#and i think them needing to be together no matter what and then leaving their lives to be together

[irisintheafterglow]

when touya's comfortable with you, i think he will just....lay his entire body weight on you at any given moment.

it doesn't matter if you're lying down (though he does prefer it so he can just trap you against the couch or bed), nor does it matter if you're anticipating it or not. he likes to transfer all of his weight from his feet to you, becoming a human weighted blanket that also comes with a certain degree of attitude. when you're standing? it's a bit of a nuisance.

touya, i'm making dinner.

i don't see how i'm stopping you from doing that.

wanna grab me the salt and pepper from the high cabinet?

'm busy. lemme bother you for a while.

his arms are lanky and it became too awkward to drape them over your shoulders, so he settled with securing them around your torso and resting his head next to your neck instead. it's a tossup if he's looking up or not; he'd never admit that his favorite past time is hiding in the space where your neck meets your shoulder and letting you drag him from place to place. you're used to the way his hair tickles the side of your cheek and carefully steer him around any countertop corners or protruding pan handles on the stove.

you're like a cat, you know that?

what, dark and mysterious and graceful?

no, clingy and moody.

it's worse when missions go wrong or someone gives him a tough time, to the point where he needs you to lay on him rather than the other way around.

touya?

here, babe. he's hiding his face and sprawled out on the living room couch, an arm draped over his eyes while his brain tries to recount whatever the hell just happened. hey, baby.

bad mission?

don't wanna talk about it. any other member of the team would leave him to his suffering, but you know him better than that. right now, he needs someone to pull him out of the dark. c'mere, please.

what do you need me to do?

jus' need you.

okay.

you become his weighted blanket and physically push him into the ground, reassuring him that this is the reality he exists in and not wherever his mind wants him to wander. his heartbeat races under your ear and his breath hitches in his throat when your thumb absentmindedly grazes his pulse point right below his chin. lifeline. the inevitable slowing of your breathing as you drift off to sleep forces his own chest to match the fall and rise of your rhythm, never too fast or too slow.

you assume touya moved you to his bed after you'd slipped into unconsciousness, depositing you gently onto the sheets that smelled like him and faintly like your body wash. you don't remember how you ended up in a different location, but your position against his body remains the same.

snug like puzzle pieces, fit together like two halves of the same soul.

[ouiouimochi]

Grumpy Snowman

pairing/s: jin kamurai x reader

wc: 700

warning/s: no beta we die like zenji, short, characters may be ooc, no thoughts head empty when making this, wonky phone format

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙

On the 1st day of simpmas, my true love gave to me

“Why is my name on this snowman? Tohma, give me your gloves. Whichever half-wit made this has shit for eyes.”

“That would seem unwise, Captain” Tohma voiced, concealing a glint of mirth in his eyes by closing them accompanied by his signature smile.

Jin crossed his arms, waiting for the other male to follow his order until his vice captain eventually slipped off his gloves. The silver haired male wore one glove on his dominant hand before tracing a finger over his name on the snowman, erasing it in the process as well as leaving an awkward looking crevice on the surface of the snowman.

After removing the glove and throwing it back to Tohma, both of them proceeded inside Frostheim without a word.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Crunching of snow accompanied your humming while on the way to the Frostheim house, mood elevated for today. You immediately went for the main entrance, already used to being called over on a certain grumpy man’s whims.

Your eyes then turned to the area of snow you played with Luca and Kaito on, smiling fondly at the fun memory…

Laughter filled the air after a few thrown snowballs. You three eventually settled for making snowmen.

Left to your own devices, you finished yours— it looked like it was frowning. With a giggle, a certain someone immediately came to mind and you start to unconsciously write his name on the body of your work. You stood up with a fond smile, proud of your masterpiece—

You then stopped on your tracks when you noticed something wrong with the cute snowman you made with your friends. Eyebrows scrunched, albeit a little upset.

‘Whoever tampered with my work is quite the busybody’

With your mood a bit flipped over, you walked into the giant castle.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“Oi, servant. Your mood seems to be more down than usual. It's fucking ruining my tea.”

You gathered up the documents on the coffee table, compiling them together into a neat stack. You sighed.

“Someone ruined a work of mine.” You actually don't know why you answered when he wasn't even asking. Perhaps your ruined mood did the talking for you.

“Hmn? Do you know who did it?” He spoke gruffly. Despite the unbothered tone he put on, you were already quite familiar with the way Jin talked and acted.

He cared— not that he'd admit it— and he'd reason out that no one should bother “his favorite servant”. Although after thinking about it some more, he sometimes went over the top…

You shook your head, waving off his question. Who knew what he'd do to the poor perpetrator if he were to find out. You felt silly now for being upset over a small thing that can't even be called an issue.

“I- Nevermind that, it wasn't that important anyways.”

You took another stack of papers, sifting and scanning through them, before neatly compiling them yet again. Your eyes met his and you found that it was already staring at your form the whole time.

Standing up, you took the papers you needed to hand to Cornelius.

“I believe it's my cue to take my leave now, Jin.” You awaited his response as if asking permission to go out.

He clicks his tongue and takes a whiff out of a cigarette. With a puff of smoke and slouching into the sofa, he finally spoke.

“Do what you want.”

You smiled at him, doing a small bow before turning on your heels.

“Please do take care, it has started becoming colder as of late.”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“Tohma, you damned rat. You knew all along and didn't fucking stop me.” Jin’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his mouth into a scowl.

“I believe I did warn you that it was unwise, Captain.” Tohma's annoyingly matter-of-fact voice reached the silver-haired male’s ears

After summoning the busy vice captain to his quarters in order to investigate what got you so down, Jin was only met with the other ghoul’s irritating snicker as he revealed that the Captain himself was the one involved in the said incident.

He pinches his nose, clicking his tongue again.

“Go fucking send her this then.”

“Should I include in the letter that you're sorry for calling her a half-wit with shit for eyes?”

“You got a damned death wish?”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Later that evening, you received a package containing a delicate snow globe that had a polar bear and brown cat inside.

You had an inkling of an idea who sent it— perhaps you'd have to mentally apologize for calling him a busybody.

'Maybe the snowman was actually ugly'

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙

note/s: soo I'm participating in the simpmas event, courtesy of @justwinginglife , where I post a fic for a diff character (that I simp for) each day until the 25th. Hopefully I'll be able to commit to finishing the event— I cannot promise that the ones I post are gonna be complete either. Do expect short fics instead of the fleshed out ones. I do apologize for my inactivity, uni has absolutely been destroying me

lastly, even though it was jin's fault for erasing his name on that snowman i made for him— I'd 100% agree with him and say it isn't his fault character apologist anything could be his fault but I'd gaslight everyone to think it was their fault instead

taglist: @ryescapades , @minasfwoopyponytail + anyone else who wants to be added!

[famouscyclenerd]

Mor's reactions to Az and Elain is explained in his BC

this is my opinion btw, nothing's been confirmed.

I've seen both sides use her reactions to "prove" that their ship is endgame in whatever way. We don't have her pov in any of the scenes however.

So as of right now, we don't know why Sarah chooses to highlight Mor's reactions whenever there is an interaction between Elain and Az in her presence, but I have my theories, and ya'll already know it's not going in e/riels favor, SO BUCKLE UP MY DUDES WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE!👹

I think it's important to note that Azriel and Mor's relationship has been slightly... turbulent throughout all of the decades they've known each other. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't been absolutely unstable, but there is a huge lack of communication on both sides that's been in dire need of resolvement in order for them to have a good and healthy friendship.

Although Sarah hasn't confirmed it, moriel was supposed to be endgame. PERIOD! I still can't believe there are moriel deniers. Reading ACOMAF, moriel was the plan and that's a !fact! (TRUST, I was there when MAF realeased and the couples were feysand, elucien, nessian and moriel) and it became evident in ACOWAR that she changed her mind on them for unknown reasons.

So what do we know about them and their feelings for each other? In MAF Feyre noticed Azriel reactions towards Mor. I honestly find that so fucking funny when "Beautiful, but near-unreadable." and "His skin was as cold as his face." is how Feyre first describes his face, yet she clocks his feelings for Mor almost immediately.

"It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor's body (...) A wisp of shadow curled around Azriel's ear, and his eyes snapped to mine. I schooled my face into bland innocence."

"Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder (...) The lurking shadow vanished entirely as Azriel's head dipped a bit (...)"

This was the very first scene where Feyre observed Mor and Az together.

"Yes - Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence."

I find this interesting since some of you can say: "GOTCHA! His shadows vanishes around Mor like they do with Elain and moriel was supposed to be endgame in MAF" but I don't think this is good for the e/riels at all, as Sarah kept this going even after she decided that they weren't going to be together. This basically established e/riel to be moriel 2.0 and it didn't work out the first time, so why would it work a second time?

I find it interesting when Feyre, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel leaves to go see Elain and Nesta for the first time - Azriel decided to leave behind his shadows.

"(...) No shadows trailed us, as if he'd left them in Velaris."

Why? Because he didn't want to unsettle the sisters as they were there to convince them to work with them.

"Then I shifted to the right, grateful those shadows were nowhere to be found (...)"

"But Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit. I wondered if Rhys's spymaster often got his information through stone-cold manners as much as stealth and shadows."

How sweet! First meetings :D

To speed things up a bit, we have Mor finally telling Feyre more about their relationship. How she's aware he wants her, but doesn't see himself good enough to be with her.

“He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

This is very crucial and something I'll circle back to later!

Then we have the cauldron scene that seemed to be what would finally make a change in their so far static relationship.

"Faster than any of us could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel's chest. Mor screamed."

"Mor was shaking - trying hard not to, but shaking as she stared at the protruding end of that arrow, visible between the gap in Azriel's wings."

"Jurian's sword was already out - and he was looking at Mor as if he was going to kill her first. Azriel's blood-drained face twisted with rage as he noticed that stare."

"Azriel cried out in pain. She froze."

"Mor looked at Azriel and there was real fear there. Fear - and something else. She didn't stop moving until she kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed - but covered her bloody fingers with his own."

I've said this before and I'll say it again. If you know SJM terminology, you know what the "something else" means. This was the mating bond snapping into place for Mor. We were all waiting for it to be adressed in ACOWAR, but clearly that never happened.

As of WAR and FAS, Azriel's feelings for Mor doesn't waver. He continues to stare after her with longing, hunger, sadness whatever - even with Elain in the room fyi. But Mor's feelings for him has been changed irrevocably - as Sarah decides to sink the moriel ship once and for all by telling us Mor is not romantically interested in men, something Az is not aware of, as far as we know. And she continues to sleep with men, which makes him confused and hurt. Their relationship remains the same as it always has been.

So with this out of the way, let's take a look at Mor's reactions to e/riel!

"Azriel's hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he'd been standing long after he was gone."

This is... an interesting reaction and something that Sarah obviously wants us to notice. So why is that?

"Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me."

Ah, the lovely potato scene! As I was re-reading it, there really was nothing romantic about it whatsoever. Rhys explaining why, as this was more to highlight Azriel's ptsd than show any romantic indication between him and Elain.

However, Mor's reaction is certainly something to note on. She tenses as she watches them. And in here comes my reasoning as to why Az's POV is so important to her reactions. Because previously, we see Elain and Az together through other people's eyes, and it can come across as very sweet and innocent, ♫the start of something new♪ perhaps. But the BC really just threw any sliver of a chance for e/riel out the window, imho.

There was simply nothing sweet about Azriel's inner thoughts as he was interacting with her. His self worth is at an all time low around her, meaning it has most likely always been like that whenever they've been together.

He is so aware of his own flaws, his status, his looks etc and basically comparing himself to her. She is so flawless and good and he is this ugly monster.

"Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift."

"His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around." ← as they do with Mor

"Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin."

"Wrong - it was so wrong."

"She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond his scars."

"Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence."

"He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to." ← this is straight up diabolical💀

Although we have never gotten Az's POV when he's around Mor, I imagine it to be very similar in terms of how he views himself and them. And I think Mor understands this. When she looks at Elain and Az, she sees herself and him. And I think her heart breaks for him as she watched history repeat itself, likely knowing that there isn't much she can do but watch as he self destructs again and again.

As I mentioned, this makes me look at e/riels interactions differently when knowing how Az views himself around her. I believe this made every interaction between them, that could carry hints of potential romance, into something much darker than what it seemed like on the surface. And I think Mor sees this, as well as Rhys.

This kinda leads into a post I was planning on writing, but couldn't be bothered. But it was about Az and Rhys and how as of SF, the character that knows Az the best is Rhys. And we see Rhys shut down any e/riel interaction known to man. Feyre: "how handsome they could be together" and Rhys: "Azriel has been preoccupied with the same female for five hundred years" etc.

