#AND THE BOATHOUSE SCENE TOO

[leaffsheep]

Cant stop thinking of these scenes from Maurice (1987) but with Aziraphale and Crowley

[haladriel]

Galadriel stumbles from the boathouse, sorrow speared deep into her heart.

She has wounded him greatly, her friend. The hurt in Elrond's eyes as he bid her leave ran deep. But it pains her equally so that he should hold her closest truth in his gentlest of hands, and find her lacking. Like Nenya on her centre finger her heart weighs heavy, bearing the twin loss of a beloved friendship and of a— her—

Halbrand.

Simply Halbrand.

Lost to her forever, for he was never hers.

Only the great foe’s. His servant.

She hisses and wipes angrily at her tears as she passes the tree line. Why will this torment not leave her? Her chest is cavernous, cut and opened as it has been ever since Halbrand seemed to change before her very eyes. As his visage grew eternal. His laughing eyes cruel.

A sob forces itself from her.

Elrond has forsaken her, but really, she does not blame him. She asked for his help, but he has been wounded too many times to offer her his grace now. He acted in her interests, believing her unwell, and she has repaid him thus. She loathes that she has added to his sorrow.

The snap of heather and whisper of leaf that normally comfort her so grate like a sanding stone. She thumbs her ring in frantic brushes as she flees ever deeper into the forest. Returning to her escort in this state would cause concern. Talk.

Nothing has felt quite right among the elves since she returned from Eregion, troubled and regretful, and without the Man quickly and mercilessly rumoured to be her lover. For which other mortal Man would she ride day and night for the elven healers to save?

No, she will let herself flee.

This fresh devastation shall be kept private.

Hand on fallen bough she falls to the woodland floor, folding in two over her trembling knees. Her breaths rip themselves from her.

It is justifiable, Elrond’s reaction. Abhorrent, that she should feel something… intimate, for the dark lor— for—

She should be abhorred. She should abhor herself. And she does.

But it tears her very soul apart.

She lets out a throated cry into her cloak.

A whisper over her silver ring, warmth against chill—

A soft pressure as his lips meet Nenya— the power inside her shudders—

‘Galadriel.’

Her jagged breath catches on the feel of his lips around her name like lamb’s wool.

It is wrong, their bond. As wrong as the existence of orcs. Bound from the skeins of their fëa in a moment of madness, of deceit.

But it exists. Across distance, through the unseen world. And Elrond does not know, cannot see, what she saw in their time together. Will not ever see. If he were to, might he know a quart of her pain.

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— For the Peace of All (no archive warnings)

[reikunrei]

tbh i feel like if i had to pick a single standout performance out of everyone in stranger things... it would probably be gaten matarazzo. like, i feel like he very consistently gets scenes so perfect and so genuine, while other charas always have at least one scene where i go “eh, that didn’t feel like the best take they could have used.” not with gaten. he is, as dustin would say, right on the money every time

[callmemaeverick]

Good cop, Bad Boy - A. Aretas

Summary: Being part of AMMO meant that you would be working with the best on the force. But when shit hits the fan, you find yourself enlisting help from an unlikely source. Well.. maybe not so unlikely

WC: 2.1k

TW: guns, blood, death, Senor Aretas

The water calms you down, it always has. Whenever life gets too fast or too hectic, you would find yourself gravitating towards bodies of water. It was why you love Miami so much.

Taking a drag from your dwindling cigarette, you kept your eyes out onto the sea, letting the soft sounds of the gentle waves calm down your nerves. So much had been going on in the last week.

News started spreading that your beloved late captain had ties to the cartel. And then, Marcus and Mike went MIA while transporting Mike’s son, Armando, who was actually in the cartel. And then that morning, another bomb got dropped on you when you knocked on Dorn’s door and someone else answered.

After a heated shouting match about how inappropriate it was that your colleagues are dating, you decided that you needed some space and stepped out. Leaving was not an option as there were heaps of Howard’s files to go through, so you told Dorn you needed some air and stepped onto his deck.

The truth was, you were slightly jealous. With Rita becoming Captain and Rafe transferring to another unit, and now, this new development, you were left essentially, alone. No partners to watch your six and with no partners, it would mean less active work.

And that pissed you off. That and the IA nightmare this could bring.

There was a shift in weight on the boathouse and before you know it, your gun was out of the holster and aimed. Your body tensed.

Brown eyes widened and the familiar face of Armando Aretas greeted you. “Calmate,” His voice was low.

“What the f-“

A split second later, Mike was in front of you. “Hey, it’s us.” He reached out and pushed the barrel of your gun down slowly. “It’s just us.”

“Oh my God!” You gasped as you re-holstered and lunged to hug the man. “We thought you guys were dead!”

“Takes more than that to bring us down,” Marcus chimed as he ducked to Dorn’s door and knocked violently. Mike, in turn, faced his son.

“Hang out here for a sec.”

The man nodded once and your attention went to him. All three of them looked haggard, covered in dirt. Their clothes looked stolen and you found yourself wondering where they had been the last three days.

Marcus and Mike barged into Dorn’s living room and you waited outside. They were in for a surprise and you do not wanna be there when they found out.

A horn sounded in the distance and you turned back to the sea, taking the last drag from your cig before dropping the butt on the deck and stepping on it with your boots.

You could feel eyes on you and when you looked up, your suspicions were confirmed. His eyebrows quirked when you caught him.

“What?”

He gave you a once-over then moved to the door.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” You warned him and he stopped for a second before he turned the knob and entered.

You scoffed and smirked, following him in.

The scene that greeted you when you entered behind Armando was very similar to what you had subjected him to early on as you stared down the barrel of Kelly’s gun. You leaned in to his back.

“Told you,” As you side stepped him, you caught his side-eye and grinned. Your day was looking up.

xxxx

When Mike said Howard had files, he had files. Pictures, videos, case reports, manifests. It was like trying to complete a very large jigsaw puzzle with no full picture in hand and all you had to help was Armando, the only person that could identify your target.

You held up a new picture him. “Anybody ring a bell?”

He glanced at it and rubbed at his eyes. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

The glare came full force. “Sí. I know these people, but none of them are who you are looking for.” He sighed.

His eyes were bloodshot and it was only then you realized he was still in the same raggedy shirt and jeans he came in with. And worse, he hadn’t had the chance to clean the cut on his forehead. “Shit, did Dorn not…”

He leveled you with a look that said, 'What do you think?'

“Well, that’s what you get when you flirt with someone’s girl,” You quipped. “Come on, follow me,” You didn’t wait to see if he was following, you just knew. And as you passed Dorn at his console, you smacked him lightly upside the head.

“Oww! What was that for?!

“You know what it’s for!” You sniped back as your best friend watched the two of you pass. “You were raised better than to disrespect guests,”

“He’s not a guest!”

“He’s Mike’s guest, therefore he’s a guest!”

His grumbling followed you to the second floor but you ignored it and went straight to Dorn’s guest bedroom. You’ve slept in there more times than you can count so you knew where everything is.

“Spare clothes are in there. Towels in the second drawer. Bathroom is through there.” You pointed and watched as he took stock of your instructions.

“Do you need the first aid?”

“What?”

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need the first aid kit?”

“Oh… nah. I’m good.”

“Okay,” As you turned to leave, he caught your wrist and you turned.

“Why are you helping me?”

“This is hardly considered help, Aretas,”

He stared.

“Well, aren’t you helping us?” You asked back. “Way I see it, you’re risking your neck to help clear someone’s name. Someone very important to your father. That earns you a pass in my book.”

“How do you know I’m not doing this for myself?”

“What could you possibly gain from this?” You scoffed. “It’s not gonna earn you a pardon. So I think you’re doing this because Mike asked you for help. Am I right?”

Armando did not answer so you just gave him a knowing smile and left him alone.

xxxx

The night air was cool and the sounds of waves lapping calming you down again. It was the reason why you liked hanging out at Dorn's so much. But with the new development; you might need to find another spot.

It was almost d-day and you all have had one hell of a night. You saw the attack on Marcus' place and was thankful his son-in-law was there to protect his wife and daughter. But Mike wasn't so lucky.

Witnessing his panic attack almost triggered your own. If the indomitable Mike Lowrey was scared; you should be too. You remembered when you yourself was in his shoes, the weight of the ring around your neck heavy.

Somebody leaned on the railing next to you and judging by bronze of his skin, you already knew who it was.

"Can't sleep?" You broke silence.

When no answers came, you turned to face Armando. You took him in slowly. After a shower; he had looked better, more alive than when they first arrived at the boathouse and you were glad for it. You wouldn't kid yourself and not admit that the man is very attractive. He's capable, intelligent, quiet. And there there was the way he assessed everything around him with those eyes of his.

You had no idea how anyone wouldn't just spontaneously combust at being under his gaze.

Speaking of his eyes, you saw his attention slide to you and his eyebrows rose, so you quickly diverted your own back to the sea. Your face grew warm.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"There is nothing to say,"

"Well, I don't do well in uncomfortable silences so.."

This time he fully turned to you making you mirror his actions. He took one step forward and instantly, your warning bells blared. Your eyes widened and you gulped.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" His voice dropped low but his eyes blazed as they stared into yours. Holy shit, you thought.

"I - uhh -…"

A rogue smirk painted his lips, pulling your attention. The smirk widened to a grin. Then as suddenly as he was close, he stepped back and gave you back your personal space. You blinked, dazed and confused as to what just happened.

Once you retrieved your bearings, you cleared your throat. Your face was now burning. "You're a dick, Aretas," You snapped and was blessed with the low timbre of his soft laugh.

xxxx

You came to with ringing in your ears and pain all over your body. The last thing you remembered were strong arms wrapping around your body and then you were airborne.

Mike gave you both a mission and that was Callie. But then there were too many of them. And then there was the plane.

You stood from behind the overturned table and looked around. There were bodies littered all over. But no Callie. And no Armando.

