#I really want the three traitors to win

[aithusarosekiller]

I want Ross to realise that

1) they're safer with all three winning/getting to the end than trying to pick each other off

2) if he goes for Harry, Harry is gonna very smugly go for him

3) his mum would probably want him to win, not to kill Harry as revenge and then immediately get banished himself (he's too angry that she's dead and not thinking about winning anymore)

Both Harry and Ross need to realise that going against each other will end in them both getting banished and then neither of them win

Those two need to sit down and have a proper chat because strategically it's better to win and split the money than try to throw each other under and then all lose

Please stop being stupid and team up for the greater good I'm begging

[fictionalreads]

This Was Never Meant to Be What It Feels Like (Part 2)

A/N: Soooooo I couldn't help myself. Ya'll really showed me love on part one and it encouraged me to write this part. I'll admit this isn't my favorite piece of writing but it's necessary cause it sets up part 3😅 Give me a few days at least for that one though. Hope y'all like it. 18+/Minors DNI

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Original Female Character

Fandom: Bad Boys Movies

Song I listened to while writing: Back To Love by Robert Glasper featuring SiR and Alex Isley.

Prompt: It's been six months since Armando left Shay but things feel unfinished for him.

Warnings ⚠️: Talk of smut (y'all I can't write that shit, I tried and it was trash so I just talk around it)

Armando was only supposed to be in LA for a couple days. He was still a wanted man and he didn’t exactly enjoy putting himself at risk of being caught, but it was unavoidable. A contact had needed a job done and since being on the run, he wasn’t afforded the option of being picky when it came to money. Besides, Martinez had been helpful in getting him jobs so he considered the extra risk a favor.

Nobody wanted to work with a snitch. 

It didn’t matter that the feds had him serving life and he was just trying to survive, hopefully shave off enough time to not die in a cell. He was a rat and had nothing but enemies on both sides. Mierda, his parents had really screwed him over. His mother had ensured he would always be seen as a criminal and his father had ensured every criminal saw him as a traitor. He was destined for a life of solitude. 

Then he met Shay.

He had been eating at a restaurant frequented by his target, canvassing the place, when he heard her laugh. Usually he would ignore other patrons as he did his job but there was something so uninhibited about the sound that it captivated him. He looked up to find the source and saw her head thrown back in obvious joy, curly hair flowing freely behind her. Her eyes were damn near shut, smile big and bright. 

He was in LA for work but a little play never hurt anybody so he had his waitress send a drink to her and watched as he was pointed out. She lifted the drink he sent in a silent thanks and he raised his glass back, nodding at her with a smirk. He was aware when she had left and he finished his own meal and work soon after. He was unsurprised to find her waiting outside for him. That was the beginning of them.

He had thought once he had slept with her, they would both be satisfied and she’d be out of his system. A win-win situation, truly. But there was something about her that had him acting stupid. After he took care of Martinez’s problem, he laid low for a week, letting the heat die down. When it was safe enough to go back to Mexico, he just…didn’t. Instead he went and found her. He expected to have to work for it seeing as he left in the middle of the night and didn’t call for a week, but she let him back in.

So instead of going home like he should have, like he would have if he was smart, he stayed for her. He knew he should get the hell outta dodge, but he wanted to know her. So he called Martinez and picked up a couple more jobs he needed done out in LA and the surrounding area. When he wasn’t working he learned everything about her like it was his job, careful to never give her any real information, steering the conversation back to her every time. He was enchanted by her beauty, enthralled by her passion. Everything he learned about her got him closer to that dreaded L word.

Then he fucked up.

It had been three months of playing this dangerous game when she asked about him. He kew the day would come eventually when she wouldn’t allow him to just brush off her questions but he was somehow still unprepared and suspicious of her motives when it came. She had asked to know about his parents and he should’ve just fed her some bullshit story but he just got quiet. He realized he wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know him, the real him, and still choose him. So he had told her an edited version of his parents, only to immediately realize his mistake. He didn’t want to, but he was going to have to leave.

So after fucking out his feelings, he left. He went back to Mexico and told himself to forget about her. Except he couldn’t get her out of his head. For six months he was constantly reminded of her. Every woman that flirted with him was compared to her, every one of them coming up short. Every time he smelled shea butter and coconut, he thought of her freshly showered. Every time he needed a release, he pictured her blissed out face, his hand not nearly as good as the real thing. So he did something even dumber than staying in LA for three months.

He went back.

He watched her for a few days, Shay never knowing he was there. He watched as she went out with friends. He watched as they encouraged her when some fucker had the audacity to step to her and flirt. He watched as she went on a date with the man. A better man would have taken that as a sign that she had moved on and he should too, but he never claimed to be a better man. He watched as she gave restricted smiles, restricted laughs and came to the conclusion that this ‘date’ wasn’t doing it for her.

So he left them at the basic ass restaurant the guy chose and went to her apartment to wait for her. He found his way inside like he used to and set up on her armchair, turning on her lamp so as not to completely scare her. He waited almost an hour before he heard her keys in the door.

She clocked the light being on the second she walked in the door. 

To prevent her from running and calling the cops because she didn’t know it was him, he spoke, “hola Amorcita.”

“Armando?” She question in disbelief.

He stood and took in his fill of her before telling her what he’d been thinking all night, “you look beautiful. Nice night?”

She shut the door behind her and cautiously stepped past the kitchen to reach the living room. She was still too far, standing at the edge of her breakfast bar across the room. Why wouldn’t she come closer? On one hand, she could be pissed that he left her for six months. Something told him it wasn’t that though. If she was pissed she wouldn’t be trying to keep herself as far from him as possible, as if out of reach. No, instead she’d probably get close enough to slap him. A heartbreaking realization hit him. “Are you afraid of me now, Amorcita?”

Shay stood tall, facing him head on. “Your rap sheet says I should be,” she bit out.

There it was. The confirmation she knew who he was now, that there would be no more hiding behind omissions of truth. He tilted his head in contemplation, “that’s not what I asked.” Was she not phased by who he was? Or was she just biding her time?

When she didn’t say anything else, he slowly walked to her. He could feel the energy in the room shift and amplify. He still wasn’t sure if she was gonna knee him and run or invite his touch. He wasn’t sure if he could take the betrayal from her, but he would understand. Any sane person would run from the likes of him.

When he stood mere inches from her he ghosted his fingers over her arm, noticing her intake of breath. “Are you afraid of me now, Amorcita?” He repeated, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Shay looked up, her eyes meeting his, “no.”

“Maybe you should be,” he brokenly admitted.

She lifted a hand to cradle his face, “You’ll never hurt me that way.” She said it so surely, as if she could see into him, see his soul. There was no doubt in her voice, her sureness both a surprise that she felt that way and a relief that she understood.

It didn’t escape his notice, however, that she was very distinct in her words. He may not have hurt her physically but he had hurt her all the same.

“I’m sorry for leaving, Alma.” He turns his head to place a kiss on her palm.

She gave him a slight smile. “I get why you did.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurt you any less or make me any less sorry.” He placed his hands on her waist, pulling her even closer, her hands going around his neck. Her scent took over his senses, clouding his thoughts.

She didn’t refute what he said, just reached up to press her lips gently against his in a quiet acceptance. When she pulled back he stared into her eyes, wondering if this was real, wondering how she could be real. He saw nothing but the love he wished he could keep. Unable to stop himself, he drew her in for a longer more passionate kiss. It was slow as if they had all the time in the world, or rather if time and the rest of the world didn’t exist. He hoped she felt the words he couldn’t say aloud.

He felt her hands stop their playing in his short hair and move towards his shirt buttons. Before she got to the first one, he pulled back and held her hands in his own, needing to tell her, owing her and her loving heart the truth.

“I can’t stay.”

Eye to eye, love and determination shining bright in hers, she whispered, “I know.”

From there, clothes shed quickly and they made their way to the bedroom. They both knew this was a goodbye, closure for them both. Their last attempt at an ending had felt lacking, like there was more to be said. This time it was all laid out in front of them. Emotions may not have been said but they were felt and known, the reality of their situation acknowledged.

This time they would both take what they needed, giving them a more satisfying conclusion.

After she fell asleep he fixed his gaze on her white ceiling, wishing things could be different for them, wishing he could stay and give her the life she deserved rather than a few memories she’ll hopefully look back on with fondness. He allowed himself a few minutes more of wishful thinking and soaking in the feeling of being with her. When it came time to leave, he hated himself for it, but he laid her on the bed and quietly collected his things. Finding a pen and a scrap piece of paper, he scribbled out a note for her, leaving it where he should have been laying next to her. He spared one last look at her before leaving her for good this time.

If you ever need anything, find Detective Mike Lowrey. Miami PD.

-A

A/N: How we feeling about this part? Let me know what your favorite line was in the comments! Don't be shy with the comments and reblogs, they motivate me. Likes are appreciated too!

Translations:

Mierda - Shit/Damn

Amorcita - Little Love

Alma - Soul/soulmate

Taglist: If you request to be on the taglist, you're agreeing that you're 18 or older.

@yeahnohoneybye

[digital-mess]

I think more people should know about what's happening on Twitter right now

Kyle Rittenhouse, the man who shot three men at age 17 during the Jacob Blake protest (he claimed self-defense and was acquitted), is a symbol for a lot of 2nd Amendment activists and MAGA supporters

Well, he just went and said he's supporting Ron Paul (a third party candidate) over Trump for Trump's poor record on the second amendment

I can't emphasize how good this is. Look at how many Democrats are split on Kamala and voting for a third party candidate. Well the same exact thing is happening with MAGA. People are calling Kyle a traitor. People are agreeing with him. Right wingers are calling trump supporters a cult if they're unable to think critically about his position on the second amendment

Democrats need to stand united on Kamala if we want to win this election and not have a dictatorship. Republicans are falling apart and we need to push that narrative

Instead of arguing why gun rights are harmful, ask your local Republican if they care about gun rights, and if they really think Trump could follow through. Instead of batting with people about the death of our country via a dictatorship, ask if Trump can really uphold the Christian American family

The Republicans try to split us apart, well we can do the same thing to them. Vote blue. Stay United. Make them question if trump is really the Republican they want.

[the-authoress-writes]

Dangerous Games

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Navy Nurse Wife!reader

Synopsis: The saying goes “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes”.

Well, Mrs. Thomas Kazansky is about to learn another version of this saying; “Play dangerous games, win dangerous prizes”.

But she doesn’t exactly mind.

Warnings: Mrs. Kazansky gets a little frisky in public, but nothing explicit, some cursing, and a little bit of steaminess, but again, nothing explicit.

Author’s Note: “I don’t write reader fic”, she said.

“I really don’t”, she said.

But here we are.

And I entirely blame both @valmare and Val himself.

I wrote this as a writing exercise, actually, because @valmare and I have slightly different approaches to Tom Kazansky; she has a more dominant take on him, while mine is more romantic and soppy, but no less passionate (I think).

I wrote this just to see if I could somehow combine both traits/takes in one story.

And… hoo, boy, I like to think I was successful.

That, combined with reading one of my grandmother’s ancient Silhouette Romance novels, I thought it was about time that the turns were tabled on the men.

Let’s be the ones to snap them like twigs, and not the other way around.

Without further ado, here we are!

“So what’s on the agenda today,” she asked her husband, as he sat at the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, while she stood on the other side, finishing her cup of yogurt, before she had to head to work for the shift she was called to fill in at the last minute yesterday.

“Well,” Tom began, after swallowing, “not much, just a meeting which apparently couldn’t wait until Monday, in the afternoon—other than that, nothing else really.

And uh, Mav and the guys are coming back home tonight; like I said last week, Sli and I were going to greet them, and they’re going out for drinks at the O Club later, but I can tell them I can’t go—”

“No, you go, enjoy yourself, I know it’s been a while since you last saw Mav and the flyboys,” she smiled.

In a rare occurrence, Mav and Tom’s deployments didn’t match up, leaving him and Slider on shore, while Mav and Merlin, Wood and Wolf were at sea.

She could hear the calls Tom would make in the evenings to the Vinson, to the various officers who owed him, already rather influential at the recently-received rank of Lieutenant Commander, for updates on Mav in particular.

She’d heard the stories both from the man himself, and from Tom, how the Mitchell name hung like an albatross around the diminutive pilot’s neck, how his basic medical needs were overlooked by dint of his “traitorous” surname.

As a nurse, especially a Navy nurse, it was beyond unconscionable.

She was glad that Mav had Tom as a friend, and it touched her to see the care he extended to his whole TOPGUN class.

“Such a Mother Goose,” Mav and Slider would say, both with sadness, but the former with a soul-deep sadness.

“Are you sure, milaya?” Tom’s voice brought her back to the present, as he came around the counter to step into her personal space, his hands on her waist, infusing her whole being with the warmth that only he could give her. “Because I’m really feeling bad that I have basically a whole day off, and you have to work.

We could have a movie night with some popcorn and ice cream, and you can talk about how people like me are the craziest sons of bitches around,” he grinned, referring to how they met a little over three years ago, after a little training mishap. “I’ll gladly keep your misery company.”

