#had to send it back because he'd been dead for years

[rin-may-1103]

Turn Back the Frozen Sands of Time. pt 2.

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After spending a little too long sitting on the roof and spouting facts about the sun, Danny and Damian had rushed off to breakfast.

Now, Danny was in the middle of morning lessons.

Very boring morning lessons.

Danny watched as his teacher continued to scratch at the chalkboard, his messy writing making it difficult to even read what was being added.

Zoning out, but pretending to be paying attention (a skill danny's mastered both in the past and future), Danny started writing in his notebook.

Alright, who(alive) does he know would be powerful enough to send Danny back in time and into his old body? And who would have the motive to do it?

let's see here;

It can't be anyone who knew Fenton, because as much as Danny runs his mouth, he's still just an 'ordinary' teenage boy. Vlad would technically count, but he's currently, or well, was stuck in the thermos for the time being. So it wasn't him, and the chances he had caused this indirectly were very slim. The man wouldn't have trusted another powerful ghost to do his evil bidding for him. That just wasn't his style.

So, not Fenton, but al Ghul then.

Who had known Danyal Al Ghul?

Well, there was grandfather, but he had been the one to order Danny's first death. So the likelihood that he had sent Danny's soul back in time was unlikely. And why would he? he had chosen Damian as his heir, not Danny. So if anything, he'd have brought Damian back in time. And since Damian hasn't acted any differently, well, besides the sudden want to hang out with Danny outside of training and lessons(which might not be so sudden if Danny's just been missing the signals the whole time), that wasn't what happened.

And if it did, then why bring Danny back too?

It didn't make sense.

So not grandfather.

Mother could possibly know someone, but she wouldn't have done this for Danny, let alone after eight years of thinking him dead. No, she'd only bring him back if she was forced to. And he likely would have been waking up in the lazarous waters, not his bedroom, and definitely not in his nine-year-old body.

So, then a league enemy?

What enemy was powerful enough to send a soul (who's believed to have been dead for eight years at this point) back in time without a warning?

They didn't have any.

There was no current enemy of the league that could have done this.

There was a select few in the league that knew of his existence, let alone an enemy that knew.

So, not Fenton, or al Ghul.

And father never knew of him.

so just who the hell-

A blade sailed through the air, aimed right at his head. Acting on pure instinct, Danny reached up and caught it, twisted it around his fingers, and sent it flying back at his teacher, all while finishing the last sentence in his notebook.

Glancing up, he was met with a calculating look.

"It seems you've been hiding your potential," his teacher drawled, his brow lifted as he pulled the knife out of the chalkboard.

Right, nine-year-old Danny wouldn't have done that. (he could have, but the closer Danny had gotten to his first death, the more he had become aware of how essential it was to downplay his skills. Past him had noticed the attention focused on his twin, had noticed how they brushed him off and scorned him. They treated him like he was a low-level recruit, someone who could get replaced with a snap of a blade. Being underestimated was what kept him safe.)

Past him hid his talents, hoping that if he trained himself enough, he'd be prepared for when they finally wanted to get rid of him. (and it would have worked, except, Damian had always been Danny's weak point. Grandfather knew Danny wouldn't have the heart to kill his brother, so, in the end, hiding had been pointless.)

welp, time to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss his way out of this one.

"Hide my potential?" Danny leaned back, his brow lifted like he'd just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world, "Sir, even the new recruit down the hall, Jeremy Asghar, could defend himself from a messy attack such as that."

And it had been messy, his teacher hadn't even tried to hide his movement, had chosen a blunt knife, and had grunted as he turned to hurl the blade at him. (danny's watched the new recruits get trained, even the worst of them would have seen the attack coming)

"Perhaps," his teacher agreed, watching him for a moment before glancing down at his notebook. Danny didn't try to hide it, even if he desperately wanted to. It would just make him look suspicious. And besides, it's not like he'd been writing in a language the man could read.

"What language is that?" the man asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. He glanced at Danny, then back down at the notebook, quickly snatching it off the table.

Danny frowned at the man, crossing his arms in obvious annoyance. Before he could respond, the door slammed open, making both of them turn to face the intruder.

It was his mother.

"Mother?" Danny asked, dropping his arms and staring up at the women with a confused head tilt. A shadow moved behind her, drawing danny's eyes. It was Damian, scowling at the halls around them.

"Danyal," mother spoke, the slightest hint of relief in her voice. Why was she relieved? What was going on? She shouldn't be here, at least not for another three days.

Had the five minutes it'd taken him to re-adjust to the time travel really caused this much damage???

"Master," his teacher greeted, hesitantly studying her and Damian standing guard behind her. "We are currently in the middle of a lesson, may I ask as to the reason for this disturbance?"

Mother studied the man for a moment before her eyes landed on the notebook. "Who wrote this?" she asked, snatching the book from the man's hands and flipping the pages to try and read it more clearly.

When the man didn't answer, she lifted her head and studied him, then turned back to Danny.

"Danyal," she started, studying him intently, "did you write this?"

Danny blinked, then glanced down at the pages. He had been writing in ghost speak; no living person, not even liminals, knew how to speak and read it. It was the language of the dead, the core-beings. You needed a core to understand it. So why was she looking at it like she knew it? Like she's seen it before?

"Yes?" he answered, looking back up to study her reaction.

"Where did you learn it?" she asked, slowly closing the notebook and clutching it like it would disappear if she didn't.

a memory of him sneaking into the deep caverns under the fortress, into the tunnels only grandfather and his select few followers were allowed. The cave housing the lazarous waters was covered in ghost speak, his mortal memories were unable to read and understand them. But present him could.

And oh, now he understood. She didn't know what it said, but she knew there was only one place where he could have learned. a place he wasn't allowed in, and if he was caught, he could be killed for entering.

"It's in the cave," Danny answered, tilting his head like he was confused and guilty (ancients, he hoped she wouldn't look too deep into it.) Here's to hoping his acting had improved.

"I've been trying to decipher them," Danny glanced at his teacher nervously, then back at his mother, "I haven't managed to yet." he looked down in disappointment, like he was ashamed to admit this failure.

His mother crouched down, placed his notebook on his desk, and reached out to cup his face. Her hands were trembling, but for what reason, Danny couldn't tell.

She lifted his head, making him look up at her, "Habibi, you know you're not allowed in the caves."

Danny glanced to the side nervously, both out of a need to check his surroundings and to keep up his act. " I know," he admitted, watching as Damian closed the door silently and gripped his katana tightly. That wasn't good. Why was he about to pull his weapon?

"But grandfather left his own research on his desk and I got curious," he admitted, which was true, past him had been going down into the caves on and off for a while, trying to translate the mysterious symbols. (It was partially in hopes that he could prove his worth, and partially because he really was curious.) He'd never gotten caught.

Man, she was going to know he was better at sneaking around than he pretended to be.

Her hands tightened ever so slightly, making him glance back at her. Her face was set in a neutral frown, but her eyes gave her away, and she was horrified.

"Mother?' Danny asked, studying her more intently than before. Her usually perfect hair was wind-swept, like she had rushed here as soon as she could. Her kameez wasn't wrinkled, but it wasn't perfectly kept. There was dirt on the bottom of her salwar, making it obvious she hadn't taken the time to tread carefully or wrap them in fabric like she'd taught them.

"Damian," mother demanded, not looking away from Danny. In a flash Damian pulled his katana and slit the man's throat. Danny forced himself not to flinch, not to react. Past him wouldn't have been shocked at the death; he would have been confused by his family's actions.

(Presently, he was also confused. What the hell was going on??? And killing the man wasn't that strange, but he hadn't done anything yet? But then again, Danny had just admitted to going down to the caves and trying to translate the language; anyone who even glimpses something from the cave usually gets killed. So, ok, maybe that was danny's fault, whoops. rest in infinity, you poor, poor man.)

"Mother?" Danny repeated, watching as his teacher's body dropped to the floor, his blood leaking out and forming a puddle on the stone floor. (It was strange to see so much blood when it wasn't his own.)

"Pack up for today, Danyal," mother ordered, finally stepping back and standing up. She continued to watch him for a moment before forcing herself to look away. "We have a meeting with Father."

Grabbing his notebook, Danny quickly stacked his things and put them away.

Once he was done, Danny stood to attention and waited for his mother's next orders.

"Follow me," she demanded, pushing the door open and walking out.

Damian stood next to Danny, not making a noise as the two of them made their way out of the room.

"Clean this up," mother commanded one of her spies, not glancing back as she continued down the hall.

Glancing to his side, Danny watched as Damian put his katana away, his knuckles turning white before finally letting it go and resting his hands behind his back.

Just what in the world was going on here?

Five minutes shouldn't have messed up the timeline this much; there's no way it was Danny's fault.

So, whose was it?

And what did they change?

Next

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

(Tumblr refreshed my page halfway through writing the original I was going to send you, so this one won't be as great lol.)

You're writing is so good! I loved how Damian is practically a reflection of the Reader. It's got me imagining Damian seeing his future through reading a journal/diary left behind.

I'm also just imagining Damien reading how Tim treated his biological older sibling and going, "I knew that cretin was bad news! Is this what Drake is planning on doing to me, too? Vile."

I can especially imagine Damian learning Reader wasn't enrolled into Gotham Academy by Bruce and had gotten in on scholarships. Or that Reader had a fake ID to start working almost as soon as they came to the manor so that they could afford new uniforms and clothes, as well as any school based amenities. As well as personal amenities. Working themselves to the bone. Being disinvited from eating at a table. That they had never been allowed to eat at before, anyways. How the Reader had only seen Bruce maybe two times since coming to the manor.

How they left for Russia at 15/16 and that's where the diary ends. And two/three years later, they still have never come back. Alfred admitting he doesn't know if they're alive or dead.

And that's when Dick comes in, having overheard the last bit only. He had been looking for Damian when he saw and followed Alfred to a little room in the abandoned maid's corridors.

How could Bruce not tell Dick that Reader left? Had moved to Russia for a survivalist summer camp and never come back? It's been- it's been-

The realization hits.

It's been years. Literally years! Since Dick had last seen Reader walking in the halls of the manor.

On the other hand, Damian is planning out how to get to Russia and find his sibling. His real sibling. Who knows what it's like to be judged for having an abusive mother, despite the memories of love. He's scared that the Wayne's will abandon him, too.

He probably even threw it in Dick's face when he comes into the room. "You are just pretending to care. You will give up soon enough. When you realize it is not as easy as telling me to believe in you, you will show me you are not worth believing in. When I do not become your vision of perfect, you will grow tired and angry. Just like you did to my sibling." While clutching onto the stuffed penguin.

And it makes Dick see how small Damian really is. How that cold glare is a shield, hiding how distressed this 10 year old child is. How it was the same look he'd see the Reader have when they walked through the halls. Dick coming to the realization that he'd never even talked to Reader except upon first meeting them.

Damian finding out where Reader is and tracking them down.

And it leads to Reader becoming the favorite sibling of Damian. As well as being ride or die for their baby brother. And even teaches him empathy through assassination.

Like, Reader asking why he was there, only for Damian to tell them how he was in danger with his mother, so was sent to the care of their biological father. Only to be treated like a thing. How they were angry he wasn't immediately like them. How he felt excluded by them. How he's scared of Tim and lashing out at the older boy, because something just seems inherently wrong with the other. And how he just wants family that wants him too.

Which leads to Reader asking what his favorite color is. In confusion, he states that it's green. So Reader pulls out a large green shirt and a green fleece blanket, gives them, and tells him he looks tired and can sleep in the guest room. Asks him if he's allergic to anything or avoids certain foods. Damian says no, cause the Bat Cow incident has yet to happen so he still eats meat. Reader makes Blinchiki with salmon and fruit on the side.

And Reader gives Damian a knife in a leather sheath, hilt first. Tells him to sleep with it under his pillow, with a hand in it at all times. That if he ever hears someone in his space that he doesn't trust or recognize, to pretend to be asleep until they get close. Then strike for their stomach.

Damian feels so loved.

Especially when the Reader sneaks into his room at night a week later and he gets to try it on them. The Reader leaps back in time. They pause for a moment. Which causes Damian to fear that this wasn't the same type of training his mother gave. Only for Reader to start laughing and tell him good job.

I can imagine that Damian breathes out a sigh of sadness, telling his sibling he has to go back to the Wayne's to check in, because otherwise his mother may try to find him. And he heard that his brother had gotten away from her before Damian was given to his father.

Reader, who had been asked to go to Gotham and scout out a trafficking ring the developed between the dark city and Russia, agrees.

Cue Reader and Damian not only busting the trafficking ring, but also saving Bat Cow and getting her as a pet. They're a little confused as to where to put her though. So they just have a cow in their safe house. Take it out on walks like a dog. Feed her with a mix of store bought veggies.

Damian already knows he's going to take her to the Manor. There's plenty of space. That's what he ends up doing the next day.

The expressions on the Bat Family's faces when he's brought a cow home after nearly two months of not knowing exactly where he was would be hilarious. The fact that he's so gentle and sweet towards the cow, and somehow more calm around them if a bit standoffish, floors them.

