#Everyone's happy and nobody dies

[cardhamine]

POV 4 years after nearly dying in a family fun complex, the kid you adopted wants you to hurry up and open your birthday presents because he got you a co-op game that definitely isn't the one he's been asking for himself the last 3 months

[hairmetal666]

TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

[batchedzine]

🍪 OC Sunday 🍪

Welcome to OC Sunday, where we will be highlighting the marvelous original clone characters that will be featured in our OC Showcase!

The OC Showcase will be included as a PDF/ePub with all bundle purchases, so everyone who gets the zine will be able to meet these wonderful characters.

Today's first batch:

🍩 Nik Scribbles - @nikscribbles 🧁 Hannah - @porganas 🍨 Pidge - pidgotto.arts 🥧 Mimse - @engagemythrusters

Preorders for Batched are open now through October 31!

🧁Preorder here!🧁

[aceisferal]

Okay so in the supernatural universe the supernatural books have a very large following, we all know this. So do you think they’ve done a Fortnite crossover?? Do you think Sam and Dean are in the Supernatural universe’s Fortnite?? I think yes 100% and I think the books have a large enough following that they would be like main characters in a season

[totallynotasimp67]

In honor of Mother’s Day I present the galaxy’s greatest mother Shepard!!

The Scene

Shepard, Garrus and Grunt are in front of the Council on the Citadel for what ever reason, Shepard has to let the council take care of Grunt

Shep: This is my son Grunt, Grunt say ‘hello’

Grunt: *begrudgingly* hi

Shep: *dead stare, I mean what I say kinda stare* And if anything happens to him, I will nuke the Citadel

Grunt: *his cute little laugh* he he he

Garrus is next to them face palming like wtf, why is Shepard like this, oh right that’s why I love them

Game Progress Update

I finished all 3 ME games, got like the worst possible ending where everyone died, I do plan on playing through a few more times romance someone else, but before I do that I’ll be playing through ME Andromeda and I may or may not make prompts for Andromeda

Also, side note I made Garrus & Shepard Spotify playlists, and I kinda want some opinions on them

Garrus

Shepard

Don’t ask, I thought of this at like 3am last night

[heartburiedingreece]

I'm really gonna have to start writing nigelio fics cause there's like less than 50 of them and soon I'll have read them all

[astoryofsuchwoe]

i like to hurt my own feelings

[prettyboybillyhargrove]

Ok but imagine Billy in California. With his tiny as fuck Pomeranian or Chihuahua in his arms. They're both wearing matching pink sunglasses, has the bitchiest attitude. Billy just swinging his hips while leaving the nail salon in his tightest shortest pink booty shorts. And the shorts says the cheesiest line like "move I'm gay" or "nobody knows I'm gay" or literally just "trophy wife"

I just want him to live and be happy and never has to work and eat Steve's money and he his trophy wife that's all.

[thesokovianaccords]

steggysecretsanta2k22 - (organised by the amazing @steggyfanevents team)

inside steve rogers’ phone - a post-endgame au for @steverogersnotebook

steve rogers knows exactly how lucky he is. he’s married to the love of his life (who has taken to their accidental time travel back to 2024 much better than he’d expected). of course, she’s always been the more resilient of the two of them, and steve has always known that peggy is meant to lead - whether that be an intelligence agency, an intergalactic security organization, or a ragtag group of superheroes. or, all three. it’s a gift to see her in her element every day and to have that life that tony had always gone on about. and to have his phone again - it’s funny, the things you get used to.

one of his favorite things about this miraculous future is seeing the peggy he fell in love with take to the future with such excitement - she’d always been a little bit mischievous, a trendsetter, and a terrifyingly competent prankster, and now with access to technology, she’s unstoppable. so when she, sam wilson, and peter parker decide to gang up on his long-suffering best friend as part of the latest tiktok trend (or so they tell him), there’s little he can do but laugh - and celebrate her latest accomplishment. after all, he’s still a little salty about that new year’s eve thing. bucky knows what he did.

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Come True in the End

Author: Many_Impossible_Things

Rating/Warning: Mature, implied ED

Chapter Count: 2/2

Description: Chrissy Cunningham woke slowly in hell to the sound of an angry, distorted, defiant guitar chord. Once, then twice, and again. Chugging determinedly into her forehead, burrowing between her eyes straight into her skull.

Tags: Alternate Universe- canon divergence, fix-it fic, alternate universe- everyone lives/nobody dies, BAMF Chrissy, happy ending, fluff, angst, alternating POV, two-shot, status: completed

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

They’re stuck in the Upside Down. 

Nancy. Robin. Eddie. And Steve’s so fucked up from the bats, every breath, ever movement, has him in agony, and he just keeps seeing Eddie here, and it makes it all so much worse. This was never supposed to happen. And how was Steve supposed to keep him safe, keep them all safe, when he could barely stand upright from the pain?

Eddie walks a little way ahead with Nancy, fled after saying, “for your modesty, dude,” and throwing his battle vest at Steve’s face. It leaves Steve with Robin as they navigate the vines and random earthquakes to get to the Wheeler’s house. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Robin asks. 