She smiled, resting her hand on the chiseled plane of his bare chest, as her index finger idly played with the chain of his dog tags, “No, like I said, even last week, you go and enjoy yourself with the boys.” Her smile took on a more devilish quirk, “Besides, you can make it up to me later.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “Oh, I can, can I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll manage,” she teasingly replied.

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer, “and how exactly do you want me to make it up to you?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“How about a little down payment, then?”

He didn’t even bother waiting for her positive, always positive, response before one hand was buried in her hair, and his lips were on hers.

It was a kiss full of the easy confidence of a man who knew he was given what he took, and the passion and devotion of one who knew what a gift that was.

She could have gotten lost in her husband’s embrace and kiss for eternity, but the rude realization that she had a shift to prepare for, made her reluctantly, oh-so-reluctantly, push him away.

“As much as I’d really love to continue this, I can’t.

I have to go.”

He pouted like a child, the effect amusing to see on his already-full, kiss-swollen lips, and she gently carded her hand through his hair, soft and slightly curling without the gel, pushing it away from where it flopped onto his forehead. “I know most of this day didn’t pan out how we wanted it to, but we’ll make the best of it—we always do.”

“I know.

You’re sure it’s okay with you if I go out with the boys tonight?”

“Yes, Tom, how many times do I have to tell you?

Go have fun—but not too much fun,” she smiled.

He leaned forward, tucking his head into her neck, inhaling deeply, “You’re the only one I want to have fun with.”

“I would hope so, Thomas Vasilyevich,” she replied, lightly poking him in the side, “seeing as I’m your wife.”

“Oof,” he mock-winced, drawing back to look her in the eyes, “Russian naming me, huh?

Well, Mrs. Kazanskaya, two can play at that game,” he rejoined, leaning in to kiss her again.

However, she pushed him away, laughing, “You are a menace, Thomas Jacob Kazansky!

I have to go!”

“Worth a shot,” he laughed, letting her go.

She gathered her lunch into her bag, along with her paperwork, and shouldered the tote, before turning back to face Tom, who was leaning against the counter, long, sweatpants-clad legs crossed at the ankles, mirroring his arms, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Not going to kiss me goodbye?”

With a sigh, she asked, “If I kiss you goodbye, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

He clicked his tongue, “You drive a hard bargain, lyubimaya moya, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, just do,” she replied, amending one of Mav’s favorite sayings, stepping closer to peck him on the lips.

True to his word, he didn’t move an inch, but the regret on his face made her have to resist the temptation to kiss him and say to hell with her shift today. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

And here, a sudden idea struck her. “Hey, wait a minute, you said that you guys were going to the O Club, right?”

“Yes,” he replied, drawing out the syllable. “Why?”

“Because I was thinking that if I can, maybe I can meet you guys there, join you flyboys.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”

“You guys won’t mind?”

“I won’t mind,” he shook his head.

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes, “I know you won’t mind, what about the guys?”

“I’m sure the guys won’t mind, but they can take it up with me if they don’t like it.

Try to make it?”

“I will—hopefully, I’ll see you later.

And you’re sure you don’t need your other girl today?” she asked, double checking that he didn’t need his Chevelle, since her car was in the shop that week.

“No,” he shook his head, “Slider’s picking me up, you take her.

I love you, milaya.”

“I love you too.”

With that farewell, she dashed out the door, fleeing her own house like Lot, because she knew she’d never leave if she looked back at Tom.

Chaos.

That was what her shift at NMCSD was like.

Some unlucky or hapless person somewhere had probably said “It sure is quiet around here,” or some other variation of that phrase, and brought the wrath of the medical gods down upon them.

She’d had no less than ten emergencies to deal with, and at the end of her shift, she felt—no—knew—she deserved a drink.

A quick glance at her watch showed that it was just before 1800–from her experience, the carriers usually docked at 1500 or 1600, which meant they should all be at the O Club already.

Not wanting to give the charge nurse an opportunity to call her for something else, she practically ripped off her uniform, changing into the nicer spare clothes she kept in her locker just in case she had somewhere to be that wasn’t the grocery or straight home.

It was a worn, but well-fitting pair of jeans, sensible shoes, a tank top, and finally, a white buttondown with vertical blue stripes which she pilfered from Tom’s closet, that she never saw him wear.

After throwing on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and tucking in her tank, she hastily walked (okay, ran) out of NMCSD, and headed to her parking spot.

God had mercy on her, as the traffic was light all the way to the O Club, the Almighty surely knowing that she’d reached her limits of bullshittery, that all she wanted after this day was a stiff drink, and her husband’s company, despite the fact that there would be others around, friends as they were to her.

It was a Saturday night, and the parking lot was full, but she managed to find a spot on the far end of the lot, a slight sheen of sweat breaking on her skin despite the AC, as she maneuvered in, not wanting to scratch her husband’s beloved car.

The flaring, insistent ache in her feet was testament to the long walk to the entrance, exposing just how many people had to be here, and true enough, once she pushed the doors open, the bar was hopping.

She moved through the crowded bar, searching for Merlin, Slider, or Tom—there’d be little hope of finding Wood or Wolf, and no hope of finding Mav, in this press of people.

She was heading through the crowd towards the bar when she smacked straight into someone.

An apology was on her lips, when the person turned, and she heard, “Hey, Mrs. Ice, how are you!”

And she looked up, up, up into the smiling face of Sam “Merlin” Wells.

“Hey, Merls, how are you, how was deployment?” she said, hugging the ludicrously tall RIO.

“Ehh, hot, as usual, but otherwise, uneventful; just running our CAPs, and buzzing the tower every now and then.”

She guffawed, “That’s Mav for you—I don’t know who’s crazier; Mav, or you, for willingly sitting in the same jet as him.”

Merlin leaned down, “Tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Probably me, because I actually enjoy it,” he murmured.

She chuckled, “Oh, Samuel, never change.”

“Hey, what am I doing, let me get you to the guys’ table!

Come on!!”

He put his hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn’t get lost in the crowd, and led her to a table in the back. “Guys, look who I found!”

“Well, hey, if it isn’t my favorite Ice Queen!” Mav cried, leaping to his feet and pulling her into a hug.

“Hey, Mav, how are you?” she beamed, glad to see her husband’s best friend and wingman.

“Better, after seeing your pretty face,” the black-haired pilot grinned a grin which would probably make quite a few people here swoon, if its full force were turned on them.

She smacked his shoulder, though she was unable to stop her smile, “Stop it, you incorrigible flirt, you’re not my type, and even if you were, I’m very happily taken.”

“Ah, you wound me, my fair Ice Queen,” Mav dramatically clutched his chest.

“You’ll live,” she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“Mind getting your hands off my wife, so I can say hello to her, Mav?”

A glance behind Mav showed Tom standing there, a sight in his summer whites, an arch expression on his face, but those who knew him would be able to see the glowing humor in his eyes—but over all, the joy and love.

Mav moved aside, gesturing grandly at her. “All yours.”

“You bet your ass, Mitchell,” Tom nodded.

“Excuse me, I have a very nice ass, I have that on good authority,” the other pilot affrontedly stated as he walked backwards to his seat.

The voice of Charles “Chipper” Piper called, “Ugh, come on, Mav, no one wants to hear about your pasty ass.”

“You’re one to talk, Chip,” Marcus “Sundown” Williams chuckled.

Tom shook his head and stepped closer, making everything else fade into the background, his beautiful smile on his face. “You came.”

“I needed to,” she sighed, “I need a drink.

And the whole you being here is a nice bonus.”

He blushed slightly, ducking his head. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, come on, let’s get you that drink,” he replied, leading her to the table, around which sat Mav, Merlin, Slider, Wolf, Chipper, and Sundown.

“Hey guys,” she waved, taking the seat beside Tom.

They all greeted her as Tom called over one of the waitresses, ordering his usual vodka on the rocks along with her usual Old Fashioned.

When it arrived, she shocked them all by drinking more than half of it in one sitting, heavily setting the glass down on the table.

“That kind of day, huh, sweetheart?” Tom asked, his voice full of sympathy, warmth, and the slightest hint of laughter.

She turned a baleful look on him. “What do you think?”

He blinked, obviously weighing his words, the rest of the flyboys holding their breath. “I think maybe I should get you another one when you’re done with that.”

“God, I love you, Tom Kazansky,” she breathed.

The table collectively exhaled, as Tom grinned. “Aren’t I lucky?”

The night wore on, dinner eventually being ordered from the bar’s kitchen for everyone, and Merlin was the first to leave, saying that his wife was coming home late that night from taking care of a medical emergency with her mother, who lived on the other side of the States, and he wanted to be there to greet her.

The flyboys tossed peanuts teasingly at Merlin, Chipper and Mav whooping, Merlin flipping them the bird with both hands as he laughed, and said goodnight.

The remaining group continued on, and the vodkas Tom had drunk had loosened him up—he wasn’t drunk by any means, but his laughter was a bit louder, his eyes a bit brighter.

He was telling a story about one of the instructors from the TOPGUN session he’d been asked to help out with, since he wasn’t deployed this rotation.

It was a story she’d already heard, and so she allowed his words to fade slightly, just watching him as he spoke, fiddling with the straw of the second Old Fashioned Tom had ordered for her.

She smiled as he gestured animatedly, making the light glint off the gold ring on his left hand, which matched the one on hers.

Seeing it did funny things to her stomach, seeing the tangible proof that that man was hers.

Add to that the fact that Tom was in his summer whites… it was a cocktail more intoxicating than anything the bar behind her could ever offer.

She exhaled evenly, taking a sip of the water she’d switched to after her second Old Fashioned, admiring the figure he cut, an exemplar of US Naval excellence.

If you asked her later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she did it.

But the devilish thought of wanting to see if she could tilt him off-kilter entered her mind regardless, and she hid a smile behind the rim of her water glass.

She nonchalantly shifted her chair closer to Tom and innocently placed a hand above his knee, making him glance at her, and offer her a fleeting smile, while continuing the story.

Ever so carefully, she inched her way towards the inseam of his trousers, rubbing small circles as she went, which got her a minuscule narrowing of his eyes and a barely-there glance as he spoke.

She smiled back, stilling her hand, and he continued.

Once he had relaxed into his chair again, she began moving again, shifting her hand higher and higher, letting her fingernails catch repeatedly on the seam.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on, shifting in his seat, but the slightest tone of strain was beginning to creep into his voice now, and she mustered all the stoicism she’d learned from her husband to keep her face straight.

As her hand moved further up his inseam, she was treated to the sight of his jaw tensing, the sheen of sweat gathering at his temples, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly, the sound of the strain in his voice, and the hitch in his breath.

She knew that if she continued this, she was playing a very dangerous game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment.

So she inched further up, letting her fingernails dig into the seam, flicking it almost audibly, which elicited a cough from her husband.

Slider whacked Tom on the back, saying, “You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, “just—just swallowed the wrong way.”

At this point, she was mere inches away from being so obscenely high on his thigh that the other flyboys would probably see, but just to see what Tom’s reaction would be, she made as though she were going to go there.

Smoothly, he placed his hand atop hers, somehow managing to conceal the fact that he had plucked her hand from basically his lap, bringing it up to his lips as he finished the story, his eyes stormy as he cut his gaze to her.

Maybe, she realized, as she looked into his tempestuous eyes, maybe she had made a very, very big mistake.

After another hour, they began to wrap up, hugging and slapping each other on the back, and for the first time since she’d met Tom Kazansky, she was not looking forward to being alone with him.

When the final farewells had been spoken, Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder, walking them towards the distinct shape of his Chevelle, visible now that they were some of the last people at the bar.

“I can drive us, if you want,” she offered, testing the waters.

“No, I’ll be the one.

Keys.”

His tone was unreadable, and she fished the keys out of her pocket, handing them to him.

He led her to the passenger’s side, but just before she reached for the handle to open the shotgun door, she found herself pressed against the back passenger door, looking up into her husband’s face.

She refused to buckle at his impassive stare, looking evenly into his eyes; depthless blue, the color of the sea at twilight, in the dim illumination afforded by the streetlamps.

His hand shifted, and her breath hitched, but he only moved his hand past her, the familiar click of the Chevelle’s door release echoing in the thick San Diego night air.

Tom pulled the door further open, inclining his head and stepping back.

She swallowed, but moved to sit in the passenger’s seat, the sound of the shutting door feeling like some sort of passage of sentence.

Moments later, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding in and shutting it, however, he didn’t start the engine.

She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next, but he only started the car, the purr of the Chevelle doing nothing to ease her tension, serving only to ratchet it up, the familiar streets leading home passing by.

The silence in the car was almost a living entity, made worse by the fact that Tom kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road before them, and she would be lying if she said that her heart wasn’t racing.

She was beginning to see the reasoning behind her husband’s callsign, between his nonchalant attitude and his unerring patience to wait her out, wait for her to slip.

Well.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

…

She hoped so, at any rate.