"Reader said that I need to learn to value life from an empathetic route. Bat Cow is now family to me. She's my responsibility. And I'll care for her as such."

Damian being vegetarian is also a big change. But seeing Damian actually 'behave', becoming quite and disappearing into the background, backing out of being Robin? All of it is a shock.

(Damian's not going to stop being a vigilante, of course. He finally has a cause of his own. But he's refusing the legacy of a man who clearly doesn't want him. And following in Jason and Reader's footsteps.)

Right before Reader is about to leave, a Wayne gala gets held hostage by the Joker. Who's specifically threatening Damian as the new Wayne. Who promptly gets a sniper bullet put through his skull. Damian damn well knows who it was. Feels very happy he has a sibling who was willing to get in trouble to save him, unlike the supposed siblings that stood to the side and watched.

I can also imagine Damian introducing Reader and Jason. The two realize who the other is. Jason saying how it was nice to finally meet the Reader, considering they never wanted to before he died. And Reader snipping back that they distinctly remember begging Alfred to meet their supposed brothers. Both deadpan for a moment. Only to realize, "Oh shit. We weren't allowed to meet each other cause the adults were assholes." Jason was being accused of a murder he didn't commit and Reader was considered outside the family and was never told anything about the Bats.

Just imagine. Damian, Jason, and Reader all becoming super close as family.

While the ones at the manor are all becoming Yandere. Trying to figure out where Reader is. Hunting down as much of a paper trail as they can. Slowly uncovering everything that happened to Reader. From the moment they were in the manor to the moment they left. Reader becoming this sad child never given a chance. Who became a god damn assassin with a fuck to of kills. Bruce especially feeling horrible, cause in his mind his child has to become a killer to even get his attention. Tim feeling awful, cause he realized that the Reader had none of what he thought they did. Dick realizing he failed another sibling.

Duke gets invited into the family and Damian decided, this one's cool. And invites him to the monthly family dinners with Jason and Reader. And Duke hears Bruce worrying about Reader. So he tells the man that he'll ask Reader if they want to come to the manor to play video games. And it just makes the yandere family just mentally need to reboot.

Hiya ty for the juicy ask and apologies if this is late tumbkr hasn't been sending me any notifs !!

read lone warrior here

Yess !! Reader is a mirror of Damian- a mirror version of him that's a bit more unstable and unhinged - that's probably why he was so drawn to her because they have alot of similarities !

And yes Damian will go all yandere (platonically) over her because he feels safe , comforted ? When he's in her room or much less her general space - and to top it off she too is an assassin like himself and she too also doesn't get along with the family so ofc he's determined to be in contact with her !

It would be very hard to her in contact with her through because not only is she considered a cold case , it's been years since she's been at the manor and with her special job she isn't someone you can easily find .

In this particular au mc hasn't met Jason as her adoption to the Wayne family occurred right after his death along with Tim's adoption and during this time Dick would be busy running the titans and being nightwing so he personally hasn't met her.

Especially since she wasn't a Robin or anything. Tim and Mc relationship is rocky - extremely rocky - and to a point Mc's relationship with Bruce and Alfred is very rocky as well.

To her they were temporary roommates - she already had a mom and a dad who loved her itlnitially so she saw no use for seeking that in either of them and Tim was honestly a weirdo to her .

Though upon Damian finding about her and obviously cross questioning Alfred about Mc , damain would probably cross question him too thinking he'd know her only to be disappointed when Dick has no clue about Mc . Que the curiosity when he begins to find out more about you and is actually pretty mad at Bruce & Alfrdd because neither mentioned you to him and also allows a 15 year old child to be missing.

Like he's realky pissed off because lord knows what could happened to you ?. Also yes Damian is extremely hostile to Tim when he finds out about how vile he was to you . Bro actually tries to strangle him for it .

Though once Damian does mett Mc - they start off rocky - mainly because Mc has no experience with any siblings or anything familiar since her mentor & he's also Bruce's son and she wants nothing to do with him at first.

Obviously the more time Dmaian spends with her she gradually sees herself in him and takes him under her wing like a big sister . I'd picture her taking him fishing or something to instil patience in him or like teaching him to ride a bike .

But yes as Damian spends more time with Mc is the more he learns that he isn't alone in this and that it's okay to be broken and gradually becomes calmer . Obviously much to his dismay he has to return back home and when he does the batfam are suprised by the change lol.

I picture him talking about Mc to Jason because Mc gave him a vintage gun from her personal collection for protection and when Damain was showing it off Jason was curious about it .

So safe to say Jason is blown shocked when he finds out he has a badass sibling who has no regard to human life , straight up badass assassin who literally fishes and bakes in her free time. So ofc Jason is excited to meet mc like hello please be his older sister too god knows he needs the advice you have Damian .

Cass and Steph 100% thinks your badass and wants to meet you too and is low key mad at Damain for gatekeepgatekeeping you from them .

Duke thinks your pretty chill but abit scary at the same time but hey you sound cool and maybe you can give him pointers on how to fight better .

Alfred , Bruce and Tim are feeling guilty because they feel partial to blame for Mc's trauma and neglect - especially Bruce and Tim because they feel responsible for the way you turned out . Bruce is literally scrambling to find out about you lol.

As despite not being blood related by any means Damian considers MC his blood sibling & his favorite sibling :))

Literally have them saved as " blood sis " on his phone.

[warblogs17282]

I'm not done talking about how stupid of a take that 'Stolas is selfish because he chose Blitz over Octavia' is.

But this time, I want to talk about the implications that Blitz being executed has.

Let's start with the I.M.P crew, Loona loses her loving father, who she very clearly cares a lot for, Moxxie and Millie lose their best friend and their jobs at the same time, as the asmodean crystal is registered in specifically Blitz's name, meaning that Blitz dying means the human killing business dies with it, because they have no other reliable options for getting to the living world. Fizzarolli loses his best friend as well that he only recently got back into his life.

Plus, Blitz being executed would just send Satan's message loud and clear to all of imp-kind, which basically amounted to 'We'll kill you if you step out of line. We'll kill you if you even attempt to rise above your station we forced upon you. We'll kill you if you ever dare to challenge our power and authority. We'll kill you if you aren't our little obedient puppets.'

Stolas knows that Blitz is a father, Stolas knows that the Asmodean Crystal is registered in Blitz's name, and if chose to let Blitz die, he'd have to live with the fact that his choice caused so much suffering and pain to others, including to other people Stolas knows Blitz cares about deeply, showing that the stakes have always been much higher than just 'Blitz vs Octavia', even for Stolas.

Stolas went into that trial fully expecting to be killed, Stolas went into that trial assuming that Blitz would eventually be okay after his death, to allow Blitz to keep his found family and keep being able to provide for himself and others with I.M.P, to allow Blitz to keep making that name for himself.

You might be thinking at this point, 'but wait, then why did Stolas mention his daughter after he lost his powers and such then?', and I have the answer to that question right here.

Again, Stolas went into that trial fully expecting to be executed, and in s1 e2, during that song Stolas sang to Octavia as a kid, Stolas says "When I'm gone, you'll be okay…", which is quite literally saying that Octavia will be okay, even in the event of Stolas' death, which I'm pretty confident in saying that Stolas genuinely believes in this. I just don't think that Stolas factored in Stella and Andrealphus being abusive and manipulative towards Octavia specifically, which I believe perfectly explains why Stolas only mentioned Octavia after he got his actual punishment.

Plus, Stolas knew that Octavia would inherit everything of his in the case of his own death, because he literally ensured that everything and I mean everything would pass to Octavia, as Andrealphus bluntly points in s2 e4, alongside giving Octavia the chance to experience happiness, to be able to choose happiness, even when he's dead.

Finally, I shouldn't even need to say this but,

1: We all know that Stolas would literally sacrifice everything for Octavia, he literally was sacrificing his own happiness for so many years so that Octavia could live a 'normal life'.

2: Stolas had to make a split-second decision there, he had zero time to think anything over, plus Octavia wasn't anywhere close to being in mortal danger, but Blitz was.

In conclusion, if you all want to insist on making this thing a trolley problem, then I beg of you, remember the problem is nowhere near purely 'Blitz vs Octavia' for all of the reasons I've brought up in this post, and also remember that it's Andrealphus and Stella who tied them down on the tracks to begin with.

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[minus-plus-zer0]

One Good Grovel

♡ Genre: Fluff (trust me), little crack ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Established relationships

You and Katsuki had your biggest fight in a while.

Both sides fought like they were out for blood. You two said things you shouldn't have, things that were hard to take back. It ended with Bakugou storming out of your shared apartment.

The moment he did, he regretted it. But he didn't know how to go back inside and say it.

Hours later after he came home from doing errands, Bakugou found you on the couch. You hadn't answered any of his texts, and Bakugou never felt so helpless before. He was already losing you fast, and he couldn't dawdle now. Bakugou dumped his groceries on the kitchen counter and then approached you. Neither of you said anything.

You still looked torn up about your earlier argument, your hair a little messy in a way that Bakugou liked. He'd prefer to be the one messing it up himself, but he knew he didn't deserve that privilege now. Bakugou threw an extra blanket over you, because you looked like you needed one.

"Yo," Bakugou said, sitting down beside you on the couch. "How've you been holding up?"

"...I don't wanna talk about it. Not with you."

Your voice was frail, quiet. It broke Bakugou's heart, knowing that he put you in this position.

He had to make it right.

"I'm sorry," Bakugou said. "For everything I said. I wouldn't be surprised if ya never wanted to talk to me ever again after this." You looked at him suspiciously. "It'd kill me if you did, but that's fine. 'Cause I value your feelings over mine. When I was out today, all I could think about was you and what I said to you. So I bought you some gifts and I really hope you'll love 'em."

Bakugou reached out to stroke your hair. "And I promise you, I'll never say that demeaning shit to you ever again. You mean more to me than winning that stupid argument, and I don't know where I'd be in my life without you by my side. I was wrong, okay? I was dead wrong for treating you like that, like anything less than the best. Most of all, I just want ya to take me back and love me. But I won't force ya to do anything. I can walk out that door again and leave you alone if you asked. And if you hate me forever... I understand."

You smiled at him. "...Okay, I hear you."

"...So do ya hate me now?"

You still smiled. "Only a whole bunch. You monster." You playfully punched him in the face.

"Sorry," Bakugou said, matching your sweet expression. "I deserved that. Punch me all ya want. Won't even stop ya."

You gave him several more feather-light punches. "You're soooo dead."

"Ya gonna call the cops on me too? Make sure I never do that shit again? Make sure I learn my lesson instead of forgiving me too easily?"

"Yes." You fluffed his hair. "They're already on their way. The conviction of a famous Pro Hero is gonna be the scandal of a century!"

Bakugou fixed his hair. "Well I'll still love ya, even while in jail."

You crossed your arms. "Only after you've served your 10-year sentence and repent through hours and hours of community service will I finally forgive you. Then you'll be free, we'll start all over, and we'll fall in love again."

"Deal," Bakugou said, kissing your forehead. "But I wanna skip to the end."

"No, that's the easy way out!"

"The hell? You're not actually gonna send me to jail for saying it was wrong to like Pepsi over Coca-Cola, are ya?"

"That's how the roleplay is going!"

"It ain't that serious! I said I was sorry babe! I'm sorry!"

You recalled what you originally fought about quite easily...

"Alright," Bakugou said. "I'm gonna head out for groceries. Any last minute changes to the shopping list?"

"Oh yes!" You rushed out to meet him in the entrance. "Could you get me some Pepsi? Pretty please?"

"What the fuck?" Bakugou looked at you like you grew two heads. "'Pepsi'? You want freaking 'Pepsi'?!"

You shrugged. "...Is that so bad? It'd be nice to have something besides Coca-Cola for once..."

Bakugou's eyes narrowed into slits. He shut the front door and approached you. "I didn't realize we had a freaking problem here. You're telling me I've been buying the wrong soda for you this entire time?!"

"Well... It's just not as good as Pepsi. It's not the same. I'm sorry... but I've always felt this way."

"Since fucking when?! When did things change?" Bakugou slapped a hand over his eyes. "What the hell did I miss?!"

Bakugou couldn't believe this. He thought he knew you better than anyone, just like how you knew him better than anyone. You two were the tightest couple ever. Bakugou had an engagement ring hidden in his dresser because he had already long since decided that what he wanted in life was you.

But now, he didn't feel like he knew you at all.

He'd still marry you though.

You remained silent. Bakugou couldn't stand it. He shook his head, then walked back to the front door, opening it. He stopped before he left, turning to you.

"Coca-Cola is better than Pepsi. That's just a fact."

Then he turned, and left. Instant regret washed over him, but he continued down to the front lobby. As Bakugou looked down upon his cursed shopping list, he couldn't in good conscious buy Coca-Cola anymore. Not when you hated it so much. He had to make things right.

He was getting Dr. Pepper instead.

"This is fucking disgusting, Katsuki," you said, halfway through your delicious can of Dr. Pepper at your dinner table.

"It was on sale, alright?!"