Steve narrows his eyes. “You mean other than being dragged across a dry lakebed and eaten by fucked up bats?” 

“Is it. Eddie?” 

He bites his lips between his teeth. Of course Robin knows. She always does. “I hate that he’s part of this, Robs. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think it’s your fault.” It’s not a question.

“How can I not.” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You got dragged into this just by being friends with me. And now Eddie? If he wasn’t our friend—if he wasn’t my—he would be safe.”

“Steve. You know that’s not true. Chrissy was cursed already. She would have always died that night. Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, tears pooling along his lash lines. “We kissed,” he croaks out.

“What?” Robin shrieks loud enough to echo across the desolate, cursed landscape. 

Eddie and Nancy glance back in time to see Steve knock his shoulder against her arm. “Quiet,” he hisses. 

“Sorry,” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner! When? How? Are you together now?”

His mouth twists. “No. I think I fucked it up? It was—fuck—when he came over after Chrissy. He was so upset, and I was comforting him, and it just happened. I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“So, you haven’t talked about it?”

He gives her a look again. “When would we have had the time?” 

“Okay, okay. But he doesn’t seem mad. I mean, he still gazes at you all lovestruck and ridiculous.”

Heat bursts under the skin of Steve’s cheeks. “He does not,” he mumbles. 

“But you do need to talk about it. Obviously. You two have been pinning for years.” 

“It’s a year and a half. At most. Not even.”

“Feels like years to me.” 

Steve scoffs, falls silent. “I’m scared, Robs. What if he doesn’t like me back? He was too upset when I kissed him, and—I pushed it too far.”

“You did pick a truly terrible time to kiss him, and you two should probably talk about that, but Eddie isn’t going to be upset that you have feelings for him.”

“How do you know? There’s no way you can be sure. I don’t want to risk everything.” “Steve, I—” Robin’s mouth contorts into a complicated series of o’s as she fishes for words. “We’re already risking everything,” she says. “With the Upside Down. With Vecna. When we’re back topside, you should take the time you need to talk to him, okay? I promise that, even if he doesn’t like you like that, he’ll still love you as his closest friend.”

He can’t think of the words to argue with, so he nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of Eddie’s battle vest. His finger catches on something deep in the right pocket, accompanied by a telltale burst of pain. Steve hisses, retracting his hand, a drop of scarlet beads from a small slash at the tip of his index finger. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. He wipes the blood on the vest—it’s already soaked with it, anyway. 

“You okay?” Robin asks, her blue eyes sharp at Steve losing more blood.

“Yeah. Munson’s keeping sharp shit in his pockets again, is all.”

He reaches back into the pocket to find the offending weapon and finds a crumpled sheet of paper. An amused breath bursts out of him as he realizes what it must be, and he fishes it out with hesitation. 

It’s crinkled and grimy with age, but Steve unfurls it anyway. It’s his own handwriting at the top: “You ever been in love?” 

He doesn’t remember writing it, not clearly. There’s a vague recollection of wobbling around, crossfaded in his bedroom, scrawling words on the first acceptable surface he finds. Doesn’t remember giving it to Eddie, but he’s responded; it’s scrawled right there beneath Steve’s question: “No, but I think I’m falling.” 

Steve stops in his tracks, staring at the note, eyes darting from the paper to Eddie. A bright pulse of hope sticks in his throat. They’re going to get out of the Upside Down, and when they do, Steve is telling Eddie everything.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He doesn’t. 

Nancy is taken by Vecna and then they fall into planning mode, apparently RV theft mode too (“don’t cha, big boy” is never going to leave his head), and in the panic and fear, there isn’t time. 

There’s a little part of him, too, that doesn’t want to say, “I love you,” like it’s a good-bye. He meant it when he told Robin he still has hope, he does, refuses to accept any outcome that isn’t success, that leaves one of their rank dead. 

So, he doesn’t talk to Eddie, and they’re in the Upside Down for their last stand and all the words and emotions pile up on his tongue but can’t find flight. 

He, Robin, and Nancy turn to go, he’s already kicking himself for his silence, when Eddie’s voice rings out, “Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns fast, almost overbalances, but the meeting of their eyes steadies him. In the rich brown of Eddie’s, Steve thinks he sees all the things he wants to say echoed back. They gaze at each other in silence that thickens every millisecond until Eddie says, “make him pay,” and Steve lifts his chin in acknowledgement. He knows it’s not what Eddie means to say, thinks he understands why he can’t. 

There will be plenty of time for their confessions when they get out of this alive. And they will. Steve is sure of it. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It’s over.

It was hard. Bad. But it’s done. Vecna a smoldering ruin on the Upside Down version of the Creel House lawn. 

Steve doesn’t feel triumphant, exactly. They’d almost died, strangled by the vines, briefly outmatched by Vecna. He is relieved, though. Eager to get back to the trailer park, to Eddie and Dustin.

They traverse the Upside Down, silent now and free of earthquakes, closing in on the trailer park in record time. 

Up ahead, Steve makes out a hunched shape that must be Dustin in his ghillie suit. He wonders where Eddie is, but he’s not afraid. 