She’d always been weak for him, honestly, and she suspected she always would be.

Much too soon, they pulled into their driveway, and Tom cut the engine, leaving her in silence, literally and figuratively, as he stepped out without a word.

She briefly debated whether or not to stay in the car, but knew deep down that that was not an option, so she got out of the Chevelle, also making her way inside.

After locking up the doors and checking the rest of the house, she exhaled and looked warily up at the stairs. “‘Screw your courage to the sticking place,’ woman,” she murmured, striding determinedly up the stairs.

The lights were on in the bedroom, and she saw Tom at the dresser, keeping his submariner in its box, his face somehow still impassive.

She moved to the bed, picking up the pile of night clothes she’d laid out that morning, muttering, “I’m going to the bathroom,” and darted towards the en suite.

However, before she could make it there, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, and once again, she got the breath knocked out of her, finding her body pressed against the wall behind her by the solid mass of her husband before her, his hands on either side of her head.

“What was that about tonight, hmm, milaya?” he spoke lowly, making a shiver run down her spine.

“What was what?” she replied, affecting a light tone.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied, implacable.

“Oh, that,” she shrugged, caving slightly.

“Yes, that.

And just what were you thinking?”

“Ehhh—nothing much, really.” Well, she mentally admitted, that much was true.

“Uh-huh.

See, I think you were trying to get me to lose it,” he declared.

She somehow managed to muster up an innocent expression. “Uh, nope, not at all.”

“Sure.

So your hand at my inseam was just complete coincidence, was it?”

“Has to be.”

He stared her down just like he had in the O Club parking lot, attempting to keep his expression stoic, but this close, she could see his eyes—how there was only a thin ring of midnight gray, his pupils blown wide from the desire he was trying to keep down.

She inhaled sharply, her lips parting, and his gaze immediately locked onto the sight.

When he spoke next, his voice was low and trembling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have some kind of idea,” she breathlessly murmured.

“Fuck—” he whispered brokenly before kissing her like he was at 38,000 feet and she was the oxygen he needed to breathe.

Caught in his riptide, she was helpless but to hold onto him.

Air surged back into her lungs as his kisses moved down to her neck, only to be stolen from them moments later, a cry halfway between pain and pleasure carried on her breath, when his ardor seared into the delicate skin there.

“That hand of yours—and you wearing my shirt—you drive me crazy,” he spoke into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I think you like it, though,” she whimpered, hitching her legs around his unfairly narrow waist, as he adjusted his arms to hold her up.

“Damn it, I fucking do,” he groaned, moving them towards the bed.

They had just collapsed onto the comforter, kissing like teenagers, when he broke away to breathe, “You’re still going to pay for what you did, though, you’re not getting out of that.”

“Oh, am I, because it seems to me like your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash… Commander,” she cocked her eyebrow.

His jaw dropped slightly, followed by a shaky inhalation. “…I shouldn’t have told you about my rank thing.”

Her smirk was halfway to a grin by now. “What are you going to do about it?”

He tilted his head. “You’re asking for it, at this point.”

“Well, then, do what you’re going to do, flyboy; that’s an order.”

A wicked smirk quirked the corner of his lips, full of promise. “Yes, Ma’am.”

NMCSD: Naval Medical Center San Diego

The USS Carl Vinson is a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier commissioned in 1982, and she is still on active duty.

I stole @valmare’s headcanon that Tom drives a Chevelle, because if it’s good enough for Mir, it’s good enough for me!

I’m so sorry Mir!

According to a production photo, Tom’s full name is Thomas Jacob Kazansky, but since I headcanon him as Russian, his patronymic is missing.

So thusly, you have Thomas Jacob Vasilyevich Kazansky.

When Mrs. Kazansky refers to Tom as Thomas Vasilyevich, that is considered a casual, informal, yet somehow in its own way, formal, method of referring to someone.

There’s cultural rules about that.

Tom calls Mrs. Kazansky “Mrs. Kazanskaya”, which follows the Russian and Slavic convention of gendered surnames.

CAPs: Combat Air Patrols

Summer whites are the white version of the khaki uniforms, and you can see them in The O Club bar scene in Top Gun ‘86.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place” is a quote from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”.

Did I basically steal a line from Top Gun, and completely change the context of it?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

Mrs. Kazansky calls Tom simply “Commander” instead of Lieutenant Commander, because of the convention regarding “double-barreled” ranks.

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Taglist

@valmare

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[obxone]

Distraction (Part 3)

Edited-ish. ~1.5k words.

Warning: Smut (Do not read if you are not 18+)

Taglist: @junhuilvrrr

Master Page

“Well, this explains it!” Barry is incredibly loud once he sees you. His dark eyes rake over you before tuning to Rafe with a shit eating grin. “Your girl is here, man.”

You fidget, hands clasping behind your back as you watch the kook and drug dealer sprawled out on the second floor deck, enjoying the spoils of their plundering.

Rafe looks up from counting cash to see you, a slow smile spreading over his features. He stands and crosses the distance between you.

“I’m glad you came.”

It does not register with you that you are holding your breath until your body forces you to inhale. A tense smile forming on your lips.

“I didn’t realize you had company,” you murmur, hand slipping into his.

Rafe glances over his shoulder to Barry, who is watching you both with a grin still on his face. “It’s just Barry.”

“Don’t worry about me, Princess. Country Club invited me.”

You nod and turn your attention to Rafe. “I’ll come back later, okay? And we can talk.”

“No,” Rafe says quickly, his hand tightening around yours. “No, stay.”

“We need to talk… alone,” you add.

Rafe smirks, his gaze dragging down the length of you before he starts to move forward and force you to walk backward. “Barry, go find something to occupy yourself.”

He laughs and stands, grabbing his can of beer before heading towards one of the doors into the house. “Whatever you say, Country Club.”

You stare up at Rafe, your nerves running rampant as he walks you back into the second floor of Tanneyhill’s main house before steering you into the primary suite. You know this is a risk to come here and be alone with Rafe. But your body carves more of his touch, and your traitorous heart wants nothing more than to own his and vice versa.

“Rafe…” You whisper as he shuts the double doors before reaching for you again. His large hand is warm on your waist. The other hand tips your face up to his. “What are yo-”

His lips find yours cutting you off, and you kiss him back before putting space between you. You bite your lip, and he stares at you. Eyebrows raising at your choice to step away from him.

“I’m not going to be that easy, Mr. Cameron.”

He chuckles, the tip of his tongue darting out to drag over his bottom lip. “Really? Because I can already tell you are going to be putty in my hands.”

You laugh, glancing behind you as you sidestep the bench at the foot of the king sized bed. “Why don’t you give it your best shot?”

“All right,” he smirks, before reaching and pulling his t-shirt over his head and throwing it to a chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll play, and I don’t play fair.”

You laugh and angle yourself to either escape past him or over the bed when he decides to charge after you.

“I’ll even give you a chance to reconsider,” he muses, kicking his loafers off before locking the bedroom door. “Because when I get my hands on you, Princess, you won’t leave this room for days.”

“Days?” You mock him with a teasing look.

“Days. I’ll count to ten, and if you are still in this room, then I win.”

“Oh,” you laugh, playing off his threat, but deep down, you know it is very real, and he intends to devour you. Your hands tighten on the back of the armchair you are hiding behind in anticipation.

“Ten…”

You cock your head, gaze dragging over this length of him.

“Nine…”

Your eyes dart to the door before moving back to him.

“Eight…” He takes one step closer, and your heart rate seems to triple in speed. “Seven…”

“And what if I want this?” You counter, you know he will not let you slip past him, and he is still blocking the door. You could get through the bathroom, but even that puts you too close to him.

He chuckles. “Six… Five…”

“Rafe…”

“Four…”

You exhale a steadying breath.

“Three…”

And here goes nothing as you slip from around the chair and try to ease around the table.

“Two…”

“Rafe!” You warn, cheeks warming as his blue eyes track you across the room. You get past the table and the second chair and start to run for the bathroom door.

His eyes narrow. “One.”

It happens fast, his arm hooks around your waist, and you are pulled off your feet. Your back meets expensive bedding and an incredibly soft mattress moments later.

“I want you.” His tone shifts and his eyes darken as he takes you in. Your hair splayed over the bed behind you, and your skin burns with anticipation. “And I’m going to have you.”

You hum, hand dragging down his chest. “Rafe…”

Rafe’s hand slides up your leg and over your shorts before moving to undo the tie on your paper bag shorts. You bite your bottom lip, watching him. He hooks his fingers around the waist of your shorts before tugging them down. Your hands are shaking as you touch his arms, nails biting at his biceps.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he hums before pressing a kiss to your lower belly.

“Will you be gentle with me?” You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

“Absolutely not.”

You gasp as he nips at your hip. Your shorts are tossed somewhere on the floor of the bedroom, and he groans at the sight of your lacy baby blue panties. He bunches your tank top up in his hands before sliding it up and over your head. You bite your lip when he sees that you are completely bare on your top half.

“Fuck.”

“Touch me,” you beg him, guiding his hands to your skin. “Please.”

Rafe’s hands enclose your breasts, and he watches, mesmerized as he runs his thumbs over your peaked nipples.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Princess.”

You hum, arching your back and dragging the heel of your foot down the back of his leg. Your hands trail over his shoulders and down his chest to the button of his Oxford shorts. Your fingertips memorize every dip and curve of his toned torso.

“Take them off,” he commands, and you do as you are told. You take his boxer briefs down at the same time, and he springs free. Your lips part in surprise, and your thighs threaten to clench together.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

You nod, hands moving to cup his face before you kiss him. He makes quick work of removing your panties before his hand snakes between your legs.

“You are soaked, Baby.”

You groan, head tipping back as he strokes his fingers over you again and again. Your legs spread for more, encouraging him.

“That’s my girl, doing so good,” he encourages you.

You moan, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he sinks two fingers into you, and his thumb finds your clit. Your fingers tighten on the bedding, and your other hand presses against the back of his neck bringing his face down to yours. You kiss him, moaning into his mouth as he works you into putty just like he promised.

“I’m so close,” you whisper against his lips. This is the first experience you have had where nothing but foreplay and a little touching has brought you so close to the edge so fast. “Rafe… please!”

“I know, Baby, I know,” he grunts, his head dropping, so he can watch his fingers work over you. “Taking me so well.”

“More,” you encourage. “I want more.”

He smirks, chuckling a little before withdrawing his touch. His two fingers coated in you slips past his lips, and you gasp, watching him suck his fingers clean. His eyes briefly close as he hums in satisfaction.

“Oh, my god.”

He laughs, “Not quite, Princess.”

You are no longer aware of anything outside of this moment, including the pogues and how they would feel knowing you are here and allowing this to happen. It is not even a thought in your mind.

“Please,” you beg, barely above a whisper. “Please, Rafe.”

He groans, gaze dragging over you completely naked and spread for him. His eyes focus on the slickness between your legs.

“You are the sexiest thing, hands down.”

You blush, a giggle falling from your lips before you reach for him. Your lips claim his, and he kisses you back while his hand slips between you, and you gasp as he begins to ease the tip of his length into you.

The kissing ends, and your head falls back against the bed, and he takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to your neck. His hands find yours and cage them against the bed as he begins to fuck you, and he holds true to his words, nothing about it is gentle.

(Part 4)

[clockwayswrites]

Bleeding Out, Bleeding In - the Start

This is the start of the resulting fic from the winning poll option of 'Crime Boss is a Dangerous Job'. And boy did it go places.

A solid 40 of you wanted to wait for ao3, but the other 59 are feral gremlins who want a part now! Those who want to wait, don't feel pressured to read. This might be up on ao3 this week or if not then next week! (Yes, that doesn't add up to 100, one vote is me so I can see the poll results.)

wc: 1059 Content Warnings: canon typical violence, blood, blood drinking, mentions of death and dying, brief mentions of human tracking, so much cussing.

-

Brainless motherfuckers.

Every single one of them, brainless motherfuckers.

One would think that eight heads in a duffel bag would have been enough.

One would think that people would learn his fucking rules. They were easy rules. Don’t hurt kids. Don’t sell to kids. Don’t hurt sex workers. Don’t traffic people. Don’t fuck with him.

And these motherfuckers had fucked with him. They had fucked with his rules.

Red Hood stared down at the lifeless eyes of the traitorous lieutenant.

Ex-lieutenant.

Brainless motherfucker.

Hood was insulted that someone that incompetent had managed to make him bleed, even if it had been eleven against one. And fuck if he wasn’t bleeding badly. Hood pressed his hand tighter to his wound with a hiss and let himself slump back against the grimy wall of the ally that he had slunk into. His hand became wet with warmth.

He must have already bled through the hasty field bandage that he had slapped on the wound.

Numbers slipped through Red Hood’s foggy mind as he tried to calculate about just how bad of a fact that was— about how heavily he must be bleeding out. Fuck if he wasn’t bleeding out.

