#I don’t think they actually thought they’d lose to be fair

[ninyard]

another part of the usc-losing-to-the-foxes to me is that usually after a playoff loss the higher management of the team comes in and tries to triage what went wrong and sometimes fires/hires new coaching staff in an attempt to change strategy for the next year. obviously none of the trojan coaches were fired, so I’m like- what were those conversations with the higher athletic management like?? did they just say “jeremy knox had this crazy idea”? did they bring jeremy in to charm everyone?

YEAH this is such a good point and also how long had the conversation about the lineup been happening? Like how many matches in did they come up with the idea?

And USC being such a big school and so high ranking I imagine they have crazy sponsors and stuff so imagine the higher ups having to be like “yeah look this fourth year rich kid had this idea and like it���s kind of silly because only 9 of the players actually get to experience playing a full game whereas the others just have to like… imagine it? but we support him so we ARE going to lose sorry <3” and their sponsors being like ?? You’re CHOOSING to lose?????

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Here’s the thing: Jeff isn’t actually a meddler by nature.

He’s perfectly content to let people be. He keeps himself to himself and is happy when others do the same. It’s not that he’s never curious, it’s just that he asks personal questions sparingly. And he’s probably going to ask them even more sparingly in the future, because the last time he’d asked one, he’d accidentally broken up one of his best friend’s relationships.

In fairness to Jeff, that relationship was going to blow up sooner rather than later (that is, in fact, exactly what Eddie had said to him when they’d talked a few days after the incident in question; Eddie had even said that he thinks he’d needed the wakeup call, though he’d have preferred it hadn’t happened the way it did – the way that hurt Steve so much. All the same, he seems determined to make things right, so– maybe not the worst thing in the world?), but still, Jeff feels a little… guilty isn’t quite the word, but he doesn’t have a better name for the squirm of emotion in his gut when he catches sight of Steve at Melvald’s one evening.

He hasn’t seen Steve in over a week, now – not since he’d abruptly left Eddie’s place after being unceremoniously informed that his boyfriend (Jeff’s pretty sure that’s the train Steve had been on) is apparently not actually his boyfriend.

And it isn’t as though he or Gareth or Oliver had really hung out with Steve sans Eddie before, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be willing; Jeff’s experience with Steve Harrington in high school had been peripheral at best, and though he hadn’t had the best impression of him at first, he’d actually come to enjoy his company since he started hanging around Eddie after that disaster of a spring break. He doesn’t know much about D&D (though Jeff suspects he knows a lot more than he lets on), and he’s not particularly into fantasy or sci-fi, but he does have a bizarrely encyclopedic knowledge of sports, and had been excited to learn that Jeff is into baseball and hockey.

He's just as bitchy as Jeff had always thought he was, but he’s also unexpectedly kind, and funny in a way that had caught all of them off guard, and largely seems like a solid sort of guy.

And Jeff just feels kind of shitty that the last time they hung out had ended the way it had, that’s all.

That is his main excuse for why he approaches Steve in the cereal aisle at Melvald’s at 8 p.m. on a Friday.

He clears his throat. “Hey.”

Steve turns, brows furrowed as he looks to see who’s trying to get his attention, clearly not expecting any kind of social encounter, but his expression clears a bit when he sees Jeff. “Oh. Uh– Hey,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t seem like the type to eat breakfast cereal?” Jeff teases, and a little bit of the tension in Steve’s shoulders seems to ease away.

“More like I thought I was the only person lame enough to be grocery shopping on a Friday night,” he counters with a smirk.

“You might be,” Jeff says, though he keeps his voice warm. “I just stopped in to pick up some snacks for the weekend after– uh,” Jeff stops short; shit, why did he bring that up?

Steve stares at him for a moment, calculating, and Jeff sees the moment he makes the connection.

“Hellfire tonight, right?” Steve asks, his tone almost unnervingly neutral as he looks back towards the shelves.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, still watching Steve carefully. “Just ended about half an hour ago.”

Steve gives a slow nod. “How was it?”

And – well, there are two options from here. Jeff could take Steve’s polite interest at face value, tell him it was a good session, and let them both awkwardly get on with their nights, or… He could be truthful, and maybe see how Steve’s really doing (which would also be awkward, so it’s not like Jeff really has much to lose).

“To be honest? Not great.” Jeff shrugs. “Eddie hasn’t been in good form lately.”

He can see the curve of a sad sort of smile cross Steve’s face, just briefly.

“That sucks, man. Hope he, uh… gets his head back in the game soon, I guess?” Steve offers.

Whether he does or not will probably be entirely dependent on how his plans to fix things with Steve play out; Eddie hadn’t told Jeff much (apparently, he’s done accidentally flying his dirty laundry for the time being), but he had said that Steve had asked for a little time, and that they would be talking again soon.

“I think he’s working on it,” Jeff says, rather than digging into that particular can of worms. “And, uh… How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Steve says a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Jeff pauses for a minute, pursing his lips and staring up at the ceiling. Is he really doing this? On a Friday night at fucking Melvald’s?

“It just sucks,” he finally says, “that…”

“That you all had to see that I’m actually an oversensitive loser when you realized I’d basically made up an entire relationship and then ran out over it like an idiot?” Steve suggests, his tone so false and light that it sets Jeff on edge.

“That Eddie couldn’t see that he had something really good in front of him. That he completely fumbled it,” Jeff corrects him.

It’s only after he’s spoken that he remembers they’re in a public place, and that talking to one guy about his relationship with another guy isn’t particularly safe. He glances around, hoping it’s not too little, too late, and is relieved to find that the store is just as empty as it had been when he’d first stepped in. When he looks back to Steve, he finds him staring, brows furrowed like he’s trying to puzzle something out.

“Isn’t Eddie one of your best friends?” Steve asks at last.

Jeff shrugs. “Makes me qualified to point out when he’s been an idiot.”

Steve says nothing, just pins Jeff with that confused stare for a moment longer before turning back to the shelf, as if he might finally decide on what cereal he wants.

“If it helps at all,” Jeff says, more quietly this time, “the reason we were even talking about it is because I asked Eddie how it was going – the two of you dating. We all thought you were. We were– well, probably not just as surprised as you, but pretty damn surprised when Eddie said you weren’t.”

“That… actually does. A little,” Steve answers softly, cutting a quick glance at Jeff. “Thanks.”

Jeff shrugs. “It’s just– Eddie’s not– he’s not a bad guy. He gets caught up in things, and he forgets to pay attention, but he wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.”

“I know,” Steve says, not quite sharp, but not quite gentle, either.

“Sorry, I’m not… trying to talk him up. I swear I’m not here advocating for him, or whatever.” Jeff sighs. “You’re totally within your rights to tell him to fuck off—hell, you can tell me to fuck off—I just wanted to say that if he tells you he’s sorry, if he says he wants to fix it, he really does mean it.”

“Yeah. I know,” Steve says again, and this time he sounds gentle – a little soft and distant.

Jeff reaches up and clasps one hand over Steve’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before releasing him. “Anyway, if we’re not going to be seeing you at any of the regular places, you should come over and catch a game sometime.”

It seems like a given that Steve won’t be sitting in on anymore Hellfire sessions for a while, or coming to see their gigs at The Hideout like he had been (he’s already missed one, and they had all pretended not to notice the way Eddie had completely ignored the side of the room with the table where Steve would usually sit and watch), but Jeff finds himself unwilling to let go of his friendship entirely.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, glancing over again.

“Sure.” Jeff shrugs. “Offer stands. Gareth and Oliver’d be happy to see you, too.”

“They’re not into sports,” Steve says.

“But they can be bribed with snacks,” Jeff answers, and Steve gives a huff of a laugh.

“Cool,” he says, the first real smile Jeff’s seen from him all night beginning to cross his face. “I’ll give you a call sometime.”

Jeff smirks at him. “Will you have your people call my people?” he teases, and Steve reaches out to give his shoulder a light shove.

“Fuck off, man,” he snickers.

“Only because I have other things to do,” Jeff says, heading back down the aisle the way he’d come. “Night, Harrington.”

“Night,” Steve calls back after him, sounding a bit lighter than when Jeff had found him.

Feeling a little lighter himself, Jeff snags an extra package of Ho Ho’s on the way to the register. He figures he’s earned it.

Part 6

-

Tag List (Now full, I'm sorry! Drop me a line if you want off the ride): @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e @pearynice @giverobinagfbrigade @novacorpsrecruit @hotluncheddie @strangersteddierthings @alongcomesaspider @theheadlessphilosopher @jettestar @rajumat @garden-of-gay @jamieweasley13 @dam28lh @oldwitcheshat @lololol-1234 @perfectlysensiblenonsense @salty-h0e @r0binscript @mavernanche @back2beesness @a-lovely-craziness @paintsplatteredandimperfect @redbullgivescaswings @emmabubbles @heartstarstar-blog @thesuninyaface @thatonebisexualman @fruitandbubbles @erinharvelle @m-owo-n @theystoodandplayedwithsilence @surroundedbyconfusion @luthienstormblessed @3ldr1tchang3l @pansexuality-activated

[icallhimjoey]

Reinvent Love

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: the first cracks; they're here - and, again, you don’t need to have read define close or explain us, but it’ll obviously give you backstory, which might help!

Wordcount: 3.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

It was silly. Joe was being silly.

He knew it, and felt so stupid for it. Like, in hindsight, the worrying felt so dumb. The constant milling shit over didn’t change anything, there was no real point to it. Although, maybe you being on his mind in this... new manner was what summoned you last night.

You just showed up, talking about a crazy day, no sad pouts, no needy touches. Just jittery movements and a lot to tell him.

Joe kind of sat back on his sofa, spread out and leaning into his left elbow and watched you pace around his lounge. Something about something a colleague had said that then turned out to be lies and you found out something by overhearing a phone call you weren’t meant to overhear – Joe was barely following along. Didn’t really try his best to, if he was honest.

He was moreso paying attention to what you were actually doing – were you even aware that you had started grabbing random things he had left lying around on his coffee table, on the kitchen island, on the counters, and one by one, put everything away where it was meant to go?  

Joe pursed a smile as he realised you knew exactly where everything went. Why did that make his chest ache in the best of ways?

This new casual form of intimacy seemed so small, but Joe felt how it smothered that little grain of doubt that resided in his chest. That little grain that had convinced him that you were probably going to fall into a new routine with your new flatmate after he moved in and, then you would probably grow close to him and Joe knew how you... no.

No.

He couldn’t think that.

It wasn’t fair on you. He caught himself trying to finish the thought a lot, but he knew it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t true. He didn’t even fully believe it. It was this thing. Still, he also couldn’t help how it simultaneously made him grow a little more possessive and made him want to prepare for the worst.