He picks up speed to close the distance faster. “Dustin!” he shouts. He means it to sound excited, triumphant, but it’s strangled. His heart’s beating too fast.

Steve is near enough, makes out the dark heap at Dustin’s feet. Someone is chanting a high-pitched, unbroken rhythm of “no, no, no, no, no, nononono,” and it takes him several long moments to realize the sound is coming from his own mouth. He can’t make himself stop.

“Steve,” Dustin sobs. He’s covered in red, leaned over Eddie’s prone form. 

There’s so much blood, congealing in dark pools on the grey earth.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, hey,” Steve falls to his knees, fighting off the panicked keen building in his throat at Eddie’s mostly closed eyes. 

“Babylove, honey, sweetheart, please, please look at me, okay?” There are bites on his cheeks that Steve avoids, tapping at Eddie’s cheekbones with shaking fingers. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter, try to focus, but drift. “S’vie?” he rasps. 

“Hey, hey, It’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here, but you got to stay awake for me, okay?”

“N’ver thought I’d go to heaven,” Eddie mumbles, he fights his eyes from rolling back.

Steve forces a laugh. “What a line, man,” his focus shifts. “Robin, Nancy, we need to stop the bleeding.” 

They work in a flurry of motion, Steve talking to Eddie, struggling to keep him alert. 

“You gotta stay with me, Eds. Okay? I can’t be without you. You know that, right? You’re everything, Eddie. Everything.”

Eddie smiles with teeth full of blood. “Whatever you say, angel,” he whispers. His eyes slide shut.

Steve swallows his scream, hefts Eddie into his arms, and runs.

(Part 7)

This is a rough one, please feel free to shout at me about it. Thank you so much for reading! One more part to go; and don't worry, nobody dies and there's a happy ending.

I can't add anymore tags, but I appreciate each and every one of you for coming on the steddie notes journey with me! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

@fandomgenderz @nuttychaosface @thatcottagewitch @idoquitelikebread @shinekocreator @savveth @mackfrfr0 @yourebuckingkiddingme @steddieassheg0es @gamerdano @thebig-smoke @questionablequeeries @zerokrox-blog @thegingervulcan @charlies-candid-corner@perpetual-trashcan @sleepy-rainedrop @marvelous-musicals @hoffmannwrites @fromapayphone @courtjestermunson@juicinmyjams @daydreaming-mood @aceflavouredyougurt @emly03 @pille1983 @darcyshandflex @anteaterballs @adankrivervalleynearyou @didntwant2come @kittsu-makes-glass @alienace

@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflowerr @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

[batchedzine]

🍪 Preorders open October 1st!! 🍪

Mark your calendars: Preorders open for Batched: A Clone Zine open TOMORROW!

.🍪

There are not one, but TWO wonderful zines in this project: The main zine, "Batched", which contains happy AUs for some of your favorite canon clone troopers; and the Clone OC Showcase, which features original clone characters in happy scenarios.

.🍪

Follow us for bundle release info, updates, and contributor spotlights!

[thedivinelights]

Si Vis Amaris Ama

(Modern AU Scrooge/Marley)

They've had a long and winding road to get to this point, a childhood spun of fate and interspersed with romance. Nevertheless, Marley can't help but have his doubts at moments.

Luckily, Scrooge is always there to remind him

When Jacob A.T. Marley was twelve-years-old, he met his partner for the first time.

He didn’t know it at the time. A spiteful young boy, scorned from others and scorning everyone else, looked upon this blue-eyed, brown-haired boy with disdain and contempt the likes of which he’d never felt for anyone else nor held to such a standard. How dare he take the attention that was meant to be his?! How dare he come forward with his wondrous awe and a nervous countenance, as if he hadn’t known what he was taking with such avarice?! This was his territory, dense and unforgiving. He had claimed his rocky landscape with the Marley domain. The staircases and hallways were his hunting grounds, his bedroom his alcove.

This was his home. Lenore and Abel Marley were his parents. Any love directed at this intruder should’ve been his and his alone! He would choke him out! He would drag him away! He would refuse his friendship! There was no space in their hearts for this greedy, stalking, orbiting, forsaken, abandoned, adorable, cheeky, hopeful shark! None whatsoever! He would fight for his territory! 

He would fight against this… this ruinous boy!

But he made a mistake. A foolish mistake. A beautiful mistake.

For when Jacob A.T. Marley was thirteen-years-old, he fell in love for the first time.

That love grew like a parasite, a bloodsucker, a leech, feasting upon the resentment he held, thriving in the very soil of his bitterness. It crept into the corners of his heart through every shared book, wrapping tendrils around his defences through every shared lunch, and before he realised it, the spiteful young boy found himself captivated by the very presence he had once despised. Even as the boy had grown into a man and found another, Marley was content to stand to the side, even as his heart screamed its protest. He was content to merely work with him, and content to leave it at that.

But then the life that had been born had been born cold, and the affection that had festered had turned into grief of the greatest magnitude, threatening to drown the shark within its black ichor. She left him when all tears were shed and all that was left was greed. And Marley, in his selfishness, confessed five years later. And Scrooge, in his practicality, accepted it.

