#he is polite and he loves his friends so much that the remnants of that love animated a suit of armor

[wazzuppy]

idc what anyone says, i love terra and i will always love him. how could i NOT love this big, goofy sweetheart?

[prythianpages]

Goodnight | Azriel

summary: Azriel has a night time confession. The aftermath of me still having Billie Eilish's Birds of a Feather on repeat.

warnings: none, just fluff

word count: 943, short and sweet

a/n: I wrote this a couple of days ago and was hesitant to post bc I felt it was similar to my other Az fic but then decided, wth just post it. So here it is 💙

Shadows rustled among the trees, dancing and swirling, bringing forth a gentle but cool breeze. The tendrils remaining with Azriel curl up around his ear, whispering of the subtle shiver you gave. Without a word, Azriel shrugs his jacket and secures it around your shoulders.

“Oh,” you whisper, slightly startled by his gesture. “But aren’t you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he assures you with a small smile. He’s all too familiar with the chill permeating the air. 

There’s another breeze rustling through the canopy of trees. This time, it’s stronger and colder and some leaves fall, fluttering around you both. Azriel looks up with a glare but the glare is quickly replaced with something softer when the shadows around his neck whisper to him. They tell him of the way you wrapped his jacket around you tighter, a subtle blush rising as the new closeness of the fabric brought his scent to you.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you say, glancing up at Azriel. “Things were just getting interesting back there. You could still go back, you know.”

Azriel lets out a snort. “You mean Amren and her bathroom discussions? No, thank you.”

You laugh and Azriel smiles with you. He’s definitely not missing anything back home. Not when you, the greatest subject of his interests, are walking beside him. He noticed when your eyes began to grow weary and participation in the conversations grew less and less. He also noticed the mischievous glint in Cassian’s eyes as his friend glanced between you and him.

“Welcome to our world, tiny ancient one. Everyone poops! Anyway, you want to hear something funny? How about the time Azriel–” 

But much to Azriel’s relief, you had stood up with a small apologetic smile and politely dismissed yourself since you had an early shift the following morning. So, of course, Azriel had offered to walk you home, saving himself from the embarrassment that was sure to follow from Cassian’s words. He made sure to kick Cassian’s boot as he followed after you with a smug look on his face. He also made sure to bring his jacket along with him, noticing you had arrived without one.

So now, the two of you walked side by side. Granted, he could’ve used his shadows to winnow you to your doorstep in an instant. But that would mean cutting his precious time with you short and he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. The quiet night envelops you in its serene embrace and the silence that falls between you is comfortable yet charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you dare to break.

As you reach your door, Azriel’s mind races with thoughts he fears to voice. You turn to face him and Azriel fights the urge to frown. Why did you have to live so close? He sends a silent prayer to the stars above that you might forget about the jacket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, just so he’d have an excuse to see you again.

"Goodnight," you say softly, your voice like a melody he wished to hear every night, eyes still sparkling with the remnants of laughter from earlier. 

"Goodnight," Azriel replies, his heart pounding. Before he can stop himself, the words slip out so smoothly one would think it was a common occurrence between you both. “I love you."

You freeze, eyes widening in surprise and face contorting into a taken aback expression, trying to process what he just said. It’s then that it hits him as well. His own eyes widen in horror.  

"Um, sorry... I didn't mean to say that."

Your head tilts slightly in question, a gesture he finds absolutely endearing. He feels heat rise to his cheeks, his shadows slithering up his neck as if trying to offer him some comfort. "I mean, I meant it... but I didn't mean it, mean it... You know what I mean?"

Gods, he sounds like a fool. Years of meticulously concealed emotions, years of perfecting an unreadable facade, and now, of all times, he slips?

A sly smile plays at the corners of your lips. "Go home, Az,” you say, teasing and knowing. “And let me know when you mean it, mean it…”

With that, you gently close the door, leaving him standing there, his mind racing and his heart aching. Because what just happened? And what did you mean by that?

No. Azriel couldn’t leave it like that.

He knocks on your door, fist trembling lightly, his shadows whispering encouragement. When you open it, your face is a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He meets your eyes, apprehension and hope swirling together in his hazel depths. 

"I mean it, mean it," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, there is silence. 

Then, your smile softens, your eyes filled with understanding. You step closer, standing on your tip-toes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Then, I love you too,” you whisper against his skin, your breath warm and sweet, stirring his shadows into a gentle frenzy.

Before you can pull away, Azriel turns his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that sends butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach. He savors the softness and taste of your lips, losing himself in the moment when you’re kissing him back with the same eagerness. He rests his forehead against yours as he pulls away, his shadows swirling between you much like the unspoken emotions between you do.

"Goodnight, Az," you whisper softly, your eyes holding sleep, yet shining with the promise of more conversations tomorrow.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

This time, as the door closes, Azriel feels a warmth in his chest, a genuine, unguarded smile spreading across his face.

a/n: I seem to be in the mood for accidental/in the moment confessions. Sorry 😭

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming 

[randomciabatta724]

Some Polites headcanons because they're good for the soul.

Note: these are a mix of details from the musical I wanted to expand on, stuff I've read from other posts, and things I randomly came up with.

He was in the frontlines (or at least near them) during the Trojan war. Not because he wanted to fight, he just thought "if I have to join the battle, I'll at least shield those behind me". I took this from Survive, because he had to be pretty close to Polyphemus to be the first one hit by the club.

Self sacrificial. Very self sacrificial. Would die for the crew, especially for Odysseus and Eurylochus.

Loves dates. Either on their own or with honey. I don't know why, he just gives me the vibe.

Had night terrors both during and after the war. Either nightmares about the people he killed (let's face it, you don't come out of a 10 year war without getting blood on your hands) or his friends dying in battle. Never explicitly told anyone, but he would stay with his friends a little longer the morning after. Also picked a lot more night watch turns as a result, just to get his mind off of things.

Bruises/gets injured extremely easily, and doesn't notice/care. Especially if someone else is hurt too. "Are you alright?" asks Polites to another soldier while coughing up blood.

Also very durable, somehow. That's why Polyphemus had to hit him twice/j.

Myopic king. The glasses are a gift from Athena, because she was like "I think you're a soft-hearted fool, but I'll be damned if you embarrass my Warrior of the Mind because you can't see beyond the bridge of your nose".

The type of person to keep eating horrible/possibly poisoned food just to not offend the person who prepared it. Odysseus had to smack the lotus out of his hand because he would have still taken a bite to not make the lotus eaters upset (he brought some with him anyway, that's where Odysseus got the lotuses to put in the wine).

Many have already said this, he's the therapist friend before therapy was invented.

Gives the best hugs.

Taller than Odysseus but shorter than Eurylochus (Odysseus reaches Polites' chest, Polites reaches Eurylochus' nose).

Apologises when he bumps into furniture. It's a reflex, he doesn't notice he does it. It's a remnant of his pre-glasses days, when he couldn't distinguish a person from a vase.

The ancient Greek equivalent of a Godfather to Telemachus.

Extremely trusting, sometimes a little too much (fun fact: in the Odyssey he's like the first one to enter Circe's palace).

Very forgiving. He gives second, third, even fourth chances like it's nothing, no matter how badly someone hurts him. You have to be pretty forgiving to still think about greeting the world with open arms after being clubbed to death. (Note: this does not apply to his friends getting hurt).

When he takes off his bandana, his curls reach his shoulders and cover his left eye, and it gives him a whole different vibe. He still radiates warmth, but it's not the same. Kinda like the sun at noon and the sun at dusk. The second is still warm and welcoming, but dimmer, softer, maybe a little darker. People have mistaken him for someone else because of this.

Super heavy sleeper. One time when they were younger, Odysseus and Eurylochus decided to try and wake him up by making the most noise possible. They did not succeed.

His first kiss was Eurylochus while Odysseus was away in Sparta to court Penelope.

One time, someone tried to rob him. The guy was like "Give me your money!" and Polites was like "Oh dear, look at you, of course I'll give you my money, you look like you really need it. Also, why don't you come to my house so I can give you some food and clean clothes?". The thief was so ashamed of himself he ran away.

He befriended Charon in the Underworld.

You know the plague that Apollo sent during the Iliad? He may or may not have gotten it, I haven't decided yet.

Considering that in epic the sirens have the ability to shapeshift into loved ones, there was definitely a siren Polites somewhere during Suffering/Different Beast.

He's generally a very calm person, the only thing that really gets him angry is when his friends get hurt. And when he's angry, he's not someone to mess with. He can and will kick ass. And the thing that rubs salt in the wound is that if you get beat up by Polites, it's almost certainly your fault, because Polites isn't the kind of person that goes around randomly beating people up. And very few people wish to carry the title "The person who got beat up by Polites".

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

The last headcanon is something I've also based a scenario on. Basically, after Odysseus kills the suitors, they go to the Underworld. Most of them are still shaken up by the whole thing, which is understandable, getting shot by an enemy you can't see while unarmed in the dark is not fun, but not Antinous. Antinous is pissed. And so he rallies up the other suitors, he gives a whole speech where he basically says they can get revenge on Odysseus once he joins them there and also reveals all the shit they did while he was gone. And Polites is like, talking to Eurylochus or something, when he overhears. And so he goes to give Antinous the beating of his life because you do **not** disrespect his best friend and his family like that. And the suitors+Eurylochus are watching from a corner, with the suitors getting even more scared.

That's it. Nothing more :)

I know Eurylochus is married to Ctimene but I SHIP HIM AND POLITES SO BAD AAAAAAAAHHHHHH

[vaaaaaiolet]

You move to the big city in search of bigger and better, so naturally, you get your first place.

You just don't anticipate the roommate that comes along with it.

f / m, strangers / enemies to lovers, slow burn, hijinks and shenanigans, leon is bad at feelings :( but don't worry because there will be so much fluff omg like a romcom, leon being a little shit to a sweetheart pipeline, and banter!! so much banter

inspired by the Japanese drama Good Morning Call!

catch up on earlier chapters // read on ao3

chapter 3: being neighborly: a how-not-to

a/n: peep the change in tags :0 and the next chapter is already underway!

my writing skills are still pretty rusty eek!! but i had so much fun with this one.

burning question: is this length okay or are longer chapters preferred? i stuck with my earlier length for this update but i can def cover more per chapter. thoughts?

You do not get the master bedroom.

Leon the not-burglar is terrifyingly fast on his feet, you discovered last night after he took one look at the guest bedroom and promptly dropped his duffel bag in the room with the bigger bed. Shut the door, even. But that is the least of your worries as you wake up with a throbbing headache from your frosty new roommate’s 6:00 AM alarm. 

