#because forever I thought I was gross and broken over it

[artslovergirl]

art & patrick at mark rebellato academy

[headcanons]

notes: i really enjoyed writing this because i just genuinely adore these characters and this movie so much. there's so many interesting little details and nuances there that i could just talk about forever and ever. i truly hope i did them justice here lol (also writing this made me jealous of people that are good at writing character analysis' and thinkpieces bc wow it is hard!) but yeah enjoy!

wordcount: 3.4k

they met at age 12 during their first day at the mark rebellato academy in their now shared room. 

when art came in with a duffel bag (that looked comically big next to his scrawny kid body) patrick was already sitting on the bed he had claimed(the right side next to the door) all by himself, his parents didn't have a very tearful nor long goodbye as they sent their son off to boarding school.

in contrast art’s mom and grandma seemed keen to embarrass him in front of his new roommate with their cooing and hugging him goodbye. 

it wasn't even like his mom and him were really all that close though. she just seemed to want to squeeze in all the moments of a loving mother-son relationship into the small segments of time she actually spent with him.

the goodbye hug and small ruffle of his hair from his grandma felt a little more genuine. embarrassing all the same as he could feel the other dark haired boy try not to crack up at the display.

"mom. please." he pleaded with her as she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "i’m sorry, artie, but i need to make up for all the time i'm gonna miss with you!" yeah, he bets.

a few minutes later and a tear or two from his mother they did finally leave him be. as soon as he heard the door shut though, the awkward silence enveloping the room almost made him miss them. 

he threw his duffel bag on the left bed and sat down on the edge. he fidgeted with his bottom lip, a nervous habit he's had for as long as he could remember. 

the brunette boy shifted on the bed so he was now facing him. his mouth pulled into a toothy grin "so you're...artie?" 

art groaned and hid his head in his hands, slumped over his knees. "no, that's..just my moms nickname for me. sorry you had to see that." he says in a squeaky broken voice which didn't help the embarrassment he was already feeling.

the other boy just brushed right past all that and said "i’m patrick." and then as an afterthought, "zweig."

"uh." art leaned back up, still avoiding his gaze. it was weirdly intense. "yeah, i’m..art. um, donaldson." he said the last part like it was a question almost.

patrick began to swing his legs a little. it was clear to him that art was the quiet type even if they had just exchanged a few words so far, but luckily patrick didn't mind talking. it was something his father always hated about him. he almost talked enough for both of them which after a little while finally seemed to break the ice of art's shy exterior. 

art didnt know what he thought about patrick yet. he was pretty..confident that was for sure. even a little arrogant, maybe. art scolded himself internally for being so judgemental. it was quality he hated about himself, but seemingly couldn’t get rid of.

despite all of that he had to admit that patrick was easy to talk to. there was never an uncomfortable gap in conversation with him. which art liked since those kinds of things made him want to crawl out of his skin sometimes.

that first night he spent staying up with patrick, slowly realizing how much they had in common while simultaneously being complete opposites, is one of his fondest memories and probably always will be. he never experienced another connection that felt anything even close to that.

their room wasn't too small but with the way patrick would just constantly toss his clothes wherever he pleased it seemed a lot smaller. 

it's not like art was insanely neat or anything, he was still a teenage boy. patrick was just exceptionally messy.

"patrick, this shit is so gross, i told you to use the hamper." 

patrick groaned, "youre such a neatfreak, fuck off." 

at that response a pair of dirty boxers were thrown at his head, courtesy of art. "i don't want to see or smell your worn underwear. that doesn't make me a neatfreak." 

patrick just tossed it back in art’s direction, to which the blonde quickly scurried out of the way to dodge it like his life depended on it. 

"you know if tennis doesn't work out for you, you'll make a good housewife." patrick grinned mockingly.

“ha-ha.” art just rolled his eyes, stuck up his middle finger and let the door slam behind him with his racket bag slung over his shoulder. 

trying to get patrick to do anything was like trying to teach a cat to do a trick without any treats. borderline impossible. so by age 15 art finally gave up.

...until he realized a year later that patrick would clean his side of the room whenever they had a girl over so..

yeah, sometimes he did lie and tell patrick that a girl was coming over just so he would clean his side of the room. 

you can judge him all you want but you never had to room with patrick zweig

 and after the third time that trick stopped working anyway. art was never a good liar. or maybe patrick could just call his bullshit way too easily.

they didn't fight too often, it was more like they constantly got into little tiffs

except for that time where it got so out of hand that they duct-taped a line dividing their rooms into two sides. (i know this is giving sitcom i'm sorry but tell me i'm wrong)

eventually they kind of forgot what they even fought about in the first place but they were too lazy to take the tape off of the carpet, so it just stayed on there for like 2 years till it peeled off.

like i mentioned in my other post these two were BITCHES

they would def talk shit all the time. they were not even trying to be secret about it tbh. (see: them staring at anna crying at tashi's party)

they sat in the bleachers watching one of their classmates play a practice match

“dude, look at that forehand. it sucks.” art muttered. patrick nodded, “i know. no way she’ll even make it through the semester.” “i’ll be surprised if she makes it through this match without fracturing her wrist.” patrick snickered at art’s comment.

actual mean girls LMAO

and to be fair, they were fucking amazing at tennis, especially when they played together

so it's not like anyone could necessarily insult them back

but it also wasn't bullying or anything

they were just judgy and loved to talk shit

art had some decorum about it or felt bad about it sometimes. not patrick though. 

man has no shame. never did. as art so lovingly puts it “the part of his brain that feels shame withered away a long time ago.”

art wore glasses from ages 12 till 14 

he then switched to contact lenses because patrick said girls dont like guys with glasses and that they make him look nerdy

they weren't allowed to have any sort of electronics like computers or flip phones at the academy. not even mp3 players. 

now obviously patrick completely ignored that rule. he had like three flip phones under his bed in case his actual one ever got taken (it did)

he also smuggled in 2 mp3 players (one was for art, patrick is so kind… he did charge him 4 dollars for it though. that rich asshole. lmao)

honestly i would like to insert here what i think they would have listened to but..i was like..a baby when they wouldve been at the academy so..feel free to drop your music headcanons in the reblogs or comments 

they were only allowed one weekly call to their families from the communal landline.

neither patrick nor art were very fond of these calls so even though they weren't supposed to they would always go into the phone room together.

patricks mother always insisted on speaking in german with her son. he thought she only did it because it made her feel more connected to his father’s side of the family. not like it would fix their fucked up marriage though. 

“nein, mama, ich habe mein deutsch nicht vergessen.” (no, mom, i havent forgotten my german) he sighs. art sits on the floor next to him and flicks a rubber band at him. “ja, verstanden. ja, ich weiß.” (yes, understood. yes, i know.) he rolls his eyes. 

art understood a few of the basic words since patrick taught him some german after art asked how to correctly pronounce his last name. 

“..bis nächste woche. tschüss.” (talk to you next week. bye.) he hung up. his mom said i love you but he knew she didn't mean it so he didn't say it back. 

patrick groaned and stretched out his legs that were seemingly getting longer by the day (art secretly prayed for a growth spurt that would make him taller than patrick. right now he was still pretty short for a guy his age.) 

he handed the phone to art. “she always talks so much. it's like i'm not even on the other line.” patrick scowls. art just nodded. he knew that by now.

art called his grandma but his dad picked up instead. it was okay. talking to his dad felt a little like talking to some distant uncle that he only saw once a year, “how's it going, champ?” “good.” “great.” that kinda stuff

the phone call lasted 5 minutes. he stood up and hung the phone back on the receiver. 

“wanna smoke?” patrick asked already reaching for the two loose cigarettes stuffed into his jean shorts pocket.

art nodded. he didn't really like smoking, and he kind of only did it because patrick did. and whenever he did, all he could think about was how bad for him it was. 

he was always pretty conscious about that kinda stuff, it was a little drilled into him by his dad who was the most adamant about art becoming a tennis player since he used to be one when he was younger.

so sugar and fats (basically anything that tasted good) were pretty much banned in the donaldson household 

which kind of resulted in art subconsciously believing that anything that brought him joy or pleasure must be inherently bad for him or followed by a feeling of guilt and shame to make up for it.

needless to say art wasn't the best at indulging. he was a little jealous of how patrick never seemed to have any issue with that sort of thing.

patrick didn't care about maintaining a good diet or depriving himself of life's pleasures for the sake of tennis. he took what he wanted like life owed it to him. 

maybe that's why he smoked with patrick. to try and be more like him?

also because it gave him a nice sense of rebellion.

most things he did with patrick gave him that feeling.

at the academy they were the definition of ‘not sold separately’

if you saw one the other wasn't far behind

its not like they didn't have other friends. they did. they were pretty popular actually

but none of those friendships were anything like what art and patrick had.

especially when playing doubles.

it felt like they could communicate telepathically 

patrick knew when art was going for the ball before the other team even served and vice versa.

tennis felt different when they were playing together. better.

and it felt so easy, it felt like nothing they needed to work on. their friendship was the same. it was so easy, so natural.

after about a year or so of being friends they started being in sync. literally.

they cross their legs at the same time, they pick up their rackets at the same time, they adjust their forehand grip at the same time, they walk at the same pace, they sit down the same etc etc you get it

also that isn't really a headcanon, like this is canon in the movie. and it makes me SICK that they were still in sync in 2019. after not talking for 12 years. shut up that’s some soulmate shit

now let's talk about something else that is canon…the pushed together beds.

yes!

now, i think patrick is a person that is pretty open with his body in general in terms of like being physically affectionate. or just being physical. 

i don't know if art is, i think he's a little more reserved. (repressed if you will! i will!)

but patrick touching him so casually does fill a little tiny (gaping) void in him that yearns for touch.

he is a professional yearner as we all know

and patrick never had an issue satisfying those yearnings for him. (i think we saw that in the fact that patrick taught art how to jerk off ok next topic)

patrick would sling his arm around his shoulder, lay his long legs over arts lap, ruffle arts curls (“stop that, you're messing them up.” “no, i'm not they always look like this”),he would barge into their room after practice flopping his tall sweaty body on top of art to annoy him.

they were very physically affectionate it was just all under the guise of shoving and tripping each other and just general teenage boy roughhousing shenanigans. that counts as a love language to me ok!

art got used to patrick touching him very quick and even reciprocated sometimes 

also i do think that sometimes patrick would smack art’s ass as a joke. lol. (that's inspired by that video of the two doubles players doing that…do you guys know what i’m talking about)

OK SO!

the beds.

they were 16. patrick suggested it. “these beds are too fucking small.” he complained, laying on his staring at the smoke detector that he had covered with a shower cap so it wouldnt detect the smoke from his cigarettes. 

and to be fair…yeah. patrick stood at 1,80 cm right now and his feet were hanging over the edge of the bed.

art looked up from his book which he was only reading to impress a girl he had a crush on. patrick had told him to just pretend he read it but art said that was disingenuous and he wanted to know what she liked and why she liked it. 

“you know what we should do? we should push our beds together.” patrick sat up, grinning like he just had the best idea ever. 

arts features twisted up in thought. “isn't that a little close?” 

“nah, why, we still have our own beds. just more space.” patrick shrugged.

he glanced at their beds. “uhhh…i guess we can do that. the beds are a little cramped. although is that even allowed?” art began fidgeting with his lip like he usually did when he was in thought.

but patrick was already in the process of shoving his bed next to arts after which he let himself fall onto the two beds in a starfish position, with his gangly limbs almost stretching to every corner of the beds. “oh. great. and i’ll just curl up at the foot of the bed then?” art gave patrick a deadpan stare. 

