’m sorry okay?”

“You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions, man. But you cant apologise for something you don’t remember doing. Those apologies don’t mean shit.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, he was looking down at the floor, his brow pinched tight as if trying to think of the safest way to go about his next words. “For the record though. You saved our asses. Or… he did.” He. He. Someone not Eddie, but definitely looked like Eddie. “Whatever he was. El was the only one who recognised him.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that Steve… who was he and why—”

“I cant.”

“You’re the only one who can.” The only one he knew he could trust with the knowledge that actually he wasn’t totally gone during those two years.

“Alright, I won’t. You’re safer this way.” At least Steve cared enough to keep him safe, didn’t make that answer any less annoying though. “And I know that’s annoying but… just put it behind you. Be grateful that you’re alive and you’re here. Like I said we are.”

“Are you? Because so far I’ve just been left on my own among total strangers and it’s stressing me the fuck out, you can’t just—you can’t just leave me on my own in the dark after all this, Steve, it’s not fair.” He had a disadvantage from the jump, they all seemed to know him.

He didn’t know most them.

He knew Mike, Erica, Lucas, and Dustin out of the kids, and Robin, Nancy, and Steve out of the older lot.

He sort of knew Hopper through run ins with the law, didn’t really know Joyce although she was easy to feel comfortable around. He didn’t really know Jonathan, or Will, or El, and he damn sure didn’t know any of the kids parents.

They had this comradery that he didn’t have, they had a mini apocalypse to bond through, he had a short experience of it during which he’d died. Didn’t even survive the opening act. The world had moved on, and he was just left with this knowledge that somehow… despite him not being there. His body had been.

And the only one he’d managed to sort of bond with during that whole man hunt back in ‘86, didn’t seem to want anything to do with him now. “…I know… I’m sorry about that” in Steve’s defence, it felt like a much more meaningful apology than his own had been. “We should have taken you with us, there’s no excuse, El just wanted to hang out with you again I guess”

“Again?” Gentle prods, gentle pokes, he’d learn more if he just… kept chiselling bit by bit.

“She doesn’t think like most people, to her you’re her friend. You helped her. You saved her life, man… and she knows—she knows it wasn’t actually you, but—”

“But it’s my face, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Something was parading around in my body like some kind of puppet, wasn’t it, Steve?” Steve finally turned to look at him, a pained little frown on his face as he realised how much he’d just… let slip. How easily Eddie had drawn it from him. How weak he still was when it came to Eddie Goddamn Munson. He opened his mouth, but neither heard what he’d have said, because the door opened just before he spoke, two nurses leaving, the third remaining by the door, a smile on her face that promised great things.

Steve was up on his feet, their conversation shelved, the others clamoured forward too, having been politely ignoring whatever he and Steve had been discussing on the floor in favour of keeping themselves entertained.

“Miss Mayfield is stable, awake, and in good spirits, now I know you all want to see her, but please… maximum five to a room, there’s two in there already so three go in at a time, maximum, you hear me? Three more. Maximum.” A chorus of nods were their answers, although the nurse knew they wouldn’t actually listen. So far that seemed to be the running theme with this particular group of survivors. “Alright… go ahead.” She’d leave them to it anyway.

Wasn’t her job to enforce the rules.

Didn’t even need to look to see damn near all of them tried to get in the moment she rounded the corner out of sight.

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1.9k

a/n: my taglist was getting messy so I created a sign up form! please complete and indicate your fic preferences. even if you're already being tagged, I'd really appreciate if you'd complete this! link for the sign up is here

series playlist

series masterlist

taglist: taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy @drewsuncrustables @lokidokieokie @hextech-bros @nats-whore @m4nulup1n @arcanebabe @tanyaspartak @jackiehollanderr @princezzjasmine @fallenlilangel99 @pono-pura-vida @mavrellover91 @milanaasblog @marvel-wifey-86 @helluvapimp @charmedbysarge @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @unaxv @theroyalmanatee @tellmealovestory @zanneme (click here to be added!)

Bucky knocked twice on her front door and waited for about three minutes before knocking again. The door flew open and Y/N stood in front of him, clad in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of bike shorts.

“Can I help you,” she phrased it more as a statement than a question.

“Did you forget about our plans, doll?” he asked.

“You were serious?” she retorted.

“As the plague.” They squared off in an unspoken staring contest until Y/N finally blinked.

She sighed, “Fine. I’ll give you an hour.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” She grabbed her keys and slid on a pair of converse and Bucky smiled to himself. He loved that she was going to a party in an oversized T-shirt and no makeup on. She truly didn’t care what anyone thought of her and she wasn’t there to impress anyone. Little did she know that her IDGAF attitude was impressing him.

“How did you even know where I live? Creep.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m not letting you evade that question. I need to make sure you aren’t actually stalking me.”

“My friends live next door. You’re always banging on the wall telling us to keep it down.”

“Ah, so you’re one of the degenerates. It’s all making sense now.”

“Well you’re on a date with one of the degenerates, so what does that make you?”

“This is not a date.”

“Oh no? Then what is it?”

“We are going to a party.”

“We are going to a party…together. Which is a date.”

“What if I turn around and go home…alone. What is that considered?”

“Come on doll, don’t do that.” She stood there frozen, glaring at him. “Stay for one drink and then, if you want, I’ll take you home.”

“Fine. And stop calling me doll.” They continued walking in silence. Bucky wanted to talk to her but he wasn’t going to risk pissing her off. 

“Where are we going anyway?” she asked, breaking the tension. 

“Some frat party. I told some people I would make an appearance. It’s not much further.”

“Really, a frat party? I haven’t been to one of those since freshman year.”

“If it helps, it’s one of the nicer frats.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Think of it like a walk down memory lane. You can relive your younger days and impart your wisdom on the underclassmen.”

“Oh, well in that case, I can’t wait!” she said with false enthusiasm. They walked up the sidewalk towards the surprisingly immaculate mansion. The only sign of the fraternity was the three greek letters mounted by the front door. Bucky walked through the entrance like he owned the place. He walked right past the pledges who were collecting entry fees without a blink of an eye and led her into the kitchen which was packed with people. Music from the basement was flowing into the room and there was a crowd circled around a keg, seeking a fresh pour. Bucky pulled two shot glasses out of a drying rack full of dishes and placed them on the counter as he retrieved a flask from his back pocket. 