With the bonus chapter in mind, I have a headcanon that, like Feyre did to Lucien, Rhys used his daemati powers on Azriel and essentially read what we read, leading to him interrupting them as he (like many of us) did not view what was happening as something romantic. If you read on a surface-level, what Rhys did could appear mean, but to me, he did this because he cares for his brother and that particular kiss would not make Azriel feel better about himself. At all!

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question." ← He is not completely over her, even in SF.

If my headcanon is true (which we might never even find out) I just have to point out that Feyre found no ill will when it came to Lucien's regard for Elain, only concern, sorrow, longing etc. Compared with Rhys and Az, where good intentions was not on the table, but simply lust and self-hatred on Azriel's end at least.

I'm not sure why Sarah decided to toy around with e/riel except because Azriel was suddenly available after she decided to ditch moriel, but I do believe that they've turned into nothing but a red herring for gwynriel and elucien. And it worked, a little too well maybe.

See I could pull in my girl Gwyn and her scene with Azriel to compare and show the contrast of it, but I'm not going to..

"The young priestess smiled - and he thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows."

This is already... so different to what we've seen with the other two.

"He blocked out the bloody memory that flashed, so at odds with the Gwyn he saw before him now."

He thinks about her and how far she's come compared to when they first met.

"Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music."

"He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but..."

This is just cute c:

"Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle."

"(...) rubbing his hands against the cold, grateful for its bracing bite and the distraction of this impromptu lesson."

He is aware of his hands and not thinking about how "ugly" they are when she is around him. He is also happy about this surprising lesson, not at all interested in being alone to mope anymore.

"Azriel laughed."

"(...) something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch."

You already know. But Az was in a shitty mood right before this, and it did not take much of Gwyn to calm him down, leading him to feel slightly better about himself and even feeling like he could get some sleep after all.

Compared to both Mor and Elain, his shadows are present and interacting with her and she's paying attention to them as well. Which is a first. And let's not forget the ✨spark✨

Which of these three ladies is better for Azriel? Mor and Elain are basically the same for him, himself and his shadows reacts more or less the same around them. Or Gwyn, which read in a lot more positive note than the previous two?

I think Sarah knows at least🤷‍♀️

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 9

Writer's Note: This is it - the final part... I hope there's no disappointment. It's been so great writing this and seeing your reactions. On to the next work! Speaking of, the final hours for submitting your answers to our poll Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Violence // Mentions of killing/death // Mild kissing // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Readers over the age of 18 only please

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

Aurelia followed Geta, along with Marcus to secret quarters which she had never seen before. At the end of the dark hallway, was a closeted door. It was opened wide by Acacius and they all entered. The entire senate was present along with Lucilla. She ran over to meet Aurelia with open arms and hugged her tightly. They all sat to discuss the matter at hand – how they were going to deal with Macrinus.

A variety of opinions were floating around the room,

“Jail him.”

“We should exile him, he is a dangerous man.”

“He is too close to Caracalla, it would never work, Caracalla needs to be dealt with.”

On mention of his brother, Geta stood and paced the room. His mind wasn’t altogether sound, but he was his brother. His actions were inexcusable but the thought of any ill to come to him made him feel very uneasy. Aurelia noticed his demeanour and reached out to grab his hand as he paced in a bid to calm him down. He stood firmly behind her and listened to what the other senators had to say.

“Exile and jailing are not for this man. He would find a way to work around that. As you say, he is well acquainted with my brother. Death is to be the sentence. Leave Caracalla to me. He is to be excused.” Geta demanded. The senate looked round at one another, not saying a word.

“DID YOU HEAR ME SENATORS? NOT. TO. BE. TOUCHED.” He screamed.

The senators mumbled “yes, Emperor” and the room fell silent. All eyes were on Geta, seeking action. He pulled Aurelia up by her hand, “Marcus Acacius is to conduct the mission. Listen to his direct commands. Acacius, draft in whatever you need.” He took his wife to his chambers for the evening and retired into a deep sleep.

***

It was still dark outside when Aurelia heard a door handle opening. She woke bleary eyed staring at the direction of the door, anticipating seeing Geta coming in, but she looked to her side and there he lay. She lay back down again on the bed thinking she had made up something in her head when suddenly she her mouth was covered with a rag that had a funny smell. She could feel her eyes closing on themselves and as she tried to struggle, the darkness overtook her.

***

She started to come round when she realised, she was sitting upright. Where was she? Aurelia began to frantically look around and tried to get up. It was only then she noticed she was tied by the ankles and her arms were pinned behind her, also tied. There was no way to break out of the knots on her own. She prayed to the gods that Geta or someone would come to find her and free her.

“Ahhh, Aurelia. You’re awake.” A dark figure emerged from the shadows, but she would recognise that voice anywhere. It was Macrinus.

“I don’t know what you think you are doing Macrinus, but whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”

Macrinus laughed in Aurelia’s face, “Oh but it’s going to work so perfectly. Caracalla is so foolishly stupid, he is indoctrinated. He thinks this is all for his benefit, but the poor fool, HA HA!” He knelt in front of the woman, “Your husband’s pretty crown will be on my head very soon.”

“Geta will never let you get away with this Macrinus. You are delusional if you think my husband is so weak.”

“We’ll soon see about that. As I said earlier Aurelia, I am the kind of man Rome needs. A man who can get what he wants and ensures nothing comes in their way to stops them. With Geta out of the way, and his pathetic wife of no use, no one will stop me in accomplishing what I want.”

“Macrinus, you so much as touch a hair on my husband there will be hell to pay. Rest assured.”

Macrinus chuckled at her empty threat as he thought, “Well we’re going to bring him down here and let you see how we will torture him and make sure you watch as he suffers greatly.”

Aurelia sobbed and shivered at his cold, callous words. “Later ‘Princess’”, he walked out of the room as Aurelia started to shuffle in her chair and writhe like a snake in a bid to free herself, but it was no use. She broke down crying further, fearful for what was to come next.

***

It was sometime later before she heard great commotion.

Geta screamed, “AURELIA, AURELIA, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“Geta! Please help me!! GETA!”

He followed the sound of her voice and ran into the room. He broke down into tears and ran to her to try and untie her. “My darling, darling girl. What have they done?”

“Geta, they’re going to kill us. They’ll do it, they’ll do it! Macrinus, he’s here. He told me such awful things. We must stop them – we have to get out of here!”

“Well, well, well – the woman isn’t as dim as she looks. She’s got one thing right, and it’s not about stopping us!” Macrinus and Caracalla crept round the corner.

Geta ignored Macrinus’ grating voice and looked deeply into the eyes of Caracalla, “Brother, I don’t know what he has said or promised you, but it’s all lies! Caracalla, in the name of the gods - come to your senses!”

Caracalla approached Geta, “You’re right Brother, I do need to come to my senses.” A large, bladed weapon was wielded from Caracalla’s belt, and it was held against Geta’s neck.

“GETA! Caracalla, I swear if you hurt him, I’ll-”

“Oh, sweet Aurelia, that’s quite endearing… Macrinus, deal with her.” Macrinus approached her, standing over her body and slapped her harshly across the cheek.

“Brother, please don’t do this. This man is a fraud, an imposter. He is only using you to get what he wants. Please brother, I love you – you know that. We can get through this.”

Caracalla stared into the eyes of his brother, for a second Geta saw a glimmer of hope, “Brother, she has turned you so pathetic. It’s pitiful to see you the way you are. This is why I have always had a problem with you and her. Love makes the strongest men weak, and I feel brother that by doing this, I will actually be doing you a grave justice.”

Geta was about to speak when a Marcus Acacius entered the quarters and fighting ensued. The commotion startled Caracalla that Geta was able to get free. He went to get Aurelia, but her chair was now empty. He looked over to find Acacius and Macrinus sparring with their respective swords. When he turned back around, he was pushed abruptly to the ground by Caracalla and saw his blade swipe up into the air.

This was it.

This was how it was all to end.

An ambush by his own brother.

He closed his eyes preparing for the impact, when he heard a grave groan. He looked up to find Aurelia had impaled Caracalla in the upper shoulder. He fell with a thump to the ground.

He began manically laughing as he lay on the ground, “Macrinus, get this useless woman!”

With that, Acacius dropped Macrinus’ head in front of his face.

“There’s your great puppet commander, Emperor.”

Caracalla cried out and wept, “Macrinus, my sweet, sweet Macrinus.” He swept his fingers over his face.

Geta held his wife close as both of them wept. Acacius gathered Caracalla to address his wound. It wasn’t life threatening, just enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Emperor, what are we to do with him?” Acacius asked.

“He’s to be dethroned. Get him into the gladiator quarters, and fetch Aurelia’s brothers. Let the gods decide his fate.”

Caracalla cried, “Brother, brother, please I have failed you. Please, I will do better.” He continued to cry out after Geta, but he turned his back and ignored his cries as Acacius handed him across to the guards who stood at the doorway and followed them to the gladiator stay keep.

Geta held Aurelia even tighter. He was glad his wife was safe, but the betrayal of his brother was too much for him to accept. However, he had to face facts. Caracalla was willing to make his life a living hell. She was his possession, so any harm to her, affected him. He was also willing to get rid of him in a bid to help Macrinus take to higher power. It couldn’t go on. In this case, the gods were best to decide.

“Sweet husband, I love you. I am sorry how Caracalla has betrayed you. I don’t know how to make things better, but they will. Time will heal.”

He sighed, “Yes, it will. Come, let’s get out of here.” He took Aurelia by the hand and led them into the light.

***

With Aurelia’s brothers freed, the games resumed. The crowds gasped when they saw the new addition to the gladiators.

“PEOPLE OF ROME! We have a new gladiator in the rink, my brother, Caracalla. He is there to allow the gods to decide his fate. He has shown great treason, along with Macrinus your new senator. Guards, show the crowd Macrinus!”

A head rolled into the arena, and the crowd gasped – then erupted into great cheering and clapping.

“Now, RELEASE THE MONKEYS!” the crowd cheered once more, and the fighting began. He sat to watch the carnage ensue, taking Aurelia’s hand in his. Lucilla looked on the pair fondly, she was glad the threat of Caracalla was gone. Maybe Geta would soften in his new position without having to compete with his brother and his impish ways.

By the time it was finished, Caracalla was the only gladiator standing. He cheered for himself thinking him victorious, yet Geta knew of the rule. He had the option to chose whether he lived to fight another day or not. Aurelia looked up at him with sad eyes, she knew the fate that lay ahead of him, and she did not like the burden it leaned on her husband. Acacius chimed in, “Remember his treason, Emperor.” Geta nodded.

“THE GODSSS HAVEEEEE SPOKENNNNNNN!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, and firmly pointed his thumb down to signal it was the end of the road for Caracalla.

He took his wife by the hand and exited the balcony, choosing not staying to observe. Acacius and Lucilla followed behind. Aurelia couldn’t help but feeling sad for the entire event. While he was vile, Caracalla was easily led, but he was dangerous. She also couldn’t help but feel terribly sorry for her husband. It was his brother after all, and she could see that it pained him. But he was treasonous, and that was not permitted. Not in the slightest.

Aurelia knew of a secret, but it was not the right time to reveal it. She knew it would make her husband happy, but right now he had to grieve the loss of his best friend and brother. Aurelia knew she had to stand up to her duties, as a wife and Empress. She had to make sure Geta was her top priority, to help keep Rome in check, and ensure she kept herself well to ensure the future heirs of Rome inherit only the best traits to create a strong line to keep Rome alive.

[astrcmoni]

⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst, smoking, slight cussing

authors note: hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it, let me know what you think.

You never thought you’d see her again, not after the way she left. she had always been a storm—unpredictable, consuming, leaving wreckage in her wake. You tried to hold on, but there’s only so much a person can give before they break. When she walked out, it felt like she took the last of your light with her.

You remember the way it felt to watch her walk away—her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her head low like she couldn’t bear to face you. She didn’t even slam the door; it just clicked shut, soft and final. You told yourself you were done with her, but that was easier said than lived.

It’s been two years since that night. Two years since her voice, soft but certain, said, “I can’t stay.” Two years since you swore you’d never let her back in. But tonight, under the illumination of the glowing party lights you see her again.

Standing across the room like a ghost made flesh. drowning in her own sea of bodies as people danced around you both causing a claustrophobic separation. Her hair’s a different color now, and her face looks a little older—sharper in some ways, softer in others—but it’s her. There’s no mistaking those eyes.

You caught sight of her first, squinting at the back of her frame, not fully realizing who it was until she turned towards you. then, those blue eyes locked with yours. and it feels like the ground drops out from beneath you, leaving you weightless and frozen, suspended in a moment you can’t escape.

Your chest tightens—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. It’s like all the feelings you thought you’d buried are clawing their way back to the surface, making your heart ache in a way that feels almost physical.