“up to you.” patrick grinned in that specific way that really irked art. 

patrick did make some space for him once they actually went to sleep that night

even now they were two opposites making a whole

patrick always ran cold so he hogged all the blankets and art always ran hot so he immediately kicked them off of him as soon as he fell asleep 

that only made this new pushed together beds thing even better for patrick because he now got to have his own blanket AND steal arts every night

i wouldn't say they cuddled necessarily? i think it was more just like the regular amount of physical touching that happens when you sleep in the same bed

which is still pretty intimate to me idk about you guys

like their legs kind of thrown over each others, art’s arm occasionally draped over patricks chest (or literally on his face. art denies every time that he does it on purpose but patrick KNOWS he does it to annoy him. he knows.) 

one time art had a nightmare of being trapped under a rock only to wake up and find out that somehow patrick had rolled over in the middle of the night and was now laying COMPLETELY on top of art. right before he was about to push him off (because he was making art actively suffocate) patrick rolled over again and fell out of bed. he didn't even wake up from that. genuinely just slept on the floor that night. freak of nature that guy.

also patrick for sure twitches like a dog in his sleep

and i think it used to wake art up because he's a pretty light sleeper but eventually he just got used to it lol

when art went to stanford he never finished the last bite of anything he ate because he was so used to patrick being next to him and just stealing the last bite.

patrick really really wanted to get his ears pierced when he was 15. 

so naturally he asked art to do it for him.

you know…like how they did it in the parent trap. which if you asked them is a movie that they definitely haven't seen. ( but they did see it and art cried at the twins reuniting with their parents, oops.)

unfortunately for patrick art was very very squeamish with needles at that age (i think that mellowed down the older he got but he still refused to look whenever he got vaccinations or anything like that.) 

so now it was midnight, they were in their room sitting on the floor and arguing

“dude, just do it, stop being such a wuss. you're not even the one getting pierced.” patrick groaned, he had numbed his earlobe with ice but he could already feel a little bit of the feeling return to it, that's how long they had been sitting there with art squirming around because he hated even looking at the sewing needle.  

“that's worse though because i have to look at the needle going in your ear!” art argued

“ well, i can't do it myself.” patrick replied.

...

“are you wearing my shirt?” art squinted at him

“stop trying to change the subject.” 

“i told you to stop stealing my clothes. i don't want to do laundry that often.”

“can you focus?” patrick groaned

“dude.. okay, fine. just give me a second.” art took a deep breath.

“oh. my god. you're not performing open heart surgery.” 

“shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up.” 

and what do you know that response got art to get over his fear of needles for a second and stab that thing right through his best friends ear 

the little high pitched yelp patrick let out in surprise at that is something art didn't let him forget about for like two weeks after

it took about another hour for art to pierce patricks second ear and eventually they managed but then like a week later patrick forgot to put his earrings in and the piercings immediately grew shut

so all that drama was for nothing!

i think art has always kind of been the type of guy to want domesticity. 

i already posted about this somewhere but i kind of came to that conclusion because patrick said “he wants to spend time with his family” to tashi in the alley scene

patrick hadn’t spoken to art for like a decade at that point

and you could say it's a good guess but NO! 

patrick knows art like the back of his hand and patrick knows that art has always wanted a family and how much it probably kills him to miss out on time with them due to his career at that point in time (also just throwing this out there i think art always wanted to have a daughter more than a son, like that just makes sense to me. maybe bc i think his own relationship with his dad is so distant? idk!)

so yeah

also the sauna scene where patrick says that marriage isn't what he was for 

(to me) also implies that he is the opposite of art who was meant for marriage

anyway do i think that art shared his wishes for a family and marriage in the future with patrick? yes

do i think patrick jokingly made art promise to make him his best man? yeah

and furthermore do i think about the fact that patrick then had to read about arts wedding in some tabloid years later? yep!

i’m sure i could think of more in the future but that's all i've got for now! i hope this was coherent enough to enjoy because it’s not as proofread as my fics usually are lol! i just wanted to get these thoughts out there

if some of these seem familiar it might be because i took some of these from my twt!

i also have some more headcanons floating around on my tumblr that i didn't include here if you want to find those, or not, i'm not your mom! 

[havecourage-darling]

Oh my gosh ok so I thought of something for Eddie and you don’t necessarily have to write it you totally can if you want but I was thinking about one of the kids like older siblings is at Lucas’s game supporting him and realizes that Dustin, Mike and Erica isn’t there. After she sees them all coming out of hellfire she gets a little disappointed with them (cause she’s kinda a mom friend) and like kinda gets a little snippy with Eddie (who has known about her but never met her) and is like you really couldn’t change the date for one meeting, this was important all the while Eddie is just standing there stunned with heart eyes

I don’t know why this just popped into my head but I had to tell somebody

A/N: First, I am so sorry for taking forever to get to this. Second, this might not have been what you had in mind but I hope you like it anyway anon! Third, this really didn't need to be this long but, yolo

wc: 3.5k

warnings: none

It was a bright and early afternoon when Steve Harrington’s bad luck streak had finally broken. You’d watched, hiding next to Robin in the documentary section, as Steve asked out the pretty blonde to the championship game. Robin inhaled sharply, expression twisting sympathetically, when blondie blinked at him for a beat but you knew. Steve was one of your oldest friends and despite abdicating the throne, you knew the effect Harrington had on a girl – as gross as he was.

“Holy shit, Harrington I can’t believe she actually showed,” you said out of the corner of your mouth.

It was a solid indication that Steve was actually more nervous than he looked because he hadn’t reacted to your teasing. Instead, he shot you a wide-eyed look and bobbed his head. “Right?” With an anxious swipe through his hair, he glanced at you.

Answering his non-verbal question, you nodded. “It looks perfect as always.” Steve’s hair barely obeyed the laws of physics. Blondie leaned across Steve and waved.

“It’s nice to meet you!” She beamed. “Are you a senior?”

“Oh no,” you said, “I’m a freshman at Indiana State. Go Lions!”

“That’s so cute!” She said and you furrowed your brows. Was it? You could tell she wasn’t being malicious but you weren’t sure where she was going with it.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing, “super cute!” Blondie laughed, hair shaking as she did and you glanced at Steve. Already knowing, he kicked your calf and you swallowed your own laughter.

Nancy pointed at the court, fingers splaying out and the photographer nodded, hanging onto her every word. Her head swiveled to the crowd and, somehow, she’d caught your gaze. Waving, smile broadening, she rolled her eyes when you waved back. You knew she missed Jonathan – he wouldn’t have needed her instructions and would’ve just known.

“Where’s Lucas?” You asked, trying to glance over the jumping cheerleader’s heads to get a good look at the line up.

Steve motioned to the end of the bench, where Lucas stood searching the bleachers in front of you for someone. You followed his lead and realized you couldn’t spot the familiar redhead he was undoubtedly looking for. Heart squeezing a bit, you knew the likelihood of Max showing up was close to slim. She’d retreated into herself after El had left and despite your weekly visits to her trailer – you didn’t want to push too hard.

“Wait,” you said, mostly to yourself, “where’s Dustin?”

Searching out the familiar set of curls, you felt panic start to climb up your spine. Where was Mike? Steve’s warm hand grabbed at your wrist and pulled you to the surface. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his own voice anxious.

“The guys, Dustin and Mike, they’re not here,” you whispered, “what if something happened to them?”

Steve’s furrowed brows smoothed and he exhaled. “Oh, don’t worry they’re fine. I think they had their little game finale or whatever tonight. Henderson tried to rope me in as a substitute for Lucas.”

“Substitute?” You echoed, forcing a wide smile onto your face when Lucas saw you and Steve. His entire expression shifted, excitement and relief at the sight of you two. You waved, lifting your small sign that Robin had helped you paint.

‘DUNK IT! GO #8!’

Lucas beamed at you, waving wildly up at you two. Steve shot him a thumbs up before he started some drills.

Dustin and Mike wouldn’t have ditched Lucas’ game for a campaign, would they? Especially knowing that he’d already be hurt at the fact that Max wasn’t going to show up. No…a flash of long curly hair scampered across your mind. The leader of their new club…the guy Steve was obviously jealous of. Eddie Munson, you snapped your fingers, remembering.

Dustin had shown you photos of the club that Nancy had taken, a proud beam across his face. You knew Dustin was just excited to have more friends but, to give Steve some credit, he did talk about Munson an awful lot. You still hadn’t met him, but you had a brief memory of seeing him in the hallways sometimes, hair much shorter.

But you knew, then, if Munson had refused to move the campaign – there was no way Dustin or Mike would stand up against him. Especially not out of fear that they’d be kicked out the club. It was all they talked about. Shit, you’d driven Dustin to the town over so he could find just the right color for his figurine.

Lucas glanced up again, gaze desperate, and your heart broke.

“Everyone now please rise for our national anthem. Singing for us tonight, we have a very special guest tonight. All the way from Nashville, our very own – Tammy Thompson!” Your jaw dropped, exchanging gazes with Steve before you both whipped around to find Robin.

Shocked, you watched dumbly as Tammy strutted up to the mic and started to sing off key. Robin’s eyes were wide and you heard Steve mutter, “Muppet.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter, Brenda turning to look at you both at the sound.

“Wow, she sounds amazing, doesn’t she?” She asked, tone awed.

Steve’s hand gripped your wrist tightly, both of you clearing your throats in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

You watched Lucas’ leg shake as he stood near the benches, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He was nervous. Your chest tightened. Please let him play. You plead the universe, crossing your fingers. He needs a win.

/////

“I can’t believe it,” you said, getting choked up again. Lucas beamed under everyone’s attention, but you tucked him into your side, arm squeezing his shoulders. “Lucas, you were amazing!”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning when Jason Carver shoved him excitedly. ‘Party at Benny’s boys!’ The group of morons shuffled off towards a nearby car and you rolled your eyes. Lucas caught your half-scoff and winced. “I know you don’t like them…”

“Hey, whoever you hang out with is not my decision, just – be careful, yeah?” You glanced after Carver and remembered what it was like being in Lucas’ place. “That crowd tends to want to mold you after them and you’re already your own person. A person I really like. Don’t let them try to shove you into some cookie cutter box.”

Lucas smiled, pleased, and looked down at his sneakers. “Thanks. It…really means a lot to me that you guys showed. I know you go to everyone’s stuff, you and Steve, but-”

“Hey, you’ll always have me in your corner, all of you do,” you assured him, your mind drifting to the rest of the party. Will would’ve showed, you thought, smiling at the reminder of the weekly call you had coming up.

Before either of you could say anything else, a loud crash caught your attention.

You watched a group of people rush out the double doors, excited and laughing with each other. Easily picking out Dustin’s curly hair, you glanced back at Lucas’ frozen expression.

Emotions flashing, you opened your mouth to try and do damage control but one of his teammates smacked into his side. “Sinclair, come on! You’re riding with us.” Lucas’ expression pulled into a smile quickly, but it was too late. You’d seen underneath it. Anger building in your chest, it bubbled to the point of discomfort.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you shook him. “Do not drink and drive, Lucas Sinclair I’ll rip your spine out – you hear me? And don’t take any pills,” you said, shooting him a withering glare. His shoulders were still slumped but he nodded, his smile half-hearted. “Alright, if you need me for a ride or for help, you call me.”

“I will, thanks…for coming,” he said slowly, jogging off without a second glance. Making sure he’d disappeared around the corner towards the other jocks, you whipped around on your heel and stomped over to the loitering group.

As you got within earshot you saw Mike’s eyes drift over to you. He smiled, hand coming up, but immediately froze when he saw your expression. “Oh fuck,” he muttered, and Dustin stopped his excited jumping just in time for you to punch him in the shoulder.

“Ouch, what the fuuu- oh, hey there Widow,” he smiled, a little confused, “what are you doing here?”

///

Eddie raised his brows, watching Dustin stumble as you punched him in the shoulder. Wincing, he knew that had to have hurt. He’d almost instinctually stepped in but Henderson’s expression brightened, smile widening, and he figured you were safe enough.

“Shit,” Eddie heard Mike mutter, watching him take a step behind Dustin at the sight of your furious expression.

“Hi Widow,” Erica said, expression lighting up when you paused your anger and shot her a smile.

Ah, so this was the infamous Widow. Henderson and Wheeler had nothing but praises for Harrington and you. Eddie knew Harrington, because who didn’t? He had his reservations but Eddie was nothing if not fair. He’d save them for the moment he actually met King Steve – not that he thought that would be any time soon. But you? He’d heard all about you.

“What am I doing here?” You echoed, one of your hands dropping, the other flying through the air. “What the hell are you doing?”

Eddie was a little surprised with how intrigued he was.

Dustin looked back at Mike, surprised to see him so far away. “Uh, we had a campaign. Oh, this is Eddie!” Dustin’s hand came out towards Eddie – who waited less than a millisecond to step forward.

“If I may,” Eddie started, wanting to make a good impression on Dustin’s hot friend. How the hell did Henderson even know you?

You, however, barely spared him a glance. “You may not,” you snapped, turning back to the boys. Eddie’s voice died in his throat, blinking at how easily you’d dismissed him. Interest flared to life in his chest, because of course it did. “What the hell guys? You missed the championship game?”