Could he get any more insufferable? You curl your pillow around your ears with a groan in an attempt to block out the horrific noise. After the short-lived triumph of your arranged living situation, you’re at a loss as to what the next 3 months with blond Patrick Bateman might entail. 

“...thought I’d drop by!” Leon’s chirpy, girlish voice rings out from the living room. 

What? 

You must have gotten less sleep than you thought. Somebody else is in your apartment, goddamn it, not another roommate, you pray as you tug on a sweatshirt and shuffle into the living room. Leon’s holding a tray of cookies wafting with fresh-baked steam as you enter, shooting you help me eyes as you pinpoint the source of his distress: possibly the cutest girl you’ve ever seen, standing next to him with her hair done in braids and chattering away.

You cross your arms and bite back a shit-eating grin. 

“Leon, you never introduced me to your friend!” you exclaim.

“She is not-”

The girl is more than happy to interrupt him, stretching out a hand for you to shake that you’re just as enthusiastic to accept. “I’m Lena,” she beams, ignoring Leon’s glare at you, “I’m your next-door neighbor!”

“That’s just wonderful,” you gush, plucking one of the cookies from Leon’s tray. “And you brought these too? You shouldn’t have.”

Lena’s all too happy to accept the praise, clapping her hands and giggling in delight as you bite into a cookie. Or at least you try to. The thing’s rock hard. Leon chuckles, covering it with a cough as you do your best to clamp your teeth through the petrified Palmier. 

“It’s a pleasure, really! Just the neighborly thing to do. We don’t get new neighbors often.” 

You grin painfully. “Ehh hah high…?” Is that right? 

“Ever since the new changes they started with the leasing contracts, people have been moving out left and right. Really sad,” Lena pouts, “I was such good friends with the other people who lived here. They were a couple just like you, just so lovely-”

“We’re not a couple!” you and Leon shout. You cough, partly to shrug off your outburst and partly to get the remnants of that asteroid of a cookie out your system. 

Poor Lena tilts her head like a confused puppy.

“We’re roommates.” Leon corrects. “She and I…” he glances at you with an expression akin to polite distaste, “we’re under the new contract. It’s complicated, like you said.” 

The energy in the room dwindles with Lena’s continued chitchat about practically every event in the history of the apartment complex. At least now you know to not go into the pool on Thursdays or risk food poisoning from Mr. Demopoulos’ grilling. Somehow, neither piece of advice is relevant right now in the beginning of December. Yawns wear out your jaw underneath the cover of your hand as Leon gives you pointed looks every so often, the tray somehow still in his hands after what must be at least 20 minutes of your new neighbor blabbing away. 

You want to giggle. He’s drowning in a white hoodie and looking more like a grumpy baker by the minute. 

This is all your fault, Leon glowers. His emotions are as hard to read as a neon sign in Vegas. 

But sadly, all good things must come to an end, and so does this part of your payback for him calling dibs on the bigger bed. Definitely not because Lena was starting to twirl her hair and giggle each time he’d make a passing comment to be polite. She’s mere seconds from pulling him down by the arm to sit on your couch (your couch!) before you put a stop to it, bemoaning your shift at the nearby ramen place that starts in half an hour.

Lena lights up; you grimace internally. “No kidding? I love that place! I love the Monday specials, I always get there earl-”

Leon butts in with the enthusiasm of the Energizer bunny. “Right, right, we wouldn’t want to keep you from starting your day. Monday mornings, right?” He leads her out by the elbow as you tag along, apologizing and insisting that you return her gracious favor one of these days.

“Bye Lena!” you wave cheerily as Leon locks the door with finality, and turns to face you. Super slowly.

Oops. 

“What the hell was that about?” 

Frustrated breath condenses past his lips in the frigid apartment air. Leon’s so stony-faced that you might have chiseled his perfectly straight nose yourself on a fine arts final.

“Nothing,” you shrug, shuffling into the kitchen to get some actual breakfast as Leon pads after you, “just wanted to get even for the bedroom thing.”

“The- you’re still hung up on that? I signed the lease first!” he argues as you slip bread into the toaster slot. Leon reaches his arm above your head to fish cereal out of the cabinet. Annoyingly, he'd had the sense to stock the kitchen after you passed out last night. “That’s my bread you’re using, by the way. And my toaster.”

“Learn to share. You’re such a child.” you snap back. The bite’s lost on him though, seeing as you’ve got your mouth stuffed with toast so it comes out more like a hamster with its mouth full. Your intimidation skills could use some work.

Unperturbed, Leon tosses dry cereal into his mouth. “Says the one who egged that crazy girl on! Would she have ever left on her own?”

“Lena’s not crazy, she’s a sweetheart!”

“A crazy sweetheart, call it what you will.”

“You’re being mean. I think she’s got a crush on you.” You delight in the groan you pull out of him. “She liiiikes you!” Your finger jabs into his side and sends him out of the kitchen entirely as he takes the box of Lucky Charms with him, and you chortle, clutching your sides.

Finally, you have the kitchen to yourself and peace in the house without Lena’s (frankly annoying) chatter and Leon’s alarm blaring in the back. You might even brew yourself a cup of tea. You could even-

“You’re late for work now!” a far too satisfied voice calls out from the other side of the apartment.

Shit. 

“And say hi to Lena for me when she comes in for the Monday special!” Leon adds, howling as you hightail it to the shower.

back to the chapter masterlist...

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[kakujis]

first meeting! - tabito karasu;

synopsis: karasu thinks ur really cute, but what do u mean u know all his teammates and not him?

wc: 1k

warnings: fem!reader, karasu is a little jealous, like miniscule. not proofread.

a/n: well well well.. my first blue lock drabble and it's karasu?! not kunigami or oliver? eh? anyways, i couldn't get this out of my head! i'm a lil nervous, but i just wanted to humble him rq. i love him loads tho and umm, if this is ooc.. oops.

the first time you meet tabito karasu, he’s sitting in a cafe, sipping on a cup of coffee, watching his best friend flirt with another group of girls. he swivels his cup, staring as he swishes the remnants of his drink before he sets it down. 

“there he goes again,” he mumbles, leaning on one hand, staring at the cafe patio. karasu won’t lie, he’s a little bored, but otoya can’t help himself whenever there’s a girl around, even more so when there’s a pack. he does think it’s a little funny to see them swarm him though, asking for autographs or pictures together, as he hears snippets of “i saw your match vs the u-20!” 

he wonders how otoya does it, thinking about draining it would be if he had to pretend to be nice to girls he didn’t particularly care about. he’s brought back to earth by the sound of your voice, “more coffee?” 

“sure,” he says, eyes still trained on the crowd outside. it’s mostly quiet besides the sound of coffee being poured into his cup. 

“oh! its that guy,” you exclaim and karasu finally peels his eyes off of them to look up at you. he blinks, caught off guard for a second. oh.. you’re cute. “otoya eita. he played in the recent blue lock vs u-20 match, right?” 

“oh, uh, yep,” he says, but his heart jumps in his chest when you make eye contact with him. he straightens up a little, thinking it’s lame, but for the first time he can’t come up with much to say. 

“man, he was so cool! ah, the way he moved down the field was kinda dreamy.” you ramble, setting the kettle down on the table, “oh and um, yo hiori? he was pretty cool too. i don’t really follow soccer but my friends do. did you watch it?” 

he waits for you to make a comment about him too, but he’s stumped as you continue to ramble about otoya and the rest of his teammates. the question you ask is the final slap in the face and he wants to be rude, wants to ask if you have eyes, like working eyes, but he bites his tongue. maybe you'll remember if he helps you. 

“er, actually, i played in it,” he responds, a nice, easy going smile on his face, “i was pretty important too.” confidence blooms in his chest as he says it. clearly, you’ll remember now, evident by the way your eyes go wide and your mouth hangs open slightly. but that grin is wiped clear off his face when you respond:

“really?” you shrug, “i didn’t notice you.” 

karasu can’t find any words to say, his brain short-circuiting partly due to the fact that he thinks you’re the cutest person he’s ever seen and second, that you can remember hiori of all people. he’s slack jawed, with his brow furrowed, as you tilt your head with an audible, “hmm,” as you think. 

you shake your head, your fist coming into contact with your open palm, “nope. i’d definitely recognize rin itoshi and yoichi isagi.” you blink, lashes fluttery as you ask, “were you on the bench?” 

“nope.”

“were you subbed in?” 

“played the entire match.” he says, trying to give another smile, but it’s strained now and there’s a definite vein on his face. 

“jersey number?”

“six.” 

you shake your head once again, chirping, “nope! doesn’t ring a bell at all.” 

in a final act of desperation, he’s about to give you his name, but your manager calls for you before he can. you politely excuse yourself, shouting, “coming!” before you’re grabbing the kettle and scurrying off. 

otoya comes back within a few minutes, sitting down, before leaning back and going through his phone. he glances at karasu, who sits there for the second time today, slack jawed and staring; he can’t believe that actually just happened. otoya’s eyes trail over to where he’s looking, it’s you, taking orders and making drinks. 

“she’s cute,” he says, “think she’ll give me her number?” 

taken out of his trance, karasu grits his teeth, annoyed that that’s the first thing out of otoya’s mouth and, that yeah, you would give him your number. 

“didn’t ya just get a ton, outside?” he spits and otoya nods. “so then why’d ya need hers?” 

“because she’s a girl.” he replies and karasu sighs. 

“whatever, lets get outta here.” he signals for the check and to his dismay and slight delight, it’s you who brings it over. 

“hi,” otoya says as you set it down, taking his phone out. “can i have your number?” 

karasu rolls his eyes as you giggle out a “sure!”, but the sound gets his heart fluttering. he tries his best not to see you in his peripheral, trying to block out the way you lean down closer to otoya. as he grabs the checkbook, a slip of paper falls out and figuring it’s his copy of the check, he slips it into his pocket. he doesn’t notice the way your mouth curls up a little wider when he does that. 

when they’re finished paying, the two walk out, the bell on the door chiming, followed by your “thanks for coming!” otoya wastes no time sending you a text. “jackpot,” he says, before sending some texts to the girls he met earlier. 

karasu ignores him, opting to stick his hands in his pockets, feeling the slip of paper. he pulls it out, opening it up, trying to find something of interest, before he stops mid-step. it wasn’t his copy of the check. instead its your number, alongside a note that reads:

hehe. i know who you are, tabito karasu. you played defensive midfield. i wasn’t planning on teasing you like that, but then i would’ve had to admit you were my favorite player that match. btw, your accent is very cute.♡ 

he glances back at the cafe he was just in with a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his head. otoya tilts his head, asking, “you coming?” but karasu’s head is stuck in the clouds, broken out in full grin.

he’s completely smitten.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

March 19th

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1. itmf

a) nhs and wwx friendship PLEASE, preferably with the same vibes as seen in crazy rich cultivators by shanaatoryteller (he called wwx by affectionate nicknames and was ready to throw down with lwj for him at the minor perceived slight), i just need nhs genuinely loving wwx in a non-shippy way

b) wwx support system! him having people who love and will help him in any way they can! him not having to shoulder so many burdens alone!