“Whiskey okay?” he asked, as he filled the shot glasses. She nodded and they clinked the glasses together before downing the dark liquor.

“You bring your own liquor to these things?” she asked.

“If you want cheap liquor that’s been poured into a top-shelf bottle, go for it.”

“I’m not complaining, just curious.”

“Call it trust issues.” Before she could ask any other questions, he opened a cooler and pulled out two cans of cheap beer. He swiftly cracked them both and handed one to her. She immediately chugged close to half the can and Bucky looked at her with concern.

“It’s weird being here sober,” she explained.

“Can’t say I blame you,” he said. He passed her the flask and she took a quick swig and handed it back to him. He did the same and their night began.

Bucky couldn’t figure out when he’d lost her. They started the night at the beer pong table, defeating every challenger that came their way until they were coerced into playing flip cup. Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised that she was good at drinking games; she was competitive by nature. He had assumed she was always on the field or studying, but she also seemed to have a talent for drinking. Or so he thought.

He heard a roar of cheers coming from the other room and he followed the sound, hoping to find Y/N. And boy did he find her. She was standing on the pool table as “Hypnotize” by Notorious B.I.G. started blasting from the speakers. She started dancing on the table like she was in the club, rolling her hips and flipping her hair. She was either completely oblivious to the crowd of fraternity brothers surrounding her makeshift stage or she didn’t care. She dropped her hips low until she was suddenly on all fours doing a cat crawl across the table. Bucky pushed his way through the crowd, determined to get her off the table before she realized what she was doing. As she reached the end of the table she started to make her way back to a standing position. After a few hip gyrations, she bent over to complete another hair flip, only she hadn’t realized the lighting fixture was lower on this side of the table. Bucky saw the scene unfold in slow motion as she flipped her head back and it immediately made contact with the light. The crowd gasped, seemingly concerned, as her body gave out and she fell backwards. Bucky caught her effortlessly in his arms as she went limp and he pulled her off the table and away from the crowd. Despite the scene that had just played out, the music kept playing and people kept drinking as if nothing had happened.

He carried her out to the back porch and he ordered one of the pledges to bring her some water. He lowered her onto the porch step and sat down next to her, keeping his hand around her back to keep her up. She was starting to regain consciousness and as she woke up under Bucky’s arm she squinted at him in confusion.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that question. Here, drink some water.”

“Is it drugged?” she asked, before taking a sip from the red solo cup.

“No,” he said emphatically. “Do you really think I would do that?”

She didn’t answer his question and instead finished the cup of water.

“I think I’m just gonna take a quick nap,” she said leaning her head back on Bucky’s shoulder.

“No, no, no. You need to stay awake.”

“Whyyyyy?” she whined.

“Because you might have a concussion.” He felt her weight fall into his shoulder and he pulled her up. “Hey, hey…stay with me,” he said lightly smacking her face to keep her up.

She groaned and looked at him. “You don’t care about me,” she slurred.

“Sure I do. Without you I would have to go out with girls who actually like me. Where’s the fun in that?”

He expected her to laugh at the joke but when she didn’t, he looked down at her to make sure she was okay. She was staring up at him with a look of concentration on her face. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to interrupt whatever thoughts were racing through her brain.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” she eventually said. “There’s little flecks of green in them.”

He sighed, “You must be really drunk if you’re giving me compliments. Come on, let’s get you home.”

He pulled her up from the porch and she swayed in his arms, not yet able to support her own weight. 

“Jump onto my back,” he said.

“What?” she questioned, confusion displayed all over her face.

“Climb on my back and I’ll carry you home.”

“I’m fine,” she said, taking another step and stumbling on the grass. 

“Come on, it’ll be quicker this way.”

“Fine,” she mumbled. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he lowered himself so that she could climb on. She hoisted herself up and Bucky intertwined his arms with her legs to keep her secure.

Bucky carried her with ease and they made it about halfway to her apartment when she spoke up again.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why am I being nice to you?” he echoed back, like the question was blasphemous. “Because I like you.”

“But I’m not very nice to you.”

“Oh trust me, I know. But that’s part of what makes you so interesting.”

She became quiet again, resting her head on his shoulder, “You falling asleep back there?”

“Nooo…” she groaned.

“Better not be,” he teased. “We’re almost there.” He picked up the pace a little more, knowing she was growing tired. When he reached her building, he gently returned her to the ground and steadied her.

“Do you have your keys?” he asked. She handed them over to him and he opened the door to the building and offered his hand to Y/N. She gave him a low five and walked inside. He chuckled to himself, even after a head injury she still had sass. She stopped in front of her apartment door and Bucky found the next key needed to open the apartment. She turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, leaving the door open for Bucky to follow her in.

She sat down on the couch and he walked into the kitchen to pour her a glass of water.

“You know, you don’t know me,” she said out of nowhere.

“I think I know more than you think,” he countered.

“Yeah, like what?”

He sat down next to her on the sofa. “I know that you like indie music but you also like classic rock from the 70s. While you aren’t the poster child for school spirit, you almost always find time to go to other teams games. You don’t like any condiments on your hot dogs. You turn everything into a competition. And I know that you don’t care about what anyone thinks about you, which I find incredibly attractive.”

Her gaze shifted and she leaned in a little closer to him, “You aren’t as vile as I thought you were…”

“Sometimes if you give people a chance, they surprise you,” he smiled at her, “Well I should get going.”

“I think…” she placed a hand on his thigh, “you should stay.” She glanced down towards his lips and her face inched closer to his.

Bucky took in a deep breath, feeling knots in his stomach and what he was about to do. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his skin.

He cleared his throat and softly said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea." Her eyes connected with his and she pulled back, a flicker of embarrassment on her face that quickly turned to rage.

“Fine, then get out,” she said with venom. She stood up and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, but knew it was the right call. He couldn’t make a move on her when she was either drunk or concussed. It didn’t feel right. But now he would have to find a way to reopen the door that was just slammed in his face.