Thus did the Shark and the Snake blossom amidst corporate greed, falling from grace in their sins, and rising from them all in the same breath, transforming in fire and metal and fear.

Wounds had begun to heal, ignorance turned to revelation, and want gave way to fulfilment. Atonement was by no means an easy task, but they chose to make the effort. Seven years gone, and only stepped back into the limelight when the world grovelled for their return.

And through change came truth, doubts laid bare. And Marley had to ask… had he made Ebenezer Scrooge obligated in this relationship? Was it all a series of contracts, a game to be won by default, or was there genuine affection behind the cold demeanour? Was the partnership merely a shackled facade, or had Scrooge truly come to appreciate Marley's presence?

Marley hadn’t the answer.

“...I’ve emailed over the PowerPoint slides with the information you requested. Did you…? Ah, I see you got our gift. No, no, all of that money is for your cause. I know… yes, I know it’s a hefty sum, but… there’s no hush in this money, sir. Asplex Industries is reforming. Scrooge and I are making sure of that. Yes… alright then, call my secretary for any further details. Cheers.”

Marley let out a sigh of relief as he finally removed the earpiece that had been in his ear for the last hour or so. He drummed his fingers on the table, a smile twitching on his lips at the sheer incredulousness of it all. It was amusing enough to hear the poor man over the phone sounding so sceptical, but so exuberant. A million quid hadn’t been that much, had it?

“I take it GamCare got our donation?” Scrooge pushed his way into their shared office just as Marley finished the call, his partner noting the bags under his eyes, and the crease against his brow that seemed to grow ever larger with each meeting that passed.

“If the screaming in the background had been any indication.” Marley spun a few rounds in his chair, before grasping the desk with his good arm to steady himself. “Poor bloke sounded like I’d just given him a winning lottery ticket.”

Scrooge let out a weary huff, running a hand through his greying hair as he sat down next to Marley. Despite the many shifts they had made in their lives, both the good and the bad, sharing a desk had become a habitual comfort that neither of them were willing to break. Besides, seducing his way into a sitting position in Scrooge’s strong arms, Marley thought with a wicked grin, was a nice little bonus all around.

“Board give you a hard time again?” Marley asked as Scrooge slumped beside him.

“Don’t get me started. The damn thing was interminable.” Scrooge rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t understand how Preslan can have so much energy to last through hours of drivel.”

“Glad it was you and not me.” Marley quipped, earning a wry smile from his lover.

“Ha ha.”

“Anyways, I have some time to kill.” Marley rubbed his right wrist, the bandages beneath shifting and tightening as he did so. “Want to grab some lunch? My treat.”

Scrooge took a glance at the time on the monitor and sighed. “Can’t. I have to coordinate with FULTON with Project: Terraforge. NASA’s paying us a hefty sum for this, and I need to ensure our resident AI doesn’t fuck it up.”

Marley wondered — quite often, he realised — if an artificial intelligence really could screw over a project that badly on accident, but he knew better than to dabble in the specifics and the statistics. He knew nothing of robotics or droids or golems that could terraform and transform landscapes, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. 

“No worries. I’ll grab something and bring it back here. You sure you don’t want anything?”

Scrooge shook his head. “I’ll survive.”

Marley stood up and walked around the desk, pressing a gentle kiss to Scrooge’s temple. “Don’t work yourself to death, okay?”

Scrooge hummed, acknowledging the sentiment without words, and Marley left the office with a heavy heart, wondering if there would ever be a time when Scrooge would prioritise their moments over corporate obligations. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the importance of their work; he did, perhaps more than anyone. And it wasn’t that Scrooge didn’t care; far from it. There was that sneaking darkness of guilt that would creep up on him as their past sins had manifested in dreams and cackled in his sleep. Marley never liked seeing him tossing beneath tangled sheets, being helpless to only sit and watch and cradle as he sobbed at the screams, whimpered at the wails, mewled at the memories. They were fully prepared to be dragged away in cuffs and trapped within bars when they revealed the truth fourteen years ago. It had only been by God’s grace — and the forgiveness of those they had wronged — that they were spared from such a fate.

They had been given the opportunity for restitution, but neither of them didn’t know what to do with it. A fitting problem for men who prided themselves on knowing everything.

They would not speak to each other for a few hours after that. Between scheduling, meetings, and a never-ending stream of emails interspersed between the fires that had to be put out, Scrooge and Marley’s paths rarely crossed. In the moments when they had, both would merely offer a brief smile or a peck on the cheek, and that would be that.

Marley wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t accustomed to such movements, but he wouldn’t say that the sting of disenchantment did not strike a heavy blow either. He hoped for more, he longed for more, and yet he received so little.

Until at last his phone had buzzed, and he saw the message from Scrooge.

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: Did you see what Fan sent in the group chat?

Marls: Haven’t had a look.

Scrooge forwarded the image of his sister with their young lady, their lightning bolt, their love, and the smile that lit up Marley’s face could have powered those automatons all on its own. 

Marls: Ariana seems to be enjoying herself. We should visit the Philippines for ourselves one day.