1A)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh) NHS finds WWX post-Untamed canon & helps him

🔒 like mayflies wandering series by RoseThorne (E, 21k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Ghosts, Reconciliation, Exhaustion, Pining, Pre-Wangxian, Pining, Feelings Realization, Illnesses, ennui, Found Family, Porn Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative NHS, Memories, WWX Needs a Hug, Pining WWX, Friendship, NHS Is A Little Shit, Qi Deviation, Resentful Energy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Fainting, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Grief/Mourning)

1B)

拨云见日 by RoseThorne (G, 1k, WangXian,. Post-Canon, Justice, Anger, Sect Leader Yáo Bashing, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Restitution, Self-Indulgent, POV Third Person, POV WWX)

~*~

2. I wish to know what fics you're especially excited to read next from your TBR!

Something at the Door by Pip (Moirail) (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, background 3zun, Background Yi City trio, Intrusive Thoughts, Horror, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mystery, Urban Fantasy) this one got recced by a friend on discord and it looked soooo interesting but time is not on my side

the past drifts away with the waves by thelastdboy (E, 52k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, WIP, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, canon divergence, fall of lotus pier, major characger undeath, YZY being an asshole, implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death, major character injury, amputation, loss of limbs, transformation, merpeople, fierce corpse WWX, kind of, merperson WWX, resentful creature WWX, undead WWX, riverspirit WWX, it gets worse before it gets better, heavy angst w happy ending, no sunshot, hurt/comfort, politics, not cultivation world friendly, slow burn, getting together, revenge, demonic cultivation, WWX pov, dark WWX, monsterfucker LWJ, wen remnants live, sect leader WQ)

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3. Hey, I was wondering if there are any fics, after the whole story, where Wangxian's relationship with JC is extensive /repaired? @mihashi-kun

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

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4. Heellloooo <3 for the next itmf im looking for fics where wwx is lwj’s favorite person/best friend (apart from also being a couple/in love) like lwj seeking wwx out and looking for him, wanting to spend time with him, being shamelessly friends with him, and everybody knows that they’re a package deal

I Wish You Would by brooklinegirl (E, 51k, wangxian, LWJ FUCKS, jerking off, so much jerking off, wangxian/others, but OTP endgame, "straight" boy WWX, Modern Setting) is a friends-to-lovers with a nice friendship at its core. Focus is definitely on their path into a sexual relationship, though, it's not just about being friends, in case that isn't what you're looking for.

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5. Please give me some serious self harming fics. Real angst. I don't care if people think me cringe or weird for wanting therapy and comfort from a fanfiction, but I've been feeling self destructive lately and the deeper and deeper cuts on my arms are a testament to it. I cannot ground myself. I've been too alone and lonely lately. I love reading. Please give me some ground to sit down for a while

Twin Demons of Mò by XiaoFeiFei (M, 358k, MXY & WWX, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Abuse, Twin Demons of Mo, MXY Lives, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Minor Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Canon Divergence, Self-Harm, Found Family, Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, POV Alternating)

could also check the Heavy Angst comp, there's sure to be something there

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6. Hello I'm here for wwx protection squad dynamics. Like I want fics where wwx doesn't have to do anything, before he wants anything or before anyone could do to harm him or anything, there are people defending him and keeping him safe.

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, [Podfic] the stone-filled sea by yukla by Beria1021, the stone-filled sea [Podfic] by BrickGrass)

💖Teen Project to Change the World animeloverhomura (Not rated, 810k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WIP, Watching the Show, With a bit of the Manhua and Book thrown in, scharacters watching the future, BAMF WWX, Fix-It, JGS is his own warning, Attractive WWX, Homophobia, disturbing imagery)

Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, wangxian, hualian, WIP, TGCF, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, characters watching their series, Time Travel Fix-it)

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7. Hello!!!!!!! Love all the hard work you put into this blog! I’m in the mood for fics featuring wangxian growing together, like fics with adorable kids wangxian and then awkward preteen wangxian and then finally growing into their skins young adult wangxian and all that

Thxxxxx

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, WangXian, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, First Kiss, Wedding Fluff)

Hope series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, wangxian, WWX & YZY, WWX & JFM, WWX & JYL, YZY/JFM, JC & WWX, LQR & WWX, LXC & JYL, Madam Jin & YZY, LQR & JFM, LXC & LWJ, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death)

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8. Hello! ITMF blind!Wei Wuxian? Canon or modern. thank you!

🧡 close your eyes, feel my heartbeatby ThatDesiGirl (T, 11k, WangXian, blind!WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rewriting Canon, not a fix-it but a what-if, Golden Core Transfer) WWX is blind, but MXY isn't

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant) link in #16

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9. hiiii hope you all are well!!! I'm itmf your favorite memory loss/amnesia fics pls! thank u and have a lovely day 🩷 @loveshinesbrightly

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)

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10. hii! for imtf: anything with true loves kiss or something really sad (or both) (no omegaverse pls). thank you!!

🧡 Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions) It's only a small moment, but a curse is lifted with a kiss

what else is there? by mme_anxious (T, 13k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Swan Princess AU, Everybody Lives, who isn't already dead, Magic, Animal Transformation, Curses, Angst, Humor, Happy Ending, Kissing)

This Lantern Shines For You by apollonie (M, 10k, wangxian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Pining WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, LWJ is a Disaster Gay)

with such a suffering, such a deadly life by cqlorphan (T, 7k, wangxian, post-canon, curses, curse breaking, getting together, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, affection, touch-starved LWJ, LWJ whump, cuddling & snuggling, love confessions)

a safe pair of hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 11k, WangXian, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Body Worship, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Sharing a Bed, Getting Together, First Time, Curses, Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved LWJ)

Turn Left by kianspo (M, 204k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, eventually, references to child sexual abuse, not main characters, Neurodivergent LWJ, Slow Build, Lán Family Feels, specifically, Twin Jades of Lán Feels, lwj-centric, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Angst with Happy Ending) it's kind of true love's kiss adjacent?

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11. Hi! I was curious if there were any fics like, Seven Second to the End? Where basically Wei Wuxian sought out Lan Wangji as soon as he woke up in mxy body or there wasn’t the elaborate pretending to be mxy on wwx side?

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12. heyy hope you're doing good! do you know any fics that are similar to 'and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow'?

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13. Are there anymore fics like " heaven has no rage " by flipfloppandas ?

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14. Hi! For itmf does anyone know of any Yunmeng-bros fics where they have a good relationship and Wei Wuxian returns to Yunmeng Jiang after his resurrection? Thank you so much!

❤️ By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, Wangxian, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Misunderstandings, Identity Porn, Identity reveal)

The Twin Blades of Yunmeng by GhostySword, ofmindelans (T, 89k, JC & WWX, wangxian, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, BAMF JC, protective LWJ, Golden Core Reveal, Swords and Feelings, WWX Resurrection, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Embedded Images, Sect Leader QS)

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15. ITMF cultivators having super senses? Like heightened eyesight, hearing, strength, etc. There is a sentinel/guide fic I really enjoyed, “Hyperprosexia” by malkinmalkout, that dealt with heightened senses and I would love more like that. Thank you so much!

Zhalyn series by meiqi (Silver_Shadow_09) (T, 16k, wangxian, WWX & WQ, LWJ & WQ, WWX & WN, WN & WWX & LWJ & WQ, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Golden Core, Golden Core Reveal, But not how you think, OP WWX, one self-sacrificial idiot and his two emotionally constipated best friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Location: Cloud Recesses, Location: Lotus Pier, Good Friend WQ, Doctor WQ, Good Friend LWJ, Case Fic, LanWenWei besties - now with two Wens, Self-Discovery, WQ is So Done, LWJ Has Friends, Cinnamon Roll WN, Good Friend WQ, Good Friend WN, Team as Family, Annoying WWX) wwx has even stronger senses than most cultivators in this

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16. Hello again! Thank you for your recs!

I was wondering if you could rec some fics with sentient burial mounds, like- them being protective of wwx, sort of treating him like- either as the master/chosen/hier of burial mounds or something? Or any story with ghosts/spirits being protective of wwx or treating him as a sort of leader or something? Just want some wwx & supernatural goodness lol.

Also, any fics with wwx being sort of like- strangely in tune with nature? And maybe people being freaked out by his connection to the nature or dead. Like - cryptid vibes wwx lol

Thank you!!!

in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by varnes (M, 13k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, [Podfic of] in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by exmanhater)

What Lies Beneath These Hallowed Woods by meekome (M, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Sentient Burial Mounds, of the cosmic horror variety, Eldritch WWX, Monster WWX, Body Horror, Eventual Happy Ending, after a lot of whump Fix-It, Canon Divergence, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Hurt WWX, Blood and Injury, but he gets better I swear, Suicidal Thoughts, WWX Lacks Self-Preservation Instincts, Protective LWJ, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, YLLZ LWJ, Sunshot Campaign, Communication, Married WangXian)

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WIP, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant)

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN and JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

Blood of the Black Earth by wirevix (M, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Xuánwǔ of Slaughter Cave, Sunshot Campaign, Sad with a Happy Ending, Ghost WWX, Monster WWX, Canonical Character Death, Although not at the canonical time, Grief/Mourning, Good Sibling JC, Horror)

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17. Hello! I'm looking for fics with:-

A) rich wwx!! As in- he's like rich af, but people don't know it? Like he's very normal about it but doesn't advertise the fact that he could buy everything he wants. I'd also like if he's big on donating, or just helping people in general and stuff.

B) wwx doing dangerous stuff like volunteering in places with natural disasters/civil unrest, etc. Him being very into activism and stuff

C) jealous sizhui...like- he's jealous of wwx paying attention to other kids and stuff. Maybe something like- wwx thinks sizhui has lwj as father figure, doesn't remember him, or maybe he'll be bothered if wwx acts too familiar or something? So he keeps his distance. It could be a modern au too, or any fic where wwx adopts other kids/is a mentor figure to them/has close relationship with them and sizhui is jealous of that??

I appreciate you taking the time to do this!