Then, the radio crackled in your earpiece. Judy.

“I’ve got eyes on Aretas. Moving in.”

Fuck.

“Who’s got eyes on Armando?” You called into the comms.

Rita’s voice came on. “Last I saw he was extracting Callie. West exit.”

You bolted without thinking, praying that you would get there in time. He was your partner, you need to have his six.

You arrived from behind, just as Mike arrived from the side and you skidded to a halt as Judy’s gun swivelled to you.

“Put the gun down!”

Immediately complying, you raised your hands up. But your eyes were on Armando.

Without warning, your heart thundered at the sight of him, leaning heavily againt the tree trunk. He was breathing hard, bleeding all over. It was not looking good.

“Mom. Mom, stop!” Callie yelled. “He saved my life!”

And for the first time, Judy seemed to see someone else other than her father’s killer. She saw her daughter. Alive and safe, with barely a scratch on her.

“Please, Mom.” The girl begged. “He saved my life.”

It felt like ages, but the moment Judy holstered her weapon, both you and Mike rushed to Armando’s side.

“Are you hit?” Mike asked his son, his eyes roaming Armando’s body, looking for holes. “Are you hit?”

You were on the ground, ripping a piece of fabric off of your tshirt and wrapping it around his thigh. When you pulled tight, he grunted and flinched. As you stood, Armando had raised his arm around his father’s shoulders and leaned against the taller man. He was dazed but at least he was upright

“You did good.” Mike assured. “You did good.”

The radio crackled again. This time, it came from Judy’s.

“Howard, do you copy?”

Everyone present froze as you waited for Judy’s response. Dread seeped into your bones as she looked at the three of you and then, her daughter.

But then, by some miracle, she released her radio and met Mike’s eyes.

“Go. Before I change my mind,”

Not to be told twice, the three of you made for the trees and beyond it, the river and the little boat you had arrived on with Armando.

You stepped from under his arm and stepped away to give father and son a moment alone but not before you caught his eyes.

He was your partner for at most, 15 hours, but he was a good partner to have. He had your back the whole time and not once did you doubt him. Without your permission, your brain had started to trust him fully and it intrigued you. He intrigued you.

And now he’s leaving. You didn’t know if you would ever see each other again.

So you gave him a nod and a small smile. When you heard the motor start, you made your trek back to the van. Mike’ll find his way back on his own.

xxxx

5 months later...

The sensor beeped as it detected your facial ID and allowed you entry into the elevator that would take you down to the basement of your HQ. You got the call just that morning.

A major player just got PID'd slipping through customs and the department believed something big is going down in Miami. And AMMO had been tasked to find out what and stop it.

As you approached the center of the room, you eyes caught the familiar figure leaning against the wall in a corner. You fought not to let your reaction show, but the way you slowed your steps was telling enough judging by the smile Marcus was failing to hide.

You stowed your gear and made your way down and beelined for that same corner, ignoring the eyes and smiles of your colleagues.

God, IA is going to have a field day.

"Alright, now that we're all here," Mike began and the screens behind him lit up.

You leaned againts the console and let your shoulder touch Armando's but your eyes were on your superior.

"Welcome back,"

[wynnyfryd]

the kind of charm we need

written for @steddiemicrofic september prompt ‘charm’ + 548 words | rated T | pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, boys being dumb

🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄

“‘Not the kind of charm we need,’” Steve mutters derisively to himself for the tenth time that day as they pull up to the cemetery curb.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin sighs, “your time and talents are sooo wasted on us, Steve, we get it.”

Max glares at him from the rearview like she agrees with Dustin, then shoves out of the backseat and slams the door shut behind her without a word.

Shit.

Steve watches her climb the hill, guilt rolling through his guts. Fuckin’ Nancy. There are bigger problems here.

Like, for example, the metalhead fugitive having a nervous breakdown in a boathouse.

“Oh, my god,” Lucas says from the backseat as the walkie crackles to life, Eddie’s quivering voice calling out for ‘Dustin? Anybody? Hello??’

He passes the walkie up to the front with a look like he’s debating whether or not to just smash the thing to pieces on the asphalt instead. “Can you maybe use your charm on Eddie before I murder him?”

“He’s in distress!” Dustin cries.

“He’s on my last nerve!”

“Seriously, anybody?? Please!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, give me that.” Steve yanks the walkie out of Lucas’ hand, hauls himself out of the car — leans in to tell the two shitheads to stay put and shut up before he closes the door.

He leans against the driver’s side, head throbbing, body sore. Can’t tell if he’s too young or too old for this shit. He pushes the talk button with a begrudgingly slow press.

“Steve Harrington’s babysitting and distraction service, how may I help you? Over.”

“Stevie!” Eddie whoops, sounding genuinely thrilled to hear Steve’s voice. Steve knows he’s just excited to hear anyone’s voice, but. Hm. “Goddamn am I glad to- wait, where’s Henderson? Sinclair? Are they—?”

“They’re fine,” Steve assures before the creep of hysteria he hears can fully take hold. He kicks his heel against the front tire. “They’re waiting in the car. I’ve been instructed to, like, charm you into calming down, or whatever.”

“Charm me?” Eddie’s voice lilts with interest. Steve can almost see the smile, the way he licks across his front teeth.

“Just a— well, not a joke, but, like…” Steve trails off, gives up trying to explain. Nance has this way of making comments that cling like cactus spines. “Never mind.”

“No, no,” Eddie says. “Go on. I’m ready to be charmed.”

And maybe it’s the way Eddie says charmed like a snake scenting the air, or maybe it’s the stress of the day; maybe he’s finally having his own little mental breakdown as a treat, because for some insane reason he leans into whatever this is, pitches his voice all low and slippery and asks, “What are you wearing?”

Silence for a moment, and then Eddie cackles, the noise so loud it overwhelms the little speaker in the walkie, bursts of laughter breaking through the static noise. Steve finds himself laughing, too, a slow thing that builds and builds, swells inside him like blown glass until he’s warm and bright all over.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes when he finally calms. “You’re— you’re ridiculous. Shit, man, I really needed that, you have no idea.”

Steve smiles to himself. Bites the inside of his cheek. Not the kind of charm we need.

No, but someone might.

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note: i am aware that this is canon adjacent (which is to say that i meant for it to take place in canon but i didn’t feel like rewatching the scene for total accuracy so like, canon can bite me it’s close enough)

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 08/08 // miscommunication 

wc: 2k // rating: M // cw: smoking, language, character death // tags: s4 missing scene, canon compliant, miscommunication, first kiss

divider credits @firefly-graphics

“Hey, Harrington, did we have any more nails? Think I can fit a few more on this bad boy.” Eddie swings his makeshift-trash-can-lid-shield around in an arc, whooshing under his breath. He feels a bit silly, but it’s what he does. Clowns around for the benefit of others.

Steve snorts, before looking around. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He shifts a crate of bottles over. “Somewhere around here…” Finally spotting the box of nails, he underhand tosses it over Robin’s head.

Eddie catches it easily, earning a raised brow from Steve, and points the box back to him with a nod. As Steve turns back to Robin, Eddie lets out a low whistle. Waiting for him to turn back, Eddie tilts his head, gesturing to the other side of the RV in a not-so-subtle follow me way. Frowning, Steve glances at Robin, who gives him an equally quizzical look in return, then moves toward him, following around the front of the vehicle.

“You good, man?” Steve asks as Eddie leans up against the side of the RV, dropping the shield and the nails at his side.

Eddie hums in the affirmative as he pats at his pockets, locating a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pops one between his lips before holding the box out in offering. Steve hesitates for only a second before taking one. Clicking on the lighter, Eddie waves him in. Steve leans closer, letting the end of his cigarette touch Eddie’s, both of them lit under the flame. Neither of them moves back immediately, caught in a smoky haze where their eyes are locked onto each other. 

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had caught Steve staring at him, hazel eyes travelling from his lips back up to his eyes. It happened the day prior, in the Upside Down, where Eddie had been running his mouth, talking endlessly about being not-a-hero and unambiguous signs of true love, all but shoving Steve in the direction of Nancy Wheeler. Despite this, Eddie got the sense that Steve wasn’t listening to a word he said. Barely responding, eyes locked on Eddie instead, who wanted to ask—because, hey, what’s that about?—but they were cut off by the freak earthquake.

Then earlier, when Eddie jumped into the driver’s seat of the RV to start hotwiring, Steve was right behind him. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was being magnetically pulled into Eddie’s presence. Like they’d constantly found themselves since the boathouse—in each other’s bubbles. Steve never once pulled away from the invasion of his personal space. Not when Eddie got right up in his face again, not when Eddie had blatantly flirted with him—don’t ya, big boy?—and not now, when their faces had no reason to be this close together.

It’s Steve who pulls back, who finally breaks the spell between them, taking a shaky inhale of his cigarette. “Robin’s worried… thinks maybe we might not make it out this time.”

“Shit…” Eddie says with a puff of smoke. “But, y’know. Who else is gonna do it?”

“That’s what she said too.” Steve taps the ash off to the side, before taking another drag. “D’you ever feel like… I dunno, like you might be missing something that’s right in front of you? Something that everyone else sees, but you just… don’t?”

Eddie snorts. “Only every day, Harrington.”

“I think maybe…” Steve hesitates. “Maybe I am. Missing something.”

“And what is it,” Eddie says, tapping his ash. “That you think you’re missing?”

Eddie turns his head when Steve doesn’t respond, finding those hazel eyes boring into him. He feels it again, that magnetic pull, that electricity that seems to fire up between them any time they’re near each other. It wasn’t like Eddie to second guess something like this, to wonder if he might be wrong. By all accounts, he knew when someone was attracted to him. But for some reason, when it came to Steve, he couldn’t help but question it. That said, Eddie felt… something. It was there, palpable and pulsing between them.

“Enjoying the view?” Eddie’s voice drips with sarcasm as he gestures down at himself, knowing he looks a mess.

