#AND THE BOATHOUSE SCENE TOO

[leaffsheep]

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

[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

[crushpunky]

kook!reader calls rafe for help

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

based somewhat off the scene in tsitp. warning for some sexual references + nonsexual nudity

When y/n got a text from Emily Carlson (as in the famous Emily Carlson of Figure Eight) inviting her to hang out on her parents yacht while they were out of town, y/n was much more excited than she cared to admit. She didn’t have many girl friends other than Sarah, and even at times that was a little rocky. It wasn’t that she went out of her way to only be friends with guys, it just kind of happened that way. Topper, Kelce, and Rafe were her guys, what more friends did she need? Well, truth be told she wanted to have girl friends. Girls she could talk with about the stuff she couldn’t necessarily talk to the guys about. She wanted the good ol’ fashion girl talk, everything from guys to makeup and everything y/n liked that the boys never cared to talk about.

So, she woke up bright and early Saturday morning and put on her best swimsuit— something hot, but not too skimpy, something unique, but not too different. She shrugged her beach bag over her arm, smoothing her coverup out when she got a text from Emily saying she was outside. With a final deep breath, y/n opened the front door and walked out to Emily’s crowded white Jeep.

“Good morning, babe.” Emily said from behind the wheel, flashing a perfect smile at y/n as she approached the car. From the passenger’s seat, Ruthie stretched her legs out off the doorless frame of the Jeep, her usual look of disgust plastered on her face as she eyed y/n up and down.

“Good morning.” Y/n said back as she climbed in the back alongside two girls she recognized from back at Kook Academy, one of them with long, intricate braids and the other with bright red hair. They shot her quick smiles before turning back to their phones, talking quietly between each other as Emily put the Jeep in reverse.

“Uh, thank you for inviting me, Emily.” Y/n said, laughing a bit nervously as she adjusted her bag on her lap. Emily looked up at the rearview mirror, quirking her eyebrow up from behind her expensive looking sunglasses.

“Oh, of course. It’s really no problem.” Emily grinned, looking over at Ruthie briefly before returning her focus back on the road.

The Jeep maneuvered around the roads of Figure Eight until they finally reached the Carlsons’ boathouse. Numerous boats rested along the dock, each more and more expensive than the last. Once the car was in park, the girls immediately hopped out, grabbing their bags before excitedly skipping down the dock towards the Carlson family yacht. Y/n followed shortly behind, her eyes scanning over the details of the boat as they boarded. She’d been on plenty of yachts before (hell she spent half of her time on the Druthers) but something about this just felt different.

“You good with seltzers?” One of the girls asked, opening the refrigerator to reveal it to be entirely stocked with everything from shooters to beers to champagne. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, looking over at y/n as she waited for a response.

“Uh, yeah. Do you have pineapple?” Y/n asked, putting her bag down on one of the barstools that sat in front of the bartop. The girl dug around, grabbing an armful and handing y/n a pineapple one.

“Thanks…” y/n said, looking over at the girl as Ruthie, Emily, and the red haired girl grabbed drinks from her arms.

“Jaz.” The girl said, taking a drink for herself before taking a long sip. ��And that’s Claire… in case you, uh, didn’t know.”

Y/n nodded, opening her drink and taking a sip, the familiar bubbling sensation and alcohol helping to calm her anxious stomach.

“Well,” Emily said, tapping her phone, the yacht immediately filling with blaring music, “let’s get this party started!”

The other girls squealed excitedly, y/n grinning as Emily shifted the boat into drive and they made their way out towards the open ocean.

The day flew by, the hours passing so quickly y/n hadn’t even realized it was nearly sunset when they made it back to the Carlsons’ dock. They’d spent hours chatting, dancing, sunbathing, and swimming in the sea, all while getting thoroughly hammered from the constant stream of alcoholic beverages thanks to Claire and her bartending abilities as well as the unrelenting sun. With the setting of the sun and cool air emerging, y/n tossed on a loose pair of shorts and a t-shirt she’d found in the back of her drawer over top of her damp swimsuit.

“Wait, wait, I’m not ready to leave yet.” Jaz slurred, her arm slung over Claire and y/n’s shoulders as they collapsed into one of the couches. Emily emerged from the cockpit, far less drunk than the rest of them, as she sunk into a chair opposite Jaz and Claire.

“I have an idea,” Ruthie said, setting her beer bottle down on the coffee table, her eyes flitting over to Emily, who smiled back at her. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Y/n giggled at the suggestion and what she assumed was Ruthie’s joke, but by the excited looks on everyone else's faces, she knew she was serious.