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: I explicitly told Fan NOT to buy her any chocolate.

Marls: She’s fourteen now, Eb, and she’s your daughter. You know no one can say no to her, especially her Auntie Fan. Aurora could, maybe.

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: She’s been indoctrinated by her son. You do it.

Marls: You know I can’t do that, I break too easily! T_T

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: Then all hope is lost, indeed.

Laughter sprung forth from him like an abundant fountain, and Marley continued his pace. He passed a lonely little lady situated on the cold steps of a Holland & Barrett, a handful of newspapers outstretched towards each person that walked by. Marley stopped and turned to look at her. The little lady looked back. A silent kinship formed between them.

He smiled as he told her he didn’t need one, and he smiled when she smiled as he pulled out a tenner and squeezed it into her hand. He told her to save it well, and left just as his phone buzzed once more.

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: If you’re not too busy, love, can you check out this address for me? It’s an old, rundown building, but Pastelle thinks there’s potential in it.

Marley received the postcode, eyebrows raised and voice lilted, giving his response.

Marls: I can do that. If there’s another incident with me on the news, you’ll know it’s unsafe. 

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: Please don’t joke about that.

Marls: Alright, alright… sorry, babe.

❤ Smarty Sharky ❤: >:{

The playful emoticon had been enough to make his lips twitch, at the very least, and Marley conceded to the request, punching in the postcode onto his phone.

London had often been a busy tangle of labyrinthine streets and alleys, but in the blazing warmth of August — when the binds of school and work were put on a temporary halt, and life, chaotic as it was, embraced the joyous freedom of summer vacation — there was that singular sense of contentment that filled Marley whenever he so desired to walk amongst the crowds. It was a heat that permeated the air, seeping into every corner of the city, and Marley relished in the simple pleasure of being a part of the bustling life. Men, women, and children no longer parted at the sight of him, their fear of the Snake no longer prevalent. A toddler’s curious gaze lingered on his form for a moment, and Marley wondered then what it would be like to have that, even for a moment.

He hailed a cab and provided the address to the driver, sitting back as the cityscape passed by in a blur of motion and colour. The address Scrooge had given him was not too far from their office, situated in a less frequented part of the city that held remnants of its industrial past. It wasn’t really somewhere Marley frequented, mind you. His routes had often been more central, and when he committed to his self-imposed isolation after his accident, he had little reason to leave Essex.

But for Asplex, and for Scrooge, he would go wherever he needed to… within reason, at least.

The cab pulled up to his destination, and Marley paid the fare with little thought as he pushed the car door open, expecting a dilapidated exterior with more rodents and vermin than potential.

He stepped out onto the pavement, and Marley had to confer with the driver that, yes, this had been the right place.

For in the place of abandonment, Marley had been greeted with a beautiful facade, golden accents and intricate designs reminiscent of a time long past. A queue stretched out for what seemed like an eternity, and a velvet rope marked the barrier between the streets and the grand establishment that awaited him. There were those who gasped at the sight of him — the illustrious Jacob Marley, a public sight more uncommon than that of a comet streaking the night sky — and Marley clutched at his form, pudgy and unrefined as it was.

It was rare to see one of them out and about, and rarer still to see them together.

“Surprised, Jacob?”

Marley heard his name, sensed the footsteps, and felt the heat rush to his face as Scrooge finally arrived.

“Oh, you fucking asshole…” Marley gasped, and Scrooge laughed. It was a gorgeous sound, a beautiful sound. But there was none more handsome than the sight that laid before him.

The Shark stood at last, cleaning up better than even he had expected. His navy suit with his burgundy tie and white undershirt had been tailored perfectly, smart and smooth and snug. His black gloves tightened as his arm tugged against the silk and curled his hand into a fist around a mysterious black bag. His elevator shoes echoed across the pavement, polished to such a degree that they mirrored the city lights above.

“You’re six foot four.” Marley’s filter had long since passed away. “You don’t need those.”

Scrooge leaned against a pole as his leg slowly rose. “I could take them off for you, if you—”

Marley flushed crimson. “N-No, I think we’re… you’re… we’re fine!” 

Scrooge snorted like a pig when he grabbed him with such speed, holding him and halting his attempted seduction. It was quite obvious, then, as Marley noted how Scrooge seemed to bury in and press his stomach ever closer to his own, hands trailing every curve and contour.

“I couldn’t resist, babe, I’m sorry.” Scrooge’s lips pressed a tender kiss to Marley’s forehead, and the blazing summer was nothing compared to the warmth that swelled within him as it roared and flickered all at once.

“You’re a liar.” Marley grinned. “A liar and a cheat and a monster. You are terrible. Absolutely horrible.”

Scrooge chuckled, the sound resonating in the night air. "Guilty as charged, my love. But this is a lie I’m rather proud of."

Marley rolled his eyes as he linked his arm with Scrooge’s. “Let’s hope you didn’t lie about reserving this place.”