Your breath catches, the kind of catch that’s barely noticeable but feels like everything inside you is short-circuiting. Time slows down, or maybe it speeds up—you can’t tell because everything is a blur, a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. You don’t even register the people around you anymore; they’re just noise, fading into the background as your vision tunnels on them.

And then there’s the sting, sharp and raw, a rush of memories slamming into you all at once. The sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at you, all of the things that were left unsaid. It’s like your mind is running a reel of every mistake, every moment, and you can’t stop it no matter how much you want to. You feel too much and nothing at the same time—numb and overwhelmed, like your body and your emotions are completely out of sync.

Party forgotten all about and it feels as if the world narrows to just the two of you, that was the last thing you wanted right now. The more you two stare at each other the more the air around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Every sound around you—voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses—starts to blur together, growing louder and louder until it’s just noise, grating and overwhelming. Your skin prickles with heat, the bodies around you seemingly too close for your comfort and it feels like the walls are closing in, each inch tighter than the last. There’s nowhere to focus, no solid ground to stand on, and your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You feel an urgent need to move, to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of it all. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, anywhere you can break free from the crushing space around you. Shoving past the partygoers without even registering as so much of a face. Mind fixated on finding some fresh air, something open, and quiet.

Your mind raced, thoughts and questions zipping pass one another. What in the actual fuck was she doing here? This was supposed to be a small event but you should’ve known better. It was a album release party for a mutual friend, but with sightings of her becoming less and less your worry began to dissipate. But that all went out of the window tonight, just your luck.

Finally you found a door, pushing through it and being greeted by the cool air of the LA night sky. you inhale the air, gulping it as if you were abandoned at sea and it was your lifeline. Finding a small curb, you take a seat on it as your hands found their way to your knees, clutching yourself as you tried to steady your breathing, allowing you to be present once more. It’s not instant relief as your mind was still racing, chest still tight— but at least you’re out.

The crack of the earth beneath feet reaches your ears—a faint shuffle of footsteps against the pavement, growing louder with each step. Pace steady but hesitant, like they’re not trying to startle you but can’t decide if they should keep going. The click of shoes echoes quietly in the still night, a contrast to the muffled hum of music emerging from the party behind you.

You don’t turn around at first, every instinct inside telling you to stay still, like moving would somehow make it real. But the sound gets closer, the steps slowing as they near. There’s a pause—long enough for your breath to hitch—and then the faint crunch of gravel as they shift their weight. You can almost feel them standing there, their presence heavier than the silence between you. Your eyes flicked over to the shoes of the person that stood beside you and they confirmed your already strong suspicions.

“Can I sit?” Her voice is low, almost timid, and it throws you. Billie was never timid. She was loud, unpredictable, and bold. Always the one who burned brightest in any room you were in together.

Could she sit? tuh. The question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unwanted. After all the pain and bullshit she caused you, after the nights spent choking on tears you’d promised yourself were the last, the instinct was to scream a hard, unshakable hell no. How does she get to just show up, and ask something of you? You wanted to tell her to leave, to walk away as easily as she had all those years ago. It would’ve been so simple—just a few words, and she’d be gone again.

But your heart—that damned, stubborn heart of yours—betrayed you. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, beneath the memories of slammed doors and empty spaces she used to fill, there was still a soft, desperate ache. A quiet part of you, buried under years of resolve, that wanted to hear her voice again, to feel her presence even if it hurt.

So you hesitated. The silence stretched, sharp as glass, and for a moment, she almost looked ready to walk away without an answer. But then you tilted your head ever so slightly, a gesture so small it almost felt insignificant, and her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—relief? Guilt? Hope? She moved quickly, like she thought you might change your mind, lowering herself into the spot on your left.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders hunched, as though she could make herself smaller, less imposing. And you just stared ahead, watching the glow of the streetlights dance against the asphalt, trying not to think about how close she was, how her scent—something faintly familiar, like lavender and rain—drifted toward you in the cool night air.

You wanted to ask her why she came back. You wanted to tell her to leave again. But most of all, you just wanted to feel something other than the confusing swirl of anger and longing twisting in your chest. And so, for the first time in years, you sat together in the quiet, the unspoken words between you louder than anything either of you could say.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to remind you why it mattered so much in the first place.

“yea…didn’t think I’d see you,” you reply. And you hadn’t. You’d spent months—years—working to get over her, scrubbing her out of your mind like a stubborn stain. Some days you thought you’d succeeded. But now that she’s here, all it takes is one look at her for the memories to pour back in.

The way she used to smile at you in the dark, like you were her entire world. The way her hand used to linger on yours, warm and grounding. The way she kissed you, like she was terrified you’d disappear if she didn’t hold you close enough.

And then the way she left.

The way you watched as her back disappeared the more steps she took, the way your heart shattered into what felt like millions of pieces and how you were left to pick up every single shard.

“So… how are you?”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unwelcome. It lingered in the air, raw and exposed, forcing you to confront a question you hadn’t asked yourself in a long time.

How were you?

The truth was, you didn’t know. You’d spent the years since her absence piecing yourself back together, brick by brick, like a fragile tower of Lego blocks. Some days, the pieces fit; other days, they crumbled under the weight of the memories she left behind. You tried new things—picked up hobbies, traveled to places you thought might cleanse you of her ghost. You even let yourself fall into the arms of others on occasion, hoping someone else might finally feel right. But none of it stuck. None of it filled the void she carved into your chest.

Still, you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t deserve the truth, didn’t deserve to know about the nights you stayed up convincing yourself you were better off, or the mornings when you woke to find her name lingering on your lips like a bitter aftertaste.

So instead, you told her the easiest lie. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice smooth, practiced. You didn’t dare look at her when you said it, afraid your eyes might betray the cracks still mending beneath the surface.

She nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you thought she might believe you. But the way her gaze lingered—searching, gentle, and entirely too familiar—made you wonder if she could see through the facade, if she still knew you in ways no one else did.

You turned your eyes back to the streetlights, refusing to give her anything more. Fine was all she needed to know. Fine was all she was getting.

“I—” Billie stops herself, looks down. She does that thing where she chews her bottom lip when she’s anxious, and you hate that you remember it so clearly. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice breaking on the words. “For the way I left. For… all of it.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

She flinches, and for a split second, you feel guilty. But then you remember the nights you spent crying over her, the days you spent forcing yourself to get out of bed, to move on. She doesn’t get to come back and expect it to be easy.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep messing you up.”

Your eyes roll so hard they could fall into orbit, a scoff bubbling from your chest at her words. The sentiment is tired, hollow, the same recycled bullshit excuse you’ve heard from past ex’s—but Billie? No, this was a new wound entirely. Of course, two years apart, and she’s already sinking her claws in, pricking at your nerves.

You fish into the pocket of your jacket, fingers brushing the familiar papered edge of a joint you rolled earlier, your lifeline in case the night went sideways—which, apparently, it had. With a soft click of your tongue, you press it between your lips, muttering a dry “tuh.” Seriously? This? Now?

But when you reach back into your jacket for a lighter, your brows knit together. Your hands shift to your sides, patting pockets with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling over fabric.

“The fuck?” you mutter under your breath, shuffling and searching as your irritation simmers into something hotter, more desperate. Something in Billie’s gaze says she knows exactly where it is.

“Oh, here,” she says.

The sound is sharp and intimate, slicing through the quiet like a whispered secret. A metallic click, clean and deliberate, breaks the stillness, followed by the soft scrape of the flint wheel turning. Then comes the bloom of the flame—a faint whoosh that carries a warmth you can almost feel. It’s steady, alive, crackling faintly as it dances in the dark, casting flickering shadows against the night. The scent of singed butane drifts into the air, sharp and chemical, grounding you in the moment. It’s such a small sound, but next to you, it feels impossibly loud, like a heartbeat outside your own.

She never indulged in your smoking habits, never shared in the way you leaned into the soft haze to escape reality. But she always carried a lighter. Always. For you. Because somehow, no matter how many times you bought one, you had a way of losing them, and she had a way of knowing.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even after everything, she still carried that lighter—still kept this tiny piece of you with her, like muscle memory she couldn’t unlearn.

She held the flame steady, her hand shielding it from the wind with practiced ease. You didn’t move, your hand hovering near her but never quite closing the gap. Instead, you watched as the fire danced, the golden glow illuminating her face in the dim light. The wind teased the flame, threatening to snuff it out, but she guarded it instinctively, her other hand cupping the lighter as if it were precious, fragile.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, trapped in the flicker of light and shadow, as if the fire itself held some kind of spell over you. Or maybe it wasn’t the flame at all. Maybe it was her—the quiet familiarity of her gestures, the way she still did this for you, even now, even after the years and the pain.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. An ex lighting her ex-girlfriend’s blunt, an act so casual it hardly deserved a second thought. But to you, it was so much more. It was a thread connecting the past and the present, a bridge over the chasm of two long, lonely years.

It was intimacy. A kind you hadn’t felt in so long it almost scared you. The kind that knew your rhythms and your faults, that carried lighters for your bad habits and lit them without judgment.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to extinguish the fire before it burned you again. But your heart—foolish, stubborn thing that it was—ached for this moment, for this tiny act of care. So you stayed still, watching the flame dance as your heart and mind waged their quiet war. She watched and waited to see what you would do, and without thinking your body leaned forward, towards that bright ember of a flame. And when she finally lit the blunt for you, her fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, it felt less like a habit and more like a confession.

You watched as the flame stretched toward the blunt’s tip, small but fierce, its edges flickering and alive. It kisses the paper, and for a moment, it clings there, glowing brighter as it bites into the wrap. The paper darkens and crinkles, curling inward as the flame consumes it, leaving a thin line of blackened ash in its wake.

Your eyes meet hers, still in your crouched position, and for a moment, everything stills. The laughter and music fade into the background, muffled by the weight of her gaze. It’s so quiet in this bubble that it feels like you could stay here forever, wrapped in the soft, strange serenity between you.

But you don’t. You blink, the spell breaking as reality creeps back in. This moment isn’t yours to keep, no matter how much you wish it was.

A wisp of smoke rises, twisting lazily into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper and the earthy undertone of the tobacco or herb inside. The ember glows softly, pulsing like a heartbeat as it takes hold, the flame retreating once its job is done. What’s left behind is a smoldering edge, fragile and jagged, the beginnings of something that burns slow and steady.

Leaning back, you withdraw the joint from your lips, letting the smoke roll slowly from your mouth. You blow it to your right, away from her, the exhalation curling into the night air like a phantom. You’ve always been careful, always mindful, because you know how much she hated it.

You remember the first time you sparked up around her, the way the cloud drifted lazily in her direction and enveloped her. She coughed, sharp and sudden, her face twisting in discomfort as her hand shot up to wave it away. Later, she told you how it made her feel—the way the smoke clung to her throat, thick and choking, leaving a sour taste at the back of her tongue that wouldn’t go away. How it wove itself into her hair and clothes, lingering like an unwelcome ghost she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t mind you smoking,” she’d said back then, her voice soft, almost apologetic, “but just… not near me. It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her words had stuck with you, burrowed deep into your memory, because they weren’t an attack—just honesty, delivered with that quiet gentleness she used to wield so well. Since then, you’ve been careful. Always turning your head, always blowing the smoke away, no matter where you were or how distracted you might be.

Even now, with her sitting beside you after years apart, it’s instinctive. The smoke twists and curls into the night, a hazy ribbon that never touches her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, watching as she sits unaffected, her gaze somewhere far off, and feel the smallest tug of relief.

It’s such a small thing—redirecting the smoke, sparing her the discomfort—but it feels like an unspoken promise. A habit born out of care, out of knowing her in ways no one else did. And even after everything, you can’t seem to stop yourself from caring.

You laugh bitterly, picking back up on your conversation . “And leaving didn’t?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at you with those ocean-deep eyes that always seemed to pull you under. “I didn’t stop thinking about you,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The part of you that still aches for her, that still wants to believe in her despite everything, starts to flicker back to life. But it’s just a flicker, nothing more.

“Why now, Billie?” you ask, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. You leaned your head on your right hand as its elbow rested on your knee. Spliff burning in between your middle and your index fingers as you slightly began swaying in thought. “Why come back?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, you see the storm inside her—the guilt, the hope, the fear. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you,” she says.

“So, you’re apologizing because you need something. Not because you’re genuinely sorry.”

The words leave your mouth, calm and measured, though they sting with the weight of years. You don’t look at her, not yet, but you can feel her gaze, warm and searching, on your face. You take a breath, letting the silence between you stretch. It’s the first time in a long while that you’ve allowed yourself to speak with this much clarity, this much honesty. And it feels both liberating and painful at once.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, quieter. “That’s not true. I am sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. She’s sincere, you can hear it in the tremor of her voice, but that doesn’t make the past go away. The years of waiting, the nights spent wondering why she left, wondering if you were ever enough for her.