17A)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, wangxian, modern, slow burn, kid fic, found family, it gets worse before it gets better, PTSD, blood and injury, dissociation, trauma, angst w happy ending, musicals, alternating pov, JC & WWX reconciliation, hurt/comfort, panic attacks)

Sizhui's Smiles by RenaFair (T, 11k, wangxian, Possessive Behavior, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Alpha LSZ, Mpreg, Minor Child Character Death, Read the summary between the lines) it has dark Sizhui jealous over wangxian's new baby

17C)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[daisynik7]

“Drank In My Cup” by Kirko Bangz for Connie Springer- Comfort + Smut

The lyrics: “Girl I know how much you really want somebody, want somebody that don't really need you” and “That ain't tryin' to love you baby, just fuck you instead” if that’s okay <3

Drank In My Cup

Girl I know how much you really want somebody, want somebody that don't really need you

Pairing: Connie Springer x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.1k

cw: friends-to-lovers trope, implied unrequited love, smut - blowjob, cunnilingus, vaginal sex (missionary), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names.

Summary: Connie has been in love with you since college when you were living next door to each other in the dorms. He’s consoled you through countless of breakups and heard you in all your casual hookups. It hasn’t been easy for him and after graduation, he decides to move overseas in an attempt to get over you, cutting off all contact without explanation. Three years of radio silence later and the two of you finally reunite. 

Author’s Notes: Inspired by one of AugustInTheWinter’s Patreon exclusive audios. Honestly, so so good, if you have the ability to do so, subscribe to him, it is so worth the money. Anyways, thanks for this request for the y2k karaoke party! I love this song. Enjoy!

If you told Connie Springer five years ago that you wanted to spend the night, he would have agreed, no question. Today, as he anticipates your arrival, he almost regrets saying yes. 

A week ago, you contacted him, asking if you could stay at his place for the weekend while you’re here visiting. He checks the last text you sent him; it was five months ago, wishing him happy birthday. The one before that was exactly a year earlier, another birthday greeting. Your messages were more frequent then, but they gradually faded, probably because Connie never replied to any of them. 

He's not trying to be a dick. He’s just too much of a coward to admit that he’s doing his best to get over you. And if that means ignoring you completely, so be it. At what cost, though? Losing his best friend?

This time, he actually does respond to you. Maybe it’s because after three years of being apart, he finally feels ready to face you again. Tonight will be the test. Is this really the best idea for him?

You knock on his front door, weekender bag in hand, heart beating faster, excited to see him. The last time was graduation when he told you that he’d be moving away to Marley for his new job. He didn’t even tell you that he was applying to companies overseas, so of course, you were shocked. Your friendship hasn’t been the same since. You used to be inseparable; now, you’ve never felt further apart. 

He greets you politely when he answers the door, that familiar face instantly putting you at ease, despite the distance that’s grown between you. “Hey.”

“Hi, stranger,” you say, hugging him with your free arm. He’s tense when you touch him, not like his usual self. That’s one thing you always loved about Connie; how snugly he would hold you in his arms. It’s already awkward, but you continue to smile at him, hoping that whatever this tension is dissipates soon.

He leads you inside, taking your bag, setting it on the floor by one of the closed rooms. “Do you want a drink?”

“What do you have?” you ask, looking around his apartment, trying to find any remnants of your friendship. Pictures, ticket stubs from all the movies you watched together, all the little trinkets you’d get him as gifts for his birthdays. Nothing, there’s nothing in here. It barely looks decorated at all, except for a few posters he’s crookedly hung up.

“I’ve got water and some White Claws that have been festering in there since I moved here. Pick your poison.”

You laugh, happy to hear this side of him. “I’ll take the water, thanks.” You sit down on the couch, not sure where to start. “How have you been?”

He grabs a clean glass, turning the faucet on until your cup is almost filled to the brim. He carefully hands it to you, sitting as far away from you on the couch as possible. You shift in your seat, facing him, waiting for his answer. “Good. I’m good,” he says, avoiding your gaze, staring at the floor instead. 

You take a sip of water, expecting him to elaborate more, but he doesn’t. “Do you like living here? In Marley?”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. There’s not that much more going on here than there is in Paradis.”

“Do you think you’ll ever move back home?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, guarded. “I don’t have any reason to, so probably not.”

“Well, I can think of one reason,” you say. “I miss you.”

His jaw clenches, defenses still up. You scoot closer, wanting this distance to disappear, physically and figuratively. You’ve been waiting for this reunion since he left, since he stopped contacting you almost completely. Wanting to finally make it right with him, the way it should have been ever since you first became close to him in college. You knew he liked you; he was always so obvious about it. And yes, deep down, you liked him too. But you were scared of ruining your friendship, of losing your best friend. You were so used to all your relationships ending in a breakup, you were afraid to cross that line with Connie in fear of losing him forever. When you finally mustered the courage to confess to him on the night of graduation, he told you he’d be moving to Marley for work. Because of your cowardice, you ended losing him anyways. But you won’t let tonight go to waste. You’ll do everything you can to salvage this. Even after all these years of distance between you, you won’t make the same mistakes again. 

You close the gap, squeezing next to him on the couch. He glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“I miss you, Connie,” you whine, trying to free his arms from his chest. “Don’t you miss me?”

He shakes his head, relaxing only the slightest bit. “No, I don’t. I’ve worked too hard trying not miss you.”

“What do you mean?”

He finally looks at you, his gaze intense. “I moved because of you. I couldn’t take it anymore, watching you fall in love with every other guy except for me.”

“Connie.”

He unclenches, leaning towards you, face so close you can feel his breath on you as he speaks. “Do you know how hard it was for me? To hear you on the other side of the wall, moaning someone else’s name? And then months later, you’d come crying to me, wanting only my comfort to help you through your breakup. Then the cycle would just repeat over and over, driving me fucking insane because I could never have you for myself. I could only have you when you needed me, when you were heartbroken. Well, it wasn’t fucking fair okay? That’s why I left. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

You stare back at him, wide-eyed, heart thumping loudly in your chest. Quietly, you say, “I’m sorry, Connie. I…I didn’t know.”

He scoffs at you, rolling his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Why else would you come to me? You knew I was the only guy stupid enough to always say yes to you. So don’t fucking lie to me now and say that you didn’t know. You knew.”

You swallow hard before asking, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why would I? So I can get rejected and ruin our friendship? No. As much as I hated hearing you get fucked on the other side of the wall, I couldn’t stand not having you at all. Pretty fucked up, right?”

You remain still in your seat, unsure how to proceed from this. Eventually, he says, “You can stay here for the weekend, but I think it’s best if we just stop seeing each other after this, okay? It’s better for the both of us if we stop being friends.”

Before he can stand up to leave, you grab his wrist. “Well, good,” you whisper. “I don’t want to be friends anymore either.” You meet his lips with yours for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He melts into you, his tongue slipping inside your mouth, easing into it. Realizing what’s happening, he pushes you off gently, stuttering, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You trail down his neck, sucking on his skin to leave love marks. “What I should have years ago.”

“You’re toying with me,” he whispers, closing his eyes, tipping your chin up to kiss you again. “Teasing me like you did all those times in college.”

“I’m not. I want it. I want you.” You lie back on the couch, spreading your legs for him. 

He crawls on top of you, sliding your pants and underwear off simultaneously, dropping them to the floor, salivating at the sight of your glistening cunt, wet with arousal. “Well, too bad. I don’t need you anymore. You won’t get what you want so easily this time. Not after all the torment you put me through. You need a taste of your own medicine first.” He shoves his sweats down, releasing his hard cock from his boxers, stroking it in his fist. With a shaky breath, he whispers, “Come on. Show me how badly you want it.”

You peer up at him, getting on all fours, opening your mouth with your tongue sticking out. He smirks, tracing the outline of your lips with the tip of his dick, smearing his precum on you like gloss. “Fuck, never thought I’d see you like this.” He guides himself inside you, exhaling deeply as he slides all the way to the back of your throat, cursing once more. You give him what he wants, never taking your gaze off him, guzzling down his cock with each thrust he gives you, bobbing your head along his shaft. 

“Damn, you feel even better than I imagined,” he moans, bucking his hips. After a couple more deep thrusts, you pull off quickly to catch your breath, wiping away the saliva leaking from your lips. “Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks in that concerned tone you love so much. He sounds exactly like he did in college, when he would cradle you gently in his arms as you cried about your latest heartbreak, completely oblivious to how much pain it caused him to see you like this. Connie would never break your heart; it took you too long to finally realize this. And maybe it’s too late to fix the damage that’s been done. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try. 

You nod silently, reaching for the coffee table to take a sip of water. He wipes the tears from your eyes, brushing them away with his thumbs. “Are you sure?”

You smile at him, sniffling. “I’m sure, Connie.”

His expression is uncertain again. He doesn’t know whether to stay mad at you or be sweet. He’s always been sweet, and that obviously never worked out for him. If he shows you his mean side, will you stay? Does he even want you to stay?

You surround him again with your mouth, sucking on his cock head with your fist wrapped around his shaft. He closes his eyes, indulging in the pleasure, enjoying it a little too much. He won’t deny it; this has been one of his biggest fantasies since college, to see you like this. To feel you moan around his cock. And as much as he wants to continue spitting hurtful comments to you, make you feel guilty for toying with him all this time, his need to pleasure you overtakes him. His most precious fantasy is to finally hear you moan his name, and no one else’s.

He pulls out of you, jerking off while he tips your chin up to face him. “What do you want, huh? Want my mouth on you? Want me to eat out this pretty pussy? Is that what you want? Because I’ll give it to you, if you let me.” He’s desperate for it now, and so are you. So all you do is nod with your mouth still open, needy for it. 

He eats you out sloppily, better than any guy you’ve been with. This is what he wanted, to prove to you that it should have been him all those times. And you regret it, all the useless hookups and casual relationships you put yourself through when you could have been with Connie instead. You come twice from his mouth before you start begging him to fuck you. “Please, baby.”

His eyes widen at the pet name, cock throbbing, ready to burst. “Okay, sweetie,” he huffs, composure wavering. “I’ll fuck you. I’ll give you what you want. I’m always giving you what you want.”

You hold him tightly, moaning his name while he fucks you with your legs wrapped around him. “You’re so good for me, baby. So fucking good for me,” he groans, drilling into you hard and fast. “I missed you so fucking much.” He orgasms with you, unloading his cum inside you, filling you up. You kiss passionately as the both of you come down from your highs, relaxing into each other’s arms. 

It’s silent for a moment before you say, “I was going to tell you. On graduation day.”

“Tell me what?” he asks, grazing your lips with his fingers.

“That I liked you, too. And I wanted us to be together.”

He sighs. “But I told you I was moving, so you didn’t go through with it.”

“Yeah.”

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Damn, we are really dumb, aren’t we?”

You giggle, nestling your face into his chest, relishing the familiar warmth. “Yeah, we are.”

