#ha ha ha ha stayin alive not really

[saltygilmores]

DANCE MARATHON EPISODE-PART 4

Before we begin, I have some fun news. today I learned that my Tumblr nonsense will be discussed on a podcast. My DALA (Dean and Lorelai Affair) theory will be discussed! How rad is that?! Please give my friends at Gilmored! a follow and tune in. It will air next Thursday, March 7th.

Speaking of DALA tomfoolery, of which there is thankfully not too much of in this episode...this is where we left off...

Hey! Why hasn't that T Rex devoured Dean and Lorelai in her mighty jaws yet?

Lorelai does not stop Puppy-Eye'ing him throughout this entire exchange. She breaks eye contact only for a moment to glance at Rory. In fact, I don't think she blinks.

Maybe we'll all get lucky and there will be a catastophic bleacher collapse. Look at the way this tiny boy in a thrift store castoff bin green coat parted that dance floor like Moses parting the red sea. He carved that crowd of people up like a Thanksgiving turkey, which he won't eat because he's a vegetarian or like he will soon be carving out Shane's internal organs. The dancers are trembling in awe and fear. Taylor Doose desperately calls for security, but no one arrives to save them.

Dean Forrester besat his own goofy very much non dancing keester upon the same bleachers above Jess, causing Lorelai to remark seconds earlier that "Spectator Ken" (Dean) was "sweet" for just showing his goofy face at the thing at all and paying them a mediocre compliment. This was also after she heard an explanation from Rory earlier in the week that he had no intentions of dancing, hence Rory and Lorelai becoming dance partners in the first place, and she reserved all judgement for Dean. Rory "Salty" Gilmore concurs that Jess' sitting abilities pale in comparison to Dean's to please her mommy. Also, I had to look up another stuffy old timey reference for "Martha Graham."

Poor Shane. So blissfully unaware.

You think Dean ever just confidently grabs Rory by the back of the neck and pulls her in for a kiss like that? Hell no. At least Shane will die happy with the taste of Jess in her mouth, maybe in more ways than one, the night is still young, hey hey.

Rory throwing J&S this look is the origin of the name SaltyGilmores (Back in my Twitter days).

Just noting the time for any true crime podcasters who might need that information to try and solve a Swan Murder.

The puke jacket has been shed. The night is fully underway. And Shane will be fully underwater. Since it was a one of a kind donation bin find, he wouldn't want to get any blood spatter on it. It would be hard to find a replacement. I understand. The black shirt will also be helpful in hiding the blood stains.

What are you looking at, number 34? You putz. I can't believe I may actually semi-defend you later, you goofy ass. Taylor announces a barbaric ritual in which the remaining dancers must run laps around the gymnasium and the 5 slowest couples will be eliminated, taken out behind the school, and processed into hamburger patties to be served at the diner. Although the Gilmores survive the Running of the Lamewads, Lorelai soon faces the wrath of Jackson for meddling in his and Sookie's marriage (which she didn't really do, for once).

Line up in an orderly fashion behind Shane at the back of the school and you can both be axed to death if that's what you really want. The size of the crowd on the bleachers appears to have ballooned in the last minute, and I was hoping to see Jess and Dean and Shane react to the Running of The Goof Troop, but I could not seem to find them. Well, I can only guess why Shane and Jess disappeared. Boooiiinggg. We'll catch up with them in just a moment.

Just a sea of dead bodies. Nothing to see here, True Crime Podcasters.

Has Luke been standing there for 14 hours?

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Stayin' Alive

Day #17 - "This One's For You" | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie, Mention of Pre-Robin/Vickie | Tags: Post S4, But Eddie Lives, But Is Still Recovering, Getting Together, First Kiss, The Band Has a Surprise For Eddie at The Hideout, Steve Harrington Just Wants To Help, Henderson Too

Eddie didn't want to go, didn't want to be paraded anywhere in this town, not after the whole wrongly accused of a grizzly murder or three, saga. But the band was insistent that he come out tonight, and if he has to show his face somewhere in Hawkins, The Hideout isn't the worst place to be, he supposes. At least a few of the regulars here know him well enough to not expect him to skin them alive after the first set.

"You comfortable? Need anything? A drink?" Henderson asks in quick succession, hovering around, squirming, like it's his first time in the place. Come to think of it, it probably is.

"Henderson, just calm down. It's a bar, not Babylon," Eddie says dryly, and Dustin slumps in his chair.

"Just trying to help," Dustin says, petulant. Sullen. 

"What's the little asshole doing now?" Steve asks, sprawling himself into the seat on the other side of Eddie.

Oh, thank god. Another adult. 

"Thinks he's gonna be corrupted," Eddie answers, "Glad you made it, Harrington."

"Robin's still coming, but she's still trying to get Vickie to come with, but she's too scared to ask. So, that's not, you know, working out so well for her. Vickie's not all mind read-y, last I checked," Steve says, stretching his arm behind Eddie's chair, resting it lightly against his shoulders. 

Eddie tries not to lean into the touch. Has to remind himself that Steve's just being friendly, and has been that way, since they got out of the Upside Down. All through his stay in the hospital, and rehab, and the weeks, months, spent at home, just trying to regain his strength and sense of normalcy. 

Steve's been there, too close, too invested, and Eddie's dealt with it. 

But tonight, here they are, out in public, and Steve's acting the same way.

Eddie kind of hates it.

Kind of loves it, too.

Steve is absentmindedly running his fingertips up and down Eddie's shoulder as he talks, and Eddie's not hearing a word he's saying. His whole body dialed in on those little movements, as Steve's brushing his t-shirt, ruffling the soft cotton against his skin.

He wants to lean in. He wants to lean away.

Mainly, he wants to run. 

But that's definitely not an option, running isn't in the cards, not yet. Maybe not ever, so he's stuck here. Wedged between the nervous bundle of energy that is Dustin Henderson and the lazy relaxation of Steve Harrington. 

It's hell. Pure hell.

They sit through the first two bands that aren't very good, and by the time Corroded Coffin is set to take the stage, Eddie's already exhausted. He feels eighty instead of twenty, but he's had a hard time bouncing back. Everything feels harder, and worse, and he'd really rather just be home in his bed, or chair, left alone.

Well, except for Steve and Henderson. And Wayne. None of them give him a moment's peace. They are a tag-team of mother hens, and Eddie's certain they have an internal schedule that never leaves him alone for longer than ten minutes. When Wayne or Dustin or Steve aren't there, can't be for whatever reason, Gareth is. Or Jeff. Or Goodie. Maybe all three at once. Showing up like clockwork, some flimsy excuse for their sudden arrival. 

He's being babysat. Hardcore. 

The band is ready on stage, and it feels weird, seeing the three of them up there without him. He knows he's not out, he's just not able, not yet. Can't quite play the guitar as well as he used to, and definitely can't stand long enough to play a full set.

So he's here, in the crowd, watching. It's a special kind of torture, he thinks. Watching his own band go on without him. It's not permanent, at least Eddie hopes it's not, but still. Torture.

"This one's for you, Eddie," Jeff says, and Eddie's eyes lock on the stage. 

Gareth clicks his sticks together, counting them in, and Goodie comes in with a smokin' bass line, and Gareth's riding his cymbals, and Eddie perks up in his seat. This isn't, no way…

And it is. 

Jeff's falsetto is something, that's for damn sure. 

This is Stayin' Alive.

And Eddie laughs, really laughs, for the first time in months. Since maybe before spring break, and Steve is looking at him, like he's in awe, Eddie can feel it. But he can't look away from the stage. From his friends.

They play some of their own songs, and some more covers, but that one had been for Eddie and Eddie alone.

After, the band crowds around, and Eddie is happy to have them nearby again. He's missed them, and when it's time to go, Eddie is pawned off onto Steve to take home. 

Steve helps him into the car, putting the walker in the backseat, folded up and out of the way. Eddie hates it. Hates everything about being laid up, still hurt, still weak. 

"Everything good?" Steve asks, looking in his direction and Eddie nods. He's as comfortable as he's ever gonna be, at least, unmedicated.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I'm glad you came out tonight," Steve says, looking in his direction, smiling, "I was worried Dustin wouldn't get you here."

"You don't have to worry about me, Harrington," Eddie says, and that just makes Steve smile harder for some reason.

"I'm always worried about you, Eddie," Steve says, and that can't possibly be true, and Eddie laughs.

Steve looks so fucking earnest, "Really. I'm happy you're here tonight. I'm happy you're anywhere tonight."

"Quit flirting with me, Harrington," Eddie teases, and it's funny for the brief second before Steve's face falls.

Shit. 

No fucking way.

Eddie reaches out, leans over, snagging Steve's hand, "You're flirting with me?"

Steve kind of shrugs his shoulders, in the most non-committal way, but his face tells all his secrets.

"Steve?"

"A little. If you're not interested, if I'm-"

Eddie cuts him off, crushing their lips together.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[yournightmary]

Jackson!Ellie HCs

content warning:: fem!reader, mentions of being drunk

AN:: I love fluff.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who somehow always has an excuse to talk to you or for you to come over. You wanted to watch a specific movie? She has a DVD of it! You want to learn how to shoot a bow? She’s the first in line to be your teacher.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who loves when you laugh at her unfunny jokes. Gets them all from her stupid little ‘No Pun Intended’ books.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who always makes you share a horse with her whenever you go on patrols. Says something about being ‘economical’, yeah- whatever.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who smiles whenever she thinks about you. Just staring off to the distance with a goofy smile like a schoolgirl.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who takes care of you more than of herself. She’ll be worried about you seeing an infected while she’s being swarmed by 3 bloaters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who has a talent for finding good quality vinyls. She has a whole collection of music from the 60s/70s. Loves ‘Stand By Me’, ‘(Don’t Fear) The Reaper’ and ‘Stayin’ Alive’ (because I said so).

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who makes you dance with her to said songs whenever she gets slightly drunk/high. Gets embarrassed by it once she’s sober.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who was so oblivious and stupid you had to make the first move or you’d be stuck in limbo forever.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who is really awkward when it comes to affection, but it’s cute? Like she’s blushing, looking away and all that stuff.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who told you she’s immune one time when she was shitfaced and didn’t remember it the next day. Then on patrol you were passing by a shopping mall and you joked about it and she thought you were a mind reader or something.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who keeps every single note you give her, maybe glues them into her journal. One time she found a red lipstick and begged asked you to kiss some of the pages.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who is always humming some songs to herself. Literally all the time, maybe even in her sleep.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who begged Maria to let you both move in together to a bigger house. She got tired of living by herself in an old garage😔

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who carves your initials in a heart into almost every tree she sees.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who will always prioritize your needs. If she finds any clothes while on patrol, they’re yours. You’re running out of food? She’ll give you every last crumb.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who sings you love songs ‘as a joke’ but she’s just afraid you’ll find it corny or won’t like it. Give her some words of affirmation, please🙏

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who doesn’t let you around Joel because you both team up and poke fun at her. (She secretly loves you both get along so well)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who doesn’t care about having a wedding or anything like that, I mean come on- it’s the apocalypse. But she’ll be more than happy to give you a ring.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie whose only purpose in life is to make you happy (since there won’t be a cure lol). She’ll go above and beyond, whatever it might be- just to make her girl’s life better.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who loves to go back to the old pages in her journal, the ones when she first met you and you started dating. Maybe even showed them to you on your anniversary.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who is like a kid and will make everything into a competition. She’ll race you and trip ‘on accident’ so you can win though. Btw, still calls herself the Brick Master, even if no one understands.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jackson!Ellie who at least once a week will remember you’re her girlfriend and starts giggling and kicking her feet.

I need to read some ff myself.

[moonwoodhollow]

Creepy Tales with Lucy Kirk (S03 EP 06) - "What happened in the Hexenhaus?"

transcript under the cut

[Camera man]: We're rolling in 5, Lucy! Get ready!

[Lucy]: Great. Ugh, this rain's awful... my hair's already ruined!