“Uh, yeah sure.” Y/n agreed, Jaz shaking her arm excitedly before resting back on the couch.

“Ok, ok. I’ll go first.” Jaz said, clearing her throat a bit dramatically. “Claire, truth or dare?”

Claire grinned, her cheeks flushed from the sunny day, “uh… dare.”

“I dare you to…” Jaz looked around before her eyes landed on one of the beers sitting on the counter. “Shotgun that.”

Claire laughed, getting up before excitedly strutting over to the counter. She grabbed the keys to Emily’s car that rested nearby, stabbing the can before beginning to shotgun the drink. Everyone cheered as Claire quickly downed it before tossing it down on the floor with a holler.

“Alright,” Claire said wiping her mouth, “Ruthie, truth or dare?”

“Hmm… truth.” Ruthie said, lounging back in her chair.

“How big is Topper in the— y’know— department?” Claire said, raising her eyebrows and shaking her hips seductively. Emily laughed, hitting Ruthie’s arm as Ruthie smirked. Y/n’s eyes widened, her cheeks warming at the thought of her friend in… that way. Sure she’d heard the boys talk about stuff like this, but that was them and their exaggerated stories and egos. This was different.

“I mean…” Ruthie chuckled, beginning to pull her hands apart in some sort of pseudo-measuring device, the girls squealing as she pulled them further apart before adjusting them with a laugh. Y/n swallowed harshly, her eyes avoiding Ruthie’s as she took a drink hesitantly. As soon as the drink left her lips and her gaze shifted upwards again, Ruthie’s eyes were on her.

“Y/n,” Ruthie said with a shrug. “Truth or dare?”

Y/n blinked quickly before she answered, “uh, truth?”

A wide smile stretched across Ruthie’s lips as she leaned forward in her seat. Y/n gnawed at her bottom lip, waiting for whatever sort of (hopefully minimally) invasive question Ruthie was going to ask.

“Are the rumors about you and Rafe true?” Ruthie asked. Y/n felt her stomach shift, her eyes looking around the room at everyone else… all of which were listening intently for her answer, their lips drawn up in grins. Rumors? I mean, she’d heard whispers before, but people weren’t too keen on starting up rumors about the Kook King, Rafe Cameron. They were mostly stupid things, like in high school she made him breakup with his girlfriend (not true) or y/n had crashed Rafe’s new car and blamed it on Kelce (also not true).

“Um,” y/n swallowed, “w– what rumors?”

“That you guys are like… totally hooking up.” Ruthie scoffed as if it was common knowledge. Y/n’s heart pounded, her mouth immediately growing dry as the girls continued to stare at her in anticipation. Her and Rafe? Hooking up? They were friends… sure, she had a crush on him, but it wasn’t anything she held out any hope for. She always knew he’d never see her in that way, I mean he was Rafe fucking Cameron and she was just… his best friend.

“I—” y/n stammered, “that’s— no, that’s totally not true…”

Ruthie quirked an eyebrow, chuckling lightly as she looked over at Jaz.

“So you’ve guys like never… nothing?” Jaz asked, eyeing y/n up and down from her spot next to her.

“N–no.” Y/n said. “We’re just friends. Nothing more.”

“Hmm.” Claire hummed on y/n’s other side before resting back in her spot on the couch.

“Um… Jaz, truth or dare?” Y/n said quickly, taking a sip in an attempt to keep the game going. Thankfully, Jaz answered and the game continued on. The girls went around in circles, the four much closer friends thankfully avoiding y/n for the most part as they took their turns. Y/n sat quietly, her head still buzzing, when Emily said her name.

“What?” Y/n said, looking up from her lap. Emily laughed, tossing a bit of blonde hair over her exposed tanned skin as the rest of the girls joined her.

“Truth or dare?” Emily said.

“Oh, um…” Y/n thought back to the last round of questioning and decided that perhaps choosing “truth” again wasn’t her best option. I mean, the dares the girls had been doing the rest of night hadn’t been that bad, mostly along the lines of do a shot or give so-and-so a little dance.

“Dare.” Y/n said, which caused the girls to burst into another round of excited giggles.

“I dare you to… skinny dip. In the lake.” Emily grinned. Y/n looked around the room, chuckling nervously as the other girls nodded. The ocean was one thing, but the lake? Lake Pauline was in the middle of nowhere and notoriously gross…

“I don’t know… it’s kinda late and cold and— I mean I could just do it here—” y/n rambled, smoothing her hands down her legs.

