#WHOOPS POSTING THIS AT THE LAST MINUTE

[inonibird]

“One last question: what are you feeling right now?”

And Grievous considered.

“I feel regret,” he said, weariness weighing at the edges of his ragged, faltering voice. “The Martyr. You’ve reminded me. I must have been pushing it away; trying not to think about it. I…miss my Izvoshra. I wish they had died well, in battle, not blown apart helplessly in a sabotaged shuttle. If I hadn’t insisted…then they might still…” The readings on the amygdaloid implants escalated all at once—though merely at a fraction of prior output—as his hands formed abrupt, tight fists. “But I will avenge them. I will kill every last Jedi I meet. I’ll cut them to pieces with their own blades. My people were never shown mercy; I will pay them back in kind.”

Yet there was no shouting, no ranting, no growling or snarling; just steely resolve. Zorryx took another troubled note. “You seem quite…how shall I put it…focused,” he cautiously said.

“Pah. I feel distracted.”

A consequence of uninhibited episodic and autobiographical memory access. “But there’s no pain in your head right now?” the doctor pressed. “There oughtn’t be.”

The duranium skull tilted. “No. You’re right. There is no pain. So was that the point of your maintenance? You’ve finally fixed the overload?”

“I have addressed the overload problem, yes,” Zorryx evaded. 

Whether it was fixed remained to be seen.

—

Chapter 8 of Part Six - Grievous of the Sahuldeem series is up!

[jelly-time]

[link7057]

SHARE YOUR HEADCANNONS ABOUT CHRISTINAAAAA 🫶🫶

First, I'm so sorry for the late answer months later 😭😭🙏 Please forgive me and second!! Actually I hadn't thought of many headcanons for her... yet... but she's one of my favorite characters so ofc I thought of some!! I might say silly ones or ones more about her personal life (and definitely not projecting some parts!) I love Christina Posabule 🙏♥️

Music wise I think Christina would like 60s music, rock, and/or synth-pop or idk genres are hard to actually get right nowadays. If it's specfic, "The Daughters of Eve" and Mitski would be part of her favorites fjjdbrbnd (then I think she'd like The Killers especially "When You Were Young" when she was in her teens :)) Speaking of Christina in her teens, she'd want to learn piano or some sort of instrument but her parents probably got annoyed by how much she played so she wouldn't have as many chances. She's definitely a bookworm or just loves reading and also writes in her freetime like little stories or poems. And when Block ended up staying with Orel's family, she was kind of the only one who missed him as her parents didn't really mind/express their emotions about it.

Andddd talking about her parents, they're both VERY controlling and kept watch on what she'd do, the polar opposite with Orel, which his parents didn't gaf where he was 💔💔 Especially Poppit, and I think with Christina's story it'd be a toxic mother-daughter relationship (mommy issues!) rather than her and her dad, and that Poppit rather likes taking charge but to be in "a woman's place" y'know sexism and even tells Art what to do but makes sure that he does what a "man has to." And she'd be veryyy persistent on Christina with how she presents herself and make sure that she was a nice church girl at all times. And Poppit would very much have breakdowns in front of her and vent to her about her own issues... yeah... And whenever Christina was getting yelled at or being told what to do the only thing she could do is not say anything back to not upset them. She was also grabbed a lot like by her wrists or something similar how they showed in the show. When she moved to Moralton, she was bummed out bc yeah she just moved to a new place where she knows no one. Then when she met Orel something about him intrigued her and she's like Oooh y'know what I like this place already... then BOOM! Having to move again :( Also I don't know if it's just me but she's probably homeschooled or she's just attending another school jfjfnntnf and about her past town she'd be doing so many shenanigans during the same time as Orel probably. Another silly thing she might be more confident than him like I think he'd be more shy when he got older fjjdjnfbfn

Also yes Christina was sadistic I had to say it bc... we remember Orel's masochist era... And same thing with her being emo/goth when Orel was and at least for a while when they were teens👍👍 It's canon bc I said so

About when she's an adult, once Orel and her got married and had their kids, she'd be really worried about repeating anything her own mother used to do to her (along with Orel who'd try to be the best dad to his kids and would ask Christina if he was doing a good job if he was too worried about becoming anything similar to Clay or just anything otherwise) and I'm not quite sure about if whether she kept contact with her parents but she probably would but obviously has a strained relationship with them along with Orel's parents... But she would give her own family all her love :D also she's definitely working in a type of job I forgot which one but something that helps people bc she's sweet like that <3 so yeah girlboss !!

I might've forgotten some things to mention or other things I had in mind for her but yeah!! Or it was badly/worded weird perdón. Thanks for reading 💕

[demonslayedher]

I can't wait to see what Ufotable does with this panel:

[aria0fgold]

Seared like a songbird flying to the sun

A belated birthday gift for @misty-wisp ! Tried to combine references for both Swan Lake and Cendrillon >:3 (Linked the English cover I took the lyrics from for the title!)

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

day 1110

i didnt forget mermay!

[sweetjegus]

🌌 STEVE GETS EVERYTHING’D EVERYWHERE’D ALL AT ONCE’D 🌌

(or: STEVE unlocks a Shenanigans Steve state and gets the TOH adults to dab)

Last day of Anime Los Angeles was truly “I want to be comfy and silly and not wear a wig” and who better to enable that but STEEEEEVE. 

Photos by David Harris; rambling under the cut.

Thrifted:

$5 for the yellow “Dog Mama” t-shirt (”Dog Mama” got appliquéd over with red vinyl, which was apparently the only suitable red fabric I had on hand for colour-matching the STEVE logo)

$10 for the black pleather jacket (added cuffs, elbow pads, painted pocket details, and reused the STEVE stencil I made ...for painting another STEVE on the back)

Made (in the span of a very focused week and entirely from stash fabric, s o m e h o w): 

Appliqué for the yellow shirt, with cutouts in the red vinyl to have inset white STEVE letters.

White hood dickie. 

Edits to the black pleather jacket.

Black velvet jester pants with grey sateen insets + the peeking-out tunic. 

Horn prosthetic. 

Synergy in the Emperor’s Coven — grabbed a soupy romance novel from the Little Free Library (that I have previously made deposits to) and gave it a ~ new life ~ 

[aerialworms-art]

Sooo, I saw @saintedcastiel‘s post about Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty and had to redraw it 😂

(Click for better quality! ID under cut.)

[Image ID: A digital painting of Dean and Castiel in the Empty, mimicking the ‘Newsflash, asshole!’ meme from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Dean is in his green jacket with Cas’ bloody handprint on the shoulder. Cas has his back to the ‘camera’ and is staring at Dean, who is standing with one hand in a glowing orange rift similar to the one Jack made when he was born. He looks haggard. He is yelling at Cas.

The caption reads: Newsflash, asshole! I’ve been in love with you the entire goddamn time!

The artist’s url, @aerialworms, is overlaid on the image between the two lines of dialogue at a low transparency. /End ID]

[labellefleur-sauvage]

The Highland Fox and the English Rose

Read on AO3. Masterlist (with fic summary)

NOTE: Depiction of violence and injury in this chapter.

XXX

Chapter 5: The stars are the map I unfurl

Elain winced, each step utter agony. Her backside ached, the muscles in her thighs she’d never used tense, and her back screamed at her with each forward movement.

“What’s the matter, Elain? Feeling a wee bit sore from yer first day ever riding a horse?”