(I've read that a lot of people are unsatisfied with grovels in romance novels because they don't feel that the love interest apologizes well enough, so I wrote this just in case anybody needs one good quick grovel with none of the baggage attached. Btw, my favorite is Coke and it's not even close)

[saras-almanac]

you saying that "eddie literally gets everything handed to him and never faces any consequences" when he literally lost custody of his son and his job and his home this season. just say your a bt fan and hate eddie and move on.

I'm going to be real with you, this is hilarious to me in so many ways because these are the tags from my not wanting Eddie as captain ever post... But I'm going to try and be less snarky than I want to be when I say that Eddie has literally never faced a single consequence for any of his actions/decisions on this show--not professionally, personally, internally, or even just painted as in the wrong within the show itself. This is quite literally the second time that Eddie has left the 118 on a whim and then is able to come back just as easily on a whim.

But I don't feel like going into the entire history of eddie diaz right now, so we'll just focus on what you said in regards to this sesaon (season 8)--that eddie "lost custody of his son, his job, and his home this season." Here's the thing, he didn't lose anything. He made choices that had consequences (briefly) that he was supposed to work through and sort out. Which... he didn't.

He didn't lose custody of his son--Christopher saw his father with a woman who looked just like his dead mom and realized he'd been cheating on his dad's girlfriend he had grown attached to (again) and Chris chose to leave and go spend the summer with his grandparents in Texas because he didn't want to be around Eddie right now. That was completely down to Eddie's actions--of which he never really apologized and send Buck in at the end of season 7 to try and convince Chris to stay instead of talking about anything. And they had zero talks about anything in season 8 that I remember. I think the only time it's really mentioned by Eddie what he did was to the priest? Instead, the entire season revolves around how terrible Eddie's parents are for "taking Chris from Eddie" instead of "why isn't Eddie confronting his failure with Chris last year to work at making it better."

He didn't lose his job or house--he gave up his job at the 118 to move to Texas to be nearer to his kid to try and repair their relationship. Not that he did really. He just showed up to a chess match and then decided Chris was moving back in with him, but it's all framed around Eddie's parents and their treatment of Chris and Eddie. I'm not saying that it was wrong or that there couldn't be layers to it, but the main reason Chris left was literally never mentioned to or talked about with Chris. I honestly don't even remember Chris ever saying out loud at any point this season his frustrations with his dad or anything that happened.

But all of that aside, what happened in the last few episodes of the season? Eddie easily and quickly repairs his relationship with his son, gets to just come back to the 118 on a whim when he's actively a civilian right now (again breaking major rules and regulations that I can ignore a little for the sake of the TV show), and gets his house back because Buck immediately moved out. So even if you want to argue that eddie "lost" so much stuff this season, he didn't learn anything or grow really, and got everything he wanted and more back with very little effort on his part. And that is boring to me, so I don't enjoy Eddie's character because they've literally done nothing with him for years. (But that's a different post)

And yes, I am a BuckTommy shipper because I like Buck and adore Tommy and think they really found a really great partner for Buck to actually show him settling into his personal life--if they want to go there in season 9. I don't see Eddie as a road block or challenge or something that might "get in the way" of a BuckTommy reunion, so I'm not sure what you think that has to do with my frustrations over Eddie and why I would be livid if Eddie somehow becomes Captain in season 9.

[whetstonefires]

My personal take on how we're supposed to understand the role of Wei Wuxian's alternate cultivation method in fucking him up so bad is that:

It's deliberately ambiguous; he never actually does anything that's so utterly out of character it has to be attributed to Evil Energies. And at each stage of deterioration, he always has exciting new traumas precipitating the decline. I think we're set up to expect him to have been more explicitly Corrupted By Dark Magics than he ever turns out to have been, because that's a very standard trope that's being played with. But like, he went into Tunnel Vision Murder Mode just fine on his own, during his effort to get Jiang Cheng back right after the massacre; Wen Ning really struggled to talk him down enough to accept help, and he remained a paranoid mess all the way to Yiling. That's all trauma, no dark magic yet! Equally, a lot of stuff from the Burial Mounds on could be driven in part by direct contact with ghosts and ghouls being bad for his mental health on a spiritual pollution basis. But a lot of it is very definitely PTSD, and the isolating effects of having to keep his disability secret, especially from the person he should be most able to lean on, but can't.

A big part of why it wasn't fucking him up worse was that he'd lost his core. You know how Nie Mingjue died? How the Nie sect leaders usually die? Qi deviation, due to corruption from the resentful spirits of dead animals. Well, actually due to Jin Guangyao, but it followed the expected pattern, and resulted in him losing his mind to the point of killing anyone he could reach. This is a cultivator-specific problem, something that arises from having a cultivation base that gets warped out of true. And the stronger they are, the worse it gets; the more inevitable and extreme the dissolution. The details of the Nie problem are secret, but its underlying principles are common knowledge. Wei Wuxian was uniquely positioned as a talented, experienced cultivator who no longer had a cultivation base to fuck up. Being able to push the corpse path as far as he did without going into a fatal qi deviation or otherwise blowing himself up was due to this special circumstance--normally, anyone with the expertise to operate at that level has built up their cultivation to a high enough level to be vulnerable to corruption, and anyone without a cultivation base to send into deviation has no way to have developed the necessary skills with manipulating energy and so forth. (And probably doesn't have a sufficient background education either, and if they do have the education and yet no cultivation to speak of, they probably lack talent.) Even apart from his unique genius, no one else could have done it. He should have gone crazy and died, years earlier. A cultivator would have. Which was a big part of the reason he didn't really engage on the subject at all, and just focused on deflection and stonewalling everyone, rather than trying to make a case for himself. And why he wasn't taking outside opinions about the risk seriously, because they didn't know what they were talking about, and he couldn't afford for them to think too hard about why they were wrong.

So when he ultimately had the massive murder breakdown, everyone understood it as a purely personal thing that was happening inside of him due to his personal choice to live a self-destructive lifestyle, validating the righteousness of everyone who didn't make that choice. Rather than the result of largely-systemic external forces acting on him and his loved ones to the point that he broke. And society didn't have to assume any responsibility whatsoever.

[ghostbsuter]

"What exactly are halfas?" Constantine asks, cigarette lit and leaning against the table.

They were in the justice league, having attended a meeting previously and now just lazed around.

Batman loses focus on his laptop screen and openly looks at the two, interested.

Green Lantern, Hal, jerks up at the question, looking between everyone still in the room and trying (and failing) to seem uninterested.

Zatara is glaring daggers at Constantine's back, eyes narrowed.

While flash had no context, having just arrived back with his food to sit with the rest, he appropriately tenses as well, from just one glance around the room.

Superman and Wonder woman aren't different from batman, not as discreet as some are trying to be and just staring at the two.

Slightly amused, Danny decided to entertain the question.

"Unlike ghosts and the undead, halfas are created and not born." He explains, looking at the man when he writes it down.

Who knew the infinity realm were this closed off that John Constantine had to get information from the source itself just to keep updated?

"Care to elaborate?"

Clicking his tongue, he does so.

"Halfas get created during extreme circumstances, it has to be right place, right time and correct amount of ectoplasm." Danny catches the lollipop that Batman throws at him, sending the bat a quick smile.

"Not everyone can become a halfa, our race is a rarity amongst the dead."Constantine raises a brow, pursing his lips. "There are only 3 of you right? Is that a normal amount in the realms?"

Another click. "No, thousands of years ago, when our kind reached its peak of over hundreds of people, Pariah Dark happened."

He briefly shares a glance with Martian Manhunter, he wonders if anyone here sent out a message of phantom story time? Why were they all lounging around?

"It was genocide. He killed off an entire species just because he felt threatened." He shrugs.

Constantine jolts, eyes clear as if he'd just connected the dots.

"So his downfall wasn't only because of rights of conquest but— the reason no one joined nor fought between you and the old King was because it was a revenge kill."

Danny ponders the words over, nodding. Yeah that sounds right.

"Many aren't surprised that Pariah Dark went berserk. It was kind of predictable, considering his soul was brought to the Infinity Realms after he'd died in the Phantom Zone as you know it."

Hal straightens up, Batman tenses and Diana leans forward.

"This previous King of yours– he was a past prisoner of Aethyr's Mind?"

The halfa nods, uncertain now that he'd stumbled upon unknown territory.

"Yes, the Phantom Zone and the Infinity Realms are sister spaces. Were you not aware?"

They were not, he quickly finds out.

Fumbling with his words, mind working overdrive as he sorts through information, he speaks again. "They are the two sides of the same coin, Phantom Zone being non-habitable while the Ghost Zone is filled with unalive."

He briefly struggles with his words, genuinely taken off guard with the lack of knowledge.

"Aethyr isn't just a being, but someone who is connected to the realm itself. Its similar to my position as King of the ghost zone." He summons his crown of ice to simple gesture.

"Besides! Phantom Zone, Zero Zone? Anti-infinite? That's literally the opposite of the Ghost Zone, the Infinite Realms!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

"Could you tell us more of your realm?" Superman asks, voice gentle and non threatening. "Some of us have been in the Phantom Zone, so hearing that there is a place being the complete opposite?"

The halfa nods in understanding. "Sure, why not?"

Three simple words yet everyone feels the trust put on them with such information.

"The entire realm is an ever shifting space, we categorise eith the sectors of each afterlife. From the Greeks to the Yetis and different eras."

—

(The tale of his realm lasts longer than expected, it is only when Hal started to get ready to leave does Danny address a certain area in his zone.

"The... Emerald Space is also a sector of the Infinity realm. The sector itself is formed in a sphere like form, we aren't sure what's inside since the fallen lanterns keep to themselves rather."

Hal froze, eyes catching the ghosts, and looked away again. He'd tell OA of this, but now he was going home.

Danny watched him leave and declared it down for now, free for more question the next time and left just as fast.

At least Constantine and Zatara can update their books now.)

[obsessive-valentine]

Forever and Always

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader

No real TW's in this one- just sick reader and reader not believing in stranger danger lol. Also !not proof read!

Based circa 1800’s, reader has caught the attention of a vampire who’s maternal instincts have been neglected after a tragic life as a living woman and empty one as a the living dead still without the daughter she longed for.

Readers age isn't specified -though implied her childhood has passed and is anywhere from adolescence even up to young adult, tried to keep it broad (but she does come across as naive and childish.) Wrote this bc mommy issues. I think it's getting a bit lengthy so I split this into 2 parts, I'll be slowly adding to part 2 and maybe be out soon if you guys like this kinda thing.

...

It's a small town, nestled in a valley and surrounded by forests of barren trees striped bare by the harsh winter. The clouds consistently created a grey overcast. It's cold all year around and wasn't uncommon to see people tip-toeing around the icy patches on the cobblestone streets.

Smoke from the small and squished townhouses further added to the murkiness in the air, mixing with the fog, but at least it added a sense of warmth when the winds blew it towards you. It never lasted long though before the cold begins to nip at your exposed nose and ears.

It was easy to feel like you were the only one who lived in this town. The streets are eerily quiet in the mornings when you'd walk in silence with your father to his shop in town. Even when you'd get into the town square, where most people could be found if they weren't working or at school, they are all on a mission and far too cold to stop and talk. The bitter winter seemed to seep into their blood as they pushed past each other, their footsteps rushed and faces buried in their coats. Then it was the same in the evenings when you'd walk back with your father, the streets quiet and cold, your father even more so. A thick fog would roll in, and lamp lighters would be up on ladders lighting the street lights, providing some comfort but not much to the wandering mind of a young girl.

See, Father wasn't a particularly bad parent, he comes off as detached and cold only because he's so busy. Emotionally neglectful? sure. But you are one of many siblings, he has to neglect you emotionally so that he can properly focus on caring for you physically. At least that's what mother always says. She's not much better though. You wonder why they had kids if they seem so apathetic and busy all the time, it obviously doesn't bring them much joy. Had they once loved each other and were excited to raise a family? Why did it change? You don't know nor never would, they don't appreciate talking about heavy topics.

...

You were excited to help father in his shop when he proposed it to mother "I can take the girl with me if she doesn't cause trouble. And the boy will be off with his older brother in school come next month. You continue teaching the older two girls their duties" He was trying to relieve pressure from mother, as she had to do house chores and teach your sisters the duties and tasks such as weaving and sewing. It was reluctant, he didn't believe in wasting money and sending you -just a girl- to school, but this argument kept rising up and he supposed he could use some help in the shop.

You thought this was an opportunity to get close to your father but he still didn't have the time to nurture you, you couldn't help but feel disappointed and even abandoned but never would resent your father due to childish innocence you still had yet to grow out of. You clung to any praise he gave you or any time he'd nurture to your necessitates, like buying you gloves on the walk to work when you wouldn't stop rubbing your hands for warmth.

...

The first time you had seen the woman, who would change your life, it was like any other. You had survived the walk to your father's store, careful not to slip on hidden ice and peaking into expensive shop windows when your father wasn't looking. He owned a general mercantile store, items ranged anywhere from tools to odd collectables to food. It wasn't uncommon for people to come in and ask for a specific item and your father would make some deals and acquire the item that wasn't available anywhere else and have it in the store for them the next week. Many people also came in to trade items for money, you'd watch from a distance as they haggled the price both the customer and father would fight over a single penny, it's pretty funny.