He rests his chin on the top of your head, massaging your back. “So, should we stop being dumb and finally do this? The right way?”

You nod, smiling. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

[deadboyfriendd]

I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie, 

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful. 

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind. 

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him. 

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances. 

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie. 

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she. 

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death. 

Signed, your cousin. 

+

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death. 

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him. 

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself. 

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first. 

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town. 

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem. 

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner. 

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads. 

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss. 

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance. 

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway. 

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions. 

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what? 

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it. 

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed. 

It was already warm enough to burn. 

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car. 

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled. 

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters. 

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location. 

Cousin, 

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine. 

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather. 

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either. 

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme.  I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us. 

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth. 

We are the law, here. 

If we lose our morality, we lose everything. 

I will see you soon. I love you. 

Nellie. 

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate. 

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best. 

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year. 

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand. 

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed. 

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell. 

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way. 

+

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer. 

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers. 

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that. 

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.  

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame. 

8:50. Like clockwork. 

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her. 

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now. 

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest. 

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light. 

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels. 

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds, 

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now. 

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be. 

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be. 

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize. 

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to. 

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer. 

I’ll be the one in white. 

I will see you then, Sheriff. 

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a  depiction of the implosion of his world. 

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had. 

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently. 

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart. 

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue. 

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.” 

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.  

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.” 

+ 

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots. 

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose. 

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters. 

And then, you were there. 

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view. 

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction. 

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt. 

“I have an affinity for pretty things.” 

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it. 

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her. 

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.” 

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender. 

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue. 

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it. 

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well. 

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation. 

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us. 

With warmest regards, 

Steven Harrington

[formulalfc]

an-the highly requested part 2 of Walls Around My Heart, I hope you like it!! <3

Part 1

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Walls Around My Heart

tw-swearing

You had sat in the toilet of the bar for around half an hour before you decided you had had enough of feeling sorry for yourself and ordered an uber to take you back to the hotel you and Charles were staying in.

You were in two minds about going back, you didn’t want to see Charles tonight, but you were in a city you didn’t know and didn’t feel safe enough to figure out finding your own place to stay.

Your fear overtook your sadness and anger, and you shuffled your way through the crowded club, making sure to avoid anyone you recognised.

You managed to find your way out through the exit, and you stood out front, arms wrapped around yourself to keep you warm. You were quickly regretting wearing the little red dress you had put on because you knew how much Charles loved seeing you in red.

Your uber pulled up and you slid in, politely greeting the driver before you looked out the window and enjoyed the quite sounds of the radio as you replayed the course of the evening in your head.

It wasn’t long before your uber had arrived outside your hotel and you thanked your driver before stepping out the car and pushing through the revolving door of the hotel.

You kept your head down as you walked, knowing that the whole team was here and not wanting to bump into anyone that would tell Charles you were here.

You rushed over to the elevator, pressing the button of your floor and watching as the door started to slide shut, but just before they closed a body hurtled full speed through the gap and stopped just in front of where you were stood.

It took you a moment to realise just who had stumbled into the elevator with you, a scoff coming out of your mouth at the sight of your dishevelled boyfriend.

He looked at you, taking in the redness of your eyes and the remnants of the mascara you had been wearing smeared down your cheeks before he slammed his hand against the emergency stop button causing the elevator to come screeching to a halt.

He ran a hand through his hair before he spoke, “I fucked up. I fucked up bad and I’m so sorry baby. I should have noticed that you were uncomfortable and more importantly I should have listened to you when you told me and done something about it. I know the team can be closed off to new people, we spend so much time together that we’ve become a family but that is no excuse for anyone to make you feel as though you don’t belong there. You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life, my best friend in the whole world and you are always going to be the most important person in any room we are in. I’m so ashamed that I made you feel like you weren’t and I’m going to make it up for you in any way I can if you’ll let me?”

You looked at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes, saw the way his chest heaved up and down from running to catch up to you in the elevator and knew in your heart he was already forgiven.

You said nothing to him just hit the emergency button again as you smirked, “you cant start your apology by ordering me room service, I’m starving.”

He laughed as he pulled you into his chest and placed a kiss on your head mumbling, “anything for you, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[millerscoffee]

they don't love you like i love you

1.7k | frankie morales x f!reader

thank you @addictedtotlou for this prompt idea under “You want to do something for me? How about this?” X says. “Leave me the fuck alone and never come back” | and for your inspiration! i loved this idea so much. i hope it's to your liking ♡ i could've been with these two for a lot longer, but i had to wrap it up!! 😭

warning: angst, flirting, will they/won't they, benny will & pope are around!, house party, frankie's lowkey a fuckboy if you squint but look at those puppy eyes - we won't say nothin' 🤭

A/N: this is part of my 500 followers celebration running until 9/9 ♡

You’ve known the Miller family for a while.  Your parents were close friends with Will and Benny’s and they felt so much more like brothers than children of your parents’ friends.  You were friends with them as well.  Supported them throughout their careers, were there for them in times of struggle and times of success.

So when Will asked you if the three of you could throw a party at your parent’s summer home, it was easy to say yes.  Despite the impending dread that came with the fact Catfish and Pope were at the top of the list to be invited.

It’s not that you didn’t like them.  You got along with almost all of Benny and Will’s friends.  The last time you saw them, with Frankie specifically.  You remember it, your mouth all filled with rum, Morales chasing your lips until you came to your senses.  It was wrong, plus Will came out the very second your lips almost touched.

You were all friends, and you didn’t want to jeopardise anything.  You didn’t kiss him that night, and that didn’t bode over well.

It wasn’t that Frankie was a jerk about it, it just… changed things.  The awkward silence filled between the two of you for your own inability to let it happen.  You thought about the ghosting of his lips, the warmth, just before you pulled away.

As visceral and heartbreaking as it was, you decided on a black party dress that cut at your thighs tonight.

Why?  Even though deep down you knew the reason why, you couldn’t bring yourself to see it.

Benny lets out a whistle when he sees you and you laugh, shoving him lightly.  “That’s gonna do it!” he drawls and you make a face in his direction.

“What on earth are you talkin’ about?!”

He nudges your hip on the way to grab a beer, “Keep pretending, that’s alright.”

And before you can get a response, you see Pope out of your periphery first.  A wave of butterflies rise, and then like a ton of bricks, you see it: Frankie and a girl on his arm.

“Ho-ly shit,” Benny says beside you, handing you a cold beer before loosely wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “didn’t know ‘bout that one, champ.”

You feel the knot form in the back of your throat, and Pope catches you right away.

“Hey, hey,” he is hushed, pulling you in a hug and you’re consumed by the scent of his cologne, the height of him ushering the sight of Frankie and this girl laughing from you.  “I’m sorry,” Pope’s voice is quiet, specifically for you, and it’s like you could drop the beer from the disconnect you feel.  Why are you feeling this way, and why is everyone feeling bad for you?  Making it so you’re okay without even asking if you were okay.

You pull out of Santiago’s hug politely and shrug it off, blinking any remnants of tears away – your makeup was too pretty for this.  “Sorry for what?  Do you want a beer?”

Switch: off.  Just like that.

Still, it remained.  You almost kissed Frankie.  You flirted with him constantly.  He had the audacity of inviting someone to your party in your family’s summer home.

You can’t even look at him.  “Hey,” you say dryly, brushing past Frankie on the way to be a good host – to grab Pope a beer.  Pope flashes Frankie an apologetic look at your coattails and brushes his hand to the top of your back when you both make it to the kitchen.  Frankie, out from view in a different part of the house as Will and Benny greet him and the mystery woman, escorting them outside.  A diversion.

You hear Pope say your name, and that’s when you turn around – tears tempting the brim.

“Why’d you follow me?” You sound so pitiful, Santi can’t help but wrap you up in a hug, and this time you allow it.

“Listen, I tried to talk him out of this, but he’s pretty beat up about you rejecting him.  Wanted to take his mind off of you… yeah, don’t give me that look.  I don’t know why he’s here either, then.”

You calm yourself down.  Not that you were sobbing, but fuck, how could you not get emotional about this? It was becoming obvious, Benny’s crass words were ringing true.  You were dressed up for Frankie, and you didn’t want him to be with anyone else.

Pope takes his beer, and cups your shoulder when he sees Will come into the kitchen.  “I’ll leave you two alone.  You need me, you tell me.  Alright, cariño?”  you nod, and watch him nod in Will’s direction, before it’s just the two of you.

You take a swig of the yeasty liquid and turn your back to the counter with a long, contemplative sigh.

“What the fuck do I do, Will?”

“You want my opinion?  That’s a first,” he gruffs and you roll your eyes.  But it does make you smile and brings you out of your headspace.  He was good for that.

“For once.  you‘re the one who told me I should be with Frankie in the first place.  I feel so stupid.”  you gesture at your dress.  Of course, everyone looked pretty good, but you couldn’t help but feel out of place now.  You wanted nothing more than to put on your sweatpants and forget about tonight.  Kick everyone out.  But you knew that just wasn’t an option.  And besides, you wanted to have some fun yourself.

“You know what you should do?” Will asks rhetorically, “You should take Catfish aside and tell him how you feel.  It’s the only way either of you will get through this bullshit.”

Crass was a Miller trait.  But he was right.

After another moment, you nod – hoisting yourself from your back to stand tall, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Okay.  I’ll do it.”

You mustered courage to walk out to the firepit where everyone was, and you felt it again – the urge to cry, to run, the very second you saw the girl and Frankie smiling at each other and talking.  It was like clockwork, like it was timed perfectly for your arrival.

“Catfish,” you say dryly.  Not using his real name, but instead the name set aside for his friends.  Since that’s how he felt you were, after all.  He pulls away from her with knit brows and a pouty bottom lip, and you swallow hard.  “Could I see you?  Over there?”  you tilt your head towards the house.

It’s not lost on you the way he hasn’t said a word to you since he got here, but he agrees.  Tells the girl he’ll be back, and Will walks in on the scene – joining the other two boys whose mouths are borderline agape.

Frankie follows you, sliding the glass door behind him, and you both walk towards the couch for some privacy.

“Listen,” he finally speaks, and when you do it churns your stomach.  The life that is brought to him rather than some entity in the room.  You shift further away from him and shake your head.

“You listen.  You want to do something for me?” your eyes fill with tears, tongue connecting to the inside of your cheek.  “How about this?”  Leave me the fuck alone, and never come back.”

It is childish.  Counterintuitive to why you brought him in here, but you are hurt.  You are upset.  And he sees that, now.

This was a puzzle piece he couldn’t see before.  You seemed so nonchalant about it all before this, unbothered about whether or not the two of you got together.