“Of course I am!” Elain snapped irritably at Lucien, atop Ajax next to her with a supremely smug smile on his tanned face. Even that damned horse gave Elain an imperious sideways glance, like it too found Elain’s discomfort entertaining. “And it’s rude of you to gloat!”

Lucien snorted. “Yer the one who blackmailed me so I’d bring ye along. I believe I’m due to remind ye just how unprepared ye are to spend the next month roughing it on the road with me.”

Elain clenched her fists, perhaps the only part of her body that wasn’t sore and aching. They were only one day out from the castle, and already Elain worried, not for the first time, that she had severely overestimated her abilities and gotten herself mixed up with something she had no business being involved in. 

She wanted to adapt to living in Scotland and wanted to spend time with her admittedly insufferable yet handsome husband, but perhaps she should have eased herself into it, rather than dive headfirst like she had done,  Elain thought. This sort of reckless behavior—tagging along on a daring rescue mission across the wild Scottish Highlands—was something Feyre would do. At the very least, her backside would be thankful if Elain had demonstrated a bit more restraint. 

After a hard day of riding yesterday, Lucien had unceremoniously dumped a thin collection of blankets and padding he called a bedroll at her feet, tossed some crackers and jam at her, and told her to have a good dinner and wash up as best she could with their meager water before going to bed. He hadn’t spoken another word to her last night, and only spoke to her this morning to tell her to pack up so they could get back on the road. Elain had pitifully limped around camp and struggled to climb atop Ajax, lasting all of ten minutes before she begged Lucien to let her walk besides them.

And now, Lucien decided to grace Elain with his taunting words.

“If only someone had tried to warn ye that this would be a hard journey,” Lucien said wistfully. “If only a handsome, clever, resourceful—“

“Yes, yes, alright, I get it!”

“Do ye though?” Lucien was looking at her from the corner of his eye, frowning. “This is no ‘little adventure,’ as ye called it back at the castle. For my mother, this is life or death, depending on when we’re able to get to Sangravah and get her out.”

Elain’s face felt hot. Truthfully, she hadn’t been thinking of Lucien’s mother at all when she demanded to accompany him on this quest, too focused on her own bleeding emotions. For this unknown woman, she was depending on her son’s arrival to save her from a depressing and lonely existence, and Elain had not spared one ounce of sympathy for her mother in law. In a twisted way, she and Lucien’s mother were more alike than not: two women coerced by their male relatives into adopting futures they didn’t want. At least Elain got to experience the wind and sun on her face.

But even now, Elain couldn’t stand to admit to Lucien how selfish she’d been in demanding she join him, especially when he was being so damned arrogant. 

“Well, perhaps you’ll find that I’m more clever than you think,” Elain said loftily. “Apparently Eris thinks I’m smart, based on what he told you.”

“Eris is a conniving bastard who tells people what they want to hear so they’ll agree to his schemes, then stabs them in the back with his dirk when he’s done with them,” Lucien said darkly, mouth tight. “Don’t assume he meant to flatter ye.”

“And that’s worse than neglecting your wife for weeks on end then attempting to leave her for months on end while you embark on a dangerous journey with absolutely no warning?”

Lucien glared at her. “Do not compare me to Eris.”

Elain shrugged nonchalantly, burying her hands in the pockets of her dress as she walked. “You’re both brutal red headed Scotsmen with ulterior motives and foul mouths. Don’t assume you’re the hero here.”

Lucien swore to himself. “Ye think yer so witty, don't ye?”

She glared at Lucien. “Oh, and you think you’re any better? You thought you were so clever with your plans until I figured out what you were up to.”

“Do ye know what people call me?” Lucien replied, turning to look at Elain. “The Highland Fox, on account of my reputation for outsmarting everyone around me and always walking away unscathed. I think ye had a bit of help a few nights ago—Vassa told ye to wait in the garden, didn’t she?” Elain couldn’t help the flash of guilt that crossed her face before she looked away. “Aye, I thought so,” Lucien said grimly. “Vassa and I will have to have a chat the next time I see her.”

“She just wanted us to spend some time together—“

“But this is no’ the place to do it!” Lucien grimaced and pushed his hair away from his face. “She knew how dangerous this mission could be, and she still moved ye into a position to put ye directly in my path, where now I have to deal with keeping ye safe while trying to rescue my mother!”

“I can take care of myself!”

“Ye can’t even handle riding a horse for one day! Don’t lie and say ye can somehow take care of yourself when it’s clear you’ve never had to worry about your wellbeing or anyone else for that matter!”

Anger boiled inside her, like a scalding kettle screaming to be released. Lucien read her like an open book, leisurely flipping through her pages and gleening her truths like scribbles in the margins. Elain had never had to worry about her future or anyone else for that matter—as a woman, there were so few independent activities she could do, the majority of which still kept her confined to the house. That was a normal part of life for any moderately wealthy Englishwoman—so why did Lucien ripping her open and tearing away her pages from her spine affect her so much?

Because an Englishman would never point out these awful truths to me, Elain thought bitterly. Lucien was an absent husband and an arsehole on top of that—Elain could never imagine Greyson saying the things Lucien was saying to her now. Lucien was just a wild and savage Scotsman, and she never felt more at odds with him. 

But if Lucien wanted a fight, Elain could prove she could fight back. 

“I’m surprised that’s clear to you—I’m shocked you’re able to see anything with your arrogance and one eye continuously blinding you!”

As soon as Elain closed her mouth, she regretted what she said. There was rude, and then there was downright nasty; Elain had firmly crossed into the latter with her little remark. 

Instead, Lucien chuckled lowly. “And the supposedly sweet English Rose shows her thorns.”

“Says the man who admits to being called ‘The Highland Fox.’” Elain scoffed. “What a silly nickname, honestly. I haven’t seen anything particularly clever from you since I’ve met you.”

Lucien’s cheeks turned a bit pink, and Elain smirked, triumphant. “Did your sisters prep ye with insults before ye arrived in Scotland, or did ye manage to think of that yourself?”

“I thought of this one all on my own, and I have plenty more ready for the next time you act like an utter idiot!”

“And here I thought I’d be getting a quiet, meek English wife, and instead I marry a selfish, foul-mouthed blackmailer!” Lucien snapped. Below him, Ajax let out a snicker, like it was laughing at Elain.

Elain glared at the meddlesome horse before she turned her attention back to Lucien. “Well that’s your issue. You had assumptions about me before you ever met me. I, on the other hand, had absolutely no expectations for the savage Scotsman I knew I was marrying, and yet I’m still disappointed in you!”

“Likewise, dear.” Lucien glared at her. “Yer father didno’ warn me what an absolute terror ye are! Ye keep your screeching up and you’ll develop a reputation as a harpy with the locals!”

Elain gasped. “Well, you’re a… a… jerk!”

“And yer a brat!”

Elain huffed a breath. She was stomping now, and her feet and ankles soon began aching, along with the rest of her poor body.

They continued on down the empty, dusty road in silence for several minutes. The only thing Elain could hear was the furious beating of her pulse in her ears. Finally Lucien sighed deeply. “All that trampling yer doing must be tiring ye out. Would ye like to join me on Ajax?”

“That’s alright,” Elain replied cooly. “I don’t believe there’s enough room up there for me, between you and your massive ego. I’ll walk by the donkey for company.”