Steve jolts, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he looks away. “I don’t know. What I’m missing,” he quickly clarifies. “That’s kinda the problem, right?”

Eddie hums as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Anything I can help with?”

Looking at him like the answer is right on his lips, Steve falters. “You—you don’t—no, I couldn’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off softly. “It’s okay.”

What exactly is okay, Eddie isn’t actually sure. But if he’s right—and god, he hopes he is—then he’s willing to take the chance. And fuck, if he can’t find a little bravery right before jumping back into hell, then when will he ever? Eddie flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground, turning to Steve fully, stepping right up in his space again. Steve’s eyes widen, and Eddie spots the green flecks in them, but he doesn’t step back. Watching as Steve’s gaze jumps from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up again, Eddie feels a small smile pull at the corners of his lips. From the edge of his vision, he notices Steve drop the remainder of his cigarette.

Eddie brings a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw, leaning in closer, watching closely for any sign that he’s wrong, that he should stop. He feels Steve’s breath on his lips, and watches as his eyes become hooded. Eddie closes the distance. Steve’s lips are a little dry, but he moves softly, tentatively, gently. It’s almost… romantic. Feeling a hand come up to the side of his neck, then into the back of his curls, Eddie presses a little harder, just slightly parting his lips. He feels Steve’s tongue swipe at his lower lip, and can’t hold back any longer. 

Eddie surges forward, mouth opening and tasting Steve fully. It’s sloppy and frantic, teeth knocking and lips bruising, a sense of urgency suddenly taking over their movements. The hand that was cupping Steve’s jaw is now gripping, holding him in place, the other placed against the wall of the RV, pinning him there. Steve is twisting Eddie’s hair between his fingers, other hand pulling at his waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Their tongues slide together and Eddie thinks he could get high on this feeling. Whatever spark was between them has grown into a wildfire, and Eddie wants to chase it and burn up in it. The desperation they hold each other with, the desire that they kiss with, the sheer need that runs through both of them, it consumes him.

“Steve…” Eddie groans against his lips.

Steve lets out a muffled whimper. “Eddie…”

Eddie moans low in return. He wants to get closer, to feel more, to live in this feeling until his dying breath.

“Eddie,” Steve pants. “Eddie—stop. Stop-stop-stop.”

Once the words register in his mind, Eddie jumps back like he’d been electrocuted. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he breathes, chest heaving, heart racing.

“No, no, it’s—” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, it’s fine, I just…” He exhales heavily, lips shining with spit. “I just, I’m not—I don’t…”

Eddie’s heart drops as words seem to fail Steve. Oh… Oh, he was wrong. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of what Steve was trying to say, doesn’t need to hear I’m not into men, I don’t like you that way, I’m not like you, I don’t want you, or any other sentence that’ll tear his heart out. Taking another step back, Eddie tries to look anywhere but Steve’s face, mentally kicking himself for having read the situation so badly.

“It—I’m sorry, I just thought—” Eddie stumbles his way through his words as he backs away. “It’s okay though, uh, just. We can—we can act like it never happened.”

“What? Eddie, no, it’s not—” Steve sounds like the words are getting stuck in his throat, eyes wide and glistening. He looks lost.

“It’s alright, Steve,” Eddie cuts him off. “I don’t, like, blame you for, y’know, trying something at the end of the world.” Fumbling to grab his shield from the ground, Eddie creates more distance between them. “It’s fine. Like I said, didn’t even happen. Take it to my grave.”

Reaching out, Steve grabs for his wrist. “Eddie, please, wait, just—”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie cuts him off again, yanking his hand out of Steve’s, unable to stand the feeling of the heat between them any longer. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” With one final glance at Steve’s hurt expression, Eddie does what he does best, and runs.

He wants to go back. He wants to ask. He wants to know what Steve was going to say. But Nancy approaches soon after and tells them they need to get moving. Eddie tries not to watch as Steve and Robin huddle together, whispering to each other. Tries not to think about what they’re saying. Tries not to imagine that it’s something good. Maybe… there was a tiny chance it could have been… But no, it hurt enough to think that Steve didn’t want him. Eddie didn’t want to have to hear the words aloud. Ultimately, Eddie picked protecting himself over everything else, that’s how he survived this long. Did that make him a coward in his own opinion? Yes. But it’s what he did. 

Still. Eddie wondered. Maybe he reacted too quickly. Got scared too easily. Wouldn’t be the first time for him. Wouldn’t be the first time he ran his mouth and got himself into more trouble than if he’d just kept quiet. Wouldn’t be the first time he jumped to conclusions. Wouldn’t be the first time he bolted to avoid a hard conversation. Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe Steve was going to say something else. Maybe Steve wasn’t going to shatter his already fragile heart. Maybe, if Eddie hasn’t completely fucked this up, there’s a way through this for them. Him and Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he can fix it.

They don’t get a chance to talk about it. Eddie catches him more than once, staring at him with those eyes, filled with an unreadable expression—Hurt? Guilt? Longing?—before they both quickly look away again. They have to focus on the plan, have to put on the front for everyone else, for the kids. This can wait until after.

Once they’re back in the Upside Down, plans in motion, they share their parting words. Steve tells them not to be heroes, big-brother mask perfectly in place for Dustin’s benefit. Eddie tries to match it, going for a joke—that they’re not heroes—but a cold sick feeling travels down his chest as he says it. Steve already knows Eddie isn’t a hero. He can’t just leave it like this, so he stops Steve again. The mask has slipped now, and Steve looks close to tears.

“Make him pay,” Eddie says, finally looking Steve right in the eyes, begging him to hear the meaning behind his words. Make him pay. End all of this. Come back to me. We can try again. Maybe we have something. All the things he wishes he could say but doesn’t have the courage to.

Steve nods like he understands, and Eddie hopes to god he does. Hopes that he’ll give Eddie another shot, an opportunity to fix whatever was between them, a chance to show that he’s not the coward he claimed to be.

They don’t get to find out.

Because Eddie needs to save Dustin. Because Eddie runs out to distract the bats. Because Eddie regrets a lot of decisions he’s made—running away from Chrissy, leaving her for Wayne to find; not getting a chance to say goodbye, to tell his uncle how much he loved him; running away from Steve—but not this one. 

Because Eddie chooses a hell of a time to not be a coward for once in his life.

[morrieandlicky]

Sweet Moments Between Maurice and Alec That You Have Not Seen Before (From E.M. Forster's 1st Draft for Maurice)

Context: Forster's first version of Maurice, finished in 1914, has a rather different ending than the final published version (no hotel scene, and no boathouse reunion). See here.

Forster's first draft for Maurice is, in my opinion, the rawest in terms of boldly displaying the love shared between Maurice and Alec. This version shows much more of Alec's emotion and tenderness, as well as of Maurice's sentiments and affection towards Alec. It is definitely not as subtle as the final version, with quite a few straightforward declarations of love.

Hence, I'm disappointed that Forster did not manage to integrate at least some of these 1914 texts into the final version: it would've made the love between Maurice and Alec much more pronounced and convincing, as well as made Alec a character with more depth and feelings.

Having read Forster's first draft for Maurice, I share below some of these moments between Maurice and Alec that are not in the final version (ordered on how lovely I think each moment is. Bolded texts are the highlights).

1. After running into Mr. Ducie in the museum and Maurice bursting out to Alec.

M: "I'd possibly have blown out my own brains."

A: "Why?" he asked, stopping dead.

M: "I should have known by that time that I loved you."

A: "You can't, sir, you couldn't."

M: "I love you, sir be damned."

A: "Maurice"—never before had the word been spoken—"you're an angel."

M: "I don't want to hear that."

A: "Maurice, Maurice" his voice failed also; he had once said the rest to a woman. "Maurice - what you've said I feel. Understand?"

M: "I think so, but I want to be sure. Remember those rose bushes in the other rain? - Look at me hard - That's right. That'll do. It's settled." (Maurice is referring to the moment when Alec ran in the rain across the rose bushes at Penge just to see Maurice's face.)

2. The conversation after Maurice refuses to stay the night with Alec—a scenario that only happens in the first draft in 1914. Be prepared for tears.

A: "Come just for a little to me."

M: "If I came it would be for ever."

A: "Ever's the best."

M: "Why, man, you sail Thursday."

Alec found no answer.

...: here's when Maurice explains in a long paragraph why they can't be together because of their class difference and the fact that they're both men. But in this long paragraph Maurice pretty much brings up wanting to marry Alec—"We can't have the particular thing we want (which is roughly speaking marriage) unless we sacrifice something else"

M: I thought from that letter of yours you might want me to come. But, Alec, come where to?"

A: "I'd know if you weren't a gentleman," Alec said. "We'd a' found work together as mates."

M: "Yes, and if you were a gentleman, I'd take you this minute to my home.

A: "I'd a' been what young Clive was to you, then."

M: "He's a saint and we aren't. Leave out him."

A: "I'd a' been yours till death, then." ("I would've been yours till death, then")

M: "Out there if you get a chance to marry, take it. That's what I wish.

A: "Maurice, what'll you do without me, dear? Have you no other friends?"

Maurice dared not look forward to his own future. He rushed on the parting.

M: "And if there's ever a child, I shan't ever have that, so remember me."

A: "I'll remember you, child or none. God bless you. O God bless you, and be with you if I can't."

3. Right after Maurice puts his hand on Alec's back in the museum

"Yes, awfully serious," remarked Maurice, and rested his hand on Alec's shoulder, so that the fingers touched the back of the neck, doing this merely because he knew that he loved Alec, that he loved him not as a second Dickie Barry, but deeply, tenderly, for his own sake, beneath weakness and vulgarity.

4. In the museum, Alec in pain and acting cute

[Alec] had bitten his lip, his eyes were red too; face and body were cramped with pain.

M: "Alec -"

A: "Alec am I?"

M: "I'm sorry I used that other name of yours."

A: "Don't speak to me," he growled, "let me go, you calling me Alec when I"

M: "Did you give me away then on purpose?"