She hasn’t moved since she sat down, but the space between you feels vast now, like an ocean that neither of you can quite cross.

“But you hurt me,” you say, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw that you haven’t let surface in so long. “I loved you, Billie. I loved you so much, and you just left me. No explanation. No call. Hell, you didn’t even leave me a damn text.”

You finally look at her. Her eyes are wide, full of regret, and for a split second, you almost forget all the reasons you’ve been angry with her. Almost. But the hurt is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and you can’t let it go. Not yet.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the words thick with remorse. “And I am truly sorry. I’ll never stop apologizing for what I did.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she takes a deep breath before she looks at you again, her eyes pleading. “But I love you. I do.”

I love you.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You want to respond, want to say something sharp and dismissive, to keep the walls between you up and firm. But instead you take another drag of the joint in your hand, as your heart—damned thing that it is—pounds in your chest, betraying you in the quiet of the night.

You swallow, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if the distance between you could ever truly disappear.

You know what letting her back in could mean. You know the pain she’s capable of causing. But you also know the way she made you feel when things were good—the way she made you feel alive.

And as you sit there, staring at her in the glow of the streetlights, you realize you have a choice. You can let her back in and risk it all, or you can walk away and finally put her behind you.

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the silence stretching unbearably between you. And for the first time in years, you’re not sure what to do.

[dreamwatch]

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas. 

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair. 

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.” 

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway. 

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet. 

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him. 

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it. 

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal. 

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still  in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face. 

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream. 

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there. 

“That was… that was really cool, actually.” 

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?” 

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed. 

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.” 

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner. 

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air. 

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar. 

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it. 

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up. 

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration. 

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now. 

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?” 

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs. 

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep. 

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have. 

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside. 

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

[crow2222]

Darry x Paul headcanons

They're in my head and I'm gonna make everyone aware of this. Mostly fluff, warning for an eating disorder.

Darry's ticklish. Paul knows exactly where, and would tickle him out of nowhere which pisses Darry off. PAUL on the other hand, isn't at all and Darry hates this fact.

When Darry had custody of his brothers, he'd always be up and early first, but once they grew up and Darry had time to finally slow down, Paul would wake up first and make him breakfast and lunch if he had enough time. Darry is bashful about it everytime.

They have two rings each, one lavish bought by Paul, which are rarely worn, and one bought by each other in the early stages of their relationship, holding much more sentimental value and worn almost daily.

I don't think they'd be in lavender relationships. Darry wouldn't want to marry a woman he doesn't love that way, and Paul simply doesn't bother. Maybe they try to go on dates here and there but oh boy they never work out.

Paul likes leaving his clothes or straight up buying new clothes for Darry (cough purple madras shirt) (cough lettermans jacket like in white knight) Darry felt guilty about it at first but once Paul realised he needed more working shirts than fancy dress shirts, he started being much more glad to find new shirts without holes to work in.

Olive theory but with tomatos. "You like ketchup but not tomatoes?" "Darry I'm not explaining myself again."

Darry likes when Paul runs his fingers through his hair, and when he rests his chin on his head too. #darrywouldloveweightedblankets but it's okay he has Paul for that.

Once Soda and Pony caught onto what they are, they were mostly confused as to why it was Paul.

They extensively plan holidays abroad but only manage to carry out their plan of a roadtrip across America. Paul swears he'll bring Darry to Europe one day.

Paul got really worried when he noticed Darry's small eating habits, which he'd developed when he was really low on money back when he was taking care of his brothers. Paul tried his best to help, but eventually Darry did gain more an appetite in his own time. (He didn't want to tell Paul he was being the opposite of helpful)

Absolutely love looking back on football team photos, and laughing about how young they really were when they first got together and fell out.

Oh yeah they fell out at some point. Years later, both better and healthier to be in a relationship, they got together again.

When asleep in the same bed, they're moving constantly to find more comfortable positions, but when they're cuddling, dead still.

Back when they were in school, Darry would write about Paul, and Paul would draw Darry. I'm talking sketchbook filled to the brim of drawings of Darry, some from memory, some quick sketches 'in the moment' and the occasional rare painting of when Darry would model for him. Darry mostly wrote poems, but sometimes he'd just write memories with great detail so he'd never forget. Years later they also look back at these, too embarrassed to show each other (They both know where their sketchbook/notebook and have looked through them.)

Absolutely love parties, no matter how boring they might be - like a cousins baby shower that's just cake. If it's called a party, they're showing up to catch up with old friends and cause general havoc together.

Ponyboy gets them those Christmas decorations with two male cardinals (he's a bit of a bird nerd) and they don't understand whenever he buys them yet another bird decoration. One Christmas he tells them, and they become much more cherished.

Darry's handwriting is HORRIBLE and Paul writes in any cards they send out.

Paul got Darry a dog once he started talking about adopting a kid, jealous of fathers he'd see in town with kids attached to their hips. He thought he'd never want kids after taking care of his brothers, but he sure enough, he grew up and wanted a junior of his own!

[veilkeeper]

Emmrich's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Fear of Death Commitment

alt title: the editor would like to issue a correction.

so. we need to talk more about the human emmrich argument, because holy shit, it's not about emmrich being scared of dying. well, not really.

it's about emmrich being scared of how he feels.

when i first wrote this meta, i only had access to a single path of the argument, and it's actually the one that most makes it sound like the issue here is emmrich's insecurity about his age and that rook will outlive him. and i'm not going to lie and say that isn't a factor here, because it is, but the other two paths make it so so clear that there's more going on.

"You care about me? That's so sweet!" "That's not what we're discussing."

from the very start of the romance, if you're paying attention, you'll notice that emmrich.... dodges the question of the relationship a lot. he avoids acknowledging it with companions and when he does, he says that he and rook are "exploring the matter" rather than outright saying they're together. he's quick to use pet names, and can be rather sweet in private, but he very carefully avoids using strong words.

and unlike in the lich path, there's no spot before this to say you love him and get those feelings out in the open. even in the start of this scene, he shies away from saying the L word—"you've... grown to mean much to me" he says, carefully choosing his phrasing. "I care for you. Deeply."

and in this argument, rook can finally call him on it.

"I get it. You're scared because you love me."

you could hear a pin drop. it blows this whole thing wide open. emmrich isn't afraid that in some nebulous future he's going to die and leave rook alone. or if he is, that's not what this is about. this is about his own insecurities. this is about his fear that people are judging them for the age gap, like he tells harding. this is about the fact that he's facing down the barrel of the rest of his life, something that now has a definite end, and he's scared of what it means to love someone that whole time.

i think in a way, he got comfortable with their relationship being somewhat undefined. if you never label it, if you never say how you feel, then it can just carry on indefinitely as this thing that no one can name, and it will never be something you can lose. but it's gotten to the point now where he can't ignore how he feels, and he also can't ignore the implications of it.

so instead of being honest and admitting what he's actually scared of, he frames it as an age gap issue. you're so young, and i'm not, and that's not fair to you. it's like he's passing the baton and saying end it now, so i don't need to worry about losing you later when you realize you didn't know what you were getting into.

but rook pushes back. "you're scared because you love me." "i know what i'm getting into." "you're older than me, i get it, why are you making this such a big deal?" "it's fine to say it."

and of the three lines by rook that can end the argument, i think this one summarizes exactly what this argument is really about:

"Maybe one of us just needs to admit that he's scared."

it's not really about emmrich being older. it's about how emmrich feels about being older. how he feels like he's missed his shot at this sort of relationship and now that it's right in front of him, he's terrified. being in love, the sort of in love where you want to hold onto someone for the rest of your life? it's so fucking scary when it's real, and not just some fantasy when you're young.

i'd call it a contrast to the lich path, but it's not. it's cohesion. now we can see it plainly: in either ending, emmrich is terrified of losing rook. he wants them more than anything, and he's scared of what that means.

as a lich, he's scared of them getting hurt or dying, and he doesn't know how to protect them forever. he asks them to stay out of the fight so he can see them safe for just a little longer, stave off the inevitable another day.

as a human, he's scared of them realizing what they're getting into. he's scared of them waking up one morning and realizing they don't want someone older, that they're not prepared for what that means in the long run. he's scared of being a "besotted fool" and being the one who ends up more hurt when this inevitably ends.

it's fucking delicious.

Emmrich's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Fear of Death

spoilers ahead! this is about the conversation with emmrich right after When Plans Align if you're romancing him.

so that argument, huh? there's something so amazing, effervescent, and spectacular about a writer who knows there's something left on the table and they come back to it in a big way.

i talked about this in part one of my sacrifice of souls meta; about how while a decision re: emmrich's mortality had been made (one way or another), nothing had actually been done about his fear of death. and this is truly the perfect time for it to come back—it is the eve of battle against gods, and the likelihood of everyone making it back unscathed is low, to say the least. it absolutely makes sense that emmrich's fear of death is rearing its head now.

what's fascinating, of course, is that depending on which path he chose, the precise fear that he brings up changes. if he's human, he's afraid of his death. if he's a lich, he's afraid of yours.

big thanks to @/maxwellhousebrandcoffeefilter for providing me a clip of the argument when emmrich is still human, so that i can talk about both sides!! let's get into it.

Such Years Between Us

Even under the best circumstances, you will outlive me, Rook. You've... grown to mean much to me and... I care for you, Rook! Deeply. But there are such years between us, I shouldn't heap you with that burden.

this side of the argument is so interesting, because it actually has very little to do with the upcoming battle and is basically entirely about emmrich having to actually reckon with the fact that he's significantly older than rook for the first time. for so long in this romance i think he saw the lichdom as this like, beacon on the horizon. he didn't really think about the reality of getting involved with someone younger than him because he always had the option to become a lich. no getting older, no slowing down, no dying.

and now that it's no longer an option, he's stuck with it. he has to think about it. he loves rook, and as he says, there are realities to the circumstances of their relationship that need to be considered! the only difference is that... rook already did. at the beginning. which is when these types of concerns are usually addressed.

which of course is why this turns into a full argument when emmrich insinuates that it's rook who couldn't possibly understand his concerns about fairness "at their age."

i'm so, so, so happy that rook gets to call him out on this path, because frankly, it is wildly unfair to them, just not for the reason emmrich thinks. he's so concerned that it's unfair because they're going to have to mourn them, but he doesn't consider that maybe rook has already considered that, and bringing it up now is a dick move. they can point-blank ask if they're having this conversation "because you're worried about me, or insecure about you?" and it's so good.

Like a Thread of Diamond Flame

I can see the life course through you, my love. Like a thread of diamond flame. Yet... I will lose you to time, Rook. What if I can't bear that for eternity?

the argument with lich!emmrich actually is partially about the battle ahead.... because he opens with asking rook to stay back and not throw themselves head first into the fight. he's concerned for their safety, and seems to have forgotten that in a fight against gods, no one can afford to hold back.

man, i love it when i'm right. i knew he hadn't properly considered the consequences of lichdom, and i knew he wasn't prepared for rook to die. but seeing it said so plainly? absolutely delicious.

this answers my question of why he'd been "moping" around, as harding said. because he's been overthinking things and imagining the future where rook gets old and dies and he has to live on afterwards. i think the full impact of mourning manfred has hit him and he's realized that the depths of his feelings for rook are such that it will be so much worse when it's them. "I'm afraid I'll mourn you forever." not remember them, not love them. those were a given, guarantees he made before he ever even did his rites. but he's afraid he will mourn them forever, too. and that's... unimaginably heavy. a weight he hadn't considered, but should have.

the way this argument ends varies, including a path where you call him on overthinking and sabotaging his own happiness. but my favourite? when you tell him he can't act like this every time danger looms, and rook says "I'm not going to be afraid of dying just because you are." there's something so powerful in just that one line—it cuts right to the heart of the issue. this is about emmrich and his fears. nothing else.

my only complaint with this scene is there's no opportunity to call emmrich out on the fact that he should have thought about this before becoming a lich. of course, i knew that he hadn't—it was obvious he was rushing things so that he didn't have time to get cold feet, but i wish rook could say so. especially since it's been all my rook could think about since the jump.

[promise-you-doie]

From Home | Jung Jaehyun

For all the valentines who wanted Jaehyun to win the cold war between him and Doyoung. I hope this alternative ending fufils your every need.

Under 1k words I think

Jaehyun x reader (Exes to Lovers)

A little angst lots of fluff

Home Series

"Drive safe." You stop at the door, and Jaehyun halts mid-step, turning back to look at you.

"You’re not coming?" he asks, brows furrowing slightly.

You shake your head. "I don’t want to leave him alone."