“A dare is a dare.” Claire said with a simple shrug. Y/n let out a shaky exhale, slowly coming to the realization that there wasn’t really any easy way out of this. If she wussed out, she’d completely ruin the night, the good first impression she’d wanted to give the girls destroyed. So, with a nod, she committed.

Emily grinned, quickly grabbing her keys before everyone else followed, y/n slugging reluctantly behind.

“Chin up, y/n,” Ruthie smirked as they all climbed into the Jeep. “It’ll be totally fun.”

The short ride to the lake was anxiety-filled, y/n gnawing at her thumbnail and contemplating jumping out of the doorless Jeep, until they finally pulled up at the edge of the lake. The girls piled out, chattering excitedly as they followed y/n out to the rickety dock. Y/n spared one more glance back at the girls before stepping on the splintered wood of the dock. With each step, the structure groaned, until she finally made it to the end.

The water resting below her feet was a murky green, swirling with algae and… god only knows what else. Slowly, y/n reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head before her shorts followed, leaving her in her still wet bathing suit.

“You got this!” Jaz shouted from the shore. With a sigh, y/n reached behind her head and pulled at the strings of her top. The top fell to the ground, joining the rest of her clothes in a heap before her bottoms finally landed on top. The cool air sent a shiver down her spine, her hands instinctively wrapping around her torso as she looked down at the water once again.

“Remember, you have to touch the buoy for it to count!” Emily added. Y/n looked across the water before her eyes finally landed on the dilapidated orange buoy that bobbed a good twenty feet away from the edge of the dock. It wasn’t an impossible distance, but it was far enough to make her want to chicken out of this whole stupid dare.

“Seriously, I—” y/n groaned.

“Just do it already!” Ruthie snapped, Claire hitting her shoulder. Y/n closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath before opening once more. Then, with a step off the edge, she was under water.

The muck of the lake immediately enveloped her, the freezing cold instilling itself into her very bones as she finally broke through to the surface. Her eyes set ahead, y/n started to paddle. Slowly but surely, she made her way through the murky water until her hands finally hit the buoy. Despite the grossness of the situation, the adrenaline in the moment caused a smile to spread across y/n’s lips. She excitedly whipped around, hoping to see the girls excitedly cheering from the shore… except they weren’t on the shore anymore.

Ruthie was at the end of the dock, y/n’s clothes in hand as she started running back towards the shore. Jaz and Claire giggled as they climbed into the back of the Jeep, Emily starting the engine with a squeal. Y/n’s face fell, realization coming through as she began to desperately paddle back towards the dock.

“Hey! Hey!” Y/n shouted, her heart pounding as she swam as fast as she could… but it was too late. Ruthie had already made it back to the Jeep, clothes in hand.

“See ya, y/n!” Jaz shouted, tossing y/n’s beach bag out the back of the Jeep before Emily quickly peeled away, the girl's laughter echoing as they drove off into the night.

“Wait! Wait!” Y/n screamed as she made it to the end of the dock, her fingers desperately  clawing at the wood as she climbed out. Her shoulders shook, both from the coldness of her body and the tears that had begun to spring up as she ran along the dock.

Y/n made it to the shore, letting out a sob as she fell to the ground in front of her bag. She grabbed it, throwing it open, hoping and praying her phone was still in there. Her hands shook as she dug through it, pulling her damp towel out and wrapping it around her shoulders for some semblance of warmth. Tears blurred her vision as she finally pulled out her phone, trembling as she swiped through her contacts.

It was late, nearly midnight, and she knew there was only one person who would absolutely drop everything right now to help her— to save her. 

So, she pressed on Rafe’s contact. 

The phone barely rang once before he picked up.

“Hey, girl, what’s up?” Rafe said. Y/n let out a gasp of relief, running a hand down her face, pushing her muddy hair out of her eyes.

“I– I need you to pick me up.” Y/n stammered, her voice cracking as she spoke into the phone.

“Y/n, where are you? What’s going on? I thought you were with Emily and—” Rafe said quickly, the sound of him quickly shuffling around followed by the jingle of his keys.

“I’m at Lake Pauline. I—” y/n sobbed, “they left me here. We were— I was— they—-”

“Y/n, I need you to calm down.” Rafe said. “Take a deep breath for me, please, girl.”

Y/n tried her best to listen, her breathing harsh from the tears that flowed down her cheeks and the numbing in her body.