You sat on the large window sill at the back of the shop, face pressed up against the cold glass watching the busy people rush around. They looked like dragons with the cold breath coming from their noses and mouths. You'd just helped your father set up the shop ready to open, forced to clean the floors and surfaces and he finished some checks and brought out a few items from the back that he mended to be ready to sell.

You'd just finished wiping away the condensation on the windows, and were given the approval to sit down for a bit "Good job, go sit down out the way, I'll call for you in a bit".

People came and went hearing the bell ding from the door opening and watching people ponder on items as father busied himself with repairing an item to sell or counting money and paperwork. Looking back out the window you locked eyes with HER- a beautiful woman, in a pretty dress and lush winter coat. She smiled with a warmth this town hadn't seen in too long, you felt a connection instantly, you longed to talk to her, but brushed it off believing you only felt that way because of the abnormal warmth she radiated.

You had to stop yourself from gawking at her expensive clothing and lush long hair that was as dark as coal and curled to frame her face perfectly. Mustering up a genuine smile you raised your hand to wave subtly. You saw her eyes flicker to the store's main windows observing the variety before seemingly deciding to come look inside the shop. Straightening up in your seat you watched her cross the cobbled street towards the shop, you shuffled up closer towards the desk your father worked at, careful to stay out of his way but curious of the woman about to enter the shop.

The deep red of her dress was even more entrancing up close and her jewellery proudly sparkled. Father greeted her and helped her find some watches kept away in an expensive glass case lined with velvet padding. "Oh, my son would love one of these" She inspected them closer making light conversation with Father. Until she lifted her eyes over to you, spotting you almost instantly watching her from behind some storage shelves.

"Seems we have another expert ready to help. Come here." she gestured with an encouraging hand, you'd been caught off guard so your step stuttered as you walked closer -checking it was okay with your father with a glance.

"Come on" she egged. You walked up to the counter where the case of watches lay on display "Could you help me pick one out? I just can't decide" she sighed but kept a gentle warm smile. Something about her voice or eyes made you hesitate, ever so slightly unsettling, you'd never been nervous to help a customer. It was an odd feeling but her presence was so genuine and even maternal that you pushed aside the trepidations and nodded, unable to speak through your tied tongue.

Father left you both to it as he continued with work and serving the few customers who came in while you both talked. "My son is a serious young man, always deep in thought. He's needed a new watch for some time now, which one do you think will suit him?" she placed two watches she'd picked from the case, in front of you.

You stumbled over your words "I'm not sure... I mean I don't know much about watches" Your eyes darted between the two beautiful watches with tiny engravings -how did they make such small details on such a hard surface? You wondered. One gold and the other silver, they are just as beautiful as each other.

She lightly laughed, you could have sworn her eyes twinkled "Don't be modest. Beauty recognises beauty, and you are quite beautiful" Your face feels hot from the compliment and partly the pressure of picking such an expensive item for her.

"I suppose if he's more of a serious soul... he'd appreciate this one more?" you'd decided on the silver one, more sleek and serious. You didn't dare to touch it and dirty it so you just gestured.

She hummed, taking a closer look. You stood fiddling with your clothes unsure if it was the right choice, until she spoke- "You are a smart girl, this one is much more suitable." she agrees putting the gold one back in the box

Since finding your voice once again you decided to ask her about certain pieces of jewellery she wore as she counted her money. She gladly engaged in conversation, even passing you a few rings or bracelets that she wore so you could look at them closer as she talked about the stones or where she got them from. You insited you shouldn't touch them as she passed a bracelet to you "I've been cleaning this morning, my hands must be dirty I shouldn't touch such a valuable thing like this." She took your hand and manually placed it in your palm "It's no bother, I insist" she encouraged.

She travels a lot, and most of what she was wearing being from a different country. You wondered how she could travel so many places in such little time, and how rich she had to be to do that, you don't think you've ever left this town. Before you could ask about her travels, being so deeply invested in talking to her you'd leaned on the front desk, ready on your elbows and tip-toes for the next story- that wouldn't come. "-Are you helping the lady or just standing around?" your father scolded one he saw you chatting to the woman unrelated to selling her the watch "Get on with your chores before lunch time comes around" he ordered.

You turned to the woman with a sheepish and apologetic smile before hurrying away further into the store. She seemed a bit agitated by being interrupted by your father but quickly covered it up to finish the transaction.

"You've picked that one ma'am?" Your Father chimed in, eager for the money coming his way.

"Yes" she handed him the watch "Your daughter has quite the eye, it's a lovely piece" he hummed back in acknowledgement but not necessarily agreeing, he counted the cash and bagged the item. She wanted to scowl at his attitude but kept composed, she looked over her shoulder for any sign of you, she could hear the broom being swept over the wood-planked floor but couldn't see you. She reluctantly left with only the silver watch.

...

You saw the woman frequently after that first meeting. It was as if she appeared whenever you needed her most—without being summoned, always close by, like a shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your world.

Sometimes you'd bump into her on your way to the bakery when Father let you have a lunch break with a few coins clutched in your hand, and she'd fall into step beside you- like you'd just summoned her. She'd ask about you, but you were always eager to get to the stories that you'd rush through formalities, she'd gladly continue her stories of the world beyond this valley.She would then buy you a pastry or two, ones you couldn't possibly get with just the few coins in your hand. You'd pocket the extra coins and have a growing stash in your pillow back at home.

and walk you back to the shop "Go on, dear," she’d say, gently nudging you back toward the door. "I’ll see you again soon." Before disappearing into the crowd.

-

On other days, when you saw her outside the shop from your window, you felt an irresistible pull. Her presence became a secret thrill, something just for you, a small rebellion against the order your father imposed. Carefully, you’d slip out the back door, the heavy wooden frame creaking in protest, but not enough to alert anyone.

You’d run out, your heart racing as you approached her, trying not to draw too much attention from anyone passing by. She always noticed you before you could speak, turning toward you with that warm, knowing smile.

"Sneaking out again, are we?" she’d tease softly, her voice almost conspiratorial. "What would your father say?"

But there was never any judgment in her words, just a hint of amusement and affection.

-

At some point, you had the sense to ask her name after realising she'd been using your name but you, in all your excitement, had yet to use hers. "Lavinia Beaumont, dear" she couldn't help but laugh a little, she was beginning to believe you'd never ask.

You blinked, the name rolling over your tongue in your mind, everything about her seems rich and beautiful, you smiled.

"Lavinia Beaumont... it sounds like royalty," you said with a playful glint in your eyes. "Are you secretly a royal? I promise I won't tell anyone." you continued half joking.

"Not quite" She smiled, before you could question further you had to leave her for the day to return to the shop.

...

It was yet another working day for you and your father, or it should have been. Lavinia had yet to see you, she couldn't even sense your presence. not wanting to believe it however she left the carriage and walked further into the streets of town.

Subtly she went out of her way to walk in front of the mercantile store you were usually found in if not nearby. Her eyes darted at each of the windows, looking inside for the sight of you sweeping, cleaning, sitting at a window or sneaking around to fiddle and poke at the new stock much to your father's dismay. But the only person in the store is your father.

She walked the town a little longer, hoping anyone of her senses would pick up on you. There was nothing and she returned home.

Lavinia did this twice more, coming in the mornings, seeing no sign of you and coming up with excuses, but it never helped to unease.

On the 3rd day, she gave up waiting and walked into the mercantile store. The bell rang above her head "Back again I see, how can I help?" your father spoke straightening up from his position at the front desk where he'd previously been writing- presumably taking stock or counting money.

"A pleasure to meet you again, I'm curious about what other beautiful pieces you have, My son was most taken with it." Lavinia replied, eyeing the glass cases, none of this jewellery she'd wear, her taste is far more expensive but she had to sell the narrative. Your father jumped at the opportunity to sell yet another pricey piece "Ah! Madam, If you’ll allow me a moment, I believe I have something that might catch your eye."" he disappeared into a back room and emerged with an envelope. "I've just had these in, I haven't had time to put onto the shelves yet but it might be of interest to you, fine work indeed." He pulled out some fine chains of silver and gold, with little stones or pearls decorating them. Lavinia couldn't care less about the jewellery but played along nevertheless.

"Beautiful" she inspected "I had thought the young lady who assisted me last time might be here today. She had such an eye for these things. Where might she be? I'm sure she could pick the finest one for me" She began to prod but making as though the thought had only just occurred to her, asked in a light, conversational tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disappoint but my daughter has become increasingly ill the past few days. And the physicians believe it to be consumption, but they are hopeful she'll get well soon as we caught it early" Your father replied, he fidgeted and shifted his weight continuously.

Lavinia had long set down the jewellery and stood listening intensely. She dreaded it but had suspected something greater was at play- "I'm so sorry to hear that, such a sweet girl shouldn't go through that" She was secretly seething, her girl is in pain somewhere and Lavinia- for the first time in a long time- was helpless. He cleared his throat awkwardly "Yes, I'm sure it will all smooth out"

...

"The girl is sick! You know better than anyone she won't overcome this, not with those treatments-" Lavinia seethed at the thought pacing her husband's study, where he sat once writing at his desk but now interrupted and pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

He stood up ready for this argument to end, this girl had caused a lot of ruckus in the house since Lavinia had begun talking about you and he's about fed up "-We are surrounded by death, I thought you had come to terms with that long ago. Plenty of good people have died early in life and will continue to be that way, death doesn't discriminate. She's just one of an incomprehensible amount of average people experiencing an average tragedy" In some sick way he's ready for your death, so his wife overcomes this unhealthy attachment to some average mortal girl.

"But she could be more than that. She's more than that to me. And you know what I mean by that, you've been denying me this instinct for decades and you're cruel for that." Lavinia had to step away from the deeply unsettling conversation, turning her back to storm out but turning around last minute before slamming the door "I am the very thing that holds this family together and you'd have nothing without me" her teeth are gritted, her voice low and damning. She's never had any great quarrels with her husband, maybe a healthy few in the past few centuries but nothing that could make her question his love for her or hers for his.

...

"Father, a word?" Lucien, one of the sons of Lavinia and Soren, entered the study where hours had passed of Soren thinking over the conversation. Soren gave a brief nod busy putting on his coat and finding his gloves that he always seems to misplace, he supposed it's been a while since he's needed them to go out anywhere. "You can't be serious" Lucien scowled, now noticing what his father is doing.

"Get on with it boy" Soren scolds Lucien's disrespectful tone. "NO! You're going to get the girl, aren't you!? You're giving into Mother because of one little quarrel? You're putting our whole family, everything we've built at risk for an average mortal girl?" Lucien scolded, his face twisting in a mix of emotions, unable to grasp the concept.

Soren ignored Lucien's tone, whereas if it was any other day he wouldn't stand it -he's simply too tired to argue more "This is something I should have seen coming a long time ago. This isn't a passing interest or quarrel, you should know your Mother better than that. She's the reason we exist in any form of peace, the family would be much worse off without this gir-" Lucien interupts with "- We've done fine without this mortal so far!"

Soren glares at his son "I'd appreciate if you don't interrupt, that is childish. I don't expect you to understand your mother's need for her as you have never seen her broken" Soren pauses to grab his gloves out of their hiding place.

He continues "You're right, we've got this far without her. But this denial- this gap in your mother's life has been building in the background for centuries. She sees potential -so I suppose I do to" Before Lucien can argue more Soren leaves the room headed for the front door.

He passes the younger of the two, Dorian, standing close by "It's lousy to eavesdrop, Dorian" The boy grins in response, clearly curious about this change and more accepting than his brother.

...

You believed the reaper had come for your soul when you saw that man standing in the doorframe to your room. It had to be the dead of night, there was no sound to be heard or light to be seen aside from the dim glow of the moon. Your candle on the nightstand had long been burned out.

Still dazed and lethargic from sleep and sickness you blinked a few times at the unmoving figure which studied you, you then took a deep breath in, which rattled in your chest readying yourself for what monster you might face.

Courage is mustered and you manage to ask "Who are you?" quietly and sounding sickly but the monster in the shadow seems to hear you fine. "Soren. Your father sent me -I'm here to help, I'll have you healed by morning" his voice is monotone, but at least not one of a story book monster you'd expected.

You felt bitterness at the mention of your father's name, once you had given him every excuse in the book for why he didn't show his love for you. But the past few days had been rough, he wouldn't even look at you, unsure what to do with you, sending doctors and medicine but not the comfort you longed for. You just wanted reassurance, just love.

Soren steps into the room a bit further, the wallpaper a childish floral pattern. You had trinkets strewn about, papers of scribbled writing and doodles on the little oak wood desk, a doll here and there that you couldn't part with once your childhood had finished.

He looked back at you, pale and exhausted. Your brows furrowed while you tried to make sense of the man. He felt an unexplainable emotion, maybe closer to remorse but more complex than that. The innocence he hadn't seen in a long time, you'd struggle for a while once you were turned - it happened with both his sons and wife. Maybe you'd wish you had died here on this bed, maybe you'd fill the house with anger or maybe sorrow.