But, she was here, he had to remind himself.

She’s here.

And she was wandering around his space, letting her train of thought flow freely from her brain into his living room and he used to witness this all the time when you lived together still. Joe realised he’d actually missed it a lot, and wasn’t that the whole point? That he got to miss you now?

God, Joe missed you a lot and you were right there and he could just burst at the seams at how fucking lucky he felt.

He was a just normal guy in a normal flat with a normal relationship– well, normalish relationship, anyway. Not that you had talked about anything yet. Of course you hadn’t. But it was pretty fucking obvious what this was. So he had started shrugging whenever someone would ask if you were actually together, which felt a lot better than the forever, “No, we’re flatmates, what are you talking about?” he used to throw at people, practically gaslighting them out of whatever they thought they’d witnessed between him and the girl that he used to live with.

It was working. The plan he had made, this vague idea of normalcy; it was working out the way he had wanted it to.

And yea, sure, you were getting a new flatmate and Joe had a difficult time not feeling some type of way about that, but, he had made the decision to move out and, look at you now.

“Do you think I can get a raise out of this? Or at least get a weird bonus, mid-term?”

Joe had a hard time not laughing at your question as he saw you had already mentally moved onto something else. You were stood in the middle of the room, both hands on your hips, eyes scanning the room. Everything tidy and organised.

“Joe, when did you last clean?”

Joe followed your gaze up into one of the corners of the ceiling.

“I cleaned today.” Joe said, knowing you’d likely not take it as an honest answer. You had lived together, remember? No fucking way was Joe ever going to feel the urge to maybe sometimes swipe a feather duster across the upper corners of his living room.

You shuddered at the thought of what resided behind his curtains there.

You sighed and tutted and turned back to Joe’s kitchen like you were going to start cleaning his fucking ceilings at half past ten at night.

“Hey, no. No, no. Stop. Will you come sit down a second? My god.” Joe huffed, feigning annoyance. When you turned on your heel and giggled as you scurried over, Joe let a laugh escape his throat just before you let yourself fall into the cushions next to him.

He hooked an arm around your neck to pull you in so he could press his nose into your cheek a second. You gladly let him, and when he held you close like that for longer than you initially thought he would, you suddenly realised you’d just been talking about yourself for twenty minutes straight.

Just barged in with unimportant thoughts on your mind that you just verbally vomited right into Joe’s space. You knew it was mostly nervous energy that was only there because your new flatmate picked up his keys earlier, which now meant there was every opportunity for someone to just... walk into your flat at any given time. That had unexpectedly brought on way more anxiety than you previously thought it would do.

Hence why you decided to just... escape it, and went over to Joe’s to spend the night there.

Joe was pressing his nose into your cheek and held you in place for a bit before he moved his head down, hiding into your neck a second.

“You okay?” you asked softly, head tilting down a bit.

“Mm, yea, fine.” Joe inhaled deeply, before pressing a few small kisses to the crook there and moving back to look at you the in eye. He unhooked his elbow from around your neck and placed two cupped hands on either side of your face, swiping bits of hair back in the process.

Joe was leant all the way back into the sofa, head squished in between two of the back cushions and you took a moment to look at each other. Joe studied your face and rubbed his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks until you grew shy.

“You look tired,” you softly said before Joe sat up a little and leant closer. It had you close your eyes just before scrunching up your nose as he kissed the very tip of it.

“I am tired.” He mused, copying your nose scrunch when you blinked your eyes open again, and Joe looked so soft. Sort of pleased with life, happy to be where he was and like he’d just had a really good productive day. He blinked slowly, eyes only half open, and looked sleepy enough to slip right into dreams the second his head would hit his pillow.

You loved him like this. His hands on you, all soft touches. Comfy and cosy and calm. Just you and him. No one else. No threat of someone randomly walking in.

This was perfect.

“Mmm, me too.” You smiled and let Joe grab one of your elbows to pull an arm across his stomach as he sat back again.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve just done a 5K as you tidied this room, I think.”

You huffed a laugh as you sank into Joe’s side, and then you sat like that in silence for a moment. No TV on. No phones in sight for some easy distraction. Just you and Joe and the view of his living room.

“Are you okay?” Joe suddenly asked, emphasis on the you, and you tried hiding the small, hitched intake of breath by quickly nodding and casually going, “Yea. Fine.”

You could feel how Joe tucked in his chin to look at you.

He waited. Wasn’t going to tell you, “No, be honest...”, but also wasn’t going to accept it and move on. It was still like that. He knew you were lying, and you knew he knew, no words shared at all.

So you sighed and took a second, and then said, “Josh picked up his key today.”

And you didn’t want to explain what that meant.

Didn’t want to tell Joe that, for a while, this existing-in-two-flats thing had just felt like a bit of a joke. Just the two of you playing and being silly about whatever you really were. You still sort of thought of him as a flatmate because he still came over all the time, and you went over to his all the time too. You existed in the same space almost just as much as before, sort of.

But now a new flatmate was actually moving in, and suddenly, it felt like reality had slapped you right across the cheek like it had done that day that Joe moved out.

You’d gotten to hide away for a lot of that.

And there was no real hiding this time around.

You couldn’t go home and pretend Joe was going to move back in eventually, because now Josh’s things were going to be all over the flat. Which was fine. Josh signed a lease. His things were allowed to be all over the place.

It was just... things were getting real now.

Shit was real.

“Which reminds me,” you suddenly piped up, pushing uncomfortable thoughts down, tucking those away for another time and place. “This is going to save you some money!”

You saw how Joe’s mouth slowly stretched into a smile as he watched how his own feet rubbed against yours. Then he caught himself and quickly furrowed his brow, saying, “No, I don’t think it works like that.”

You copied his expression, but were more confused than anything else.

“Of course it does. Josh signed the papers, he’s going to start paying rent now, you–”

“I said that I had taken care of things, didn’t I?” Joe interrupted you, fingers playing with the folds in your sleeve of the arm that rested over his stomach. “Can’t just not keep a promise like that.”

You blinked at him a second, then moved to sit up to stare at him harder. If both Joe and Josh paid rent, that basically meant that you... got to live for free for a while? That math wasn’t mathing. One plus one wasn’t equalling two here. You looked around Joe’s flat and tried to think of his own expenses, and... what the fuck was he doing?!

“Joe,”

“You’re not going to be able to talk me out of this.”

“Joe.”

Joe ignored you and faked a yawn, sped it up along with stretched out arms above his head and quickly said, “So tired. Bed?” before getting up and leaving you on his sofa as he left the room.

“You’re insane if you think I’m just going to accept that!” you called after him and heard him laugh from down the hall.

“Did you not just say you were after a weird mid-term bonus?”

And you hated how that made you smile. Made you punch one of the cushions and sink your teeth into your bottom lip begrudgingly as you forgot to breathe a second.

Joe smiled to himself too as he turned on the lights in his bathroom. It felt like he was winning a contest - there was no contest, no one to fight, not really, but, he was definitely winning.

“You coming?”

Breathe.

Calm down.

You could pretend to fight him on this once more in the morning.

Crawling into bed with Joe had its own little routine which was different from the one at yours. Different order of things, because the lay out of the flat was different.

Bathroom first. You brushed teeth together, always had to stop Joe when he washed his face too aggressively and then used your own moisturiser on him. “Just for your dry patches,” you’d always say, but would end up swiping delicate fingertips all over anyway. There’d be a snarky comment, of you using too much, of him feeling too greasy, of how he was going to stick to his pillow all night now, and then you’d always kiss him to shut him up before moving on to do your own skincare routine.

When you’d get into bed, Joe would already be in there, giving his phone a last once-over before he’d scoot down and get comfortable.

This time, however, when you walked into his bedroom, the lights were already off, and it looked like Joe was already falling asleep.

This soft man.

So sleepy.

He was all messy curls and bare arms, duvet tucked under them, curled up right in the middle of his bed. You slid in and cuddled up right behind him, hips against his bum, chest to his back.

You were right.

Joe was already falling asleep.

You pushed a leg in between his for warmth and snuck an arm around his front.

“You’re crazy,” you whispered into the skin of his shoulder which prompted Joe to grab hold of your hand and pull it into his chest so you were hugging him properly. The big spoon to his small one. Then he just hummed as you pressed a small kiss to his warm skin there.

“So crazy.” you nuzzled into his pillow, your nose rubbing his back as you did, and you felt how he ducked his head down to press a small kiss to your fingers.

You fell asleep warm, comfortable, and smiling.

You woke up in the same way.

Just on your stomach now, and with Joe’s heavy limbs slung over your body. When you turned over, it woke Joe up, and for five blissful early morning minutes, you tried crawling into each other’s skin as best you could. Breathed each other’s breath and tasted each other’s skin. Stroked hands underneath clothes and had fingers crawling into underwear, just to touch and to hold.

When you quietly asked if Joe wanted coffee, he groaned and told you to shut up. He was able to feel you giggle to that, and he could cry with how happy he felt in that moment. Why would you have to go and ruin it by getting up to go and make coffee?

“Five more minutes.”

“Mmm... it’s never just five.”

Joe sighed, “Just five.” speech slurring with early morning drowsiness and then burrowed himself into you even more.

And fine.

Joe could have five more minutes.

But then they easily turned into twenty, because they always did, and you had to eventually bribe Joe with breakfast for him to let you go so you could sit up.

“If you take a slow shower, I’ll have it ready when you finish.” You looked over your shoulder where Joe, still with his eyes closed, smiled widely. His nose was slightly red from pressing it into your skin, and his bedhead made you have to suppress a giggle that you hid by leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead before you got out.

Joe barely even felt that little grain of bad in his chest when he thought of how much he loved you.

Because he did.

Joe fucking loved you.

There was going to be a moment soon where he was just going to have to say it. It was going to spill out of him in some other way if he wouldn’t simply use the words, he just knew it.

Joe loved you as he watched through squinty eyes how you reached for a pair of white socks of his to borrow.

Loved you as he watched you pull one of his old sweaters over your head before you walked out, bare legs still on show.

Loved you when he stepped into his living room after his shower to the smell of burnt toast and scrambled eggs and coffee.

Loved you as he watched you step onto a chair in the corner of his room, wet dishcloth in hand to remove the strings of dust you had scolded him over the night before.

Loved you as he felt what the sight of your stretched body, your bare tighs, and the little peep of your bum did to him inside of his boxers.

Loved you as he groaned and let his head fall onto the counter, having to breathe through it, because you were just cleaning his living room, and not giving him a sensual striptease act or whatever.

