#Trying out the “new” indicator for this week to see how it goes

[somegrumpynerd]

Time for a new toy!

Tube won by a pretty big landslide, so tomorrow there'll be a cardboard tube in the garden!

So that means..

(Note: I changed the paper option to pages just to make it less confusing now that paper bag is an option, it still attracts the same cat though!)

[motimatcha]

miss you

hazbin hotel Adam x fem!reader

what happens to Adam when you go away for a long time?

Adam really depends on how much attention you give him. As a man who was abandoned by two wives for a "duck" and as a man who was clearly abandoned in subsequent relationships (which most likely were), your attention and confirmation that you are not going anywhere is very important to him.

Adam will probably never admit it, but he gets very worried if he doesn't see you for most of his day. Moreover, you don’t have to have any contact with each other, if Adam just sees you a couple of times a day and you pay your attention to him, he will be more than calm.

And therefore, the information that you will have to leave heaven for two whole weeks, just because you need to start teaching people on the true path, on the righteous path, did not make him happy at all. Most likely, there was a whole scene where Adam tried, if not to beg you to stay, then at least to go with you. He was ultimately not allowed.

Adam, of course, accompanies you (along with Lute, to whom you give instructions on how to deal with your man). He wants to enjoy his last moments with you before the long days of waiting for your return begin. His hands never stop touching your body: constantly holding your hand, intertwining your fingers, putting his hand on your waist, touching your wings, stroking your hair, kissing and all that - he wants to remember the feeling of your body, taste and voice for the entire time while you're gone.

It holds up relatively well. At first. Over time, it becomes noticeable to everyone how his character is deteriorating, it becomes even worse until the moment of your relationship, which is an indicator and a wake-up call for other angels. Everything reminded him of you, especially being in your common home (not surprising): your things, photographs, smell. Adam, at first, even out of habit, sets the table for two, before remembering that you are temporarily absent. Your portion goes to Lute, who feels awkward.

Perhaps the climax was when Adam decided to take up his work as the leader of the exorcists. He needed at least something to prevent obsessive thoughts from entering his head, and due to the fact that the seraphim refused to provide him with any information about you, these thoughts visit him quite often. Adam locks himself in his office and finally touches the papers and documents that required his attention.

He spends his time working from early morning until late evening, sometimes simply spending the night in his office. Adam becomes nervous, tense and angry with every matter that he cannot solve due to his hot-tempered nature, since some decisions required a sensitive attitude and could not be solved with a snap of his fingers. Usually he asked for your help or advice, but due to your absence, he had to turn to Lute, who was also not known for her kindness and gentleness of character.

Adam begins to get annoyed by other angels, especially the happy angels or couples that he meets here and there. "Why are they so happy?" — flashes through his head, or: “Everyone is deliberately getting on my nerves?!”. At some point, Adam breaks down. This probably happened in his office, when some angel handed him a new stack of documents and raised the topic of your absence.

Lute, who was returning to Adam’s office, found a picture of a frightened angel lying on the floor, and Adam bending over him and almost growling at him to get out. After this incident, the angels try to tiptoe around Adam, not look in his direction and not breathe, and God is a witness to whoever upsets Adam’s fragile mental balance. From now on, all matters are transferred personally to Lute, so that she can take everything to Adam.

The angels begin to mentally count the days until your return so that this nightmare ends.

At the end of the last day, when the sky turned a shade of scarlet, as if bursting into flame, a golden portal opened in the sky testified that the angels sent to earth were returning. The rising wind pulled the curly clouds inward, which is why at first it was impossible to say for sure which of the angels appeared in heaven first.

Lute stood in the front row among those awaiting the return of their loved ones. It would be more accurate to say that she was floating almost a couple of meters from the portal, which was slowly distorting space to create a stable corridor between two dimensions. She needed to meet with you as soon as possible while Adam is in a meeting where he is 100% likely to be reprimanded for his behavior over the past two weeks.

— Lute? — sincere surprise is heard in your voice when you leave the portal and see her, and not Adam. — And where?..

— It’s because of him that we need to hurry.

Lute extends his hand to you, which you immediately take. The angel exorcist pulls you along, causing you to jerk forward sharply at first, but in time you begin to flap your own wings, trying to keep up with the girl.

During these two weeks among people, you forgot how powerful exorcist angels are.

You can't help but notice how some angels accompany you with looks of encouragement, looks of relief. You can only wonder what this is connected with, but Adam will definitely be the main figure in this matter. It was suspiciously quiet in parliament, only the rustling of papers, the fluttering of wings, and barely audible whispers coming from the offices behind the high doors. Initially, it was suspicious that Lute brought you here, and not to your home or Adam’s home, and only when approaching his office did you clearly see this certain line, an exclusion zone, where there is not a single ascended soul except you and Lute.

— Adam is now at a meeting, — Lute informs you and, taking out the keys, opens the door to the office, — Please wait for him here.

Lute's voice was full of unspoken pleas and a little panic, as if something terrible would happen if you left. Perhaps Lute’s fears were not so far from the truth, because who knows what Adam will do if he doesn’t see you today; he already missed the opportunity to meet you first. Lute leaves, apparently after Adam, so that he does not waste his time searching for you near the portal to Earth.

Adam's office greets you with darkness, illuminated by light from the crack under the door. The room is hot and stuffy, and there is a sour taste; you doubt that Adam ventilated his own office or did it very rarely. The room was surprisingly tidy and the mountain of documents that was on the table during your last visit was missing, indicating that there was work. Having spread your wings, you fly up to the thickly curtained window to not only let the light of the setting sun into the room, but also to give way to the fresh evening air.

Fingers pull the string and the curtains part to the sides, raising clouds of dust from the windowsill. It immediately becomes lighter, warmer and more comfortable, even a certain atmosphere of romance and mystery creeps in. You pull the handles of the windows, allowing them to creak open and immediately a cool breeze slid over your body, ruffling your hair and feathers of your wings. Until Adam's hot hands touched your waist.

— Hi Adam, — you say and turn in his arms so you’re face to face. — Well, what have you already done?

Adam's grip only became stronger on your waist, but not yet so pressing as to cut off your access to oxygen. Adam, like a cat or dog that was starving for the attention of its beloved owner, wanted to be as close to you as possible, to occupy all your thoughts - a selfish desire to be your only priority. His hand takes your wrist to bring it to his face and rub against your palm, tickling the sensitive skin with the stubble that has begun to grow. Adam looked really tired, as evidenced not only by the dark circles under his eyes, but also by his slow, inhibited actions.

— Sweet tits, who do you even think I am?.. And in general, I really missed my beauty, who left her beloved guy for two weeks. Do you know how I suffered for you?

Looking around his office again and remembering the looks that accompanied you from the other angels, you could imagine the scale of the tragedy that Adam caused every day. And it was honestly and sincerely funny, even a little sweet; a laugh escapes your lips, causing Adam to smile as well before scooping you up in his arms and turning to face his desk, setting you down on the dark wooden surface.

— Next time I’ll go with you, wherever it may be, — Adam promised you with a threat, and then his smile turns from gentle to anticipatory. The fingers on your sides dig deeper into your skin and pull you towards the edge of the table, causing you to wrap your legs around his body and feel his growing erection. — And now you have to take care of the fact that you abandoned me for two weeks.

[bleedingoptimism]

Steve likes to watch youtube videos of a guy who restores old consoles. It soothing to him, it relaxes him. He likes watching how he restores them, fixes them, makes them look brand new.

He also enjoys watching him work for… other reasons. Weirdly, he thinks the guy is kind of hot, even if he never shows his face. He looks fit, with the way his shirts stretch over his chest and are loose on his tiny waist and he’s always wearing cool belts, black leather with studs or chains. He likes the way he moves around, manic and a little clumsy but incredibly precise when necessary.

Steve especially likes watching his hands, thick strong fingers, bony wrists, noticeable veins, and short clean nails that sometimes have chipped black polish adorning them.

He sometimes thinks about those hands when he's alone, but, well… no one needs to know about that.

🎮🤲💖

Eddie has a fairly popular youtube channel… And a huge crush on his next-door neighbor. He simply cannot decide if the dude is cutter than hot or vice-versa.

'He sure is nice, though,' he thinks, when one day he gets a large package of replacement parts that he’s struggling to get inside and the guy walks up to him, asks if he needs any help, and takes the heaviest box with no effort at all.

He says his name is Steve and then stares at Eddie's hand for a really long time when Eddie extends it for him to shake after getting the boxes inside his studio.

He hears Steve’s little 'oh', under his breath and then sees him blush prettily before mumbling ‘He needs to go, now.' And stumbling out of Eddie’s place.

Eddie chuckles to himself as he watches him leave, definitely cute AND hot in equal parts.

🎮🤲💖

A few weeks later Steve's mom tells him she needs help getting rid of some of his nonno's old things and he finds a LOT of cool stuff that look just like the ones Eddie restores on his channel.

He and Eddie have been slowly getting friendlier over these last couple of weeks and he’s been dying to have an excuse to talk to him more, so he takes the items home and then goes to Eddie's and very nervously tries to offer them to him but doesn't know how to explain he knows he's a youtuber without looking like a weirdo because Eddie’s never shown his face.

He stumbles and blushes a lot, barely making any sense and Eddie mistakenly thinks he's trying to ask him out and says, 

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Smiling and hiding his dimples behind a lock of hair he's been playing with since the moment Steve started stuttering.

Steve completely forgets what he was trying to say or do and says he'll pick him out at 6.

The date is amazing, it feels like they are meant to be. They get along so well, talking, laughing, and already making fun of each other as if they’re old friends. And they are definitely attracted to one another. If the way Eddie practically tackles Steve with his rush to get his mouth on him when they get back, it’s any indication.  

Steve is very on board with this and he enthusiastically kisses him back. They kiss desperately as he fumbles with his door handle to get it open. When he succeeds, he walks them backward into his place not wanting to stop kissing Eddie, but stumbles and falls flat on his ass.

When Eddie turns on the light he sees Steve sprawled on top of a bunch of boxes full of old technology. A lot of emotions go through his face, ‘he’s so expressive’ Steve thinks a little enamored, having still not realized how much trouble he’s in.

But Eddie looks confused, then shocked and scared, and finally, angry,

"Steve, what the fuck?"

‘Oh, shit…’

“I can explain!” he says immediately, standing up and walking toward Eddie as he backs away,

“I didn’t want to ask you out-” Steve starts but interrupts himself when Eddie huffs, turns, and starts walking towards his own apartment, “Shit, fuck! No- That’s not what I meant, Eddie! Wait-”

He turns again and glares at Steve but then his eyes go wide, “Steve,”

“Please, let me explain-”

“Steve-”

“I did- do! Want to ask you out! I like yo-”

“Steve!” Eddie screams and Steve stops, shocked, and finally focuses. Eddie is staring at him and he’s so pale even his freckles have changed color. But no, wait. He’s not staring at him, he’s staring at his arm and Steve looks down to see… a lot of blood.

“Oh,” he says faintly. He must have cut himself on a sharp edge when he fell. Too worried about Eddie, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, but now that he’s seeing the cut, it fucking hurts.

“Oh,” he says again, realizing he’s feeling kind of dizzy, ‘that's way too much blood,’ he thinks.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie huffs, takes off his flannel shirt and wrapping it around Steve's arm, he pulls Steve by his other hand toward his van.

“Oh no, your cute shirt,” he mumbles and hears Eddie snort before he slams the door of the passenger seat and goes to the driver’s one.

They go to the hospital in silence. It's tense. Steve tries to explain himself but Eddie shuts him up harshly, tells him to save his energy.

Even so, when they get there, Eddie still holds him gently by his good arm as he helps him inside. He tells the nurse what happened because Steve is having a hard time focusing right now and then tells him he’ll wait outside for him.

He gets stitches and a tetanus shot just in case because he doesn't remember when was the last time he got one and gets weird looks when he refuses painkillers, but no arguments. He’s given a little juice box and is told he can't get up until he finishes it.

A few seconds after the nurse leaves, the door opens and Eddie walks in. Steve looks up and smiles at him, but Eddie doesn’t smile back and Steve shrinks a little on himself.

Eddie sits on the chair facing the overbed table Steve is perched on and sighs, moving his hand in little circles motioning like, ‘Well go on. Explain yourself’

Steve looks around the room and thinks about where to start. He can't look Eddie in the eye, so he stares at the little juice box in his hands. It's got a cartoon orange in the front. The drawing it’s awful and kind of scary.

Taking a deep breath, he starts, “I've been watching your videos for a long time now. I have- I am- I-”

He fumbles for what to say, even if this date is already ruined…it's not exactly a good first date topic, is it? How fucked up he’s inside.

In a flash, images of his father’s violence, running from home with his mom, going to live with his nonno, taking care of him as he slowly lost his mind with age while his mom worked her ass off to feed them, getting cheated on, losing his “friends” because he didn't want to bully freshmen, working as a babysitter and getting almost beat up to death by his kid’s stepbrother… he shakes his head and shrugs,

“I've been through some…stuff” is what he says in the end, looking up at Eddie. He doesn't look mad anymore, his expressive eyes look concerned. Steve worries about what was it Eddie saw in his own expression, but it surprises him how easily he read him. He’s usually so good at hiding it. 

He breathes in again and keeps going, “Your videos, they calm me down when I've, sometimes I get anxious and-” he clears his throat, again, not wanting to tell Eddie about the panic attacks, the nightmares.

But it seems he doesn't have to, Eddie looks at him like he gets it.

It makes Steve want to keep talking, “Watching you work, seeing you fix things, leave them like new, no sca- marks, no problems, just working again and beautifully clean. It makes me feel better.” 

Eddie gives him a small smile and Steve returns it, “I really like your hands…” he blurts out and then closes his mouth quickly, blushing furiously.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and then he smirks and stands up slowly walking up to him and taking Steve’s hands on his own, they both stare at their joined hands for a while, the touch feather-like and soft.

“You recognized me because of my hands?” Eddie asks him a little incredulous.

Steve giggles, “I saw the logo for your channel on your studio that day I helped you with the boxes,” he clarifies sheepishly.

Eddie blushes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘oh,’

Steve draws small circles on Eddie's knuckles with his thumbs, “When I came over today, I was just trying to offer you those stuff at my place, they were my grandfather's” he explains, “I didn’t know how to say I knew who you were without looking like a weirdo and I got nervous and you thought I was going to ask you out and I wasn’t planning to but you are so beautiful I-

Eddie kisses his cheek and Steve shuts up and looks at him surprised,

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Eddie says, “I thought- I don’t know what I thought- I was just upset you didn’t actually like me.” 

And Steve immediately answers, “I like you” a little too excitedly.

Eddie smiles at him so warmly it makes his heart rate pick up, “Good. I like you too.”

He blushes and looks down at their hands again unsure, ���Do you really? Even tho I’m…”

“What?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

“Broken?” Steve whispers.

Eddie hums and drops his hands to hold his face, “Not broken, baby” he says lovingly and kisses the crease between Steve’s brows, the top of his eyelid, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. Then hugs him and Steve buries his face on Eddie's neck, and breathes him in.

A minute goes by or an hour, Steve is not sure, and Eddie leans back enough to kiss him again softly and whispers, “Some things don't need to be fixed Steve, just held.” 

𝒻𝒾𝓃

coffee? a hug? ☕🥐💕

[funkyplantguy]

grian gets saved by hotguy and then pines over him <3

so this "au" (if you can even call it that when it exists exclusively in my brain and now in this ask) is mostly crack and comes from me joking around a couple days ago with some friends so...don't take it too seriously. that being said...

-

you have (3) new comments! view now?

click.

areeongreenday: hey! so this is insane.

click.

h0tguysnumber0n3fan: i guess i kind of understand where you're coming from with this - scar goodman and hotguy do share a similar sense of humor, and i sort of see what you're saying at 47:03 when you compared their voices (more specifically, the inflection they use on specific words) but...i guess i'm having a hard time imagining scar as a superhero. don't get me wrong - he's plenty cool, but...didn't he say that he's a full-time content creator now? i don't know that he'd really have the time to record, edit, and post videos on top of saving the city on a near-daily basis. interesting theory, though! admire the dedication.

click.

scargoodman: ;)

and there it was, taunting him - that damn winky face, yet again, commented nearly instantaneously each time grian uploaded a new video about the man itself. scar goodman - known to many as the man who had risen to sudden fame in the video essayist community with his charming good looks and boisterous personality. scar goodman, whom grian suspected was secretly none other than the city's beloved superhero. after all, they'd both made their debuts within a week of each other and shared not only a similar path of success but a similar sense of humor, a similar speaking style, a similar body type, a similar laugh...sure, there were things that didn't quite line up, but...for the most part, they appeared to be the exact same person.

okay - maybe grian was a little obsessed. but what was he supposed to do, not point out the obvious?

what made matters worse was that nobody seemed to believe him. no matter how many videos he posted, no matter how much proof he gave...nobody was willing to hear him out.

nobody except scar goodman himself, who seemed intent to drive him absolutely insane.

grian grumbled something to himself, pocketing his phone and continuing down the long, narrow sidewalk to his apartment complex. he'd lost track of time at work yet again, and as a result, the sun had long set. this wasn't unusual for him - he often opted to remain late in the office to "finish up a few things" (ie take advantage of the functional wifi his workplace offered instead of trying to upload videos on his crummy home network), so he was...fairly comfortable tracing the path back to his apartment in the dark of night. the street lights in this part of town didn't work exceptionally well, but with the familiarity of it all and the dull light of the moon, grian typically fared well enough.

tonight, however...well, call him paranoid, but...something felt...off. something about the way all the buildings around him were dark, indicating that their inhabitants were either asleep or out (and entirely unreachable if grian were to call for help). something about the absence of the various stray cats that he often crossed paths with. something about how the complete and utter silence made his ears ring.

"aw, what's this? a cute guy? well, pretty boy, you've just entered the wrong part of town at the wrong time. unfortunately, loose lips sink ships, or...uh...however the saying goes, so...sorry, i can't let you leave this visit alive."

before grian could even register the words being spoken (where were they even coming from?? above him? below him? behind him? everywhere, all at once?), he felt hands gripping the back of his shirt. in another moment, he was on the ground, his breath clawing its way out of his chest. above him stood a figure, shrouded in darkness and the billowing, starry cape draped across their shoulders. in their hands was something glinting, something sharp, something deadly -- something that grian's frazzled, spinning mind was unable to put a name to. or maybe it refused to - refused to name the tool that would be his doom. maybe it was better that way, he mused idly, as the figure raised it high above their head. maybe it was best to not know.

"hey! there you are - what did i say about running off?"

and just as quickly as he'd accepted his death, the threat of it was gone, vanquished by the appearance of the tall, costumed man on the rooftop adjacent. grian felt his breath return to his chest in one fell swoop, filling his lungs and sending a wave of sensitivity to his throat. he coughed, hard, tears welling helplessly in his eyes, and the newcomer's attention snapped to him in an instant.