Lucien sighed loudly but didn’t argue as Elain drifted back a few paces to walk next to the sturdy donkey carrying most of their supplies. She distractedly pat its head as she walked, then groaned as she felt the familiar dampness of a summer rain fall on her head. Of course it would rain now. Elain drew the hood of her traveling cloak over her head and glowered at her husband ahead of her. 

Elain wasn’t sure why she thought everything would suddenly be fine between her and Lucien now that it was just the two of them. They were frustrated and near hostile with each other when they were at Castle Macpherson; take away the few comforts and stability they each had, and Elain realized, once again, she hadn’t completely thought out her sudden demand to join Lucien.

Elain huffed. “At least you’re a better traveling companion than him ,” she muttered to the donkey next to her. “You don’t say such rude things and yell at me.” 

One of the donkey’s ears twitched but otherwise it paid her no attention.

“Typical,” Elain muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Do ye just like the sound of yer own voice, or are ye losing yer mind that ye feel the need to talk to an ass?” Lucien called from Ajax, not turning to look at her.

Elain pursed her lips. “Well, I got tired of talking to you, so I thought I might as well see how the other ass compares!” she shrieked over the rain.

Yes, perhaps Elain has been a bit naive when it came to her husband.

By the time they stopped for the evening, what felt like hours later, Elain was about ready to cry with pain from her aching legs and feet. She couldn’t recall ever walking more than the distance it took to get from her childhood home in the English countryside to the nearby village; everything longer than that fifteen minute walk required the carriage.

Elain refused to speak to or even look at Lucien, but he still seemed to read her current mood. “Come sit down on your bedroll and I’ll take care of dinner,” he said gruffly.

She wasn’t going to complain. Elain watched listlessly as Lucien set up their meager camp then prepared a downright luxurious meal of salted pork, brown bread and butter, then finished with some berries he found near the stream where he had filled up their water pouches. 

Lucien stood over her after dinner, a frown on his plush lips. “Ye look fookin’ miserable.”

Elain didn’t respond, still annoyed with him and slightly embarrassed over her childish outburst. 

He gave a long suffering sigh. “Take yer boots off and lay down.”

She awkwardly peeled her boots off and nearly sobbed at the instant relief she felt, which was nearly dashed away when Lucien plunked down next to her and pulled one of her legs into his lap.

“What are you-!”

“I was going to work yer muscles over since yer so sore.”

Elain sneered. “Out of the goodness of your heart, or because you’re so desperate to touch me?”

A muscle clenched in Lucien’s jaw. “No, because ye throwing your little tantrum and walking today cost us valuable time. If ye can stand to ride on Ajax, then it’s better for the both of us.”

Chastised, Elain silently let Lucien massage the muscles in her aching legs. It felt heavenly: he applied just enough force for her muscles to relax, but not hard enough that it was painful. He carried on over her calves and ventured up to her legs. Lucien reached the back of her thigh and Elain couldn’t stop the small gasp of relief she let out as he dug his fingers into her flesh and massaged her muscles. Being this close to certain other parts of her made Elain remember that night in the garden when they almost kissed. She was so tempted to open her legs, drag those strong hands exactly where she wanted them…

If Lucien was affected like Elain, he hid it much better than her. He moved away from her thighs, and Elain gave a quiet disappointed sigh. His hands skimmed her ankles before moving to her feet. Elain giggled and jerked her leg when he brushed the sensitive bottom of her foot.

The corner of Lucien’s mouth ticked up. “Wee bit ticklish, are ye?”

“I’ll trust you not to use my greatest weakness to your advantage, I hope.”

“No promises,” he replied, still grinning slightly and brushing another finger over her foot. 

Elain barked a laugh and pulled away. “If you’re just going to torment me—“

“Oh, I plan on doing far more to ye than just torment ye,” Lucien said, and there it was: the all-consuming desire that made Elain lose all sense around her husband came back to life. They were so close; all Elain had to do was reach out for him, take his hand—

Lucien withdrew suddenly, the small grin on his face gone. “Er, I think it’s time we went to sleep. We’ll have a long journey tomorrow.”

A sudden snowstorm couldn't make Elain feel as cold as she did then. Nodding numbly, Elain settled on her bedroll while Lucien stood up and made his way towards his own makeshift bed on the other side of camp.

“Goodnight,” Elain called softly. Lucien didn’t respond, and Elain tried not to let her embarrassment and disappointment ruin her sleep.

The next day Elain accepted Lucien’s invitation to ride with him atop Ajax. He didn’t say anything about their immature argument the day before, but Elain noticed his woolen sleeping blanket over the saddle where she would sit. It was a peace offering, the only one Lucien could give that Elain would accept. She settled in, feeling Lucien’s comforting warmth seep into her back.

XXX

Lucien had to hand it to Elain: she was handling this entire situation far better than he had thought she would.

True, her first day or two hadn’t been smooth for either of them, for different reasons. He still winced whenever he recalled her stubbornly limping beside Ajax when she could physically no longer bear to ride him. Once he had massaged her legs—Lucien, the brute that he was, wanted to do so much more, but knew she’d reject him—Elain recovered quickly and since then, she had been riding atop the horse, her small and soft body snug between his thighs.

“Are we almost done for the day?”

Speak of the devil. “Nope,” Lucien replied cheerfully, keeping his grip on the reins in front of them both relaxed. “We’re still a few miles from Drumnadrochit, on the shores of Loch Ness. There’s a wee forest outside of town we can camp in, it’ll be grand.”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded incredibly vulgar and Lucien chuckled. Elain was doing far better than Lucien had anticipated, but that didn’t mean he could let her off the hook so easily. 

“Why can’t we stay in an inn? Surely we don’t have to resort to sleeping outside every night?”

“Because I didna’ bring much coin—it’s risky having a lot of coin on ye with only two people to defend it. What I did bring is for food so until ye find an ancient lost treasure, we'll be sleeping outside.”

Elain grumbled again but kept quiet. Nothing had changed in their marriage now that they were together constantly on the road: they still barely spoke or looked at each other, and slept as far away from each other as they could stand. Still, it was an improvement from their screaming match a few days ago.

That was embarrassing—he had said quite a few things he didn’t mean and didn’t have a clue how to resolve. Lucien was convinced that if he had tried to apologize, Elain would take his words for weakness or a lie, and they’d get into another argument. 

No, better to keep silent and keep the peace, than risk talking to his wife and getting to know her. 

Truly, the only difference between their time at the castle and now was that Lucien spent every day with Elain’s plush backside against his front, where only his inconvenient kilt separated his aching length from her body. 

Perhaps Lucien wasn’t handling this situation as well as he thought.

“When we camp tonight, I’ll bring out the oat cake I nabbed from the kitchen, and we can have tattie scones in the morning.”

“Joy,” Elain deadpanned. “Oats for dinner and potato bread in the morning.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Yer the one who insisted on accompanying me and wouldn’t let me leave without ye. Ye don’t get to complain about anything, aye? That includes the food, sleeping arrangements, and travel companion.”

Elain turned and scrunched her face up at Lucien before turning back around in a huff. “Well, the donkey has been very a gracious and patient companion, and dutifully listens to everything I say,” she said in a mockingly innocent tone.

“The donkey shits where it walks and has nary a thought betwixt its ears, so I’m not sure I trust yer judgment when it comes to those around ye.”

“Hm, seems you and your animals have far more in common than you realized.”