A: "You're correct.

M: "Was it to get money - or only to do me harm?"

A: "I couldn't say."

M: "Come, let's get away where we can finish our talk."

A: "What? What do you say?"

M: "Come along, Alec."

A: "Do you call me that still?"

M: "Come away, man, don't break down for God's sake...." He took hold of [Alec's] arm. The touch was not reminiscent; it hinted at a relation to come.

A: "Oh but you must, I want it." Alec yielded.

5. Maurice at night thinking about Alec's letter

He tried to forget the treacherous letter, but it stole back to his mind, and he suffered most during moments in bed, when it masqueraded as a real love letter, and offered him the completeness that Clive enjoyed with Anne.

(This is brilliant writing because we, as readers, know that Alec's letter is a love letter, yet Maurice's "muddles" prevent him from seeing it as a love letter, and it is only at night, when he's craving Alec's presence, that he's able to allow himself to see the truth and succumb to his feelings for Alec.

Here, again, is also a suggestion of Maurice wanting to marry Alec, like how Clive married Anne)

6. One version of Maurice's and Alec's first night together

A: "Good evening - sir, said the low voice. Was you wanting something? Couldn't you sleep?" It was the gamekeeper.

On your rounds? gasped Maurice, trying to sound natural, and felt corduroys. Their touch disconcerted him. Whither was he tending from Clive into what companionship?

A: "Just wait till I've set down my gun - eh aren't you trembling?"

M: "So are you - ah don't."

A: "Don't you like that?"

M: "I don't know."

A: "Christ you're fussy. Don't you like me to touch you."

M: "That's you lad."

A: "Yes."

Side notes: hopefully these will shut all the detractors (of the relationship between Maurice and Alec) up—namely Clive apologists, Clive+Maurice shippers, and all of those dark academia classist out there.

[greenerteacups]

I wonder often why Deathly Hallows as a book is so fascinated with wandcraft and wandlore, especially after the series has spent six volumes being more or less disinterested in it (with the exception of the Twin Cores plot in Book 4). A weirdly high % of the plot depends on who owns whose wand and why: the wand mixup with the Snatchers, Harry's wand being broken, Draco's wand, Bellatrix's wand, and of course, the final rigmarole over who's the "rightful master" of the Elder Wand, which ends up being a weird combination of killing/disarming/fist-fight to disarm someone who... wasn't even wielding the Elder Wand at the time he was disarmed, which begs the question of what it counts to "disarm" someone of a weapon they're not technically wielding? Also, are we to assume that Dumbledore was not disarmed once in the N years since his fight with Grindlewald? Or — here's a harder one — that Draco wasn't disarmed once between Dumbledore's death and his fight with Harry? That's plausible, but it's kind of weird that I need to believe it for the rest of the plot to make sense.

And like, I can think of a few Doylist reasons for this to be the case. The first is that JKR wants Voldemort to kill Snape in the boathouse, which allows Harry to get Snape's memories and retroactively justify why Snape's acted this way since PoA (and explain where the sword comes from in the lake in DH, too). I can think of better, more character-driven reasons for him to kill Snape (just... blow Snape's cover? reveal him as a double agent? have him try to kill Nagini? idk), but let's suppose, for subtextual reasons, she wants Voldemort to think Snape was loyal to the end. Having him die by Nagini's hand muddies the already-opaque water of what constitutes "disarming," because Nagini is a living creature. What if I drop someone into a pool of piranhas? Do I get their wand? Yeah, Voldemort commands her, but then — okay, what if I Imperius someone and make them disarm someone else? I get that it's not like DH has time for Harry to sit down with Ollivander and go through all of the tiny procedural rules for wand usage, but also, are these not relevant questions? Is this not the central mechanic of the final battle, this one piece of magic? Am I not supposed to wonder how it works?

The other reason I can imagine is that Harry wins a duel against Voldemort 1v1, which is not terribly believable unless there's some kind of magical advantage working in his favor. We know the Elder Wand's failure to execute the Cruciatus means Harry can't be harmed by spells the Elder casts, because it's his "true master." This is a really weird quirk in wandlore — why does it work this way? Is it the only wand that works this way? By that logic, shouldn't everyone Harry disarms be incapable of casting spells on him? — that emerges in Book 7, apparently for the purpose of giving Harry a buff in the final duel. Functionally, that's weird, because on a technical level it works the same way as Lily's protection — it's a reason that Voldemort can't hurt him. So why get rid of Lily's protection at all? It's not like he duels Voldemort between Book 4 and Book 7. The graveyard scene artificially hikes the stakes for Harry by making him physically vulnerable, pretty much only so he can die at the end of DH... except again, not for real, because Voldemort only ends up killing the piece of Harry that's a horcrux, so it doesn't even count!

And then Harry replaces the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Which would be a nice moment if the lore hadn't established that anyone who disarms Harry, ever, will become the master of the Elder Wand by default. Harry knows this. He also knows that this knowledge is out there in the world; sure, Grindlewald's dead now, but do we think that Grindlewald never told anyone else about the Elder Wand? And he learned about it from somewhere, didn't he? So Harry might naturally assume that someone else would eventually come looking, in which case Dumbledore's tomb is far from the safest place to put this equivalent of a wizarding nuke. (Not that it seems to be all that powerful anyway; the coolest thing it does is fix Harry's other wand, and we're left wondering why the Elder Wand is considered "unbeatable" when people who own it seem to be getting disarmed all over the fucking place.)

Also, in retrospect, this makes it incredibly odd that Dumbledore allows Draco to disarm him, because he's giving the Wizarding Nuke to a 16-year-old servant of Lord Voldemort. Suppose that he's trying to prevent Snape from getting the wand, because he doesn't want Snape to be a target: okay, fine, but does he know Draco's going to give Snape credit for the kill? What if Draco lies? What if LV just... accepts the fact that the wand recognizes Expelliarmus as a point of transfer, and either disarms or kills Draco? And in any case, no matter what the answers to these questions are, why didn't he just ask Harry to disarm him before he went to the lake?

I'm usually not one to be an asshole about plot holes — mostly because, taken by themselves, I don't find them that interesting — but they become interesting to me when I see several of them in the same vein, because they tell me that the author's trying to do something. And they want to do it so badly they're willing to strain other parts of the story to make it happen.

[rogueddie]

I have never had an idea as good as the boathouse scene rewrite where steddie are already close and kind of established so when eddie shoves steve into the wall, and then when he recognizes him, he immediately turns the broken bottle on the others to try and protect steve too

[strangersteddierthings]

Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]

The saving grace for Steve here is that all eyes are on Eddie, so no one witnesses how he freezes, just for a moment, when Eddie tells them who the 'she' is he's been referring to. How he just wanted to help her. Help Chrissy. Whatever Eddie has been saying has turned to buzzing, to white noise, to nonsense in the background of his mind.

He has to be wrong. Mistaking some other girl for Chrissy. Because it can't be Chrissy. It can't. Steve has worked so hard to keep his family away from the Upside Down shit. She couldn't be- there's no way she somehow got caught up in it. There's too many questions and not enough answers and when did the air get too thick to fit in his lungs?

Does Gareth know?

Gareth, who Steve knows is one of Eddie's friends and here Eddie sits before him, a witness to Upside Down shit. A witness to a murder they have no clue how to solve. Gareth, who isn't exactly friends with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, but who is in the same club as them and on friendly terms. That's too many people connected to the Upside Down in Gareth's personal circle for Steve to be okay with.

He thought this was done. That they wouldn't ever have to deal with this shit again.

Eddie is still talking as the pounding in Steve's ears fades and he listens as Eddie swears, he just wanted to help, that she seemed so freaked out by something, and Steve's insides twist and churn. Why hadn't Chrissy come to him? Just last week he was at her house, hanging out and catching up. She never mentioned an issue. A problem. Something that would cause her to seek out heavier drugs than weed.

They used to tell each other everything. What changed?

His stomach drops as the answer comes to him.

He did.

He'd changed. He started keeping secrets first. Pushed Chrissy and Gareth away after that first incident and hadn't really started to let them back in until after Starcourt. He'd just wanted to keep them safe. Keep them as far away from this horror as possible. He'd ended the weekend sleepovers because of his nightmares, stopped inviting them over to hang out by the pool because he can't look at it without thinking about Barb, started avoiding them at school when he'd ended up beat to shit by Billy because he knew they'd dig for more answers than he could give.

No wonder Chrissy didn't tell him anything was wrong.

There's no way for Steve to know if he could have helped or not, even if Chrissy had talked to him. Eddie doesn't have answers; just a story.

Steve hates him a little bit. It's irrational. Eddie didn't do this Chrissy, (even if he had been arguing that point at Family Video) but it doesn't stop the anger inside him from boiling up. He doesn't act on it, of course he doesn't, he's not that person anymore.

Plus, acting on it would kind of negate everything Dustin just convinced Eddie of, such as he's not crazy and they do believe him, and Steve's not about to undo what Dustin's accomplished by taking Eddie by the vest and shoving him against the wall in a reverse of earlier. It wouldn't do any good, not now that they're all sure it's a new, unknown threat from the Upside Down that they'll have to figure out on their own.

No. Taking his anger out on Eddie won't solve anything.

He can be mad about this later.

It does sit heavy on him, though, that he doesn't think anyone in this boathouse knows Chrissy was his cousin. That the Upside Down has taken someone from Steve this time. He can't tell them. Robin wouldn't take it well, and Dustin might not either. They'll be sad for him, and he can't handle that right now.

He can mourn later.

-

Remember the fun lil fic of Gareth not wanting his cousins, Chrissy Cunningham and Steve Harrington, to ruin his street cred in high school? Well, the fun is done. Have some angst. More parts will follow but it's not really a fic? Just... disjointed scenes, rewritten from canon to fit the cousin AU.