But in the grand scheme of things that period will be not even a fraction of your greatest purpose. He sucked in a deep breath out of habit not need, he pushed back the hesitation. For a greater purpose. For Lavinia. For the sake of his family, which you will become.

In cold resolve he walked towards the bed, you'd live on in a way, he wasn't lying. Your true death would be wasted potential, you'd learn to be content with undead like he once had to.

"How?" you questioned he blinked back into reality "How can you heal me in mere hours?" It's a reasonable question, but an incredibly complex answer he didn't have time for.

"You just have to trust me" He replied simply "We have to go to my office first, you'll be in your bed, healthy, come morning. I promise" He continued, seeing your weariness.

Your hand lifted and a small finger stuck out "Promise?" you asked. He recognised the childish gesture and returned it with his gloved hand, hiding how unaturally cold he is "I promise" he repeated back. He wasn't really lying, you would be saved from consumption in a couple of hours and sleeping in your bed -be it in your new home.

He lifted you into his arms, one under your legs and the other around your back as you rest your head on his chest. You both left the room then house without another word never to be seen by the sleepy, moody little town ever again.

You fell asleep -the last deep sleep you'd experience as a living being. He was careful not to wake you on the ride home.

...

Lavinia now had found out what was happening after Dorian ran to tell her the news -ever loyal to his mother. "Fathers left to get the girl" he gently told her as he stuck his head through the crack of the door.

Lavinia straightened up from her seat where she sat embroidering to pass the time "You don't mean it? When did he leave?" she haphazardly dropped the items on a side table and rushed past him.

"Not long ago" Dorian followed after his mother "How could this be?" she more so muttered to herself but Dorian replied anyways "A change of heart I suppose" Dorian was quite amused by it all, more from shock not meaning to be insensitive. Its rare that something of interest or chaotic happens in the house that he cant helped but get worked up a bit.

Lavinia paced the entryway waiting for Soren to return, hopefully with you. Dorian sat on the staircase a bit further back keeping his mother company while Lucien sulked in his personal study, wanting nothing more to do with this mess.

The carriage and hooves could be heard on the gravel path leading to the house. Lavinia couldn't wait any longer and opened the door welcoming in a cold draft as she stepped outside to watch the carriage come into sight.

And there you were in Soren's arms, out cold, but looking so peaceful. He stepped down onto the gravel and Lavinia almost aggressively snatched you from his hold.

Instead, she gently took you, not to wake you. Seeing you up close was a shock for her, only remembering you as that lively town girl. Not the sickly pale, exhausted and wasting girl consumed by sickness.

"Oh my baby" she whispered brushing the hair away from your fevered face, then clutching you closer, cradling you like one would a baby. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met with Soren -her hand briefly brushed over the side of his face, a quick gesture of appreciation. He stood unmoving and unreadable but allowed the touch and connection.

She then rushed you inside before the frost of the night woke you up, her footsteps hurried but careful. Her head crowded with one thought only; 'you're safe with me now, forever and always'

[tipsandtrixx]

Don't think about the possibility of Frank getting out of prison and deciding to look for his sons and searching up and down NYC for them before checking the theater and Meddas absolute horror seeing him and refusing to tell him, saying she hasn't seen Francis or Micheal in years, which isn't really lying.

and so he keeps looking and sees two boys around his sons ages selling papers and asks them, and the older gives him this weird look and askes why he wants to know and Frank saying that they're his sons and he's trying to find them and the older boys face twists into disbelief and shock and he says he's never met them and they run off.

And he keeps looking and keeps running into newsies who all have the same reaction, disgust horror and shock, who all tell him they've never met the pair or that they don't know who he's talking about then running off.

And eventually while walking through Brooklyn he runs into this tough looking but short kid who seems to recognize him and he asks what's he doing in Brooklyns turf, and Frank has no idea what he means and tells him such, and that he's looking for his sons, and tells him who they are.

And the kid gives him this scowl before telling him they've been dead for years, Francis killed himself several years ago and Micheal got ran over by a trolley, and that if he didn't get off Brooklyns turf he'd have his guys send Frank straight to them.

And he's walking back through Manhattan late at night feeling confused and frustrated, because he's clearly being lied to, and every newsie in nyc seems to know him somehow, and that last one had this look in his eyes that seemed almost like hate.

And he walks past this lodging house, and sees that all the boys are peering at him and jabbing at him through the windows before running off snickering.

And he feels like even after they leave he's still being watched and he looks up to the roof

And there's this kid that's 100% Francis, looking at him with a hate and anger he hadn't seen in the boy since the day he killed Ellen.

And he calls for him, calls for Francis, calls for his son to come down and talk with him.

But he doesn't move, doesn't respond or reply, just stares at him.

And now there's this old man next to him, also looking up at Francis, and he gives the man a nod before leaving their sight.

And the man gives him this look and askes him what he's doing, and he tells him he's looking for his sons, and that boy was unmistakable as his oldest Francis.

And the man chuckles and tells him

"Francis is long dead, that boy is Jack Kelly, and I doubt he wants to speak with you"

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ?? | fame au p2 | p1 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

The picture itself is not incriminating.

In the five years since Eddie’s wet dog apology they have been cordial to each other. Eddie seemed to have finally grown up. Finally got the hint. He doesn’t bug Steve after that night. He stays in his lane.

After a few years it’s a nod at a charity event. A half-smile at the town’s trendy new restaurant. A card when Steve gets an Emmy nod for his HBO series. Steve tries to not mind it. Tries to not let it get under his skin. He doesn’t send Eddie anything when he gets his Grammy.

LA is a small town. Eddie moved back once he finished his first tour. Steve does his best to keep his circle separate but LA is a small town. He nearly ends up at Eddie’s 30th after his coworker tries to drag him to some “rager in Loz Feliz.”

Sometimes, after another break up leaves him feeling shit-all, Steve drives past their dingy old place in West Hollywood. Tries to picture the version of the story where Eddie wasn’t eaten by his monster ego. Lets himself imagine them happy. Lets himself cry over it again. Like it happened yesterday instead of a decade ago.

But then he blinks and it’s been twelve years and yeah, maybe he hasn’t felt home like he did with Eddie, maybe no one else has fit him quite so right. But maybe he was just young and everything felt bigger then.

He feels weirdly at peace about it all. It’s not forgiveness, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stomach that, but it is acceptance. It took a long time to scar but it's finally just a faded pink line. He’s happy.

And then the photo starts to circulate.

The picture itself is not incriminating.

It’s their old WeHo apartment. Eddie’s hopped on the grimy kitchen counter, acoustic guitar in hand. He’s smiling at Steve and Steve is leaned against the wall and he’s smiling back. And it’s Them. And Steve thinks they’ve never looked so young.

He doesn’t know who took the photo. Maybe Robin or Nancy or Jon. They visited a lot in that first year.

He doesn’t know how it ended up digitized, posted to a random pop culture subreddit.

What he does know is that he and Eddie have never publicly acknowledged each other.

The internet treats the picture like a cute little chachki in the first few days. A buzzpop factoid #67. It’s “Did you know Tommy Lee Jones and Al Gore were college roommates?”

But then news outlets were picking it up. And Eddie was halfway through promoting his third album.

They’re dead lucky the picture is not incriminating.

Steve’s still not technically out– he’s had quiet relationships with men but his team preferred a starlet on his arm at the carpets.

Eddie’s out the way a rockstar is. He’d fuck anything as long as it made him a pervert.

Their teams move fast.

The official story is that they’d both moved to LA to pursue their careers. They roomed together because they knew each other from their small town. Then Steve booked his show and Eddie moved to London and they lost touch.

Eddie repeats it on talk show after talk show. He lies and says they’re still friendly now, but their schedules keep them both so busy. They haven’t caught up in a while. He goes wistful when he says it. Steve tries not to feel downright bitter. It does quiet the chatter down.

In November, his manager tells him he’s presenting at the Golden Globes. The studio had asked him specifically, still under contract to promote their animated movie. He agrees cause he needs eyes on the tiny indie he'd finally gotten made.

In December, he finds out who he’s presenting with.

Steve throws a fit. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s not at all in line with the nice-guy persona he’s spent years cultivating. But they’ve managed to get this far without him actually having to talk to the guy. He doesn’t ever want to have to talk to Eddie Munson again.

His manager lures him off the ledge. It’s too late to change the line-up. He's put in years of work to get his movie made. She reminds him that it’s Hollywood. Everyone has to deal with this shit. Not worth blowing it all up because he can’t handle 30 minutes with his ex.

So Steve plays nice but Eddie skips out on rehearsal. Of fucking course. Twelve years and he’s still so predictable.

Steve reads the teleprompter next to a random PA and decides then and there to say Fuck Healing. He did that. And now he’s being punished. Again. He’s fucking pissed.

He’s pissed that the photo got out. He’s pissed at whoever leaked it. He’s pissed enough to convince himself it was Eddie. He’s pissed Eddie’s shouldering his way back into his life even if it wasn’t him.

And yeah, he’s still fucking pissed that Eddie left in the first place.

Steve first sees him on the carpet. It’s from a distance, and he’s determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. He wishes Eddie dashed for the real thing too, but he knows his ego couldn’t take the blow. Eddie Munson loves attention too much.

Eddie looks great, cause he’s a celebrity & it’s a 10-person job to make him look great.

Eddie looks great cause he’s always looked great. Even when his hair was all frizz and his hygiene habits were questionable at best. And Steve hates him but his dick has never gotten the memo.

Steve deals with it by drinking a lot. It’s the Globes! He sits at his table and smiles and they give him alcohol and he drinks it. It’s stupid and it’s reckless and it’s the only thing that’s gonna get him through this torture. So he picks at his ugly velvet suit and he drinks.

The wranglers grab them 20 minutes before they’re set to present. It’s earlier than usual but Munson’s been known to dash.

They’re sitting on opposite couches in the green room. Eddie’s vibrating. Leg jittering nonstop. Steve’s starting to feel woozy. They’re not talking.

After five minutes, Eddie clicks his tongue and gets up. “Gonna take a leak.” His wrangler starts after him. “Follow me and I cut off your dick.”

Steve looks at the kid, weighing tearily whether his job was more important than his penis, “I’ll- I'll make sure he’s back on time.”

Steve stumbles riled down the hall, opens the door with a slam, “You leak the photo, Munson?”

Eddie’s already washing his hands. Steve catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks weirdly hurt.

“Steve,” Eddie says his name so... sad, “C’mon, man. I- I wouldn’t do that.”

Steve laughs cold, puts his hands in his suit pockets. “Sure, yeah, man. You’d just disappear for seven years. Come back with some horseshit apology because you finally got what you wanted. Cause your ego could finally handle being around me. But sure. You wouldn’t do that.”

Eddie steps back into the wall, looks at Steve with those watery brown eyes. They’re framed by crows feet now. “Steve, I–”

Steve boxes him in, makes it so he can’t slip away this time, “You know there was a week there where I thought you'd fucking died.”

He feels like a live wire. He feels every awful thing he’s felt for a dozen years bubble to the surface.

“Mike Wheeler told me where you went. Mike. Wheeler. I thought you were dead in a ditch, you asshole. Thought I’d lost you forever. But no. You just skipped town– Skipped town because I loved you and you fucking hated me.”

He doesn’t know when grabbed a fist into Eddie’s shirt. He wants to tear it. It’s probably insured.

“Stevie,” Eddie’s blubbering. Their faces are close enough that Steve can see his lip quivering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Now Steve really wants to laugh. Baby. It’s such garbage. Total bullshit.

“I wish you’d died. It would’ve hurt less.” He says it dry, with his big wide movie-star smile. Then he spits, bullseye on Eddie’s cheek, “I fucking hate you.”

It’s so strange to see Eddie up close after all this time. He’s blurry in the memories but so vivid here, so harsh. Makeup cracking into nicotine wrinkles. Different. A mask of the person Steve knew.

He breathes, “I know.”

----

Eddie's tongue still tastes the same.

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

walburga thinks sirius is a gift from hecate. her family thinks she's going mad but she knows better, it just makes so much sense.

the healers had said that she'd never be able to conceive, and she'd already had two miscarriages trying to prove them wrong, so she started praying - going back in her timeline to her forefathers, the high priests of hecate, and begged her for a son; performing rituals under the moon, leaving food, doing blood magic, burying stillborn puppies. her brothers told her she was hysterical, even mad, until she conceived. they were silenced, then.

she did these rituals monthly, then, till sirius was born. 3rd November, 1959, something else she considered to be a direct sign from the goddess. he was born on a waning crescent phase, when hecate's powers were strongest. furthermore, he was born right after samhain, the festival for the relationship between the living and the dead. he was born under an omen of power, she was convinced, the Black heir who would have ties to dead and the alive.

when regulus was born, she was confused. initially, she had been thrilled - another blessing? another miracle? - but there were no signs from hecate. regulus was born on a full moon, he was a virgo, there were no festivals, no nothing. maybe she resented him for giving her hope and disappointing her, maybe he was the one who she truly loved and cared for like a son, not like how she cared for sirius - distantly, almost like she worshipped him.

walburga continued her rituals, her worship of hecate, and took sirius with her from the very first day, when he was still an infant, put him on altars instead of pedestals. she took him to altars and taught him greek before english - isolation was a small price to pay for greatness.

she had no reason to believe sirius would be anything less than great - until he started rebelling, of course.

it started small.

walburga had been afraid to send sirius away for hogwarts, but she did, and two months later she got a letter from sirius saying he hadn't been cleansing himself with burnt herbs before rituals because his friends asked too many questions. that was the first sign. there were others. many, many others. she didn't plan on letting sirius return to hogwarts after he finally returned to the altar home for christmas break (what if he stopped performing rituals altogether?), but orion sent him off without her permission.