Before leaving, Bucky slid a note under her roommate’s door, letting her know about the potential concussion. He just wanted to make sure someone kept an eye on her.

[slyvieselkie]

Take Your Time

Warning: self-deprecation, insecurities, aged up Suna

Check out my masterlist for more!

A day passes. 24 hours. 1 440 minutes have passed. 86 400 seconds lost.

And as the clock strikes 12am, you sit in the living room staring at the glowing rock from your skyline apartment. Ah no, it's not yours. It's-

"What are you doing, it's already 12", a groggy voice croaks and you turn back to find a sleepy Rin waddling over.

You whisper with a strained smile, "You should really put a shirt on, it's getting cold", "I wouldn't be so cold if someone was in bed to warm me", he flops down next to you and peck your cheek.

Suna Rintaro, the man that you really don't deserve. At only 22 years old, he already has so much going for himself and takes everything with so much ease. A successful volleyball player in Japan with endless sponsors and brand endorsements, he makes a crazy amount that you can't even comprehend.

But you, at the age of 21...have nothing to your name. You were never a star at anything, and you still aren't now. And the only thing you have to worry about are university assessments, so minuscule compared his worries, yet you can't even manage that. Compared to Rin, your contributions to this household were nothing.

"What's wrong?"

Two words, two syllables, and it was enough to make you shatter.

You turn away from him with glassy eyes, "No, don't do that", the black haired man rumbles and guides you back to him, "You promised not to hide, remember?"

His lips kiss your tears away, actions that make you curl into him. A weak attempt to hide from everything, hide from your problems, hide from yourself. Someone who is so weak, sensitive, pathetic, immature...how could Rin tolerate you when you can't even look at yourself in the mirror?

"Please sweetheart, say something", he begs softly and you don't dare to deny him, "I...I'm so useless."

You can see yourself in his dark eyes, and it's a laughable image. While Rin constantly moves forward and reach new heights, you're still procrastinating on some assignment that's due in a few days. He's already in the real world, and you're still a child with no organisation and management.

"I've spent the whole day...doing nothing, even though I know I have so much to do. I-I-I! I just hate myself!", you grip his arms tightly as you hiss, "Why is it that I'm so inadequate? B-Because even though I'm breaking down now...I still won't do anything tomorrow."

Rin doesn't say anything as you rise up and so does your voice, "I am nothing...compared to you! M-My problems are nothing compared to yours, yet I'm here all stressed and tired! I shouldn't be, I don't have the right! I can fix them, b-but I won't! I want to...I want to...I want to so fucking much!"

You fall to your knees and smile tearfully, "Please Rin, don't look at me like this."

Don't look, you plead, hiding your face behind a curtain of hair. Remember me as the naive high school girl who still had dreams sparkling in her eyes...leave me while I still twinkle in your memories. You hold back your sobs, thinking of the evenings Rin would walk you home, the two of you sharing dreams and promising to start a future together.

Then you sense him and look up.

Your eyes widen seeing the droplets trickling down his cheeks, "R...Rin, no-", "Please don't hate yourself", he whispers and places his forehead against yours, "Please don't make me leave."

And the cries are wrangled out of you.

You and I have a lifetime ahead of us...so it's okay to take it slow. What is 24 hours, 48, 72, when we have thousands ahead? All of this success isn't mine alone, because you were always there for me. When I lost, when I fell short, when I couldn't be better. You were there to make sure I didn't give up, that I stayed motivated. We...have this, so please don't think of yourself so lowly. Your problems matter to me, they mean the world to me. And I'd do anything to get rid of them, so don't shut me out. You were my motivation, so let me become yours.

"I'll never stop looking", he resolves carrying you back to bed and hiding you in his arms, "You'll always be mine, the you of yesterdays, the you of today, and the you of tomorrows."

You close your eyes listening to his promises, "You could do nothing for the rest of your life and I'd still love you too much. So take your time, our life is not a competition."

To all the Lovelies who are unmotivated and stuck, I see you and I feel you.

While I can't do much for you, just know that you aren't alone. Everyone has times when they feel like they're falling behind that invisible clock telling you when things should happen. Starting uni or college, graduating, getting a job, starting a relationship. We're always working towards another goal, that majority of the time are pushed onto us.

And I hope one day...you and I will be able to reclaim this time, this life, as our own. That maybe one day, we can take on life at our pace because we are the ones that have to live it.

Kind regards from the midnight deep thoughts ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

[ohlawdthebirds]

The Heaviest Burdens

FREE PALESTINE FOREVER!!!

Good heavens, here is my (incredibly late) entry for @glitterypirateduck Ghost challenge. I used prompts 34, 47, 74, 80, 86, and 95. Hope y'all enjoy.

Platonic!141 x Reader; Ghost x Reader later on in the story (can also be read as platonic).

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you find yourself at your wits end. Good thing your teammates are there to take care of you. And it's especially good that Ghost is there too.

CW: oh, this gets ANGSTY. Mentions of death, blood, mental breakdowns, and suicidal ideations.

The song that dragged me through this fic:

Returning to base after a mission was always rough. The trip back was typically silent, even if things went right. You and your teammates dreaded coming back to the mountain of paperwork that would undoubtedly crowd your desk for the better part of a week. Everyone had their routines when they got back: Price would nurse a cigar and lock himself in his office. Soap would pull out a journal and sketch until his pencil ran dull. Gaz would lose himself in a book or whatever hobby craft he’d decided to pick up that month. Ghost had a penchant for disappearing somewhere on base, only to turn up a few days later. You suspected he hid out in Soap’s room, but never bothered to check. Your ritual was a simple one: gearing down and meticulously cleaning your gear. Everything from your tac vest to your boots was scrubbed of dirt and debris, before being packed away for your next mission. It was something you looked forward to doing, a way to literally cleanse yourself from all that had happened.

-

The mission had been…horrible wasn’t a strong enough word. A hostage deal gone wrong; more blood spilled than saved. It was a literal mess, one that left more wounds than anticipated. The evac back to base was silent, no one daring to even look at each other. Price released you all to your respective rooms once the heli landed.

You trudged along, not stopping until you reached your room and locked the door behind you. The blood on your uniform had dried completely by that point, leaving dark red splotches across your arms, chest, and legs. It cracked and flaked off the more you moved. For a moment you stood in your room, too afraid to shift even the slightest bit.