Lucy: Welcome to Creepy Tales! I'm Lucy Kirk your host of Sim Channel's spookiest true crime show. Today's creepy tale led me to Brindleton Bay and its very own haunted house! Don't let its beautiful exterior fool you, this house has a dark dark history and I'm here to uncover it! But first, let's listen to what some of Brindleton's residents have to say about the Hexenhaus, as it's called by the locals.

man: It's a tale as old as time, I guess. You have your perfect family, gorgeous couple, great kids and nothing, literally nothing indicates something's wrong. But looking back now, with them being gone... I don't know, I'm pretty sure we missed some signs that things weren't as rosy as they appeared to be. Something was off, I'm sure.

woman 1: I don't really want to talk about this. It's been, what 8 years now? What's past is past and should stay in the past.

woman 2: I knew them obviously. In this kind of town, you know everyone. They were kind people, always very helpful. My son and their daughter were friends. He was devastated when... well you know what happened. Everyone was.

girl: That house is definitely haunted. You'd have to be crazy to live there, but what do I know, some weirdo just bought it at an auction. Good luck stayin' alive, dude.

Lucy: There you have it, guys! We're off to a mysterious start for this episode and I cannot wait to find out what exactly happened here in the Hexenhaus!"

[keepin-it-on-the-d-l]

Some songs that would KILL in a Dungeons and Daddies show/movie adaptation:

Stayin Alive by The Bee Gees playing as the Daddies fight The Library (cuts off abruptly when Erin gets curb-stomped)

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) is also a really good pick for a fight song

Eye of the Tiger faintly playing every time Paeden is on screen

We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel playing as the Daddies flee Neverwinter (they did, in fact, start the fire and also kill a bunch of people with a pyramid)

Starman by David Bowie playing over some really fucked up Doodler shit (like the ending of At the Mountains of Dadness)

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) HAS to play some time in season 1 right? It’s like the ultimate dad energy song and it fits perfectly for their objective

(Something really traumatizing happens)(hard cut to the dads in the Odyssey, sitting silently and looking traumatized as The Pina Colada Song plays for comedic effect)

Pls add to this in the tags if you want!!

Part Two here

[scoops-aboy86]

I Want To (Secret Admirer pt 8)

Finally got to the "drunken confessions" part of day 6's prompt!

wc: 4103 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

Eddie’s van has always been a piece of shit, but she’s his piece of shit. Even when she breaks down halfway between the Hideout and Gareth’s house, necessitating a rescue from Gareth’s mom in her station wagon so they can get all of their equipment out before the tow truck arrives. Even when it means he has to really lean hard into dealing so he can come up with the money to pay for repairs. 

Even when it cuts into his writing-to-and-recording-things-for-Steve time. But he had managed to get the tape of Steve’s favorite songs recorded and sent off, finally—no easy feat, since he’d had to learn most of the songs from scratch for this tape. Could’ve done without the Tears for Fears and Wham!, and he’d listened to way too much pop radio in order to get decent recordings to study… but he’d been pleasantly surprised by the request for Queen. He already owned some of their albums. 

Didn’t peg you for a Queen fan, sweetheart, but if anything it makes me even more smitten with you. Quick question though… Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees? Is that a nostalgia thing or is there a story there?

Anyway, while poor ol’ Shelob is sitting in the lot behind Thatcher Tires, the guys have helped by keeping their ears to the ground about parties for him to hit up. Jeff is even coming with him to this one, not to help directly but enough of a known associate that he’ll act as a passive form of advertisement, letting interested partygoers know that Eddie has set up shop in the walk-in pantry just off the kitchen. 

And it’s working. He’s basically sold out when someone comes over while he’s got his head down, counting his take so far, and asks, “Hey man, do you still have any weed left?”

Eddie freezes—just for a second. He hasn’t had much direct contact with Steve over the years because it was always Tommy who did the buying, back when the Harrington house was party central. But he’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

He looks up, determined not to fall into those warm hazel eyes, biting the insides of his cheeks hard in an effort to will away the flush that wants to rise in his face. 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie lies. He has some he’d squirreled away for himself, but whatever. Steve can have it. Can have everything. 

Don’t think about the letter he’d written back to Steve, answering in detail what all two guys can do together. That way madness lies. The kind of madness where he offers Steve something else by way of just dropping to his knees right here in Melissa Sarby’s kitchen pantry. 

Steve grins—he grins at him! And pulls his wallet from his back pocket. Eddie has never been more jealous of a folded rectangle of leather in his life. “Great, how much?”

Eddie tells him the amount and names his price, steeply discounted compared to how much he’s charged everyone else tonight. He can’t get over how good Steve looks, for all that he’s moving a little stiffly, subtly babying his healing ribs beneath a short-sleeved button-up shirt. He’s also wearing, Eddie realizes, fucking makeup to disguise the fading black eye. It’s good work, probably Robin’s. (Jealous again, even though he believes Steve about the platonic thing. It’s just, why stop at envying a wallet, right?) And the shorts he’s wearing… Those cannot be the grandpa shorts he’d written about, hugging his ass in all the right places. Meanwhile, Eddie’s jeans are more hole than denim and his Iron Maiden shirt is the one with the bleach stain and the sides cut down to practically his waistband because it was hot as shit today. It’s still warm, even after dark. 

But wait. Wait. 

Did Steve, still recuperating from his injuries, get dressed and made up just to try and track down an opportunity to switch from painkillers to sweet Mary Jane? Or because, like he’d mentioned that one time, he associates the smell with his secret admirer and is seeking it out as a self-soothing thing? Or did he… Does he know? Did he come to this for Eddie, somehow?

Whatever Steve’s reason for being here, it makes Eddie sweat, but he’s also grateful just to, like, bask. He’s seized by a sudden urge to come clean, to look Steve in the eye and reveal himself as the author of those letters, call him sweetheart or baby or big boy to his face—

“Maybe I’ll see you around the party,” Steve says casually. And maybe Eddie is crazy, or hopeful, or way too in love with the unattainable, but he could swear he hears the last word lifting a little, almost like a question.

Eddie nods his head, says, “Sure.”

And well. Damn. Does Steve know? Is that why he’s kinda sorta asking if Eddie is going to stick around? Or is this just Steve being friendly, because he’s a good dude now?

Either way, even though Eddie’s stock is basically cleared out, now he wants to stay. Which is not to say that he isn’t vibrating out of his shoes with nerves. After Steve exits the pantry, Eddie slips out and helps himself to a couple shots of whatever’s closest on his way through the kitchen—because it’s not like he can smoke his anxiety away anymore, Jesus H. Christ. 

But Steve called him brave, and goddammit if this isn’t an opportunity to seize the day, stare down the barrel of a gun, pee into the wind. He can be brave, right? If he can’t, he might never find out if anything is ever going to happen for real, if they could ever be something, and then the regret will eat away at him for the rest of his cowardly life. 

“Hey man,” Jeff calls when he sees Eddie, threading through the sticky crowd to meet him. “Ready to go?” 

Which is code for: it’s hot and sticky in here and the music sucks, let’s leave. And while all of that is definitely true…

“I think I’m going to stick around a bit,” Eddie says, and holds up his metal lunchbox, waggling it a little. He just hopes his voice isn’t doing anything noticeably weird, either from nerves or the recently downed mystery booze. (He hadn’t taken the time to look at the bottle properly. Definitely hadn’t bothered to taste it.) “If you’re heading out, though, you mind looking after the Shelob Get Well fund for me?”

Jeff shrugs and takes it. “Okay man. Better you than me.”

He’s a good friend. Eddie appreciates him for not asking questions, though that might just be tabled for later. And sure, Jeff was also his ride home, but whatever. He can get home on his own power even without wheels. That’s what legs are for. 

~

Eddie spends the next hour or two cycling between getting his nerve up to approach Steve then abruptly losing it and revisiting the kitchen for more liquid fortification. Every time he spots Steve in the crowd again, he isn’t doing anything in particular—hanging back against the wall and people watching, or drifting by the party snacks, or occasionally chatting with some of the incoming seniors that he must know from the sports teams he’d been on last year. It doesn’t seem like Steve is in any rush to leave, though, so there’s still time for Eddie to prove to himself that yes, he can be brave. 

But after seeing one of the cheerleaders latch onto Steve’s arm, Eddie does another u-turn. The millionth fucking one, probably. This time after getting a refill, he decides to investigate the music situation, see if there are any non-shit options, not even going to fuck with it, probably… It’s very unlikely that he’d intentionally dump his current cup of punch on the tape player just to protect his unhappy ears, cross his heart and swear to Van Halen. 

But no, instead: betrayal. Because his stupid legs have carried him too far from the edges of the room, too close to the dancing, fucked up masses in the middle of the living-room-slash-dance-floor, and he gets sucked in. Holding his cup up high over people’s heads—because he’d rather dump punch that somehow tastes stronger than straight liquor on their heads than splash it on their chests, apparently. Eddie tries to muscle through, resigning himself to a wobbly straight-shot across the room instead, but it’s only a matter of time until someone hip-checks him into some poor bastard.

When it does happen, whoever it is at least has the coordination to catch his drink before it spills. Eddie swallows hard at the sensation of a big hand wrapped around his hand on the cup, and brings his gaze around to meet warm hazel eyes. 

“Woah there,” says Steve fucking Harrington, looking a little worse for wear from sweating through his foundation. Or maybe Eddie is just way too close for his own safety and knows what to look for. 

“Talkin’ to me like I’m a horse?” Eddie blusters, trying to sway back before he gets caught in Steve’s gravity like he wants to. “Bold.”

Maybe it’s the whole room that’s swaying. Maybe he overdid it a bit. Shit, why had he stayed at this terrible party again? Steve, and free booze, but, like… now Steve is here. 

Looking at him. Evaluating. And, after a second, gently guiding him back out of the throng. “Maybe,” Steve replies near his ear while they move. “I’m going to lead you to water and try to make you drink, so I guess we’ll see.”

They make it to the bathroom just as Eddie’s churning stomach decides to make a run for it in earnest. He ends up bent over the sink, sparing maybe a tiny fraction of a thought towards the fact that at least what’s coming up is mostly liquid, shouldn’t clog anything—the rest of his half-offline brain power is going towards not reacting to Steve holding his hair back for him. He can feel fingertips on his scalp, and they might as well be the only things keeping him upright. 

Goddamn traitor legs. 

The next thing Eddie knows, he’s sitting on the closed toilet lid and Steve is pressing the cup back into his hand, rinsed out and full of water now. He raises it to gulp, some of the liquid sloshing out the sides to run down his neck, feels good…

“Hey, slow down man,” Steve says, taking the cup back and leaving Eddie to gasp at the reintroduction of air. “You’re gonna hurl again if you drink too fast.” 

“S’nothin’ left,” he mumbles. Steve is so close… He told Steve that he’s a guy, didn’t he? So it’d be okay if… Oh, but he hadn’t told Steve that he’s him, Eddie. So maybe it wouldn’t be okay. Maybe if he kissed Steve, Steve would think he cheated on his secret admirer, like Lois Lane cheating on Superman with Clark Kent. The idea makes Eddie start to giggle. 

Steve smiles back at him. “What? You figured out you’re not a horse ‘cause I could make you drink?” 

That makes him snort after a moment, because it’s such a dumb joke but also it took him so long to get it. Eddie might have to kiss him anyway. 

He should rinse his mouth first. 

“Nooo,” he drawls, rising up and putting a hand on one of Steve’s several shoulders to steady himself. “I just gotta.” That’s it, right? Yeah, that’s a complete enough sentence. Onward. 

“Where are you going?” Steve asks. He trails after Eddie’s beeline for the sink, grabbing for Eddie’s curls again when he dips to stick his mouth under the faucet. “Hey, don’t drown yourself, man!”

“I’m rinsing,” Eddie retorts, but it gets lost in the stream of water. He swirls and spits a few times, then straightens up and emphasizes again, “Rinsing.” And then he leans into the other man’s touch, because he can’t help himself. Steve is so close and, holy shit. Actually touching him, which has never happened before tonight, and he’s only ever caught whiffs of Steve’s cologne from a distance but it is intoxicating. 