(she prayed about it. sirius cleansed himself. hecate was still with her.)

when sirius was sixteen, he said walburga was crazy. he said that he hadn't performed the rituals in years, that he knew all about the sacrifices, that it was all bullshit. he ran away. walburga broke. she cried, she begged her goddess to give her her god son back, and then sadness turned to anger, and she yelled and hurt and cursed - how dare sirius throw something so great away? how dare he betray his blood, but more importantly, his destiny? the miracle he was? did he not know hecate would abandon him? and hecate did, yes, yes she did, because sirius went to azkaban, and walburga knew he didn't kill the potters but he'd committed blasphemy, something infinitely worse, so she let him rot. had he continued his worship, she could've protected him, guided him - instead, she let her hounds of the underworld claim him, let the dementers gnaw at his soul. as he deserved.

when sickness got to her, and she was left alone in an empty house, weak and helpless, she wondered if hecate had abandoned her, too, abandoned her for letting the brightest star burn out.

[kittenshift-17]

Drabble prompt: I’ve been waiting for you, all these years

The buzz of a notification dropping in pulled him from sleep like it did every morning, and Stiles groaned into his pillow, even though this one little ritual was usually the highlight of his day. Grumbling and snuffling a bit, he snaked a hand from under the covers to grab his phone from the nightstand.

Sourwolf: .jpeg

Stiles's sleepy eyes crinkled happily, and his heart skipped a beat even as he opened the message to look at today's photo. A beautiful view of endless mountains and pine trees fills the screen, the sun just beginning to peep over the peak in the distance, bathing the forest in a soft golden glow. It was breathtaking just captured on film, so he can only imagine how much more beautiful it must be in person for Derek, wherever he was, capturing the view from his vantage point after what Stiles had come to believe were his early morning runs.

They didn't trade much other information except the picture Derek took every morning to fire off to Stiles. A proof of life, Stiles knew. Something he once almost broke his hand over by punching Derek's chest in frustration after hunting him down during his FBI internship training when the wolf had randomly appeared amid a crime, once again wanted for murder while Stiles had had no idea if he was even alive after he'd disappeared with Cora almost a year beforehand.

Stiles remembered how furious he'd been every day of that internship, sweet-talking, lying, badgering, and outright bulldozing his way into the heart of the case to find Derek and find a way to warn the idiot werewolf he was on the FBI most wanted list. Again. He remembered how he'd literally tackled Derek - easier said than done, but that was how damn angry he'd been when he finally caught up to him - and how Derek had rolled with the tackle, literally, and pinned Stiles to the floor of an abandoned warehouse and snarled in his face, blue eyes flashing before he recognized him.

It had taken a lot of threatening, browbeating, and finger-pointing at Derek while he ranted for the werewolf to realize Stiles had been afraid he'd been killed or would be caught and arrested before Stiles had demanded Derek give him his new number and answer his damn phone, and always send him a new number if he changed it again, and to damn well prove to Stiles every day that he was alive because he'd been worrying himself sick for months.

Derek had settled for proof-of-life pictures since he still abhorred words, apparently. And every day, for months and months after that, Derek had sent him a selfie, eyes always flared to hide his face lest Stiles be somehow found out by the FBI for associating with him. Stiles had loved and hated the selfie because he wanted more! He wanted a picture of Derek where he could see that smug, handsome, grumpy face and those mesmerizing green-grey-blue eyes.

It had come in handy a few times, given Derek's unfortunate habit of getting captured by hunters, but Stiles was an expert at stealing back his favorite werewolf by now, and after the first two times when Stiles rescued him within a day or two of him disappearing - denoted by the lack of morning picture - Derek had gotten used to the idea of sending them without being such an ass about it.

These days, almost three years later, pictures were usually much more random than selfies. A breathtaking view like this. Sometimes, there are pictures of dawn in the desert and a close-up of a cactus. Sometimes by the sea, zoomed in on a lump of seaweed, a broken shell, or once, a dead jellyfish. Sometimes, he encountered other live animals and sent pictures of those, like a porcupine, a red fox, and a barn owl. Once, he randomly a Ruby red Jeep in the middle of the day, too, but hadn't given any context.

Humming, Stiles scrolled up in the thread of messages, looking over the recent ones. Mostly forest, which suggested Derek was in the wilderness, far from civilization, and had been for a while. Stiles didn’t reply much anymore. He used to always say good morning and ask Derek where he was, what he was doing, and when he might visit next, but replies from the wolf that wasn't the daily proof of life pictures were few and far between unless it was to warn him about some supernatural disturbance or vague, empty words about his location or wellbeing. Once, he'd wished Stiles a happy birthday. But never anything that encouraged chit-chat. Over the years, Stiles had stopped replying, mostly, other than occasional check-ins, comments on charming views, and once when he'd been on a night out at uni after an unpleasant break-up, a pitiful voicemail message telling Derek he really missed his stupid grumpy sourwolf face and wished he'd visit because he wanted a hug.

He hadn't gotten a visit or a hug, but Derek had sent him a grumpy-faced selfie without eye flare ruining the shot, and Stiles had cried and sent him a teary voice note telling the werewolf he loved his stupidly expressive eyebrows.

Today, a pang of missing the werewolf clanged through him as he drank in the image, and without really thinking too much about it, Stiles angled the phone to take a sleepy selfie, all doe-eyed and rumpled, his hair a mess, his mole-dotted skin pale where he laid in his bed in his Dad's house in Beacon Hills.

Stiles: .jpeg... Wish you were here, sourwolf 🐺. I miss you 😔

He sent it off before he could think about it too hard. Yawning, Stiles put his phone down and rolled over, planning on going back to sleep, but before he could, his phone buzzed again, and Stiles grumbled, thinking about ignoring it.

Sourwolf: Are you in Beacon Hills?

Stiles blinked because Derek usually only responded when he was in trouble.

Stiles: Yeah. College is finally over, so I came home.... no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of my life 🤣😅😨😰😭

He was almost asleep again, thinking Derek wouldn't reply when his phone buzzed insistently on his chest. A call. Stiles definitely considered ignoring it since Derek hadn't called him since the last time a hunter had been about to snatch him, blurting his coordinates to Stiles and the hunter's family name before the growling started at the line went dead. Stiles was in no mood to talk when he could be asleep, especially since a call was more likely to be his persistent ex, whom he wanted nothing more to do with.

Checking anyway, he dropped the phone on his face and flailed when he saw it was Derek calling.

"Derek?" Stiles gasped into the phone. "Oh my god, are you about to be snatched again? Where are you? I can save your ass. Again."

A beat of silence came down the line but for the whisper of wind in the pines and the occasional chirp of a bird.

"Did I miss your graduation?" Derek's low, rough voice slides into his ear, and involuntarily, Stiles’s eyes slid closed, his back arching at the sound of it.

"Ummm, yeah," Stiles managed past the unexpected visceral reaction. "It was last week. I didn't tell you since I didn't think you'd care... Dad came to see me in my silly gown and cap."

Silence came from the other end of the phone.

"You okay, Sourwolf?" Stiles checked. "You need my help?"

"How long will you be in Beacon Hills?" Derek asked, ignoring the question.

"I dunno. Forever, probably. Dad's here. My degree is... well, I can set up something online from here to make money, I guess."

If he was being honest with himself, his computer programming degree wouldn't serve him too well, career-wise. Still, he hadn't known what else to do after being kicked out of the FBI Academy when his involvement in Derek's case was called into question after he'd helped the werewolf escape justice (read: been shot in the toe and carried to safety by a disguised Derek whom he'd later gotten exonerated).

"You went home?"

"Nowhere else to go," Stiles defended since college and all the supernatural shit had been a great way to dismantle the pack and send his friends scattering to the wind, so he hadn't heard from any of them in months. Years! "Dad will always be here, and he's not getting any younger - and needs me to bully him into eating healthy again because he's been cheating on his diet while I've been at school, the idiot - and I don't mind it here. After New York, it's... peaceful."

More silence stretched on the other end of the phone but for Derek's soft breathing. Stiles just breathed with him, not wanting to yap too much lest Derek hang up to shut him up.

"You'll stay?" Derek asked quietly.

Stiles hummed.

"I think so. Someone needs to keep my dad in line. And... well, the pack's scattered to the wind, and everyone's left except Parrish. I figure someone should stay and keep an eye on things. Wouldn't want evil finding another foothold here, you know? I went by the nemeton yesterday... it's started to grow again now that the evil of the nogitsune spirit isn't poisoning it anymore."

Derek hummed a curious sound, more canine than human, but Stiles continued.

There's a sapling sprouted from the center of the stump, almost as tall as I am, with leaves and branches all over it," he confided. "It felt... right. The tree, I mean. The glade. It felt magical, but the good kind, you know what I mean? I want to protect it and make sure nothing else comes along to corrupt it again. I dunno why, but... feels like something I need to do."

A rumble of sound came through the phone at his words, soft and almost contented.

"Are you purring, big guy?" Stiles teased suspiciously.

"No," Derek grunted, but Stiles was pretty sure he was lying.

"Uh huh," Stiles laughed before a yawn escaped him as he stretched out, burrowing back into his pillow with a satisfied groan. "You're totally purring like a big cat instead of a grumpy wolf. I'm onto you."

"Are you still in bed?" Derek changed the subject.

"Mmm," Stiles hummed sleepily. "I'm an unemployed college graduate now. I'm allowed to sleep in."

Derek scoffed wordlessly, and Stiles laughed softly.

"Lazy bones," Derek accused softly. "I've already been on a ten mile run."

"If you went on four paws, it doesn't count," Stiles huffed.

"It does."

"Nope. Wolves are designed to run miles and miles. That's cheating."

"I'm a wolf, so it's my nature, ergo, not cheating," Derek argued.

"Ergo? You did not just say 'ergo', oh my god, dude. Only nerds even know that word. You can't just use it in a sentence."

"You know it," Derek pointed out. "Nerd."

Stiles gasped, pretending to be scandalized before he dissolved into sleepy giggles because these were more words than they'd traded in years, and Stilss might actually be having a delightful dream.

"God, I miss you," Stiles breathed, shaking his head. "Miss riding around in my Jeep with you being all serious and grumpy and bitchy at me while we tried to save the world, your eyebrows telling me off for talking too much... Snarky sourwolf."

"I was never bitchy," Derek huffed indignantly.

"So bitchy!"

Derek growled at him, but Stiles could hear him smiling.

"Hmm. This is a nice dream," Stiles hummed happily.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Stiles murmured, already beginning to drift off. "Missed your voice, Der. Miss your face. Mmm, eyebrows..."

He trailed off, falling asleep on the phone, so he didn't hear Derek's little fond laugh or hear him say, "I miss you too."

The next day, the photo Derek sent him was a selfie. A shirtless one taken on a different mountain with the sun rising behind him, casting his bared skin gleaming gold, and Stiles might've groaned and rutted against the bedsheets at how mouthwateringly good he looked. He sent back another sleep-rumpled one. This time, his cheeks flushed pink after stroking himself to completion.

They fell back to the same routine, but all of Derek's new pictures were selfies, almost all of them shirtless, and Stiles couldn’t resist sending some back, also shirtless, still in bed, often freshly sated.

Until one morning, almost two weeks later, his phone buzzed, waking him, and Stiles fumbled for it, eager to see his newest gift. Only today's picture wasn't a selfie. It was a picture of a dark-haired man sprawled in a familiar bed, mouth open in sleep, a familiar constellation of moles on his cheek highlighted by a kiss of dawn sunlight through his open bedroom window. Stiles blinked in confusion at the image of himself while his brain fired up before realization hit, and he shouted, scrambling upright as his eyes shot to the corner of the room the picture had been taken from.

Derek Hale loomed in the corner behind the bedroom door like the absolute creeper wolf he was, and Stiles bleated in surprise even as he threw off the covers and surged to his feet.

"Derek!?" He exclaimed, stumbling because mornings were hard and gravity was a cruel mistress, even as he lurched across the room and threw himself at Derek without a second thought.

Derek caught him against his chest, squeezing him tightly when Stiles clung to him.

"You're here!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly. "Like, holy crap, you're actually here! This is so cool! I haven't seen you in so long! You came home!"

"So did you," Derek pointed out.

"Oh my god, you're really here! Hi!"

Derek laughed into his shoulder. "Hello, Stiles."

"This is so awesome! It's so good to see you!"

In his enthusiasm, Stiles lifted Derek right off his feet and gave him a happy little shake, squeezing him fiercely. Derek growled a little at that, but Stiles didn't let it stop him while he bounced a bit until Derek wriggled to be put down and dragged his stubble cheek across the sensitive skin of Stiles's neck before nuzzling into him even more, cheeks, chin, nose and forehead all scraping across his bare neck and shoulder where he stood shirtless.