The blood on your uniform was not your own. It was a hostage’s, a man that had been ripped from his normal life and thrust into danger. During the mission he’d told you about his family, the restaurant he wanted to open when all was said and done. You’d promised him you would visit his restaurant whenever it opened. The mission went south soon after that, with the militia group you were supposed to go after opening fire. Nearly none of the hostages made it. The only survivors were badly wounded and would carry deep-rooted scars with them for the rest of their lives. During ex-fil you saw the body of the man who told you his hopes and dreams. Your stomach curdled at the sight of him face down in a pool of his own blood. It was all you could do to keep from puking as your team filed into the chopper.

-

You gathered all of the cleaning supplies you used after every mission: hydrogen peroxide for the blood stains, laundry detergent for the dirt, a towel to lay everything down on, and washcloths and a toothbrush to scrub everything out. Once they were gathered in your arms, you set off for the communal bathrooms. Being that it was the middle of the night and dawn wasn’t for a good few hours, the bathroom was empty. You laid everything out on the countertop next to the sink and began stripping off your gear.

Well.

You tried to, at least.

Your gloves came off just fine. The buckles and straps on both sides of your tac vest, however, didn’t budge. Yanking at the Velcro did nothing. In fact, it seemed to tighten your vest even more. You sucked in a deep breath before giving up on the vest and moving on to something else. But even as you attempted to unbuckle your belt to take off your cargo pants, the leather stuck itself into the loops and tugging on it made it worse. You were sure you were going crazy; maybe it was the emotional toll of this particular mission that had you feeling scrambled and like everything was too tight, too close, too restricting. The final straw came in the form of your shoelaces being knotted too tightly and thus making it impossible for you to even slip off your boots.

A strangled noise erupted from your throat, something between a scream and a sob. It was too much. It was all too much. The mission, the way you couldn’t even wash away the blood of a good man, the way you knew this would happen again with whatever Laswell assigned your team next. It was entirely too much.

You collapsed to the floor. Sobs freely escaped you now with no fear of anyone finding you in the bathroom. At least, that’s what you figured until the door was shoved open. Price stepped in, eyes immediately finding your form crumpled to the ground. He was quick to kneel at your side, trying to assess whether or not you were about to collapse from an injury. Just as soon as you were about to lie and tell him you were fine, in rushed the rest of your teammates. There was no use lying then. They gathered around you, each of them asking some variation of what was wrong or if you were hurt. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” you answered, “I just…I can’t get my uniform off.”

“That all, then? Why the crying?” Price asked.

Holding back more tears, you replied “The blood, it’s…it’s that guy, the- the one who wanted to open a restaurant once we got him to safety but…he’s dead, Price, he’s dead and his blood is on me, and I think it’s gonna be on me forever.”

You were full-on bawling by that point, fat teardrops rolling down your face and spilling onto the tile under your head.

“He’s dead and his family will never get to see him again. And us…we got away. We get away every time. We get hit with a few bullets, sure, but we always make it. Our one job was to keep those hostages alive, and we couldn’t manage that. And now there are families mourning loved ones they’ll never see again, and I can’t get this STUPID VEST OFF!”

Your teammates were silent, watching as you sobbed and feebly tried to wriggle out of your tac vest. Ghost was the first to intervein, laying his hands gently atop yours. You allowed him to move your hands back down to your sides before he fiddled with the buckles and Velcro straps of your vest. To your surprise, it all came loose in his grasp. The vest was slipped from over your head and put to the side. Soap and Price followed Ghost’s lead, Soap working on your belt and Price making quick work of your bootlaces. Everything was removed and handed over to Gaz, who’d taken notice of the set up on the counter and was working to get every stain off your uniform.

You laid there, on the cold tile, aided by your teammates. At one point, Ghost and Soap had gathered paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink and ran them under water until they were damp. They both squatted next to you and wiped the dried blood from your skin. It was something close to a baptism, a rebirth. The grime was scrubbed from your skin and soul. Ghost grabbed a new bunch of paper towels, ran them under cool water, and gently scrubbed the dirt and tears from your face.

You sniffled, inwardly cringing at just how pathetic you felt. This was your job, right? This wasn’t anything new to you, so there was no reason for it to affect you this much. And yet, as you thought of the man who told you his hopes and dreams, your eyes couldn’t help but well up once more. Ghost took notice of the way your eyes glossed over. He pressed the towels against your eyelids, drawing up the tears before they could spill.

“Let’s get you back to your room, yeah? Gaz, y’almost done with the gear?”

“Yep, just got the last stain out.”

Ghost grunted in approval. You sniffed once more before shifting on the tiles and standing up. Everyone followed suit, Gaz and Soap gathering your gear and cleaning supplies while Price and Ghost flanked either side of you. The trek out the bathroom and back to your barrack was a quiet one. No one dared breathe a word, not even to crack a joke at you being in nothing but a sweaty shirt, underwear, and socks.

Ghost pushed open your door and stepped back to let you enter. You did, albeit quite stiffly, and came to an awkward stop in the middle of the room. What were you even supposed to do now? It felt wrong to let yourself rest after failing to save the lives you were entrusted with. Your teammates made the decision for you, Gaz and Ghost storing your gear and cleaning supplies away, Soap clicking on your string lights, bathing the room in a warm glow. Price steered you towards your desk chair instead of your bed, a decision you were grateful for. Ghost soon slipped from the room. You didn’t bother commenting on it.

When little else could be done, your teammates readied themselves to leave the room. As they left, they made a point to touch you in some way: Price, a pat on the shoulder; Soap, a light punch against your bicep; Gaz, a quick squeeze to your hand. You were left alone, listening to the hum of the building around you, the water pipes creaking in the walls and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. To say you felt numb was the understatement of the century. You could still hear the echoes of screaming and gunfire, could still smell the blood and smoke. The room around you faded into nothingness. You were content to be stuck in a void of your own creation until a knock on the open door startled you.

You looked up, only to be met with the sight of three very weird things:

Ghost’s face. His bare face, devoid of both his mask and the black grease paint normally smeared over his eyes. Scars were etched throughout his skin, a particularly long one running from the top of his right lip to the bottom of his chin.