Jaehyun presses his lips together, the disappointment flickering across his face unmistakable, but he doesn’t push. "Okay," he says softly. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. "I’ll call you. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, Jaehyun," you murmur faintly, watching as he walks to his car. The sound of his engine starting and the sight of his taillights fading down the driveway linger in your mind as you close and lock the door.

Dragging yourself upstairs to your bedroom, you exhale deeply, fingers brushing back your hair. The weight of the day settles in your chest like an anchor.

Doyoung is seated on the edge of your bed, his posture tense but his expression unreadable. He glances up as you enter, offering a small, tired smile that you attempt to return.

"Hey," he says softly, tugging lightly on your wrist as you approach, gesturing for you to sit on his lap.

You don’t move, sinking onto the bed next to him instead, your body heavy with exhaustion. There was a time when his touch brought you solace, but now, not even the memory of that comfort could quiet the chaos in your mind.

"How do you feel?" he asks gently, ignoring the growing space between you.

"Tired," you breathe, your fingers brushing through your hair.

"You can talk to me," Doyoung urges, scooting closer.

You inch further away, avoiding his gaze. "I just… I’m really tired, Doyoung. I need to sleep." You sigh, glancing toward the window instead of meeting his eyes. "We both need to sleep."

"Actually," he says, his voice steady but firm, "I think we need to talk." His hand gently turns your face toward him.

You grab his wrist, lowering his hand. "Where do we even start?"

"Let’s start with the fact that you left without saying a word. Did you think ignoring me would make everything disappear?"

"I’m not good at this," you reply, your voice low. "You know that. It’s how we got here in the first place."

"We can’t ignore it either." He moves closer, his presence unrelenting, his gaze sharp.

"I slept with him." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

Doyoung freezes, his face unreadable, though a flicker of resignation flashes in his eyes. Like he already knew.

"And I still love him," you add, barely above a whisper, your hands twisting in your lap as you avoid his gaze.

His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. "So… what does this mean?"

"I think you know what it means." You stand, wrapping your arms around yourself as you face him. "I love you, Doyoung. But Jaehyun and I… we—"

"I was there for you when he wasn’t," Doyoung interrupts, rising to his feet and taking your hands in his.

"I know," you say, your voice trembling. "I was broken, and you were there to catch me. I fell in love with you because you gave me what I needed. But I never stopped loving him." You meet his gaze, tears stinging your eyes. "He knows me in ways you don’t. There’s a connection between us that I can’t ignore, no matter how much I tried."

Doyoung nods slowly, his expression softening. The silence between you is deafening. He releases your hands, his own rising to cup your face.

"I love you," he says quietly, his thumbs brushing soft circles against your cheeks. "And I wish you nothing but the best. I’m sorry I couldn’t make us work out.” 

You shake your head, your lips trembling. "Don’t say it like that."

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms one last time.

"Goodnight," he whispers as he steps back, his hands falling to his sides before he walks to the door.

You watch him go, his figure disappearing down the hall as he leaves your room.

Something feels different. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s heartbreak. Maybe it’s both. All you know is that tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day, and for now, you just need to sleep.

"Good morning!" Joy chirps the second you answer your phone, her voice bright and bubbly. "So, what happened?"

You press your lips into a thin line. "I should’ve known you had something to do with this."

"I knew exactly what I needed to do to set you straight," she replies smugly, a playful smile lighting up her face on the screen. "So? Spill. How did it go? When are you guys coming back?"

"Umm…" You rub your forehead, the weight of the conversation from last night pressing down on you. "I’m assuming Doyoung probably took the next flight back, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already home."

Joy’s smile falters, confusion creeping onto her face. "What do you mean? Where are you? Why aren’t you together?"

You take a deep breath. "We broke up."

Joy blinks, her expression going blank for a moment, and then she asks, her voice laced with confusion, "Well, yeah. You guys were on a break, I get that. But that was just until you got back to LA. Then you’d get back together, and everything would go back to normal."

"No," you say, shaking your head slowly. "We’re not getting back together. We talked last night, and… seeing him again made me realize it’s not the same anymore."

"What’s not the same?" she presses, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "You haven’t been apart for that long."

"I don’t care about him the way I care about Jaehyun." Your voice softens, trailing off like you’re ashamed to admit it out loud. "I love Doyoung, but it’s not the same kind of love I have for Jaehyun."

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. You can practically feel Joy’s internal struggle, and when she speaks again, her words come out slow, like she’s carefully choosing them. "Obviously, I’m not thrilled about this," she says, her voice tight. "But it’s your life, and you’ve got to do what makes you happy. If… Jaehyun’s who makes you happy," she falters, unable to say his name without a moment's hesitation, "then I won’t stand in your way."

"Thank you," you say, a genuine smile breaking across your face.

"You’re still coming back, though, right?" Joy asks, her tone a little lighter now.

"Yes, I’m definitely coming back," you assure her with a nod. "I can’t stand another day in Connecticut."

"Good," she says, perking up. "I missed you so much. I’m giving you the biggest hug when you get here."

"I missed you too, Joy," you reply, your voice soft with emotion. "You have no idea."

"Well," she says with a sigh, "I’ve got to run, but… I love you. I’ll see you when you get here, okay?"

"Love you too," you reply just before the call ends.

Not a second later, your phone buzzes with a text from Jaehyun.

Jaehyun: I’m outside. 

You rush to your window, and sure enough, Jaehyun is standing next to his parked car. A smile creeps onto your face as you take a deep breath and head to the door.

“You’re early,” you say, opening it to greet him.

He shrugs lightly, his gaze meeting yours. “You didn’t answer my call last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, shoving your hands into your pockets. “I was so tired, I just passed out.”

Jaehyun’s eyes flick to your bedroom window before returning to yours. “So… is he here?”

You shake your head. “No. He left last night.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods. “I’m guessing you two talked.”

“We did.” You pause for a moment, then say it outright. “We’re not getting back together.”

The corner of Jaehyun’s mouth lifts, his dimples deepening as his smile widens. “Thank god,” he says, stepping closer and leaning down to press a firm kiss to your lips.

You smile against him, your heart skipping a beat as you pull back slightly.

“So… we’re still on for LA?” he asks, his voice hopeful.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” you tease, grinning before leaning in for another kiss.

1 month later 

You step into the empty apartment, Jaehyun’s hand clasped softly in yours. Your heels click against the smooth hardwood floor, the sound echoing in the silence. With each step, you feel the weight of the new chapter you’re about to begin, the new memories you’ll make. Jaehyun’s fingers are warm against yours, and the quiet intimacy of the moment wraps around you like a soft blanket.

As you walk through the space, your mind starts to drift. You imagine staying up late on the couch together, laughing through cheesy movies. You picture cooking meals in the kitchen, Jaehyun at the stove while you chop vegetables beside him. You can almost hear the crackle of the vinyl player as it spins your favorite songs, the two of you slow dancing around the room with no care for time.

You think about mornings—waking up next to him, your feet tangled in the sheets, the sunlight streaming through the windows. You imagine the little arguments over the thermostat, his warm hand on your back as you work at your desk, the quiet moments that will fill the walls with life.

This apartment, this space, is where all of your dreams will come true. It’s where you’ll build your home.

Turning on your heel, you walk backward, your fingers still intertwined with Jaehyun’s. He watches you, a small smile on his lips.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice soft and steady.

You smile, leaning in closer to him, your lips brushing against his cheek as you speak. “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” you say, your heart swelling at the simple truth of it.

His eyes soften as he leans down to kiss you, gentle and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. “I’m thinking about how I made the right decision,” you murmur, kissing him again, your lips lingering on his.

You pull back, meeting his gaze. “I’m thinking about how I can’t imagine this without you.” Another kiss.

Jaehyun pulls you closer, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “And I’m thinking about how I’d choose you again and again and again,” you whisper, your heart racing as he presses his lips to yours once more.

Jaehyun’s smile is bright, his hands warm as he lifts you off your feet, kissing you deeper, spilling all the love he couldn’t give you while you were apart. You laugh softly against him, and before you know it, you slide off him, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the window.

The city sprawls out before you, Los Angeles glittering below like a sea of stars. Jaehyun stands behind you, his arms slipping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You lean back into him, the rhythm of his heartbeat against your back steady and comforting.

For the first time in a long time, you feel at peace. You’ve finally made that little girl inside of you proud. You’ve achieved all of the dreams you had when you were eighteen—your dream apartment, your life in LA, and the man who has always been there for you, right by your side.

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him. “We’re gonna be okay, right?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaehyun kisses your cheek, his lips soft against your skin. “There’s no other way,” he says, his voice full of certainty.

The end for real this time.

[thursdayinspace]

For today's morning smutlet, I was having feelings about early season 2, because I always have feelings about early season 2 so that's not special. Buuuuut my head was like "omg imagine they'd lost all hope of the files ever being reopened? And they'd decided there was really no point denying their feelings anymore? I mean look at the way they look at each other; THEY'RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR. Anyway. Smut.

“This is such a bad idea,” she says, but she can’t keep the smile off her face and he can’t remember ever being this happy.

“A terrible idea,” he agrees. He kisses her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips again. She’s naked beside him on her bed and she’s as gorgeous as he tried so hard not to imagine for so long.

“But why is it a bad idea again?” she asks, and he pulls back, shaking his head, trying to come up with a reason.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe it isn’t.”

She doesn’t mention work, for which he is grateful, but he knows she’s thinking the same thing he’s thinking. The fact that the files are closed, probably forever, hurts like hell, the fact that they may never work together again hurts even worse, but the fact that they no longer have any reason to deny themselves this makes up for all of it.

“I think I don’t care,” she says, and he agrees. None of it matters. All that matters is her. Them.

Her skin is soft under his hands, under his lips as he kisses his way down her perfect body. She’s wet for him and he’s so hungry for her. She tastes like heaven. Her hands come down onto his head and she lets out a soft, eager whimper as he explores her, licks between her folds, flicks her clit with his tongue, sucks it between his lips. Testing and learning how to draw sounds from her, how to make her thighs clench and tremble, how to make her lose control. It takes her a while but he doesn’t care, he’d do this forever. And when she comes he almost comes with her; the knowledge that he did this for her is almost enough to push him over the edge. Instead, he makes his way back up to her, rests his head over her pounding heart and feels like he could fly.

He waits until her breathing has calmed, until she rolls onto her back and pulls him with her, drawing him on top of her. The metaphor is so trite and cheesy and he never liked it, but he feels it in this moment: sliding into her feels like coming home. She’s tight and hot around him and they’re connected, their bodies following where their hearts went long ago. *I love you*, he thinks, but it’s too soon. Maybe tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he can wait much longer than that to tell her, tell her what he now knows he’s been feeling since last year in Oregon.

Moving in her feels like the most natural thing in the world. She clings to him and keeps her eyes locked with his, and he can see it, he can see his feelings reflected back to him. He thinks he might cry but what comes out instead is a laugh of pure joy and gratitude that makes his head spin. She grins at him and cards her hands through his hair, and he lets his forehead drop against hers and rolls his hips harder, making her gasp and grip onto his biceps with surprising strength. He wants her to leave bruises.

Her legs come up around his waist and he thrusts into her in a rhythm set by need, but he feels no urgency, no desperation, none of the things that squeezed like a vice around his heart these past few weeks.

When she comes a second time, he can’t hold back any longer, and his orgasm hits him so hard he can’t breathe, and it’s release and relief and a gift from her all at the same time.

She falls asleep in his arms that night and he stays awake for as long as he can, not wanting to miss a moment. If he couldn’t think of a reason not to do this earlier, he knows now that they’re never going to be able to stop. Another trite and cheesy phrase he’s heard too often and never liked, but suddenly he understands: when you know, you know. And he knows. He knows.

[angy-grrr]

According to these "leaks":

Izuku only thinks about Shigaraki one time, leads to nowhere as there is no Plus ultra/we all can do it if we reach out to others message. The villains, society's duality, hope and dispair arent part of this chapter according to these leaks.

No All Might, the closest thing is the signed card. We also get no update on him, so we lose the plus ultra foundation of the series at the actual end.

Izuku rejects Katsuki's offer to be part of his agency, hes okay working with everyone else and being a teacher, we lose the plus ultra foundation of the series again (the other half of all might's heroism, leading to believe theres no reason to join forces like that; it goes against what Toshinori told them and the war callback).

We dont see them actually working; we know they did, but we dont know how izuku's suit works, how they all would fight together or what their role is now that there arent as many villains.

We get quick updates of many heroes.

We get a bittersweet moment from Shouto

We dont know what Ochako's program does, leaving again the conversation about society, quirks heroes and villains out of it completely.

I n another hand, Ochako keeps feeling like shit but not because she could have done something more for Himiko like last time, this time is bc she really likes Deku even more than before and wants to date him but it wouldnt be fair to Himiko. We regress her character, as she once again hides her feelings and is miserable even after working on changing the future of so many kids to be understood like Himiko deserved; even after her achievements, is not enough, because she needs to date Deku even if Himiko is an "obstacle" who needs to give her permission to live her life. There's no real full experienced life without expressing how much she wants to date Deku.