The newfound interest waned. Ah, you were jock. He probably didn’t recognize you because you’d run with the popular crowds. Especially if you knew Harrington.

Dustin and Mike, however, withered like plants who’d been kept in the shade for too long. “It was The Cult of Vecna!” Dustin said, voice going high. Eddie’s eyes darted over to you, where he watched – fascinated – as your eye twitched.

“I don’t care if it was the goddamn reckoning. We don’t abandon our friends! That’s the first rule of the party!” You shouted.

“Actually, the first rule is no girls,” Mike muttered and you turned your sole attention onto him and he winced. “Not that – we’re not…happy to have you. Of course we are! You’ve been there since the beginning almost. And Nancy. And Robin. Obviously. But this campaign has been going on for weeks and and and…we couldn’t postpone! We tried!”

Eddie watched you soften and his interest reared its head again. You had a soft spot for the freshmen. Why?

“You knew Max wasn’t going to show,” you said, quieter, “you knew how important this was for him.”

The guilt that shot across their faces was clear. “He was going to be on the bench!” Dustin said, hands coming up.

Anger flickered to life in your eyes again. “Yeah?” You asked, tone incredulous. “Well, he shot the winning basket. You should’ve seen his face when he looked up and saw you guys weren’t there.”

Dustin and Mike ducked their heads, expressions sheepish, and Eddie was impressed. You really were laying it on thick.

“I’m not mad,” you said, and Eddie could see you rearing back for the killing strike, “I’m just really disappointed in you two.”

Their shoulders slumped, eyes on the floor, and Eddie couldn’t help but whistle. You were playing them like a fiddle. Unfortunately, it seemed to catch your attention and your sharp eyes turned to him.

“And you!”

Eddie pointed at himself, taking a small step back now that your fury was turned to him. “Me?” Interest shot down his spine. Jesus, what was with him with the hot and scary ones?

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I know campaigns take time to plan out, I know that!” Eddie blinked, caught off guard at the respect he wasn’t expecting. “But he’s a kid, they’re all kids. You couldn’t have moved it twenty-four hours so that they could go watch his game? Out of what? Jealousy? Some sort of misguided pettiness because the popular kids were mean to you? They’re mean to everyone! That’s what they do! They almost broke my nose senior year. Instead of teaching them to rise above it, you stoop to their level? Ugh, grow up. God, this whole town is such a cliché!”

Dustin looked panicked, Mike had a hand over his eyes, and Gareth turned to him, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Eddie was also shocked, not sure where to start. “I think-”

“Seriously,” you snapped, talking over him again, eyes lighting up with an anger that was most appealing. The flash of your eyes reminded him of a harpy – in the most flattering of ways. In fact, Eddie’s knees went a little weak, his chest unfurling with something that was way too close to blatant interest.

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d give all his month’s tips to be able to sink his teeth into the tendon by your neck. It strained at him, taunting him, as you heaved a guilt trip onto him. Unfortunately for you, he was immune to them. So, it left him a few seconds to drag his gaze up and down your body.

“Can I speak now?” He asked, not wanting to interrupt another tirade, he was getting fond of those at this point.

You inhaled deeply, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes.”

“Why do they call you Widow?” He asked. “Is it because you like spiders?”

If you did, he wouldn’t mind, Eddie decided. He wasn’t particularly fond of them himself but he was also an acquired taste so what did he know?

The withering glare you shot him went straight to his chest and curled around his ribcage. Eddie rubbed his sternum, like that could stop the ridiculous seed of interest from planting itself deep within his skin.

“No,” you said, offering no further explanation. “Why do they call you the Freak? Is it because you’re really Satan Worshippers?”

The way your entire face twisted with regret, and guilt swam into your eyes, Eddie knew you hadn’t meant it. In fact, he already felt a smile growing at his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you said immediately, “that was a low blow, I’m just – no, it’s no excuse. I know you get shit from other people. You don’t need it from me, especially not since I know it’s not – it’s not that.”

Instead of ducking down to look at the floor, you met his gaze straight on for the first time since stomping up to the group of them. Eddie sighed and you’d clearly taken it as a reaction to your barbed reply because you began to wring your hands together. In reality, Eddie wanted to slap his stupid chest. He always did this.

Barely five minutes had passed and the interest dug deeper and rooted around for its new home. The vines grew, twirling around his veins, and reaching towards his chest. Heart, already on his sleeve, skipped a beat as you offered up a sincere apology, Eddie nodded. “No harm done,” he said, seizing the chance to bow, “Eddie Munson at your service. Atheist by the way.”

You nodded, quickly skirting your gaze back to the two boys but Eddie was stunned into silence when he caught the flash of interest in them. Was he still high on the success of the campaign or were you actually glancing back at him?

“I hope you know how shitty this was, Steve had a date and he brought her here instead of missing it,” you said.

Dustin snorted. “Steve’s just cheap and wanted an easy date night.”

Eddie saw you bite your cheek and he winced, knowing it must’ve hurt. You made a valiant attempt to hide it, but the laughter had already made it to your eyes. It softened your face entirely and his heart stirred awake. Jesus, what magic did you wield that you had captured his attention so thoroughly? 

“Still,” you insisted, one last glare at them. Turning to Erica she glanced up at you, smile crooked and you softened. Lifting your arm, she scurried over to you and you draped it across her shoulders. “I won’t even waste my breath trying to straighten you out. You want a ride home?”

“Thanks Widow,” she said, lifting her nose up at the other two. You must be the real deal if you had little Sinclair’s approval. He’d met her a few hours ago even Eddie knew she was a tough nut to crack. Clearly, not for you.

Mike, proving he’d lost most of his brain power during the campaign, stepped forward to follow and you shot him a glare that had Eddie wincing “Uh, no. My offer extends to her only.” He frowned and Eddie heard a very Jeff sounding laugh.

You started to walk away, and Eddie’s eyes dipped – he couldn’t control it! - when you stopped and sighed a few feet away. Eddie startled, eyes raising quickly from your ass to your eyes and winced when realizing you had your gaze directed at him. Eyeing him, Eddie felt his neck flush as your eyes trailed up his body. What the fuck? Since when did he get shy?

“Can you give them a ride home?” You asked. “It’s dark and I don’t want them riding their bikes alone.”

They two started to protest, glancing at Eddie warily, but another glare from you shut them up. Eddie was about start a tirade, asking what it was in for him – a date he hoped – when you spoke up again.

“Please,” you said, barely audible. Eddie was helpless to do anything but nod, fingers itching to see if he could play you as well as his guitar. He just needed a chance.

Somehow, his brain spurred to life before he realized. “Yeah, Widow,” he said, barely containing the urge to fist pump at the sight of your small amused smile, “I can get the nerds home.”

“Hey!”

Eddie was wholly unprepared for the grin that you shot at him. If your fury had sparked interest in him, your smile almost made his knees give way. Bats fluttering around in his small intestine, wreaking havoc, he managed to smile back at you.

“Thanks Munson,” you said, disappearing into the crowded parking lot after one last look.

No one spoke for a moment, the air stilling as Eddie reeled from the way his entire world had shifted in two seconds.

“I’ve never seen Eddie blush,” Dustin whispered loudly.

At that, Eddie snapped. “I’m not blushing!”

“Are you really going to give us a ride?” Wheeler asked meekly, eyes going towards the bike stand.

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride, hurry up.” He’d use this to his advantage. He knew his chances were slim to none but even he wasn’t that stupid to not even try. “So, what’s your hot friend’s deal?”

The two idiots groaned, face twisted into disgust, but Eddie ignored them. He wanted to know everything he could about you.

///

“Stop moving so much!” You hissed, anxiety practically spilling out of every pore in your body.

Eddie whined, his nose scrunching as he shut his eyes tightly. “I’m just so itchy,” he complained, the skin around his bandages bright red.

“They come off soon, just wait a little bit more,” you said, gesturing to the doctor’s office you were currently in. “We’re next I think.”

Grunting, Eddie threw his head back and winced when it collided too loudly with the wall. You rolled your eyes and brought your hand up to check for a bump. “You’re a child.”

Sticking out his tongue, he leaned into your touch like a puppy and you rolled your eyes. You’d known him less than a month but just like Robin – trauma bonded people faster than most things.

“I can see your fingers,” you said, smacking his hand away from the larger bandage by his clavicle. The demobats had really done some damage but you’d been there when the ER doctor had clearly said to keep the stitches dry, clean, and intact. “You’re gonna make it worse!”

“Distract me, please, I feel like I’m going to crawl out my skin,” he begged.

Without thinking twice, you pressed your lips to his for a second. You bit back your smile as he blinked at you, eyes glazed over. “Was that enough of a distraction?” You asked, smile threatening to break through.

“Uh, I might need a second try to make sure,” he said faintly and you only just managed to not smack his shoulder.

“Pervert.”

Eddie’s brows flew up into his overgrown bangs. “Who just kissed who?”

You hummed, ignoring him, and went back to flipping through your magazine.

“Can I ask you something?”

Pulse pounding, you kept your eyes on the article in front of you. “What?”

“Why do they call you Widow?” Eddie asked, surprising you.

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you shrugged. “Dustin started it,” you sighed.

“He always does,” Eddie said, smile growing wider.

“After Natalia Romanoff. The Black Widow?”

“The spy and assassin?”

“Yeah,” you smirked, memories flashing through your mind, “I was really good at killing demogorgons. Plus, once actual Russians joined the picture, even I couldn’t deny that it was kind of perfect.”

“Cool, my girlfriend’s nickname is after a Marvel superhero.”

The word girlfriend brought your brain to a sudden halt and you whipped around to look at him. He was grinning, eyes mischievous, and you sputtered.

“Edward Munson?” A nurse called out. “Follow me.”

“Come on,” Eddie said, threading your fingers together. “We’ll talk about where our first date will be on the ride home.”

First date? You blinked at him, letting him lead you towards the exam room.

[weldingmetal]

Just read Miko going feral (absolutely loved it btw) and now I have a question. How would the bits react to adrenaline?

For example: In the middle of dealing with decepticons, Jack breaks his arm but is the only one who doesn't notice it because he's too focus on getting Miko and Rafael out of harms way.

Thanks for the love ❤️ I did do a post about this already but this scenario is too juicy 🤭😋

Here ya go enjoy. ______________________________________

A Boys Rage

______________________________________

It was chaos.

The children got kidnapped yet again by the Decepticons. Team prime found them and now they’re duking it out by some random mountain.

But Jack doesn’t care about that. All he cares about are the other that he would be proud to call family out of harms way.

As he ran past bots and cons alike he tried not to curse Miko’s name. Although she was the cause of this mess she couldn’t help that she was found by Starscream when her host parents took her to a concert and decided to camp out instead of staying in a hotel.

He tripped over a rock. Miko and RAF stopped to look back.

“It’s okay you guys-! Ahh!”

A rock from a scuffle above fell on his arm while he was down. The other humans rushed to him before both getting scooped up by a vehicon.

As the con started to walk away Jack saw red. He ripped the rock off his arm like it was nothing and he took off.

The con noticed him too late as Jack dug his hunting knife into the con’s inner working of his ankle, sparks and blue glowing energon flowing.

The con shrieked and dropped Miko and Raf. Jack Grabbed the arms and took off running. Bulkhead saw that they headed to safety into the forest and commed Ratchet to open the bridge.

When they finally were safe in the base Jack thought he would pass out, he felt giggly and wobbly.

Ratchet came over and leaned down. He looked annoyed but also concerned. So normal Ratchet behavior.

“What in Primus’s name happened. How you three attract trouble will forever be beyond me. Let’s get you three checked up.”

Jack scoffed, “D-don’t worry Ratchet. I’m good.” He said with a thumbs up.

He put his thumb up only to be confused by Ratchets shocked gasp and Miko screaming her head off.

“Holy shit Jack! Your arm!” She said pointing to the arm Jack was using to give a thumbs up.

He looked down and saw that his forearm was bent. It looked at it and instead of feeling pain he just felt grossed out.

“Huh”

Ratchets eye twitched before he grabbed Jack and sped walk to the medical area.

“”huh” that’s all you can say!? For primes sake you broke your arm.” He said as he was gathering supplies to set his arm.

Although he spoke harshly Jack could tell he was confused and concerned. “Don’t worry Ratchet I’ll be fine. If you can’t fix me Mom can and besides I don’t feel anything yet.

At that Ratchet stopped. His face showed how he was cycling through emotions before slowing turning to Jack. “You…can’t feel it? Jack this is serious. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.” He said has he continued to gather things.