[kuebandungs]

Sweet Home Imagines : 03

☆ Cha Hyunsu x fem!reader ☆

masterlist

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ ◕⁠ ☆ ⁠◕ ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

You never thought you'd find yourself at this point.

The point where you, who once despised monsters for causing you to lose your loved ones, are now living under the same roof with them and even care for them as if they were your own family.

"(Name) eonnie, Hyunsu oppa is being mean!"

A little girl’s shout echoed as she ran toward you, making you pause from hanging the laundry. You crouched down to catch her in your arms.

“What’s wrong, Ahyi?” you asked, holding back a laugh, amused by her expression.

“Hyunsu oppa! He won’t let me go play!” the little girl—Ahyi—pouted as she looked up at you.

From behind her, you saw the figure she was complaining about walking toward you.

“Ahyi, you were playing too far. I couldn’t find you,” Hyunsu said as he crouched down to match Ahyi’s height.

The man smiled gently, trying to soothe her frustration. You smiled, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

"How about this, Ahyi? Why don't you play with me for now? So Hyunsu oppa won't have a hard time finding you," you suggested.

Ahyi seemed to think for a moment before nodding eagerly.

“Let’s play, Eonnie!” Ahyi tugged on your hand.

“Just a minute, let me finish hanging these clothes first,” you replied, pointing at the laundry still unfinished.

But Hyunsu spoke up first. “I’ll finish it. Go play with Ahyi.”

“Ah, alright. Thank you.”

You stood up and followed Ahyi as she excitedly led you down from the boathouse.

You glanced back at Hyunsu, and he gave you a small smile that made you smile back in return.

He was the one who had changed your negative view of this monstrous outbreak. He was the one who made you realize not all monsters were evil. And he was the one who reignited the warmth in your heart.

- - - - - - - -

“Take a rest, you look tired.”

You were watching Ahyi from the garden entrance when you heard Hyunsu’s voice. You turned to see him walking toward you.

You gave a brief smile. “It’s alright. I’m just standing here, watching her play with the flowers. She seems to really love them.”

“Here, eat this,” Hyunsu suddenly handed you a small pack of dry bread.

You looked at him gratefully, realizing you hadn’t eaten all day. “Thank you. Where did you get this?” you asked.

“I found it at a nearby convenience store.”

You nodded in acknowledgment and opened the bread, breaking it into smaller pieces.

“For you,” you said, offering a piece to Hyunsu.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Hey, take it. I don’t like eating alone,” you insisted.

Hyunsu sighed softly, then reluctantly accepted the bread from you.

You knew Hyunsu had a strong body and rarely felt hungry or thirsty. But still, it felt unfair if only you were eating while he didn’t.

“Ahyi, come here! Hyunsu oppa brought us some bread!” You called out to Ahyi.

She immediately stopped running around the flowers and happily made her way over to you.

“What’s bread, Eonnie?” the little girl asked.

You handed her a piece of bread. “This is called bread. Try it, it’s delicious."

You watched as Ahyi curiously examined the bread before finally taking a bite. You couldn’t help but smile at her reaction.

She seemed surprised by the taste.

“Wow, it’s so good!” Ahyi exclaimed.

“Told you! Do you want more?” You laughed and offered her another piece, which she eagerly accepted.

“Mmm, yummy! I love bread!” Ahyi said, grinning.

“Do you want some more?” you asked, laughing.

“Yes, yes!!”

“Ahyi, now you should feed (Name) eonnie. She hasn’t had any bread yet,” Hyunsu suddenly suggested, making you turn to him in surprise.

“Oh, that’s okay. Ahyi can finish it, I don’t mind,” you replied.

Honestly, just watching Ahyi enjoy her bread so happily was enough to make you feel full.

“No, Eonnie has to eat too. Here, let me feed you!” Ahyi said, determined.

You chuckled, unable to resist the little girl’s enthusiasm.

“Oh, Ahyi can’t reach. Hyunsu oppa, you should feed (Name) eonnie,” Ahyi’s sudden words caught you off guard, and you quickly glanced at the man beside you.

You blinked in shock as Hyunsu calmly took a piece of bread from your hand, ready to feed you.

You hesitated, staring at the bread just inches from your lips. His spontaneity took you by surprise, and his expression made your cheeks feel warm.

Raising an eyebrow with a playful smile, he silently urged you to open your mouth.

Finally, you cleared your throat softly and accepted the bread Hyunsu offered.

“Is it good?” Hyunsu asked, his smile widening in satisfaction.

You, still chewing, nodded awkwardly.

Hyunsu chuckled quietly. Without warning, he ruffled your hair affectionately.

“You’re so adorable, (Name).”

[ao3usermelancholyhues]

𝟗𝟗% 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

steve harrington/eddie munson for @steddiemicrofic’s march prompt: pin, 388 words. ft. extension of That Boathouse Scene, light/implied dom/sub, awkward boner | M rating read on ao3

Steve’s pinned up against a corrugated iron wall, broken glass bottle at his throat. He’s on his tip-toes to keep away from the sharp edges, head tilted back as far as it’ll go. He’s never been so scared for his fucking life (and that’s really saying something, considering how life’s been going the past couple years). 

He’s also never been so fucking hard. 

Don’t get him wrong, he really doesn’t want to get stabbed. It’s not the risk of death that’s doing it for him. 

It’s the way the town freakshow’s got him held there by his jacket, so close Steve can smell his sweat; can see it glisten on his upper lip, something he could lick. Steve’s never wanted to be anywhere near Eddie Munson before, especially not in a creepy boathouse—wanting to lick him is a little bit of a jump. Steve’s going to blame that on the pinning down too; he’s always been a sucker for it. 

The whole thing’s just weird, but Steve knows that’s nothing new considering the situations he’s been in while he tries to help these teenagers save the town over and over because the door to Hell or whatever won’t fucking stay shut. 

Eddie’s got a wild look in his eyes, like he might really do it. Really pierce Steve’s throat. 

Steve feels his cock flex like it wants to get even harder. His skin feels buzzy, and he wants to squirm, but he resists. Just in case he, y’know, gets stabbed for it. 

Dustin pleading for his life in the background is kind of sweet, but Steve’s wishing he didn’t have the audience since it feels like his dick is going to burst out the front of his pants. Even if he knows he’d probably be bleeding out next to the tarp without him. 

Dustin’s technique works, though. Eddie releases and the longest minute of Steve’s life ends. Kid’s got a future in hostage negotiation. 

He doesn’t have time to ponder the whole thing now, not with the latest curse on Hawkins going strong, but Steve satiates himself with the thought that it was definitely not about Eddie and just about the pinning. Like 99% at least. 

It’s something they roleplay, much later, with Steve’s legs around his waist and a bottle that Eddie filed down the edges on.

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 20

When I first started this story a year ago the only goal in mind was to get a sexy blood drinking scene between Steve and Eddie. Which yay! I achieved TWICE!

But then the story began to grow and twist and things kept getting more and more interesting. Plot deepened, twists turned sharper and characters began to take shape.

I'm grateful to everyone who held on this one even as interest for it waned. I'm happy that it started to gain more interest again at the end, because that's what kept me going all the way to the end.

I'm currently having someone read it (not in the ST fandom) to see if they think it has the potential to be an original fiction that could be published. I know she loved the story, but I have gotten back all her notes yet. So we'll see.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

“It’s good thing that worked,” Brian said scratching the back his neck sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure my song worked on werewolves.”

“It doesn’t work on selkies?” Nancy asked.

Brian just shrugged.

“We were under water,” Barb explained, “we didn’t hear the song.”

Nancy eyed her suspiciously, but wisely said nothing to her friend.

“So now that everyone’s lives are no longer in danger,” Wayne said dryly. “You want to explain the whole ‘they don’t belong here’ statement?”

Nancy jumped at suddenly be addressed. “Oh, right! I knew there had to be more to the story than what the newspaper and the VHS report said.”

“Video Home System?” Jeff asked in confusion.

Wayne snorted and Eddie badly hid his grin.

“That’s what I said!” Eddie crowed.

Nancy rolled her eyes and decided to ignore the idiot vampires. “Van Helsing Society. They’re a secret police force that investigates these types of things.”

Alexei slowly inched out of the boathouse and everyone kept their eye on him.

“Dr. Brenner was doing a lot of experiments and not just on werewolves. He was looking into other dimensions as well.”

“What was the point of it all?” Steve asked.

Chrissy landed on the beach and said, “He was trying to create the perfect supernatural being. One without any limitations at all. But he didn’t want keep using people from our world to do it because it would raise too many questions. So he was opening worlds and pulling out test subjects. But always werewolves.”

“That’s insane!” Steve cried. “You have to see how insane that is, right?”

Chrissy nodded. “When the cat sìth arrived at the Creel House to tell us of our Dominus’s death, I started looking into the previous Dominus’s experiments thinking it had answers to what was going on in this town. I was right and disgusted.”

Nancy nodded. “They,” she jutted her chin at Alexei and Murray, “are the ones that survived because at the same time they were brought over, Dr. Brenner was being investigated by VHS and had to stop temporarily, so they slipped into the wide world accidentally. This world’s Dr. Oborin killed those kids because they were teasing this world’s Mr. Bauman’s baldness. But when they saw the two that looked exactly them, they hatched a plan to use them as scapegoats and are currently on the run in Mexico.”

“Who told you all this?” Jonathan asked, speaking for the first time.

“I did,” and final person emerged from the tree line.

“Sam...” Wayne said warningly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“That’s actually a funny story,” Sam said sheepishly. “So apparently our investigations did overlap?”

“Sam...”

“Right,” Sam said with a grimace. “Do you mind if I take over the story from here?” he asked Nancy.

She waved her hand at him. “Go ahead. I’m interested to hear what more you may have gleaned.”

“So my original investigation was whether or not there was a descendant of the original Karl Van Helsing from the female line was in the Harrington pack,” he said with a wince.

Steve frowned. “What does ‘female line’ mean?”