"oh - and you've made a friend! how nice. unfortunately, there are no plus ones in prison."

"hotguy," grian's would-be murderer snarled. "i thought i'd lost you."

"nah. i may have gotten lost, sure. but you didn't lose me. there's a difference."

"you'll wish that i'd lost you when i'm through with you."

"oh, that was lame!" the man cried, hopping over the low rooftop wall and landing neatly on the ground below (how he did it, even grian wasn't sure. by all intents and purposes, his legs shouldn't have that level of shock absorption, even if he had been fed some chemical cocktail by a mad scientist at a young age as he boasted). "listen - we've got to get you a better catchphrase."

hotguy strode forward, his eyes glinting behind his tinted visor. he glanced to grian out of the corner of his eye, then back to the villain - then back to grian again, his mouth going slack in surprise. grian met his gaze - took in his appearance - and let out a bark of laughter, one not missed by either scar goodman or the cloaked figure in front of him. scar returned his laughter, throwing his head back and planting his hands firmly on his hips.

"well, what a coincidence," he giggled, after a moment. "my new catchphrase just so happens to be "subscribe to my youtube channel."

"what?" their third demanded, glancing between the two. "what are you talking about?"

"oh my god. there's no way. there's no way. how - how am i the only one who knows? how am i the only one who suspects?? it's obvious - it's so obvious."

"what's obvious?"

"i know, right? i make it as obvious as possible, and still...still, nobody puts two and two together. well...nobody except for you, apparently. i guess that you're just...special."

"why don't you just come out and say it?" grian mused, propping himself up on his elbows and ignoring the sputtering from their newly acquired third wheel. "i feel like if you said it - either as scar goodman or hotguy - people would have to believe it, no?"

a strange look came over hotguy's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"ah...i don't think that would change anything. plus, i have this thing with this cute guy where he tries to tell everyone my identity and i egg him on to get him to make more silly videos. i would hate to give that up."

he winked, and grian felt warmth climb his cheeks. gone was the fear, gone was the panic, gone was the darkness and the creeping, crawling sense of unease - instead, there was only curiosity, burning brightly in his chest. he wanted to talk to scar - hotguy - for hours, wanted to pull the object of his obsession apart to see what made him tick, then put him back together again, just to see what would happen. he wanted to get to know who hotguy was underneath the suit - and who scar goodman was with the suit. he'd wanted (he'd wanted for so long) and it felt like maybe...just maybe...he'd get to have.

"hey! what the hell is going on?"

"oh, right," hotguy chuckled, turning his attention to the third member of their party. "sorry - didn't mean to ignore you. here - sit tight, for real this time. the police will be here soon."

"dude, i'm just going to leave again. do you really not have handcuffs or something?"

"who needs handcuffs when you have a cub to design fancy gadgets for you?"

"a...a what?" the figure asked, then yelped, startled, as something exploded out of the cuff on hotguy's wrist. a net, affixing itself neatly to their body, wrapping them up in a cocoon of their own folly. grian stared at it, humming in approval.

"nice."

"thank you! it's new."

"i know."

"i bet you do," scar responded, and grian flushed further at the teasing edge his tone took on. "i bet you know almost everything about me, at this point. obsessed, much?"

"i could say the same," grian huffed back, pulling himself to his feet and brushing off his jeans (there was a rip in one leg, now, he noticed with a frown). "you recognized me, like, immediately. it's pretty dark out, too - sounds like you're the one obsessed."

"what can i say - you're pretty and smart. i happen to like my men pretty and smart."

grian sputtered incoherently in response, all confidence gone out the window. oh god - he was even more charismatic in person, even in costume. and god, was the costume more attractive in person, as well - baggy cargo pants and a tight, fitted top that exposed his tanned midriff. not the most tactical, sure - but damn was it hot.

"you can't say that," he moaned, covering his reddened cheeks with his hands. "oh my god. i hate you. i've known you for five minutes and i already hate you."

"sure you do," scar responded, grinning. "i - oh, hold on."

he raised his hand and tapped the earpiece affixed to the side of his head, concentrating. after a moment, he sighed - and for just a second, grian thought that his shoulders drooped in exhaustion. as quickly as they sagged, however, scar was straightening, turning back to grian with an easy smile.

"sorry, handsome, duty calls. are you alright to get back home on your own? i doubt this guy will be giving you any more trouble. those nets are pretty sturdy."

"wait!" grian sputtered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest (no, no, he couldn't let scar slip through his fingers, not now, not when he was finally so close). "don't go - i...can i see you again?"

scar's smile wobbled around the edges, and any panic grian felt was replaced with guilty - heavy and suffocating (though he wasn't sure why)

"ah...isn't it more fun, this way? don't you like the chase? isn't that exhilaration enough for your pretty little head?"

"i mean...it's a fun hobby, yeah, but -,"

"then we'll stick to the status quo. after all, i'd hate to rob you of your favorite hobby. goodnight, grian. can't wait for your next video."

and with a wink, he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows so quickly grian could have sworn he was made of them. and grian...well. he had an apartment to get home to, a cat to feed...and a chase to continue. and maybe, someday, if he was fast enough...he'd catch up.

[capseycartwright]

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins)

Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.

Eddie couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he thought the words. If he couldn’t be a bit silly while having a sexuality crisis in a Catholic church – when could he? 

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight.

ao3 link

t’s been a long time since Eddie Diaz had set foot in a church – of his own accord, at least. He’d been to the christenings and communions and confirmations of all of his various nieces, nephews, and cousins, he’d sat stiff in the pew as he’d watched friends, and family get married, trying his best not to remember how own wedding day, the way Shannon’s hands had shaken in his grip as they promised to love each other until death do them part, both of them young, too young to understand the covenant they were signing up to. Eddie had been there, for all those occasions, but he hadn’t gone to mass, or even sat in a church, just because he wanted to in a very long time. 

He wasn’t even really sure if he wanted to be there today, but it was a Thursday, and Christopher was in Texas, and Eddie wasn’t working, and he’d been having an extended mental breakdown for the last few weeks, and before he knew it, he was sitting in the pew of St Brendan’s Catholic Church, listening to a softly spoken priest with an Irish lilt to his accent – faded, after years in America, Eddie presumed, but still there, noticeable in the inflection of certain words – recite the Our Father. 

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but it felt like every other church he’d been to in his life. They didn’t all look the same, necessarily, though they followed the same format, rows of uncomfortable wooden pews and an altar decorated in gold, as opulent as it was suffocating. Eddie had thought it beautiful, before, the way Catholic churches were decorated in gold and jewels, believing for so much of his life that the wealth honoured God – but living life had made him learn the grandeur and displays of wealth were nothing more than indicative of the wealth the Catholic church had hoarded while their devout followers starved, all in the name of faith and of God. True faith didn’t need to be gilded in gold to be sincere, he’d decided.

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but mass was the same. It didn’t change – though the wording of some of the prayers did. He’d sort of been checked out of being a regular churchgoer by time they had changed some of the prayers, only discovering the difference when he confidently started to recite it wrong at his youngest niece’s communion, his mother fixing him with a glare so icy hell might have frozen over under the power of Helena Diaz’s gaze alone. He’d never learned the new ones, not really, and so Eddie just recited the one’s he’d learned for his own confirmation, the words falling from his lips, muscle memory more than it was faith now. 

Our father, who art in heaven – hallowed be thy name . 

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, a little, as he murmured the prayer. Hallowed be thy name. He knew the prayer talked about God, their holy father, but the prayer had always made him think of his own father, of the way Ramon Diaz was a hallowed man in his own right, how he parented with an iron fist and expected to be obeyed. 

Things were getting better now, with his dad. Maybe – maybe that was part of the fear. Eddie had always been afraid of letting people down, but more than anyone, he was afraid of letting his father down – of seeing that look of disappointment set into every crease of his father’s face, an expression he’d been on the receiving end of for more of his childhood than he’d like to admit. Eddie had tried so hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of that look again, but nothing he had ever done was good enough – not marrying Shannon, not the way he had tried to take responsibility for his young family, not the army, not the man he had been when he’d come home from Afghanistan. 

Distance had lessened the number of disappointed looks, but Eddie knew that was because he was simply not seeing them anymore; he was sure his father sometimes frowned at the phone when they’d finally call, silted conversation about Christopher and life at the firehouse the best either of them could muster. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better. 

At least it had been, until his parents had taken Christopher with them to Texas. It hadn’t helped their relationship – but it hadn’t hindered it as much as Eddie had expected either. He was never going to thank them, for the way they had swooped in, ready to take Christopher at a moment’s notice, but he could thank them for giving his son the space that he needed to process. Eddie couldn’t give him that space, right now, but he was grateful someone could. Still – he would be ready to drive to Texas at the drop of a hat when Christopher decided he was ready to come home.

Things were getting better, that was the thing. His dad called, every night, to update Eddie on Christopher’s day. Eddie could hear the familiar sounds of the Diaz backyard as his dad softly spoke, telling Eddie about how Christopher had been to the lake, with his cousins, and how he’d finished another book, and how he was helping Helena to make dinner, right then. It had filled the gap until Christopher had started to call Eddie himself, his voice tinny as he mumbled over the phone, things not quite back to normal, Christopher not willing to talk to him about anything except Marvel and Minecraft and how abuela’s tamales were better than Eddie’s, but better than they were, at least. 

Every time they were on the phone, Eddie reassured his parents that he was working on himself. He was back seeing Frank, every week, and at Frank’s encouragement, he’d joined a veteran’s support group. Eddie wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect military veteran he assumed he needed to be, to join a veteran support group, but the rag-tag group that met at his community hall every month weren’t exactly the flag-wearing, gun-toting veterans he’d expected them to be. James was a 63-year-old man from Massachusetts who ran the group – he had moved out to LA to live with his daughter after he retired and referred to himself delightedly as a stay-at-home grandfather. Luisa was a vet around Eddie’s own age, and she’d gone back to university after she got out of the army and got a fine arts degree. She liked to paint, and talked about her wife with a reverence and openness that Eddie could only admire. 

He hadn’t said a word the first time he went, and Buck had sat in the Jeep in the carpark, a ready-made escape plan for Eddie in case he decided it was all too much. Eddie had sat quietly as the group had chatted, drinking tea and coffee out of flimsy paper cups, and eating homemade biscuits – made by James, who, as it turned out, was quite the prolific baker – and he’d watched. He’d watched as the group had talked about their bad days, and their good days, and how they were coping with life after the military, and not a single glorious war-story was exchanged. 

That was when Eddie knew it was safe to keep going. He was never going to be a man who was proud of his service, and he didn’t want to have to attend a support group of people who’d talk about their time in the military like it was the good old days. He had spoken a little more, the second time he went – Buck doing his groceries, two streets away, rather than sitting in the carpark – and he’d introduced himself, his voice gruff as he tried to figure out what version of Eddie he wanted to present to the world. 

Eddie was still figuring that part out – the version of himself he wanted to be, that is. 

He was figuring himself out. That was the point. He was trying, he was really trying – and people could see that, Eddie was sure. His parents said they could, at least.

Which was why he was here – in a church not dissimilar to the one he’d attended every Sunday in El Paso growing up – on his knees, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he actually believed in for guidance. 

read the rest on ao3

[eddywoww]

Listen

Steve as a frat boy who would obviously clearly very much never look at another boy and he has a crush on this girl who’s bi and Robin is like yeah I don’t think you’re her type at all but Steve is Steve and he keeps trying to charm her and it isn’t working, so he’s like hey Robin can I please come to your queer alliance meeting bc she’s gonna be there and I want to show her I’m an ally

And Robin is like I Don’t Think That’s What Being An Ally Is, Steve. With the blandest look on her face but she lets him come with her anyway because she thinks it could be entertaining and god knows watching Steve strike out is FUNNY

so Steve goes to a little introduction night for new members with her and he meets the “board” and their president is this like, guy. This guy who is unfortunately pretty in a way that Steve isn’t used to. And he wears all these rings and eyeliner and he’s so loud and boisterous and funny and Steve can see the girl HE likes watching THIS fucking guy and he just deflates because like yeah, of course. Of course Steve isn’t interesting enough here at college. He’s just like every other frat guy in existence and he doesn’t even know how to step out of his carefully constructed comfort zone

Cut to Steve holding a grudge against Eddie but still coming to events. Standing around with his arms crossed, all grumpy and pissed off because the girl he likes won’t even look at him and of course she’s always watching Eddie because everyone is always watching Eddie

And then one day Eddie confronts him but it’s not actually a confrontation. He just walks up to him at a party and goes “You know I’m gay, right? Like gay-gay. Like very into men, not into *insert girls name here*” and Steve is stunned and doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything. No. He panics and runs out of the party and avoids Eddie for an entire week.

A week of over thinking. Because Eddie is gay. Which shouldn’t be shocking but Steve hadn’t been paying attention at their intros, he’d been too distracted by the stupid eyeliner. Which should have been an indication in the first place, really. He starts thinking about Eddie and then he can’t stop thinking about Eddie.

Until Robin invites Steve out to a nightclub and she’s being shady about it but Steve doesn’t even ask because he’s too stressed about his own thoughts to even realize but then he gets to her dorm and several people are there and one of those people is Eddie and he’s getting ready, laughing with all these girls and- and he offers to put eyeliner on Steve. Gets him up on the tiny bathroom counter with the door closed, the girls listening to music and shouting just beyond. And Eddie makes him stay very still, pencils the eyeliners on with gentle hands. Smiling at Steve, close enough to smell his cologne.

“Didn’t think you’d go for this,” Eddie says, quirking the funniest smile at Steve. It feels like a challenge, so-

“I’m very adventurous,” Steve says without thinking. Eyes blinking open a moment later to Eddie smirking at him. “That’s not- I didn’t mean-“

“Oh no, go on. How adventurous are you, Stevie?” Eddie asks, recapping his pencil. “Adventurous enough to stop being weird around me?”

“I’m not weird around you,” Is what Steve chooses to say. With all the air of a cornered animal, panicking for zero reason. Eddie raises an eyebrow and Steve deflates. “I’m not. You just- you intimidate me. That’s all.”

Eddie looks surprised, shocked maybe.

“And why’s that?” He asks. And it sucks because then Steve starts spilling his guts out to Eddie, right there in Robins tiny bathroom.

“You’re just- you’re confident and you wear these clothes that I don’t think I could ever get away with and everyone listens to you and watches you and flocks to you and I’m kind of just, like. Here, you know? Like I’m not as bright as you. A lot of people aren’t as bright as you.”

Eddie watches Steve for a beat. Really stares into his fucking soul.

“That’s stupid,” He says, smiling smaller now as he leans both hands in next to Steve’s hips. As he pushes into his space and doesn’t let up. “You’re so bright. It’s almost blinding. I’ve just been waiting for you to actually talk to me.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks quietly because yeah, he can’t think. Eddie is too close. He’s right there, leaning into Steve.

He mutters, “Yeah.” And finally kisses him. As it turns out, Steve wasn’t that interested in that girl at all.

[c0eu4]

requests closed temporally

I'm currently rewriting my fanfictions, the ones that appear in pink are the latest versions :)

I'm not writing driver x driver so everything you see below are always driver x reader !

All of these are fem!reader

English isn't my native language, tell me if I make any language mistakes <3

♡ indicates smut

Female driver

✰ INTRODUCTION | READ THIS FIRST PLS (it's better to understand :)

Carlos Sainz ⁵⁵

♡ BREAKFAST | She wakes up before Carlos to prepare breakfast but he's not going to eat food.

Charles Leclerc ¹⁶

DEPRESS GIRLFRIEND | Hurt/comfort | Charles comes back to his shared house after three weeks of intense race. But the thing he didn't expect is to find her girlfriend having a relapse.

♡ REAL ORGASM | Y/n confess to Charles that she doesn't know what true orgasm is. And he shows her what it is.

♡ DIRTY BOY | Y/n keeps bothering her boyfriend until he gives in and shows her how to be a good girl.

♡ MINE | One of y/n's friends was too close to her at a party and Charles makes it clear to her in the evening when they returns home.

Daniel Ricciardo ⁰³

WHAT HAPPENED? | Hurt/comfort | When Daniel found your suicide note.

Lando Norris ⁰⁴

♡ WELCOME HOME | He found Y/n in his hoodie, her favorite toy in her.

♡ TITS | part one - part two | Lando meets Y/n at a club and she asks him to sign her tits. A few days later, Lando is looking for her and they become friends. So she surprises him by coming to see him in Las Vegas.

Oscar Piastri ⁸¹

♡ OVERSTIMULATION | She wanted to try the roleplay but she can't take it anymore. He takes care of her after it.

CRASH | After the biggest crash of Oscar's life, Y/n go to see him at the hospital.

HARD WORK | After the biggest exam of her entire life, y/n found Oscar in front of her university, waiting for her.

♡ BABIES | Oscar is looking for y/n around the paddock but can't find her until he sees her with Lando's niece.

SECRET RELATIONSHIP | Oscar and Y/n are in a secret relationship, nobody knows about them. Until they're caught.

♡ MIRROR SEX | Y/n is a stressed student and Oscar helps her to take her stress away.

♡ CAUGHT | part one - part two | Y/n is the apple of Lando's eyes. He always protects her from everyone. Well, that's what he thought until he realized that she's not that innocent... Especially with his teammate.

SPA SESSION | Oscar is quietly at the spa and disturbed by Y/n.

VALENTINE'S DAY EVENING | McLaren had the wonderful idea of revealing the new car on Valentine's day evening.

MY PRINCESS | Y/n goes out and Oscar has to take care of their baby alone for the first time.

SPIDER | blurb | You just wanted to take a shower, but you're disturbed by a horrible spider.

Sebastian Vettel ⁰⁵

DON'T BE ASHAMED, SWEETIE | Hurt/comfort | your period has always been painful and Seb helps you to relax.

Landoscar ⁸¹ ⁰⁴

CUDDLES | blurb | Y/n and Landon always cuddle together, and Oscar starts to get jealous.

♡ WHO IS IT? | Oscar and Lando wonder who Y/n knows the best.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (VIII)

Chapter 8 : I hope she never learns how to peel oranges

Hi! Here is another chapter! A bit of time spent with friends who have very good advices to give!

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2518

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Oranges

I peel oranges neatly.

The sections come apart cleanly, perfectly in my hands.

When Emily peels an orange, she tears holes in it.

Juice squirts in all directions.

“Kate,” she says, “I don’t know how you do it!”

Emily is my best friend.

I hope she never learns how to peel oranges.

Jean Little

Six months.

You had six months before the wedding.