The bouncer eyed them sternly as they approached, as suspicious as them as he had been of everyone else that passed through. But upon revealing their reservation, the velvet rope lifted for them without question. Marley could feel the leers directed at him, scrutinising and judgemental. They were all beautifully thin and fit, and he was here, soft and round, wearing a messy ponytail and arriving in ill-fitting clothes that gripped his body in all the wrong places. Scrooge could go for someone better here. He could’ve taken Belle and Dick instead of someone like him…

But then Scrooge wrapped his arm around him, and led him by the small of his back, and pulled him close. He realised it then, feeling as loved and owned as he was.

Scrooge would’ve chosen no one else. For there was no one more beautiful in the Shark’s eyes than the Snake that was nestled in his arms.

“Ignore them.” Scrooge whispered gently, his breath tickling his ear.

And Marley did, knowing that he could.

“Good evening, Herr Scrooge, Herr Marley.” The owner, a friendly German with a neatly trimmed beard, shook their hands with a fervour as he greeted them, and Marley recognised him immediately. The man had been one of their many victims in the past — a mismanagement of an old restaurant’s profits by a bootstrapper with more sleaze than sense was all that Scrooge and Marley needed to strike — and a tentative acquaintance that had become more cordial as compensation was issued and confessions brought to light.

Many had chosen to remain silent for their sake, a judgement that seemed incomprehensible, but was all the more just. For in a world governed by greed and secrecy, the truest forms of repentance were few and far between.

“Mr. Amsler.” Marley greeted back, flashing him his famous debonair smile. “You must have kept this under wraps for quite a while.”

“It’s all thanks to your Schatz here.” Amsler tilted his head, and Marley’s ears burned crimson at the end. “He said it was merely payment, but the selfishness has come clean, ja?”

Scrooge huffed indignantly, a hint of a pout on his lips. “How rude of you to insinuate that I did not do this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Yes, of course. My apologies, Herr Scrooge. Waiving payment was your true motive.” Amsler winked, and it had been Scrooge’s turn to shift colours. “Right this way, if you please.”

He led the couple through the crowded rows of tables and chairs and up onto a grand staircase lined with ornate railings and decadent, dazzling chandeliers. The sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music filled the air as they ascended to a higher level, each conversation creating a symphony neither frenzied nor discordant.

The door swung open to reveal a luxurious space bathed in dim ambient light. Plush velvet couches and golden accents adorned the room, and a stunning view of the London skyline stretched out beyond the large windows. Ever had it been a magical sight, even to those two souls who had spent all of their years amongst these views. A bar sat at the far end of the room with an array of fine spirits and cocktails displayed in crystal decanters, manned by bartenders clad in crisp white shirts and black waistcoats, while servers floated around with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The scent of rich, sumptuous food wafted through the air, teasing their senses with the promise of an unforgettable night.

Amsler gestured to a secluded table set for two in a dimly lit corner, bowing with a flourish before leaving the couple to their own devices Scrooge pulled out a chair for Marley, and he took a seat, admiring the opulent surroundings as he settled into the chair opposite him.

The waiter appeared not moments later, impeccably dressed and similarly good mannered, as he approached with a practised smile as they asked for their order.

"I'll have the Kobe beef carpaccio for starters." Scrooge began, looking at Marley who nodded approvingly. "Followed by the lobster bisque, and for the main course, we'll take the fillet mignon for two, medium-rare. Oh, and a bottle of red, if you please."

The waiter noted down the order with a gracious nod and a discreet smile before turning his attention to Marley.

"And for you, sir?"

Marley glanced at the menu, his eyes widening as he perused the extravagant offerings. "Uh, I'll have the foie gras to start, then the truffle risotto, and, um, the baked Alaska for dessert. Sparkling water for me."

The waiter left with haste, and Scrooge scrunched up his nose in coltish abhorrence.

“Sparkling water? Really?”

“It’s a good refreshment.” Marley defended with a whine.

“Carbonated water is not refreshing.” Scrooge rolled his eyes as he rubbed his thumb over Marley’s bandages.

Marley laced his fingers with his. “Says the man who comes into the office with either Starbucks or a Monster.”

“The blatant disrespect! And after all the trouble I went through to make this date a possibility!” Scrooge’s lips formed a brazen smirk. “I had to reschedule my meetings for this.”

“Oh, the horror! Whatever will Ebenezer Scrooge do without his perfectly systematic timetable?” 

Marley slapped a hand to his forehead in a comically theatrical faint, and Scrooge only held onto him tighter.

“Careful, Juliet. We’re not starcrossed.” 

Marley grinned. Crooked, goofy, unabashedly him, and stupid enough to make Scrooge fall even further than even Icarus had, carried by waxen wings.

More patrons had filed into the lounge as they ate, each addition more vainglorious and eclectic than the last, as if the whole world had gathered in unison under pretences of sophistication. It often left a bitter taste in Marley’s mouth to interact with them. He knew how to please them, sure. Mr. Adeleye’s daughter was an inspired lover of Fan’s concerts, Mrs. Gupta had a weakness for diamonds — white ones, the size of a robin’s egg — and Sir Reginald and Lady Foster would be more than inclined to cooperate if their hotel room was shared and their specific ‘amenities’ taken care of. Cuffs, massage oil and the like.