Loved you as you looked back over your shoulder, raising your eyebrows in surprised confusion before accusingly asking, “Really, Joe? Cleaning?”

Loved you as he stutteringly defended the blood rush down south by saying, “You have no idea what you look like right now.” into his elbow where he had to hide his face for a second.

Loved you, loved you.

He was hardly able to deny any of it.

And he didn’t feel that he had to, either.

Because, you were there. In his flat. In his clothes. Cleaning his dusty ceiling corners. And wasn’t that just something he wanted to tell the whole fucking world about?

That small little green grain of doubt and worry and negativity dried out and got no sunshine to really grow into anything. Thank fuck.

He got to ignore it for a while.

Forgot about it entirely, and pretended it wasn’t even there for a bit.

It was easy.

Joe loved you.

He knew he did.

Would tell you soon.

Didn’t know how.

Or where.

But he was going to say it.

He was going to use his words because he was just a normal guy who loved a normal girl and you weren’t being weirdly secretive about what you got up to in private. At least, not how you used to be, anyway.

Joe loved you.

You brought Joe flowers and cleaned his ceiling and wore his clothes and cooked his breakfast.

Joe loved you, even though your new flatmate Josh turned out to be impossibly good-looking in addition to being incredibly kind as well, so Joe didn’t even get to have a real reason to dislike him at all, which seemed unfair, but, all right.

Joe loved you, even when suddenly two shiny black acoustic guitars appeared on your living room wall, because Josh worked in music, and wasn’t that just so cool?

Joe loved you, even though his very first thought after that was, well I know how to play guitar too, don’t I?! which you had never even mentioned before.

Joe loved you, even when he walked into your flat one evening and interrupted a dinner you were having with Josh and one of your friends and, look, Josh cooked for us, and for the first time ever, he felt uninvited and intruding.

Joe loved you, even when your friend jokingly said, “You’re over here at lot for someone that moved out.” right to his face, to which you then heartily laughed, because she was only joking, Joe, and then you didn’t say anything about how you were together, but, you were together... weren’t you?

Joe loved you, even when he stuck to the bit and handed you his flat key like he always did, expecting to find it in his coat pocket later, but then ended up finding both his pockets empty when he went home the next morning, which, yea actually, that made sense, because Josh lived there now, and it was a little weird to have a key still, wasn’t it?

Joe loved you, even when you had told him to come over on Friday evening because you’d had a shit day at work, and for the first time ever, he had to ring the doorbell to get inside.

Joe loved you, even when Josh was the one that answered the door, and Josh almost didn’t let him in, telling him, “Oh, she’s fallen asleep on the sofa, mate.” to which Joe just smiled as he stepped around him, because what the fuck did Josh even know about falling asleep on the sofa in this flat?

Joe loved you, even when he found you asleep on the sofa, curled up under a blanket he’d never seen before, with an empty pizza box bar some crusts still on the coffee table, and you never ate a whole pizza yourself, so that was obviously shared with someone else.

Joe loved you.

He knew he did.

But there was a playstation besides the TV now, and a cool record player on the side, pile of vinyl next to it, and, God.

Joe fucking hated this.

Whatever was inside of Joe’s chest, that thing he didn’t even want in there, was growing.

Was getting fed without Joe even fully realising he was feeding it.

He hated those guitars. He hated that he no longer had a key. He hated that stupid blanket. And he hated that empty pizza box.

Still, he sat down beside you and placed your socked feet onto his lap. Watched the last scenes of whatever film you’d put on as he slowly kneaded a foot and let you sleep, and he tried his best to not get bitten. To not let it sink its teeth in. To not let it hurt.

It was silly.

Joe was being silly.

Rational thought saved him.

Rational thought told him he still loved you.

And he hoped rational thought was going to be enough.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[razorblade180]

Petty Bet

Mualani and Aether: *eating together*

Paimon:…..Are yall gonna kiss or what?

Aether:*chokes aggressively*

Mualani:W-What!? Where did that come from?

Paimon:You’re always hanging out. Everyone is thinking it. All are watching with interest.

Aether:No, you’re just a busybody. What, you make a bet or something with my relationships?

Paimon:….*averts eyes*

Aether:You’re betting on me!?

Paimon:Maybe! Who could say!?

Mualani:Haha, that explains the intense approach. Who the heck are you betting w- it’s Ajaw, isn’t it?

Paimon:He needs to know failure! To be humbled!

Aether:What was the bet?

Paimon:He said “despite the mediocrity of my lowly servant, the blonde would easily fall victim to Kinich before some chatty Beach Bum” and Paimon thought that was stupid and said “Aether’s been falling for Mualani faster than a rushing tide. If he’s wants to be with anyone it’s clearly someone as likable as her!”

Aether:Now why would you repeat that last part?

Mualani:I’ve been giving you nonstop surfing lessons every chance we get when you ask.

Aether:Because it’s fun! We’re having fun!

Mualani:Also , “chatty beach bum?” I might have to tell Kinich about that one.

Paimon:Oh yeah, losing means Paimon has to “bow celebrate his glory as a faithful servant.”

Mualani:And if he loses?

Paimon:He gets locked up for a week.

Mualani:Aether, I think it would be incredibly irresponsible of you to not kiss me.

Aether:You are shockingly petty.

Mualani:It’s Ajaw! Nobody wants a world where he’s winning. A week of us hanging out with Kinich and Kachina in peace.

Paimon:Why are you pretending you don’t literally fall in love with a land and its people in every nation.

Aether:*holds Sandshrew* For your information, I’m trying to set a good example my child and take matters slow like the responsible adult I am.

Sandshrew: Rawr!

Aether:See? They agree.

Paimon:You flirted your way out of court case against in Fontaine.

Mualani:That’s impressive.

Aether:Thank you. I surprised myself.

Paimon:You’re not even denying it!

Mualani:Admittedly, my pride would be ever so slightly bruised if Ajaw did win that bet. In the grand scheme of it all however, it doesn’t really matter considering I’m dating Kinich.

Paimon:WHAT!?

Mualani:Yeah I’m not surprised Ajaw didn’t mention that part. Kinich actually made the first move. I was super surprised. That’s probably why Ajaw was so confident you’d lose.

Paimon:That little- of course he’d play dirty.

Aether:And what are you doing right now?

Paimon:Irrelevant.

Mualani:Don’t be too hard on her. To be fair, Kinich and I are just as competitive in our own way. Like how we plan fun one on one activities with you. And don’t pretend you don’t know we’re flirting; otherwise you wouldn’t have felt the need to explain your lifestyle. You totally like the attention.

Aether:*red* It doesn’t happen often. I feel a little special is all.

Mualani:And there’s nothing wrong with that. I honestly like just hanging out. I’d do it regardless if you’re interested in me or not.

Paimon:You’re totally is type. It’s actually embarrassing.

Aether:I’m gonna grill you.

Paimon:What!? We both agree Mualani and Kachina definitely should get the chance to meet Amber and Collei. They’d be the bestest friends. Especially Amber and Mualani.

Mualani:Oh? Now I’m interested. She sounds like quite the individual.

Aether:Hehe, yeah she’s incredible.

Meanwhile….

A burning stove

Amber:….

Eula:I didn’t think buring water was possible. *freezes stove*

Amber:What can I say? I’m full of surprises. *lowers head* Let’s just order breakfast today.

xxxxxx

Mualani:Well the way I see things, you have options that all lead to fine outcomes. If you’re not interested in either of us that’s perfectly okay. If you aren’t attracted to me that’s alright. I know I’m a lot.

Paimon: (I see he hasn’t gotten to his Fontaine stories yet…)

Mualani:However, if you do happen to be interested, then I have it on good authority that leaning forward right now wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. *smirks*

Paimon:I’ll cover Sandshrew’s eyes.

Aether:How the heck did I end up becoming the equivalent of a bounty?

Paimon and Mualani: You’re a catch.

Sandshrew: Rawr!

Aether:….

xxxxxx

Paimon:Hello Kinich! *side eyes* Ajaw…

Kinich:Mind your tone, anemic bloaty floaty. Soon you will be bowing in reverence to the mighty-

Paimon pulls out a photo she took of Aether and Mualani from a distance, creating the assumption that she did it in secret. It was the two of them sharing a gentle and whimsical kiss by the water with their meal.

Ajaw:WHAT!? IMPOSSIBLE!

Paimon:Oh it’s very possible. You’re looking right at it. They’re dating and you’ve lost.

Kinich:Well I guess that’s that. *stands up* It was one week, correct?

Ajaw:Don’t you dare! This thing cheated! It had to!!

Kinich:You know what they say. “You play stupid games…”

Paimon: “You get stupid prizes.”

Kinich:Time to honor your reward for losing.

Ajaw:I swear to the heavens themself if you dare- *banished*

Kinich:Realistically I’m probably going to need him after for four days to do something.

Paimon:Every second will be cherished. Also, you’ve been invited to go camping and to a dinner.

Kinich:Heh, I suspected as much. *smiles* I really can’t keep with all you sometimes.

[hitlikehammers]

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[sunnystrollblog]

Ok so I know we've been focusing on the reactions to Branch's "death" in the borrower au but I'd like to bring up the changes this would have on the first two movies. Like, do you know how world shattering this would be to Poppy? She grew up on the Mantra of "no troll left behind" only to discover that a whole lot of trolls got left behind way before they even left the tree in the first place. Also does she remember Branch? If so does that mean she remembers Viva? Would Poppy have a moment after her coronation where she stops and thinks "wait, if Branch and the Borrower Trolls survived directly under the Bergens noses what about the trolls that got caught in the tunnel collapse?" I mean if Poppy was able to get back into Bergen Town via the tunnels she obviously knows there's more than one path through those things. Would there be search parties. I want there to be search parties. Viva and the Putt-Putts deserve to know they weren't just forgotten altogether. Though it does pose the question, would the Borrowers want to live in Pop Village afterwards? It's pretty out in the open which I don't think a group that has been living in the walls of a castle would be very comfortable with.

And all this is without even mentioning World Tour. At least this time Poppy has Branch helping her settle into the whole being a leader thing and Barb is going to learn very quickly that some of these trolls are a lot more prepared to throw down than she expected them to be. Which, fair enough, she can respect that.

Anyway, yeah I love this au

Ok first thank you I’m so glad you enjoyed this au also I love this question so much!! So poppy does remember viva in fact some of her earliest memories were of viva and branch considering that they were the ones who were around her way more than any other troll ever was even king Peppy. Another big change in borrowers!au is that poppy is a toddler when it happens not a baby.