Ajax snickered underneath them, and Lucien flexed his thighs against the horse and Elain’s soft legs, keeping his mouth shut. It was going to be a long few months.

They set up camp later that night in silence and ate their dinner—crusty bread, cheese and the last of their cured meat. Lucien frowned—they were eating their food faster than he had rationed, and would have to stop in Drumnadrochit to replenish their rations.

The last beams of sunlight shone through the trees above him and Lucien sighed, settling against his bedroll. Maybe he’d try to find the stream he knew from maps was somewhere nearby for an evening swim. Maybe, if he were nice and offered to massage her legs again, he could convince Elain to come with. She’d gone so pliant and agreeable the last time he did it, Lucien liked his chances.

Lucien was just about to open his mouth when Elain stood and began making her way through the trees, her pack over her shoulder.

“Where do ye think you’re going?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I just need to take care of some womanly business.”

“Ah,” Luien said delicately, his face heating slightly. “With yer entire pack? Do ye need me to go with ye?”

“I don’t need you everywhere with me.”

Lucien rose a single eyebrow. “I thought the whole reason ye forced yourself along on this trip was because ye felt I wasno’ giving ye enough attention.”

Elain flushed even more. “Yes, well, sometimes women say one thing but mean another, and this is one of those instances.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means give me ten minutes to be myself for the first time in days! I’ll be back before it gets dark.”

Lucien groaned, covering his eyes with an arm. Elain was so contradictory: she complained that he ignored her and didn’t spend any time with her—true—then complained when they were forced to spend time with each due to her own actions. 

Lucien sighed and ran his thumb over the ring on his left hand. He’d give her a few more moments then go out and find her. He closed his eye—

And awoke to near darkness and a rustling beside him. His dirk was in his hand before he was fully awake.

“It’s just me,” Elain whispered somewhere to his side. “Do you always wake up and immediately grab a weapon?”

“I’m Scottish, I was born with a knife in hand,” Lucien mumbled, sitting up and looking around. He could just make out Elain’s figure on her lumpy sleeping mat a few feet from him, a wool blanket over her. She hadn’t brought any warm sleeping clothes, and Lucien had been secretly delighted to give her one of his old tunics to sleep in.

“Did ye go far?”

“I found a stream nearby, though I must have taken a different path back because I got a bit lost.”

“‘A bit lost’?” Lucien exclaimed, his heart hammering in his chest. “Who kens what could have happened to ye if ye didn’t find yer way back! There are wild animals about, or ye could have fallen and gotten hurt!”

He saw the outline of Elain’s body stiffen. “Well, I’m fine and I came back, alright?”

Lucien dragged his hand over his face. God, his wife was stubborn—a trait that wasn’t unique to just her, he realized. How could Lucien make Elain understand that he needed her to be safe, and for the time, that meant staying close to him? He wanted, needed , Elain to always be safe, not just because she was his wife, but because the thought of anything bad happening to her made him sick to his stomach and had caused him to sleep poorly every night they’d been on the road.

Lucien took a deep breath. “I ken ye came back, but it’s dangerous out there. What if ye fell and twisted yer ankle? It gets cold in the evening, and when the wind is roaring, ye can’t hear anything betwixt the trees. Ye could be crying out for help, cold and in pain, and I wouldna’ be able to hear ye.”

Elain paused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

That was promising—Elain wasn’t fighting back, so Lucien pressed on. “We havana’ exactly had the best start, but it’s just us two out here. We need to be able to trust each other, and that means talking with each other. Something we both need to work on,” Lucien admitted.

Elain was silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “for making you worry. I didn’t think how my actions would affect you.”

“Not for the first time,” Lucien muttered, and he was surprised to hear Elain let out a rather self-deprecating chuckle. 

“You don’t need to say any more about that. Though, I’ll admit, I’d be helpless if we got truly separated.”

The thought made Lucien’s stomach clench. “I brought some maps of the Highlands. I’ll get them out tomorrow for ye to look over while we’re riding.”

“That would be nice.” Lucien thought he could hear something like a smile in her voice. She was silent, and he thought she might have gone to sleep. “And I’m sorry for being difficult earlier. I perhaps… didn’t think this entire situation through and…”

Lucien didn’t need Elain to say anymore. “That's alright. Maybe we wouldna’ be here if I was honest with ye from the start.”

Elain snorted. “Oh, we most certainly would have still ended up here—I’d have used any means necessary to go with you, if it meant I got to see more of the world.”

He hummed. The more Lucien learned about Elain, the more he realized how utterly wrong his initial opinions of her had been. Far from the frigid Englishwoman he’d assumed he had married, Elain was warm and teaming with life and desires so near to his own. She was clever and stubborn and wanted more from life than what she was currently living, traits he recognized in himself. 

“Is it too late for that oat cake you mentioned earlier?” Elain asked quietly.

“Aye, I can’t see anything to know where it's in my bag.”

Elain sighed with disappointment, and Lucien’s chest ached at the sound. “That’s alright, maybe in the morning.”

“I was planning on stopping by Drumnadrochit tomorrow morn for some extra provisions. How about we stop by the inn for a hot meal, see if we can find ye some proper night clothes?”

Stupid. Why was he offering to waste more precious time and resources they didn’t have to wile away a morning in a simple village that most likely didn’t even have more than a basic goods store?

Lucien knew why. He’d only heard a whiff of disappointment in Elain’s voice and he had folded like a wet kilt, desperate to see and hear her happy instead. 

He got his wish instantly. “Really?” she asked. “That would be wonderful!”

“This isno’ one of those womanly times where you say one thing and mean another, is it?” Lucien teased. 

Elain chuckled. “Most definitely not. A proper Scottish village, how exciting.”

“Don’t get yer hopes up,” Lucien warned. “There will probably be more pigs than people.”

“That’s alright,” Elain replied happily. “Just seeing something new would be wonderful. Goodnight Lucien.”

“Goodnight Elain,” he said softly, listening to her soft breathing eventually evening out. 

Elain was a mystery, and frustrating, and temperamental, and obviously keeping secrets about something. Just like he had been earlier, Lucien realized. This must be how Elain felt when she was holed up in the castle after the wedding, he thought wryly.

Vassa was right—he really had been an ass to Elain. Maybe his friend had a better idea of his wife’s true character than he did. 

Lucien hoped Elain wouldn’t hold his past actions against him for long.

She certainly didn’t seem to mind him the next morning, rushing to dress and pack up her gear before Lucien had brushed the sleep from his eye.

“I dinnae realize how motivated ye’d be for a hot meal,” Lucien remarked dryly as they made their way towards Drumnadrochit. “I’ll have to tempt ye more often with good food if yer this springy in the mornings.”

“Well, it’s not just the food,” Elain answered, turning her head and arching an eyebrow. “I’m excited to see this town, Dromna–Drumma–”

“Drumnadrochit,” Lucien said slowly and clearly, enunciating each syllable so Elain could understand him. “Are ye that excited to see this little fishing village?” Lucien asked skeptically. “It’s nothing like Edinburgh, or even Inverness.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Elain said, bouncing in the saddle like she could will Ajax to trot along even faster. “And you said the village is next to Loch Ness. We didn’t have many reading materials about Scotland back in England and the ones I did read, er…”

“Only mentioned what bloodthirsty savages us Scots are?”

“Well, perhaps,” Elain admitted, the morning sun warming her flushed cheeks. “But none of them mentioned how breathtaking the scenery is. The sights I’ve seen in the past few days alone...”