Scenting him, Stiles realized happily. Scenting him like a wolf would at the return of a packmate after some time apart.

"I can't believe you're actually here," Stiles prattled, submitting to being scented and even returning the actions, rubbing himself all over Derek while he clung to him. "How long are you staying? When did you get here? I have so much to tell you, oh my god."

Derek let Stiles prattle on about the town, his dad, the growth of the nemeton, and what he'd been doing to try and rustle up some business to make use of his degree - more challenging than he'd thought; it turned out. And while he prattled, Derek kept scenting him, rubbing his face all over him before he began to mouth along the cut of Stiles's jaw, his teeth just a little sharper than human but not enough to cut into him when he placed gentle bites all along his jaw and up to his ear, where he snuffled into him before biting the lobe.

"Holy fuck, dude, you gotta stop that before you start something you can't finish," Stiles warned because he'd already been sporting morning wood, but the attention had him throbbing with need. Hey, it wasn't Stiles's fault he had super sensitive ears and hadn't been laid in a while.

Derek's hands, which had found their way to his hips, squeezed firmly.

"Who says I can't finish it?" he breathed in Stiles's ear, and Stiles might actually blow in his boxers, people.

"Oh my god," he whined, though he jerked in surprise when there was a rap on his door before it opened, and his dad, sleepy and in his pajamas, wandered in.

"Stiles? Are you okay, bud? I heard you shout... aw, hell. Derek Hale?"

"Hello, Sheriff," Derek greeted, releasing Stiles when he jumped away quickly.

"What brings you home, son?" Noah asked, shaking Derek's hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug as well because Stilinksis were huggers, goddamn it. "You staying long?"

"Please stay," Stiles blurted without thinking. "Dude, you could totally stay and play with me."

Noah rolled his eyes when Stiles blushed.

"How's about I go and make us coffee?" he suggested. "Stiles, maybe a shirt before you blind poor Derek and scare him off with your pasty ass?"

"Heeey, I'm not pasty!" Stiles called after his dad before peering at Derek doubtfully. "I'm not. And as if you care about shirtlessness. You're the guy who shattered my self-confidence all throughout my teenage years with your inability to keep your shirt on for longer than an hour."

Derek dragged a heavy gaze over all his pale, mole-dotted skin, and Stiles shivered at the smoldering look the werewolf gave him.

"Don't wear one on my account," Derek said, and holy shit, was Derek flirting with him? Was Derek hitting on him? Maybe Stiles really was dreaming.

"Urgh, Dad's got a rule about shirts in the kitchen, and I want coffee, so," Stiles shrugged, crossing to the cupboard and digging for a shirt.

He paused when Derek came up behind him and started to scent the back of his neck, his shoulders, and the top of his back.

"Missed me, big guy?" Stiles teased softly when Derek rumbled a contented sound again, covering Stiles in his wolfy scent.

"Yes," Derek admitted roughly.

"Really?" Stiles perked up. "Aww, sourwolf, I missed you too!"

Derek bit the curve of his neck just hard enough to make it ache without breaking the skin and Stiles had to grip the chest of drawers to steady himself when his knees buckled a little bit.

"Are you really back in Beacon Hills to stay?" Derek asked against his skin while his hands slid around Stiles's waist to splay against his taut belly and the middle of his chest.

"Yeah," Stiles panted, unsure what was happening or if he was dreaming. "Yeah, I'm staying. I belong here. This is my pack's land."

"It's Hale pack land," Derek said against his neck.

"Exactly," Stiles agreed. "Fuck, dude, I don't know if this is a wolf thing for you, but if you keep doing that, I'm gonna..."

His hips twitched, his aching cock desperate for friction.

"You think you belong on Hale pack land?" Derek growled softly into his ear, and Stiles trembled, feeling every solid inch of Derek where he'd molded himself against Stiles's back.

"I'm Hale pack," Stiles moaned mindlessly.

Derek's stubble scraped against his sensitive ear and the skin beneath it, and his hot breath made Stiles shiver when he purred in agreement.

"You are," he rumbled in agreement. "You always have been."

Stiles whined softly at the acknowledgment, even as one of Derek's hands trailed up to grip his chin, turning his head in Derek's direction.

"Der..." Stiles panted, overwhelmed with what Derek was doing and how he touched him. He saw when he looked that Derek's eyes were fixed on his lips. "I haven't brushed my..."

Derek cut him off with a searing kiss, and Stiles's bones melted in the heat that burned through him, another whine tearing from his throat that Derek eagerly swallowed.Twisting in his arms, Stiles kissed him back, his arms coming up to encircle Derek's neck, confused but also wildly turned on and not about to look a gift wolf in the mouth.

When they broke apart, panting, Stiles blinked dazedly into eyes that glowed alpha-crimson.

"You're an alpha again," he croaked.

"I never stopped being one," Derek confirmed. "It just went away for a little while, like the rest of my powers when I was evolving."

Stiles nodded dazedly.

"You kissed me," he murmured, licking his lips.

Derek nodded, laying his forehead against Stiles. "I've been waiting for a very long time to kiss you."

Stiles eyebrows shot up at the confession.

"Oh yeah?" he whispered.

Derek nodded, their noses brushing together with the motion.

"All these years," Derek murmured to him.

"Why'd you wait?" Stiles asked. "You had to have known I wanted you the whole time."

Derek's lips twitched at the corners like he had known, had been able to smell whatever hormonal, desirous pheromones he'd been putting out all through high school.

"You needed to live first," Derek whispered. "Finish high school. Turn eighteen."

"I did all of those things ages ago. I finished college, dude. I'm twenty-two. I've been legal for ages."

"And you'd never have gone to college - never have left Beacon Hills, maybe not even have survived, if I'd stayed here or acted on this," Derek pointed out. "So I left because I wanted you to have the choice. I didn't want you to feel tied here by starting something with you when you were too young and stupid to know what you wanted."

"You..." Stiles trailed off, lost for words because it was true.

Leaving his Dad in Beacon Hills to ship off to the FBI Academy and then to college in New York when the FBI threw him out had been hard enough. Stiles couldn't imagine having ever left if he'd also had a lover tying him here.

"But now that I've graduated? Now that I've come home?"

"I don't want to wait anymore," Derek shrugged.

Stiles had to be dreaming.

"Did you leave town so I wouldn't be tempted to stay? Is that why you left with Cora and never came home?" Stiles whispered.

Derek nodded. Stiles heart might've been melting.

"Der..."

"You want to stay now, right?" Derek whispered. "You said... you said the nemeton's growing back? That you want to be here, close to your dad?"

"I do," Stiles nodded. "It feels right, being here."

Derek kissed him again, and Stiles clung to him, kissing back desperately despite his confusion and overwhelming arousal.

"Is this okay?" Derek whispered when they broke apart again.

"So okay," Stiles rasped. "So freaking okay, dude. Holy crap, you have no idea how long I've waited to kiss you."

"Since the day we met?" Derek guessed. "Or was that just me?"

Stiles might swoon, actually.

"You did not just say that to me," he giggled. "Sourwolf, you hated me at the beginning. You were always snarling at me."

Derek only nuzzled back into his neck, scenting him all over again and biting him several times.

"Oh my god, wait... were you always snarling at me because you were mad you wanted me? Dude! Did you get all growly and shove me into stuff because you secretly wanted to fuck my brains out the entire time?"

Stiles cut off with a low moan of ecstasy when the next bite was hard enough to bruise and accompanied by Derek's hands sliding to his ass, squeezing it firmly, and grinding their bodies together.

"Boys!? Coffee's ready!" Noah shouted from downstairs, and Stiles whimpered because he was achingly hard and didn't want to stop.

"If I say yes..." Derek murmured into Stiles's ear, nibbling the lobe. "Will you let me?"

Stiles was fairly certain his moan was more than answer enough.

[shinestarhwaa]

ATEEZ REACTION TO THEIR S/O's CHILD CALLING THEM DAD FOR THE FIRST TIME

trigger warnings: assault, partner death, implied violence by ex, a smidge of dark humor

Hongjoong

Hongjoong had been cautious at first when he met your daughter, not knowing if he'd ever be enough to live up to the standards your late husband set. You told him multiple times that he was enough and you were so lucky to have found him. He treated your daughter so carefully and gently, always being kind and sweet to her.

Your daughter was only two when her father passed so she doesn't have any real memories of him, she only knows stories. You know Hongjoong feels guilty of taking in his place sometimes but you're sure it's what he would have wanted.

And now you're standing beside Hongjoong in your daughters' classroom, watching her talk about her school project. Her teacher listens intently with a big smile. You loved to hear her ramble on. She never knew when to stop talking but you loved that about her. ''Teacher! Look this is my mom and that's dad! But he's not my dad because my dad's dead. But he's my new dad! And he's really sweet, and he has painted nails. He's cool. So he's my dad now.''

Hongjoong's eyes were wide and he looked at her, taking her hand. ''You really want me to be your dad? You've never called me that before,'' he smiled. ''Of course you're my dad, you and mom do what parents do~ I know that when you go to bed-''

''Okay that's enough out of you!'' you yelled, stopping her from saying anything to embarrass you, but Hongjoong was just laughing, happier than ever.

Seonghwa

''Look! I finished the drawing!''

Your five year old son ran towards you and Seonghwa sitting on the couch and proudly showed off his drawing of a dog. It was a bit crooked but your son took drawing so seriously and you were happy he was learning. Before you could say anything Seonghwa gasped audibly and clapped his hands. ''That's so good Y/S/N! You're so good at that! I am jealous.''

''Thank you, dad!'' he said before running off again, going back to drawing on his little desk. You and Seonghwa were left speechless, looking at each other while tears filled Seonghwa's eyes. Your smile grew wider and wider and you hugged him tight. ''He called me dad,'' he whispered and smiled as a tear fell from his cheek, ''Aren't I the luckiest dad in the world?''

Yunho

''Go, Go, Go! Get him now!''

Yunho was cheering your son on as he was nearly scoring a goal during his football match. When he scored Yunho jumped so high he was nearly flying and immediately your son was running over to you and him. You pulled him into your arms and kissed his head. ''I'm so proud of you, baby!'' You exclaimed. Yunho gave him another peptalk before sending him back.

When the game ended he was over the moon because his team won and you and Yunho were beaming with pride. ''I'm so proud of you kiddo,'' he smiled as he ruffled his hair. ''Thank you dad, I'm so happy you could come with mom today!''

He gasped softly and broke out in laughter, lifting him up and holding him. ''I'm very to be here too, kid, your mom and I will treat you on a big burger now, how does that sound?''

Yeosang

You and Yeosang were seated at the dining table when you suddenly heard a cry from the garden. You looked up and looked through the window to find your little boy on his knees, tears on his cheeks. Yeosang immediately got up and sprinted towards him. ''Hey, little buddy, what's up? What's wrong?''

''I fell,'' he cried, pointing at some kind of toy he must have tripped over. Yeosang pulled your son into his arms and lifted him up, inspecting the scratch on his leg. ''Ooh, it only needs a little kiss for it to heal. You'll be fine, I promise,'' he smiled as he pressed a kiss down on it. ''All better now, hm?'' Your son dried his cheeks and nodded. ''Thanks dad,'' he said as he hugged him. Yeosang froze for a second but felt his heart fill with warmth.

When he put your son down to play again he ran back inside to tell you about the moment they just had and you had never seen Yeosang this excited before.

San

Your four year old daughter was quite shy so you were more than surprised when she easily opened up to him, showing him her toys and talking to him non-stop. It didn't take long before she climbed into his lap and asked for cuddles every time he was around.

''Are you my new daddy now?'' she asked, her big and round eyes looking up at him intently. San was taken aback a little bit, thinking before he said anything. ''Do you want me to be?''

She nodded and laid her head on his chest. ''Yes, I like being with daddy~'' You smiled and snuggled up to them as well and San held you close, embracing you with his big and strong arms. ''My favourite girls...'' he cooed when you were dozing off. He kissed your heads gently and held you tight.

Mingi

You and Mingi had been dating for a while already and he was very good with your twin daughters, treating them with love and gentleness. He spoiled them rotten, something you told him not to but Mingi just cannot hold back when it comes to his favourite girls.

Today he decided to take you to a big themepark, paying for all the costs voluntarily. You kissed him and thanked him while you watched your five year olds scream about all the rides they were gonna get on.

''Mom, mom, mom can I have cotton candy when we get there?'' the youngest exclaimed from the back of the car. ''I don't know, I'm not paying today,'' you grinned. ''Dad, pleaaaase? Dad, I want cotton candy!'' ''Me too, dad, me too!''

Mingi was taken aback when he heard your girls call him dad for the first time, but the smile on his face grew wide. ''What did you girls say?'' ''Can we pleaaaase have cotton candy, dad?'' they asked simultaneously. He grinned and nodded, ''You sure can.''

Wooyoung

You had been feeling sick all day and you've called Wooyoung to help take care of your daughter together but instead he ordered you to lay in bed and he was seated on the couch with her.