Jack shook his head, “I’m not lying. I’m just high on Adrenaline.” Ratchet dropped the small human anatomy book he was holding and sharply turned to Jack, “High on what!?”

“Adrenaline, it’s the chemical that helps us with survival. Raf and Miko were in danger it just happened…….ow…Ok now it’s starting to hurt.”

At the last part of Jack’s sentence Ratchet snapped out of it and got everything ready.

“Are you sure that you should realign my arm Ratchet? N-not that I don’t trust you it’s just…”

Ratchet sighed, “Jack, your arm is broken. It’s an emergency that needs to be dealt with now.” Jack looked up at Ratchet as he practically pleaded Jack to let him treat him. However, Jack wasn’t sure if Ratchet could tell how bad this situation was.

“Ratchet I do trust you, but it’s not that I want my mom it’s that I want to be sure that whoever treats me sets my bone right. That and I am almost positive you don’t have any morphine or strong pang killers. My bone won’t heal wrong or fall off in the 45 minutes it will take to get me to a hospital.”

There is a moment of silence as Jack can see the gears turn in Ratchets head. Ratchet leaned down close to Jack and spoke softly, “Jack, are you 100% positive that you will be better if I were to take you to a hospital? That your injury is dire but that it does not need complete immediate treatment?

At Jacks reassuring nod Ratchet sighed and transformed for Jack to get in. After Ratchet drove out of the base stopping to tell Miko and Rafael were he was going. He turned on his sirens and sped away to the nearest hospital, the one June worked at.

On the way Ratchet couldn’t help but ask, “Jack, what caused your adrenaline to kick in?” There was silence before Jack answered, “A con grabbed them….he was going to take them…I couldn’t let that happen…I was angry and it just…happened…” Ratchet did not say anything else until they arrived.

“Make sure you tell your mother exactly what happened.” As Jack walked inside Ratchet wished with all his spark that he could go in with him.

An hour later after parking June went into the parking lot to thank Ratchet and to tell him that Jack would be spending the night.

Ratchet would have loved to return to a quiet and calm base…..he instead arrived to chaos.

He first heard Arcee yelling, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY JUST LEFT!?

Followed by a distressed Bulkhead, “Jack’s arm broke Miko! How could he possibly be okay?!”

“I understand how Jack perhaps would rather be treated by his own kind. But to disregard such a serious injury is unlike Ratchet. There must be more to this situation than we know.”

It was at this moment he walked in and made his presence known, “Optimus is right; however, even I don’t completely understand.”

He held up his hand before the bots could make any assumptions, “Despite the seemingly obvious severity of Jack’s injury he assured me he was better off being treated by human doctors who could give him what I couldn’t.”

Arcee furrowed her brow, “That makes no fragging sense Ratchet.

Raf spoke up, “Ratchet do you know how to tell the difference in bone fractures? As in how bones can break?” He shook his head. “Then Jack probably knew that he could be better diagnosed by one of our doctors.”

“I don’t know nothing Rafael, I know that you need a splint to help the bones heal straight.” He huffed. “But that’s only for some fractures, what if he needed a metal wire in his bones or what if the bone broke into a lot of pieces? You wouldn’t know and Jack wouldn’t be treated how he needs. Plus he probably needs strong painkillers and I know we only have ibuprofen.”

“I’m confused.” Bulkhead mumbled, “Is this or isn’t it a bad injury? How couldn’t Jack feel it if it was so bad? Was it that bad?”

“Because we were running from those crazy cons Jack got supped up on adrenaline so he didn’t feel it that much.” Arcee spoke in a concerned tone “Why would humans possess something that would make them not feel pain? Seems kinda of counterintuitive.” Arcee said utterly confused. Miko had tried to explain the unknown phenomenon to the bots. So she looked to Raf as if asking to continue for her

“Adrenaline makes it so we can survive, if we weren’t in that situation Jack would have noticed. A broken bone is a bad injury but it is not life threatening. It’s just really painful.”

The bots looked as if they were trying to decide whether they understood or were still confused and concerned.

“Thank you for explaining Rafael and Miko. I believe I speak for the rest of us when I say we will look into the affects of adrenaline and make sure we are more prepared in case any of you receive any injuries. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, please take the children home. I will tell Agent Fowler why Miko is not with her guardians.”

As Miko and Raf were driven home they couldn’t help but worry for Jack and the bots. They had no idea what they would find while exploring the internet.

To Miko’s dismay she had to try and convince the bots that “No I’m not and adrenaline junkie and I don’t follow you guys just to feel high.” While Raf and a casted Jack laughed their asses off.

[ottpopfic]

“Good morning Mr. Valdez” Leo greets, eyes soft and hands playing over Jason’s neck and shoulders like he can't get enough of him “That was quite a wake up”

Mr. Valdez. That's him now. It shoots something right through Jason, joy and pride and excitement, sharing the name. And not just any name, Leo’s name. A name he gifted to Jason, wiping clean a past he never wanted and replacing it with love and family. It's all Leo has left of his bio family, nothing else of his mother and her love aside the necklace that refuses to melt, and he gave it to Jason without a second thought.

They barely talked about it when it came up, if they should share a last name. All it took was the careful worry of the Grace legacy and Leo was offering it up. No tension, no hesitation, no concern of how Jason could tarnish the word. Just the easy love and the excitement of Jason belonging even more to him

And now for everyone to call him that, for his husband to call him that, Jason can feel the stars in his eyes as he looks down at the amazing man beneath him. How did he get so lucky?

Their friends and families were probably correct about them vacating the Way Station for some kind of honeymoon, the Way Station doesn't have room service and Jason has just decided he's not letting his husband out of bed today

“Are you getting all puppy possessive again” Leo laughs at his blown-out expression

“I married you” Jason breathes in awe

“That you did” Leo’s smile is so so soft “I married you back”

“Your mine, forever”

“Oh mi cielo” he takes Jason’s face in his hands “I already was”

Jason kisses him, and kisses him and kisses him. He kisses him until natural oxygen is hard to draw in and he has to make his own to feed into his husband, breathing into him just as much as he takes his breath away. Its desperate and claiming and Leo gives back as good as he gets, his own breath going heated against Jason’s lips and becoming visible between them. It would burn if Jason didn't run so cool, so instead he just licks into his husband's mouth and does everything in his power to drink him down

“Can I have you again?” Jason asks, suddenly needy when they break apart

“Again?” Leo pants winded

“Please again” he's sucking hickeys into the unblemished skin of his Leo’s neck, the barrier of ‘I don't want to be chewed up in our wedding photos’ now lifted “Wanna get you there again”

“Yeah sure yeah okay” Leo slurs back, voice catching with each mark Jason decorates him with “stuffs in the bags”

Jason lets himself have an excited happy wiggle before he demands Leo to “Stay”, clambering out of the big bed to Leo’s protest of “I'm not the one who's a dog here!”

Jason finds the lube in record time, mostly because it's a brand new giant bottle right on top. The kind with a pump spout that has a note attached with a ribbon that says nothing more than ‘Have Fun ♡ - C.’

“She did not!” Leo cackles after Jason tosses the bottle at him, untying the ribbon so it doesn’t get gross and laughing his head off as he rereads the note. He flings the fabric, note and all, out of the way as Jason crawls back into his space still giggling as he kisses him again

“There's this too” Jason shows the rose made out of condoms that was under the lube, it sends Leo back into hysterics

“Oh my god Georgie drew shit on them” Leo laughs as he unrolls the rose. True to his word there's little cartoon Leo and Jason’s on the wrappers in his sister-in-law’s style “we can't use these there a work or art”

As cute as he is laughing at their weird family, Jason wants all of his husband's attention right now. Jason shoves his head between where Leo is using both hands to hold the string of condoms, nosing his way in so he can get at his clavicle. He facens his mouth there immediately, with both teeth and suction, in the way he knows will always get a delicious little noise out of Leo.

Leo's mirth is broken off with the desired groan, one that makes the back of Jason’s brain purr. He doesn't need to look to know that Leo has tossed aside his distraction as one hand slides into Jason’s hair and the other grips his bicept to hold on. Jason turns his face ever so slightly so he can press a kiss into the entry point of Leo’s lightning scar

“You got me I'm here” Leo reassures, the call and response natural after so long, and Jason just starts up the smallest trail of Lichtenberg figures that creep up Leo’s neck. He follows the rougher patch of skin until it tapers off, and then he keeps going all the way to Leo’s mouth. By the time he's made it there to lock their lips together Leo is putty under him, just as he should be

“M gonna finger you” Jasons says when he pulls back a breath “that okay?”

“So okay” Leo agrees and then drags Jason back down to kiss him again

[random-knowone]

The Kids Are 14.

AN: Sorry if this is OOC or anything, I’ve only seen it once. Constructive criticism is welcome, this is just the second draft. I'll move it to AO3 when I get my invite

TW slurs/internalized homophobia

The kids are 14. 

They lay side by side on the roof of Doug’s house, staring at the stars. There was a light chill in the air, the first hint of Fall around the corner. Corey’s dad wouldn’t let him have sleepovers, so instead he snuck out after his dad fell asleep so they could stay up all night talking about nothing and everything.

Doug groaned loudly. “It’s so not fair, summer break’s almost over and I’ve spend like half of it with this fucking cast on my arm.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t stolen your dad’s car and tried to drive it all the way to the theater to see some stupid R-rated movie, you wouldn’t’ve crashed it into a tree. The doctors said you were lucky you got away with just a broken arm.” Corey said, with that tone he uses when he’s pretending to be smarter than Doug, even though they both know that isn’t true.

“Bullshit, I didn’t see you stopping me! You were right there in the passenger seat. Of course you only got a concussion, nothing serious ever happens to you.”

“Because you said you knew how to drive! And it’s easy to not get hurt if you’re not a total dumbass, you should try it sometime.” Corey protested. “Why did you want to see that movie so bad anyway?” 

“Brian Kelley at school saw it, he said there were, like, 3 different girls who had their boobs out in it.” Doug said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Corey scoffed. “Gross, you’re such a perv.”

Doug rolled his eyes. “Grow up. If that makes me a perv, everyone’s a perv. Don’t you think about girls?”

“I… You’re disgusting, Doug.” Corey said, shrinking away slightly.

“C’mon, man, don’t you?” Doug’s tone was eager, but playful. He poked at Corey with his good arm, trying to get a reaction.

“I don’t… I don’t wanna talk about it.” Corey muttered, his tone betraying that something was wrong.

Doug leaned in closer. “Do you… Think about boys?” His voice was soft, hesitant to even bring up the suggestion.

“W-what? No! Don’t be an idiot.” Corey exclaimed nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

“Corey, it’s okay, you can tell me.” Doug reached out his arm to comfort him.

Corey shoved him away. “I’m not a fucking faggot, Doug! You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about so just shut up!”

Doug froze. He dropped his gaze, staring at his feet. Corey could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him act like this. He seemed… Hurt, Scared, almost.

“I… I do think about boys sometimes.” Doug muttered. “I thought maybe you… I guess I’m the faggot.”

Corey stared at him for a second that seemed to stretch on forever. “Shit, I--  I’m sorry, Doug. I didn’t mean… I didn’t know…”

Doug wouldn’t look him in the eye, and started to stand up. “I… I think you should go. It’s getting late, your dad’ll wake up soon, he might notice you’re gone.”

Corey shot up. “W-wait, Doug, come back!” He grabbed Doug by the shoulder. Doug turned around to face him. He stared at Corey, whose face was bathed in the heavenly glow of the moonlight. 

“I… You were right. I do like boys. Not girls too, like you, just… Just guys.” Corey stammered. “I’m the fag, not you. I’m a fag just like my dad’s always said, and I’m nothing, and… And…”

“No, you’re not.” Doug said, slowly stepping closer. He reached up to cup Corey’s face in his hand. “You’re everything.”

Doug leaned in to kiss him, and Corey was too shocked to react. They stayed like that for a while, lips pressed together, two bodies melted into one, under the stars. Slowly the sun started to rise and the two boys crawled back through the window inside, without saying a word.

______________________________________________________________

AN: I loved the dynamic change in making it gay, but I felt like there was a lot of potential in there that was lost by just having Corey's name switched, so this is my attempt to add more of that gay angst

@dsm--v @milolovesbmc

[autistook]

DAISIES - pt 21

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader / soft oc

Words: 4k

Summary: Healing from the wounds, both physical and mental, you spend time together in Minas Tirith.