Such was the dance Marley intimately understood. If you knew what one desired, you knew how to grant them. And if you knew how to grant them, you knew how to make them come back for more. It was simple commerce. I give you what you want, you give me what I want. A transaction as old as the days when cowries reigned as currency. And he knew each patron off by heart, their desires laid bare from years of slithering through the grass of pleasantries, keeping out of sight from the moguls and magnates that prowled similar territory.

People called him an assassin of pleasure, a harbinger of delights, a viper of vices, amongst other pretty little epithets. A teller of truths who toyed with them all the same. But Marley wasn’t a killer, not really. He was a survivor. A survivor amidst the throngs of those who would tear him down, who would expose him, who would feast upon his flesh like the carrion crows they were. He had learned long ago to play the game, to dance with the devils and demons that lurked in the shadows, and to emerge unscathed, unmarked, unbroken. If he lost a small part of his identity to imprint upon theirs, then so be it; the world was not kind to those who didn’t adapt to the shifting tides.

And yet, amidst all the decadence and debauchery, there was one thing that remained constant. One beacon of light in the ever-darkening abyss.

“You alright, Jake?”

Marley startled out of his ruminations, being greeted with the concerned yet affectionate gaze of his husband. He blinked. He shook his head and smiled.

“I’m alright, Eb.”

He thought that if he said it aloud, Scrooge would believe him. Others would have. His words were smoother than the finest of honey made by the royal family’s own colony. People knew him. That’s what they all thought.

But Scrooge just stared, face set in an expression Marley remembered. He’d used it for all of his life, for as long as they had known each other since the days of their meeting. First as a shield, then as a sword, and now as a crutch to lean upon when the weight of the world became too much to bear.

“Liar.” Scrooge had said finally.

Damn it, he thought. Damned was he who loved and knew so much.

“Yeah…” Marley pulled his hand away, bandages and all. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

The empty plate of baked Alaska appealed more to his attention than anything else at the moment. Scrooge continued to stare, and Marley felt like an Antiguan racer kept captive in a terrarium, observed by an indifferent biologist who knew every little intricacy of his being.

“You couldn’t ruin the mood even if you tried.” Scrooge’s voice was soft, tender, and Marley was furious with how much he wanted to believe it. “You make it better.

His husband scoffed, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him, severe and savage only to himself. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Scrooge leaned forward and reached across the table, both hands finding Marley’s once more and squeezing gently. “I’m sorry for being so preoccupied with work lately, and I’m sorry for not being there. I know it’s not ideal… and with Ariana away, we should be having time for ourselves, not swamped with work. But that’s not to say I think she’s a distraction, she’s not! I love our daughter! I love having her around and seeing her and spending time with her, but I also love to spend time with you, and…”

“Eb, you’re rambling again.”

Scrooge paused, cheeks flushing with a vivid embarrassment. “Sorry…”

Marley shook his head, amused as he had ever been with his antics. He told him not to worry, that he was glad that he understood, and Scrooge was glad he did too.

“I’ll be honest, though; I think I came… unprepared.” Marley’s eyes darted around like wild beasts, his sight escaping from the confines of their booth to the surrounding crowd, all dressed to the nines. “I feel like a duckling in a room of swans.”

“You’re a swan too.” Scrooge defended.

“You’re biased, Ebenezer.” Marley joked as his lips quirked upwards into a cheeky grin. 

“I am just as objective as I have always been, Jacob.” Scrooge felt an innate sense of pride at his own words, puffing up his chest to contain it. “And my analysis of the situation dictates that as the truth.”

Marley hid his smile behind a sip of his sparkling water and told his husband to stop, but Scrooge’s refusal was undeniable. All it had done was fan the flame.

“Even still, with your objective deduction…” Marley mused, swirling his glass around idly. “The fact remains that, well, I am underdressed.”

But Scrooge, as sharp of a man as he had always been and twice as deadly, leaned back into his chair with a smug grin that could only very well be described as borderline infuriating to anyone trying to win an argument against him. 

“Then allow me to fix that, dear viper.”

A bag was pulled out from beneath the table, the same one Marley had seen him holding when he first arrived, though being adamantly enraptured by other sights, he had given it no further thought. The bag itself was unremarkable — a black tote, with no discernible markings or designs, save for a small logo embroidered in silver thread. But as Scrooge unzipped it and reached inside, Marley couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation wash over him, tinged with a hint of curiosity and excitement.

Scrooge pulled out a garment, unfolding it with care and precision, as if handling a priceless artefact. And perhaps, in Marley’s eyes, it was. 

For it was a dress Scrooge had gifted him. Not a suit that choked his frame. Not a tie that constricted his neck. Not a shirt that tore at the seams. A dress. A beautiful, majestic, wonderful, fascinating dress.

A dress Marley had only seen once before and yearned for only in dreams.

It was a masterpiece of fabric and design, crafted with the expertise of a master artisan. The material was a lush forest green, reminiscent of the deepest, most enchanting emerald hues of a secluded forest glen. It flowed like liquid silk, cascading down in gentle verdant waves that shimmered and danced in the dim light of the restaurant. The neckline was modest yet alluring, with delicate gold lace adorning the edges like the intricate patterns on a window of winter frost.