“Aye, Scotland is verra beautiful, especially the farther north we go. Great peaks and forests, waterfalls, fields of heather as far as the eye can see—“

“And we’ll get to see it all?”

“Aye, we’ll get to see it all.”

Elain turned around in the saddle and smiled at him. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

“It seems we’re finally in agreement on something,” Lucien chuckled. “Before we get into town, it may be better if ye speak quietly, or no’ at all. I’m no’ sure how the folks up here would take to a bonnie English lass like ye.”

“You mean they wouldn’t instantly be charmed by my lovely accent and quick wit and wouldn’t run me out of town?” Elain asked sarcastically.

“Let’s no’ find out.”

Lucien had never been to Drumnadrochit, having gone around the other side of the loch when traveling to Inverness, but he’d been to enough small Highland villages to know what to expect. On the outskirts of town were several stone and sod houses huddled together, their rough roofs covered with tree branches and a single flume of smoke wafting upwards. Women sat outside their huts spinning wool or churning butter while gossiping with one another, and small children ran around barefoot. Lucien felt dozens of pairs of eyes sweeping over scarred his face before settling on the dirks, sword and crossbow strapped to his body, their wary judgment leaching into his already tense body. 

Elain didn’t notice anything amiss. She looked around wildly as they passed more houses until they turned onto the town’s main street, its beaten dirt road soggy from a previous rain. 

Ajax’s hooves splattered mud as they made their way further into town. From here, Lucien saw the town had a blacksmith and provisioners shop, and even a large church, its bell announcing the morning hour to the townspeople. Looking down the street gave Elain and Lucien a view of the great stone fortress of Castle Urquhart, home to Clan Grant, and beyond that—

“Oh,” Elain gasped softly, her eyes wide as she gazed at Loch Ness. Its water was murky, but it still managed to faintly glimmer in the morning light, offset by the lush green hills surrounding it. 

“You’re verra lucky,” Lucien remarked casually as they made their way to the inn. “This particular loch has never looked so nice when I’ve seen it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elain said, craning her neck for another view. “I could stare at it all day.”

“There’s plenty of other peaty lakes to stare at this far north,” Lucien snorted. “Besides, we’ve already attracted enough attention from the villagers, we don’t need ye gawking at the loch like a silly goose to let everyone know you’re no’ from around here.”

The inn, which seemed to also serve as the town’s drinking establishment, was sparsely populated. A few people sat around low tables conversing and drinking, while one man was slumped in the corner, a brown flat cap pulled over his face.

“I’ll get us breakfast. Doona talk to anyone,” Lucien reminded Elain. She rolled her eyes but listened, opting to look around at her surroundings.

“Is tha’ one alreeght?” the old bar maid asked Lucien as he stood against the bar after ordering some breakfast, gesturing towards Elain who was looking around the drab inn in wonder. The wrinkles around the bar maid’s eyes crinkled as she narrowed her eyes at her. “She seems a wee bit shocked at sumthing.”

“Er, she doesnae’ get out much,” Lucien winced, taking two bowls of warm oats drizzled with local honey and berries from her and handing over several coins.

The lady hummed. “Take these, on the hoose,” she said, sliding two small glasses of whisky towards him. “She looks like she needs it.”

“Taing,” Lucien replied, balancing everything back to the table.

Elain raised a questioning glance at the bowls and glasses. 

“Oats,” Lucien said, handing her a bowl, “and a dram of local whisky, courtesy of the woman at the bar.” He didn’t feel like mentioning the whisky only came because the barmaid felt a shock of alcohol would do Elain good.

“How nice,” Elain whispered, staring at the small glass in her hand. “I’ve never had whisky.”

“Well, this stuff may not be of the highest quality,” Lucien admitted quietly so no one would overhear. “I suggest drinking it in one go, to get it over with.”

Elain nodded sagely. “Do you cheers? I’ve seen men do that, when they clink their glasses together.”

“Slainte mhath,” Lucien said, gently knocking his glass against hers. “Slainte mhath.”

“Slange va,” Elain said clumsily, then tossed the entire contents of the glass into her mouth.

Lucien drank and shuddered. Unsurprisingly, the whisky had a strong peat taste, owing to the area’s soil. It also hadn’t been aged long, or well, and all he could taste was pure, burning alcohol as it slipped down his throat.

Not the worst bit of whisky he’d ever had.

Lucien had to bite his lip and cover his mouth when he glanced at Elain’s face. Her normally soft, sweet face was contorted in a grimace, one eye twitching and the other watering as she swallowed the liquid. She coughed loudly before she covered her mouth to contain the rest of her fit.

“I think that was my reaction the first time I tried whisky,” Lucien chuckled, dipping a spoon into his oats. 

“Good lord,” Elain whispered brokenly, her voice hoarse. “What the hell is in that?”

“Grain, water, and by the taste, peat straight from the loch and hellfire from Satan’s own arsehole.”

“Never again,” Elain gasped softly, reaching a trembling hand out to grip her spoon. “I’ll stick to wine and maybe ale, but I’m never drinking whisky again.”

“Never say never,” Lucien grinned. “There are much better ones around. I have several good quality whiskys back home we can sample when we get back.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can say or do that would convince me to try any more of that drink in my lifetime.”

“Oh, I can be verra persuasive when I want to be,” Lucien shot back, delighted when he noticed Elain blush.

She ate a mouthful of the oats and groaned softly, then began devouring the rest of the food. Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Are they really that much better than the oats I’ve been making every morning?”

“Yours aren’t as warm and tasty as this,” Elain replied, daintily licking her spoon. Lucien’s cock, which had been in varying states of stiffness the entire morning, roared back to life at seeing her small tongue caress the spoon.

I’ll give you something warm and tasty , the lecherous part of his brain supplied. Lucien gulped. “Maybe we can see if they have honey for sale.”

Drumnadrochit did in fact have honey for sale, as well as all kinds of food for their journey. Stopping by the crowded provisioner store, Lucien stocked up on oats for porridge, hardy and long lasting barley cakes, dried meat, hard cheese, bread, dried beans, and even a few potatoes and stalks of kale for a stew, plus a long woolen dress for Elain. 

“Quite the spree yer gon’ on,” the shopkeeper remarked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Offta somewhere then?”

“None of yer concern,” Lucien snapped, grabbing his purchases. “Nosy geezer,” he mumbled under his breath.

The donkey didn’t appreciate the extra weight, braying loudly as Lucien packed their new foodstuffs to its back. “Here are the maps I mentioned last night,” Lucien said, handing Elain a few creased paper maps before taking his place behind her on Ajax and leading them out of town at a steady pace. He looked up at the increasingly darkening sky and leaned over her. “We’re right here.”

“I see,” Elain said, studying the map intently. She was silent for a time looking at the maps, and soon Drumnadrochit was out of sight. “And we’re going all the way up here, to Sangravah?” she asked, pointing to the small island off the far northern coast.

“Aye. It’ll be a wee bit cold by the time we get up there so I expect ye’ll be wearing that new dress quite a bit.”

“Hm. Where are your trade routes exactly? I see very few roads on any of these maps, especially the farther north you travel.”

“They mainly follow existing wagon and cattle trails, or run next to rivers and other bodies of water. I have some contacts in Inverness who are printing me some updated maps. I’ve set up a few route markers for the roads near the Macpherson clan. After we rescue my mother—“

An arrow whizzed by Lucien’s arm, grazing his sleeve and knicking his bicep. In the time it took for Elain to cry out, Lucien had brought Ajax to halt, taken out his sword and swung off the horse.