She actually expresses concern to Tsuyu, but apparently is not enough ; the only one who could help is Izuku, as the goal is to get them dating, even tho in chapter 429 it was revealed she hid from everyone including Tsuyu, not just Deku. Instead of learning about expressing your bad feelings to the ppl around you to healthily solve them, these "leaks" push a message of "telling your friend doesnt actually help, you have to date that guy".

Izuku uses Katsuki's words to understadn he should date Ochako, as he thinks shes particularly special (Izuku picks a favorite person in his life). She agress they should keep talking forever, and they dap. End of the series.

on top of that, she actually doesnt express her pain to Izuku (seeing Himiko's ghost, being conflicted about her wanting her to be free and love and the reminder of her ghost...), directly lets him talk about how shes special and wants to spend extra time with her in particular, and agrees.

This narration pushes the idea that Himiko as a ghost has been haunting Ochako for 8 years exclusively to start dating Izuku. The program and her work, her expressing her pain, etc dont matter. For her to "actually be free", she needs to date him.

Dap.

[ladyeyrewrites]

Bun in the Oven

Rated M

Chapter 3/4

2990 Words

Chapter three of trans!Tommy mpreg 8x07 rewrite

Read from Chapter One

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Tommy was definitely pregnant.

Eight weeks as far as the doctor could tell from the ultrasound.

But Buck couldn’t let himself feel excited. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them, not when Tommy seemed so scared, so likely to decided to terminate the pregnancy. So many times in his life he’d set himself up for disappointment by failing to manage his expectations and he wasn’t about to do that again. Because that would bring about an even worse heartbreak than Tommy suddenly deciding that Buck was incapable of being happy with Tommy long term and ending things without so much as a by your leave. Letting himself picture a life with Tommy and their kid only for it to be snatched away before it could come to fruition would break Buck and he knew it.

So, he tried not to get excited. Tried not to anticipate anything at all.

After the appointment, they sat in the Jeep together. Tommy stared at the ultrasound printout, at the blurry little blob that had just started to develop limbs and discernible eyes and ears.

“What do you want to do?” Buck asked.

“I want to think,” said Tommy, on the edge of snappishness.

“I know that,” said Buck. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to come to a decision right away. It made sense that he’d want to weigh his options. “I meant, do you want to go home or back to my place?”

Tommy sighed. “I need to get the truck, and then I want to go home. I think I need space to make this decision.”

“Okay,” said Buck. “And just so you know, I’ll support whatever choice you make, just please don’t disappear on me. I don’t think I could take that.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll call you,” he said. “Once I’ve figured things out.”

“You’d better,” said Buck. “And we still need to have a proper conversation.”

“I know.” Tommy scrubbed a hand over his face. “One thing at a time though, okay?”

“Okay,” said Buck.

#

“So, how’d things go with Tommy?” Maddie asked over the phone as Buck was getting ready for bed.

“Not sure yet,” said Buck. “We were able to talk about some things, but not everything.”

“Think you’ll get back together?” Maddie asked.

Buck grimaced and flopped down on his bed. His bed that Tommy had slept in the night before, leaving that glorious scent of his all over Buck’s sheets. The healthy thing would be to wash the sheets, eliminating Tommy’s scent, but Buck wasn’t feeling particularly healthy. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s still stuff we gotta talk through. I just – what if he runs away again?” Despite Tommy having promised not to run, Buck couldn’t help but fear he would, because that’s what people did: they left.

Maddie sighed. “Are you sure it’s worth getting your hopes up, Buck?”

It was Buck’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think I’ll regret it if I don’t try.” And that was true. No matter what choice Tommy made, Buck would always wonder about the might-have-beens if he didn’t tell Tommy he wanted to try again. Maybe with couples’ therapy. Scratch that; they were definitely going to counselling if they got back together. But that would have to wait until Tommy made a choice. “But the ball’s in Tommy’s court right now.”

“Okay,” said Maddie. “I hope it works out. I just don’t want you to get hurt more than you already are. I think that you have to trust the universe is gonna bring you a special person. Whether that’s Tommy or someone else.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he said. Although Buck was beginning to wonder if maybe part of his problem was that he trusted the universe too much. Bobby had said a while ago that he kept letting relationships happen to him rather than taking an active role in them, and he’d tried to fix that with Tommy. Maybe he’d tried to force it into something it wasn’t, but sitting back and waiting for things to fall into place just seemed like the wrong move.

They chatted a bit more about Jee and Maddie’s day at work before hanging up.

Buck lay awake most of that night, drowning in Tommy’s scent, dreaming of a future together despite himself.

#

Buck had been worried that he wouldn’t be able to play it cool on shift the next day. That was part of the reason why he spent the morning in the kitchen, prepping lunch – more baking.

“All right, guys, lunch is up.” He pulled the baked ziti out of the oven.

“Smells amazing,” said Hen. “What are we having?”

“Fresh-baked garlic bread, baked ziti, and bread pudding for dessert,” Buck said as the team gathered around to get a whiff of the food. He was too pre-occupied thinking about Tommy and what he was thinking about to relish in the praise the team heaped on him.

“Since when did you become a master baker?” Eddie asked.

“Uh, when Tommy dumped me,” said Buck. “Now, whenever I feel tempted to reach out to him, I just—”

“Bake?” Eddie finished his sentence.

And it was still true, only now it was because Buck wanted to give Tommy the space to make the decision, he needed to make without feeling like Buck was pressuring him in any direction.

“I know, it, uh, it sounds dumb,” said Buck taking in his teammate’s faces.

“It’s not dumb,” said Bobby. “You found a coping skill to deal with cravings. We do the same thing in recovery.”

Bobby patted Buck on the back while Buck tried to come up with words to describe what he was feeling without giving the game away. “Well, I don’t feel anywhere near recovered,” he said. “What I feel is a tractor beam pulling me towards my phone to see if he’s texted me.” Buck gestured towards his phone with one hand as he carried the tray of garlic bread over to the table.

Hen and Eddie followed after him with bowls and plates to set the table.

“I know that feeling,” said Eddie. “Stay strong, man.” Which actually didn’t make any sense to Buck unless Eddie was talking about Shannon because he’d been pretty brutal in booting Ana out of his life and Buck hadn’t seen any pining for Marisol or Kim coming from Eddie’s camp, not with the Christopher of it all hanging over his head.

Buck sighed and grabbed up his phone from the table and happened to catch the text bubbles in his chat with Tommy. Something caught his eye: three little bubbles at the bottom of the chat. “Oh, my God,” he didn’t mean to say out loud. What if Tommy was texting to tell him he’d come to a decision? Buck stared at his phone, waiting for a text to come through.

“What?” Hen asked.

“He’s bubbling me,” said Buck, not sure if that was a phrase he just made up or not. “Tommy’s bubbling me right now.”

“So, what did he say?” Hen asked as she and Eddie gathered around Buck.

Buck kept staring at the screen. It seemed too soon for Tommy to have decided, and Buck didn’t know what that meant. Did it take longer to decide to keep a pregnancy or to get rid of it? He had no idea.

The chat bubbles kept bubbling away.

And then they vanished. “They went away,” said Buck. “I don’t get it.” Had Tommy not made a choice after all? Or had he decided it was a conversation he didn’t want to have over text? But Buck couldn’t let on that he knew why Tommy was texting him, so he added. “Why would he type, type, type and then not send anything?” He looked between Hen and Eddie as if they could possibly know.

“Maybe he just changed his mind,” said Hen in that annoyingly calm and soothing tone she used on him when he was being over-the-top.

“You think I should call him, right?” Buck asked. Because what if something had happened while Tommy was typing, and he’d dropped his phone and wasn’t able to finish whatever he’d been typing.

“Definitely not,” said Hen returning to the table.

“What if he’s in trouble and he needs my help?” Buck asked. That didn’t seem too out of the ordinary a thing for him to ask right? That wouldn’t immediately point to Buck being worried that maybe Tommy was having a miscarriage or something right now? It was perfectly normal to be worried about his ex whom he’d thought was his endgame only a couple weeks ago.

“That’s probably not it,” said Eddie. But what did he know?

“Yeah, I’m gonna call,” said Buck. He closed out of the text chain and went to press the call button on Tommy’s contact card.

And then Eddie snatched his phone straight out of his hands. “Sorry, can’t let you do that, buddy.” Eddie put his hands behind his back and passed Buck’s phone to Hen

“Okay. Come on, give it back,” said Buck, trying to keep an even temper. “Come on, give it back. I’m serious.”

“It’s for your own good,” said Hen, tossing his phone to Eddie again.

And a surge of anger roared through Buck. while his friends played keep away because what if Tommy needed him? What if something had happened? What if they broke his phone and Tommy wasn’t able to get a hold of Buck?

“Guys, give it back, I mean it,” he snapped and something in his tone must have alerted his friends to the fact that he was very much not amused because Eddie gave his phone back looking chastened.

“Sorry, man, just trying to keep you from making a mistake.”

“Oh, so you think me actually trying to get some closure on a relationship I really wanted to work is a mistake?” Buck asked.

Eddie flinched. “No,” he said. “If that’s what you need and something Tommy can give you, that’s great.”

“We just don’t want you to get hurt again, Buck,” said Hen in her mom voice which Buck didn’t usually take issue with but right now it grated on his nerves.

“You guys do know I’m thirty-three, right?” he asked. “That I’ve actually been in serious relationships before, and I know how to have an adult conversation with an ex?”

His friends wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“If I want to call Tommy, I’ll call him. But right now, I’m giving him some space because that’s what I told him I’d do when I saw him yesterday.”

“Wait, you saw Tommy yesterday?” Chim, who’d been remarkably absent from the conversation, asked. “I thought it was the day before. That’s why we had to take a rain check on dinner.”

Buck sighed. “Yeah, I saw him both days,” he said. This conversation was getting away from him.

“You didn’t, you know,” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Did you?”

“No, we did not sleep together,” said Buck. “He came over. We talked. It got late and so we continued the conversation the next day. We’re not back together.”

“Do you want to be?” Bobby asked.

Buck hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, but if Tommy says he doesn’t then I gotta respect that, right? You can’t exactly make a relationship work if only one side even wants to be in a relationship.”

Bobby nodded.

And at that moment, Chief Simpson appeared wanting a word with Bobby, but Buck was too preoccupied thinking about Tommy to worry about that. He did reconsider calling Tommy though. If he’d come to a decision about the pregnancy, he probably didn’t want to have that conversation while Buck was at the firehouse, and they could be overheard.

Waiting until he was off shift to text though was agony.

#

Buck found himself scooping out cookie dough after his shift ended and he’d texted to see if Tommy was okay. His phone rang and for a moment he hoped it was Tommy, but no, it was Maddie. Not that he wasn’t glad to talk to his sister, but she’d probably ask him about Tommy, and he didn’t have the energy to talk around the truth or lie to her right now.

“You weren’t baking, were you?” Maddie asked.

“Uh, no,” said Buck. “Not technically yet. Did Chim tell you?”

“The gift basket full of baked goods you sent home with him may have tipped me off,” said Maddie “And whatever you’re doing that’s not technically baking, you need to stop, cuz you have plans.”

Buck sighed. “Plans? Uh, what are you talking about?” he kept scooping cookie dough.

“Remember when I told you that the universe was gonna send a special person your way?” Someone knocked on the door as Maddie spoke.

Buck wiped off his hands and picked up the phone. He really did not have the bandwidth to deal with his sister setting him up with someone right now, not with everything going on. Not that Maddie knew about any of that, though. “A blind date? Maddie, I’m not ready for that yet. One second.” He answered the door, thinking he’d find Tommy there only for it to turn out to be Maddie, Chim, and Jee.

“Here she is,” said Maddie with a grin. Gesturing to Jee who smiled up at him in multi-coloured cardigan and a tea shirt with flowers printed on it.

Chimney was smiling too, but more in a way that said he was just trying to humour Maddie and wasn’t entirely sure if this was a good idea or not.

“Well, when you said special person, you didn’t say the most special person in the whole entire world,” Buck said, squatting to scoop Jee up into his arms. Because he could most definitely free up the bandwidth to spend time with his niece, no matter what was going on. “Come here, Jee. Oh, I got you.”

“We’ll be back by ten,” said Maddie.

“Jee, take care of your Uncle Buck,” said Chim.

And then they fled back down the hallway before Buck could protest.

“Okay,” said Buck, fully immersing himself in uncle mode. “I have been making cookie dough. So do you want chocolate chip, peanut butter, or snickerdoodle?” He plopped Jee on a mostly clean portion of the counter.