“There is the male line,” Sam explained, “where you keep the last name. Harrington for example. You are a descendant of the original pack leader, Clarence Harrington. That is the male line. The female line is when, let’s continue using Harrington as an example, say Clarence had two sons and a daughter. The daughter marries and has children. Those children are still related to Clarence but their last name has changed.”

“You think Greta had children?” Wayne asked incredulously. “Because like hell she did.”

Sam shook his head. “No, not Greta. Her aunt Vanessa, who married Peter Kincade.”

Dread pooled in Wayne’s stomach. He knew that name because he had been trying to find out why Murray would murder a non-werewolf. Not that he knew it was Murray at the time. Peter Kincade was Allison Harrington’s great, great, great, great, great however many it was grandfather.

“When Benjamin Kincade was murdered and subsequently his daughter and husband,” Sam continued, “the blood was sent to our lab by an anonymous source, a source we now believe to Dr. Alexei Oborin.”

The assembled turned to the doctor who was now cradling his mate to his chest. He stroked Murray’s head. “I didn’t like all the murder. I found a neater way to get Harrington out of the pack. Show the VHS that he was their missing link and he’d be whisked away and have experiments done on him so they can strengthen their ranks. Then you’d be alpha, my love.”

Murray whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” Alexei whispered back. “They didn’t move fast enough.”

“So that’s how it intersects,” Eddie said. “If Murray hadn’t killed the Harringtons and Mr. Kincade, you’d never had been in town looking for Steve.”

“It would have been easier,” Sam agreed, “but there is some really power magic on Steve that prevents VHS agents from being able to detect him. And it is absolutely due to his Van Helsing blood. They were purported to have all sorts of abilities and immunities that made them perfect watchmen of the supernatural communities. The blood magic used to create the spells that will protect an agent makes it impossible to mate with supernatural creatures.” Wayne bristled, but Sam held up his hand. “Note I said mate, not couple. It’s the act of producing a child that is disastrous.”

“Why’s that?” Barb asked from the dock, still the only part of her that was human was her head. “Supernatural creatures mate with humans all the time. I mean some times it can have some pretty strange results, but no one would call them disastrous.”

“It’s the anti-magic of the spells used and the innate magic of the supernatural being mixing and slowly driving the poor child insane,” Sam said, looking side-long at Steve. “We actually had long suspected Steve might have some connection to the Helsings because–”

“Because he should have gone crazy twice!” Eddie said with a gasp. “The first time was when he changed for the first time at age eighteen. The Franklins were banking on him going off the rails so they could paint him some rabid beast that needed to be put down. But he was lucid.”

“And then again when the Hunters tried to kill him,” Nancy finished. “He should have gone mad from the amount of silver he had on him. Even for that short a time. Being alpha would have only protected him so much.”

Steve pointed to himself in shock. “What? Me? There’s no way, there has to be another explanation.”

Wayne shook his head. “Nope. You’re the descendant of two very powerful lines, Steve.”

“Back to the problem of Murray and Alexei,” Brian said, raising his hand. “Because Steve is cool and all, but all this new information doesn’t really change that. It just confirms what smart people have known for years.”

Steve blushed.

“They can’t be in this world anymore,” Sam said, sadly. “Their very presence is what’s causing the sharp increase in supernatural suspicion in the normal populous. The whole being just out of step is sending out shock waves across the world that they’re dangerous.”

“I understand,” Alexei said, “I always knew there was no place for us anywhere.” He leaned over to kiss Murray.

“Maybe we can–” Nancy began when two gunshots went off in quick succession.

Then Alexei slumped over Murray’s body. There was no doubt what had happened. Alexei must have picked up the gun when Chrissy landed. Then he shot Murray, finishing the job that Robin had started then turned the gun on himself.

BA-DUM! BA! DUM!

“Oh,” Robin said softly. “Now that they’re dead you can actually feel the difference.”

Nancy let out a frustrated whine and stomped her foot. “I was going to suggest finding a way to send them home. Not for them to die.”

Sam came over and put his hand on her shoulder. “This is was the best. Even though they were innocent of the original crime of killing the kids, Dr. Alexei Oborin killed the Hunters in his own universe and then all the deaths on Murray Bauman’s hands are far too many. To merely send them back would be a grave miscarriage of justice.”

Her lip quivered, but she nodded. It galled her. If they hadn’t been pulled here by Dr. Brenner than they would be lauded as heroes in their home world, only to be branded villains in this one. But they had caused so much harm.

Sam turned to Steve. “So about that linage...you are wasted here as a mere alpha. You could head the entire Van Helsing Society. You would be incandescent there.”

Steve shook his head. “No. This is where I want to be.”

Eddie let out a little whine of relief and even the golden wolf that was Robin looked relieved.

“I am making Robin Buckley my female alpha,” he continued. Nancy let out a breath of relief of her own. “I’m changing the name of the pack to the Roane County pack. No more Harrington crap. I am the last and it will end with me. Same goes with the Van Helsing line.”

Sam’s eyes nearly burst out of his head with that. “You can’t mean that, surely!”

Steve shook his head. “I can. I will donate a single vial of my blood to the Society and allow you to test the limits of my abilities for one week a year, but the rest of the time I will be here. Taking care of the people who matter most to me. On one condition.”

Sam’s hands were clenched in rage. “You dare to make even more demands?!”

“Yes,” Steve said coolly. “The Society will come out of the shadows. You lot being a secret society is precisely why there is rise in Hunters. If people knew there was an actual policing body that would bring rogue cryptids to heel, they would be less likely to want to take matters into their own hands.”

Wayne and Sam shared a look of shock between them.

“Oh.” Sam gulped heavily. “Deal.”

Steve shook his hand, then he turned to Chrissy. “I’m assuming you’re the new Dominus.”

Chrissy blinked. “Oh shit. I guess I am.”

“Good,” he said primly. “We’ll meet later in the week to find you a new home and to lay out a new treaty between the Coven and Pack.”

She nodded gravely. “It will be done, Alpha.” She turned to Jeff. “Come, we need to find places for our Coven in the mean time.”

Jeff nodded and they both transformed and flew off into the air.

“Robin,” Steve said, turning to his new alpha female. “Take the rest of the pack back to the compound and explain everything that has gone on. Let them know I will be back shortly to reassure them. I will mete out Tommy’s punishment when I get there.”

The golden wolf nodded solemnly. Nancy and Hopper changed back into wolves. Tommy climbed back on Hopper’s back and then looked behind him at Steve. He had misjudged everything and no he must pay the price. Then they followed her back to the compound, Jonathan bringing up the rear.

Steve walked up to Barb and Brian. “The Roane County Pack owes the sirens and selkies a debt of gratitude. Name it and if it’s in the power of this alpha it will be yours.”

Brian and Barb looked at each other and then they both shook their heads.

“You continuing to advocate for us will be a far great boon then any other thing you could do for us, alpha,” Barb said sternly.

Steve nodded.

Brian reach out and took Barb’s flipper in his hand. “Plus, there’s this, too.”

Gareth and Eddie let out wolf whistles.

Brian blushed, but Barb smiled softly.

“Yes, this is a good reward as well,” she murmured. She removed her hand from her skin and took his hand.

Brian smiled up at her. They both transformed again. She slipped under the water as Brian flew over it, humming to himself.

Steve turned back to the remaining four. He walked up to Gareth.

“What is it the gwyllgi want?” Steve asked, getting down on one knee so he could look the large black dog in the eye. No preamble. Just straight to the point. He knew the Graveyard dogs had a lot of grievances against his pack and he was going to change that starting now.

“Agree to meet with my father to work out restitution for our pack,” Gareth said seriously.

“Done,” Steve said, bowing his head. “I will make sure Robin contacts him for a meeting.”

Gareth shuffled forward and hugged Steve with his neck. “You’re a good alpha and a better man.”

Steve pinched his nose and then rubbed the end. “Thank you, Gareth.”

Gareth loped over to Eddie. “You take good care of him, won’t you? He tends to get caught up in his head sometimes.”

Eddie nodded, giving a watery chuckle. “Just whose friend are you, mine or his?”

Gareth tilted his head to the side.

“Both.”

The dog turned and vanished into the tree line.

Wayne turned to Steve. “I’m thinking of retiring from this whole supernatural guardianship. I’m going to let Eddie take over. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Sam let out a sound that was combination between a whine and clearing his throat. “If I–I mean, if I haven’t completely ruined things between us. I–”

“Just spit it out, Sam,” Wayne growled.

“This was my last investigation for the Society,” Sam said, looking down at his feet. “I told them after our last meeting. I hate lying to you. It kills me every time. So I want to spend my time with you. If you’ll have me.”

Wayne huffed and then grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him in close. “You’ve got a lot grovelling to do. And I have a long list of ways you can start making it up to me.”

Sam eyes went wide at the low sultry tone. “Oh. I am very willing.”

Wayne transformed and flew off with his arm securely around his waist.

“Gross,” Eddie sniffed.

Steve pulled him into his embrace. “I too have a list of things, but mine is more about the lovely things I want you to do me.”

“Ooh, I do like the sound of that, big boy,” Eddie said with a feral grin. “And I’m pretty sure my uncle won’t be at the trailer for awhile.”

“I like the way you think,” Steve pulled him in for a long kiss. “I’ll meet you there. I just have make sure Robin hasn’t set the compound on fire and then I’ll be right there.”

“Are you sure you want her as your alpha?” Eddie asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine once she gets over her nerves,” he said with a smile. “Plus no one will be asking if we are going to mate. Having a lesbian best friend really does have its perks. You don't have to come with.”

Eddie through his head back and laughed. “Nah, I’ll come with. I want to see their faces.”

Steve smiled and took Eddie’s hand.

They walked past Lucas, who was on guard duty, hand in hand, a werewolf and a vampire. Both once outcasts even in their own communities, now leaders in their own right.

Steve smiled.

The future never looked brighter.