Ghost holding two steaming mugs of tea, a book tucked underneath his arm.

Ghost wearing gray sweatpants and…

“Is that my shirt?” You croaked out.

Ghost’s torso was draped in the fabric of a comically large shirt that you’d gotten from a concert a few years back. It was a band you’d been dying to see and when you went to buy merch, the only thing the vendors had left was a t-shirt nearly the size of a blanket. You rarely wore it, always having to fold and tie it up to make it even remotely wearable. Ghost fared no better. Even with his impressive stature the shirt pooled around his neck, falling to the middle of his thighs.

“Nabbed it from your closet earlier. Looked comfortable.”

A strained chuckle left you. Ghost nudged the door closed and walked closer. Once he came nearer, he placed one of the mugs on the desk behind you, before heading towards your closet once more. He dug around for a moment before unearthing a plain cotton shirt and sweatpants that matched his own. Ghost tossed them over to you and leaned further into the closet.

“Y’can change. M’not lookin’.”

You complied, peeling your shirt from your torso and pulling on the shirt and sweatpants.

“You can look now,” You said.

Ghost leaned back out and shut the closet door. He moved back and sat on the edge of your bed. He cracked open his book, sipped at his tea, and for a moment you were sure you were losing your mind. How did you go from being covered in gore to the domestic scene in front of you?

“W-what are you doing?”

Ghost quirked a brow at you. “Readin’ about America’s war crimes. Lotta CIA-backed coups in here. More than I thought, really.”

“No, I mean what are you doing here in my room? You don’t…” You trailed off.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You finished.

The soft thump of his book shutting didn’t startle you. What did was the way Ghost leaned in, eyes locked on yours. It was the most amount of direct eye contact you had ever received from him and good heavens was it unnerving.

“D’you remember a few months back, when I twisted my ankle during ex-fil? And instead of waiting for me to hobble on, you threw me over your shoulder and booked it to the helo?”

“So what, is this your way of breaking even? D’you feel like you owe me or something?”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, none of the sort. But you came through for me. You…you normally do. Figured it was time to do the same.”

You picked up the mug from the desk, letting its warmth seep into your fingers. Ghost had made a cuppa similar to his, black tea with a generous helping of milk and sugar. You sipped at it, oddly comforted by the taste.

“This is good,” you mumbled, more to the cup than the man in front of you. Ghost nodded, picked up his book, and resumed reading. It wasn’t until you were met with the dregs and the bottom of your mug that you spoke again.

“Ghost? D’you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work?”

Ghost halted. You caught the way his grip tightened on his book ever so slightly. He didn’t respond. On a normal day, you would’ve just let it go, let the question hang unanswered in the air. But your day had been far from normal.

“I just…I know no one really wants to join the armed forces, but they do so for one reason or another. I joined because I had nothing else going on. I didn’t know if university would work out and figured I may be of some use here. And you wanna know something, Ghost?”

Your fingers clenched around your mug.

“I didn’t think I would live this long. Figured I’d be taken out, whether it be by my own hand or someone else’s. It’s all so unfair…those hostages had lives, they had dreams, and they had hope. Me? I don’t have that. Haven’t for a while. So why do I get to come home in one piece while they don’t?”

Tears welled up in your eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that night. A few escaped, sliding down your chin and neck. You didn’t bother wiping them away.

“Why do I get to live when I don’t deserve to? We…we kill for a living, Ghost! We take orders from higher-ups who get to decide who’s the bad guy and who’s not, and we have to listen because that’s what we’re paid to do. But these are real people with real lives, and we failed them!”

You were sobbing once more, tears now running freely. The mug slipped from your hands and dropped to the floor. You paid it no mind, hunching over and curling into yourself as best you could on the desk chair. Ghost placed his book aside, moving to your side in one large step. He crouched to the floor, something his knees vehemently disagreed with. In a move that shocked you, Ghost gently clasped your arms and brought you up from the chair. He steered you in the direction of your bed, waiting until you sank down on the mattress. You laid back into your pillows. Ghost joined you, waiting until your sobbing calmed into unsteady hiccups. He brought up the edge of his (technically your) shirt and blotted away your tears.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Wish I did,” Ghost lamented. “This is all I’ve known for quite some time now, and I don’t know if I know how to do anything else. If it’s any help to you, at least you know you’re still got a heart.”

You looked over at him through bleary eyes.

“What’s that mean?” “Means you’ve still got your humanity. I’d be more worried if this didn’t bother you.”

“And what about you? Does it all bother you?” Ghost was quiet for a moment before answering.

“It does.”

 You shifted onto your side, nestling your face into your pillow.

“If you weren’t here…if you weren’t with the SAS, what would you be doing? And don’t say you’re not sure. Just…give me something, anything.”

A hum rumbled somewhere deep in Ghost’s chest.

“Think I’d be a dog-sitter. Just hang out with dogs all day.”

You let out a shaky giggle. “Yeah, that sounds like you. You’re always hanging around Riley.”

“What about you? I know you said uni wouldn’t have worked out, but what else would you wanna do?”

You thought about it for a long moment. “I think…I think being an astronaut would be cool. Getting to float around in space, getting to discover new planets, aliens and stuff. I’d like that.”

“Aliens huh?”

“Yeah. Aliens,” you say.

Ghost shifted on his back. He lifted a huge arm up and over, letting it dangle just above your head. It took you a moment to realize he was inviting you to lean into him. You accepted, scooching in and letting your face rest against his side. Ghost dropped his arm and let it rest against your back, his hand drifting up and down your spine.

You think back over the day, the pain and death surrounding you. Never did you think it would result in this softness, this care enveloping you. You felt exhaustion inching throughout your mind and body, quickly beckoning you into sleep. You nestled into Ghost’s side further.

“Ghost?”

He hummed, nearing sleep himself.

“Thank you.”

Ghost didn’t reply. He simply held you tighter.