“Stay on Ajax!” Lucien called, facing three men who were rapidly approaching them on the road. “If I tell ye to run, ye run, understand?”

Elain’s pale face was stricken, her body frozen on the horse. “Elain!”

“I, I can’t leave you,” she said. “I won’t–“

“Do ye remember what I told ye when I said ye could come with me? Yer to listen to everything I tell ye to do. If that includes running to save yerself and leaving me, ye do that, aye?”

Elain’s eyes were wide and for a split second Lucien thought she was going to argue with him. Instead, she jerked her head up and down.

“Good. Take this,” he said, handing her one of his small dirks, “and aim for the neck or bollocks if you need to.”

Her hand was trembling so hard Lucien thought she might drop the blade but she gripped it tight and held it close to her chest.

“Don’t go stabbing yourself now,” he smirked at her. “You’re far too pretty to have a knife wound on ye. Go!” he shouted, slapping Ajax’s hindquarters so the horse trotted away from Lucien, the donkey trotting after them.

Lucien turned towards the three men who slowed to a stop fifteen feet away, tying his hair back. “Who the fuck are ye and what do ye want?”

“Just a few men who’ve fallen on hard times,” one of the men with a brown cap on his head said. “We couldno’ help but notice that sweet bonnie lass o’ yers when ye stopped for a bit of food this morn’, and mah associate here noticed how much coin ye dropped at the shop later. Perhaps ye could spare a bit of coin, for charity.”

“Charity, my ass, shooting arrows with that shite aim at me.”

Brown cap cocked his head. “I hit exactly where I meant to. Seems ye have plenty of food for ye and that lass of yers. I’ve killed men for less.”

Lucien cursed himself. He recognized the muddy brown cap the man wore, the same hat that was covering his face in the inn. And the provisioner store was so crowded, and he had purchased so much at one time. Lucien should have been more on guard, more sensible. But Elain had been so happy and cheerful that Lucien forgot all about common sense and what he should have done. 

“Lucky for me I’ve also killed men for less.” The three men slowly circled Lucien and withdrew their blades. He made a quick mental count of his own weapons–the crossbow strapped to his back would be of no help here, his useless pistol was buried at the bottom of his pack on Ajax, and he’d just given Elain his best dirk.

Unsheathing his sword from his back, Lucien widened his stance and rotated to face each of the three men. “Well, come on then, ye piss soaked rags. I haveno’ got all day.”

Just like he anticipated, the man from his left attacked first, raising a dirk in a fat fist towards Lucien’s chest. It hadn’t been long since he lost his left eye, but Lucien had learned very quickly that opponents viewed his missing eye as a weakness and targeted his left side more heavily than anywhere else. 

Spinning to dodge the man, Lucien ducked underneath the man’s flailing arm and ran his sword through his enemy’s stomach. There was a bit of resistance as his sword pushed through the man’s substantial belly before he withdrew and the man crumpled before him. 

Lucien roared as an explosion of pain, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since that fateful day back at the Clan Vanserra keep, radiated from his left shoulder as another man dug his dirk into Lucien’s back and grabbed him around his neck from behind, dragging him to the ground. The man tightened his arms around his neck as Lucien flailed his body. Lucien’s hands scrabbled against his choker’s arms, trying to dislodge him from his windpipe.

“I’ll make sure to treat that sweet English lass of yers to a real fine time,” his opponent whispered in his ear. “I’m sure plenty o’ people back in the village will be keen to show what we do to English pigs in Scotland.”

The black that had been invading the edges of Lucien’s eye turned red. Abandoning his opponent’s arms, Lucien cast about on the ground for the dirk that had stabbed him. Wrapping his hand around the short pommel, Lucien didn’t think or look as he thrust the dagger above him.

The arms around his neck slackened instantly and a gush of warm blood fell on Lucien’s head. Gagging, he rolled away and rose to his feet on unsteady legs.

“That’s a wee bit better now, aye?” Lucien croaked, wiping his face as best he could and gathering his sword to face the last man. “One against one, a bit more even.”

“Aye,” the man in the brown cap replied, a vicious smirk on his lips. “Hopefully those two fools tired ye out enough that this’ll be easy for me.”

It was misting around them, the dark clouds above finally releasing its rain. Lucien and his opponent circled each other for a few heartbeats before the man lunged towards Lucien with a one-handed ax held above his head. Throwing his sword up, Lucien grit his teeth as the reverberations from the clashing steel traveled straight to his screaming shoulder. Lucien sighed with relief when the man withdrew.

“That’s far too nice of an ax for a shit stain like you,” Lucien snarled, taking a large sweeping arc with his sword that the man easily parried. “Where’d ye get it from?”

“From the last man who tried to kill me,” his opponent said, slicing the ax towards Lucien. “Maybe I’ll use it to give ye a matching scar on the other side of yer face, ye ugly freak.”

Lucien barely dodged the next attack and nearly slipped in the mud. “The lasses actually find the scars verra charming.”

The man snarled as Lucien’s sword finally connected with his body, shallowly slicing his arm. “What about that bonnie lass yer with? I’m sure she’d prefer a man that isno’ cut up like you. Are ye missing anything else besides an eye? My cock is in one piece. Sure she’d like it more than whatever is dangling between yer legs.”

For the second time, Lucien saw red. “My wife is perfectly fine with my missing eye and fat cock,” he snarled, ignoring the rational part of his brain that said Elain had never seen that part of him. Without thinking, he sent a wide, slicing sweep attack towards the man. Like he was watching in slow motion, Lucien watched as the rain-slicked handle of his sword slipped from his hand and sent the sword flying towards his opponent.

The sword connected fully with the man’s neck, and his head rolled away before his body fell to the ground. 

Lucien fell to his knees, gasping with pain and exertion. Now that the fight was over, the mind numbing pain of his shoulder wound was all he could feel. It was raining hard now, and Lucien staggered to his feet and collected his sword. 

His opponent’s blood–the one whose neck he had slashed–ran down his face and into his eyes and mouth. Spitting, Lucien began hobbling down the road where he thought he sent Elain and Ajax, using his sword as a makeshift crutch. “Elain!”

No response. Lucien kept staggering forward, fighting the pain and the voice inside his head that told him to just lay down. “Elain!”

Had she left him? Lucien thought they were finally connecting with each other and moving past their rough few weeks of matrimony. Had that all been a foolish dream on his part?

The rain was heavy now, and Lucien could barely see more than a few feet in front of him. “Elain,” he called out weakly and fell to his knees. This was how he was going to die. As long as Elain was safe, it was worth it.

“Lucien!”

He grunted as someone brushed his shoulder wound and collapsed into the mud. Someone was supporting him, and urging him onwards, but Lucien wasn’t aware of anything else, not even the dry ground that greeted him when he collapsed.

[thetooncrew]

let's give old grim a break - it was halloween yesterday, after all!

this is the time for OLD NOV-MEN-BER! a list of my FAVORITE old men and their respective shows to draw!

DAY ONE: The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy/Toadblatt's School of Sorcery

[ask-the-bone-boys]

Hey, what's your opinion of slander? What does the underground in general think of it? Is it a crime?

"WELL, OF COURSE NOT! IT'S JUST WORDS!"