~

Tag List: COMPLETE

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2- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @fullpoetrybread @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

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8- @kal-ology @w1ll0wtr33 @townseleven @dreamercec

[travelingtwentysomething]

Let's Be Honest, If You Could Hop Dimensions, You'd Save Eddie Munson Too <- AO3 LINK

(Please give my Steddie+Original NonBinary Time/Dimension Traveling Character fic a shot? I'm writing again, and I need validation, please REBLOG. Steve Harrington isn't the only one with a Praise Kink around here. 🫠)

It's a very unserious comedy/adventure- Featuring a Non Binary Character named Haven (this is not a self insert). They are a badass Dimension/Time Traveler who shows up for Eddie. It's hard not to fall for the OP baddie who comes specifically to save your ass, so naturally Eddie falls for them, then Haven helps Eddie see he can have it all and they quickly rope Steve into their shenanigans. This ain't a slow burn, but because it's the Apocalypse you'd think, 'there's barely any time for make-outs and cuddles'... but when Boys in Crop Tops are involved, we make time...

Also, it features a lovely scene where Eddie is in disguise and Steve cannot for the life of him 🥵...

<Artwork above is my own creation assisted by AI> ...with a little helping of original art inspired by the scene from @DrawingRune on Twitter ...

Summary:

Getting dropped into the Stranger Things Universe in the boathouse where Eddie Munson is currently hiding out could have gone better. Unfortunately, dimension traveling isn't an exact science. Honestly, its kind of a shot in the dark at the best of times.

At least they landed near the person they were looking for.

The timing could have been better.

And they had some notes on the point of arrival.

Being that it was just behind the boat where Eddie was currently hiding under a tarp, in fear for his life. Would have been a smoother entrance if it had been about six feet over, in the actual boathouse, and three feet above the water instead of below it.

Relationships:

Eddie Munson/Original Character, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington/Original Character, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson/Original Character, Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler

Additional Tags:

Fix-It, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Dimension Travel, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Protective Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has ADHD, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Needs Love, Steve Harrington Has a Praise Kink, Wingman Robin Buckley, Robin Buckley Loves Nancy Wheeler, Bisexual Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley Has ADHD, Nancy Wheeler is a Mess, Protective Eleven | Jane Hopper, Pansexual Eleven | Jane Hopper, Polyamory, Polyamorous Characters, Polyamory Negotiations, non binary character, Polyamory is the answer to everything, Gaybies, everyone is a little gay, Comedy, Don't delude yourself, you were thinking about going to save Eddie too, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Don't worry it's only Jason, Creepy Henry Creel | One | Vecna, Sorry Vecna there's a new Baddie in town, Thy name is Haven

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 62

part 1 | part 61 | ao3

cw: violence, off-hand mentions of drug use

Light bleeds through the cracks in the boathouse walls. Max is the one who found it, spotted the glowing bulb over the door and called them down the slope behind the house to check it out, and now Steve leads the group inside and clings to his nail bat in a way he hopes is reassuring but is probably just putting everyone else on edge. 

Can’t really be helped, though. 

Place gives him the creeps. 

It's dark and dank, overwhelmingly humid, with a smell like mildew and old food over a layer of fear sweat, and the wood groans beneath their feet while the walls sway with the breeze. Makes it feel like the room is breathing, like they're standing inside of a haunted lung. 

Steve braces himself in the middle of the room, head on a swivel while the group fans out around the edges, dipping in and out of shadow. Dustin calls for Eddie. Max checks the latch on a window. Robin points her flashlight at a pile of food wrappers and says, "This looks new." 

Steve flexes his fingers on the bat; picks up an oar, too, just to be safe.

"What?" Dustin snorts. "You gonna dual-wield against your boyfriend?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "He's not my—"

"—Ex-boyfriend, then, whatever. Still can't believe you never told me about that." 

“Okay,” Steve huffs. Dustin’s grumpy muttering sounds more hurt than he’s letting on, but he’s letting on plenty, and Steve’s too keyed up to do this right now. “Can we just—” He gestures around the room with the oar to illustrate how completely not the time for this it is. “Can we not?" 

"No,” Dustin protests, voice rising, “no, we can't not, Steve, because you—" He steps into Steve’s space, jabbing a finger against his sternum and backing him up to the edge of a tarp-covered boat. "—are a liar. You have been lying to me for months! And now it looks like you're gearing up to try and bludgeon my good friend with two blunt objects!" 

"Shut up!” Steve snaps. He takes a deep breath; lifts the blunt objects in question, giving them a little shake. “First of all, it's not the boyfriend I'm worried about using these on, and secondly—"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence. 

He doesn’t get to plant his feet.

With a noise like a war cry, something blue blurs at the edge of Steve’s periphery and launches him across the room, shoving him backward over tarps and tackle boxes until his back slams against the wall and knocks the wind out of him, and his skull smacks the wood and sets off a snow storm in his vision — muffled ringing in his ears, tornado warning wailing through a thick layer of cotton. Steve’s friends are all shouting, and there’s something sharp against his throat, and someone is barking questions at him; hot, stale breath over his chin; a fist balled up in the front of his shirt. 

“Are you real?” the voice demands, hand twisting in Steve’s collar and tugging him against the sharp thing. “ARE YOU REAL?”

Steve blinks. Blinks and sways into the sharp sting beneath his jaw until the dizzy spell ends.

The scene before him comes into focus slowly.

Steve thinks, for the millionth time that day, that he must be losing his mind. That he must have lost it already.

The blurry, shouting thing is Eddie. Eddie, who is glassy-eyed and drooling like a wild animal, who is pinning Steve to a splintered wall with a shattered bottle to his throat; whose face floods Steve with such intensely euphoric relief that he thinks he finally gets why people do hard drugs.

Even now, even like this, the only thought in Steve’s head is how lovely Eddie's face is.

How grateful he is to see it again, even if it might be the last thing he ever sees.

Beside them, Dustin speaks in low, placating tones, holding out his hands and encouraging Eddie to back off. Promising that Steve’s not gonna hurt him, that they’re all just here to help as Eddie’s eyes slip over and past Steve and his body tenses for the kill.

“Not real, not real, not real,” Eddie mumbles, spit shining on his shaking lip.

The bottle knicks Steve’s skin. 

“Eddie!” Dustin begs. Max and Robin's eyes are huge. And Steve—

Steve laughs. A soft, hysterical thing, barely voiced, because of course Eddie’s going to kill him. Of course he is.

He’s already been doing it for weeks. 

"What happened to your knife?" he jokes wetly, tipping his head back to bare his throat.

The question snaps Eddie back to himself. Steve watches from under his damp lashes as Eddie's eyes sharpen on him, darting all over his face with sudden, painful awareness, with something dangerously close to hope.

The hand holding the bottle trembles. "...Baby?" Eddie whispers, wet eyes searching still.

Steve holds his gaze. Nods against the jagged edge.

Glass shatters on the floor as Eddie collapses into him.

—

part 63

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[delicrieux]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 | endless drabble series (autumn edition)

pairing—james potter x reader genre—very light enemies to lovers in the span of 5 mins xx summary—someone comes to annoy you as you read your book on the pier word count—2.7k

author's note: i've been on james potter spiral. won't elaborate

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

there’s absolutely nothing romantic about the way james looks at you – gaping maw and all, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose because he smacked his hand to the thin, wiry edge to lift them up and did it quickly and clumsily and for no reason – and if you assume otherwise, you’re an idiot. but you don’t assume otherwise, nor are you all the curious about the tangle of mush that could, perhaps, in a mind more evolved, be considered a thought. james can, you suppose, have decency, and he can, given the benefit of the doubt, appear thoughtful and tactful and, based on the information that came to dorcas in a dream, be serious about his affections. which he has none for you, just to be clear. in case the scene might paint otherwise.

what a curious sight it is on the rickety pier of the boathouse. the weather’s grown cold, near frosty, and the sky had long turned into something grey and woolen. the wind scratches at your ears, and at your lips, and james’ nose has gone red and so have his cheeks, and he looks ridiculous in his coat and burgundy sweater peeking underneath that you almost take pity on him. almost. though, if any of your friends inquired what was so ridiculous about him in that moment, you wouldn’t be able to form an answer that would appease them. james potter is simply too much – is that not fact? why should there be a trial to scrutinize your claim when the words are truth? yes, he’s ridiculous, and he’s stupid, and his hair is all a mess, and—

“i didn’t expect to find anyone here, to be honest,” he says after the long pause of nothing but glances and an understanding you haven’t figured out yet. when you’ll go to bed tonight and toss and turn, perhaps you’ll pick up the magnifying glass and recognize it as interest and be tremendously distressed and nauseous of that knowledge. now, you only worry for a heartbeat that’s just a tad too quick, “’s a bit odd, innit?”

“what?” your voice could’ve been like a whip in the air if only it wasn’t so hushed. pillowed by the cold that had frozen the strings of your syllables.

“you are.” he explains, a hint of teeth showing from his smile.

if you swung with all of your weight, perhaps he’d fall into the freezing waters beneath your feet and be so shocked that he would never resurface. no one would suspect you as culprit, since no one would see you escaping the boathouse, and you could, with great smugness, mourn with the rest when his disappearance is declared as demise. how positively villainous. he’s sitting close enough, you could try, but you know that, while a valiant attempt, he would grab you quicker than you could blink and drag you down to the depths laughing, like some deranged grindylow. a mirror-image in appearance, too.

“sod off,” you mumble, and seldom have you spoken words more genuine. you flip a page of an inconspicuous book borrowed from the forbidden section, intended to be returned, of course, once you had absorbed all it has to offer. not much, so far.

“there’s a library you can read in,” james says, scooting closer, because your personal space must be shared and perhaps he’s curious of the text that has commanded so much of your attention. he nudges your shoulder, and nudges it again when you don’t look up, “not sure you knew that.”