You had feared that Samantha and Frank would rush through their ceremony as much as they had rushed through their engagement, but a call from Frank was now indicating you the precise date for the festivities. May. A ceremony in Spring.

You had six months to destroy their wedding and make them see reason…

You drank a gulp of your coffee, waiting for your best friend to join you for breakfast. Siobhán had arrived the previous day in Dublin, you had spent most of the afternoon and evening crying in her arms and telling her all about what had happened. Her response was first to insult Frank and his ancestors all the way through five generations, then help you get absolutely trollied, and finally to offer you her help in your devilish plan to get the man you loved back. A real best friend behaviour…

Now, you were waiting for her to wake up, as she was staying at your place for the couple of weeks she was in Dublin. Your coffee was growing cold already in your hands, you winced at the taste but drank it anyway. Not long ago, you thought everything in life was smiling at you, that the sun was everywhere. Now, your luck seemed to have run out, even your coffee didn’t have your back anymore…

“Ouch… my head… God, remind me never to get drunk on cheap tequila again…”

Siobhán let herself fall in the chair next to you in your kitchen, making you chuckle as she rubbed at her temples, trying to cure her hangover. All she managed to do though was to hide her face behind her bright auburn hair.

“I assume you don’t want to eat anything…” you mumbled into your mug, and the choking sound your friend made was answer enough.

“Please, have mercy on me.”

“How come I’m the one with a broken heart and yet you’re the one who got so badly hammered last night?”

“I need to make you feel sorry for me so you’ll feel less miserable about yourself.”

“How generous of you…”

“I know, my altruism shall be my doom, one day…”

She turned to you then, growing more serious.

“Are you feeling better though?” she asked with genuine care and worry. You gave her a weak smile.

“Yeah… you’re helping.”

“Good…”

“I need to get ready. I’m meeting up with Andrew this afternoon. Now that we have dates for the wedding and parts of the preparation, we need to start planning what we’ll do.”

“So… you will really carry on with that plan?”

You frowned at her.

“Of course. Do you have a better idea?”

“No… I don’t. But it still is a bad idea.”

“I know that it sounds kind of crazy but… then again, I don’t have know what else I could do. I don’t have anything left to lose with Frank, so… might as well try, even if it’s madness, even if it fails…”

“…Even if it’s highly unethical.”

“I swear to God, if you start talking philosophy now…”

“I’m a philosopher, that’s what I do…”

“I’m talking to my friend now, not the professor.”

“Right… it still sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Last night you were ready to help!”

“Oh, I will. Even though I’m not sure how I can help. I will, because I don’t see any other way to support my friend in need.”

“Thank you.”

“But’s it’s a terrible idea. Christ, Y/N… Frank is an asshole! He left you after years of relationship, while he was engaged to you, for another woman he proposed to on a whim… he’s a gobshite. Leave him be! Get over him! Have incredible sex with another man!”

You chuckled at that.

“I’m setting you up on Tinder!”

“Absolutely the fuck not! If you do it, I’ll never talk to you again!”

Siobhán threw her phone on the table, defeated.

“And this… Andrew is ready to plan all that with you?”

“It was his idea.”

“Two lunatics for the price of one… Is he handsome at least, that colleague of yours?”

“Siobhán!”

“What?! All I’m saying is that… you are both single now! Both grieving long-term relationships that ended in betrayals… Some good sex with a handsome chap would definitely help you relax…”

“I am not going to sleep with my colleague.”

“You’re asking yourself too many questions.”

“I’m not! You’re just insane! I’m not going to sleep with Andrew!”

“Why? Is he ugly or something?”

“He… that is not the point.”

“Oooooh… so he’s handsome, then? How is he?”

You cleared your throat.

“Tall,” was the first thing that came to your mind, before you silently slapped yourself for answering.

“How much?”

“I don’t know… above 2 meters…”

“What?”

“Yeah like… 6’6’ or something…”

“Wow…”

“Yeah.”

She pulled out her phone while stealing a gulp of your coffee and wincing at the taste of the cold liquid.

“What are you doing?”

But she didn’t answer your question. Instead, she kept on typing on her phone. And then her eyes grew round.

“Wait… you said… Andrew Hozier-Byrne, right?”

“Yes?”

She turned the screen towards you. She had searched for his picture on the university website and was now showing you a picture of Andrew with his long curls let loose on his shoulders, a shy smile adorning his lips, his glasses perched on his nose and wearing a black turtleneck. He was posing in front of a tree on the grounds of the campus.

“That guy?!” she insisted, and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Him?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s taller than the Empire State Building too?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s very tall,” you nodded.

“You need to ride him.”

“Siobhán!”

“Y/N! He’s gorgeous! He’s single! What are you waiting for?!”

“I don’t want to sleep with Andrew, I want to have Frank back!”

She rolled her eyes, looked at Andrew’s picture again.

“Well… I would like to investigate if all parts of him are… proportionate, for sure…”

“Siobhán!”

“Hey, if you’re not interested in him, I can be!”

It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Whatever you say…”

She stared at you for a moment, silence filling up the empty space of your kitchen, only disturbed by the rhythmic sound of the rain outside.

“I just want you to be okay,” she spoke in a tender voice, and you nodded.

“I know.”

“Do you really think getting Frank back would make you happy?”

“I do. I have to try.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Alright, then let’s look at that schedule of yours. We need to make a plan. I don’t trust either of you to make it work!”

“Hey!”

“Y/N, you’re not petty enough for this. And that guy looks like a sweetheart. A tall, handsome sweetheart. But I am fucking evil when I want to be. So let’s get to work, and fuck up that wedding!”

“So… that’s your new colleague?”

Andrew nodded, suddenly longing for a cigarette, even though he had quitted smoking years before. A side-effect of stress and a growing depressive state. He didn’t yield to his urge though, merely kept on staring at his ceiling as he laid on his sofa, legs dangling over the edge, idly petting Elwood.

“She’s hot,” Alex stated, looking at your picture on his phone. He had googled you and had found your profile on the university website.

“Alex…” Andrew rolled his eyes.

“What? She is!”

“I’m in love with Sam. And I forbid you to sleep with my colleague!”

“Why not? If you’re too depressed to get laid, I certainly am not.”

Andrew glowered at his friend, lounged in his armchair.

“Alex…”

“What?”

“Just… don’t joke about that.”

His friend raised an eyebrow at Andrew, the ghost of a teasing smirk on his lips.

“Alright… back to your stupid plan then?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then help me.”

Alex grew more serious, his gaze softening as he looked at his best friend.

“Have you already thought that maybe… this was for the best? Maybe you deserved better than Sam?”

Andrew snorted.

“Yeah… very funny…”

“Andy…”

“I love her…”

“But she doesn’t love you enough, Andy. You’ve got to stop thinking that she’s too good for you, she isn’t! You’re a good guy, you’re smart, you’re not too bad-looking…”

“Thanks,” Andrew mumbled without being able to refrain a chuckle.

“I’m serious. You’re not a bad person, you’re not unworthy of being loved for who you are. Sam is grand, but… you could have better than her. You could have someone who cares more deeply about you, who supports you more, who would let you love her the way you want to be loved…”

“Christ… since when have you become such a shrink?”

“Andy…”

Alex heaved sigh, sat straighter in his armchair.

“I just mean that… I know what’s going on in your head. I’ve known you long enough to know what you’re doing right now. And it’s not helpful. It’s not helpful, and it’s actually dragging you down. Sam is grand, for many reasons. But perhaps you were simply not meant for each other. You could fall in love again, you could have someone better, someone who will love you better than she did…”

“She did love me!”

“I know she did. But she also pushed you away time and time again. She never showed up for your accomplishments, she never tried to support your career as a poet, she never came to one of our gigs…”

“She’s not interested in poetry or music.”

“And I hate cinnamon rolls, but I still ate them when Charlie made them for me.”

“So… I should move on as successfully as you’ve moved on from your ex, whom you haven’t been able to forget after two full years?”

He saw Alex clenching his jaw, his gaze saddening. Guilt came to gnaw at Andrew’s heart the second his words passed his lips.

“Sorry… that was uncalled for. I’m just… I can’t move on. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want better or worse than Sam, I want Sam.”

Alex heaved a sigh.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?”

“Y/N and I are going to work together to make Frank and Sam see that they’re acting stupid, bring them back to their senses.”

“Perhaps they’re not acting crazy…”

“They’re engaged! After one month together?!”

“Yeah… that does sound quick.”

“I know that… Sam and I were going through a bit of a rough patch. I know that we were drifting apart a little when she left. But we weren’t strangers to each other either. We weren’t… it wasn’t that bad. I still loved her, we were still seeing each other, we were still communicating and reaching out and… I didn’t think it was too bad. I was tired… I was frustrated with my writing…”

“Your writing?” Alex interrupted his friend with a frown.

Elwood shifted from his spot on the floor, getting up to rest his head directly on Andrew’s stomach. He looked at him with a soft black stare that made Andrew’s heart melt, and he resumed petting his dog’s head.

“I haven’t been able to write a single line in six months.”

“Wow… that’s… long. Especially for you.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t write a single verse.”

“What does Caroline say about this?”

“She’s a very understanding agent, luckily. She’s not pressuring me yet. She’s giving me time and space.”

“So, you didn’t tell her it was a complete drought, but just a slow episode.”

“Of course, I’m not suicidal… yet.”

They exchanged a smile, but there was sadness in both of their gestures.

“I don’t know why I can’t write anymore. And it scares the shit out of me, Alex. What if I can’t be a poet anymore? How am I supposed to say what I need to express then? Will it come back? I couldn’t be a musician, what if I can’t be an artist at all?”

“No, Andy, you’re not a fraud, stop it,” Alex interrupted his friend, knowing where this conversation was heading. “And you didn’t become a musician because you chose not to have the lifestyle that went with it, because you chose to study and write instead, and be there for your family when they needed you. You had the talent for it, though. You still have. I’ll hire you if you want to finally drop out of college!”

Andrew laughed at that, brought back to those college days when he had met Alex, when he had hesitated to quit studying to get a proper chance at singing. But instead of accepting some studio time, he attended his exams, passed his classes, changed his major the next year to head towards literature and poetry. And music remained a passion, a hobby, while words became his life…

“How is your band doing, by the way?” he changed the subject, feeling too vulnerable and guiding the conversation on his friend instead to release the tension that was making his body ache. Elwood could feel it, the way Andrew was in pain, he was rubbing his snout against his human’s stomach.

“Good. We’re doing a few festivals, we have some gigs planned over the next couple of months, mostly around Cork.”

“That’s nice.”

“You could come.”

“And miss torturing my students with essays?! Nah…”

“You could avoid the grading.”

“That is a strong argument in your favour.”

“But don’t drag the conversation away from the crisis at hand!” Alex admonished his friend. “What is the plan then? About Sam?”

“We have the date of the wedding, and Frank and Sam have reached out to Y/N and I to get some help for like… dresses, cakes, planning stuff… Sam asked me to sing.”

Alex let out a wry, astonished chuckle.

“So, the woman doesn’t give two shites about your passion for music and poetry, but the second she needs a musician she comes running?”

Andrew glowered at his friend, but he couldn’t deny his words. He had thought them first, as soon as Sam had asked him to sing. She had never cared about his artistic endeavours, never read his poetry, even though he wrote about her; never gone to see him play, even when they were young. Although, it wasn’t quite true. She had come once, at the very beginning of their relationship. She thought he had talent. She was bored though, even if she tried to hide it. Andrew had not asked her to come again, had merely told her that she was always welcome to any of their gigs, but she never offered to go see him again.

And it was such a cruel demand too, so insensitive, it didn’t sound like her. Maybe her own excitement was blinding her, making her selfish. Whatever it was, Andrew could feel tears rising at the mere thought. Elwood moved to rub his head all over Andrew’s chest.

“Anyway, we’ve got to plan our next move.”

“Good luck with that…” Andrew nodded. He reckoned he would need luck, alright…

[cno-inbminor]

repertum

plot: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise // ft. lumine and nahida 

warnings: afab!reader, 3.4 spoilers, smut but reader and alhaitham get blue balled, angst, fluff and comfort later. probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics.

a/n: :)))))

EDIT: Part 2 (FINAL) | AO3 Link

-

“I don’t–” You rush out before your breath hitches. “-- think this is a good idea, ah–”

Alhaitham keeps you pinned to the wall of your apartment, pelvis undulating against yours in an erratic beat. He drinks in every gasp that leaves your pretty little mouth, the same lips that have haunted his passing thoughts for the past month. His fingers dig into your waist and he leaves subcutaneous blooming sore spots on your shoulder and collarbone, relishing in your hisses of pain and pleasure, if the grip you have around his neck is any indicator.

Your words send a spike of adrenaline – he vehemently denies the possibility it may be fear instead – through his veins, to do anything to keep you right where he wants you, and he gives into the primal urge to dig his teeth into the very shoulder he’s been nibbling and sucking onto for the last ten minutes. The resulting yelp from you keeps him sated, and he places a soft kiss where he’d bitten you; a stark contrast.

Alhaitham lifts his head to look into your eyes, pupils swallowing over your irises and your eyelids half-open. He takes pride in having been able to push you towards such a state of inhibitions. “And what would make you think such a thing?” His lips ask against yours, tone dark with an alarming amount of clarity that you find absolutely unfair and unjust.

Despite his protests, there are several reasons why this isn’t a good idea. To be a scholar and also involved with the Akademiya’s former scribe? You’re practically begging to be academically slaughtered by the masses, as everyone knows Alhaitham has the ears of the General Mahamatra and, at times, Lord Kusanali herself. It goes both ways – having always been regarded as the level-headed, purely rational individual, most would agree that his current actions are the complete opposite. Those traits themselves are a recipe for disaster – sure, you could be witty and hold your own, but it was clear to you that you could not give him what he needs, he neither for you.

The sexual tension between you two is palpable. You briefly remember the day you first exchanged words with the man right before his new promotion. Both of you had reached for the same textbook one early, early morning, and being that it was the only copy in the entire library, you were determined to get your hands on it.

“I believe my hand was here first,” you said in a matter-of-fact tone. Part of you was screaming at yourself for even thinking about going against Alhaitham in any way, but this research paper is due next week and you will not let anyone hinder your progress. “I can give it to you when I’m done with it.”

Annoyance with a hint of amusement had crossed his features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, the action drawing your gaze. The man had always been a great distance from you, but now seeing him up close, you can understand why some of the other scholars made it a point to mention just how attractive this man was. The brains, brawn, and looks all in a single individual? The archons were quite unfair, if you had anything to say about it.

“I believe the scholars understand they should not hinder any work of mine. It would be best for me to take it, and I will return it once I no longer need it.”

You wanted to wipe the smugness of his face. With a kiss or with a book thrown at him, you don’t care to differentiate – but the confidence he exuded was starting to irritate you, and you ignore the beginnings of an unwanted heat swirling in your core. “Well if the Scribe would so kindly lend it to me, I only need it for the next 36 hours and it will be all yours afterward. Surely your work can wait for that long?”

He took a step towards you to level with your impertinent gaze. Part of you thought you had had the higher ground, granted you were standing on a step ladder so you could reach the book, but you then saw that even with the extra centimeters, you were simply at about the same height as the man. Again, unfair.

“What is your name?” He interrogated.

“What is it to you?” You snapped back. If he really wanted to, he could demand to see your student identification credentials. But part of him wanted to hold back, to watch you bend to his will.

“I may consider granting you your wish if I can learn of your identity.”

The look of surprise on your face had been the beginning of his downfall. Normally the other scholars would have cowered beneath his presence by now. Yet the little spurts of fight from you had elicited some excitement from within, a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite a bit of time. Such emotions were for the weak for they clouded one’s judgment and logic.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will take this and, once again, will return it when I am done with it.”

He outstretched his hand to lay his claim on the book’s spine, fingers pressing gently against yours that were still adamant in your pursuit. Both of you made it a point to ignore how the touch made goosebumps form on your arm, thankfully hidden underneath your clothes. The Akademiya’s Scribe knowing you by name never boded well, but it was 2AM and you were perhaps too desperate.

In a state of unfounded confidence and irrationality, your fingers moved to intertwine with his. Watching his jawline slack the slightest bit fueled you, and you dragged your hands off the shelf and pressed them against his chest. With it, you leaned into the bounds of his personal space, using everything you had left in you to keep his eyes on you. Perhaps his pupils had become dilated, you can’t remember at this point, but it was enough distraction for you to use your other hand to snatch the book from its confines between other hardcovers. Once acquired, you disentangled from his grasp and took hurried steps off the step-ladder, clutching the book to your chest. You backpedaled some decimeters away to create some much needed distance. Alhaitham seemed stunned into silence. Or perhaps he was plotting your murder.

“(Y/N).”

And before you disappeared around the corner, he called out to warn, “I will see you in 36 hours.”

For many weeks afterwards, he made it a point to alert you of his presence whenever you were in the Akademiya’s building. If you were furiously annotating notes from multiple annals spread across your table, he would saunter by and subtly brush his cape against your clothes. If you were simply reading for pleasure, a knee pulled up into your chest because fuck Akademiya propriety, he would make sure to sit at the table across yours and in a chair on the side facing you head on. Did he let himself stare at you too much, finding some enjoyment in watching your facial expressions as you read? Perhaps. If it was late at night and you looked incredibly stressed, he would invite himself to look over your shoulder and observe your information, only to point out some details and offer tidbits of advice. Sometimes you found yourself in deep, research-heavy conversations and got a taste of Alhaitham’s inner workings, which only made you want more.

Tonight after a big project, he invited you to a drink at Lambad’s Tavern, though it was under the guise of needing some help bringing food back for his roommate afterwards, and you were going there anyway. Tucked in the corner, you, aided by alcohol, had let your inhibitions fall. You would need to be passed out to not feel the heat and weight of his gaze on you for the entire night, and you found yourself reveling in it. Yet it didn’t make sense – why would he find an interest in you, out of all the people within Sumeru? Alhaitham could have his pick of anyone, yet he decided to put his eggs in a basket with your name and face on it.

The thoughts stewed inside, even as he made a nonchalant offer to walk you to your apartment. “It is late, and you have no means to defend yourself.” That had been the end of it as he walked towards the path leading to the outskirts of the city, and you had no choice but to follow. At your doorstep, underneath a waning gibbous and cloudy skies, Alhaitham’s body language communicated his hesitancy in leaving you alone for the night, and with a swallow, you had invited him in for a cup of coffee.

He gave a nod. The door clicked shut. And as soon as your eyes with hints of lust met his, he made his move – surging forward to pull you into a kiss, and then spinning to press you against the wall with his thighs slotted between yours. The faint, yet unbridled moan for just mere kisses made his chest swell, and he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip.

“It’s just not – Haitham – a good idea,” you pant, thoughts back in the present moment.