Could he make it to his safe house in time? No. Could someone make it to him in time? Maybe, but who could he call? He wasn’t going to turn around and let another lieutenant stab him in the other side. B— maybe it would be better to just bleed out than deal with B and another lecture. As if this hadn’t been in self defense. As if he hadn’t acted to stop kids from being sold. As if a moment of hesitancy about killing a man he’d been working closely with for a year had been what got Hood in this spot.

And Dick was off world.

Dick was always off world when he needed him.

That wasn’t fair. What did Dick owe him? It’s not like they had ever been family. Dick had never wanted him. The last person who had wanted him didn’t even want him enough to stay sober.

Blood loss made him maudlin, apparently.

Dying by explosion had been easier.

“You know, not what I expected to find dumpster diving tonight.”

Hood’s hand dropped to brush over the grip of his gun. It was up and aimed before his head even had time to lull towards the voice. The hand holding the gun was steady even as his vision swam staring down the sight.

“Not that I’m doubting you can use that, Boss, but would rather you didn’t,” the stranger said, hands up in the air. One large duffel sat at their feet. Another smaller duffel was slung over their back. A hoodie at least three sizes too big swamped the slim figure— hiding both their form and face. The steel toed boots looked comically large at the end of stick thin legs.

Hood knew better than to think they weren’t a threat.

Anyone could be a threat in Gotham.

“Really, Boss, I’m just out here dumpster diving for supplies,” they continued, motioning to the warehouse district around them. “Not going to lie and say I won’t happily loot your corpse if you keel over right there, but would rather you stay breathing. I can help with that, if you let me.”

“And if I say no?” Hood asked, his voice a breathless rasp even through the modulation of the helmet.

“If you say no to the help, I’ll just be on my way. There are other dumpsters to go through like the feral raccoon that I am.”

His arm dropped down to hang limply at his side. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger. He shouldn’t trust this stranger. “Look more like a street rat to me.”

“We’ll compromise to possum then,” they said, slowly lowering their arms.

He shouldn’t trust this stranger. Did it mater if he did?

He was bleeding out.

The gun slotted back into its holster.

“There you are Boss, we’ll get you patched back up.”

Hood blinked. They were tucking themselves under his shoulder, leaning him up off the warehouse wall.

Hood blinked. They were disabling security on a heavy, cast iron door set into a concrete floor.

Hood blinked.

“Not going to lie, Boss, you’re in a bad way.” The words were distant— like listening to them through a thick wall. Static ran under the words. Static that burrowed under his skin and into his blood.

Static that burned at a part of him he tried to ignore.

“Think they got something pretty vital with that knife.”

He didn’t want to burn.

“Stitched you up but…”

He didn’t want to die.

“Oh Boss.”

Not again.

“I know, Boss.”

A cold hand brushed over his temple and he couldn’t hold back the whine at the sensation. He strained to arch up into the touch. He wanted it. He wanted to feel. He didn’t want to slip away again. He didn’t want that void of death. He didn’t want to die again.

The voice shushed him. “I know.”

He trembled. The static sang in his veins.

“There’s something I can try, Boss, but it will change thing.”

Things were always changing.

“Not like this. You’re not on the knife’s edge yet. You’re still living. If you die you right now you tip over to the other side.”

He’d done that before.

“I know, Boss. But if we do this, you’re not going to tip over anymore, you’re going to balance on that knife’s edge. Not dead but not alive. It’s a fine line to walk.”

Everything in his life was a tightrope: hero, villain; son, enemy; brother, stranger. What was one more thing? Alive, dead.

He didn’t want to be dead again.

“Okay, Boss, okay.”

The hand pulled a whine from his throat as it moved away. A soft coo hushed him quiet again. The sound rumbled in with the static untill the soothing noise sat inside him.

His head tilted up as something slid under his neck. Hands guided his head to lay back down onto a soft surface.

Something wet dripped against his lips. Spice bloomed across his tongue.

“There you go, Boss,” the voice soothed. The coo rumbled in his chest like a fluttering bird. “Drink up.”

Cold skin and wet warmth pressed against his lips.

Jason drank.

[deramin2]

Bell's Hells had a mental health crisis on the eve of their deployment to the global crisis front lines, and went to a HAG for help. Protected only by being with her granddaughter (mob boss's granddaughter core). Specifically one who delights in voyeurism of bumbling awkwardness and failure. She treats people like her own personal soap opera. Allura said she's known to feed off misery. They tell Mori her intervention could influence the entire fate of the gods and the world.

FCG makes a deal with the hag and ASKS to have their memory wiped so they'd get to be surprised about what happens. Likely the payment was them being sufficiently interesting and dramatic for her because they implicitly trust her to help them.

The hag then tosses a magic lens into an ordinary feywild ravine with three magically enforced rules: they must bring her the lens to win. If they speak truths, a path will appear upwards. If they tell lies a new thing will go wrong for them. She then watches them escalate her high-stakes truth or dare game into telling each other their rawest internal shit they were keeping to themselves but were coloring their feelings. Fair or not. They do this remarkably willingly under her trap.

Then she sets them up on a video game platformer challenge where you have to physically navigate a path overa casm blind protected only by your friends in co-op chat looking the map. She sets up thunder hornets nests to punish themIf they have natural human reactions of concern. They win two rounds and then lose one. So she makes a new rule that they can take the loss (and unknown consequences) or try one more time but instead of it being safe game rules it's now potentially deadly. They agree. This time they win through expert teamwork and suppressing their emotions.

Last the hag sets them up with a game of TF2 vs. a spy team but no one knows who's missing. They have to capture three briefcases while KNOWING some of their team mates are working against them. Orym has to execute those contingency plans while uncovering whose a traitor and who's actually on his side but as sketchy as usual.

This is what they've all discussed as their nightmare scenario. This is what they are so afraid to go through that the misery is tearing them apart. She's forcing them to go through the thing they least want to face. As a practice run. Because the fear underneath is not just of betrayal, but failure. That if they can't work together they will fail to save the world, and thus everyone in the world. What's that really look like if that happened and you could lose for real? And not know what happens to them if they fail.

Some A+ reality TV content produced by Mori Entertainment. They might win an Exandrian daytime Emmy. Look at all that abject bubbling missery being created. An incredible feast willingly given. All they have to do is be normal for them in her vicinity and they basically asked her to feed off them as a favor to try an unsanctioned new therapy method on humanoid subjects. If she does nothing to hurt them except giving them games they asked for, she still gets a gourmet meal.

Nana Mori is simultaneously being a doting grandmother and a terrifying fey nightmare and Bell's Hells are like "please grandmother I think your death traps could fix me."

Will dopplegangers fix them? That remains to be seen. Depends on how they handle it. But they'll have a trial run to know for sure. That gives them time to break for real or adjust. Mori IS the fate stitcher, and thread came to her begging to be sewn. She plucks the strings that she finds most interesting. And whatever else they are, Bell's Hells are very interesting.

[tsarinatorment]

okay so-

on the discord i was scrolling through past convos in a desperate search for a link that i've seen before, and i came across another one of your and fsinger's aus starring Michael👀

It was like a Kronos Wins/Time-Travels AU where Michael, Thalia, Bianca, Nico, and Hazel are the MCs and I was like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and then when the first main plotpoint was basically Michael going "SAVE MY DAD" my FIRST thought was that one Puss In Boots: The Last Wish scene;

Michael, about Apollo: I will save you!

Every other god, suffering in Tartarus: Save us too!

Michael: ...if it's convenient!

like. gnawing on this au rn. i gnaw on all of your aus. this one and the Lee Lives/Apollo Becomes Mortal/BotL Au are officially my favs (Eclipse at this point is basically canon to me lol)

but yeah. I know this au has a BUNCH of beloved characters die, which would have admittedly upset me like, three years ago, but now?

now i merely eagerly rub my hands as my brain imagines how this scenario goes down eheheehhe

Ah yes, this AU! Not one I've thought about in a while, but still a fun one!

Fun fact, for you if you missed the origin of it, and also for anyone else who might be reading this and hearing about this AU for the first time - this is an AU spinoff of my AU fic Tears Will Not Wash Away Your Crimes, where defeated!Kronos from canon timetravels back to the start of TLT to take Michael out before he could become the threat that saves Olympus (see: my long rants on how by being the one to realise Williamsburg Bridge needed to break, Michael stopped Kronos winning on the first day of the siege). In that fic, he succeeds in making Luke kill Michael, and while the fic never goes on to state it, it does become an alternate timeline where Kronos does, in fact, win (due to various factors such as Luke's betrayal not being discovered because Percy wasn't there to survive being poisoned and reveal that he was the traitor, etc. and also Kronos knowing how the demigods/gods operated and basically having the cheat code of being able to squash anything they try before they try it).

But also I am a perpetual Michael!lives fan, so with the enabling of @fearlessinger, as you mentioned, another AU spawned off of this, whereby when Luke carelessly mentioned Apollo by name, he caught Apollo's attention and the god himself turned up to whisk Michael away to safety. In the end, though, it doesn't stop Kronos from winning, because no-one knows enough to trump what Kronos knows. Hence, Kronos wins!AU.

But then!

There are some key changes that go down because of Kronos' prior knowledge... Change #1: Thalia is not restored by the Golden Fleece. Kronos did this because he wanted her as his host, but he tried that last time and it failed - he won't try again. Change #2: The di Angelos do not leave the Lotus Casino. No Thalia in the running suggests that Hades may not have bothered to pull his own children back into the prophecy race - if he really wanted them to be feasible as prophecy children, he'd have brought them out when Percy was claimed, as that would make Bianca a similar age to Percy and therefore viable as an alternative. Bringing them out a year or two later makes his kids younger than both Thalia and Percy and doesn't actually make sense, unless it was a response to being the only Big Three god with no kids involved... Change #3: Daedalus doesn't die, because Nico isn't around Change #4: All our Greek Hero demigods (and the Hunters) are dead, barring the above, and Michael, who was kept safe on Delos the whole time.

And these changes all line up quite neatly into a ridiculously large plot, based on the following consequences:

Consequence #1: the gods are thrown down into Tartarus Consequence #2: the triumvirate's deal with Kronos for their support involved getting Apollo as their prize so Caligula can still claim the sun god spot and Commodus gets his revenge. Apollo is passed to them, instead of Tartarus Consequence #3: Michael is rather pissed off about all of this

What happens after that, well. Imagine Michael, no longer trapped on Delos because the twins aren't there, making his way to Delphi. Imagine Phoebe initially reclaiming Delphi, before Kronos realises she was never on her side and instead release Python to reclaim it; Michael has enough time to speak with his grandmother, but only very little before he's forced to flee into the Labyrinth to hide.

Imagine Daedalus trying to atone for all the deaths he's caused by keeping this one demigod still alive, hidden in the Labyrinth while Michael tries to work out how the fuck he's supposed to save the gods, but never even considering not doing it ("the gods", of course, meaning "Apollo, mostly").

Imagine Apollo weakened, but still able to make dream contact. Apollo not being able to dissuade Michael from trying to save him. Apollo with nothing left to lose except his one son he can't protect himself, so he gives Michael knowledge, things to help him stay alive.

Knowledge, like how the daughter of Zeus is a tree but isn't dead, can be healed by that golden fleece (Percy, Annabeth and Grover retrieved it still, but the tree was not sick and so it was never hung upon it). Knowledge, like how there are two more Big Three kids trapped in a place where time doesn't move.

(Imagine Apollo chained up and forced to be his own oracle as his divinity is drained away. Imagine a little girl with sickle-rings on her fingers being drawn to him anyway, this captive god of the Beast. Imagine the god that still wants to save a child, if only he had the chance)

Imagine Michael healing Thalia with the fleece, the pair of them fleeing from the remains of camp (the remains of Michael's home) as Kronos realises he's there. Imagine Michael and Thalia edging into a casino that's too bright, too jovial compared to their broken world, and pulling two younger demigods back into the timestream. Imagine lurking in the Labyrinth, in the Underworld and discovering a dead girl who still remembers when she shouldn't.

Imagine these demigods plotting, scheming, desperate, and the power of three children of the Underworld combined, pooling their powers together until they can go anywhere the shadows touch.

Imagine them rescuing a god, and the little girl coaxed along with them.

And when they've got one god back... it's only a matter of time before they get the rest.

(And when Kronos discovers it's Michael, again, that foiled him in the end... Well. Some Fates can't be denied)

[fanfic-obsessed]

Actual Traitors?

Here’s a new what-if for you, be warned for I have no idea where this might take us. Also, as ever, I’ve barely met canon. So please forgive any contradictions to the actual canon. 

It starts with a question: What if Palpatine’s Grand Plan had been ever so slightly different?

Palpatine wanted more than the utter destruction of the Jedi, he wanted more than for Jedi to be forgotten or made myth. He wanted their name to become poison for a thousand years. And yes declaring the Jedi traitors and Order 66 almost gets you there, but there were too many that remembered the Jedi fondly, or at least specific Jedi fondly, for it to have long term lasting power. Plus, with the Jedi dead ‘Forgotten’ happens way easier than ‘betrayer’. 