And the escape is way more heartbreaking than in the first movie. While running through the tunnels viva carrying her young sister see some trolls are falling behind viva seeing this happen hands poppy over to her father and goes back to help these trolls. And just before viva can get the others to catch up to the main group the cave collapses and she watches her sister disappear behind a wall of dirt. poppy looking back and seeing her sister isn’t behind them anymore cries for her father to go back and that viva’s still in there but his face drops with sorrow and his pace comes to a stumble but he hardens his face and he carries on and pushes until their out. When king peppy carries poppy out of tunnels screaming and kicking without viva well it’s not just sad it’s absolutely devastating not just to poppy but to the entire tribe.

poppy’s entire world view is shattered and it’s even worse because she actually sees her sister get separated from her. She believed that her father was the best and greatest king of their time and that he’d never leave anyone behind let alone his own daughter and so she carries this resentment with her shoving it down believing that her father isn’t to blame that he’s their king and wants the best for their people and even he isn’t infallible though she can’t shake the thought that he could’ve done more. creek would definitely help her through this process as I’d imagine that they’d bond over losing people they care most about and sorta have this camaraderie with each other even if they don’t really interact much. But after meeting the borrower trolls and finding branch again she gains some hope that somewhere her sister is alive.

And yes I’d image barb being kinda surprised by these way more tactical and brutal pop trolls and she’d be even more surprised by how a rock troll ended up in pop village at all(creek 👀)

[harmlessghosty]

Oooh i got one!

Innocent Physical Contact + sleep intimacy with mhin

AHH I LOVE.

I headcanon Mhin as much softer beneath the surface than I think a lot of people do. Obviously I don’t know if it’s out-of-character until canon gives us more context, which I can’t WAIT to see, but this is very fluffy and cute.

//established relationship with a little canon-typical violence talk

—

Catching Mhin getting ready for bed seems to be a rare occurrence. They mull about until late in the night waiting for you to fall asleep before finally crawling into bed themself. For the most part, no matter how much you try to get them to come with you at the same time, they talk around it.

“I’m keeping watch for a while longer. Go to bed. I’ll be there soon. Have I ever broken that promise?”

Even after you’re relaxing, they wander around the house doing meaningless tasks that could wait for the next day—watering a plant, organizing their weapons, doing what little dishes they have…

But they get tired just like everyone, so eventually, late at night, they crawl into bed with you.

At first when they begin to settle, they keep their distance, trying hard not to wake you by pulling on the blankets or shaking the mattress. (This is one of the only times they appreciate being small.)

Before they risk falling asleep, they turn on a dim light—a single candle, if they’re feeling particularly nostalgic—and roll over to face you. Their gaze relaxes when they see that you’re in a deep sleep, your body heavy on the mattress and the sheets cuddled beneath your chin. You look secure and comfortable, something they’re always surprised they can provide. You’ve fought your battles and won your fair share; after all, you’ve gotten this far, haven’t you? And yet you trust this cursed stranger so quickly to give you protection.

Perhaps not a stranger any longer, but a partner. An actual partner.

It’s a really nice feeling, when they think about it.

They reach out a hand to run across your temple, a ghost of a touch that doesn’t seem to wake you. Their fingers take in the curve of your cheeks, of your jawline, of your neck…memorizing your face for the hundredth time. They like your face in particular—the expressions you make when you…

…When you sleep beside them.

They don’t allow their thoughts to wander much further out of what they deem respecting your autonomy, though they do enjoy when they imagine…things…

You stir in your sleep and, to their shock, reach for their hand. For a moment, you caress it before you drop back into a dream, your grasp loosening once again.

Mhin takes a moment to breathe before slipping a bit closer. They test your sleep status with another soft brush of their fingers against your cheek—still out cold. Still, their gaze wanders across your sleepy expression, and they let themselves smile slightly, but only for a split second. They could lose you so easily; you get yourself into such shitty situations all the time. What were you thinking wandering the Eridia streets without them the other night? You could have died. They would’ve found you gasping for air from a broken rib cage, your body slashed and open and cold—

Perhaps…in the dead of night like this…your peaceful face lit by a single candle…they cared about you more than they would ever admit out loud.

They’re dangerous too, you know, and yet you stupidly let them close to you like this without batting an eye.

They scoot closer, this time taking advantage of your little grasp of their hand to pull it around their waist. You’re warmer than they thought you’d be, though they don’t have much experience getting so close to someone beneath the sheets like this. Appreciating the comfort of your body, they pull you against them, tucking your head into their chest just beneath their chin. An arm slides around your back and leads you to burrow against them, and your legs lace around theirs like you’re refusing to risk them leaving.

Now that they have you close, they’re not sure they’d ever allow you to release them anyway.

The little flight of butterflies up their esophagus begins to soothe down to a soft buzz of happiness. They’ll allow themself this much, at least while they know you’re both safe.

Your breath against the bare skin above their collar keeps them awake for a minute or two. They wish sleep wasn’t necessary so that they could enjoy it longer, but their eyelids grow heavy…and their breath evens out…and their consciousness drifts back and forth from dreaming.

They want to enjoy your warmth in this cold Eridia weather, but they know they’re about to fall asleep at any second.

Before they drop, they pull you closer, shielding you from the frost on the windows and the light of the candle. Their hands massage up and down your back in such slow strokes that it’s impossible to tell when they stopped.

They tuck their head against yours and smile.

This feels like home.

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter i

florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k

chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)

enjoy!!

(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)

part two fic masterlist

"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

Things were…fine.

In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.

Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.

That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.

It had simply…not turned out as planned.

For now, at least.

For a little over the past two years, more specifically.

It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.

But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.

She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.

“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.

There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.

“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.

“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”

“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”

“Pish, posh.”

“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”

Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.

“Give me a light, pet?”

She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.

It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.

Now it just felt…

“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”

“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”

With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.

“Felix-”

“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”

She should have known this was how it would be.

It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.

He’d just never bothered to ask.

Well, save for once-

“I assume you come from a good family?”

“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”

“Wonderful.”

I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?

Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.

Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.

…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.

But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”

She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.

What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.

I shouldn’t have done this.

But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.

She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…

A song.

Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.

I do love acting.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.

The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.

With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-

Oh!-

Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”

The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.

“Florence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Go home.”

“I-”

“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”

Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.

The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.

Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.

Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.

She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.

And she would certainly not go home.

[tobysbliss]

tickletober day 15- tickle fight

#augtickletober2023

switch!ranboo, switch!tommy, implied ler!tubbo

word count: 1,036

hehehehehehehhdcjsfjshdhajdhbsba ALLIUM DUOOOOOO

This was a common occurrence. Much more common than you might think, really.

It seems like ever since Ranboo and Tommy found out about a certain “weakness” that they both shared, they abused that knowledge at every chance they got.

The weakness in question? They are both really ticklish. Like, insanely, if you will. And they both enjoy being tickled. What, its fun!

And this was one of those moments where they abused their knowledge of each other’s weakness.

“I’ll kihill yohOHOHOU! TOHOM!” Ranboo and Tommy were both on the floor, rolling around, tickling each other and just fighting for the upper hand. Ranboo was losing this “fight.”

“Oh really? You’ll kill me? How do you expect to kill me when you’re on the floor laughing and screaming? Huh, Ranboo?” Tommy grinned mischievously as he drilled his thumbs to Ranboo’s hips, using the rest of his fingers to scritch at the spot right above their hipbone.

“SHIHIT, TOHOHOMMY! NOHOHO!” Ranboo thrashed, bucking their hips and kicking their legs against the floor. They reached their flailing arms ahead of them, latching onto whatever part of Tommy they could and squeezing—Which happened to be his sides.

“AAAHH! Not my sohoft spot, man!” Tommy collapsed, falling over and pushing Ranboo’s hand away. This was their chance!

Ranboo quickly got up despite still giggling from only just then being tickled. They spidered their fingers on Tommy’s stomach with one hand, the other squeezing and pinching his hips and his sides.

“Yeah, take this, Tom! How do you like it!? Huh? Huh!?” Ranboo smirked, their tone nothing but playful. Their smirk turned into a wide grin as Tommy shrieked and squirmed below them.

“FUHUHUCK! Get OHOHOFF ME! RANBOHOO!” Tommy pushed at Ranboo’s hands, grabbing and holding onto his wrists. Ranboo chuckled, as this didn’t do anything to stop them. They brought their hands up, scribbling on Tommy’s underarms, which caused Tommy to press his arms against himself as he squirmed around. Ranboo just vibrated their fingers instead, it was like Tommy couldn’t escape no matter how hard he tried.

“Tommy~ You can’t stop me!” Ranboo giggled, bringing their hands away for a second to crack their knuckles.

A mistake, on their end, because Tommy immediately started to squeeze their sides and get them off. Tommy laughed as they squealed and fell to the ground. Ranboo giggled rather loudly, a few snorts peppering in every few seconds. It was adorable. Downright fuckin’ adorable.

“Aww, Ranboo! Did you just snort!?” Tommy cooed at the boy below him. “That was adorable, do it again!”

Tommy squeezed Ranboo’s sides a few more times until they snorted again. He laughed, not to make fun of them or tease them, but he just found it So. Damn. Adorable.

“Tommy, quihihit ihit!” Ranboo held onto Tommy’s wrists weakly, but they didn’t do much to actually push him away. Tommy noticed this. (Of course he did, why wouldn’t he? Menace.)

“You know, I don’t think you want me to. So I think I will- hEY! RANBOO COME ON!” Tommy got cut off by himself, yelping as Ranboo started to poke and prod at his stomach. How is that fair!?

“You really thought I’d let you win!? Hell no! Come here!” Ranboo swiftly flipped both them and Tommy around, so now they had Tommy pinned. Tommy started giggling nervously, keeping a tight hold on Ranboo’s wrists in an attempt to push them away. It didn’t work.

Ranboo latched their hands onto Tommy’s hips, squeezing and pinching at the spot. They’d even drill their thumbs into the spot above Tommy’s hip bones, causing him to shriek rather loudly.

“RAHAHANBOO! This isn’t FAHAHAIR! NOHO!” Tommy seemed to repeat himself; all he would say is that it wasn’t fair. He kept calling out “Ranboo!” and “No!” And of course, the occasional “PLEASE!”

“What’s going on in here?” The sudden voice from the doorway had caught both Ranboo and Tommy off guard entirely, it scared them both. Ranboo stopped tickling Tommy, and the two of them both looked up towards the voice. It was Tubbo, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“NOTHING! Nothing is going on- Ranboo get off!” Tommy whispered the last bit of his sentence in a panic, and Ranboo did comply. But they weren’t gonna say nothing was happening.

“I was simply just teaching Tommy not to start a fight he can’t win.” Ranboo smirked, eyeing Tommy. They chuckled at the glare they received from Tommy for that comment.