“I disagree,” he retaliates, pulling back to remove your shirt. The rate of his disappearing self-control only increases when he does everything to commit this moment to memory. You’re so beautiful, he laments, torn between wanting to maintain the sanctity of your figure and forcing you to succumb and accept his attempts to claim you. He wants you to feel his kisses and bites for days, so you would never forget and inevitably crave his touch.

You don’t want to argue with him now, not when you finally have him in your hands. Your lips desperately meet his again as you unclip your bra and shrug it off. He follows suit and undoes his cape so he can pull his sleeveless shirt over his head, groaning when he pulls you close and his bare skin takes in the heat emanating from yours. Feeling your hardened nipples slide against his pectorals should not be so alluring, yet he finds himself wishing you two could stay in bed for eternity, naked and entwined and drunk on each others’ touch.

Fingers dig into his silver-gray locks and tugs, to which he answers with a punishing nip on your neck. “Bedroom,” you plead so prettily and he can only let you draw back to lead the way. He wastes little time in pressing forward until the back of your legs hit the bed frame, causing you to fall back. From mere kisses and heavy petting, the look on your face is already so sinful, and Alhaitham can’t help but imagine how you’d look once his cock was inside you.

“You siren and minx,” he sighs in faux displeasure, planting gentle pecks down your chest and abdomen until he hovers over the band of your pants. He tugs them and your underwear down with the aid of your lifted hips – and doesn’t miss the glossy thread of your slick from your vulva to the damp cotton. When it eventually breaks, he feels twinges of regret for not being able to catch it on his tongue and have a taste of you, like a man dying of thirst in the desert.

His hands have a firm grip underneath your thighs and pushes them towards your chest. Alhaitham curses when he has the full view of your pussy, puffy and wet and demanding any attention. “Haitham, please,” and you sound like you’re on the verge of tears.

“Hmm?” His voice teases as his fingers spread and his thumbs are so, so close to where you want them to be. Your pitiful cry is answered with– “Use your words. You surely have never had a problem with that.”

You beat a fist against his chest in retaliation, though there is little to no force behind it. The pathetic attempt at communicating your embarrassment is not lost on you.

Yet despite the heated blood in your veins, the near desperation to climb this high, your heart stills at the smirk sitting devilishly on his lips. You suddenly become hyperaware of every part of your body that he is seeing and touching, and the rational part of your brain returns once more to remind you, again, that this is not going to end well.

In the years that Alhaitham has roamed and trudged through the hierarchy and floors of the Akademiya, everybody knows he is not one for intimate relationships, whether it be deeper friendships or romantic partnerships. So for him to spend his precious free time with an ordinary scholar such as you, no legacy or prestige to your name – it made no sense. You are more than ready to understand that if this night were to run its due course, the end result would be the same if it were to never happen.

The dread that settles into Alhaitham’s body is murky and viscous as he watches sobering clarity fill your system, most noticeably in your eyes. Irises expanding, pupils shrinking, the life and spark from earlier swept away, don’t make much sense to him as you gently remove yourself from his grasp. “Y/N?” He inquires with some of the most uncertainty he’s felt in the last ten or so years. Adrenaline dissolves into veiled panic as he watches you slip on a new pair of underwear and an oversized sleep shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well,” you supply in a meek voice, looking around and eventually finding his shirt from earlier. The man appears as dumbfounded as he can behind such a blank and austere face such as his, pulling the material back over his head and looping his arms through in a trance. He doesn’t remember following after you but finds himself back in your living room where his cloak had been haphazardly thrown onto the ground. With the way you slide it over his shoulders and make no mistake in securing it properly, he feels as if ice cold water has been dumped over his head.

And then you’re both at the front door and all he knows in this precise moment is that he really, really doesn’t want to leave.

“Thank you again for the drink,” you say, voice cracking near the end and gaze avoiding his at all costs. “You didn’t have to.”

Alhaitham chooses to say nothing, and despite how much the inner turmoil is wrecking your nervous system, you know this is for the best.

Right?

“Did I do anything wrong?”

Yes. No. Of course. Not at all. Maybe.

“No, I just don’t feel well. Maybe the alcohol isn’t agreeing with me.”

At the same time you twist the doorknob and pull, you stand on your tiptoes to plant a shaky kiss against his cheek.

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

It’s clear that he’s being banished now, door wide and a clear signal for him to leave. While he may want to slam the door back closed and demand all the answers he needs to the sudden change in your behavior, he simply nods and steps over the threshold, pausing when he fully steps into the hallway. The man doesn’t have the gall to face you straight on, but he lets you take one last look at his side profile, eyes glancing briefly over his shoulder.

“Have a better lie next time.”

This is for the best, you repeat to yourself minutes later when you’re curled underneath your blankets.Your breath shudders as the tears begin to stain your pillowcase, and before you slip into a fitful slumber, you worry about what dreams will greet you.

-

Alhaitham doesn’t see you for a whole week.

For seven agonizing days, 108 frustration-ridden hours, you are nowhere to be found or seen, as if you decided to hole up in your apartment and never leave your own self-made prison. It’s embarrassing, to a certain degree, just how much he’s been around the library, constantly on the lookout for your figure. Kaveh caught him reading the same page of a history book for at least ten minutes on one of those days, but chose to keep his mouth shut for once and snarky remarks to himself.

On day 8, Alhaitham wonders if he’s begun to hallucinate when he sees you in plain view at the market stand, attempting to barter with the owner to get a better deal on some vegetables. But it’s your voice he hears, your hands he sees, your hair that makes his fingers twitch in a thinly-veiled hidden desire to run them through. He’s left standing in the middle of the street looking like an idiot, yet others perceive his heavy gaze upon your figure to assume that you’re about to get into some trouble and the General Mahamatra was calling in a favor of some sorts.

On day 11, he catches you running up the pathway that leads to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, which is bewildering and confusing in its entirety. What business do you have being anywhere near the residence of Lord Kusanali? Even he as the former Scribe, favored and the most unwilling Acting Grand Sage, and one of the saviors of the Dendro Archon, has not been there since the whole hubbub died down, and it’s been months.

On day 14, you run into the traveler who seems to be making her rounds of saying goodbye to various citizens. Alhaitham had spoken a number of times about her and her travels and you knew her next destination was Fontaine. Not far from home, but far enough away to rid yourself of all these ugly, human emotions and get over this huge crush on the aforementioned man. With unfounded confidence, you call for her attention with shaky breaths.

“Can I help you?” She questions softly, not missing the clear distress in your body.

“My name is Y/N and, um, I’m a scholar at the Akademiya. Though I guess my attire gave that away,” you laugh nervously, gesturing to said clothing. “I’m, uh, an acquaintance, I guess, of Haitham’s? Anyways, that’s not really important, but you’re going to Fontaine, right?”

Lumine nods and stays silent.

Well, here goes nothing. “This might sound really weird but…can I come with you?”

Perfect, golden eyebrows rise in surprise – it’s not everyday a mere stranger so brazenly asks to travel with her, especially to another nation.

“I have some research that is taking me there, but I’d prefer not to travel alone. I was going to leave soon, but just now when I heard you telling people goodbye, I thought I’d try to ask? I’ll pay for your help, and I can even help you find and cook food! Hopefully you don’t find a Vision-less person like me a burden but I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Lumine looks you up and down once more while her thoughts process. You look harmless and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another set of hands along the way. Fontaine really wasn’t that far away once they crossed the border. It was becoming clearer to her that you truly did need to get to Fontaine, and not just for research. Perhaps –

“Could it be that you’re running from something?” She asks with curiosity.

“...wow, nothing really gets past you. It’s more like…someone,” you confess, sheepish and embarrassed.

“Are you in danger?”

“Not at all, no!” With hands waving in front of you, you speak with clear denial. “I’m trying to figure some things out and, well, I’d rather do it when I’m not constantly at risk of bumping into him.”

“Clearly I don’t know the details of your situation but…wouldn’t it be better to just be honest with him?”

You take a glance in the direction of the Akademiya and allow a bittersweet smile to grace your lips. “I think my honesty would simply be a burden for him.”

“And you know that because…?”

“Because he is that kind of man. There is no need for him to have a place for me in his heart. But I’m really bringing the mood down – could you please consider my offer? I forgot to mention I can be quite handy with a dagger if need be.”

Lumine and Paimon exchange a look, the fairy shrugging. “We leave tomorrow at first light,” the traveler speaks up. “Is that enough time for you to gather everything you need? If not, as long as we leave by midday, we don’t mind waiting.”

Perfect.

“It’s more than enough time. I pack light anyways.”

“We’ll meet in front of the Sanctuary then. Paimon and I need to meet with Lord Kusanali before we depart.”

You barely get any sleep that night, a ball of nerves and excitement. Your neighbor has been kind enough to hold your spare key to check in on your apartment every once in a while, waving you off when you begin to discuss forms of repayment for their generosity. The last time you ventured out of the main city and its surrounding areas was perhaps a few years ago to get a look at the famed Palace of Alcazarzaray. Alhaitham had briefly spoken of Kaveh a few times, though his tone was an odd amalgamation of genuine respect and scathing admonishment. In fact, you met the architect once when he came to the Akademiya to ask (more like loudly demand) for a copy of their house key. That was one of your first deep dives into how much of a teasing asshole Alhaitham could be, and you had already been spending most of your hours with him.

Fontaine has only ever been presented to you in sketches and paintings, so for a chance to see it in person…you can’t wait.

When your alarm goes off, you practically jump out of bed, throwing on your travel attire that you had set out the night before. With your research materials in a bag and travel essentials in another, you give one last look at your apartment. Who knows when you’ll be back?

[buddiebeginz]

Saw this ridiculous thread on twitter that really deserves to be taken apart so lets go:

First of all while it's obvious that Buck is attracted to T*mmy (and at this point likes him a lot considering they're now dating) in 7x04 the the main person who's attention he was trying to get was Eddie's. I did an entire breakdown of that ep btw for anyone who is still confused about what was really happening there.

------

1.

Buck goes to see Maddie after the basketball incidient and this is how the conversation goes

Maddie: You didn't mean to hurt him did you?

Buck: I don't know. I was pissed you know. Seeing him and T*mmy being such good friends after only two weeks. I felt left out and I guess I was trying to get his attention.

I know that you B/T shippers desperately want to see 7x04 as Buck sent the entire episode being super smitten over T*mmy but that is just not the story that show is telling. The entire conversation that Maddie and Buck are having in this scene prior to T*mmy even being mentioned is about Eddie. Buck and Maddie are talking about Eddie's injury and how Buck thinks Eddie won't want to talk to him after what he did. The focus is on Eddie. Also it doesn't make any logical sense for Buck to be so upset and emotionally invested over some guy he barely knows. He's upset because he thinks Eddie his best friend can so easily replace him in his life.

------

2.

You're defending T*mmy because you say he left the date not wanting to pressure Buck...yet he almost outed him in front of Eddie (someone T*mmy knows is important to Buck). By the time they were on their first date T*mmy already knew how new all of this was for Buck and how nervous he was, I mean the man was talking about how he was an ally ffs while he was on a date with a guy. And while Buck's comment about finding some hot chicks was embarrassing and I get T*mmy not liking it he should have had a little more understanding given where Buck is in his journey. Instead he made it worse by making that crass closet comment.

It's also just plain rude to go on a date with someone and then ditch them in the middle without making sure they have a way home and without any real explanation (I'm not talking about more extreme circumstances like your date just being an ahole btw). Sure T*mmy told Buck he didn't think he was ready but that was really all he said. Buck was likely left feeling like he was being punished for having a moment where he acted out of fear. T*mmy could have shared an Uber with Buck and talked to him on the way home and they could have seen if they wanted things to continue. But it was like at the first sign of Buck needing more support he bailed.

------

3.

My personal feeling on the first kiss is that T*mmy really should have given something of an indication of his intentions before he kissed Buck.

Speaking as someone who is bi if I was into another woman and they were giving off the kind of vibes Buck was I wouldn't just jump in there and kiss them. I know they try to make everything more sexy for tv and it's the oldest trope in the book to have the hot guy grab the main's face and lay one on them but given all of the signals Buck was sending out T*mmy really should have gotten more confirmation beforehand.

I'm not accusing T*mmy of anything and clearly Buck liked the kiss and it was also clear in that loft scene he was attracted to T*mmy. Still the vibes he was giving off were also really nervous an unsure and he talked about Eddie 90% of the time literally moments before the kiss. Why jump in an kiss someone who seems that nervous and probably is into someone else? I don't know it's just issues I have with that scene.

----

4.

When it comes to a lot of the discourse I see around between Buddie shippers and B/T shippers I feel like a major difference is in how we perceive the show. I feel like a lot of B/T shippers mostly just take the show at face value. If something is written a certain way and presented that way to you on the screen you take that as exactly what the story is saying but you're missing the more subtle messages in the writing.

Like the whole scene with Buck, T*mmy, and Eddie in the karaoke bar had a lot going on beyond just what the dialogue was saying and it was likely missed by those who weren't paying attention.

Yeah T*mmy was on call and yeah that could be a reason why he didn't dress up. Although as many have pointed out there's plenty of things he could have worn that would have made it easy for him to quickly change and get to work and still put an ounce of effort into something that was clearly important to Buck.

But the not dressing up wasn't even the biggest issue it was that when Buck seemed hurt by the fact that T*mmy didn't care enough to dress up T*mmy was just like it's not that big of deal get over it (in the demeanor with which he responded). Obviously it was just a silly bachelor party one Chim didn't even show up to and no one else even dressed up for it (besides Eddie) but for me it's another red flag showing that T*mmy doesn't listen to Buck and doesn't have his back like a (potential) partner should.

Also you can defend T*mmy all you want but very deliberate choices were made with this Buddie and T*mmy scene. They chose to have Eddie arrive first and call a lot of attention to what he was wearing. Right before they had T*mmy come in and have that whole convo about his lack of costume to Buck.

Multiple times in the episode they pointed out that Buddie were wearing a couples costume and that Eddie is the one who picked it out. Not only were they matching in the bachelor party outfits but if you look at their outfits in the later scenes while looking for Chim they're coordinated like spouses there too.

They chose to have Eddie be the one to stay with Buck when everyone else left. They chose to have Buddie partying alone when they could have easily had T*mmy there. Especially when you consider this is a much shorter season every scene and every ep means even more than it would in a normal season. If they were trying to build B/T and get the audience to warm to them showing them partying even showing B/T partying with Eddie would have been a great time to do that instead they only focused on Buddie.

-------

5.

I'm happy for B/T shippers that you got your kissing scene at the end but here's what I saw. In a very overstuffed episode they chose to have a ton of Buddie stuff including having Buck and Eddie show up together multiple times while everyone was out looking for Chimney. Meanwhile B/T got one small scene (which included Eddie) in the beginning and one kiss at the end away from everyone else (that immediately cut to Eddie and Chris). The kiss didn't even feel like it's main purpose was to further develop the B/T relationship, it felt like it happened more to serve Buck's bi storyline so he could come out to everyone.

Also others have pointed this out but just because B/T have physical chemistry doesn't mean they have romantic chemistry. They seem like very different people. Too different in my opinion. In what little scenes of conversation they've actually had I just see two people who won't be compatible long term.

Juxtapose that with Eddie and Buck and just how much alike they are while at the same time being so uniquely themselves. How they're able to call each other out when they need to like when Eddie pointed out how it was maybe not the greatest idea for Buck to come out at his sister's wedding.

You can dislike Buddie and ship B/T all you want but you can't deny how all Buck and Eddie have to do is stand near each other and they exude chemistry and compatibility. People who don't even watch the show assume they're together and there's not even one scene of them kissing. Yet the main reason people ship B/T is because they're two hot guys who've kissed twice. There is no other real point of substance there. Now tell me again which fandom is guilty of fetishization here?

----

6.

You can call us the delusional ones all you want but EVERYTHING is screaming in your face that T*mmy isn't going to last forever. I don't even care if he comes back for season 8. T*mmy and B/T have a giant ticking clock over them and sooner or later their time will be up. There is no way Tim, the writers, ABC, Ryan, Oliver, etc would pass on the phenomenon that Buddie will be once it goes canon. The show already gets a ton of attention just from talking about the possibility of them going canon. Every single article where they even mention Buddie gets attention.

It's hilarious to me that you say the actors and showrunners are what rooting for B/T? In all the the interviews they talk about Buddie now. Tim literally was saying he cares about Buddie too in his response to a fan the other day. He literally said he included Buddie scene specifically for our fandom. Oliver is always posting and liking stuff related to his scenes with Ryan and Buddie. When Ryan gets to do interviews he gushes about Buddie and Oliver. Meanwhile B/T which is supposed to be the canon ship in this important queer storyline they're doing barely gets mentioned. Let me know when that same energy is being given to your ship.

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 17

Welcome to the beginning of the end, for the next four weeks I will be putting out the last chapters of this story. It's done. And I am sorry to see it go. I really loved writing this story even if it kept changing on me and evolving into what it is today.

In this chapter we have Jason being sneaky, Wayne and a new werewolf in town.

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

~

Eddie and Steve were having a quiet walk about town, holding hands and talking softly to each other sweet things.

Or that’s how it looked on the outside.

They were actually on the hunt. Wayne had been teaching Eddie how to hunt like vampire the last two years, and Steve was learning how to hunt as a werewolf and not just as a man in a wolf suit from Nancy.

What were they hunting? The manticore. Steve’s stronger sense of smell would help them track the beast down, while Eddie’s extensive knowledge of its habits and haunts would narrow down where to look.

People often assumed that Eddie was bad at facts and dates but he wasn’t. He was actually pretty good at them, his problem in school was not doing the homework. He would ace every test, he’d just forget to turn in his assignments.

Hell, his first senior year got one of the Hellfire Club members mad at him because he scored in the top ten percent of the nation on a portion of the SAT. She was averaging an A- average in the class they shared together and thought that that meant she should have gotten in the top ten percent of nation instead of him. To say that things soured between them after that was an understatement.

All this to say that Eddie was smart. Smarter than people gave him credit for and not just how he figured out the meaning behind Patrick’s attack. He knew people. Differently then the way Steve knew people, but still he was clever and quick witted.

Eddie stopped in his tracks and jutted his chin across the street. “Isn’t that Jason Carver?”

Steve looked where he was indicating and frowned. “I thought your uncle said he was sick. What’s he doing in town?”

“Uncle Wayne’s been saying that Jason is becoming more and more withdrawn since Patrick was attacked,” Eddie explained. “He thinks he might have recommend Jason be brought to the full extent of the law, which is something Uncle Wayne really isn’t looking forward to.”

“But we��re trying to find Patrick’s attacker!” Steve protested. “I thought he would be happier that we’re trying to get justice for his friend.”

Eddie frowned, the crease between his eyebrows deepened. “I think his hatred of werewolves and vampires goes deeper than his sense of justice for his friend.”