So Palpatine changes the plan slightly. The clone wars still happen as before. Dooku still  leads the separatist (though he manages to hide his identity as a Sith) and the Jedi and clones are still sent to fight and die by beings who by and large have no vested interest in lessening the loss of life. There is still no coherent, consistent idea of what winning would look like. All to Palpatine’s design. 

But it is not meant to end in Order 66 this time, no the plan is a little different. The war had two main purposes. The first to entrench Palpatine’s power deep enough that, when the time is right, he can take full control. The second was to make the Jedi love the clones, to make them protective, to make them mourn each clone life lost.  To that end Palpatine, to the extent he is able, ensures that the natborn officers stationed with the Jedi are odious and look down on the Clones as less than sentient.  The missions may be framed differently but Palpatine’s goal is to tie the clones and the Jedi together and begin to become insular. 

Three years in, Dooku surrenders and the war is won.  An armistice is signed and just, just as the combined Jedi/Clone forces begin to relax, begin to believe that that the Clones could be folded into the Order and they could move toward the future, Chancellor Palpatine knocks over the last domino. 

One of his lackeys, carefully not connected to him, brings up a motion. It is timed down to the exact moment for maxim effect. This lackey motions in the rotunda that, now that there is no war, there is no need for a standing army. But…the answer is not to give the clones sentience, it is to decommission all of them on the basis that the droid factories had been shut down. The speech was crafted to be as belittling to the clone sentience as possible, each word worse than the one before. There were also other lackeys strategically positioned through the rotunda to make it seem like the motion had much more support than it actually did (Really any support is too much, but it did not have near enough to pass). 

Palpatine felt the spark of fear shoot through the Coruscant Guard and the horror through the Jedi in the room. A heated debate sparks as the clones and the Jedi slip from the room. That the debate ended with the motion being shouted down doesn’t matter. That it was even entertained enough to be debated did the damage that Palpatine wanted.  Damage he furthered by passing on ‘rumors’ he had heard to Anakin Skywalker. Rumors that made it seem as though there were secret deals going on and the next time the motion was brought up it would pass and the clones would be killed. 

It had the effect that Palpatine wanted. The Jedi, fearing for the lives of the clones, drove themselves from the Republic (taking the clones and the ships with them, of course. Also the temple, which is space worthy), even taking Dooku with them (It should be noted that Anakin, well Anakin did abduct his senator wife and her retinue, and he is not letting them leave or contact the senate-Anakin is wanted for questioning by Coruscant's police force). 

Palpatine was able to spin their leaving as gathering their army and leaving, pointing out that this army was ordered FOR the Jedi.  It is not hard to arrange some incidents that make it appear to the Jedi that the Senate/Republic is hunting them and the clones, backing them into a corner where they have to fight back, while making it look like the Jedi and their army are taking the place of the Separatists. Dooku is with the Jedi, and is rapidly able to worm his way into several council member’s good graces, particularly as it seems like he was right all along about the republic. This throws the Republic back into a conflict, where Palpatine can continue to build his empire.

Here’s the part where Palpatine’s plan falls apart. The Jedi taking the place of the Separatist- lashing out because they are not being allowed to leave and being propagandized as the aggressor- only works as long as the Jedi act like the Separatists and keep acting as the aggressor. Except the Jedi do not react like they were supposed- which was to get so fed up that they decide they must strike first, for safety- instead they continue to retreat. Further and further from the core, and then into Wild Space at the edge of the known galaxy.  

To be clear the Jedi did not intend to leave the galaxy to its own mess, but from their perception they needed to protect the clones and they did honestly think they were escaping just ahead of a purge of the clones. Even Jedi like Pong Krell, because Palpatine’s plan required the Jedi to be exposed to the sentience of the clones as often as possible, so the missions tended to emphasize that.   

Here are some notes from the universe:

There are not actually many habitable planets in Wild Space, but the Agricorps was able to get some Hydroponics bays working on some of the ships, also some of the non habitable planets, and also the temple. So there is no worry about food. Also they figure out how to turn the waste into fuel for the ships. So the Jedi and clones are self-sustaining.

Some Jedi are still called to find Force Sensitives in the Galaxy, though the birthrate of Force Sensitives does drop sharply, outside of the procreation of various Jedi and clones (Please note that genetics has little to do with Force sensitivity). 

Obi Wan Kenobi is not the only Jedi to end up with a haram (or as part Cody’s Haram, no one is truly sure who the rotating group of Jedi, clones, and assorted others actually belong to, but everyone seems happy) but they did take the most scientific and enthusiastic view of experimenting with the Force in sexual situations. There are currently a dozen papers written and waiting to be reviewed, and replicated.  There is a lot of partner sharing. It is, however, not the Kenobi/Cody Polycule that needs to explain to the medics how they found out that Fox is somehow allergic to some highly salacious Force abilities (Quinlan Vos and Ventress were both involved. Fox is on record as saying it was worth the hives and the three day med bay stay, but it was not worth the video of him rambling while high that resulted). 

The Combined Jedi/Clones do end up abducting other sentients from formerly Republic Space. Or at least that is what the Empire Propaganda would tell you. It was less an abduction and more asking. Anakin did end up abducting Padme, her 13 body doubles, and 6 other bodyguards during the mad dash to exit the republic (somewhat forcibly). Over the course of 5 years the Jedi quietly collect the family of those 19, and others. 

Palpatine’s Empire lasted a total of three years before he was overthrown and killed. An Empire existed for another 10 years, with a variety of Emperors (none of which lasted even as long as Palpatine). Then the centralized government collapsed into system governments. It would take another 50 years for a Republic to begin to form again, still sans Jedi.

[wrengrif]

Okay, but, like.

What if Aziraphale doesn't fail, in Heaven?

I mean the Archangels are pretty much all dicks, but how many more angels are like Muriel?

How many of them are like Aziraphale? Passed over, abused, ignored as just a cog of a war machine. Maybe the angel who was in charge of coloring buttercups wants to see how they turned out, but they're stuck in detailing flaming swords. Maybe the scrivener who is in charge of detailing this one tiny war in Russia really wants to get into the history of Harriet Tubman instead? Archangels, thrones, cherubim, virtues, seraphim - they're the management of Heaven but they're all obsessed 1) beating Hell and 2) who is in charge when they beat Hell.

The principalities, the scriveners, the lower-level angels ... maybe all they want is to check out this Earth that they've all heard of and maybe visited once or twice, but not recently. But no, they can't, they gotta gear up for the Second Coming but wait, they don't because Gabriel said no. Then Gabriel got banished - er - escaped? No one's sure. THEN they find out they're getting a new Supreme Archangel and it's ... Aziraphale. Principality of the Eastern Gate, holder of a Flaming Sword and Traitor and they're all like - okay? Guess you can disobey orders and still get promoted, cool cool. Muriel's down on Earth now so hey! Maybe we can go! And they meet Aziraphale! And Aziraphale is So Nice! And no one knows why the Archangels are such assholes but Aziraphale is awesome and wants them to take regular breaks and tea-times and of course everyone should have a chance to see Earth, it's lovely. So why have a Second Coming when you can have crepes instead? Or tea. Delightful tea. Now, the lower level angels probably outnumber the higher level angels three-to-one. So are they going to be following the arsehole middle management angels who are trying to get them all killed at the end of a demon's claws, OR are they going to follow this Supreme Archangel who told them all about Shakespeare and Bentleys and the Ritz and yellow flowers and how much the demon Crowley has been misunderstood, and maybe, JUST MAYBE, God wants something different. Then there's Aziraphale leading the New Revolution in Heaven?? And this is where he needs Crowley because frankly he's got Aziraphale's Army of Misfit Angels, and he has got no idea what to do with it. And Crowley is confronted with Aziraphale and like a few thousand baby angels outside his flat and he's like, 'Well okay I guess I should have figured things were going to go pear-shaped but not like this?' and Muriel is overjoyed because their not-so-divorced parents brought all their siblings to visit.

Then Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to talk about angel-care and who is going to teach them about music and 'Hey, I think we should talk, really talk' and no apology dances but just sincere apologies and thanks and maybe kissing? I'd be down.

And that's how Aziraphale wins. By taking lower Heaven on an extended sabbatical to Earth and asking Crowley to co-parent.

[elumish]

keeping in mind the strategic/operational/tactical failures discussed in your earlier post, what would be the major failure point of the worldbuilding in iron flame? feel free to spoiler tag. is it the nature of the enemy and the common public narrative about that?

Okay so even though I finished Iron Flame fairly recently, I have also read a lot of books in the interim, so this may be a little general and may not get every detail totally correct. I'll stick all of my thoughts under a Read More, so if you don't want Fourth Wing/Iron Flame spoilers, just skip this post.

Strategic: To be totally honest, I didn't have a huge issue with the strategic-level worldbuilding of the Empyrean. I think the question of why dragons take part in this whole thing and also why dragons vs. griffins are totally neatly divided by country borders that are relatively new is not clear and sort of a problem, but I could mostly suspend disbelief there.

It definitely is not the most well built out/robust strategic worldbuilding, but I was basically fine with it. My feeling basically boiled down to "it didn't make me actively annoyed so I lived with it and can't currently think of a major issue." Also I like dragons.

Operational: Okay! So!

I found the entire organizational structure/setup of this entire world absolutely baffling to the point of being incomprehensible.

This probably doesn't need to be said, but I will anyway: a major goal of a military is to have as many trained fighters as you can. Attrition is one of the biggest issues faced by militaries (other than logistics) and the more people you are starting with, 1) the more you can do in general and 2) the more people you can afford to lose.

This means that you really want as close to 100% of your potential fighting force to survive training. Even if you only view people as cannon fodder, literally the point of cannon fodder is to put them in front of the cannons, not kill them in training.

I know the argument presented in the series by Violet is that it inures them to death so they can keep going when their teammates die, but that is terrible for a military. Yes, people need to be able to keep going when their teammate dies, but the training system has them killing each other. They are incentivized to kill each other! And so this school is literally training them to commit friendly fire incidents. Do you know what happens in a military that trains its soldiers to commit friendly fire incidents? They all kill each other and can't work effectively as a team. And being inured to that? That's just PTSD! You are just fucked up!

So having this military school system where they need to kill each other to win makes for a dramatic story but is an absolutely awful military training setup.

But also these are (or should be, if they had a non-awful system) highly trained members of the military, which makes them extremely valuable and also extremely expensive. People who fail out should just get stuck in a different part of the military instead of basically being killed.

And actually to that point, this whole setup would make much more sense if they had the equivalent of basic training and then had people specialize, the way they do in the real military. You absolutely want your military forces to be interoperable, and they are not even a little bit in this world.

Also why the hell don't these people use more ground forces? The number of dragon riders is limited to the number of dragons, but you can just have as many infantry as you can logistically sustain. Set up an effective border defense.

If you look at the traitor people (I can't remember what they're called right now), sticking them in the elite fighting force school also doesn't make any sense. I know they gave some in-universe reason for it, but especially because of the incomprehensible "if more than three of them are near each other then we can't magically surveil them" system if they were actually viewed as a security risk, they shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the military, much less in the dragon forces.

They're a literal flight risk! There is absolutely nothing keeping them from defecting en masse. They can't be surveilled when they're together! Also they could commit friendly fire attacks! None of it makes any sense!

I also never really understood why they were keeping the real enemy a secret and why there was such a concerted effort. It didn't seem like the military leadership/king got any real benefit from maintaining a massive conspiracy to...kneecap their own military force.

The funny thing is that since finishing Iron Flame I've read basically all of Rebecca Yarros's other books, which are basically all contemporary romance, and she writes a lot of military-adjacent books, and they generally don't have this problem. Her husband was (is?) in the military, and she seems to have a decent understanding of it, so I'm not sure why she threw that all away for this.

Tactical: Okay so this is a lot related to the issue of "why are the trainees incentivized to kill each other" but Violet's ability to poison her way through her sparring didn't make any real sense if they was any point to the sparring. She should have just been made to spar with some instructors. And also they should have had some real fighting training. Though again that's more an operational issue.

Violet definitely had a lot of Plot Strings (the plot "coincidentally" moving her to the right place at the right time to do something only she could do): especially, that she (the person who happened to have the father who knew all of the plot-relevant things for some reason) happened to get magically soul-bonded to Xaden (the person leading the group that happens to know the truth about everything). I understand the whole situation with her mother, but her mother didn't control the soul bonding.

Overall the issue on a character level was more of a "wow this person just happens to have/be exactly what we need at this time" (the prince! who was just there! until he was extremely plot relevant coincidentally just when we needed him!) but each character was mostly believable taken in isolation.

[flowercrowngods]

*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺

in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k

Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.

Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?

Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.

But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.

He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.

This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.

It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.

It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.

Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.

They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.

Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?

Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.

He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.

“Eds? You there?”

“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—

“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”

After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”

Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”

And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.

“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”

And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.

“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.

Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”

**

Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.

Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.

He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.

When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.

Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.

Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.

With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.

The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.

Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.

“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.

Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”

Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.

But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.

Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.

“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.