“I want all of them,” Jee declared.

“What?” Buck feigned surprise. “That’s the perfect answer.” And they got to work, all the while Buck mused about what it would be like for Jee to have a little cousin or what it would be like to bake cookies with his own kid someday – maybe even someday soon. He let himself indulge the fantasy while he showed Jee how to scoop the dough and place it on the cookie sheet.

They’d just finished scooping out the last of the cookie dough onto oven trays when there was a knock on the door. “Just a sec,” Buck called as he opened the oven and slid the cookie trays inside. He hurriedly set a timer on his phone before lifting Jee off the counter onto his hip and crossing to the door. It was too early for it to be Maddie and Chimney. Maybe it was Eddie come to check up on him after their shift.

And there was Tommy standing in his doorway for the second time that week. “Hey,” said Buck. “I thought you were going to call.”

Tommy shrugged. “I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone or text.”

Buck didn’t think that sounded hopeful. “Okay, but it’s going to have to wait a bit.” He hefted Jee who squirmed to be put down. Buck obliged and she wrapped her arms around Tommy’s legs. “Tom Tom!”

“I didn’t know you were on Jee duty,” said Tommy, smiling broadly and ruffling Jee’s hair.

“Neither did I until Maddie and Chim dropped her off,” said Buck. It was crazy to him how despite everything going on – the break-up, the pregnancy, the uncertainty – being in the same room with Tommy calmed Buck down, grounded him. God, he wanted so badly to hold onto that feeling.

“I can come back later if you want,” said Tommy.

“No, it’s fine,” said Buck. “They’re just going to dinner. Should only be a couple hours.”

“You’re sure?” Tommy asked.

Buck lifted an eyebrow.

Tommy held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, yeah, I won’t question your feelings anymore.”

“Good,” said Buck. “Now, who wants cookie dough?” The last bit was directed more towards Jee than Tommy.

“Me!” Jee raised her hand and ran back towards the kitchen island.

“Probably shouldn’t what with the raw eggs and all,” said Tommy. He made a vague gesture towards his stomach that gave Buck a burst of hope. Surely, Tommy wouldn’t be thinking about the foetus’s health if he was planning to terminate the pregnancy?

But Buck shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Shouldn’t jump to conclusions. “No eggs,” he said. He’d gotten in the habit of setting aside some of his mixture before adding in eggs so that it’d be safe to eat – another break-up habit he’d thought only existed in Tommy’s favourite romcoms.

“I guess I’ll give some a try,” said Tommy, smiling at Jee.

Buck went to the freezer and grabbed the cookie dough while Tommy silently started cleaning up from Buck and Jee’s baking session. And it felt so lovely and domestic, and it made Buck yearn for that future he’d laid out to Tommy the night of the break-up: moving in together, getting married, having kids.

And he’d never felt closer to that dream or further from it. And even though he loved every moment he got to spend with Jee, for once he couldn’t wait for Maddie and Chim to come pick his niece up so that he and Tommy could talk. Not scream at each other or have a single-sided conversation – actually talk and listen.

@silversky9 @unhingedangstaddict @ironspiderdad12 @beanarie @sporadicmakerwerewolf @azaharinflames @aisatsana441 @bugboybuck

[anxaartistic]

MATCHUP FOR @karusenka

[ Cybertron Reader x Transformers ] + [ Yandere ]

You have got BUMBLEBEE TFONE!

( headcanons in more )

I honestly think that Bumblebee would see right through you and want to be the one to help you. He would be obsessive over your attention. Bumblebee wants to be the guy that you lean on when you're sad, to be the shoulder you cry on. Bumblebee needs to be the one you give all of your positive and negative attention to, he just has to! He would definitely try to find out what you hate and enjoy in various ways (talking to you directly, asking others or even watching from afar). He would ask his friends if they know you and to tell them everything about you. He wants to understand you and to love you. When you guys meet, he is attached to you like a magnet. He will follow you everywhere like a little kitten that chose their human, always trying to talk to you without directly demanding it. He would just walk up to you and start talking about everything you and him mutually enjoy, or even just what you enjoy alone.

He does understand that you like being alone so he would try to be quiet around you, but you know he can’t help himself! When you are under-appreciated or ignored, he will try to fill that void with his voice and hype and praise you so much! He would say directly how others don’t appreciate you enough and that you deserve so much from him, trying to show you how much he cares. Bumblebee would drag you along in silly adventures he may just participate in, cracking a few jokes on the way. About jokes, you two definitely have a very similar sense of humour. You two can be loud and silly together and Bumblebee craves that enthusiasm in you. He will never put you down even if you jokingly put him down, he will never risk his chances with your heart or you may just leave and he’d be broken.

If you do mess up something and start apologising, Bumblebee would be so sympathetic for you. It’s like his heart has somehow grown bigger. He’d stop you and desperately tell you that you didn’t do anything wrong and try his hardest to take the blame off you, even if you are the one to blame. He wouldn’t exactly gaslight you but kind of turn the blame to someone else, making it seem like you are either the damsel or that you never did anything wrong.

• Bumblebee would always defend you, physically and/or mentally, no matter who it is, he is determined to be your shining armour and protector.

• Though it seems like he will try to be the strong one, he definitely is a wholesome and gentle soul that just wants your attention 24/7.

• Once you start calling him 'badassatron’ (if you would), he would be ABSOLUTELY hyped!!

•He will only talk about you to his friends every chance he gets it, even in front of you.

• Bumblebee would not ask before he does, hugging you out of nowhere and scaring you with affection!!!

• He would try to catch you when you trip, but also mess up and fall with or on top of you like a dummy.

• He definitely would be frightened by your anger, but would pretend to brush it off like it's nothing. Then later he’s bawling his optics out, confused about what he did wrong and rambling to his friends about your interaction and how he could’ve changed them.

• When you are procrastinating, he probably would be too.

• You two would enjoy the terrifying thrill of horror games, crying and panicking together.

• Bumblebee would give you just a bit extra of his storaged energon in his arm, even if it pisses the others

• You two would definitely have a tiny party between you two, with hype music and lots of energon to share between you two, probably just doodling and gaming together in a little fort built of scrap metal.

[syndrossi]

Still thinking about AU where the twins are Aamon's kids and Daemon's age. As much as I'd love to see Aamon alive, it would be interesting to see a "there are 4 young adults left of the ruling family" scenario. Because. They really don't have any of the older Targaryens left around to help. Vaegon and Viserra (if they're alive) aren't around, maybe Alysanna if she survived Jaehaerys? Sure, Jaehaerys himself sat on the throne at a young age, but 1) he had at least a mother as who ruled as regent 2) he didn't have 3 relatives in charge, one of whom (Daemon) could throw something out at any moment.

I'm also wondering where Otto is in this AU. Was he also the hand in the later years of Jaehaerys? Or was it Jon/Baelon? What happens to him after the king dies? It's clear Jon won't trust him, but you have to give Otto credit - he ruled pretty effectively while Viserys 1 was feasting, so throwing out a useful man would be wasteful. Will Otto try to turn Jon against Daemon like he did in canon? Daemon would be furious, I can see how he would adore his cousin he grew up with together. Will he try to bring Jon and Alicent closer together in the future? Or switch to Rhaegar?

If they're around Daemon's age, they'd be 22 when Jaehaerys dies at last, which isn't all that young by ASOIAF standards, honestly. Even if they're a few years younger, 20 would be considered more than mature enough to reign. Viserys would be the eldest, at 26.

Jon's quite savvy, especially with Rhaegar's aid (I think I have them as Aerion = Jon, Valerion = Rhaegar for this AU), so he likely chooses his council and advisors in such a way to maximize/consolidate support. Award Daemon with a position that keeps him happy and demonstrates trust; if need be, grant him his desired annulment from Rhea and give him leave to seek a match to a highborn woman of his choice. He makes Rhaegar his Hand, finds a position that is suitable for Viserys. Corlys is definitely made master of ships if he isn't already, because that's their brother-in-law.

From there, it's a matter of filling other positions with capable men from houses whose favor it would benefit them to court.

I am not sure what Jon decides to do with Otto. Given the twins' age when Baelon dies (20), I could see Jaehaerys being persuaded to let him or Rhaegar serve as Hand rather than Otto.

("Fun" fact: I got Baelon's dates as Hand wrong in Regnal. Apparently Jaehaerys waited until 100 AC to name Baelon Hand, meaning he served in that office for all of one year before his death! WTF Jaehaerys? Especially considering that the man Baelon replaced was also serving as Kingsguard at the time! We'll say that Regnal!Jaehaerys came to his senses and made Baelon his Hand a few years after Aemon's death.)

The thing about Otto is that his talent and ambition make him dangerous. If Daemon's marriage to Rhea is annulled, perhaps he goes after Daemon with Alicent instead? Depending on if Jon or Rhaegar have any heirs from their own marriages yet, he's not that far down the line of succession and Aemma doesn't seem like she's going to be having a successful childbirth anytime soon.

Obviously if one or both of the twins are not yet married, he'd be jumping all over that. One thing I could see is Jon perhaps downplaying Otto's role in the Dance too much, since it was one of scheming rather than a military one. I do know that he's not going to be very successful turning Jon or Rhaegar against beloved family members (of which Daemon certainly qualifies). Their biggest challenge with Daemon will finding the appropriate Daemon-enrichment. I could see them approving a Stepstones war that is properly funded and supported with dragons, so that Daemon gets to live his mini-Conquest dreams. And then, a bit like Viserys, they hope he has a kid or two that can help him settle down.

[ghostmoon1]

Dusted Rivalries - Chapter Seven

Chapter Six | Master List | Chapter Eight

Call of Duty Fic - Task Force 141 - Cowboy AU

Summary: You tried so hard, but somehow your hardest wasn't enough. Your distraught, but the boys are still proud of you.

Paring: You'll find out soon :3

Words: 2,628

Warnings: Reader is upset, lil depressed, overthinking slightly

A/N: This ones more of a filler chapter, but I really like it :3 I think we're gonna dive into it a lil more after this one!

“How long has she been in there?”

Johnny’s hands tapped against the kitchen table, slightly slumped over and face creased with worry. The third-place ribbon sat in the middle of the table, bright red contrasting against the dusty and scratched wood. His brows knit together in worry, his non-stop tapping on the table the only sound in the room.

“Since we got back from the dog show… I don't think she’s handling it well. She wanted to win, for the farm. Third place prize isn’t much,” Kyle replies. He sat adjacent to Johnny, watching his fingers tap against the wood with a defeated expression. He was by no means disappointed in you, he was disappointed at the judges. In his opinion, you did the best out of everyone at that dog show. Considering Dolly was an older dog, and you both had only trained for about a week. He was proud, but they all knew no matter how much they tried to convince you, you’d only fall deeper into the hole you were digging for yourself right now.

“She shouldn’t beat herself up over it, she did well!” Johnny exclaims, sighing and resting his head in his palm. He felt horrible that you were beating yourself up over this, he almost felt as if they should be blaming it on themselves. They were the ones with money problems and now you're trying to help them.

In a way it was their fault, if you agreed or not.

Kyle and Johnny remained slumped over at the table as John walked in, holding his mug to his lips. His brows knit together, obviously feeling the aftermath of the dog show as well. “Have you heard from her?”

Both men shake their heads, Johnny lifting his gaze to meet John’s. “She hasn’t left her room,” he mutters, tracing his fingers against the wood grain of the table with a sigh.

“What do we do? She’d probably want time alone, but she’s a mess. I don’t want to leave her like this, we don’t know how she might get when she’s depressed like this,” Kyle sighs. His gaze stays locked onto the table as he speaks, his mind silently drifting off to things he didn’t want to think about. 

They were overthinking and they knew it, but they couldn’t help but think of the bad things that could happen. In the drive home, you were distraught, sobbing apologies without barely breathing at all. No one knew what to do or how to help. Johnny has become your pillow the whole way, his shirt stained with your tears. He didn’t know what to say, all he could do was keep his arm tightly around your side and let you cry. That’s all he knew what to do.

“She hasn’t eaten since she got home as well. She had a shit breakfast because of the rush we were in,” Johnny adds, watching John practically wince at the information.

“I don’t want to drag her out of her room, but…”

The room goes silent as they count their options. Dragging you out seemed a bit excessive, but if you needed to eat they wanted to make sure you did. Meanwhile, if they left you in there by yourself, they didn't know if you would come out to eat at all and that scared them.

The silence is broken by the front door, the loud racket making them snap their head towards the door and watch as Simon trudges inside, throwing off his rain-soaked coat and peeling away his shoes that were leaking over the floor.

“How’s the old girl?” Johnny asks, studying how he was soaked from the rain. His mask was clinging to his face, it had to be making it hard to breathe.