“Emily dared me to go skinny dipping and when I did they took my clothes,”  Y/n’s lip trembled. “God I’m so fucking stupid—”

“No, no, don’t say that.” Rafe cut her off, his car running clearly in the background. “Those girls are— and I know you told me not to call girls this but I think this is warranted— fucking bitches.”

“Shit I’m so fucking cold and—” y/n sobbed, “I’m covered in mud and that was my favorite fucking swimsuit!”

“I’m on my way please just… please just stay where you are and stay calm,” Rafe said over the sound of y/n’s teeth chattering. “Can you do that for me, please, girl?

“Y– yes.” Y/n whispered, pulling the towel closer to her body. She tried to slow her tears, but every second in the bitter cold and muck that covered her body felt like an eternity. Y/n brought her legs up to her chest, curling into herself as she waited, Rafe remaining on the phone with her as he sped through Figure Eight.

“Shit, shit, is that you? Holy fuck…” Rafe said as a pair of headlights appeared down the dirt road to Lake Pauline. Y/n blinked at the bright lights as they grew closer. Rafe quickly hung up the phone, his car barely stopping before he ran out. He gripped tightly onto the clothes he had grabbed in his panic before he’d left, a pair of sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt he found on the floor.

“Jesus,” Rafe swore, helping y/n to her feet, his breath visible in the chilly night. Her wet towel remained wrapped firmly around her as he looked over her mud covered face streaming with tears. With a sob, y/n buried her head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her quickly, moving them up and down in hopes of warming her trembling body.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” Y/n mumbled into Rafe’s chest, him pulling away to look at her for a moment before he started tugging a t-shirt over her head. She tried to lift her arms, but the cold made her arms feel like they weighed tons.

“No, don’t. Just… let me help you.” Rafe sighed, maneuvering her arm through the sleeves of the t-shirt, the towel dropping. Y/n clawed at it in an attempt to pull it back to her body and save herself some semblance of decency she had, but Rafe swatted her hand away as he brought the sweatpants to her feet.

“That wet towel is only going to make you colder, a’ight? I don’t give a fuck, you’re fucking trembling.” Rafe sighed. Y/n grabbed onto his shoulder for balance as she stepped into the sweatpants. He pulled them up quickly before standing up, looking over her still shaking body. Without a second thought, Rafe brought his sweatshirt over his head before pulling it down over her own. Once it finally settled on her, y/n wrapped her arms around her body before letting out another sob. With a sigh, Rafe pulled her into his chest, allowing her to cry in his arms.

“It’s ok, I got you.” He said, soothing a hand down y/n’s back. He kneeled down to grab her bag, slinging it over his shoulder before he led her back to the warmth of his Jeep. He tossed her bag in the back before scooping his arms underneath her knees and lifting her into the passenger seat. 

The heat in Rafe’s car blasted as he rounded the car and climbed into the passenger seat. The two of them drove in silence, y/n looking out the window and Rafe sparing her the occasional glance. Once they made it to Tanneyhill, the silence continued as y/n climbed out of the car without a word. Rafe trailed close behind her as she entered the front door, climbing up the stairs and walking down the hallway until they made it to Rafe’s bedroom.

“Take a shower, I’ll get you something to change into, a’ight? Take your time.” Rafe said, smoothing a hand down y/n’s back before pressing a quick kiss to the top of her mud caked hair. Y/n nodded, trudging into Rafe’s bathroom.

As soon as she stepped in, she turned to the mirror. Her skin was covered in muck, her hair tangled in a way that made her doubt she’d ever get the knots out, and her under eyes were a puffy, darkened mess. Closing her eyes, y/n took a deep breath before she began to slip out of Rafe’s clothes. With each layer shed, more mud covered skin was revealed.

She turned the shower on, the steam quickly filling the room. With a sniffle, y/n stepped into the warm stream. She wiped her nose as she watched the muddy water fall down the drain. She stood there for she didn’t know how long, watching each layer of dirt and grime wash off before finally reaching for the expensive shampoo Rafe used. She squeezed out a generous amount, the subtle vanilla scent filling her lungs as she began to lather it into her hair.

She worked it through, following it with body wash before applying the conditioner she’d convinced him to get (what could she say, it made his hair look good). Once the water turned off, the exhaustion of the night really started to sink in. Y/n quickly dried off before sliding open the door with a yawn, her towel wrapped around her as steam billowed out into Rafe’s bedroom. Rafe sat on his bed, his head resting against his headboard and legs stretched out. At his feet, a pair of boxers and an oversized t-shirt rested, folded nicely, alongside an array of different combs and hairbrushes he had stolen from his sisters’ bathrooms.