Possible TW's: ptsd, panic attacks, intimacy

AN: This is a little bit of an all over the place sort of a chapter, because I wanted to show the little things after war instead of yet going back to the main story. Only a few chapters left folks. ♡

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

-----

“It's not so bad,” you responded. Merry glanced at your belly, which was covered by a white dress.

“Are you certain? I wouldn't want you to get hurt,” he said, visibly concerned. “It will be dangerous.”

“Merry, just have an eating contest with me for Eru's sake.”

Merry chuckled, still uncertain of your condition. He nodded and took a deep breath. He gave a countdown and at zero, both of you started devouring pieces of delicious bread. It almost felt like you were back in the Shire, sitting in the same old bakery, having the same old eating contests; but nothing was the same anymore. Some in good ways, some bad. But Merry and you? It felt good.

The day went on. The sunlight was making Minas Tirith shine bright white, so white in fact it was almost blinding. Merry’s fingers were interlocked with yours as the two of you walked around the streets, every now and then stopping to help people pick up the pieces of their forever changed lives.

As the sun began to set and painted the sky shades of purple, orange and pink, you and Merry climbed on a broken piece of a wall and sat down, some tiny pieces of the wall falling down with faint sounds. The Hobbit put his arm around you and you crossed your right food over his, your large feet tangling together.

“I believe Frodo will be alright,” Merry said to you for comfort.

You did not respond. You had seen the look in your brother’s eyes. It was not one that would ever fully heal and you had begun to wonder if Frodo would even be able to return to the Shire.

“I hope so,” you responded.

Merry squeezed your shoulder and pressed his lips on your temple.

“Hey,” he said and you turned to look at him, locking eyes with his. “Everything will be alright. Everything is alright. Pippin, Sam, Frodo, you and I; we all made it. Éowyn made it. We are alive and that is worth celebrating. Sure we had some losses, but we survived.”

“I cannot help feeling like something is wrong,” you said. 

It was true. Ever since you heard the Nazgûl screech in Buckland, something did not feel right. Every time you thought of home, there was a weird twisting sensation in your belly; you just couldn’t quite wrap your finger around it. Not yet anyway.

“I promise you,” Merry started and turned towards you a tad more. “Even if something turns out to be wrong, everything will fall back into place.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Merry smiled softly and soon his gaze drifted to your mid-section again. He tended to stare at your belly shamelessly, as if to beg for your reassurance that you were indeed feeling alright.

“Do you want to check on it?” you asked and Merry nodded. 

“Maybe later, yes. Right now, I just want to enjoy this sunset and be with you.”

“You know,” you said. “You’ve grown to be quite a romantic. It’s gross.”

Merry let out a warm bark of laughter. He had indeed started to get more and more comfortable with affection; public affection too. The people of Minas Tirith would more often than not see the two of you walking together, hand in hand. Someone who found the romantic gestures rather amusing, was Pippin. He had waited for the day you two would finally meet again and confess each other's feelings, and to him it was like a birthday present when he found out. Every time Pippin walked past you he grinned so wide you were certain you had never seen such happiness before.

Merry was trembling. Cold droplets of sweat were pouring all over his skin and his lower lip was quivering as he weeped in your arms. You held his healing arm tightly, trying your best to provide some warmth to the hand that suffered excruciating pain when it was cold.

“You'll be alright,” you whispered softly, rubbing his arm with your thumb. “Just take a deep breath.”

“It hurts,” Merry whispered through his tears.

“I know, I know,” you comforted, your heart aching. “It will feel better. Do you want me to summon Aragorn?”

“No, don't,” Merry said in an instant. “I do not want to trouble him.”

“Merry,” you said. “Please, you're in pain.”

“Please,” Merry pleaded back. “Just stay with me and hold me.”

Your heart crunched with worry. You pulled him closer to yourself, almost flush against your body and began caressing his hair with your other hand.

“Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere, Merry.”

You woke up with Merry's head resting on your chest. His pain seemed to have subsided at some point during the night as he kept nodding before he passed out in your arms. 

Merry had slept for at least an hour while you were awake and for many more after you fell asleep. You were not sure how many hours you slept for, but it was again day-time and Pippin was behind the door, talking to some healers about his own wounds.

You looked down at Merry's soft curls and smiled as your fingers travelled through them. Just the sensation of Merry close to you made you feel like you were almost back at home, instead of Gondor after the great battle of the Third Age. His warm scent filled your nostrils and you pressed your nose against his curls for some more comforting smells.

The smell reminded you of home. Home that was so far away. Far away and with many reminders of the battle you had fought through. The battle that you had to witness. The blade in your belly. The dead Rohirrim. Théodred. Rath.

You didn't remember much after your body began shaking and Merry's faint voice reached your ears, drowning somewhere immediately. All you could see was black and hear ringing in your ears. And among the ringing; all the cries of the battle, the screams of agony, the pain, the horns and the threats. All you could smell was burning flesh, smoke, blood and cold air.

And then Merry's soothing thumb was on the back of your hand again and his big wide eyes stared into yours.

“Welcome back,” he said with a warm, welcoming smile.

Your hair was clinging to your forehead and had gone almost flat from sweat. Your dress was practically see-through and your fingers were numb. 

“I don't know what happened,” you stuttered, barely able to form any coherent sentences.

“It's alright, sweetheart,” said Merry and squeezed your hand. “You had a panic attack.”

“I thought I would die,” you said shakily. Indeed, it had felt like your body was burning among the corpses and your head had been spinning so hard one might have thought an oliphaunt dropped on you and crushed your brain. “I've never had one so bad.”

“It's not a surprise. You’ve been through a lot, to say the least.”

You gave a nod and squeezed his hand back. You could see Merry's eyes roam your dishevelled hair and your shoulders where the dress was clinging.

“I must look disgusting,” you said and brushed your hair behind your pointy ears.

“You look unwell, yet like the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Merry…”

“I mean it. Even at your worst, you take my breath away,” Merry said and took your breath away instead. Your ears wiggled happily and Merry let out a soft chuckle. 

Merry lifted his hands and caressed the shells of your ears gently, making them vibrate harder and your cheeks flush. You squirmed your neck and let out a soft giggle, which made Merry's heart soar.

“That is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard,” he said.

“What is?” you asked, still smiling ear to ear as he now caressed the tips of the fluttering ears.

“Your laugh. I've missed making you laugh so shyly,” he grinned and made you giggle once again.

“Oh, hush.”

“I mean it!”

“You're being disgusting, Meriadoc,” you teased and he put his hand on his heart, feigning offense.

“How dare you!” he gasped dramatically. “I am simply showing appreciation to the woman I love. Allow me to compliment you in peace!”

Your ears fluttered more. More than they had ever done before, at least in front of Merry. He looked amused and tilted his head.

“What makes you so flustered?” he asked.

“You,” you responded honestly and your lips curled up into a coy smile. “Calling me the woman you love. It feels new.”

“Is it a bad kind of new or a good kind of new?” he asked.

“The good kind.”

You woke up to Merry shaking you, your screams of terror coming to an end.

Another nightmare.

You would spend hours upon hours taking turns seeking comfort in the other's arms as the waves of traumas hit you two like tsunamis. Big, instant, deadly.

“Will it ever stop?” you asked, sniffling and wiping away tears. 

“Eventually,” Merry said, rubbing his palm in soothing circles over your back. “I promise.”

“So much pain,” you said. “In my heart. It is so heavy. Oh, Merry. This has all been too much.”

“You're strong and courageous,” Merry said and pulled you into a tight embrace. “You can handle it, even when it feels like too much.”

“What if I can't?”

Merry turned his head in a snap and furrowed his brows as he looked at you disapprovingly and worried.

“Don't ever say such a thing,” he said sharply but in a warm tone that indicated he did not mean it in a threatening way.

“I'm sorry, I just…. It's so hard, Merry. There's so much that happened and… and…”

“Sweetheart,” Merry sighed and kissed the top of your head gently. “You will get through this.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You made your way to the other side of the table and sat down next to your brother. His finger was still wrapped in a white bandage and his face was slightly pale. You put your hand on his back and stroked gently, asking about his well-being silently. Frodo gave a faint smile and nodded, doing his best to convince you that he was going to be alright. Although, he did not believe it himself.

Sam was sitting next to Frodo, eating and laughing merrily. Some chicken was stuck on the corner of his lip and his light hair was still overgrown from the journey. Frodo’s hair had grown more in length than Sam’s, and it was unkempt. 

You looked for Frodo’s eyes once more, asking for reassurance of his physical and mental state. Frodo smiled and squeezed your hand. 

“Good enough,” you thought and resumed eating. Only if you had looked back at Frodo, you would have seen the pain in his eyes and the longing for the sea he had not yet seen.

“How’s your lamb?” asked Pippin, mouth full as he looked at you. You looked up to him and barked a laugh as you noticed all the jam and custard on his cheeks and nose.

“Pippin!” you giggled. “Clean yourself. We are eating with a king!”

“It’s Strider!” Pippin protested with a smirk and kept eating his crepes messily. You chuckled and called for Merry. When you turned your head towards Merry’s direction, he did not hear anything and you could see him gazing at Aragorn and his now wife, a beautiful elf, Arwen. 

A small pang of jealousy hit you. The way he looked at her made your stomach turn, but soon you realized Merry’s mind was elsewhere, not on the elven lady. His eyes were dreamy as he looked at both her and the king. You figured it must have been his admiration for such eternal love as theirs - and in some ways, you were right.

Merry certainly was dreaming as he looked at Arwen and Aragorn, but he was dreaming of having a wedding as such with you and already his heart was doing somersaults planning on how he would one day kiss you on the altar.

Suddenly a splash of cold custard hit your face and as you took your eyes off Merry, you could hear Pippin laugh and see him almost fall off his chair.

“Peregrin Took!” you tutted. “My face is covered in custard!”

“Come on!” Pippin provoked. “Give me your best shot!”

Something snapped in you and you picked up some of the brown, peppery sauce from your plate onto a spoon and aimed it towards the young Took. He dodged it, barely, so you stood up and threw another one, which hit him right on his jawline.

“Ha!” you laughed victoriously. Pippin scooped some jam and threw it at you again and again, which you returned with a handful of custard.

In no time Merry joined and to everyone’s surprise, so did the ringbearer. Sam, on the other hand, watched the antics of the four of you, shaking his head disapprovingly. All the while Aragorn was smiling behind his golden goblet at the end of the long table, admiring the carefree attitude of the Hobbits he had grown to love throughout the past several months. Arwen was smiling fondly next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in elvish as they watched all of you fight with food.

Times had been tough, so having any food to waste in a food fight felt like a luxury you had never had before. So many weeks you had gone by with barely any food, and now there was some blueberry jam stuck on your cheek and curls. 

It felt sticky, but it felt like comfort.

The day passed and the moon began to rise. The walls of Minas Tirith bathed in a silvery light as the moon shone down on them. The stars were showing brighter than before; or at least it had felt like it every passing night since the shadow was lifted and the sky was unveiled.

You were sitting on the cold marble of a bench in the Houses of Healing, where you still rested, healing your wound and trauma. Merry had made home in the room next to you to stay close, although his arm was practically healed, if not for the pain during cold weather.

The night was warm and so was your heart when you saw Merry approach you.

“Hullo,” you said softly and he sat next to you at once. He smiled and with no hesitation, his lips pressed against your cheek. You chuckled, confused. “What was that for?”

“For sitting there so prettily,” Merry grinned and stared deep into your eyes, the stars dancing in his.

Your response was naught but a wide smile and the familiar flutter of your ears. Merry took your hand in his.

“I am grateful,” he said.

“For what?” you asked.

“You. I’ve gone through so much - we all have - and I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”

“Merry…”

“I mean it. I visited… I visited King Théoden today and I would not have been able to if it was not for you, my love. I weeped but it felt less painful than it would have if I did not have you to be here for me.”

“How do you feel now?” you asked Merry, thinking about how Merry had grown to see the now passed King of Rohan as a father figure.

“Awfully sad,” Merry said. “I miss him dearly and wish I could have gone and smoked with him as we promised each other. But on the other hand I feel happy. Happy that you are here and alive. Happy that the Ring is destroyed and that everything is back to normal.”