Steve shook his head. That just couldn’t be true. He knew Jason from basketball. You wouldn’t be able to find a boy more loyal to his friends than Jason Carver. But he raised his head and looked Eddie in the eye and knew. Jason had only showed him his good qualities because they were equals.

Eddie had seen the worst of the other boy. The sneering viciousness beneath the veneer of civility that he showed to those he thought lesser than him.

“We need to find the manticore before he breaks his masters bonds,” Steve whispered. “I’m more concerned what an unbound creature like that could do to this town, over someone like Jason.”

Eddie watched Jason for a moment more. The other teen did not seem to be up to anything nefarious, other than lying to Uncle Wayne, so he nodded.

But the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the hairs on his arm stood up on end. There was a predator here. He looked around him.

“Babe?” Steve asked, reaching out to touch his elbow. “What wrong?”

“What do you smell just now?” he asked, searching the shadows.

Steve stilled. He scented the air. The wind was changing, but there!

“It’s a sharp metal tang in the air,” he murmured. “Like the scent of dried blood. It’s acrid.” He wrinkled his nose. “Foul.”

Eddie nodded. “That’s what I scented too, but now it’s gone. Whatever it was, though. It was not the manticore.”

Steve shook off a shiver that slid down his spine. “It was werewolf. But not one in my pack.”

“Banished you think?” Eddie asked as the wind shifted to carry the scent away from them. He could still feel the uneasy feeling down the pads of his feet. Whoever was out there was dangerous.

Steve tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing else we can do today. The rogue werewolf would have sent the manticore aground.”

Eddie nodded, the cat sìth was probably hiding the manticore’s scent anyway. “We need to talk to Wayne.”

~

Wayne listened intently to their report, soaking in everything they told him. He sat back and thought through it all.

“I think I know who the Banished you smelled in town is,” he said quietly. He handed Eddie the file he’d gotten from Sam and waited.

“Dr. Alexei Oborin,” Eddie read aloud. “That’s Nancy’s werewolf, right? The one she was sure caused a stir when she was little.”

Steve frowned. “She hasn’t told me anything about that.”

Wayne nodded like he wasn’t surprised. “She was waiting to see what that file contained. But I’m leaving it up to you if you want to share it with her. It’s has some pretty gruesome stuff.”

Steve nodded absently as he read over Eddie’s shoulder, the other man waiting until he was done before turning to the next page. No matter how much longer it took Steve than Eddie.

“The name of his bondmate is blacked out,” he said with that little frown of his that made Eddie want to bite him between the eyebrows for being too cute. “Do we know why?”

Wayne shook his head. “I’ve already pressed my source pretty hard to get the file. He could get fired if he doesn’t return it in a week.”

Eddie and Steve shared a glance, but wisely said nothing.

“They were teenagers who were camping out in the woods near the pack compound,” Steve read. He frowned. “That’s strange.”

Eddie and Wayne’s heads snapped his direction.

“Look at the location of the two girls bodies...” he pulled out the photo in file and turned it to face Wayne.

Wayne looked at the picture and then back up at him. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at, if I’m honest here, Steve.”

“It’s something I learned recently from Nancy,” he replied. “I don’t fight like a wolf in wolf form. I don’t go for the jugular for example because I know as human how easy it is for a human to throw up their arms to protect that area of the body. I knock them over first and press my weight on their chest to make it harder for them to do just that.”

Eddie frowned, but Wayne looked back down at the photo.

“Shit!”

The arms and upper torso were torn to shreds, the way you would expect from a wolf attack, but the bodies themselves were arranged to make it look it was the work of a crazed werewolf. Like something straight out of a horror movie.

“Someone moved the bodies?” Eddie reasoned. “But why would Alexei do that if he thought the kids were hunters? There would be no reason to. It was supposedly self-defense.”

“Unless it wasn’t,” Wayne said, continuing his nephew’s thought. “What if the bondmate came and rearranged the bodies to plead insanity on Alexei’s behalf?”

Steve nodded. “And then when that didn’t work, they claimed that the kids were hunters.”

Wayne rubbed at the stubble on his chin wishing, not for the first time, that he had been changed with a clean shaven face.

“That make sense.”

Eddie closed the file and looked on the front of the folder. “VHS? Video Home System?” He tilted his head to the side.

Wayne snorted, then giggled. Suddenly the stoic vampire was laughing so hard, tears of blood rolled down his cheeks. He took out a handkerchief and wiped away the tears.

“No, no,” he said around his feral grin. “It stands for The Van Helsing Society. But, dear god, I am going to use that on that bastard the next time I saw him.”

“As in Abraham Van Helsing?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide. “From Dracula?” He scooted forward to the edge of his seat.

Wayne nodded, still grinning. “The first name was changed but Van Helsing was a real person. Karl Van Helsing was the first to come up with the first policing body for supernatural beings. After the incident in London, it was pretty clear that people were going to start noticing that supernatural beings existed and he came up with The Van Helsing Society.”

“Pretty arrogant of him to name it after himself,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes.

Eddie scoffed, throwing himself back against the sofa cushions. “Says the alpha of the Harrington pack.” Then he shook his head and muttered. “It had to be fucking cops.”

Steve just shrugged. “I never said that was also arrogant. I never understood why it wasn’t called the Hawkins Pack or Roane Pack considering being alpha isn’t hereditary.”

Wayne smiled at Steve. He had always liked him since he was a young boy learning that his parents had died. But he was really starting to like the man that boy had become, too. Because it was ridiculous that the pack hadn’t been named after the town or county it resided in.

“They are far more than just cops, Ed,” he warned. “They are a powerful group with abilities all their own. Crossing one of the Society isn’t the same as crossing a mortal or even supernatural cop, like Hopper. They are protected against possession, hypnotism, and even enthrallment.”

“Are they all descendants of the original dude?” Steve asked, pressing even closer to Eddie on the sofa. He didn’t like the sound of these supernatural cops either. Because where were they when he was being abused by the Franklins. He couldn’t even remember the night he first changed. He only remembered when he came to and he and Wayne were burying their bodies. He was just so grateful that the abuse was over that he really didn’t think of why.

But Wayne was shaking his head. “According to the records the last Van Helsing died during the oiliphéist riots of 1922 in Ireland.”

“That’s too bad,” Eddie said, cocking his head to the side. “As anti-vampire as the name has become a symbol of these days, I would still have liked to have met one of his descendants.”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve had the pleasure only once. Greta Van Helsing in 1871. She was a spitfire to say the least.”

Eddie ran his hands over his face. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck her...” he moaned.

“Not on your life,” Wayne huffed. “Even if she was immune to the whole agents and supes producing unhinged offspring, she was a lesbian and won’t have even spared me a glance.”

“Unhinged as in cool super powers, unhinged?” Eddie asked, lowering his hands from his face. “Or mental asylum unhinged?”

“Sadly the latter,” Wayne said mournfully. “The magic that they use to protect themselves from being controlled does nasty things to the natural magics supernatural beings are made of.”

“But Van Helsings were immune?” Steve asked, still pressed to Eddie’s side.

Wayne nodded. “Probably because like most things in nature needing a balance, the Van Helsings were naturally the balance to the supernatural creatures of the world. There are probably other families just like them, but Van Helsings are merely the most notable.”

“Makes sense,” Eddie said, taking Steve’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He could tell this talk of the Van Helsings was making him upset.

“In other news,” he said, “The Hughes, the Hollands, the Martins, and the Camerons are all willing to send in guards for Steve.”

“I wasn’t aware the Camerons were supernatural,” Wayne said rubbing his chin. “What are they?”

“Louie Cameron is a selkie, and Debra Cameron is a siren,” he explained. “Making their daughter Vickie one hell of a strong supe.”

Steve sat there with this confused pout on his face. “Guards? Why would I need guards?”

“I don’t trust the Pack right now,” Wayne replied. “There is more going on in that pack then meets the eye and I can’t be everywhere. Especially with Jason causing trouble in town. Patrick tried to warn me early on that Jason would try something like this, but I wanted to believe that there was good in their somewhere.”

Steve’s expression shuttered to a blank mask. “What do I do?”

“Just start hanging out with me and the others outside of the compound,” Eddie said, squeezing Steve’s hand again and covering it with his other hand.

“Okay,” he breathed. They were right, as much as Nancy wanted him to further integrate into the Pack, he needed to be on the outside to see what was going on and understand it.

And he knew the best way to do it, but it was going to take a lot of convincing. But he was up for the job.

~

Notes:

oilipheists are sea monsters from Ireland.

Cameron is the last name I gave Vickie from season four.

And the SAT (a test to determine how well you've learned your lessons over the course of the year not the college one) thing happened to me. I was doing poorly in English because of the stupid correcting sentences for grammar and punctuation bullshit (there is a very good reason I use betas) but when the results came back I got top ten in the NATION for reading comprehension. My friend in the class who getting A's in that class was so mad it wasn't her that she legit stopped talking to me because she was that sure I cheated.

Tag List: FOURTEEN SLOTS REMAINING

Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

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

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

4- @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @thelittleclare

5- @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @she-collects-smut @irregular-child @y4r3luv

6- @fairytalesreality @anaibis @papergrenade @ravenfrog @blondie1006 @dreamercec

7- @thedragonsaunt @sadisticaltarts @kultiras @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman

8- @kal-ology

[moonyswife]

chemtrails over the country club

nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

jason grace x poseidon daughter! reader

part I

1.3k

warnings: allusions to making out, overthinking, i think that’s it.

Jason didn't remember how he found himself in this position, not that he complained, a couple weeks ago he awoke in the back of the bus, with a fake relationship and a fake friendship, since their quest and clearing things up with leo and piper, a genuine friendship blossomed within the trio. now his hands were on her hips, her name was engraved on his mind and he swore that if they wiped his memories again, she would haunt him forever.

y/n , daughter of poseidon, sister of his missing counterpart in this wicked exchange program, the girl that currently was sucking on his pulse. he grabbed her face between his hands, caressing her cheeks as he looked upon her face, how could she be so beautiful, maybe it was because they were sitting on the sand of the beach, anytime she was near a body of water it made her have a different glow to her, it made him even more attracted to her. as she sat on his lap with their arms around the other, the sun was setting behind them and their troubles were miles away, puffy lips, red cheeks and marks on their collars were a clear indicator of their ‘sparring’ session as they claimed. “we are friends, right?” she asked, “above this arrangement, i mean, we are friends, right?” “yeah, sure” he didn’t know how to respond, jason had no idea what she wanted to hear, sure, ever since a that fateful night when he came back from his quest, the day she kissed him on the porch of his cabin and they had talked a little ever since he fell from the sky to her domain at camp, he didn't want to give more thought to his feelings for her, he wasn’t ready to dip his toes in those waters. her eyes looked troubled like the sea during a storm, but she did not ask or say anything else, she just kissed his cheek and got up, jason shivered suddenly feeling the cold of the absence of her body pressed against his, “will i see you at dinner?” the words fell out of his mouth involuntarily, “i don't’ really feel like eating, but if annie goes i will” she exhaled, jason nodded, he didn’t know much, but he knew that you were sisters, maybe not biologically or on the godly side, but the connection you two had was one of the first things he noticed when he arrived at camp. “you know, leo should hurry up with the ship, i venture there’s at least one person that’ll miss you the way annie and i miss my brother” she left as soon as the last word left her mouth, trying to ignore that jealous pang in her stomach and the guilt that settled within.

Jason Grace was left speechless, sure, he did thought about his life before, but since his meeting with juno/hera he had decided not to dwell on the past, he had to think ahead, like a good roman, something was brewing, he could not think about his lost life and memories, he needed to think about his newfound mission in his newfound home and the prophecy. he grieved a life not remembered, but feelings could not detour his fate, so he kept them at bay, training, spending time with his friends (2), sharing information and knowledge with annabeth chase, who he didn’t really know, but respected and feared.

y/n felt guilty, jealous, angry, sad, disturbed, and very very attracted to jason grace, she had selfishly kept this affair going, even knowing that maybe her new friend piper, whom she held a high respect for, may still harbor feelings towards that handsome blond boy, or worse, that he may have an annabeth on that roman camp of his. she tried to forget the latter, even though it was a recurring one ever since annabeth confessed her fear of losing the percy she knew, what if she was taking advantage of hera’s sick and twisted plan, what if she lost her brother? maybe not physically, but spiritually, what if, like jason, he didn't get his whole memory back? what would he or annie or grover think of her making out with the poor roman boy that has half a mind, that she had just merely met and that when she met him, he was dating her ‘friend’. unfortunately, her racing and troubled mind only seemed to calm down when he was near, ever since she found his electric blue eyes, she was intrigued to say the least, and when he returned her bold kiss on his porch, she knew she was done for. he was her newfound grace, all she could think about surrounded him, her mind was in the clouds with the son of jupiter, but their relationship was not only physical, they were friends, or so she hoped, making out sessions were just a pastime of theirs, a certainly enjoyed one, just not the only thing they did as his time at the greek camp went by.

ever since their fall from grace in that chariot to their quest, the trio of jason, piper and leo had spent quite a time with her and annabeth, trying to figure out their connections with each others quest and prophecies, she and annie had grown close to piper, a beautiful, smart, kind and funny girl, and to leo, who was certainly a character to remember, he was loud, pretty funny, kinda pathetic and completely unhinged. she would lying if she said she didn’t enjoy hanging out with them. jason, on the other hand, was a whole new world to her, he was roman, she didn’t even think about the roman gods, he was a son of their zeus (yuck) counterpart, jupiter, with electric blue eyes and a soldier-like kind vibe to him, she did not like him when they first met(apart from physically), as the hours turned into days and her new friends and fellow campers were claimed, they got to know each other, things gradually turning into what they’re now.

—----- sitting on his lonely table at camp, he could not help but think about what y/n had said before and dwell on his scattered memories, did he have someone that missed him like they miss percy jackson? did he have an annabeth? did he have a girlfriend? should he remember? he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about that before, but he never paid much mind to it, he pretty much crossed out him having a girlfriend at his previous camp when he talked thing through with piper, so no one misses him like annabeth misses percy, and things with his sister were just alright, they kept in contact since their last meeting, so no one misses him like y/n misses percy, maybe he just wasn't that important to people, maybe he was just juno’s champion, he was great and powerful, there’s no need to deny that, but he didn’t remember any interpersonal connections or friendships, at least not like the greek claimed to have with the son of poseidon, he should feel bad, sorry for himself, but he didn’t, as little as he knows, he did everything his father asked of him, and now he has a new mission.

not to mention the weird comfortableness he felt at this camp, he had friends like leo and piper, along with a cordial acquaintances with annabeth chase and fellow campers, besides the flutter in his heart and the tightness of his stomach whenever he thinks of you is so damn hard to ignore. life at camp half-blood was pretty good, his next thought scared him, this place was starting to feel like home, he wished and hoped that when all this confusion and prophecies were over, he could still call this place home.

[seungvocado]

Break Ground [Part 2]

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — Content/Trigger warning: Step brother!Seungmin, Step sister!Reader, Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slight angst, Kind of Cheating (?), Possessive Seungmin, Jealous Seungmin. [Let me know if I miss out any!]

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — Sypnosis: Y/N who is secretly in love with her Seungmin - even before they were step-siblings, navigates the complexities of their relationship. Unspoken feelings escalates when she dates another boy to distract herself from Seungmin.

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — Master list - Break Ground (mini series)

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — 18+ work! MDNI! Ageless/blank blogs will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog.

a/n: this is my first writing ever! please give me feedback + suggestions! ❤️

The days following that intense conversation with Seungmin had been torturous for Y/N. Seungmin had withdrawn even more, keeping his distance as if he feared being near her would break whatever fragile resolve he had left. It frustrated her to no end. The tension between them had grown unbearable, and she felt like she was losing him, even as she knew he was right there in front of her.

That was when a classmate from her statistics class—a freshman, younger than her by a year or so—had confessed his feelings. He was sweet, charming in his own awkward way, and his shy smile reminded her a little of Seungmin, which only made her heart ache more. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized this might be what she needed—a distraction, a way to distance herself from the unrequited feelings that were slowly consuming her. Maybe, just maybe, this new relationship could help her move on from Seungmin.

Her friends were quick to notice the similarities. “Your new boyfriend has the same puppy eyes as your brother,” one of them teased. Y/N laughed it off, but inside, the comparison stung. Was she really just trying to replace Seungmin? Or was this her way of coping with a love that could never be?

A few weeks into the relationship, she decided to bring it up casually during dinner. The dinner table was lively that evening, with the sound of clinking cutlery and the hum of casual conversation filling the air. Y/N’s parents were discussing their day, her mother recounting a particularly amusing incident at work while her stepfather chuckled in response. Seungmin sat quietly, contributing to the conversation only when prompted, his usual composed demeanour firmly in place.

Y/N had been waiting for the right moment to bring up her new relationship. She knew it wasn’t just Seungmin she had to be careful around; their parents were also deeply invested in their lives, and any mention of a boyfriend would surely spark their interest. Finally, as the conversation lulled, she decided to casually drop the news.

“So,” she began, her voice steady, “I’ve been seeing someone lately. He’s in my stats class.”

Her mother’s eyes immediately lit up with interest. “Oh really? That’s wonderful, dear! Tell us more about him.”

Her stepfather nodded in agreement, setting down his fork. “Yes, we’d love to hear about him.”

Y/N glanced at Seungmin, who was focused on his plate, but Y/N knew he was aware of every word she said. “Well, he’s really sweet, kind of shy. My friends say he reminds them of Seungmin, actually.” She continued in a joking manner.

That got a reaction. Seungmin’s hand paused for the briefest moment as he reached for his glass, a tiny flicker of something in his eyes before he quickly masked it. He took a sip of water, seemingly unbothered.

“Oh, does he?” her mother said with a smile, glancing between Y/N and Seungmin. “That’s quite the compliment, don’t you think, Seungmin?”

Seungmin looked up, a small, polite smile on his face. “I suppose it is. I hope he treats you well, Y/N.”

“He does,” Y/N replied, watching him closely. “But it’s still new. We’ll see where it goes.”

Her mother leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “What’s his name? How did you two meet?”

Y/N answered, providing the details her mother was eagerly seeking, all the while keeping an eye on Seungmin. He remained quiet, his expression neutral, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on his utensils had tightened ever so slightly.

Her stepfather, noticing Seungmin’s silence, turned to him with a teasing grin. “Seungmin, you better watch out. Seems like you’ve got competition now.”

Their parents knew Seungmin and Y/N have a friendly relationship and were quite close.

Seungmin managed a small chuckle, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure he’s a good guy,” he said evenly. “If Y/N likes him, that’s all that matters.”