“Thanks,” y/n whispered as she grabbed the clothes, Rafe simply nodded at her with a small but concerned smile. She went back into the bathroom, quickly slipping into the fresh clothes before emerging once more. With a sigh, y/n sat on the end of the bed before picking up one of the combs. She began to work it through her hair, her fatigued arms making each pass through feel impossibly more difficult than the last.

“You alright?” Rafe whispered, causing y/n to turn to him.

“Yeah,” y/n muttered, yawning as she dropped her hands into her lap, the comb still stuck in her hair. “I’ll be ok. I’m just really tired.”

“I can do it, if you want.” Rafe said, scooting along the bed to sit closer to her, gesturing to her still very much tangled hair. Y/n nodded, shuffling to sit in front of him, his long legs resting on either side of her. Hesitantly, Rafe reached for the comb. He slowly began to brush through her hair, his touch clumsy but gentle as he began to detangle her hair.

“Thank you, Rafe.” Y/n whispered. Rafe stopped combing through her hair for a moment, his hand falling to rest on the side of her cheek, turning her face to look at him.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that right?” Rafe said lowly, his eyes looking over her tired face. A small smile spread across y/n’s lips before she turned, wrapping her arms around Rafe’s torso and resting her head on his chest. His hand smoothed down her back, allowing her to relax into his lap before he began to comb the back of her hair. Before he knew it, y/n’s breathing slowed, her eyes fluttering shut as she dozed off.

Y/n didn’t know what time it was when she finally woke up. The sun was already beginning to filter through the curtains, bathing Rafe’s bedroom in a familiar golden glow. With a groan, y/n sat up, instinctually running a hand through her untangled hair. Rafe laid on his stomach, his freckled, tanned back rising and falling slowly as he slept peacefully. Y/n looked around once more before she noticed the pile of clothes resting on the foot of the bed: her shorts, t-shirt, and her favorite swimsuit from last night freshly washed. She crawled over to them, grabbing her clothes before lifting them up to her nose and inhaling deeply… the familiar scent of Rafe’s detergent filling her lungs.

[waterfae]

A Good Pillow [Part 11]

Summary: A glimpse of your budding friendship with Ominis and your growing feelings after the events in the Scriptorium.

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x Reader, Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mild language, angst, comfort, fluff, friends-to-lovers, unhinged Slytherins, complicated relationships, house-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, no beta

Word Count: 1.5+ K

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

|| General Masterlist || Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist ||

The world around you paused and faded into silence. In the stillness, you felt as though you were aimlessly floating; you’re body not your own and completely detached. You felt nothing. Not the injuries you acquired from the recent battle or the rocks digging into your knees as you knelt beside your precious Professor Fig. You didn’t hear the footsteps of several professors clambering into the chamber, nor did you feel the fingers that dug into your arms as someone tried to shake you back to reality. It was of no use. You only continued to stare down at your mentor, dazed, as you were hoisted up to your feet and passed along to another professor so the others could return their attention back to the body that laid lifeless on the floor.

You were quickly pulled away from the scene, a task easily accomplished as you were not yet lucid enough to protest. It was not until you caught sight of Professor Weasley were you torn from the spell. It was in that moment, when you locked eyes and saw the despair in hers, did it finally strike you that what you witnessed was very much real and a grisly sob was released. The outpouring of tears began and you stumbled forward reaching out to her, breaking from the other professors hold, who you now recognized to be Professor Onai. Professor Weasley moved swiftly towards you, catching you in her arms just as your knees gave out and she held tightly to your trembling frame as you cried and cried and cried...

You had never imagined that when you sneaked away from the Hospital Wing earlier in the day that you would be returning with your mentor and friend. Cold. Dead. Gone.

Madame Blainey fussed at first when she found Professor Weasley and Professor Onai assisting you to the bed you had previously occupied, admonishing your escape and the addition of injuries to your already growing list. You weren’t listening however, lost in your thoughts. Hogwarts was safe. The wizarding world had been spared. But at a cost. She immediately came to a halt once Professor Weasley gave her a pleading and sorrowful look.

The others came soon afterward, trying to keep Professor Fig’s body hidden as they floated him to furthest area of the wing. Madame Blainey let out a gasp and moved quickly, understanding now why Professor Weasley had given that look and pulled the dividers out, blocking the scene from any possible onlookers as Professor Fig was laid upon one of the empty beds. Professor Weasley observed you one last time, making sure you were settled before leaving to call upon the Headmaster.