“Bit cold, gave her her coat. She’ll stay warmer in the stables, so I let her in there. She’s covered in mud, couldn’t bring her inside,” he mutters in response as he turns and locks the door before walking into the kitchen. He made a beeline for the kettle, flicking it on and taking a mug out of the cupboard. “She seems fine… not exhausted or anything,” he continues almost reluctantly.

“Better than lass, she’s a mess,” Johnny mutters and returns his attention to tracing the wood grains. Simon stares at him for a moment, his brows furrowing as he watches the concern pasted on everyone's face. 

“What's up with her?” he mutters as he takes a seat at the table with his cup of tea in hand, slowly sipping at it.

“She got third place in the dog show, you would’ve known if you came,” Johnny explains, eyeing him with a raised brow as if he was questioning him why he didn’t come. He gestures to the red ribbon on the table and then continues. “She’s beating herself up over it. Absolute wreck.”

“She didn’t win anything but a ribbon?”

“She won one grand cash… but she thinks it ain’t enough.”

John hums and frowns, setting his mug on the table. “That’s plenty, that helps us. That can buy the horse feed, lets us put more money towards our debt?”

“She wanted first, we all hoped for it. The first was a whopping ten grand, which would’ve helped a lot. But one grand still helps, if she thinks it does or not,” Johnny continues with a sigh.

“She can’t stay in that room, she needs to take her mind off it,” Kyle says with a sigh as he pushes himself up from the table. He fixes his jacket as he takes a few steps back, mentally preparing himself for the mess he’ll probably find you in.

“Want us to come with?” Johnny mutters, sitting up further so he’s ready to leap up if needed.

Kyle pauses for a moment. He knew you’d like to see them all, but what if all of them coming into your room would overwhelm you? He didn’t want to take that risk when you were already in such a fragile state. “I’ll go in and ask, don’t want to overwhelm her, huh?”

The boys all nod in understanding, letting Kyle walk up the hallway to your room. He pauses outside the wooden door, the white paint covered in scratches and dints over years of this house being lived in. He reaches out to knock, but his body pauses as he hears a muffled sound coming from inside. He hesitates, holding his breath and he leans in further to get a better idea of what that sound was. 

There it is again.

His heart wrenches as he realises what that sound is, you were crying. He hated that sound, he wanted to barge inside and wrap you up in his arms, whisper to you it was okay and that they were all proud of you regardless of the results. He gains the courage and gently knocks on your door, listening to your sniffles pause and you clear your throat. 

“Come in,” your voice cracks slightly as you call out.

He gently pushes the door open, his eyes widening slightly as he witnesses you cuddled underneath your sheets, eyes red and puffy with tear stains running down your face still. Your nose is red from blowing it so much, still sniffling lightly. His heart breaks as he sees you in such an upset state. 

His eyes trail down, noticing how the bed sheets are mostly tangled and the pile of used tissues in a small bin next to the bed. His eyes dart around the room for a moment. The whole bedroom was shrouded in darkness, the thick curtains not letting any light pass. The few posters and small items you placed around the room to make it more homey, so you feel more comfortable in here. You had just randomly started living here, considering the boys were so kind to you and you felt like you just clicked in instantly. It was better than the shitty flat you had tried to afford, although it was a struggle in today's economy. It was infinitely better than staying at your dad's ranch, there wasn’t any yelling nor being lectured that ‘you were an equestrian, you have to know how to do dressage! That's what the whole ranch is dedicated to!’. 

You sniffled again as Kyle stepped further into the room, his brows furrowing with worry as his eyes darted over your form. “Oh love, this isn’t good for you,” he murmurs as he sits down on the edge of the bed with you, watching the tears glisten in your eyes. 

“I didn’t win… I let everyone down…” you murmur, stuffing a tissue into your face again to clear the tears that had started to fall again.

“You didn’t let anyone down, you did us all proud, love. That one grand you won? That still helps. That keeps our horses fed, so we can still look after the cattle. Trust me, it helps.”

He reaches out to place his hand on your shoulder, trying to offer comfort without overstepping boundaries. His fingers gripped your shoulder gently, trying to bring you back to earth and out of your mind. He could tell it was a dark place right now. He didn’t want you to fight this alone.

“But-”

“No buts, love,” he murmurs, lifting his hand and placing his thumb over your lips. Your heart flutters at the touch, feeling the warmth of his thumb against your lips as he traces them gently. “You did us all proud. We are so proud of you. You came third place out of how many people? Like… thirty? That's amazing love. You did well, stop beating yourself up over it.”

He watches your lips tremble and turn into a pout, his heart thumping at his chest and screaming at him to just pick you up into his arms. His fingers twitched against your shoulder. You almost didn’t realise until he squeezed just a little tighter.

You let out a sigh in defeat, you knew that you wouldn't be able to keep this up with him and the rest of them would be feeling the same. You wouldn't win against all of them. You weren’t sure about Simon though, he might not care at all for all you know. 

“Now c’mon love, let's get some food and water into you,” he murmurs, gently pulling your shoulder to get you out of bed. You reluctantly follow, knowing you won’t be able to get out of this no matter how hard to fight. You let him untangle your feet from the bed sheets. His hands were caring and gentle, soft skin brushing against your own.

With a groan you push yourself up, letting the soft blankets fall off your shoulders. You notice his eyes linger for a moment before he pulls you up, smiling warmly as he helps you up onto wobbly feet. You hold onto him as he leads you back into the hallway, the sunlight filtering in through the windows momentarily blinding you. You watch your feet as you walk for a moment, padding against the hard wooden floor before the sound of hushed voices from the kitchen catches your attention.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, the light tries to blind you once again. Once your eyes adjust, you’re met with faces etched with worry and concern. Johnny’s worry was the most obvious, his brows furrowed and his body rigid. His lips were pressed together, almost pouting as he watched you walk in, and he was quick to question. “How are yer feelin’ lass?”

“Yeah… I’m okay,” you reply softly, your voice a croaky mess from not talking for a while and the non-stop crying. Your reply earns you a glare and a raised eyebrow from Kyle as if he was challenging what you said. He knew you weren’t really okay.

“We just need to get her to eat,” Kyle speaks for you, removing his hand from your shoulder and resting it at his side. Your shoulders slump slightly from the loss of contact, but you didn’t dare to mention it.

John sits up at the mention of food. “I’ll cook us some lunch,” he murmurs before he busies himself in the kitchen. The soft clatter of pots and pans follows as he begins to cook.

Kyle leads you to a seat next to Johnny who instantly sits up as you plunk yourself down with a huff. “Yer know we’re proud of yer lass, right? You did us all proud out there,” Johnny murmurs, leaning down slightly so he can look you in the eyes as he tries to convince you. 

You hum in response, still not fully believing it but knowing better than to argue back about it. Your fingers trace the grains of wood on the table, studying the way it wraps around each knot in the wood. Johnny sighs softly and stands, moving behind you for a moment. ”Just know we’re proud, yeah?” he says softly before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Heat pools in your stomach at the unexpected show of affection,  your fingers curling into your fist. “Yeah…” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiles and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

Kyle grins at the interaction, squeezing your shoulder before following Johnny. You hear their voices slowly quieten, saying something about Dolly as they head out the back door.

Your chest squeezes as you notice you're now left in the room, alone.

With Simon.

His gaze has remained hard the whole time, not leaving you. You don’t know if you're supposed to say something, stand up against him. Yell at him that you're not scared, or just run out of the room and find Johnny and Kyle again. You’d rather deal with Johnny’s bold moves and overly friendly nature than Simon’s stoic one.

His eyes harden slightly as he studies you for a moment longer, his arms crossed in front of his chest. You feel your stomach flutter in anxiety, your palms already starting to sweat under his intense gaze. 

You feel your whole body break out in a cold sweat as he pushes himself off the cabinet he was leaning on, slowly stepping towards the table before taking a seat. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, but you could swear you could snap under the weight of his gaze.

“You did well, y’know”

You jump upright at his statement, confusion clouding your brain. He said what? You knew he hated the idea of the dog show, but you had gone against his wishes to do it. You would’ve thought you’d come home if you had won or not and would’ve gotten your ear torn off by him. But he just… complimented you? Was this actually Simon, or maybe you were sleeping. Maybe all of this was a dream. 

You stutter slightly as you make yourself reply. “Sorry?”

He grunts softly but repeats. “You did well. Y’know, in the dog show.”

Your face heats up as the realisation of what he said hits you. He thinks you’ve done well. Your heart flutters slightly as you feel your mouth become dry. 

He notices your stuttering and how you struggled to speak, then continues. “You taught Dolly well, she looked like she had fun,” he mutters almost reluctantly. You open your mouth to question but he beats you to it. “I watched it online.” He pauses for a moment, running over his words in his mind. His fingers gripped the table as he struggled to find his words. “I should’ve come… I…” he pauses again, physically struggling to get the words out. You sit and watch in silence, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “I’m sorry.”

[ Tag List: @sleep101 , @jooba , @daydreamsareallineed ]

[darth-mortem]

Here is the lil fic I wrote for my Friend, in which 09 Ghost and Roach have an important mission, and Captain MacTavish disagrees with this fact. 729 words.

“Three ahead.” Ghost reported.

“Roger that.” Roach replied, and they darted off in different directions.

Riley burst into a supply room and shut the door behind him, hiding among the brooms and mops. Sanderson found himself in a more vulnerable position: he ducked into an open hall and fell behind a couch. The two soldiers sitting on it didn’t notice anything, occupied with watching the news on an old television.

“All clear.” Ghost reported a few minutes later, and they both quietly left their hiding spots and moved on.

The target for the two members of TF 141 was a specific office on the fourth floor of the building. Both had considerable experience in such covert infiltrations, so they navigated the military base and entered the building without any issues. Now, they only had to reach the stairs and ascend to the desired floor. Ghost wasn’t thrilled about it; he would have preferred to climb the building's exterior, but Roach firmly objected.

“A whole crowd ahead.” Riley hissed, and this time he and Gary found themselves in the same hideout—in a restroom near the staircase exit.

Locking the door from the inside, both operatives pressed against it, listening to what was happening outside.

“What are we going to do if his office is locked?” Roach whispered. “Are we going to pick the lock?”

“Negative.” Ghost replied. “I have a key.”

“What? Where from?!” Gary stared at the lieutenant, trying to catch a glimpse of his emotions through the eyehole of his skull-patterned balaclava.

“We'll talk about that later.” Simon said irritably. “All clear, go, go, go!”

The timing of the infiltration was spot on. At this hour, the fourth floor was empty and dark, so upon arriving, the two TF 141 members relaxed a bit and approached the door they needed without rushing. Ghost pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked it, and they both slipped inside.

“So, where’s our target?” Roach asked.

“In his desk.” Ghost replied. “Keep watch while I search.”

It didn’t take him long. Within a minute, Riley was already triumphantly waving a long, rectangular metal box in the air.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here!” Roach whispered urgently, and they hurried to leave the room, locking the door behind them.

***

Captain MacTavish was furious. He was certain he had left his cigar case with cigars in his office desk, but when he arrived there, he found nothing. Of course, he had cigarettes as well, but he didn't want those right now; he wanted to enjoy a cigar. Frustrated and lost in thought, he headed downstairs towards the living quarters, trying to remember where else he could have left his cigar case.

“Hey, MacTavish!” He heard, and turning his head, he saw Riley and Sanderson sitting on a bench in the smoking area, puffing away on cigars.

“Where th' hell did ye get those?” Soap frowned, squinting his eye.

“Roach won them in a poker game from those guys in K9.” Ghost explained flatly, pulling a cigar from Roach’s pocket. “Want one, Captain?”

They smoked in silence. Gary, casting a significant glance at Simon, soon slipped away, citing urgent matters. Ghost and Soap remained in the smoking area together, and then Johnny, shaking his head, chuckled softly.

“Ye’re quite th’ scumbag, Riley.” He said, exhaling fragrant smoke with pleasure. “Did ye pure think ah wouldn’t figure oot they wur mah bloody cigars?”

“I was hoping you would, sir.” Ghost replied cheekily, his voice devoid of respect.

MacTavish stood up and pushed the lieutenant against the wall. He squirmed but did not resist, even when the captain pulled off his balaclava, revealing his scarred face; only Simon's eyes became frightened and like cornered animal ones.

“Oh no, no need tae be scared, luv.” Johnny whispered gently, then, tilting his head, he carefully pressed his lips against Riley's. “Ye know ye could have just asked, ‘n’ I would have treated both o’ ye?”

“I know.” Ghost nodded, flicking the ash off his cigar and placing his hands on his captain’s shoulders. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as interesting, would it?” “That’s why I love ye.” MacTavish sighed, pulling Riley close and drawing him into another kiss—this time long, passionate, and sweet, with the taste of expensive Cuban cigars that were kept in the captain’s silver cigar case in his office desk.