The conversation soon shifted, her parents diving into their own stories, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. She had hoped to see some sort of reaction from Seungmin, something that would confirm the feelings she knew he was trying so hard to hide. And while she had gotten a glimpse of that, it wasn’t enough to quell the frustration building inside her.

After dinner, as they cleared the table and Seungmin excused himself to his room, Y/N’s mother pulled her aside.

“He seems like a nice boy, this new boyfriend of yours,” she said softly. “But, Y/N… is everything okay between you and Seungmin? He seemed a bit distant tonight.”

Y/N forced a smile, not wanting to worry her mother. “Everything’s fine, Mom. We’re just… busy with our own lives, I guess.”

Her mother studied her for a moment, clearly not entirely convinced, but she didn’t press further. “Alright, dear. Just remember, you can always talk to me if something’s on your mind.”

“I know. Thanks, Mom,” Y/N replied, giving her a quick hug before retreating to her room.

Once alone, Y/N let out a sigh, collapsing onto her bed. The evening hadn’t gone quite as she had hoped. Seungmin’s reaction had been so controlled, so careful, that it only made her more certain of the feelings he was trying so desperately to keep buried. But how long could they go on like this? How long could they both pretend, keeping their true emotions locked away?

She rolled onto her side, staring out the window at the night sky.

Maybe her new relationship could be the escape she needed, a way to distance herself from the turmoil of loving someone she could never truly have. But even as she thought that, she knew it wouldn’t be so simple. Seungmin was a part of her life in a way no one else could be, and no matter how hard she tried, forgetting him wouldn’t be easy.

As she drifted off to sleep, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what Seungmin was thinking, alone in his room, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Did he regret the distance he had put between them? Or was he grateful for it, believing it to be the best way to protect them both from the complicated feelings they couldn’t afford to acknowledge?

υ´• ﻌ •`υ — υ´• ﻌ •`υ — υ´• ﻌ •`υ — υ´• ﻌ •`υ

Y/N hurried through breakfast, barely touching her food as she scrambled to finish getting ready. She knew Seungmin would be expecting her to ride with him to university, as they usually did, an order from their father when Y/N and her mom first moved in, but today was different. Her new boyfriend had offered to walk with her, and she had agreed, eager to establish a sense of independence from the tangled emotions she felt around Seungmin.

Seungmin, as usual, was calm and collected as he finished his coffee.

“Y/N,” Seungmin called out from the kitchen as he glanced at his watch, “Relax. We still have plenty of time. You don’t need to rush.”

Y/N didn’t stop moving, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m not going with you today,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m walking with my boyfriend. He’s waiting downstairs.”

Seungmin’s expression faltered for just a moment, the briefest flicker of something dark passing through his eyes before he schooled his features into a neutral mask. “I see,” he replied, his voice a touch colder than usual. “Well, you should still have breakfast.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, already heading toward the door. “Don’t worry about me.”

She didn’t wait for his response, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway. As she closed the door behind her, she didn’t see the way Seungmin’s calm demeanour shattered the moment she was out of sight. His hand tightened around the handle of his coffee mug, the muscles in his jaw clenching as a wave of jealousy and anger surged through him.

He didn’t even realize he’d set the mug down with more force than necessary until he heard the sharp crack of the ceramic hitting the counter. The sound snapped him out of his thoughts, and he stared down at the shattered pieces, his chest heaving with the effort to control his emotions.

She’s walking with him, Seungmin thought bitterly. He’s taking her away from me.

The thought of Y/N with someone else—of her laughing, smiling, maybe even touching someone who wasn’t him—filled him with a dark, burning rage. He knew it was irrational, knew he had no right to feel this way, but the jealousy was too powerful to ignore.

After a few deep breaths, Seungmin forced himself to calm down, collecting the broken pieces of the mug and disposing of them. But the anger simmered just beneath the surface, lingering even as he left the house and drove to the university alone.

For the rest of the day, the image of Y/N walking with her boyfriend gnawed at him. He couldn’t focus on his classes, his mind constantly drifting back to her, wondering where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. It was maddening, and no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept coming back, stronger each time.

Y/N, on the other hand, noticed the change in Seungmin’s behaviour almost immediately after she announced her relationship. He was around more often, appearing in the living room to study when she was watching TV or lingering in the dining room longer after meals. His gaze, once distant and controlled, had become something else entirely. She could feel it on her, scrutinizing her in a way that made her heart race with both anxiety and something deeper.

It wasn’t just the way he looked at her; it was the intensity, the way his eyes seemed to search for something—some sign of injury or perhaps something more intimate. It unnerved her, but it also made her question everything. Was Seungmin worried about her? Jealous? Or was it something else entirely?

Late at night, when the house was quiet, Y/N would lie in bed, replaying the moments when she caught Seungmin watching her, trying to decipher the emotions hidden behind his guarded expression. It was as if he was trying to protect her from something, but what, she couldn’t say.

The distance between them was growing, yet at the same time, Seungmin’s presence seemed more overwhelming than ever. He was always there, just on the edge of her awareness, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on her new relationship, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Seungmin’s gaze was following her, even when she wasn’t looking.

And as much as she wanted to believe that this new relationship would help her move on, deep down, she knew that Seungmin still held a part of her heart that no one else could touch.

[coloursflyaway]

I love your stories about Edwin and Charles, how you make Charles smile, and how Edwin always looks up to him. I wanted to try to leave a little hurt/comfort prompt where Edwin gets hit by some kind of curse, and Charles has to take care of him and find a cure. Or maybe it's a curse that will only last for a couple of days, but Charles is sick with worries (and then feelings realization, pf course)

Of course, it's totally fine if you can't, but I had to try. Thank you so much for your writing ❤️❤️❤️

Hi ♥ Sorry that it took so long, but this kind of, sort of got out of hand. Hope you like it!

Breathing Space

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 6.300

Read on AO3

It happens in the blink of an eye. A flash of light, violet and yellow and blue, sparkling in a way that would be beautiful if Charles couldn’t taste the curse in it, like rust and blood and soil, and then Edwin is crumbling beneath his own non-existent weight, and Charles knows he is screaming only when he hears his own voice ringing in his ears.

During a case, Edwin gets hit by a curse and won't wake up.

It happens in the blink of an eye.

A flash of light, violet and yellow and blue, sparkling in a way that would be beautiful if Charles couldn’t taste the curse in it, like rust and blood and soil, and then Edwin is crumbling beneath his own non-existent weight, and Charles knows he is screaming only when he hears his own voice ringing in his ears.

The wizard, who they have been following for days now, is forgotten instantly, suddenly the least important being in this room, this world, because Edwin is on his knees, shoulders trembling, head pitched forward and his arms hanging limply at his sides. It takes Charles three steps to get to him, which feel like the longest distance he has ever had to cross, before he is falling down in front of Edwin, shielding him from whatever else the wizard might come up with.

His trembling hands come up to hold Edwin by the shoulders as Charles frantically searches his face for any marks – the cracks that indicate petrification, a sickly glow that comes from a binding hex, the translucence that means disintegration – but for a moment, there is nothing, just Edwin’s lips parted, his eyes wide and shocked. And Charles is about to breathe a sigh of relief, because while the spell clearly hit Edwin, it must be ineffective against ghosts, or supernatural beings in general, or maybe just Edwin; it doesn’t matter.

So, Charles starts to pull back, ready to shoot Edwin a smile and get up to go after the wizard once more, but it’s a moment too early, because with his hands still on Edwin’s shoulders, Charles watches as his eyes go dim, then black, and then close.

His body goes slack, still in Charles’ arms, head rolling forward against his shoulder, and Charles has felt fear before and yet learns it anew right there, kneeling on the floor, clinging to Edwin’s lifeless body.

The wizard uses the chaos that ensues to flee; Charles doesn’t even see him leave, just hears the electric charge of magic, the woosh of air filling the space his body had occupied just moments ago. But it doesn’t matter, how could it, not when Edwin’s lifeless body is in his arms, solid and yet without weight, without the spark that usually makes him feel real.

Charles forces himself to take a deep breath, then another one, just like he taught Edwin to do mere weeks after they had met, anything to force down the panic that threatens to overtake his body. He can’t let it, not when they are still here, exposed in an old hotel’s hallway, when the man who has done this to Edwin could be coming back any second.

Another breath, one that Charles forces down deeper than it wants to go, filling up lungs he does not have any longer; another one, just so Charles can get up, taking Edwin with him.

He’s light, which is nothing new, but there is something distinctly missing, something Charles usually can feel whenever they touch: Edwin’s energy, whatever it is that makes him him, is cut off, subdued, impossible for Charles to reach out to and touch.

It’s terrifying in a way that is so visceral that Charles’ next breath doesn’t make it down to his lungs, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat; he can’t feel Edwin, something he has gotten so used to doing with every touch that it turns his fingertips to ice where they are holding onto Edwin’s back, the length of his arms brittle and breaking and all but useless.

If it wasn’t Edwin he was holding, and if keeping Edwin safe wasn’t an instinct woven so deeply into the fabric of his soul it made up half its threads, he’d drop him from the shock of it. But it is Edwin, and so the breath just chokes him, as Charles cradles Edwin to his chest as tightly as he can without splintering his arms, and sets off to bring him home.

He lays Edwin down on their sofa, and for the first time since Charles met him, he looks dead.

The thought rips through Charles like a bullet would, and he banishes it immediately, wouldn’t know what else to do. Because Edwin is still in there, he knows it, has to know it so he won’t fall apart.

And ghosts, after all, disintegrate, don’t die like humans would, and Edwin is still there, solid and real on their sofa, even if his eyes are closed and his skin pale, and Charles will make him wake up again, even if it’s the last thing he ever does.

They have a library that contains all of the knowledge Charles could ever dream of and then some, so he goes and picks out as many book as he can carry and brings them over to where Edwin is laying.

There’s no space next to him, not the way he is spread out, and for a second, Charles considers… but he won’t. He wouldn’t.

So, instead, he sinks down to the floor next to the sofa and starts reading, and only stops when the first book proves utterly, utterly useless.

The second one does, too.

The third book mentions parsley as being connected to the underworld, talks about its vapours calling out to their goddess, so Charles finds some in Edwin’s unending jars and boxes, and burns it in a shallow dish he balances on Edwin’s chest.

Smoke wafts up and obscures his face; there must be something to it, because Charles can smell it bittersweet when he forces down another breath, and for a moment, he can feel hope flutter in his chest, a terrified sparrow caught between his ribs, ready to sing if Edwin opens his eyes. Only that when the mist clears, Edwin is laying there like he had been before.

Eyes closed, unmoving, and Charles has to shut his as well for a moment, just to make sure he doesn’t scream. The sight stays with him anyway, burnt into his retinas, and Charles counts to ten, then forces himself to take a breath, just to keep the panic from smothering him.

Another, and another, until he can open his eyes once more; another, and he picks up the next book. There is still a sliver of space next to Edwin’s feet, calling out to him, and Charles think and thinks and doesn’t do it this time, either.

The books tell him about myrtle and mistletoe and feverwort, so Charles tries all of them and watches them fail to change a thing, no matter if Charles burns them or puts their ground up leaves on Edwin’s silent tongue, or dabs their juices onto Edwin’s eyelids.

Fifteen books in, it becomes difficult to see the letters clearly, not because the sun had gone down and risen three times by now, but because Charles cannot swallow the panic down any longer. It’s clogging up his throat, as sharp and corrosive as bile, ripping at his chest with claws that slice right through Charles’ soul.

Edwin is still in there, he knows it, because if he wasn’t, Charles wouldn’t be here anymore, either.

He is in there, dormant or waiting or suppressed, and Charles will get him back, no matter if it takes herbs or spells or magic trinkets or just time. So, Charles puts a hand on his chest, right above where his heart would be, just like his mother taught him decades ago, and makes himself breathe, one, two, three.

It doesn’t change anything, and yet it helps; Charles looks down at Edwin, who looks frozen in time, pale skin and pink lips and lashes fanned out over high cheekbones, and he takes another breath.

And another one.

Crystal finds him on the morning of the fourth day, storming into the agency in a flurry of auburn hair and her purple coat; Charles hasn’t forgotten she exists – how could he ? – and yet, she has been as far from his mind as if he had.

“Now, I know you guys don’t drink coffee”, she starts, as loud and bright as the beginning of summer, as welcome as a gust of warm wind, “But you have to be aware that it is still pretty fucking rude to stand up your almost-best friend at – oh fuck, what happened?”

By the time Crystal has reached the sofa her eyes are wide and worried, and they remind Charles of Edwin’s the last time he saw them, and the thought hurts and throbs and makes him feel faint; he swallows it down with another mouthful of air, because there is no time for panic, no time for anything but figuring this out.

“Spell. I’m trying to figure out what to do about it”, Charles explains as succinctly as he can, because if he starts to go into all the forty-two hours and twenty-three minutes he has been sitting here, reading, he’ll break down before he reaches the second day. “Sorry for standing you up though. I didn’t mean to, I just-”

“It’s fine”, Crystal interrupts him before he can finish speaking; Charles doesn’t even have to look at her to know she means it, but does so anyway. “Any way I can help?”

And Charles loves her, he really, truly does.

Crystal makes it through a book and a half before she has to leave, and Charles gets up for a moment to hug her goodbye. He doesn’t really feel it and yet it helps, even if just a little. Then, after she has walked through the door, he looks back down at Edwin and considers sitting down, right there, where…

But he doesn’t.

When the botany books run out, Charles moves on to healing gems, and adorns Edwin’s still body with haematite and smokey quartz and amethyst, but there is no twitch, no flutter of an eyelid, no sign of life, of afterlife, at all.

So, Charles breathes away the panic, even if it feels like swallowing splinters and shards of rock, and leaves the smokey quartz on Edwin’s chest nonetheless. Even if it doesn’t call Edwin back to him, the book spoke of protection, and if there is something both of them need, it is that.

On the morning of the fifth day, Crystal returns, Niko right behind her.

She’s carrying the largest cup of coffee Charles has ever seen, her laptop under her arm, and there is determination radiating from her that Charles would be reassured by, if the panic hadn’t made its permanent home just below his collarbones by now, too knotted and tangled and vast to swallow any longer.

He still breathes it into submission, but every time a page turns, and an herb or an incantation or a gem fails to make a difference, it takes more effort, more breaths than before, until it feels like forcing himself to breathe is all Charles is still doing. Breathing and reading and watching Edwin like he is frozen in time and space, trapped in the spell’s amber like the rarest of butterflies.

“I’ve looked up some things”, Crystal tells him, and Niko nods, while she puts down her bag. “Niko brought a ghost box, in case we can communicate with him like that. And a Ouija board.”

That, at least startles a laugh out of Charles; it’s such a strange idea to try and reach Edwin like this, and yet, he realises, he is not above trying. Not if there is the smallest, the most miniscule possibility that it might work.

“Anything else I should know about?”, he asks, and it’s like he had forgotten that he has friends through the grief, the panic he is trying his best to quell, like it had slipped his mind how much he loved them.

Neither of them could replace Edwin, of course not, but not only because Edwin is irreplaceable. Also, because they are too important to be someone’s replacement: Niko and her brightly coloured cheerfulness and surprising insights, Crystal and her brilliant brashness and unbreakable will.

For a moment, Charles loves them enough for it to be overwhelming.

“Not really”, Crystal answers, as she sits down at the desk. “Couldn’t think of anything else. It’s really unfortunate that the one who got sleeping beauty-d was the walking encyclopedia. I’m sure Edwin would come up with two dozen ways of waking you up without breaking a sweat.”

Charles nods; it’s not the first time he has wished for their roles to be reversed, and it won’t be the last time. Both because of the reason Crystal states – Edwin would know what to do instantly, would have gotten Charles back by now – and because, well. Because if the choice is between Edwin and he, then Charles will always choose Edwin, as long as he exists.

“I know”, he states simply, and Crystal’s eyes soften; Charles’ own burn with tears he refuses to shed.

He’ll have time to cry later, once Edwin is back where he belongs.

The spirit box does nothing but spit out garbled nonsense, the planchette doesn’t move a centimetre on their Ouija board, and Charles breathes and breathes and breathes and still feels like he is suffocating.

“Maybe he really is like Sleeping Beauty”, Niko mumbles, half asleep from where she is curled on their single arm chair. It is so late that it is early again, and Charles has almost forgotten that the girls need to sleep, too wrapped up in reading and hoping and trying out things that fail anyway. “Maybe we could kiss him awake. I wouldn’t mind kissing him. If it helps.”

“That’s just a fairytale”, Crystal tells her, half gentle, half exasperated, but Charles almost doesn’t hear her over the rushing of blood he doesn’t have in his ears. “If not, then Charles would have kissed him awake days ago. Right?”

He never thought about it, even if he has been going through books upon books of old mythology – Greek and Roman and Indian and Japanese – and yet he has never considered that fairytales might hold answers, too. And yet, it isn’t that what shocks Charles into almost silence for a second, it’s that Niko says, I wouldn’t mind kissing him, and Charles first thought is, but you can’t.

“Yeah”, he replies, just to have said something, “Sure. I would’ve.”

The girls leave again the next day, citing their need for a shower, a hot meal and an actual bed, and Charles lets them go with a heavy heart and a forced smile on his lips.

He is nearing the end of his wits, all books he can think of having been read and all spells tried, all herbs mashed and burnt and distilled, all healing crystals placed on Edwin, then removed.

Before she closes the door behind her, though, Niko rushes back in and places a bright red band-aid on Edwin’s left hand, right across the back of it.

“I know it’s not a wound that makes him like this”, she explains before either Crystal or Charles can ask, sounding like she has been thinking about this for a long, long time. “But my dad always said that a band-aid would make anything heal better. Maybe not faster. But better. And I want him to heal the best.”

And Charles, even if there might be tears blurring his eyes, couldn’t agree more.

The sun sets on the sixth day and Edwin is still unmoving, lifeless, and Charles pulls out the last book he can find that seems to make any sense, a tome that seems as ancient as the opinions Edwin had on the Sex Pistols when he was still able to voice them, and sinks down onto the floor next to him.

By now, the panic is so familiar that he doesn’t think about it anymore as he turns to look at Edwin, the band-aid on his hand and the stillness of his body, just feels it rush through him with an intensity that never seems to waver, even as he breathes and breathes and breathes.

It’s been almost a week since he last heard Edwin’s voice, last saw his eyes crinkle up when he tries not to smile at one of Charles’ jokes, last felt anything when he looked at Edwin that wasn’t doused and drenched and drowned in fear. And it hurts to think it, terrifies Charles more than he could say, and for a moment, he wants nothing more than to break down and curl up and hold Edwin and just beg him to return, tears and sobs and promises to any god that might listen, which he might or might not keep.

But it wouldn’t help anything, wouldn’t bring Edwin back, so instead, Charles closes his eyes and feels the panic trying to strangle him so tightly it’s like a cord across the windpipe he doesn’t use any longer.