“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.

Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.

The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.

Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.

A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.

They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.

Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.

It’s not. It’s August.

It doesn’t make sense.

But they’re pretty.

Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.

“Can I try something?”

Eddie just stares.

“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“

“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”

“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.

“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”

And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…

Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—

“Breathe, Eddie.”

And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.

“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.

He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.

But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.

He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.

There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.

The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**

This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.

Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.

And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.

Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.

They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.

It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Part 6

Part 1 Part 5. Ao3 Link Part 7

It was already the second week of December by the time the Hellfire club finally, finally, defeated the Demon Lord Graz’zt. Normally, Eddie loved when a campaign stretched and stretched. It was a devious kind of joy to get to see his friends get stumped and backtrack and do everything they could to defeat whatever he had put in front of them. 

This time, he just wanted them to stab his stupid demon in the chest, light him on fire, and be done with it. 

A thousand times he had thought about just letting them win, and just letting them get through the end of the campaign. But his integrity as a dungeon master and a storyteller stopped him from doing it every single time. 

That, and Eddie was pretty sure they would be able to tell if he was skimping out on an ending just to get to the next campaign. Especially since they all knew why he would be so anxious to get to the next campaign. 

But, last week they had done it. Right at the last second Graz’zt had exploded in a shower of red sparks, the party had gained treasure and XP galore, and Eddie had stayed up every night this week finishing a one shot just for the occasion. 

Usually there was a rest week in between campaigns, or one of the others would rotate in as DM and Eddie would get to play for a while, but he wanted to be the one to run Steve’s first game. He didn’t trust any of the others not to sabotage, or try and kill him off early. 

Besides, he had the perfect beginner game planned. 

Well, he would have the perfect beginner game if their beginner ever decided to show up. 

“Seems like being late is a character trait,” Frank said as the rest of Hellfire sat around the table, clearly bored. Jeff was doodling in his book, and Rocky looked like he was asleep on the far side, face smushed up against the wood. School had ended almost a half hour ago, but there was still no sign of Steve. 

“This does give us time for a JRP update?” Janet suggested, sliding her chair back and walking over to the board. 

“Well, the update is…wow! Nothing has changed,” Gareth said, faking a look of utter shock before sliding back into his usual grumpy scowl, turning to Eddie, “Do you really want to wait three more months just to have to admit that I am right about him?” 

“How could anything have changed so far, Gareth?” Eddie shot back, sick and tired of his best friend’s issues. 

He held up a hand and began to count on his fingers right in front of Gareth’s face. Eddie knew that the other boy hated when he did things like that, but he also knew that he really couldn’t give a flying fuck at this point. Steve was trying, really honestly trying, and Gareth was being a jerk for literally no reason. 

“We just finished our new campaign, Steve isn’t even aware of the band yet because I’m not allowed to invite him to a show, and your third ridiculous checkpoint still has no defining parameters!” Eddie finished with a flourish. 

“Well, technically you can invite Steve to a show,” Kaiden said, grabbing everyone’s attention. He shrugged, pointing to the board, “It doesn’t say that Eddie can never invite him. It just won’t count towards the JRP until Steve goes without an invitation,” 

“Kaiden, what the hell?” Gareth said, spinning around and shooting his glare over to him instead of Eddie. 

“I don’t mind Steve, Gar.” Kaiden said with a shrug, unphased by his mood. By now they were all getting used to working around Gareth’s griping, “He’s pretty chill, he can be kinda funny, and I can’t think of anything he personally did that was that bad. Maybe he really is trying to be someone different now,”

The rest of the club didn’t speak, which Eddie decided to consider an extremely minute amount of progress. Sure, they weren’t sticking up for Steve, but they weren’t actively fighting against him anymore. 

Well, all except for one

“Traitor,” Gareth muttered under his breath. 

“Hey,” Eddie immediately snapped. Gareth could be pissy with him all he wanted, but he couldn’t go after another one of Eddie’s sheep just because he was mad. 

“I agree with Kaiden, I don’t see why Eddie would be forbidden from ever inviting Steve to a show,” Janet said, tapping her chin. 

Either she was unaware of how close the boys were to actually fighting, or she was actively ignoring it in favor of staying logical. Eddie would bet all of his money on the latter. Janet really was too smart for her own good. 

“As for setting parameters for the third point, I’m not sure how we go about that,” She continued, tapping her chalk against the board as she wracked her brain for potential ideas. 

“We don’t. We’ll know it when we see it,” Gareth stubbornly repeated, crossing his arms, “Though I doubt we will. This is just a waste of time.” 

Okay. Enough was enough. 

“What is your problem with him?!” Eddie shouted, starting the rest of the group. Rocky’s head popped off the table with a gasp, and Jeff immediately stiffened up. They were used to Eddie shouting, used to him raising his voice or getting angry, but that was all play, a show. This was actual anger, and that was scary. 

“Where did your problem with him go?” Gareth said, giving as good as he got, “You used to be the first to say that they aren’t us! They’re the enemy! He is literally the face of that enemy! What happened to the Munson Doctrine?!” 

Eddie opened his mouth to tell Gareth exactly where he could stick his Munson Doctrine, but before he could, Jeff stood up. 

His shoulders were up by his ears, and he looked completely uncomfortable, but Jeff was standing up anyway. A silent look from their bassist took the wind out of both boys’ sails, and they sat back down, tense and on edge. 

“Sorry Jeff,” Eddie sighed, pushing down any potential self hatred that wanted to rise up. The two of them knew Jeff’s story, knew why he wasn’t comfortable with angry yelling close to him, and they had done it anyway. Eddie forced himself to take a deep breath, watching as Gareth did the same. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Gareth echoed, looking genuinely remorseful. 

“This isn’t productive,” Frank pointed out, rolling his chair backwards until it collided with the chalkboard next to where Janet was standing, “I think that we should settle for a compromise.  All of the club members agree that Steve can stay. That would at least be enough to be considered a renouncement of some sort, right?,”

“That’s not the same,” Gareth protested. 

“Well, seeing as you don’t have a good argument for your checkpoint,” Frank replied, trailing off and waiting to hear if he had anything else to say. When Gareth remained grumpy and silent the rest nodded. 

“Okay so, I’ll just write our initials here, and when we decide we’re okay with Steve-”

“If” Gareth interrupted. 

“Fine. If we decide that we’re okay with Steve staying, we can cross out our names,” Janet said, miffed at being talked over, but choosing to move past it in favor of keeping the peace. 

She quickly began to jot down everyone’s initials, adding Steve’s right at the top just to keep up appearances. Eddie wasn’t exactly sure how they would explain that one, but hopefully Steve wouldn’t ask. He usually didn’t question things around the room unless they were particularly outlandish. 

“I’m fine with Steve,” Eddie said the second she wrote his initials. 

“We got that one, Eds,” Jeff replied with a good natured eye roll. Now that things were calming down again, he seemed way more relaxed. Janet clicked her tongue anyway, putting a thick white line through the E.M. she had just written. 

“I don’t mind him,” Kaiden tacked on. Janet shot him a quick nod, crossing out Kaiden’s initials, and then, surprisingly, her own.

“Janet?” Frank questioned. She shrugged, pausing for a second to ruffle his hair as she continued to write. She was the only one that didn’t see the way Frank’s face went beet red the moment she touched him. 

“He’s interesting,” She said, as if that was the only explanation she needed, “I’m a scientist. I like to experiment,” 

She finished with Gareth’s ‘G.L-W.’ turning to face the group. 

“Anyone else?” 

The rest of the club shook their heads, but Eddie couldn’t care less. He was already a third of the way there! And, there was no doubt in his mind that at least a few of them were going to be impressed with Steve’s gameplay today. 

After all Steve had been taught by the best. 

“Okay so, slightly modified parameters, but-” 

“Sorry I’m late!” Steve said as he burst into the room, cutting Janet off. 

If she was annoyed at being interrupted a second time, she didn’t let it slip. Instantly, she and Frank were back in their seats, her chalk abandoned, broken in two on the ground. The entire club did their best to look perfectly innocent, a truly terrible job that left them all seeming extremely, extremely, guilty. 

The only reason they got away with it was that Steve was way too caught up in rambling and trying to explain himself. 

“I’m so sorry, I was trying to get the kids set up in the library, because they want to come to my house after school for a sleepover. Winter break, right? But then they kept asking me question after question, and wanting to come watch me shoot hoops. They never want to watch me shoot hoops! Why now?! I swear this is what I get for letting them use my house to take pictures for the Snow Ball.” Steve groaned, getting stuck in his scarf as he tried to unwind it from around his head. 

Eddie laughed softly, getting up and coming around the table, slowly helping Steve get free of his yarn filled prison. 

“Are you going to chaperone this Sunday?” Eddie asked. Instantly his mind was filled with the image of Steve in a handsome black suit, a dark red rose sitting in his lapel and perfectly complimenting his ruby lips. 

Okay. File that under ‘Things Eddie was never allowed to think about again except when alone in his bedroom’. 

“Definitely not. I’m a babysitter, not a chaperone,” Steve said with a smirk, “I’ll let them get ready at my place and have a little after party there, and that should stop them from being arrogant whiny brats for a little while. Hope I didn’t miss anything though,” 

Just the rest of the club talking about using him as a human lab rat. 

“Nope,” Eddie lied smoothly, pulling Steve’s chair out for him and making a huge grand gesture for him to come sit. 

“Welcome to this side of the table,” Kaiden said from his seat across from Steve. Normally Gareth sat on Eddie’s right side, but since the first meeting that Steve had joined, his best friend had regulated himself to the corner as far from Eddie as he could get. 

Whatever. That was better anyway. Eddie didn’t care. 

(He cared so much more than he wanted to admit.) 

“Glad to be here?” Steve said, pulling out the folder Eddie had given him for all of his character sheets and looking around the group nervously. 

He didn’t have anything to worry about. Eddie had helped him to build a totally awesome persona. 

“It’s hell,” Frank sighed solemnly, patting Steve’s shoulder. 

“Hellfire,” Eddie corrected, the rest of the group groaning at his bad pun. He waved off their lack of appreciation for his fantastic word play, perching on his throne and raising a hand. 

“I would like to take a moment to recognize that this is a special occasion. We are here to celebrate the birth of Steve’s very first Dungeons and Dragons character,” Eddie said, pausing so the rest could react appropriately. 

Sure enough there was a round of foot stomping and table slapping. Steve startled at the noise, but quickly recovered, blushing, but still staring directly at Eddie with those big beautiful browns. 

God damn this brave, lovely, completely adorable boy. 

“May I introduce the former Prince of the realm, Level One Human Ranger Stefan of Herringtown. Stefan, Welcome to Hellfire,” Eddie said, pausing to give Steve a secretive wink and loving the way that the blush on the other boy’s cheeks traveled to his ears when he did. 

Stefan was, arguably, a pretty cool first time character. Steve lingered just on the edge of being a paladin, but he had enough chaotic energy that Ranger seemed to fit him better. He was a loyal to a fault kind of guy who had a habit for picking up strays, a smooth quick talking charm that tended to get him in and out of trouble, and a chip on his shoulder from being exiled from his kingdom. 

In short, he was Steve, but dungeons and dragonsified. Perfect for the first play through. 

With that settled, Eddie rolled his shoulders, settling himself into his dungeon master character and taking a long breath in. 

“Your party is starting off trekking across the frozen tundra,” He began, feeling the mood shift to excitement as the rest prepared themselves for his opener, “Your feet are freezing, and your fingers have gone numb, but you continue on anyway. You have heard tale of an abandoned factory at the highest point of the world- a place littered with treasures and everything a being could ever ask for. You want to see the place for yourselves, and maybe even loot some of the booty.” 

Rocky gave a vicious grin at this, chuckling softly to himself. His tiefling rogue was always looking to horde more treasure, and Rocky loved to get into character as quickly as he could. It was fun, it added something to the game. 

“You see a building and hurry closer, eager to get out of the biting frost. It is a dark unnatural place with high smoke stacks and mounds of coal sitting all around the entrance. You enter as one without thinking or stopping to check your surroundings, collapsing on the other side and panting to catch your breath. What is your first move, Goren the Great?” Eddie asked, starting on the far side of the table. 

Even if he and Gareth weren’t on the best of terms right now, Eddie still wouldn’t want to start a campaign with any other player. It just wouldn't feel right. 

“I do a perception check,” Gareth decided. Eddie nodded towards his d8, and Gareth grabbed it, throwing down a seven. 

“As a dwarf, you have spent many years hunting through mines for precious gems, so your ability to see in the dark is unparalleled. You can see strange boot shaped bags all around the room, and boxes that are wrapped with twine bows,” He said, watching as their brains began to spin with possibilities.

This was the best part. Watching his players try to figure out exactly what was going on around them was just so fun. 

“Well, I have a feeling we may have stumbled upon the right place. I can see treasure from corner to corner,” Gareth remarked, throwing his voice into a growling rumble, perfect for his hardened grizzled character. 

“I can’t see anything,” Jeff complained, getting into it. 