Silence followed Merry’s words. Everything was back to normal, yet it was not. Everything had changed. Sam kept his eye on Frodo in a way you had never seen before, due to everything that happened on their own journey. Pippin was as cheerful as ever, yet the sparkle that used to be in his eyes was not there; not in the same way as before. There was darkness and trauma weighing on young Peregrin Took. Merry was having panic attacks on a regular basis and his arm pained him excruciatingly every cold night. Frodo’s gaze was empty and longing for something he could never have again. He was seen touching around where the Ring used to rest on his neck and chest, searching for it and pain in his eyes. 

And you had pain in your stomach on cold nights or when you slept on it for too long. More than that, you tended to black out from panic attacks when traumatic memories hit you out of the blue.

“So,” you said and cleared your throat. “Do you regret leaving me behind yet?”

Merry’s face dropped. You were joking of course, but Merry could not see the humour in the question.

“I do,” he said with sincerity. “I should never have hurt you in such a way; or at all for that matter.”

Your heart was wrung with pity. You realized it was still not the time to joke about the matter and guilt filled you as you noticed just how bad Merry still felt.

“You do know I have forgiven you, right?” you asked.

“I do,” he responded. “It does not ease the guilt, my love.”

“Well, it should,” you said and cupped his face. You gently looked into his eyes and smiled. “I do not carry a grudge or hate, and you should not feel guilt over something that happened so long ago and something that has been fixed.”

“I can’t help but feel like you would not have gotten hurt if it was not for me.”

You held his face but kept quiet for a moment. Would you have gotten hurt if it was not for Merry? Would you have ever come to Gondor if he had told you about the plan?

“I would have forced myself on the journey with you even if you told me,” you finally said and Merry sighed and nodded.

“You would have,” he chuckled grimly. “But I must still apologize. I feel like it is my fault.”

“Is that why you want to observe the wound so? To see the damage you think you caused?” 

Your eyes met his and he nodded reluctantly. You caressed his cheeks with your thumbs and a tender warmth passed through the two of you, comforting both.

“I wish you had not been hurt.”

“So do I, but I was. And it was not your fault.”

“Are you certain you aren’t mad at me?” he asked for reassurance. Your eyes lingered on his and you nodded.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. Besides, you’ve taken such good care of me.”

You cradled his face slightly tighter between your palms and leaned forward. You softly pressed your lips against his and you could feel him shiver slightly. He responded to the kiss with warm tenderness and put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him on the bench. You kept moving your lips on his, gently but confidently, tilting your head to get closer to Merry. The kiss felt like an unspoken promise of devotion and love, which caused you to break the kiss.

“Merry?” you whispered gently.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice slightly strained as he licked his lips discreetly.

“I love you,” you said softly and he smiled, kissing you again. 

“I love you too,” he murmured between the soft kisses. “More than words can possibly express.”

Every kiss was unhurried and gentle, yet firm enough to indicate to both that the passion between the two of you was growing. Your breaths mingled and his fingers gently gripped the fabric of your dress. You could hear him gasping for air even through the most tender of kisses.

“Merry,” you said again in a quiet whisper, your own voice now shaky.

“Yes?” he asked, his lips gliding over yours once more.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice laced with vulnerability and desire.

Merry gulped and his fingers clung slightly to your dress involuntarily. 

“Stay with you tonight?” he repeated, as if confirming what you had said was real.

“Yes. I do not want to wake up without you.”

Merry nodded softly and kissed you again, slowly, gently, full of unspoken promises. Gently he took your hand in his and with his other hand he gently caressed your cheek as he broke the kiss.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He stood up slowly but still a little unsteady and fixed his shirt. He laced his fingers with yours tighter and began walking towards his room. You put your free hand on his shoulder and stopped.

“Please, can we go to my room instead?”

Merry smiled and nodded, and you led the way to your room in the Houses of Healing.

The room was glowing softly from the moonlit sky showing through the windows and there was a small candle still lit, creating a warm hue in one of the corners. Merry walked around a bit and picked up some matches, lighting up the remaining candles in your room. He put the matches out and placed them aside on your bedside table, slowly making his way to you again.

He put his hand on your shoulder and gently caressed, locking his eyes with yours. He leaned down and kissed you, his lips pressing firmly against yours with a renewed passion, but still slightly careful.

Your lips moved in sync and you breathed in the air from his lungs, before breaking the kiss to murmur quietly: “Lay with me.”

Merry smiled on your lips and nodded, giving you one more brief kiss before pulling away slightly, just enough to look at you in your eyes. He searched for permission and you nodded. 

His hand gently moved your dress slightly off your shoulder, and his gaze was immediately glued to the small portion of the exposed skin. The sleeve slipped down completely over your shoulder and Merry shivered, his fingers gently tracing the curves of your shoulder and the shape of your exposed collarbone.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered and moved the sleeve down to your elbow, softly moving his fingers down your arm. His fingers were trembling slightly as he moved the fabric and you could feel him shiver.

“Are you alright?” you asked. “We don’t need to do this if you are not certain you want this.”

“I do want this. I want you.”

He looked into your eyes again and his hands found their way to your waist as he kissed you once, tenderly. His hands tugged on the hem of your dress and like an instinct, you raised your arms up and like it was always meant to happen, Merry pulled your dress off you and let it float down onto the floor. 

His eyes worshipped every curve and contour of your body as you stood there in naught but your undergarments. Merry did not blink as he slid his hands down your arms and then your sides, all the way up to your ribs and then back down onto your hips. He leaned forward and began planting soft, appreciative kisses all over the side of your neck and down to the curve between your neck and shoulder. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he moved his lips on your collarbone. 

His lips moved down, down, down and he stopped after he had travelled to your sides and hip. He gently trailed his fingertips over the scar on your stomach, examining it and looking at you with a mix of concern, admiration and desire. 

You looked down at him as he caressed your skin with attentivity and you shuddered as his other hand gently grabbed your hip. He began pressing his lips against your stomach, kissing along and around the battle wound, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire inside of you.

He kissed your thigh and groaned on your skin approvingly before he rose back on his feet and his tall figure stood in front of you once again.

You stepped almost flush against him and began undoing his shirt’s buttons, although shakily. In no time he assisted you, slowly revealing the skin of his chest to you, inch by inch.

As his shirt fell down on the floor, you could not peel your eyes off his chest. It had healed wounds and was full of freckles, each one of them which you wanted to desperately kiss. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, your tongues joining together into a fiery dance. Yes, it was intense, but also gentle and each of Merry’s touches felt like pure love and affection. All of his kisses were meaningful and every time he looked at you, it was clear he worshipped you.

His hands roamed your body, learning every scar and wound inch by inch, and it was so tender it brought tears into your eyes, ones which he wiped away at ease. 

The night passed in a blur of gentle touches and soft whispers. It all felt natural and warm, like it had always meant to have happened.

You were home.

----

@chatteringfox @shiinata-library @ahobbitsjourney23 @mayo-advance @datglutengoblin @mourntheantagonist @channiesbedroom @nicksworld0715

[richeeduvie]

Maybe a bit triggering on ED ⚠️

No because I just thought of Baby using her charm on Roman so he can enjoy a treat.

We know Roman engulfs the food Baby makes but I feel like he still struggles with cravings like idk he wants a bagel or something and can’t fully enjoy it like a normal person because of his issues and probably gets a lot of guilt after eating it and pokes his stomach thinking he’s gross

But imagine Baby just feeding whatever food she knows he had been craving for months just so he can enjoy it, she’s sitting on his lap putting the pastie on his mouth and only like that Roman can allow to enjoy a “cheat food”

He's picking at a bagel. It's plain. You know he's been wanting one with cream cheese on it, but Roman can barely handle the idea of putting that in his body. Fully.

You watch him not want to enjoy food, because to him...and sometimes to you, with old habits dying hard, enjoying food and meals and the act of eating seems disgusting. But it can't be like that, not when you like to see Roman healthy, lost in the way he can enjoy the taste of something.

"Roman, you've murdered the fucking thing."

He glares at you before indulging you, low and guilty eyes. He shoves a large, broken piece into his mouth while he chews too quickly and loudly.

He doesn’t like that you can perceive him eating.

“I can feel the calories cascading down my glands. Fucking disgusting.”

“It’s just a bagel.”

“It’s yeast blown up to be fatty. Again, gross.”

Roman throws another piece of bagel into his mouth, so quick like he’s trying to make you miss it the way he bites.

You take another piece and do the only thing you know what to do.

You take a bite, eyes staring into him.

“What?”

“Does it taste good?”

Roman’s almost hunched over the table.

“…it tastes fine.”

“You’ve been asking me to make you a toasted bagel-“

“Well you didn’t make one. It’s bakery bought and what I get is mediocre, circular bread and five pounds.”

You sigh. You get home you get Roman’s guilt along his face as he fiddles with a broken bagel piece.

He makes a twisted face with a squeak when you sit on his lap, taking the bagel(s) from him.

Roman shifts, trying so his stomach doesn’t press in your back. But his hand comes on your waist, chin over your shoulder.

“Open wide.”

“…Fuck you.”

But Roman does, and he lets you feed him. He eats away with your fingers pressing against his lips. He chews like he wants to eat.

“I’ll make you something tonight, okay?”

“Fine, whatever.”

And he opens wide without you asking, but he’s asking. You smile, too happy at how he enjoys himself.

You’ll do this forever if it means you can have moments like these.

[crmsnmth]

Bitter Coffee

The diner's coffee is dark and so bitter that it almost bites. The smell of burnt coffee grounds flow up in a steam warning. Don't drink this, it pleads. Go somewhere else. Somewhere better, but please don't drink this. I close my eyes and take a sip. It's hot, it's bitter, it's instant heartburn in a cup. Start the day the acid reflux way with a handful of Tums and a full shot on pink Pepto Bismuth. Sometimes consequences last a life time and you pay for mistakes forever. My stomach is proof of what drugs do to the insides. I am scar tissue and weak spots where the stomach acid is burning through the walls of my stomach. It will split, and it will hurt, but it will happen and when it does, I can only hope that I'm alone. The doctor's will say theirs nothing here to save, and I'll agree from astral projection. I'll sign a DNR the minute you put it in my face. If there's nothing left to live for, when's left to live? I did this to myself, even though I like to blame others, I know, deep down, it was all my choices that lead my to a a body covered in pinprick scars and white train tracks up and down my forearms. Or the circle burn marks, or the stab wounds in my chest, or the spot where the bullet bounce off my kneecap. I take another sip of coffee and forcefully swallow it down. In a few minutes, the caffeine of trucker coffee will hit me. And I will tremor and shake, and lost train of thought, and feel sicker to my stomach. There's an old man sitting at the corner next me., eating the yolks of his over easy eggs with a piece of diner brand burnt wheat toast. I can see the butter already melted onto the break. It drips off and splatters the polished counter top. He eats nosily, the sounds he makes almost sexual. Letting specks of grease and egg and toast take refuge in a salt shaker beard. A tired looking woman serenades the tables with promises of more acidic coffee and pie and meatloaf and pancakes and sausage links. Menus act as hymnals we read from before the sun rises on a Sunday morning. Most of the people are just waking up and I haven't slept in four days, at the far end of yet another bender. My eyes burn from being open too long and I swear that I can see the very shadows move.

Sometimes I hear my name being called, but there's never anyone who actually knows my name. No one cares. Even my own imaginary friend said fuck this and packed their things and they were gone. Nobody, not even the pretend, want to be around someone who does nothing but try to kill themselves by loophole tricks, who bitch's and moans about a girl who doesn't even remember him, who never can see the good in anything he actually has, who is the definition of cynical. I can't blame the friends who loved me to leave. Nobody wants to watch a loved one self-destruct completely, nobody wants to see a man hellbent on slamming into rock bottom, face first, broken neck. Silence. Peace. I take a sit of my coffee and wonder how these coffee mugs keep the liquid hot much longer than the mugs I have stashed back at home. I look at the mug, getting out of my head, because that's a bad place to be when you're coming down and realizing what you've become and it's sick, and it's gross, and it's dirty and I'm a fucking derelict. I have done my laundry in over a month. I want to apologize. I want to yell in everyone's face. I want to die, I want to live, I want to not be afraid. I want to be less paranoid. I want to take care of myself again, but the little baggie with powdery residue says I'm fucking lying. I'm always lying. I am a con artist, and I'm dangerously good at it. Fall in love with me, and if I keep it up, your mine forever. The tired woman fills my coffee mug for the third time. It's bitter taste stays on my tongue. It distracts me. My head hurts, and my stomach hurts and my body aches. I can't remember all that much for the past few days. And that relieves me because I'm not really sure I want to. I don't want to face the shame I should probably feel. The man next to me finished his food. It is quiet again, other than the sounds of the kitchen, the low drone of other's voice. I signal for my check. Four cups of a coffee and an order of white toast. My stomach hurts. It's time to make it home and sleep this off until the next one starts

[palepinkgoat]

(warning, kind of gross and about mental health. Such is my life.)