You laid there in your hospital bed, tears streaming down your face once more with the Keeper’s wand still firmly in your grip.

You couldn’t stand being in the castle after Professors Fig’s memorial. All the looks and condolences from your fellow students were all too much; they all knew how close you had become with the professor, but they would never know the reality or depth of it. It was suffocating and you hated it. You stole away amidst the feast that followed and found yourself down by the boathouse, tossing small pieces of bread into the lake and taking solace in the sound of the water gently sloshing against the stones. The moment, however, was disrupted not too long after.

“There you are.” You turned to find Sebastian descending the final set of steps towards you, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You ripped a couple more pieces from your dinner roll and tossed them into the water, “I needed some air.”

He took the place beside you, hands in his pockets, both of you looking out towards the other side of the shore, “Can’t believe we lost Fig. I didn’t know him as well as you did, but I know he was a good man. He was fortunate to have you.” You bowed your head in sadness at his words, “Glad Weasley spoke for him – she honored him well. Fig will be remembered.” He paused and turned his gaze to you, “How are you feeling though? Truly?”

“How do you think?” You retorted bitterly as you threw a few more pieces.

“Dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”

You delayed, thinking of your reply. How were you feeling? From your stint in the hospital wing to now, you’ve had plenty of time to ruminate on your self-pity and contemplate all the things that had happened since your journey began. George Osric is dead. Lodgok is dead. Solomon Sallow is dead. Professor Fig is dead. Death followed you and you were as much of a killer as the boy standing beside you. Poachers continued to run amok even with Victor Rockwood gone. You were stuck playing Keeper with a repository you couldn’t destroy and yet had no idea what to do with. And you couldn’t even help Anne with her curse. What was even the point of it all? It was lost to you.

“Useless.” You finally uttered, “I feel useless.”

Sebastian frowned at your answer, “Good Merlin, woman. Do you know what they’re calling you in there? Hero of Hogwarts.” He removed a hand from his pocket and placed it on your shoulder, “Give yourself some credit. Actually, give yourself a lot of credit. You saved the school.” He softened when you gave no response,“You’ve done a lot, but you can’t do everything. You can’t save everyone.”

“Not the tune you were singing not too long ago.” You said sorrowfully, tearing more pieces of bread apart.

“I –” He let out a sigh of defeat, “I was not myself then. And I do regret saying those things. All of it.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “There is no excuse. Ominis had said so, but I couldn’t see it until recently: I took it all for granted. You especially and even after everything, you were able to find out what really happened to Anne; who really cursed her. I owe you an apology. I’m really, really sorry.”

You weren’t sure what kind of response to give just yet, so you remained silent, taking whatever was left of your roll and throwing the entirety of it into the lake.

“Ominis spoke with Anne.” He said abruptly. You turned slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye as he continued, “She believes I should pay for what I did. But she won’t turn me in. She said the guilt I’ll have to live with is punishment enough.” You fully turned to him then and raised your own hand to the one he kept on your shoulder, placing it atop of his in what you hoped to be comforting, “The thing is...I think I’ve lost my sister forever. She refused to even see me. I can’t blame her. I couldn’t really blame any of you if you gave up on me entirely. You all believed in me and I let you all down.”

“Anne may just need some time.” You recalled how furious she had looked the last time you saw her, yet you hoped that somehow, after her grieving, there would still be room in her heart for her brother; it was the same hope that you had for yourself after his apology, “Surely one day she’ll be able to forgive you. You’re the only family she has left.”

“I hope you’re right.” He took hold of your hand even as he let it fall from your shoulder, “I realized I can’t undo what’s been done. But I can try everyday to make up for it.” He pulled you towards him then and encased you in his arms as he buried his face into your shoulder, “I owe you and Ominis everything for standing by me.”

It took you by surprise, but you returned his embrace, hesitantly at first, then all at once, wrapping both your arms around him and resting your head against his.

“This suits you much better.” You said after a minute.

He pulled away to look at you questioningly, brows furrowed.

“Relic-less.” You answered his unstated question with a small smile beginning to form on your lips, “Without it, you’re more...you. Just as I met you that first day in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Seems so long ago.” He replied with a smirk, “I guess Ominis was right, yet again. I really should stay away from dark objects.”

“Probably.”

The two of you fell into a lull, one you both allowed to continue as the night grew darker and more chilly. Silence with Sebastian was usually awkward, brought on by some unhinged arguments or impulsive actions. But this one was peaceful, a rare occurrence as of late. Nothing was said in those moments and yet you found great pleasure and reassurance in it as he continued to hold your hand whilst gazing past the dock.