“Oh? So Tommy started this. Can’t say I’m surprised, honestly.” Tubbo smiled as he walked over to his friends.

“I did not! Ranboo started it entirely! Don’t lie, Ranboo!” Tommy protested, but Tubbo didn’t believe him. In fairness, he was in-fact lying. Tommy started it.

“Wh- No I didn’t!?” Ranboo and Tommy started going back and forth, arguing about who started it. This lasted for about two minutes until Tubbo put a stop to it.

“Alright, shut up!” Tubbo shouted over the duo’s yelling, and they immediately shut up. He had a smirk on his face as he spoke, he was really amused at his friends’ antics “Tommy I know you started it, on the contrary of what you think I’m not an idiot.”

“You are an idiot!” Tommy retorted, standing up on his toes to make himself appear taller than he already is. Tubbo simply pushed him back down to be flat on his feet, though it really didn’t make much of a dent in their height difference.

“Don’t test me, Tommy.” Tubbo threatened, slowly raising up his hand with wiggling fingers. Tommy quickly sat back down silently.

Ranboo only giggled at the interaction, covering their mouth with their hand as they faced the ground in an attempt to shut up.

“Oh you think that’s funny? I’ll show you something funny, bitch!” Tommy lunged at Ranboo, quickly pinning them down and latching his hands onto their hips. He scribbled, squeezed, drilled, and pinched their hips mercilessly. It didn’t help too much that Tubbo decided to join in by holding their legs up slightly to spider his fingers over the back of their knees.

Ranboo was left a giggly, blushy mess, and yet they loved it. Not that they’d ever admit it, though..

[ochrearia]

Biff and YS sillies.

Shakes these two violently. If anyone gets to be the big brother and little brother dynamic first it's these two and that's me being entirely biased towards my own BF but like IVE ALREADY BEEN WRITING THESE ASSHOLES INTERACTING FOR MONTHS IN POPR SO IT MAKES SENSE

I also almost gatekept this? But then I remember most of you guys here only found me off of Poly Propaganda so like. Why would I gatekeep a BF you guys are familiar with reading about

BFs in this drabble: PoPr!BF (Biff, mine) Yourself (YS)

Perhaps he was just losing his edge. Or maybe the world was starting to be kind enough to let him feel like a person again. Either way there was something so incredibly tempting about pushing buttons when Yourself knew he could get away with it. He was good at getting away with a lot of things. “The incentive is in your reactions, Biff. You want me to stop being obnoxious right back at you? Stop reacting then.” 

“See this is on you, really, because I may not be smart but I can recognize the potential to be the worst little shit imaginable with the information you just gave me.” Biff grinned, flopping over YS’s chest intentionally. “And since we’re the same person it’s very likely that any of the ways my buttons can be pushed are the same ways yours can. As you have already proved by pushing a bunch of mine with no prior knowledge.”

“Ooh, big words from the little man.” YS continued to tease instead. He didn’t want to admit at any point that Biff was possibly his favorite, because that wasn’t fair to the others. They’d just known each other the longest, and while they all had the same potential for it, Biff was really the definition his mind jumped to when he thought of the two words ‘little brother’. He wasn’t saying that out loud for shit.

“Patronizing me is going to be your worst mistake.” Biff threatened, grinning wildly. “I think you need to be knocked down a few pegs, you massive asshole. If my buttons are similar to yours then this isn’t going to keep going well for you. No one knows what pisses me off more than me! Meaning I know how to piss you off too.” The smaller fished his phone from his pocket, pushing his elbows against the silly counterpart’s chest to prop himself up. YS watched with a raised eyebrow as he typed something.

“Oh that better fucking not be the watermelon song.”

“What’s wrong with the watermelon song?” Biff asked innocently as the aforementioned song started blasting from his phone at full volume. “Gee, I don’t know about you, but you know what pisses me off? A strong earworm that I know won’t shut up for at least a few days.”

YS had half a mind to shove this dickhead off of him. That was, at first, something he’d thought was a difference between them- how affectionate Biff was, and how he was keen to show that affection by being touchy. Though in reality it hadn’t been a difference at all, something which having met all these other selves has proven. Apparently he gave really good hugs. Something less known was that he stole away just as much comfort from them as he was intending to give. Contact was nice when your body was always cold for as long as you could remember. Pushing him off would just mean more cold, again.

He settled for roughly ruffling his little brot- Biff’s- hair instead. “You’re- okay what’s a good word that would actually make you mad… I’ve exhausted the punch power of things like ‘dumbass’ and ‘shitter’ by using them too often. They’ve lost their meanings.”

“I have literally done nothing wrong and you’re mean to me for no reason.”

“I’m adding ‘a big fat liar’ to the list by the way.” YS snarked back immediately. “Turn this shit off, I’ve already heard this damn thing several times too many for my lifetime.”

“Mean to me.” Biff repeated, not turning it off and just lowering the volume instead. “Can’t believe you’re such a fucking Battleblock Theater hater.”

“I have literally never played that game and I never want to because of you and this song. Turn it off or I’m shoving you away and you will leave back through the mirror without a hug today.”

“Fuck!” Biff swore, mad that his attempt to push YS’s buttons was instead ending in more of his being pushed. “You’re such an asshole! Big, stupid, dumb fuckin’! Jerk!”

YS burst into laughter, rough with disuse. Low snickering that was prone to snorts as he tried to breathe between them. He wasn’t one to laugh very much, and even when he did it was only for a few seconds at a time. It was incredibly rare for him to go on an actual giggle fit, not even believing he still could after everything. Then again, he’d also believed he would never get to feel warm again either. Or that he’d never get to see the colors of life in anything other than sad, depressed, washed-out hues. Things change. There’d been so much bad change to face in his life. He’d forgotten what good change was like.

It was like the sun. Bright and warm. Life giving.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten to hear you laugh for that long before.” Biff said, turning the playful atmosphere in a more serious direction. “That’s not to make you self-conscious by the way, don’t you dare start thinking that shit. Sorry, I tend to blurt things out before thinking, but like, honestly. The others aren’t fully sure how to be affectionate with you on the same level I do, because it’s kind of weird in a way, acting brotherly when that’s literally just yourself, but I know they think the same thing. It’s kind of… I don’t know, crisis inducing? To look at another version of you and know you’re so… sad. Eh, maybe not crisis inducing. Fuck I don’t know words. It makes us sad. That’s probably the most straight-forward way I can say it.”

YS’s laughs faded, shadowed eyes watching the other carefully. There was a very easy and negative takeaway he could get out of those words alone but he knew that wasn’t what Biff was trying to get at. Making assumptions before having the whole picture only led to more problems. 

“You’re smart. Surely you caught on to that by now. You’re seeking us out with the intent to help because it’s the next best thing when you’re so clammed up on your own self that you can’t give everything you give to us, to yourself instead. You’re not going to get away with that without us giving back. So of course seeing you so sad makes us sad. But it’s okay! We’re going to help fix that.” He said matter-of-factly. How confident.

YS huffed out one last chuckle. “All of you are so confident about solving problems you’ve never actually faced. Somewhere along the line I suppose it’s endearing but you’re all incredibly dumb and misguided.”

“I’ve faced them.” Biff reminded. “Not physically. But I have… faced them. Seen everything you lock in your head because you think you have to contain it alone. And I know you’re still mad at me for doing that. You just never fucking talk, man. All of us dumbasses come to you all vulnerable and you fix that but you don’t let yourself get vulnerable. What are you afraid of?”

Don’t you know? Though he never really did say it out loud. There were a lot of things he didn’t say out loud. He was scared of hurting them. They knew that. He was scared to lose them too. Something about the double meaning of losing himself made him uncomfortable.

“...Are we okay?” Biff continued suddenly, voice softer and more nervous. “It’s been weeks since I, I guess, betrayed you in a way. Took your magic and used it against you. I knew it wasn’t what you wanted and did it anyway.”

A flash of him, pounding against the glass of a mirror he couldn’t walk in, because Biff had purposefully avoided anything reflective. His face, always so pale and sad, shadowed out and hung low, but rolling tears still visible, kept company by a panicked and upset grimace, teeth clenched so tight they could shatter.

Had it all been a mistake?

“You disappeared on me for a while after. Scared me. I knew I deserved it, you were so angry when you came to take your baggage back. You stopped showing up in my dreams even. I deserved it but it still scared me. I wondered if we’d ever talk again after a few days.”

Biff was right about one thing. He had been angry. Furious, really, though it wasn’t all directed at him. They hadn’t really talked about it either. The days he had been avoiding Biff were the days he decided to reach out to even more selves- he didn’t need to know that though. That would probably just make him feel some sort of venom towards the others. YS didn’t want that. All of them getting along was important too.

“But… are we okay?” Biff repeated, lips stuck in a frown. “I guess I can’t really ask for forgiveness if you really don’t want to do that. But I need to… know where we stand so I don’t overstep. Hell, I’ve probably been overstepping this whole time…”

This dude worried too much.

“You are annoying.” YS started, almost laughing at the look of shock that caused. “You are. But I’m not saying that as a bad thing. You’re annoying that you care so damn much about my opinion of you. We’ve had this conversation before about your GF and Pico. You lost all your confidence in the face of them not thinking highly of you, in a dream. You know what that’s telling me? That you somehow care about my opinion as much as theirs. Don’t you think that’s a bit overdramatic?”

“Not if it’s the opinion of my big brother…” Biff mumbled. He hadn’t meant it to be loud enough for the other to hear, a reply to himself born from a need to say something in rebuttal. The other had definitely heard though.

YS didn’t think the grin on his face could get any wider without his head splitting. “We’re okay, you fucking idiot.” Big brother huh? Guess that whole changing my nickname in the groupchat thing wasn’t just a joke. I’m not entirely sure if that should make me this damn happy. I think I’d be even happier if the rest started calling me that too… “If everything ended after one shit choice then none of us would be here. None of us, because all of us are prone to shit choices with the small amount of brain cells we have collectively. So yes, we're okay. Just don’t fucking do that again.”

“You got it, bossman.” Biff teased, steering the atmosphere back to silly. “Good to know I’ll still be getting my hug before I leave.”

“So long as you don’t push any more of my buttons before then.”

“No promises!”

[emilybahu]

This is my first time writing a fan fic, just a little one shot, I spent all day working in this (even when I was at work)! I hope you all like it, please let me know what you think! 😁

Buck and Eddie discussing Bucks previous jealousy at Maddie and Chimney’s wedding and the chaos that ensues:

“Come on Eddie, can we just drop this already!”Buck said, while rubbing the back of his neck in slight frustration. He wanted this conversation to end, evidently Eddie wasn’t though as he said “No Evan… not until you tell me the truth!”