And he sucks in a breath, desperate and shaky, and before he starts to choke, he takes another.

And another.

And another.

And starts to read.

The sun of the seventh day rises and Charles finishes the book and there is nothing in it, nothing at all. Nothing to try, nothing to help, nothing to even give Charles a hint, a sliver, a thread of hope.

He takes a breath and it tastes like ash, feels like barbed wire, and for the first time, the panic stays right where it is, worming its way from his throat up to drown him.

What if he never wakes up?, it whispers, deep and threatening and somehow compelling Charles to almost believe it true. What if that spell snuffed out his soul and this is all you’ll have left of him?

Without thinking, Charles shakes his head, as if he could fling the thoughts from his mind, but the damage is done; he takes another deep breath and the fear clings to the back of his throat, coats his tongue, fills the space between his teeth, and hisses, What if you will never hear him speak another word?

The tears come and this time, Charles cannot stop them; they burn in his eyes, blur his vision, scald his cheeks as they finally fall. It’s like a dam has burst; it’s one tear, then a thousand, then he’s drowning in them like he is drowning in the panic that is clogging up his throat, swelling in his mouth until he cannot even try to take another breath.

What, it taunts, What if you’ll never be able to tell him what he deserved to hear?

He cries for what feels like hours, sunken into a heap at Edwin’s feet and yet, once his tears have dried, it doesn’t feel like their ocean inside his chest has diminished in the slightest. Nor has the panic, even if it is back clawing at his neck, not filling his mouth any longer, but it is there, lurking, waiting for a moment when Charles’ control slips to overtake him once again.

So, he takes in a deep, deep breath, that feels like it is designed to make him burst, and gets up once more.

There are no books left to read, at least none that Charles puts any hopes in, so he just walks over to their library to put back the last one – Edwin would be so mad at him if he found out he had left his priceless tomes on the agency’s floor – but before he turns away, unmoored, untethered, unneeded, something catches his eye.

It’s silly, but maybe silly is the last thing he still has left; he picks up the book of Grimm’s Fairytales and returns to the sofa where Edwin lays.

Ever since Charles had put Edwin down, arms longing to keep his form close for just a little longer, Charles has not been able to touch him. He had been tempted, because ever since they met, Charles had wanted to touch Edwin, but it had felt wrong, because Edwin wasn’t there to feel him, and it had felt wrong because Charles was certain he would be able to tell the difference. And would he be able to take it, wrapping a hand around Edwin’s wrist and not feeling the thrum of his energy, the almost-sensation that touching another ghost could bring?

Charles still isn’t sure, still thinks that it might shatter him beyond recognition.

And yet, he stands above Edwin now, looking down at his familiar features, the sharpness of his jaw and the crisp collar framing it, the emptiness of his expression. It might shatter him, but maybe it would be better than wasting away like this, panic clawing at him with every needless breath he doesn’t take, longing for any kind of contact he could have with Edwin.

He stands there for several endless seconds, before his body starts to move on its own; it feels natural and yet like the biggest possible transgression as Charles lifts Edwin’s legs from the cushions and sits down next to him, before depositing Edwin’s feet safely back in lap.

A second, and the grief, the pain, threatens to overwhelm him, because this is a mirror of how they used to sit on quiet nights; Edwin reading and Charles listening, his feet in Edwin’s lap. It had felt safe back then, like home, and yet it seems to tear him into pieces now.

Charles wants to jump up and run, wants to bury himself in the cushions, under the weightless pressure of Edwin’s feet, and never get up again.

He takes a breath, even if feels like smoke and ash and stale air, and opens the book.

“In times past there lived a king and queen...“

The stories are short, so Charles reads Edwin’s lifeless form Sleeping Beauty and Little Red Riding Hood and Mother Holle, takes a little break and then continues with Rapunzel. There is something soothing about the act, less the sound of his own voice or the content of the stories, but the reading itself. Reading to someone, reading to Edwin.

It makes Charles think of dying and feeling warm although his body was wracked with shivers, makes him think of doing research and having Edwin read out passages of books to him from across the desk, of sitting right here, on this sofa, with their roles reversed and wishing he could fall asleep to Edwin’s voice washing over him.

Edwin can’t hear him, of course, and Charles is aware of it with every word he speaks, and it matters, just not enough. Because Charles can still sit here and read to him, even if his voice doesn’t reach him, and he can wrap his fingers around Edwin’s ankle and hold onto it like it’s the only thing still grounding him, and maybe, for a moment, he can keep the fear at bay.

By the time he has finished the book, all twenty-three stories in it, the sun has set.

Sometime between The Three Spinners and Godfather Death, Charles has turned on the lights, so when he looks over at Edwin once more, he is bathed in golden light, the glow warming up his pale skin, casting shadows across his eyelids, underneath his cheekbones. He looks ethereal, like he was made from porcelain and silk, and Charles aches with the picture, because he looks just as still, just as lifeless. Dead, for the first time since Charles has known him.

The thought wraps around his heart and squeezes until he feels like giving in, forcing tears into Charles’ eyes and the breath he has been drawing so diligently from his imagined lungs once more.

He can’t be dead, not in a real sense, because Charles would not be able to take it.

Edwin’s eyes are closed, like they have been for a week, and Charles misses their colour, misses their light, misses how Edwin rolls them when Charles says something he deems ridiculous; his lips are parted the slightest hint, and Charles misses their smiles, their frowns, the way Edwin’s tongue sometimes flicks out between them, as if he still had to moisten them.

Without meaning to, Charles’ gaze gets stuck on them, on their colour and their plushness, and Niko’s voice echoes in his mind unbidden.

Maybe we could kiss him awake.

They can’t, surely they can’t.

And yet, Charles has tried every spell, every herbal remedy, has read more this past week than within the last three years, and Edwin is still lifeless beside him, untouched by all of it.

It would be a last resort, just a touch of lips against lips, even if Charles feels his heart speed up at the thought, fingers trembling as he puts down the book he is still holding onto. Nothing more than making sure that it’s not such an obvious solution that they missed.

Getting up and losing their connection for just as second feels unbearable, even if he’ll get to touch Edwin again a moment later, so Charles takes a deep breath for a new feeling this time, close to panic and yet softer, sweeter, and leans over Edwin’s body. It’s an awkward position, Edwin’s knees pressed against his chest and one of Charles’ hands clinging onto the backrest of the sofa to keep him upright, the other in the space between Edwin’s neck and shoulder; they’ve been close before, but never like this.

Suddenly, a thought: Edwin loves him.

Somewhere, wherever he is, Edwin loves him, and Charles is going to kiss him and Edwin won’t even know it.

“I’m so sorry, mate”, Charles whispers, even if it is only for his own ears, and feels his heart break. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And he leans down, no breaths, no thoughts, and kisses Edwin.

It’s just like he planned, lips against lips, even if Charles’ eyes slip shut, even if his metaphorical heart is exploding in his chest, a supernova, an atom bomb.

He kisses Edwin, and a silly, hopeful, doomed part of his mind expects Edwin’s hand to shoot up and grab his cheek to pull him in closer, expects Edwin’s lips to part wider in an invitation for Charles to lick into his clever mouth, expects Edwin to feel that he is being kissed and come back to life just to kiss Charles back.

A moment, Charles stays like this, hoping; another, he stays, despairing; at the third, he pulls back, eyes brimming with tears and lips tingling with Edwin’s echo on them.

It’s no fairytale they are in, and Charles had known it from the start, yet as he sits back and touches his fingers to his just-kissed lips, he remembers that most of those end badly anyway.

The girls will find him sooner of later, Charles thinks as he sits and stares at the wall, unable to move, unable to look at Edwin and find him lifeless still. They'll ask him what has happened, because there is no way they will not notice, and Charles doesn’t know which thought hurts him more: telling them and having to see the pity on their faces, or making up an excuse and having to suffer through this by himself.

Again, he touches his fingers to his lips – the twelfth time, he has been keeping count – and feels them tingle. Charles knows why, has known why since his lips touched Edwin’s, has known it before then, even, and yet he doesn’t want to finish the thought, doesn’t want to acknowledge the feeling spreading in his chest, making his dead heart beat once more.

Maybe it had been nothing but folly, but arrogance, but when he had promised Edwin that they would have forever to figure things out, he had believed it.

Even back then, Charles had sensed what his answer would be – because it was Edwin, it was a whole new way to be close to the person he cared about most already, an invitation to explore a side of his best friend Charles never would have considered seeing - but Edwin deserved more than a probably in the future, if you give me time. He deserved a yes, a please, a I love you the most.

And so Charles had put it off, even if he had started watching more closely, tracking Edwin’s motions, tracing the tendons of his hands and the lines of his face, listening to his explanations like one would do to music.

It had worked, too, because now, as he brushes his knuckles across his lips, he can feel Edwin’s on them instead, and his heart swells in his chest with an emotion he refuses to name, and his eyes burn with tears once more.

He breathes in, deep and desperate, even if he knows that the panic will suffocate him anyway.

At some point, Charles spaces out; the moments blur together, it starts to rain and stops again, birds singing in the newly discovered sun, and Charles hears it and yet doesn’t register it in the slightest. It doesn’t matter, after all. How could it?

“Charles?”

For a moment, Charles thinks it’s a dream, or a figment of his imagination, or his mind finally breaking after being focussed on nothing but Edwin for a week, his heart singing with a litany of pleasepleaseplease, but when his head snaps around to look at Edwin, there are eyes meeting his.

Confused, but awake, moss green; Charles’ favourite colour.

“Charles, what happened? Why are you- why are you crying?”

And he is, Charles notices with some detachment, because that, too, doesn’t matter; there are tears on his cheeks and dripping down his chin and making it hard to see, but he doesn’t have to see to find Edwin, falling across the sofa to hug him close to his chest.

Edwin is solid, but most importantly, the hum beneath his astral skin is back, the one that Charles wants to drink in and never be without again, like he has been starved for months and only now been given sustenance.

“You’re back”, he sobs into Edwin’s chest, ignoring how there are knees digging into his side, that Edwin is making a confused little sound at the back of his throat; Edwin is awake, he’s here, and that is all that matters, all that will ever matter from now on. “You’re back, God, I missed you so much-”

A beat passes, then an arm sneaks around his waist, Edwin’s hand settling between Charles’ shoulder blades, and he could stop existing happily right here, wrapped up in Edwin’s presence, the last thing he almost-feels his touch.

“I gather I have been out for quite some time?”, Edwin asks gently, fingers pressing along the ridges of Charles’ spine, who can’t do anything but nod, words drowned out by yet another sob. “I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. But I’m alright now, I promise. It was just a temporary banishing spell, nothing at all to be worried about.”

His voice is a balm to all of Charles’ wounds, soothing them even if it is yet to early for them to heal. The words don’t make sense right now, even if they might do so later, but Charles cannot bring himself to care; Edwin is the one speaking them, and he could ask for nothing more. There will be time for everything else later, for now, he just clings to Edwin and for the first time in days, takes a breath and feels the panic dissolve.

“You read all of them?”, Edwin asks what feels like hours later, eyes still moss green and wide again, like he cannot believe what Charles is saying. It makes sense; Charles can hardly believe it either.

“Didn’t have a choice, did I?”, he asks, pushing a hand through his hair almost self-consciously. “I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“I suppose. But still.” Edwin smiles at him, like he is surprised that Charles would go do this for him; he shouldn’t be. “I know you don’t particularly enjoy the older encyclopedias we have, so thank you for reading them anyway. Even if that means I might have to surrender my title as the brains of our operation. Seems like you’re the full package now, Charles.”

The words are soft, teasing, and Charles knows he would be blushing at them if he still had blood to make that happen; suddenly, he remembers the feeling of Edwin’s unmoving lips against his, soul-crushing and yet almost perfect.

“I will have to thank Crystal and Niko for their efforts as well”, Edwin muses, unaware of Charles’ brain short-circuiting. They have time now, once again, could have forever, but…. “Is there anything else I should be aware of that happened while I was unconscious?”

For a split-second Charles wants to say no – and in some way, it is true, nothing had happened, nothing could have happened, because the only thing that had mattered had been getting Edwin back – but he remembers leaning down to Edwin so clearly, whispering I’ll make it up to you a second before stealing his second kiss.

“Well”, he starts and Edwin looks at him expectantly; he’s beautiful in a way that Charles only knows from paintings, statues, the poems Edwin sometimes reads him at night. How has he ever been able to miss this? “Sort of. When we were. You know. Through with the books and the spells and all the herbs, Niko had this idea. Half asleep, but still. I didn’t consider it, not at first, but when nothing else had worked, well, I didn’t know what else to do, and I remembered her saying… she compared you to Sleeping Beauty.”

He cannot say it, can’t make his lips form the words, so he says this instead, hopes that Edwin will know just what he means. It takes a moment, then two, and Charles is about to force another breath down his unusable lungs, when Edwin’s eyes go wide with surprise.

“Y-You mean…?”, he asks, and Charles has never heard him stutter before, the sound so sweet he casts it in amber within his heart.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Charles, you didn’t have to – I mean, I hope it wasn’t too big an imposition, I never would have expected anything like this from you, it’s-”, Edwin continues like he’s stumbling after the right words, unable to catch up to them, and it is both endearing and heartbreaking, because even if Charles could never return his feelings, kissing Edwin, especially like this, for this, would never be an imposition.

“Nah, don’t worry”, he interrupts, before Edwin can say anything else. A breath, a decision, before he continues, “It’s not like I minded it. Just wish you could have been awake for it.”

He grins to calm his nerves; this isn’t panic, this is tension, this is sweet and yet terrifying, life-changing and yet worth everything.

Edwin stares at him for a second, his feet still in Charles’ lap, and Charles wants to kiss him again, wants to finally have a reason to put a name to the feeling that is lapping at his every thought now, threatening to spill past his eyes, his lips.

“You would rather have kissed me if I was awake?”, Edwin asks, his voice faint, like he cannot believe what he is asking, and Charles nods, not allowing a second in which Edwin could doubt it.

“Of course”, he answers and suddenly, it is so easy, because it’s the truth and because Charles wants Edwin to know it, know he is loved and he is wanted and that he is safe with him. “I know I said we had forever to figure things out, but you know me. I’ve always been inpatient, right?”

And it’s like watching the sun rise, Edwin’s wide eyes slowly lighting up like morning breaking, and Charles is warmed by it like by nothing be before in his existence; this, a voice whispers, must be what being in love feels like.

“You’re right”, Edwin finally replies, slower than usual, almost dreamlike, “Patience had never been a particular virtue of yours.”

He could drag this out, Charles knows it, and part of him wants to, because this is the kind of tension he thrives on, the sweetness before a kiss, before everything has been acknowledged, and because he has missed just looking at Edwin almost as much as he now misses the feeling of Edwin’s lips against his. But he’ll have time to look at Edwin later, too, they will have time to talk, because forever is back on the table and Charles will use up every second of it to spend it with Edwin.

“Still isn’t”, he therefore tells Edwin, leaning in just a little closer. The position is almost as awkward as it had been the first time, but Charles still cannot bring himself to care. “But maybe-”

Only that he doesn’t get further than that, because Edwin launches himself forward, arms wrapping around Charles’ neck t o pull him down and then Edwin is kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. It’s inelegant, inexperienced, too hard and yet not hard enough, and Charles feels his heart break, feels it mend again, because this is what kissing Edwin should always have been; too much and yet not close to enough.

He kisses back, just a little gentler, one hand coming from resting around Edwin’s ankle to cup his cheek, and for a second, Edwin pulls back to look at him, moss green eyes shining.

Charles takes a breath, just like his mother taught him, deep and steady, just to keep himself from spilling every loving thought he’s ever had into the inch of space between them.

And instead kisses Edwin again.

[penvisions]

one fish, two fish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Local! Frankie Morales x Transplant! Reader

Summary: Reaching out and another chance encounter undoes the wonderful night you shared with Frankie. But maybe a chance encounter with his friend from the bar can undo all that...

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical bad luck, angst, unlucky encounters, misunderstandings, reader gets ghosted, then frankie gets ghosted, feelings of inadequacy, recovery, ptsd symptoms, past drug use, na meeting setting, conversations with a sponsor, a lot of feelings, reader has imposter syndrome, rude people, entitlement, workplace politics, degrading language, reader has a callsign nickname but no assigned name, lemme know if i missed any (nicely) please!

A/N: kind of scared to post this, i know i have other fics that are 'due for' an update but inspiration is low as i prepare to start working again and recoup from a camping trip. this'll be the heaviest chapter, wanting to do more fluff for this fic and go back to funny moments and silly times with frankie! thank y'all for reading and as always, hope the days are good to you ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || frankie masterlist || ko-fi

Radio check for Fish, come in Fish.

Read out loud and clear, Angel. Go ahead for Fish.

Roger that, requesting communication.

Request granted. Glad you’re back on the airwaves. Everything okay?

Affirmative.

Copy that. Standby…

Phone poised in hand, you wait for the speech bubble to pop back up, indicating his return to the conversation. But when half an hour, an hour goes by you sigh and load the inactive thing into your bag to continue your errands. After a rather frustrating visit to the phone provider you had chosen, a weak argument of ‘but it was an accident’ when told that the damage to the phone looked purposeful and just in time for the newest phone release, you had sat down at a coffee shop to grab breakfast and set up the new device. Now though, you guessed it was time to get the rest of the day’s errands done.

The paper Frankie had handed you nearly a week ago had found itself tacked to the half corkboard, half whiteboard calendar you kept in the kitchen. Your eyes sliding to it more often than you’d like to admit as you made dashes through in the morning on the way to work or cooked in the evenings.

An entire week goes by and you try to put it out of your mind. New phone heavy in your hands when you settle with it on the edge of the couch, or check it each morning before work, at the office on your lunch break. But no new messages come in, just that once funny copy that, standby. Standby…. Standby….

You had thought things were getting better, but the girls at work were being weird and conversations hushed whenever you walked into the breakroom or entered the bathroom and more than two were together. You hadn’t even bothered to bring up the fact that they ditched you at the bar the night you officially met Frankie…because it didn’t matter.

They had done it and it was over. If it had been intentional then that was on you for not seeing through their false offers of genuine camaraderie. If it had been accidental, then that was on you for not noticing how short their attention spans were. If it had been to give you a chance to go home with the not one, but two guys that approached you the second you were alone, then it was appreciated but a bit vapid of an assumption of what type of person you were.

The atmosphere at work and the novelty of being a new person to the team had quickly vanished. You were now the one whose desk was piled high with files and sticky note reminders of tasks to complete that carried over into the next day in an endless cycle. The routine of it all was so monotonous and draining.

Wake up, breakfast, commute.

Work, lunch, return emails about work that won’t be finished.

Commute, run, prep lunch, make dinner, clean.

Shower, pace the house, sleep.