Or… maybe he’s just way drunker than he meant to get. Oops. 

Oh well. 

“How’s my breath now, baby?” he asks shamelessly, dipping closer. Lets his voice drop low and rumbling, and could swear he sees some heat rise to Steve’s less-makeuped cheek. 

“Could definitely be worse,” Steve replies diplomatically. He puts a hand on Eddie’s hip though, like he’s afraid he might fall over without it, and that makes Eddie feel less inclined to pout—because god, those hands. They’re so big, he wants to roll around in them. “Did you drive here?”

“Hm?” Eddie flutters his eyes back open, not totally sure when he’d closed them. He’d been thinking about Steve’s hands. Absently starting to compose a letter about what he’d like to feel them do in his head, out of habit. “No… Had a ride here, was gonna walk home.”

Steve hesitates, then offers, “I could give you a ride, if you can give me directions.”

“A trade,” Eddie murmurs. “You’ve caught my interest, Sir Steve.” As if he didn’t have it already, permanently. With a vague after you gesture, Eddie nudges Steve with his hip in the direction of the door. “To your noble steed, then! For the last child of Ungoliant to trouble the unhappy world has retreated to her lair in Cirith Munson till such time as she can be healed.”

“I have no idea what that means, dude,” Steve says. But he’s got a little grin on his face like he’s not put off by the blatant nerdery, and the hand still on Eddie’s hip guides him along with him with minimal fuss. 

“Sssssecretsss,” Eddie hisses back with a lopsided smirk, because he’s a little freak and Steve might as well see that up close. 

Tomorrow he’ll be mortified, but that’s Tomorrow Eddie’s problem. Right now is Drunk Eddie’s time.

He sinks gratefully into a comfy passenger seat in Steve’s beemer, no weird lumps or stray pokey springs like in his van or any of his friends’ (parents’) cars. Blinks slowly up at Steve while the man buckles him in place, head lolling a little to catch sight of the two moles on his neck, just beneath his jaw, that look like a vampire bite. Licks his lips and rests his eyes for a moment while the world spins lazily around him, then opens them again when the car starts and the radio comes on. 

“Boooo,” he heckles once processed that it’s one of those pop stations he’d been listening way too much lately. Which he’d done for Steve, and this is Steve’s car, but he’d also been suffering through this crap at full volume for days to learn to play it, so it’s not like he’s being unreasonable. “Change stations, Stevie, I’m not—I can’t take it anymore. I’ll puke the blood that’s leaking down from my ears, you don’t want that in your fancy car.”

“Don’t joke about that, man,” Steve replies, but reaches over willingly enough to turn the volume down to almost nothing. “So, where to?”

Eddie mutters directions and promises to flap his hand in the right direction whenever they get to intersections, since he’s sure Steve has never been to the Forest Hills trailer park before. But when he points out turns, it always seems like Steve is already taking them. He turns in the passenger seat to squint at him, the turn signal clicking maddeningly against his eardrums every single time Steve puts it on. 

“How come you know where I live?” 

“I don’t?” Steve glances at him, then back at the road. “I’ve lived in Hawkins my whole life. It’s not exactly big, I know where the trailer park is.”

Eddie stares at him for another minute. He watches the street lights shine on Steve’s face, casting shadows, making him look ethereal at times and unknowable in others, sometimes both. And fuck, he wants. 

But it’s Steve Harrington. They’re in Steve Harrington’s fancy car, barreling towards the moment when Eddie clambers out and says goodnight—maybe not in that order, he doesn’t know yet, but it’s going to happen either way. How many girls has Steve dropped off in this car at the end of a date? 

It doesn’t matter, because they weren’t on a date. Steve had held his hair back while he threw up and is giving him a ride home because he’s a nice guy. Steve… doesn’t know they’ve been exchanging love letters all summer. 

“I need something to listen to,” Eddie blurts out, leaning forward to turn the volume back up and switching over to whatever tape is in. “Let’s see what local white knight Steve Harrington listens to in his spare time, shall we?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t—”

There’s a click and a whir, and the tape starts up in the middle of an acoustic cover of Queen’s ‘I Want To Break Free.’ 

Of Eddie’s acoustic cover, and the sound of his own humming that makes him drunkenly wonder, Is that really what I sound like?

Steve has been listening to the most recent tape he sent him in the car. Eddie can feel his eyes going the size of dinner plates—there hasn’t even been time to get a letter back about it, he sent it that recently. His chest fills up with fizz and nerves because maybe Steve was listening to it on the way to the party, and if so what does that mean? 

He doesn’t move a muscle, barely even breathes, and Steve seems similarly quiet in the driver’s seat next to him. And suddenly (because Steve’s right, Hawkins isn’t a big place, it never takes all that long to get from point A to point B) they’re pulling into the trailer park and Eddie is gesturing stiffly to which trailer is his. 

The car pulls to a stop and Eddie… doesn’t move. His tape is still playing, that one about being head over heels now. 

I’d let you fight my battles too, at least until my ribs get back to normal and then we can both fight both of our battles. You know I’d do that for you, right? If you ever need me. I really like these letters. I really like you.

Love, Steve

… Fuck it. That love is still caught in his heart, pumping the sweetness of it through his arteries and veins with every beat, and he’s dizzy with booze and wanting. 

Eddie turns towards Steve, fumbling to unbuckle his seat belt as an afterthought, half climbing over the middle divider to get even a fraction of how close he wants to be. Hears Steve’s soft intake of breath while he leans in, reaching to cradle the back of his head instead of his left cheek in case that might hurt (because he may be drunk off his ass but he remembers, okay, doesn’t want to hurt his sweetheart) and kisses him. 

Soft at first, the barest hint of trying to be chaste, but one taste could never be enough. The rest of the world is white fucking noise as Eddie licks his way inside Steve’s easily parting lips, seals them together, steals the breath right out of his lungs with the perfect way they slot together. He’s shaking with it, drunk and stupid and floating and Steve’s hands are in his hair again for a much, much better reason this time, kissing and being kissed back. 

~

“Let’s see what local white knight Steve Harrington listens to in his spare time, shall we?”

Steve’s heart jumps into his throat, realizing what Eddie is about to do. “Oh, uh, I don’t—”

For as drunk as he is, Eddie is fast. Too fast for Steve to come up with some excuse for stopping him, and then the evidence of the tape he’d used to psyche himself up for the party floods the car, because… Well, the latest letter was still filling his head, all the ways Eddie had promised he could be good with his hands, and the soothing sounds of guitar and Eddie’s voice kept him at pleasantly equal levels of calm and stirred up. 

He expects Eddie, loose tongued as he is, to say something. Take the opportunity to reveal himself finally and offer some lighthearted quip about their different tastes in music again. Steve, heart still in his throat, wants that, because he’s never been one for hesitating to rip off the band-aid.

This thing between them, the softness and hope of it, is the only thing that’s kept Steve afloat since he’d had to admit to his parents that he’d lost his car keys. He’d written to Secret Admirer—to Eddie—about it, of course, but he might have… minimized a bit. Mentioned them calling him irresponsible, and some of the emotional hoops they’d made him jump through before agreeing to arrange for replacements, but he’d left some things unsaid. 

Like, how he knows how to get a copy of a key made but that requires, you know, something to copy! His parents had kept all the spares when they gave him the car, even though it’s his name on the title—a detail which makes him seem like a spoiled brat if he complains, but he’s always felt like that was calculated. And how he had no idea how to get a new car key made from scratch, and still doesn’t because they hadn’t explained it, just done it.

Or the way he’d been so apathetic for days after that series of phone calls that Robin had offered part of her savings to help him get his own place. “A loan,” she’d explained. “Anything to get you out from under those people’s thumbs, Steve, they’re horrible human beings. They didn’t call back about you having a concussion but they called immediately after getting your message about some stupid keys? That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard about, way worse than a giant spider monster made of melted people!”

Steve just. He needs a win right now. He needs some sort of reassurance that Robin isn’t a one-off good thing in his life. If he and Eddie could just get on the same page and stop pretending that they didn’t both want to kiss each other…

Because he’s been pretending all night, ever since the moment he’d seen Eddie in person for the first time since only half-noticing him in school. Watched him for a while while there were still people crowded around, knowing that it might mean there’d be nothing left to buy by the time he approached and then maybe they’d end up talking. Hadn’t happened, sadly, so he’d stuck around—and damn, he’s glad he did. It seemed like every time he’d caught a glimpse of the man after that he had a new drink in hand, and by the time he herded Eddie into the bathroom his eyes were so unfocused that Steve wasn’t sure he even recognized him until “You’ve caught my interest, Sir Steve.”

He’d wanted to say that the feeling was mutual, but hadn’t quite had the nerve. 

But now Steve is driving in a cold sweat because they’re listening to Eddie’s tape and Eddie himself is stock-still to his right. 

And look, all he’s hoping for at this point is to get Eddie home safely, maybe strike up a conversation as he’s helping the guy inside or whatever Eddie needs, whatever he can get away with. Being able to touch him at the party had given him goosebumps despite the summer heat in general and the thick, humid air inside the house. Selfishly, he wants more, but knows he needs to content himself with breadcrumbs until they make it to the real stuff, not wanting to give away how clingy he can be (if he hasn’t already in his letters). So when he pulls to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, he’s glad when Eddie doesn’t leap up and bolt immediately. 

The kiss catches Steve off guard. It’s so gentle and tentative at first, for all that Eddie just about threw himself across the car to initiate it. Just as quickly, it turns hungry, and it’s that hunger that has Steve readily opening, accepting, wanting right back. Eddie kisses him like he’s trying to leave a mark, and he does. A fierce and possessive blaze that’s totally separate from the burn of lingering alcohol, one that doesn’t start to hurt until it ends.

Tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @kurofuckingshi16

@bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich @the-tenth-mus-e

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - a Ted Nivison x Reader

{{-Hello yes am alive ♡. Givin' ya a smaller chapter today as a sort of warm-up but next one will be a lil' bigger. This one has more exposition tho so I hope you still enjoy ♡. This fic will either have about 25 chapters in total or maybe 30 if I can think of more to add. For now though, enjoy Chapter 11 ♡ Love ya-}}

//General Warnings: 18+ Fic (MINORS DNI), Reader is implied to afab and under 5'5.

Chapter Warnings: Thoughts bout last night, Chuckle Sandwhich mention! Exposition lololol\\

Word Count: 2.7k (lil baby)

☆▪︎▪︎▪︎Taglist!▪︎▪︎▪︎☆

@k-k0129 & @callsign-scully

☆ Love ya to death! ☆

Chapter 11: Two Weeks Remaining

I wake up to the sound of my own alarm going off this time, letting out a little groan as I smack my hand over to my phone to turn the alarm off. I turn onto my back and open my eyes, using my other hand to feel the other side of the bed. All I feel are my sheets. I turn to look, furrowing my brows a little. Ted isn't there. I take a deep breath, sit up more in the bed and attempt to stretch my legs out.

"Ooh--" I breath out when my legs start shaking like crazy, specifically when I bend my knees closer to my chest. I lay them flat on the bed, blushing to myself. Christ, that's worse than the first time. I know he pushed my limits a little last night, but I didn't think my legs would still be feeling like jello after a good night's rest. I hear the sound of my doorknob turning quietly and the door slowly opens. Ted is in a comfy but old looking white hoodie and some baggy slacks, holding a whole tray of food. He looked like he was really trying to be quiet. It was cute, but he noticed me as he was stepping in.

"Awe. Fuck. I didn't make it in time.." Ted frowns playfully, closing my bedroom door behind him. "I was gonna surprise you.."

It was a relief that he didn't just leave after last night. I didn't think he would, but waking up alone got me worried for a second.

"I'm very surprised.." I smile at him, angling my pillow up so I could comfortably lean back. "I only just woke up now, my alarm went off.."

"Yeah, I was trying to beat your alarm. I couldn't turn it off again." Ted admitted with a chuckle, moving to sit next to me with the tray. There were 2 plates on it with some eggs, toast and breakfast sausage, freshly cooked. It smelled delicious.