''What's wrong with mommy?'' she asked as she ate her freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. ''Mommy has a really big headache so she has to lay in bed today and sleep a lot. Because then she will get better,'' Wooyoung explained as he braids her long hair.

''So she'll be okay?'' ''Of course she'll be okay, nothing's gonna happen to her. And I'm here to take care of you both, okay?'' She nodded and took another bite of her cookie. She looked up at him again. ''What is it honey?''

''You and mommy are in love right?'' ''Yeah, that's right,'' Wooyoung nodded. ''Are you my new daddy then? Because you're a pair, right?'' Wooyoung smiled softly and nodded. ''I think I am... But only if you allow me to be. Am I your dad then, Y/D/N?'' She nodded and smiled. ''Good,'' he kissed her head, ''I'll be your dad, honey, don't worry. You'll always have me. I'll take good care of you.''

Jongho

You were eating pasta and drinking wine with Jongho when you heard your son cry from upstairs. ''Ah, again?'' you sighed. You had been worried for weeks because he kept getting nightmares about his biological dad, who didn't treat you right. When you left you realized the impact it had on Y/S/N and the amount of nightmares he was having lately were scaring you.

''I'll go to see him, maybe I can calm him down,'' Jongho said, kissing your head and making his way towards your son's room. He knocked on the door softly and stepped in. ''Hey there... We heard you crying, what seems to be the problem?'' ''N-Nightmare,'' he said, hiccuping as he tried to dry his tears, but they kept streaming down his cheeks.

Jongho lifted him up and hugged him tight. ''It's okay, sweetheart, they aren't real, okay? Your mom and I are right downstairs, protecting you, there's nothing to be scared of, I promise you.'' Your son nodded slowly and hugged him. ''I love you dad,'' he whispered. Jongho carressed his hair gently and smiled. ''Am I dad?'' ''Yes... I like having you as my dad,'' he spoke softly. ''Then I'm dad, son.''

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho @vesvosmozhno

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been acting cagey for weeks, a fact you hadn't had the heart to address since Maddie's disappearance. but with his dubious return to school and how he loitered in the periphery of Nicole and Simon's orbit, you thought it was about time to get answers. too bad one pale, cow-eyed jock had other plans.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.4

Xavier knew that however weird you behaved, it was done with intention.

Sticking wads of gum in your hair at recess? Hana's brother had shaved a strip off the top of Hana's head in 5th grade and you'd needed to give your mom a reason. Giving Xavier's dad a casserole in a pan he'd have to return? He and Xavier hadn't had a homecooked meal since Xavier's mom went to visit her sister in 8th grade. Now every other Wednesday was circled on the calendar in Xavier's kitchen, Family Dinner scrawled in red sharpie.

So, whatever had possessed you into your uncharacteristic choice of outfit, Xavier knew there was a reason.

"Don't." You warned as soon as you opened the door.

Xavier smirked, eyeing you as you climbed into the passenger side of his truck. Of his friends, Mathilda was the one who layered herself in dark colors; a walking shadow with sass and a violent streak. You, on the other hand, tended toward a more eclectic wardrobe and never reached for black on black. Especially since...

Well. Since.

Xavier recognized your leather jacket, the lapels boasting a collection of button pins and silver studs, and band patches stitched into the sleeves. An accessorized exhibition of your taste in music and social commentary.

The jacket made sense.

What didn't was what was undoubtedly your uncle's Black Sabbath hoodie paired with black skinny jeans tucked into pointed-toe, matte black booties, the small heels on which had click-clacked down the walkway from your front door to the truck.

"Your mom's?" Xavier guessed, referring to the jeans and booties.

"Shush."

"No, no, no," Xavier said mildly, pulling into the road, "I happen to think you make it work. It's giving—" He swept the air in front of him dramatically with one hand, setting the scene, "—Crime in the Dead of Night."

You shoved your backpack into the footwell and buckled your seatbelt before leveling him with a glare. Well, maybe. He couldn't really tell through the enormous sunglasses you'd chosen to complement your peculiar outfit, but your lips were pursed in that way they got when you were grumpy about something.

"Shut up, Zav."

"No really," Xavier insisted, "Incognito Chic. Doesn't look like you're hiding something at all."

You smacked him on the shoulder, unable to suppress a lighthearted chuckle. "No questions asked." You said, invoking a years-old promise you'd made in the aftermath of what had happened to you that third week of 7th grade.

It was an appeal for support without having to reveal things that didn't make sense yet. Perhaps never would. Just unconditional thereness from someone you trusted to have your back.

A knot curled in Xavier's gut. His grip tightened on the steering wheel for a short second before he managed to tamp down the feelings of guilt.

He'd taken advantage of that pact in recent weeks. Had asked you a few times to cover for him if Maddie asked after him; even had you send texts about band practice on random days when the schedule hadn't changed since last fall. Every Saturday in Lucas and Hana's garage.

The whole thing with Claire made him feel rotted from the inside out. He could only vaguely remember how it'd started. A dumb decision made at 3am on a Tuesday, brain cloudy from too many hits of his vape.

And you never questioned him. Not once. Just honored your end of the deal because you believed Xavier was your friend and wouldn't make you aid and abet his lies.

Fuck.

A few blocks from school, you reached across the bench seat and placed a hand on Xavier's forearm, tone warm, "You sure about this?" You asked, "Cause we could go to the mall. Or drive up to the lake." Meaning his dad's cabin. "Or into the city."

Xavier gave you a weak smile, "Sounds like you're looking for an excuse to skip." He couldn't blame you. Still, "I need to do this, kiddo. Not just because I don't want the fucking trolls to win, but because there is someone in there who knows what's going on."

"So...what? You're going to track down leads and find Maddie yourself?" You raised an eyebrow. Again, Xavier couldn't quite see it with how much of your face the sunglasses masked, but your forehead shifted enough to suggest it.

"Hey, I'm open to ideas if you have any you'd like to share."

You sighed heavily, shook your head. "Nah, B, I got nothing. But if you need help, just let me know." You smiled, patted his shoulder, then bent forward to grab your backpack.

Pulling into an empty spot in the parking lot, Xavier wrestled with asking you for another favor. After all the deceit, he should take responsibility for his own shit, but he didn't have the mental fortitude to deal with Mathilda's—albeit well-meaning—stance against his choice to return to school.

She'd made a fuss in the group chat the night before, words all capitalized and stressed in bold, and Xavier wasn't looking forward to listening to the barrage he was sure she'd prepared for him. Hana, Lucas, and Eli, Xavier could manage, even if they shared Mathilda's point of view. But Mathilda? Was a force of nature.

You'd just slid out of the truck, were about to shut the door, when Xavier swallowed and forced himself to ask, "Do you think you could run interference?"

You studied him for a moment, likely wondering if it was worth it to take the bullet on Xavier's behalf, and then, "Sure thing, I got you."

Xavier was profoundly grateful to count you as a friend—hell, after all you'd been through together—a sister.

He put every ounce of sincerity behind his words, "Thank you," and offered you a proper smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes. You responded with a smile of your own, bright and buoyant and a boon to the anxiety rending his confidence.

"I'll see you in there." You chirped, stepping back and giving a mock salute, "Good luck!"

Xavier sat in his truck until you disappeared into the school, waited for the door to shut behind you before he leaned over and opened the glovebox. His vape sat on top of a mess of empty takeout wrappers and vintage CDs—the latter a testament to how old his truck was.

He hovered, chewed the inside of his cheek as his lungs and brain yearned for a taste of sweet-cotton-numbness.

It was the good stuff. The stuff your Uncle Andrew smoked to medicate his mind, and that your great-aunt mixed into brownies when her joints hurt or she suffered what your family called 'an episode'. Your uncle had been charitable, offered Xavier small amounts only after his dad had started to treat him like a stain that wouldn't come out.

You'd find it somewhere else, he'd reasoned, at least this way I know you're not getting bad shit. Just be careful. A fist bump, a cheeky smile, and that had been it.

And then he'd found a way to get it himself. Had started abusing it. Became the burnout he'd joked with Maddie about being.

"You know, you don't have to lie to me." Maddie's disappointment was palpable, pressing under Xavier's skin like cold fingers.

"Okay, fine, I'm a total burnout who is skipping class to get high in his car. Congratulations, you got me." He nonchalantly responded.

Maddie smiled, cute, dimpled, and said, "For the record, you're the worst liar in the world."

Xavier's heart broke.

Abruptly, he smacked the glovebox closed and opened his door, hauling himself out of his truck in a blur of movement. He needed to get his ass in gear before he changed his mind and fucked up again.

Today, he was going to make damn sure he did better.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[landossnorriss]

i see you - a series | ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: a little post race comfort for our favourite papapya boy. lando norris we love you. part 2 here. Word Count: 1.1k A.N: just a little comfort fic, lando being lando

he'd had a bad race. there was no denying that. there were strategies that could have been cleaner and places that pace could have been picked up sure, but at the end of the day lando had had a bad race. everyone at the team knew that and there was going to be no one else that knew it more than lando. she was already waiting for the comments that came on social media and the flood of criticism for the man that she loved. it would be worth removing the apps from her phone for the next couple of weeks and she would encourage lando to do the same as soon as she got a hold of him too.

kicking about a bottle she had dropped she paced back and forth across the tiny space that lando called a driver room as she waited for him, her mind racing through each possibility over how his interviews would go and what state the press would send him back to her in. if he got through them fine he would have to get through debriefs where oscar was once again was celebrated more than he was and she could only pray that he didn't beat himself too much over the fact he was below oscar again.

hearing the door her head flew to the entrance way, her heart sinking as she caught sight of the sad smile that covered her loves face. this fucking sport, she knew that he loved it and he wouldn't give up racing till someone pried that car from his dead cold hands if he could help it but every day she was ready to whisk him away from it all and never let any of them near him again. grown man or not, she was sick of the toll each result took on him.

moving without saying anything lando didn't even have the energy to be pissed at himself as he wrapped his arms around her and tumbled them both onto the small excuse for a bed that they had shared on more than one occasion. right here, this was his happy place. this right here, made the rest of it seem like it was all nonsense.

"i drove like shit." he spoke into the quiet after a while, fingers tracing slowly up and down her spine as he finally looked down at her face, dreading seeing any signs of disappointment from her. he could take it from a lot of people, but not from her. she wasn't sure what he was looking for on her face, all she had to offer him was unfiltered adoration. "you didn't drive your best, that doesn't mean it was shit." she confirmed because she wouldn't lie to him. they both knew that he'd had a rough weekend and for all the smiles he had managed to muster this morning, he hadn't felt right since the hungary grand prix and she knew that he needed the summer break to shake it off. "it doesn't matter, i let him take another two points in the lead and i just....wins mean everything now and what if they're right, what if i'm a fraud and miami was nothing?"

"lan." she sighed into the room wondering if it was well poised questions or his own self deprecation habit that had gotten to him this time. "you've had a competitive car since miami, that's it, you're learning more and more each time you go out you know you are and you're human, shitty weekends happen they're going to happen again and you're going to deal with them. you're 24, you've got seasons ahead of you."

"oscar was ahead of me again. he's on his second season and he's already as good as me, what next year they're gunna make me driver two?"

"oscar was ahead for the last two races, he's a good driver but that doesn't take away from the fact you're an amazing driver, you're fighting with the greatest drivers. you can't control what's coming my love, all you can do is control how you react to what you have in the moment and make sure you're in the strongest position you can be in driving wise."

"i'm just...i'm tired of having to have excuses now, what if we come back and i'm still shit?"

"it's summer break now, let's worry about that when we're back, we will talk to zak and we'll no doubt have a million back and forths with jon." she hummed as she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "the next two weeks though? we're going to be lounging on the beaches and eating all the good food...i might even try some sushi, a little salmon." she smirked as she looked up at him, her boyfriends face immediately pulling into a grimace that made her laugh. "baby, that's disgusting! if you don't want to spend summer break with me just say it." lando groaned as he buried his face in the crook of her next with a small groan as he rolled on top of her fully. she would have complained about the smell currently rolling from him and his suit if she didn't know how much he needed this.

"oh please, you know i can't wait to spend two weeks with you and your boyfriend." she was all too happy to continue to taunt him, earning a scoff from lando despite the fact they would be spending a great amount of time with martin but she didn't mind that either, he was another person in landos life that made him happy and she would follow them around and keep them out of whatever trouble they got into if it meant she'd have her love back to himself some what. that was life with lando, she wasn't just going to stick around and deal with the fun parts and the glamour, she was here for all the anxiety and the self doubt that crept in too.

with the silence around them again she looked down to find lando's eyes closed where he still rested on her and she let her fingers find their way into his curls that were far more unruly than when he'd put his helmet on today. typical lando, leave him in one spot for more than thirty seconds and he was going to fall asleep. her need to pee and regain feeling in her left leg would wait till he'd had a decent amount or rest or someone came to interrupt them, whichever came first. if someone dared to interrupt them she might not be so nice about it. with her own stiffed yawn she let her own eyes fall closed as lando nuzzled himself in even further and she could hear the deep breaths that meant he was out for the count. "i love you lando norris, so damn much."