But it was the silhouette that truly took Marley’s breath away. The dress hugged every curve of his body with a flattering embrace, accentuating his figure in all the right places while skimming over any imperfections with effortless grace. It cinched at the waist, drawing attention to his wider hips and fuller chest, before flaring out into a voluminous skirt that would pool elegantly around his ankles.

It was elegant, refined, and utterly breathtaking.

“Is this—?”

“—the same dress that you were eyeing a few weeks ago? Yup.” Scrooge finished, popping the ‘p’ at the end, piercing even through the din of the bustling restaurant.

“But that…” Marley’s trembling hands reached for the fabric, the handover being as quiet as he had been. There was no way… this had to have been a dream, Scrooge wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…

We’re not married, Jacob.

Those words… he knew them well, all those years ago. They stung him, cut him, tore him. He was ready to leave. The Snake was ready to slither away, to leave the Shark to his own devices. To bury the man he knew and hope against hope that he would never cross paths with him in this lifetime, or the next.

The monstrosity of his arm was proof enough. The seven years away was proof enough. The child they found in the thicket was proof enough.

But now… even through the suffering and the pain and the greed…

People always said it was the little things that mattered most; Marley wouldn’t complain if there was a grand gesture or two sandwiched between them.

“Do you like it…?” Scrooge asked, his heart drumming loudly in his chest.

Marley said nothing in response, only staring at the dress, then to Scrooge, then to the plates, then to the patrons, then back to Scrooge, then back to Scrooge, then back to—

He stood and left the booth, and Scrooge felt a drop in his stomach like an anchor sunken to the bottom of the sea, trapping him between hope and despair, fear and excitement, anguish and contentment. He’d fucked up, hadn’t he? There was no reason for Marley to stay. He gave him that choice the moment he saw the video, saw the papers, saw the pain. What an idiot he had been. A stupid, selfish, sleazy idiot. There had always been fine print. An excuse to make his husband don a dress. He promised he wouldn’t do this again. He swore it!

But then Marley returned moments before Scrooge thought to crush the glass in his hand, and he could hear the gasps of indignation that were muttered by the ones with delicate sensibilities. 

Fuck, Scrooge had underplayed how gorgeous he would look in it.

Marley looked ethereal, breathtaking, radiant. It fit him just as the tailor had intended, clinging to his voluptuous figure, accentuating every round curve, every soft line of his body, flowing as the wind through the trees, graceful and fluid. There was a light to his aged green eyes and a true smile to grace his cracked lips. Black and grey locks flowed into a bun, just as he had before everything, but a looseness and fluidity was there. Each strand framed him perfectly, not framed him differently.

There was nothing, however, dear reader, truly nothing, that could compare to the face Scrooge had made in that moment, when he noticed that the bandages had finally unravelled, tossed in the bin. Marley couldn’t move it the way he wanted it to. The blemishes that remained, angry marks and dents like reddened craters on the surface of the moon. They twisted and contorted his once pristine skin, leaving behind a twisted tapestry of scars that told the story of a life forever changed by fire and metal and fear.

Marley looked at him at last, shy but somehow more confident than he had ever been, and still Scrooge looked at him like he was the most desirable creature to ever grace this earth.

“You look…” Scrooge’s voice caught in his throat, desperately finding the words that eluded him. “...absolutely heavenly.”

“Really…?” Marley blushed furiously, the rosy hue spreading across his cheeks like the light of dawn breaking over the horizon. “I mean… neither of us are even close to being saints.”

“I know we’re not.” Scrooge finally made his move, taking each step in stride as he forced his way out of the booth, into the centre of the room, in front of people who knew him and knew Marley. “But we can pretend to be, can’t we?”

He moved impossibly close, arms wrapping around as best he could, feeling the silk beneath his calloused fingertips, gloves long gone, the scent of Marley’s cologne filling his senses, intoxicating him like the finest wine.

“Let’s just be us, Eb.” Marley responded, burying into the crook of his neck as he repeated it once more. “Let’s just be us.”

Scrooge hummed, and the strains of music filled the air, permeating throughout the lounge with its melodious, dulcet tones. He vaguely recalled the theme being of musicals that night.

How fitting that Julie Andrews and Bill Lee should serenade them with something good.

“Dance with me, Jacob?”

“...Always.”

Tagged; @rom-e-o @quill-pen @crimson-phantom-designs @ray-painter

[discount-kirishima]

can you fucking imagine if stampede actually changed the narrative and gave us a happy ending?? don't tell me it's unlikely, i don't wanna hear it (i know) but just. just imagine it for one second

[raddestrose]

Haaaaa apparently new bsd is out today.

Mega stressed, but wonder if Akutagawa will return

[itwoodbeprefect]

i finally did it! i rewatched starsky & hutch a body worth guarding! and i've decided it's still not a favorite, but it does have a lot of cute little moments to it, and "you wanna catch a criminal? GET the fascists!" is just a wonderful thing to hear any time anywhere. solid middle of the road episode for me, i think