"Did...you make us this?..." I ask him, pointing down at the plates. I couldn't stop smiling, this was so sweet of him to do.

"Okay asshole, at least pretend you believed I was capable of cooking!" Ted laughs a little, nodding at me. "Yes, I made this!"

"No, it's not--" a grin spreads along my cheeks and I start laughing as well, shaking my head and waving my hands in front of me a little. "It's not that! I'm not ragging on you, I promise!"

"Y'know how expensive sausage is now adays?" Ted jokes, playfully nudging my shoulder. "You're being spoiled, princess. Don't mock me."

"I'm not! I'm not!.." I continue to shake my head, trying to calm myself down from my laughing fit. "I'm flattered! I'm not mocking you!.."

"You should be flattered! I burnt the first batch I made, this was my second attempt!" Ted chuckles with a big smile, using his fork to pick up a piece of breakfast sausage from his plate, taking a bite with a content hum. I smile warmly at him, taking my own cutlery into my hands to start working at the cooked eggs. So, Ted's an aftercare kind of guy. Good to know, I kinda needed it.

"When I woke up and you weren't here, I...kinda thought..." I pause to take another bite of my eggs, smiling more to myself. They tasted delicious. I could tell he had sprinkled in a bit of pepper before he cooked them. I do that too.

"Again? You still think I'm gonna fuck off after...fucking, I guess?" Ted raises a brow with a slight scoff, taking a bite of some of his toast. "I'm tellin' ya babe; I told you last night. I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm stayin'."

"Babe?" I repeated with a cutsey smile, shrugging my shoulders in a bashful manner as I take a bite of my own toast. "Is that what I am now? Your babe?"

"Yeah. As long as the sex stays this good.." Ted jokes with a confident chuckle. He reaches over to my face, carefully wiping some crumbs off my cheek. "I mean, we already gave each other pet names. That's what people do when they're together, right?"

"Do they?" I tilt my head at him, letting him wipe my cheek. "Is that what we are?"

"Hm?"

"Together?"

"Yeah. Aren't we?"

"Are you making that decision now?"

"I'm not makin' a decision, I'm stating what I feel is out there."

"'What you feel is out there'." I repeated to Ted.

"Yeah." He nods simply. "It's been out there, right?"

"So you feel like...we're together."

"Yeah. Aren't we?"

"I mean, I'd...like to think we are. Do you want to be together?"

"Yeah. I figured we were."

"When did you 'figure we were' together?"

"I don't know, when I stuck my dick in you?? We didn't exactly--"

I completely cut Ted off by erupting into laughter, flinging my head back in shock and awe, having to put my cutlery down as I laugh out. My laughing causes Ted to start laughing, shaking his head and running his fingers through his tall hair. "We didn't exactly ask each other out! We-We got to business! Right? We got down and dirty! Am I wrong? I'm right! I know i'm right!" Ted chuckles out, holding his arms out with a slight shrug. I mean, he had a point. We've told people like Tanner and the others that we're a thing, but we haven't talked about it one on one. I assumed he didn't want to.

"Okay, yeah, well, I figured you wanted to, I don't know, be casual?.." I shrugged, picking at my eggs on my plate.

"With you? No, I want in. I don't do casual." Ted admitted nonchalantly, finishing up one of his pieces of toast. "You're mine for sure."

There was something very validating about hearing him say that. It feels like it's really out there now, we're together. A relationship, I suppose. About damn time.

"Oh, this is perfect, actually." Ted spoke up again with a more upbeat tone, setting his food down for a moment so he could give me his full attention. "After work tonight I'm recording an episode of the podcast I was tellin' you about. You wanna be in it? Meet the boys?"

"Chuckle Sandwhich, right?..." I repeat with a warm smile, shifting my hands into my lap a little. "You want me in an episode?.."

"Sure. You already know most of my other friends. You should meet Schlatt and Tucker." Ted nodded a little at me, his smile turning into a smirk. "Okay, I should clarify though, I'll let them know we're together, but I'm not sure I wanna announce anything about us just yet, is that ok?"

Honestly, I thought I'd be more disappointed to hear that, but I was relatively okay with it. My fandom knew about this project, but they didn't know Ted was going to be involved in it at all, much less be my love interest. Dropping all of this now, especially on a podcast, would be...an odd way to do it. I should probably start taking videos on set to kind of...slow start this. At least for now, his closest friends will know, just like mine.

"Yeah, that's fine." I give Ted a reassuring smile. "Honestly, I feel like they'd find a way to ruin the reveal.."

"Oh I'm already expecting Schlatt to make comments during the episode itself, don't you worry. It's gonna spark rumors no matter what we do." Ted admitted with a shrug. "I just...wanna put a bit more time between this before I make anything public. It'd be weird if I just went 'yeah I met her a week ago, get the fancams ready'."

"I understand. I like the idea, actually.." I giggle a little, playfully shaking my head at him. "They'll make fancams anyways, It can be, like...a little mystery."

"Wow, already thinking about how we can turn this into content, eh?" Ted grins at me with a raised brow, leaning a little closer to me. "Ooh, you're so fucking annoying, it's gonna be hard not to flirt with you.."

"Mmm.." I let out a pleased hum and lean forward to kiss Ted intimately, a little sigh leaving him in the kiss. I was actually looking forward to seeing if any of our fans would say anything. Usually shipping rumors can be annoying, but it's fun when they're right and you're trying to keep it a secret, at least to me. I'll be keeping an eye on who starts guessing if anything's going on. I don't think I'll leave any specific hints or anything, I'll treat Ted as I usually do in front of my own friends.

Ted and I eventually finished our breakfast in bed, talking more about his friends on his podcast and what to expect. I finished my plate first, so I got up to get dress as Ted explained how everything worked. I had the closet door held out so he didn't necessarily watch me change, as much as he wanted to, but I had no issues changing in the same room as him. He's seen me naked twice now. It's whatever.

"You think anyone's gonna ship us right off the bat?" Ted asks as he sets our empty plates on my dresser.

"Honestly, I was thinking about that earlier." I admit with a bashful smile. "I mean, I don't intend to flirt with you or anything, but even Joe saw we had chemistry after one trip to Dunkin'. One trip."

"Yeah, I guess it's bound to happen.." Ted shrugged a little with a smirk. "Schlatt's gonna--ugh, man, he's gonna be the fuckin' worst for it.."

"Why're you so worried about him specifically?" I ask, peeking my head out from behind the closet door with a chuckle.

"Because he's an asshole." Ted joked with a little laugh. "He's gonna make comments either at you or with you."

"With me?"

"Yeah, they've been pickin' on me these last few weeks. If you fuckin' join in, I'll have all 3 of yeah's on my ass. Fuck, if they ship you with Schlatt instead? I'll lose it."

"They're NOT gonna ship me with Schlatt! They ship you two too much!" I laugh out, shaking my head. "But y'know what? Bullying you for an entire hour does sound pretty appealing."

"Maybe, if you're in a hurry to have a repeat of last night."

I smile to myself at his comment, briefly recalling how rough he was. My legs were literally quaking because of him, both last night and this morning. No man has ever made them do that, I didn't even know it could happen. I thought that was a porn thing. "Maybe I am.." I admit after a long pause, stepping away from the closet door now that I was fully clothed. Ted chuckles lowly at me, crossing his arms.

"I'll keep that in mind.."

Ted and I leave my room together, carrying our empty plates as we head downstairs to clock in for the day. Some members of the film crew notice that we came downstairs together, but at this point I couldn't care less what they're thinking. It's not like they'll leak anything, I don't even think any of them know we're YouTubers. We met up with Joe, Tanner and Dan at the kitchen table once more, both of us pulling up a chair, side by side of course. Tanner is fiddling with an old looking Canon model camera. On the table, there were 2 different sized lens that could fit the camera. Tanner looked extremely focused on it, furrowing his brows a little.

"What's he doing?" I ask Joe, leaning back a bit against my seat.

"Fiddling with the camera, I don't know. I know art, not cameras." Joe shrugged a little, looking at Tanner as he messed with the buttons on his camera.

"He's fixing the settings. Today's photoshoot day." Dan answered, picking up one of the long lens'. "It's an EOS R100."

"...what?" I raise a brow, visibly confused.

"It's the type of camera." Ted clarified for me, looking at me with a smirk before turning to Tanner. "Why you messin' with that one, bud?"

"Photoshoot day." Tanner answered simply, glancing up from the camera briefly.

"Oh. I-I thought that was a joke.." Ted held back a chuckle, crossing his arms in front of him. "Why are we having a photoshoot?"

"For the film. Opening night." Tanner answered, setting the camera down after a pause so he could give us a clearer explanation on what we'd be doing today. "Every short film is getting, like, a made up opening night. I have to make posters, teaser images, DVD covers, all that. Joe's helping me with the fonts and CD designs. I thought it'd be cool to use the camera I started the program with for some of the first shoots."

"Oh shit! That's awesome, dude!" I smile brightly at Tanner, sitting forward a bit more in my chair. "So we're gonna have a premiere night? Will there be a red carpet? Should I buy a new dress? Ooh, or maybe I'll wear a suit this time..."

"I'm gonna wear the red suit that didn't fit him.." Joe spoke as well, pointing at Ted. "I'm claiming that."

"I still have no idea how you ordered a suit that's an entirely different size.." Ted pointed back at Joe, shaking his head. "I think you did that on fucking purpose."

"I didn't do it on purpose! I was--it--ok." Joe struggled to get his point out, laughing a little. "I-I was high, I'll give you that."

"You were high ordering the suits?" Dan asked, raising his brows up with a surprised smile.

"I can do math faster when I'm high. I had to add all the prices up for him." Joe chuckles with a little half smile, shrugging his shoulders. All of this was pretty exciting to think about. It was nice to know we'd all get to see the film together at the end of it all, I certainly hope Tanner gets a good final grade for this. We've all put so much into it for him, especially Ted and I, I'd like to think.

"Are you, like, renting out a theater or something?" Ted asked, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on his lap. "Can you afford that?"

"Ok, well, it's all going through the college, so it's not gonna be a big thing.." Tanner admitted with a little chuckle, holding his hands out somewhat. "I think the only thing we'll have to personally pay for is your tickets."

"Okay, but will there be a red carpet?" I ask again, resting both of my hands on the table.

"I will--" Tanner pauses to laugh a little. "I will make sure there is a red carpet."

"YES!" I raise my arms up with an excited laugh, hearing everyone begin to laugh and talk over each other about the premiere. I've never walked a red carpet before, I'm not really that famous just yet. Even with this being a small college thing, the more we talked about it, the more excited I became. As we all got up to get to work, we discussed more about the premiere. It'd be taking place In Sacramento, where Tanner lived. I'd probably be sticking around with him for the premiere before I'd be going home to Washington. It'll be bittersweet to have to split up, but we're not all super far from each other. Ted lives right here in L.A., I'm in Washington, Tanner's in Sacremento until he's done school, then he's moving back up to Vancouver where Joe and Dan actually live.

Now that I think about it, after this is all over, Ted will be the furthest away...

No, I don't want to think about that now. The premiere won't be happening for another month. I'll have plenty of time with Ted until then. I don't want to think too far ahead, I'll just make myself upset. I have another 2 weeks with him, then we'll have a whole premiere to goto together. We can figure it out from there.

I want these next few weeks to be stress free. I want to enjoy this time with some of my best friends, especially with Ted.