“Thank you.” As always, it was Sebastian who was the one to break through the quiet first.

You looked up at him and found him looking down at you with the most warm of expressions. It made you smile as you asked, “Whatever for?”

“Your friendship. I am grateful for it.” With his free hand, he reached out to fix a stray lock of hair that had fallen forward over your shoulder, “I’m glad you came to Hogwarts.”

a/n: And so, you're all finally caught up alongside my AO3 readers. Which means we've only got one chapter left to go. Oh dear. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and my askbox is always open. ♡

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[kuebandungs]

Sweet Home Imagines : 03

☆ Cha Hyunsu x fem!reader ☆

masterlist

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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).”

[wynnyfryd]

the kind of charm we need

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

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“‘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.

[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.

~

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[thatawkwardmoth]

It's a normal Sunday afternoon. Jean is on the couch. She's done tidying up the place for Sunday dinner. Rachel and Scott, ever acting like the same person, are building a tower together. And Rachel is an odd little kid. All the ones Jean and Scott have known, all her preschool classmates, they want to destroy right after they build. They want to watch it all crash down and clap happily.

Rachel enjoys building it, especially with Scott's help. He makes sure it's stable and knows where to place the blocks so it doesn't topple over. Rachel becomes very distraught if it falls before she's ready to deconstruct it block by block. 

So she sits on her Dad's lap, the same pensive look in their faces as they make a giant city on the living room carpet of the Boathouse. Jean is watching with a soft smile, mostly asleep after a long day, but she can't sleep yet. This scene is too precious to miss. Her husband is so soft with Rachel. His voice is calming as he praises her on her tower skills, giving Ray time to decompress after her own long day. 

This hour of 'quiet time,' as Scott calls it, is needed. Sometimes it's just because they have a hyper toddler who needs time to mellow out before naptime. Other times it's because Ray's already budding powers have overstimulated her. Feeling people's emotions around a bustling school isn't easy. 

Jean reaches out telepathically, just picking up her daughter's surface thoughts. She's tired and thinking about just falling asleep on her daddy because he'll let her. He'll let her sleep in his and Jean's bed if Jean doesn't put her foot down. 

Scott's thoughts, ever present in her mind, are worrying about them both. As always. He's wondering if, when he checks Rachel's lunchbox, if she ate everything. If Jean's feet still hurt from the heels she had to wear to a conference with the Professor yesterday, if his team is going to be able to complete the danger room scenarios he has queued up. Jean lets him worry, he always does. 

"Ray, you ready to take it apart?" Scott asks. He's noticed how heavy Rachel's eyes have gotten. Rachel pouts and shakes her head.

"Mama, move it?" She asks Jean, yawning as she curls up in her father's lap, bright curls tickling his chin. Jean sighs like it's something she wasn't expecting. Rachel is an only child, she can have her creations be moved to her designated area of the living room and it won't be destroyed come morning by anyone. It's something she's realized early on. If it's moved out of the walkway, she won't have to pack it all up. 

Meaning Jean spends a lot of her time 'training' as she tells Scott and the Professor by moving Rachel's creations telekinetically from one spot to another. Rachel always claps like she's never seen it before.

"There you go. Remember honey, Aunt Ororo's coming by tonight. So are a few other people. You might have to put your blocks away." Scott reminds her as he stands, her head on his shoulder. For a second, Scott's thoughts are a mess. Jean can't help but melt at them. 

Whenever Scott does anything with Rachel or anything happens with her, even just someone mentioning her name sometimes, his thoughts pause. They automatically think of her as still a baby. His hand sometimes cradles her neck when he's holding her a certain way, he still checks her car seat buckles even if she's at the phase where she 'can do it herself, daddy!'

It's comforting. And part of the reason Jean doesn't want another baby. Her sister keeps asking her when she's going to have her second. 

"Rachel's not getting any younger!" Sara says constantly. "Neither are you, Jeannie." 

And Jean knows that. Her biological clock is running out. But how could she have another baby? 

It's mainly the mutant situation and the hate coming towards their people that stop her and Scott from ever going through with having a second child. It's too dangerous. Scott had regrets he voiced shortly after Ray was born. 

But a small part of her doesn't want Rachel to have to share the overwhelming love Scott has for her. She could. She has potential to be a great big sister. But she's Scott's baby, through and through. 