Wow Buck thought, Eddie brought out the first name… he must mean business.

“Well I am telling the truth…” says Buck as he makes a face reminiscent of a sad puppy. Eddie then put his hands up as though he was surrendering, “Ok then, whatever man…”

Eddie looks down to the ground for a moment, eyes widening as he promptly realizes that a candle has somehow fallen off a table and managed to stay lit long enough to catch Buck’s pant leg on fire.

He looks at Buck with his eyes still wide “Umm… Buck your pants are on fire”.

Buck gives Eddie a blank stare “Haha very funny Eddie, because I’m a liar? I get the joke and I’m not finding particularly funny at the moment” he says nearly rolling his eyes.

Eddie clears is throat “NO BUCK YOUR PANTS ARE LITERALLY ON FIRE!” Eddie practically yells at him.

This causes Buck to look down and let out a yelp as he finds that his pants are indeed actually on fire.

“How the hell did you not realize before I mentioned it?” Eddie questioned frantically.

To which Buck responded with “I DON’T KNOW!”, then more quietly “I guess I was distracted…” as he shrugged his shoulders.

Both men were frozen in shock for a moment, with his adrenaline running high Eddie wordlessly tackled Buck to the ground. They started rolling around to try to get the fire from spreading up his pants. This is where the situation dissolved into chaos…

Both men had managed to make a complete mess of their suits being covered in dirt. As they were falling to the ground Buck bumped into a table and a glass of red wine spilled on him, which didn’t really help the situation. And somehow Eddie had managed to lose his shirt in the midst of he and Buck’s chaos and neither of them knew what happened to it.

When they got the fire out they just lied there for a moment and looked at each other before Eddie got off of Buck and pulled him to his feet and into a hug.

“Oh man, that was crazy, sorry I tackled you like that Buck, I wasn’t really thinking” Eddie said, still tightly holding Buck.

Squeezing Eddie back Buck said “Don’t worry about it Eddie, I’m fine now that my pants aren’t on fire anymore. I probably would’ve done the same thing anyway”.

With that they let go of each other so they could see how bad they looked. Eddie started chuckling as he looked at himself and Buck “Oh-oh my god Buck, I don’t know if we can show ourselves back at the reception, we-we’re a mess!”

Buck started chuckling, he loved seeing Eddie laughing and happy like this. Then he took a moment to look at himself and Eddie, they were indeed a mess!

When Buck shot him a confused look from where he was leaning on a nearby table Eddie asked “What’s wrong, you ok?”

Buck responded “Yeah, Yeah I’m all good… it’s just…ummm Eddie… where’s your shirt?” At this, Eddie looked down and realized his shirt was indeed missing.

“Umm…yeah” he paused, looking around for a moment “I have do idea what happened to it” he said, scratching his head. With that both men went quiet for a few moments as if they were having a conversation with their eyes. That was until Eddie broke the silence he started by wondering “So, do you think anyone would notice if we left?”

Buck responded, looking down “Hmm yeah, they’d probably notice, Maddie would probably be pissed if I ditched the rest of the wedding reception. Although, it is really surprising that no one noticed something going on when you yelled that my pants were on fire.”

“Fair point,” Eddie said “well should we head back then, before anyone notices we’ve been gone.” nodding his head back towards the main area where everyone was celebrating.

Looking back up at Eddie with a small smile, “Yeah, we’d better get back in there” Buck said as he pushed himself away from the table he was leaning on, but as he was about to pass Eddie he was pulled back.

It was apparently Eddie’s turn to look like a guilty puppy now and he said “One more thing actually.”

“What is it?” Buck said feeling nervous.

Eddie loosened his grip on Buck’s arm and said “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Buck was confused for a moment, he had already told Eddie that he wasn’t hurt from the tackle. Then his eyes softened as Eddie began to speak again because he realized what he was apologizing for.

Now looking down again Eddie said “I’m sorry if I made you feel upset or uncomfortable during our conversation earlier, I’m realizing now that I was pushing too hard.”

“It’s really alright Eddie, no big deal, you were just-” Buck was cut off by Eddie.

“No Buck! It’s not ok! You’re allowed keep things to yourself if you want, I shouldn’t try to pry them out of you like that, it’s not right of me!” He pauses for a moment and takes a breath, “It’s just I-I want to make sure you know you have me, because sometimes it feels like you don’t know I’m here for you if you need me, for anything”

With that Buck pulled Eddie into a suffocating hug of which Eddie reciprocated. Buck feels like he might cry, he loves Eddie so much, Buck’s just not quite sure if Eddie feels the same love for him as he does for Eddie. Either way he’s just happy to have someone like Eddie in his life.

Buck finally speaks, sill holding onto Eddie “I really appreciate you Eddie, you’re always so good to me, thank you for being there for me!” He pauses then speaks again, nearly whispering “I promise I’ll talk to you about how I’ve been feeling lately, I just need to understand it more first.”

Buck and Eddie pull away from the hug, Eddie keeping his hand on Buck’s shoulder and thumb on his pulse point says “Well I’ll be there whenever you’re ready”.

After a couple minutes of coming down from their intense conversation and hug Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder “We’d better get back in there, we’ve been gone for a while,” Eddie cuts himself off with a laugh, “they’ll probably send out a search party soon.”

Buck chuckles too, as he and Eddie walk together towards the main celebration area, their shoulders brushing.

“So, how are we gonna explain this?” Buck asks gesturing to their now dirty suits and Eddie’s very obvious lack of a shirt.

Eddie just shrugs his shoulders and says “We tell them the truth, can’t have a beautiful wedding without a little bit chaos right?” Eddie laughs again, bumping Buck’s shoulder a little harder.

Buck chuckles again “Well at least the chaos was directed towards us and not Maddie and Chimney, they deserved at least one milestone in their relationship that wasn’t chaotic.”

“Agreed!” Eddie says and Maddie and Chimney come into view, having the time of their lives dancing together at their wedding. Eddie continues “They deserve to live a long happy life together after what they’ve both been through, they’re great for each other.”

As Buck was about to answer with his agreement another voice interrupted “Now that’s something I could get behind!” Chimney says as he walks up to them with a concerned Maddie following close behind.

“Oh my god! Where have you two been?!” Maddie questioned, as she checked over Buck, but before Buck and Eddie could answer Maddie continued “What happened to you guys, your suits are ruined! And Evan Buckley what happened to your leg!?”

Chimney speaks up again before Buck or Eddie can begin to answer, “Umm Eddie… what happened to your shirt?”

Not really knowing what to say Eddie just went “ummmmm….” As eyes were all turned towards him.

Then Buck saves him, “We’ll explain, it’s just all a result of the chaos that ensued,” he pauses “but we honestly have no idea what happened to his shirt.” He said pointing at Eddie.

“What he said,” Eddie replied “come on, it’s a great story!” Gesturing towards a table for all of them to sit at.

So Buck and Eddie told everyone about their chaos, questions were asked, and laughs were had. The rest of the reception was a blast and everyone danced and sang and enjoyed each other’s company.

The End.

[rotiaftermath]

can i request jo & brick? their rivalry is so fun

That post was mostly to gauge interest however. This does answer my question and you’re right it is fun so here we go

The day’s challenge was over, so Jo did the same thing she always did after a challenge: go for an afternoon run. It was one of her favorite parts of the day, actually, but today she sped away more agitated than usual. The challenge sucked, some stupid fashion bullshit followed by some rescue mission that, admittedly, was more her style.

Until stupid Mike (Chester? She didn’t keep track of his dumb characters. Except Svetlana. She actually kind of liked that one) gave her that god awful makeup job. Jokes on her for wanting to feel pretty, she guessed. She clenched her fists and ran faster, eager to get her mind off of it. But that wasn’t the only reason for her distress.

“Good afternoon, Jo!” Brick gave her a salute as she slowed down to meet him.

“At ease, corporal pants wetter,” Jo replied, smirking when he complied, “ready for me to beat you again?”

Brick grinned, “I think you’ll be surprised, ma’am. I’ve been closing the gap between us lately.”

Jo rolled her eyes, playfully, “I’d like to see you try.”

Brick raised a brow — or half his unibrow, rather, “Isn’t that why we’re having a race?”

“Ha! Fair enough!” Jo guffawed, getting into a starting position, “But get ready to eat my dust!”

Brick followed suit, smirking, “Not if you eat mine, first.” He glanced at her, “Ready?”

Jo took off without another word, Brick right behind her. They ran around the camp, through the trees and back again, making laps around the area without going too far into the mutant filled forest. Jo had gotten a good start on Brick, creating and widening the gap between them for the first lap, but with each subsequent lap Brick was managing to catch up, slowly but steadily closing it as they continued to race. They were neck and neck as they rounded the last curve, Jo gritting her teeth and Brick furrowing his brow in determination as they did one final kick to the finish. In the end the one who made it back first was…

Jo cackled as she stepped back into camp just a second before Brick did. “I win!” She said, between pants, “you’re still… a hundred years… too early… to beat me.”

Brick put his hands on his knees as he entered after her, “You sure… did… but I… got close.” He stood up as he finished catching his breath, holding his hand out, “It was a good race, Jo.”

Jo rolled her eyes, but shook his hand, anyway. It could be the last time, after all. “Yeah, yeah. Nice racing you one last time.”

Brick frowned, “What do you mean?”

Jo frowned, “Aren’t you scared of getting voted out?”

Brick chuckled, “Actually, I think I’m safe. Scott and Lightning were talking about voting for Sam, and I agreed.”

Jo blinked, “Oh. Huh.” Apparently she completely misread that situation. But she couldn’t deny feeling relieved that Brick would still be in the game. Not that she’d admit it out loud.

Brick nodded, “Sam performed admirably during the challenge, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough. It was also his advice that caused the Sasquatchanawka to kidnap Lindsay to begin with.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “Although I was the one who ultimately chose the clothing, so I can’t deny there’s still a possibility of me going out.”

Jo frowned, “Just stick to the plan. They’d have to be idiots to vote you out.”

Brick frowned, “I guess. Wait...” He looked at Jo, unable to stop himself from smiling, “Were you… worried about me?”

Jo scoffed, “No. I just didn’t want to lose a rival. Who else would I compete against? Lightning?”

Brick smiled at her, “Well, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere until I beat you.”

Jo smirked, “Then I guess you’re staying for a long time.”

[daemour]

The Corporal's Wife

Pairing: maybe Mingi x f!Reader, past Jongho x f!Reader

Word Count: 2309

Warnings: Mentions of war, mentions of death, that's all

Genre: Angst, fluff(?)