__________________________________

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 12 || Chapter 14 (smut) || Chapter 15 ||

[zg0nuwa]

Hello... If I can make a request, can I ask for platonic Adam relationship with a gn!reader? Reader, that has personality and traits of a Bennet from Genshin Impact(Adventurous, bubbly, always positive and chatty. But "blessed" with the worst luck ever known to humanity. Like, they like to go on adventures and explore different things, but they may end up getting lost, falling from a cliff, almost drowning, etc. Treasure hunt? Oh, all that they found in chests are radishes, carrots, or useless trash. Something's falling? Probably gonna land on them. Tgey got in a fight? Well, better call an ambulance right away, they may stab themselves with their own weapon. Even cooking may end up by setting the kitchen on fire. But despite all of that, they're still stayin' positive and smiley, believin' that they'll definetely get luckythe next day). Thank you🌺

not-so-lucky charm ; adam

so like i died once again but hey, that’s what they have hell for am i right fellas?

cw ; adam, one mention of suicide, adam is kinda mean

adam will be making fun of you most of the time, they key to calm his ass down is just ignoring his comments. he strives for attention and if you just shrug him off or laugh with him a little bit he will eventually cut down on rude remarks and teasing comments.

at first he might’ve been a little skeptical of your stories because they just sound so outlandish and sometimes unimaginable but once he experienced your luck with front row tickets he starts to believe you. genuinely confused on how you are still “alive”.

at some point he starts to get afraid because what if your bad luck infects him too. it doesn’t, but the idea of chasing him around after convincing him that it is in fact contagious just makes me giggle (he screams like a little girl)

not really sure how you can still be so optimistic about your situation, once told you he would just kill himself if he was in your shoes.

overall he acts like a typical older brother. making fun of you, teasing and all but deep down he cares, because lets be honest, if he didn’t he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you on your own.

[livingthedragonlife]

who wants to listen to my really good playlist

explanations for why i chose the songs under the cut because i miss 8tracks. spoiler warning if you haven't read/finished the manga, some of these song choices involve stuff that happens in the ending

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? — The premise of the story

I Just Can't Wait to Be King — The premise of the dungeon, also I couldn't stop laughing when I thought about how funny it would be to put a song from The Lion King on this playlist

Eat It — Eating monsters!!! Whether you like it or not!!!!!

White & Nerdy — Laios. Who else would it be.

Black Magic Woman — Marcille, because I'm really funny

Bitch Better Have My Money — Chilchuck, because I'm even funnier

Cooking By The Book — Senshi, and this would have been the Lil Jon remix but I don't think it's on Spotify

The Mean Kitty Song (Hey Little Sparta) — Izutsumi (Izutsumi)

short kings anthem — In honor of Senshi's upskirts, but honestly it could be any of the short kings in here. I'm including Namari in that

Stayin' Alive — Falin (mostly)

Ghost — Thistle 😔

Read Between the Lines — Shuro and the fight he has with Laios

I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General — Kabru. I'm right.

The Meow Mix Commerical — This is what I imagine was happening in Izutsumi's head when they went to The Golden City

The Monster Mash — .......the dungeon rabbit scene

Poor Unfortunate Souls — The Winged Lion convincing every dungeon lord tbh

Toxic Love — The Winged Lion again, mostly just the first verse:

I see the world and all the creatures in it I suck 'em dry and spit 'em out like spinach I feel the power, it's growing by the minute And pretty soon you're gonna see me wallow in it

but if you're Nasty 👀, you can also imagine Laios' body is the "beeEEaUtiful machine"

It's Tough To Be A God — It's Tough To Be A Dungeon Lord and also the Winged Lion's tragic backstory

[yippeeometer]

Coco headcannons, ye? Do you have

fellas u know that feeling when ur trying really hard to prove to everyone that ur capable of some seriousness but also u keep laughing whenever someone says anything even vaguely near a thats what she said joke?

i call that every day for colo.

oh bc you know he has HATERS on the west coast. these pretentious losers (cali, wash, ore) going into meetings thinking theyre about to look so cool and collected. derailed in four seconds and colo asks them dumb questions and they completely crash out

he knows what hes doing this guy is annoying on purpose

kinda guy to have NO SENSE of personal space. ari will just have to get used to his 6ft blanket bc those are the best friend rules

okay so he has no morals and values, no sense of dignity or self preservation, however he is loyal to a fault so theres some redeeming qualities.

'i'd volunteer as tribute for u utah' yeah pal. you've said that. a lot. you don't need to sign up for any more archery classes we believe you now

he loves connecting with nature, and by that he means disappearing into the wilderness. he and new mex, in the few hours in which they get along, like to hide on hiking trails trying to scare people.

the fights between him and neme must be INSANE. one guy is screaming, crying, kicking the other's singing 'stayin' alive' by the beegees bc he thought the fight needed a backing track. gov rips his hair out in general annoyance.

okay yes the weed has fried all the intelligence he once had. okay yes maybe it is deeply sad to be such a deeply sad person and not know how to show it.

however. the rockies are playing. and theres no way i could let my precious team be alone.

im a massive believer he'd have to be HELD BACK from entering the winter olympics. hes a snowboarder. hes a skiier. he's doing backflips on the snow and utah's having 1932983381 million heart attacks and telling him to stop.

the four corners is so special to me bc its like we are perfect for each other. we hate each other. me and my bestie. watch me rip this mans face off with my mouth. watch me kiss this mans face off with my mouth. who wants to live with me and be my best friend forever. who wants me to throw this stick at them

[omgahgase]

all for you, all for me

this fic, lovingly titled "writing to get the gears back in place pls lord help me" was a Small Thing that turned into a Big Thing, and now it's ready to be unleased into the vast void of tumblr's charthur truthers. i'll post on ao3 with a proper summery and tags next, but for now, take this and give me head pats bc i think i deserve it.

nsfw charthur fic under the cut:

Charles brains himself on the coach's roof real good, and Arthur has the gall to tell him to shut up.  

“You’re a heartless bastard, do you know that?” He asks, growling into Arthur’s hair as he rolls his hips forward, humps into the sticky warmth of Arthur’s abdomen and smears wet across the lower part of his belly. 

Arthur chuckles underneath him, nipping at the meat of Charles’ chest to make a point. He has Charles crying out into the humidity of the night air, mouth occupied with suckling a dark nipple into his mouth but still seeming to say, ‘And what? You’re the fool for stayin’ with me.’ 

And as Charles spreads his knees wider over Arthur’s thick thighs, sinking into the pair of fingers stretching him open like a two-dollar whore, he thinks, ‘I really am a fool.’ He’s a fool for pawing at Arthur’s face and dragging him upwards, kissing him like a man deprived and moaning a hungry, desperate cry of a sound. He’s a fool for carding shaky fingers through Arthur’s greasy hair that he hasn’t washed in days all the while Arthur licks into the hot branding of Charles’ mouth, whispers sweet words between violent swipes of his tongue that Charles can’t hear over the loud roar of blood pumping hot in his ears. And he’s a fool for loving such a heartless, mean, bastard of a man. 

Arthur’s free hand wraps hot and slick around Charles’ cock, pumps him through the vehement shake of his body when the two clever fingers inside his twitching hole turn into three. “I missed you, darlin’. Thought about you every day I was gone.” 

“Yeah,” Charles bites back, maybe with a little more heat than he intended. “Gone for almost a whole month, Arthur. No goodbye. No letter. You just got up and left me.”  

“I didn’t leave you,” Arthur defends. Charles feels the hard lines of Arthur’s frown deepen across his lips, the way they pull down and wrinkle. “Dutch sent me out on a job. I didn’t know it’d take a month.”

Charles huffs, and kisses along Arthur’s scruff until the burn of his facial hair itches along the curve of Charles’ mouth, a secondary sting to the truth Charles was too stubborn to acknowledge. It’s embarrassing, even though Charles doesn’t and will likely never admit it out loud, that Arthur’s words—a mantra in his own mind, the ‘I didn’t leave you,’ it says, in reply to every, ‘He left,’ like a correction—soothes over the piping hot lava pit of doubt that engulfed Charles the very first morning he realized Arthur was gone. The day after they had their first real argument that left both of them rattled, the harsh words still floating around in the shallow banks of Charles’ mind that were easily fished up by even the smallest of reminders. 

Arthur said he hates how Charles bottles up his emotions and refuses to talk, pushing everyone and everything and Arthur away until Charles is alone and angry because that’s how he gets when he can’t man up. When he can’t think of anyone but himself. Charles, taking Arthur’s insults to heart because it’s difficult to break out of self-isolation when you’ve been by yourself for longer than you’ve been alive, said he can’t stand how Arthur comes back to camp beaten and bloody, bruised all over from a small ‘errand’ Dutch told him to do—that Arthur’s loyalty would get him killed one day if he’s not careful, and that Charles will not be there to bury another loved one if he can help it. Arthur, with eyes darker than the deepest oceans, asked if it would be better if he never came back at all and Charles was quick to answer yes. 

Their little shouting match ended with Charles stomping down to the river below Horseshoe Overlook and Arthur taking Rouge out for a long ride. Neither saw the other before nightfall and by the time Charles awoke the next day and brewed some shitty coffee as a peace offering, Arthur was gone. No one in camp knew where he went, Dutch’s lips sealed tighter than a national bank’s safe, and Charles spent the worse half of their month-long separation wondering when Arthur would come back. And when he did, would he come back to Charles? After all he said? 

His thoughts were proven to be false, it turns out, because while Charles was out on night watch, Arthur, eager and a little wild-eyed, rode up on an equally unruly horse and dragged Charles to their newest stagecoach, freshly robbed from a rich prick by Sean, Javier, and John. That’s how they ended up here, with Charles’ button-up ripped open and hanging by the crease of his elbows, his pants haphazardly discarded somewhere in the cab, his braid loose and falling out from the way Arthur manhandled him into his lap. Arthur’s cock is free from the confinements of his fly and leaking a steady stream of pre over his dirty jeans, his fingers knuckle deep in his lover, both of them kissing apologies into each other’s flushed skins because neither have the coherence to say it out loud. 

A cool, pearly bead of sweat rolls down Charles’ spine, melting somewhere down the line of his shirt.

“Arthur,” he calls out in that tone of voice, the one he uses when he wants Arthur to know that he’s ready, when Arthur’s fingers aren’t enough and Charles needs him inside now. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I gotcha.” Arthur kisses his jaw as he pulls out his fingers and blindly searches for his jar of salve, his other hand keeping Charles steady with a bruising grip on his side. 

Charles is impatient as Arthur readies himself, rolling his hips across the tight muscles of Arthur’s thighs, lifts up and down on his knees because he’s waiting and Arthur is nothing but an infuriating man because he’s taking his sweet time. 

“Arthur, c’mon.” 

“Easy. I’m here, Charles. I’m right here.” Arthur pats Charles’ hip, guides the wet crown of his cock to Charles’ puckered hole, and the feeling of Arthur’s head breaching that first ring of resistance has both of them gasping, hands clawing at sweat-slippery skin.

Charles sinks down down down, legs shaking with the strain of holding himself back from saying fuck it and slamming himself on Arthur’s cock. Taking it easy be damned. He went a full month with nothing but his hands to satisfy him, his own fingers holding no torch to the way Arthur’s cock stretches him wide, how Charles takes him in so deeply he can feel his cock in his throat. 

When he’s fully seated, the heat of Arthur warming Charles from the inside out, Charles throws his head back, rocks into the feel of him, and grins into the stifling, shuttered air of their cab. He slides up and grinds back down in that way he knows will rub the fat head of Arthur’s cock perfectly against his bundle of nerves, his own cock dribbling a thick pearl of come over Arthur’s stomach. He doesn’t bother to muffle his moan when Arthur bucks into him, his hands pulling Charles down hard on the downstroke. 

They’re alone, anyway. Far off from the camp in their little bubble. Just the way they like it. 

“You’re gorgeous, darlin’,” Arthur groans. “So pretty, ridin’ me like this. I missed it—missed you.” 

Charles chokes on a moan, the end clipping off into a dry sob when Arthur hits him spot on. “Missed you too, Arthur. Fuck—I missed you so much, you bastard.” 

Charles arches his back and hisses when Arthur’s blunt nails dig into the meat of his hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. Arthur bites at his shoulder, digs his teeth into flesh hard enough for Charles to cry out, and buries his fingers at the downy soft hair of his neck, holds him there as he humps and rides, as he grinds down hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Arthur gives and bites and scratches until Charles feels tender like a bruise, thrusting up into him with enough force to shake the cab off its wheels and make Charles clutch at the bulging strain of his shoulders, holding on like a lifeline. 