"BESIDES, IT'S SUCH A RARE OCCURANCE THAT GOING THROUGH THE TROUBLE TO CRIMINALIZE IT WOULD ONLY BE A WASTE OF TIME. IT'S JUST NOT DONE DOWN HERE!"

"IF SOMEONE WERE TO HAVE THEIR OWN WORDS TWISTED IN ANY OBJECTIONABLE MANNER, THEY WOULD HAVE TO BE A FOOL TO ALLOW IT TO HAPPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE."

[sherokutakari]

Just creating fanart for non-canon Heroes, don't mind me

Osprey and Black Jackal belong to ao3 writer superdanganisland from their Tiger & Bunny fic City of Dogs (linked I reblogs bc tumblr.) I HIGHLY recommend if long, story driven fic is your jam.

[genderqueerboy]

ok so turns out i might just be incredibly stupid

[writersdrug]

Convincing bartender Simon to make one of those overly decorated and sweet cocktails or even add it to the menu because it’s cute and you know it’d do well on the gram and attract the ladies. He’d huff and puff but do it anyway

Like one of these with cotton candy, glitter, and sprinkles etc!: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/825988387943179970/

OMG wait I soooo want to try that-

The video ends, and Simon stares at the picture of the drink with a furrowed brow.

"Looks like somethin' you'd see at a bridal shower." He comments, handing you back your phone.

"Doesn' it?" You say with a smile, shoving your phone into your back pocket. You lean your arms over the bar and poke his side. "Come oooonnnnnn, Simon - imagine how many sales you'd make on something like that! People would love it."

"Imagine the money I'd lose, havin' t' buy bags of candy floss..." he grumbles, hiding his smirk behind his mask when you groan dramatically.

"You could do it as a promotional thing...? Like- ladies' night... in October?"

He snorts. "'Ladies' Night in October', hmm? N' what are ladies celebratin'?"

"Ok, fine- forget Ladies' Night. What about something for Halloween?"

"Like wot?" He grunts, grabbing a glass from the stack and pouring out one of the taps.

"I dunno... something fun, but practical - Oh! You could- like a Moscow Mule, but just serve it in a different glass and use edible glitter!"

Simon quirks his brow as he slides the beer glass to a customer. "Edible glitter?" He asks, wiping his hands on his rag. "Didn't know there was such a thing."

You nod quickly, your eyes full of excitement. "Yeah! God, I could pick up a bunch from the baker's supply down a few blocks. You could call it 'Witches' Brew.'"

He turns it over for a moment - in his opinion, it's ridiculous. He runs a pub, not a college bar. He would have scoffed at the idea of someone else had brought it up - but, it's you bringing it up, and that's a completely different story. You have such a brilliant gleam in your eye that melts his heart. He can't say no to you, especially after making you cry last week. He's still carrying out his penance for that.

"You think it'd sell?"

"Oh, for sure! I can make an insta post about it to get some attention."

He clicks his tongue, turning to the POS and seemingly uninterested by it. "Fine - if you spend anythin' promotin' it, let Price know. He'll reimburse ya."

You let out a triumphant whoop and slide of the barstool. He lets out a huff as you trot back to your tables, a noticeable pep in your step. He chances through the window on the kitchen door to see if his food is ready - what he's met with is Johnny's face, staring through the warming counter as he stands at the stove, a smug grin resting on his lips.

Simon can practically hear the cook's thoughts. Whipped bastard.

You had left without saying goodbye that night. You waited by the counter, rocking eagerly on your toes as Simon grabbed your tips from the night before out of the safe. As soon as he handed them to you, you snatched them and ran out the door. He was a bit irked by that, standing there with a stubborn frown as you pranced out of the restaurant - maybe you're still not back to being cheeky and chipper yet after last week. He can live with that... for now.

However, not twenty minutes later, you come stumbling back in with a paper bag in hand and a smile on your face, panting like you'd just run a marathon. Simon's anxieties quell at the sight of you.

"Got it!" You say breathlessly, walking to the edge of the bar and dropping the bag onto it. Simon folds his arms over his chest as you reach in and pull out a small bottle of glitter. You hand It to him and he takes it, holding it up to the dim light above.

"You can eat this shit?" He asks, brows furrowed.

"Mhmm!" You chirp, settling into a barstool. "Now, bartender - I'll have a Moscow Mule."

He sets the glitter down and grabs a clear glass, working on gathering the ingredients. "Ya only call me that when you want something."

"I'm calling you what you are." You respond, watching as he skillfully mixes everything together, pouring vodka from the jigger between two fingers, tossing in lime juice and topping it off with ginger beer. As shameful as it is to admit, you're kinda attracted to the skill he presents.

"Should be callin' me boss." He says, topping the drink off with a straw.

You slide off your stool and chuckle. "Yeah, you'd be into something kinky like that."

Simon has to bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the thought of you - nope. He won't even entertain the idea. He simply steps back a bit as you wedge yourself behind the bar (yes, he actually forces himself to give you enough room - he doesn't need you feeling hiw aroused he is).

You grab a bottle of the glitter and dash some into the drink. After swirling it with the straw, the liquid becomes iridescent with purple shimmer that billows about the glass. You look up at him with a satisfied smile.

"Witches' Brew." You announce, holding the drink out to him.

You look happy - an observation that makes Simon smile, even if he wasn't the one to cause your happiness. He lifts his mask, grabs one of the straws and plugs it, before bringing it to his mouth and sampling the drink.

"Tastes like a mule."

"But it looks like a potion, right?"

"'S this glitter goin' to be in my gut whenever I get autopsied?"

You laugh, grabbing the glass and leaving Simon behind the bar. "That would be a cute party trick." You call over your shoulder.

Simon watches you, arms folded over his chest and his eyes curious. You set the drink on the opposite end of the bar, pulling your phone from your pocket and pointing the camera to the glass. You grimace; your arm reaches over the bar to grab the rag lying over the faucet, and quickly wipe down the bartop. He huffs, grabbing his phone from the register and pulling up his group text with Soap and Price.

Ghost: got ourselves a marketing team.

He looks back up at you - you're hunched over, taking picture after picture of the drink. You twirl the straw in the liquid every few seconds, kicking up the glitter and making it reflect the low lighting of the bar.

Hus phone buzzes.

Price: ??

Ghost: she's making a drink for october and promoting it in social media

Soap: clever girl

Soap: what drink?

Ghost: moscow mule, but in a clear glass and with some edible glitter shit. it's pretty neat.

Soap: picture?

Price: Promoting? Will this cost me anything?

Simon chuckles. He pulls up the camera on his phone and aims it at you-

Except you're in a different position. You're perched so nicely on a barstool, holding your phone at arm's length and your drink in the other hand. You're smiling up at your camera, nose scrunched as you pose for a selfie. Your hair is down, your back is arched, and - did you tug your neckline down? You most certainly did. You're breasts weren't that pronounced before.

Without thinking, Simon takes a photo. The shutter clicks loudly: you look at him, as do the three patrons sitting at the bar.

Fuck. He panicks, clearing his throat and lowering his phone. "Jus' showin' the lads what you're up to." He says, but you can see the tension in his shoulders as he quickly sends the picture to the chat and puts his phone in his pocket.

You smirk - whether it was truly just for Price and Soap, or if it was for himself, you felt a little flattered that you'd caught him in the act. You hoped for the latter.