"That's because you are a stupid elf, and your stupid elf eyesight only works in the day,” Gareth replied, both of them holding back laughter. 

“How dare you?! You, you…tiny little man!” 

And then they were off, back and forth insults that were cheesy, yet sometimes creative. The club watched in amusement. Even Steve was snickering, and he normally tried to pretend he didn’t exist when it had anything to do with Gareth. Usually Eddie would try and focus the group back in, but he was happy to let them banter for a little while. 

This was the kind of fighting they should be doing. This was the Gareth Eddie knew, and getting to see that that guy was still somewhere in this new person was very comforting. 

“I am through with your impertinent conclusions,” Jeff huffed in mock exasperation, keeping his voice high and flighty as he did, “I am ready to take my turn, master of the game.” 

“Very well,” Eddie said, inclining his head and waiting to hear. 

“I open my bag and get out a torch, but I want to hit Goren with my bag as I do it,” Jeff said, the rest of the group immediately bursting into laughter.

“Roll 2 d8. One for hitting him, and one for how much light the torch is going to give you,” Eddie instructed, biting his lip to hide his smile. Jeff let the dice fly, getting an eight and a two respectively. 

“As you pull out your torch, you smack Goren right in the face with your bag. Goren loses one hit point,” Eddie said, making a note on his paper. 

“Ow!” 

“Oh, I am sooo sorry that was completely unintentional.” Jeff gasped sarcastically, holding a hand against his heart and raising his eyes to the sky. 

“Goren does not believe you, but he will hold his anger for later,” Eddie said, sliding in smoothly before another ‘argument’ could take place, “You light your torch, but the draft coming in through the broken windows makes the flame flicker and shrink. You can just see the edge of an image drawn on the wall,” 

“I want to examine the drawing,” Kaiden jumped in. 

“June Iper it is not your turn,” Eddie replied, referring to Kaiden by his character’s name. If they were doing things their normal way, then it would be Kaiden’s turn, but as it was, it was time for Rocky to go. 

Kaiden grumbled to himself, then sat up straight. He and Rocky made eye contact for a brief second before quickly scrambling to switch seats. 

“Now it is my turn,” Kaiden said, his head held high in victory. Eddie rolled his eyes but allowed it to slide, just happy that the two freshman boys were having a good time. He let Kaiden roll and then continued on, eager to get to the entrance of the main enemy. 

“You snatch the torch out of Boz’s hand, scampering up to the wall and holding it as high as you can, which isn’t very high at all,” Eddie pointed out. Kaiden’s character was a gnome, and Eddie never missed a chance to make a short joke at their expense, “The rest of the party can only see what looks like a chariot being dragged by cloven hoofed beasts.” 

“Wait a second,” Janet said, her face lighting up in realization. She turned to Eddie with her eyes narrowed, and he schooled himself into a completely innocent expression. 

“Yes Miss Ngyet?” He asked innocently, having a feeling she had already guessed where this one shot was going. 

“I take the torch from June so we can see better,” 

“Is there normally this much torch stealing?” Steve asked softly as Janet rolled, quirking his head to the side as he gave Eddie a raised brow. Before Eddie could respond, Frank interrupted. 

“Hey, you’re on our side now,” Frank said, nudging their arms together, “Ask us your questions,”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve apologized, turning towards Frank. 

Behind Steve’s back, Eddie gave Frank a grateful little smile. Sure, he was probably only being nice to Steve right now because Janet had said she was okay with him, but Eddie would take any kind of progress. Frank gave Eddie a short nod, and they settled back into their roles, continuing the game. 

“With Miss Ngyet’s extra height you can all see the full mosaic. Gasping in horror you finally recognize the picture you’re looking at. A man dressed in robes that are bathed in blood, a stampede of reindeer pulling his sledge. All at once the lights turn on in the factory, blinding you. There’s an ominous laughter from behind. Ho. Ho. HO.” Eddie roared. 

More light bulbs around the room as Jeff and Frank both caught on. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jeff sighed, putting his face in his hands to muffle his laughter. Eddie grabbed the mini figure sitting in front of him, standing up and beginning the monologue he had practiced in front of the mirror all week. Wayne had nearly forced him to go outside to do it after the first few days of never ending repetition. 

“Your foe! A man turned God who knows the name of every child in the world, and watches endlessly. This God, who was once a benevolent overlord, loved to shower gifts upon those he deemed good, giving gentle reminders to those he saw being bad. Now he feasts upon the ‘Naughty’ alongside his favorite meal of milk and cookies,” Eddie ominously lowered his voice, coming to stand between Steve and Frank. 

Steve leaned backwards and turned his head. Frank did the same. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Steve whispered behind Eddie. 

“Yes,” Frank whispered back. 

“The demonous, the dastardly, the fat…” 

Eddie thrust the minifigure down onto the table, standing back as he hollered at the top of his lungs. 

“KRIS KRINGLE!” 

Eddie had been absolutely, completely, 100%, right. 

This was an epic one shot. 

After their initial reactions to finding out they were doing battle against Santa of all people, the rest of the club dove into the campaign with glee. Eddie had taken care to create an awesome story filled to the brim with little easter eggs, and they were eating up every bit of it. 

There were hypnotically enslaved elves, blood thirsty reindeer, exploding candy canes, even a section where the party had to sing Christmas songs to escape from a platoon of killer carolers.

Yeah he was biased, but Steve’s giggly rendition of WHAM’s new hit song was the best thing Eddie had ever heard in his life. 

Speaking of, the biggest shock of the game had to be how well Steve was doing. Eddie had honestly expected to have to subtly take it a little easy on him, but the jock was turning out to be one of the trickiest players he had ever gone up against. 

Sure, the math and the writing portion was a bit of a hiccup, but Steve’s strategic thinking was unexpectedly excellent, and he seemed to have a knack for survival. He had quickly made himself an invaluable player, and the rest had accepted him into the fold, if only for now. 

And the best part of it all was how much fun Steve was having. The smile on his face was bright, utterly joyful in a way Eddie had only seen once years ago. He had seen Steve smile plenty since then, but it was always quiet, kind of hidden away, like he was scared to show how much he was enjoying himself. 

But this was just…happy. Pure, clear, happy, with nothing standing in its way, and Eddie was drinking in the sight like a man in a desert who had found an oasis. 

After a grueling four hours, Hellfire had finally managed to kill off the final reindeer (Vixen had gone down in a blaze of glory) and release all of the elves from their mind manacles. 

There was just one foe left. 

“As the not-so-jolly man with a bag gently lays his last beast on the ground, he looks up at you all with complete rage in his eyes,” Eddie said in a hushed tone, letting things get as quiet as possible before exploding into sound.

“Naughty! You are All on my naughty list!” Eddie declared, slapping his hand on the table before standing and reaching over his binder to point, “You! And You! And You! And-” 

“Steve?”

Eddie paused mid monologue, his finger still hovering in the air directed at Janet. All of them turned around as one, facing their new intruder. 

Little Red was in the doorway, staring back at them with big eyes. A mischievous grin quickly overtook her face and she opened the door wide, crossing her arms and smugly jutting her chin out at her babysitter.

“Shooting hoops, huh?” 

“Max? Why are you here? Where are the boys?” Steve asked, quickly getting up from the table and coming to her side. The anxiety coloring his tone was unexpected, and Eddie felt himself wilt a little as all of Steve’s walls seemed to have pulled back up in a snap. 

“Down the hall. We’re fine,” Max said, quickly reassuring him and dropping her act. Steve relaxed for a second, but then stiffened once more as she peeked her head around his side. She waved, and the rest of the group waved back. 

“Shooting hoops,” She repeated, raising a brow, “You know, Steve, I’ve never played basketball, but it looks a lot more like Dungeons and Dragons than I expected it too,”

“How long have you known?” Steve sighed.

“That you were lying?” Max asked for clarification, “The whole time. You’re a bad liar, and Billy just couldn’t shut up about how you were benched from playing, and he was going to be the one leading the team now. I wasn’t expecting you to be doing this though. I thought you were meeting up with a girl.” 

“I’ll pay you real money to not tell the others,” Steve said, completely serious. 

Max tapped on her chin, a move that was so reminiscent of Janet that Eddie had to stifle a laugh. He didn’t want to call any attention to himself right now, too invested in seeing how this would all play out. 

“How much?” She asked, giving him a shrewd eye. 

“Five bucks?” Steve offered, sounding slightly desperate. 

Max hummed, making faces as she pretended to consider it. 

“Not enough,” She finally decided with a cute little shrug, sticking her head into the hallway and shouting for the boys to come. 

A stampede of footsteps and hollering began in the distance and Steve groaned, shooting Max a look of utter betrayal before turning to pout at Eddie. 

“Lord, help me,” Steve sighed. 

“Nay, I shan't. Lord Kringle has deemed you naughty, Stefan, there is no hope for you now,” Eddie replied, shaking his head. Steve did not seem at all amused by this, but the rest of the club was chuckling, exchanging wry little grins. 

“Oh, are we about to meet Harrington’s famous children?” Kaiden wondered aloud, already knowing the answer. 

“Don’t,” Steve warned with zero heat in his voice, seemingly already resigned to what was about to happen. He was rubbing at his temple, his eyes shut with a look of pure exhaustion on his face. 

Max patted him twice on the arm before coming over to look at the board, looking over Steve’s character sheets with glee. 

“Hey Little Red,” Eddie said. 

“Hi, Steve’s friend,” She replied with a smirk, “You guys are gonna have fun watching this,” 

Before anyone could ask what she meant, a veritable horde of boys burst into the room. They were once again all talking over each other, but this seemed to just be the way the boys communicated. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all stayed crowded around Steve yelling at him, while Will began to look around. 

Max quietly whistled, jerking her head and catching Will’s attention. He obediently trotted over, and she showed him what she had found, both of them exchanging quiet whispers that even Eddie couldn't make out over the other kids shouting. 

“Why are you not in the library?” Steve griped, managing to raise his voice above theirs. 

“We finished our campaign and got bored. You’re taking forever, we’re hungry, and we want to see El,” Mike whined, crossing his arms and glaring at his babysitter. 

“What are you doing anyway?” Dustin asked, trying to look around Steve.

“Nothing,” Steve said quickly, pushing Dustin’s head back in front of him, “Get out. I’ll come get you guys in like an hour, or you can walk back to your own houses,”

“Who are they?” Lucas wondered, ignoring Steve’s minor threat. Everyone in the room already knew how hollow it was, “This is definitely not the gym,” 

Eddie was sure Steve had some sort of excuse, something he had cooked up to explain why he was here, but he was not eager to hear it. Sure, Eddie understood why Steve might have wanted to have something that was ‘just his’ (or, at least, he respected it), but the rest of the club wouldn’t. They would definitely think Steve was trying to hide the fact that he knew them, and that would reinforce everything Gareth was saying. 

No matter what, this was not going to go down well, and would probably erase any progress that had been made. 

Luckily for both of them, Will Byers decided that this was the moment to speak up. 

“Steve?” Will said, catching everyone’s attention, “Are you…playing DnD?”

Tension thick as a thousand page novel blanketed them all. Dustin gasped in an extremely melodramatic fashion, and Mike blew past Steve, storming over and slamming his hands down on the table, making all of the figures tremble. Steve seemed lost for words, turning back to give Eddie a ‘help me’ look of terror. 

So, Eddie did what he did best. 

He caused a little chaos. 

“Why yes, young small one, he is playing Dungeons and Dragons,” Eddie said with a tricky grin, loving the explosion of mayhem that came right after, 

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[bbrissonn]

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐮 - 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐳𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬 (𝟖)

╰┈➤ it's ducks vs devils day, and thing get quite chaotic in alanna's comments section

╰┈➤ pairing: trevor zegras x ex!singer!girlfriend

╰┈➤ social media

╰┈➤ masterlist

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-DECEMBER 18TH, 2023-

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: ̗̀➛ alannaoregon has posted on instagram

alannaoregon

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alannaoregon who do i root for? three men who won't be playing and don't know how to shower, or two lovely cutie patootie brothers who housed me for the summer???

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_quinnhughes vancouver duhhh

alannaoregon @/_quinnhughes i lowkey forgot about you... teehee _quinnhughes @/alannaoregon i was apart of the lovely cutie patootie brothers who housed you for the summer alannaoregon @/_quinnhughes IK IK BUT VAN IS IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE LIKE WTH

jackhughes i think your caption answered your question lanny

alannaoregon @/jackhughes ur so right jackie bear, you and lukie pookie better win or i'll look stupid jackhughes @/alannaoregon don't call us that

masonmctavish23 I KNOW HOW TO SHOWER???

alannaoregon @/masonmctavish23 THEN WHY DO YOU ALWAYS STINK WHEN YOU COME OVER??? masonmctavish23 @/alannaoregon IT'S MY COLOGNE alannaoregon @/masonmctavish23 WELL IT'S HORRIBLE, THROW IT AWAY

user917 the way we all know she's rooting for the ducks, and not because of three men that can't shower...

user681 lanny, girly, we all know you're wearing orange

trevorzegras im a great cheerleader

alannaoregon @/trevorzegras ur better in the stands than on the ice so far this year grass man trevorzegras @/alannaoregon ... user018 @/alannaoregon LANNY OMG 😭😭

_alexturcotte im team brothers !!

colecaufield @/_alexturcotte and im team men who won't be playing and don't know how to shower !! alannaoregon @/colecaufield cactus man vs tiny man battle time... I LOVE IT

user5210 not cole and turcs also picking-- i can't with them

jamie.drysdale who's the better cheerleader, me or z?

alannaoregon @/jamie.drysdale you look cuter in the costumes i got user821 @/alannaoregon GIRL WHERE ARE THE PICS??? trevorzegras @/alannaoregon YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T TELL ANYONE alannaoregon @/trevorzegras oops?