He’s being rough tonight, has been since he twisted a fist into Charles’ button-up and hauled him into the coach, threw him down on the velvet seats and stripped his bottom half bare, grabbed his cock in a vice-like grip and stroked him to his first orgasm. It’s like Arthur can’t stop himself from feeling the intensity of it all, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of Charles’ body, and the way they fit together perfectly, somehow, despite every difference. Like how they always do. 

Arthur is a bastard of a man for leaving without telling Charles, and Charles should still be angry with him, still wants to strike his knuckles against Arthur’s jaw the same way his words cracked something deep in Charles’ chest, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s a fool in love and he’s missed this bastard—his bastard. 

So Charles will let Arthur do what he wants and Charles will return Arthur’s affection in plenty. It’s how they work, it seems. Arthur loves loud, biting at flesh and clawing at taunt muscles, poking at wounds until he can patch them up with the same hands that made them. Charles’ affinity is more that of rolling rain clouds, plump and full with a storm ready to unleash across a lone prairie, washing up dried rivers and wetlands until a flood erupts and sweeps everything away. 

Neither of them knows how to love like those happy couples they see in towns, with gentle hands clasped together and soft-spoken words shared between sweet kisses. And Charles thinks that’s okay for neither of them holds that gentleness that makes up a ‘happy couple.’ They’re two hardened men crafted by the sins of a youth stolen too early, melded by the life of a gang, and fused together from the shared highs and lows of trying to survive a blood-soaked world that doesn’t have any room for men like them. They’re not good, nor bad, but merely suspended somewhere above the middle ground, dangling over the idea of normalcy, of the arguments that lead to silence. The longing that leads to loving. 

They’re not normal or always happy, but they’re together. And, when Charles thinks about it, when he’s reminded that Arthur will always come back because he’s stubborn like that, always aiming to beat away the apprehensive thoughts of Charles’ frustration with rough kisses and bruising grips, he likes it better this way. Their way. 

Charles skates hot hands over the dipping valleys of Arthur’s chest, and tweaks a rosy nipple before tracing the lines of his abdomen, softened by the layer of pudge over hard muscle. His nails drag through the forest of hair leading down to his navel, to the bush of his base where Charles swallows him whole with ease, the slick of their lovemaking matting down his wiry curls. Arthur moans a loud, untamed sound when Charles clenches around him, when he slides up a slow, long drag just to slam back down. 

“Do you know how hard it was to be away?” Arthur asks suddenly, his face full of flush and hands heavy with the fat of Charles’ bottom. He squeezes a cheek in each palm just to spread them apart, fucking harder into the wet heat of him. “How I spent almost every night fuckin’ my fist, pretendin’ it was you? I was in agony, Charles. It took everythin’ I had in me not to turn around and come home to you.”

Charles whines, and leans forward into Arthur’s space so he can bounce backward. The draw of Arthur’s cock is a glorious slide of friction, Charles can feel every vein throb against his walls, can count every twitch and jump with every grind. His thighs burn with the type of ache he’ll embrace in the morning when Arthur fucks the exhaustion out of him before the bustle of camp awakes with the sun. 

“I think this way is better,” he manages around a moan. “You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

Arthur chuckles into Charles’ neck and places a kiss on the underside of his jaw, right where his pulse sings against his lips. “My heart hurts when I’m not with you, darlin’. Feels worse than a bullet. But at least a bullet hole closes up over time. My heart bled until I rode up this road and saw you standin’ under that tree.”

Charles’ breath hitches, his eyes prickle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, hides his face into the side of his scruff as he wriggles and rides, tries to take as much of Arthur as he can because he’s longed for this for weeks, to finally feel his man in a way only lovers do with greedy hands and welcoming lips. 

“Mine too,” Charles sobs. He kisses Arthur fiercely and loses himself in the red-hot acceptance of his mouth. “You bastard, you left and took my heart with you. What kind of man does that?” 

“Not one deservin’ of someone like you,” is Arthur’s breathless reply. Then, “You could’ve done the same thing. You could’ve told me to kick me to rocks and I would’ve. If you ever want me to leave you for good—”

“I don’t,” Charles growls, annoyed that Arthur would even suggest something as ludicrous as that. “You’re with me, Arthur Morgan. Wherever you go, I expect you to come back to me.” 

Arthur’s arms come up and tighten around Charles’ waist, pulling him firmly to his chest like how he did when he jumped off his horse and drew Charles against him with the desperation of a man starved. 

“I will,” he whispers against Charles’ lips. “Always back to you.” 

And Charles believes him, knows his words are true because Arthur is a lot of things but a liar isn’t one of them. It’s maddening to be wanted like this, to love fiercely and be loved in return. It makes Charles dizzy to have his adoration reflected back at him with such beloved intensity. It makes him weak, all the way up his spine and down his calves, makes him cry into Arthur’s neck with the ferocity of it all. 

“Charles. Sweetheart,” Arthur murmurs, using the hold he has on Charles to keep him still, cradling him into the embrace of a hug long awaited. Rough hands slide down the smooth of Charles’ back, over the dips and curves of his shoulders and arms, lips brushing along the submission of his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” 

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to fuck up into him, slouching into the seats and dragging Charles down with him, feeling Charles’ eyes overspill and his heart tremble with a love only found in storybooks before taking control with all the self-assurance in the world. 

There are no other words for the overwhelming feeling that shoots up Charles’ spine and settles behind his teeth when Arthur fucks into him with intent, as Arthur offers himself on a silver platter because he may be loyal to Dutch and the gang, but he’ll always, always leave his faithfulness in Charles’ open palms, providing him with nothing less than everything he has. His cock sinks into the sucking heat of him with effortless fervor, the loud slap of skin echoing in the cab and accompanying the rickety protests of squeaky wheels as Arthur ruts up and grinds, makes Charles drool with the indescribable way it’s all so good.  

Arthur guides Charles’ hips downward at the same time he thrusts up, whimpering into Charles’ neck and fucking into his warmth with an exigency only achievable by the mush-mouth praise falling from Charles’ mouth. Charles doesn’t even know if his words are coherent let alone in English, the way Arthur hammers at his insides has him losing all sense of awareness, makes him cock-dumb and malleable. 

“That’s it, baby—fuck me like this—oh, Arthur—” Charles babbles, lost in the intense ferocity of Arthur’s touch. His cock bobs helplessly between them, drooling and hot, before Arthur draws Charles into his palm like there are magnets embedded under his skin, squeezes him on the upstroke and makes Charles moan a sound so whorish he feels shameful heat gather in his cheeks. “Fuck! So good, cowboy—don’t stop, just like that. All for me—give it to me, Arthur—please.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Arthur purs, stroking him with a wildness Charles has only ever seen him wear during a shootout, when he’s cornered and there’s no way out but forward. “You gonna come for me, big man? C’mon, I know you can do it, baby. You’re so good for me, my Charles. My big, beautiful, Charles.” 

“Arthur,” Charles whines, lips skimming over the flushed skin of Arthur’s cheek. Large tears stream down his face at the sweet words, the ache in his lower back and ass, the pleasure that washes over him like a wave and pulls him under its blinding depths. 

He comes like a bolt from the blue, spurting over Arthur’s fist in long, white strands, over Arthur’s belly and his black button-up. Stars shoot across his vision as his orgasm rocks through him like a supernova, making Charles cry out into the dark only to be muffled by Arthur’s lips finding his, kissing him like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do. 

“That’s it, darlin’,” Arthur says against Charles’ spit-slick mouth, grinning into the mewl he draws out with his tongue. “Oh, you’re gorgeous like this. My Charles. All for me.” 

“You too,” Charles gasps, barely registering how Arthur tears his shirt from his arms and arms to claw down sweat-damp skin, digging nails into muscle as he chases his own release, fucks him harder because that’s what Charles wants. “Inside, Arthur. Need you to fill me up—need to feel you.” 

“Oh, Charles,” he chokes, eyes going wide and feverish. He kisses at the tears streaming down Charles’ face in fat, far-apart drops, licks at the salt on his jaw. “Anythin’, baby. Fuck, Charles, take it all. It’s all for you.” 

And Arthur, with the benevolence of a man whose loyalty led him to this type of thing, loving Charles hard and making love to him soft, gives it his all. All for Charles to take and take and take. He comes with Charles’ name falling from his lips, his hips bucking like a pissed-off bull in a pasture. And Charles holds him through it, murmurs his thanks as he feels Arthur paint his insides, spilling hot and full where Charles will be able to feel him for ages. 

When they’re done, when Charles milks the last spurt of come into his greedy hole and Arthur slumps into the coach's ruined seats, exhaustion finally seeping into their weary bones, they indulge. Arthur hooks his hands under the fleshy crooks of Charles’ knees and draws him up to fit tight against his chest before gliding his hands over the bare curve of his waist, pulling him closer as if he wants to mend them together. Charles drags his fingers through Arthur’s sweat-soaked hair, kisses at his scruff as he leans into the sticky mess of their coupling. His cock is rubbed raw against Arthur’s stomach, thighs shaking with the hurt spider crawling up his lower back, settling somewhere above his ass where he’ll complain about it later.

For now, noses are buried into necks, lips skim over bitten skin, and no words are exchanged save for the whispered ‘You okay?’ that Charles acknowledges with a heavy grunt, a flimsy fist thumped heavily across Arthur’s back. Arthur takes that as an ‘I’m alive’ and settles into the warmth of Charles’ body. 

Neither of them knows how long they sit there, nor do either of them want to move, but Rouge rustles outside the stagecoach and pulls them out of their little bubble, makes them share a gentle brush of lips before parting. Charles relishes in the slow, careful drag of Arthur’s spent cock flopping out of his hole as he rolls to the side, the slick, squelchy feeling of come dripping between his cheeks and down his thighs and onto the stagecoaches seats. 

It’s like a slow motion picture in Charles’ eyes, how Arthur watches stark white streak over his brown skin, his gaze blazing hotter than a bonfire, then, in that moment, Charles is unprepared for the unrelenting grip on his hips. Arthur maneuvers Charles with placate hands and gracious fingers until he’s spread over the velvet seat, thighs open wide for Arthur to kneel in between them like a man bending to pray. Charles can barely protest his oversensitivity before Arthur’s mouth is on him, licking at the tender inside of his thighs before he sucks at the wet give of his hole. Weak hands push at Arthur’s head, shoving him down until the entirety of his mouth encloses over Charles and he drinks him like a man sipping water from the finest gardens of Eden, tongue lapping at Charles’ puffy insides. 

A second orgasm draws up tight through Charles’ belly in seconds and releases in meek, milk ropes. Arthur is quick to lick a rough swipe of his tongue over Charles’ balls and up his length, gathers it thick on his tongue, suckles Charles’ crown until his mouth is full and he’s climbing upwards, grabbing Charles’ jaw and tilting his head back. Something fierce strikes through Charles’ chest as he obeys the silent command to part his lips, rolling his tongue forward, and Arthur, moonstruck, spits their shared spunk into his mouth. 

It’s wet and lewd, dirty like a fling in the grim of a back alley, but Charles welcomes it all the same and rakes his hand through Arhtur’s hair to drag him down into a filthy kiss. 

“Didn’t have a rag in that bag of yours?” Charles asks when they break away, licking at the come shining in the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He doesn’t know who it belongs to, but it goes uncaring nonetheless. 

Arthur grunts, straightens up with a playful pat to Charles’ spread thighs. “Where’s the fun in that, Charles? I don’t hear you complain.”

Because Charles won’t, not when it has Arthur on his knees and worshiping Charles like a deity. 

Charles pokes dried streaks on Arthur’s front, the obvious stains that he’ll have to hide from Mrs. Grimshaw when she does the laundry. “Just an idea for next time.” 

Arthur hums his acknowledgment as he hands Charles his pants and shirt, watching the strain in Charles’ legs and shoulders as he dresses himself. He doesn’t make it easy, though, always sneaking kisses over any strip of exposed skin, biting anywhere he can mark before the evidence of their reunion is concealed from the curious eyes of camp. 