Summary: You're still hanging onto the hope that your husband, Corporal Jongho survived the war, but with six years and not a peep from him, you're starting to lose hope. When a mysterious young man turns up at the cafe you frequent, your days of quiet sadness may be coming to an end

TY to @sanjoongie for helping me choose a title lol <3

also if u want a sequel with what happens with yn and mingi lmk

-

After the war ended six years ago, you visit the café in front of your house daily. Perhaps it’s fruitless to hope, but you don’t know what you’d do if you stopped believing.

Your husband’s body was never found, and some days you wish they’d never told you that so you wouldn’t have a reason to stay in the same town you’ve always been in. Maybe you should attempt to move on, but there’s always a lingering feeling of guilt if you even think about it.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the chain in front of you scraping the floor. “Do you mind if I sit here? All the tables are full.”

A tall figure in a plain shirt stands before you, a large covering his hair and eyes. Warning bells sound in your head but against your better will, you shake your head. “Go right ahead, I don’t mind,” you say, gesturing to the empty seat. “May I ask your name?”

The man hums. “Mingi. And yours?”

“I’m (Y/N). What brings you to this town? I’ve lived here all my life and haven’t seen you around.”

Mingi’s lips pull upward into a small smile. “Hm. That’s a private question ma’am, but I’ll answer it if you limit your questions to one a day.”

You cock your head to the side. “You’re awfully sure that I’m that invested in a stranger’s life,” you respond cooly.

Mingi laughs hard and you can’t help but notice his adorably crooked teeth. “Fair enough. I’mm answer your question in good faith. I’m here to live a more peaceful life. Better?”

Your brows furrow. “More peaceful life?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Mingi sing-songs, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face,” next question is for tomorrow.”

You gape at him but all he does in return is tip his hat and offer a smile before getting up and leaving. He intrigues you, and you are always in the café in the afternoon, so maybe you will take that offer. With a shake of your head, you return to your usual cup of tea and the book that had laid forgotten on the oaken table.

-

“You’re back!”

“You sound too pleased about that,” you grumble as Mingi takes a seat in front of you once more. “I usually come here around this time anyway, it wasn’t because of you.”

Mingi chuckles. “Still, you’re here. So I’ll let you ask another question.”

You sigh, but you can’t lie and say you aren’t even a little curious about this strange man who sits with you. “How old are you?”

Mingi smiles. “Safe question. I’m almost thirty, turning in four months.”

You cock your head. “You look young for your age. In fact, you’re actually younger than my husband,” you laugh quietly, looking down into your teacup. “You would have gotten along.”

Mingi hums, voice low in his throat. “Is he not living here with you?”

You shake your head, your breath catching in your throat as you try to avoid the subject. “Ah, he’s not here at the moment, it’s just me in this town.” You offer Mingi a weak smile. “Please excuse me, I must head home and finish some chores.”

Before he can say anything in response, you book it out of the café. You don’t want to face the truth just yet. You check the road before crossing it in a hurry to get to the safety of your empty house.

As you catch your breath just inside the wooden door, your eye catches the last picture you took with your husband. Jongho smiled so peacefully in the picture, with you standing right by his side and a matching smile on your own face.

Tears well up in your eyes and you rip your eyes from the picture. You cannot continue wallowing in your overwhelming love for him, but are you truly ready to move on? As the wetness blurs your vision, you kick off your shoes, stumbling towards the kitchen.

He’s more endearing than you had thought, with his bright smile and warm laugh. You’re getting more attached, you can feel it in your heart. You don’t know if you’re ready to handle the feelings that come with it, but you cannot dwell on that now, not when you’re just getting to know him. Maybe it’s just platonic.

You take another deep breath and fumble for the cabinet where Jongho kept his whiskey. You need to calm down.

-

“I’ve realised…” you start to voice the thought that had been plaguing your mind for the past few weeks. Although you’ve known Mingi for only three months, you’ve grown to enjoy his company and the insightful answers he offers of himself. However, one thing had been sitting pretty in your subconscious. The tension in your gut will not go away until you get your answers. “Why don’t you ask questions about me, Mingi?”

“...What?” Mingi asks, noticeably stiffening and pulling his hat further down his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we have his whole system of me asking you questions, but you never seem to want to get to know me. Why is that?”

Mingi sighs. “I suppose I can’t continue hiding. But here is not the place. Take a walk with me, (Y/N)?”

Your eyes widen You’ve only known Mingi in the comfort of the café. Although it is trivial, it feels like a big step to by anywhere but here with him. And yet, he’s still waiting patiently for your answer. “Okay…” you whisper, slowly standing and brushing your long skirt off. “Where to?”

Mingi smiles. “Not far. There’s a park a few blocks away.” You know that palace all too well—your husband proposed there. If that is your destination, you’re less worried.

The walk doesn’t take too long—Mingi’s stride is long and you practically scuttle after him. The park is just as nice as you remember, with a few couples milling about. He leads you to a pavilion and before you even have a chance to catch your breath, he starts to speak.

“To preface, I was a soldier in the war almost six years ago,” Mingi says slowly as if trying to choose the right words. “I was stationed in Inhon City. Sound familiar?”

The name tugs at your memory but you can’t recall it. “Not really…I’ve heard of it.”

Mingi sighs, pulling off his hat, and you gasp at the sight of zig-zagging scars decorating the upper half of his face. “Jongho was my commanding officer. I’m sure that name is familiar.”

“Jongho…” you whisper. “If you’re looking for him, he’s not here, I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds foreign even to yourself. You don’t know how Mingi knows your husband or their history, but if he’s here to kill you, he won’t get any satisfaction out of it.

Mingi shakes his head, pity in his eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m here. He loved to talk about you, you know.” Your eyes tear up “That’s why I never really had to ask about you, although it would have gotten suspicions off my back.” He smiles bitterly.

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s dead, (Y/N).” Mingi smiles sadly, but you shake your head.

“No.” Your voice is quiet as if it would shield you from Mingi’s words. “He’s not.”

Mingi takes a step closer to you, almost reaching out to comfort you but deciding against it. “(Y/N), he’s been gone for six years. Do you really think he wouldn’t have found his way back to you if he was still alive? Jongho loved you. He wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting for a man who couldn’t come back.”

You shake your head once more, but deep down, you know what Mingi said was true, even before you had met him. “His body was never found, Mingi. Please leave me alone,” you hiss, perhaps hoping your anger would reverse time and you never would have met this tall stranger. And Jongho wouldn’t be gone.

“(Y/N),” Mingi starts to say, reaching out for you, but you take a step back.

“I want to go home.”

Mingi frowns, retracting his hand. “At least let me walk you home,” he offers but you shake your head.

“What, you want to know where I live?”  The harsh words come out against your better judgement and Mingi flinches. “Oh, wait, you probably already know my address.”

“That’s unfair,” Mingi frowns but you shake your head.

“That’s unfair, but you getting to know me from a lie isn’t?” You raise an eyebrow and Mingi cowers.

“It wasn’t a lie…”

You glare at Mingi’s sorrowful voice. Like he has a right to sound so pitiful. “A lie of omission is still a lie, Mingi. Just…please leave me be. I need time.” He finally acquiesces and you escape back down the path.

You don’t know why you’re so affected but his words sent a sharp pain into your heart. Deep down, you knew that Jongho was not going to return after the first two years, but you needed that hope to keep you going. You don’t know what you’d do without the idea of Jongho returning. You’ve waited for so long that you don’t know if you could ever move away.

With a sob, you slam your front door shut behind you and fall to the ground. The last time you cried was when you heard the news of Jongho missing. All the pent-up frustration and sadness are finally being washed out of your soul.

In a way, it’s refreshing, but there are so many conflicting emotions that you don’t know what to do but to let it all out. As you wipe your teary eyes, you look over at a picture of Jongho’s siblings hung on the wall.  You hadn’t seen them since Jongho’s parents’ funeral which was right before the war started. Maybe they could offer insight.

With a last wipe of your eyes, you head to the study to call ahead and ask to visit. You know they won’t mind, but it’s the polite thing to do, and maybe just talking on the phone will help ease your worries.

-

A few days later you’re currently in the midst of packing for when you finally go to visit your in-laws as they graciously invited you to stay for the weekend. However, a knocking on the door interrupts your task. “(Y/N), can we talk?”

Your body stiffens at Mingi’s voice. Why is he here? You knew you shouldn’t leave without telling him where you were as you would have felt bad otherwise, but you were planning on asking the café owner to pass the message on, not to confront Mingi directly. “No.” You hate how shaky your voice is, and Mingi can hear the uncertainty.

“(Y/N), please.” You bite your lip as you stomp over to the door to give Mingi a piece of your mind.

“Mingi, I told you to please leave me alone,” you start to scold but stop short as you swing the door open and see Mingi’s face. His eyes are red and the dark circles under his eyes invoke regret in your chest. His hair is a mess as he holds his hat, turning the brim round and round in his hands.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Mingi says, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I didn’t want to bring it up on our first meeting and just…never got around to telling you. The more time passed, the more worried I got about bringing it up. Jongho may have been my commander, but he was also my friend. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

You close your eyes to try and stall the tears. “Mingi…I’m not mad. Maybe I was back then, but I understand now.” Your words are thick with emotion.  “I wish you told me before but I can understand why. I just…do need some time. It’s hard to not want to wait for someone I’ve been with for over ten years.”

Mingi nods. “I understand. I just couldn’t wait any longer before apologising. I should have told you sooner.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, Mingi. I don’t hold it against you, bubt I need to finish packing. I’ll be visiting my family for a few days, but we can talk more when I get back, okay?” You offer him a smile which he returns, albeit shakily. “Thank you again for coming to chat.”

With a nod, he turns away and replaces his hat on his head. You watch his back as you feel a tightness in your chest at seeing him leave. “Mingi!” You call after him, and he stops in his tracks. “Would– would you like it come with me?”

He turns back around, confusion evident in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m visiting my brother-in-law and his wife. I’m sure they’d be happy to meet one of Jongho’s friends.” Mingi’s lips twitch and you fear you’ve gone too far. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were busy. I just…thought you might like it–”

“I’d love to,” Mingi cuts you off. “Thank you for inviting me, really.”

You tilt your head. “It’s no issue, really. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea? I’m almost finished packing and we can leave soon after.”

Mingi nods carefully. “Thank you, (Y/N). Really.”

You get the feeling he’s thanking you for more than just tea, but you won’t point it out. Instead, you just open the door wider to let him in. It’s time for you to let Jongho go, and maybe Mingi will be the one to fill the void left in your life.