But Frankie won’t let this happen.  Not after all the hell the two of you went through in preventing this inevitability to happen. 

“Mierda, I’m a fucking idiot,” he starts and you swallow your words as soon as they come out.  Fuck.  Pope was right.  Frankie seems genuinely upset by his actions that you don’t know how to recover right away.  You can’t really tell him he’s not an idiot, because fuck – you feel that way.  You feel like he should’ve talked to you.

But then again, what would you have said?

“Frankie, I–” you start, annoyed at yourself for unraveling for him almost instantly.

“No, don’t talk, okay?  Please?  I’m so sorry.  The guys, they tried to tell me, I didn’t listen.  I haven’t– I haven’t moved on.  Or anything…,” and he trails off this time, and his eyes look so full and sad – it makes you want to forget.

“Frankie,” you don’t recognise the tears in your eyes until they’re spilling over your cheeks because fuck, it’s been emotional since he arrived.  But he won’t let you finish your sentence, his lips are on yours – large hands on either side of your face and you reciprocate, fingers tying tightly into his shirt, crying and laughing into the kiss.  A mixture of feelings rapture you both.

“We’ve been pretty fucking stupid, huh?” you sniffle when you both inevitably pull away, he thumbs under your eyes – musn’t dare mess up your makeup any further.  Not on his watch.

“Only slightly, hermosa.  I’ll make up for it.”

You tempt your hand closer to his.  “We have the time.”

---

As other people start to pile in outside, you scan the backyard and Frankie wraps his arm around your shoulder.  “I should probably apologise to her,” he says but his gaze doesn’t leave you, “brought her out here just to leave her?  It’s kind of a dick move.  I’m all fucked up.”

“Well, did you tell her you love her?”

Frankie snorts, wrapping your head closer to his chest, “No, I was saving that fo– you know what, never mind.”

Your cheeks flush, but that’s exactly when you get the sights of her and Benny – him with his hand against the wall outside, the obvious flirt.  And she seems into it.

“I think she’s in good hands.”

Frankie shakes his head, “Motherfucker.” you both laugh before you squeeze his hip.

No longer waiting for new, it was right there at your fingertips.

And, wow, was it going to be so sweet.

[lattesqueeze]

💙 i am here requesting politely a drunken kiss for lando/charles...please........ thank you

hello my sweetie love!! thank you for your polite request!! please find below the attached kiss for your perusal

(i love you so so much thank you for this!!! made the brain go brrrrr)

Lando/Charles - Drunken Kiss - 700 words

“Lando, we can be world champion I said!!” A voice yells across the bar.

Charles and Lando turn to each other and roll their eyes in unison. A long-dead meme that seems to never quite leave them alone. Tonight, though, neither of them really mind. Tonight, Lando feels like he could be a world champion. Tonight, nobody can touch him. Tonight, Lando will go to bed a Formula One race winner. Assuming he goes to bed at all.

This is a fact he can’t quite get over yet. He expects it will take a few days at the very least for it to truly sink in.

The club is packed, and Lando has lost his friends somewhere deep in the crowd. He has a habit of wandering off blindly on his own, and frequently finds himself absorbed into a new group of complete strangers. Tonight is no different, and he relishes the attention from everyone who passes him by. Well, tonight would be no different, if he didn’t feel on top of the world right now.

He closes his eyes, swaying in a manner that he thinks is in time with the music. His shirt, previously only loosely buttoned, has somehow come entirely undone, his bare chest sticky with champagne and the remnants of a whole cocktail of shots. Each time he tips his head one way or the other, it feels as though his eyes and his brain take just a second longer to catch up, reminding him of the odd, lingering motion of stepping off a yacht after a weekend in the sun.

His mind wanders just enough before a firm hand clasps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes straight away, only smiles. What’s another well-wisher, after all? He takes a deep breath, about to sigh contentedly, when he recognises a familiar, niche cologne. Only one person he has ever met wears this cologne.

“Charles?” He pronounces the name with a hard syllable, the English way.

“Lando, mate, we lost you!”

Lando leans back against Charles’ solid chest, relaxing his shoulders. He shrugs, still smiling so wide his lips part a little at the corners. He feels arms wrap around him, feels the snag of a crystal bracelet catching on the hairs of his own arm.

Someone, somewhere, tosses a huge Union Jack over Lando’s head, and he squeaks in alarm. The flag settles to cover him and Charles in a shroud of red, white, and blue. Charles laughs, moves to bundle up the flag, but Lando stops him, turning around to face him.

“Did I tell you before? You smell really good. Like, really good.” Lando leans forward to mumble into Charles’ ear.

Always polite, always gracious, Charles smiles and thanks Lando noncommittally, again going to wrap the flag around his hand to remove it from their heads. Again, Lando stops him, this time catching him by the wrist.

“I like it in here.”

He stares into Charles’ eyes, doing his very best to focus his own. Charles blinks, bemused.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, tilting his head to the side a little.

“Like what?” Lando feigns innocence, smiling sweetly. He thinks.

Charles just quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Like - I don’t know.”

“Are you serious?” Lando huffs. “Why do you think?”

Lando doesn’t leave space or time for Charles to answer. He closes the minuscule gap between them with no more than a lean, and presses his mouth against Charles’. Charles startles at the contact, but, crucially, doesn’t pull away. Lando takes this as a cue, and snakes his arms around Charles’ neck, shimmying his body ever-closer, wedging his leg snugly between Charles’ thighs.

Charles responds in kind, grinding against the stiff denim of Lando’s jeans. He squeezes him at the waist, at the hips, at the ass. He runs his thumb along Lando’s bones, his soft parts, the edges of each defined muscle. He toys with the front closure of Lando’s jeans. It’s all Lando can do to keep up with the desperate, breathy kisses, licking eagerly at Charles’ mouth and nibbling on his lip.

“Feels good, no? Winning.”

Lando whines in response.

“Can we go?” Lando begs, wrestling with the flag to bat it away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Charles grins, offering some semblance of a wink.

[ctl-yuejie]

ramblings on Li Ming (and Heart) and homosexuality

moonlight chicken has so many things to offer in terms of technical beauty and interesting themes but what i cannot stop thinking about is the different ways they approach homosexuality in the story.

we have Wen who has a rainbow flag on his desk and pictures of him and Alan on the wall. Wen, who openly flirts with Jim and has no qualms talking openly about his one night stand. Wen, whose step father knows about his sexuality and is close enough with him to discuss his love life.

Kaipa we don’t know too much about. But his mom knows and is supportive and some of the vendors and the chicken family seem to know. But if anyone was questioning in what reality this show is set with all the class discussion and corona featuring, his part of the story shows that homophobia exists and he is worried about how he fits in with his own family, the expectations of his mother and possible the awareness that he makes the family he has “different”.

Jim is arguably even more visibly gay than Wen in terms of what we see throughout the show. He opened the shop with his ex, they prayed at the temple together and even though he objected due to proprities sake eventually they loudly declared their love to each other and the whole neighbourhood knows. Wen somehow feels like he is living in the remnants of a bubble: his circle of friends seems very queer, his closest friend and the whole gym seem to be all part of that as well. This only might change now with him questioning his work and breaking up with Alan: some gatherings he won’t attend anymore apparently.

And finally, we have Li Ming. At school he doesn’t seem to open up to his classmates on most things and additionally is in the closet. While there wasn’t anything alluding to homophobic rethoric being spread at school we can see how the heteronormativity gets to him and feel that there must be good reason as to why no one knows. And it could just be how Li Ming is judging the situation based on vibes, we don’t know. His mother is or at least was homophobic but at the same time he is raised by his gay uncle who is surrounded by other gay people. And I love how it feels like this might have given him enough security to be comfortable with his own sexuality but how it also isn’t enough to shield him from the world at large.

With so many great shows coming out of Thailand and most of them getting more and more political it just feels so real and 2023 to me that Li Ming is part of a generation that knows who they are but still have to battle with the shadow that homophobia has cast way before they were born.

[bafflement]

And Home, It Feels So Very Far Away [Can I Make A New One Amongst The Ashes?] [Deaged Oz AU]

Written for day seven of the @remnants-of-rwby-events Vytal Festival.

Still having a hell of a lot of fun! Poor Tip, he really doesn't think he deserves to be loved. :(

AO3 Link:

Plain Text:

Vale was always so beautiful during the spring. Tip had always loved that the most, the fresh air, the feeling watching new life flourish, existing life grow. His students were always at their best during this time, too. There was so much energy, so much potential in every one of them. Oh, but he missed Beacon so much at times, even more now than ever. Atlas was so cold at times, and he wasn’t talking about the weather. The people, the politics… he sighed. It wasn’t likely that he’d ever truly be comfortable here, for all that he’d been assured so many times now that this kingdom was technically his home. That it always had been.

Could he even consider himself as having a home, now? Beacon was all but destroyed, Vale was in disarray and he wasn’t even there. Couldn’t be there. Would they even welcome his eleven-year-old self, though? They hadn’t been happy when he first showed up, so disappointed in the fact that he was small and sickly. That he limped and had vision issues… that he was everything Ozymandias wasn’t.

Those issues were still there, for all that his aura helped. He didn’t yet have the stamina he had as an adult, he couldn’t even hide the symptoms as he could back then. He was more emotional now than he had been later, too, though that might have more to do with the fact that he almost felt safe, here in Atlas. It was strange, he had been welcomed so lovingly into the family he couldn’t even remember, offered so much. He didn’t deserve it, not really… how could he? They’d been so happy to have their missing member back, but though he looked more or less as he must have done when he was first snatched, he couldn’t be that child anymore. Too much had happened between then and now, and he was terrified that soon enough, they would all see it.

He wasn’t certain how he would deal with the eventual rejection, the hatred that he’d been expecting to have already received. The others had despised him for weeks, back in Mantle… how could his family love him? Surely he didn’t deserve it, he was putting them all in danger through his existence.

Oh, he knew that a lot of this was the nightmares speaking. The horrific images he saw sometimes, when he closed his eyes. Old images of those previous incarnations had loved, tortured and broken by Salem and her people. The same images, but bearing the faces of his family, his friends. Qrow, though he’d always been well represented in those sorts of dreams. At least Qrow could probably look after himself, even if he’d had to learn second hand about just what he’d gone through by Tyrian’s hands. He’d come so close to losing him, and he might never even have known exactly what had happened. He shuddered, thinking about that. It would have been Summer all over again. And just like Summer, he would have been blamed by the others almost as much as he’d always blamed himself.