He wakes up early, even earlier than he did before she was born, to make her a homemade lunch, to make sure she's got her favorite clothes cleaned for preschool, that all her papers have been looked over and read. That her shoes are clean and still light up. He makes a fresh pitcher of lemonade every two days for Rachel's small tumbler she takes to school with her. 

He builds towers with her when he should be grading. He takes her out to movies every chance he gets, giving Jean the most heartbreaking excuse. 

"I don't want to give her away to some random boy," He always says, already thinking of Rachel getting married. "But when I do, I want her to know how a man is supposed to act on a date."

Jean couldn't imagine having a second child. Scott wanted a big family, only stopped by the opinions of people about mutants. Jean thought she wanted a big family too. 

But she's content with one. She's happy with one. Besides, she tells herself, Rachel is horrible at sharing.

(She's not. Ray is a sweetheart. That's what everyone tells her. She's a sweetheart like Jean. Kind and caring and darling. No one ever says she's sweet like Scott. Jean thinks it's sad. Don't they know how caring her husband is?)

Jean's pulled from her thoughts by a small shake, Scott leaning down to kiss her head when he's got her attention. 

"I'm going to put our little firebird to bed." He mutters to her, keeping his voice low. "You can go nap in our room." He orders her, always worried about her before he's worried about himself. "I'll handle dinner." 

Jean watches him leave for Rachel's room, the door creaking open. Rachel sleeps through it and Scott tosses a boyish grin back at her. They've been arguing over fixing the hinges for a few days. Jean thinks it will wake Rachel up, Scott likes it because it lets them know when she's sneaking out of bed. 

Jean rolls her eyes and stretches out on the couch before heading for the master bedroom. She peeks into Rachel's room as she passes. The quietness of the house makes Jean contemplative, makes her emotional. She'll blame that. 

Scott lays Rachel down in her small bed with as much care as he did the first day they brought her home. Hand on the back of her neck and everything. He takes a moment to turn on her fan and remove her socks, knowing Rachel runs hot. Every movement he's done a hundred times before but each one he takes his time with. He doesn't rush this. Even if Ray is already asleep. He makes sure her windows are still locked and that her nightlight is still working. Her closet door needs to be closed and her stuffed tiger has to be close to her but not touching her. 

Scott does it all with a smile, only leaving the room after every little thing is done, giving her a kiss on the forehead before meeting Jean in the hallway. 

What's wrong? Scott asks through their link. Jean didn't even realize she was projecting how sappy it made her. 

Sometimes, I think you're sweeter to her than you are to me. She teases. She caresses his cheek as he pulls her into his embrace. She loves this man with everything she has. 

"I don't think we can have another baby." Jean whispers, looking back at the cracked open door. Scott hums curiously in response. His chin is in her head, his arms around her waist. 

"Were we planning on one?" Scott asks slowly. 

"No. But people keep asking." Jean shakes her head in response, laughing softly at his careful treading. "I don't think you could handle two." 

"I could!" Scott defends in mock outrage, pulling away to stare down at her with a playful frown. "I could definitely handle two kids." His thoughts are different from Jean's about this. In his mind, he can easily carve out time for a second. He could easily juggle two kids. His thoughts focus more on the second child getting time and effort. 

"You can." She agrees. "But it wouldn't be fair to Ray." She leads him to their room, away from the light sleeper that is their toddler. 

"How so?" Scott asks as he pushes to sit on the edge of the bed. "We could make it fair." 

"You give your everything to Rachel. It wouldn't be fair to ask her to share or cut back on her time with you just because we decided to have another baby." Jean tells him, wanting him to be on the same page as her. "And don't mention her asking for a sibling. She wants a sibling like she wants a puppy." 

Scott chuckles at that, pulling her in by the waist. "I guess you're right. She's been spoiled." He sighs with a dopey grin. 

It's a sight to behold. Her husband, the stoic leader, uptight, no nonsense teacher, looking so smug about how spoiled their child is. 

He takes pride in it. She knows he does. He was raised in an orphanage and the one couple that wanted to adopt him met an untimely fate. Every time he can give Rachel the childhood he begged for, he gets a burst of joy. Anytime he can beat Corsair in parenting, he's on cloud nine. 

"Try not to raise a monster." Jean jokes. 

"My baby could never be a monster." Scott quips back. He's looking at her with a fond smile. The 'baby' he's talking about isn't just limited to Rachel. 

"Sap." She accuses him, kissing him to wipe that smile off his face. 

"I spoil you too." He says after he pulls away, tugging her down on the bed with him. "So, if we're not having another, does that mean we're not allowed to practice?"

"I didn't say that." 

[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

[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