I've had intrusive thoughts my whole life. Like, for as long as I can remember. A young child. Not just random thoughts that pop into my head, or even ones that are negative self-talk for example.

No, I'm talking about the ones where I can't stop thinking about seeing my fingers broken, or seeing them with the tendons hanging out or skin stripped off, or just anything gross you can think of, really. I'll be lying in bed and the thoughts will come, and I'll squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to will the images away. But they persist. I imagine the worst things, the worst damage. I pull my hands out from under the blanket and stare at them. They're safe. I'm safe.

But then there it is again, not even a half hour later. And that's when I crawl out of bed and take an Ativan, and try to relax. But it's all so exhausting to think about. It runs me ragged. The worst times are when it seems just normal. I'll be doing something and an image will pop into my head, and I shake my head and keep doing the dishes.

Hey look, your skin is falling off.

No its not.

What if it DID though? What if it breaks and bones stick out? Like tiny little bones that -

Stop it. Leave me alone.

These are different than hallucinations. I have had those too. This is about my thoughts. I don't SEE my hands like this. I see them as normal fingers. But the THOUGHT of them being injured is so real. So real I can ALMOST see it.

This is about persistent wild jabs into the soft creature of my brain. One day the thoughts will leave me, and won't come back in this form probably. It will choose something else. So I just get to wait and see, I guess.

Being a mentally ill person is hard. Sometimes it's so boring, and sometimes when I feel things in episodes it's just so normal to me that it's hard to imagine other people don't live like this. Then sometimes it's me trying to heal myself from the inside out, staring at my hands, chanting "you're safe, you're safe, you're safe."

I told my doctor about them. Pychiatrists are cool because when you say something that other people would be like "Gross, that's crazy" they are just kind of like "oh, okay." At least that's how mine is. To be understood that way is deeply comforting.

I think this whole thing was triggered by a relative's upcoming hand surgery. It's like my brain heard that, woke up and pounced on it, a bright shiny thing it turned over and over, fascinated, unable to look away. Take that and run it through the wires and this all comes out instead. Lost in translation.

This won't last. I know that. My brain will set the shiny thing down and walk away toward the next shiny thing. But being mentally ill? The bipolar? That's forever. There is no cure. Meds aren't a cure, they are a tool. Underneath all of it is my sick and vulnerable and brilliant brain, looking for something to destroy for a little while. It never gets tired of that mission.

But I'm tired.

[buck-yyyy]

everyday i think of the implications of the fact that the only relationships compared to romeo and juliet in stranger things are dustin/suzie (a relationship that's not taken seriously in canon, and that will likely not last forever), argyle/eden (a relationship that's only there for comedic relief), and mike/el (hm?).

and then i think about how romeo and juliet's relationship is commonly thought of as puppy love or infatuation, because they were kids (13 and 16) who'd just met and were both in shitty situations (while juliet's father didn't want her married yet because she was just a kid, he still had complete control over her romantic propositions, and romeo had just gotten his heart broken by another girl and was looking for a way to cheer himself up)

and then i think about how similar those situations are to mike and el. how hopper didn't want el going out with mike in season three because they were too young and he was uncomfortable with them kissing, and how mike was dealing with the grief of his best friend going missing and possibly being dead when they met, as well as it being pointed out that he's just glad there's a girl that isn't grossed out by him

and then i think about the fact that IN romeo and juliet, juliet tells romeo that she doesn't want to see him if he's not serious about the possibility of their relationship (and how if it's not going to be for marriage then she doesn't want it), and how similar that is to el not wanting mike to say ILY if he doesn't really mean it

and THEN i think about @will80sbyers post today about argyles "play me or trade me" pin on his visor, a phrase that's about not wanting a relationship if it's not going to be serious and for marriage, and how he's the one that makes the romeo comment about mike in the pizza parlor

and then i explode.

[v-arbellanaris]

tw: rape

you know, it's obvious that cullen being a fan favourite really influence the milquetoast writing he got in dai. the fact that his original writer implies that with a female mage warden he would force himself upon her to "get her out of his thought/system" is so gross. i really wish his arc could've been handled better and don't get me started on his romance with a mage inquisitor.

i don't think that his being a fan favourite is entirely responsible for the milquetoast writing he got in dai, but maybe it is a smidgen of it. i think a lot of that is to do with the centrist narrative takes that were persistent throughout all of dai's writing. what they did to cullen is what dai got as a whole - arguably pretty graphics slapped over all of the narrative flaws to distract us from it.

as far as what sheryl chee has said about cullen, i take it with the same grain of salt that i take jennifer hepler's statements on how the rivalmance is the best romance for anders, or that anders is bipolar. it provides some information but i don't adopt word of god as my preferred method of character analysis. ultimately, within the confines of the game, i haven't seen that - evadne did flirt with him, if only because she knew it would get him embarassed, after he so obviously confessed that he would have killed her during the harrowing, and he ran away and shuts the conversation down if you proactively flirt with him - and if anything, i get kind of skeeved out by sheryl chee saying that when his writing during broken circle implies and alludes to what i would classify as sexual assault, if not outright rape, happening to him. it's backed up later in dai, in my opinion, by cole's dialogue in WEWH, and his general discomfort/unease/inexperience with romance and sex, and the way it's dismissed as Something Funny is kind of sickening to me. this is just an interpretation though ofc and i suppose we don't get canonical confirmation but the Allusions are enough for me.

and yeah. i could talk forever about all the ways i could fix up his arc in dai, and specifically his romance with a mage inquisitor, which is compelling to me, if only we had OPTIONS. *shakes fist at the sky* when my executive functionings are back, i can work on vee verse content again....

[astarab1aze]

As they both sat in cool grass beneath the stars, completely worn out by the midsummer day’s romp around the neighborhood, Kai fell uncharacteristically quiet. It was in times like these where he felt the loneliest— times where he knew he would soon have to return home.

He wanted to be with Loux every hour of the day. Even spending a few hours apart during summer break wrenched his heart out. He wanted to play fight and proudly wear the scrapes and bloody noses as medals of honor. He wanted to build forts out of trees and tarps and gather inside when the afternoon thunderstorms came. He wanted to eat popsicles and show each other their oddly-colored tongues when they finished. He wanted to stay like this forever, laying under the stars next to the only one who made him feel like he wasn’t born completely wrong.

When a chilly breeze reached the field, Kai shivered and inched closer to Loux’s warm body, looking at his annoyingly cute face that all the girls in their third grade class talked about. Why couldn’t they just stay like this? Why did he have to go home?

After an extended silence, he finally spoke, holding back the tears stinging his eyes.

“Do you think your parents loved you?”

Then…

“I don’t think mine do.”

The wind was cold, chilly, and it drove goosebumps to rise on his skin along his spine, arms, shins, and skinned knees, band-aids hanging on by a thread. He drew them up to his chest, mind torn in two between focusing too hard on what Kai was saying and whimpering over everything he'd gone through that year. Eight years old and both his parents were already dead and buried, little memories for the fat cats at the DRS, whoever those people were. Black suits like the secret service, idiots Loux often saw in the corners of the TV screen during an address.

Thinking about all the wrong things as to distract himself. He always was devious, thought too much, planned out even more with all the care an adult might've taken - combining common sense with simple cause and effect, figuring out the solutions to most things in his head before ever needing a pen and paper to show his work. He never liked math, or English - never liked having to show anyone how he got his answers to everything when they were just so clearly written! One plus one equalled two because there were two ones, right? Simple as that.

But, this was different - maybe. Different context, not so simple. Different. His best friend was near to sobbing over something he couldn't understand, because, yes, his parents did love him. He was certain enough about that. Nothing else, though. His parents loved him, but what good did that love do him? They were gone now. Dead. Buried under six feet of grass and dirt and ugly flowers to be eaten by worms and other gross things. Dead and gone. Even if they loved him, it's not like they'd come back and tell him everything would be alright without them. It's not like they'd come back at all, not on their own. Lennie and Lucy needed them more than he did, and he knew that. Knew that better than anyone. And that's what really did it for him, was the misery his sisters continued to go through even now, separated from them, forced into a system that'd never see them reunite.

And he thought of all the plans he'd thought were solid, good plans, and all the contingencies he'd had for them. How surprised Kai would be that he even knew and understood the word.

And then he thought of how wrong it was for a parent not to love their children. No matter how broken, ugly, terrified, or stupid - a parent should've always loved their children, even he knew that, early on and right away. Mothers and fathers had one job - to love and care for their children. Maybe that said something bad about their personal lives, but who cares? Who cares? Loux wasn't stupid; A parent stopped being themselves the second they had a kid. Or, at least, their lives stopped being about them. And so what? So what?

Losing some freedom, some ability to still be a kid, wasn't a good enough excuse to leave their own high and dry. To cry in the middle of a field next to a kid who couldn't cry anymore himself.

He was quiet a long time, at first bothered by Kai's proximity - surprised by it, even - then resting his head against his, pursing his lips. Sometimes, he wished he could've understood, and in others he wished he didn't have to worry about this at all. It hurt too much not to be able to help, to sympathize properly, and how did he understand that? He didn't know, but he did know it made things harder.

Kai needed help he couldn't give yet. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got, fingernails digging little half-moons into his palms, biting at his skin like tiny knives. It didn't make any sense to him, that someone could just not love their own kid. And maybe he was lucky, maybe he was lucky to have had parents who loved him for even five minutes longer than Kai's, but he had nothing without them. His whole life fell apart the second they were out of the picture and he wondered if Kai knew that, if he understood.

Nothing was worse than having everything, then losing it as soon as you realized you had it.

It was...hard. It was very hard. To be what Kai needed in the moment. To know and understand that he just couldn't be what he needed then, but still having to be. And he cared so much about him, he couldn't just let it go for a while. He had to help, in any way he could, even if it was only a curl of his arm around him and a stupid quip.

"Well, yanno... F-fuck 'em? Fuck 'em. That's what th' big kids say! Fuck 'em. Right?" he huffed, chuffed, and sighed, thinking about how satisfying it'd be to see Kai's parents burning in front of him, where they couldn't hurt him anymore. If they couldn't love him, then so be it - but, in his mind, they would watch while he lived a better life as theirs crumbled. In his mind. In his. "If they don't love you, tha's okay. Ya got me, right? I'll love you, and you can love me back."

He bit his lip.

"You can love me back...and then we'll ne'er hafta worry 'bout whether anyone loves us or not. 'Cause we got each other, right? We got each other." Yet tiny sparks of unquenchable flames began to burn at his finger tips, singing fabric and skin alike, but whose was it? His or Kai's? He couldn't tell, didn't want to, emotions bubbling within strong enough to burn even the coldest of wicks, or whatever. He couldn't deal, couldn't live with the fact the person he liked and loved most, someone he knew would be his friend until the end, was sad, hurt, left behind by the people who were supposed to love him more. "You can love me back..."

[featherfur]

i was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder a few years ago, it took them forever to diagnose me just bc of how hard it is to pin down, and i didn't get my official diagnosis until i was 27. i've been diagnosed with autism and adhd previously in earlier years, so i was already familiar with neurodivergent communities, and it was really kind of fucked up to come back after getting my bpd diagnosis and seeing people treat it like it was something else entirely. i've had people trying to tell me that bpd doesn't count as neurodivergence because "it's a personality disorder, not a mental disorder" like the two aren't intrinsically intertwined?? also dealing with people who i had previously known for several years suddenly start holding me at arm's length because i was a "ticking time bomb" or some sort of monster who would either split and explode on them, or god forbid, start obsessing over them.

it really just sort of blew my mind just how ableist DN communities can be when it comes down to conditions that aren't just autism, adhd, depression, or anxiety.

No this is it exactly. This is why I went on that little rant on that post.

I’m autistic, I’ve always been aware of it so I was in different community groups ones labeled just generic ND communities and a lot of autistic ones.

I’m also bipolar. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 22 but the near minute I was and told people about it, it was like I had secretly been hiding that I was a monster the whole time. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, here to make the rest of the community look bad. I’m not allowed to talk about suffering from psychosis without the people who were just hollering about accepting ND ppl especially people with Autism and ADHD who have a hard time, suddenly turning on me and treating me like lesser.