How much of this was nerves about today? Willow had told him that they needed to visit the lawyer’s office, that there were things they needed to go through now Jacques was dead. That didn’t make any sense, though. His late, entirely unlamented brother-in-law had assumed that Tip was long dead. There should be nothing for him to sort out, unless Willow needed the moral support. But in that case, wouldn’t it be better just to take her children, or at least Winter? He suspected the others would be there, since they were Jacques’ children as much as they were hers, but still… why would they need to include him? Ah well, he’d probably find out.

He dressed quickly, grimacing at the inch or so of gap between the ends of his sleeves and his wrists. Things were starting to fit less well than they had in Mistral, but he wasn’t sure if he could justify new clothing right now. There were surely more important things than his growing pains? Though the idea of not being quite as small anymore certainly had its allure. He missed being able to be intimidating through height and presence alone. He could still flare his aura if he had to, but gone were the days most people saw hm as anything other than the child he currently appeared to be. Even his students sometimes seemed to forget that he wasn’t actually a little boy. Hell, even James had seemed oddly helpful since he’d arrived here, it an annoying and slightly patronising way. He doubted his friend meant to do it, but it was still galling after so long looking after himself.

Willow was waiting downstairs, along with Winter, Weiss and Whitley as he’d expected. That at least made sense, though he tried to ignore Winter’s raised eyebrow, tucking his hands behind his back in the vain hope that none of them would notice that he was growing out of the combat uniform he’d bought in Mistral. They were more or less his only clothing outside the set he’d worn to Jacques’ ball, but he couldn’t really afford a replacement. While he’d had a small stipend while he’d been head of Beacon, those funds would have been quickly reclaimed by the council, after all, they didn’t owe him money anymore. Not that most of what he was pretty sure was meant to be his salary had ever actually been paid out. He was all but certain that most of that had already been being rerouted, though he doubted very much if Glynda would stand for the same treatment in his place.

He really hoped they were okay, but it wasn’t like they’d welcome him either, like this. He was too small, too vulnerable. He shivered, thinking about it. Even with his aura, this less developed body presented a set of problems that he couldn’t fully work around. He was still sickly, got the same shakes he had as an adult with far less ability to hide them. His eyes were still very sensitive to any light, but he thought they might actually be slightly better at present? That was an odd thought, that his eyes could have gotten worse as he stayed at Beacon. He doubted the sunnier weather really did much to help that, though the way the snow reflected the light in Atlas wasn’t really much better.

How much damage had it truly caused, his time in Vale? Things ached differently now than they had when he was older, but though they weren’t the same, he thought that they ached less. He hadn’t really noticed just how much things hurt, sometimes. He was aware that Qrow and Glynda likely had, but… as said, it was far easier to hide things when he was an adult. He never wanted any of them to worry about him, he really wasn’t worth the attention.

“Oh, little uncle. Why didn’t you say anything? We’re going to have to go shopping, you need fitting clothing!” Winter sounded exasperated, even as Tip felt his cheeks heating up in mortification. He knew that this would happen, Winter had never really managed to rein in her protective instincts around him. He suspected a lot of that was due to Jacques, too, but it wasn’t like he could resurrect the man in order to kill him again even more slowly. He really wanted to at times, though. He’d always hated him before, but now? Knowing what he knew of the mess he’d made of his family… he could comfortably list him on the same page as Salem, of people he actually hated. Even the death that Jacques had been given wasn’t enough to make up for things.

“It’s not really that bad? They still sort of fit…” He trailed off as Weiss turned to glare at him too. If both of his nieces thought that he needed new clothing, he probably couldn’t really fight them on it. It didn’t help that there was a steely look in Willow’s eyes, too. He winced, looking away.

Winter’s eyes softened slightly at just how cute he looked, not that she was going to point that out to him any time soon. It was bad enough that others did, without her joining in on it. Her uncle knew how others viewed him by now, it wasn’t really a good idea to try to rub it in.

As they entered the lawyer’s office, Tip couldn’t help but marvel at just how open it was. The whole building was, actually. Even though it wasn’t really that old, it was obvious that the architecture took after a much older style, some of the brickwork looking rather like it had been recycled from other, older constructions. He was almost certain that one of his previous incarnations had seem a specific carving before, there had been a sudden rush of shock, though it had quickly faded away again. That had been happening more and more recently as the merge slowly recombined his soul with what he was going to term Ozma’s. It wasn’t really Ozma anymore, but there was no way to explain it in any other way. At least he’d been more or less shielded by Ozymandias for a while?

The man behind the desk nodded at Willow, smiling at Winter, Weiss and Whitley before turning to Tip and freezing. Tip squirmed slightly at his gaze, he was really getting quite tired of people he didn’t remember reacting like that, though he’d expected a lawyer to at least be better at hiding it.

“The rumours are true then?” the man breathed, eyes still on Tip, as though transfixed. “You really are Winter?” There was a strange hope in his voice that Tip didn’t really understand. Why would this man be so desperate to find him? What was going on, why hadn’t he asked more questions before they got here? Whatever this was, it was at least unlikely to be a trap. He was fairly certain his family wasn’t likely to do that to him.

“I… used to be.” Tip replied, tentatively. From the slight widening of the man’s eyes, he hadn’t been expecting Tip’s Valean accent, either. He wondered what exactly he’d heard, considering that he was very aware there were various rumours about his survival. He blamed James for some of those, but it wasn’t as though he could easily have hidden his connection to his family. Sooner or later, questions would have been asked anyway. He couldn’t regret what he’d done during Robyn’s party, but it had certainly bought his existence to the notice of a lot of people that he really didn’t need.

“Well, welcome back. It’s an honour to remeet you, young Master Schnee. Has your sister told you why you’re here today?”

That was an odd question, if he’d been expected, why was the man so shocked. Was it because he was a child right now? That was certainly a possibility, though surely he would have been warned in advance?

“She has not. Might I ask why you’re so shocked to see me?” Tip was very curious now, none of this really made very much sense.

“Ah. Well, we were warned that you’d be here, however… there have been imposters in the past. None of them were ever backed by your family, but… the possibility existed.” He sounded deeply apologetic. “Would you mind if we took a geneprint, just to confirm your identity? I recognise that you appear to be Winter Schnee, but… it’s better to be sure.”

“Of course not! That makes sense, though… there have been impersonators? Why?” The fact that anyone had pretended to be him was even more confusing. From the things he’d learned over the few months he’d been in Atlas, he hadn’t even necessarily been expected to survive into adulthood at all. He silently thanked his aura, again, for ensuring that he had… but, there had been those who had pretended to be him? Why, what was the point? As the oldest child, surely Willow had been the only heir?

Or… had she? Was it possible that the father he only really remembered in flashes had left something for him after all? Willow had told him that he’d never given up on the idea that he was still alive, but the thought was more than a bit uncomfortable. He held out a finger for the machine, blinking as a tiny needle took his blood then the screen flashed green. He was hoping that was a good sign, as opposed to it just reading the colour of his aura.

The man relaxed, all the tension seemingly draining out of him at once as he stared at the screen.

“Right, then. Well, I’m Celadon Abbott, by the way. I expect you don’t remember me, but I knew you when you were younger. The first time, that is. I’m glad the scan showed a positive result, I would have hated to end this on a more sour note. To answer just why there have been impersonators over the years, were you aware that your father split the SDC down the middle? Half of it has been in trust for you for the last two decades.”

Tip went white, shock and horror combining in his gut. He really didn’t have time to have anything to do with the Schnee Dust Company, he had too many other duties, too many responsibilities for that. He had half been expecting something was off by the way nobody would tell him what the meeting was about, but… he turned a betrayed gaze at the others, noting rather sourly that Winter was working very hard to keep a straight face.

They’d obviously known about this all along. Maybe he could pass it to Weiss? Though that was less than likely right now, he was certain that the lawyer would claim he was far too young to make that decision.

He sighed, as half of the argument he’d had for not bothering to replace his clothing evaporated, though… what would those in Vale make of this? Would they try to claim it, claiming that he belonged to them? He couldn’t help but voice the question, blinking as Mr Abbott’s eyes hardened to flecks of grey ice.

“What your father left for you is What your father left for you is yours, young Winter. Nobody else has any claim on it, though I’d welcome them to try. It might be rather interesting…” There was a threat to his tone, yet Tip couldn’t help but be slightly comforted by it.

He’d been so used to nobody caring enough to protect him, was this what it was like to truly have a home? Could he build one here, even knowing that Salem was likely to try to destroy it, in time?

Did he truly deserve to be happy, for once? And what was he supposed to do with that sort of money, anyway?

[fromasgardandback]

Automotive Plant's Secretary

Eddie Munson x Reader

description: Y/N L/N is the central secretary at the Automotive Plant Wayne Munson works.

word count: 1.2k

warning: nothing, literal fluff

masterlist | oneshots

Y/N went to work early that morning to set up for the bosses' meeting. She never understood why they couldn’t do it themselves, but she was getting paid for the boring and mundane work. Although she hated the executives of the company, she adored the workers. They were always kind to her when they came in and visa versa. At least once a week she would bake sweets for them and leave the container on her desk. The notes on top of the Tupperware were always different, but each one with a smiley face. Sometimes families would come in to surprise their loved ones who were hard-working and only a few would make a regular appearance. One of those guys just so happened to be Eddie Munson, the old classmate she had a massive crush on. His uncle worked on the floor and said hello to Y/N each morning and goodnight at the end of the day. If she was having an off day, he would make sure to cheer her up. If her day was particularly hard and stayed silent, when everyone left he would give her a hug with an encouraging word or two. Needless to say, she loved Wayne.

“Good Morning, Wayne. I made chocolate chip cookies.” Y/N smiled up at him.

“Good Morning, sweetie. Thank you, these look delicious.” He smiled back taking a cookie, wasting no time in eating the entire thing.

Most days were busy and quiet. If the floor was hard at work and not much chit-chat going on, you can hear the executives mucking it up in their offices without a care in the world. They cared little for their employees and only if they made them more money or not. It was hard for Y/N to see the contrast between white-collar and blue-collar workers. They deserved better, that’s why she baked and tried her hardest to be kind to all of them.

“Do you have any exciting plans this weekend?” She asked, leaning her elbows on the desk.

“Some chores around the trailer, nothing too exciting. Try and use my days off to relax.” Wayne replied, swallowing the last remnants of the cookie. “What about you, kid?”

“Same, nothing much other than relaxing. I might go out with some friends to a bar tonight.” She smiled at the nickname.

“Don’t get too crazy, don’t know what we’d do without you here.” He smirked, waving her off as he walked to the breakroom with his things.

The day went by fairly quickly, and now it was 1:30 pm. Only three and a half hours to go until they can all clock out. The hum of a radio blasting and turning off can be heard faintly through the entrance door and a pair of boots touching the fake hardwood floors moving closer to her desk. She looked up, only to blush and hide the heat rising to her face.