[thebest-medicine]

Summer Sentence Starters 2024 Drabble Masterlist:

Fics from my summer tickle fic prompt starters:

(No link yet means it’s not posted yet and likely still in the queue :) gonna put this under a readmore when it gets to be too long

Avatar [ATLA & TLOK] (+ ao3)

Prompt 56 - "I never would've pegged you as the ticklish type." - lee!Zuko, ler!Sokka

Prompt 76 - “Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding this all this time?!” - lee!Korra, ler!Asami

Critical Role [Campaign 2] (+ ao3)

Prompt 88 - "We don't have time for such childish— hey! Stop it!" - lee!Essek, ler!Jester, ler!Beau

Prompt 40 - “I’ve never heard you laugh like that before, it’s nice.” - lee!Fjord, ler!Jester

Prompt 44 - "You wouldn't take adavantage (of that knowledge) when I'm stuck like this, right? ... Right?!" - lee!Caleb, ler!Fjord

Prompt 54 - "Oh man, is this a bad spot?" - lee!Caleb, ler!Molly

Prompt 7 - "No way, you're ticklish here too?" - lee!Caleb, lee!Essek, ler!Molly

Prompt 12 - "So, what's this I hear about you being deathly ticklish?" - lee!Fjord, ler!Molly

Prompt 96 - "What are you so scared of? It's just a feather!" - lee!Fjord, ler!Jester

Prompt 24 - "Sounds like someone needs a visit from the tickle monster." - lee!Caleb, ler!Jester

Prompt 89 - “Wait no- not here- not now!” - lee!Caleb, ler!Jester, ler!Molly

Gravity Falls (+ ao3)

Prompt 16 - “Come on, stop it - I’m serious, that really tickles!” - lee!Dipper, ler!Grunkle Ford

Kim Possible (+ ao3)

Prompt 82 - "You're not really gonna tickle me, are you?" - lee!Kim, ler!Shego

Prompt 24 - “Sounds like someone needs a visit from the tickle monster.” + 71 - “This isn’t cuddling! This is an attack!” - switch!Kim, switch!Ron

My Hero Academia (+ ao3)

Prompt 64 - "“Relax, I’m not gonna kill ya. But I am gonna make you wish you were dead." - lee!Todoroki, ler!Bakugo

Prompt 100 - "Would you just shut up and tickle me already?" - lee!Bakugo, ler!Midoriya

Prompt 48 - "You would think you'd get less ticklish as you got older, but you're the opposite!" + 50 - "Please, I can't take it anymore!" + 63 - "Too bad there's nothing you can do about it." - lee!Midoriya, ler!Bakugo

Prompt 60 - “Don’t- don’t you dare! Don’t even t-think about it!” + 62 - "I haven't seen you smile all day / week!" - lee!Bakugo, ler!Kirishima

Prompt 86 - “Crap. Wait. I didn't mean that!" - lee!Bakugo, ler!Midoriya

Prompt 21 - "Big talk for someone so ticklish!" - lee!Bakugo, ler!Kirishima, ler!Kaminari

Prompt 93 - "Oh? And what if I did?" - lee!Midoriya, ler!Kirishima

Prompt 42 - "No way! Are you crying?" - lee!Midoriya, ler!Bakugo

Prompt 71 - “This isn't cuddling! This is an attack!” - lee!Bakugo, ler!Mina, ler!Kirishima, ler!Kaminari, ler!Sero

Prompt 3 “Come any closer and I will end you.” + 4 “Oh, you shouldn’t have said / done that..” - lee!Bakugo, ler!Kirishima

Prompt 98 - "There it is. That laugh is music to my ears!" - lee!Todoroki, ler!Bakugo

The Owl House (+ ao3)

Prompt 24 - “Sounds like someone needs a visit from the tickle monster." - lee!Hunter, ler!Gus, ler!Willow

Prompt 2 - "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" - lee!Luz, ler!Amity

Prompt 68 - “What’s that? Stop saying tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle?” - lee!Amity, ler!Luz

Prompt 48 - “You would think you'd get less ticklish as you got older, but you're the opposite!"

- lee!Eda, ler!Raine

Supernatural (+ ao3)

Prompt 5 - "No, I'm just- uh- sensitive." - lee!Dean, ler!Cas

Teen Titans (+ ao3)

Prompt 9 - "Did you just...laugh?" - lee!Raven, ler!Starfire

[distant-velleity]

Stay With Me

Summary: Santiago and Chrysos have a lot of feelings to work out. Spoiler alert: they still don't confess. Word count: 2.6k Warnings: major character not-actually death (this is my Boxing Day gift to you all) A/N: I wish I could've put Major Character Death as a real warning. Alas... such is life. Anyway :) I'm super done with writing this, I don't wanna keep going insane, I'm just gonna post it as is. It's actually pretty tame for angst on my part. Enjoy!! Tagging: @thehollowwriter (finn mention!!!) @kitwasnothere and @nahelenia as my top 3 murderers <3

-

When Santiago comes to, groggy and lightheaded, he’s greeted by the watered-down sun filtering through the seas of Octavinelle above him. Bird and sky separated only by the glass and several gallons of water, his limbs sure feeling as distant and heavy as the ocean.

Ah, he thinks, ever-intelligently. How did I end up here…?

He can’t quite remember. All of his recent memories are escaping like soap bubbles in the wind. 

While he racks his brain trying to figure it out, someone approaches and kneels next to him. A single glance at the person’s blonde hair and red eyes tells Santiago all he needs to know.

“Sorry about that,” Chrysos says, monotone as always. It’s hard to tell if the merman really is sorry or not. “I usually don’t get normal customers involved when 86’ing nuisances.” 

Santiago can’t help the smirk that comes to him all too easily. “Are you sure I wasn’t the nuisance?”

“Hard to say,” replies Chrysos with an amused huff. He stands back up and offers Santiago a hand, to help him stand up.

Something about it feels off—maybe because Chrysos’ gaze seems so benevolent, that he seems so unbothered about gently helping someone he’d normally be too embarrassed or proud to. Still, Santiago laughs and sits up. “Tight-lipped as always,” he comments, and reaches for Chrysos’ hand, pulling himself up to stand.

They hold hands for a moment longer than they need to. It feels, if he dares to admit it just to himself, nice—

“Hold it.”

As if he’s been burned, Santiago jumps away from Chrysos at the sound of Azul’s voice. Approaching them are the Octavinelle housewarden and his entourage of three. 