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: ̗̀➛ alannaoregon has posted on instagram

alannaoregon

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alannaoregon orange >>> red

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becky.rivera you look amazing in red though

alannaoregon @/becky.rivera becca this isn't what colour suits me better

trevorzegras nice jersey

alannaoregon @/trevorzegras thanks found it in my closet trevorzegras @/alannaoregon wonder how it got there?? alannaoregon @/trevorzegras good question, whoever this belongs to probably doesn't know how to showered, it stinks trevorzegras @/alannaoregon I SHOWER OKAY!!! user2872 @/trevorzegras CAN YALL JUST SAY YOU'RE TOGETHER LIKE WE ALL KNOW

user349 @/user2872 exactly, we know they're together. no need to force them if they don't want to publicly say it.

lhughes_06 traitor

alannaoregon @/lhughes_06 sorry pookie, but your teams sucks af right now

user910 GIRL WE KNOW YOU KNOW THAT WE KNOW JUST SAY IT

user821 why are we just ignoring the fact that she's getting back with her ex who cheated on her with her friend?? the guy she wrote a whole breakup album about???

user217 @/user821 we don't know the whole story, we can't go around judging. plus, if he makes her happy than that's all that really matters. she also made her first album about him, and you can tell how in love and happy she was when she made it. clearly she had a rough couple of months, let the girl be happy

alannaoregon, trevorzegras and 1.2k others liked this comment

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taglist <3 @lxnceclercs @alialogy

[dmercer91]

ebug’s sister, dm91

part one / part two / part three

we're gonna ignore the drastic hair change and the fact that the people in pictures 2 and 3 look absolutely nothing alike despite being twins in the au

pictures saved from pinterest !

blakefriarr_

liked by jackhughes, lhughes_06 and 4,867 others

blakefriarr_: my brother's an ubug, episode 3! birthday edition!

jj was not actually the ebug for tonight's game, he's just a huge suck and he got me devs tickets for my (our) birthday cause he LOVESSSSS MEEEEE

he was gonna get me a mercer jersey and then i apparently offended him by drawing dicks on the printed pdf of his 10 commandments

i can't not provide context for these photos, it's my brand. so buckle up.

one is me after unwrapping the gift my dad got for jj and accidentally put my name on. yes that is fire. yes this was our father telling jj to go get an actual job. yes i laughed. yes i kept it.

the next two capture jj and i's entire relationship visually, and they are me wanting to drink out of a much too heavy, glass bottle without using my hands. jj was incredibly concerned for his safety as well as the condition the floor would be in after i inevitably dropped the bottle and got glass everywhere. however, that did not happen because i am actually god himself. next.

dawson looks very displeased with whatever he is looking at (they were winning?????? the puck was in the o zone?????? hisch had the puck?????? idek. maybe he's got digestive issues)

the boys are having a pre faceoff chat. dawson is eating his gloves.

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jj.friar31: i want that torch back

→ blakefriarr_: tough shit james

→ drayanewman: HIS NAME IS JAMES?!?!?!?!?

user6543456: dawson eating his gloves just like jack

→ user93456: will ny is the original sporting goods eater

dawson1417: happy birthday <3 hope you had a good night

→ blakefriarr_: this comment squished my heart like a pimple in the best way

→ dawson1417: you're welcome? 😭

→ blakefriarr_: thank you, handsome <3

→ dawson1417: i understand the pimple comment. good lord.

dawson1417: now that we're done being cute i do NOT have DIGESTIVE ISSUES???

→ blakefriarr_: it's nothing to be ashamed of, daws. just a tummy ache :(

→ dawson1417: i did not have a tummy ache i am a grown man

→ blakefriarr_: shit ur right my bad you've got functional dyspepsia

→ dawson1417: i've got WHAT

user230237: this is so chaotic

user098765: i love that everyone just goes with this

dawson1417: final comment i promise but why is your shirt half see through

→ blakefriarr_: why ISN'T your shirt half see through 🤨

→ blakefriarr_: lemme have a look

→ jj.friar31: this is why you didn't get a jersey

→ blakefriarr_: @/dawson1417 can i have a jersey

→ dawson1417: @/blakefriarr_ i will get you one from every theme night as long as they've got my number on them

→ jj.friar31: you're a TRAITOR, dawson.

njdevils: happy birthday, blake!

→ jj.friar31: happy birthday blake AND JJ. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TOO. I'M THE EBUG!!! I'M MORE SPECIAL

→ blakefriarr_: i wouldn't say more special but you're definitely a different flavour of special

→ blakefriarr_: also technically your birthday was yesterday so stop acting like a colossal piss baby

→ jackhughes: huh

→ blakefriarr_: i REALLY did not want out of there bro i was hanging on for dear life

→ jackhughes: oh shit i thought dad had mad game

→ quinnhughes: then they wouldn't be twins ?

→ blakefriarr_: oh my god one of them has a brain cell

→ quinnhughes: glad i could be of service, congrats on being whatever age it is that you are

lhughes_06: i was gonna say happy birthday and then you said i had less braincells than quinn.

→ blakefriarr_: correction- i said quinn had one (1) braincell. therefore implying that you have none <3

lhughes_06: happy birthday jj

→ blakefriarr_: and you WONDER why i like quinn better

jackhughes: you were born on this day 🎉 jj wasn't, i guess. but happy birthday to him

jj.friar31: @/blakefriarr_ thanks for pissing off 2/3 of the hughes' i needed that

→ blakefriarr_: you're welcome it was your birthday gift

→ blakefriarr_: but just cause i'm butthurt i'll leave you with the thought that ellen would probably like me better

nicohischier: happy birthday to you and jj, thank you for calling me something normal

→ blakefriarr_: kinda weird that you don't find cap normal do you have something to share with the class

→ nicohischier: no i am 24 and i do not attend class

dougieham: i would never in a million years have thought you two were twins before your first post i actually just assumed you'd hid behind him until you got to meet us and that there was no correlation

→ blakefriarr_: is it cause i am really cool and he is just jj

→ dougieham: no.

→ dougieham: well actually sort of

→ blakefriarr_: aw thanks dougie

→ dougieham: i said sort of

ryangraves27: my head made it into this one

→ blakefriarr_: i can't tell what tone of voice this was meant to be read in

→ blakefriarr_: like are you sad?? thrilled?? terrified?? should i crop you out next time?? emote please

→ ryangraves27: i think i will not

→ blakefriarr_: this comment made me call my therapist

→ jj.friar31: thanks man she needed this

→ blakefriarr_: remember when both of the gifts had my name on them and nobody was shocked and the first one was money and things i was actually interested in and the second one was a propane torch that nobody will ever use unironically (remember which one was meant for you?)

→ jj.friar31: while ur on the phone with her can you make me an appointment too

→ blakefriarr_: she made it right before mine in case you need more time.

→ jesperbratt: you're joking about the gift thing... right?

→ blakefriarr_: they paid his college tuition

→ jj.friar31: they paid for part of your car

→ blakefriarr_: i drive an '11 civic and the check engine light has been on for a year and a half

→ jj.friar31: they pay for your apartment

→ blakefriarr_: we live together???

→ jj.friar31: that is definitely a point

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[messed-up-stargazer]

Political Rant Incoming

I’m not usually one to talk about my own personal politics but after today. I cant keep this inside. If you’re looking for something positive, resources to help people, this is not the place. I am angry, I’m feeling hopeless,and I need to let it out in order to be strong again.

If you are not President Biden, then you can skip this if you need to. Or stay, I don’t really care. We need to take care of our mental health to prepare, so make the right choice for yourself.

Note: nothing in this letter is threatening, secret service. Not only am I against violence in itself, but I wouldn’t be stupid enough to post my threats to the actual president on a fucking tumblr post. I’m not like the fucking rioters who posted all about them invading the capital like the fucking traitors they are. They can protest that name, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

Dear President Biden:

You’ve damned us. You’ve damned this country. You made a promise to this country and you betrayed us. Your ego was more important than every single person in this country, every man, woman, genderqueer person, every single one of us. You promised us you would be a one term president. You promised us. We didn’t want you, but we sucked it up for the country because you won the primary for reasons I don’t even know at this point. you appealed to old people, and they’re the most consistent voting block, because they’ve got nothing else to fucking do. So we voted you in in order to save our country. And look what you’ve done to us.

Every trans person’s death that comes from his presidency is on your soul. Every family that dies from poverty, every woman who loses everything or even dies from the lack of abortion services, every Palestinian’s death, they’re going to stain your soul and send you down to Hell, Mr. President. You have damned this country, you have damned the world, and while I don’t believe in Hell, you fucking do and you’re fucking going there. You failed the world, Mr. President. Not just Americans, but the world. The world was watching as we just did the stupidest thing in our country’s history, and it’s all because of you.

You may be saying Star, I wasn’t even the nominee. How could I be responsible for so many deaths that he is going to cause with his disastrous policies? Let me tell you. You didn’t give the country a chance. While I liked Kamala Harris’s policies, you forced her onto the country. She needed to run her own race. It is entirely, 100% your fault that we didn’t have an actual primary because you decided to break your promise. We could’ve chosen someone who had a much better shot at winning than the Black, Indian woman. I wanted so badly for her to win, it’s about fucking time that a woman be elected president, but she was never going to convince the moderate republicans just because she’s all three of those things. They do not think women can run the country, and as much as they’re wrong, we needed them to sit out or vote for us. And you didn’t give anyone else the chance to be a better candidate for them. Because as much as we hate it, because of the goddamn electoral college, we need to get the moderates on our side, because the moderates decide elections. The people who don’t pay attention to politics, the people who don’t remember what the last administration was like, they decided the election. And you didn’t give us a chance to win those people older.

You never should’ve ran for a second term. It was your ego, your desire for power that had you thinking you could run again, after you promised you wouldn’t! You’re already the oldest president we’ve ever had, we can see you declining, we could see it for years, and you still fucking ran again! It was your choice and your choice alone. Every harm that is felt during the next administration is going to be entirely on you. I hope you feel every death, every sob of the people who are forced to become homeless, every scream as a child has to carry her rapists baby to term, every soul as despair sets in when they realize they don’t have enough money to live because of the inevitable recession he’s going to cause. Because you are the reason it will happen. There is no one else to blame but you. You stayed far too long in the race, and then to add insult to injury, right at the end, you pulled a fucking “basket of deplorables”. You tripped the country at the finish line, and every hurt that comes from the injuries that our country, that our world endures is on you. You made choice after choice, and you’ve damned us!

I won’t say I hated the Biden administration. Some of what you did was great, some of what you did was really progressive. And it’s all ruined now because he’s going to undo every single thing, just like he did with Obama. Every good thing you did for the country will now be erased and you will have no lasting positive legacy on this country. Your legacy will forever be “he gave us a second trump term.” When history books write about you, they will treat you like Neville Chamberlain. As a failure. As a weakling. Except you’ll also be labeled egoistic and maybe even narcissistic because you refused to put your ego aside and let the democratic voters choose a candidate we wanted.

Since I know you’re Catholic, when you die (which I hope isn’t soon, I could never wish death on anyone truly) you believe you’ll meet God. When he shows you your lasting legacy of pain and devastation and he asks you, “why didn’t you keep your promise to the people of America and step down gracefully? Why did you run again and not give the American people a chance? You knew how dangerous he was, how dangerous his policies would be.” I doubt your answer of “I still wanted to be president.” Will be good enough for him!

Signed,

A lesbian who is absolutely terrified of what’s going to happen to her and her country

PS- And to those of you who voted for Russian plant Jill Stein (seen with fucking Putin, no regular American citizen is ever seen with him!) you did exactly as Russia wanted you to. You did exactly what we said you would. We told you if you voted for Jill Stein, the votes would go to trump, and we were right. Especially those of you who live in swing states. For all of you single issue voters who claimed that you couldn’t vote for Kamala because of Palestine, I hope you can live with what you’ve done because he’s said he wants to wipe Palestine off the map. He wants to put his hotels and golf courses on Palestinian land, and when he starts selling weapons to Israel again, as he said he would!, they’re going to give him the opportunity to do just that. And their blood will be on your hands too. I hope that moral superiority feels good now. I hope you fucking choke on it.