[lewisdeklein]

I’ve seen other people make their own MHA x MP100 aus so I thought I’d give it a try, staring with Ritsu and Shou

I made Ritsu and Shou more or less the main focus, but to be fair it just depends on what part of the story you would want to focus on. Making Mob and Teru apart of class 1A feels like it takes the focus away from Deku so they are both in the year above.

In this AU psychic powers are different from quirks. They existed much longer that quirks and don’t cause someone to have any physical differences than normal people.

Ritsu and Mob’s story is pretty much the same up till the clean up arc. They both live in an area with a low amount of quirks so their story isn’t affected by that much. When Mob finds Ritsu in the ally towards the end of the arc Ritsu agrees to stop what he’s doing but their relationship never really gets repaired in anyway. If anything I could it’s gotten worse. Mob gets into UA by recommend due to having very strong psychic powers. This would make Mob (and Teru) the first quirkless kid to get into UA, not Deku. Ritsu ends up getting into UA due to recommendations as well but has the grades to get in by himself. He becomes a Hero in hopes to be like his brother. Just like how Ritsu wanted powers to stop his brother in mp100, in this au he wants to be a hero to make sure he could stop his brother if he ever got out of control. Ritsu struggles with finding any actual reason for being a hero other than that. It was just mostly expected that he’d be a hero. Ritsu’s hero name is just his name. It’s like how Todoroki used Shoto as his hero name. They both don’t have much creativity

Shou is a bit more different in this AU. Claw still is a thing but it’s much more careful when it comes to exposing their existence. The reason Ritsu never got kidnapped by Koyama was because quirkless areas tend to have more heros. Claw and the League of Villains are friendly with one another due to them both being a potential threat to one another. Both know fighting each other would end in too much lose for both parties but both still believe they are better than the other. Shou, like most kids, wanted to be a hero. Unfortunately for him he would have gotten no quirk but his father told him that he was going to have something much more powerful, psychic powers. Shou’s mother found out that Claw was associated with the League and left. She didn’t take Shou with her because if Claw found them both they’d take Shou back anyway. She was a pro hero but retired after leaving her family since she felt so guilty for abandoning her son. Shou began to grow a resentment toward heros due to his mother leaving. His father put him through training to make sure he could become the perfect little soldier for Claw and perfect heir. Shou hated his father more than he hated heros so he began to plan to take down Claw. He didn’t trust heros so he decided to do it all by himself. Shou got into UA because his father told him to. He is a spy for Claw and the league. One of his jobs is keeping tabs on the kageyama brothers due to their strong abilities and potential. He got in by lying that his quirk was Fire to throw UA off from thinking he was his father’s son. This version of Shou has a more worn out and dark vibe to him due to how much long he’s worked for Claw. His Hero name, Pyro Mask, is actually a hint that he is a psychic. Pyro means fire so Pyro Mask is suggesting that he is using fire as a cover, or mask, for his psychic powers. Also I used pyro instead of Fire because it suggests that he has pyrokinesis, which is a form of psychic powers.

I’ve got hero outfits in the works and Teru and Mob.

I am cringe but I’m free

[lizhly-writes]

welp. another weird au for you.

Dinner tonight was healthier than what Chen Lihua would grab on her own, but then again, dinner was always healthier when her brother was in charge. He was always better about eating well. Eating poorly, according to him, would mean that they’d have less energy to beat the shit out of people who were bothering them, which, well. Fair point.

“Eat more,” Chen Liwei said irritably, dumping a heaping portion of tomato eggs into her rice bowl. “You normally eat more than this, what’s wrong with you? Do you suddenly hate my cooking now? Hey, are you sick?”

Chen Lihua swallowed down the absolute first thing she wanted to say --- stop fussing, you’re never going to be Mom --- and instead said, “I’m just thinking, it’s not like I’m not eating at all.

“I didn’t know that you could think,” Chen Liwei sniped.

“I’m just thinking,” Chen Lihua repeated, “that we need to kill Shang Chun.”

Chen Liwei paused, halfway through bringing a teacup to his mouth. Deliberately, he set it down with a soft click. “Why are we killing Shang Chun?”

Shang Chun was one of their coworkers at the absurdly nice fancy restaurant that they worked at. A decent worker that got good tips because he was good at sweet-talking the rich people that ate there. Chen Lihua and Chen Liwei had both been annoyed by it --- both the groveling and by how well it actually worked. What was his secret into groveling his way into luxury? They’d both like to know, and Chen Lihua would absolutely try to smile her way into getting the answer if Shang Chun wasn’t scum.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” she said.

Chen Liwei scoffed. “If we killed everybody who looked at us weird, we’d be alone on this planet.”

This was true. A lot of people gave them weird looks. This was because they tended to have very strong opinions upon meeting either of the Chen twins. Unnaturally so, Chen Lihua had thought. She had spent some time wondering if they were cursed by the universe. Their relationships… never turned out great.

Speaking of which.

“Shang Chun likes you,” Chen Lihua said.

It was obvious enough. Longing looks, that eager way he stood to attention whenever Chen Liwei needed something. Shang Chun, out of all their coworkers, hung around Chen Liwei the most. He actually tried talking to Chen Liwei on a regular basis, despite the obvious downsides of Chen Liwei’s entire personality, and the one time he’d said something funny enough to make Chen Liwei laugh, Shang Chun had spent the rest of the day looking like he’d achieved nirvana.

It would be cute, if the Chen twins weren’t the Chen twins.

‘Like?’ That was too neutral of an emotion. ‘Love?’ As if they were that lucky.

There was no such thing as a happy ending for the Chen twins. Six years of disaster had taught them well.

“The fuck are you talking about,” Chen Liwei said, and then, a little more thoughtfully, “hmm.”

“And that’s why we have to kill him,” Chen Lihua said. “Before he starts with the crazy.”

It was nice being liked. Being loved, for a short while. People could be sweet, when they wanted to be, all beautiful words and gentle touches. It felt good, having someone think you were important, precious, the best thing in the world.

And then it would go horribly wrong.

Chen Liwei took it harder than Chen Lihua. For all that Chen Lihua was outwardly nicer, it was Chen Liwei that was the optimist. Chen Lihua found silver linings; it was a different thing than having hope. For all that he bitched, there was still that little tiny part of him that hoped things would be better. It was, oh, maybe about 2% of him, that hoped that maybe this time would be different --- that maybe their newest suitor wouldn’t turn into an obsessive maniac or die a horrible death.

It had never happened so far. Chen Liwei got so angry whenever people disappointed him like this. He was losing hope. Chen Lihua wished he would lose it quicker; the more he hoped, the more he was setting himself up for disappointment.

You took what the universe gave you. If it was some infatuated fool longing for their company for a few months, fine --- enjoy the attention while you could, and sharpen your axe for when it started going bad.

After all, the only people the Chen twins could ever trust were each other.

“Murder is illegal,” Chen Liwei said, one corner of his mouth turning down. He’d been fond of Shang Chun. Chen Lihua had been fond of Shang Chun, too, but she’d known better than to get attached.

“Aw, did you like him back,” Chen Lihua jeered, and ducked when he swatted at her head.

“Shut up, who likes who?” Chen Liwei snapped. “Fucking as if.”

“Getting so worked up when I say we need to kill him,” Chen Lihua said.

Chen Liwei snorts. “What, you've got a plan?”

“I’m just saying. It’s only illegal if we get caught.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

ICBMTHY is sooo good. it gave me a lot of thoughts!

i know it wouldn't make sense for eris to be nice but that was so mean and for absolutely no reason? i hope she kicks his ass more but i also think this friendship would be what she needs to grow a backbone because right now it's painful to watch but the ic clearly isn't helping and azriel is making it worse

also azriel is being so mean too and i know it's for the angst but my dude really interrupted her booty call for no reason and then trapped her into a conversation to call her a burden like i know you've picked up better conversation skills in 500 years. like he's kinda right in saying she is naive (second hand embarrassing inducing so) and doesn't know how things work... then sit her down and explain it to her instead of attacking her, i would have jumped out of his arms and wouldn't even care about what happened to me bc i know he'd blame himself

ALSO her powers seem interesting, she glows?? like starfall?? that sounds fun and it kinda sounds that eris might be the one to help her with those powers at least for now (that line saying the ic would pounce on her powers and do all kinds of things to get them to work is so true though that's one of the things that annoys me the most about them)

anyway this story is seriously so good, i think you might be my favorite writer on tumblr. you genuinely know how to keep a story engaging and still have it make sense instead of just filling it with unnecessary smut to make up for it, even your heavily spicy ones always give something at least in the background. also i like how you play with characters, i think a lot of people write character too ooc but you manage to take the essence of the characters and change them how you need them without losing their true self. like how you write dark az and in this story he's kind of acting like an asshole but you still see bits and pieces of azriel in all of them

Honestly I agree Eris was a little OOC in that swan part—I’m deciding he was stressed from Father Vanserra breathing down his neck and he needed the comedic relief :)

But hey! She ended up actually doing something about it, maybe he will help her grow a little backbone—or rather feel it’s okay to hit back sometimes!

And yeah, poor Bas 😕 He was READY (I can’t promise any more of him though, I’m sorry 😭)

Things kind of escalated way too quickly when they were flying together; I’m putting that down as the whole IC being incredibly wary of Eris because of the Mor incident, and also the Autumn Court isn’t exactly known for being particularly fair or welcoming, so it’s kind of believable Eris would inherit those traits from his father :/

Also I feel like a surprisingly big part of angst (for me at least) is the edge of humiliation? How reader allows herself to be degraded and doesn’t really fight back or protest against it because she doesn’t see it as being wrong, more that it’s expected/deserved? I think most people respond stronger if it’s their dignity that’s being targeted, which helps with the angst because of how low one has to go to deliver a blow like that :)

I’m so excited to write more about her powers and how they manifest!!! Also about who’s going to try to help her, but who’s going to actually succeed in helping her and then how she manages with the new development!!

I suppose with Silver Flames (I know some people have mixed feelings about how the characters were written) they’d just been through a second war (civil war??) where they came so close to loosing so much, and despite how most of the IC has already been through one, I can’t imagine you can become desensitised to something as bloody as open, gratuitous murder to such a massive scale.

Anyway, that was a long-winded way of saying I can see how so many mistakes were made in the aftermath of the devastation of war. It’s not an excuse or a justification but I really don’t think it would be realistic for the characters to come out unscarred from a second war.

That last paragraph is just— thank you

I’m so happy people find those fics to be suitably engaging, and enough to continuously choose to interact with them.

The fact alone that you’ve taken your time to articulate how you feel is so important to recognise for me.

Playing with what certain characters might do while keeping it relatively believable is something I try to do, and it means so much to me that you think I’ve succeeded 🧡