Santiago notices, with a distant sense of dread, that he’s never seen Chrysos look so furious and disappointed upon seeing his upperclassmen. 

“Get back, Parrotfish,” Floyd warns. “That’s not the right Lionfishie to be getting all buddy-buddy with.”

How odd. Why would Floyd, of all people, go out of his way to warn him?

Santiago glances at the Octaquartet, then at Chrysos, whose expression is steadily darkening.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chrysos says coldly.

“My, my.” Jade conceals his magic pen, clasped tightly in one hand, beneath the other. “There’s no need for that frigid tone. I’m sure we’re already on the same page.”

“No?” interjects Santiago. “No, we’re not. What’s going on?”

Finn looks him dead in the eye and then cocks his head towards Chrysos. 

Santiago turns back around, and everything changes. 

Where Chrysos was just standing as normal, there’s suddenly inky shadows surrounding the Octavinelle freshman. His eyes flare red-and-yellow as the ink (no, blot) viciously wraps around him in strands to form a cocoon of sorts. Santiago staggers back when the cocoon contracts, a dark purple haze spreading throughout the area and blocking out the sun. The whole dorm is plunged into a deep-sea darkness.

It’s Chrysos and a towering Phantom now, him hovering a little too close to the glowing pendant around its neck for anyone’s liking. 

“We’re running out of time,” Azul says grimly. “Our fight from earlier didn’t do anything—”

“I’ll help fight him if it cuts down on time,” Santiago immediately declares without missing a beat. “If it saves his life.”

“Of course you would. Well, stay sharp, then.”

And Santiago tries, of course—

—but it doesn’t stop him from misfiring at some point, trying to hit the Phantom, only for it to grab Chrysos with a sickening crunch of his ribs and hold him up in range of the destructive fire spell. Santiago can only watch as it strikes Chrysos indiscriminately. 

The resulting wail of agony is bloodcurdling and unbearable, but not nearly as much as when the Phantom moves a thrashing Chrysos closer and closer to its chest, a gaping hole like a beast’s maw forming there, the pendant dangling right before it.

“Wait—”

It’s what all the teachers warn about when they discuss the occurrences of Overblots. Defeat the Phantom, and the victim will come out unscathed. Take too long to destroy it, and the Phantom will… will…

Chrysos is brought to that gap, drawn in like an object near a black hole.

Santiago can’t breathe. 

He can’t bring himself to close his eyes either. Even when a sinking feeling blossoms in his stomach, gripping him with all the force of a predator’s claws.

The ‘hand’ of the Phantom squeezes, another crunch of body parts that shouldn’t be breaking—

“Don’t you dare take him—let him go—” Santiago begs, but it’s useless.

The Phantom simply. Tucks Chrysos away in itself like nothing. Ignorant to his furious, fearful screams. 

The hole in its chest closes over with viscous blot. 

Santiago can’t look away.

“Ah… Ahh…”

He 

can’t 

look 

away—

“AAAAAHHHHH—!!!”

A guttural scream tears its way out into the open from Santiago’s raw throat, burning and hoarse and painful. Still begging for a life not his own, his eyes fly open as he sits up in a grieving frenzy. “Chrysos, please, don’t leave—!”

“I’m right here,” calls a familiar voice from beside him, miraculously free of its terrifying Overblot overlay. It’s melodious and soothing, easy on the ears, just when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“You—” Santiago’s hand shoots out without thinking, clamping down on Chrysos’ where it was gripping the edge of his blanket.

…his… blanket…?

Only then does Santiago realize, half-delirious, that he’s on a bed in the school infirmary. He’s not in Octavinelle, he’s not surrounded by torrents and mists of pure blot. The air is clear here, and the sun is shining bright and pleasant through the windows like it does through the forest canopy back home. Although his lungs still burn a little, everything’s okay.

And, looking at the boy sitting right next to him—Chrysos is okay. He’s alive. 

In silent awe, Santiago squeezes the cold, ungloved hand in his a little more tightly.

He’s alive.

Chrysos bites his lower lip and pointedly avoids looking at their joined hands. “What a nightmare you were having,” he says, false indifference in his tone. “Screaming like that… You’re lucky the nurse isn’t in right now.”

Santiago blinks. “A nightmare?” 

“Yes. You were trembling and crying out in your sleep. If it weren’t the first time you’d shown any signs of movement in days…” Chrysos trails off, brows pressed tightly together.

Putting aside the fact that it was all little more than a bad dream, thank the Great Seven— “What do you mean, in days?” Santiago echoes disbelievingly. “I don’t even know how I ended up here, and you’re telling me I’ve been unconscious for days? Hello? Way to hit me with the double whammy.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood for both their sakes, but when the corners of Chrysos’ mouth twitch downwards and his lips thin in a stressed frown, Santiago immediately realizes he’s said something either really wrong or really stupid. Or both.

“You don’t remember what happened at the SDC?” asks Chrysos. “Weren’t you there? You know, for Schoenheit’s Overblot, like Yu said…”

Santiago’s eyes widen. He only slightly loosens his grip on Chrysos’ hand a second later. “Oh, you mean—”

Toxic purple mist surrounded them, reeking of a sickly sweet concoction. 

More saccharine still was the smile on Vil’s face. Even as blot dripped down his snow-white face from beneath his elaborate crown, he still found it in himself to pursue being the fairest one of all. 

Showing simultaneously all and nothing of his burning jealousy and bitterness.

“—yeah, I remember,” he continues, letting out a laugh with no real humor in it. “I even remember getting a faceful of poisonous mist and then passing out right after the awards ceremony ‘cause I tried to act tough.”

“At least your brain wasn’t permanently damaged. That’s good,” remarks Chrysos with a half-hearted smirk. “Maybe you’ll be out of here sooner than I thought.”

No, there was definitely a screw knocked loose if Santiago was imagining Chrysos Overblotting in place of Vil… much less sobbing desperately at the possibility of his death…

…Santiago swallows, mouth suddenly dry for no good reason. “Uh-huh? I don’t know, I still feel a little off.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chrysos suddenly leans forward, hand subconsciously moving at lightning speed to place itself on Santiago’s wrist. “You still feel off? You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asks, voice demanding with a hint of… something else. “I swear, I will have the nurse over here faster than—”

“Whoa! Don’t get your boxers in a twist, jeez!” Santiago exclaims, and Chrysos halts immediately. “Am I still dreaming? Did you just gaslight me into thinking this is reality? I mean, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worried about me.”