“was terrified you might find me too quick,” and there is some truth to that, but more so you were dissuaded by the idea of the librarian catching you. the book supposedly reveals archaic jinxes that went out of fashion – either too impractical or too dangerous – and the long-withstanding mythos about the book implies it discloses only when the shift in temperature is great. so you sit here, and freeze, and if you were honest enough you would tell him, and you would add that you like it here, even when cold, because it’s tranquil and the castle looks trapped in a snowglobe under the dome of the sky.

he snorts, “found you anyway.”

“have you nothing better to do?”

“not really. you upset?”

“hard not to be, around you.”

“flattered. and thankful. for, you know, the stature that comes with such an accomplishment—”

there you go, taking the bait and reeling in close. if your teeth chatter a bit as you speak, well, you were already blaming the chill, no? so let him think what he wants – a smirk tugging at his lips and eyes all lit up and giddy – and his face could warm you a bit. but then, it was your temper all aflame that might solve the problem entirely. and all you can think is, ridiculous.

perhaps his conversation isn't stimulating. perhaps the cold numbs your thoughts. or perhaps he is a pretty sight against this miserable, clouded backdrop, and so are you. a hand comes to the cover of the book, still flipped, and the skin brushing against the page is frigid to touch.

"you're freezing," he says, eyes trained on the book, and perhaps he really is talking to the cover. you wouldn't put it past him, "fancy warming up a bit? back inside, near the fire place in the common room. with company, for once. bet that'd be better."

"with your company, i take it?" you chime smartly.

"didn't i just say that?"

"hmm," is a reply given with a hum, and he only speaks again when his stare hasn't caused your skin to peel away.

"c'mon, then. there's nothing for you here but a bloody draft. come up now and we can steal butterbeers from the kitchen, if you'd like." there are an unnatural many suggestions, like he's grappling for a hook even when his expression shows nothing. he's usually less scattered than this, and he never considers your feelings in his very many attempts: 'come to the three broomsticks with me,' and you ask, 'why?' and he replies 'cuz i wanna drink.'

"no." you say.

"stubborn."

"willfully," and the emphasis is drawn out so maybe it sticks. you've dealt with him enough that his ramblings can hardly deter you, though, no matter how charming the prospect might sound, because you hate him. you've practiced saying these exact words in the mirror only to make them sound more potent. train your expression not to wobble, because no matter how unassuming james can appear at times, he strikes the moment he notices a slight hesitation.

he doesn't, because if he had, your hand wouldn't be clasping his so tight.

"fine," he nods his head, a huff of white cloud billowing from his mouth as he says so. his hand is equally as cold, like ice against your palm, but then his fingers wiggle a bit and lace through the empty spaces to properly intertwine.

"james?"

"they say sharing body heat is the quickest, y'know."

"unnecessary," you hiss.

"warm," is his only answer, and he inches closer so it's no wonder his face flushes like that. he's got his other arm around your shoulders, knee knocked with yours, "how long, you recon," he mutters, "before frostbite starts?"

"soon," you drawl, and if there's a small shiver running up your spine, then that's all the cold. nothing to do with the person beside you and how unabashed he is at his own closeness, and how warm he could be in this circumstance – when he was offered no objections, "if lucky."

a subtle lean in your direction, a nose buried in a scarf that smells faintly of cinnamon, is, at this rate, your ultimate surrender. how painful it is to do so, when pride swells like a bruise deep in your chest and the pain lingers. perhaps you can hide behind the flimsy veil of not caring and listen to the pace of his breath under your ear where his chin rests on your shoulder. if you were to look, you'd see a vague pout on his lips – chapped, but red, maybe even lovely.

"what are you reading, anyway?" he mumbles.

"history," is the quick and clipped answer. he doesn't deserve the details.

"not quite my subject. boring as all, i take it. does it at least mention me? history? dunno how anything goes without the noble house of potter contributions."

"noble? hardly," you state, "absolutely vain, though, obviously."

"begrudge me my blessings, but you love them," he chuckles and if you were feeling nice, you would say that it was warm enough that it chipped a tiny sliver of ice away. just a little. you settle for pinching his wrist, and are entertained to hear him wail a little.

he is the worst thing that's ever happened. the most tragic accident, and you just happen to have the most unfortunate timing. did he take a specialty class to master the art of pestering people? his eyes are big and hazel, and maybe it's because they are trained on that they seem a bit darker. absolutely repugnant. you'd rather die, and that is the truth. a death by looking. a tragic fate, a complete misfortune, an absolute bloody mess.

"you're blushing," he says, and if he had to bring it up, at least his voice is soft. no amusement, and he sounds just as fond as he is mystified, "thinking dirty thoughts? and on school grounds, no doubt. i am positively scandalized."

"piss off," the hiss is made venomous on purpose, and maybe you mean it. maybe.

"hope you aren't thinking too many about anyone else," this is the closest he has been to sounding thoughtful in any conversation, "that'd make me all sorts of bitter. wouldn't like that."

"of course you wouldn't, not when the possibility exists to bully me with the information," a huff, a quick exhale that clouds the air like his smile had before, and maybe he'd be charming, if only his intent wasn't as devious as it is.

"or i really just wouldn't like it," and how he dares to sound wounded with such a tender sentiment, and perhaps your insistence upon finding his ways less than humble could have come with a greater reluctance. as if you were dragged out of this, kicking and screaming. how utterly sickening his lips might taste, and your want has to be damned, so you don't look. and instead, his head comes to nuzzle on a shoulder with a knit scarf tickling his cheek, "wouldn't like it."

how utterly horrid.

there is no solution, really, and if you had looked, his eyes would've been heavy and his mind more so. it doesn't bother him, even if you are so silent – silent as stone – and his voice comes a bit thick, but he's smiling and he's always smiling like the imbecile he is. that you know he is. no one could fake the joy so pure that is beaming across his face. and what's worse, what is infinitely worse, is that he sees what must look like something far gentler in your expression.

"you're sweet," and if he is smug, you'd hardly noticed. a press of his lips at your temple, a warm chuckle against your neck, "and bloody adorable, too," because if there's anything that you couldn't handle right now, it's a heartfelt conversation. a damsel-worthy declaration, because, knowing him, he'd embarrass the both of you enough to melt a few inches of frost, and that just won't do.

"don't push it."

"or what? afraid you might lose the resolve to your no-nonsense-pretend-to-loathe-everyone act? and it was so brilliant, too."

"please stop talking," the whine could've been unbecoming if you weren't so desperate for him to silence himself, but, lucky you, "seriously."

"so hard not to when you are. how are you real?"

"questionable," you mumble, and this must be torture, except the prick hasn't pushed you, or grabbed you, or anything beyond holding your hand and wedging a cold nose into your scarf, "at the moment, i'm not entirely sure."

"miserable, aren't we? c'mon," and the only solution is to knock his head with yours, hard enough to make a noise that's audible over your hammering heart, and this time you give him the courtesy of seeing a brief flash of pain. and if you give him the curtsy of pressing your lips into his, well, he takes advantage of it and gets your hands. warm hands around cold, pale fingers, and a hum sounds into your throat and might vibrate all the way to the ends of your hair.

he's the bloody worst, isn't he? and somehow you're fated to know how terribly true the statement is.

"no, really, your hands are cold," he says softly, and the weather hasn't affected him. his words are sluggish and slow, like the pace of his palms on yours, rubbing and trying to warm them, and he might have a point, but he won't have the satisfaction of knowing that. the confirmation only came with another kiss, and how is that a deterrent? it really shouldn't be, "adorable, but i see frost on your fingers."

you roll your eyes, but for what it's worth, his kisses have an aftertaste of warmth, "my savior," your murmurs, and the irony is evident in how unamused the words are, "thanks."

"always at your beck and call."

"have i called?"

"many times," he presses a kiss to a wrist and another to your palm, and if his breathing warms the space between your hands then the problem's almost solved.

"in your dreams, perhaps."

"quite vividly," james has always had a glint to his eyes – an ambition, maybe, that shines brilliantly every time he's truly serious, but it's an intensity you had only seen a handful of times in him. so many wasted words, and how ridiculous he could be, how aggravating, and stupid, and wonderful, and in that instant, you think you could see stars, "but they don't last much."

"nice to know you've figured your issue."

"oh, hush." and the lips are on yours, and he smiles while doing so and you might melt away if only because the frost were forced into it. he doesn't open his mouth or let his hands do more than touch your cheek, your neck, with such gentility and no wonder your face grows warmer. it must glow in the evening air and you could be seen miles away, looking like an absolute prat, being adored so thoroughly. a long inhale before pulling away, but he rests his forehead against yours, "see? better, isn't it?"

"dreadful."

"sure, love." and it must be the first time the petname sounds endearing rather than mocking, or perhaps the frost in your limbs has really started to settle and the chill has worked into your bones, or perhaps his skin looks so bright under this awful dome and no one ever talks about the way his hair frames his face. maybe his voice has warmed you more than his hands. or perhaps he is softer and gentle with his affections and he isn't as mean as he claims to be or you insist. maybe, just maybe, you are secretly, obviously, terribly fond the brat and the starry eyed fool sitting next to you. more, or just as much, as he's fond with you.

"can we go back to the castle now?"

"no."

"cold out here," he reminds.

"so i've heard."

"i could help you with that, though."

"thought you already are."

"amazing," a new kiss, quick and chaste on a corner of your lips, "this has got to be a new record of no arguing. good. i can't believe, for once, that all it took was a kiss and some, like, a minute or three of talking, and i would've done it earlier, too. probably."

"don't think too much of it."

"i will. warm-up?"

"what?"

 "kiss me," is that impatience in his voice or the beginning of a tantrum? either way, when a something isn't instantly granted, it prompts a series of groans and complaints that surely rival the level of insufferability james has attained through the years. his head rolls onto your shoulder and you feel his voice against your neck. a hum, "you really, absolutely, one hundred percent have to."

 "i never signed up for such a deal."

 "you did. c'mere."

thank u for reading &lt;3