Simon exhales heavily and rests his palms on the counter. His face burns beneath his mask as he tries to calm his racing heart. Fuck- was that weird? Course it fuckin' was. Goddamn creep.

His phone buzzes again. He sighs and pulls it into his hand.

Price: Cute thing, isn't she?

Simon immediately frowns, any previous shame now replaced with a fire in his chest.

"Fuckin' wot?"

[bilbosmom-belladonna]

Whoops, my hand slipped and I wrote another Steddie ficlet! Also posted on AO3.

The Best Defense

“Hey, freak!”

Eddie froze, the bag of groceries clutched in his hands. Steve's head popped up from where he was putting the other bag in the trunk.

Andy Johnson was headed their way, a look on his face that made Eddie's eyes go wide.

“You got some nerve showing your face around here, freak!” Andy shouted as he approached, pointing a menacing finger.

Steve calmly plucked the bag from Eddie's nerveless fingers, dropped it in the trunk, and smoothly stepped between him and Andy.

“Back off, Johnson,” Steve said, his chin held high.

“You think I'm scared of you, Harrington?” Andy scoffed. “You ain't shit, pretty boy. Daddy's money can't protect you here.”

He glanced over his shoulder, where Eddie could see a group of varsity jackets starting to move closer. Eddie shrank back a little, wishing he could be anywhere else.

Steve cocked his head to the side, just watching for a minute as Andy puffed. Then he reached into the trunk, pulled out his nailbat, and slung it casually against his shoulder.

“Don't think I'll use Daddy's money,” Steve said with a shrug. He dropped the bat into his other hand and twirled it. “Think I'll use this instead.”

Andy blanched. His eyes nervously darted between the bat and Steve. Eddie could see there was still a little bit of dried monster blood on the nails.

For once in his life, Andy did the smart thing. He started backing away, huffing like Steve was the one being ridiculous, but guys like that always want to get the last word.

“Yeah, well, you better keep an eye on your rat-faced little boyfriend, Harrington,” he threatened. “You can't defend him forever.” He backed up a few more steps before he quickly returned to his friends.

Steve turned and looked at Eddie, an affronted look on his face. “Can you believe that guy?”

Eddie winced. “Hey, man, thanks,” he said weakly. “I'm sorry about that.”

“Nah, forget him,” Steve said as he closed the trunk, the nailbat still in one hand. He shook his head. “I just don't get why he would say something like that about you.”

Eddie grimaced, all too aware of the (entirely true) rumors about his sexuality. He didn't want something like that coming down on Steve; he was a good guy, he didn't deserve to get any more tangled up in Eddie's mess than he already was.

“I mean, what the hell was that about?” Steve continued indignantly. “You are not rat-faced.” He scoffed.

Eddie blinked for a minute. “You—” he licked his lips. “What—Steve, what about the other—”

Steve opened his door and sat down.

“I—he called me your—” Eddie stammered. He stood stupidly by the trunk, shoes stuck to the pavement.

Steve closed his door and beeped the horn.

“What—”

“Get in, Munson!” Steve called, leaning out the window with a grin. “The ice cream’s gonna melt.”

Eddie got in. He looked nervously at Steve and licked his lips again.

“Seatbelt,” Steve prompted as he checked his mirrors. He turned to face Eddie as soon as his seatbelt was buckled. Eddie looked back at him

“We'll drop this stuff off with Wayne,” Steve said, “and then I'm taking you out to dinner. My treat.” He reached out and ran his thumb over Eddie's cheek, then turned back to start the car. “Rat-faced,” he muttered disdainfully under his breath as they pulled out of the parking lot.

If you held a gun to his head later, Eddie would never be able to tell you a single thing about the rest of that drive.

[littlechivalry]

I love the idea of our Hawkins teens going to a showing of a Rocky Horror so much so please join me in this:

Eddie's driving. He's excited, loves that he gets to 'pop their cherry.' He pulls up to Harrington house expecting to see Steve and Robin posted up outside in full Brad and Janet regalia.

Eddie of course is dressed as Eddie and of course he thought about Frank but that might be too much. Steve is cool but is he cool? Eddie hopes but he's not an idiot.

Instead of proper Midwestern church clothes he finds Robin standing out front in a raggedy black suit, her hair greased down while Vicki (and yes Eddie had had his suspicions) is next to her dressed as a maid with her own bright red hair teased out to heaven.

"Riff Raff? Magenta? I didn't expect to see you two here."

Vicki laughs but Robin gives him a look that makes a shiver run up his back.

"So where's Steve? Decided to stay home?"

The last syllable barely leaves his lips when the door opens and - - -

LEGS. Fishnet stocking LEGS. Tap pants and a bustier and a shining tail coat and a top hat and a blinding grin and LEGS.

"Columbia?"

Steve laughs and dances down the steps and he's wearing tap shoes too? Eddie may not survive this.

Robin laughs at him but Vicki pats his shoulder in commiseration.

The drive to Indy is filled with jokes and conversation and music and Eddie is paying attention to the conversation. And he is paying attention to the road. But

LEGS

They get to the theater and get their props and their seats. A few songs in Steve begs off to go to the bathroom. Does Eddie watch him go? Of course. Can he actually see him very well in the darkened theater? No. But it's the principle of the thing.

Then the music starts up for the Time Warp and Eddie is on his feet along with everyone else in the theater. There are performers on stage dancing along with the movie, a long line of tuxedo clad strangers when suddenly a figure goes flying across the stage and Eddie can hear Robin and Vicki whooping but he is frozen.

It's Steve. Tapping. It's a perfect recreation of Columbia's dance routine and when the other boy finally comes to a stop, gasping, on a chair at the corner of the stage Eddie finds his voice screaming louder than he has at any concert he's ever been to.

A few minutes later Steve makes his way back to his seat and Robin lunges past Eddie to throw herself at him. Eddie can make out that she's talking but not what she's saying.

They make it through the rest of the show and it's amazing. Eddie's second favorite moment may be when Steve and Robin wrapped their arms around him during "Eddie" wailing out fake sobs.

They sing and shout themselves hoarse. The ride home is quiet but in the best possible way. Robin and Vicki are as good as sleeping in the back of the van and Steve is leaning against the window, humming along with the radio.

"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Steve smiles but it's barely a shadow of his usual smile and it fades fast. "When I was little my mom still gave half a shit about being seen as a good mother so she put me in dance classes. It didn't last too long. My dad didn't like it and after a while it became more important for her to be seen as a good wife so I was taken out and put into every sport."

Eddie doesn't say anything. Can't say anything.

"I really liked it though? I can't play music and I'm not much of a singer but I really like dancing. Robin had to put up with me practicing this almost constantly for the past few weeks. I thought she was gonna kill me."

"So you learned this for tonight?"

Steve turned to face Eddie and smiles. "I learned it for you, man. Thought you would get a kick out of it."

The small ember of Eddie's crush on Steve had initially been lit years ago in high school. He had banked it carefully, couldn't bear to let it go cold but too worried about losing Steve as a friend to let it flare bright.

"You learned it for me?" Eddie's stomach feels warm

"Yeah," Steve says, smiling. "Every Eddie needs a Columbia, right?"

Steve is laughing at him and that only makes Eddie feel warmer. Steve. His crush, Steve. Steve did this for him.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Yeah, he does."

"Thought so," Steve says, turning back to the window.

Eddie drives them back to Hawkins in a silence full of potential.