They clean up the best they can, Arthur using water from his canteen to wash away the crusty come on the seats and his abdomen, and Charles vowing to never tell a soul about what conspired within these four walls. If, for some crazed reason, someone enters the coach and notices the scratch marks on the roof, the rips in the backrest, and the uneven lay of the curtains, then Charles will feign innocence. Blame the damage on a family of raccoons searching for shelter in the night. 

“I’ll walk you back,” Arthur says when they climb down the two-step stairs, clothes rumpled and stained with their hair in all kinds of arrays. Purple bruises petals on his neck when the moonlight catches him just right, and Charles feels something akin to pride bloom hot behind his ribs, has his teeth aching to sink into tender flesh all over again. 

“I don’t need an escort,” Charles says, straightening his shirt that’s now missing three buttons. Hopefully, Karen won’t ask questions as to why Charles needs a repair done in the morning. “I can walk back by myself.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur agrees simply. Because he does. “Can’t I just walk ya? Y’know, be a gentleman. The kind that's all chivalrous and shit for his lover. Like those big hot-shots in them fancy films.”

Charles laughs, endeared. He picks up Arthur’s hat that fell in their frantic tumble from the main road to the stagecoach and dusts off the sides before planting it haphazardly over Arthur’s eyes, grinning like a fool in love. Which he is. 

He also steals a kiss, just because he can. “You, Arthur Morgan, are the farthest thing from a gentleman.”

Arthur loops an arm around Charles’ waist, pulls in him until they’re chest to chest and Charles has to look up just a scant to catch his eyes because Arthur is a bastard of a man with two inches on him, and that pisses Charles off because what do you mean he’s taller? It doesn’t help that Arthur’s also older than him by seven years, but to have height as well as age over Charles? No, unacceptable. Charles screws up his face real tight, whips his head away from Arthur’s twinkling laugh. 

“Aw, don’t give me that look, Charles,” Arthur says, pressing his lips to the prickle of Charles’ jaw, over the lightning strikes of his scar. “If I ain’t no gentleman, then you’re a fool for keepin’ me around.” 

Charles sighs and drapes his arms over Arthur’s shoulders. “Yeah, I really am.”  

He kisses him, then, slotting their lips together in that way that sends Charles’ heart into a tizzy, whips up something ferocious in his blood that pops and sizzles with every pass of Arthur’s tongue against his teeth. 

“C’mon, cowboy,” Charles says, shaping himself so completely into Arthur’s space that he doesn’t know where he begins and Arthur ends. “Take me home.” 

Arthur nods, presses his lips to Charles’ forehead before he takes his hand and fits their fingers between each other, holds him steady, holds him fast. They trek back to camp with Charles’ shotgun slung over his shoulder and Rouge trotting beside them, all the while Arthur explains what he saw on his travels with boisterous hand movements and hearty laughter, tugging Charles this way and that, kissing him when he finds a chance. 

To anyone else, maybe they do look like a normal couple, like the ones Charles sees in Valentine, all kiss-drunk and happy. With matching rings around their fingers to show for it. Maybe, if they’re brave enough, they can walk into a bustling town with the same comfort they have when they enter Horseshoe Overlook with each other’s hearts held tightly between their palms, with the moon acting as their only witness to Arthur setting Rouge’s reins free before leading Charles to his bunk. 

They’re both too big to fit comfortably on the cot, but they make it work, somehow, draping a large blanket over both their shoulders and scooting back far enough to rest their backs against the wagon’s side, their boots kicked off and everything, from their elbows to their knees, touching. Arthur, as observant as ever, takes notice of his things on his bedside table, untouched and without a speck of dust. He asks if Charles took care of his tent while he was gone, and Charles pretends to not hear him, leaning his head on Arthur’s shoulder and tucking his legs real snug beside him. 

Arthur kisses his hairline and draws him in with a hand on his waist and affection in his voice. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, Arthur,” Charles mumbles, “just don’t leave for so long next time.” 

Arthur hums, tucks himself real close against Charles like he can’t think of a next time. 

Before they succumb to the gentle hands of sleep, and before Charles registers Lenny cursing him out for switching half an hour early, still groggy and stumbling his way up the road, Charles thinks he doesn’t want to be normal. 

Yes, he wants a house on the lakeside and a husband to welcome him home, he wants the thundering sound of small feet running up and down the halls, screaming at a dog chasing them out the house and into the yard where they laugh and tumble in the grass. The life of the star-spangled American dream. He wants to hold Arthur’s hand during dinner at a restaurant and kiss him under the blinking lights of Saint Denis, love him in public without a care in the world because it’s normal. 

They’re not normal, however, and that’s fine with Charles. To be normal is to be accepted, and they’re not, the gang and them. They’re sunbaked and white-knuckled, hardened around their jagged edges and the sharp glints of their guns, the bullet-shaped holes and star-marked wounds of their skins. They argue and they fight, Arthur and him, they say harsh words to aggravate because that’s the only way they know how to live: to harm before you hurt. 

They’re not normal, and they’re definitely not always happy, but they’re together, and that’s how they’ll stay. All the time, and all for each other. 

[deadshowsagency]

Okay, you queer lovebirds!! You asked for more, I give you more!! Here is part two of "Lilies from a Cat, except the Cat King is for reals sick! To the point where he might die!

HUGE thanks for @soulfulsam42 for proofreading my work! You are this fic's Savior!!!

Title: Stayin' Alive

Rating: Teens and Up Audiences

Relationship: Edwin Payne/ Cat King (Thomas), Charles Rowland/ Crystal Palace (Don't hate me for this, they are not really technically dating *Yet*)

Summary: Cat King continued giving flowers to Edwin, flowers which are toxic to cats. Which made him ill and now Edwin has to save his ass (Again).

Stayin' Alive fic:

Lilies from a Cat fic:

[theghostbunnie]

Just to preference alot of this is my interpretations/HCs/OC and very little of it is cannonical character analysis:

So her name is Penelope Esther Goldman but she just goes by her middle name Esther, as a funny little nod to know SK and Neil are both named Neil, she shares a name with Mrs Priss and I think I had them go to the same collage or something, might have to do the math on their ages again to see if that lines up

(I HC Carl's last name is Pasternak and Neil's is both, hyphenated.)

She's a incredibly intelligent scientist with extensive knowledge in biology, robotics, chemistry, ect ect. Esther doesn't really emote or exspress her emotions in her voice or face much at all, or well.

Carl when they first met was smitten, he was a groovy goofy goober and still is. He'd do that walrus thing with breadsticks in public at restaurants. He'd skate around with a fanny pack dancing to bee gees. Convince her to go to parties and she'd just be pleasantly content to stand there as he's like "that's fine I can dance enough for the both of us/pos" She had to pass a first aid course and he guided her arms and taught her you can keep the proper rhythm by singing Stayin Alive. He was just really persistent and really sweet and he grew on her okay 😭

Esther didn't really have a respect for philosophy because she didn't really grasp it's value or importance. As she grew to respect him more that sortaa changed.

They eventually got married and really kick-started both of their careers along the way.

(cw miscarriage implications for this next part) Neil's a rainbow baby that happened after several pregnancy losses. It may have been one of the things to strain their marriage but what really ended up doing it in was just the simple fact of life people change and grow apart and can fall out of love so now they can't really interact with each other for long. Their differences and flaws now clash and they butt heads instead of being complimentary.

I'm a firm believer the episode where each camper takes care of an egg they were reflecting their own parents. Carl is embarrassing but he's almost the exact opposite of a smotherer that Neil was showcased to be. His overall parenting style is like he's way more concerned about being Neil's friend than anything.

Esther is the one he's mirroring, here. She treats him like he's fragile almost. She gives him specific everything, down to his bedsheet thread count, knows how to cater to his living needs inside and out. Esther struggles to connect with anyone emotionally, though so her affection in the verbal department isn't as maintained. This never really bothers Neil, it doesn't register as "smothering" to him how much she shelters or caters to him. Because this isn't a kid interested in joining sports he could get hurt in and likes everything in a specific way anyways.

She's more aware socially than Carl is and knows how to not embarrass him in general.

Esther is Neil's biggest role model he wants to be just like her and is mad when he isn't, when he fails to be. He's upset even physically the only thing they share are the eyes. ((Regularly you can't even see Esther's I couldn't help myself in the art above from making them visible/forgot on the cc one but it's supposed to be a bit on "eyes are a window to the soul" thing and she's just that closed off and unreadable. Really only has a soft spot for Neil))

His mother is incredibly intelligent, and just seems so collected to him all the time.. and importantly not over emotional like he can be (his temper specifically.) and ESPECIALLY how emotional his dad can be.

I just love!! Character parallels!!!! How Carl is this emotional goofy person who joked around and danced and played music everywhere and Esther got regarded as "cold" and stiff and Neil is just both of them bc he's so smart but he's also silly. Like he plays video games and gets passionate over little things and allthat and it embarrasses him secretly sometimes, he wishes he could chill out and be like his mother. But the parts of him that reflect his father have always been the parts Esther always loved the most and found endearing. He doesn't know that though.

Neil to an extent even secretly believes if he didn't have his big brain and academic achievements him and his mother wouldn't have this close relationship because this is their shared quality. This is what makes her proud. He's so scared to lose that or disappoint her.

At the same time it doesn't stop him from pinning his parents against each other a bit from time to time. As he knows Esther's go-to move is to spoil him to win.

[treasureplanetsheep]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice thoughts (spoiler alert!):

pretty solid sequel

the last half/third was fantastic (basically when things really started to go bonkers/it turned into a rescue mission)

the soundtrack was great

everyone seemed to be having fun (especially Willem Dafoe)

found wynona ryder to be a little...stiff? idk my mom wasn't really impressed with her either. could be bc of how different lydia was compared to the first film? idk i'll talk a little more about that at the end of this post

delores was an interesting concept of a character (more on that later)

Bob was MVP of the movie

was surprised at how prominent the presence of Charles was in the movie due to all the real life ick involving the original actor. i think they cleverly worked around his character at least i guess.

i recognize the priest from that one show Turn AMC solely from the fact that gifsets of him (usually shipping posts) would regularly show up on my dash thanks to some tumblr mutuals lololol

personally could have done without the beetlebaby (twice!) but fits with the beetlejuice zaniness i suppose

Beetlejuice has kept his part of the bargain TWICE now and Lydia keeps managing to worm her way out of her end of the deal tsk tsk lol

So now for more detailed thoughts:

Lydia:

so i never pictured her to turn out like...this? anxious, getting walked over by her creepy smarmy boyfriend. she lost her spine. :( idk how i feel about bc she's in such a vastly different headspace than when we last saw her.

Delores and Wolf Jackson:

these two kind of go hand in hand in a way? So I LIKED the concept of her character (soul-sucking (ex)wife lol get it?)...but we get so little of her???? she's such a flat character! She could be completely removed from the movie and nothing would change (except Bob would be alive 😭)! You build towards some sort of confrontation with her and Beetlejuice and then nothing happens! she finally finds him, is immediately shoved at rory and then eaten by a sandsnake!!!! curious about her total screentime bc i'm pretty sure nearly half of it is just the stayin' alive stapler gun montage)

Wolf Jackson:

you could tell Willem Dafoe was having fun lol. i really liked him ngl BUT the character schtick of him getting a little too lost in acting out bits almost made it feel like he was in a whole separate movie at times if that makes sense? like it felt like he was just doing his own thing the whole time. in his own world.

personally i think the movie should have only included one of the characters. either delores or Wolf and his police/detective tomfoolery. Then *that* character's screentime could have been dedicated to the other character.

and once again i'll reiterate that the last chunk (busting into the underworld and beyond) of the movie was just so fun. Definitely the best part.

nitpicking:

how i would have worked the beginning:

personally i wish we could have gotten the paranormal show gig stuff with lydia, had her receive a phone call and then just cut to everyone arriving at the house with the "who or what or where are they now" stuff worked in after the fact instead of going to the school and the art exhibition. *Nearly* starting off at the house would have helped move things along a little more in the beginning (i thought it dragged just a tad).