“Hey, Y/N.” Eddie smiled politely.

“Hi, Eddie. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you during a work day?” She smiled up at him. ‘Seriously? You had all of five minutes to come up with something non-embarrassing and that’s what came out of your mouth?’ She thought to herself.

“Came to drop off lunch for Uncle Wayne, he deserves something better than ham and cheese.” He chuckled as he signed the visitor sign-in sheet. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Eddie. You can go on back. I’ll let him know you’re here.” He winked at her, following her instructions and going towards to break room. Heart-pounding and the blush on her cheeks growing redder, she hurriedly went to the floor. On his way out of the building, he stopped by her desk again.

“My band’s playing at The Hideout tonight. Maybe you want to come by?” Eddie smiled nervously, quickly fixing his sentence. “Not alone of course, with friends. Or alone if you just want to be alone, but you don't have to.” Eddie failed terribly, fumbling through trying to stop talking.

“I’d love to come. My friends and I were headed to a bar anyways. We’ll be there.” She smiled at him to which he returned and a small wave while leaving.

For a few weeks, Eddie would make an excuse to come “drop” occasional things that Wayne just so happened to forget at home. He would spend at least ten minutes talking to Y/N and declare to his friends that he was going to ask her out one of these days. 

“Dude, you’ve been pining after her for years and talking with her every week. If you haven’t done it by now, you’re not going to. You’re just chicken, man” Gareth rolled his eyes sipping his beer.

“Watch how you speak to me, I am not chicken. She comes to see us play every week. If that’s not making a move, then what do you suggest?” Eddie grumbled sitting up straight, eyes boring into his friends’. 

“Y/N, go to dinner with me? That’s a start.” Jeff replied fiddling with his guitar. 

“ALL BLUNT!?” Eddie exclaimed.

“YES!” His friends yelled annoyed that he has yet to do anything about this crush, but bitch and complain.

The band was setting up the stage an hour before the bar opened to set up their gig. The moment they opened she walked through those doors with her friends smiling wide when making eye contact with him. Eddie blushed giving her a small wave, going back to tuning his guitar. Y/N sat in the back booth giving her the advantage of hiding what redness crossed her cheeks.

“Just ask him out,” Nancy commented setting down her purse next to you.

“What are you talking about?” She acted dumb, not wanting to be embarrassed by the conversation, watching her crush be his adorable self.

“How much you’re in love with Eddie. Y/N, we love you but it's painfully obvious. Just rip off the bandaid and ask him out.” Robin remarked, setting down the drinks.

“And disgusting to hear how much you think he’s hot and adorable and his eyes are so dreamy.” Steve rolled his eyes, exaggerating.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop talking about him. But I can’t ask him out. He doesn’t see me that way.” Y/N shook her head looking down. Steve laughed loudly, causing Nancy to elbow him in the shoulder.

“Sweetie, it is so clear that he likes you.” Nancy smiled. “Just go for it. There’s nothing to lose, we promise you.”

“And he’s making his way to the bar now. Take your chance. And if it goes awry, we’ll leave.” Robin nodded encouragingly.

Y/N had no other choice than to get up and face the fear of rejection from the childhood crush she couldn’t seem to shake.

“Eddie, Hi.” She fiddled with the rings on her hands.

“Y/N, you came. Hi.” He noticed, taking note that she was nervous.

“I, um, want to ask you something.” She squeaked out, not looking up.

“I want to ask you something as well.” Eddie leaned against the bar on his right elbow. They both took a short breath asking their question together.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” He asked.

“Would you go to dinner with me?” She asked. They chuckled, blushing harder than a tomato.

“I would love to, Eddie.” She smiled big, leaning into him.

“I would be more than happy to, Y/N.” He smiled wider, leaning closer to her.

[zippidi-dooda]

"So, you're saying all we have to do is ask your old friend for help?" Ruby questioned after hearing her uncle's statement.

Jaune smiled, ready to head down the road toward this friend. "That's great! And they're just along the way? We should keep going then."

Qrow chuckled dryly, looking down at the dusky road beneath their feet. "Not so easy, kid."

"Why? Are they far, far along the way?"

"In that case we should set up camp now and set out early in the morning. It'll be safer that way." Ren suggested, nodding at the setting sun on the horizon.

"No, no, it's not that. They run an inn the next town over." Qrow corrected. "We'll reach it by nightfall."

"Then what are we waiting for? We can get help and score a warm place to stay the night!" Nora chirped.

Exited at the prospect of a soft bed to lay on after weeks of sleeping on the stiff floor and a potential ally to add on their quest to save Remnant, the group picked up their pace, traveling ahead of the reminiscent crow.

"There's a big guarantee they'll say no. I messed up big time the last we met. The last thing they said to me was that they hate me."

***

You shook your head, laughing at the barkeep's jokes. They were terrible to be sure, but you always found his way of cheering others up to be charming.

"You know, you're gonna have to come up with new jokes soon. You've said that last one a thousand times already."

The barkeep rolled his eyes, reaching for another glass to polish. "Well it seems to be a hit with the guests."

"They're just being polite with you."

"Whatever. Oh, uh, Y/N? You wouldn't mind if I took the day off tomorrow would ya?"

"Of course not, Busch. You're always on top of everything, not many reasons to say no." You gave him a sly smile, leaning across the table. "What's the ocasion this time? Am I gonna get ta see a love sick puppy when you get back?"

"I'm not obligated to answer that."

"Aw, not even gonna share a little detail with your nicest boss?"

He scoffed. "Nice my ass. Yer gonna pile the work on me when I get back."

"Hey, I haven't done that to you. Yet."

"Ha ha." Busch flicked your forehead. "I'm gonna really enjoy my time Y/N free tomorrow. Now get outta here, ya got guests comin' in."

"Alright, alright. I'll leave ya alone the rest of the night."

"Thank gods."

"Don't miss me too much!" You smiled, heading towards the entrance to greet the newcomers.

"Welcome! If you need a safe place to stay the night or just a few directions, you're in luck! I'm Y/N, how can I help ya?"

"... hey, Y/N. Long time no see."

Your heart seemed to stop as the oh-so-familiar voice flooded your ears.

A voice you didn't want to hear again.

"... Qrow ...?"

A man you didn't want to see again.

A scowl settled on your face and you stood still, eyes locked with his. Their captivating shade of bourbon blush failed to bring you the joy they once did, only stirring up a mountain of memories you had tried hard to forget.

"You got a lot of nerve showin' up here. Leave. Before I force you out."

Qrow smiled snidely, taking a step closer. "Now that's not much of a warm welcome is it? It's a miracle you still got this place up and running with that attitude. Listen, Y/N, I know you don't like the idea of helping me, but we need your-"

"No, Qrow. I have no interest getting caught up in your messes anymore. You're a skilled huntsman, so whatever it is that's going on I'm sure you can handle it on your own."

He furrowed his brow, stepping closer to you. "Y/N, you don't understand, it's not just me now. Since Beac-"

"Enough! I don't want to hear it," You placed a hand on the hilt of your weapon. "Now just walk outta here peaceful before-"

Suddenly, a young girl clad in a red cape jumped between you two, arms spread out defensively.

"Stop! Look, Lady, I don't know what my uncle did to you. You probably have every right to be upset with him. But the world is in danger and we can use any bit of help we can get. We were hoping you could provide it to us. We're not here to hurt or endager you or the people here. But if it comes down to it, we won't go down without a fight."

You studied the girl for a moment. Her features were akin to those of the flighty huntsman she came with, the most remarkable trait of all being her, "Silver eyes ...."

Finally, you took notice of the rest of the group of teens that had entered with Qrow. They stood with weapons in hand, braced for a fight, eyes tracking you cautiously.

The way they held themselves proved they were more than prepared in ways of combat. But their clothing and worn out expressions stood out. They were tired. They might have been traveling for days and were in need of proper care.

You looked to Qrow one last time.

He looked weary too, eyes trained on the hand that held your weapon.

He never liked doing anything with groups, much less groups composed of people more than likely to impede him.

He wouldn't have been with them without good reason. And he most certainly wouldn't have come in search of you if he hadn't already failed in a search for others.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Busch! Make me a drink, would ya? It's gonna be along night."

***

I don't remember where I was going with this so here's as far as I got when I first wrote it

Uncle Qrow is great

[gerec]

i’ve had a shitty week so i was just wondering if you could recommend your favorite fluffy cherik fics 😭 i don’t care what they’re about i just need fluff

I'm sorry you've had a rough week Anon and I'm happy to help. I don't really read straight fluff but these are my favorite Cherik fics to read when I want a pick me up and I hope you like them!

One Hundred One Night Stands. by Sophia_Bee

Charles has a rule. Never fuck the same guy twice. When he refuses to see Erik again after a one night stand, Erik goes about trying to get Charles to violate that rule using accents and disguises.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Parenting by keire_ke

Alex disapproves of school car washes, despite the abundance of wet bikinis on pretty girls. Erik doesn’t approve of his son shirking money-making duties.

Humane Society by smilebackwards

Once Erik finally allows himself to decide that Charles is pretty much the best thing since sliced bread, he spends the next week being incredibly bitter that he's Charles' cat and not his boyfriend.

Protect, Serve, Troll by keire_ke

Erik's fire department has a special relationship with the local university. They visit often. Sometimes, there even is a fire.

Not So Much the Teacup by thehoyden

“Charles is basically the bride whisperer. It’s like he can read their minds.” (wedding planner AU)

645 Riverside Drive by smilebackwards

Azazel clearly has yet to understand the shattering power of Charles' disappointment, so Erik takes one for the team, grabbing the cup and downing the remnants of the cappuccino like a shot while Azazel watches with morbid fascination.

Good manners (will get you far) by ximeria

Charles had been looking forward to the performance at the Met for ages. Little did he know, things would not go according to plan.

Oysters and Champagne by listerinezero

Erik is the extremely talented, extremely scary chef at one of the top restaurants in New York, and Charles, the head waiter, is the only person with the balls to stand up to him. Their fights are the stuff of legend, and their argument over the Valentine's Day menu turns into one for the history books.

'tis a far far better thing doing stuff for other people by whichisgolden

The X-Men: First Class Clueless AU that you didn't know you always wanted. Charles is a spoiled Beverly Hills telepath, Erik is his pretentious ex-step-brother, Emma is his best friend because they both know what it feels like for people to be jealous of them, etc.

Other Life Challenges by professor

“Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Making perfect by aesc 

As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

love like toy trucks crashing by midrashic

Charles Xavier may be young, but he knows what it means to love.

soul of my soul by ikeracity

You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.