“I’m not worried,” retorts Chrysos, although the watery look in his eyes as he tries to meet Santiago’s gaze says otherwise. And where there would normally be an underlying bite to his tone, it’s totally absent. “Isn’t it fair to ask questions when a certain someone has been unconscious for days?”

Nevermind, I’m definitely not still dreaming.

“So you’ve been worried about me. Got it.” Hopefully that isn’t giddiness bubbling up in his chest, despite—or because of—the way Chrysos sputters out another denial, because it sure as hell is conflicting with his sense of spite. “Why don’t you save any of it for yourself? You’ve been a resident here way more often than me.”

Chrysos stiffens, before puffing up a little; chin lifted indignantly and gaze judgmental. Santiago wouldn’t have it any other way.) “I was conscious all those times and did not actively inhale dangerous toxins made by a very powerful mage.”

Seriously, this guy… Santiago shakes his head. “Dude, I heard you nearly turned yourself into sand that one time, also because of ‘a very powerful mage.’ I saw for myself when you could’ve died fighting Jamil or Overblotted at the same time and had to stay in the infirmary for a very lengthy check-up. You know, you—” 

died in my dream because of me and I would never forgive you or myself for that matter if that actually happened,

“—are a grade-A idiot getting hung up on the wrong details,” he decides to say instead. “One of these days, you’re gonna end up back here and I’m gonna get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hmph.” Chrysos scoffs and turns his head away. To anyone else, it might look aristocratically prim and stuck-up in the way his hair tosses slightly. “You wouldn’t come running to my bedside crying out my name, then?”

It’s Santiago’s turn to stiffen, feeling called out in too many ways. “...fuck, I forgot you heard me talking in my sleep. Well…” He pauses, searching for an appropriate response. “I would if you wanted me to.” He doesn’t have time to appreciate how smooth that was on his part before his traitorous mouth moves faster than his brain, going right ahead and saying, “And I’d still do it even if you didn’t want me to, ‘cause if you die on me I’m absolutely going to—”

Crap! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack!

He shuts up immediately before he can incriminate himself any more, pursing his lips and watching carefully for signs of a negative reaction.

Almost too neutrally, Chrysos glances back over at him from the corner of his eyes, the piercing look in his irises only partially hidden by his lashes. “...You really would be that concerned?”

“Maybe,” Santiago answers, pasting on a nervous smile.

“‘Maybe’ isn’t an acceptable response.” Chrysos looks him straight in the eyes. His hand feels warmer, for some reason. “Don’t be shy. What would you do?”

Santiago huffs defensively. “Fancy that, you telling me to not be shy—”

“Santiago. Stop messing with me already.”

That tone, desperate and curious and impatient all in one, is singlehandedly more commanding than any other order Santiago has ever gotten in his life. 

The beastman slumps back against the headrest, being sapped of his will to argue. He already knows it’s pointless. It’s kind of hard to beat around the bush when the bush has already slapped you in the face with a very thorny nightmare. “Miss you, probably. I mean, I dreamed about it, but…” 

He thinks about the way he screamed and forced himself to wake up because that scenario had seemed so real. Probably can only begin to describe whatever he was feeling.

“...Well. You’re the only person who’s ever gotten me, y’know, so don’t die because you couldn’t help yourself. I don’t wanna have to cope with my dream becoming reality. Please,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Chrysos stares blankly at him for a moment, then at their hands. “...oh,” he repeats, in a much quieter ‘sudden realization’ sort of voice.

Santiago squints at him. “Dude. What kind of guy tells his buddy to open up about his feelings in such a pleading tone and then is surprised when he actually opens up about it?”

“The one right next to you who was expecting his buddy to dodge the question again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Santiago replies, rolls his eyes. 

Chrysos worries his bottom lips, gaze shifting to the side suspiciously quickly. It looks like he’s considering something.

“...Are you taking that literally?” Santiago wants Chrysos to take what he said literally, to be honest, but that’s beside the point.

“Because you’re so dense, yes,” Chrysos snaps back. His free hand comes up to tug one of his curls closer to his face in that bashful way he always does. “If you died like you could’ve from Schoenheit’s poison, I would march right over to the afterlife and drag you back into the world of the living. Then I’d beat you into the ground for hurting me like that. Your ass is not leaving this life until I say it’s okay to. Does that make enough sense to you?” 

“I don’t remember the story of the musician and his muse being this violent,” mutters Santiago, feeling incredibly touched despite the brash nature of that admission. Or maybe because of it.

Chrysos’s cheeks flush as red as the ends of his hair. “You asked. I delivered. Look who’s being a hypocrite now.”

“Touché.” 

It feels like something between them has… changed, when they both fall silent for lack of things to say. Not in the terrifying way Santiago’s surroundings shifted during his nightmare, but a change for the better. Like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, making the silence bearable.

“I… think I may need to go,” Chrysos says, a dusting of pink still on his face. Maybe because he’s spoken too much, or at least by his own standards. He stands up, letting go of Santiago’s hand. “Culture fair and. All that. You know how it is. I’ll see you—”

“Wait a minute.”

Santiago reaches out and, instead of just grabbing, intertwines their fingers. His longer ones settle perfectly between Chrysos’ knuckles as if they were meant to be there. 

The merman goes still. 

“Hypothetically,” Santiago begins, “if I asked you to stay a little longer—would you say yes?”

Chrysos’ mouth opens, freezes, and then closes. When he next speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like he’s testing out how the words actually feel. Testing the waters. “In this hypothetical scenario… I could be convinced to stay. Possibly.”

“Cool. So don’t run away just yet. Stay here with me.”

They make eye contact.

“...How persuasive. Well—” Chrysos sighs and sits back down, before offering Santiago a small smirk. Barely noticeable, but there. “It seems like I’ve actually got plenty of time to spare all of a sudden.”

Santiago can’t help but smile too.