I can’t talk about experiencing psychosis without being told I’m scaring people or I make them uncomfortable. I can’t talk about intrusive thoughts, and I mean the most disgusting vile intrusive thoughts possible, without being told that IM a bad disgusting monster. I’m barely a person to them if I tell more of myself then just what’s palatable to them.

I can’t say I’m bipolar and not hear people go ‘lol I have mood swings too’ or ‘yeah I’m ADHD emotions are just everywhere’ (that happens more then you think…). Bipolar has to be kooky giggle town mood swings that’s a joke. It’s not allowed to be mania not sleeping for days on end and being on the high end of every forsaken emotion possible, it’s not allowed to be broken moments trying to suppress every urge to claw your eyes out. It’s not allowed to be hallucinations because you can’t sleep and you’re all over the place and then you crash and can’t eat or move or think when the depression hits.

I can’t talk to people who are part of these communities without first vetting how they treat someone who isn’t part of the ‘good’ Neurodivergent folk. Because they’ll treat you like a monster, because they repeat the same ableist bullshit that’s thrown at them.

Because they want to be part of the ‘normal’ group and want to expel the ‘freaks’ as if we’re not all under that ND umbrella.

The communities are terrifyingly self-othering.

Neurodivergent has become a short form of Autism/ADHD/Depression/Anxiety. But only the ‘good’ forms. If you’re too autistic to communicate ‘properly’ (that’s sarcasm), then you’re gross and need to leave. If you’re so depressed that your teeth rot then you did it to yourself and didn’t those posts on the internet tell you how important it is to brush? If you have generalized anxiety and are terrified to leave your home then you need to do better, you’re not ND unless you have the cutesy shy anxiety.

Every “neurodivergent experience” post is very… what’s the word… separating? That’s not quite it but it’s late lmao. But every time I see those posts it feels like another gap because I, as a bipolar person, do not and probably will not ever experience those! There are somethings I do, I am autistic, and I understand the ADHD hyperactivity when I have a hypomanic episode, but most of them?

I don’t. And I can only imagine it’s more hurtful and upsetting to those who don’t have those main four but are still ND. Like those with Cerebral Palsy or OCD nor Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

As someone who has dealt with intrusive thoughts and felt scared from the way people in my own community mock it and say it’s disgusting if it’s used to describe what it actually means, I can only imagine how folk w BPD and OCD and Schizophrenia feel when those are the exact words used to be violently insulted.

The ND community is thick with ableism and hate towards anyone who isn’t palatable to the rest of the world, and they keep choosing the side of the ones who want us gone so they can be accepted instead of realizing that every ableist (and it’s culturally taught, it’s not always an intentional action) also thinks shitty of them and want you and any sign of neurodivergence eradicated.

If they didn’t then Autism Speaks wouldn’t be so damn rich and open about wanting to get rid of us. The average person wouldn’t be so vile towards ADHD people wanting medication. They wouldn’t claim if you take medication that you’re addicted and not trying, and we all know how they fucking hate addicts.

A lot of the most proud ND communities aren’t safe for anyone who isn’t the ‘good’ kind of Neurodivergent. It’s terrifying and gross, and a lot more fellow ND folk need to think about how they’re treating the rest of us.

You don’t get a pass on ableism because your card has an ND stamp on it.

[thirdpowersa]

@celestialshearts wrote: propose, sender proposes to receiver. (from actions speak louder than words : accepting.) -> sasha to jordan.

going on a vacation where he's quite literally freezing his tits off isn't necessarily jordan's idea of a good time normally, but sasha had been so goddamn cute talking about seeing the northern lights, so how was jordan supposed to refuse ?? it's because of his complete and total weakness for how adorable his boyfriend is that he's bundled up in fucking finland of all places, holding back every single complaint he has for once because he doesn't want things to be spoiled for sasha.

every complaint he has — which, for the record, there are many, because why the fuck is it so cold that three sweaters under his coat are still leaving him feeling chilly ?? — is forgotten when, suddenly, sasha's speaking to him and there's a ring and jordan's gaping at him for a moment before he can really process what's happening. he almost can't believe it; the ring he has waiting in his bag flashes through his mind, and it hits him all at once that sasha is proposing to him.

sasha wants to marry him. to be together forever, like they've talked about before, it's real now. he wants all of jordan's complicated mess and all the undesirable parts of him permanently. the fact that jordan's a broken, angry catastrophe of a person with enough family drama to make up for four people hasn't dissuaded sasha in loving him, and that's just so ...

the thought is so overwhelming to him that, for the first time in at least a decade, jordan nam cries.

"y-you dick, oh my god," he sniffles, wiping at his face furiously in an attempt to spare his makeup. his face and ears feel red hot, and he can't look sasha in the eye properly because, god, why is he crying ?? it's not like they've never talked about getting married, he has a ring for sasha himself !! "i — i can't believe you beat me, you fucker, my ring is in my bag right now, bastard." his voice is wobbly and soft, and he laughs a little despite himself. "of course i'll marry you, oh my god, my fucking eyes are gonna freeze shut."

he's kissing sasha before he can properly finish his train of thought, and it's gross and a little wet because he's crying like a fucking baby, but jordan doesn't care, kissing them almost frantically, as if it'll convey everything he's never had the words to properly articulate. he loves them, they're going to marry him, he could just explode with all the joy and love he's feeling.

"i love you, i love you," he says it over and over again, like someone would a prayer, and he never thought he could feel like this, that he was allowed to. and now ... it's forever.

[luckyshotwrites]

14 (Soul Vore) for the ask meme?

@dionysusdoctrine (You both requested this and it was funny to me because out of everything on that list, this is something I knew nothing about).

Warning: This contains abuse, some strong language, and soul vore.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Smile, clown." The small crowd begged. 

His brittle arms threw themselves up and their force crinkled his smile. It whimpered its own tears along with his scarce pants. His eyes refused to cry as most of his water washed down as sweat.

“Don't stop or you won't get that new hollow body.” The crowd held him with their warning.

Becker danced. Red streaks left on the stone from his ruptured blisters. His soles constant sting screamed out and made sure he didn't rest.

The crowd cheered at his wobbles, clapped along with the pops of his overworked bones, and laughed once they saw the limpness in his bends.

His breath heaved with heat and desperately scratched at his throat, it wanted a break. 

His body started to stumble and his eyes blended the colors of the streets, houses, flowers, and the crowd. His spin caused him to slip over his dignity. 

When he collided with the stones, his mind yelled in agony.

“We aren't going to pay you to lay there! Get up! You must not care for a new body!” The crowd shouted. 

Becker pressed his shaky palms down on the ground. The lack of muscles could no longer sustain his weight along with the thin, ripped fabric. They crowded around him, spitting and insulting his weakness.

“You're gross. How could you not get up? I thought a sack of shit from the lower would have more fight than this. You deserve to die painfully!”

His palms slipped on the smooth stones and he dropped back down. His lip quivered as the crowd started to disperse. But, not before one member gave a strong KICK and made his ribs CRACK. Becker’s mouth jittered open and his eyes bulged after.

He coughed and crumbled. His body curled into a ball with indescribable sharpness. His left lung squeezed at his breath, it felt like he couldn't expel the air in it.

"You're useless, I promised them a show." The last said and walked off. 

Becker's voice trembled with a croak, "th-the holl-hollow."

His mouth quivered at the taste of metal and his teeth chattered, chewing on regret.

His sister's smile entered his mind, it hurt him knowing he'd never see her again. He was too ill to protect her and he wanted to find who took her. 

But, Becker was destined to die. The faint warmth of her hold, her cheerfulness, the sweet light she gave to life, gone. He didn’t want to let her down, nor to let her die like him. Damn it.

The soft dark of the streets cradled him, as if the shop lights were nonexistent. Yet, even though the dark beckoned him, he refused to close his eyes, no matter how much his body wanted. 

The shadow in front of him got larger as someone dropped from above. The soft umbered person landed in front of them.

Becker recognized the male as an ever elusive, and terrifying, reaper. Their black cloaks, curved scythes at their backs, and the black darkness under their eyes, told him.

The reaper pulled the scythe out, a slight pity in his eyes, "you should have used the last of your life to do something more beneficial."

"I-not-die." He gasped, feeling the heavy strain in his jaw and throb at his head.

The cloaked lifted up his scythe, "sorry, but at least it'll be painless."

Becker couldn't shake his head, and what he wanted to say only came out as a gust of air. He pushed his near broken arm out, and grabbed the reaper's foot. He stared up. He begged desperately with his eyes.

The reaper stopped, "your will..." a soft sigh left their lips. They crouched down and his gray lifeless eyes bore into him. "You're dying. There's nothing I can do."

Becker's grip didn’t stop.

He bared his teeth with a smile, “fine, do you really want me to finish that mission of yours? If you say yes, you’ll be here forever, unable to move on.” He tapped the end of his weapon on the ground, “do you understand that? You can never pass.”

Becker's grasp got tighter, not a moment's hesitation.

The reaper swung their scythe into the ground, it slide through the cracks of the stone. Clearly, his scare tactic didn’t work. “You're foolish."

He grabbed Becker's shoulders. The pain made his vocals whine. 

The reaper brought him close and pressed his soft lips to Becker's, chapped and broken ones. 

He couldn't fight it as the reaper pushed passionately.

Becker started to feel a warmness work run through his body. As it went up, the rest of him fell cold and slowly the pain faded. The warmness moved up his own throat and into Becker's own mouth before breaking through his lips.

The reaper pulled back, allowing the corpse to drop to the ground. His mouth shut as he held Becker's soul in it. The soul weighed a few ounces and felt so soft.

As his tongue caressed it, the pain Becker felt soon pierced the reaper, along with the anguish, embarrassment, and at the same time, his determination, bravery, and joy. Every memory, every feeling, had a unique taste and made the reaper shiver. He then swallowed, letting the soul fill his empty core.

The reaper took a moment to take it all in before he looked ahead. The once weightless soul, now felt heavy with Becker's will. He secured the scythe on his back again.

He licked over his lips and patted over his abdomen. The soul squirmed with restlessness. "Get comfortable, Becker, this is going to be a long ride."

...

My thoughts regarding soul vore: It's very unusual as I generally write soft vore. The thought of digestion and a soul stuck in the persons body is not a concept I like. But, something like this, where they're working together is something I find nice. ANYWAY, have a wonderful day and I hope I answered the question well enough! Thanks for the inspiration for the idea!

[frankthesnek]

I’d love to hear anything about once broken forever bound!

Oh good pick thank you!

Once Broken Forever Bound

Posting this fic actually gave me a TON of anxiety, and it this almost got a massive rehaul right before posting. I got it back from the beta and as I was giving it the final once over I suddenly hated the whole thing, thought there was way too much sex and not enough story and that people would think the feeding/sex scenes were gross. Held on to it for a while after it was finalized because I was contemplating removing and adding multiple scenes. Ultimately, I decided to stay true to what had felt right at the time and posted it without making changes.

Something I would love to clarify!!! The scene where they actually Bond at the end. I had several people tell me that Rodney having a heart beat ruined the moment for them, and that kills me. So let me be clear as a vampire Rodney is clinically dead. He does not have a heart beat. I thought I made this fairly clear by mentions of his lack of body heat (and I think John point blank observes the lack of a heart beat at one point?) but I guess some people didn't fully get that. In the scene when John says he feels Rodney's heart beat, he is feeling Rodney's heart beating in time with his own heart for a few seconds. This was meant to show how powerful the Bond was for the vampire. It's such a strong connection being formed that it literally brought Rodney back to life for a moment. This was one of the very first scenes that I had fully formed in my head from the start of the story and I love it so much. It makes me sad that it didn’t come across the way I meant it to.

This is the only story I have done with Ford as a repeating character. I normally don't write him (if I'm honest I thought he was boring in the show, sorry 😥) but I really enjoyed using him as a support for John! The main reason Ford features in this story is because no matter how hard I tried, I could not think of a way to make Ronon be okay with vampires. Him getting over the similarities between how they survive and the wraith survive just didn't seem plausible to me.

Spoilers for a story that doesn't exits and may never?

I have a small sequel story boarded and ploted out for when John gets turned. Because of course he ends up as a vampire eventually! And drama is involved. Will I write it anytime soon? Meh who knows but I have lots of thoughts on John as a vampire.