[admrlthundrbolt]

Stayin' Alive (Ladybug x Chubby Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This wasn't supposed to happen. Agents weren't meant to fall for their competition. Yet there you were, so sweet and soft. Guess that was his luck though. What was a ladybug to do when you get assigned to work together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, I'm back at it again. It's been a while since my last Bulket Train story. But Ladybug wouldn't get out of my head. So here is a story about him being enamored with the reader. I really think his would be the type to fall head over heels for someone. Hope you enjoy.

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He stared down at the paper in disbelief. Heart racing, he looked at Maria with wide eyes. “You can't do this to me.”

She gave him a blank expression. “Do what to you? It's a simple job.” She glanced back at the debrief to see if there was something she missed.

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand across his face. “No, you can't assign me with her.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not, you have a past I don't know about? Or are you a sexist and hid it all these years.”

He threw his hands up at the accusation. Only to stop when he noticed the smirk on her face. “Ha ha.” His voice hollow as he calmed down. “No, I just don't want to cause a problem for her.” As the words left his mouth he could feel heat flood his face. It was one thing for his bad luck to effect him. But if there was a chance it could get you hurt, or God forbid killed. He would never forgive himself.

Ah, she had been expecting this. It was no secret the feelings he had for you. Being both of your handler, she had seen many interactions between the two of you. His fumbling seemed to skyrocket anytime he saw you. So why not kill two birds with one stone. Have her most trusted agents on the same mission. While also giving him an opportunity to spend some close quality time with you. Call her a genius or a hopeless romantic. It didn't matter as long as the outcome was the job being finished.

Frustration coursed through him, he shook his head again. “What if my luck gets her killed?” He looked at her emploringly.

Her face softened at his obvious stress. “She an accomplished hitman. I'm sure a little bit of bad luck can't take her out.” Giving him a pat on the back she smiled. “Besides, she accepted already. She seemed excited about it too.”

His eyes widen at the thought of you looking forward to working with him. OK, maybe it wasn't so bad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bouncing in place you glanced around. You were glad that you had told Ladybug to meet you at a time earlier than necessary. It wouldn't do to be late for the art gala. The target was an overly paranoid man that rarely left his thoroughly secure house. That is except for when his favorite artist had a showing. Maria had assured you that it was a bit tricky to get the pair of tickets. Though nothing she couldn't handle. You giggled a bit at the smug expression she had at the time.

A hand landing on your shoulder jolted you out of the memory. Twisting the appendage behind the offenders back, you gasped. Quickly releasing his hand, you fussed over the fellow hitman. “Oh sweetie, I didn't hurt you to badly did I?” You felt horrid for any pain you may have caused him. But you did take the moment he spent making sure a finger wasn't more crooked than usual to check him out. He cleaned up well, not to say you didn't enjoy his routine style. The laid back yet practical outfits he tended to wear suited him. The suit he was draped in now, it was a sight for sore eyes. Taking his arm with your own, you guided him towards the venue.

Going along with you, he only had a moment of a calm heart before his pulse began racing again. You were the picture of perfection. Not a hair out of place and curves shining through your evening wear. As you smiled back at him, he tried his hardest to commit the image to memory.

Stopping as you reach the entrace to the building. You turned and noticed that he was a bit rumpled from the jog. Reaching up you smoothed out his shirt collar.

His mind was reeling. It was one thing to agree to pose as a couple. But he hadn't thought of possibility that it would involve acting like a couple. As you smiled up at him, he suddenly remembered why he was late. Pulling a crumpled flower from his pocket, he held ot towards you. “I couldn't decide between a bouquet or a corsage. But while i was in the flower shop a guy came in and started yelling at the owner. Something about them having sex with his wife. Anyways this is the only thing I could grab as I ran out.” He stared at the flower until he was done rambling. When he glanced at you he was relieved to see that your grin had only grew.

Taking the flower carefully, you admired it. The thing was barely staying on it's stem and was missing quite a few petals. Honestly it was so beat up that you weren't exactly sure what type of flower it was. All the same, you brought it to your nose and enjoyed the light fragrance. Placing it on an ear, you beamed at him. “Thank you, let's head in yeah.”

Nodding, he knew that it would be a herculean effort to keep his pulse under control for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The check in process was relatively easy. It also gave you another moment to straighten up his outfit. During which you may have appreciated the muscle he had under the crisp dress shirt. Though you didn't let yourself linger on the delicious distraction to long. It was time to get down to business. With a quick nod you both headed in different direction to locate the target.

It was a lavish setting. Trays of champagne and amuse bouche carried by attractive yet professional waitstaff. Many paintings, sculptures, and tapestries cover the event center. You strided to the section that held the works of the artist your target was obsessed with. Placing a hand against your hair you tapped the device in your ear. “I'm in position. No sign of Waterson yet.” Brushing a bit of hair behind your ear, you waited for a reply.

Wiping his hands on his shirt he tapped the ear piece. “Same here. Hey have you tried these cracker things. They are great.” His voice was muffled by the mouthful of hors d'oeuvres. He had wanted to settle his nerves. What better way than with treats. His pulse leapt at your laugh. Well that was easier said than done with you around. A thousand snacks couldn't clam down his hammering heart near you.

“I'll be sure to give them a try. Do you see the target?” Your tone was airy yet professional. It was a relief to work with someone that wasn't such a stick in the mud.

He relaxed a bit as you didn't reprimand him for slacking on the job. Searching the room, he didn't spot the target anywhere. But as his gaze wandered your way he cursed. “Carver is here.” Frowning he stared down the two-bit assassin. Though it deepened significantly as he headed in your direction. What was a creep like that doing heading over to you.

You smiled amicably as he made his way over to you. It was a good thing Ladybug had spotted him. It gave you time to prepare for the unneeded disturbance. As he swaggered closer you had to hold back a sneer. He had made it his mission to bed every female assassin he came across. Luckily for you he was nowhere near your type. No, that honor belonged to a certain luckless handsome clutz.

Without waiting a beat he already had you half pinned between himself and a sculpture. “Fancy meeting you here. It must be fate.” His cologne was overwhelming bad. Not to mention the lack of personal space he gave you.

Placing a hand on his chest, you forced him back a few inches. The satisfaction you received from the shock look he gave you at the action. Well it was well worth the effort. “You may believe that. While I know it must be that fact we've been assigned to the same target. Waterson didn't seem the type to make that many enemies."

He took a moment to gather himself. “Yeah, maybe he was. But I heard that he crossed the wrong people recently. So you know what that gets you.” Turning towards the crowd, he slipped an arm around your shoulder. Why not make the most of the evening while he was stuck search for the geezer.

It was killing him, watching that sleeze ball put his hands on you. Your body language switching as you look between the crowd and Carver gave him hope. Though your next words made his spirits soar.

“I would love to stay and chat. But I need to meet up with my partner.” Stepping away, you were shocked when a hand landed on your hip.

His smile was stretched tightly across his face. “Now come on sweetheart, don't be like that. Besides what sort of idiot would leave you all by yourself.” He dug his fingers a bit more into the plush flesh.

The fire that blazed through your veins was maddening. Placing your hand on top of his own, you smiled sweetly. Shifting two fingers around his pinky you jerked. Your giggle covered the sickening pop. Leaning towards him, you felt a jolt of exhilaration at the pain that had come over his features. “Since a simple no isn't enough for you. It seems you need a reminder that we are in the same line of work.” Another pop followed by a yelp from him was veiled once again by your laughter. A serious expression slid onto your face. “With that out of the way. I will be joining Ladybug for the rest of the evening as our target has just stepped through the door. You're welcome to try to claim the contract from us. But after your pitiful display of masculinity, I think it would be best if you didn't bother.”

As you strutted his way he could only admire your raw power. It was as if the more he experienced your being the greater his infatuation grew. He would be worried that thoughts of you would consume his very existence. If he wasn't already enamored with the notion of worshiping you. He had to stifle a gasp as you wrap an arm around his own.

“Now that our target has finally arrived. Why don't you focus a little of your luck his way.” Sliding a hand up his chest, you ran your fingertips along his stubble covered jaw. Guiding his face down, you place a slow deliberate kiss to his cheek. “Then you can take me on a proper date.”

His cheeks burned as he nodded resolutely. If he could harness his odd powers in your favor, he would. If only to get a moment longer with you pressed against him.

[winniethewife]

You could call me babe for the weekend (William Tell X reader)

Warning: Slight Angst, Alcohol consumption, Past cheating

Words: 841

William hadn’t been back to his home town in a very long time, there was no reason to, Nobody lived there, Nobody who cared was alive these days, but He was drawn there as the Christmas season grew close that year, he figured he could at least spend a day there then move on to the city. What he didn’t expect was to find her there. His high school Sweetheart, He swore she looked even more beautiful. Maybe it was the alcohol, Maybe it was the low lighting in the crappy bar. They had been talking for a while.

“You haven’t asked what I’ve been up to, or any of the other ‘its been a really long time’ questions that seem to come with these sorts of reunions” William noted before taking a sip of his drink.

“If I thought you would tell me the truth or cared to know I would have asked you, but…I don’t” She says frankly.

“You think I’d lie to you?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You hardly ever tell the truth, you didn’t when you cheated on me, you didn’t when you left town, if it's all the same to you I think I’ll just make up a story In my head of what you’re up to, or whatever life you lead.” Her words sting but she’s not wrong, he was never honest when he was young, especially to her.

“It's the same to me. I’m sure whatever you come up with is better than reality anyway, you we’re always more creative than me.” He looks at her. He was an idiot to choose anyone over her. In another life, they would have been happy. In another life, He would have been as good to her as she was to him. “You ever think about…what was?”

“Yeah…Often. You know, the road not taken looks real good when everything has gone to shit.” She admits to him as she finished her drink.

“Remember how you watched me leave? We had already Broken up, but you still showed up when they shipped me off to basic…You were crying.”

“I was totally convinced you were going to propose, not break up.”

“Even with all the horrible things I did... you still wanted my last name.” He chuckles

“I was young, and afraid. I thought you’d die out there. I couldn’t bare it.” She laughs as well.

“but I didn’t…are you glad? Or has age made you bitter?” William couldn’t tell her how badly he’d wished he was dead, how much he had wanted it to all end.

“Eh…it's okay with me.” She smirked “Age hasn’t made me bitter about that. Just bitter about everything else.” They talked for a while longer before they started to leave the bar, his hand on her lower back as they left, it seemed almost natural.

“I'm stayin' at my parents' house…If you want to catch up more…” She says casually like it doesn’t mean anything. But he knows that look, the same one that was on her face all those years ago, the one begging him not to leave. He pulls her in so she’s pressed against his chest. He looks at her, his eyes filled with longing.

“Every day, I'm missing your smile, I close my eyes and I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about you.” He whispers as he leans in closer to her. “Can I take you home? Just for old times' sake…” He wants to kiss her. She just might let him. She smiles at him.

“Okay, take me home, Prince Charming.” She teases. He smiles, the first Genuine smile he’s given in a long time. He drives her down familiar streets and as they arrive to her childhood home he parks on the street and steps out of the car, helping her out of the car, and they make it to her door. He takes her into his arms again, like it would be the last time, like he’d never have another chance.

“Come inside… I’ll sneak you up to my bedroom, just like we used to…I'll be yours for the weekend” She closes the distance between them, standing on tip toe to press her lips against his. She knows it’ll end in heartbreak, it always does, but she’s never gotten over him, she’s never been able to love anyone like she loved him. He pulls away after a moment.

“Are you sure…I…I’m not who I used to be…you know that.” His hand on her cheek as he gazes into her eyes, He’s unsure. How could she love him now? With who he is, what he’s done.

“I know…but…Whenever I think of how I wish my life went, what I would change if I could go back…It always leads to you in my hometown…” She’s entirely sincere, and he submits, it’s always been her. It’s always been the two of them despite it all. As they slip inside, William couldn’t help but think.

In another life…She would have asked him to stay, and he would have.

~

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