It was dizzying as much as the errant thoughts of visiting one of the dance clubs downtown and tracking down the sirens call of pills or powder, anything to help you get out of your head and the endlessly swirling thoughts of doing everything wrong.

But you couldn’t, even if relapse was a part of recovery. It was not a part you wanted to end up being complicit with, one you were trying to avoid with every fiber of your being. The feeling of drowning and sinking down to the bottom of the ocean an all too real one that consumes you from the second you wake up to the second you finally pass out at the end of the day. Waterlogged clothing and the weight of water in your lungs too real.

Memories of turbulent water and debris raining down into it all around you only adding to the chaos of your mind.

You could hear the higher pitched prattle of a little girl on the next aisle over and you find yourself smiling despite the exhaustion that makes your body heavy. The basket hanging from your arm is laden with a bunch of bananas, a few other fruits, a carton of coffee creamer, and a pack of gummy sharks. Just one more thing to gather was a box of oatmeal, on the cereal aisle that you turn on.

There’s the broad back of Frankie, standing in front of one of the larger carts the store offers for shoppers. He’s quietly speaking to someone on the other side of the cart, eclipsed by the big form of him. The cart is nearly full though, you can see the colored boxes and wrappers of various foods inside as he leans over to grab a box of plain corn flakes.

You’re about to call out to him, your cheek tingling where he had pressed his plush lips to you nearly two weeks ago now. But a shrill peel of happy laughter from a child that is revealed to be in the seat of his cart.

“Daaaaddy, that’s the wrong one, silly! We need the frosted corn flakes.” Daddy. Dad. Frankie was a father. Your entire body freezes as you’re faced with the reason for his radio silence for the past several days. He had been so…charming and down to earth once the miscommunication had been cleared up but apparently he hadn’t shared with you one of the biggest parts of himself.

“No, mija, we don’t.” His shoulders are shaking with his own laughter as he places the box into the cart and goes to pull it behind him as he nears closer to you in front of the oatmeal. The little girl in his cart turns her eyes toward you, catching sight of your surprised expression.

“Dad! That girl is really pretty, her dress is so cute!”

“Who- Oh.” He’s looking up from the suddenly too bright boxes of cereal with their mascots and large block lettering. His eyes widen and he looks like he’s been caught, something you don’t have the energy to dissect at the moment. But one thing is glaringly obvious, he’s a father and family man. You went out on what was essentially a first date with a man who had a family. The realization slams into you and you’re blindly grabbing the closest box of oatmeal, throwing it into your basket before turning on your feet and fleeing to the checkout lanes.

“A-“ But before he could even get your name out you were down the aisle and turning out of sight, heart beating far too fast and anxiety thrumming. The entire process of checking out and paying for your groceries was a blur, you weren’t even sure if you thanked the cashier or bid her a good day. The slam of your car door was loud as you quickly shut it behind you. The image of him across from you in a diner, the easy conversation and goodnight kiss now tainted with the fact that he hadn’t been responsive and was a father. He could very well have a wife or girlfriend and you hadn’t even thought to ask that of him, his behavior so willing to help clear the air and ensure you had a way home.

Had you misread the vibe?

Had you just not picked up on the signals he was giving you, reading too much into the shared meal?

Had you done wrong by not asking?

The what ifs plagued you as you made your way back home, realizing that you weren’t too far from where he lived, most likely with his family. Your stomach churns and your temples throb, your lunch not settling well in the wake of your fast exit.

A migraine, you’ve worked yourself up to the point of a migraine.

The rest of your evening is spent putting the groceries away, brewing a small pot of coffee, and taking a too hot, too long shower before laying down in total darkness. You don’t flip on a switch for lights for the entire weekend as you try to keep the curtains drawn over the windows and the sounds down to a minimum as the pounding in your head persists. You don’t hear your phone go off in your purse by the front door but even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how to respond through squinting eyes.

When you manage to drag yourself out of bed on Monday, the world is still too bright and loud, but you have to get to work. Calling out would be a bad reflection and you didn’t want to disappoint the boss, someone who knew someone in your family. A favor, that you had been considered for the job in the first place, especially in a new city where you had no experience or connections. The entirety of your screen was grouped messages from your brother, from your coworkers asking after emails you hadn’t responded to. One voicemail from a mechanic to check out the weird sound your car was making when you braked, too tired to look into it yourself. And then there was the block of notifications from Fish.

Two questioning texts in the joking manner dragged on from the previous thread he had abandoned. A single one of your actual name, asking if everything was okay and if you could just message him back to let him know. A missed call and a voicemail.

‘Hey, um, so I realize how that may have looked. At the grocery store. I just…I wanted to apologize- again, for the way our interactions seem to spiral. But I swear to you, I was going to tell you. I get it if…if you don’t want to see me again or feel like you can’t trust me even if you only did for those few hours in the diner. But…I really do like you, Angel. You’re…never mind. Just…reach out if you need anything or a nudge in the right direction for businesses and shops….Bye.”

You weren’t sure what to think, emotions warring with each other inside your chest and mind. The deep velvet of his voice soothing even if you didn’t want it to be. The words never mind repeating in your head over and over again. But the one thing you were sure of was that this job was turning out not to be the one for you. The pile of files stacked on your desk was so tall you could see it across the room, the cubicle partition doing nothing to hide them from view.

The seat is barely squeaking with your weight when your boss is approaching you with a too sweet smile and a big hand on the back of your chair. His fingers brush the hair you’ve kept down today to avoid another wave of the migraine that had kept you down all weekend. The sunglasses you had worn the entire drive downtown had been only mildly helpful. Your hopeful mood for a decent day swirls from your chest and down to the bottom of your stomach, settling heavily.

“My office. End of day.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

The day is a blur of emails, finishing up file notes that aren’t even under your name, of a salad you forgot to add dressing to, and finally you’re sitting across from the boss with your bag settled in your lap.

“It’s been brought to my attention that you’re having trouble finishing daily tasks. Most are being started either too late in the day or the day after they were due.”

“I’ve submitted everything assigned to me on time. And while I have no problem with the additional tasks, the submissions that are late tend to be the ones dropped off on my desk after I return from lunch.”

“Then perhaps you need to skip lunch in order to ensure the get completed.” He’s not even looking up from the paperwork he’s going over, the scratch of his ballpoint pen never stopping as he makes notes on it and circles large chunks of text.

“Excuse me?”

“There have been a few complaints that you aren’t doing enough to aid your superiors, they rely on new people to help pick up the slack. The files moved under your name for completion often go undone. A few complaints have been made about the language of your email signoffs as well. The phrase ‘passive-aggressive’ has been brought up.”

“So I’m getting reprimanded for work other people aren’t completing? And then scrutinized for the more than professional communications I ensure to include when emailing finished work to the people responsible for it?”

“We all work together here, there is no ‘my work, her work, his work’. We all help each other to get stuff done in a timely manner.”

“There certainly is. I have files assigned to me, Shannon has files assigned to her. Mark has filed assigned to him. Even if their files are dropped off on my desk to be done, that doesn’t negate the fact that they aren’t assigned to me.”

“Then perhaps you need to start taking work home. But at home hours are a privilege, so there will be no compensation for-“

“I quit.”

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from the paperwork, surprise coloring his features.

“I quit, I’m not about to play office politics with you all. If someone has a problem with my work or the way I speak, then they should confront me and not run off to HR. I haven’t done anything wrong to warrant this write up.”

“I see…” His hands are clasped over that damn document, the pen neatly lined up beside it. He’s schooled his face into one of thinly veiled politeness, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Yup, thank you for the opportunity.” You go to shoulder your bag, the strap falling from your fingers as his next words. It thuds to the floor, but you don’t reach for it.

“Not much of those for…someone like you.” He’s not even looking at you, his eyes focused on the bag partially opened on the floor. On the prescription bottle peeking out from the now busted zipper.

“A simple ‘thank you for your service’ goes a long way, you know. But it’s nice to know you don’t really give a fuck what I’ve sacrificed for you all to sit here in your offices all day and make fun of me for how I dealt with the things I’ve see and experienced.”

“Most people don’t turn to hard drugs to deal with the difficulties of life.” The words sting as they cut into your chest, the judgement and disgust aching. It’s always shocking, the ways in which people react to the way your life had played out. The way you had no choice in how it played out. The drugs hadn’t been your choice nor your preferred poison. The allure of them had been born of a too strong prescription, written for you at the same time the paperwork for your retirement had been drawn up.  

“And what’s so hard about your life? The fact that you’re sleeping with your secretary and you don’t want your wife to find out? Oh, the cliché of it all. You dug that hole yourself, put yourself in that situation.”

“And you put yourself in the situation of serving during a war.” But you’re even less prepared for the words as they slice into you, digging deeper than the first. You’re sure blood is visible through the silk of your office appropriate top, the blazer over your shoulders allowing for the damage to be seen across the pristine desk.

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t put this job down on your resume, you won’t be getting any kind words from me should another employer call.” The dismissal is expected, the call he’s sure to make to inform your family friend is as well. A call to you in the evening already draining what little energy you had and it hadn’t even happened yet.

“Gotcha.” Chair clattering as you stand, you don’t even return to your desk or retrieve your Tupperware from the sink in the breakroom. You feel the eyes of too curious people follow you as you cross the open space, whispers sprouting as soon as you pass. Fuck them, fuck all of them. You need a job but not bad enough to put up with whatever fresh hell was going on there.

You’re blinded by the brightness of the outside world when you push through the front door, the lady at the front desk bidding you a good day in too chipper of a mood for you current ability to handle. Your breath is punched from you as you collide with something solid. You feel hands grip your upper arms and help prevent you from careening to the ground.

“Woah, hey. Oh! You’re the woman Fish was talking about! The one from the bar.” You glimpse that tightly curled, dark hair over a handsome face as you steady yourself and step back. Brown eyes so bright in the sunlight they remind you of Frankie’s in the fluorescents of the diner and your stomach flutters.

But it’s his friend, not him. Right outside your former place of employment, the attempt at a new life that was quickly crumbling from under your feet.

“Yeah, your buddy is a real piece of work.” Tone scathing, you can’t help the way it curls your lips as it’s given breath. Ire at yourself and shame at the way you had hoped for the smallest moment that he would turn out to be something good filling your chest uncomfortably.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s taken aback by the bite in your tone, his easy smile turning upside down, jaw clenching tight as he watches you with narrowed eyes. Defensive, not something you were willing to deal with as you feel your fingers twitch and your stomach drop. The flare of emotion dissipating as soon as it had flared to life.

“Just…forget it. I’m sorry, I just quit my job and I’m a little…”

“Let’s grab a coffee, I’m sure we can work out something.” He’s so earnest, his dark brown eyes catching the afternoon rays of sun. Such a small, well-meaning smile making your heart soften and your quick judgement of the man back at the bar melt away.

“I don’t know you and you don’t know me, what-“

“I work for the PD and one of the guys in our friend group, he works for the military still. Does recruitment and works in the VA. I know we need-“

“I’m not interested in another tour, I’m retired. Probably wouldn’t even qualify.” You cut him off still, unable to even begin to entertain the thought of donning a uniform again. Of the slick updo you had mastered to pull all of your hair up and out of the way. Your skin prickles as the hot feeling of shrapnel embedding itself into your side blooms, all to real as you stand in the middle of the sidewalk downtown.

“No, no, god no. I wouldn’t either to be honest. But depending on your skill set I know they need mechanics and technicians. Explosives expert, right? Means you’ve got engineering skills.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Fish was very chatty after your little diner date.”

“That was three weeks ago.” Denial is on the tip of your tongue at his description, but that’s what it had been: a date. With a man who hadn’t told you of his family.

“Yeah, and he’s been a bit of a bummer since you haven’t contacted him since.”

“Look,-“

“Santiago Garcia. Pope was my callsign. Whichever you prefer.” His large hand is warm as it reaches for the one you were trying to wave him off with. Electricity sparks and you feel it travel up your arm, momentarily shocking you before you pull your hand away. A sheepish smile and mumbled apology from him at the mishap lightens the mood a little, something about how the shirt he’s wearing has been making it a common occurrence today. The need to go shopping for more dryer sheets humanizing him further.

“Look, Santiago. I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I just really want to go home and eat my weight in Chinese takeout, okay?”

“Okay, I get that. Believe me, I more than get that, but-“ He’s pulling out his wallet, a thick card is being offered to you with his name and contact information printed on it. “Just consider it, yeah? We all gotta stick together, civilians don’t understand even if they try to. We can find you work, something that’ll keep your hands busy and your mind occupied. Office work doesn’t suit you, you shouldn’t have to subject yourself to it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me, hermosa.” And with another charming smile, he’s back on his way down the street, his destination unknown to you. Sighing, you pocket the card and make your way around the building, waving at the security guard that walked up and down the block throughout the day. Your truck is dirty, washing it pushed back further and further as a storm closes in on the coast and inevitably travels inland toward you. The thought of heavy rain and whipping winds turning you off from the waste of water, suds, and an afternoon you could spend looking at things to do around the city.

When you go to turn the key, nothing happens. No clicking, no beeping of the dash lighting up, nothing.

“Fuck.”

Shrugging out of your blazer, you fix your hair up in a messy bun to get it out of your face and pop open the hood. But it’s useless, everything looks to be in working order. Leaving only the possibility of the alternator or battery having died and left you stranded. You’re sure you have a reader for the battery…at home in the garage. The card shoved in your back pocket burns into your skin, prompting you to pull it away and dial the numbers printed in a nice font.

Two rings and it picks up.

“Santigo, it’s Angel.” He doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if you’re okay. Only your location.

“I’m just down the street, turning back around now. The parking lot just behind the building?”

“Yes, I- thank you, Santiago.”

“No problem at all, hermosa.”

“You said you need engineers? Where exactly?” He’s looked over the mechanics of the vehicle just as you did, diagnosing the problem exactly the same. Something unable to be fixed at the moment. He glances up at you under his long lashes as he types out something on his phone, an instant response buzzing.

“Someone should be here in a few, my friends are just down a few blocks. One of them owns a gym and we hit up the dive bar across from it every Monday.”

Nodding, you try to recall the buildings he’s talking about. But you haven’t explored as much as you’ve wanted too. Throwing yourself into work and trying to play catch up on building secondary savings. The help to purchase a home welcome, but the house needed work that was only discounted, not covered.

“There’s a flight school not too far outside the city, where recruits are sent. They need some help that isn’t gonna up and leave them, assignments are up and they need someone reliable.”

“I don’t know how to fly.” Fleeting hope deflates and you really wish your emotions weren’t so easily pulled from you. The weekend you spent hiding away proved to have been more draining than you anticipated. But he soothes the furrow of your brow with two fingers and a hint of his teeth as he smiles at you, so close you can feel the heat of chest.

“They’ve got a few solid instructors. Fish has been pulling doubles doing the repairs and the lessons. They need a mechanic and an engineer, something tells me you’d be the perfect fit.”

You can only see the genuine way in which he’s willing to help reflected back at you, his eyes open and his smile charming. A smile is spreading across your own lips falters as the sound of a vehicle turning into the lot catches your attention. There are two figures visible through the windshield. A blonde man is backing into the spot your truck faces, concentration steeling his features. And from underneath the bill of a worn hat and through a pair of dark aviators, Frankie Morales is staring at you.

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taglist: @76bookworm76 @christinamadsen

@readingiskeepingmegoing @brittmb115 @darkheartgatita

@sawymredfox @burntheedges @hiddenbabynyc

@southernbe @inept-the-magnificent @littlemisspascal

@jessthebaker @janaispunk

[73ghosts]

I'm sure many of you are already aware of this, but in case I have any newer tumblr users, pet bill donation scams are very common on this site. If someone DMs or sends you an ask asking you to reblog some sort of donation post for a sick/injured pet, it is most likely a scam.

Below the cut, I have included tips to spotting a scam, and why I believe the post by 507-on-queue is a scam. @kyra45 runs an excellent tumblr scam awareness blog, and has more information and tips here about spotting pet scams. I have archived the scam post in question on my side blog here.

Here's some ways to spot these scams:

Age of the blog - most scam blogs are a week old or younger, they are often under a day old

Similar urls being used for multiple blogs - scam blogs are typically blocked/deleted rapidly, and the OP makes a new account with almost the same name

The blog bio/pfp are not unique

You can only access the dashboard view of the blog so the post archive cannot be accessed (for example, my dashboard view is this, but you can also visit my webpage view and see my 9 years of post history via /archive lol)

The blog has never interacted with you before

The blog follows you and immediately sends a DM/ask

The DM/ask is overly polite and guilt trips (they often ask you to reply privately to reduce digital footprint)

Images of pets can be found via reverse image search

OP's story is inconsistent or unrealistic

The Paypal link does not match the supposed country OP lives in

Most recently, a scam post has been going around about a sphynx cat named Draven. This has been done using multiple urls, including:

meer-lion (deactivated)

507-on-queue (deactivated)

507onqueue (deactivated)

507-onqueue (current as of Jan 13th, 2024)

Here's how this blog meets our scam watch criteria:

The current blog (507-onqueue) is less than a day old (19 hours at the time of this post). The oldest post:

As listed above, OP uses multiple, similar URLs.

The bio of 507-onqueue is taken almost directly from another user (said user). Due to the same bio being used in previous scams, I suspect this is the same or related person to kappa-tundra/kappatundra (about this scam).

Scam blog:

Copied blog:

Only dashboard view is available.

The blog follows and immediately DMs/sends and ask. From my account:

The ask from the account is very polite, guilt trips, and asks me to answer to the post privately. The goal of being so polite is to win your trust and lower your defenses. This isn't the worst guilt trip I've been in a scam (that goes to the child support scam from several years ago). By asking me to reply privately, they're attempting to reduce their digital footprint (making them harder to google) and disguise how much they are spamming asks.

The information in that post was taken from a private Facebook account (source). I found the Facebook account in question and confirmed that the information was taken from there. I do not want to share the page because I view that as a further violation of the Facebook OP's privacy. For transparency, the images of Draven are not on Facebook OP's page any longer, but there are several other identifiable pieces of information that make it more than likely that the claims of her information being stolen are true.

The ask is inconsistent itself with the name of the cat (Draven vs Indie). This is also nearly identical to another scam ask from user captbridges. This user was using a real GoFundMe for a sick cat to scam.

The medical paperwork in OP's post is for a veterinary hospital in Wisconsin. However, OP's PayPal is based in the Philippines. The country.x= part of the url indicate the country of origin of the account; PH is the Philippines. The local.x= part of the url shows that the link was localized to the United States (making the donation currency USD). (PayPal's information page about country codes).

Stay safe out there and remain vigilant, everyone. If you don't already know them, try to pick up some boolean operators to refine your google searches when checking for scams. The tumblr search function sucks, so this is your best bet of finding information about scams like these online.